#Musings: Pimple

[muses-inn]

Pimple does a lot of bottling-up and has a violent history, but he is shaped like a giant friend most of all. If your muse approaches him friendly, he'll do necklaces with them, hang out together, stargazing, meditating and generally just being there to have a good time.

[alchemistdetective]

"Chat, I'm scared-"

[mistyechoes]

ououghhigufhfhhbt. my ear.

[myjealouseyes]

Request from 🦄 anon: Wolfstar!daughter asks Lily about when she realized she had feelings for James because Wolfstar!daughter is starting to have feelings for Harry

A/N: I genuinely feel so bad for making you wait so long for these requests 😭 I hope you enjoy! (there’s not really an ending because I got stuck kind of. Might come back and fix it later.)

Send requests here.

Lily had always been a staple in your life. The first woman you’d ever looked up to, the one who talked you through the initial embarassment about your menstrual cycle, and the one who taught you how to efficiently get rid of a pimple so it wouldn’t scar. She was a like a really cool aunt and mother figure wrapped into one. Despite all of this it’s still a little embarassing to ask her for dating advice. Especially since the one you could-possibly-maybe be perusing is her son you’ve been best fiends with since forever. Maybe if you left that part out it would make it less flustering.

“So there’s this boy and I think I might like him, but I can’t be sure. S-So I was just wondering…how did you know for sure you lov—liked James?” The words tumble out of your mouth as you tap your teacup and subtly dart your eyes at the window, from which you can clearly hear James and Harry playing backyard quidditch. Man, you hope they stay out there for a while longer.

Lily thinks for a while before giving you a knowing Look. That’s how you know your attempt at hiding had gone right down the drain. She follows it with her typical kindly smile. It says “you don’t have to say it out loud now, but we both know who this is about.” That was so her. Always knowing everything all the time. “Well…as unhelpful as it sounds, you just know.” She takes a thoughtful sip of her tea before continuing. “It took me a while with James. But once it clicked, everything changed in an instant. He walked in, everything would slow down except my heart rate.”

That feeling was definitely familiar to you. Nowadays, all Harry had to do was smile your way and had to fight the urge to fall out on the floor like the lovestruck teenage girl you were positive you were now. You nod her slowly was your brain muses over the idea of being with Harry like your parents and his. It’s…tempting to say the least. To have life with him. Marriage, a family, kids even. You can’t stop a small smile from forming on your lips at the thought.

[juniperdugong]

In Your Dreams - Yoon Jeonghan

Warnings: Suggestive, mentions of "smut" but no actual smut, gn!reader but there's the use of the phrase "ladies' man"

"Hannie...Hannie...Jeonghan"

"Yes? My love. You're right next to me, just say what you want to say, I'm always listening", a slightly annoyed smile formed and curled upwards on his lips before Jeonghan took another slurp of the Shin Ramyun in front of him.

"Lose the attitude babe...", although he doesn't turn Jeonghan knows when you're glaring lasers into his head, he's claimed it's been his "superpower" since you've gotten together.

"You know I could never y/n - anyways as you were telling me..."

"Right! As I was telling you, look at this." A small scoff escaped your lips as you shoved your phone in front of Jeonghan's face. His eyes take a second to focus before he slumps his shoulders and looks at you with defeated eyes.

A large sigh comes from him as he speaks between chews, "Why are you looking at that?".

"I was just curious what Carats think of you these days, is all" A mischievous smile on your lips as you muse at him.

"That is not an accurate way to find that answer and you know that. Plus, I'm eating! How could you shove that in my face when I'm literally stuffing my face? Love."

"I'm not the one eating and you NEVER talk to me when you're eating, I have to entertain myself some how hannie."

"But with Smut? Of me?"

"C'mon~ It's funny!"

"It's not y/n..."

"Yes, it is! They think you're so nasty~!"

Another defeated and angry look is shot your way as he takes a spoonful of rice, dips it into the broth, and then shovels it into his mouth.

"Like I said not a good way to find what Carats think of me. If you really want to know you should look on Twitter or something, babe."

"But that's no fun" You give a small pout and he can't resist leaning over to give you a quick peck to make it disappear before his eyes.

There's a pause before the mischievous smile now spreads on his face with his little devilish squint in his eyes, "Or."

"Or..."

"Or you're showing me that stuff because you want me to do that to you..." His eyes meet yours and now you're the one with the disgruntled expression. A giggle from him turns into a laugh as you lightly punch his chest.

"As if, Yoon Jeonghan...Seriously, in your dreams" You let out a harsh scoff as you turn your head and roll your eyes in annoyance.

"No baby...In your dreams." He waits for you to turn back towards him before attempting to give you a wink.

"Oh woah, look at Mr. Seducer here everyone! A real ladies' man, Y'know I wonder if Carats know how much of a loser you are Han." This time you give him a smirk with your sarcastic tone.

"Loser! Ha, never been a loser. I win the games, I win the awards..." He starts listing things off on his fingers, slowly inching towards you before grabbing your shoulders and turning you to fully face him. "And I win the most wonderful person in the world to share my life with."

