#Doing this not just for others but for myself

[sunny-daze-days]

Also please do not complain to your children about their struggle to do chores or that don't do chores if you've never shown them how to do those chores in the first place. Even worse if you actively discourage your kids from doing them

I'm 20 fucking years old and I cannot tell you how many times my mom has complained to me about how she's the only one that does anything around the house when she has:

1 . Never taken the initiative to teach us how to do anything around the house and just expects us to know how to do them. Including but not limited to: washing clothes, washing dishes, cleaning toilets/the bathroom, mopping, how often to wash bedding, etc. I don't even know how to cook because she's never taught me how

2. Gets mad at us when we do chores incorrectly even though she's never taught us how and takes over if we struggle even a little. This does not help us. Let us struggle! Let us fuck it up!

And 3. Has never taught us how often to clean or modeled any cleaning routines or any other related stuff.

And it's not just chores she hasn't taught us how to do. She hasn't taught me how to apply for jobs, do taxes, mow the lawn, fix household issues, how to sew (even if she says she thinks everyone should have a sewing kit), how to make a dr.'s appointment, etc.

And her excuse for ALL of this is "well you never wanted to learn" and it's like YEAH NO SHIT. I was a CHILD and no CHILD is gonna wanna learn how to do shit and it's YOUR JOB as a parent to teach them how to do shit. And even now when i want to learn she doesnt teach me! My GIRLFRIEND had to be the one to teach me how to use a washer and dryer for my clothes and when to wash my bedding.

And she turns around and calls me pathetic for not knowing how to do anything for myself. All. The. Time. My mother constantly jokes about how I don't have common sense but the reason these things are "common sense" is because normal parents teach their fucking kids how to do common household and life things and I was never taught how!

Teach your kids how to do shit and teach them how to do it correctly when they fuck it up but LET THEM DO IT. Otherwise your kid is going to struggle with chores because they think they're not good enough at it or they don't know how to do them or they feel worthless for not being able to do those things.

I feel pathetic for not being able to do it because I don't know how and other people look at me crazy or like I'm some pitiful, stupid thing because I ask others how to do common sense things. Do not be like my mom because all you'll be doing is setting your kids up for failure or at the very least giving your kid a pathological avoidance of doing chores and life skills themselves.

Do not for the love of God do this to your children. Sincerely from one fucked up adult that has no idea how to mop a floor or when to wash my sheets.

And to the people who grew up with this type of parenting: I'm so sorry. But you can learn how to do chores, and you are not pathetic for not knowing how to do things other people do even if it's "common sense". Don't worry if you mess up at first that's just part of the process. I can guarantee you'll get better at the things you try to do.

for the love of god, do not use chores to punish your kids!!!! it's just going to make them struggle deeply to keep their houses tidy as adults since you made them associate necessary chores with punishment and suffering, and it's going to take years of therapy to undo. don't use chores as punishments!!!

[houseofaegon]

Bob and a reader who bruises easily and when they have sex the reader is usually marked up the next day?

Marked ✩ Bob Reynolds

Pairings: Bob Reynolds x Thunderbolt!Reader

Warnings: +18 SMUT MINORS DNI. explicit sexual scenes, bruising (reader bruises easily), rough sex, possessive!bob, protective older brother!bucky, strong language, secret relationship, minor angst, fluff, found family, chaotic thunderbolts energy, family dynamics, violence (threatened),

Summary: You and Bob had been sneaking around for months, the thrill of secrecy only fueling the fire and desire. But bruises from the night before threaten to unravel everything—especially when Bucky Barnes sees them and goes into full protective big brother mode.

Author's Note: omg you guyssssssss!!! i had so much fun writing this one. i am so obsessed with the whole secret relationship setup, and bucky going full protective older brother mode???? ughhhhhh I'm obsessed. i love my boyfriends<3 yelena my baby I love love love writing her so much she's sooo ughhh I love her!!!! i love myself some found family<3 keep the requests comingggggg!!!! i’ve got so many on my inbox already i’ve been planning out all of the fics so they’ll be posted soon<3

You woke up tangled in sheets, muscles aching, skin kissed with tenderness. Bob's arm was drapped heavy over your waist, the rise and fall of his chest pressing your back into him, grounding you, like he needed the contact to breathe. He always held you like that after—like if he let go, you might vanish.

A dull ache throbbed deep in your thighs, your hips, the slope of your neck. Each mark a reminder of the night before. Of how careful he tried to be. Of how easily he lost himself in you when the door was closed and the rest of the world disappeared.

It had started slow, like it always did.

Quiet knock on your door, late enough for the others to be asleep or buried in their own distractions. Bob would linger in the hall, hoodie thrown over his head, hands in his pockets like some kind of teenage boy sneaking into his girlfriend's room.

The moment the door clicked shut, the tension would snap. You’d throw yourself at him—starving, always starving—and he’d catch you every time.

Last night was no different. You'd been watching him all day, practically squirming on the sidelines of the gym while he trained with Yelena.

That damn white shirt clung to him, soaked through sweat, riding up every time he moved. His biceps flexed with every punch, his golden curls damp and wild. You caught him watching you more than once, eyes dark, mouth parted.

He looked wrecked before you even touched him.

By the time he showed up at your door, you didn’t say a word. You grabbed him by the collar of his hoodie, yanked him into your room, and kissed him like he was oxygen.

His hands trembled when they touched your waist. “I’ll be careful,” he whispered, even as you guided him to the bed, tugging his clothes off, already breathless.

“You don’t have to be,” you said. "I don't want you to be."

He kissed down your neck, hands gripping your thighs like he was anchoring himself. When his mouth found your pulse point, he sucked just hard enough to draw a moan—and the bruise bloomed seconds later.

He pulled back to look at the mark, already forming, then looked up at you with something feral in his eyes. “You’re so fucking soft,” he groaned. “I’m gonna mark every inch of you. Mine. All of you.”

You gripped his hair, kissed him harder. “Then do it.”

His fingers laced with yours, pinning them above your head as he pushed into you slowly, the stretch of him drawing a gasp from your lips. He watched your face like it was the only thing that mattered.

His thrusts were slow, deep, patient at first—until you begged.

“Harder, Bob. Please. Don’t hold back.”

He shuddered. “You don’t know what you’re asking for.”

“I do,” you gasped. “I want all of you.”

His mouth crashed into yours, and the dam broke.

You swore the headboard cracked. The bed groaned beneath you. Your name was a prayer on his tongue, murmured between bruising kisses and gasped apologies he didn’t need to make.

Because you loved the marks. The ache. The secrecy.

The thrill of sneaking out of his room at 3AM, hair a mess, lips swollen. Of pretending nothing happened in the halls the next day. Of brushing fingers under the table during briefings, eyes meeting like a promise.

And in those moments—when no one else knew, when it was just you and him—you felt more his than ever.

You traced a bruise on your collarbone absently as you slipped out of his bed, one of his t-shirts falling to mid-thigh. You bit your lip to hide the satisfied smile. Bruised and adored. Just how you liked it.

The tower was still quiet as you crept back to your room to change, slipping into gym shorts and a hoodie for morning training. You paused once, catching your reflection in your bathroom mirror—faint marks painting your hips, the curve of your neck, the inside of your thigh.

Heat flushed through you at the memory. His hands gripping your waist. His voice—“You’re mine.”

You tugged the hoodie tighter and headed down to start training.

The gym was already humming with low music and the sound of punches hitting pads. Bucky was setting up on the mat, hoodie off, sweat darkening the collar of his black shirt. He gave you a quick nod when you walked in—his version of a good morning.

Bucky Barnes had been like a brother to you since day one. Not in the forced “everyone on a team is family” way—no, this was different. Real.

He was rough around the edges when you first joined the Thunderbolts, all tight-lipped commands and watchful eyes. Cold. Distance. Guarded. But something in you cracked through that hard soldier shell. Maybe it was how stubborn you were. How warm. Unafraid to rile him up, to poke the bear. Maybe it was how you asked too many questions. Or the way you always saved him a seat in the briefing room. Or how you reminded him—without meaning to—what it felt like to care about someone without it turning into war.

You sometimes reminded him of Steve.

He saw him in you. In the way you saw people. In how you never gave up on anyone, not even him. In the way you could smile even after a mission gone sideways and still say, "We're okay. We'll figure this shit out."

You were brave. Kind. Loyal.

You were the thing Steve used to fight for.

And Bucky—he didn’t say it, couldn’t say it—but he clung to that. To you. Because if someone like you could believe in him, then maybe there was still something worth saving inside him.

That’s why he called you “kid,” even though you weren’t.

That’s why he tossed you his hoodie when you were cold, sat beside you when you couldn’t sleep, and taught you how to break a man’s wrist with a flick of your body weight.

He watched over you in the field. Back-to-back in a firefight. A quiet hand on your shoulder after a tough mission. His voice, always steady, always low: “You’re alright. I’ve got you.”

He wasn’t your teammate. He wasn’t a friend.

He was your brother. Your family. Not by blood. But by bond. By choice.

And that made what happened next inevitable.

Because when he saw those bruises, the ground shifted underneath his feet. All he could see was someone hurting you. And he'd spent decades trying to protect people like you, people he cared about. He had lost Steve. He wasn't going to lose you.

“You’re late,” he said.

“Barely,” you said, grinning. “Try smiling once in a while.”

He rolled his eyes. “Try not tripping over your own feet.”

“Rude,” you said.

He tossed you a set of gloves. “Let’s go. Standard drills.”

You started slow. Footwork. Blocks. He moved easily, but watched your form like a hawk, correcting gently with a hand at your hip, your wrist, your shoulder.

“Looser on the right,” he murmured. “You’re tightening up too much, kiddo.”

“I’m fine.”

“Mm-hmm.” His tone was skeptical. “Take off the hoodie.”

You froze.

“It’s hot in here,” he added, too casually. “And you’re sweating like hell.”

“Bucky—”

“Off, Y/N.”

Shit.

You sighed, peeled it off, revealing the tank top beneath—and the faint, fresh constellation of bruises that peppered your collarbone and shoulders.

The moment the hoodie dropped to the mat, everything stopped.

Bucky’s whole body tensed.

His eyes locked on the marks. A slow, terrible realization crawling across his face like storm clouds. His voice was suddenly razor sharp.

He stopped breathing.

“What the fuck is that?”

You blinked, already knowing where this was going. “It’s nothing, Bucky.”

“Don’t lie to me.” His voice dropped, deadly quiet. “Who did this?”

“I said it’s nothing—”

His gaze narrowed. “Don’t bullshit me. Y/N, what is that?” He stepped forward, fingers brushing the side of your neck. His touch was soft, but his jaw was tight. “Who the fuck did this to you?”

“I—” You swallowed. “It’s fine, Bucky. It’s—just mosquito bites, that's all.”

“I'm not stupid. I know what bruises look like,” he snapped, his voice rising. “And those? They didn’t come from sparring.”

You stepped back. "Please don't do this."

“Do not follow me unless you’re gonna tell me the truth.”

And then he was storming down the hall, headed for the common room. Straight into the storm.

Because to him? This wasn’t just bruises.

It was his kid—his sister—hurt, marked, and silent about it.

And he’d tear down the whole damn team to protect you.

But of course, you followed him. You fumbled to put the hoodie back on, trying to catch up with Bucky.

You caught up to him just as he stormed into the common room, boots stomping accross the floor. You barely had time to catch your breath before all hell broke loose.

Bob was sprawled on the couch, legs stretched out, hoodie pulled halfway over his head, curls messy on his forehead. Yelena sat beside him eating chips straight from the bag, one boot resting on the coffee table. Walker was slumped on the other, flipping channels again and again.

"Just pick a damn channel already, jeez," Yelena scoffed.

"We have Netflix you know?" Bob chimed in softly.

The second Bucky entered, everyone looked up.

“Do you know who fucking did this to her?” Bucky barked, voice sharp enough to cut metal.

Yelena blinked, slow and unbothered. She raised one perfectly arched brow and held up her bag of chips. “Wow. Good morning to you too, soldier boy. Want a chip?”

Walker frowned. “What the hell are you talking about?”

“I’m talking about this!” Bucky turned, grabbed your armg gently, always gently, and tugged the hoodie sleeve up to show the fading bruise near your wrist. “And that,” he pointed to your neck. “And that.”

“Bucky, please—” you tried, stepping in front of him, but he wasn’t hearing it.

“You better start talking,” he growled, pointing at each of them like they were suspects in a murder trial. “Because if one of you laid a hand on her—”

“Okay, this is very dramatic,” Yelena said, popping another chip in her mouth. “I love it. Are we in a movie right now? Because damn, the drama.”

“I’m being very fucking serious right now, Yelena.”

She shrugged. “Just trying to defuse the tension.”

“And you're not helping!”

“I know,” she said sweetly.

Bucky whirled on Walker next. “Was it you?”

