#I'm too stupid to articulate myself

[eventide-imp]

Anyone wanna come stare forlornly at the wall with me?

[hauntedbythenarrative]

.

[mangoshorthand]

Hii I'm a real sucker for your smuts and I was wondering if you could do a five one where he walks in on reader riding their pillow and thinking about him while doing it (and they haven't had intercourse in a long while because of apocalypse stuff and all that) and the aftermath where you can do anything with it after but I'd really like it if five was being gentle to the reader :<

Sorry this is a long req I hope you write it and it's okay if you dont wanna, thankiee 🫶

Your welkiee! Hope you enjoy. 😊 Lucky Fucking Pillow | Five Hargreeves/ F Reader 3k words, Rated E

It had been four weeks: four fearful, lonely, miserable weeks. You felt stupid, irritated with him. You hated the fact you were waiting at home for him like the sweetheart of a world war two vet, living on the letters he sent from the front lines. 

You held it together until just before he left, duffel bag over his shoulder.

“The situation’s dangerous; unpredictable. I don’t know when I’ll be back.”

On the floors below you, you could hear a bustle of activity as his siblings made similar preparations to leave.

“Why is this your responsibility?”

He looked at you, disbelievingly, the hand not supporting the bag went directly into his pocket.

“This is the world. Am I supposed to sit at home and wait to be subsumed by another apocalypse?”

You shook your head, bringing your knees up to your chest, not able to articulate what you were feeling.

“Let me come with you then.”

He let out an exasperated sigh, picked up the last of his morning coffee and knocked it back, shaking his head. 

“I’m not having this discussion again. I’d want you beside me in anything else, but not in this. If anything happened to you, I’d never forgive myself. Your best chance of survival is staying well away.”

“What if you die? What am I supposed to do?”

From slight irritation, he softened further. Bending from the waist, he kissed your forehead.

“I love you, okay.”

He crossed to the door, but a strangled sob made him turn back. Your face was suddenly red, tear-streaked. When you spoke, the words tore themselves from a tight throat. 

“Don’t go!” 

He closed his eyes, hand still on the door handle. He let out a breath and dropped the duffel bag, turning back around, crossing the room in two strides and holding you close, your head against his chest.

“I have to, angel. I’m so sorry.”

Since then, your days had been spent scouring the horizon for impending doom and following the news incessantly for any hints of what was going on. Your nights had been spent sleepless, remembering Five’s caresses and trying to get your head around the fact that you and everyone else could die at any moment.

You at least knew he wasn’t dead. He got messages to you sporadically; short dispatches from the field. They appeared mostly via an ancient telegraph machine stowed in Reginald’s old office. The most recent of these hadn’t been very encouraging:

We’ve got a plan, but it’s tenuous. If it doesn’t work, we’ll really be fucked. If that’s the case, then I hope to see you on the other side, -F x

smut below cut

They were four sexless weeks too. You quickly discovered that it takes more than the threat of imminent death to crush the human capacity for horniness. Before that month, you would have thought it would be a deluge of cold water on your libido, but that was far from the case. 

On the contrary, knowing that time could be short, all you could think about was having Five in your arms again: running your hands all over his body, the feeling of his lips on yours and the sensations of his lovemaking. 

As you lay in bed, his phantom was a heavy, intoxicating presence. Your need for him was strong tonight. You rolled to look at his empty side of the bed and imagined his head on the pillow. His eyes (that fickle forest green that masqueraded as blue in some lights and brown in others), you imagined them shaded by his hair. You saw his raised eyebrow, his smile, soft and suggestive, with the dimple that only appeared on one side of his face, recessing two large freckles by his mouth.

You pulled his pillow to you and buried your face in it. It smelled of him. You inhaled it deeply: his aftershave, his antiperspirant, his shampoo, a hint of coffee and something more  indefinable: a more fundamental scent that was all him.

It was this last smell that made your stomach flip, that made you breathe in the scent of the pillow again. It awakened something primal in you: ripples from your center outwards; flutters down each of your limbs. 

Before you knew it, you were stripping off your panties and kneeling up in bed. One hand held his pillow to your face and the other held your own pillow between your legs. When you started to grind, it was him beneath you. In imagination, he was teasing you: not allowing you to get on his dick until you came from humping his leg.

It wasn’t enough friction, so you sped up your hips, snapping them back and forth desperately. There was a whisper of something, a tingle from your neglected pussy, so you chased it, sinking deeper into the fantasy and imagining his hands squeezing your hips, guiding you as you rode him.

“Oh, Five,” you whispered, feeling your body begin to respond, wetness gathering between your labia, “Five, fuck.”

You threw your head back and closed your eyes.

“Hm,” said an approving voice from the doorway, “that lucky fucking pillow.”

You gave a violent start, dropped his pillow and turned around. There he was, framed in the open doorway. You gave a grateful, ecstatic cry.

“Five!” 

In nothing but your t-shirt, you were across the room in a leap and bound and throwing yourself against him, holding him to you with sudden, tight urgency.

He immediately stiffened and let out a sharp groan of pain. You loosened your grip

“Oh my god, what happened? You’re hurt! Are you okay? Is it over? Is everyone okay? Is the world okay?”

He was holding himself stiffly, but now his pain had faded, his face was amused. He leaned forward and kissed your lips. On your side, the kiss was desperate, joy-filled; on his, more passionate. His tongue flicked between your lips before he broke away.

“How about this? l answer each of your questions if, each time, you answer me one in return?” he said, smirking. 

“I’ve missed you.”

“I’ve missed you too,” he said, smiling gently, “but that wasn’t a question.”

You were too happy to see him to have space to be irritated by this game.

“Fine. What happened to you?”

He moved as if to put his bag down on the chair. Seeing his wince, you took it off him and placed it there yourself.

“Thanks. It’s just a wound. There was an explosion. I was hit by a piece of flying steel.”

“Shit,” you whispered, looking down at his chest and the bandages that must be underneath his shirt, “oh my god, are you okay?”

“Hey,” he admonished, “it’s your turn to answer a question now. What were you doing when I came in?”

You looked at him with annoyance.

“You know what I was doing.”

“Yes,” he smirked, “I want to hear you describe it.”

“I was masturbating.”

“How were you masturbating?” he pushed.

“It’s my turn to ask a question now,” you said, using his own tactic against him, “How long will it take to heal? Are you seriously hurt?”

“That was two questions,” he said, stepping towards you, “but I’m feeling generous: I’m not seriously hurt. It’s a flesh wound. It’ll heal nicely.”

You looked at him with concern and he shook his head with a smile. 

“Now it’s my turn: what exactly were you thinking about when you were humping that pillow?”

“You,” you mumbled, “I missed you.”

“What exactly? You didn’t answer properly.”

You feel your face flush.

“I was thinking about fucking you. On top. Riding you.”

Five’s smirk grew, biting his lip and raising his eyebrows suggestively. You hurried on.

“Is the family okay?”

“All present and correct.” he said, moving even closer to you and stroking your hip in gentle circles.

It was a long, long month without you. There was barely time to think, let alone have the privacy for any ‘self care’ sessions of his own. Now that it was all over, his dick was complaining rather vocally about this neglect; insisting that if it didn’t get inside something warm and tight within the next five minutes, it would be most seriously displeased with the rest of him. 

As if to punctuate the point, it was now requisitioning rather a lot of blood from his brain, leaving him rock hard and almost lightheaded with the rush. 

“You’re so horny for me, aren’t you? Humping your pillow like a dirty little girl?”

“Was that a question?”

“Yes.”

You sighed as his hand snaked around to your ass. He stroked one of your buttocks up and down slowly, palm cupping the curve of your skin.

“Then yes: I’m horny for you.”

“How horny?” he said, immediately, squeezing you gently.

“Did you save the world?”

“Are you wet for me?” he said, huskily.

The fingertips of his other hand came to rest on your thigh. His eyes, dark in the low light of the bedroom, captured yours and held them firmly, authoritatively.

“If you’re not going to answer my question, I’ll have to find out for myself.” 

You looked back at him and his lips twitched. Slowly, he walked his middle and index fingers between your legs and parted your labia. He let out a low ‘oh’ as he felt the sopping folds waiting for him.

A jolt twitched down the boner now pressing insistently against the crotch of his pants. 

“How about you ditch the pillow and have a piece of the real thing?”

His fingers slipped slickly up and down your slit and you nodded, trying not to let your knees go weak. Your hands came to the hem of your shirt, pulled it over your head and discarded it so that you were standing naked before him. 

As your breasts bounced free, his befuddled mind could only think how much he’d missed them. He bent forward eagerly to try and take a nipple into his mouth, but froze mid-stoop with a wince and harsh intake of breath.

“Ow. Shit.”

