#I feel like I need to get back to my roots

[saanphoenix]

As someone who has herniated their disc, I feel I need to amend only the Order of Events for back injury as far as Most insurance companies will allow.

1) ER or Doctor visit. The ER will be like $1000 itself. They will give you muscle relaxer, anti-inflammatory, and steroid if your pain level is sufficient. They will most likely not X-ray or MRI. Your Doctor might ONLY X-RAY, if your pain level is sufficient. And an X-ray will not show herniation.

2) So now comes, "I have been in moderate to severe pain for weeks." Your doctor will prescribe you physical therapy. The reason for this is that insurance companies WILL NOT agree to an MRI until they have SUFFICIENT PROOF you have fucked yourself. That you are Beyond Tylenol or even Muscle Relaxers.

3) In MY case, which is not every case, but in MY case...12 weeks of physical therapy later, wherein I hit my deductible and they had to start shelling out more money and I am still having to pay some on those visits...Doctor finally goes, "Now I can order that MRI." That is THREE MONTHS of physical therapy; about four months of actual injury.

4) A one hour, very expensive MRI says you have a disc herniation. Go see either your doctor or a neurosurgeon. Unless your pain is Severe or you are having trouble pissing/shitting, the neurosurgeon is going to heavily recommend, "Just living with the symptoms. Or get shots." If your pain is that severe or you have incontinence issues, it's a one-hour outpatient surgery to shave your disc down and wiggle your nerves.

SO! AS YOU CAN IMAGINE! ... They'd rather pay a chiropractor and hope you never find out how borked your back actually is.

And, what knowledge I have, chiropractors will use X-rays...they will never give you an MRI...and disc herniation will not show on an X-ray. You can see arthritis. You can see signs of degeneration. But not a giant squishy fluid-filled disc squishing your nerve root. 👍

And if you twist that disc the wrong way, well.

Periodic reminder that you should never trust a chiropractor with your body under any circumstances

[jaiwritez]

Okay sooooooo

DC X DP crossover

Phantom Pickpocket

The usual Danny’s parents are assholes when they find out he’s Phantom. He’s the ghost prince. Not yet crowned king. So has new powers but doesn’t know how to use them. However he can’t go into the ghost zone because portal was destroyed. Can’t go to Vlad because fruitloop.

Danny flees the scene away from his friends family. Ends up in Gotham, ectoplasm, yada yada. However instead of meeting up with Batman. He stays in crime alley with a couple of the stray kids. He becomes a particularly good pick pocket with the invisibility and intangibility. He only goes after people that wouldn’t notice a lil money missing from their wallets and never takes all of it.

He stays in an abandoned building and cares for the other kids. However one day one of the girls that lowkey reminded him of Ellie got really sick. She needed antibiotics. None of them had the money or access required. So Danny was stealing more often and saving up more money. Taking watches, sunglasses and whatever he could grab his hands on really.

He was walking back to their abandon building with soup when he sees a shiny brand new red motorcycle in an alley. He figured the whole thing would go for enough to get them a place to stay for a while but it was to big and high profile. So if he got caught it would be considered GTA and a felony. He couldn’t risk prison time and keeping a low profile was good for staying off his parents and the GIWs radar. So instead he just worked on taking the tires.

Unknown to him. He was being watched from the roof tops by a certain crime lord. Who’s been following a string of petty thefts for the past few weeks and has heard tales of the “phantom pickpocket” (heheheh). As well as some of the crime alley kids gathering in a new spot. He liked to keep tabs on them to make sure they were alright. So when he sees Bat adoption bait stealing his tires in less than two seconds flat and the pit lurches finally recognizing the cause of the intrusive feeling he’s felt for weeks. He drops down to the ground and walks over to the kid.

“Impressive honestly. I admire your work.” The Redhood. The smirk was almost audible as he relished in the familiarity of the situation.

Danny looked at the large figure before him. He’s heard tales of the Redhood. The protector of crime alley. Clearly some form of liminal as the whole area was clearly marked as his territory. So Danny had been doing his best to conceal his presence and his own ectoplasm under the crime lords to not be noticed. Which meant not transforming and using almost of his powers. Clearly he needed some practice. Danny was currently holding both tires and took one step back away from the beast.

“Relax kid. I just wanna know why you’re stealing the tires.” Redhood said.

“I need them.” Danny replied quickly and eyes his roots for escape.

“I doubt you have a bike kid. You’re probs gonna pawn or sell them. So what do you need the money for. I can get you some help-“Redhood said stepping closer and instantly regretting it because of the look of fear before the kid vanished.

Danny was short and skittish and immediately turned invisible and booked it. Phasing through the nearest building and proceeding to run back to his bases of operations. He dropped the tires off on a nearby roof top before making his way back. He cursed in silence because he forgot the soup.

“Life clearly has a sense of humor.” Jason mumbled as he turned on his comm.

“Hey O. I need some help tracking down my tires. I’m also gonna need some medical supplies. If you could get one of the birds to deliver it. I would appreciate it.” Jason said picking up the abandoned shopping bag that contained premade warm soup.

“Tires? That’s oddly specific…. What happened?” Oracle inquired but rapid typing could easily be heard as she started working on his request.

“A kid just stole my tires.”

He turned the comm down in preparation and wasn’t surprised to hear laughter erupt from Oracle. He sighed with a smile. As much as Bruce annoyed him. Clearly they were more alike than he thought. He was gonna find the little meta bandit.

(I’ll update soon. Comments are appreciated)

[undyingdecay]

helloooo, this is my very first time requesting anything on tumblr, but your writing is just too good to pass up the opportunity.

i cannot, for the love of all mankind, get dark!bucky barnes out of my brain. it’s like an itch that can’t be scratched, no matter how hard i try. and i’m talking about some straight up dark shit that would potentially make me look fucking insane if i said it out loud.

(non-con) WHO SAID THAT? 👀

(tw: very heavy non-con, translation: khoroshaya devochka — good girl)

ok everyone sit down and listen, so ideally — and this is so bad it’s good — i’m thinking very freshly post-hydra!bucky. the kind of fresh where he still moves like a fucking predator without realizing it. where his hair’s still got that dry, greasy texture because he hasn’t figured out conditioner and tony’s too much of a prick to explain it to him. where his eyes are still vacant half the time, like there’s a stel trap wrapped around his head, but then — then there’s moments. quick flashes. like his gaze catches on your neck a second too long when you tilt your head or his jaw ticks when you laugh a little too loud in the kitchen because sam’s being a dick. little cracks in the armor.

and here’s the kicker, steve asked you to look after him. not like he was a rabid dog. no. steve wouldn’t call him that. steve would never say it like that. it was more in that… do-it-for-me tone, that boyish all-american pleading like he’s just shy of getting down on one knee. it wasn’t fair. you were good at saying no. you were good at keeping boundaries. but when he asked, when those big stupid hands were scrubbing sweat off his neck post-run and his biceps were gleaming under the LED lab lights?

you agreed. because you’re an idiot.

and bucky, bucky didn’t talk to you.

not much, anyway. he barely talked to anyone, truth be told, and you weren't about to make him. you’d still check in. you’d talk at him, mostly. about dumb shit — what kind of cereal was on sale, how tony’s AI fridge locked you out for putting a can of off-brand soda in it, how nat had somehow learned to crochet and was currently making sweaters for the knives she kept under her mattress. normal stuff. and maybe you wondered if he was listening but only sometimes.

you kinda forgot who he was, to be honest. like, yeah, there were moments you remembered — like the time you were standing in front of the fridge, reaching for the leftover pasta you’d been thinking about all day, and he just… picked you up. didn’t say a word. just lifted your entire body out of the way like you weighed nothing. set you down a foot to the left. opened the fridge. pulled out a bottle of water. left. no ‘excuse me’. no ‘move’. just manhandled you like a fucking doll and dipped.

but then came the night. and you swear on your life you didn’t hear him come in. you didn’t. you always did before. you could hear the way his boots dragged a little or the click of metal fingers against the wall. not this time. one second you were half asleep, the next you were on your back, bedsheets twisted around your ankles and something cold and heavy pressing your wrist down into the mattress.

you knew it was him. even in the dark, even before you opened your mouth, you knew.

“bucky—?”

his hand was in your hair, not pulling but holding, fingers twisted so deep into the roots it made your eyes sting. the words didn’t register. he was speaking, low and harsh in your ear, and you couldn’t understand a word of it but you knew it was russian because natasha would curse under her breath in that same jagged way when she was pissed off.

he was grinding against you. fully clothed. all rough denim and stiff tactical gear, and you could feel the press of him through it. the sick, hot friction of fabric on fabric like it was enough for him. like he didn’t even care about getting his cock out, just needed to rut against something warm and soft and unwilling. his breathing was so fucking loud, low grunts slipping out every time his hips jerked forward.

you were pleading. of course you were. because what else do you do when a supersoldier’s on top of you with a metal hand around your throat? you were asking him to stop, babbling out whatever you could think of — please, bucky, you don’t wanna do this, you don’t wanna hurt me, please, please— but it barely mattered. didn’t even look like it registered.

and some part of you — some deep, shriveled, awful instinct — told you to stay still. like maybe if you didn’t move, didn’t scream, didn’t make it worse, he’d finish faster. like maybe this was the least you owed him. not as a person, but as a thing. a thing that had been torn up and stitched back together wrong. like maybe this was how you repaid the debt you never owed in the first place.

and it made you sick to your stomach.

he muttered something sharp in russian again, voice rough like gravel and whiskey, and his hand moved from your hair to your neck. not squeezing — not yet — just pressing down enough to make your throat work harder.

“stupid things,” you caught, because that was in english. “never listen.”

and then quieter — almost tender, which made it worse — “zhenshchiny ne mogut plakat', yesli oni mokryye naskvoz'.”

you didn’t even understand what the fuck that meant at first. not until later. not until you found natasha at the gym and repeated it in a shaky whisper and watched her face twist, real ugly and mean.

and she told you. told you what it meant.