You roll your eyes but your mouth betrays you as it curls into a smile.

"See and I keep the love of my life smiling too~ I never lose."

"Shut up, Hannie."

Another giggle comes from him before he finishes the last bit of food before him. Well satisfied he leans back into his chair, gives out a big huff, and pats his stomach.

You're still scrolling on your phone when Jeonghan leans over and encircles your waist with his arms before resting his chin on your shoulder.

A whisper reaches your ear and you can practically hear the smile that accompanies the words, "I think you secretly do want me to do that stuff with you y/n..."

"Yah! Yoon Jeonghan!"

{If you're interested in being on the Taglist for my Seventeen works please let me know!!}

{A/N: Just a quick thing I wrote in like 2hrs between watching Bridgerton lol. This was supposed to include a pimple patch at some point (iykyk) but then I kept writing and it never happened lmao, my hands and my mind do not communicate, the story writes itself most times. Anyway...thanks for all the love my loves! Requests are open as of me posting this btw!}

[ddejavvu]

i’ve been thinking abt this for weeks and i need to tell someone (and if you’d like to write a lil blurb based of this that would be lovely- no pressure tho)

dating spencer and noticing that every once in a while he gets really into playing with your boobs, you can’t figure out why so u ask him and he gets super embarrassed and admits that he’s actually been checking to see if you have any suspicious lumps in your breasts because he’s never seen you check yourself even though you should be, and he wasn’t sure how to bring it up to you so he just did it himself

he’s so sweet ik he would take such good care of his gf :(( i love him :(((

Let it be known, Spencer Reid is a boob guy. They're his pillows, they're his pacifiers, and lately, they've been his stress toys. Every few weeks Spencer decides that your tits are his new plaything, slipping a hand under your shirt during pajama/movie night to squeeze and knead at the flesh there. You hadn't minded it, of course, but you're a little amused at the concentration he applies to the task.

It must be stress-relieving, you decide, so you'll let him have his coping method. However, this time he pinches slightly firm at a patch of skin on your left breast, and you squirm.

"Ow!" You hiss, cupping the underside of your boob and halfheartedly glaring at him, "Jesus, Spence, they're not made of foam. They hurt."

"Sorry! Sorry," He frowns, peering at the aching tissue, "I- uh, I just.. has that always been there?"

"What? My boob?" You chuckle, "Yeah, I've had it for a while."

"No there's, a-" He squints, reaching out to gingerly squeeze the spot again, "A lump there. Is it a pimple?"

"Oh!" You frown, feeling the spot for yourself, "Yeah. It was a pimple. I popped it yesterday."

"Okay." He seems relieved, shoulders slumping, "Sorry again."

"It's fine," You wave his apology away, "Were you.. checking me?"

"Yeah," He admits sheepishly, cheeks aflame as if you'd accused him of a terrible crime, "I just.. I never really see you check, so I thought-?"

"I check sometimes," You muse, recalling the way your hands slide over your bubble-covered chest in the shower, feeling around for lumps and bumps periodically, but not as often as you should, "That's.. really sweet of you, Spencer."

He flushes impossibly worse at that, his hands sliding out from under your shirt and encircling your waist instead.

"I just want you to be healthy."

You know he doesn't say it, but there's a lingering fear there. This isn't a sickness that he can nurse away with chicken noodle soup, and you know his anxieties unnerve him about losing you. You reach a hand up to cup his cheek, his other one pressed against your head.

"I am," You promise, letting him tug you closer over the blankets, "And if I'm not, we'll get through it together."

"Together," He agrees, tilting his head to kiss the crown of your own, "Together sounds good."

[comphy-and-cozy]

oh I have a marty thot for sure! I’ve been thinking about riding his thigh while he sits back and just watches, kinda unimpressed at the show and telling you “you can do better than that, can’t you?”

Earn It

Pairing: Matt Martin x sugar baby!reader (f)

Universe: sugar daddy Marty

Word Count: 3k

Warnings: Smut (18+ ONLY). Sugar daddy/baby dynamic, lap dance, semi-public/risque sex, unprotected sex, hair pulling, choking, mild degradation, creampie, a little bit of cum play (lmao jfc).

Fridays are supposed to be celebratory; the end of the week, welcoming in a few days off to relax and reset. What they’re not supposed to be are stressful, non-stop, chaotic. 

Yet here you are, already thinking about the large glass of wine you’re going to pour yourself when you get home; the only decision you’re planning to make for the rest of the night is red or white. 

Setting your keys into the bowl on the table beside the door, you eye the pristine leather sneakers next to your shoe rack, but make no move to greet the person you already know is waiting on the couch. You knew you’d regret having the extra key made for him, that he’d show up unannounced like a poorly-timed pimple, but it’s not like you really could say no—not when you consider that he all but pays your rent. 

When you round the corner, bag left on the quartz countertop (an upgrade he insisted on when you were signing your new lease), you finally offer him your attention.

