#How to Remove Toxic Links

[webtechify]

Toxic links can have a severe impact on your website's SEO. They can lead to penalties, decreased visibility, and tarnished reputation. Understand the detrimental effects of toxic links and take proactive steps to mitigate their influence on your website's search engine optimization.

[cherrybr4t]

what she wants, she gets - seungcheol (+18, mdni)

WARNINGS: kind of a toxic rs, smut, tit playing, tit slapping, unprotected sex, choking, daddy!cheol, oral (f rec), reader may not be the most sensible, dom!cheol, sub!reader (f), they r so insane for each other! ceo!cheol

<3 not comfy don’t read! but…HAPPY 400! THANK YOU SO MUCH!! hope u guys enjoy this! muah 💋

“swear to god baby, open the god damn door, please!” seungcheol feels his hands burn, from the incessant knocking and pounding of your door.

you hear every grunt and curse clearly—standing right behind the door, clad in your pink robe, glass of wine balancing dangerously between your fingertips.

“i know you’re standing right behind the door, let me in,” seungcheol runs his hand across his locks, frustration lacing every word. “you’re gonna regret this baby.”

“oh, that’s rich coming from you cheol, i’m the one that’s pissed at you right now—surely i won’t be regretting anything.” you finally decide to bite back.

“you being pissed at me doesn’t warrant you to fucking block your own fucking boyfriend, and what the fuck were you doing on mingyu’s story?” another bang across your poor door.

thank god seungcheol had arranged for only top quality products to be furnished throughout this apartment he’d gifted you a year ago.

“yeah well—you can go and cry about it to your other bitches, i’m sure someone would love to listen to you and offer you some comfort” you faked cooed—you were not going to let this one slide.

“baby—what the fuck are you talking about? you know i don’t even bat an eye at anyone else…everyone fuckin’ knows how i’m fucking obsessed with you, i— you know it too baby!” you hear how his voice starts to strain, and you know he’s right.

ever since you both were linked, it was like an otherworldly connection that only you and him could comprehend.

soulmates—if you must. equally bat shit crazy; crazy for each other at least. well, as what they always say, negative cancels out negative right? together, you and cheol swear nothing else could feel more right.

you came to him on a hazy friday night, and he finally had a face to the name he’s been hearing thrown around the office floors. he’d been captivated by you the minute he laid his eyes on you—in your velvet black dress, donned in silver jewelry that brought out the sparkle in your eyes.

—and, what seungcheol wants, seungcheol gets. by the end of the night, he finds himself removing your jewelry, having you writhe under him, screaming and moaning the whole night, and he’s not sure if you’ve fallen for his trap, or he yours.

it must’ve been love at first sight, he always tells you.

he’s everything you ever wanted, the possessive, ever so passionate man that never takes no for an answer. he made you feel alive, made you feel like you were worth trashing the world for.

some call it insanity, but you weren’t any better. which leads to why you were in your current predicament—you were livid.

it’s not like cheol wasn’t allowed to be around the female species, just not the pretty ones. and especially not if they wear extra short skirts and extra red lips around your boyfriend.

yeah yeah…it’s not like he could avoid female employees, especially being a young and an extremely attractive director, next in line for the CEO position.

the new influx of female employees with the new batch of hires were something else, flocking towards your boyfriend blatantly every chance they get.

he may have just been doing his job to facilitate but—did he have to cross the line with his overtly friendly nature? not necessary, you think.

and you loved to play the game. blocking him all over your social media—only for him to lose his mind when he sees you dancing on mingyu’s instagram story at the club downtown.

you know how much he hates when you hang out with your guy friends, especially ones with a certain playful nature—mingyu.

to say he went berserk would be an understatement. you grin behind the door, the taste of satisfaction at the tip of your tongue, knowing you got him back.

“baby, fuck, i’ll get rid of all of ‘em—whoever it is—fuck, they’re gone by next week” and who are you if not someone that falters at such sweet words from your beau’s mouth.

that click of a door makes him sigh out a breath of relief before he immediately engulfs you in a tight embrace, stroking your hair and kissing the crown of your head.

“you’ll really fire them for me babe?” your eyes soften as they look up into his, and he swoons at how pretty your eyes are, admiring your current docile state—when you’re not being batshit crazy.

he carefully removes the wine glass from you, placing on top of your black coffee table which he chose, before grabbing your cheek and pulling you in for a sloppy passionate kiss.

“anything for my baby, you are the future wife of the company’s soon-to-be CEO after all.” he smirks, rubbing your bottom lip with his thumb.

“and what she wants, she gets,” he whispers before pulling your lips towards his before you could say anything else.

his tongue explores every crevice of your mouth, tugging your own tongue playfully and soothing out every bite he gives your lower lip.

“my baby—you look fuckin’ gorgeous. i can never let you stay angry at me, hmm?” he pecks your forehead.

“gonna remind you why you’re mine and i’m yours baby,” he peppers feather kisses down your jaw tenderly.

“yeah? think i need to put my little brat in place, remind her why daddy only loves her, and how daddy only has eyes for her,” he kisses down your clavicle and sucks on a hollow spot which makes your knees buckle.

“mmffh—cheol….” you know it, you’re excited for it. you love it when he reminds you how obsessed he is with you.

“wonder what’s waiting for me underneath this pretty pink robe,” he gently tugs at the string of your little bow tied at the front.

a second later and your ribbon unravels, allowing the flimsy fabric to fall to the sides, and cheol lets out the most animalistic groan when he sees you completely bare and supple for him.

“so fucking pretty yeah?” he pushes you up against the nearest flat surface he can find, hands moving in urgency, grabbing any flesh of yours he can fit in those big hands of his.

you whine out as you feel his calloused hands squeezing your tits so hard, while his mouth gets busy along your jaw again. but those lips can’t stay away from your tits—he starts sucking and slurping all over—marking your mounds as you pull tightly on his locks, sinful moans after moans falling from your lips.

he breaks apart from your tits and you pout.

“my pretty girl, hands up for me.” he grabs your wrists and places them above your head and you keep them there.

“so good for me,” he sinks down and kisses all around your glistening cunt, making you squirm unconsciously. he holds on to your hips, before diving in fully, inserting that warm pink muscle deep inside your cunt you knock your head back against the wall, letting out the breathiest moan.

“pretty girl is all mine. my cunt, my tits, my girl, the prettiest.” he breathes out before he swings a leg over his shoulder and continues devouring your leaking cunt. his tongue curls up and like a deranged animal it plays with your g-spot frantically. he moans around your cunt so deeply, before he moves up and sucks your warm and swollen clit, teeth grazing every few seconds.

“cheol—too fast too fast—i’m gonna cum soon daddy,” you feel yourself reach your breaking point sooner tonight.

“that’s all i want baby, cum all over my face for me. i’m all yours to cum on,” he switches between the insane speed of his tongue and hard suction of his lips and the ribbon inside you unravels before you know it.

you let out the loudest string of moans, shaking as you clench and let out all your juices all over his face and his tongue.

cheol closes his eyes and soaks in the heavenly moment he wants to last forever. he takes in everything—your scent, your taste and continues lapping on your cunt to suck you dry.

you whine before grabbing his locks, pushing away due to oversensitivity. he looks up at you with glistening lips, and your stomach churns at the sight, feeling a new pool of arousal forming again.

he stands up, eye to eye with you, stroking a strand of hair behind your ear. “you’re so fucking perfect baby, no one should dare to even stand next to you.”

he leans forward, rubbing his clothed bulge against your soaked cunt. “you feel that baby? only you can do that to me, i just need a thought of you and i go fucking insane,” he grabs your hand, guiding it to his huge bulge.

you rub teasingly above the fabric before smirking at him knowingly, “you like me that much?”

“baby, i love you so fucking much—even i can’t comprehend it. swear i’ll die without you,” he leans his forehead against yours, with an arm propped up on the wall beside your head.

you rub faster, enjoying the moment of cheol unraveling just by a touch from you.

“swear i’ll die if you don’t touch me now—and if i’m not inside you right now baby, need you,” he breaks out in desperation and you give in, unzipping and allowing him to step out of his pants.

wasting no time, he gets rid of his boxers and goes over to the couch to sit down, tapping his thigh twice, you immediately shuffle over to sit on him, warm cunt hovering over his growing cock.

“don’t tease baby, told you i need to be inside you now,” he grabs your waist before aligning your cunt to slowly sink down his red cock that’s bursting with veins, feeling like he’s going to explode if he doesn’t feel you wrapped around him.

“f-fuuuck,” you moan out, stomach twisting at how good cheol feels when he’s fully inside you, and you start to ride him, chasing that impending high that you know is coming.

“baby—you feel too fucking good, s’unreal,” cheol croaks out as he grips onto your hips tighter, guiding your pace, not wanting to come in you too quickly.

his wandering hands move on to playing with your swollen tits, your nipples so puffy from earlier it drives him crazy, “so pretty, so fucking sensitive for me always, fuck,” he tugs on them, eliciting a louder whine from you.

his keeps a hand on your tits, occasionally giving it light slaps across and he salivates at the way it jiggles. another hand reaches up, wrapping around your neck which looks too clean for him.

your face contorts in an unexplainable pleasure, and he knows he’s got you at you tipping point. “cheol—daddy, squeeze harder,” you prompt him, wanting him to push you over the edge faster.

“yeah? my little slut wants daddy to go harder? you dirty girl, my dirty girl though— my pretty dirty girl,” he groans, hands squeezing tighter at the pulse points, while he strikes one tight slap across your tits and you can’t stop moaning.

he can’t stop singing praises for his pretty baby, and all he wants is to express how much he adores you every second.

“so close daddy so close, wanna cum wanna cum,” cheol snaps his hips up faster, while maintaining the pressure around your neck.

“gonna make you cum so hard around daddy, then pump you full of daddy’s cum after—show you how much daddy loves you, yeah?” he revels in the way your voice breaks at the incessant amount of moans escaping your mouth.

“gonna cum—daddy can i cum now?” you bit down on your lips, feeling something in your lower abdomen growing and growing, threatening to spill over any minute.

“my pretty baby always so polite—yes baby, cum for daddy now,” and you let go, seeing white as you convulse and jerk around him, crying out his name repeatedly.

his grip around your neck holds you in place, “fuuuckk that’s it baby, let daddy see how hard he made you cum,” cheol will never get tired of watching you cum—especially when it’s around his cock.

“gonna let daddy pump you full now baby? i’m about to cum okay baby,” he starts to snap his hips up even rougher, before releasing a hot load inside of you with a groan and you moan at the feeling as it reaches deep inside you.

“fuuuuck, that’s it baby, take it all, take all of daddy’s cum yeah—you’re mine baby,” he moans out, panting as the last few drops paints your walls with his essence

cheol’s heart swells at the thought of you being so full of his cum—full of him. he thinks there’s no other way to express that you’re fully his other than this act of claiming.

he kisses you, stroking your cheek and uttering words of affection against your lips—and you feel that all is right with the world again.

WANTED IT TO BE LONGER THAN THIS! will be writing more of this au!! but for now,, thank you guys so much for 400 again!! can’t wait to be putting out more works soon! love u guys xx 🖤💋

perm taglist: @gyuguys @black-swan-blog27 @do-you-remember-summer-127

[eringobragh420]

✘✘ i got it. ✘✘

➺ pairing — cm punk ♥︎ f!reader ➺ summary — punk discovers paul heyman’s daughter used to be involved with someone he hates. punk reacts as expected. ➺ links — one. two. ➺ words — 6.2k ➺ warnings — nsfw. age gap (she is twenty-something, he’s forty-something), daddy kink, dirty talk, name-calling, oral (f receiving), somnophilia, unprotected p in v, toxic relationship, cum 18+ ➺ notes — shoutout to @caramara3 for all the ideas and listening to me whine AND reading this before I posted. thank you so much for putting up with me! ➺ taglist — if you’d like to be added, please click here! 

➺ MASTERLIST

➺ if you enjoy my writing, please consider donating toward my IVF journey!

continued from part one.

Wake me up when you get here. 

Oh, he planned to do just fucking that, he thought, grinning wildly, tooth-gap on full display as he strolled down the hotel hallway toward his room. Inserting the card key into its slot, he entered the dark room, allowing the door to click closed softly behind him. Her iPad, propped up on the nightstand, was playing an episode of her favorite television show, silhouetting her body as she slept soundly on her side, facing away from him. He dropped his bag in the closet before lifting his hoodie over his head, tossing the garment onto the bag. He toed off his sneakers in the same place, smelling her shampoo and her body wash and her lotion because they all had very different, very distinctive scents—she must have showered while he’d been gone—and he suddenly didn’t have time to remove anything else.

He crawled slowly onto the bed behind her, holding himself up on his hands and knees as he nuzzled her neck, inhaling all of her fragrances. She snored softly, and Punk breathed a laugh against her hair—when this girl slept, she slept hard. And he’d taken advantage of this fact on more than one occasion, just like he would take advantage tonight. He’d done it before with a couple other women with mixed results, but he honestly didn’t care whether they liked it or not. Because he loved it. A sleeping woman was beautiful, sexy, an air of innocence surrounding her as she breathed evenly, utterly ignorant to the predator stalking her, who had intentions less pure than that of the devil himself.

“Are you awake, kitten?” he asked, expecting and receiving only more tiny snores. He licked at her neck, chasing those sweet scents, his hand sliding down her side to her ass barely covered in a pair of soft shorts. She gave no indication she was conscious, and Punk kissed her shoulder, her arm, the tips of his hair grazing her skin as his mouth traveled down her body. “Daddy’s home,” he grinned wickedly, mischievous eyes lifting to search her face as he tenderly maneuvered her onto her back for easier access to everything. She may sleep hard, but that was no reason to be careless with her or rough, no reason to tempt fate, no reason to see just how much he could get away with before she woke up.

Punk shuffled the blankets toward the bottom of the bed where he sat back on his heels for a moment, head tilted, hands on his thighs, and simply watched her. She wore one of his white merch shirts with the sleeves deeply cut out, the outer curves of her breasts on full display, and sometimes he found that sexier than if he were seeing the whole set. The bottom of the shirt had ridden up, giving him a view of her belly button piercing, his cock twitching at the dangling diamond jewelry he’d bought for her recently, at the memory of removing the old one and inserting the new one and how fucking hard that simple act had made him. 