He straightened up slowly, stiffly and leaned against the door, experimentally stretching out his limbs.

“You okay?” you said, worried. 

“I’m fine.” he muttered, hand over his injury, “Got a bad case of hornybrain. Made me forget I was impaled by a steel bar for a hot second there.”

You winced in sympathy and rubbed his clothed stomach in circles. When the pain had abated and he was again looking at you with lust behind his eyes, you leaned in and whispered to him.

“Looks like you’re going to have to stay still and let me do all the work.”

His lips parted but no words came out, for once unable to think of anything cocky to say. You could see the glisten of saliva on his tongue. You smirked and lowered yourself so that you were kneeling in front of him.

He laid his head against the door and exhaled as you deftly freed him of his pants and let them fall to his ankles. He squeezed his eyes closed, thoroughly undone by the mere suggestion of being sucked. He was even hornier than he realized. 

He groaned in a strange mix of satisfaction and need as you licked him through his underwear, using one hand to pull the fabric taught around the thick five and a half inches imprinted there in harsh relief. The stretch and your saliva made the white material semi transparent and you felt a pleasant twist in your stomach as the hint of soft, flushed skin beneath. You lost yourself, aware of nothing but the perfect outline of his glans beneath your tongue and the heady, pheromonal smell of him. 

He made another tight, needy sound as you put your lips around his still-clothed head.

“Please.”

How could you refuse him? Pulling at the elastic and reaching in, you pulled him out to twitch in the open air. It looked painfully hard, as always curving slightly to your left but otherwise sticking straight out like an exclamation point to his arousal.

Slowly, still inhaling that intoxicating scent, you took him into your mouth, slowly sucking him. You hummed appreciatively at his solid, hot skin between your lips. You were in heaven there, happy to keep sucking him as long as he’d let you.

“You don’t know how much I need this,” he said, weakly, knees buckling as you built to a steady rhythm. You paid close attention to his head, enjoying the little pop it made as it left the tight seal of your lips.

He looked down at you with hazy eyes, watching the way your lips pouted as you slid your lips up his length. When you caught his eyes, the pupils suddenly widened and he immediately looked away, head snapping straight back to look up at the ceiling.

“I can’t look at you right now,” he breathed, by way of explanation, “You’re too perfect; I’ll come too fast.”

You flushed, glowing with his praise. Though Five was a loving partner, his compliments were usually hidden beneath layers of self-consciousness and sarcasm. Him saying this now was evidence of how overwhelmed he was: inhibitions swept away in the rush of reunion. 

Slowly, you withdrew and laid your head against his stomach so that his cock rested on your cheek. You looked up at him adoringly, simultaneously enjoying the intensity of his arousal and giving him time to calm down.

“I love you Five.”

“I love you too, baby.” he said, voice breathy and hoarse, “Now, please god, take me to bed and treat me like that pillow.”

You smiled, rose to your feet and led him to the bed, helping him out of the pants around his ankles. Standing by his side of the bed, you kissed his lips gently, enjoying the way his dick stabbed and pressed periodically at your thighs. When you broke apart, you looked into his eyes, at his soft look with his thick eyelashes shading his eyes. 

Aware of his injury, you supported him as he lay down, helping him to ease onto the mattress with the bare minimum of pain. His solid presence in your arms as he let you assist him was bliss.

Though you were being careful not to place any weight where it would hurt him, he pulled you into his arms. 

“Please,” he whispered, “I want you to fuck me. Ride me. Just use me to get off. Use me like a goddamn dildo. I don’t care.  I need you.”

You smirked at this.

“Who are you and what have you done with Five?”

“Please.”

More begging. You didn’t have it in you to tease him, not when you too were desperate to feel his body against yours, to feel him inside you, to mingle your sighs and your pleasure with his.

You slipped him inside you and gasped. The resumption of this perfect coupling alone told you just how much you needed it. You knew you missed it, but now he was inside you again, you realized that it made you whole. His small keen as he slid home was enough to send a fluttering shudder from your center outwards.

“Let me take care of you,” you whispered, leaning close to him.

He nodded, biting his lower lip and caressing your hips.

Slowly, you began to grind against him, rolling your hips with him inside you, moving on top of him just as you did the pillow. This time, it really was Five beneath you, his cock twitching inside you, hitting and charging that sweet spot inside you until it felt like you were buzzing with his electricity.

“Oh fuck,” you moaned, “Five!”

“I-don’t-deserve you,” he panted, “So perfect. Perfect. Beautiful girl…so goddamn sexy. I love you. I-fucking- Ah!”

He always got more talkative yet less coherent the closer he got. He was watching your swinging breasts, hanging a few inches above his face. You leaned forwards immediately, keen to give him what he couldn’t take for himself a few minutes before.

He took the hint eagerly, taking your nipple into his mouth and groaning along with you at the change of angle. He suckled enthusiastically, hungrily; hand leaving your hip to rub your breast with his palm. 

His groans now sent miniature, warm vibrations onto your nipple, creating a new center for charge to build upon. As it crackled down your limbs, stoking the heat in your stomach and groin, you moaned, wanting to ride him hard- ride him like a bike - but you were reluctant to let loose in case you hurt him. 

Instead, you rolled your hips upon him desperately. Judging by the sudden shout from him and the ache from your pussy, this motion was to both of your liking. You were on the edge now, teetering.

“Gonna come. Gonna come.” he whispered, urgently, removing his mouth from your titty with a wet sound.

He meant this to warn you but, instead, his desperate voice gave you the final push.

As you came, your pussy clenched, squeezing him suddenly. His eyes shot open and he all-but squealed at the unexpected stimulation. His hips surged upwards, the pain from his chest eclipsed for the moment by this maddening, raging orgasm. It felt like your pussy was milking it from him, pulling his rapid shots of come up into itself. 

At last, you came to a stop. 

“Is the world safe?” you asked, after a warm breathless minute or two.

“Yes,” he said weakly, “the world’s all okay.”

You carefully climbed off him, laid beside him and held him. There was the fresh smell of his shampoo and antiperspirant. The smell of home if ever there was one.  After a minute or two becoming heavier in your arms, he spoke again.

“Well, the world’s certainly all okay now.”

He stroked your stomach as if you were made of paper-thin glass, inclining his head towards yours as he spoke again.

"I meant what I said: you are perfect, you know."

Request masterlist >> HERE

NOTE:

I take Five requests, I'm fairly versatile in what I write (fluff, smut, angst, psychological character study- I'll try it all) but I will consider them on a case by case basis. See masterlist for request status and more.

[marie-m-art]

Amongst the Aziraphale appreciation posts I see, there's a big thing that I think is often missed and deserves pointing out!

(I'm not sure if this is an unpopular opinion or if it's something so obvious that it goes without saying, and thus hasn't been said; so I am either throwing myself to the wolves here or to the crickets. Here I go!)

In short, I think sheltering Gabriel in S2E1 was undeniably the right thing to do, and I admire Aziraphale for it. The ensuing fight with Crowley might distract some people from seeing this.

Initially it was a snap decision whose rationale was probably along the lines of "Ohshit, this is insane, everyone is staring, this situation has to stop right now, just get in and I'll get rid of you later."

But then it becomes clear to Aziraphale that Gabriel is a person who needs help. This is a special situation in which his antagonist is currently helpless. If he turns Gabriel away, it's only a matter of time before the other angels find him (granted, Azi doesn't have all the information yet here, but it's not a huge leap for him to suspect heaven being part of the threat), and in the meantime he could be hurt or even be discorporated by humans or by accident, and presumably end up back in heaven where Something Terrible awaits.

To articulate what I think the thought process might be in this situation, I'll borrow a quote from Miss Level from A Hat Full of Sky: "You can't not help people just because they're stupid or forgetful or unpleasant. Everyone's poor round here. If I don't help them, who will?" He's able to set aside his feelings and risk his own comfort and possibly his safety to help someone clearly in need, despite their past. The reason this is admirable is because this is difficult to do.

I understand why Aziraphale was upset with Crowley (and acted a bit pissy) during their blow-up. Not only is it not unreasonable to be upset about being bailed on in a high stress situation, it's also disappointing that Crowley's proposed solution was to dump Gabriel somewhere to fend for himself - Aziraphale knows and we know that Crowley is usually kind and moral, not to mention rational (and we even see him being kind to Jim/Gabriel later). It's also worth noting that Aziraphale never implies that he thinks Crowley is a bad person for not helping; he asks for help, is upset to not get it, and suggests Crowley leaves because they're obviously at an impasse.

I see Crowley's side too, because it's also not unreasonable to get upset when your partner springs an unexpected stressful situation on you, and it was wise to leave when it was clear that they were both too emotional to work on a proper solution.

