#I hate you current state of television

[emeraldcitynerdfighter]

10 years ago, TV shows that were cancelled after 2, 12-to-23-episode seasons due to poor writing/production/audience reception.

Now they're cancelled despite raking in awards (from multiple organizations) for writing/production/acting/representation, have large & devoted fanbases (that are doing most of the promotion of the show), are the highest-viewed show on a network/streaming platform, only air for 6 or 8 episodes per season. And they're cancelled more than once, if not also wiped from the face of the earth.

Make it make sense.

[welcometogrouchland]

See, it's less about whether or not Willow is the braincell, and more about the fact that Willow likes taking care of her friends and looking out for them. It's both a source of self esteem and worth for her (she feels useful and competent if she's helping others) AND it's her main way of expressing her gratitude and affection for her friends presence in her life. They make her happy so she's gonna keep them safe and out of harms way. Plus most of her friends (sans hunter) have a history of looking out for her that, as much as she appreciates, she'd rather not return to. She likes her independence and she likes her new role in the friend group, she doesn't want to take steps back.

Sometimes this Need To Help manifests as magical outbursts that may not be great strategic moves (when she thinks Hunters been kidnapped in coth). Sometimes it manifests as scolding and steering in the right direction (her with Gus in something ventured) but ultimately letting them make their own choices. Ultimately Willows the sort of person to do whatever she thinks is right in the given situation for the people around her. When she can summon it, she has a lot of wisdom for her age (seen in the scene w/ her getting everyone to share food on the airship in king's tide). And if she can't summon it, she'll still try and do whatever seems right in the moment (gives hunter the pic of flapjack) and just problem solve as the day goes on until someone feels better, goddamit! <- this is the kinda moment that leads to rash decisions, bottling her feelings and burning out bc she really doesn't wanna fail due to her history and self esteem issues. It's why Hunter comforting her works so well in ftf and completely shifts their dynamic. She finally has confirmation that someone who loves her won't love her any less when she fucks up, but I digress.

Willows always looking out for others, and sometimes she's dumb about it, sometimes she's smart about it! It depends on who she's helping, why they need help and what kind of day she's had/where she is. Thanks to Them showed Willow in a pretty stable situation, hence there's extra room for silliness. For the future was following extremely distressing events and put even more stresses on Willow herself. Hence she bottles things up and struggles to make the good decisions she was once able to. It's not like she became a worse leader or friend since asias or king's tide (episodes that take time to include small moments of her playing to people's strengths, doing good strategy, making sure no one's left behind, etc). She's just having a really garbage fucking day.

She's probably only gonna get 1 Moment™ or so in the finale bc she had her day in ftf and I'm content with that, but I was rewatching asias where she DOES take on a responsible leadership role (while still maintaining her whole "blossoming wallflower/crouching underdog hidden badass" thing) and it reminded me of the small contained debate that happened around thanks to thems airing. Because yes, Willow and Gus were Goofy™ that ep, but a) they were literally comic relief in season 1 + 2A, it kinda has precedent and b) Willow is only as sensible as the situation calls for her and as her environment allows. She's nuanced like that!

[cooliofango]

pocket princess!! if you feel up to it could you pls write something fluffy with price x reader x soap. id love to see something lighthearted with price handling his loves <3!!

Baby It’s Cold Outside

Pairing: Price x Reader x Soap

Word Count: 727

Synopsis: A soft shared moment of peace between the three loved ones on a snowy night 🫶

A/N: Absolutely crying cause I couldn’t think of how to make this one longer 😭😭😭. I hated how long this was taking tho so I did my best, I hope you like it! I will continue to work on your Gaz ask and make it longer I promise 👀

Cw: None! It’s fluffy content between Bun’s favorite boys 🫶

Winter is always one of your favorite seasons. It definitely isn’t because of the snow. You hate having to constantly uncover the white flakes of frozen water from your car and pray that the doors aren’t frozen shut. It isn’t necessarily because of the holidays, even if they are always fun to celebrate with loved ones. It’s not even about the peppermint lattes you love to get on the way to work every morning when it’s being sold at your local cafe. Winter is your favorite season because of the moment you currently find yourself in.

The dim light of the television was the only thing illuminating your shared bedroom. The chatter of the late night show was quiet, just although loud to hear the men gossip about the actor’s movie and their experience on set. “It’s all rubbish, the reviews he’s speakin’ of..” You hear John lazily mumble against the right side of your collarbone, “The movie wasn’t any good.” The brit is against your side with an arm wrapped snugly just under your chest. His head rests on your shoulder, nearly falling asleep on you as the season’s early nights took its toll. The neatly trimmed mutton chops tickle your skin as he settles further against you. It’s a warm weight against you that you’ve grown familiar with, as well as come to love.

“Didn’t know ye watch cheesy rom coms, captain.” The Scottish accent of your other boyfriend fills your senses from your left and you turn to look at him with the same amused smile he’s wearing. Johnny’s eyes are closed, more in a half conscious state than John is. His head rests lower on your body, more against your chest than your collarbone, with an arm around your stomach, leaving you sandwiched in between the two men you loved so dearly. In addition, one of his legs is also laced with yours.

“Occasionally..” John mutters after a moment’s silence, earning a quiet chuckle from the scot.

The lighthearted banter between the two of them was always endearing to you, filling you with more warmth than the heat the two bodies around you did. It was more than welcome with how cold it’s been lately. You take a glance out the window on the left wall of the room, watching as large snowflakes fall down continuously. The hand on John’s shoulder absentmindedly toys with the hem of his sleeve while the other traces gentle patterns onto Johnny’s back.

These moments are scarce, but you cherish them with every fiber of your being. It’s not everyday you get to enjoy the peace and quiet. The worries that plagued your mind everytime the two went out for work are non-existent, even if it's temporarily. It is as if the dangers and horrors of the real world just aren’t there anymore and it was just the three of you.

A heavy sigh of content left Johnny and you could feel his weight against you become heavier as he relaxed. John places a soft kiss against your warm skin. You smiled lovingly at the feeling, tilting your head to rest against the top of his.

A yawn slips past your lips and John smiles against your collarbone at the sound, reaching behind him to pluck the remote from the bedside table. His movements are slow and careful, not wanting to jostle the two of you too much and disturb the peace that’s made its way into the atmosphere. “Get some sleep, sweetheart,” John whispered to you. He hit the power button, sending the room into total darkness before setting the remote back onto the table. His weight shifts back onto you, easily snuggling back into the spot against you. The blanket is pulled back over you before his arm returns back across your torso.

“You, too. G’Night, Johnny,” John said this with a gentle tap to Johnny’s nose with his knuckle. The scot simply huffs, already in the process of dozing off against you.

The room grows silent now, save for the collective breaths of relaxation being shared between the three of you. Your head falls to lean against the pillow under it, eyes falling shut. The warmth of the two men’s physical presence and love helps you to settle in a blanket of comfort. It works wonders lulling you to sleep in a matter of minutes.

Taglist 🏷️

@bunnyreaper @bookobsessedram @numberonetastemakerwhispers @a-very-bored-blogger @hawsx3 @ohworm-writes @tokusho @kitkatscabinet

[iamchriswife]

hiii, can you do that reader is a influencer and LOVES 10 things i hate about you, so she's bestfriends w the triplets and matt is inlove w her and he invites her to see the movie (maybe in his house or in a cinema, idk) and in some moment they confess to each other :)

thanks<3

10 ᴛʜɪɴɢꜱ

matt sturniolo x reader

no use of y/n

@st7rnioioss @its-jennarose @timmyscomputer @kriissy4gov @liz-stxrn @sunrisemill @mattssluttywaist @riasturns @mx0qin @junnniiieee07 @alorsxsturn @nonameisthegameandilovejake

Today had been long after filming with the triplets for a good few hours - for both your and their channel. First you had done baking then you had done Omegle like many of your fans had requested for your channel.

You had met the triplets through a social media post, you posting about how funny they were after one of your fans recommended them to you and Matt just so happened to scroll past and reply.

In all honesty, Matt wouldn’t usually comment on tiktoks or address anything - but he took a glance at you and thought you were the most beautiful girl he had ever seen. Even in your state of pyjamas and messy hair, lying in bed whilst you recording a tiktok giggling to yourself. Utterly perfect.

After that you sent him a message through instagram to which he responded as soon as he saw the notification - again, not a normal occurrence. But he really couldn’t help himself.

When you and the triplets first collabed of course the ship comments came - and no surprise it was between you and Matt.

Now, your fans knew how much of a romantic you were since you were always sharing your love for the movie ‘10 Things I Hate about You’ all the time - so they immediately started comparing you to Cameron and Bianca. Claiming you’d be the sweetest couple in the world.

You had seen these comments and it wasn’t like you were acting on them, they just encouraged your crush. You already found Matt beyond attractive, sweet, caring, funny- you get it. But no way you would ever act on it.

Matt can remember the first time he had watched the rom-com. The two of you were sat on FaceTime and were talking about films - a common topic for the both of you.

“Have you ever watched 10 things I hate about you?” you asked him, sitting up in bed to get comfortable. The brunette racked his brain before shaking his head, to which your jaw dropped. “Matthew! What are you doing? Get off this phone call right now and watch it- do not talk to me until you have!” you exclaimed passionately, hanging up the phone to which Matt chuckled.

The boy sent a message: calling you rude for hanging up. He opened up Disney+ on his TV and began to watch the show

Ever since it had been the both of yours go to movie whenever you hang out. Playing cards? Chuck it on in the background! Cooking? Where’s the tv remote? Cant sleep? You guessed it!

The two of you lay down on his bed, the television in front of you playing your movie. Currently Kat was up in class reciting her poem - which you had memorised.

Matt watched you and smiled as you whispered the words under your breath as you had been doing the whole movie, he absolutely adored it.

He didn’t know where your obsession for the movie started but he could agree it was a good film. The two of you would send edits and tiktoks to each other about it constantly. Matt would use it as a way of silently confessing, and he knew that’s what he wanted to do.

“I don’t hate you, you know?” he hummed. Your head moved up to face him with your eyebrows furrowed, you laughed.