Walker sat up straighter, blinking. “What? No! Jesus—”

“I swear—if you even looked at her wrong—”

“Oh, come on, man!” Walker snapped, tossing the remote on the couch. “I’m not suicidal.”

While Bucky and Walker bickered, Yelena turned to you slowly, her eyes cool but curious. Then—subtle as smoke—her gaze dropped to the bruises peeking from your hoodie, then flicked to Bob.

Bob hadn’t moved. But he was watching. His shoulders tense. His jaw clenched.

Yelena raised one perfectly arched brow. You saw the moment it clicked for her.

Of course she knew.

She wasn’t stupid. She’d seen the way you looked at each other during debriefs. The way you flushed when Bob’s fingers brushed yours in the kitchen. She’d definitely heard the sounds coming from your room last night—because, shocker, spies hear everything.

But she wasn’t going to rat you out to Bucky. No. She gave you the look—the look—tilting her head with the tiniest smirk like, girl, really? him? damn okay.

Then she turned back to her chips like none of this concerned her.

Meanwhile, Bucky was still in full interrogation mode.

“I will find out who did this,” he said, voice rising again. “And when I do—”

“You’re going to do what, Barnes?” Walker snapped back. “Ground us? You're not her dad.”

“I don’t have to be,” Bucky growled. “She’s family. I raised her on this goddamn team while you were still figuring out which way the bathroom was!”

“Oh my god,” Yelena said through a mouthful of chips, “this is better than anything on TV.”

You rubbed your hands down your face and slowly met Bob's eyes, just for a second.

It was enough.

He stood up. Violently. Almost knocking off the entire coffee table.

Yelena sat up straighter, chip bag rustling. "Oh, here we go."

Walker looked from Bob to Bucky, then back. “Wait. Wait wait wait—are we fighting now? In the middle of the living room? Are you guys serious?"

Bucky turned toward Bob, chest puffe like a feral bull. "Say something. I dare you."

“Enough!” Bob’s voice cracked like a whip across the room, thunderous, vibrating in the air like it came from somewhere deeper than his chest.

Yelena froze, chip halfway to her mouth. “Well, there goes the drywall.”

Bucky took one menacing step forward. “What did you say?”

Bob didn’t flinch. His voice was low. "It was me."

Dead. Silence.

Oh, fuck.

You could've heard a pin drop.

Yelena whispered, “Oh my god, I knew it.”

Walker blinked. “Hold the fuck on.” He gasped like he just found out Santa wasn’t real. “Wait—you two?! You’ve been doing it?”

“You?” Bucky spat, stepping forward. “You think that’s fucking funny?”

“No,” Bob said calm. Too calm.

And that snapped Bucky.

He lunged. “I’m going to kill you right now!”

“Bucky!” you shouted, throwing yourself between them just as Bucky’s fist came up.

You caught him mid-swing, grabbing his wrist, bracing your weight against him with everything you had.

“NO! No, no, no—Bucky, stop!” you yelled, pushing back on his chest, eyes wide.

Bob didn’t move. Didn’t flinch. His hands stayed at his sides, jaw set like he was ready to take it.

“You did this to her?” he hissed. “You put your hands on her?”

“I didn’t hurt her,” Bob bit out. “I’ve never laid a hand on her in anger—”

“You left bruises!” Bucky shouted, jabbing a finger toward Bob like he was issuing a death sentence. “You don’t get to decide what hurting her looks like! You don’t get to be the one who touches her and makes her lie to me about it!”

“Bucky, please,” you pleaded, voice breaking.

“I didn’t hurt her,” Bob snapped. “You think I don’t know what I’m capable of? I’ve been terrified of it since day one. Every time I touch her, I’m scared shitless I’ll lose control—but I don’t. Because I’d rather die than ever cross that line.”

Bucky’s jaw locked. “That’s not comforting.”

“She’s not a child, Bucky,” Bob bit out. “She knows what she wants."

"But she's my child, Bob! Mine," Bucky roared, voice cracking with something other than rage, like fear. "I've been protecting her since she joined this team. I've bled for her. I would take a bullet for her if it meant keeping her safe. You think you can just crawl into her bed—what? Expect me to shake your hand? Pat your back? You're fucking delusional."

"She's not yours to own!" Bob roared. "You don't get to decide who touches her, who loves her. She’s not some piece of property. She made a choice. I made my choice."

Bucky’s breathing was ragged, fists clenched so tight his knuckles went white. “She’s my family!" he hissed. "And you didn’t even have the balls to tell me.”

“I wanted to,” Bob snapped. “She told me you’d do this.”

“She was right!” Bucky barked, his eyes glossing over with betrayal. “Because I trusted you. You were supposed to be safe.”

“I am.” Bob’s voice dropped. “I love her. I’m careful with her. You know she bruises easily. Everyone knows it. I try. I always try. But she wanted it. She asked me to. I never forced her. I’d never do that to her.”

You stepped in closer, your hand sliding to Bucky’s chest. “He’s telling the truth.”

Bucky stared at you like he didn’t recognize you for a second. “You let him…”

“I wanted him,” you said simply. “And I still do.”

Walker stood up slowly, blinking like a deer in headlights. “Oh my god,” he muttered, running a hand down his face. “Is this… is this a thing? Like a regular thing? You two just… sneak around and… Jesus Christ, you two fuck?”

Yelena nearly choked on her chips.

She turned to him slowly, eyes wide with disbelief. “Walker. My guy. You live here. How have you not noticed?”

“I thought the noise was the pipes!” he said, flailing.

Yelena tilted her head. “You thought the pipes moaned her name at 2AM?”

“HOW WAS I SUPPOSED TO KNOW?!”

She blinked. "Walker, if your pipes ever sound like that, you call an exorcist. Not maintenance."

He shook his head, exhaling hard. Then he looked at Bob, fury simmering low. “If you ever cross a line—if you so much as make her flinch or cry—I will end you. You break her heart, I break your face. Deal?”

“Deal,” Bob said without hesitation.

Bucky stared at Bob, his jaw ticking. But then his eyes shifted—back to you. Still tight with anger, but… softer now.

“You okay?”

You smiled—small, soft, but sure. “I promise,” you said. “I’m more than okay.”

You glanced back at Bob. He was still watching you like the room didn’t exist.

“He makes me happy, Buck.”

Bucky groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “Goddammit.”

He yanked you into a hug, a little too tight, one arm slung around your neck like he was both scolding you and shielding you. You melted into it as he pressed a kiss to your head.

“I swear to God, Y/N,” he muttered, voice low in your ear, “if he hurts you, I’ll kill him myself.”

You chuckled against his chest. “I know you would.”

Bucky sighed and pulled back, plopping down onto the couch like the last ten minutes had aged him a decade. “And for the love of all that is holy—use protection.”

Yelena snorted next to him. “And do not fuck in the communal shower. Please. I beg you.”

Walker looked horrified. “Wait—have they?!”

You and Bob exchanged a look. He blushed. You smirked. Then you crossed the room, and without missing a beat, Bob reached out and pulled you into him. His arm slid over your shoulders like muscle memory, tucking you against his side with an ease that made everyone in the room groan. He looked down at you with that soft, dopey grin, like a damn teenager who just scored the girl of his dreams.

Yelena let out the loudest groan of all. “Oh my god, you’re disgusting. Look at you—so in love. Yuck!” She made a dramatic gagging noise. “This is vile. I feel violated.”

Bob chuckled.

Bucky didn’t even look. He just threw his head back. “Jesus Christ, please stop this. I can’t take it anymore.”

Yelena didn’t miss a beat. “Honestly, Buck? I’m surprised she can still walk after what I heard last night.”

Bob choked violently.

You burst into laughter, burying your face in his hoodie, muffling a wheeze.

Bob cleared his throat, red as a tomato. “Okay, wow.”

Bucky clapped his hands, hard. “OKAY! Great. That’s enough. Breakfast. Anyone?”

Walker, still pale, raised a hand. “I need alcohol.”

Bucky didn’t even hesitate. “You know what? Make it two. Double.”

Yelena leaned back, completely unbothered, tossing a chip in her mouth. “God, I love this team.”

And you? You looked around—at the chaos, the bickering, the laughter—and felt it settle deep in your chest.

You loved them too.

With all your heart.

    ⊹             ⊹            ⊹             ⊹            ⊹          ⊹             ⊹             ⊹

taglist ⊱☆⊰ @the-a-word-2214 @favestxrboy @uraesthete @abbysbenchpr @sammystarswrite @pey2618 @qardasngan @lunaoieoie @orithyia-eriphyle @amatiswayland @madzzz6958 @all-by-myself98 @dark-silhouette @ghost-ghost-13 @wyvernthekriger @gayfiretruck @watermeezer @lvmxla @novausstuff @mommymilkers0526 @natureartisian @feralgoblinbabe @misaki-evans (if you want to be tagged in my future works lmk! <3)

[toytle]

masterpost of ALL my psych fanart EVER!!! (mostly 2022)

[ID in alt + readmore]

IMAGE 1: psych fanart of shawn spencer holding a furby in his childhood bedroom, exclaiming, “dude! did you know i had a furby?!” on a red rotary phone.

IMAGE 2: shawn and gus sharing a pineapple drink. shawn is excited abt sharing it with gus while gus looks apprehensive/flustered about it.

IMAGE 3: gus showering, peeking an eye open as a question mark pops above his head. a shadow forms behind the curtain.

IMAGE 4: shawn pulling back the curtain and nonchalantly asking gus a question: “hey are we—stop screaming, it’s just me—are we out of cheetos?” gus shrieks and covers himself up.

IMAGE 5: shawn holding lassiter and gus’s heads in psychic concentration. annoyed, lassiter asks, “does he have to do this every time?” gus responds indifferently, “you get used to it.”

IMAGE 6: shawngus redrawn as twink boutta pounce meme. gus is infodumping about special interest #148, explaining what T-rexes used to sound like, while shawn looks at gus fondly, very much not listening.

IMSGE 7: shawn putting his fingers up to his temples, directing all of his energy at a floating slice of pizza. gus pretends to look shocked, holding the pizza up by a string behind his back. lassiter is taken aback, wondering, “how is he doing that?!”

IMAGE 8: headshot busts of lassiter looking annoyed, shawn and gus looking at each other with a knowing apprehension, and juliet looking serious. 

IMAGE 9: lassiter grabbing shawn by the collar and shoving a finger in his face, angrily saying, “now you listen here, spencer—“ shawn is distractedly looking down at his mouth and smiling like the cat who got the cream. a tiktok screenshot in the background reads: me instigating a fight becuase the guy was hot and i want him on me.

IMAGE 10: juliet, gus, and shawn redrawn as the powerpuff girls applebees comic meme. gus rambles about state capitals while shawn says exasperatedly, “stop talking about states.” juliet turns to gus and asks “do you wanna go to applebees?” gus responds, “sure, hang on,” then turns to point at shawn and says, “fuck you.” shawn crosses his arms petulantly.

IMAGE 11: various shawn doodles. the 1st looks unimpressed and says, “i could solve all of the unsolved mysteries myself. it’s not that hard.” the 2nd is a redraw of a screencap subtitled: [shawn meows]. the 3rd shawn has his hands up in unearned surrender, saying, “i’m staying out of this” while an arrow pointing at him reads: guy that started it. the 4th is a redraw of shawn covering his mouth in a laugh.

IMAGE 12: 2 shawn doodles. the 1st shawn walking in with a speech bubble of a textpost that reads: hi sorry for ghosting you im being tormented by psychic horrors beyond your wildest comprehensions. the 2nd shawn gestures to himself humble-braggingly with a speech bubble of a textpost that reads: talking about your feelings is SO important i won’t do it but you guys definitely should. an arrow points to him reading: local man w/ undiagnosed adhd + autism allegedly “proud of not having to go to therapy.”

IMAGE 13: 2 gus doodles. the 1st gus is leaning over as if to gossip and says, “heard about pluto? that’s pretty messed up.” an edited textpost above him reads: absolutely love it when gus goes “lately i’m obsessed with” and then says the most mundane thing ever. the 2nd gus points to a laptop agitatedly with a speech bubble of a textpost that reads: did it hurt? when i told you google it and i was right.

IMAGE 14: gus is obliviously typing on his laptop as shawn is staring at him in concentration with his fingers to his temples. brain wave doodles are sent in gus’s direction. shawn’s thought bubble is a textpost that reads: it’s so rude when someone doesn’t feel you yearning deeply for them… bestie how much more brain waves do i have to fire at you.

IMAGE 15: shawn is leaning on gus’s shoulder with an airy delight and says with a speech bubble of a textpost: love the way we finish each others sentences. it’s like we’re soulmates or the beastie boys. gus smiles at him fondly.

IMAGE 16: shawn and gus as furbys named shawnby & furgus. shawn is pineapple-themed with a pony bead necklace that says SIKE! gus is blue and purple with busines pinstripes and a purple-pink tie.