We all want to enjoy our precious, fragile existence on earth and not have to deal with curveballs, but I see this problem as the "worse" part of "for better or for worse". I might have seen things differently if Aziraphale was sheltering someone like Hastur, but he's helping his own antagonist, not Crowley's. I for one like to think that Crowley would have returned to help anyway after processing his emotions, even without the threat to Aziraphale's existence. And when he does return I like that he maintains an attitude of "I'll help but I don't have to like it!"

(Side note, it's also hilarious how irritated Aziraphale is by Jim later while Crowley is so patient - another case of doing the right thing but not necessarily liking it).

TLDR: I see their fight as emotional reactions to stress, that can be summed up along the lines of "I'm not mad at you, I'm mad at the situation!" Aziraphale's a BAMF in my book for doing what he believes was right.

[ashthemadwriter-archived]

Drunk confession

Fandom: Bungou Stray Dogs

Pairings: Dazai, Chuuya, Fyodor X Fem!Reader

Genre: Fluff

Format: Drabble

Warnings: Mentions of alcohol, Crying, Sobbing, Drunk problems

Word Count: 2K

A/n: Wanted to write one only for Dazai but I couldn't help myself and now here we are :)

↳Osamu Dazai

It's two in the morning and Dazai can't sleep as always, filling these hours of loneliness with reading his manual of suicide over and over, waiting for the rays of the sun to peek through the curtains and set another day of his tedious life. Dazai is at his dorm alone and he scarcely has any guests over; which is why the articulate knocks on the door catches him off guard. He glances at the clock and approaches the door as possibilities cloud his mind. What's going on? Did something happened? Maybe the guild has attacked again? Or that rat Dostoevsky has made a move to play his schemes on Yokohama's ability users? Or...

When he opens the door, he expects Kunikida, Atsushi or perhaps a member of an enemy organization ready to kidnap him or pull the trigger right in front of his face; but behind the door It's just you, cheeks red from what he assumes is the effect of alcohol he can smell from ten miles away.

He stares at you, with a curious turning into calming look on his face before asking you to what does he own the honor of meeting you at this fine hour, but the answer he receives isn't verbal; it's a sudden attack of affection coming from a embrace taking his waist imprison. An embrace that was supposed to be tight but you're too zoned out to keep yourself on your feet let alone hugging the shit out of him.

"Y/n...?"

"Shhhhhhhhh~"

His heart can't stop slamming itself to his chest and he's almost happy that he doesn't have to hide his flustered face because you probably won't remember anything in the morning; but you're still hanging in his arms, face all grumpy and eyes half-lidded while not giving in to the comforting warmth of his embrace lulling you to sleep.

"Yooou bas...tard... ugh!"

It's ok. He has heard that from many people before, but you can't be here only to insult him and leave, right?

"Y/n? What-"

"Shut up! You annoying peace of work!"

He's wrong. That is the reason why you're here for.

...Partly.

"I'm here to... kick your ass! For all the trouble you've put me through!"

"Y/n stop shouting and calm down. What are you talking about?"

"You... You don't even know! You damned bastard! Stupid bandage wasting machine! You never let me get to work! I can't work with you! I'm... I'm quitting my job at the agency!"

Dazai doesn't get confused very often, so he's really impressed when he searches through his memories for any recall of him holding you back from your work, but he fails to find any.

"You still don't get it!?"

You want to punch, smash and kick the life out of him, but all you do is sinking into his chest more as you inhale his scent while whining with a whisper-liked tune.

"It's... I don't know either! It's just... Maybe your face! No... Not just that... I don't know... Maybe your hair too... Or the way you smirk when you mess with Kunikida... Or how you lie on the couch as you mumble the song playing in your headphones... Or... Or how you... How you... It's everything! Everything you do distracts me! And not even at work! It's like you're everywhere but not... everywhere at the same time... I don't know again... maybe... maybe I like you or something... ah... my head... hurts..."

When you finally lose conscious and fall asleep in his arms, Dazai holds you close to himself, hands lightly caressing your hair as he smiles at your fucked up state. He now has doubts if he wants you to forget, if he wants tonight to disappear in the shades of memories from the women he had spent some nights with no strings attached; but whatever he wants, he can't help but to smile at your pretty face and glassy eyes, and how you're so innocent yet such a loud-mouthed at the same time.

↳Chuuya Nakahara

Chuuya has never been one to hold back from making a drunk mess out of himself, but when he sees you taking shots relentlessly, he knows he's the one to drive tonight.

Your face is hot but not enough to evaporate the tears that can't prevent themselves from falling on your cheeks, and you're not-so-quiet sobbing is kind of catching other people's attention but somehow Chuuya doesn't care, he just presses you against his chest harder and while not wanting to ever see you be upset like this, he wishes you would drink with him alone more often.

"I...hiccup* Can't take it hiccup* anymore..."

"Oh c'mon, you've been through worse y/n. Plus, we didn't have great losses. Accidents happen"

"Right! Says the most powerful ability user!"

Your grumpy expression makes him smile harder. Although it's wrong to hug your comrade like this, he still tugs you closer and lightly rubs your right cheek with his thumb, chuckling at your confusion.

"Huh! N-Now you're laughing at me!? You- You- You're supposed to help me out, Chuuya! I- If you're going to make of fun of me just leave!"

"Like I'm leaving you here when you're a crying mess! Did you forget your position? You're an assassin working for the mafia! Anyone wants you dead! Being alone here when you're vulnerable is another one of your shitty ideas! Besides, I will never leave you y/n, you already know that"

He's right. He has never left you even once on your own before.

No matter how many times you mess up on mission, how many times you get into trouble facing your higher ups or what time it is, day and night, Chuuya always comes to help you out. He's always been there, to be a shoulder for you to lean on when you're suffering from the pain, or to cheer you up after a long mission by bringing you your favorite snacks. He has always been there with you, in sadness and happiness.

Chuuya gets worried when he catches you staring at his chest silently, but the feeling disappears when your hands land on his cheeks.

"You're right... You've never left me alone..."

Words fade from his mind as you look into his eyes and then slowly lean closer, body still wobbly but determined to do this. He never expected you to make a move. He did wanted you, even though he could never drop a hint and he thought that maybe it was for the best if nothing ever happens, but now that you're this close to him, he can't think of anything negative let alone the problems this dangerous relationship might drag along with itself. He closes his eyes as your lips meet, wrapping his arms around your waist while tasting the bitter liquid left on your mouth, totally unfazed by the looks he knows you're earning right now.

Chuuya can always fight, but he rarely gets to kiss his bestfriend; so he might as well enjoy himself while he's at it, and maybe this won't be the last time he gets this close to you.

Only if you remember what happened in the morning, which Chuuya is gladly ready to remind you in case you forget, by capturing your lips in another kiss.

↳Fyodor Dostoevsky

"I'm... cold..."

Fyodor doesn't hug his subordinates, nor does he pat them or let them sit on his lap, so... You could say you were somewhat special.

He sighs as he lightly pats you on the back, wrapping his cloak around you while thinking of scolding you as soon as you regain consciousness, never letting you lay a finger on alcohol. While he's kind of pissed because he never thought you could get this clingy since you're so shy and decent around him, but this feeling... This comfortable warmth that radiates from your body... It's nice. Nice enough to help him look over the fact that you were lying about being cold only to stick yourself to him more and whine nonsense he doesn't understand but lowkey tries to.

"You shouldn't drink this much at work, y/n. It will make us more trouble and we already have a handful of that"

Fyodor doesn't expect a response, or a proper one to say at least; and he didn't get one, if a small sob filled with regret coming from you doesn't count.

He glances at you from the corner of his eye to make sure that you're not crying, then looks back at the monitor again with his attention completely pointed at you. You're upset about something he's not aware of; he doesn't poke his nose in other people's private lives unless they're dangerous or his target of course, but for once in his life, he wishes he had paid attention to you more. Why? He knows, but it's so wrong and he doesn't want to push himself to say it out loud, happy that no one has ever asked him too.

You're one interesting little Myshka.

"I want to be of use for you"

Your voice is quiet, more like a mumble; but lucky for you, Fyodor has sharp ears.

"Hmm? What was that, dear?"

Your stare is pointed at the floor, but your mind is wandering around another place. Fyodor feels you wrapping your arms around him a little bit harder and a short pause before you speak up again, your voice a bit louder than before but would still count as mumbling.

"I... want to help you achieve your goals, sir. I don't want to be a burden to you. I want to be useful, even though the result might not really be something I would exactly like"

Fyodor knows everything. All the turns and twists of your little mind, all the intentions you have behind your little gestures, all the thoughts you smother behind your scrunched up face; but that doesn't mean he wouldn't like to hear you actually say it every now and then.