“Well obviously not.” you rolled your eyes playfully, rolling onto your stomach to face the boy fully, unintentionally getting closer to his face.

He swallowed lightly, “I actually really like you.” he tightly his head, his nose gently brushing yours. A smile crept its way onto your face uncontrollably, a pink blush joining along. You hummed, thinking he was playing with you.

“I really like the way you talk to me, I really like your hair.” he started listing, grabbing a piece of your hair and twirling it between his fingers as he held eye contact with you. “I like the way you can’t drive so I have to drive you everywhere, I like it when I catch you staring and you play it off, I like your airforces that you refuse to replace even though their beaten to the bone, I like the way we read each others minds, I like it when you prove me wrong even though I want to be right, I like the way your bad at lying and smile every-time, I like it when your make me smile, I like it when your around me, I like it when I get a random call from you and the conversation flows naturally, but mostly I like that fact that I like you.”

You stared at him speechless, a blush now gracing his face at the words coming out his mouth. When he finished he smiled at you sheepishly. He went to open his mouth again, to take away his words, but you got there first.

Leaning forward you placed a hand on his jaw and kissed him lovingly. He kissed back gently, smiling into it happily. Slowly you pulled away and giggled into his neck, him chuckling with you. “I hate you so much stupid!”

“No you don’t.” He teased.

“I really don’t.”

[bobbyonboard]

Peppermint [Robert ‘Bob’ Floyd x Reader]

Summary: i saw this tiktok of lewis pullman and it was so goddamn sexual my brain wouldn’t shut up until i wrote something about it. also know as--it’s 115 degrees in Lemoore and the AC in Bob’s truck is busted. 

Warnings: swearing, oral sex (female receiving), unprotected sex, hair pulling, please assume the reader is always on some sort of contraceptive in my fics unless i state otherwise, bob is a switch and no i will not be taking any questions at this time, minors DO not interact with me you lil shits 

Word Count: 2.2k

Author’s Note: y’all were so nice with my last one regarding Rooster, I had to write one for my main man!!! also cannot get over I have like 300 new followers. never be afraid to come talk to me!!

“Fuck. Off,” you grumbled in the direction of the television as you heard the chipper weatherman inform you that the high today in Lemoore, California was going to be a record-breaking one hundred and fifteen degrees fahrenheit. One hundred and fifteen fucking degrees. You never hated the Navy more than you did in that moment. Who the fuck gets stationed in Lemoore? No beaches, no shade. Just heat, and lots of it. But where your husband goes, you go–and unfortunately, you both were stuck in Lemoore. 

The July air was thick and it wasn’t even nine in the morning, so you made sure that you didn’t have a single thing to do that day except stay inside the apartment, laying upside-down on your couch directly in front of your tiny window AC unit. You’d always loved being a teacher, but days like this, when you thought you actually might melt if you went outside, you were sure as hell glad you had summers off. 

Your day passed by lazily, only shuffling between the couch and the kitchen to get more water what seemed like every thirty minutes. Before you knew it, it was already four o’clock, and you were expecting Bob home any minute. 

Bob had told you that morning he was heading out to run a few test flights on some newer planes, so you expected him to come home freshly showered from the Naval base locker rooms, smelling of Old Spice and car air freshener that had been blasted over his clothes from his aggressive truck air conditioning. But instead, when you lazily glanced over your shoulder to the sound of keys jingling, you were greeted with…well, certainly not that. 

Bob’s hair was frizzed and stuck straight up in the back, almost as if he had just taken off his helmet. His clothes were stuck to his skin, large sweat stains covering most of the material of his t-shirt. His cheeks were a dark shade of red, and his eyes looked as though they were currently in the process of holding back unshed tears. 

“Bobby?,” you frowned, quickly standing up, crossing the room, and quickly taking his duffel bag from his hand to toss on the floor. “Honey, whassamatter? You okay?,” you asked, putting the back of your hand on his forehead and physically wincing at how hot his skin was to the touch. 

“Pipes burst,” was all he murmured out, bottom lip trembling just slightly, and it was quite literally breaking your heart to see him so miserable. “We landed and–and went to go shower and they told us a pipe burst, so the showers weren’t working. So I couldn’t shower and–,” he started to breathe a bit heavier, almost as if his own clothes were weighing him down worse than any g-force. 

“I got to the truck and the AC was just blowing out hot air. So I rode all the way home with the windows down and I’m just so hot,” he finally whimpered, and you just brushed his wet hair out of his face with a soft coo. 

You hated to see him like this. You couldn’t imagine how hot he had to be in that plane today, only to land and not be able to cool down like his body so desperately needed. An idea suddenly popped into your brain, and you were taking off down the hallway. 

“Put your arms up, honey,” you purred ever so gently once you returned, producing a cold packet of wet wipes. You pulled one out of its bag, sighing softly at the gentle smell of peppermint, and you immediately began to wipe down Bob’s face and neck. 

“Thank you-u-u-u,” he practically sobbed, arms stuck straight out at his sides as you began to slide the wipes under his t-shirt, along his shoulders, under his armpits, his chest, and his waist. “What does it do?,” he asked after a moment, almost afraid to open his eyes for fear that this was all some fever dream and he’d be standing back on the tarmac, dripping sweat. 

“I keep these in my little fridge in the bathroom, with all my skin care stuff,” you hummed sweetly, pulling a fresh wipe out and continuing on the bit of skin where you left off. “It helps me freshen up before I go to bed at night, or when I come back from the gym and I’m just too tired to shower before bed,” you chuckle, ghosting a feather-light kiss over his brow as you continued to work on cooling him down. 

“Feels so good,” he whimpered, and his once red cheeks were now only a soft pink, his breathing returning to a relatively normal pace. 

“Good, baby. You’ll feel better in just a minute, yeah? Got this AC on you, and you smell all peppermint-y,” you teased, and you don’t know if it was the practically obscene noises Bob was letting out, or the way he was absolute putty in your hands, but you let the wipes in your hand dip a little lower into the waistband of his pants. 

A strangled moan escaped Bob’s lips, and you just let one hand pop open the buttons of his pants, sliding them down his legs. 

“Gotta get you completely covered,” you whispered, dropping down to your knees where you began to work on wiping down his thighs. After mere seconds, you glanced up to see a ten already forming in your husband’s boxers, and damn, if that didn’t make a girl’s ego soar. 

“M’sorry,” he almost cried, shivering under your touch. “Just–feels so good. You make me feel so good.”

“I always wanna make you feel good, honey,” you purred, peppering his thighs with kisses and feeling the leftover peppermint oil tingle your lips. You eventually stood back up (despite a noise of protest from your husband) and stripped him down to only his boxers, getting a final fresh wipe out of the pack and letting it drag along his skin. 

“Come sit,” you took his hand, leading him over so he was directly in front of the AC unit, resting on the plush couch as he immediately tossed his head back out let out a pornographic moan, which caused you to clench your thighs together in delight. 

“Y’so good t’me,” Bob practically slurred, completely overwhelmed with the lavish attention he was receiving, and his skin began to prickle when the freezing cold air blew against his minty skin. 

“You deserve it all, Bobby,” you whispered, moving to straddle his hips, your thin pajama pants and his boxers the only thing separating the two of you as you wiped his cheeks down for the final time, before pressing a chaste kiss to the apple of each one. 

Bob said your name with a strangled cry, hips immediately rocking up to get some friction, any friction at all. And who were you to deny such a pretty boy something he wanted so desperately? So you just relaxed yourself slowly, lazily rocking down on his achingly hard cock and letting out a soft moan of your own. 

Your nipples were hard from where they were currently being assaulted by a barrage of cold air from the unit, and they were settled right in front of your husband’s face, which proved to make his next task considerably easier. He hooked his fingers in the straps of your tank top and tugged them down your arms before his lips were wrapped around your right nipple, sucking on it lightly and letting it roll between his teeth. You let out a soft cry, your fingers tangling immediately in his damp hair as you began to rock yourself against him a bit faster. 

It was only a few minutes before he pulled off with an obscenely wet ‘pop’, letting his head rest against your sternum. 

“Y/N–,” Bob choked out, his hips stilling immediately. 

“Okay, sweetheart,” was all you said, lifting yourself just slightly out of his lap to give him a moment to focus. 

It didn’t take him long at all, because just a second later you were being pushed onto your back on the couch, with your lover’s fingers hooked into the waistband of your shorts and panties, sliding them down your legs and tossing them to the floor. Not a moment was wasted as he immediately licked a long, hot stripe between your folds, fingers digging into your hips. 

“Robert,” you gasped, and you swear you could feel that son of a bitch smirk, even face first in your cunt. If his hair wasn’t already a mess, it certainly was now, the way you were tugging on it and rocking your hips against his face to try and get the perfect rhythm. 

It didn’t take long. It never did with Bob. He somehow knew exactly what to do to have you coming on his tongue in five minutes flat, keeping your hips pressed down to the couch. 

“Bobby–,” you tried to warn, but it was too late. At your cry of his name, he gave a certain flick of his tongue and you were coming fast and hard, riding his face like your life depended on it, his tongue pressed flat against your clit as you shook with each pulse of your orgasm.  

You barely had time to think, no less to actually say anything, before he was tugging you into a new position. You were bent over the back of the couch, face perfectly aligned with the air conditioning as Bob got behind you, one knee on the edge of the couch. 

“You ready for me, darlin’?,” he asked, and God, you could have died right there. 

“Always, baby.”

You felt him slide into you smoothly, using one hand to guide himself and the other slide up your body to your hair, gathering a handful and giving you a harsh tug. The way he bent you had your chest getting covered with cold air, nipples hard enough to cut diamonds. 

“Fuck, you always feel so fuckin’ good,” he moaned, putting his other knee on the couch as he began to piston his hips against your ass, the slapping sounds your skin made filling your small apartment, loud enough to be heard even over the roaring AC. 

You, however, were unable to respond, due to the absolute overwhelming pleasure that was coursing through your body. Your head and neck began to ache deliciously, and the way the head of Bob’s cock brushed against your sweet spot with each thrust had you mewling under his hands. 