“Look how cute,” she’d gushed before sifting her fingers through Punk’s hair, and he’d kissed the diamonds before raising his eyes to hers. “Thank you, Daddy.”

Punk was on his hands and knees again, hands on either side of her hips. “You’re welcome, Peach,” he’d replied. The shy smile she’d given him had been so fucking precious, and Punk’s heart throbbed now at the memory just as it had in the moment. Nicknames, diamond jewelry, installing a tracking app on her phone so he knew where she was at all times, and suddenly it had become more than just fucking between them. Or had it been like this since the beginning?

Forcing himself out of the memory and back into the present, his wolfish eyes gazed at the diamonds by the light of the iPad as he lowered his head, swiping his tongue along the accessory. As his cock strained against his jeans, he sat up so he could pull her shorts and panties down her legs and off, careful not to remove the strangely sexy, huge fuzzy socks on her feet. And there she was, his very favorite peach, the sweetest, tightest, goddamn prettiest pussy he’d ever seen, and that included in real life and in porn, and he got to feast on it any time he damn well pleased. 

“Fuck,” he whispered, his long body stretching out behind him, hips instantly rolling against the mattress, though it provided only a minimal amount of relief. 

He slid the tip of his nose from the bottom of her clit to the top, eyes closing as he inhaled, easily overdosing on her feminine aroma. His tongue snaked out of his mouth to replace his nose, flicking over the little nub, and then his lips wrapped around it and he sucked ever so carefully, reverently. And he didn’t regret molesting her while she slept, or tracking her whereabouts, or watching her from a dark corner to be sure she was safe and she wasn’t doing anything he deemed wrong because this cunt was worth every diabolical sin he ever had or would ever commit.

He had her dripping down his beard in no time, his dick promising to bust through his jeans at any moment as his tongue worked overtime, and she still slept, though she was becoming a bit restless. Her satiny legs moved and stretched around him, arms twisting under her pillow as her back arched, sending one of her breasts popping out the side of the sleeveless shirt. Punk smirked, nibbling her clit and reaching up to cup the bare breast, gently groping, scraping the pad of his thumb over the hardening nipple—that got him a teeny, tiny mewl, but then her body relaxed and she let out a breath and she was off to dreamland once more. Punk chuckled, hot air rushing over her soaked pussy, causing it to clench, and he was done with this fucking foreplay. He sat up on his knees, pulling the button of his jeans through its loop, lowering the zipper, and he pulled his weeping cock out, jaw clenching to keep from moaning as he gave it a few hard strokes. He could still taste her on his lips, smell her in his beard and mustache, as he reached up to expose her other breast in the same manner as its twin.

“Wore this just for Daddy, didn’t you?” Punk uttered, tweaking the nipple gingerly, and she produced a defiant whine this time, and even in her sleep, she was a goddamn brat. “Shut up,” he groused, massaging the unyielding head of his cock along her slippery slit before sliding slowly inside her tight hole, inside heaven itself.

Her spine bowed again, a complete groan escaping her lips as she tried to close her knees against the foreign intrusion, but Punk grabbed her thighs and held them apart, his dick jolting within her as he continued on. Her eyes fluttered, hands coming out from under the pillow to blindly shove at whomever was assaulting her, obviously disoriented, and Punk, always the clever predator, slammed the iPad down on its screen to extinguish the light, making it even more difficult for her to figure out what was going on. He snatched her wrists mid-air, her hands instantly making fists, and he slammed them above her head, at the same time fully immersing himself inside her. The groan he released was savage, vibrating the both of them, and he finally draped his long, hard body over hers, every muscle in his arms flexing as she fought him, his waist too close to hers for her legs to do any damage, and the more she fought, the tighter she became. He didn’t notice the vicious smile splitting his lips—and she couldn’t see anything at all in the pitch black of the hotel room—when he tucked his face into her neck, clamping his teeth onto her sleek skin. 

“Punk?” she panted, and he basked in the sensation of her nipples touching his chest every time she inhaled. “Daddy?” 

“It’s me, Peach,” he replied charmingly, as if moments ago he hadn’t been an unknown attacker, purposely darkening the room so it made it more difficult for her to figure out who was on top of her. Her legs were no longer trying to close, instead wrapping themselves around his trim waist, fuzzy socks locking at his lower back, but he refused to relinquish his vice-like grip on her wrists just yet. 

“What are you doing?” she quietly asked, finishing with a moan as Punk almost pulled his cock completely out of her cunt before thrusting back deep inside her.

“Just relax,” he coaxed. “Daddy’s using you right now.” He felt her cheek graze his as she nodded and let out a dainty breath that ghosted along his shoulder. She angled her hips, sucking Punk’s cock somehow further into her pussy, and they shared a moan. 

“I can smell my pussy on your beard,” she whispered, her lips rubbing along the salt and pepper stubble, and Punk lifted his head, their noses brushing. 

“I needed a late night snack,” Punk explained, rocking his hips into hers, her body moving in sync with his tempo. “And you know how I feel about peaches—”

His mouth covered hers, devouring her groan, and their kiss was feral, teeth-clacking, tongues wrestling, and it wasn’t about gaining dominance during something as simple as a kiss. No, it was about trying to taste her everywhere, lick her everywhere, feel every part of the inside of her mouth, memorize every tooth and taste bud. His thrusts came harder, faster, scratching that itch deep inside her as their lips moved together, perfectly in sync, her hips lifting to meet each pump. She was so fucking tight, so pretty, so trusting.

“Daddy, I’m gonna come,” she exhaled, breaking the kiss with a lewd, wet smack. 

Punk released one of her wrists so he could quickly lift the iPad back into its propped up position, coloring the room in ever shifting, dull shades of blues and whites. Her smooth lips were parted, cut up t-shirt gathered between her bouncing breasts, and maybe he shouldn’t have killed the light in the first place. He reclaimed her wrist, her skin still heated from his earlier grip, but she slipped through his grasp, and she intertwined their fingers instead, and he told himself the gesture meant nothing, that he was too lazy to rearrange his grip. 

Whatever the reason, he let her hold his hand.

“Look at me,” Punk commanded. She shook her head, brows arching, licking her lips, and then licking them again, except this time the tip of her tongue circled her lips, tasting the remnants of her pussy juices and his spit. He preferred when she obeyed, but her defiance turned him on, too, made his balls tighten and his lower back tingle. “Fucking look at me, you stupid slut.”

She cried out, squeezing his hand, and he thought for a moment he was going to have to tell her again, but then her glazed-over eyes popped open. Their gazes met, and another shout escaped her lips before her cunt pulsated around his cock. He’d wanted to last longer, to fuck her until she begged him to stop, until she couldn’t take it anymore, until she was either in too much pain or too overstimulated to the point of crying—fuck, he loved it when she cried, tears streaming pathetically down her beautiful face while she beseeched him to stop, to please let her live—but then her cunt was milking his cock, begging in its own way for a reward for being so good to him, for him. He unloaded suddenly deep inside her, hips stuttering, breath hitching, and he felt like maybe he died a little, but he never once broke the eye contact he’d demanded, and neither did she, despite their earth-shattering orgasms.

“Oh, my god,” she sighed, blatantly satisfied, and Punk released her wrist and hand one at a time so he could support his weight with one arm at all times—under his dead weight, she’d have surely been crushed. She instantly combed her fingers through his hair, Punk’s eyes closing as her manicured nails scratched along his scalp, and if she were a wrestler, this would be her finishing move. “Thanks for waking me up,” she giggled, pressing her lips to his for a kiss that lasted minutes. Minutes. Never once did he feel the urge to pull away or feed her some excuse as to why he needed to put space between them, and if the grip she had around his neck or the rolling of her hips against his were any indications, she wouldn’t have allowed him to separate them, anyway. 

“You’re welcome,” Punk replied, catching her contagious, after-sex smile. “I hope you’re ready to go back to sleep, though. We gotta get up early.”

The following day, the couple—oh, jesus… are we a couple? Punk wondered—arrived at WWE Headquarters separately—Punk drove a rental, she always had a car service available to her—for a meeting organized by Triple H concerning the direction of the company. As CM Punk, and with a rock solid contract, he assumed the content wouldn’t have much to do with him, but his attendance was mandatory nonetheless. She was present as Paul Heyman’s protégé—the heir apparent—the future of what’s best for business. And before he made himself known to her, he watched her from afar, snapping photos as she chatted with talent, had a conversation with her father, and he even photographed her thumbs tapping away on her phone, seconds later receiving a text from her.

I know you’re here, the text said, and Punk’s eyes narrowed, glancing up at her. He was about to respond when another message came through. I can feel you watching me. 

Punk replied after a moment, sending one of the first pictures he’d taken of her so he could give her a rough idea just how long he’d been stalking her. His chartreuse eyes switched from his phone to her, standing in a corner across the room. 

She smiled upon receiving the message, chewing on her bottom lip as she quickly typed an answer. Now I’m wet, it said. 

“There’s my guy!” 

Punk glanced up at Paul Heyman as the shorter man approached him, joyful smile on his face, and then Punk’s eyes lowered to his phone once more when it vibrated.

You fucking creep, he read, hearing her taunt him in his head, her playful tone laced with lust and obscenity, and he almost reached down to adjust his tweaking dick, catching himself at the last second as Paul stood in front of him. Punk killed the screen on his phone and stuffed the device into his back pocket, crossing his sinewy, tattooed arms over his broad chest, preparing for either a famous Heyman lecture about this or that, or he was about to give Punk a sneak peek of what Triple H would shortly announce to everyone. The content didn’t matter—Punk couldn’t have cared less regardless—but he hated being interrupted, and the anger did well at suppressing his blooming arousal.

Once the actual meeting started, Punk parked his ass in the back row of chairs, sipping his coffee and scrolling his phone—it would be too risky to open that thread of messages while so many people were in such close proximity to him and could easily look over his shoulder. And then she was suddenly passing in front of him, a soft breeze of her perfume splashing across his face, and he inhaled until his lungs promised to explode, holding his breath as if the fragrance would have a mind-altering effect on him. She sat in the empty seat beside him, arching a brow as she glanced at him, a smile only for Daddy on her flawless lips.

As Triple H began speaking about whatever, Punk pretended to stretch in her direction, dropping an arm on the back of her chair. “You’re fucking killing me,” he breathed, glancing behind them as he spoke. 

She wasn’t as covert as he, simply leaning over closer to his ear as she whispered, “Sorry, Daddy.”

Punk looked at her as she pulled away, their eyes locked in yet another contest, and probably anyone who looked at them right now would be able to tell what was going on between them. There was a crackle in the ether surrounding them, tension so thick it was difficult to breathe, and although the eye contact succeeded only in further charging the air and condensing the passion between the old man and his pretty peach, neither of them broke it. Until— 

“So I want you all to give a warm welcome to Logan Paul!”

She blinked, the debauchery in her eyes from before replaced with unease and, what, fear? What had changed her mood so drastically and so quickly? He got his answer when she slowly turned her head to the podium, a snarl of disgust stealing her normally carefree smile and attitude. Punk followed her hardened gaze, watching as the douchebag “social media superstar” shook hands and hugged Triple H. Most of the people in attendance cheered or clapped, but the girl beside him looked as though she might throw up at any moment, and Punk wasn’t a fucking moron. 

“Tell me you didn’t date him,” he said, instantly wishing he could grab the spoken words and stuff them back down his throat. He hadn’t meant to say date—he didn’t care who she’d dated—he’d meant to say fuck. Because he did not care about her past boyfriends. He didn’t. She looked at him, once sparkling eyes having lost their light falling shamefully, and Punk needed to hurt someone. 

“I wouldn’t exactly call it dating,” she quietly replied.

Punk’s eyes closed and he took several deep breaths in a futile attempt to cool the raging fire within. He'd have to process her prior taste in men at a later time—the utter devastation written across the pretty girl’s normally lighthearted face had his stomach in knots and his hands clenching into fists, unclenching, and repeating. He’d never seen her this way before, not even when the two of them argued, and he placed a hand over his aching chest as a memory flashed through his brain. 

“Sorry I woke you,” she’d said, watching as he climbed on the bed so he could reach the ceiling and slay the evil eight-legged imposter that’d had her screaming for help at three in the morning.  

“What do I always tell you?” Punk had asked, balling up the paper towel with the spider carcass, hopping off the mattress.

She’d smiled, clasping her hands behind her back as she’d closed the space between them. “Daddy will always take care of me,” she’d sweetly replied.

Sweet. She was sweet. What the fuck had she even been doing with that idiot in the first place? What the fuck was she doing with him?

“I’ll take care of you,” Punk suddenly said, speaking without thinking.

Her eyes rose to his. “What?” 

“It,” Punk immediately corrected. “I’ll take care of it.” 

“… There’s nothing to take care of.” 

“I’m gonna make sure he doesn’t bother you.”

She rolled her eyes, Punk resisting the urge to smack her thigh as punishment for the offending gesture. “Just leave it alone. You don’t even …” She shook her head. “Just leave it alone. Leave it alone, leave him alone, leave …” She trailed off.

Punk’s jaw tightened. “Leave you alone?” 

“Did I fucking say that?”

Punk was silent—she hadn’t said that, but she might as well have—as he faced his body forward, again folding his arms over his chest. The two of them endured the remainder of Logan Paul’s insufferable speech, neither of them speaking again or even looking at the other. Punk didn’t really know what the heart of the argument he’d started was. Jealousy—Logan was younger, probably had more stamina, and could probably keep up with her better than Punk could. Humiliation—Was Logan really the kind of guy she was attracted to and she was just fucking Punk until she found someone better? Fear—What had the newest member of the Raw roster done to his girl in the past? Or had it been a special cocktail of all three?

When the garbled speech finally ended, Punk jumped from his chair, intent on escaping in his rented SUV, but Paul Heyman stopped him, as well as his daughter, imploring them both to meet the latest superstar. Owing a lot to Paul, Punk allowed himself to be tugged in that direction, and because she was his offspring, Punk’s little peach couldn’t find it in her heart to deny him, either. On the upside, Punk would be able to gauge the energy between her and Logan, keeping his eyes peeled for knowing smiles or blushes or lip biting.

None of which happened. Punk almost wished they had. 

“Holy shit!” Logan shouted once he laid his eyes on Miss Heyman. Punk watched her as she forced a smile but refused to make any sort of eye contact with the blonde moron. “I didn’t know you worked here!”