'women can't cry if they are soaking wet'

and you’ve never slept right since.

you should’ve known better to.

the first time it happened, you thought maybe it would be the only time. some awful, one-time, trauma-fueled mistake. a sick, violent need in him that would burn out and leave you in peace. you even tried to tell yourself he didn’t know what he was doing — the way he’d snarled in russian, the cold clamp of vibranium fingers around your throat, the sharp rut of his hips into yours like an animal. the way he kept you pinned under him, fully clothed, grinding himself into your cunt through your shorts until your body betrayed you, slick gathering no matter how much your mind screamed. you thought maybe, maybe it would end there.

it didn’t.

he stayed after. lay there beside you in your own bed, that metal hand still curled around your wrist, eyes wide open and unblinking in the dark. watching. like a predator deciding whether to finish the kill or let the wound fester. he didn’t speak. didn’t explain. didn’t leave.

the next night, you thought about locking the door. stood there with your hand on the knob, heart pounding in your throat. and then you let it go, because what was the fucking point? a lock wouldn’t stop him. nothing would. not when the winter soldier still lived in his bones, moving his hands before his brain caught up. and sure enough, sometime past midnight, boots heavy on the floor, the oppressive presence of him filling the room — and this time, there was no hesitation.

he undid his tactical pants just enough, the harsh rasp of the zipper making your stomach twist. there was no slow approach, no pretense. his hand knotted in your hair, wrenching your head back, and then your face was in the pillow, his grip like a steel trap around your neck.

“stop—” you tried, and that was the last word you managed.

he spit on your cunt first. a thick, cruel thing, then smeared it with his fingers, muttering something in russian that you didn’t need natasha to translate. the intent was clear enough. then he shoved himself inside you, one brutal thrust, tearing you open like he owned the place. no prep. no care. the stretch was merciless, thick and unrelenting, your breath ripped from you as your whole body jolted forward.

and the worst part? you felt yourself get wet.

it wasn’t want. it wasn’t arousal. it was your body’s betrayal. terror slicking your skin, nerves on fire, every cell screaming and still — still the ache built between your thighs, heat blooming where it shouldn’t. he noticed. of course he did. leaned down, breath hot and ragged against your ear.

“khoroshaya devochka,” he rasped, rough and pleased. “knew you’d stop fighting.”

he fucked you like he didn’t need to be gentle, like your body was just a place to bury himself. every thrust brutal, grinding your hips into the mattress. teeth in your shoulder hard enough to bruise, to break skin. and every time you made a sound — a sob, a plea, a ragged whisper of his name — you felt him twitch inside you. like it turned him on more.

by the time he came, it wasn’t soft. a sharp snap of his hips, a guttural snarl in your ear, his teeth sinking into the muscle of your shoulder as thick, hot ropes spilled inside you. his hand never eased up on your neck. he kept you pinned there, limp and wrecked beneath him.

and then — he didn’t leave.

he rolled you onto your back, head resting on your stomach like it was some sort of goddamn prize, one hand lazily stroking your thigh while his cum leaked from you in slow, hot pulses. he stayed until dawn, and you lay there, eyes fixed on the ceiling, praying for death or daylight, whichever came first.

when the sun finally broke through, you got up, made coffee. looked at yourself in the mirror. bite marks and bruises trailing your neck, fingerprints mapped across your skin like a claim. you didn’t tell anyone. not steve. not nat. not sam. what would you even say? that their broken weapon was breaking you?

he came back again the next night.

and the next.

each time worse than the last. new ways to bend you, to mark you, to drag desperate, shamed pleasure from a body that didn’t know how to stop responding. every night his cock inside you, his voice in your ear, muttering in that dead, cold russian.

you stopped begging. stopped trying to fight.

because deep down, you knew he’d decided you were his.

and stupid things never learn.

(ive officially lost it)

[lacydaydream]

My Word is God

⤷ Soldier Boy

summary: after a battle gone wrong because of your mistake, Ben is pissed. and he’s gonna take it out on you. mdni.

cw: porn with no plot. Ben is his own warning. unprotected p in v (wrap it before you tap it). dom!ben. swearing. degrading. spanking. doggy style. missionary. clitoral stimulation. spitting. cum tasting. slightly public. name calling [slut, doll, sweetheart, my girl, pretty girl]. power dynamic - Ben is readers boss. breeding kink. I might have missed some.

estelle yaps: this is just pure filth.

word count: 2.8k

“You can’t fuckin’ listen to rules,” Ben grunts, voice low and menacing. He sounded pissed, and his body language contended it.

He shoves you into an empty room. His palm against your back heavy, burning with the sizzling rage that was bubbling in his blood. You had disobeyed a direct order. Taken the words he’d said and disregarded them. Like his voice didn’t matter. Like he wasn’t the one in charge.

While out fighting, you had gotten in his way. And it wasn't a simple misstep. No, it was a major screw up. It cost him his window of opportunity to fight the enemy- an enemy that had been a massive thorn in the side of the U.S government for the last few months. The colossal mistake you made fucked the whole team up. All in the span of ten seconds.

Ben had told everyone exactly how they had to move out on the battlefield. He had been precise, down to the very last detail. And there you had been, prancing around like a dumb little girl. Acting as if his orders were a suggestion. Acting as if just because you slept with him you’d be exhumed from any punishments. And he knew you were a smart girl- hell, you had suggested some of the counter moves he told Crimson Countess to make. So he knew you weren’t stupid enough to make such a mistake unless you were rooting around for a punishment.

The room he shoved you in had a desk with a cup of pens that had the words ‘Best Dad’ printed on it. The chair behind the desk was swiveled, obvious that someone had once occupied it. The walls are blank but you wouldn’t have noticed, the only thing you could focus on was the building ache between your thighs.

Ben steps behind you, shoving you down onto the desk, growling as he watches your back instantly arch. “My word is fuckin’ god.” His voice booms with a precise confidence only a predator could have, laced with a danger that clouded your mind.

His hand lands a slap to your ass, rough and fast.

The sting radiates through your body, skin setting on fire. His normal demanding and dominating demeanor had somehow turned darker. Just by the way he had approached you earlier, sweaty from battle and mouth set in a snarl.

When a whimper falls from your lips, Ben only scoffs. “Can only listen when you get cock, huh, slut?” His voice was steady, controlled in a way that made your stomach flip and heart rate increase.

When his hand comes back down against your ass, he hums in satisfaction. The squeaks and whimpers he pulls from your lips erect a tent in his jeans, pressing his hips forward so you could feel the thick hardness over your pants.

“Should fuckin’ make you suffer.” He grunts, hips grinding against your ass. “Fuck up the whole mission- now I’ve got the fuckin’ governor up my ass.” Ben’s rough hands grip the chub of your bum through your suit, kneading with skill. He was already rambling, needing to let you know just how much you’d messed up. “Should hand you right over, hm, doll? Let you get a proper punishment. Maybe you’d learn your lesson.”

He groans as you push your hips back against him, panting like a pornstar. And fuck, if that hadn’t made Ben want to drop his anger and plow you against the desk for beeing so needy. His eyes narrow as he watches you turn your head to look behind you, gaze instantly catching his. Your hair was frizzy from battle, sweat, and being manhandled. God, you were a sight.

You shake your head, a small hint of fear blooming in your chest at his threat. He wouldn’t ever rat you out- he could never do something like that. But that look in your eyes? The look that always came before you were desperately begging him and saying you’d ‘do anything’? Yeah, he’d threaten it all day long. Anything for that look.

“Yer fuckin’ lucky today, sweetheart.” His voice is low, eyes piercing as he rolls his hips against you. “Need this tight pussy more than giving you a spankin’. She ready for me? Fuckin’ better be. Better be ready to earn back my fuckin’ respect.”

Soldier Boy tucks his fingers into your pants and yanks them down, tearing the fabric with the sheer force. The air against your backsides causes you to shiver, hands gripping the edge of the desk. Your fingers curled around the edge of the desk, polished wood biting into your soft skin.

His eyes flicker down to the sight in front of him. No panties. Just bare, soft skin under the stupid suit Vought had given you. His eyes light up as a growl bubbles up from his chest. His hand grips your ass cheek, skin calloused and warm. Ben bites his lip as he looks down between your legs, inner thighs slick from how turned on you were.

“Look at ya, sweetheart.” His words are mumbled, the edge melting away from his tone. He was still pissed about the earlier situation, but the sight of your dripping pussy was enough to soften his bite.

He runs his hands up and holds your hips. He brings you closer to him with a tug, smirking at the way your legs buckled. His large hands that were settled on your hips drag down to your ass. He kneads your flesh, slow and deliberate. “Bent over a desk just for me. Ready to get fucked, yeah? Cunt dripping down your legs.”

He picks up his leg and uses his boot to tap against your leg, a silent order to spread your legs. When you oblige, he grins. “That’s my girl. Doin’ exactly what I say.” He slaps your ass once once more, cooing when you whimper.

His hands leave you, working on his pants to free his cock. His cock is heavy in his hands, pulsing in his fist, tip an angry red. He had half a mind to have you suck him off- jam his cock down your throat and watch as pretty tears collected on your lashes. But the team would notice your absence. And whoevers office this was would be coming back. But moreover, he just wanted to piston into your cunt and have you whimpering his name.

“Gotta be quiet, sweetheart.” He grunts, running his tip through your slit. You’re already so wet, soaking his tip in your essence. A grumble leaves his chest, rough and almost animalistic. He plunges in without a warning.

The moan that leaves your lips is strangled and loud. If you hadn’t taken him before, you would have sworn he’d ripped your pussy right in half. But he fit- every delicious inch of him fit. He’s warm and heavy inside you, your walls clenching around him.