“I’m not gonna–,” Bob grunted, and you understood, Whenever he was needy, he never lasted long, and that was certainly fine by you. Like you said–it was an ego boost. 

“S’okay, baby,” you panted, and he reached forward to play with one of your tits, his chest pressed to your back as he fucked you even harder. 

“So good for me. Fuckin’--fillin’ my pussy up. Fuck, Bobby, you’re gonna make me come again,” you practically sobbed, and the fact that the two of you were sweating from exertion but also cool from the air conditioning made everything that more sensitive. 

The praise went straight to Bob’s dick, and you could feel it twitching already. 

“Please–,” he gasped, trying so hard to last until he could make you come again. 

“Go ahead, honey. Come for me. Come for me, Bobby,” you groaned, wincing in pleasure at how your sensitive cunt was already teetering on the edge of orgasm. 

You had barely finished your command before Bob was spilling himself inside of you, letting out a high-pitched whine as he emptied himself. He managed to let the hand that was in your hair slide down your body and move to your pussy, fingers rubbing quickly at your clit. 

“Baby, come for me. Wanna feel you come on my cock,” he practically begged, even though he had already orgasmed, he would simply die for the chance to feel you clenching on his softening cock still inside of you, practically milking every bit of come he had given you. 

“Oh, fuck,” you moaned, gripping tight at the back of the couch as you felt your orgasm wash over you for the second time that evening, cringing out softly each time your cunt squeezed your husband’s cock, feeling it nestled deep inside of you. 

Soft whimpered and moans spilled from Bob’s lips, along with various words of filth that didn’t exactly form a coherent sentence, but they were so goddamn sexy all the same. 

As he pulled out slowly, he leaned over to press a soft kiss to the small of your back before two of you landed in a messy pile on the couch, trying to catch your breath. 

You curled up next to him, almost (dare you say) chilly from the constant cold air on your skin, and your eyes closed to enjoy those post-coital moments together before you had to get up and clean yourselves off. 

“You know,” Bob started, fingertips brushing lightly over your sides. “Bet we could really cool down in the shower.”

taglist: @walkonthewiidside​

people that might be interested in this idk: @bradshawsbaby​ @callsignbob​ @thebradleybradshaw​

[writer-kermit]

sweet like candy.

❥ PAIRING: NANAMI KENTO × GN!READER

❥ GENRE: SMUT

❥ COMMISSIONED OR SELF-MADE: SELF-MADE

❥ WORD COUNT: 1.2k

ঞ~SUMMARY: It's the night of Halloween. And your lover Nanami Kento is certainly in for a treat.

ᰔ KERMIT'S NOTE: I LIVE! I HAVE RISEN BACK ONCE MORE! I like to apologize for my lack of posting. I've been really busy with work and I lacked motivation for the past few months. As a celebration of TickleTober, I've decided to create this fic. I will try my best to write more. And thank you to the people who stuck around! If you want commissions, DM me or visit my Ko-Fi. If you want, I'm also drawing commissions too! Thanks for the support!

P. S: I had no specific prompt I just did all of them (almost)

ʚ WARNING: NSFW, Sensual biting, Teasing, Erotic Tickling, Overstimulation, MINORS!! PLEASE GO AWAY.

It was that time of year again—the year when children would wear their most flamboyant costumes and wander around the luminous and chilly neighborhood. The children would knock on each home, hoping to receive something good to eat. Upon their next home, they would meet a particular house that wasn’t fond of trick-or-treaters. That house was none other than the Kento’s residency.

The house looked empty and eerie. You could’ve mistaken it for an actual haunted house. Those who were cocky enough to knock on the door will meet with a surprise.

A go-away sign? Welp, better luck next time kids; Nanami Kento doesn’t celebrate Halloween.

Ah yes, Hallow’s Eve. Nanami’s least favorite holiday. Not because he’s an envious adult, but because he hates the obnoxious noises he’ll have to endure until late at night.

You, however–enjoyed the thriller nights. You’d gaze at the children running along the neighborhood in search of some candy. You missed the times you’d trick-or-treat with your friends and family. As you slowly closed your bedroom window, you turned to your lover Nanami, who was too busy watching the latest horror movie.

“Oh Kento,” you sighed, “don’t you miss trick-or-treating as a kid?” Nanami flicked his eyes at you before quickly peering back at the television. “I don’t like Halloween that much.” He stated. “And why is that?” You asked, now sitting beside him. “There is no reason. I merely enjoy the alluring night when Halloween comes to an end.”

"I knew you’d say something like that.” You chuckled. “I guess you’re right,” Nanami smiled. “But there is one thing I like about this holiday.” A cocky smirk curved on your lips. “I bet it’s the candy, right?” You gestured. Nanami looked at you casually. He then pulled you into bed, making you lie down.

“You’re correct. How did you know, dear?” He asked. “Hehehe… You’re always a sucker when it comes to sweet things.” You replied. Nanami chuckled at your comment. “I will admit that,” He hummed, “But there is this one rare candy that I’m fond of nowadays.” As Nanami says that, he gets on to of you, making you anxiously giggle. “I wonder what this new candy is called,” You replied. “It’s called the [....] special. It’s currently my favorite.” “Oh yeah?” “Yes. And I’m dying to know the flavor.”

Wasting no time, Nanami pressed his lips against yours. He kept your tongue preoccupied as his hands crept under your shirt, his fingers gently caressing your tummy. He then pulled back from the kiss leisurely, awing at the feverish look plastered on your face.

“Mmm… Just as I thought,” Nanami husked. “You are sweet like candy.” He then kissed your neck, making you gasp in surprise. You moan softly between his kisses, almost tickled by his lips against your skin. A shy giggle escaped your lips as he gently tugged your skin.

“W-wait…” You whispered. “Ken…that tickles…” Nanami’s ears rang to know you were ticklish. A small smirk curved on his lips. “Is that so?” He teased. “Would you like me to stop then?” “N-no! I don’t hate it or anything. It’s just that this feeling is unusual.” You said. Nanami gave you a reassuring kiss. “Shall we sort out this unusual feeling together?” He asked you. You’d be lying if you said you didn’t hesitate. However, you couldn’t help but nod for the thrill of it.

You watched Nanami as he pinned your arms above your head. “Keep your arms up. You can do that for me, right?” He asked you. “That depends on what you’re gonna do.” You remarked.

Nanami didn’t reply to your response. Instead, he let his calloused fingers do the talking. He slowly rubbed the palms of your hands, radiating a ticklish feeling.

His fingers slowly descend, now getting dangerously close to your underarms. You tried squirming away without pulling down your arms. But Nanami was quick to straddle you. His fingers scribbled across your poor armpits without warning, forcing you to pull your arms down.

“Ehahaha! W-wait! Wahaihaihait!” You squealed. “Wait for what?” Nanami cooed. “Don’t tell me you’re backing down so soon.” “N-not true!” You recoiled. “I just wasn’t ready! That’s all.” “You don’t have to be ready, sweetheart.” He replied. “Now, keep those arms up. Don’t even think about pulling them down.”

“Nn…” You whined, slowly putting your arms back up–only for Nanami’s fingers to attack you again. Scribbling and scratching against your poor ribs. You arched your back almost instantly. Your head turned from side to side as the tickling was unbearable.

“AHhnn! Kentohoho wait!” You pleaded, clenching your fist together. “I’m sorry baby. But I already lost my patience with you.” Nanami hummed, nuzzling against your neck. His hands slowly spider across your sides and back. “Nooahahaa! P-please, slohohow down!”

Nanami found peace through your whines and pleading. He dipped his head down to your stomach, planting tiny kisses and nibbling across your sensitive skin.

“I love this cute tummy…” Nanami muttered, his hot breath grazing your skin. “It’s soft and warm like baked bread. Wouldn’t you agree [....]?” Your words became inaudible. A mixture of laughter and moans escaped from your lips.

Nanami chuckled at your state, enjoying the lovely noises you made for him. He continued teasing your tummy. His hands clawed on your hips to keep you in place. Suddenly, his tongue slipped inside your navel, tickling you in a frenzy of hysterical laughter.

“HEEHAH!” You shrieked, right before covering your mouth with your hands. “And this adorable belly button,” Nanami teased, “It’s sensitive hm?” You only giggled and shook your head. “You liar….” He cooed, gently blowing at your navel. As he went further down, he stared at your twitching sex.

“[....],” Nanami sang to you, “don’t tell me you’re getting aroused just from me tickling you.” “Hehehe! N-no!” You panicked, pressing your legs together. “I-it’s not like that at all…” “It’s not? Then why so shy love?”

Nanami slowly spread your legs apart, revealing your aching spot. You let out a squeaky moan in surprise when Nanami’s fingers stroked you lustfully. You watched him hazily as he peeled your remaining undergarments.

“It seems like the [....] added a new flavor.” He joked. Nanami then grasped your inner thighs as he leveled his head at your sex. His breath only inches away from you. He then looked up at you again, taking detail of your shallow breaths and heated face. “Thank you for the treat….” He rasped.

Nanami then wrapped his lips against your sex. His tongue was light and gentle. Yet the sensations rushed through your body. You moaned happily as he growled and moaned against your sex. “Ahahaha… K-Kento… Kento…” You moaned, bucking your hips repeatedly. Nanami let out reassuring hums as he massaged your hips, stimulating you further.

“Your flavor…” Nanami grunted, “It’s so enticing. I want more of it… I want more of you…” He kissed your lips with hunger, and you melted into the kiss almost instantly. You then felt something poke your thigh. You then had an idea.

“Oh Kento,” You sang, “did you know that there’s a new candy in stores?” “Hm? What’s it called?” Nanami asked. “The Nanami - Delux. I assumed you heard of it.” His lips turned into a curt smile. “Suppose I have,” he replied, pulling out his leaking cock. “Are you willing to take responsibility?” You giggled and wrapped your arms around his neck. “Perhaps. I’ve been dying to know your flavor.”