She blinked. “I don’t know why you wouldn’t know that,” she replied, looking everywhere but at Logan’s face.

Punk’s emerald eyes switched to the influencer as he shrugged. “I just don’t think about you, you know,” he said. Punk licked his lips, chewing the bottom one, tasting copper. “I mean, I don’t think about you in WWE.” He wasn’t trying to correct himself, and suddenly Punk’s vision was stained crimson, hands forming fists again. Who the fuck did this kid think he was? He turned his attention to the Second City Saint, extending his hand, and it took several moments for Punk to force his hand to shake Logan’s. He squeezed, hard, forbidding Logan to let go, and just as the kid’s face began to morph into worry, the girl with the dangling diamond belly button ring cleared her throat, diverting Punk’s attention and reminding him with her eyes not only who he was, but where he was. He was about to release Logan’s hand when the younger man pulled him in for a hug and whispered in his ear, “I act like I don’t remember her, but I do, and if you get the chance, you should hop on that.” Punk’s eyes glazed over, his entire body stiffening. “She’s a freak, bro.” The words were enough to set Punk’s blood boiling, but the fact that this kid just told a stranger, a coworker, that Paul Heyman’s daughter was a freak added fuel to the fire. Was he trying to impress Punk? Make a new fucking friend? And who else would he tell before he even got out of the building? Who else had he told already? 

“Ah, fuck,” Punk sighed, his momentary shock allowing Logan to remove his hand from Punk’s grasp and put some distance between them before Punk made a decision. 

“Punk.” His sweet, precious, little peach. He looked down at her, a foot, if not more, shorter than him, who loved to brush her fingers through his hair and was the reason he’d started growing it out in the first place, and he needed to hurt someone. “Don’t,” she warned, with zero conviction in her voice. Maybe she knew he wouldn’t listen, maybe she wanted him to hurt someone but she had to pretend to try and stop him. 

“What’s going on?” her father asked, making his presence known.

Punk gazed down at her, hands on his hips, and he knew very well there would be consequences for his actions, but he was prepared to face them head on. There would be consequences for her, as well, possibly, and still it wasn’t enough to hold him back. He tilted his head, pursing his lips, caressing her cheek with his thumb, fingers tickling her neck, and he turned around, stomping after Logan. He grabbed the new hire’s shoulder and spun him, Logan caught off guard, and Punk reeled back and got off a clean, hard punch to the asshole’s face. Punk followed him as he fell, straddling Logan with a knee on the floor and the other leg stretched out as he held him down with one hand and punched him repeatedly with the other. 

“Shut the fuck up!” Punk yelled, pausing the battery just so he could point at the beaten man under him. “Not one more goddamn word about her.” The hand holding Logan down went to his throat, and his voice was somehow much calmer than before. “Do you understand me?” Gentler still. 

“What the fuck, bro?” Logan yelled, doing his best to fight back, but Punk had gained the upper hand early and never released it. 

“I’m not your bro. Son. Stay the hell away from her. And keep her name out of your dumb fucking mouth.”

Punk finally climbed off him. Adrenaline surged through his veins, masking any pain, but he knew Logan had gotten a few lucky punches in while defending himself, though any bruises or black eyes were the least of his concerns. As he searched the surrounding crowd for the entire reason for his outburst, his heart accelerated when he realized she was nowhere to be found. Had she really left? He thought maybe she’d want to watch him beat someone’s ass for real, but evidently he was wrong. And as his eyes passed over the various attendees, he came to Paul Heyman who was still standing nearby, eyeing him suspiciously, and oh, that’s probably why she hadn’t stuck around.

Punk sighed, carding his fingers through his hair in case it had been mussed during the fight, and he wished it were her hands fixing his hair. “Paul,” he said.

Paul watched Punk a moment, Punk massaging his throbbing hand. “Punk,” he  eventually said, passing his old client without another look. Punk wasn’t sure what any of it meant, but since it was his life, he figured it would be bad.

Only capable of handling one problem at a time, Punk chose the most important. As Triple H was headed his way, Punk slithered throughout the crowd, bobbing and weaving, successfully escaping WWE Headquarters without being stopped. Shaking his throbbing hand, Punk drove quickly and erratically back to the hotel, having no idea what he might find when he got there. Would she be in their room? Did she book another hotel? Was she on her way to the airport to board a fucking jet? 

“Goddamn it,” he exhaled. No answers, only more questions. What other influencers had she slept with? Celebrities? Younger men she could compare him to? 

Fuck, he clearly wasn’t built for a relationship, much less a relationship with a woman twenty years younger than him, but he still pulled the SUV into the parking lot of the hotel they’d stayed in. He still took the elevator to their floor and he still jogged down the hallway to the correct door. He remembered making this trip the night prior, how excited he’d been, how amazing it had turned out, neither of them having any idea what was in store for them the next day. He pulled the key card out of his pocket, paused briefly, and inserted it, dropping his forehead against the door when the light turned red. He tried again just for the hell of it with the same result, and he tossed the useless card over his shoulder. 

“Peach,” Punk said. “Sweetheart, you in there?”

Silence. 

“I, uh—” He chuckled, though nothing about this was even remotely funny. “Look, I’m not sorry for kicking that kid’s ass. He had it comin’.”

Silence. 

“What did you want me to do?” Punk asked, hands on the doorframe. “He was gonna tell—”

The door opened without warning. “You don’t know that, old man!” his sweet peach yelled. “And now we’ll never know!” 

“Okay,” Punk said, holding a hand up, smiling at the sheer audacity of the entire situation, at her thinking that loser wouldn’t tell more people what he’d told Punk, or something worse. A smile that dropped instantly when she shoved him backward, heels of her hands on his chest, sending him stumbling into the hallway. 

“But you just couldn’t help yourself,” she went on. “And now my dad’s gonna know about us!”

Punk looked at her a moment before stomping across the hall, bound to enter the room and force her to have a conversation instead of a screaming match, but once he was close enough, he felt the smack before he even saw her hand. His cheek exploded, a surprising amount of power inside this tiny girl, and he lost his balance but was able to turn in a circle instead of face-planting. As he came around to face her again, opposite hand cradling his stinging cheek, lopsided smirk tilting his beard and mustache, he started inside again. She was able to close the heavy door before he could cross the threshold, turning the deadbolt even though she didn’t have to. The lock clicking heavily into place seemed to echo throughout his brain, Punk laughing again, however inappropriately, and he pounded on the door more out of irritation than anything else. Here he was, an old fucking man, too tired and, well, old for this shit, but he was still making an effort, trying to talk through things when he otherwise would have just said fuck it and been on his way. He was going to have to accept sooner rather than later that his life would be very different from here on out.

Maybe, he thought. If she ever opens the goddamn door!

Punk sighed, his body rolling along the door as he put his back to it before sliding down until his ass met the hard, ugly carpet he swore was the same at every hotel he’d ever been to. He scratched at his beard, wincing from the slap a moment ago, and he wondered whether his skin would simply redden or if he’d wake tomorrow morning with a light bruise. Arching a brow, he glanced down the hallway upon hearing the elevator ding, the sound almost as loud as the deadbolt separating him from his peach. The one thing that could have made Punk’s day even worse rounded the corner, Paul Heyman strolling toward him, a savvy smile on his robust face. Punk bent his knees, resting his elbows on them, and he raised a hand to wave. 

“Paul,” he greeted.

Paul came to a stop a few feet away and leaned on the wall in front of his old client. “Punk,” he said. He nodded at the door Punk rested against. “What are you doing outside my daughter’s room?” 

Punk’s mouth clamped shut and he averted his gaze. He should have been man enough to own up to what he’d been doing to Paul’s daughter, what they’d been doing together, but he clammed up and said nothing. Fucking coward. You’re not good enough for her.

Paul breathed a soft laugh, tucking his hands in the pockets of his slacks. “I remember when I heard you guys fighting at the Christmas party,” he casually confessed. Punk’s eyes widened as he gaped at the hideous carpet. “I think she … wanted to dance with you, right?” After a moment, Punk nodded. “But you didn’t want to because … What was your reason again?”

Punk scratched at his eyebrow with his thumb, and his cheeks weren’t red just from Miss Heyman’s slap. He cleared his throat, shaking his head, and he ultimately looked up at Paul. “Uh … at the time, Paul, I didn’t want anyone to find out about us.” 

“Right,” Paul shrugged, “but for some reason, today was okay for everyone to find out? With the added bonus of a fist fight.” 

“Look—” 

“Stop,” Paul interrupted. “Of course I don’t want you dating my daughter. My daughter is too good for you.” 

“I don’t disagree.” 

“I said shut up. But I looked the other way because I’ve never, in all her life, seen her as happy as she’s been with you.” Punk’s stomach sloshed. “So you—” The round man leaned over and pointed at Punk, his bulging eyes like two tiny pyro flames. “—need to fix this.” 

“What do you think I’m doin’ here, Paul?” Punk seethed, gesturing at his surroundings. 

“Looks like you’re sitting on your ass pouting,” Paul snapped. “Stand up. Be the man my daughter deserves.” Punk nodded, and was this what shame felt like? “What are you waiting for? Get up!”

Punk chuckled, climbing to his feet, brushing off his jeans self-consciously. “Thanks, Paul,” he said. Paul only glared at Punk before turning and heading back toward the elevator. Suddenly Punk heard the deadbolt release, and he spun around to face the door as it opened, though, at the last second, he took a step back. She stood there, eyes burning much like her father’s had. “You’re not gonna hit me again, are you?” he asked. Her frown twitched, and he considered it a victory to still be able to charm her. 

“You liked it,” she said. Punk’s own smirk grew, green eyes brightening, and he nodded. “I heard you talking to my dad.” Punk nodded again, and who had really done the enchanting here? Her beauty, even while angry, was unmatched, her pretty scent infiltrating his senses, and he thought for sure this time he’d end up stoned. “So how do you plan on fixing it?”

Punk pretended to weigh his options, eyes looking about as he thought. “I thought maybe you could sit on my face for … at least an hour.”

Her jaw worked, but that adorable smile of hers was starting to bleed through even more. “How do you actually plan on fixing it?”

Punk gripped the doorframe and leaned inside the room, drawing her eyes to his biceps despite being covered by a white hoodie. Her scent became stronger, her pupils grew larger, and Punk decided he wanted to fight with this girl and only this girl for the rest of his life. “I honestly don’t know,” he replied, “but I thought we could start with a dance.”

Her blossoming smile melted as she swallowed. “What?”

Punk extended his hand, palm up, and she let only a brief moment pass before she placed her hand in his. He took a few steps backward, into the hallway, and she followed, eyes glassy while watching his face closely. Punk locked her gaze with his as he pulled his phone from his pocket, glancing down momentarily to find the correct app and locate a song they’d be able to dance to. He pressed play before tucking the device away once more, taking a deep breath when their eyes met, and he took her other hand, so tiny in comparison to his, so soft, lifting both of them to his shoulders. The tips of his fingers danced up her arms and down her sides, grinning at the tightening of her muscles where he knew her tickle spot to be, landing heavily on her hips.

He turned them in a slow circle, shifting their weight from one foot to the other, and he wished he’d done this at Christmas. Her in her sexy green dress and heels, the stockings with the seams up the back … fucking idiot, he berated himself. No one would have suspected them of having a connection that went beyond just dancing—he knew that now, he’d known it then—but why had it mattered? He was an adult and she was an adult, which made their ages irrelevant, and, oh, by the way, he’d never given a fuck what people thought about him or the things he did, so why did he care when it came to her? 

“I’m sorry for slapping you,” she whispered, squeezing his shoulders, one hand sneaking to the back of his neck. Punk tilted his head with a small shrug, and she finally, finally, smiled—a full smile, like he could see every single one of her teeth, and he determined at that moment to make it his life’s goal to keep this smile on her face for as long as he was able. “But …”

Punk’s brows rose, thin lips forming an O. “You liked it, too, didn’t you?”

Her eyes were downcast then, remaining long enough that Punk truly thought she was humiliated by the newly discovered kink, but then her gaze lifted to meet his, and they were fucking black and consumed by hunger and filth and him. Her ability to flip a switch with her moods might have irritated other men, but Punk welcomed it—he enjoyed the surprise of not knowing which princess he was going to get on any given day. 

“Maybe,” she whispered, rising to her tip toes. “Possibly.” Her silky lips brushed his as she breathed, “Perhaps.” The kiss she gave him couldn't even be described as a peck—so gentle, so goddamn elegant—because he wasn’t sure he’d felt it at all. His hands glided from her hips to her back, easily covering the expanse, pulling her closer to him. “But also definitely.”

Punk’s smile had enough energy to power an entire country until the end of time. “Wanna do it again?” he purred.

“Actually I do,” she replied. “But first thing's first … you need to go down to the front desk.” She tossed a thumb over her shoulder. “We're locked out.”