His hands grip your hips, a low growl leaving his lips. “Fuckin’ perfect pussy, Dollface. She’s squeazin’ me so well. Gonna take everythin’ I give you, yeah?”

When you manage to nod he wastes no time. That was enough for him. He pulls out nice and slow, every vein and ridge rubbing against your walls. He slams himself back in, hips slapping against your ass. The sounds that are created from where you’re connected are pornographic. It’s a symphony of skin slapping skin, whimpers, and moans.

His cock pistons into you, walls welcoming him in with a squelch each time he shoves himself back inside you. One of his hands is sprawled over your back, keeping you down against the desk. The wood nips into your skin. It’s a delicious mix of pleasure and pain. Every thrust propels your body forward, your hands gripping onto the surface for dear life.

You whimper at the pornographic sound of the wet plap of his cock pressing into you, the feeling absolutely perfect. There were moments like these when you forgot how much of a jerk Ben really was- just thinking about how he’d walk around like he owned the place. And he did. Ben had his own center of gravity that used a smirk to charm your panties off.

He grunts, hips rolling with precision. You’re so warm and wet. Just the most perfect cunt he’s ever had the pleasure of fucking. Hell, he had half the mind to propose. Even if you acted like a brat and messed up combat rituals. He could always count on you spreading your legs and inviting him into your cunt.

“F-fuck, Ben—!”

Your legs are shaking, panting against the desk as he drives into you. Everything felt so good. His hands were big and warm, holding onto you and keeping you grounded to the moment. His cock drags against your walls, your slick coating his length.

The asshole laughs. Laughs. “Shakin’ already.” He says it coolly, not even a strain in his voice. The man had the stamina of a god because of his altered genes and he made it your problem. If you looked over your shoulder you were confident he wasn’t even sweating. “Always so greedy for this cock, doll. Always takin’ me so well. But look at ya,” The smile is evident in his voice. “Shakin’ like a baby deer.”

Ben leans down, nose nuzzling your neck. The new angle allows him to hit deeper, the tip of his cock kissing your cervix. His breathing is controlled as he grins against your neck, licking a stripe up your sensitive skin. “Feel good, Doll?”

You wither beneath him, eyes rolling back as his pace doesn’t dare let up. You nod, moaning, not trusting your voice to provide a good enough answer. Every fiber of your being felt alive and lit on fire, nerves sparking to life. The coil in your tummy was tightening, every delicious drag of his cock sending you closer to the edge.

“I need words.” Ben tuts, straightening his back to land a smack against your ass. His head tilts down to watch his cock drive into your cunt, puffy pussy welcoming him in with ease. Ben loved watching himself bury inside of you. Your slick coated his length, dribbled down your thighs, and even had his pelvis dripping with your essence. A beautiful sight. “C’mon, pretty girl.”

He slows down his thrusts, grunting under his breath at the pace change. He had to hold himself back. Slowly, he drags his cock out of you, tip barely breaking into your entrance. He pushes himself back in at a leisurely pace. Your cunt clenches around him as each inch gets swallowed, your lips parting as a long whine gets pulled from your throat.

“Tell me how good you feel- how good it is gettin’ fucked by your boss.” Ben coos at your whining, holding your hips so you couldn’t push back against him. He continues his tortuous pace. “You love sitting in meetings knowing you’re gonna get good cock after, yeah?”

“So good,” Your words are mumbled as your face drops down, forehead resting against the desk.

Ben doesn’t like that answer. He hoists you up, resting your back against his chest. His scent and warmth wraps around you, leather, cedar wood and something unmistakably him flooding your senses. The wide muscly expanse of his form swallows yours, instantly dwarfing you. Ben was huge- in more ways than one.

His cock stays buried to the hilt, stuffing you full. He pauses, hands on your hips rubbing and moving up your sides. Exploring every inch of your skin as if he’d touched you for the first time. When your head lolls against his shoulder Ben grins. His fingers run down your abdomen and dip between your folds, resting against your clit.

“So quiet, doll. Wanna hear you respondin’.” His fingers circle your clit in tight, deliberate circles. His thrusts are slow and shallow as he holds your body up against his.

“Feels so good, Ben.” You moan out, the coil in your belly about to explode. “L-love sitting in meetings… knowing I’ll get fucked.” Every word is swallowed by a pant, walls fluttering around his dick.

“You’re just a little cock slut.” He murmurs into your ear, fingers and hips working in tandem to hurtle you over the edge. Ben moans when he feels you gushing all over his cock, walls clenching as your cunt creates a creamy ring around the base of him.

His hips stay dragging his cock slowly, pressing against your cervix with each thrust. His fingers slowed to a lazy circling of your sensitive nub. He coos when he starts to feel your body convulsing, legs shaking as you rode out your orgasm. As whines and whimpers leave your lips, Ben’s hand gently wraps around your jaw to cover your mouth. “Shh, doll.”

He continues his pace until he can tell the overstimulation was too much, your thighs trying to clench. He pulls himself out, spinning you in his hold. His arms are around you and he picks you up by your thighs, setting you down onto the desk. Ben lays you onto your back, looking down at the fucked out glint in your eyes.

Ben lifts your legs, hoisting both feet over one shoulder. “Gonna be good and keep quiet?” He questions you as one hand grabs onto his leaking cock, dragging the tip through your slit. He rubs the head over your clit, circling it the way his fingers just had moments ago. He shushes you once more when a whine leaves your lips. He lines himself up, gaze shifting to yours as he sinks into your used cunt.

He smiles when you nod, watching you suck your lip between your teeth to stay quiet.

He grunts as he bottoms out, watching your face contort as every inch gets buried into your welcoming heat. “Gotta give me a few minutes, sweetheart.” His hips start to rock into you, the extra wetness from your orgasm making your pussy feel like heaven on earth. “Fuck, doll. S’the best pussy right here.”

Ben babbles some more, hips pistoning into your cunt like he owned it. Grunts fall from his lips like a prayer as his hips stutter. His thrusts were animalistic as he chased his high, cock twitching and throbbing as his tip bullied your cervix.

Every thrust felt like magic, soft whimpers leaving your lips despite your best efforts to be quiet. Your body lurched forward as his grip on your shins tightened as he thrusted inside you. Ben watches as your face twisted into pleasure, noises getting louder.

Ben growled, using his free hand to shove two of his fingers into your mouth. “Gonna get us fuckin’ caught. Balls deep in this pussy, havin’ you scream my name. You want that, doll?”

You shake your head, moaning around his fingers as they press down against your tongue. You suck on his digits, watching as his eyes darken at the sight of you. His cock twitches and he’s thrusting once more until you feel him shoot his load into your cunt.

Ben growls, hips stuttering slowly to a stop. He kisses your shin, pulling out of your cunt. Ben shifts one of your legs onto his other shoulder to watch his cum drip from your entrance. Ben’s cock twitches as he watches as white, creamy fluid dribbled out of you.

With a sigh, he gips onto his softening cock. He uses the head to collect the cum and push it back up inside you. “Don’t fuckin’ waste that.” His voice is low, thrusting shallowly to pump his seed back up into your cunt.

Ben’s gaze snaps up to you, chest rising and falling as your walls clench around him. He catches your fingers trailing back down to your clit, quickly taking his fingers from your mouth to swat your hand away. Ben grips your wrist and halts his movements. “Really, doll? Wanna come again that bad?”

A long whine leaves your lips, causing Ben to chuckle. He should leave you now, letting you wallow in your frustration after the stunt you pulled. But your pussy made him a weak man. “Alright, alright.” He chuckles once more lowly, fingers finding your clit once more.

“Stuffed full of my cum and still needing more. Naughty fuckin’ girl.” His fingers circle your clit roughly, watching your face twist in pleasure. He grins as your lips part, mouth forming an ‘o’ shape. Ben dips down, moving his fingers to dribble spit onto your puffy clit. His fingers go back to circling your clit, his spit mixing with your juices and his cum.

When your second orgasm crashes down on you, your legs shake as white hot pleasure shoots through your veins. Ben grunts as your walls flutter around his dick, pulsating as you gush around him. His gaze stays on your as he brings his fingers covered in your slick and his spit up to his mouth, sucking them clean. He growls, his eyes closing as he tastes how sweet you are.

Ben pulls out from your cunt slowly, watching you twitch as cum drips down your thighs.

“That’s my fuckin’ girl.”

[reagi-df]

Pests

Prodigy - master post

Please vote for runt - poll ❤️

⚠️ - impaled, implied death

A cough forces its way out of his mouth making his body convulsion as pain radiates across his body. Runt’s glare doesn't waver as the Shredder's red eyes seem to mock him.

Runt bites back a whimper as his body shifts from where he’s impaled. Claws scratching along Shredder's armor all the while blood drips down to the floor, staining the already tainting floor.

The armour.

Mistress needs the armour and Runt needs to give it to her. He claws harder at the armoured arm. His feet are trying to get a footing but all it does is just scrap and slip off the smooth arm, but that’s when he hears a deep chuckle from in front of him.

He looks at those eyes again. “This is the best you can do?” Shredder’s voice is deep and gravelly and it strikes something inside of Runt. Something deeply rooted into his core that chills him to the bone.

You can’t escape my little pest.

Runts hands tighten.

“Karai was protecting worthless things, she died a meaningless death.” Shredder growls and Runt feels himself growl cold as his grip starts to loosen.

“I don’t have time for measly runts like you” his eyes widen and he hears his name being shouted from somewhere behind him but he’s being thrown across the platform before he knows it. His breath leaves him and all he can see when he looks up is specks of orange, red and purple shimmering above him.

His world grows dark but he makes sure to never break eye contact with the colours as they bring him a warmth he didn’t expect. They grow brighter as his world grows colder.