"Why? Why do you want to help me achieve something you're not looking forward to, Myshka?"

Myshka, a cute nickname Fyodor calls you with, which is kind of normal since you're a rat working under his watch; but you're the only one who gets to be called that. None of his other subordinates are called anything special. Just you. The tiny pathetic Myshka he likes more than his other subordinates. Why? No one knows, but no one really cares either.

Except for you.

I... I think that... I enjoy to see that you're relieved... And that you can... finally take a break...

Because you have nice goals and they make the world a better place...

Because... Because... I...

"Because I would like to see you smile, sir"

Fyodors coherent taps on the keyboard stops and you gain his attention again, only this time he doesn't try to hide his glance; he tilts his head and looks at you straightforwardly.

Of course you hide your face in the crook of his neck, and of course that makes his heart a tiny bit clench.

"Like... Not out of... I don't know... Mischief or anything... A relieved smile... A victorious one maybe?... Not one of those smiles you wear when you are bargaining with someone..."

"I understand what you mean, dear"

His voice is not enthusiastic but softer than before, with a hint of gentleness inside. It makes your figure looser on his lap, giving him access to do what he wants with you, as if he couldn't already.

And suddenly something unexpected happens. He plants a kiss on your shoulder, making you shiver and glue your chest to him harder than before.

"I too, would like to see you smile dear"

And I would like to have you by my side when that time comes.

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[count-lucio]

lucio headcanons because i can't help myself. just a warning that these are rather canon divergent, so keep that in mind while reading! anyway, with no further ado-

my objectively correct lucio 'headcanons' (i am normal)

- he has chronic nerve pain from the constant pain + stress his body was under while he had the plague - even after he comes back. he walks with a cane most days, and claims it's for 'fashion' (it very clearly isn't)

- the whole "missing an entire arm" business is a MUCH bigger deal than the way the game shows it- it's a genuine disability, not just a fun character trait. i'm begging you all to consider lucio needing (and wanting) to spend time with his prosthetic off. lucio phantom limb syndrome and phantom pains. lucio struggling to do things that require both hands on occasion and having to relearn everything after getting his prosthetic. lucio being too rough/too strong/etc with his left arm because he can't feel what he's doing. as much as he loves the gold he can't help but feel terribly insecure and incapable because of it sometimes.

- lucio is not even a tenth as stupid as the writers make him out to be for funny haha villain points. he's actually incredibly intelligent and a big fan of studying + reading "just because." he's very literate and articulate, just overexcitable (and maybe slightly over-emotional) and doesn't always express his intelligence in the best way (or stop and think before doing things). he's also fairly talented, and rather proficient in writing and playing piano - the grand piano in the foyer belongs to both him and nadia!!

- same thing goes for what an incompetent leader he's portrayed to be in the game... it's absolutely nonsensical that he alone was in charge of vesuvia for multiple years and that entire time knew nothing and learned nothing about being an effective ruler. perhaps he's not the most responsible leader at all moments and maaaybe he can be a bit. harsh. but i can't see military-tactical, hand-selected-to-rule-vesuvia-lucio being an INCOMPETENT leader.

- also, the previous count, count spada, took lucio in and taught him everything he knew - the game hardly touches on this and it's an absolute crime because i think the two of them had such a close (dare i say father-son) relationship and spada effectively took lucio under his wing and gave him the necessary training to be an effective leader before naming him his heir. the two of them were very... my parents hate me and i don't know what parental love feels like x i never married or had children and i regret it immensely, yknow ?

- his relationship with morga is much more strained than what's portrayed in canon - both her and his father were rather abusive throughout his childhood and he hides in the palace every time she visits vesuvia and makes nadia deal with her for him (i use 'makes' loosely - nadia would do it even if lucio didn't ask. she's not very fond of morga either and is sympathetic to lucio's fear of her).

- speaking of nadia, the two of them really don't hate eachother all that much. their relationship is much more complicated than what's shown in the game (everyone's is, really, it's all a lot more blurry and queerplatonic than what was written to make it work as a romance game) and while they most definitely butt heads quite often, she by no means hates him and they do, actually, get along a fair amount of the time. they have quite a bit in common and work well together. most of the time.

- contrary to popular belief, mercedes and melchior are not unruly and untrained- they're both trained impeccably, just in lucio's native language, making him the only person capable of controlling them. however when it is him in charge, the three of them are a force to be reckoned with (especially when out hunting) and mercedes and melchior move flawlessly alongside him, nearly predicting what he wants without him even having to speak it aloud. they're impeccably behaved- just for him and him alone.

- on the topic of languages- lucio was raised speaking something different than what is spoken throughout the game. there is no direct real-world equivalent but it's... scandinavian in nature. he has the faintest hint of an accent (and no, it isn't a jersey accent) but he's been speaking other languages for so long it's not quite as noticeable as it was during his mercenary days - although it is quite a bit more noticeable when he's drunk, and he's very prone to cursing in his native language.

[dameronology]

couples therapy (frank castle)

summary: you go to couple's therapy with frank castle. it's just as terrible as you can imagine.

warnings: so much language. at least 10 f-bombs.

enjoy xx

Couples therapy felt like a stupid fucking idea, to be honest.

There was only three feet between you and Frank; you wanted to be closer but at the same time, you wanted to drop kick his loud-talking, argumentative, defensive ass to the other side of the city. No, scratch that. The country, or maybe even world. Somewhere far enough so that you didn't have to look at his stupid face but somewhere close enough that you could still reach out for him in the night. Somewhere far enough so that you couldn't hear that gravelly voice that made your skin crawl, but somewhere close enough so that he could still whisper horny sweet nothings in your ear.

And it was thoughts like that that made you realise why you were here.

There had been a few weeks of tension; that had grown into two months of shit bubbling under the surface. You were mad at him. He was mad at you. You couldn't bring it up because he'd accuse you of overreacting and he couldn't bring it up because even before all the PTSD-causing-crap he'd lived through, Frank was shit at coming to terms with how he felt about things. Vocalising his emotions wasn't his strongpoint. Revenge and killing was. So, safe to say that this was his personal form of hell. Anyways. That shit had hit the fan eventually and now it was splattered all over the room and it was covering you both and no matter how many metaphorical showers you took, nothing would fix this except the clean slate that emotional catharsis would bring you.

Maybe you'd break up. Maybe you'd stay together. Maybe it was all up to the gaunt, old man in the chair opposite you who reminded you a little too much of John Kramer and was draining $50 an hour from your bank right now. Did they do Groupons for couples therapy?

"So," he began. His name was Doctor Richards. He was a little too quiet for your liking. "Tell me...why are you here?"

Frank let out a gruff laugh. "Isn't that what you're here to tell us, Doc?"

"No, actually," he shook his head. "You explain your problems to me and I'll give you reasonable solutions to try and fix those problems."

There was a moment of silence, and Doctor Richards glanced at you.

"Is he always this defensive?"

It was your turn to laugh now.

"Uhhh, not always," you replied. "Not with me, at least. More so with other people."

"So he's more open with you?" the doctor raised his eyebrows, but then glanced between you. "Emotional vulnerability is a good sign. A sign of life - of course, unless, this has changed over the course of your relationship."

"It hasn't," Frank firmly said. "I laid myself bare the day we met. That hasn't changed."

"He's right," you nodded. "I just...I think you have a hard time articulating your feelings, Frank. Sometimes when you do open up to me, it turns into an argument."

"That's bullshit," Frank muttered.

You cleared your throat and turned to look back at your relationship saviour. "We're here because we argue too fucking much, doc. If I say nothing, he gets mad. If I respond, I'm overreacting-"

"- because you do overreact!" he interrupted you.

"Maybe because you never let me fucking talking talk!" you snapped.

"Guys!" Richards cut you both off. "This is a safe space and I'm going to give you both a chance to talk. That's how you get to the bottom of things."

You glanced at Frank. "Can I go first?"

"Yes."

Shuffling uncomfortably in your seat, you glanced down at your hands and cleared your throat. There was so much on your mind but a complete disconnect between your brain and your mouth; translating your thoughts into feelings was hard at the best of times, but even harder under pressure. You didn't want to say something to upset Frank, even less to hurt him.

"I..." you trailed off. "I've always been someone who likes to talk about things, you know? I like to communicate, especially with the people I love, so I'm always open when something upsets me or doesn't feel right. Conversation is important to me but I think you're different, Frank. You like to think and not feel and when you refuse to talk to me about shit, it hurts. It's like you can open up to me about all your feelings except the ones about me and in my mind,. those are the most important ones."

Frank didn't respond; he just looked at you.

"For someone that chats so much shit, you sure seem to keep quiet on a lot of things," you continued, voice dropping to a murmur now. "I'm not overreacting when I respond the way I do. It's just fucking frustrating."