TAGS: @southerngirl41 @femdisa @riverina69 @rollinssection @paramedicnerd004 @mandmilovehim @brianochka @yourmommyagone22 @sweetmoonlove0214 @partypoison00 @missbmc94 @lils2795 @aureliacorvina @magicalbuttertarts @madimcg14 @thealliasylum @lov3rla03 @plaidpajamallama @deansimpala @there-goes-thefighter @themarvelousmaks @xkittypunkerx @sarlaccussy @infamousvampcx @princesstiti14

[whosblackcat]

mini thread abt how to help riize & seunghan + info 🩷🫧

note & warning: please don’t engage with ANY content of riize, for example don’t comment in their tiktoks saying “riize is 7” even if your intention is good, it breaks the purpose of the boycott!!

sm will pull fake scandals to distract our attention from the matter, for example as they did with sungchan yesterday! don’t believe anything, exols warned us

tweet the trending tags on twitter!! big official fan accounts always share which ones we have to use

don't buy or watch anything related to riize & sm, we’re boycotting

don’t interact with any post of sm and riize even if it’s to use the tags or supporting the boys, we’re boycotting

all the info of what did one of the persons who sent the death wreaths

ot6 are complaining to the police & government abt the displays and flowers for seunghan in front of the sm building, and according to this person now it's not possible to put them in commercial facilities

sm is buying followers and likes due to the impact of the boycott

ot6 are monitoring every movement and project in every language and reporting them. @/RIIZEUSACENTRE kofi was reported because of them while raising trucks money

seunghan's leaked photo with his girlfriend was leaked by hybe

riize is seven movement schedule. day 1 october 28th

mass review 1 star to all sm facilities on google maps (note: they’re deleting the bad reviews but we have to keep going)

hybes’s ceo lee jae sang issues apology letter for the ‘music industry report’ document (a sorry is not enough after destroying hsh life & career)

seunghan town will be removed due to ot6 reports and company that they reported the project, causing making hard getting the needed permits

pineapple manager passed in front of the protest today, he def saw the protest

manager passed in front of the protest again, they know what’s going on

manager passed in front of the protest for the third time, and tomorrow is the meeting

riize is seven movement schedule november 6th

there’s a very popular lawyer who has won a case against sm before that right now is representing fans

riize doesn't have any schedule, comeback or tour for the first quarter of 2025. the boycott is working, keep going!

riize lost 400k monthly listeners on spotify

clarifications on rumors regarding hsh. the thread linked below explains it really well, so please read carefully and repost it on X!

sm announced that seunghan will debut as a solo artist in the second half of 2025… they even created him a profile on ig. sm is trying to calm us down. is their final act of desperation to tame the situation. this doesn’t protect him from toxic fans, pls keep boycotting, this doesn’t end here (we protested to have him back in riize where he belongs, not to debut as solo artist is this a joke what are they doing💀💀)

Jaehyeon Choe, a TikToker with over 174k followers (@/watchwithsamjaychoe), who has worked with different kpop groups, some of them being SM ones, knows things we don't know and is telling us to DON'T STOP THE BOYCOTT

MAMA's violations against fans, the mistreatment and disrespect experienced by the fans cannot be ignored. some fans were denied entry due to their clothing and some others had their stuff (which they paid for) thrown away even if it wasn’t against the rules they settled. dm @/RIIZEUSACENTRE on X if something like this happened to you

this is all the info i found and i wanted to spread it here too, so thanks and credits to all the ppl on twitter!! if i find more relevant info i’ll keep updating this post. please share it 🫶🏻 (note: english isn't my first language, sorry for any mistakes in my grammar)

little motivation and some twitter accounts that organize projects/give info below the cut! 🩷

— some good info twitter accs:

@/RIIZEUSACENTRE @/SEVENRIIZE @/RIIZE_EUROPE @/PROTECT_RIIZE @/Seunghan_USA

— little motivation:

kbriize are holding face to face protests and fanbases hired an attorney. boycott properly if you don't want all the effort to be wasted! remember, boycotting takes time

"The group nearly disbanded in September of 2001, after Park Joon-hyung was discovered to be in a relationship. Their management announced, without informing him or the members, that he was to leave the group and they'd continue as 4, but it was met with strong objection from fans, who repeatedly signed petitions and threatened to boycott concerts and the company. Danny, Kyesang, Hoyoung and Taewoo held their own press conference, without the knowledge of their management, to show their support for Joon. After two months of disagreements, their company eventually backed down and allowed Joon to be in the group." if joon returned to the group after two months of protests, complains and boycott, we can bring back seunghan!! the key is persistence. please don't give up and keep fighting for his rights and justice!!

[tuesdaykiss]

“touching toes”

rafe cameron social media au

“he’s over more and more, had to give him a whole drawer. to be honest, kinda like seeing his trainers by the door.” — olivia dean, ‘touching toes’.

synopsis: after finishing her fashion studies at college in nyc, y/n moves to outerbanks to live with her grandparents. she worries about the loneliness that comes with being in a new place, knowing only her cousin topper and other relatives… that is until she is acquainted with a certain cameron.

part — 4 | 5 | 6

masterlist

your phone

you sat cross-legged on the living room couch, staring into a space of nothingness. inviting rafe cameron over was a bold move, for you — how would sarah react? better yet, how would your cousin react? knots twisted in your stomach as you waited for his arrival, your anticipation running wild.

there was a part of you that regrets this decision already. what were you thinking? but here you are, your heart skipping a beat at the littlest of sounds: you’re on edge.

despite the looming feeling that this was a bad idea, there was an undeniable thrill that washed over you. maybe that’s why you’d asked him in the first place — your curiosity getting the better of you, you wanted to know more about him.

time moved slowly, and you couldn’t help but wonder how this will play out…

your story

sarahcameron replied to your story:

hottttt

jjmaybank replied to your story:

there she is!

kiaracarrera and itscleo liked your story

your phone

boredom had gotten the better of you, as you awaited the arrival of the oldest cameron sibling… logging back into your twitter, you had swore you’d never use again (hating the toxicity it brought with it).

having lied to sarah about your plans of the night, you couldn’t help but feel a slight shred of guilt. but, what she didn’t know wouldn’t hurt her. like rafe said, “none of their business”.

as you were conjuring up a new ‘welcome back’ tweet, the door bell sounded. a soft ring splitting through the silence of the house… he was here.

eagerly you jumped from the couch, nerves buzzing under your skin as you quickly checked your reflection in the mirror opposite you. in attempt to steady yourself, you took a deep breath before heading for the door.

there he stood, ever so casually as the warm glow of the outdoor lights located on your front lawn illuminated his features, highlighting the smirk that tugged at his lips.

“hey,” his voice was low, almost a whisper, but laced thick with confidence.

for a moment, your head leaned against the doorframe, giving you a second to admire the man in front of you — piercing eyes, hair falling across his forehead causing a slight blush to creep on your cheeks. then, without another word, you stepped aside, a silent gesture of invitation.

before allowing himself to venture further into the house, he removed his trainers and placed the by the door. his small action of politeness caused you to smile.

your camera roll (the next morning)

a/n: rn i’m onto part 5 and have only published part 1… anyways, thoughts?

added in a link to the song 😉😉😉

i’m also like why did i make sarah famous pls, but i just wanted fans to comment… anyways if we don’t hear from sarahupdates for a while it’s bc y/n and rafe are my focus!

taglist: @my-name-is-baby

(let me know if you want to be added!)

[three-dee-ess]

Hey I saw your post about the puffy battery and my 3DS has that (it’s starting to crack the case). I knew it was affecting the battery life but I didn’t know that it was dangerous. How would you go about repairing/replacing this?

ok this is going on my FAQ after this. possibly in my pinned post.

Contact your local *non emergency* number and ask them how to dispose of a puffy lithium ion battery. Follow their instructions.

To remove the battery from the case (which is the best thing to do in that situation) follow the instructions linked in my pinned post "for physical 3DS issues" (https://www.ifixit.com/Device/Nintendo_Handheld_Console)

Be as careful as possible to NOT puncture the battery.

for getting a replacement, just look at the number on your 3DS's battery and type that into amazon. Should be plenty of results, all around $10~$20 USD and they should work perfectly fine. check the reviews if you are worried.

Again, if you have any battery that is bending or breaking the case, is is a legitimate explosion hazard. That battery can explode into a fiery ball of toxic gas. It is in your best interest to dispose of it as soon as possible.

this also goes for batteries inside of ANY electronic device. Switch batteries, macbook batteries, phone batteries, electric bike batteries are also examples of lithium ion batteries that get a lot of usage and often can get overcharged.

resource links:

[billfarrah]

I genuinely can't believe there are actually people coming for Young Royals for showing a character empowering themselves enough to remove themselves from a toxic situation and framing it as Wille "running away from his problems."

Removing yourself from a toxic situation which has caused you nothing but suffering and trauma and grief is not running away from your problems and it's genuinely such a dangerous thing to imply.

Why does Wille have to stay in a role he's never wanted, to please parents who have never accepted him for who he is or what he wants, who want to dictate how he lives his life and how his boyfriend lives his life and what path he takes in life and how he portrays himself to the media?

The show is literally about personal autonomy and finding the strength and motivation to be radically yourself regardless of what is against you and Wille's decision is portrayed an act of bravery. Leaving the monarchy is not "running away from his problems" - he's removing himself from an institution he does not believe in and does not want to be a part of and choosing to take a journey of self-discovery where he can discover who he truly is, who he wants to be, without anyone breathing down his neck or telling him whether he is allowed to have tattoos or how short he is allowed to cut his hair. Wille should not have to beg and fight with his family and with the royal court to be accepted.

The ending of the show never implies that Wille's mental health struggles are suddenly over and done with. Nobody is saying his anxiety and issues with anger have disappeared. Nobody is saying he will never struggle again. However, majority of his mental health issues throughout the show are directly linked to his role and the pressures it puts himself under. Leaving that all behind doesn't solve every problem he could ever had, but it alleviates a large amount of stress. Have people never left a stressful situation or relationship behind and suddenly felt an immediate and monumental relief?

I'd also like to point out that the ending of the show is not Wille abdicating. He has to officially renounce his claim to the throne for that to happen. He's simply just telling his mother how he feels and what he wants to do. The journey is not over for Wille and there will no doubt be many hardships ahead for him, but now that he's released himself from this and is for the first time sure of what he wants and sure he is able to deal with it, he is more equipped to deal with what's ahead than ever before.

Wille removing himself from the expectations of his family and the royal court are demonstrations of him working towards bettering his mental health, because he is finally able to recognize that the situation has always negatively affected him and he finally feels powerful enough and not drowned by anger, resentment and anxiety to leave it all behind and start over.

If that isn't bravery, I don't know what is.

[sehodreams]

❝masterlist❝

[this is me trying]

[s] smut ⊹ [f] fluff ⊹ [a] angst ⊹ [d] difficult to describe/dark/darkish

[🌑] noncon ⊹ [🌓] dubcon ⊹ [🌕] con

Eunseok

hard and soft dom [🌕, f, s]

toxic!boyfriend!eunseok [🌓,d]

dom!eunseok thoughts p.1 p.2 [f]

toxic!conservative!eunseok husband [🌓,s,d]

pathetic people also fall in love [🌕, f, a, s]

taekwondo!eunseok ideas [🌑,🌓,🌕,s,d]

everyone loves eunseok [🌑,🌓,s,d]

Wonbin

last day surprises [🌑,🌓,s,d]

dark!owner!Wonbin headcanons [🌑,s,d]

about wonbin's short height [🌑,🌓,s,d]

looks like a movie directed by wang kar-wai [f,a]

wonbin can do better [🌑,🌓,s,d]

Sungchan

pinching [🌓,s,d]

while sleeping [🌑,s,d]

corruption kink!sungchan thoughts [🌕,s]

little star [🌓,🌕,s]

just a gift [🌑,s,d]

classmate sungchan late night confession [🌕,f]

Seunghan

streamer!seunghan [🌕,s]

come inside of my heart [🌕,s]

seunghan corruption kink [🌓,🌕,s]

dom!seunghan thoughts [🌕,s]

chef!seunghan ideas [🌕,s]

Shotaro

soon

Sohee

sohee with a baddie girlfriend [🌕,s]

bite and smile [🌕,s]

you two making out in the hot springs [🌕,s,f]

Anton

anton making you wear his clothes [🌕,s]

anton biting [🌕,s]

kissing anton's tip [🌕,s]

anton tiktok [f]

clingy!anton [🌕,s]

anton touching your boob [f,suggestive]

anton love making [🌕,f,s]

anton with yapper reader [f]

size kink anton p.1, p.2[🌕,s]

lingerie examples [f,suggestive]

anton with plus size girlfriend p.1, p.2 [🌕,s]

anton tit addict [🌕,s]

anton and older!married!neighbour [🌓,s,d]

anton movie date on valentine [🌓,s,d]

giving anton a handjob [🌕,s]

sub!anton [🌕,f,s]

dom!anton [🌕,s]

trying lipglosses with anton [🌕,f,s]

anton with a mommy kink [🌕,s]

anton sniffing tights [🌕,s]

sex money feelings die [🌕,s,f,d]

anton piss kink p.2 [🌕,s]

anton as a bitter [🌕,s]

forgiving others is easy, forgiving yourself not that much [🌕,🌓,s] - extra 1 & 2

nerd!anton getting made fun of for being a virgin [🌕,🌓,s]

virgin!fuckboy!anton with brown hair [🌕,s]

babytrapping anton [🌑,s,d]

anton kissing link [🌕,s]

friends/ first time with anton [🌓?,🌕,s,f]

OT7 (1+)

✶mtl

mtl to get hard when they see reader without a bra (ot7) [🌕,s]

mlt to like it in riize when, while making out, reader takes his hand and puts it on their throat while maintaining eye contact (ot7) [🌕,s]

mtl hardest hitting member if they play that punching machine game (ot7) [f]

mtl tries to fuck you secretely in the car (ot7) [🌕,s]

mtl to make you get on the phone with your bf while they're plowing into your uterus (eun, seung, won, an) [🌕,🌓,s,a]

mtl to corner stylist [d]

mtl pussy spitters (ot7) [🌕,s]

mtl to leave bruises (ot7) [🌕,🌓,s]

mtl mafia!riize to show you off vs keep you hidden (ot7) [🌕,s]

mtl to post revenge porn of you after a break up (ot7) [🌑,🌓,s,d]

mtl to be selfish in bed (ot7) [🌕,s]

mtl to wear a condom (ot7) [🌕,🌓,s]

mtl to cheat on their girl (ot7) [d]

mtl scariest when angry (eun, seung, won) [d]

✶others

fanta grape (an, won) [🌕,🌓,s,a]

riize calling reader at night (ot7) [🌕,f,s]

toxic!riize and how it turns into sex (eun, sung, so, won) [🌕,🌓,s,d]

size kink (sung, an) [🌕,s]

toxic!conservative!riize enemies and reader winning a deal (eun, sung, so) [d]

riize reaction to reader with adorable lingerie (ot7) [f]

riize buying bags for reader (ot7) [f]

riize as toxic!conservative!men (ot7) [d]

seunghan and anton taking turns on you all night and waiting to cum on your face p.2 [🌕,s]

riize removing your hands when you hide your fice while having sex (ot7) [🌕,s]

riize reaction to you giving them a lap dance (ot7) [f]

who would say that? (ot7) [🌕,s]

character riize reaction to seeing reader be slapped by her ex/currentbf (ot7) [d]

riize reaction to bratty reader (ot7) [🌕,s]

riize as taylor swift songs (ot7) [f]

how riize tells you they want to fuck you (ot7) [🌕,s]

which riize members are sugar babies vs sugar daddies (ot7) [🌕,s]

riize as school bullies (eun, won) [🌕,🌓,s,a,d]

big dick energy but can't use it well (sung, an, eun, sho) [🌕,s]

dark!riize buying reader in a market (ot7) [🌑,🌓,s,d]

bitch (won, sung, an) [🌑,s,d]

headcanons of each member kinks (ot7) [🌕,🌓,s]

✶different

a good girl's paradox - lee tang [🌕,a,f,s]

[kpop---scenarios]

Awakened (1)

Pairing: Seo Changbin x Reader

Warning: Language, Toxic Boyfriend, Jealousy

Word Count: 2.1k

Everything Taglist: @piscesrising01 @baby-stay92 @kisses-too-the-moon @dwaekkiiracha @rylea08 @imperfectlyperfectprincess1 @satosugu4l @iovecb97 @lordmaahes-nsc @sailorkoss @minh0scat @pixie0627 @50-husbands @jinnies-muse @yaorzu-blog @joyofbebbanburg @number1jeonginstan @skzooluvr @jisunglyricist @ambersnowxxx @stay-tiny-things @thegingerthatwaited

@wife2straykids @silly250 @tsunderelino @1810cl @anskiiz

@ayyonoona @31maze13

A/N: Let me know if you wanna be tagged for this one!