Sparks of blue is the last thing he sees before the abyss takes him.

@tmntseparatedaucompetition

Alt images under

[birdie-in-arcadia]

Always

This was an anon request, and I honestly had a lot of fun writing this despite the subject matter. Thank you for such a great ask anon, and I hope I did it justice! Enjoy <3

CW: angst, verbal fight between Vessel and fem!reader, reconciliation, fluff, and suggestive content at the end

Word Count: 5.3k

It started in the little ways. The late replies, the sidelong glances that never quite land. The way he pulls his hands or lips away just a second too early, almost like warmth and love has become something he doesn’t yearn for the way he did before. 

You’ve been trying not to notice, to shrug it off. You tell yourself he’s tired, and that tour wears on everyone, which is inevitably true. That if you give him space, he’ll come back to you in his own time. But it’s been weeks, and that quiet ache in your chest is getting harder to ignore. Every time you reach for him, literally or metaphorically, it feels like his edges are sharper than they used to be. Not angry or anything, just… untouchable and distant. 

And even now, back at the hotel, he barely looks up when you speak. You’re perched on the end of the bed, arms wrapped around your knees, watching him dig through his overnight bag. Your hair falls over your arms, tickling you occasionally as if to say, “lighten up”. But you can’t, no matter how hard you try. 

“Did you want to get breakfast downstairs in a bit?” you ask, gently. Not needy or clingy, just hoping he’ll want to be with you. 

He hums noncommittally. “Maybe. I’m not sure I’m up for it.” His tone is flat, yet loaded. You simply nod and take a deep breath before replying quietly, “Okay. I can bring something back up if you’d rather stay in.” 

“Maybe.” Another one-word response. You want to rake your nails through your hair and rip it out at the roots in frustration. You don’t understand what you’ve done to deserve such... silence. It’s all maybes with him lately. No certainty, no weight or sincerity. Like every answer is a placeholder for the thing he wants to say, but won’t. 

You try not to show your disappointment or frustration. Instead, you stand and stretch, offering a faint smile. “I’m gonna go see if the band lounge has that ginger tea again. Might help my throat.” 

“Yeah,” he says absently, his gaze now cast on his phone. “Good idea.” 

No offer to come with you. No kiss goodbye. Just the rustle of his joggers as he reclines in the corner chair and the low hum of traffic outside the window. 

You step into the hallway and let the door click quietly shut behind you, swallowing the lump rising in your throat. Your gaze is fixed on the floor beneath you as you wrack your brain, attempting to think of anything and everything you’ve ever done wrong or said sideways that could’ve hurt his feelings or pushed him away. You mentally ask yourself, “Am I too much? Do I need or ask for too much from him? Is he tired of me, or has he found someone better?” Nothing makes sense. You’ve loved him as much as he’ll let you, you give him space when he requests it, and you give him your undivided attention all the same. 

It was such a perfect relationship up until about four weeks ago. You try as hard as you can to think of something that could’ve been pivotal enough to warrant such distance. Was there an argument or a disagreement of any kind? Any harsh words or slammed doors? Absolutely nothing comes to mind, and it’s driving you mad. What did I do? 

You blink hard and shake your head, turning your focus to the elevator you’re approaching. You click the down arrow button and stare at its flickering orange glow, letting your mind run wild with what ifs and circumstances and possible answers to an impossible equation. 

The lift doors opening brings you back to reality and your eyes dart up as you see yours and Vessel’s dear friend II standing near the front of the lift, bracing himself on the handrail along the side. He smiles at you as you step in the rig, standing opposite him. You lean against the wall as you hear II’s Welsh lilt ask you which floor you’re going to. “Lobby, please.” you answer simply, your tone too deflated to hide. His face drops from friendly to concerned as his brows furrow slightly. 

He turns and jabs the button with a calloused thumb, and the doors close, trapping you in this space with him, and you just know he’s gonna ask what’s wrong. It’s in his caring nature. Like clockwork, you hear that same voice ask, “You alright, babe?” He’s called you that platonic nickname since he first got to know you nearly six months ago, and you’re used to it by now. It holds the same endearment as “buddy” or “pal” or even “dude”. 

You sigh as you turn your gaze from the dingy steel walls of the moving rig to meet II’s, and you can see the concern on his features. You quickly decide how much you wanna tell him, and you reply, “Yeah, just... I dunno, Ves seems so distant lately and I don’t understand why. I’ve been thinking all day for the last few days about what I could’ve done to upset him or push him away, and I got nothing.” You shrug as you finish, and II’s face goes from an expression of concern to one of sympathy as he nods his head along to your words. 

“Sorry, love. Ves just gets like this sometimes when he’s got something on his mind. He was like this right before him and his last girl broke it off, for example.” II says before he realizes his implications. As your eyes go wide and your brows arch on your forehead, you feel your stomach drop through the floor of the lift. His own eyes widen, and he immediately backpedals. “Uh, no wait, I uh- shit- I didn’t mean- that's not what I-” he splutters, his hands flailing in front of him as if he’s physically grasping for the words. You chuckle lightly at the sight. 

He sighs and runs a frustrated hand over his face before dropping it limply to his side. “I didn’t mean that’s what’s gonna happen with you two. It was just an example, and a horrid one at that. Sorry about that.” he says, his tone heavy with embarrassment. His cheeks are red as his gaze fixes on his Nikes. You chuckle again as you reply, “It’s alright man, my heart only stopped for a couple seconds.” He lets out a nervous yet relieved laugh as he runs a hand over his hair, and the rig comes to a stop. 

He steps out first, and you follow behind as you ask, “You thirsty too?” He turns back to glance at you over his shoulder, and he slows down to walk beside you. “Nah, just wanted to grab more of those Lifesavers gummies. Fuckers are addicting.” You hum in agreeance as he asks, “What’re you gettin’?” You point to the coffee and hot water bar a few feet away and reply, “Hopefully one of those ginger teas if they still have any.” He hums again as he makes his selection and pays the clerk behind the counter. 

“I was actually headed up to talk with him about tomorrow’s gig after I grabbed these. D’ya want me to talk to him about what you told me?” II asks as you both walk back toward the lift. You ponder for a moment, hands comforted by the warmth of the paper cup in your grasp. After a few steps, you reply, “No, that’s okay. I’ll talk with him about it tomorrow on the flight back. I appreciate it, though.” II simply smiles at you and nods once before you both step back into the lift. 

You make small talk about venues and light rigging and sound systems as the lift takes you back to your floor. Eventually, it comes to a stop and you both bid your farewells as you step off, leaving II, as his room is another floor up. 

Your mood slowly falls back down into “what did I do to upset him” the closer you get to your room. As you approach the door and unlock it, a pit forms in your stomach as you open the door and step in, finding Vessel gone. 

You pull out your phone instantly, nearly dropping your fresh tea, and you check your messages. Did you miss the chime of a text message? Apparently you did, because you have one new message from Vessel. 

It reads, “Grabbing drinks with III. Don’t wait up.” 

What the fuck? Your face screws up as you reread the message three times over, incredibly confused as to why he’d want to grab drinks considering he’s recovering from addiction. Worry and guilt sweep through you as you wonder if he’s drinking again because of you. Tears prick the corners of your eyes, but you blink them away in frustration. 

Wait. Didn’t II say he was going to talk with Vessel about concert shit? Did II lie to you or is he just misinformed? You sit your cup on the counter nearest you, and you frantically pull up Find My iPhone. You zoom in on his location, and it indicates that he’s still in the hotel, and so is III. 

A bone-chilling realization washes over you, and your stomach churns something nasty as your mind flies through all the possibilities. III’s still in the hotel, and so is Vessel. Are they together? Is Vessel in another member’s room? Or is he in someone else’s room entirely? 

A myriad of emotions flood through you as your veins fill with fire and ice and your heartrate catapults. There’s no way, right? Vessel has been cheated on in the past, so he’d never... right? You aren’t certain of that, and it makes you vehemently nauseous. However, you are certain of one thing: you have to find him now. 

You storm out of the room, emotions in a whirlwind as you stare down Find My iPhone, stomping in the direction of his location. Your brain is a tsunami of thoughts and possibilities. What if he’s just in one of the guys’ rooms? What if they’re just relaxing and maybe gaming, and you storm in there like a bat outta hell for no reason and embarrass yourself? 

You shake your head, and one thought lingers: regardless of who’s room he's in, you’ve been lied to. Your chin trembles, but you deny your eyes any release of salt; not until you know for sure. His location leads against a wall in between two rooms. Huh? You refresh the app, and it still shows the same place. Maybe it’s up or down a floor? 

You turn confusedly and head for the lift you were just in with II. You press the up-arrow button since II said he was going to talk with Vessel, and you're kind of banking on him being up there with II. You tap your foot lightning fast as the rig moves slowly upward, the gravitational pull downward not helping your nausea in the slightest. 

Once the door opens a few moments later, you step out and follow his location directly to II’s room. Okay, this checks out, but why did he say he was getting drinks with III? You form a fist, knuckles forward as you raise your arm, but just before you knock, you hear your name.  

Their voices are low but still audible in the quiet of the room. You freeze, not intending to eavesdrop, just… uncertain. The way he’s speaking is different; tense. 

“I don’t know how to explain it,” Vessel mutters. “It’s like… the closer she gets, the more I feel like I’m going to fuck it up.” II doesn’t respond right away. 

“She’s everything. Sweet, steady, and forgiving. And I can’t even hold a conversation without it feeling like a lie.” Vessel continues. You blink as the words land, your heart dropping into your stomach. 

“Every time she looks at me like I’m the moon and stars in her skies, I just feel like a fucking fraud. Like she’s in love with someone who doesn’t exist anymore. I feel like I’m living in someone else’s skin when I’m with her sometimes,” he continues. “Like I have to pretend to be this perfect version of myself or I’ll lose her.” He lets out a shaky breath. “But the worst part? I think she’d be better off if I did.” 