[inbabylontheywept]

Reach Heaven (Through Violence)

When I was in 2nd grade, my school started a zero-tolerance policy for bullying. I want to emphasize that I started out very excited for this program. I was a small, visibly autistic child on a playground with fourth graders on it. In theory, this program might as well have been called The Rescue Babs Initiative. 

In practice, however, zero-tolerance programs almost always sink into madness. The motivations never line up right - too many incentives for cheating.

The first victim of the program was actually my friend, Sam. I was standing next to him in line when one of the fourth graders gut punched him. There was no reason for the punch, he was just small and in arm's reach. Sam got the wind knocked out of him, but he managed to gasp out the phrase stupid motherfucker right as the playground aide ran over to keep the peace. 

(Sam had an incredible vocabulary for a 2nd grader. Consequence of his dad being a recently divorced mechanic.)

Puncher got a two week suspension. That was fine. But Sam got a one week one for verbal abuse, which was beyond the pale. But that’s just what zero-tolerance is, right? No hitting became a rule everyone had to follow, and it didn't stop when someone hit us. So our options as kids were to somehow make like Jesus and ascend up to heaven… or solve things ourselves. 

We started solving things ourselves. 

I'll be honest, I think that was always the plan. A school can do a lot of things to reduce bullying, but if the goal is zero, there's only one path forward: Shoot the messenger. 

---

My part in the story was a few weeks after that. Long enough to know that the school's new unofficial policy was to suspend kids that reported problems, short enough to have no idea how to defend myself. It turned out the 4th grader that hit Sam was part of a trio, and that trio had their sights on me next. 

I asked some of my classmates what to do, and they said that the best idea was to just ignore the bullies. Refuse to give them a reaction. That was dogshit advice, but it was common enough in the early 2000s and it's not like I can fault 2nd graders for not knowing much about life. 

Anyway. I took the advice and I ignored my bullies. I ignored them when they said nasty things about my mom, and I ignored them when they bounced soccer balls off my head, and the one time I broke was when the biggest of the trio grabbed my arm hard enough to leave finger shaped bruises. We were watching a movie in the gym when he did that, and I leaned over and told him he could hold my hand if he was scared of the dark. Which worked, thank God. The grip hurt bad enough I had to excuse myself for a bit to keep my composure. 

I think a more mentally flexible kid would've changed strategies by then. Clearly, things were escalating. But it's hard for me to change my mind, so I stuck to my bad strategy, right up until the day the big kids caught me after school. I was crossing the baseball field when they got me. It was just one of those places you had to walk through to make it to the bike rack. 

The big guy, again, was the instigator. He pushed me down then stood over me, yelling for me to get back up. But I knew that if I got back up, he'd just push me down again, and for whatever reason, their Bully Code didn't allow for kicking a kid that was already down. So I stuck to the grass, and they tried a bunch of things to goad me into standing back up. Eventually, I started kicking at them while on my back, and one of them took the opportunity to grab my leg. Second bully thought that looked fun, so he grabbed my other leg. Kicking me like that was off limits, but dragging wasn't, so they just started pulling me around that way. 

They were so much taller than me that I was almost vertical during the pull so all my weight was put on my shoulders. And the fields were just made of unkind stuff. There was crushed gravel all over the place, spilled out from the divider between the big kid playground and the little kid playground, so every time they dragged me over a piece it just ripped a new gouge up my back. The ground itself was sunbaked caliche and dead crabgrass. There was a grit to it, like sand stuck to the outside of a clay pot. 

It grated all the skin off my upper back. Everything between the bottom of my neck to the bottom of my shoulder blades. I don't know at what points I went from yelling, to screaming, to just crying, but I did, and I know they seemed almost giddy every time it changed. Eventually they finished off with one loop around the baseball diamond and that hurt the worst. The dust there stuck to the snot and spit all over my face and made it into a foul mud, and the same happened in my shirt. The dust stung like salt, and the gravel in the lines tore open a few more cuts for dirt to pour in. I remember them stopping, and actually crying again I was so relieved. It was done. Thank God, it was finally done. They were done hurting me. 

They left me on my back near homebase (a base). They'd finally got the reaction they were looking for.

It took me a few minutes after that to stagger back to my feet. I was able to wash the snot-mud off my face in the bathroom, but I couldn't bring myself to touch my back. It just felt like it was on fire. Then I made it back to the bike rack. 

That’s where my older sister, Liz, waiting for me. She was just a grade ahead of me but it always felt bigger than that. There’s some deep weight associated with being the oldest. She could see that I was dirty and tear soaked so she asked what happened. I didn’t know how to put it in words, so I just tried lifting my shirt to show her. It made a sticky, tacky sound coming up - like the plastic coat coming off a slice of American cheese. Tchhhhk. 

I didn’t know how bad they’d got me before I heard that noise.

She looked at my back for maybe two seconds before telling me to put my shirt back down. I never actually looked at it when it was fresh, but I still had straggling scars by the time I got to highschool. Long silver-grey lines, visible mostly for the dirt still stuck in them. She looked a little sick when I turned around, but she kept it cool, which I really appreciated. I always hated crying in public, and I was half a hair from crying all over again. I don't think I'd have been able to keep it together if she'd freaked out too. 

Instead, she just asked me some questions. Who did this, how long they’d been doing it, what I’d been doing, if I’d told anyone. Some 4th graders, a month, trying to ignore them, nobody. 

She mulled those answers over. I could see her trying to chart a course forward - trying to figure out what it would take to solve this problem for good. She's always had this weird, sad, blank face that she'd make when she found a solution she didn't like. She'd make that face, then think some more, then make the face. Then think. 

Eventually, she just made the face. 

Don't tell the parents, she said. I can fix this. But only if you don’t tell them. 

I believed her. She was the most capable person I knew, and her word was gold. So I didn't tell our parents. I biked home, and every drop of sweat that rolled down my back felt like acid on my skin. I remember getting home and beelining straight to the bath, because I needed something to put the fire out. Took that as my moment to cry it out again too. First time I'd cried was from pain, but the second time was from the cruelty. Second time took longer, but the nice thing about a cold bath is that the water never runs out. I could just pop the plug out with my toes and just keep rinsing and draining and rinsing and draining until my mind was as clean and empty and stark as the tub itself. Then I could go fill that emptiness up with Calvin and Hobbes. 

It worked.

Mostly. 

---

I spent the whole next week feeling nervous anytime I was outside and Liz wasn't nearby. Some days she'd beat me to the bike racks, and I'd be relieved as hell to just go home. Other days, I'd be the first one out, and then I'd have to spend a few minutes worrying about what I'd do if the big kids showed up. But they never did. Liz always got there just a few minutes later, and I'd pretend I hadn't been planning escape routes.

Friday, I was sweating by myself when she showed up a few minutes later than normal. She unlocked her bike but she didn't move to leave. She had this big, long cable-type lock, maybe  six feet of braided steel. She folded it over in her hands so it looked like a swatter and swung it a few times in the air. Made it whistle like a falling anvil in a cartoon.

Today's baseball practice, she said. All Our Guys are on the baseball team. 

Our Guys. Odd phrasing. Also, I actually hadn't known that about them, but I nodded along anyway. She wasn't really looking at me as she talked - she was inspecting the lock.

My plan, she continued, is to wait here until baseball's done. Me and you. When it gets time I'll send you outside the bike cage.

The cage was a chain link fence, maybe six feet tall, built all around the rack. They’d lock it after school as an extra precaution against bike thieves. 

Your job, she continued, will be to hold the gate closed after they're all in. Keep em’ stuck. Think you can do that? 

She was being very frank, which helped me think clearly. I didn't think I could actually hold the gate closed if all of them ran into it at once, but I knew where a big half broken cinder block was, and I knew if I could wedge it in there, it would hold. So I told her that. 

Great, she said. Do that. 

Then I went to go get the block. She gave the cable a few more experimental swings, right as I made it around the corner. 

I'd been thinking in straight lines before that. Just meeting goals. It wasn't until that moment that I really allowed myself to know what was happening. That I allowed myself to have a choice. 

I chose to jog a little faster. I wanted revenge. 

---

I came back with the block a few minutes later, then we just talked like nothing was happening. The sun was shining, and we’d both gotten into bionicles, and it was easy to talk and be people. Normal, happy people. 

But that feeling went away when I heard the coach tweet a long whistle. Me and Liz both knew that was the signal that practice was done. I walked out and got my bric while she folded the cable in half in her hand again. Then we both waited. 

Eventually I saw the kids that drug me around the baseball diamond emerge from behind the portables. I watched them make a straight line back to the bike rack. They were laughing together, having a good time. Being normal. Like me and my sister. I realized I could let things be normal too. I saw my chance to let things go softball pitched to me, nice and easy, and I didn't even bother to swing. I didn't want normal anymore. I wanted this. I knew why my sister had that lock, and I'd thought about it, and I liked it.  

God help me, I think I needed it. 

The kids went inside the bike cage. I gave them ten paces head start, then put the cinder block under the gate. That was the signal Liz had been waiting for. 

She blitzed those boys. There were three of them, and the smallest still had two inches on her, so they probably would have kicked her ass if they ever had a moment to think. But she never gave them that moment. She picked the biggest kid, and decided he needed the first blow. I remember how much muscle she put into that swing - the cable was so heavy, and she was so small, that it kind of swung her back as she made that first half spin. Like a dog getting wagged by its own tail. 

It was a perfect connection. Flawless. She swung through her target, not at it, and the resulting slap that the cable made bouncing off the biggest kid's stomach was loud enough to echo through the cage. It brought a tear to my eye. It brought a tear to his eye too. 

The trio split after that, bouncing around the cage like fresh broke billiards. I can't describe how Liz did it, exactly, but she managed to chase the boys back together so she could hit them all more efficiently. She had a real knack for getting them right between the shoulders, so I never got to see the real perfection of her work, but she wasn't above swinging for the arms or legs if that was all she had. Those marks I could see, and they were brutal. The welts were wider and thicker than my thumb, like giant purple worms were trying to burrow out of their skin. Some even bled. I cheered on every hit. 

Liz, for her part, just had a sort of grim, single minded determination to her. She was so angry she was shaking, and so scared that tears just kept running down her face, and she was grinning all the way back to her molars, but the grin didn't get any bigger after a solid hit than a glancing one. When the kids started blubbering, she didn't change her process. I'd spent my time crying, she'd spent her time crying, of course they were getting theirs in too: That's what violence does. It brings tears. Sow the wind, reap the whirlwind. 

Eventually, one of the kids split off from the main herd and scrambled up the fence, gecko-style. Liz let him go. It was either that, or take her attention off the other two. Easy choice. 

Now, there were two kids left, the big one, and one of his smaller friends. Smaller friend did the same trick. I was worried he was gonna turn back, fight me and open the gate for his buddy, but he just fled for the hills. I remember thinking, damn, I hope they never forgive each other for this. I hope this ruins their whole friendship. I hope this festers into something awful. 

The one kid that was left really was trapped though. He wasn't built for climbing and he had no one to work as a distraction for him. Every time he started trying to make it up the fence, my sister would just twist up like a spring, then swing the cable with both hands right into his spine. The slap it made every time she did that was loud enough to hurt my ears. He never made it more than two hits like that before hopping off the fence and just trying to run around some more. He could get Liz tangled up in the bikes for a bit if he really tried, but it never bought him enough time to actually get out. She'd always find her way out of the thicket, swing the cable, and send him running again. 

Eventually, he just couldn't run anymore. He sat down, and my sister hit him a few times, telling him to stand up. He refused. He knew he was gonna get hit either way, so he might as well get hit sitting down. He put his arms up after a bit and let those take a beating too. Eventually he just started begging her to stop. So she did. 

He cried he was so relieved. I remembered how that felt: It’s done. Thank God, it’s finally done. They’re done hurting me. 

Liz told me to come in and show him my back. I took my shirt off, and I showed him a scab as large as a dinner plate. Cracked up like dry river mud. 

He looked sick. Started babbling about how he didn't know. Said he thought I was crying because I was just a kid - that he didn't know he was actually hurting me. That he'd just wanted to get a rise out of me and didn't know it would take so much. 

He didn't know he'd gone too far until it was too late. 

And suddenly, it was like looking in a mirror. 

Two snotty, welted boys, crying alone in the dirt. Backs burning like fire. Ashamed. Trapped. Realizing that they'd just done something awful, and worse, that they’d dragged the people that meant the most to them along for the ride. 

I hated him more at that moment than when he drug me over gravel. I can’t imagine anyone wanting to kill anything but their own brokenness reflected. Looking at him was unbearable. Like staring straight into the sun. 

I could've hit him again if I hadn't just gorged myself on violence. But I had. I was fat with it, sick and aching - anything more and I would have puked. So I just told him to get his bike and go. Please. Just go. 