When you started this job, you were happy and so in love with your boyfriend. But now, your boss has got you questioning everything you used to know. You also had no idea how much of an interest he would take in your personal life, not that you minded, he only cared about you as an employee, and that's all it meant…right?

“How was the day, Y/N?” Your boss, Changbin asks, his back leaning against the wall of the elevator as you both ride down to the lobby. He crosses his arms, his eyes searching your face.

“It was good. How was yours?” You smile. Changbin smiles back at you. “Good, good. Are you still with Jeno?” He asks, raising his eyebrow.

“I am yes.” You say, your stomach turning into knots. You hated when people asked about your relationship lately, you weren't at your happiest with Jeno but you kept hoping that things would go back to being better between the two of you, but so far no such luck.

“Y/N…” He sighs. You look down at your shoes, but thankfully the elevator door dings before he can say anything. It had seemed like Changbin had wanted to tell you something for the last few weeks, but you were scared and you didn't want to hear it, not right now. You knew Jeno was out in the lobby, waiting for you and if he saw you down and anxious, he’d get mad and start asking questions. That’s something you needed to avoid. When the elevator doors opened, you instantly perked up, smiling and laughing.

“My goodness, Mr. Seo. You're too funny.” You say, a little too loudly, while you walk out of the elevator. You scan the room, your eyes landing directly on your boyfriend, who's leaning against the receptionist desk with a scowl on his face. You keep your smile tight and your eyes bright as you and Changbin walk up to him, forcing the worst fake laugh you had ever heard as the two of you approach him.

“What's so funny?” He asks, glaring at Changbin.

“Oh, um… Mr. Seo just told a joke about something that happened at lunch, that's all.” You smile, linking your arm with Jeno’s.

“I never knew you were funny.” Jeno mutters, giving you a small smile.

“I'm only funny when I'm around someone I like.” Changbin smiles. “Y/N. I'll see you tomorrow.” He says, waving to you before he heads back towards the elevator.

“Why do you have to work for him?” Jeno sighs, pulling you out of the building.

“I don't know what your hatred towards him is about, but you need to get over it.” You groan.

“It doesn't matter what it was about. What matters is I dont fucking like you working for him!” Jeno snaps. “I think you should quit.”

“I'm not quitting. Good pay, with benefits, paid time off, paid sick days, and raises? I'd be crazy to ever let it go just because you don't like my boss.” You say, removing your arm from his.

“I dont just not like him, Y/N, I fucking hate him. He's got a thing for you. So, I'm not asking you. I'm telling you, you need to quit.” Jeno snaps again.

“And I'm telling you that I'm not quitting. He doesn't like me. Get over whatever your issue is with him and leave me out of it.” You say, walking away from him.

More often than not your fights with Jeno always stemmed from any mention of your boss, and it all started after you had brought Jeno to the company's Christmas party, where Changbin and Jeno met.

**

“I want you to meet my boss.” You giggle at Jeno, pulling him towards Changbin. You thought the two of them were relatively similar and thought they would get along well, but your plan for the two of them to be friends was spoiled awfully quickly.

“This is your boss?” Jeno whispers, his eyes wide as he backs away from you and Changbin.

“Hello, Y/N.” Changbin smiles at you. His smile quickly turns to a frown as he looks at Jeno. “This is your boyfriend?” He asks. You nod your head with a smile.

“How long have you been together?” He asks, jaw clenched.

“Two years.” Jeno pipes up, giving a look to Changbin.

“Ah two years, really?” He laughs. “It's good to see you man.” Changbin smiles, pulling Jeno in for a hug.

“Does she know?” He whispers into Jeno’s ear before letting him go and looking at Jeno, who swiftly shakes his head no without you looking.

“You know, Y/N…We have a code of conduct here for a reason. I think employees dating pieces of shit should be added to that, yeah?” Changbin asks.

“Do you two know each other or something?” You drunkenly ask.

“Yeah. From the last place I worked. You know the one I quit.” Jeno says.

“Wait… is this who you'd come home and complain about all the time?” You gasp. “He was the reason you quit, wasn't he?”

Changbin smiles widely. “You quit?” Changbin laughs. “Did I get under your skin? I wonder what I could have possibly done. Or maybe it was because you were a shitty employee who did shitty things.” Changbin smiles, pretending to gasp, covering his mouth.

“Y/N, i'm not feeling well. Let's go.” Jeno snaps.

“You can go.” Changbin laughs as Jeno begins to walk away. You stand there, drunk, confused and torn on what to do.

You turn to leave but Changbin calls you back. “Y/N. You know you don't have to leave. I'd like for you to stay.”

“Y/N! Move it!” Jeno snaps, waiting

“I… I should go. I'm sorry about this.” You whisper to Changbin, quickly running towards your waiting boyfriend.

**

“Stop being dramatic, Y/N!” Jeno yells after you but you ignore him, continuing to walk away. You had originally planned to go back to Jeno's for the night, since you had some work clothes there already but now you wanted to just go home. You waved down a cab, leaving without him, he didn't even send you a single text the rest of the evening. You were not going to message first.

Unfortunately, you weren't a stranger to his childish behavior, this wasn't the first time and sure as hell wouldn't be the last time either but it had been 7 months of Jeno complaining about your boss and it was getting really fucking old.

**

“Good morning, Y/N.” The receptionist smiles at you as you walk into the building. You give her a small wave as you make your way to the elevator, scanning your card to send it down to you. Once it's there, you step on, humming to yourself as the elevator takes you all the way up to the 25th floor, the robotic voice letting you know you're on your floor. You step out and head directly for Changbin's office, setting your things down on your desk that was right outside his door.

Changbin had probably been the best boss you'd ever worked for. He was sweet, kind, funny, supportive and not to mention extremely good looking. If Jeno asked you, it would be a straight up denial, but you did have a small crush on him. But if you spend 8-10 hours with a man like that, you're bound to have an innocent little crush. It's not as if he would ever reciprocate your feelings anyways.

“Y/N.” Changbin says, opening his office door.

“Good morning, Mr. Seo.” You smile.

“Can I see you for a moment?” He asks, walking back into his office.

You nod your head, walking into his office, closing the door behind you. You sit down in the chair across from his desk, crossing your legs along with your hands in your lap.

“Are you okay?” He asks, adjusting his tie.

You tilt your head slightly, giving him a confused look. “Yeah?” You laugh. “Why wouldn't I be?” You wonder.

“I heard… Well, I was told that Jeno was yelling at you on the street yesterday. And I just wanted to make sure you were okay.” He says.

Embarrassment immediately covers your face, making you cover your face with your hands. “I'm so sorry, Mr. Seo. Please don't worry about me. It's nothing.” You say. Luckily your desk phone begins to ring, giving you a chance to excuse yourself. “I should get to work.” You say, leaving his office as quickly as you could.

You tried to avoid Changbin’s gaze the rest of the morning as much as you could. You really didn't want to continue the conversation. It was embarrassing enough that people overheard your argument with Jeno. You didn't want the sympathy looks too.

“You know, Y/N.” Your coworker, Jamie begins. “Mr. Seo has been glancing over at you, all fucking day.” She giggles. “It's been weeks of him just staring at you.”

You look over towards his office, seeing him sit at his desk through the big windows. He was working through a pile of paperwork, but every few seconds he glanced up, in your direction. The second your eyes locked, you turned around, redness covering your face once again.

You needed this day to end right now. The afternoon went slower than a usual Friday. You still hadn't heard a word from Jeno and honestly, that hurt. You felt like he didn't care about you in the slightest, the fact that he was wrong and he still hadn't reached out to apologize made you feel worthless.

Once the clock hit 5 o'clock, you were ready to leave and do absolutely nothing for the weekend. “Y/N.” Changbin says, clearing his throat, leaning against your desk. “You've had a hard week.” He sighs. You nod your head, agreeing. “I'd like to take you out for a drink.” He says.

You're surprised, this was the last thing you expected, but honestly what else were you going to do? And you liked spending time with Changbin, he took your mind off the shit with Jeno.

“I'd like that.” You smile. You grab your coat and your purse, following him to the elevator, feeling giddy like a child on Christmas.

“Come on. This is a great wind-down place.” Changbin murmurs, opening the door for you. You walk in and immediately hit with the smell of alcohol. You loved that smell. You start looking around but Changbin steps in front of you, turning you towards a table, pulling out a chair that faces away from the rest of the bar.

“What would you like to drink?” He asks.

“Double vodka and cranberry please.” You smile. Changbin nods his head, walking up to the bar, leaving you to look at the wall, but not for long. He came back quickly, drinks in hand, setting yours down in front of you.

“So.” He says, glancing over your shoulder. “Have you heard from Jeno?” He wonders.

You take a big swig of your drink, shaking your head. “Unfortunately not. Nothing since I left him on the sidewalk yesterday. I just don't understand.” You sigh.

“Do you mind if I ask what the fight was about?” He asks. You finish your drink quickly, just in time for the server to bring you another one, taking your empty glass and replacing it with a full one. You take a big swig of your new drink, looking Changbin in the eyes.

“To be completely honest. It was about you. It's always about you.” You groan. “He really hates you. And he won't tell me why.” You say.

Changbin laughs. Loudly. “Figures. We've never gotten along. Even at the last place. Especially not near the end.”

“Will you tell me what happened?” You ask, taking another sip. Changbin drinks his beer, setting the bottle down on the table. He takes a deep breath.

“I want to…I just don't know how…” he pauses.

“What the fuck is this?” You hear from behind you. You turn around, seeing Jeno standing there, glaring at Changbin.

“What are you doing here?” You ask, standing up. You try to get his attention but he's so focused on Changbin, he barely notices you're there.

“Why are you here with my girlfriend?” Jeno snaps at Changbin.

“She's stressed out. Because of you.” Changbin answers. “I was being a good friend, trying to help her because her boyfriend is a piece of shit.”

“A good friend?” Jeno scoffs. “Don't act like you don't wanna fuck her.”

“And you don't act like I'm not standing right fucking here.” You yell at Jeno. “Stop ignoring me!”

“What else am I supposed to do with a whore who throws herself at anyone who gives her the slightest bit of attention!?” Jeno yells at you.

Your mouth hangs open in shock. Changbin stands up from his chair, rushing towards Jeno, getting in his face.

“You're really calling her a whore?” Changbin spits. “How about you tell her about why you were really FIRED? Huh?” Changbin yells.

“And then we'll see who the whore really is.”

[creature-wizard]

Info For Beginner Witches!

This is basically a masterpost for content relevant to new witches. A lot of it of it's stuff I wrote but I'll also link to material written by other people if I think it's useful.

Practice & Technique

Magical Correspondences 101

Closet Witchcraft: How To Get Witchy When You Can't Come Out Of The Broom Closet

How To Practice: Divination With Dice!

An approach to deity/entity work for the sort of people this sort of thing would work for

Manifestation Without Woo (a compassionate psychological approach to manifestation)

Non-Competitive Affirmations

No, you can't tell anything about a person from their natal chart.

A Brief Introduction to Energy Work

Energy Work On The Body: Hittin' The Right Spots For Tension Relief

Research & Critical Thinking

Information Literacy Basics

How to research

Distinguishing Fact, Opinion, Belief, and Prejudice

Critical Thinking: Definition, Examples, & Skills

Caution & Critical Thinking In Divination

10 Questions To Distinguish Real From Fake Science

Search for information on any witchy topic here!

"A weird thing just happened, does this mean anything? Is it an omen?"

Practicing discernment: Some ways of testing and ruling out the mundane

Research Tip: Remember the Five W's!

How conspiracy peddlers and cult recruiters make you feel like you're "thinking for yourself" when you're actually not

Remember a Previous Life? Maybe You Have a Bad Memory

Why fighting pseudohistory matters

Scams, Hoaxes, Conspiracy Theories, & Cults Everyone Should Know About

On people who assert "things are done this way for a reason!"

Dogmatism is not the solution to cultural appropriation

Some beliefs you might have to deconstruct as an ex-Christian

How the "divine feminine" and the "divine masculine" perpetuate patriarchy - and what we can do about it

Avoiding Harmful Stuff & Staying Safe

Recognizing the difference between real history and pseudohistory

Is the spiritual person a conspiracy theorist? A list of red flags

List of red flags to watch out for when joining a coven or online group

Beware of charisma mirrors

When your right to say no is entirely hypothetical

Dog whistles and symbols to watch out for

Eugenicist and bioessentialist beliefs about magic

What is spiritual eugenics?

Toxic Individualism In Modern Witchcraft

New Age beliefs that derive from racist pseudoscience

The Ancient Astronaut Hypothesis is Racist and Harmful

Allyship does not mean seeing yourself as worthless

The rules about responding to call outs aren’t working

History

Debunking the Pervasive Myths About Medieval Witch Hunts

Debunking Myths About Easter/Ostara

Just How Pagan is Christmas, Really?

The Origins of the Christmas Tree

No, Santa Claus Is Not Inspired By Odin

Why Prehistoric Matriarchy Wasn’t a Thing (A Brief Explanation)

Why Did The Patriarchal Greeks And Romans Worship Such Powerful Goddesses?

No, Athena Didn't Turn Medusa Into A Monster To Protect Her

Who Was the First God?

Were Ancient Civilizations Conservative Or Liberal?