You don't hear the rest. Your ears are ringing and roaring with your blood. But you don’t need to hear it, nor do you want to. His voice cuts through you like a razor, sharp and brutal. The weight of it lodges in your lungs, and suddenly you can’t breathe. You stumble back a step, hand pressed to your chest, mouth slightly agape. Your heart pounds in your ears as you catch yourself on the wall across from II’s door. 

I feel like I'm living in someone else's skin when I'm with her sometimes. She’d be better off if I did. He can't be fucking serious.

You turn, quick and quiet, and walk straight back to your shared room. Your hands are trembling when you unlock the door. 

The air in the room still smells faintly like his cologne; amber, smoke, something earthy. You shut the door behind you and lean against it for a moment, the silence loud and suffocating. Your brain immediately goes to war with your heart.

He doesn’t love you. He’s been pulling away because he’s already gone; emotionally checked out, just waiting for the right moment to say the words out loud. You’d been holding on to hope that it was in your head. That maybe he was just stressed. Maybe he was trying. But you heard it. Not from a text, not from a rumor. From his own mouth. 

No, you know he loves you. From the way he clings to you at night like you're his lifeline. The way he always checks in on you no matter the scenario. He brings you along on every tour, to every show just so you feel included. All the times he's held you while you cried and put you back together with just his voice and vocabulary.

She'd be better off if I did. His words ring through your head again, shattering any semblance of logic or hope that he still wanted you around.

You cross the room in a haze and start pulling your things together. Toothbrush, charger, whatever clothing you could find strewn over the floor haphazardly. That hoodie you always wear to bed that still smells like him catches your eye, and you feel your throat nearly close up as a sob threatens to tear from it.

You step over to the end of the bed where the hoodie lays, and you pick it up and take a deep inhale of its scent. Agony surges through your chest like a knife to the heart and your knees nearly buckle as your combined smells lilt through your sinuses.

You clutch the hoodie with white knuckles, your face contorting into a mixed expression of anger and grief, and a sob pummels its way up your throat and past your lips. You throw the hoodie onto the floor and turn from it, picking up what's left of your belongings on the floor and surrounding tabletops.

You divert your eyes from the article one last time and deny yourself the relief of fully crying. Not yet. You stomp into the bathroom and grab your toiletries from the shower wall, knocking down one of his bottles in your wake. You groan as it tumbles down, echoing through the bathroom. You leave it where it lies as you rush back to your bag and stuff it all in with shaking hands. 

In a last ditch effort to feel in control of something, anything, you make the bed. As you finish, you hear the familiar crinkling of a small aluminum packet underfoot. You wince at the sound, at the memory, and you bend to pick it up and discard it in a nearby waste bin.

You bend and hover over the desk and tear a page from the hotel’s notepad. You pick up a nearby pen, then pause, staring at the blank paper. A single tear falls onto the sheet, wrinkling it. And then you write: 

"If you wanted me to leave, you didn’t have to disclose it secretly to II. I wish you’d just said it to my face." 

You fold it once and place it on the bed. You give the room one last look, and then you’re gone.  

_______________

“…I think she’d be better off if I did.” Vessel’s voice trails into silence. II says nothing at first, he just lets the words of his struggling best friend settle. Vessel had been waiting outside II's door as II returned from grabbing his snack in the lobby with you. He'd let Vessel in without a word once he saw the helpless look in his eyes.

Vessel leans against the wall, head tipping back, eyes shut. The room smells like lemon floor polish, burnt coffee, and old carpet; cheap and forgettable. A fitting backdrop, he thinks bitterly, for the way he’s been acting lately. 

“I mean, fuck,” he mutters, scrubbing a hand down his face. “She gives me everything. Patience, kindness… all this love I don’t know how to process. And what do I do? I shut down. I shut her out. I can feel her slipping away from me and I just keep letting it happen.” 

II sighs, arms crossed. “So talk to her, man. Don’t let your head run the whole show. If you’re scared, tell her. If you love her, and I know you do, show her.” 

“I do,” Vessel breathes. “God, I do. I’ve never-” His voice catches in his throat. He clears it, blinking hard. “I’ve never felt like this about anyone. Not since... you know. It’s terrifying, being vulnerable again. But I don’t want to lose her. I’d rather die trying to let her in than watch her walk away thinking I didn’t care.” 

II rests a hand on his shoulder, solid and grounding. “Then go. Tell her that, all of it. Before your silence speaks louder than your words ever could.” Vessel nods, heart thudding against his ribs, determination coursing through his veins. “Yeah, you’re right. Thank you, man. I’m going now.” 

He turns, heart already racing, and opens the room door. The hallway stretches ahead of him, silent, like it knows what's coming. His feet move rapidly toward the elevator, and he jams the button. He all but jumps inside when the doors open, and he mashes the floor number until the rig is moving again. He’s grinning as he descends at a slow pace, ecstatic that he’s about to go fix everything with his girl, and maybe even make love to you if you’d let him. 

The door clicks open with a familiar sound, the keycard light flashing green. He steps inside, voice low but warm. 

“Baby!” His cheerful greeting rings through the small room. 

He’s met with silence. He frowns as he notices that the bathroom door is open, and the lights are off. 

“Baby?” he tries again, this time laced with a hint of confusion. Still nothing. The room is quiet, way too quiet. His eyes scan the space. The bed is made, the chair in the corner is empty, and the closet door is slightly ajar. 

And then it hits him. Your things are gone. The tote bag that always slouches beside the dresser? Gone. Your travel case of skincare and scrunchies that typically adorn the counter? Missing. The sweater you wore this morning, cream colored, soft, probably still faintly scented like you? No longer tossed over the arm of the chair where you always leave it. 

His blood runs cold. “No…” he breathes, stepping forward. He checks the bathroom, heart lurching. Nothing. Your soaps are gone, even your microfiber hair towel. 

His hands start trembling as he crosses back to the bed, eyes darting over the blankets, the table, the floor, anything. “Maybe she just ran out for food”, he thinks. “Maybe she-” 

Then he sees it. Folded once, an unpinned grenade on the center of the bed, his given name, not the moniker, not a pet name, in your handwriting unmistakably on the hotel paper. He picks it up slowly like the bomb that it is. His eyes trace the words. 

If you wanted me to leave, you didn’t have to disclose it secretly to II. I just wish you’d said it to my face. 

The paper trembles in his hand. He rereads it.  

Once. Twice. A third time. 

“No, no, no- fuck, no-” His voice breaks. 

His knees give, and he sinks onto the edge of the bed, the note still clutched between trembling fingers. The breath leaves his lungs like he’s been punched. His chest burns. His vision blurs. 

You must’ve come looking for him and overheard. Dammit, his plan of diverting your attention by telling you that he was going out with III did the exact opposite. Go figure. Regardless, you heard him. But you didn’t stay long enough to hear what came after. Didn’t hear him say he loves you. Didn’t hear him say he wants to fight for you. You think he wanted you to go. 

He drops his head into his hands, shoulders shaking as a raw sound escapes his throat; half anguish, half pleading. The pain slams into him like a wave, unforgiving and cold, clawing its way through every part of him. He presses the note to his chest like it might somehow undo the damage, but it doesn’t. It just hurts. 

“Fuck,” he gasps again, standing suddenly, stumbling, frenzied, and searching for anything that could give him an answer. He grabs his phone from his front left pocket, and he opens your thread. His thumbs hover, trembling, then he types: 

“Please come back. I didn’t mean it like that. Please.” 

“I love you. I’m sorry. I didn’t know you heard. Please just tell me you’re okay.” 

No “... is typing...”, no response. He hits the call button. 

Straight to voicemail. 

He calls again. 

Two rings, then voicemail. 

“Pick up, baby, please,” he whispers to the static. “Please, just... fuck, just talk to me. Let me explain. I swear to God I didn’t mean it like that…” 

He’s pacing now, chest heaving, phone in a death grip. And then, a miracle. He swipes down with shaking fingers and opens the location-sharing app. Your dot is still live, still glowing. Looks to be approximately three blocks down. A little boutique hotel near the edge of the shopping district. You must’ve forgotten to turn it off amid all the emotions and taxi-hailing. Otherwise, you definitely would’ve turned off your location. You don’t want to be found. 

Without a second thought, he bolts for the door. 

Rain pours against the sidewalk as Vessel sprints down the street, dodging passersby, lungs burning, the cold biting into his damp skin. He doesn’t feel any of it, not really. The only thing he feels is you. The absence of you, the shape you leave behind, like a phantom in his chest. 

The GPS dot blinks steady on his screen, his lifeline. He turns a corner and sees it, small and quaint, tucked between a florist and an antique shop. The boutique hotel you chose in the heat of heartbreak. 

He’s there in seconds, breath ragged, soaked to the bone. The front desk blurs past as he races up the stairs, skipping steps, heart pounding so hard it makes him nauseous. He follows your beacon of hope to the very door you’re hidden behind. 

He knocks once, three light sounds against the wooden door. He’s met with nothing. He knocks again, another three times, but a tad bit louder this time, in case you’re sleeping. 

“Please,” he whispers, pressing his forehead to the wood, rain dripping from his hair and trailing down the door, his fingers clenched into fists. “Please let me in.” 

Still nothing. He swallows down a sob and knocks one last time, louder this time. “I know you don’t want to see me. I know I hurt you. But baby I swear, I didn’t mean it like that. You left before you could even hear the rest.” Silence on the other side. He breathes hard, trembling hands travelling upward to brace himself as he leans on the door, and he fights the urge to break it down to get to you. Your silence completely unnerves him. 