He did. He staggered to his feet, and he grabbed his bike before running away like all the demons in hell were following behind. All bar two. There was a swingset nearby, and once he was fully out of sight, Liz and I walked over to it. We picked two seats next to each other and sat for a while, talking until our hands stopped shaking. Can’t remember about what. We didn’t really know how to process what had just happened. Still don’t, to be honest. 

Then we went home.

---

Thanks to @elisabethdeep-blog, @foldingfittedsheets, @amateurmasksmith, @caramel-catss @arataya, and @rozenkingdom for being my alpha readers.

And thanks @lizardho, for being my first friend, my best friend, and my childhood bodyguard. I know it took a toll on you. I'm truly sorry.

[rosylix]

happy birthday to rosy...... it's so funny how i posted this on a whim expecting like.. 50 notes and now its at 5k+ across all parts, oh yeah did i mention theres multiple parts and 30K WORDS?? literally crazy. thank you endlessly for the support, whether you've been here since the beginning, or found it this year, or anything in between 🩵🫶

rosy

더 깊이 빠져들겠지 더 조금씩 더 조금씩 넌...

you don't know how to give a hickey.. what are friends for if not to help each other with these things?

pairing: bff!felix × gn!reader

wc: 4.3k

content: nonidol au, fluff, not rly smut but suggestive (mdni pls), shy/inexperienced reader, hickeys (duh), reader is like slightly germophobic idk, a lot of teasing, no use of y/n

a/n: i am so delusional i need to bite this mans neck badly. and yes this is my username. yes it's the loona song. lol

[also read on ao3]

series — part 1 | part 2 | part 3 | part 4

—

God, you should have just kept your mouth shut.

“You don't know how to give a hickey?”

You shake your head and cover your face, hiding from Felix, who's sitting next to you on his bed.

“Wait, really? Like you've never even tried it on yourself?” he asks.

“No?! What, people actually do that?” Your hands lower slightly to reveal your eyes widening.

He breathes out a laugh and you hit his arm. “It's not funny!”

“It's kind of funny.”

“Shut up. I just— like— I never… whatever.” He poorly conceals a teasing smile. “Shut up or you're literally not getting any cinnamon rolls tomorrow. In fact, lemme ask Hannie if he wants your extras.” You pull out your phone.

Before you can do anything, Felix swiftly moves closer to you, his hand pushing yours down. “Whoa, whoa, hey.. that's a little drastic, yeah? Have I ever told you how much I love and appreciate you? ..And your cinnamon rolls?” He smiles sweetly, batting his eyelashes at you.

You grumble but drop the phone and shake his hand away, pursing your lips to fight a smile. The two of you fall into a comfortable silence.

…And then Felix ruins it.

“But you've kissed people before, right?”

You look at him incredulously. “Did I not say to shut up??” you shriek.

“Is that a no?” He giggles. He fucking giggles. You want to punch his pretty face.

“Lee Felix Yongbok I will smite you down right here where you stand if you don't—”

He puts his hands up in surrender. “Okay wait, sorry, I didn't mean it like that! I just mean, it's kind of like the same thing, you know?”

“The same as what? Giving a h-hickey?” You can't help but stutter a little.

“Yeah like it's… I'll show you.” 

Felix suddenly moves so he's in front of you and gently grabs your arm. He'll show you?! Literally what. What the hell. You let out a small squeak and instinctively lean away from him. 

“Relax, I just meant here,” he touches your arm. “Is that okay?”

You stare at him.

“...Or I could show it on myself but I thought it might be better to feel it? Or I don't have to do it at all of course,” he says quickly.

Oh. It takes a second but the gears in your head start slowly turning enough to respond.

“Oh.” Well, okay, that wasn't as much of a response as you meant to give.

Felix laughs softly and pulls his hand away from your arm. “Sorry, it's too weird, right? No worries.”

But wait, you're actually curious. And isn't it better to figure it out before you inevitably make a fool out of yourself in front of someone else? It makes you a bit nervous but… you're comfortable with Felix. “No, wait, you can uh... show me…?”

His eyebrows raise for a second but then he smiles. “You sure?”

You nod. You still feel a little dazed and you're not really cognizant enough to actually do anything but watch him as he moves closer again. Your arm must feel like a dead weight but he lifts it up and lowers his head, placing a chaste kiss on your inner wrist. “This okay? Usually you um... start with kissing.”

“O-Oh, okay, yeah..” you murmur. What is this sudden weird atmosphere? Maybe you're the only one feeling it. Felix doesn't seem too phased, but you can feel your heart pounding in your chest. Shit, can he feel your pulse right now? You really hope not. 

He flashes a shy smile and places another kiss there, and another a little higher, and another, and it feels way too intimate and sends shivers up your spine. Slowly, he moves up your forearm, stopping right before your elbow.

“So… then.. you just wanna like... suck,” he says before doing just that, right below the crook of your elbow. 

Oh. It feels weird. You must have made a noise or something because he looks up at you through dark lashes, a smile playing on the corners of his lips. You swallow. What the actual hell is happening right now? 

After holding excruciating eye contact for what feels like an eternity, he lets his eyes close. Thank god, because it was making your chest feel tight and weird. You continue to stare as he continues kissing and sucking at your arm, face absolutely burning at the strange sensation.

You've literally lost the freaking plot. You just sit there, no semblance of time passing. After about twenty seconds? Twenty minutes? It literally could have been either — he finally pulls away, with a final kiss and light drag of his teeth against your skin. 

You hold your breath as he sits up and gently maneuvers your arm so you could see the fruits of his labor. He clears his throat. “Um, so… it's starting to show up. See?” he says a little breathlessly.

You nod, unsure what to say when your best friend literally just sucked a hickey onto your arm. A very platonic hickey. Okay. This is fine. This is totally normal right? It must be or he wouldn't have offered. ..Right? You stare down at the bruise starting to blossom on your arm and finally chance a glance at Felix, but he also has his head down, staring at your arm.

Suddenly as if on cue, his head jerks up. When he sees you looking at him he grins. “Cool, right? How does it feel?” 

“Weird…” you mumble. How can he be so nonchalant about this? You want to strangle him.

He nods. “It might be a little sensitive for a bit.” He runs his fingers lightly over the reddening area and you immediately see what he means. It feels tender and tingly under his touch. You shiver. “So.. you think you get how to do it now?” he asks. 

“Um… yeah, I mean, maybe?”

“Do you wanna try?”

“Try? What, on… on your arm?!” 

A slight blush creeps up his face and he shrugs. “Sure, or wherever… my arm, or my neck since that's where it's usually…”

You feel your face heat up as well. “I…”

“I just thought, if you wanna like, practice? But of course you don't have to.” He looks away and shrugs again, seeming a little embarrassed for suggesting it.

You open and close your mouth over and over again like a fish. Like a stupid dumb fish who somehow got itself reeled into this crazy situation. But honestly, the more you think about it, the offer to practice is tempting. When would you get another opportunity like this? Probably never. And… you trust Felix more than anyone else.

“...Is it really okay?” you ask hesitantly.

Felix looks up, blinking a few times before smiling. “Of course. I mean, it's only fair since I did it on you,” he laughs softly. He seems happy but also a little surprised that you actually appeared to be agreeing to his offer. Honestly, you're surprised too.

“Right, um…” you mumble. You shuffle a little closer to him. His hand slides down from your elbow to your hand, rubbing gentle circles on the back of it with his thumb. To reassure you, you think. It's a sweet gesture.

You lean in slightly towards his neck, deciding that if you do it here, you can hide your face from him and avoid any eye contact. “Um, can I...? Where should I…?”

You're so close to him. You can hear his breath catch a little before he points to the side of his neck with his free hand. “Around here,” he says, his voice somehow getting impossibly lower.

You swallow, the reality of the situation suddenly sinking in. As you lean in further you bite your lip, anxious. You need to break this tension somehow. You just can't do this right now. “Um.. um… do you wash your neck?” you blurt out.

Felix leans back a little. “Do I... do I wash my neck? That's what you're worried about?” he laughs.

“Some people probably don't!” you exclaim. Then you sigh. “Ugh, s-sorry, that's stupid, right? You literally licked my arm,” you let out a nervous laugh. “I just— I don't know. It feels icky. Germs.” 

He hums. “You're not stupid.” A pause. “But, I can proudly say I do wash my neck.” He presses his lips together, clearly suppressing another laugh and you just know he's about to tease you. “Wow, how do you even kiss people if you're this worried about germs?”

“Shut up,” you grumble, leaning back into his neck a little to hide your face, your breath hot on his neck. He inhales sharply and seems surprised and, you think, a little panicked?

You instantly pull away. “Felix, are you sure?” You chew on your lip. Is this a bad idea after all?

“Yeah, I-I... yeah, of course,” he says, a little breathless, but you're not entirely convinced. You start to move away fully but he quickly grabs your arm again. “No.. no, wait. Please,” he whispers. You see him visibly try to relax, taking a deep breath in and out. “It's okay. I promise. I was just caught off guard.”

“Sorry,” you whisper.

“No, no, you're good, you're fine. It was me.” Felix clears his throat and rubs your arm reassuringly. 

You take a deep breath. “Okay… so.. here?” You lean back in to where you were previously, breath hitting his neck.

He swallows, and you see it because his Adam's apple bobs up and down right in front of your face. What the fuck. “Yeah. Just go slow and… you can start with kissing if you want. Don't overthink it,” he mumbles, sounding more like he's reminding himself of something.

You nod and slowly, so slowly, you lean in the rest of the way and press your lips to his neck.

You expected him to remain still but a small breathy noise escapes him and he leans his head further back, exposing more of his neck in the process. You swear you can feel his pulse thrumming under your lips. “Good... um.. yeah, just... kiss a little bit and then suck. You can use your tongue, too,” he says, his voice barely above a whisper, but you can feel the vibrations against your lips when he speaks. What the fuck.

Your head feels fuzzy. You hesitantly place a kiss on his neck, and then another a little higher, and another, until you reach an area you're satisfied with. You almost want to pull away but remember Felix's words. Right. Just try not to overthink it…

He pulls a breath in through his teeth when you press an open-mouthed kiss and start sucking gently. At the same time, your tongue darts out almost automatically and touches his skin. 

You feel him swallow thickly. “Y-You gotta… harder…” he murmurs. “Or it won't mark.”

You hesitate. “Won't it hurt?”

He blinks hard and shakes his head slightly. “Don't worry… I-I'll tell you if it hurts, okay? Just try. Do it like I did.”

You nod and take a deep breath before trying again, this time in earnest, sucking harder and pulling his skin between your lips and even past your teeth.

“Yeah,” he breathes out, his grip on your arm tightening, “Like... like that. And you can.. use your teeth a little too.” His voice is getting thick, low, and raspy and, god, you feel a little dizzy.

But you want to please him, so you bite down softly and let your teeth run over the area. A quiet, high-pitched whine escapes his lips, and his hand shoots up to cover his mouth, body jerking back slightly. He suddenly seems to realize the noise he made and looks at you, wide-eyed.

You pull back again, a little breathless. “D-Did it hurt?” You really didn't think you bit that hard, but you can't hide the worry in your voice.

His hand drops from his mouth, face flushed and breathing labored. His eyes look a little dialed out. “No... no, it didn't.. hurt.” It seems like it takes all his strength just to say that. “Sorry, I just...” he takes a few more seconds to gather himself, “Um, kinda sensitive…”

…Sensitive? Oh. Oh. It was good. He liked it. You almost sigh in relief. But then… wait. He's sensitive there. He… Your brain isn't working. You find yourself leaning back in to his neck without thinking.

Felix doesn’t protest, just sits back, exposing more of his neck to you. You feel his body shudder when you lightly drag your teeth over the area before attaching your mouth more firmly and sucking at his skin.

He can’t stop the whimper from leaving his throat. “That feels really good.. you’re doing good,” he pants.

Your heart swells from the praise and you double down on your efforts. You hear him try to suppress another whimper but it’s more strained this time. It happens again and again, little noises and whines that you're not sure if he's even aware he's making. Every noise pulls and tugs at something in your stomach.

It feels intimate, so insanely intimate and you think you might combust on the spot if you go any longer. It's a bit nerve-wracking to pull away and face Felix but you force yourself to, licking your lips as you retreat.

Your eyes immediately widen at the sight in front of you. A pretty, deep pink bruise begins to blossom on his neck and your heart skips a beat at the realization that you did that to him.

Felix hasn't said anything. Is he upset? You chance a glance at his face and—

Oh. His eyes are closed and a faint sheen of sweat coats his flushed face, which is pulled taught in a mixture of bliss and something like pain. His chest is heaving, breath coming out in quick gasps. You stare at him, the only thought in your mind being: God, he's gorgeous like this.