PODCAST RECS - Debunking and Fact-Checking for Witches & Witchcraft Spaces

Angela's Symposium (YouTube channel about modern esotericism and witchcraft by Dr. Angela Puca)

ESOTERICA (YouTube channel about the history of Western esotericism by Dr. Justin Sledge)

ReligionForBreakfast (YouTube channel about religion run by Dr. Andrew Henry)

Let's Talk Religion (YouTube channel run by Filip Holm, lots of Islamic content but also lots of other stuff)

OceanKeltoi (Norse Heathenry)

Jackson Crawford (Norse Heathenry)

Conservation & Ecology

The Migratory Bird Treaty Act, Explained (all USian witches should read this, it most likely affects you)

How the Rage for Sage Threatens Native American Traditions and Recipes

(This post is unrebloggable because I plan to use it as a reference post to link, and may add/remove things to it over time.)

[lala056]

Exhausting

I have no respect for billford shippers that look down on stancest shippers.

Oh what, you’d have me believe a genetic tie to a partner is somehow worse than being with someone that stabs through your hands, forces you to swallow live spiders, and also SA’s you by having yourself forcibly strip down in public and swing your clothes over your head like a helicopter? (sorry but anyone that forcibly removes your clothes and exposes your body, even if you’re a guy/lacking breasts and it’s just your chest, is committing SA against you. They’re exposing your body against your will plain and simple. Try to write that off how you like but that’s the facts)

The logic behind this baffles me honestly.

There’s a reason Alex titled that kissing drawing as "the worst drawing in the world" and then linked to an amazon BIBLE page (yeah I know that was part of a joke well guess what he frequently uses the bible joke for shipping in general so yeah).

Because he knows it’s BAD, TOXIC, PROBLEMATIC AS YOU GUYS LIKE TO LABEL THINGS. What I see people incorrectly accuse PROSHIPPERS to REPRESENT rather than the actual representation of the LIVE AND LET LIVE CREDO OF SHIPPING.

Ever stop to consider that maybe Alex didn’t do stancest or art involving Wendy/Dipper because he simply a) didn’t like those ships, which is valid since everyone has their own tastes, and he did base some of these characters on his own family so it’s close to home for him, or b) knows how toxic and chronically online a lot of haters are? That he wanted to avoid drama for this stream that he’s trying to milk every cent out of for CHARITY? (It's ridiculous how many times he felt obligated to say "REMEMBER IT'S FOR CHARITY" when shipping came up just to try and prevent any meltdowns from uptight fans and viewers. And even then he still didn't do some because he knew the fact of it being for charity still wouldn't fly for some- because a lot of people would rather watch REAL PEOPLE SUFFER to preserve their fictional sensitivities)

Not to mention he still works with Disney (chibiverse hello), any backlash (the form of false pedo accusations or incest apologist accusations being what happens to be thrown around all willy nilly nowadays over fictional bullshit) could get him blocked not only from working with the company ever again, but lose any input he might have over his beloved passion project and baby Gravity Falls itself?

This is a man who has said COUNTLESSLY that he doesn’t care about ships, has even encouraged people to "be weirder" and made omelet hypotheticals for how much HE DOESN’T CARE BECAUSE FICTIONAL SHIPS DON’T MATTER.

Alex Hirsch is a KING.

And it’s sad to see that so many of his loyal subjets are so bigoted and blind to ignore his own feelings in order to justify their own, or to somehow perform the mental gymnastics in order to absolve themselves of "thought crimes" so that they can feel like they aren’t bad people under the imposition of conservative purity culture.

The terms "cest" and "age" are trigger words now. If those show up in any form, pitchforks come out and roofs get burned. Companies overreact and overcompensate. He said Disney people were watching, so of course he’s gonna say and act in what is deemed an appropriate manner because even companies apparently prefer abusive relationships to ones that have a blood tie even if blood ties are wholesomely depicted.

The age old double standards.

And don’t get me started on bringing up Dipper Goes To Taco Bell. Alex and cast know of that story, they’ve made references to it in a video game and such, immortalized it. They engage with all corners of their fandom, also shown by Jason’s "saving the town" reference on stream.

Another thing, anyone notice how they laughed off the Dipper and Wendy suggestion Jason made, rather than exploded? BECAUSE THEY DON'T CARE IT'S NOT THAT SERIOUS - and most likely turned them down because they know there's more drama about characters being aged up and crap so it wouldn't have mattered if they're adults now, there are people who will always see them as "kids".

Point is - If there was such a strong hate on Alex’s part about the darker side of fiction or taboos he’d do all in his power to make sure they were never mentioned again and be active against them. 

He’s a kind, caring man that obviously likes to just get along with people, but he does put his foot down when he feels something is awful. He’s made political posts about presidents he feels are corrupt and spoken out against social injustice. You honestly think he wouldn’t speak out about those taboo ships in frank language if he thought that they shouldn’t exist and that the people who create for them are awful?

Newsflash, he would. Yes, he’d isolate a sadly small part of his fanbase, but he’s shown time and again he doesn’t care about being liked. He cares about what’s right.

And abusing others over which made up character kisses who, isn’t.

If you’re someone that mislabels proshippers too, to mean "problematic shippers", then as a billford shipper you’re one by definition. And yes, I'm including you AU billford shippers too because there is always some degree of toxicity.

Knock the hate and abuse off. People that go off about why their ship is justified and another isn't are the reason people leave fandoms and leave amazing works often unfinished, even Gen writers and artists.

[ireadwithmyears]

My Heart is Yours, and so are my Brothers

Pairing: Tbb Echo/fem reader

Word count: 6.5 K

Gift for: @eclec-tech for the @cloneficgiftexchange 2024 life day exchange

Prompt: clone asks reader to be part of his family

Tags/warnings: Light angst, emotional hurt/comfort, mentioned past familial issues/toxicity, (I tried to keep it vague), insecurities, domestic/romantic fluff, found family, soft and cosy life day feels

Summary: You have always felt like you don’t fit within your own family. Echo is determined to show you that in his, your place is not something you have to earn, and the love they show you is nothing short of unconditional. And if that takes you overworking yourself, a life day baking mishap, and your beloved scooping you up and offering out a helping hand as soon as you show signs of beginning to fall, well... sometimes, that’s just how it goes.

Authors note: This was written as a gift for Amber, who has become such a good friend to me and ironically, is also my usual beta. We had, actually, briefly joked and giggled over the idea of one of us being paired with the others prompts... until it actually happened. So, I would also like to thank Carol: @clonethirstingisreal for betaing this work. It was a huge relief knowing that you could step in for this one, as I didn’t want to ruin Amber’s surprise by making her also be the one who has to edit it, because how mean would that be? This story can also be read on my ao3(check pinned for link) and I truly had so much fun writing it. Dare I say, one of the writing highlights of my year 😉 if you enjoy, please consider dropping a reblog. Sharing is always so so appreciated, as well as comments. Happy holidays, and happy life day🎄❄️

Waking up to the piercing shriek of your smoke detector, you think, your brain still groggy and slow from your impromptu nap, is definitely not a good sign.

Your heart is pounding, rattling furiously within the confines of your chest, your mind and body still trying to comprehend going from out cold on the couch to frantically running around the kitchen like a maniac, swiftly opening the oven door to discover what is no doubt the source of the alarm’s high pitched wails

It’s only after using a hastily dampened towel to smother the flames, vigorously flapping it 

around to beat out the lingering smoke, that you’re still hammering heart rate finally begins to slow, and you allow yourself to take a drawn-out, steady breath, forcing yourself to calm as you anxiously peer into the oven.

You can tell, just from the acrid stench, that it’s bad. 

Still, you’re not prepared to find the batch of freshly made cookies, each patiently dusted with a generous helping of sugar so that each chocolate surface appears as if snowflakes had found their landing place there, are nothing but crumbling, blackened crisps against the stark white of the baking sheet in the tray.

You shouldn’t have sat down, you think, strangely detached as with shaky, oven mitt-covered hands, you remove the tray from the oven, setting it down on the counter and gazing at what was supposed to be your life day offering to Echo’s family, to express your gratitude at their generosity for inviting you to their festivities.

It meant more to you than they would ever know. 

They didn’t know that your own family looked down on you with disappointment. They didn’t know that you had fled to Pabu precisely with the intent to walk away from them in an effort to save yourself from more hurt. They didn’t know that you, stupidly and still with the embarrassing desperation of a child who might do anything to earn even just a smile of approval from those around her, want, need them to approve of you, and not just in the way that family members do because she’s their  brother’s partner, but in a way that feels like they genuinely like you, and actually want to have you around.

But regardless, they still showed up at your door. Hunter, who you’ve only shared passing greetings with and who has, up until this point, been virtually a mutual acquaintance, and Omega, who despite having only caught glimpses of her around the island when she takes her hound out for a walk, had beamed at you, bright eyed and familiar, as if you had known each other for years.

It had touched you, and Hunter’s evident warm and sincere invite to their Life Day celebrations had made you just as excited as it did become a source of anxiety over the following weeks.

Nights where you should have been sleeping, instead were spent tossing and turning, trying to plan out every aspect. What you would say, what you would do, what you would bring to express your thanks to them.

Well, here it was, you think, suddenly grim. All your planning had amounted to what was now laid out before you in a charred, stinking heap, served on a tray.

Perhaps, if you were thinking logically, you would have shaken your head, let out a sigh of discontent before dumping the burnt cookies into the compost, giving yourself five minutes to take a break, then rolled up your sleeves, set your shoulders, and jumped right back into making a second batch, being extra careful to pay attention, never straying from focussing on your task.

Unfortunately, though, you weren’t, at present, thinking logically in the slightest. Thanks to the lack of sleep you had so desperately tried to ignore until it creeped up on you when you had collapsed onto the couch once the cookies were in the oven, and the stubbornly persistent overwhelm that you had convinced yourself you weren’t actually feeling, which had worked, at least until now.

Until you look down once more to survey the mess that had come out of a whole afternoon’s work, that you had so diligently, with both nervous and eager anticipation, been fretting over to make the perfect gift, the façade of composure, of pretending that the anxiety that had been stirring in your stomach for weeks was, actually, just excitement, cracks. And once it does, it’s easy for the whole thing to come down, crumbling around you as if it’s as fragile as the chipped and breaking edges of the cookies on the tray in front of you.

So, instead of reacting reasonably, your actions fuelled by logic, your response is to turn, press your face into your baking apron, and burst into tears.

It’s silly, you know, from the very first sob that claws its way up your throat despite your valiant attempt to stop it, that your reaction is so, so unjustified given the situation. They’re just cookies. They just got burnt. A new batch can be made and somewhere, deep down, you know all of this. 

But well, your mother always had a habit of calling you overly sensitive as a child, punctuating that remark with a signature roll of her eyes. Your father would pipe up, in a tone that probably meant to sound more encouraging but just ended up coming across as condescending, “you need to grow some thicker skin, kid.”

This is solid, concrete proof that this particular piece of advice had never truly been heeded, or, if you’re honest, had never really been understood to begin with.

Your breath hitches in your throat, because the desire to push back the tide is still present, if not to stop, then at least to muffle, to not hear the discomforting, ugly sounds you make when you cry. Still, the tears fall, and quiet, broken whimpers and sniffles fall from your lips anyway.

And then, because apparently this day just seeks to prove how absolutely bad your luck is, Echo takes this moment to walk through the door of your shared small house.

You hear the sound of an umbrella being folded, boots being rhythmically stamped against the doormat as Echo steps inside, evidently trying to rid his boots of the dried mud that gets clumped together in the creases, so common this time of year on Pabu, and the quiet hiss of the door as it slides back into place behind him.

Then, in a murmur that carries from the small alcove into your kitchen, he calls your name and instantly, you freeze. For some reason, you believe that if you can just stand as still as possible, if you can bite down on your lip hard enough and not make a single sound, not even a breath, he won’t see you, won’t know that you still get upset and cry over little, seemingly inconsequential things like this, which is completely ridiculous, you know. But still, you’ve already established that right now, your actions are dictated by nothing more than pure instinct, and, at least today, your instinct is incredibly off target.

There’s a brief pause, the sound of Echo bending down, hastening to remove his boots, then a quick, light pitter patter of footsteps against the floor as he moves through the space to find you.

There’s a soft breath, an oh of realization as he steps through the threshold of the kitchen, standing completely still as he observes, pausing to take in, what must be, quite the sight before him. You, on the other hand, don’t look, don’t want to see the mixture of both pity and confusion that surely is displayed in his eyes. So you don’t, keeping your face covered with your hands, trying to make yourself as small as possible.

“Oh, cyar,” he breathes, and his voice isn’t mocking or disappointed or underlined with the sharp bite of disapproval, but instead it’s soft. It’s warm and smooth which only serves to remind you of the honeyed hue within his golden eyes whenever he looks at you and it’s soft, so warm, and so soft that your resolve melts in the sincere, empathetic face of it, and you’re moving towards him before he’s even finished speaking.

“Come here, ner kar’ta,” he says, his voice a low, gentle murmur as he opens his arms, just in time for you to come scrambling, throwing yourself into them with a muffled sob against the material of his sweater, pressing your face against his chest and clinging onto any part of him you can reach. There’s a soft puff of breath that you feel lightly ruffle your hair before his lips gently press against your forehead, lingering there as he whispers “That’s my girl. See? I have you. We’re okay”

His scomp arm is a heavy, familiar weight as it runs along the small of your back, settling at your waist as he guides you closer. He doesn’t needlessly comment. He doesn’t pepper you with questions or demand an explanation of what’s wrong.

Instead, he simply tucks your head beneath  his chin, his hand gentle as it lingers to brush through and stroke your hair. He holds you in his arms, slightly swaying on the spot, the slow, repetitive back-and-forth as he rocks you, settling your uneasy heart as you sniffle, quietly allowing yourself to give into the tears. 

The only sounds that fall from Echo’s lips aren’t so much words as they are just familiar, soothing noises. The soft “shh,” as his hand gently cups the back of your head or the gentle, barely there kisses, lightly scattered across the top of your head and the quiet, steady exhalation of breath that you become more and more aware of as your tears begin to slow.

“Hey, beautiful,” he says, his voice a low, gentle rumble as he pulls back slightly, noticing you peeking up at him through watery eyes and stroking his hand along your cheek, brushing away your tears with his thumb. “Rough day?”