[ripplestitchskein]

I just saw the funniest thing about Stolitz and it really reinforced my belief that people just cannot handle the long period between episodes indie animation requires. They just cannot make connections for that long and their own personal expectations and imaginings of what it should be have too much time to percolate. As a recent comer to the HB fandom who watched the entirety of the series in a single afternoon and skipped the Pilot because it’s not canon I am having a completely different experience. I attribute this mostly to the Pilot, as that seems to have colored peoples opinions of Stolas and subsequently Stolitz in such a wild way and they had to sit with that characterization for so long they just cannot fathom that the story is playing out much differently than the Pilot set up. And yes a year is a long time to sit with expectations of a show direction and a characterization I won’t fault them for that.

“They turned Stolas into sad clown boy”. “The show is all about Stolitz relationship drama now”.

Did we watch the same Season 1, Episode 2? Because our first “real” introduction to Stolas is immediately good dad, sad owl boy, relationship with Blitzo. The first episode sets up the current state of the Blitzø/Stolas relationship, sets up the business and overall character dynamics but doesn’t really give us any information on their backgrounds or current emotional states. It hints at a few things coming up, a few things to look into further but nothing beyond surface level. As you’d expect from a first episode. The 2nd episode shows us that some major things were gonna be exploring are Blitzo and Stolas, Stolas and his family situation, Blitzo’s history as a clown and why he hates Fizzarolli bot so much, the Moxxie/Millie dynamic and brief brushings on Loona and how Blitzo interacts with his employees, but I’d say we actually get more information on Stolas and Stolitz earlier on in the show than we do anything else. It was setup from the beginning that these were all major premises we were going to explore and….WE DO. We start the season that way. We end the season a little further down the road but still focusing on those basic things setup in the first two episodes.

I see a lot of criticisms of the writing but from my perspective, watching them all in a row the writing is pretty spot on in terms of set up, change, payoff. And the structure is exactly what we expect for a multi season show. They introduce Stolitz at one point in their relationship in S1 Ep 1, and by Ozzie’s we have a very clear change that was progressed through the other episodes of the season. That same narrative thread, introduced at the beginning of the show is carried through into S2 and the underpinnings of reactions we saw in S1 episodes 1 and 2 are revealed throughout, we now see why Stolas and Blitzø react the way they did in S1Ep1 via the storytelling in S2Ep1 and the structure of those two being the first episodes of their respective seasons is exactly what a writer should do. They feed into each other perfectly. A person watching only those two episodes would have no trouble filling in the rest of the seasons or the story at large and that’s exactly what a serialized writer should do. The show didn’t change anything midstream, it didn’t shift plot points, it very clearly setup these pins to knock them down as we go on. Fizzarolli backstory? Done. Blitzo’s relationship with Millie and Moxie had several episodes of exploration, we see a bit more about Loona and Blitzo and Stolas’s marriage drama is the main catalyst for overall big drama and they are exactly where they should be if you are plotting this out using a three act structure for a television format.

Things are REVEALED they aren’t changed, and while real life concerns and schedules and business things do affect how episodes get released or how things play out or which characters are available to appear, not knowing any of that background until AFTER I had already watched the show I’d say the writers are doing a pretty remarkable job keeping the flow, of developing the characters and relationships and paying off what they setup waaay at the beginning 3 years ago when they released eps 1 and 2. They’ve also done a great job of giving every character a little moment to shine even though, as they established in episodes 1 and 2, the main focus is on Blitzø, Stolas and how their relationship is the catalyst for everything. That it’s why I.M.P does what it does.

I highly suggest people watch it from start to finish without the Pilot, or at least just the first two episodes and S2 Ep 1 and take into account what is shown and setup at the very start versus the story we are currently at and I really think it will show that nothing has changed, the story is progressing as it should, at the pace it should, and that the characters are growing and changing as they should based on the things that have occurred.

[aceredshirt13]

Hey everyone. Now that we know that the group DDosing Ao3 is almost certainly just trying to stir up chaos and hate by masquerading as an Islamic extremist group. Let’s… not do that, okay? Apparently some people have taken the bait and are using this as an excuse to attack Islam, which is obviously an incredibly idiotic and bigoted thing to do. But what I’ve actually seen more of is people saying that because a minority of people are behaving in an ugly and bigoted manner, or because they personally don’t like some of the things hosted on the site, that it should die and be removed from the internet forever. And hey? Hi! Hi, yes, this means that you fundamentally hate artists and art.

Like what is your argument here? “Ah yes, we should definitely kill a massive website dedicated to media archival, in a world where every other social media website is making changes specifically hateful and harmful to artists, and search engine algorithms completely bury independent and lesser-known sites, and the publishing industry is increasingly closed off and hostile to new writers, because Some Shitty People/Some People We Don’t Like Use It”? Well, newsflash, shitty people use literally every website, and people you don’t like use literally every website, and this website is a massive, massive, massive outlet for writers and artists and every other kind of creator under the sun in a time where people are making less money for more hours and writers are striking and viable public outlets for art are growing increasingly scarce.

Do I think Islamophobia, Russophobia, Sinophobia, and everything else a subset of idiots can turn online discussions into are a poison upon society? Yes. And they plague Twitter, and they plague Tumblr, and they plague news stations, and they plague government bodies, and they plague Hollywood and the publishing industry and television and video games and every fucking aspect of society because it is a poison borne of the current state of humanity. It is not, in fact, borne just from a single website where artists can express themselves for no money, for little fame, for just the sake of making art, in a world where AI and corporations want to crush even that. So fuck you, actually, for directing all your hatred on Ao3, because I know the reason you’re doing it is because fandom is an easier target than any of the above sources of hate. It’s always been an acceptable target because it has always been viewed in the capitalist hegemony as something lesser and without worth.

The chaos these attackers intended to start is not only in terms of bigotry. They just wanted chaos. Don’t give them that.

[evilwickedme]

I saw ur post about the Israel Superbowl Ad and tried to find it, if I'm not mistaken it's the one that starts w "To All the Dads" rather than being specifically about fighting antisemitism. Or am I missing something?

Hey so I'm choosing to take this ask in good faith, please don't make me regret that 😅

Firstly - no, they weren't talking about the To All the Dads ad, they were talking about the Stop Jewish Hate ad. See here (includes the ad in question). And here. And see literally anything that heritageposts and their ilk have posted in the last four months to see how just mentioning antisemitism is enough to make these people fly off the handle.

Secondly, basically nobody saw the "To All the Dads" ad. It aired only on Paramount. And even if it was the ad that made everyone mad - why? Why would you be angry at a plea for awareness about actual hostages currently being held with no food water or medication (despite the fact that medication was recently sent into Gaza in a deal that specifically specified that hostages would receive the meds, no proof was received, and the two hostages rescued on Monday morning aka during the football season finale said they didn't even know they were supposed to get those meds)? Like frankly being mad at that ad would have also been fucking ridiculous.

But finally, my post didn't mention any ad at all until somebody else brought it up. I wasn't talking about the ads. I was talking about the big picture, covering a subject I have covered repeatedly on this blog: conspiracy theories. My post was about the idea that Israel and the IDF would choose to act specifically around USAmerican culture events, as was shown with the Black Friday and Spotify wrapped debacles previously, and obviously with the Superb Owl now. Major shit happens in this war all the time. But the "activitists" on here choose to only note that something dramatic happened if it coincided with their fucking limited experience.

Focusing on the ad - either of them - is frankly beside the point. But claiming that Israel bombed Rafah at an early hour Monday morning because of a game of AMERICAN FOOTBALL??? That's straight up ridiculous conspiracy theory. And if you ask "why" for even a second, it falls apart. Because I promise you the CIA was paying attention to the Israel Gaza war even as the water pressure across the US went down. I promise you nobody important outside the 50 states - and possibly only the lower 48 - was even a little bit "distracted" by this game. Any three letter agency you can think of and ones that don't form acronyms too and South Africa and the UN and most importantly, the actual gazans whose lives were at risk, they weren't distracted by this game. And that didn't stop Israel and the IDF from bombing Rafah and rescuing those hostages. And even if they had been, inexplicably, distracted, all those people would have found out what happened just a couple of hours later.

My post wasn't about the ad. It was about the idea that because the average American can be distracted by something as simple as a few hours of television from a war going on, that means everyone else must be distracted as well. Well, the world doesn't revolve around USAmericans. Deal with it.

[andhaveapleasanttomorrow]

I kind of don't live in the real world or know about anything that real people do so having this crisis at almost-22 Given the state of the world in current year feels pretty late but I'm extremely mortally terrified about my own personal future, even aside from all the actual direct threats to humanity's general health and wellbeing, not to mention my own (personal), I've been horrified by the realization that practically everyone just sort of does shit they don't really like or care about for most of their life, and then they die. for most people it's a blessing if they get to do something that's basically inoffensive instead of something they totally hate. then they come home and do more shit they don't really care about (the tv) to "turn their brain off." like, this is what's considered a generally decent life, for the average human, to me. is that not abjectly fucking horrifying? I'm not even talking about the "work-life balance," here, because even progressive notions of the "work-life balance" are depressing to me, the split is depressing, the idea that you have to break your existence into "work" and "life," like "work" is just a thing you have to do in order to get to the other shit, and not something you could ever possibly enjoy- work isn't supposed to be your entire life, right? campus-type offices are bad, workplace entanglements are bad, and whatever. but the only analogue I have for a full-time job is school, and school always has been my entire life. I've never been an "extracurricular" guy, it's just been school and the computer for me, I like it! I want everything to be one smooth gestalt, I don't want to have to sever my life into "the parts I like" and "the parts I have to do," even if the latter is only like 3days a week. I want to enjoy the things I do. I want to have like, longterm goals and shit, which, I've never had a longterm goal up until now but it seems like I'm getting to the point in my life where I might want to make one. I hate that turning your hobby into a job makes it stop being fun, I hate that. I hate that work is a thing people tell you to just put your head down and do and you can't make any friends there and you shouldn't feel like part of a community because they're exploiting you, which is true, and makes sense, but then you leave your workplace and have to go make friends through, like, the apps, I guess? I'm not talking about the commie dream world here because obviously in the commie dream world we would all have strong ties to each other and have parades in the street purely on a whim and so on but we don't live in the commie dream world we live in a very evil dead dying world. I'm not really expressing myself properly, I think my point is I feel that I've wasted my entire youth not doing every single thing I wanted to do because for the next few decades I'm not going to have any energy to do anything except watch the same television shows for ever and ever and ever because it was foolish of me to ever think I'd be able to make a living doing something I loved and now I have to get stomped on 20h/day and not sleep, the sleep is replaced with tv, it makes me feel better than dreaming

[deep-hearts-core]

A post about the Loreen thing,

which I'm making separately so that it isn't hidden under the cut when I do my yearly review.