He blinks rapidly and seems to finally come to. When he finally refocuses his gaze on you, he lets out a shaky exhale that turns into a weak laugh.

“...Good?” he asks.

Good? Good? Your head is spinning. It's not good. Nothing is good. Life is meaningless and everything you know exists on a floating rock spinning in the void and you think you're gonna pass out and never wake up. It's not good. It's fucking crazy. But you just mumble, “It's… showing up, I think…”

He raises an eyebrow. “That right? Let me see then.”

Felix grabs his phone and pulls up the camera, angling it so he has a clear view of his neck. He lets out a soft whistle, bringing his hand up to feel where the hickey is. You watch dumbly as he presses his fingers on it and lets out a shaky sigh. Then he looks at you and grins before throwing you a thumbs-up. “You did great. It's already pretty dark.”

You actually want to kill him. Your brain is melting and he's acting like this is the most normal afternoon of his life. Maybe it is. Does Felix do this type of thing often? The thought makes you shiver.

You throw your hands over your face. “I-I didn't mean for it to be that—like—ugh…”

His smile softens. “Hey, hey, you don't have to be embarrassed. It's…” he searches your face for a second and suddenly reaches over to gently pull your hands away. “It's not that bad. You did really good. Besides, it’s my neck, yeah?” His tone shifts to more of a teasing one, like he’s amused you’re overreacting a little. It just serves to frustrate you more.

You sigh. “Um… I really—it's really okay..?”

He nods. “Yeah, of course it is. It’s just a little mark, nothing serious.” He looks at you thoughtfully for a bit and you feel yourself getting flushed under his gaze. “You know.. you can try it again. If you want. Just to practice. Or for science, or whatever.” He laughs.

What. You’re stunned into silence. Science? You stare at him incredulously and he just grins back before leaning even further forward. This can't be your Felix. This is actually crazy. 

Felix smiles at your dumbfounded expression. “…Come on.” He brings a hand up to your face and pokes at your cheek softly. “Do it again. Try a different spot. Make it darker.”

He's obviously teasing you. So you're flabbergasted when what comes out of your mouth is, “W-Where..?” Where? Literally what are you saying. Like, where is the nearest exit? Where has your own sanity gone? That's what you should be asking.

He shrugs. “Anywhere. The other side?” He points to the unmarked side of his neck. Then he pushes his shirt down slightly, revealing a sliver of his shoulder and collarbone before looking back at you, eyes expectant with a bit of an impish gleam. “Maybe.. here?” he mumbles.

Your head spins. Oh yeah, you're definitely gonna pass out. It's so over. Life and death and the universe… fucking craziness. You're falling. You're dying. Everything is melting. Nothing's real.

Oh wait, you're actually falling, your head plopping down on his shoulder as you let out an embarrassed groan. 

You hear him laughing softly. “Someone's eager—”

You’re a bit confused but then your eyes focus on the place your head is now laying and—Oh god, you’re right where his shoulder and neck meet. Right where he just told you to suck a hickey. Great.

You instantly lift your head up, face burning. “No, I didn't—I wasn't trying to—”

He brushes the hair out of your face. “Hey, it's okay, I'm not forcing you or anything. Are you overwhelmed?” 

“Um, yeah, but— y-yeah. Sorry.” God. How pathetic do you look right now?

“Don't apologize. I was just teasing. It makes sense to be overwhelmed. It's a new experience.” He sits back and laughs but there’s a bit of a nervous waver to it. “You're fine, seriously. Maybe we got a little carried away, huh?”

“Uhh— yeah….”

He gives you an apologetic look. “I'm sorry for being pushy. Let's just... just forget about the whole thing, yeah? Let's play some video games or something.” He clears his throat.

He's moving on but your head is still spinning. This really is the most normal afternoon for him, you think. Because how is he so chill? Your body is still buzzing with nervous energy and you can't just switch off and forget about it, can you?

You can't. “Uh— Uh, wait—...”

“...Yeah?”

You drop your head back down onto his shoulder. “Um… is it bad if I… kinda…”

You trail off and he doesn’t respond for a few seconds. You don’t dare move, waiting for something, anything. When he finally does say something his voice sounds strained. “Kinda what?” he asks quietly.

“Um.” Fuck. “Nevermind.” You go to draw back but Felix quickly places a hand at the back of your head, preventing any movement.

You hear him exhale quietly. “I don't mind, you know,” he whispers. “You can do it. If you... if you want to.” He slowly starts running his fingers through your hair. “If you wanna practice. The more you practice, the more comfortable you'll be with it, right?”

You hum against his shoulder, the justification mulling around in your head. Of course. Of course that's why you want to. For practice. For science.

He continues. “Yeah, do it. Uh, j-just, I mean— if you want. A-As practice. Try to… see how dark you can make it… or… ” For all the talk he was making before, he stutters now, and you can't help but find it a little endearing. Maybe he's actually a little nervous as well.

Fuck it. Who cares. You've lost the plot. You press your mouth against his skin, giving a few open-mouthed kisses before gently sucking at it.

You hear his breathing stutter and he shifts slightly. “Yeah, j-just…” he lets out a shaky sigh and presses his hand a bit more firmly on the back of your head, bringing you closer to him. The angle is still a bit awkward to reach, so without much thinking, you crawl slightly onto his lap.

“Oh,” he mumbles, his body goes tense for a second before relaxing again. He's completely still, like if he moves you’ll pull away, but eventually his fingers start running through your hair again. It isn't a particularly suggestive position, you're sitting back more towards his knees, but suddenly everything feels charged with tension. 

You hear a low, almost imperceptible groan as you continue sucking lightly from the new angle. “You're doing really well,” he mutters encouragingly. “Just a little more… harder. And like, bite a little, remember?”

Right. You comply and bite down a little. Felix lets out a small whine, hand tightening in your hair. “Good… uh, just like that..” he mumbles. “You can try moving a little more, if you want—”

You don't need to hear more, instantly moving your mouth higher up his neck without much thought. His fingers slide down until his hands are completely resting between your shoulder blades, pressing you closer. Shivers run down your spine where he touches and you attach your lips to the side of his Adam's apple.

“A-Ah…” a shaky moan escapes him, taking both of you by surprise. His hands suddenly jump down to grip your waist tightly. Oh. He seems much more sensitive here. You swear you're dizzy. Maybe you're dying. You think you’re fine with that honestly.

You want to bite him. You let your teeth sink into the skin a little. He lets out a shaky half-laugh, half-groan, tilting his head back and pulling you towards him. “Y-You learn quickly.” A deep pink flush runs high on his cheeks, and his breaths are unsteady. You’ve never seen him like this, so undone, and it's making you feel powerful. You want more.

You decide to give in to that and bite down harder, feeling his body jerk. He moans, breathy, and whispers, “Oh. Yeah. Yeah, that feels so good.” One of his hands moves to the back of your neck, fingers gently grasping the base of your hair. His thumb brushes up against your earlobe and for some reason it sets tingles off all down your spine.

…Does it really feel that good? You can't help but wonder. It mostly just felt weird on your arm but you suppose that's different. Different from your. Neck. Oh fuck, now you're thinking about it. His mouth on your neck. His mouth on your neck. You're floating. You're crashing. Everything is cool. Everything is burning. 

Your brain is practically short-circuiting and you start sucking on the same spot before pulling back just enough to bite down and suck at it again, this time a little harder.

His breath stutters and you feel his head tilt to give you more access. There's another small gasp that comes out as a strained “Fuuuck…” when you continue. You think you're actually delirious at this point.

Then, “W-wait..” he says urgently, his chest heaving. His hand that was on your neck slides down to grab your shoulder now.

“That's… good. We should.. stop. I…” he pants heavily.

You pull away instantly. “O-Okay. Yeah. Sorry.” You feel restless, fidgety, more than just from nerves.

“No, you're fine, god. It's me. I'm getting too…” he shakes his head. “You did really good, I…” He presses his hands against his eyes and takes a few deep, slow breaths.

When he drops his hands he seems mostly back to normal. “Um.” He laughs a little. “We, uh… how's it look?”

You stare at his neck and shoulder. Oh, fuck. In truth, it looks fucking insane. Like he got mauled or something. Oh my god. That was you. What came over you?

He raises an eyebrow at your silence. “Guess I gotta see for myself,” he says and places his hands on your waist to lift you up and off of his lap. As if you weigh literally nothing. What the fuck.

With your head still reeling at how he lifted you like you're nothing, you don't really notice him reaching for his phone to see himself until you hear him suck in a breath.

“Wow… I'm gonna get so many comments tomorrow.”

“What?!” you shriek. Oh god. Of course it'll take a few days to fade. You hadn't even thought about that. The light mark on your arm is easy to brush off as nothing but the rosy hues on his neck are unmistakable.

He laughs. “I'm just kidding. I'll have to.. cover it with makeup I guess. Don't worry.”

“You better…” you mumble, embarrassed.

He hums. “Hmm… Well it isn't really fair... What should I do…” He leans in, studying your flushed face. “Wanna match?” he says with a cheeky grin.

“What?? Felix!”

“I'm joking! Jeez…” He pokes your cheek. “Unless all this blushing isn't just from embarrassment and you're actually into this?” 

Your face is positively burning. “Shut up. You're annoying as hell,” you grumble.

He gasps dramatically. “After I gave up my sanctity for you to practice on me? This is how you treat me?”

You can't help but giggle at his dramatics but you quickly steel your expression and glare at him equally as dramatically.

You're really grateful everything seems to be normal on his end. You're trying your best to act the same, but in truth, you feel like a fucking mess. His joking comment about you being into this… No, definitely not. There's no way. It's probably just because it's your first time doing this with anyone, so of course it's going to feel crazy and weird and confusing. Right? Yeah. But still. Even long after the two of you move on, playing video games and hanging out like normal, you can't shake the feeling that something's weird. Something shifted. You don't know what the fuck it is though. You just try not to think about it.

How are you actually supposed to go back to normal after this?

—

a/n: so on a scale of 1 to 10 how painfully obvious is it that i've never given a hickey in my life.

no but um haha any feedback good or bad would be super appreciated!! pls leave a like or reblog if u enjoyed it makes me so happy. tysm for reading <3

part 2

[shypotatoes013-blog]

Can we fucking talk about this?

I may sound really bad when I say this but it pisses me off to no end that we can’t have this game without men crying for a male mc option or trying to erase the MC. Like no??? This game isn’t for you. The creators made it FOR AFAB PEOPLE specifically. We don’t have shit like that.

It’s always inclusivity this, inclusivity that.

There is PLENTY of BL and other games dedicated to people who enjoy that type of content. Go play it, go read it.

I used to like yaoi. I preferred it over hetero at one point but like there’s liking and then there is projecting in places and insisting everyone else get behind it. You just don’t fucking do that??

Is it really SO BAD that AFAB have something for themselves? Do you have to belittle us and erase us so badly that we just have no spaces for ourselves?

And then saying they’d have better chemistry with another man. 😭 Have you heard the secret times? Have you read the stories or the cards? They are absolutely infatuated with the female body (and I know I used female here I’m sorry but that’s what mc is portrayed as in game.)

It’s not a contest. You can like them, headcanon them with another man. You can do whatever because they’re fictional just STOP ERASING WOMEN. We are allowed to exist in media.

I’m sorry for anyone reading this. I can’t articulate this the way I want to. It just makes me so mad that we deal with so much misogynistic bullshit and can’t have anything. I don’t go around trying to assert myself in spaces that weren’t made for me and I can’t understand why this isn’t an understood concept.

Edit: Also in reblogs

I've already expressed that I did not know how to articulate at the time either and my intention is not to make enemies of anyone. I admit that I could have waited to word that better, thanks for the input. It wasn't well received by my very trans friend either, but she has corrected me on the usage of the term AFAB, amongst other things.

However, I do not care that they want or wish for representation. It's the aggressiveness that some of them exude that is off putting. It's not fair I used general and pointed language and I'll take full accountability.

The erasure is completely removing the MC from the equation when she is the central point of the game. It literally revolves around her. And it was said that she lacks chemistry and that the men would have more chemistry with another man.

Opinions are fine, but when you're deadass serious just because you can't stand to see a female with the LI, that's different and THATS what I'm talking about.

I expressed that it's fine in headcanon and fanfiction because it is fiction. I don't have an issue with that, if you'd read that instead of jumping to that conclusion. I don't give a shit that people ship them together or with other men.

I don't care that they even ship themselves, but the actual hate, and in all seriousness, in lads fandom is an actual thing. It is the lack of acknowledgment that they're (the shitheads) still coming into the fandom and demanding a front row seat because it's "not fair!"

The screens I provided aren't mine. It was sent from a friend, but this is not the first instance I have seen of this and regardless of if it was a joke, it sometimes doesn't feel that way. I could have tempered myself, but I am also tired of tempering my rage.