A sound that could either be classified as a laugh or a small, broken sob is pulled from your lips as you look up at him, nodding your head. 

“Sorry,” you mumble, your cheeks flooding with heat. “I didn’t mean to react like that, I just.”

“Shh,” he lightly cuts you off by leaning forward, lips a soft brush against yours as he lingers there, warm, golden eyes intent as they search yours, taking in your expression, the drying tear tracks on your cheeks, the dark circles beneath your eyes.

“When’s the last time you got a full night's sleep?” he asks, and the question feels so off-topic that for a few seconds, you blink up at him, looking bewildered before you shake your head, shrugging.

“I, I don’t I um?”

Apparently, your hesitation and seeming inability to come up with a suitable answer is confirmation enough, and Echo, making a small, exasperated gesture with his scomp, clicks his tongue with disapproval.

“That’s what I thought,” he sighs, a hand running over the back of his head as he looks down at you. “Right, well, let me worry about cleaning up here. I want you to at least sit down and get some rest.”

“I can’t,” you sputter, your eyes widening. “Echo, me taking a nap is the exact reason why all of this,” you gesture towards the burnt cookies on the counter, “happened. I need to get to work on a new batch so that I have something to bring over to your family’s house for dinner tomorrow.”

“And we will,” Echo’s voice is patient, but there’s an underlying, stern edge that’s crept into it that breeches no room for argument as he ushers you into the living room, hand on the small of your back as he guides you over to an armchair. “But, cyar, you’ve just told me that you’ve already taken a nap?” he asks, folding his arms.

“Yeah,” you say, your lips tilted downward in a confused frown as you turn to look up at him. 

“And isn’t a nap supposed to make you feel more well rested afterward?” he asks, the question clearly rhetorical as he takes your chin in his hand, thumb pointedly brushing along the bag beneath one of your eyes. 

The silence he gets in response to that remains uncontested, and he smirks, satisfied in the knowledge that he has you beaten.

“No arguing with me on this one, princess,” he says gruffly, which makes you glare at him even as he lightly pushes your unresisting body down into the armchair, moving to pull out the Ottoman from beneath. “I’m not asking you to sleep. Just rest while I clean up the kitchen. We’ll figure everything else out once I’m finished, okay?” 

“Fine,” you huff, looking up at him with a stubborn set to your jaw before you add “but only if you kiss me first.”

Echo’s chuckle is warm and deep, his eyes soft as he leans down to oblige you, first brushing his lips against your forehead, your cheek, the corner of your mouth, lingering at each spot.

“Now that, I can gladly do,” he murmurs, his voice a soft breath that brushes against your lips before he’s closing the distance, his lips pressing against yours in a warm, tender kiss.

When he pulls back, your eyes flutter open. Echo’s smile is small, but sweet and conveys the infinite amount of affection that he holds for you as he moves, retrieving a neatly folded throw blanket, from where it’s been draped over the back of the couch. He unfolds it, letting you see the depiction of a group of tookas snuggled together in front of a fireplace that’s been illustrated on the soft fabric, before moving back towards you, wrapping it around you, taking his time to make sure that you’re bundled up just right, movements soft and careful as he does.

“Just rest, Cyar’ika,” he reaffirms, pressing one last kiss to the top of your head before straightening, moving back towards the kitchen in long strides. “We’ll sort everything out, I promise.”

And because it’s Echo, and Echo always keeps his promises, you actually believe him.

*

Surprisingly, once you’re sat down and comfortable, you find it easy to, if not fall asleep, simply drift and allow yourself to zone out.

You can faintly hear the sounds of Echo moving around your kitchen. There’s light footsteps, water running as he does the dishes in the sink, the soft, warm rumble of his baritone as he quietly hums an unfamiliar tune. Your eyes drift close, and the next time you let yourself float back into awareness, he’s there, smiling down at you, a beloved pair of your slippers tucked beneath his arm, a steaming mug held out as an offering in his hand.

“Careful,” he cautions you as you eagerly reach for it, making sure it is securely held within your grasp before letting go. “It’s still hot.”

You look down to survey the contents, a smile pulling at the corners of your lips as soon as you register the warm, sweet scent of hot chocolate. He’s piled it high with marshmallows and whip cream, which he’s always rolled his eyes at you for adding.

“I don’t get it,” he would often say with fond exasperation, arms folded across his chest. “Why do you need to add extras? It’s already sweet to begin with.”

Seeing that he has evidently so lovingly prepared it in the way that you enjoy pulls your lips upward into a smile and you beam at him, your eyes lighting up for the first time in what feels like days. 

You grin up at him, indulging yourself in a tiny sip, your eyes closing with delight before you utter a quiet, but sincere thank you. 

“I still think it’s too sweet with all that,” he grumbles, a small, perplexed crinkle between his eyebrows as he sinks to his knees at your feet. “But anything for you, Cyar’ika.”

He gently takes one of your feet in his hands, seeming to contemplate it as he sets the pair of slippers at his side. 

“Have you considered,” he asks idly, scomp carefully resting on your ankle, as with the other hand he curls one of his fingers, lightly pressing his knuckle against the overworked arch of your foot. “That you’ve been doing too much?”

As if to accentuate his words, he slowly begins to rotate his wrist, the drag of his knuckle a gentle, but steady, pressure that instantly causes your eyes to flutter closed. It feels good. It feels wonderful, actually. He’s working with obvious deliberation and care, but he’s also, quite effectively, digging into sore spots and tendons that you didn’t realize you were carrying, and the relief is instantaneous.

“I wanted it to be a surprise,” you admit, unable to bring yourself to open your eyes and look down at him. “For them and for you.”

He hums, a quiet understanding as he lightly grasps your Achilles tendon between his thumb and index finger, slow and gentle as he strokes towards your heel. He’s quiet for a moment, remaining completely focused on you, thoughtful as he keeps up with his task.

“Well,” he murmurs, lips twitching upward as he gently pulls at each of your toes, slight tugs to coax tension to release in each. “As nice as that would have been, I think I’ll be much happier helping you bake the second attempt.”

He gives you a rueful grin, easing one of your slippers onto your foot with a small assist from you before moving to repeat his prior treatment with the other.

“You’ll have to teach me, though,” he says, voice apologetic. “I’m afraid I’ve never been much of a baker. But, I’m willing to learn, and hey, we can finally put some of those scomp attachments that Tech has fitted me with to use.”

You laugh softly, your lips pulling upward into a matching smile. Tech, when he had miraculously found his way back to his family, returned needing extensive recovery and physiotherapy, with so many of his bones having been broken or shattered, including in his fingers and hands. To regain the dexterity that he once coveted, he was often found working on some project or another, requiring a constant flow of them to keep his agile and ever working mind occupied until the medics would allow him to walk again.

Crosshair, being Crosshair, had very limited patience, only sitting long enough to allow his brother to fit him with an appropriate cybernetic, fiddling with and rewiring servos to make it more effectively attuned to him. But, once he had started suggesting certain modifications, Crosshair had stomped off, rolling his eyes and tossing over his shoulder “I’m not a droid, Tech. It’s fine, just leave it,” in his seemingly trademark annoyed tone.

Tech had pressed his lips together, and you had wondered, still on the outside and learning Echo’s family as you were, if he was hurt by Crosshair’s vehement rebuttal. Echo, standing beside you, seemed to come to a similar kind of conclusion, but had only stepped forward, laying a hand on Tech’s shoulder, sitting down beside him at his workstation.

“He might be opposed to adding some cool attachments, but I’m not,” Echo declared, giving his brother a light nudge. “What do you say, Tech. Think you can make me something I can use to give Crosshair a good smack?”

“I was thinking more along the lines of practicality,” Tech explained, hands folded in his lap. “Perhaps a flipper or spatula to ease the burden of cooking somewhat.”

His eyes, when he had looked up, were sparkling with amusement, and his lips tilted upward into a small, but evident smile when he had continued by saying, his voice nonchalant, “But I believe your idea also holds certain merit. If you have the patience to let me experiment, I believe we can do both.”

*

Luckily for Tech, Echo seemed to possess an infinite amount of patience to let him fiddle, his scomp sometimes attached, sometimes laying on the table between them, their heads bent low as they quietly conversed with each other. 

Echo was more than content to just sit and talk, of different attachment ideas, their uses both on the field and in simple, daily life, or of everything and nothing. You watched, quiet but observant, as Echo in his casual, straightforward way, brought Tech up to speed on the goings-on of him and his brothers whilst he was gone and inexplicably, you watched as Tech, still hunched over his work with his hands tangled amidst wire and components, allowed his shoulders to begin to soften, slowly pulling away from his ears as he listened to his brother talk.

You suspected that this was Echo’s way of making up for lost time with Tech, and for your part, you were more than happy to just be a silent, but present observer and support, there to reach for and squeeze Echo’s hand, or, if necessary, talk with him late into the night when you noticed his small tells of guilty, self blame ridden thought patterns starting to creep in.

Regardless of how it had initially started as simply mobility and skill recovery, Tech had, with the input of Echo, designed quite the variety of inventions for Echo’s scomp, one of which, you now found yourself in your kitchen, getting to test out its effectiveness for the first time.

“I have to say,” you murmur, arms wrapped around his waist as you observe him from behind, your chin lightly resting against his shoulder. “You’re doing a much better job than the stand mixer ever could.”

Echo stands, the attachment to his scomp lowered into the glass bowl, whirring as it stirs the ingredients. The mix looks smooth, slowly coming together in a blend. Echo lets out a low chuckle, and you can feel its slight rumble as he turns, retracting from the bowl and raising his scomp to give you a small salute.

“Happy to be of service,” he says with a smirk, startling slightly as a flake of the dough takes the opportunity to fall from the attachment, landing on the tip of his nose.

It’s your turn to giggle, and your hand stops him from instinctively moving to wipe it away as you rise onto your tiptoes, hurriedly exclaiming “I got it. I got it,” before you lean forward and, not giving him the time to protest, cheekily licking it off.

“You’re quite the opportunist,” he muses, moving towards the sink to remove the attachment and place it in a pile to be cleaned.

“Can I have what’s left on that?” you ask and he turns, a hand on his hip and his lips pressed together.

“Are you kidding? No,” he says, both exasperated and mortified. “That is so unsanitary. Meshla, do you realize how many diseases you could catch from eating raw cookie dough?” he asks, turning back to the sink.

“It was worth a shot,” you sigh in defeat, looking at the bowl of now mixed cookie dough with longing. You’re not usually this impatient and peckish for scraps. But really, after your first tried and failed attempt, you’re hungry, and eager to taste test the fruits of your labour

“What next, boss?” Echo asks a moment later, returning to your side and drying his hand on a tea towel.

“Now,” you say, beaming as you hold out an ice cream scooper to him. “Comes the fun part.”

*

“Perfect,” Echo murmurs in satisfaction, watching as the round ball of dough falls from the scoop into your waiting, cupped hands. 

The two of you had decided it would be easiest, and move faster, if it was done this way. Echo, working with a lot more precision than you had when you had been doing this on your own, using the ice cream scoop to separate the dough into little balls. And you, after retrieving them, dunking them into a bowl of white sugar, rolling each around until each surface had a generous amount dusted on, and setting each on the lined baking tray.

“This probably wasn’t how you envisioned spending the night of Life Day Eve,” you say quietly, your words tinged with a note of regret.

“None of that,” Echo gently chides, his shoulder lightly bumping against yours. “I’ve already told you, Cyar’ika, I really don’t mind that this is the way that it turned out.”

You’re quiet for a moment, and sensing your lingering hesitance, he continues. 

“You’re worried about spending time with them, aren’t you?” he asks, and his words aren’t accusatory, just a soft, knowing observation and you swallow, your eyes intent on your work as you nod your head slightly. 

“Yeah,” you admit, your voice barely a breath. “I know I’ve met all of them and have even spent time with a few of them when you come to visit, but this is different.”

“I understand that,” Echo murmurs, and from the sincerity in his voice, you can tell that he really does. “This feels more official than all of those other times?”

“Yeah,” you agree, setting the next ball on the cookie sheet and turning to receive the next one. “Life Day is all about family and mine... let’s just say they wouldn’t be overly thrilled to see me standing out on their doorstep if I showed up tomorrow for their celebration.” 

Echo hums, and the silence that follows is comfortable, thoughtful as he turns, contemplating you from the corner of his eye.

“But my family will,” he says quietly. “You know that, right? They’re really happy that you’ve agreed to come. Especially Omega. She’s been chattering my ear off about how excited she is to see you every time I’ve gone over to visit them.”

His mention of the girl pulls your lips up into a slight smile, but the sound you make is noncommittal and he frowns, taking a step forward, catching your chin in his hand.

“I need them to like me,” you say, trembling at the vulnerability in your own voice. “I need to do something, give them something so that I don’t...”

“Shh, sweetheart,” Echo softly interjects, thumb lightly brushing over your lips. “You don’t need to do anything. I promise, cyar, they already love you.”

“I doubt that,” you say, unable to hide the edge of residual bitterness that even now, still lingers in your voice. 

Echo is patient, letting out a breath, the backs of his knuckles gentle, unhurried, as they run along the curve of your cheek, as he takes a breath to carefully collect his next words.

“I know that your family has made you feel unwanted,” Echo says, after a moment's pause to collect himself. “And I know that a couple of words from me aren’t going to change how much that hurt you.”

His hand is, yet again, lightly nudging at your chin, bringing your eyes back up to focus on his warm, concerned golden depths.

“My heart is yours,” he says, his voice just a whisper, but still managing to carry the stone heavy weight of a promise beneath it. “And, if you want them to be, if you let them, my family will be your family, too.”

“Do they want that?” You ask, unable to hide the waiver in your voice.

Echo’s eyes soften, and you can’t help the way you nuzzle into his touch as he cups your cheek in his hand.

“They do,” he affirms, voice certain and steady. “And if that’s something you want, all you have to do is say so. I promise, cyar, whenever you’re ready, they’re waiting for you with open arms.”

“Y- you’re sure?” You ask in a shaking voice, and at the first glimmer of tears in your eyes, he’s reaching out, pulling you to his chest and holding you in his arms.

“I’m sure,” he says, without a glimpse of hesitance in his voice. “You don’t have to make any grand gestures for them to accept you, ner kar’ta. You just have to be my girl.”