First of all it is necessary to state that I don't hate Tattoo. I have it fifteenth for the year. I liked Euphoria and I like some of Loreen's other music. I am not jumping on the hater train because I hate Loreen or hate the song. She sounded good on the night and the staging was, as we expect of Sweden, showy and mostly visually interesting.

HOWEVER. I think that there are two reasons that people are angry right now and both of them are justified. Firstly, it's because of the way the voting system works currently and what narratives work well on a television show (which Eurovision, ultimately, is). Secondly, it's because some more discerning fans are picking up on some of the circumstances surrounding Loreen's participation and win and have gotten out their red string.

To point one: This is the first time since the split voting system was implemented in 2016 that the winner of the jury vote won the contest. We've previously had entries who won neither, but there was too big of a split between the jury and televote winner (2016, 2019), an entry who won both votes (2017), and entries who won the televote (2018, 2021, 2022). Eurovision has changed a lot since its inception and in some ways the juries are a holdover from when it was a song contest rather than a performance contest (they were also reintroduced to combat bloc voting and then just made the bloc voting worse so do with that what you will). These days, the people like to vote!!! The people also like an underdog, which we went into the contest knowing that Finland was--or at least, the only other contender with a fighting chance of beating Queen Loreen. So seeing Loreen absolutely sweep the jury vote, country by country, with a margin of over 100 points, got boring and frustrating real fast.

I'm not saying down with the juries necessarily. I'm a somewhat serious musician who often loves jury bait songs and the juries have played an important role in supporting the songs I really like. And sometimes, the tension between the jury vote and public vote is okay! Sometimes it's interesting and makes for good television! But last night was not, narratively, good television.

I mean, maybe it was for some people.

Which leads me to point two: the red string. Now, I am not usually a conspiracy theory person at Eurovision. I mean, my first Eurovision was 2016 and I remember how the Russia fans got about that. My second Eurovision was 2017 and I hated APD with a burning passion at the time and I didn't get out the red string then.

But this... I think a lot of more serious fans are looking at the big picture. So, when a country wins, they get to be on the reference group and participate in decision-making about contest rules and such. The last time Sweden won was 2015. This win put them at 6 total, one behind Ireland. Sweden has made being good at Eurovision part of their national identity. The split voting system was introduced the following year, at the 2016 contest, hosted by Sweden.

Fast forward to this year. Sweden have placed 5th three times, 4th once, and then 7th and 14th which are less interesting, in the years since. Objectively very good results. But this year, the contest final was due to take place on Johnny Logan's birthday (Johnny Logan being the first, at that time only, competitor in history to win twice). The fiftieth anniversary of Abba's win is next year. And Loreen decided to come back to Melodifestivalen.

Loreen had previously tried to return in 2017 with the song "Statements" but wiped out in Melfest's second chance round. So it wasn't necessarily guaranteed that she would sweep. However, many fans felt that this year's Melfest entries were really weak songs, which made it easier for "Tattoo", with its flashy staging and name recognition, to soar to a win. In a real monkey's paw moment, I said after watching Melfest that the only way I could accept Loreen winning Melfest was if she Johnny Logan'd. Lol.

Even before Melfest, though, there were also the new voting rules. For the first time this year, semifinal qualifiers would be decided only through televote, not based on the juries. As I noted last night, this meant that the televote would likely be split among many songs--we'd still have a televote winner, but if the jury coalesced behind one song, the jury winner would win the contest. This... happened.

It's also worth noting that the current executive supervisor of the contest is Swedish, and that even before the voting sequence there were references to Abba and Johnny Logan throughout the night. That, in addition to the weak Melfest, timing of both voting changes, and the timing of the contest, adds up to a conspiratorial picture, for those who are so inclined.

And, lastly, I also think some of us are having fun arguing with Loreen fans, especially those who are like "well, YOU voted for her, so you don't get to complain!" Reader, I did not vote for Loreen. I in fact voted for Finland, among others. Most of us who are complaining did not, in fact, vote for Loreen. And look I don't wanna be like last year's Spain fans who to this day say that Chanel was the true winner of the 2022 contest but it is pretty fun to be a hater.

At the end of the day, it is what it is and there isn't anything we can do to change it, but it's fun to be angry in the meantime, and I personally had fun assembling all the reasons why people are angry into a nice little tumblr post for you all. Thank you and goodnight <3

[riahlynn101]

"[You] Should Know Better Than That" (2).

Chapter 2

--

Jane’s nephew had always been a weird one. Temperamental and moody were labels put on him by his parents - her brother and sister-in-law - but there had always been more to it than that. 

Sure, Mike’s temper tantrums were a sight to behold. Her eardrums still haven't recovered from the one he threw when he was five. And her nephew’s moods change on a dime (thankfully, less outwardly destructive now that he’s older). But to say he’s temperamental is missing a fundamental piece of what makes Mike, well, Mike. 

She hates that she knows this. Hates that she understands him more than he does himself. And Jane refuses to understand anyone at all. 

Not anymore. 

“And his mood swings,” she warbles, pretending to wipe her eyes. 

Abby’s teacher - what’s-her-face - tilts her head. A look of blatant disbelief on her face. Jane isn’t bothered though. It’s not about making the teacher believe it, she just needs her words to end up on the record. And someday, when her nephew inevitably ends up going off the deep end, the court can look over her words, and find that Mike - as she has always proclaimed - is not a suitable guardian. 

Mike rolls his eyes. This, too, she ignores. It’s not the first time he can’t contain himself in a professional setting. Speaking of which….

She sniffs. “And that poor man.”

Another head tilt. Another eye roll. 

Her nephew doesn’t speak up to defend himself. Not that he ever does, because what could he possibly say? 

‘I didn’t mean it?’ ‘It was an accident?’ 

Oh, please. 

She motions to her lawyer - some guy she hired off of craigslist, Doug, if she remembers correctly - to hand her the necessary papers. The real reason she came here this morning. 

Eyes glazed over and with the tremor of a baby deer taking its first few steps, Doug hands her the adoption papers.

“I want custody of Abby,” she says. Partly for the money, partly because I can’t trust my nephew to keep her safe. Jane leaves that part unsaid, but she’s sure her nephew can fill in the gaps. 

Mike shifts in the seat, sitting up a little. His frown deepens. “And if I say no?” There’s something in his tone, like he’s secretly begging Jane not to take his little sister away. A small child asking their caregiver not to turn the lights out because they’re scared of what’s lurking in the dark. 

But she’s not that nice. 

“Then, I’ll have to escalate it further, and if the court decides to remove her from your custody, you’ll never see her again.” And that’s not a threat. A threat is petty and unproven. Jane doesn’t make threats. It’s a promise. 

Mike deflates. Without her wanting to, in his place is a younger version of Mike. Cuter, with big brown eyes, and dark (almost black) curls to match. (“When are mommy and daddy coming back?”) 

She shakes her head. The past version of her nephew disappears. The current one stares at her with concern, or maybe that’s fear for her mental state. At least now he knows how she feels. 

The school bell rings. 

“Well, until next week,” the teacher says. 

-x-x-x-

“So,” Mike starts, picking at the bowl of cereal he originally poured for Abby, but since she decided at the last second she didn’t want it, it’s his now. His sister colors at their dining room table. A rare sight, as she usually prefers hiding away in her room. “How was school?”

Nothing. The sounds of crayon on paper continue.

He purses his lips. “Your teacher told me, you guys are learning about animals. What’s that about?”

Nothing.

Mike sighs. “Okay.” He knew it was useless trying to reach her. Her teacher was clearly wrong. Center of Abby’s pictures or not, she doesn’t care if he’s here with her or not. “You can go if you want.”

Instantly, his sister is rushing to her room, art supplies clutched in her arms. A moment later she emerges, arms free, and heads straight for their television.

That’s right, he remembers. It’s Thursday, which means a new episode of Ab’s favorite show. 

Mike quietly laughs to himself. He used to rush to the TV on Friday nights to see reruns of Days of Our Lives and The Young and the Restless, though back then he had to fight against two parents who wanted the living room to themselves, and a….

He swallows, looking sideways into the kitchen. The calendar on the wall is a couple months off. He’ll have to change that….eventually. 

As soon as he hears the telltale jingle of My Little Pony, Mike digs into his pocket. The card he shoved in there earlier is creased but thankfully not ripped. 

He stares at the number for a solid minute, before building up the courage to call Mr. Raglan up. He taps his teeth together, twisting in his seat from side to side. The phone rings, once, twice. Mike thinks of hanging up, but the thought of not paying rent for a second month in a row stops him. It’s halfway through the third ring when the phone’s finally picked up. 

“Hello? Hello, hello?”

“Hi, it’s Mike Schmidt.”

Steve Raglan laughs, the sound crackly due to the poor connection. He wonders how many other poor souls had to grit their teeth and bear the humiliation of asking for help from someone so callous and unconcerned. Or maybe everyone else is smart enough to just take the job offer right off the bat. Smarter than Mike at least, not that that’s anything new. 

“Mister I’m too good for anything,” Mr. Raglan jokes. 

Against his will, Mike’s eye twitches. He forces a laugh. “Yeah, um…I was actually wondering if that job was still open?”

“Yes, of course. When can you start?”

“As soon as possible would be good.”

Another laugh. Mike somehow manages to not groan.

“That’s what I like to hear. Now, get a piece of paper and a pen. I’ll give you directions to the restaurant.”

-x-x-x-

Mike meets Max at the front door. Her hair and clothes are slightly damp from the rain. “Hey, Max.” He hands her a towel to dry off with. 