[555rare]

ASTROLOGY OBSERVATIONS PT.14

(Continued from my old account @777rare 🥂)

Teeny tiny 18+ themes here and there kids so scroll past it please, even though I know damn well you won't.

THESE NOTES ARE ONLY A STUDY OF MINE AND HAS/HAS NOT BEEN PROVEN YET, SO IF IT DOES NOT RESONATE WITH YOU, FORGIVE ME AS IT WAS ONLY A STUDY/OBSERVATION OF MINE.

I DO NOT PLAGIARIZE, COPY OR REWORD ANY OF MY FELLOW ASTROLOGY OBSERVERS POSTS AND I DEMAND THE SAME IN RETURN.

.

• There are two kinds of voices for a Pisces Mercury native. Actually no, Pisces Mercury natives have many voices for different occasions like they are good at mimicry or changing their voice. But out of them all, we have 2 original voices. The Siren and the Siren. Yes, I know same word but different connotation.

જ⁀➴ The Siren🧜voice is the way they speak when they are calm and even happy. They have a sweet and soft voice that people often are drawn to as If they are Sirens but on land lol.

જ⁀➴ Then comes the Siren 🚨 voice when they are pissed off as hell hahahah. When they scream or shout while angry, believe me, they sound like sirens. You know the ones in an ambulance and buildings 😭😂.

• Capricorn Moon natives' moms are the type of moms who value finance or money very much. They are very hard to please and these natives find it so hard to impress them or make them proud of them. These natives just wanna hear their mom say 'I'm proud of you' for once at least in their life 😮‍💨🥲.

• I have never met a Capricorn big 3 who wasn't reserved and distant when it came to sharing their feelings with just anyone and crying in front of others. These people go through so much in private and they make it seem like being them is so easy on the outside to others but deep down, nobody can actually be them or take on their problems the way they do 🫣🫡.

• Leo big 3 are so so good at entertaining people. This is FACT. They are literal moods who can grab literally anyone's attention without trying and just like their sign ruler, The Sun, life often seems like it's revolving around them 🥂💃.

I have also never met a single Leo Big 3 who has never been treated like royalty, be it by literally anyone. They often get things their way and people just treat them like an expensive souvenir lol 🤌😂.

They are that one person (esp. Leo rising) who's always spoken about and praised even if all they did was lift up a piece of trash and throw it in the bin 😭🤣.

• My advice to Pisces or 12th house Sun's are just go and chill in a graveyard for a while. Trust me, this is the best medicine for you all because the energies there are actually the purest form possible.

Why? There are only souls there and everything negatively attached to the souls detach in a Graveyard because the body is returning back to its soul mother, making the soul leave the negativity of this world so there are no negative energies in a graveyard. There is only pure energy, the kind of energy that is untouched or unaffected by human presence.

Being a Pisces or 12th house Sun makes you highly sensitive to the energies around you so being in a Graveyard for a while can be very healing for you. You can meditate for a while here because you will truly connect with the divine without blockages here.

As a 12th house Sun (VEDIC CHART), I once visited a Graveyard in 2023 (That was the first time I ever visited one😅) and I felt so at peace and ease lol. I didn't wanna leave the place at all and I felt like I was myself detached from the energies of the world 🙂‍↕️.

.

.

• Taurus or 2nd house Saturn natives have a problem with feeling valued by others in their life🫠. There's always this doubt that creeps in or this underlying insecurity where they think they aren't good enough or they have to try harder to keep others in their life.

There is this insecurity that people can replace them easily with someone else. These natives fear being looked down upon and they just want someone to appreciate how much effort they put into their work 😮‍💨🥺.

These natives love being appreciated and recognized when it comes to their talents and how much value they add to others' lives. They are truly a gift to have in ones life because once they have you, they will always invest energy in your connection without a doubt unless you degrade them or insult their hard work and talents.

They are very talented indeed with an ability to never give up no matter how hard situations get for them. They just wanna be told now and then that they are valuable and appreciated 🫂🫤.

• Mars in the 12th house or Pisces go through so many hidden battles 🫡😭. They are very private about their problems and they usually choose to suffer in silence and handle it all alone because they don't find it helpful to share their problems with others as others just give them advices.

One of my friend has this and she is very very private about her pain and her problems, but since I'm someone who she trusts, she shares her problem with me as I don't give her advice, I give her comfort without words.

The same goes for all Mars in 12th house and/or Pisces because they want comfort, not words coming out of someone's mouth and since they do not get it, they choose to deal with it on their own 😶😕.

• I have noticed fixed Mars signs (Taurus, Scorpio, Leo, Aquarius) are actually possessive and so protective of the ones they loveee ayee💃🌹. They won't just stand there and see their loved ones going through shit or being treated like shit by someone, they will literally stand up for them or become their protective shield 😤🛡️.

They also find it hard to digest the fact that there are people out there who share their romantic partner with someone else, like these natives just cannot do that 🙂‍↔️. They love a committed partner who is only theirs to love and who loves only them in the relationship. They absolutely HATE 3rd party involvement🫸.

Although, Aquarius Mars natives are very kinky in bed and are open-minded and experimentative, they choose a partner who is loyal in love 💪💖. That's the difference, they like being playful in bed but they are serious in love and prioritize loyalty.

Not to forget fixed sign Mars natives are very much fixed in their approach to sex and intimacy as well. They find it hard to be flexible or to allow absolutely anything in the bedroom, that is if you don't have heavy Pisces or Virgo placements 🥂👍.

Thankyou for reading through this today! 😊✨ I hope my sweet cherries, all had as much as fun reading this as I had making it! Love you all so much and I can't wait to see you in the next one!! 🌝

A Tarot Pac reading is coming soon by the way my cherries! Stay tuned! 💃💝

[clockwayswrites]

The Haunting of Danny Fenton

Chapter 5, Part 1

Masterpost (pls no editing. am still sick. *cough cough*)

Over the nexts few weeks, the team worked tirelessly. They played with the laws of science and magic and things unknown to try and bring Wally back. With every adjustment to the machine, Wally’s signal got stronger.

Danny got sicker.

His spirits stayed strong. Danny was clearly driven by getting Wally back, even at the expense of himself. Dick did what he could to help. He brought the team food, lured Danny away to rest, and carried him to bed when he fell asleep in the lab, yet again. It was hard to watch Danny destroy himself, but it wasn’t something that Dick could stop. Selfishly, he also didn’t want to; he needed Wally back.

That day, though, felt like a turning point. That day, Danny suggested himself that he take a break instead of having to be gently bullied into taking one.

“Drink this,” Dick ordered as he passed Danny a bottle of electrolyte drink.

Danny eyed the purple concoction dubiously, but eventually broke the seal and took a sip. “That’s nasty.”

“Yeah, but it’s good for you,” Dick said. He ran his fingers through Danny’s hair, knowing how much the other liked that. “Are you up to eating something?”

“Yeah, I’m fine,” Danny said with a dismissive little wave.

Wally huffed. “You are not fine!”

“Wally,” Danny sighed.

“Don’t Wally me!” Wally snapped back. “You aren’t fine! We can all see that you’re not fine!”

“Any what do you want me to do about it?! This is how we get you back!” Danny motioned, the purple drink splashing. He cussed softly and wiped at his hand with his the sleeve of the flannel shirt he wore (borrowed from Wally’s closet). When he continued, he sounded so defeated. “This is how we get you back. I wanted you back before, sure, but how I know you, Wally. I know kind and funny and caring you are. I know how much you mean to everyone. We have to get you back.”

“It’s hurting you,” Wally pleaded.

“Yeah,” Danny said with a worrying shrug. “But lots of things do. I’m broken, Walls, I have been since the first time I died when I was fourteen. And sure, at the time I could ignore most of it. I had the power of youth on my side and the drive of being a teen hero. Y’all know how it is. But I’m not a teen anymore. And I’ve died again. And I guess a third time now too.

“Going to the grocery story hurts me. Stressful classes hurt me. My stupid closet of a room hurts me! At least with this I’m doing something good. I get it. I know that this might make everything worse long term. I know that I’m risking myself, but it’s a risk I’m willing to take to get you back, okay? Can’t you just respect that? That this is my choice?”

Wally slumped into himself, rubbing at his own face. “Dick, give Danny a kiss on the forehead for me, okay?”

“Dick’s not going to—” Danny started and then promptly shut up when Dick leaned over and pressed a long, soft kiss to Danny’s temple. “Oh.”

“I’m pretty sure that I know if my boyfriend is willing to kiss the cute guy I’m crushing on,” Wally said with that smug little note to his voice that Dick was so fond of.

Danny startled. “Wait, boyfriend? Crushing on? What?”

“I think you’re cute and sweet and pretty damn wonderful, even if you’re a reckless idiot,” Wally said. He crouched down so that he could meed Danny’s eyes. “But reckless idiot is a little my type.”

“Hey!” Dick protested with a laugh.

Wally just shot him an innocent smile before he focused back on Danny. “Dick and I started date in an open relationship. We were young, he was still figuring things out and exploring. It worked. So, once I’m back and you’re feeling alright, I’d like to take you out on a date. If you want to date me, I mean.”

“Us,” Dick added. “If you’d want to date us.”

“Us?” Wally repeated hopefully.

“Us. I think that you’re pretty amazing too, Danny. And…” Dick paused for a moment as he thought of how to phrase what he was feeling. “Well, at this point of where Wally and I are, I think that I’d much rather add someone to our relationship, rather than have a separate one going on. If you’re okay with it, I’d like to try an us.”

“I, um, that’s—” Danny stopped to clear his throat. His face was flushed an adorable pink. (Dick always did like blushers.) “You two know how to make a guy feel special, don’t you? I, yeah, I’d like to try. But also I get it if once Wally’s back you two change your mind or something, like there will be no hard feel—”

Dick leaned in and shut Danny up with a kiss. His lips tasted of purple and ozone.

“Hey! No fair!” Wally whined. “I found him first, I should have gotten to kiss him first!”

The kiss dissolved into giggles and Dick cheerfully flicked Wally off as Danny buried his face against Dick’s neck. “Your kisses are toxic.”

“My—no! Okay, I mean, not me kisses specifically! Danny, don’t listen to him. As soon as I won’t cause you a seizure anymore, I’ll show you what real kissing is like,” Wally pleaded.

Danny just continued to laugh. He was leaning heavily into Dick now, who leaned back against the arm of the couch and just let Danny drape over him.

“It’s okay, Wally,” Dick said. “I know you’re a good kisser. You’re also very good at—”

“Okay! Thank you Dick!” Wally interrupted. He was still a little staticy in appearance, but Dick could tell that Wally was blushing. (Dick really did love blushers.) “We’ll save that sort of talk for after a few dates, okay?”

“Sure, if you want. I think it’s a good selling point though,” Dick said innocently.

Wally rolled his eyes and and flopped down on the couch. Parts of him were going through the couch, and he had to stay carefully away from Danny, but it was so good to see Wally sitting there in the living room relaxed and nearly solid. It gave Dick hope, and hope was a dangerously wonderful thing.

Dick played with the short hair at the base of Danny’s scalp. “So, no food right now?”

“You’re the one who laid down,” Danny pointed out through a yawn.

Dick gave a noncommittal hum. “How about I see if the others want to order in and we can all eat when it shows up. Maybe Indian?”

“Indian is good,” Danny agreed. He sounded half asleep already. “Get me… buttered chicken and naan. Lots of naan.”

“We’ll have naan for days,” Dick assured him. He kept up the light petting until Danny went lax with sleep.

[hamsandwich4736251]

Similar note but it took me 2 years to not flinch whenever someone made a suicide joke

Yeah they may be joking, but who’s gonna tell my brain that? When i missed the warnings and someone close to me almost killed themselves, not joking, not playing it off, full intent, why would my brain ever take it as a joke again?

I can't do playful banter roasting. It's just not in my muscle memory. It's like the difference between show wrestling and being used to physically fighting in life and death situations. Why would you bother kicking someone in any way that doesn't aim to cause permanent injury? What the hell is play-fighting for fun?

Oh yeah ha-ha my silly brain makes me forget things sometimes. Do you think your mother was disappointed that time when you tried to kill yourself and failed?

[ramp-it-up]

FMK

Summary: Bucky takes you for a ride, extending the game you introduced him to.

Word count: 2.8 K

Pairing: Thunderbolts* Bucky Barnes x Reader

A/N: Even though I've done Congressman Bucky, I feel like this is my first Thunderbolts* Bucky Barnes. I think I love him. Give me all the feedback, good, bad, or ugly! Reblog, comment, and like.

Warnings: 18+ Only, Minors DNI. Read at your own risk. All mistakes my own. Smut! Thunderbolts* Bucky, Bucky on his bike (Y'all know that's a warning), man out of time, Bucky and his staring problem, picnic, semi-public sex, sloppy oral (m receiving) grinding, woman on top, raw p in v, praise kink, SIZE KINK, Doll as a nickname. This is basically porn with plot.