“I was talking to II because I didn’t know how to talk to you,” he confesses, voice cracking. “I’m scared all the time. That you’ll realize I’m not what you need. That you’ll wake up one day and see what a fucking mess I am and walk away and-” 

The lock clicks, and his head shoots up to look for your face, regaining his balance and lowering his hands to his sides. The door opens just enough to reveal you; eyes red and glassy, hair tied back in a loose bun, gray hoodie zipped to your throat. You don’t say anything at first, you just look at him like he’s something wild and foreign. 

You cross your arms tightly over your chest as you prop the door open and turn, walking away from him, the sights of the city momentarily capturing your attention as you approach the window in your room. You hear the door click shut, and you feel his presence in the room as you turn to face him. He’s standing about a foot from the door, his hands at his sides, his face drawn down, his big, beautiful puppy eyes focused solely on you. 

“You lied to me,” you say finally, breaking the silence, your voice quiet but sharp. “You told me you were going to get drinks with III when you were just upstairs talking shit about me to II.” 

“I wasn’t-” he steps forward, then stops, hands raised like you might bolt. He exhales and checks his tone before continuing. “I wasn’t talking shit. I was spiraling, alright? I was telling him that I’m scared of how good you are to me... how I keep messing it up.” He finishes, and he takes a small step toward you as if you’re a feral cat he’s found outside. "And I said I was going out with III because I didn't want you worrying and wondering where I was. I couldn't just tell you I was going to talk to II because I didn't wanna risk, well... this happening..." He trails off and you mull over his explanation. You know mentally that he was right. You would've definitely insisted on going with him. You decide leave that part of the argument to be discussed later.

“You said I’d be better off without you,” you snap. “How the hell was I supposed to take that?” You punctuate your question by unfolding your arms and gesturing toward him, your brows furrowing in frustration. 

He flinches, the realization of how bad that would’ve sounded from your perspective washing over him. “I know how it sounded,” he says honestly, voice breaking again. “But that wasn’t the end of the sentence. I was saying I didn’t want to lose you. That I was going to talk to you. That I love you. I’ve just been- fuck, I’ve been so in my head lately, and I didn’t want to put that weight on you.” 

You shake your head, eyes shining. “You think lying was protecting me?” you ask exasperatedly, your arms out to your sides, forefingers pointing inward toward yourself. “But I didn’t lie about that,” he says, his tone serious. You point as accusatory finger at him as you spit, “It was lying by omission, Vessel.” His face drops. 

“I didn’t mean to lie,” he breathes. “I just… I thought if I told you I was falling apart, you’d start seeing me the way I see myself. And then you would leave.” You step back, arms crossed tightly, and your frustration is evident on your face. “And the distance? The coldness? Was that supposed to be protection too? Because it felt like punishment.” 

His face twists in anguish as the truth in your words pelts him like bullets. “I know,” he says. “I know I’ve been distant. I’ve been awful. And I hate how I’ve made you feel. I hate that I made you doubt yourself when the only failure in this relationship has been me.” He looks at you through defeated eyes, tears beginning to brim again. 

Your voice wavers now, anger giving way to hurt. “You made me feel like I wasn’t enough, or maybe I was too much. Like I was annoying you just by existing. You’ve been pushing me away for weeks, Vessel.” You feel your tough exterior cracking as the look in his eyes peels you apart layer by layer. 

He steps forward again, slower this time. “I didn’t know how to let you in without showing you all the worst parts of me.” You look at him, eyes searching, still guarded. “Ves, you already have. Remember when your family cut you off because they don’t agree with your new lifestyle? Or when we first got together and you were so anxiety ridden you practically bolted for the bedroom anytime you heard your doorbell ring? I was there through all of that, and I never batted an eye. It’s my job as your partner to see you through every chapter of life, no matter how scary or unbecoming. You know this, love. You just have to let me in.” You finish, your arms falling to your sides as a tear marks its own trail down your face, dripping from your jaw. 

His expression crumples. “And you’re still here, still talking to me, even with me coming to find you like some sort of headcase,” he says quietly. You blink fast, biting the inside of your cheek. “How the hell did you find me, by the way?" You ask him, suddenly reminded of the blaring question.

He lets out a short, breathless sound. Almost a laugh, almost a sob. “You didn't turn off your location, lovey." he replies, a slight hint of amusement in his eyes. You chuckle and run a hand over your face as you're taken aback by your own lack of attention to such a major detail. "Christ... Well, I'm glad I didn't," you reply, looking up at him through long lashes. A long silence passes between the two of you as you both take in what the other has said. Then, with trembling hands, you capitulate and motion him forward, and you move toward the bed. “C’mere.” 

He wipes his face with the back of his hand as he approaches you slowly. He perches at the edge of the bed like you might dissolve if he touches you too soon. Vessel looks over you after a few seconds, taking in your disheveled appearance. His chest aches with the knowledge that it’s his fault you fled in such a hurry, and that you’re so forlorn. You meet his gaze and allow your eyes to take in the sopping wet cat of a man next to you. Rainwater drips from his hair onto his lap below, but he doesn't seem to notice, and he looks like a man who’s been through war just to get to you. 

“I love you,” he says again, steadier now. “I love you more than I’ve ever loved anyone. And I’m sorry for every time I made you question that.” You look at him, eyes glossy, heart swelling in your chest. “I love you too, Ves. That’s why it hurt so much.” 

He moves to kneel in front of you, hands reaching for yours. You let him take them slowly, like it's a test she’s not sure he’ll pass. “I’ll do better,” he whispers. “Not just today. Every day. I’ll keep choosing you.” You swallow hard, the lump in your throat rising again. “Don’t shut me out again, please,” you whisper to him, eyes blurring with tears. “I won’t,” he says, forehead pressing to your hands. “I swear it.” 

Your breath shudders as you exhale through the sadness leaving your body. You pull him up and into your arms, holding him tightly, like you’re afraid if you lets go, he’ll vanish again. You stay like that for a long time, just holding each other, letting the fear bleed out. Eventually, you whisper, “Let’s go home.” Those three simple words wash over him like a cool wave of relief, and he didn't realize how badly he craved to hear you say them until you did.

The walk back is quiet, but your fingers are laced the entire way. Once inside the room, Vessel closes the door behind you with a soft click. The lights are low, the hum of the city a dull throb beyond the shaded windows. You turn to face him, and he just stands there for a moment, eyes soft yet unsure as they flicker over your form. 

You step toward him, hands reaching for the hem of his soaked hoodie. “Let me,” you say. He easily acquiesces and lifts his arms, letting you peel it away slowly, reverently. His shirt comes next, and it hits the carpeted floor with a dull, wet slap. Your hands glide over the bare skin of his chest; cold from the rain but warming beneath your touch. He watches you like you’re shaping the skies before his eyes; like you’re the only thing anchoring him to earth. 

He undresses you slowly, hands lingering, fingers and lips exploring, and you move together like water, slow and unhurried. There’s no urgency now, just the deep ache of reunion. He lays you down with such care, like you’re thin glass. 

When he enters you, it’s with soft gasps and a whispered, “I missed you.” Your bodies meet in a rhythm that speaks more than words ever could. Not rough, not desperate. Just homecoming. Every thrust, every touch, every sigh is an apology, a promise, a thread sewing you gently yet thoroughly back together. 

He presses his forehead to yours as you move in tandem, voice trembling. “You terrify me,” he whispers, “Because I want you, all of you, forever. I want to bare my entire soul to you, my beautiful girl.” You whine as you pull his face to yours and you kiss him slowly, deeply, and so lovingly. “I’m not going anywhere,” you whisper as he moves above you. You wrap your arms around his neck and shoulders as you approach your peak. 

When you both reach your climax, it’s a beautiful release of emotions and endorphins. Your shared moans and heavy breaths curl through the room around you. You’re breathless, your eyes are locked with his, and your fingers stay intertwined. 

You lay like that long after cleaning up, curled into each other beneath the sheets, skin to skin, heart to heart. You sport only Vessel's hoodie, the same one which broke your heart earlier, and a pair of knickers, and Vessel lays comfortably in only his underwear. His nose is buried in your hair, arms locked around you like he’s afraid you’ll vanish if he loosens his grip.

His voice is low, barely a breath against your ear. “You smell like me, love.” You laugh softly, eyes fluttering closed. “That’s because I'm wearing your hoodie, you goof.”

“Oh,” he murmurs delightfully. “Then I guess I like me better on you.” You groan playfully and swat at his chest. “That was horrendous. I rescind all affection.”

He grabs your hand and kisses each knuckle with dramatic flair. “Forgive me, my darling muse. I’ll compose better lines on the morrow.” You hum, feigning pretentiousness. “I’ll be expecting a full sonnet.”

“Only if I get paid in kisses,” he jokes, smiling against your cheek. You open one eye. “You drive a hard bargain, Mister Vessel Marie.”

He smiles wider and chuckles before taking on a more serious tone. “I missed you. Even when you were still next to me I missed you so fucking much.” Your heart tightens, full and aching. “Don’t do that again, please. Don’t pull away like that. I am always here for you, sweetness,” you assure him, rubbing over the tops of his knuckles with your thumb.

“I won’t,” he promises. “You’re stuck with me now. I’m basically your emotional barnacle,” he finishes, and you can hear the cheeky grin shaping his words.

You snort. “Sexy.” He pulls his hand from yours and he licks the tips of his pointer and pinkie finger before smoothing over his eyebrows with them. "I try," he says, waggling his brows down at you. "You are such a dork," you say to him as you giggle. You turn in his arms just enough to kiss the tip of his nose. “I love you,” you tell him, and you've never been so serious about anything else in your life.

“I love you more,” he whispers. “Even when I’m an idiot. Especially then.” He kisses your cheek as he pulls the duvet higher around you both, your legs tangled, his thumb brushing soft circles into your hip. The steady rhythm of his breathing lulls you closer to sleep. How would you ever be able to live without this?