“Hi, Mike,” she murmurs. A messenger bag slung over her shoulder. Likely her college textbooks. “Have fun.” The smile she sends him is downright mischievous. 

“Oh, so much fun.” He pulls his jacket on. “Uh…we don’t have a lot in the cupboards, but you can help yourself. I should be home by 6:30, but if I’m not here by then or you have any concerns-”

“Call you,” Max finishes. “I know, I know. Now, go. Otherwise you’ll be late. I heard the east bound is starting to flood a little, and we both know your car can barely handle an unflooded road.”

Mike nods. “Right. Thanks again, Max. I couldn’t do it without you.” And he really couldn’t. The only other person that he trusts to watch Abby is his aunt, and she’d use every second he’s gone to interrogate his sister or go through their (read: his) belongings. And even then, she’d expect to be paid. 

He winces sympathetically. “Max, I can’t pay you tonight.”

Max, who has settled on her usual spot on the couch, dismisses him with a wave. “I’ll put it on your tab.”

Mike smiles at the ground. “Right.”

-x-x-x-

Vanessa watches the restaurant from across the street. The unemployment office is ironically a perfect cover for her. Enough drug deals have been made in this parking lot to warrant a police officer being stationed here. 

The rain makes it a little difficult to see out her windshield, especially because she turned her car off to blend in more. 

Her phone vibrates with texts every so often. She knows who they belong to, and she doesn’t want to look. 

A car eventually pulls into the parking lot. It’s rundown, which is to be expected. The people he goes after aren’t usually part of a higher tax bracket. 

Vanessa waits for a little while. Let the new guy settle in for the night. Otherwise it might look like she was waiting for him, and wouldn’t that be crazy?

She pulls into Freddy’s parking lot a few minutes after midnight. A wave of nostalgia crashes over her as she looks at the building. So many memories here….

Her phone vibrates again, so she opts to leave it in the car. It’s not like he ever says anything important. 

Vanessa rings the doorbell. Most of the time, the new security hire answers the door immediately upon seeing that she’s a police officer. Apparently, the new guy is not like most people, because it takes him, not one, not two, but five rings of the buzzer for him to open the door. 

He cracks the door open a little, eyes narrow. “Can I help you…officer?” His voice is groggy, like he just woke up from a nap. But that’s impossible. He just got here twenty minutes ago. 

“Mhm. You must be the new security hire.”

The guy continues to stare at her, seemingly unable to find words. Maybe he’s on drugs? It wouldn’t be the first hire to be on something. 

Vanessa catches a glimpse of something dripping from the new hire’s arm. Red. “You’re bleeding,” she says. 

“Oh, It’s nothing. I’m sure I can patch it up.”

Definitely drugs. He seems shaky, but that could be because of the blood loss. The wound doesn’t look deep, but it wouldn’t hurt to patch it up.

Seeing an opening, Vanessa slides into the restaurant. “I know where they keep the first-aid kit. C’mon.”

It never gets easier, being here. It feels like every time she’s forced to do this, dust gathers another layer and the place falls apart just a little bit more. 

Still, this is Freddy’s. So, she can’t help but feel the tiniest bit excited.

She hands the kit off to him. “Bloodshot eyes, racing heart,” she observes, looking over him. The new hire seems to tuck into himself, as if hiding from her analytic stare. “Could only be Freddy’s.”

“Wh-what?”

“This place tends to get to people,” she explains, taking over bandaging his arm. “Which is exactly why you won’t last.” Vanessa extends a hand, done with fixing his arm up. “Vanessa Shelly.”

The new hire looks between her outstretched hand and her face. He takes her hand. His grip is sweaty and loose. “Mike Schmidt.” 

She notes the bags under his big brown eyes, the sickly pale tint to his skin, and his worn clothes. He looks - and she feels bad thinking it - pathetic. Pathetic and sad and very, very lost. 

“So, Mike. How about a tour?”

Without waiting for him, Vanessa heads out the door. If he’s smart, he’ll follow. Which isn’t saying much, because he took this job.

He probably didn’t have a choice. A voice whispers in her head. None of them do. 

She argues back. They have more of a choice than the children did. 

The voice says nothing to that. 

-x-x-x-

Mike follows Vanessa into the main lobby. She stops in front of the stage. The one he passed on his way into the office. A thick curtain hangs in front, blocking their view of what sits behind it. 

“What is this?” He asks, crossing his arms. Something about this - a police officer showing him around - doesn’t sit right with Mike. He knows that she’s likely just trying to be nice. Maybe it’s even procedure. There is a lot of dangerous machinery here. But still… 

“I want to introduce you to the band.” She hits a large button on the wall. The curtain slides open dramatically. “Freddy,” Vanessa gestures to a bear-esque animatronic in front. “Chica.” A chicken off to the side of Freddy; she holds a cupcake on a platter. “And Bonnie.” A bunny standing on the other side of Freddy, a guitar in his paws. 

Music starts playing. The song is familiar. Really, really familiar. Mike furrows his eyebrows. He glances at Vanessa who is watching the performance with stars in her eyes. She leans closer to him, still focused on the show in front of them. 

When she speaks, there’s a note of childish excitement in her voice. “Wanna dance?” The question catches Mike off guard. He looks at her, head cocked to the side. Did she really, actually want to dance with him of all people? They just met. 

Thankfully, he’s saved from the humiliation of answering. The music abruptly cuts off, and there’s a very obvious spark of electricity. 

“Whoa,” he mutters under his breath, jolting. This building must be older than he thought. 

Vanessa frowns, seemingly disappointed. “Maybe next time.”

Next time?

He watches her head back to the office. 

There’s going to be a next time?

-x-x-x-

“Your brother is hopeless.”

“Yeah…well…uh…your sister is weird.”

“Better than hopeless.”

[siremasterlawrence]

HUMADROID: Five For Five

Mac Maxwell is a young black male living in New York City fell a sleep in his recliner feet up in the air. Toes pointed towards the flash of the television screen the picture roles on and again.

The screen suddenly lights up in a flash of good and silver blows up covering up the room. The light lifts him up into the air as if by any sort of magic shoves him backwards he is colliding with the television.

On impact it swallows him whole entirely it is transferring him in to a new world speeding down in to a magical realm. “Welcome dear friend to my wonderful world of mysticism and pure power.” A voice echoes through the halls.

“This is the world you live in a shit place hell hole of drama, evil and fucking asswipes but here. You can bring your imagination to life what one loses here others can find In spades. What do you think?” The man goes on breathlessly till he is finished.

“What is this place?”

“Heaven on earth or paradise “

“So basically it’s everything “

“Correct!”

“Why am I here?”

“To balance the equation.”

“Take what is yours”

“Make your heaven on earth”

“This will be a journey “

“Don’t bother to figure me out”

“I am and can be your best friend or worst nightmare.”

“Which one will it be?”

“Not my enemy for sure”

“Excellent!”

“Did you just snap that book into existence?”

“One of a million things I can do do”

“Why don’t you browse?”

“The HUMADROID catalogue? Are you in the business of building robots?”

Part 1

The smirks on his face grows widely out of his control pointing into the void as a whirlpool appears. Showcasing multiple video clips of a different guys and couples who have been transforming them into real dolls.

The room spins as he takes a bow flipping the tip of his hate bidding me a due he is backing up fading into the mist of the night and he watches him disappear into the darkness.

Mac stranded in this new world glees with great anticipation exciting within him flow of air current rushes with the descending of a few pods landing on the space pod placed within a grove of patched land inside laid seeds.

The young man greedily goes into series of processes in his new make shift laboratory to make a grand plan in which the scheme will be the likes of which no one else has ever scene and I will unleash in to the world by my orders.

The plants produce a certain color palate in theory that could create a unique hypnotic signature so I intentionally take a year off the grid to study its affects eventually with effort my color b is released to a rousing success.

One day Jamie is passing window shows as he pushes his shopping cart into hollow hall of the mall when one the glass window wow him emitting a multitude of lovely colors like a heat seeking missile the ray zips his eyes contact.

The man immediate struck off his center of gravity frozen in place in front of the window as the colorful display of the giant television screen switches different patterns his eyes match them like clones a ideal match like diamonds.

Soon enough his eyes are now devoid of any life his being completely wiped clean all that is eyes with static grey and colors much like on television and his mind is in endless loop of nothingness ebbing and flowing a new reality.

He was on his way to meet a friend but that is obviously not happening especially when his cell phone screen bings with a sharp resounding sound alerting him to the text but the message goes unanswered his friend.

Across from the mall a few blocks later his friend Ashley pissing off as per usual is off his pit drunk about to take another sip of his beer when his cellphone rings thinking it is Jamie he is about to scream at him but is cut off.

He places the cell phone to his ear hitting him in ear shattering noise sending a chill down his spine he locks in place beer in his hand the glass falls smashing in to the floor breaking in to pieces his mine completely left in shambles.

He is going completely blank in a states of deep shock and surprises his mind goes in to hyperdrive warping super fast holding him back he drops in to a pit of despair free falling endlessly into a bottomless black hole.

While he will join Jaime in just a pit behind his wall man takes a key the wall opens up

a key hole and the key fits perfectly turning the knob as the door swings to the side and he enters walking in he spits Ashley placing his hands on his shoulder.

Rubbing it he helps him up to his feet as he and his new subject walk off mindless into the void and Ashley is locked in the second pod next to his pal but being reprogrammed for service and I could not be happier with the outcome.

Fortunately or unfortunately depending on how you might see it a night in the pod will do him just right in deepening my full on permanent control over his being inside

and out with no to rescue him but me he

is in for a treat.

As his body lay in status over the night I let the headphones place on his face by robot hands firmly and strategic held as the visor programs begin to project into his mind a laser forces his way to his mind in a heavy stream.

Ear buds slips into his ears like a radio the songs are blasting into his ears are playing so hard pumping reprogramming music on and on his voice quiets inside nothing else will ever matter.

The pods go dumb turning completely black encased in a seal of clear glass both of the are sinking into the ground below they will be indoctrinated into a life of us the robot mindless obedience.