I do not have a taglist. Please follow @rampitupandread and turn on notifications to learn when I post! 😘

I Do NOT Consent to my work being reposted, translated or presented on any other blog or site other than by myself.

------

Bucky stood in front of the mirror, tugging at the collar of his worn leather jacket for the third time. But it wasn’t the fabric bothering him; it was the twitch in his fingers.

Combat never rattled him like this.

Underneath the black leather and tousled hair, beneath the facade of calm and control, was a man barely holding it together. He was chaos underneath the restraint on the outside.

Because this wasn’t just any day.

He’d been planning this for weeks. Quietly tucking away ideas and perfect details. Not to impress you, not exactly. But because you deserved perfect.

And because for the first time in his life, he wanted to be perfect. For someone.

For you.

Two months. That’s all it took. Two months since he asked you out, and you’d already rewired him. Threaded yourself through his bloodstream. Burned through walls he didn’t even know he’d built.

You saw past the metal, past the missions, past the wreckage of who he used to be. When he was with you, the blood stopped screaming in his ears. You weren’t just his safe place. You were his secret.

The one thing he didn’t report back to Valentina, or anyone.

Even though some of the first words out of your mouth to him were, “.... fuck... me?” you were surprisingly sweet. And good.

He didn’t want to get you dirty.

But lately, when you kissed him, it wasn’t sweet anymore.

It was desperate.

Your sweet mouth had turned to molten honey. Your hands held on to him like you were afraid he’d vanish, the kind of touches that said, I need you. The kind that made him ache to give in.

And every time, he restrained himself. You were worth waiting for. But God, he was unraveling. One touch, one look from you, and he was on fire.

He grabbed the helmet he bought for you, ran a hand through his hair, and said to himself, “You’ve got this, Barnes.”

Then he tried, and failed, to ignore how your needy little sounds haunted him every time he closed his eyes.

The night before was just supposed to be an innocent movie night. But you ended up in his lap, grinding that hot little pussy on his thigh, your jeans soaked through while he sat there hard as a rock, hands clenched around your thighs, jaw tight to keep from begging for mercy. He’d almost snapped.

Almost.

But you deserved more than almost. And today, he was going to take you somewhere no one else could find you. Feed you, hold you, maybe fuck you until you forgot your own name.

—

The low, thunderous purr of his bike echoed down your street, and your pulse picked up before you even saw him. The sound of Bucky on his bike always sent a rush straight between your thighs.

You’d barely made it to the door before he was pulling up, black leather, sinful jeans, and sunglasses hiding those sky-blue eyes made you want to get undressed before a word left your mouth.

You first saw him on that bike two months ago. He pulled up to your neighborhood gas station while you were filling up. You lived quite a ways from the city, and you imagined that he had ridden until he ran out of gas.

You’d imagined quite a few things about Bucky Barnes, as hot as he was, but you never thought you’d actually be in the same space as him. 

You tried not to stare. But when you looked up, he was staring at you. His eyes were locked on you, steady and unblinking. And it wasn’t a passing glance. It was full on distracted, intense staring.

Truth was, Bucky was already gone for you. You just didn’t know it yet.

You swallowed your nervousness and decided to shoot your shot. You tilted your head playfully. 

“Should I be worried? You look like you’re trying to decide whether to fuck, marry, or kill me.”

It short-circuited him. He blinked and stammered as his cheeks flushed.

“Uh… definitely not kill,” he managed, voice rough.

“Maybe marry… one day.”

He’d looked away like he’d said too much. 

You grinned. “So that leaves fuck.”

His throat bobbed.

“Yeah. Probably that too. But I’m gonna need to work for it.”

You’d liked that answer. Liked it too much. You laughed, shaking your head.

“Glad to hear it.”

Bucky looked cool on the surface, but inside he was raw as hell. He was acutely aware of how little he really knew, how much he wanted to catch up, to be able to be with you in every sense. 

It was insane, he just met you, but inside, he thought: I want you to fuck me, marry me, and kill me with your love. He wondered if you would agree to that, one day.

He wondered if you knew who you were talking to.

Bucky opened his mouth like he wanted to say more but settled for a shy smile instead. 

Then, lowering his voice just enough, he murmured, “You know who I am, right?”

You shrugged, not scared of him. “Who doesn’t?”

His smile softened.  

“Still. Thanks for talking to the guy who stared at you for a full minute like a dumbass at a Shell station.”

You leaned against your car, sipping your coffee. 

“Well, dumbass or not... I like the view.”

Bucky chuckled, summoned pre-war James Barnes, then pulled out his phone. 

“Can I have your number, Doll?”

You grinned and took another sip, his sudden panty-dropping look doing something to you.

“Aren’t you a super hero or something with unlimited resources?”

Bucky’s eyes scanned your form, then back up to your face.

“You know what…?”

He narrowed his eyes at you, went around your car and typed in your license plate. Within a minute, his phone buzzed and then turned it to you to show your contact information on his screen.

“Impressive.”

��Yeah. Guess I don’t need to kill or marry you to get your number.”

You raised an eyebrow.

“Wait. What about fuck? You just left that one out.”

Bucky blinked.

“Uh... yeah. Forgot that one.”

No he didn't. Not by a longshot.

You grinned and got into your car, rolling down the window before you drove off.

“If you use that number, maybe I’ll remind you of it one day.”

—--

After a week of texting, and two months of dating, along with a night of will he? or won’t he?, Bucky showed up at your front door. The question of if last night affected him was suddenly answered. 

Bucky Barnes was your wet dream. The actual wet dream you had last night after he pulled away yet again. And now, he was leaning against his bike like he owned the world and all your future orgasms.

“Hey, Doll,” he rumbled, voice deep and sexy.

Your smile grew. 

“Hey yourself. What’s the occasion?”

He stepped close, like he couldn’t not touch you.

“Thought I’d steal you for a bit. Got a spot. No one around. Pretty view.” 

He lifted a saddlebag.

“Packed us a picnic.”

Your brow rose.

“A picnic? A ride on your bike? You trying to kill me?”

He gave you that rare laugh that he told you only you could pull from him. 

“No, ma’am. Got you a helmet. You’re safe with me.”

The look he gave you made you think otherwise. 

“I just thought maybe we could use some sunshine, some food, and some time alone.”

The way he said that last word nearly made your knees buckle.

You swallowed.

“I’d like that a lot.”

Bucky’s smile turned soft, but the heat behind his eyes said otherwise. Then he pulled out the helmet. 

“C’mon, sweetheart,” he said, stepping close enough to buckle it for you himself. 

“Let me take you somewhere I don’t gotta share you with the rest of the world.”

—

You clung to Bucky like you'd been riding with him for years, your thighs pressed flush against his hips, your chest pressed to his back. Every bump in the road made your clit pulse. Every lean into a curve made you press tighter, grinding down just enough to feel it where you needed it.

The growl of the bike between your legs had you aching and needy. He wasn’t even touching you, but you were already soaked. When he finally turned off-road into a secluded clearing overlooking a still lake, you were seconds from begging.

The engine cut. Silence fell. He turned to you, voice husky.

“Still with me?”

You nodded, breathless.

“Definitely.”

He helped you off the bike, hands dragging a little longer over your hips. You felt the heat in his touch, the restraint in his muscles. Then he grabbed the basket and blanket, heading toward the overlook.

“Promise it’s worth it,” he said over his shoulder, but his eyes were already locked on you, not the view.

You sat close. Too close. His thigh against yours. His fingers brushing yours as he handed over a drink. His knuckles grazed your knee. Every contact was a tease and a promise.

“This really is perfect,” you murmured. “You’ve been holding out on me.”

“Was saving it for you.”

Your heart flipped. The air thickened. 

“So what now? You charm me with snacks and sunlight? Then kill me?”

“Why do you keep going with that option?” he asked with another low laugh.

His eyes dropped  to your lips, then back up to your eyes.

“What about the other two?”

You had thoroughly explained the game to Bucky using him, Walker, and Bob, and Bucky hadn’t seemed to like those examples. You’d said Fuck Walker, Marry Bob and kill Bucky, just so you could say you defeated the Winter Soldier. You were teasing, but Bucky hadn’t thought it was funny.

Especially the part about Walker. You had to kiss him for a half hour before he forgave you.

But now you smiled at him angelically.

“You wanna marry me, Bucky?”

Bucky got serious. 

“Yeah, but that’s beside the point.”

He reached for you and pulled you onto his lap and kissed you as your mouth dropped open in surprise. He didn’t let you dwell on his statement for long.

“Let’s stop pretendin’ we haven’t been thinkin’ the same damn thing for weeks, Doll.”

And what’s that?” you whispered, already knowing.

His hand came up to trace your jaw and draw you even closer.

“You. Me.” 

His lips brushed your throat. 

“The way you sound when I touch you…” 

A kiss, lower now. 

“...the way you taste when I get my tongue in your mouth...” 

Another kiss, higher. 

“...and the way you ride my thigh like you’re tryin’ to make me lose my fuckin’ mind.”

You whimpered and rolled your hips instinctively against the solid ridge under you. He felt massive.

“Bucky…” 

The way you said his name broke him.

When he laid back, you climbed over him, his cock thick and hard beneath his jeans, throbbing under you. You ground against it, chasing friction, and Bucky growled.

“Fuck,” he muttered. “You feel that, Doll? That’s what you do to me.”

His hands found your waist, sliding under your shirt. When he cupped your breasts, thumbs brushing your nipples, you arched into him with a broken gasp.

“All those nights,” he rasped, “I went home and fucked my fist thinking about the way you sound.”

You whimpered. 

“I did worse.”

He stopped moving, your words were getting him close and he didn’t want to cum in his pants like a schoolboy.

“I touched myself the second the door closed. Couldn’t wait. I was dripping for you, Bucky.”

He groaned like it hurt. “Jesus, Doll.

Your fingers shook as you freed him, thick and leaking, the head flushed. You lowered your head, kissed the thick, hot tip, and licked slowly up his shaft.

He cursed, hand flying to your hair.

“Fuck. You're gonna kill me.”

You took him deeper, sucked harder and watched him lose composure with every flick of your tongue.

Bucky watched you with hooded eyes.

“Been a long time, Doll. ‘M sensitive. If you dont want- fuckkkk!”

When you gagged just a little, he growled and came hard, jerking in your mouth, spilling super soldier cum on your tongue, your lips, and down your chin.

His body trembled beneath you and his chest heaved. He looked up at you, eyes glassy.

“Oh, you’re so getting fucked.”

He pulled you up, wiped your chin, and kissed you deeply, tasting himself on your tongue. Then he slid his hand into your leggings and cupped your soaked pussy. 

“You’re fuckin’ drenched, Doll,” he rasped. “Is this all for me?”

“Yes, Bucky,” you gasped. “Please.”

His fingers played, skating in your warm, slick folds. Bucky groaned, his cock waking up again. He looked down at you and chuckled. 

“Apparently, there’s no down time with you. You’re gonna be the death of me, Doll.”

You got each other naked, not rushing now. 

“You’re so beautiful,” you whispered.

He flushed, but his hands found your waist again.

Golden hour spilled across the clearing as he lay back and pulled you over him.

And when you started to move, he murmured, “Ride me, sweetheart. Don’t hold back.”

You started writhing softly, teasing your slick folds over the hard line of him, letting your arousal coat him as your hips rolled. It wasn't exactly where he wanted to be, which was buried deep inside you, but just feeling your wet pussy lips slide over his cock caused Bucky’s breath to leave him. His hands gripped your waist like he needed something to anchor him, like he might float away if he didn’t hold you tight.

Bucky was so close, so soon. He could so easily position you to slide his hot cock right on into that juicy nirvana that was your cunt and which was leaking deliciously all over him. 

“Doll,” he warned, voice hoarse, barely tethered. “You keep that up, I’m gonna lose it.”

You smirked down at him and leaned in to whisper against his mouth, “That’s the point.”

Then you shifted, one slow, aching glide down, taking him inside inch by thick inch. His jaw locked. His eyes rolled back. And then they snapped open to watch you, stunned.

“Fuck me,” he gasped, hands sliding to your hips, desperate now. 

“You feel…Christ…you feel like heaven.”

You rocked your hips, just enough to test the stretch, which was glorious, and Bucky groaned, head dropping back as his metal hand flexed, then clutched your hip with bruising pressure. The veins in his neck stood out. His thighs trembled under you.

He was gorgeous.

You moved slowly at first, watching him come undone beneath you, every stuttered breath, every low, broken sound, your reward. His cock throbbed inside you, thick and heavy, and the friction was maddening. You braced your hands on his chest and rode him, grinding down until your clit brushed the coarse hair at the base of him, until the pressure coiled sharp and tight in your belly.

“Look at me,” he rasped, and when you met his eyes, wild and so blue and so wrecked, something inside you shattered.