He drops a kiss to the top of your head and, despite the blush that’s crawling up your cheeks, you squirm, tilting your head, going up onto your tiptoes to capture his lips with yours, to which he surrenders happily.

When you pull away, your cheeks are flushed, your lips slightly parted, and your voice breathless. 

“I, I think I can do that,” you murmur, looking up at him with a shy, barely concealed mix of nervousness and hope playing on your expression.

“I’m glad,” Echo beams, and the smile he gives you is a dazzling thing to behold. “Trust me, cyar, it’ll all turn out. You’ll see.”

You’re not really sure what he means by that, but, as you turn back to finish arranging the rest of the cookies, you decide that he has never led you wrong before, so you might as well take him at his word.

*

“Beauties,” Echo comments, bending to retrieve the cookie tray from the oven. “Now these aren’t such a bad batch, are they, meshla?”

Maybe it was the weight that you suddenly found had vanished from your shoulders after your and Echo’s chat, maybe it was just the late hour and the oven timer going off sending you a prolonged burst of energy. But you couldn’t help but bounce on the balls of your feet, peeking over Echo’s shoulder to catch a glimpse at the now perfectly baked, lightly sugar frosted chocolate crinkles.

“I know we should wait until tomorrow so that we can share them with everyone but...” you trail off, the indignant grumble of your stomach interrupting whatever excuse you were about to make.

Echo laughs, throwing his head back as his eyes sparkle with merriment. An arm wraps around your shoulders, and he tucks you against his side, looking down at you with a small grin.

“We made them. We deserve to taste test them,” he declares, and before you can protest, he swipes the nearest one from off the tray. “Want to share?”

You smile, nodding your head and helping him to break the cookie in equal halves.

“Cheers,” you grin, lightly bumping your half against his. Raising it to your lips, you indulge yourself in a large bite, closing your eyes and letting a soft “Mmm,” fall from your lips. It’s still warm, soft and gooey chocolate that melts in your mouth that reminds you, so quintessentially, of the holiday, and for once, only the good parts come to mind, as you watch Echo follow suit, though his first bite is much more delicate than yours. His eyes flutter close, and before you know it, both of you are looking at each other, your halves of the cookie gone within seconds.

You both smile, soft laughter falling from your lips as you both trade glances towards the tray, tempted to reach for another, but making a valiant effort to resist.

“Look at me, beautiful,” Echo hums. “You’ve got a little something right...”

He dips his head, leaning in, fingers delicately tilting your chin upward, lips warm as they brush against yours. You gasp, unable to hide a slight shiver as his tongue gently sweeps over your lips and he lets out a soft hum, fingers lightly teasing along your side, his hand eventually coming to rest at your hip. 

The kiss is sweet, filled with tenderness and topped with the lingering traces of sugar that Echo chases away with his lips. 

Faintly, as he pulls back just enough to rest his forehead against yours, feeling the soft puffs of air as you both try to regain your breath, you register the distant chimes of a grandfather clock, 12 rings of its bells to signify midnight, ringing in the new day with its song.

“Happiest of Life Days, Cyar’ika,” Echo whispers, a soft breath against your skin. 

“Happy Life Day, my love,” you say, your voice equally as soft.

Then, as the distant, echoing chimes of the clock ring and fade into the night, you cradle his face in your hands, tilting your head to kiss him again. You feel, for the first time in your recent memory of Life Days past, a sense of rightness, of knowing that here, with his warm body lightly pressing you against the counter and his soft lips settled against yours, content, it seems, to linger there until all coherent thoughts have been chased away from your mind with each teasing touch, that this is where you’re meant to be.

That somehow, despite having convinced yourself that you were never going to find it, you think that finally, truly, his arms might just be the safe, comforting place that you choose to call home.

*

“We made you a gift.”

Omega is beaming with excitement, almost on her tiptoes as she bounces on the balls of her feet with a wide smile, and looking down at her, it’s impossible not to be captivated and taken in by her infectious joy as she produces something from behind her back. 

Despite Echo’s stream of reassurances that all would be well as you left the house this afternoon, picking your way through rainy pathways and hopping around puddles, you still look to him now, reaching for his hand to feel the reassuring press of his fingers against yours.

“You did?” You ask, unable to hide the note of startled surprise in your voice. “I’m sorry, I didn’t bring something for each of you. I didn’t know what you would like and...”

“It’s a gift,” Crosshair cuts you off, folding his arms as he leans against the wall.

“We do not expect nor require you to provide anything in return,” Tech states, much more kindly as he gives you one of his small smiles. “We merely hope that you enjoy it.”

“Hunter did the carvings,” Omega says, very carefully lowering something into your hands. “But we all contributed in one way or another.”

You look down to find a snow globe, rested atop  a circular, wooden stand beneath, cupped within your hands. Inspecting it closely, you find that indeed, there is something to signify each brother within the carvings of wood that decorate the base. From the small carving of Tech’s goggles, to Hunter’s skull emblem and Crosshair’s tattoo. 

“I made the snow,” Omega declares proudly. “And Wrecker took the photo.”

“What photo?” You ask and Wrecker grins, leaning across you and touching a small, unnoticed button at the top of the glass. 

A holoimage slowly fades into focus within the glass orb, snow lightly swirling around it. It’s of you and Echo, sitting out on a porch swing and snuggled beneath a blanket. You remember how the rest of them had teased you both, saying that it wasn’t even that cold outside and was the blanket really necessary?

Wrecker, in particular, had let out a booming laugh, claiming that since the two of you seemed to run so cold, maybe it was a sign that the two of you were perfect for each other.

“Aw, look at the two a ya. You can keep each other warm,” he had grinned, and you can remember him snapping the photo shortly after that.

“We all have one,” Omega continues, pointing to the mantle above the fireplace where indeed, you see a line up of six other snow globes. “You can take yours home, or you can set it with ours, if you want to.”

“You, you would be fine with that?” You ask the room at large, scanning their faces. For some reason, it feels wrong, and you don’t want to insert yourself into their already established Life Day family traditions.

“Why not,” Hunter grins, gesturing to the mantle. “You’re one of us now.”

“Y- you’re sure?” You ask, unable to hide the waver that’s crept into your voice.

“Of course we are. You make him so happy,” Wrecker beams, and before you know it he’s enveloped you into a fierce, tight hug that simultaneously knocks all the air from your lungs while also, at the same time, making you feel like you’ve just let out the biggest sigh of relief. He lifts you off the floor, which makes you let out a sound, somewhere between a startled gasp and a laugh. “That seems like as good of a reason as any to me,” he continues, suddenly gentle and steadying as he sets you back down.

“It’s true,” Crosshair snarks, watching as he idly twirls a toothpick between his fingers. “I’ve never seen him look like such a lovesick puppy before,” he says, pulling a disgusted face as he slides the toothpick between his teeth.

“Oh, shut up,” Echo grumbles, but when you turn to him, he’s ducking his head, his cheeks having gone slightly pink. 

“I think it’s sweet,” Omega declares, lightly elbowing Crosshair in the ribs. He pretends to give her a glare, then, as payback, lunges forward, easily grappling her and beginning to attack her with tickles. The small house is momentarily filled with her shrieks and giggles which ends with Batcher, torn between which of her owners needs to be protected from the other, shoves between the two of them, nudging her snout at both sets of scrabbling hands to entreat them to pet her and give her head scratches, which both happily oblige her demand.

“You are by no means obligated to,” Tech cuts in, smoothly redirecting the conversation back to you. “It is our gift, and you may do with it as you wish. But, if you would like to place your snow globe alongside ours, we have made a space for you, right beside Echo’s.”

“I would,” you admit, voice soft, wistful.

Echo rises to his feet, his hand held out in a silent offering. After a moment's pause, you take it, letting him guide you towards the blazing heat of the fire that warms your toes, caressing up your legs as you get closer.

With hands that are shaking despite the warmth, you lift your snow globe, careful and gentle as you lower it down into the spot that they’ve made for you, smiling as it fits perfectly beside Echo’s.

“There,” Echo murmurs, and the smile he gives you is soft, speaking volumes of his affection.

An arm curls around your waist, and you melt into him as he pulls you against his chest, letting out a happy sigh as warm lips brush against your forehead. When he speaks his voice is low, soft, and meant for your ears alone.

“Welcome to the family, Cyar’ika. You have no idea how happy I am that you’re here.”

When he leans in to kiss you this time, standing by the fire and in front of all of his family, you start to get that same feeling you got late last night, when you had shared your first Life Day kiss with him. Only this time, it’s not a glimpse, or an echo or a maybe. When you tilt your head, rising up onto your tiptoes to meet him, warm contentment settling over you like a soft blanket, you know, without any second guessing or lingering reason to doubt, that he is your anchor, your lodestar, and, most of all, that Echo is your home.

•Thank you to @strangergraphics for these adorable Christmas themed dividers

[danmei-hot-takes]

Love meatbun's ideas, not her execution, I've only read erha (haven't finished it) but I'm very confused on why ppl praise meatbun's writing so much. It feels like she just thought of whatever is cool and would impress ppl and just stuff it all into the book without bothering to stitch it all together in a coherent way, abandoned plot points are left like dangling threads, bad guys are cartoonishly evil, character development besides the mcs (and xue meng) feel very awkward, female characters are... something and the technicalities in the story is basically non existent if ranwan isn't the main focus, also don't like how she basically skipped the entirety of mo ran's 5 year journey and all his character growth bc chu wanning is not present during that time.

Meatbun is good at doing Meatbun. I actually love the way she writes. She’s definitely the author I binge the fastest (alongside Fei Tian Ye Xiang). I think the thing with Meatbun is she’s a massive fan of the genre and so uses a lot of tropes (especially toxic yaoi) so if you’re into that, you’re guaranteed to have a good time. But I guess if you’re not…

Although I do have to roll my eyes when people suggest she’s making some sweeping statement about the ills of sexual assault which is just not the case at all. Non con is her favourite trope and I think she’s very honest about that.

I’ve read all Meatbun’s novels up to their official English translations. I am slightly concerned by Yuwu because I didn’t really vibe with vol 6 and I’ve heard she can’t stick a landing which does concern me. On the other hand, I didn’t think a lot of the Meatbun hype is linked to how she’s kind of an outlier in that there’s really no other options for dog blood and that kind of smutty toxicity that’s been officially translated yet. There probably are authors that do it better, but they’re not accessible yet.

That her plots fall apart when you remove the romance I don’t think is necessarily a bad thing. It’s probably why she was never able to get adapted to the extent as mxtx. Like you can censor the shit out of those and it will still make sense, but if you censor Meatbun what is there?

[damnfandomproblems]

772148308684800001

This actually works.

An anti (I think they were like 15 or something, surprise, surprise) had all their friends gang up on my mutual over their incest ship, and posted nasty things about them, taking screenshots of their writing, and even their vents about how the anti wouldn't leave them alone and kept sending people to their blog to blow up their inbox, even though they'd blocked them. The anti also accused my mutual of being homophobic for, and I can't make this up, not shipping a certain toxic gay ship because that type of toxic dynamic didn't interest them. Yes, an anti, making fun of someone for simply not shipping a toxic ship. I told the anti to stop and be nice. They didn't stop. They said they "were" being nice, and played dumb and acted like my mutual was overreacting. Typical anti shit. My mutual had only posted two calm but annoyed posts about the harassment, too, so... Way to misrepresent yet another aspect of the situation, anti.

After this, I was pissed on my mutual's behalf. I'd dealt with antis myself in the past, not even over "toxic" ships but just a canonical ship the antis didn't like, and I wasn't pulling punches anymore. I started taking Internet Archive captures of the anti's blog for the next couple days, archiving all of their most recent posts. Then I went into their inbox - off anon, using my well-established blog with tons of user engagement so I looked credible and they couldn't laugh me off as a troll - and listed links for all the days I captured, with quotes of the most damning lines. I told them, "Is this what you call nice? You do realize your harassment not only stays with the people you harassed for a long time, but once it's online and posted, it can also stay up there forever?"

And I kid you not, they replied with, "Please take it down. I'm uncomfortable having this stuff up there, I didn't mean it". They did a complete 180 on me; they were uncannily polite and subdued. I simply told them, if it makes them uncomfortable seeing bad stuff about them up there, how do they think someone who is having unsubstantiated bad rumors spread about them would feel? And I told them once it's up, it's up forever. I can't take it down. It's loose. Lastly, I told them that anyone else who saw the bullying probably saved captures or screenshots of their own, too, so even if I could take it down, those other screenshots are likely always going to be there anyways. (I had no confirmation that anyone else took captures, but it was a possibility given how nasty they were being.) Moreover, it wasn't just me; people don't like when people act like they did, even if their online buddies think it's cool and funny, and like me, they save receipts to know who to avoid, even in the future.

The anti proceeded to not only pull down all their posts harassing my mutual, but pleaded with their own mutuals to remove their reblogs of said posts. A lot of them didn't, because they were in full-on rage and bully mode, and it just made the anti even more uncomfortable, knowing they couldn't control what their pals were doing.

This was ages ago, but it was so satisfying. Not only did they stop cold in their tracks when they realized just how all of their bullying shit could remain on the internet permanently, but they never said a peep about my mutual again, or even me. It was an instant KO. I don't do this stuff lightly, but for people this ignorant and stupid, sometimes a healthy dose of reality and a taste of their own medicine is enough to make them realize they fucked around and found out.

Posting as a response to a previous ask.

[randomnameless]

Toxic Masculinity 101 : Follow your heart and the justice you believe

"Nah, let's just say "Justice" to make them look like zealots, and remove the mention of their heart, otherwise, people might make links with the reason why Cassandra became Catherine, and we can't have people think too much about her because we already lolcalised her to be a zealot!"

I could cook something about "justice that you yourself believe" and "follow your heart" might have been something passed down since the days of Loog, if "Justice" was something Adrestians came up with and obviously, Loog'n'pals disagreed with it but I'm too lazy lol

Interestingly, the "follow your heart and justice you believe" might have been something said to encourage people to speak against their king (or act against them) if they felt he was being unfair or something, instead of being tied down by hierarchy and social orders (the King is always right because he is the King), and yet, given how that was warped during the Tragedy of Duscur, it's reminiscent of Adrestia : on paper, it was supposed to be great, but with time and people being asses, the original teachings and foundations the country was based on were completely ignored or, at worst, retooled to suit whoever wanted to be in charge's agenda.