He looked away, brown eyes staring blankly at the wall behind Richards for a moment. That was the first time in the better part of three years that you's actually seen Frank quiet.

(Save for when he was sleeping, and the time he almost died in the middle of your living room).

"I like to keep certain things quiet," Frank finally spoke. His eyes flickered from the wall, down to your new therapist. "I work a night job, doc. It gets stressful. I deal with some heavy shit."

"It's an overused saying, but a problem halved is a problem shared," Richards replied. "You have a partner who is willing to listen. One who I assume knows their threshold, and would tell you if sharing it was too much."

"He's right," you said. "When you shut me out and bottle it up, it builds up, and then you get shitty with me and it manifests itself in every part of your life. Of our lives. Because we're intertwined as shit, Frank, and you can't pick and choose what parts you share with me."

Frank sniffed. "Well, hell. Look at us breaking ground."

"A lot of people come into couple therapy assuming it means their relationship is over," Richards said. "That's almost never the case. It shows you're both willing to work on it."

Your eyes fell to the floor for a moment. Frank had been strangely willing to come here; it wasn't something you'd thought about too much before now, but his willingness felt like hope to you. This time a few years ago, he would have walked away at the first sign of trouble. Now he wanted to take your hand and walk towards it.

"I can't tell you about all your problems based entirely on this conversation, but I can...I can share some introspection from a third party perspective," Richards said. "Frank, you have a partner whose willing to listen, but...maybe they go about saying it in the wrong way. Maybe it feels forced, or like they're not letting you do it on their own terms."

"I guess," Frank murmured. "What if I don't want to share? What if...what if I just want to protect them from all this dark shit?"

"You can choose what you share," he replied. "But if you choose not to share, you have to communicate that."

--

The apartment was tense when you and Frank got back. It had been a tense two hours; talks of communication and honesty, of sharing your lives and being partners. It had been okay for the first hour, but as soon as you hit the second you felt like you'd kind of gotten the point. You and Frank weren't the worst couple in the world, and couple therapy was fucking boring. That had been your main take away.

You threw your keys on the side, dumping your jacket as you entered the flat. Everything was as you left it; washing up from breakfast in the sink, pile of boots by the door, a letter pinned on your notice board about an increase in rent. All things that were headaches in themselves, but simply just contributing factors to a bigger, ongoing migraine. Frank was behind you, dragging his feet and huffing.

"Something you want to share, Frankie?" you asked, glancing over your shoulder.

"That felt like bullshit."

You snorted. "I felt like I was being listened to for the first time in months. Maybe that speaks volumes."

"Oh, come on," he rolled his eyes. "How are we leavin' couples therapy and you're already having a go at me?"

"Sorry," you murmured. "Honestly, Frank, I'm just fucking frustrated. I've said all I need to say but...whether or not you wanna listen and actually work on it is what counts."

"Are you dumb?" Frank asked, but quickly regretted his choice of words. "Shit. Baby, I'm sorry - I didn't mean it like that-"

"- how the fuck did you mean it then, Franklin?"

He paused, holding his hands out for a moment. "I just sat in a cramped room with some Jigsaw lookin' motherfucker for the better part of two hours, listening to you complain - rightfully so, don't get me wrong - and tryna take notes on how I can be a better partner to you. Maybe it's not obvious, and maybe it won't be for hot a fuckin' minute, not until I've got my ducks in a line, or just shot em all, but just...I will try, okay? I need you to be patient with me but..."

Frank took your hand, placing your palm on his chest. He covered it with his own large one, tangling your fingers together and pausing for a moment.

"I need patience...please?"

You nodded, letting him squeeze your hand. "Yeah. Shit, Frankie, I'm sorry. I love you."

He smiled. "I love you too."

"We'll be okay, won't we?"

"Of course we will."

[penncilkid]

Alright, I'll bite. (Sparked by this post) I'm gonna preface this with some context: 

First off: I'm Black in case you're unaware

Huxley is my favorite speaker. Full stop. You ask me to choose, it’ll always be him. 

Likewise, you ask for my favorite listeners, I will say Starlight and Darlin'. (I'll save my Starlight rant for another day)

My designs for both Huxley and Darlin are Black.

With this in mind, I want to be clear from the jump: I don’t have an inherent problem with these headcanons. If I did, I wouldn’t have chosen then myself. That said, I have noticed that Hux and Darlin are, more often than not, the characters that get headcanoned as POC (specifically Black) in design rosters. In some cases, they are the only POC designs present. Why is that?

Furthermore, the more often I notice this pattern so to speak, the more I sit and think about why those headcanons are so popular. I find my answer when I think about the characters I see headcanoned as white most often. Tell me why it’s "practically canon" for Lasko to be pale with light/white hair. Tell me why white Sam "just makes sense". Why? Because Lasko's a nerdy ball of nerves that stumbles over his words? Because Sam’s a sweet Southern man at heart? Those are not inherently white attributes.

Except they're treated as such. They go virtually unchallenged because they're so widely accepted by fandom. People see these personalities and character details and come up with their vision. So, let's apply that to Huxley and Darlin, shall we?

Huxley: Athlete. Canonically implied to be big, as indicated by statements made by him and other members of the DAMN crew. Classified as a himbo with parallels in Imperium highlighting how some will view him as stupid. Overall chill vibe.

Darlin: Reckless with their safety. Known to lash out/lose control of their emotions when they’re not actively hiding them. Gets injured often because they’re too stubborn to run from trouble. An overall intense demeanor that makes them difficult to approach (at least at first). 

Explain to me why this screams Black to so many people. Is it because Huxley's a dumb jock who you imagine gets stoned all the time? Oh, is it perhaps because Darlin is just so aggressive compared to your Golden Retriever-coded Asher, needing to be calmed down by everyone around them? And here's the thing: I can already imagine people saying, "That's not why I made them Black". Then explain why it "just makes sense" for them to Black. Why them out of a sea of characters? Make it make sense.

Now let me make this clear as well: I'm not expecting every headcanon to have elaborate thought behind it. For one, I get that some people take a more casual approach with designs and such. Not every choice has to have a reason or justification behind it. But when literally 95% of the Huxley designs I see are Black and half of y'all don't even know what a fucking durag is? Saying it leaves a bad taste in my mouth is putting it lightly.

You know what I wish I saw more of? Black Huxleys and Darlins with attached nuance.

Give me a Black Darlin who struggles to articulate how they feel with the people in their lives because they haven't been readily given the language to do so. You want to pair a Black Darlin with a White Sam? Why not talk about how POC have an insanely difficult time getting support from the medical system so not only does it explain why Darlin is so resistant to go to healers, but also gives an extra weight to the fact that Sam was their absolute last resort when injured? Give me a Black Darlin who has been taught their entire life that no one will have their back, that they need to learn how to depend on themself alone, and that's the reason why they struggle to feel like the pack would've cared when the Quinn shit went on.

You wanna talk Black Huxleys? Let's touch on how he's learned to control his emotions/anger because he knows how people will take it if it comes from someone who looks like him. Talk about how his moms teaching him not to use violence speaks to a deeper desire for him not to be viewed as a threat because they fear for his life otherwise. In one of his BAs, he mentions how a lot of people used to sleep with him/flirt with him solely because of his body and he could tell. Do you know how often black men are sexualized and fetishized? Why not talk about it through him? I see people explore that concept through Gavin constantly, where's the energy for Huxley? You wanna make him Black so bad, why not actually put some thought behind it? Because right now, it seems like he gets the "luxury" of being the token Black guy in the DAMN friend group at best.

I know a lot of people are probably going to dismiss this post. I am already anticipating that as I write this. But I'm so tired of pretending like this shit doesn't get to me. Because it does. I've got no intentions of leaving this fandom because I have met so many amazing people and adore Erik's content immensely. But what I am going to do is talk about the widespread normalization of attributing certain personality traits to certain racial groups. Because the non-white people in this fandom deserve better than that.

[earlgreytea68]

Many years ago now, when I was a very unhappy and depressed lawyer, I went to see a therapist. The therapist diagnosed that I was suffering from severe levels of stress and asked me to keep a "stress journal": for the week between appointments, I was to write down whenever I felt my stress spike.

When I returned to the next appointment with my stress journal, the therapist was shocked I'd actually done the assignment. He said nobody actually keeps a physical journal. I suspected that maybe he didn't fully understand my personality type and the fact that some of my stress was the result of PEOPLE ASKING ME TO DO THINGS THEY APPARENTLY DIDN'T ACTUALLY WANT ME TO DO BUT I WAS RESPONSIBLY DOING THEM BECAUSE THAT'S HOW I AM.