Part 2

Part 2

Nick Pickard is enjoying an early morning in the heat of the night barbecue burning so bright he is unaware of the sparks flying high above the area catching hold of the place.

The room lights up catching fire he trapping him instinctively he hits the wall hard as he crushes a bit the fire blocks him in a sea of chaos the fire reaches the brim of the roof exploding.

The kids of Nick Pickard arriving far to late watching the remains of what was there ex father they lose it bursting in to tears they both collapse from heat exhaustion and faint.

Ian, Glen and Nick feet are grabbed yanking them in to the grass they are dragging in to the grass and thrown in to a nearby pit of epic proportions in an endless sea of white steam.

The next three pods open welcoming them in a deep heavy thud they soon wake up as the top of the roof closes on them locking no rather sealing them in place for what is to come.

“Where am I? Hello?”

“Dad? Why are we here?”

“Dad? “

“Is he in a state of trance?”

“Hypnotized”

“Master? Come and get me”

“Master? Dad are you ok?”

“Obey him”

“You most obey Master”

“Mmmmmmm”

“That hum”

“I can’t stop”

“I’m humming too”

“Mmmmm”

“I can’t think”

“My mind is blocked”

“Am I hard?”

“Rock hard “

“Oh God.”

The end

[religion-is-a-mental-illness]

By: Wilfred Reilly

Published: Nov 10, 2023

When your enemies tell you their goals, believe them.

Over the past three weeks, a lot of crazy sh** has been said about the Jews. Following the October 7 onset of hostilities between the nation of Israel and the terrorist group Hamas (sometimes billed as the “nation of Palestine”), a group of tens of thousands of recent migrants to Australia, university students, and others gathered in scenic downtown Sydney and quite literally chanted “Gas the Jews!” At 30–40 other large rallies, including this one in my hometown of Chicago, the cris de coeur were the just slightly less radical “From the river to the sea!” — a call for the elimination of the Jewish state of Israel — and “What is the solution? Intifada! Revolution!”

As has been documented to death by now, some 34 prominent student organizations (bizarrely including Amnesty International) at America’s third-best university, Harvard, signed on to a petition that assigned the “apartheid” state of Israel 100 percent of the blame for the current war — and indeed for the Hamas atrocities that began it. At another college, New York City’s Cooper Union, a group of Jewish students was apparently trapped inside a small campus library for hours by a braying pro-Palestinian mob. And so on.

In response to such open and gleeful hatred, more than a few conventional liberals — from comedienne Amy Schumer to the admittedly more heterodox Bill Maher — seem to have had their eyes fully opened as to who their keffiyeh-wearing “allies” truly are . . . at least when it comes specifically to Jewish people. But there is a deeper point, rarely made outside of the hard right, that lurks just beyond the mainstream’s discovery of rampant hard-left antisemitism: The same campus radicals and general hipster fauna quite regularly say worse things about a whole range of other groups than they do about Jews.

Whites — regular ol’ Caucasian Americans — represent probably the largest and most obvious such target group. As right-leaning but quite popular figures, such as the various Daily Wire personalities, are beginning to note, open hatred of white people has become something of a pillar of modern leftism. A Google search for the phrase “the problem is white men” turns up an astonishing 2,140,000,000 mostly on-point (at least as per the first 20 pages) results — including such gems as the former CNN feature piece titled “There’s Nothing More Frightening in America Today Than an Angry White Man.”

Quite prominent figures regularly say completely insane things about the suntan-challenged. Tenured Rutgers University academic “Professor Crunk” — still flatteringly described on the place’s website as an “unapologetic Black feminist” focused on “accelerating the pace of change” — recently described all Caucasians as villainous monsters on national television, and argued frankly for “taking the motherf***ers out.”

Around the same time, massively popular Wild ’N Out TV host Nick Cannon received considerable heat for some antisemitic comments he made on the air . . . but essentially none for saying that white people are “savages” and “a little less” than black people and other so-called people of color. Far further toward the true fringe, of course, the recently released written manifesto of Nashville’s Covenant Christian school shooter focused largely on hate for the white national majority. The shooter at one point actually noted “white privilege” as a motivating factor behind her murder spree.

Speaking as a conservative black man, I will note that whites hardly stand alone as a target group for modern leftist rhetoric. A few high-school scuffles aside, almost literally the only people ever to call me a “n*****” or a “coon” have been left-bloc activists — mostly white — accusing me of somehow betraying my tribe. More prominent black conservatives, such as Larry Elder, have faced Chappelle’s Show–level accusations of being “black white supremacists” and “black faces of white supremacy.” A short list of other groups that fairly regularly experience get-on-the-train-style rhetoric might include the rich (“Billionaires Shouldn’t Exist”), gender-critical women (“Punch/Kill TERFS!”), practicing traditional Christians, and in some real sense all non-Indigenous Westerners (“Decolonize NOW!”).

I recommend a radical approach to all of this facially vile speech: Sane, armed conservatives should believe what the speakers are saying, and take it seriously. At present, pervasive upper-middle-class postmodernism has significantly influenced even the Western Right, to such an extent that we regularly see serious editorialists and TV men treating things like a full soccer stadium chanting “Kill the Boer . . . kill the white farmer . . . bang bang!!!” as some sort of amusing metaphor — perhaps referencing South Africa’s ongoing spate of lawsuits over land rights.

Against this tortured reading, I — not being an idiot — suggest an alternative explanation: When intelligent adult humans say that they do not like whites, or Jews, or wealthy blacks, and want to kill them, I propose that they mean they do not like whites, or Jews, or wealthy blacks, and want to kill them. When citizens say that all American whites are privileged lairds who should lose most of the positions they currently hold, or that minorities can never be effectively racist (unless they’re conservative), or that “the only cure for past discrimination is present discrimination,” or that we need a federal Department of Antiracism with the ability to regulate every business in the U.S., or that borrowing ideas from other cultures should be socially toxic or even illegal, or that “colonizers” should be killed . . . they mean it.

So, what to do about all of this, once it is taken seriously? A simple answer would seem to be: React the way that any sane person would to an opponent saying that they hate or wish to kill him. In the wake of the pro-Hamas statements emanating not merely from Harvard but also quite a few other universities following the atrocities of October 7, many donors closed their wallets for good or emphatically threatened to — and this makes hard sense as a form of punishment. At least a dozen major firms are publicly refusing to hire students from any of the Harvard 34, and — whether you approve of this development or not — we seem to be moving toward a sort of “mutually assured destruction” re: cancel culture, which should eventually result in true free speech for all or a return to some damned manners.

All of this (and quite a bit more that is yet to come) is good, proper, and sorely overdue. A third or so of the country has been telling us exactly who they are for the past 50 years. It is long past time that we started listening to them — and responding appropriately.

==

When intelligent adult humans say that they do not like whites, or Jews, or wealthy blacks, and want to kill them, I propose that they mean they do not like whites, or Jews, or wealthy blacks, and want to kill them.

I've been saying for years: believe them when they tell you what they're up to.

There's a tendency for well-meaning people of good conscience to reinterpret the claims and demands of radical activists through their own liberal values.

Someone who agrees that racist and/or violent police officers should be identified and fired is susceptible to taking the demand for "defund the police," and moderating that into, well, they just mean put on more social workers, or maybe they could shoot them in the leg, or why are police spending so much time in predominantly black neighborhoods, all of which are stupid, cost innocent lives, and aren't what affected communities even want. Even though the activist means what they mean and screams it unapologetically.

This is comparable to religious moderates who temper their own scripture. Jesus doesn't really mean to kill your disobedient children, it's... just a metaphor? Jihad isn't really a call to war, it's just... a deep personal struggle?

This is understandable, because reasonable people don't want to be associated with insane ideas. But it doesn't change the scripture or what the fanatics want. The activists are still going to do what they're going to do, and you're going to look foolish or dishonest for saying otherwise.

It's far better to disassociate yourself from the tribalism entirely and instead say, "this is what I mean." You might get some flack from your "tribe" for not supporting them or falling into lockstep, but you'll at least be true to yourself. And maybe learn whether the tribalism was a good idea at all.

Of course, this is more difficult with religion, since what you mean is largely irrelevant to what your god wants and betrays the human-made nature of the religion and the god. That won't stop we non-believers from noticing and pointing it out, though.

Believe them when they tell you what they're up to. And then decide if you want to be a part of that.

[haikyuuwaifu]

Ch.19

Genre: Angst

Warnings: Swearing, Alcohol Consumption

MASTERLIST 

DROWNING

Sukuna let out a groan, sighing as he downed another shot. The place was mostly empty, save for a few patrons already drunk. Sukuna raised his hand, signaling another round. The bartender, a young little thing, fluttered her lashes as she made her way over, sultry smile on her lips. “Rough night big guy?” She shouted, leaning over so he could hear her. She subtly (not subtle) pushed her breasts out, pouting slightly when she noticed him ignoring the bait. “Just get me another drink.” He grunted, not even bothering to give her his full attention. Sukuna was staring at the bartop, his mind racing as he waited. The sight of Yuki made him furious, but it also made him scared. She was always a bit unhinged, something he never let bother him in the past; but she was a danger to Yuji, and his priorities were the only thing that mattered. 

The bartender returned, another shot set in front of him, and smiled. “I get off in 10 minutes if you want to get out of here.” She supplied, leaning forward again. Someone snorted behind Sukuna, his head picking up at the sound of a familiar voice. “He’s not interested sweetie, and if you proposition my boyfriend again, you’ll be shitting your teeth out for weeks.” Y/n sneered, taking the empty seat next to her friend. “Do your job and get me a fucking drink.” She sniffed, turning toward the drunk man next to her. Sukuna looked over, unable to fully meet her eyes. He was afraid of what she’d say, finding him like this. Y/n only smiled, reaching out to hold his face in her hands. “It’s okay.” She mumbled, reaching forward to brush his hair back. “It’s okay.” At her soft encouragement, Sukuna felt himself crumble, launching himself forward into her arms. Sobs wracked through his body, his shoulders shaking harshly as he cried. Y/n took it in stride, wrapping her arms around his back and running her fingers in his hair. She whispered sweet words as he cried, waiting for him to finally let everything out. 