And when you’re nearly unconscious, he whispers to you, “Gonna stay with me, sweet girl?” You squeeze his hand as you whisper your reply, and it’s the last thing said for the night. 

“Always.” 

@deathcapbunny @yourgirlisa @houseofsleeptoken @wormm-mom @lynzeequitlollygagging @blackcherrywhiskey @thedemonofsodom @mysticmorning1 @xnikix02 Here you go! If you'd like to be added here, let me know :) I really hope you enjoyed this, anon <3<3

[dcldraws]

"Perfect" Mr. Puzzles - Bio - Flat Color / No Screen Effects

#TW_Ommetaphobia #TW_Gore

[Image Text + Extra Info below!]

Image Text: "Perfect" Mr. Puzzles

The vest is made of a "living mass" that is seen in SMG4's "IT'S GOTTA BE PERFECT"-saga.

The mass is able to shift and transform as Mr. Puzzle pleases, as long as the Mass agrees with him.

If the mass shifts into flatter, wider form at the back, he is able to fly like a butterfly despite his heavy head.

Mr. Puzzles is able to see and record things through the eyes of the Mass if needed, thanks to their "connection".

The Mass has rooted into Mr. Puzzles' upper spine. Due to the constant pressure he's changed to use firmer shoes without heels, walking on his tip toes.

As much as Mr. Puzzles influences the Mass, it also influences him in some ways.

Their bond is almost symbiotic, but the Mass is a parasite.

And the parasite's must feed, be it one way, or another...

Extra Info:

How did this AU come to? How did this happen to Mr. Puzzles?

Short answer: Curiosity (that almost killed the cat [me].)

As for how Mr. Puzzles would've stumbled into this state, here's what happened:

Mr. Puzzles were keeping an eye on SMG4's situation from a safe location, spotting the USB that contained SMG4's greatest work thus far (with the help of SMG3) falling down to the hole with Peach's castle.

He kept an eye on the crew and waited that everyone had vacated the premises, and that no one had approached the hole for a few days. This opportunity came to little after SMG4, SMG3, Meggy and Mario had fetched Peach's Castle's Power Star. Upon realizing the team got out alive, he knew he could have a chance to survive a trip down himself.

Thus, he threw few old TV's down the hole with different types of cushioning's to ensure their path down safely before folding himself in and out of one of the dropped TV's. The USB shouldn't've gone too far, but the mass had mutated, thus started his search. He could always come back now that he knew he had few heads waiting down at the deep hole.

As Mr. Puzzle explores, he feels something watching himself. He's no fool, keeping his wits about but not paying enough attention to his back as he turns it to a "wall". Within seconds, a Mass Worm latches onto his upper back with it's sharp teeth, making Mr. Puzzles scream out in pain. It had barely latched through his spine thanks to the suspender's back divider, but as he tries to pull away, the "wall" falls on him in the process, knocking him unconscious.

The Mass eats through the back of his vest, spitting the suspender's back divider off before properly burrowing to Mr. Puzzles upper spine, rooting itself as it starts to try and find a way to feed more properly.

As he comes to, he realizes something was rooted deep in his head. A piece of the worm having slithered it's way in through one of his back ports. He could hear it. It was hungry... His thoughts of his perfect projects fed it but also made them muddier in his mind. Was it perfect..? Had it been perfect..? Could he had improved it..?

"GET OFF OF ME YOU FIEND!!" He screamed out, the Mass vibrating on his back. As Mr. Puzzles tried to reach for the root that had slipped it's way into his head, he could feel his hand stop at the thought. It didn't want to pull it out... It just wanted to get back up. "No- oh no no no no NO! You do NOT-" Everything was fine. He just needed a moment to re-orient himself. "This isn't my thought... What-" I just need a minute is all. Everything is fine. I'm able to get up, no problem. "..." Mr. Puzzles grew quiet as he lowered his hand back down, slowly pushing himself up, checking that his screen hadn't cracked. His screen were fine... Though the top felt... Icky. Almost... Sticky.

As Mr. Puzzles collected his throughs, he noticed the state of his suspenders and vest as it fell off of him.

He was gasping in horror. "My clothes!"

With the new found rage, he reached around and grasped at the Mass on his back. "YOU, YOU DID THIS! HOW DARE YOU!?"

As he pulled, he gasped as he could feel the pressure tighten on his upper back, almost leaving his lower body immobile. He had to let go. He knew it wasn't worth it. He tried to fold himself out of it, but it was no use. The thing had rooted too deep. It was eating at his memories. It was craving more, taking more, but so would he.

"You take everything now you won't have nothing left for another day." Mr. Puzzle stated, feeling his mind clear as the heavy being on his back eased out in his head. He could feel it's confusion, he could tell it the reasons without speaking further as their communication slowly grew as the Mass started to understand new things through Mr. Puzzles's memories. It started to mutate. It started to shift... Slowly but surely, getting in an agreement with Mr. Puzzles as it collected it's new thoughts and placed them in an order. What form to take, how much pressure to have and how to control this new puppet. The Mass formed a vest with Mr. Puzzle's help, Mr. Puzzles not being keen on the feeling at first but as he realized his new found powers the Mutated Mass was carrying, it opened up new doors for him. Literally.

But also locked him into a never ending battle of perfection, to keep the thing fed and at bay...

Pro's and Con's of his newly found "partner":

+ Quicker Mobility in Mass's "ground"-form. + Able to fly with Mass's "air"-form. [Main form.] + Able to create Channel Portals outside his TV dimension. + Channel Portals can pull anyone/-thing into his TV dimension. + Able to "recruit" willing beings to become his puppets if needed. + Water Proof Head in Mass's "dive"-form. + Able to Cocoon himself with the Mass to block off attacks. + Has eyes everywhere the Mass has spread. + Able to record things through Mass's eyes. +/- Not alone anymore. - Unable to traverse through TV's as can't fold into himself. - If he loses control, the Mass will take over his body and mind. - His memories can get fuzzy over things he's viewed as "perfect". - The Mass's hunger grows exponentially the longer it has not fed. - The Mass can eat "recruits" if he's not careful by devouring them. - He's getting tired by the day... Coffee only helps so much. - If he falls asleep, he could either wake up where he left of in a cocoon or in a completely new location in a middle of something... - The Mass keeps getting smarter and harder to control... - New perfectionist's are always needed, he needs more staff...

Context for other art pieces:

Initial Interaction - Mr. Puzzles can no longer swap his TV heads as the Mass prevents him from "folding himself back in". This means he's had to learn a new way to bring this specific body in new spaces, using his TV-portals to do so as the Mass helps him coordinate them even better. This does also mean, he can yank others to a specific channel the Mass has deemed suitable to idle in...

"Control" / Thin Veil - Upon meeting "Perfect" Mr. Puzzles, one thing becomes clear. He's anxious to let anyone get too close. This is due to the Mass's hunger. It feeds off of "perfectionist's energy" and thrives with it, both empowering and weakening Mr. Puzzles in the process, depending how he's feeling at that time. To combat the hunger rising so high while others are around, Mr. Puzzles has created "Visitor Hoodies". One size fits all! Trust me on that... Upon wearing this fleshy soft hoodie, the Mass usually calms down to listen Mr. Puzzles again. He might just need a moment alone to catch his breath first before you two can have a proper chat.

Control / Take Over - The Mass has gone awry and started to take over Mr. Puzzles mind and body! This most commonly happens when his screen is broken or if he's gone too long for feeding the Mass. It springs it's extra mass from the back of the wings in form of spiky vines to get a proper grip on Mr. Puzzles to better control his body before overtaking his mind. The more Mass has control over Mr. Puzzles body, the more it can do with it. It's able to "mimic" his voice with a unsettling degree but has a faint static over it any time it tries to use his speakers while Mr. Puzzles is still struggling to regain control. It is a desperate attempt as even his own face is not able to avoid the Mass's effect as it slowly pools more at the front of his screen to take it properly over.

Perfect Mass Puzzles - [TBC]

[lostinlovingrevery]

Stay in My Corner

Chapter 2 - Stay, Go

Logan Howlett X F! Reader

You and Logan discuss his next move

A/N: I was planning to upload a chapter once a week but lets have two chapters this week <3 also a little short but sweet.

Warnings: Fluff, first kisses, implied sexy time at the end ;)

Series Masterlist

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Back When

“Are you feeling better?” 

Logan nodded, handing you a root beer. He sat down next to you with a groan. “Been fine.”

“Sure, after nearly dying on top of the Statue of Liberty. Totally fine.” 

“Mm. I’ve had worse happen.” He sips his own root beer casually, then looked at you. You smiled at him. 

“You should be more careful.” 

“I always am.” 

“You- a man with metal bones, literally threw yourself at a guy who controls metal. That doesn’t scream caution.” 

“I ended up fine didn’t I?” He looks at you, a playful glimmer in his eyes. “Thanks to you.” 

You tilted your head, shooting him a look. “Yeah okay, maybe, it doesn’t mean you should go throwing yourself in harms way. ” 

He doesn’t respond, just looks away at the wall as he sips his drink again. You observed his face, noticing the crease in his brows, the frown set on his lips. Eyes focused but not on the bookshelf- somewhere else in his mind. 

“Is there something on your mind Logan?” You asked, placing your hand over his. He seemed to jump out of his thoughts, eyes glancing down to where your hands touched, then met your concerned gaze. 

He sighed, looking away. A heartbeat passed, then he looked at you again, his gaze falling back down to your hand. “While I was out I was having these…Flashes, memories..I think Charles may have unlocked something when he was prying around in my head.”

You listened, turning your body to face him on the couch, resting your head on the back cushion and squeezing his hand. “What was it?” 

“I don’t know.” He says. “I think it’s got something to do with what happened all those years ago. a lake. Lake Akali, up North.” 

“Are you thinking about going?” You ask. 