Anyway, I digress, that's not the point of the story. The point was that when we looked together at my stress journal, we diagnosed that a recurrent source of spiking stress was receiving an email. This was so many years ago that it was before the smartphone, in the age of the BlackBerry, and every time my stupid BlackBerry vibrated, my stress skyrocketed. Having figured that out, the therapist was like, "What happens if you miss an email for an hour?" And that was hard to articulate. Probably nothing, tbh. Like, realistically I could go without checking my email if I was too busy with work, so why couldn't I when I was home watching TV? So the therapist suggested I confine my email checking to a set schedule. Only at the appointed times would I check my email and deal with whatever had come in.

And you know what? The world never ended, and it WAS a huge relief not to feel like I had to immediately be available for every email. To this day, my work email does NOT come to my phone and I only check it at my appointed times of day. (Actually, I resisted getting a smartphone until very late because after I left the law firm I thought the most glorious thing in the world was PEOPLE COULDN'T REACH ME.)

Anyway, I was thinking about all that today because I had a bad day at work and I realized that I was dreading checking my email and it just made me think that I have lingering issues around email. But then, the more I thought about it, the more I was like, ...no, I probably have lingering issues around WORK because of that job experience I had. Like, was it really about what emails I might have, or was it because I spent the day feeling manipulated in an unpleasant way that made me wary and suspicious of certain things around me, and then THAT made me think, like, I was overreacting because of the way that previous job experience was and the fact that the way it manipulated and abused me will never actually fully leave me, but THEN I was like, OR is it that I honed excellent instincts for that kind of situation happening and I should listen to myself when I feel that way, or or or--

Which is all to say that I wonder sometimes how I would have developed as a professional had I not had that career experience so early on in my life. But then I am in a weird way grateful for it, not because it forever kind of messed up my head in some ways but because I learned SO MUCH about those messed-up situations. Like, it was awful, don't get me wrong, but I did learn a bunch of coping mechanisms I still use today. Like limiting my email exposure. And I think I am warier than a lot of other people I know who didn't go through a workplace that mentally abused you the way that mine did, but I'm not so sure that's a terrible thing. I think it makes me touchy about work-life boundaries and i think there are way worse things to be in our capitalist society.

And also, every once in a while I think about the fact that I didn't think I was going to make it through those years but I did and I am pretty proud of myself for that, so also that. I made it through the other side when I honestly for real didn't think that I would, and every once in a while I have a day that reminds me of how I felt all the time back then, and it makes me remember to be grateful how many days I've gotten to have without that feeling.

[pyromegalomaniac]

How would you feel about writing a Wally Darling x GN reader first kiss fic. I think it could be cute.

Such a simple but such a potential filled prompt, goldenwarefox... Honestly, I think it might just be a bit too open if anything!! So many ways it could go!! I'll sure as heck do my best to make a nice little story!! Enjoy!!

(♡˙︶˙♡)

Honeycrisp Blossoms🍎🌸

☆°•☆°•☆°•☆

The ground was soft underfoot as I walked hand in hand and side by side with my fairly new boyfriend and neighbor, Wally Darling.

There were trees that stretched out in every direction all around us, but they were spaced out evenly so that there was about three or so feet between them.

It was almost like a sprinkling of snow on the ground, if snow had a soft pink tint to it. The apple blossom petals lay on the grass, not minding a bit as we stepped on them.

I closed my eyes and stretched up my face to feel the warm sunlight filtering in through the leaves and dappling the ground.

"I can see why you like coming here," I sighed, the sweet springtime air welcoming itself politely to me, smelling like joy and life.

"I'm so very glad you like it, y/n," Wally replied.

I could feel his grip on my hand and my grin became a little wider, my feet a little lighter.

And oddly enough, my stomach became a little tighter.

I stopped walking.

"Let's sit for a while and watch the petals fall," I said, opening my eyes and looking at Wally.

As I expected, he was looking right back at me, and he nodded. Keeping my hand in his, he sat down on the grass, his back against one of my many apple trees, and I followed.

"I do believe I could sit here forever and not get up," he said in that slow monotonous voice of his, that somehow dripped with sweetness.

"Especially if you're here with me," he smiled, making my face warm.

I looked away, hoping he didn't notice. My brain raced to come up with a response, and I eventually was able to mutter out "uh... thanks. You too."

Oh nice going, y/n. I'm sure he thought that one was real intelligent.

He laughed his adorable halting laugh, and I tried to keep from getting any stupider. I turned my attention to the beautiful scene spread out before me.

Taking a deep breath in to both steady myself and because it was hard not to when the situation seemed so dream like, I leaned against Wally's shoulder, and he put his head on mine.

I put my head down on top, completing our sickly-sweet sandwich.

I could just barf, we were so cute.

Instead of doing that, though, I just enjoyed the flowers and the silent company of my partner.

I couldn't tell you how long it'd been, but after a while I picked my head up. I didn't know why.

Wally picked up his own head off my shoulder, turning to face me.

"What is it, my y/n?"

"I... I don't know."

I really didn't.

I wanted something, but I didn't know how to articulate it into words. I didn't even know what I wanted. Instead of saying anything else I just stared at him like a dumbass.

He stared back in that dopey way he always did, seemingly content to just do that.

And I started leaning forward, closing my eyes...

Wow.

Wow wow wow.

His lips were soft and yielding, and I could feel the smile he held them in.

I put my hand on his cheek, then the other, and he put his on top of mine, leaning back a little and giving me full control.

We sat there for a moment, though it felt like a million years. But when I finally pulled back I realized it'd been far far too short.

I opened my eyes wide in surprise.

"Crap... did... did I just do that?"

Wally's smile widened in playfulness, and he laughed again.

"Why yes, y/n. I would say you did," he chuckled.

I just stared at him stupidly.

"You wouldn't, perchance, care to do it again, would you?"

"Um... no, I think I'd like that."

And I did. I did like it.

☆°•☆°•☆°•☆

This turned out pretty cute, I think! Like I said, there were so many possibilities, so I was a bit stuck on the story, but I tried to focus mostly on the scenery, and I think that worked. Thanks again for requesting this, goldenwarefox!! I had fun writing this, and I look forward to more in the future!! Much love!!

ヽ(>∀<☆)ノ

[sincerelyyycece]

given your history, i should have known better.

Embracing the prospect of change, disregarding cautionary signals, succumbing to familiar flattering words and unfulfilled assurances.

sincerelyyycece © ─ all rights reserved. please do not repost/translate/copy any of my work.

Stupid, stupid, stupid. I allowed myself to believe in the possibility of change. I held onto the illusion that this time things would be different. I ignored the red flags, the warning signs, and the whispers of intuition. I fell for the same sweet words and the same empty promises. But sometimes, the heart is a stubborn creature. It clings to hope, even when all signs point to despair.

As I watched you flirt with her, the one you assured me not to fret over, the one you claimed was “just a friend," I felt my heart shatter into countless fragments. As I drew nearer, I observed your interactions with her more closely. Your hands gently rested on her waist, whispers passed between you, laughter was exchanged while gazing deeply into each other's eyes, and lips hovered close. Her hand found its place on your chest. Evidently, mere friendship couldn't account for such intimate gestures and actions.

My eyes welled up with tears as I witnessed you kissing her lips. Unable to bear the sight, I turned away, shielding my heart from further anguish. With a heavy sigh, I let tears stream down my face. The lump in my throat grew, making it difficult to hold back. Despite the urge to break down, I restrained myself in the club, not wanting to draw attention. I blamed myself for naively believing that you would choose me, that we were enough for each other, and that our relationship was fulfilling for you.

After a few minutes of crying in a corner, I ended what we had. I walked to you, not bothering to wipe my tears. I wanted you to notice how much of a mess you put me through. "Sirius," I uttered. Your gaze met mine, widening with surprise. You pushed her aside, rising to your feet. "Y/N, why are you here?" you inquired, your eyes darting between her and me.

Softly, I inquired, “Could we have a moment?” My fingers fidgeted nervously as I spoke. “Perhaps outside?” I suggested. You glanced at her, signalling subtly for privacy. Annoyance creased her face as she departed with a scoff. “Of course, let's go,” you replied calmly. With a gentle grip on my wrist, you guided me outdoors. Your touch was so delicate that it caused me to reconsider. Occasionally, you glanced back at me, ensuring my comfort. For a brief moment, I allowed myself to savour your touch.

Before long, we found ourselves in a narrow alley adjacent to the club. We both fell into silence for a moment. At that moment, I caught you studying me. It was the first time that evening you really looked at me. "Were you crying?" you inquired, gently lifting my chin to inspect closer. I recoiled, avoiding your touch. "I think we should end things," I murmured. The urge to cry threatened to overwhelm me once more. You remained silent once more. "What?" you ask, confused.