A few hours later found the couple cuddled close in Y/n’s bed. Sukuna had sobered up after he finished crying all over her in the bar. She’d taken him home and gotten the two of them ready for bed. Currently, she was cuddling him as he buried his face into her chest. She knew he had a lot to say, she was simply giving him the time to say it. 

“I feel like, every time I get somewhere good in my life, something comes along and fucks it all up.” He mumbled, eyes closed tightly. “Like I’ve been cursed for things I’ve done in a past life.” Y/n let out a little laugh, scraping her nails softly against his scalp. “Maybe you were the demon king and you did nothing but wreak havoc and carnage across the land.” Y/n supplied as Sukuna growled. “Of course I would have been the King.” He pouted as she giggled. “Of course you would, big, bad Sukuna.” She teased, causing the man to give her a small smile. “I just hate, that I can’t do anything to protect my son.” He sighed, resuming his previous position. “You don’t know that for sure Kuna, you haven’t given yourself enough time to properly assess the situation and come up with a gameplan.” Y/n supplied, idly looking at her blank television screen. “You’re not alone in this, and I will call in every favor I have to ensure that bitch doesn’t lay a finger on Yuji.” “You love that little punk.” Sukuna stated, looking up into her eyes. “You wouldn’t do this otherwise.” Y/n only shrugged, giving him a shy smile. “I would do what I can for any child, but for Yuji...I would burn the world down if he asked.” Sukuna could only smile, burying his face back into her chest. “He loves you too.” Sukuna whispered, unable to come forth with his own feelings. His own feelings needed more thought and contemplation. Right now, he needed revenge.

Prev/Next

[underratedandoverit]

caring but blind

~1,9k orangekip (orange cassidy/kip sabian)

hurt/comfort. i barely proofread this but who cares we write, post and die like men on this blog dont judge me. just a little something for @midnightpretenders0, i know you said it doesnt need to be a fic request but ofc im gonna take it as one, anything for you 💜 i hope you like it 💜💜

@stormbornpirate

on ao3

--------------------------

The laugh rang in his ears. Usually it was a sound he enjoyed more than anything, but tonight it felt somehow different. It felt distant, almost distorted in his mind, something he couldn’t return back to him.

Cassidy couldn’t bear to look at Kip. His eyes remained glued on the television screen, watching the clip video Kip had put on without having much of a reaction to it. A few tucks of a smile in the corner of his lips, a few barely worthy acknowledging snorts here and there, but that was about it. Compared to Kip’s clear joy the Brit was experiencing watching the videos, Cassidy was barely existing on the couch at the moment.

His stoic nature wasn’t anything unusual. But this felt like it went beyond that for once.

In comparison to the change in Kip the past few months, Cassidy felt like he had been spun in the exact opposite direction. He wasn’t going to admit that out loud, he could never do such a thing to Kip after everything, after helping pull him out of the darkness back to even a somewhat normal life, but… It was a big part of it, and there was no denying of it, that while trying to do something good for his lover, as destiny had decided for things to be, Cassidy had managed to push himself closer to the edge than he thought.

And it was slowly taking a toll on him. He was exhausted, everything felt heavy, sleep was nonexistent as he put Kip and his well-being ahead of his own. Cassidy had done that since the beginning, and while he knew Kip had seen a glimpse of it before and regretted putting the blond through all of that, Cassidy was still way too good at hiding his true feelings, no matter how many times he said it was okay.

It was all slowly coming back to haunt him though. He could feel it bubbling in his chest, stronger day after day, making him ache more and more every morning he woke up finding Kip curled up against him, being the only one getting enough rest finally.

And the moment he knew he couldn’t match the laughter escaping from Kip and the sweet smile on his face was the one Cassidy knew it was only a matter of time before he reached the breaking point.

“Hey.”

He tensed up, not looking away from the television screen even if he could feel Kip’s eyes looking directly at him, staring at the side of his face. “Is something wrong?”

Cassidy hated how easy he was to read. Then again, in the current state he was in, he was extremely easy to read, even if Kip had lost most of that ability while he had been withering away in his own darkness. He could feel a hand landing on his thigh, the touch almost burning him even through the layer of denim.

Before Kip could call him the affectionate teasing nickname they had both grown so accustomed to, Cassidy brushed his hand away, standing up. He couldn’t deal with this now, he knew hearing Kip call him sweet things, expressing worry for him was going to push him over the edge finally. He didn’t want Kip to have to deal with him like this, he deserved better than that.

Cassidy couldn’t walk away though as Kip grabbed a hold of the hem of his shirt, gently tucking it to stop him. The blond didn’t look down at him, eyes only staring at the television behind his sunglasses, trying his best to not meet the almost pleading look the knew Kip was giving him.

“Hey. Talk to me.”

They knew each other so well at this point. Cassidy could see so much of his own struggles in Kip that it didn’t come as a surprise to him that he could do the same, even if Cassidy thought himself to be better at hiding his secrets than Kip was. That obviously wasn’t true anymore after the months they had been through all this hell together, one after another, the effects of the cursed belt bringing them both down to the depths of hell where they had to rebuild themselves up with the help of others.

And yet Cassidy still felt like he was supposed to be better at this than he actually was. He didn’t want to hurt Kip, he didn’t want to put either of them in that vulnerable position where they could see each other hurting while trying to help one another. It hurt him to think about, it wasn’t a thing he could do to Kip.

As the silence continued to linger in the living room, Cassidy could feel Kip letting go of his shirt. At that moment he could have just as easily ran away from all of this, dealt with his weaknesses in silence, and just returned back later like nothing had ever happened. That’s how the cycle had been going on so far, Cassidy taking those few lone moments he had to allow the dread and the tears to take him over, only to return back to being the emotionless, distant figure he had been for so long now when Kip was around.

Except now Kip was clearly aware that wasn’t him either. He might have not seen the tears, or so Cassidy at least hoped, but Kip definitely had realized by now that something was wrong here.

Kip’s fingertips carefully traced down along Cassidy’s arm, the touch barely registering with him. He was so far deep in his own head, his own mind to realize anything outside of him at the moment, only tensing up a little as he could feel Kip reach his hand. The very same hand that had been injured, multiple times, during the time he had to defend that title.

The pain felt distant, but it was still clearly there. It had never fully healed from being put through the hell those title defenses had been, but it was such a small thing Cassidy barely paid attention to it anymore on most days. Right now the feeling was there, although still barely noticeable. It felt more like tingling, static in his fingers, sending some sort of signals up his arm and into his brain, trying to ground him, to remind him what being alive felt like.

He couldn’t stand it.

Kip handled him so delicately Cassidy barely noticed it, until the soft, warm little kiss was pressed on the back of his hand. He finally looked at Kip, the man clearly aware of the hell the hand he was holding had gone through, along with the man himself.

The fact that Kip already knew so much there was no point in hiding any of it anymore was the true breaking point, letting the first of the tears roll free from underneath the sunglasses.

Kip glanced up at him just in time to witness it, a soft smile crossing his lips as he reached for Cassidy with his other hand, gently wrapping an arm around his waist as he pulled the blond into his lap. He barely removed the sunglasses, thrown across the floor in almost a small fit, before burying his face into Kip’s shoulder, allowing the first sob of what felt like years to escape him.

“It’s okay. Let it out.”

Kip’s hand gently rubbed his back, the other one running through his hair in efforts of trying to sooth Cassidy. He wasn’t going to ask any questions, he didn’t need to. No matter how much Cassidy was trying to hide it all, eventually it had just dawned on Kip that something was wrong. He wasn’t intentionally trying to push Cassidy’s buttons to make him talk, in fact he was trying to do the exact opposite especially with today. Just sitting him down after seeing him suffer through yet another exhausting week, hoping to just help him unwind a little bit so Cassidy could forget his pain for at least a fragment of a moment.

He didn’t intend it to break down like this. Cassidy wasn’t the kind of a person to talk about his own feelings a lot, he had only pretty much shared his recovery thoughts and moments with Kip only when something similar had happened to him and Cassidy used it as an example to explain how things had gone through after that. But at the same time, it kind of made Kip aware how much he was still feeling all of those things, how much it hurt him, even if he tried to hide it behind the emotionless characteristics of his at almost all times.

Cassidy didn’t have to say anything to him, Kip wasn’t going to make him talk if he didn’t want to. This was enough for him, the tight grip of the back of his shirt and the trembling man soaking his shoulder with his tears was already telling him enough. Kip knew he was tired, exhausted, just the fact that he had been wearing the sunglasses at home way more often to hide the dark circles around his eyes was a big enough giveaway. Kip didn’t say anything, he didn’t dare, not wanting to put the pressure on him.

Maybe he should have done that though, seeing where it had led them now. But Kip wasn’t going to kick himself for it, he wasn’t going to blame Cassidy for it – he knew Cassidy had a difficult history with opening up about his problems and his feelings, even more so when faced up with the kind of a situation they were in, where he had to care more for someone else than his own well-being.

Kip wished it wasn’t like that, that they could mutually do this, to help one another on the same level Cassidy was doing for him, but he knew that they both knew they still had a long road to that.

The sobs quieted down, but Cassidy didn’t pull away. The feeling of Kip’s hands on him, his back and his hair, the head leaned carefully against the side of his, and just the warmth and comfort radiating from the other man as Cassidy sat this close to him was finally bringing him some sense of security he hadn’t felt in a long time. Them being this close wasn’t anything unusual for the two, but Cassidy had been so on edge for so long now, he had put up mental walls every time something like this happened, making him unable to fully enjoy the closeness expressed by Kip. He still responded to the kisses, hand holding, the sweet words, but it just hadn’t felt the same for a while. It just hadn’t been as genuine as Cassidy would have hoped he could make it be.

For the first time in a while, this actually felt like something he actively enjoyed. Something he had been missing.

Kip leaned away a little, turning his head to press a soft kiss on his cheek. Cassidy didn’t look up, keeping his eyes buried into his shoulder, but a little smile tucked the corners of his lips as Kip leaned his head back against his.

“Take all the time you need. I’ll be here with you forever.”