Because it wasn’t just lust. It was everything. Want and need and wonder mixed with a little desperation. 

And something like love.

His voice dropped to a whisper, “Been dreamin’ about this. Every night. You on top of me, takin’ what you want. Drippin’ all over me.”

You whimpered, angling your hips to take him deeper, and when he felt it, he grunted like he’d been punched in the gut.

“Just like that, baby. That’s it.”

The praise made you clench around him. You moved faster, chasing it, and Bucky met your rhythm, fucking up into you, hard and deep. The slap of skin on skin echoed in the quiet clearing and neither of you cared if anyone heard.

Your orgasm hit fast and hard, curling your spine as your cunt fluttered around him, and Bucky cursed, holding you through it, grounding you with one hand on the small of your back and the other tangled in your hair as he sat up, mouth crashing to yours in a bruising kiss.

“Mine,” he growled against your lips. “You hear me, Doll? Mine.”

Then he flipped you, laying you gently on the blanket as he drove into you again with slow, brutal thrusts, dragging every ounce of pleasure from your oversensitive body.

You were still panting when he buried his face in your neck, groaning as he pulsed inside you. His release was fierce and deep, hips grinding into yours like he didn’t want to leave your body, like he wanted to stay buried in you forever.

After a long moment, Bucky kissed your temple.

“Well, sweetheart,” he rasped, “you killed me.”

You laughed, breathless. “You fucked me.”

He looked up at you, utterly ruined, utterly yours.

“There’s only one thing left, Doll.”

His smile blinded you as your heart leapt.

---

Let me know how you feel! :)

[gf2bellamy]

hello!! i admire your writing so much and was wondering if i could make a request? where bau!reader is framed or becomes a suspect for the case they are working and spencer defends her. i think reader would find it so hot and spencer’s just stubbornly dumbfounded by the police officers’ terrible handling of the case by accusing a federal agent. thank you so much for your service 🫶

arrested — spencer reid

pairing: spencer reid x fem!reader ( no use of y/n ) content warnings: reader is arrested , mention of reader being cuffed , mean police officer , a/n: hi hi !! such a great idea <3 hope you like this ! <3

"I didn’t do it. How many times do I have to repeat myself?" Your voice was trembling.

Two hours. Two long, agonizing hours of the same question, the same accusations, the same disbelieving stares. Your eyes burned, partly from fatigue, partly from the sting of frustrated tears you refused to let fall.

You had been working this case for days, running on caffeine and sheer willpower alongside the team. All you had wanted was a moment of rest. A quick nap in your hotel room before diving back in.

But the universe had other plans.

Instead of waking up refreshed, you’d been jolted awake by pounding on your door, handcuffs slapped around your wrists before you could even process what was happening.

And now here you were.

In an interrogation room. In your pajamas.

The officer across from you, a bald, broad-shouldered man with a permanent scowl, leaned forward, his knuckles pressing into the table. "You expect me to believe you just happened to be at the scene right before the victim disappeared?"

You bit the inside of your cheek. "I was sleeping. Check the hotel cameras."

He smirked, as if your answer amused him. "Convenient how they malfunctioned last night, huh?"

Your fingers curled into fists under the table. This was a game to him. Ask the same question in different ways, wear you down until you slipped up. But you had nothing to hide.

The door creaked open, and another officer leaned in, murmuring something to your interrogator. The man’s jaw tightened before he pushed back from the table with a grunt.

"We’re not done," he warned, jabbing a finger in your direction before stepping out.

The second the door clicked shut, your shoulders slumped. You let your head fall forward , squeezing your eyes shut. The room was freezing. You rubbed your arms through the thin fabric of your long-sleeved pajama top, but the fuzzy pants you’d thought would be cozy did little against the chill.

God, you missed your hotel bed. The warmth of the blankets and the heater. More than that, you missed Spencer.

Just a couple of days ago, you had been right next to him on the jet, suppressing a grin when he chose the seat beside you despite the rows of empty chairs. The two of you had shared an iPad, scrolling through case files, his curls brushing against your cheek as he leaned in to point something out. You missed the warmth of his shoulder pressed against yours, the way his voice softened when he explained some obscure fact.

Now, instead of his quiet ramblings, all you had was the relentless sound of the interrogation room’s broken light.

You sighed, rubbing your temples.

This was ridiculous.

You were an FBI agent. You’d been working this case for days. Tracking leads, analyzing evidence, losing sleep alongside the rest of the team.

How could anyone seriously believe you’d be involved in the very crime you were trying to solve?

You clenched your jaw. Hotch better be out there. If anyone could bulldoze through bureaucratic nonsense, it was him. You could practically picture him now. Stone-faced, arms crossed, deploying his prosecutor’s tone against whatever half-baked theory these cops had cooked up.

But until then, you were alone. Shivering. Exhausted.

And so done with this night.

You pressed your lips together, teeth sinking into the soft flesh to keep the tears at bay. Don’t cry. Don’t give them the satisfaction. But exhaustion and frustration clawed at your throat, and just as the first traitorous tear threatened to spill—

The door slammed open.

Not the careful click of a hesitant officer. Not the bored push of routine procedure. This was a sharp, violent sound—metal cracking against the wall like a gunshot.

And there he was.

Spencer Reid, usually all gentle hands and quiet steps, stood rigid in the doorway, his chest rising too fast. His eyes locked onto you before scanning the room like he was memorizing every detail for later dissection.

“Spencer.” His name left your lips in a breath, half-relief, half-disbelief.

He was kneeling in front of you before you could blink, one hand hovering just above your knee like he wanted to touch you but wasn’t sure if you were hurt. “Are you alright?” His eyes darting over your face, your cuffed wrist, the way your shoulders hunched inward.

You opened your mouth to answer, but the bald officer chose that moment to stride back in, arms crossed, his smirk already twisting your stomach into knots.

Spencer didn’t even glance at him.

Instead, his fingers moved to the buttons of his cardigan, shrugging it off before draping it over your shoulders. His hands lingered for a second, adjusting the fabric with care, tucking your hair free so it fell loose around the collar.

You wanted to lean into him. To bury your face in his shoulder and let him shield you from the officer's glare. But the cuff around your wrist kept you in place. A harsh reminder of where you were.

“Thank you,” you mumbled, fingers curling into the cardigan’s sleeves.

Spencer wasn’t saying much. You weren’t sure why, until he turned his head toward the bald officer.

And then he exploded.

“You arrested her on nothing.” His voice was sharp.The officer opened his mouth, but Spencer continued immediately. His hand still on your shoulder, thumb brushing absent, soothing circles against the fabric. “No evidence. No witnesses. No justification beyond a hunch dressed up as police work.”

The officer bristled. “We had probable cause—”

“You had nothing.” Spencer’s voice cracked like a whip, sharp enough that the man flinched. “She’s an FBI agent. She’s spent the last 72 hours working this case with us, and you—what? Decided to skip due process because it was convenient?”

A stutter fractured his words, anger tangling his usually precise speech. “Th-this isn’t procedure. This is laziness.”

The bald officer stared back, mouth half-open like he wanted to argue but couldn’t find a foothold in the wreckage of Spencer’s logic. And as terrible as the situation was—yes, thank you, being dragged out of bed at 3 AM and cuffed to a table was definitely a personal low—you couldn’t tear your eyes away from him.

Spencer’s chest rose and fell too fast, his curls in disarray (more than usual, which was saying something). His jaw was set, his eyes burning with something fierce and unyielding, and—

Oh.

Oh no.

Because the only coherent thought your sleep-deprived, adrenaline-jittery brain could muster was: Spencer Reid is terribly attractive right now.

You knew it was wrong. Knew you should be focusing on the fact that you were still handcuffed to a table, but the way he stood there, all righteous fury and trembling intensity, made your stomach swoop in a way that had nothing to do with fear.

“Uncuff her. Now.”

Yep. There it was again. That voice—usually soft, bookish, all rapid-fire facts and hesitant smiles—had gone dark, and God, it shouldn’t have been as compelling as it was.

The officer hesitated, and Spencer snapped.

“Section 1983 of the Civil Rights Act prohibits false arrest under color of law. Miranda v. Arizona requires probable cause beyond circumstantial conjecture, which, given the lack of physical evidence or witness testimony, you clearly don’t have—”

He was rambling now, a torrent of legal precedent and biting sarcasm, and you should have been paying attention. Should have been cataloging every flaw in the officer’s case.

Instead, you were too busy thinking, I’m in trouble.

It wasn’t helping that Spencer hadn’t stopped touching you—his hand still on your shoulder, fingers now brushing the sensitive dip near your neck.

“Okay, okay!” The officer finally snapped, palms raised in surrender as Spencer’s rapid-fire legal citations chipped away at his resolve. Fumbling with the keys, he unlocked the cuff.

You winced, rubbing your wrist where the metal had bitten into skin. “Ouch.”

Spencer tracked the man’s retreat with a glare, waiting until the door clicked shut before whirling back to you.

But you were already on your feet, crashing into him before he could speak.

“Thank you, thank you, thank you—” The words tumbled into the curve of his neck, your arms locked around his waist. A tremor ran through you, violent enough that your teeth nearly chattered—had you been shaking this whole time?

Spencer’s breath hitched. Then his hands were on your back, sweeping slow, firm circles over the fabric of his borrowed cardigan. “I’m so sorry I didn’t get here earlier. They wouldn’t let me in, and I’m pretty sure they only caved because I cited Johnson v. Louisiana 1998, but I should’ve—”

“Don’t be sorry.” You muffled the words against his collarbone, clinging tighter. His sweater smelled like cheap station coffee and the faint trace of his shampoo.

His rambling stuttered to a stop. For a heartbeat, he just held you, his cheek resting against the side of your head. Then, softer: “…Are you hurt?”

Yes. No. Mostly just distracted by how unfairly hot you look when you're angry. You bit your lip to stop the completely inappropriate thought from slipping out.

Instead of answering, you clung to him tighter, your fingers pressing crescent moons into his back. "Thank you, Spencer. Again. Seriously." 

The words brushed against his neck, your lips accidentally grazing skin as you spoke. Through the fog of exhaustion, you almost missed the way his breath hitched - almost.

Oh. Interesting.

When you pulled back, his smile was soft but his ears were pink. Double interesting. 

(Maybe you filed this interesting sight away for later, like the way his curls were rebelliously mussed or how his sleeves were rolled up to reveal forearms that had no business being that defined on a man who called crossword puzzles ‘thrilling.’)

His hands stayed at your waist. Then he noticed the lingering tremors in your shoulders.

Without a word, his fingers moved to the front of the cardigan, buttoning it for you. Each slow click of a button felt strangely intimate. His knuckles brushing your stomach.

"You're freezing," he muttered, and you felt his fingers fumble with the cardigan buttons. His usual dexterity abandoned him; the third button took three tries.

You bit your lip. God, even his knuckles were attractive. This was absurd. You’d just been falsely arrested, and yet here you were, mentally composing sonnets about the way his eyelashes cast shadows in the light.

Spencer tilted his head. "You okay?"

No. You’ve ruined me.

"Peachy," you lied, letting him lead you out. His hand warm around yours, your traitorous heart doing somersaults.

[golyadkin]

you'll get the urge as an artist or a writer to say out loud the things you're worried about "the proportions are off" "kind of out of character" "i'm not good at summaries" "didn't get as much detail as i wanted" "i made a mistake and here's how" and that's the self-conscious part of your brain telling you "it's bad and if you don't tell them you know it's bad then they'll think you're stupid" but you've got to ignore that little voice and pretend you think it's good or else that little voice is going to ruin your life

[icewindandboringhorror]

(also feel free in the tags to clarify Why you made the choice you made!! :0c)

[betaboks]

Vince pinned (to make things easy to look for)

HI, I'm Vicente ! 20+ he/him lesbian

art tag | writing tag | talking tag | twitter | ao3 | strawpage | Writing requests are welcome, askbox is open

Currently fixated on: Hashihime and One Piece (Vinsibs focus)

[kaleidoscopepieces]

Jack of all trading a ton of new arts and crafts was my New Year's resolution last year. I tried, in no particular order:

-Crochet

-Watercolor

-Sewing, just to the extent of mending rips in work shirts

-Punch needle

-Diamond paintings

-and I think one or two others that I can't recall

But, it was fun. I found myself not caring if the craft was good or if the art was perfect (hell, the watercolor paints were jewel tones & I attempted to paint a landscape).

Do more things shittily. The worst that'll happen is you'll get better.

i love having the hubris to go 'sure i'll try that, how hard can it be' about every creative skill under the sun. jack of all trades master of shit fuck but who says you have to be a master??? maybe i want to sew a mediocre plushie and code a janky mod and write a bland song. im having fun. im in my lane. im learning and im thriving.

[kwadlayns]

talk to me in french, talk to me in spanish 🍒