"I want to break up," I declared, emphasising my voice. "No, wait. I heard you, but why?" Your voice betrayed confusion. "I thought everything was going well," you protested. "I thought so too," I murmured softly. "Then why? What's the reason for wanting to end things?" you pressed. I fell silent, contemplating how to articulate my reasons differently. "Y/N, please, talk to me," you begged.

I swallowed hard, gathered my courage, and took a deep breath. "I'm not naive, Sirius. I'm fully aware that you and that girl share more than just friendship," I stated calmly. "Friends don't behave in such intimate ways—touching, whispering, or kissing each other on the lips," I elucidated, tears streaming down my face. "So spare me any attempts to justify your actions because I've reached my limit!" I declared, my voice shaking with emotion.

You remained silent, your expression a mix of bewilderment and sorrow. "Given your history, I should have known better," I remarked, finally meeting your gaze after a long silence. "It was foolish of me to imagine you might truly accept me. Perhaps I convinced myself I was enough for you. Yet, I ignored the advice of those who warned me about you, clinging to a faint glimmer of hope in my heart. I dared to believe you were changing, that things were improving." I paused, exhaling heavily.

"The thing is, it was all in my head. I created this perfect image of you that I believed when in real life, you could never change, not even for me. You'll always be like this, jumping from one relationship to another, picking up girls that catch your interest, whether because they're a good fuck or they boost your pride and ego. No one will ever be enough for you," I pointed out.

As your expression dropped, I knew I had you figured out. Physical pain wouldn't faze you, so I decided to wound you with my words, knowing they would strike where it truly hurts. Deep down, you recognized the truth in my words, which explained your reaction. Your silence signalled my cue to release my pent-up emotions. "I've reached my limit, Sirius. I can no longer hold on to you. I can't justify or defend your actions anymore. I'm exhausted," I confessed, exhaling shakily.

Still, you remained silent, your gaze lowered. Taking this as my cue, I departed without saying farewell, leaving you behind. As I walked away from you, the weight of my decision pressed heavily on my shoulders. Each step felt like a struggle against the memories we shared, against the hope I harboured, against the love I once felt. But as painful as it was, I knew it was the right choice.

The night air was cold against my skin, mirroring the chill in my heart. Tears continued to stream down my cheeks, a silent testament to the pain I was enduring. Yet, amidst the turmoil of emotions, there was also a sense of liberation, of reclaiming a piece of myself that I had lost in the illusion of our relationship.

As I reached the end of the alley, I paused for a moment, casting one last glance back at you. You were still standing there, your silhouette framed by the dim light filtering through the alleyway. For a fleeting moment, I thought I saw regret flicker across your face, but it was quickly replaced by a mask of indifference.

With a heavy sigh, I turned away, steeling myself against the urge to go back and give in to the familiarity of your embrace. I couldn't allow myself to be drawn back into the cycle of heartache and disappointment. It was time to let go and move forward, even if it meant facing the unknown alone.

As I walked into the night, I made a silent promise to myself: to heal, to rediscover my worth, and to never again settle for anything less than the love and respect I deserved. And with each step I took, I felt a glimmer of hope begin to blossom within me, a whisper of possibility for a brighter tomorrow.

[alatismeni-theitsa]

I usually always agree with your stance on depictions of greek gods in media and how they should look greek (as a greek myself, its frustrating) unfortunately in the case with Hades many of these conversations have been tainted by or are thinley veiled talking points in support of racism and alt right values (which I know is not YOUR intention! Or the intention of some others pointing this out, but from what ive seen of the majority it is racism/alt right rhetoric...unfortunately many game communities are running rampant with this) these people have no interest in anti colonialist values, and in many cases are actually advocating against what you're calling out and want the greek gods to look "white" not "greek" (blonde hair, blue eyes, pale skin, just as you mentioned these depictions still being racist these types of people would have no issue if the gods looked like this and are actually they types to see this as their ideal ancient greek). I am just letting you know as someone who has seen this happen time and time again in game communities and has come to know how these people talk....Even if what they're advocating for at face value has a bit of truth I dont think these are values you want to align yourself with in this specific context 😅

I've seen these things too, and I disagree with the racist statements as you pointed out. The messages here asked for my opinion so I only gave it, without presenting any post/line I agree with.

I know the types you're talking about, the Greeks who think pale/blue eyes and light blond hair are the "ideal" 😭 I don't know how many of them are out there in this specific argument (I didn't spend too much time on X) but I've seen many Greeks here who agree the presentation of gods wasn't ideal, without going to the ALT right side.

The racists are against the design for their own stupid reasons. Following the "I don't like the design" line, doesn't mean I or others are following the racist line as well. Μακριά από μας 😂 These idiots go "no light skin = no Greek, Black people Africans GRRR", and they give me the hives. I think many of them also lack the critical thinking to understand what the underlying problem is. (I don't equate bad articulation with racism, I'm just saying our racists are not too bright and sometimes they don't put much time into understanding why they're annoyed 😭)

I put many disclaimers in the post to avoid being mistaken for one of them. I think we have to learn how to express our worries without slipping (accidentally or not) towards bigotry. I don't want our concerns to go unnoticed just because of some stupid assholes. I'd like Greeks to find ways to push back the racism and bigotry in the game community, and also advocate for more respect when it comes to our culture. I'm tired of racists ruining it for everyone, I'm tired of having to put disclaimers like "I think people should have rights" when talking about archaeology and culture. This is still the racist's fault, since their existence and prevalence makes us all look shit. The rest of us have to learn how to handle them and separate ourselves from them.

What do you think?

[kiefbowl]

Wondering if you have any advice on dealing with irl shitbags? I was at a house party a couple days ago and had an interaction with this guy that I can’t stop thinking about. We’re just chilling and talking and I hear this dude idek start talking about how “certain career paths aren’t for women” so I listen in to debunk his misogynistic bullshit. He starts saying that he thinks that women are smarter than men and that in general women will be able to think more deeply and logically than men can and find better more effective solutions to problems etc. Then he says BUT when women are placed in stressful situations that require quick thinking and action their focus is halved and they’re no longer able to think clearly due to the stress, and at that time only men will be able to handle the situation. At this point I lost it, it’s the same old women shouldn’t enter the workplace cause they’re too emotional shit. I was drunk and pissed and started yelling at him and feel that I may have embarrassed myself for not being able to debunk him properly. I think the people around us didn’t take me very seriously since he was much more articulate than me. Wondering if you and possibly other women in the comments could give examples of how to respond when moids confront you like this in public with their sexist rhetoric n try to intellectualize their garbage?

I don't think you should feel embarrassed, I think you should be embarrassed for everyone at that party that thought that guy was saying something smart. That's really embarrassing for them because it's very dumb and stupid :/

I feel like the advice I'm going to give is going to be annoying, but you just have to not get angry. This guy? He sucks and doesn't matter. If he is saying something, and you try to debunk him on what he says, you have given credence to his argument and you're on the backfoot. You really want to flip out a pseudo-intellectual? You don't counter their point, you deconstruct their argument.

When someone says "I think y because of x" and it's just horribly false and offensive, you don't say "no you're wrong about y" you say "I don't understand how you can believe x." Make them show their work, and if they can't, you've won; and if they won't, they've proven themselves pissbaby; and if they try, you've now created an opportunity to pounce even more.

The Socratic method is your best friend int these situations. Keep asking questions until you get to the truth, which is almost 100% of the time this: I just believe something because I believe it because it's what I think everyone is supposed to believe. If you can get to that point in the conversation, it's the best high, because you get to tell them to their face how pathetic you think their lack of critical thought is, however pointed or coy you want to be about it.

[understandingbimbos]

So. There's a few things I need to address. My documentation and study of bimbos began as a personal project. I only started a blog because I was putting a ridiculous amount of work and thought into this and figured it should be shared (and still, there's SO much I haven't shared yet...). And that's part of why this blog isn't so well managed, not consistent, and very informal. I write every post with the assumption whoever reading will have some familiarity with the fetish and that was kind of a mistake when dealing with subject matter as delicate as this and if I want to be able to attract literally any other audience. But the blog is here now so its kind of a moot point. I won't be rewriting posts. I want to kill myself every day, its astonishing I can write anything. Anyway, recently I discovered an adult performer named Celestina Blooms, in particular, this video:

We share a lot of the same thoughts. And her criticisms of BimboTok are a lot better articulated. Here are some of things she's said that stood out to me (paraphrased):

"As an actual political movement, the Gen Z bimbo isn't actually very helpful beyond being satire because there are contradictions."

"It makes no sense to be expected to have every single decision in your life, in every area of your life, be a form of activism."

"If you don't spend enough time watching all their videos to completely get the point it looks like they're satirizing the ideologies they're preaching."