“Yeah. I…I need to find out what happened.” He looks back up at you. “Felt like I’ve been stuck all this time.” 

You nodded. “You should go.” Your thumb brushed over his knuckles gently, and you could see the small hitch in his breath from your touch. “You need to know. It’ll bring you some peace.” 

“Yeah….” 

His hand turned, taking yours in it. You noted how warm it felt- how yours seemed to fit in his perfectly. The way he was admiring the union told you that he must feel the same way. 

Since Logan has been here, there was an undeniable attraction between you both- something magnetic, constantly bringing you side to side no matter where you were. Shared glances, flirting that made Scott gag, and a constant need to find some way to touch the other. The entire team noticed. Jean has chatised you for your taste in men, Ororo has pushed you to pursue it further, and Charles merely winked at you- which was extremely cryptic but you accepted that as his support. 

“Would you come back?” You broke the silence. While you would support him in whatever he wanted to do- you merely were just getting to know each other, and there was no reason for him to come back. The mansion, the X-men, were just a strange experience of his apparently long life. He didn’t want to stay before and even though you all went through the same fight; you’re not sure if he’s changed his mind.  

He glanced up at you, and a faint smirk growing on his face. 

“Would you want me to?”

Your heart fluttered. You could have countered with something witty, something flirty, the way you’ve been- tip toe around the feelings. This time, you felt actions would be better than words. 

You took your hand from his, bringing it up to his jaw. You leaned forward to press your lips to his, gentle- giving him room to pull away but he only deepened the kiss. He leaned forward, one hand now climbing into your hair, urging you closer as the other rested on your thigh. You felt him squeeze it.

Mirth escaped you and he only smiled into the kiss in response. 

“Does that answer your question?” You parted from his lips. He hums in response. 

“Yeah- but now…”

“What?” You asked in concern. 

“Now, I don’t know if I could leave this.” He murmurs into your lips, nose bumping into yours, his hand was sliding up your thigh. Another small laugh escapes you. 

You could ask him to just stay- but you’ve seen the pain in his eyes, he was lost, he’d never be able to move on if he didn’t find out what happened to him 15 years ago. He hasn’t been able to move on, in an endless loop of cage fighting, drinking, and living in motels and a shitty camper- which was destroyed anyway. 

You liked Logan, a lot. This could get complicated, but you wanted to support him. 

“Stay for one more night then.” Your hands climbed into his hair. You pressed another kiss to his lips. “Go in the morning- take one of the cars. But-” You pulled away, hand coming down to grip his chin between your thumb and forefinger, “You have to promise, once you go there and find what you’re looking for, you come back. Got it?” 

He smiled. “Yeah, sweetheart, got it.” 

You didn't know he already decided that he was going to come back to you no matter what.

He leaned in to kiss you again, pushing you down on the couch as his hand trailed up your shirt and he slots himself between your thighs. A lingering thought in the back of his mind- something he doesn’t voice, not for a long time anyway. 

Maybe you are what I’m looking for.

[peekofhistory]

Hi! Love your Tumblr! I'm fascinated by the fact that you are in China making and playing the Guqin, I was wondering if you can share a bit more about yourself and your background and why you decided to move to China? Like a self intro (that you're comfortable sharing). Thanks and have a nice day!!

Hello :D

How I ended up in Yangzhou learning to make/play the Guqin is a rollercoaster of a story xDD

As for my background, I was born in China (Beijing) and moved to the US when I was around 6 yrs old (my mom had moved several years earlier and I went to live with her). From the start my mom emphasized I can't forget I'm Chinese, because that's where I'm from and where my family's from, so she put in a lot of effort teaching me Chinese. She even had a colleague send over elementary school textbooks from China so she could teach me Chinese at home. She also got recordings of some Chinese TV shows and she'd watch them with me, explaining each episode and giving me information on that period of history.

Back then there weren't that many TV shows in China, and the ones we could access in the US were even less, so it was mostly classics shows like Journey to the West (1986), Dream of the Red Chamber (1987) and Romance of the Three Kingdoms (1994):

That really planted the root for my interest in Chinese history and culture. Especially in the case of Romance of the Three Kinggoms that was based on the actual Three Kingdoms period in Chinese history, it made me aware of how long China's history was and how rich and colourful it was, all the incredible historical figures, the battles of the past, the stories, etc.

Later on I also became interested in Chinese Opera (mainly Peking Opera, Huangmei Opera, and Shanghai Yue Opera):

We moved to Canada after a few years and stayed there until I graduated uni. I then went to Japan to work for a few yrs.

When I returned to Canada, it was 2018 and I found myself having to start all over career-wise. My experience in Japan really didn't help me at all when job hunting in Canada, and I ended up doing a few entry-level jobs in healthcare (office admin work). Then Covid and I lost my job, found another job about a year later, but still entry-level.

It was actually during the Covid break that I found out I could buy Hanfu fairly easily now. Throughout my time at uni and in Japan I didn't really check Chinese websites so I didn't know much about what was happening in China. During the Covid break, with nothing else to do at home, I found Taobao and realized the pretty clothes I adored in TV shows as a child I can now buy :D I went a bit crazy at first and ordered a whole bunch, but at the time I honestly didn't know too much about Hanfu aside from long robes, large sleeves, criss-crossed collars. But it was fun to wear them out (once lockdown ended) and actually feel like the characters I once saw on TV:

The job I had just before I came to China I actually really enjoyed, the work itself was fulfilling, the pay wasn't great but OK, and my co-workers for the most part were pretty good (my direct supervisor was great, I really, really enjoyed working with her). Unfortunately there was some changes to staffing in the office and the workload became really bad. I found myself literally having nightmares about work, and crying driving to and from work everyday. I decided I needed to quit. It was taking over my life 24/7, I was constantly tense and dreaded having to go to the office every morning.

At this point I'm in my late 30s and I took a few months to think about what I wanted to do with the rest of my life. Either look for another regular office job that may or may not be better than the last, or try something completely different.

At the same time, I decided to take the chance to visit my family in China. Without a job, I could visit for a longer period of time (otherwise I could only get 2 wks paid vacation). I remember my mom mentioned during one of her visits to China she had met a master of woodblock printing (雕版印刷/diaoban yinshua). It was the first form of printing invented, they would carve out pages of text (or images), put ink over top, then print it onto paper:

This was even earlier than movable type printing (活字印刷/huozi yinshua) where each character was printed on a separate block so you could arrange them as needed:

This master's workshop took in apprentices and would offer free housing and food. After a certain amount of time, once the apprentices' work reached a certain level, they were even given a salary for their work.

I thought that sounded like a great plan. I didn't explicitly come to China with the goal of finding a place to do an apprenticeship, but I was aware this sort of opportunity was available, and it aligned with my interest in Chinese history and culture.

When I arrived in China last year I spent a few months visiting my dad and other family, before I ended up in Yangzhou.

There were some emotional ups and downs in between, I did find a woodblock printing master, I started to learn a bit with him, it didn't work out, etc., etc. But essentially I found myself in Yangzhou with nothing to do.

Yangzhou is quite famous for Guqin (there's an entire street here dedicated to selling Guqin...although it's a bit of a tourist trap ^^;;) , and I thought I could find a teacher to learn how to play the instrument at least. I had bought a Guqin years ago in Canada, but was always too busy/lazy to actually learn/practice it, but now being free everyday I decided I could do some sort of intense course. While scrolling through the Red Note app looking for Guqin teachers I came across a post of a teacher looking for students to learn how to make+play Guqin, with the option to live at the workshop and have housing and food covered:

And my eyes lit up.

That was how it all started :D

The biggest obstacle is honestly some family members. Growing up abroad, I've never really had a close relationship with any of my relatives in China. I've also never had to navigate the complicated family relations that Chinese families can sometimes have. If I were to go to any other country in the world to learn something, none of them would say anything, I don't think they'd even think about it, but because I'm in China a lot of them suddenly feel they need to express an opinion about my decisions, lol. Some don't like my interest in wearing Hanfu, some think I'm crazy learning something that "no one else these days is interested in", some think I'm immature/irresponsible not finding a 'regular' job and 'wasting' my time. Luckily, none of them live in Yangzhou so aside from a passive-aggressive text message/phone call once in awhile I can do my own thing 😁💖

[microwavepopcorn]

[raviollies]

i watched a playthrough of needy girl overdose

[dafpork]

the thoughts are returning (making a comic adaptation of the actor au alongside the actual writing)

[hide-your-bugs-away]

May 6th, 1965 -

Alan Price tells Bob Dylan that he has left The Animals...

and i have never been the same since

[demdems]

don't get it twisted tho just cuz the episode got me sobbing like a baby doesn't mean i agree w anything s8 related

[gomzdrawfr]

22. Give us a headcanon for Soap!

[ask game]

(thank you for pasting the question)

Contrary to popular theory, I don't think Soap has sisters or comes from a big family. I like to think he too has a rough family history and wanted to be out of it as soon as he can, kind of similar to what I thought about for Price.

I feel like Soap is terrified of becoming a failure like the people he came from, the kind of failure that just festers in small towns and not the kind that makes it to the news. He doesn't want to rot in a cycle of bitterness, of living the way like everyone does, easily forgotten and living a mould that felt more like a jail than a path to normalcy.

[antisocialxconstruct]

I've been thinking a lot about art and why it doesn't feel good anymore, and a lot of what I keep coming back to is a) simply not being happy with my style, but b) not feeling comfortable experimenting because I feel like I need things to be """post worthy""" 🙄 so like... it's kind of a vicious cycle lmao so I'm heeding the advice I used to give people trying to overcome perfectionism which was "don't worry about making things that are 'good enough' to post and just post everything."

So... some vague style experimenting 🤷‍♂️ and also a sketch of Ilya from forever ago that I really liked but kept thinking I would come back and do more with.