"They're kind of taking this thing and being like 'Hey! This thing is leftist because I'm leftist and I said so!' when the thing is still something very tied to a lot of systems of oppression."

"I think there's an issue with saying that being feminine is feminist."

"Because there are so many minors on TikTok they'll come across this trend and see the cute aesthetic and cute clothes, and for good measure, the ideologies a lot of them agree with and be like 'Fuck yes! Sign me up!' and before you know it they're dressing like a bimbo, calling themselves a 'bimbo', and all this stuff while not even being aware of this whole other world of bimbofication as a fetish and unknowingly calling attention to themselves."

She also brings up Pink Bimbo Academy in this video (not by name, and if you somehow see this Celestina, sorry for blowing up your spot!). I bring this up because PBA actually reached out to me like two weeks ago. We had an extremely brief conversation. He lost all interest as soon as he realized my blog isn't primarily about real life bimbos and, like Celestina, I don't believe bimbos are really a real life thing. This is the reason for my last text post (now pinned).

Up until this point I didn't realize Pink Bimbo Academy was a guy, or extremely weird. He's one of those bimbo enthusiasts that genuinely believes every woman should be a bimbo, unless they're trans that is, because according to him a bimbo can't have a penis or possess any "masculine" qualities. He seems to view bimbofication less as a fetish and more of a means to an end. To him, bimbos are the peak of femininity and bimbofication only helps women to become more of who they're "biologically" meant to be. He has entire rants against feminism up on his website and aspires to create an actual real-life bimbo finishing school, like he's a super villain or some shit, like the antagonist of every school-set bimbofication story come to life. And unfortunately, he's basically the resource for bimbofication online. I have to assume not everyone that follows his guides reads all his posts and FAQ but its more than disappointing to have a transphobe be one of the main vanguards of this fetish today.

Anyway, I can't recommend Celestina's video enough. Its a bit long but all worth watching and has made the prospect of writing this book exciting again. I would suggest this video of hers too:

Post-script: After over an hour of writing all of this I realized I actually did something extremely stupid here. Celestina follows me on here, possibly one of the first people to follow me. I kept wondering why one of her icons looked so familiar and it took me until literally just now to figure it out. I hope she doesn't mind the plug, because you all should follow her too!

@celestinablooms Twitter Instagram

[rithmeres]

yes, the plans that i could not share with you (because the haters would sabotage me) were that i was taking on LACC in my vash getup :)

i have so few pictures of myself but i got so many compliments (especially on my arm) and plenty of other people took pictures of me. and normally i don't like attention but i will be honest with u. under these circumstances i loved it. my arm held up really well through 8 hours on the convention floor and i have never been prouder of anything i've made. it's articulated incredibly well, no part of it gave out or required repair, it's never uncomfortable or a nuisance to wear, and i have enough range of motion to do relatively complex things like tying my shoes.

originally i was not planning to try to meet anyone famous because 1) it's expensive and 2) the lines are long and 3) i feel weird and annoying approaching literally anyone for any reason BUT. the spot where i met up with my sister just happened to be right next to johnny yong bosch's table. right when he started signing things. so i said LOL ok i'll do it.

it was super chill, i asked him how it felt to get the call that they wanted him to come back 20 years later for a trigun reboot and he said it almost didn't happen -- that since they recast everyone else for stampede they considered recasting vash as well (and i said WOW i'm so glad they didn't) and he said he really enjoyed getting to come back and explore a darker take (i forget if what he said was a darker take on vash's character, or just a darker trigun in general) but it was briefly surprising 2 me that he considered stampede to be a darker version but i get it, especially when u consider that there is not a lot of comedy in those 12 episodes to balance out the grief.

ANYWAY he was impressed with my arm and i asked him if he would sign my coat :) so he signed the lining but he was also like u know what, i'm gonna give you a second autograph just because. so he signed a print for me as well (free of charge!!) and the print with the blue signature matches my famous paintings that i always film in front of (that's providence baybee)

other stuff from the con under the cut

cosplay notes:

i saw 3 other vash cosplayers (a 98 vash, a stampede vash, and a purple coat vash) and no shade but i definitely had the best arm build. peace and love to all of them though

i saw 1 1/2 wolfwoods. 1 was the aforementioned mullet wolfwood from yesterday's post (ww if you’re out there ww) and the 1/2 was the 98 vash cosplayer’s gf in some kind of goth-ish dress and she was carrying a punisher

mullet wolfwood if you're out there i regret not getting a picture with you so much. i am deeply ashamed and i have no excuse because i ran into you twice and both times i was too embarrassed to ask for a picture. i just want you to know that your punisher was swag and your earrings were yolo and we would look very good together

i expected to see a lot more trigun tbh. los angeles where u at. 4 vashies at a convention of 120,000+ people is nothing. one guy even walked up to me like wow i love ur vash, i haven't seen a lot of trigun at this con and i was like I KNOW i thought i'd see a lot more

theeeee costume of all time award goes to the cad bane cosplayer i saw on the balcony. spare hand in marriage dude (gn) you looked so good

second place for costume of all time goes to the other mother cosplayer who had button eyes and these crazy finger appendages and never once broke character even while waiting in lines

i took 100 points of psychic damage from this one guy who (and im not kidding) was at least 6’4’’ and wearing platform boots and was dressed as the mfing onceler. with the stupid top hat he was fr 7+ feet tall (i saw him duck to get through a doorway).

someone was there as the brawny paper towel guy?? just walking around in a beard and flannel carrying a pack of paper towel rolls?? go off king

i saw 5 nightwing cosplayers but only 2 were biblically accurate (had ass)

the nanami sweep at this convention was so real u all SHOWED UP. and everybody ate. i saw at least 12 nanamis and not one of them was a flop.

i have never seen so many spider-mans in my life

other things:

fig. 1: this extremely hot captain america on a very large poster was about 2 make me act unwise. hi gorjus................................. nice eyebrows

fig 2: i saw this sign a couple blocks away from the con and i did a triple take. 🔥🔥🔥TRIMAX MENTIONED🔥🔥🔥

fig. 3: i saw all 4 hobbits in panel and can confirm elijah wood’s laugh is ten times more infectious in real life. before they were even done sitting down, dominic monaghan switched around all of their name cards so that none of them were seated behind the right name. as u might imagine much of the panel's content was reminiscing about LOTR, but i heard some stories that i hadn't heard before. they also talked about video games, other projects they are working/have worked on, how their kids feel about their dads' LOTR roles, how much they love ian mckellen, and how they would love to see something happen for the 20th anniversary of ROTK this year. sean astin (the legend) took shots at the stranger things writers (basically said joyce could never be happy with hopper) AND EVERYONE CLAPPED LOL. billy and dom talked about the best food in NZ, their show billy and dom eat the world, and the unfortunate events that led to the friendship onion's hiatus. it was a ton of fun to just watch them be themselves with each other, you can tell that these guys are all so fond of each other and love each other so much.

and finally, fig. 4: i bought these beautiful prints from @/batinyourbelfry and the skeletal washi tape from @/skeletalacademia (both on IG)

[halfnekoslair]

Whining post)

Have another photo from earlier today. >w< Seriously, why is it so dark? During the daytime? On the balcony?

Short: Yes, I plan to make them for sale. But I can't say when. I don't know myself.

Long:

I've been thinking about this question for some time. And I think yes. I should sell these guys in the future. But this will not be a quick process. I have to find out and try a lot of things.

I thought about selling 3D files, but I abandoned this idea. I just don't want to do this. I understand that this may be more convenient for people around the world. But I'm not ready to let this project run free without my supervision.

I just spent too much time and materials on this. Mainly due to my inexperience. But still...

So the plan is to make the dolls myself. I think.

I've been in the BJD hobby for a long time. But I left it a few years ago because it no longer felt right.

So I've lost track of what doll prices are nowdays. Especially 3D printed ones. And the varnish I used before doesn’t seem to be around anymore. All my paints are already dry. I don't have many tools that I used to have anymore.

I also need to find a resin that is good for printing articulated dolls. The one I'm testing now is pretty good for my taste. A few scratches are visible only because I dyed resin a very dark green. It looks similar for dark skintone dolls as I remember.

But if you know and can advise something, I will be very glad.

Overall I need more test prints. More materials. More tools. More time to work on my rusty skills. Before I am confident enough in my product. In short: more money >w< Ahaha stupid adult life.

I'm currently working on vtuber model commissions. Drawing and Rigging.

And I think I'm in the burnout stage. I'm so done with it! I just don't want to wake up in the morning to do this... I hope no one from my other pages reads this hahaha...

So I sincerely dream of jumping into something else from drawing.

But not today) I still need the funds to put it into my other projects before I can even begin to imagine if any of it can make a difference.

Thank you for attention)