“Aren’t you a sight for sore eyes,” he muses, glancing up from where he’s scrolling on his phone. You do your best to mask the shiver that runs down your spine when his eyes lock with yours. Based on the smirk that quirks up on his face, you’d wager a guess that you did a poor job of it.

“Hi, Matty,” you say. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“You need a new dress for the charity gala,” he drawls. 

“I do, do I?”

He ignores your attitude, standing up to walk over to the island and setting the invitation in front of you. You glance it over, admiring the thick, black cardstock and gold foil detailing the casino-themed event taking place at UBS Arena next month.

“Black tie attire,” you hum. “I don’t have anything that’s black-tie appropriate.”

“That’s why you need a new dress.”

“And that’s why you’re here right now, sitting on my couch after a day from hell, full of back-to-back meetings, am I correct?”

Matt smiles again. “Already have a bubble bath going for you, my little brat. I’ll be here tomorrow at 9 to pick you up.”

You feel a little guilty for the sass, smiling bashfully at him as he plants a sweet kiss on your cheekbone on his way to the door. “Lock up behind me, darlin’.”

Goddamn him. Always knowing exactly how to charm you to get you to bend to his every will—but not without giving him the kind of attitude that makes his dick hard. A fair tradeoff, in your opinion.

That’s why you work, why your dynamic makes your relationship feel so smooth and seamless and… perfect. Except the part where he’s paying you to fuck him.

Either way, it’s how you find yourself walking along Fifth Avenue, following Matt as he leads you into stores with price tags that intimidate you so much, your cheeks get hot. He lets you browse on your own, warming you up a bit, picking out a few items for work along with a new Yves Saint Laurent purse.

Purchase after purchase. Item after item. The ease with which Matt whipped out his thick, black credit card—you know, the heavy ones that just feel luxurious—almost physically pains you as you try to do the mental math of what he’d spent today.

Finally, you follow him to the dresswear section of Bergdorf Goodman’s, admiring the ease with which he carries the multiple bags in his large hands. You feel well and truly spoiled, thinking to yourself that the dark green lace set he purchased at Fleur du Mal will come in handy later when it comes time to show your gratitude.

“This dress,” he murmurs against your temple, pressing an affectionate kiss to your skin as the fitting room attendant readies a room for you. “I want everyone there to imagine fucking you out of it.”

At this point, you’re used to his blunt and sometimes crude nature, but that doesn’t stop your skin from heating at his crass words. You can’t deny the warmth that radiates between your legs, though, at the thought of him showing you off, claiming you as his, publicly. And, well, how are you supposed to say no to him buying you a dress that’s worth more than your groceries for the month?

The selection is enormous, and you find yourself overwhelmed by the options—lace, chiffon, silk, crepe—all of it doesn’t mean much to you, so you rely on your stylist to select a few options that complement your body type. Matt sits quietly in the corner of the fitting room, watching you try on dress after dress, making barely any comment other than an occasional hum.

When the stylist leaves you to contemplate your options, you glance over your reflection, at the Alex Perry gown that stares back at you. It’s the first dress that feels right, and you can’t help the feeling of excited anticipation that fills your chest when you think about wearing it beside Matt at the gala. Maybe he’d wear that delicious gray suit that you like, the one you almost stained permanently humping his thigh like a fucking dog in heat.

“Is this the one you want?”

You do a final spin in the mirror, checking the various angles and standing on your toes to imitate your height in heels. It’ll need to be altered a bit, but you’re pleased with the way it fits your body and, more importantly, the way it makes you feel luxurious. With your nod, Matt leans forward and glances at the price tag hanging out of the back. His eyes flick to yours in the mirror, and you stew in discomfort for the few seconds before he’s sitting back, apparently approving of the price.

A wide smile forms on your face, feeling a bit like a child on Christmas morning at your excitement. You like Matt for far more than his wallet, but you can’t deny that it feels nice to be spoiled by him, to feel lavished by his gifts and special treatment. 

“Think it’s time for you to say thank you, don’t you?” 

Matt’s low purr snaps you out of your thoughts, eyes focusing back on the navy silk material that’s hugging your body. The corset bodice keeps you tucked in, accentuating the curve of your breasts, fabric draped across your middle and fastened in place with a large, glittering piece. But the real attention-grabber is the slit on the left side that goes up to your hip, revealing almost your entire leg.

You cast a glance at him in the mirror, a flutter in your chest when you see the way his eyes rake in your reflection. He hums, and though he told you it was your decision, you’re pleased that he likes what he sees.

“Thank you, Matty,” you say, batting your eyelashes at him. You lean forward and press a kiss against his lips, warm and soft—the kind you could fall into with ease. He smiles, crooked and patronizing as he tsks.

“Oh, sweetheart, you know that isn’t good enough. Look at all these bags—all for you. I think I deserve more gratitude than that, hm?”

The hidden meaning of his velvet words are enough to make you shiver, your heart chilling as you realize what he wants. His eyes glitter as he watches you, sees the recognition on your face and the hitch in your throat. 

Your voice is hoarse as you whisper, “Here?”

Matt blinks, lazily, with a raised eyebrow, like he’s challenging to you to deny him. Of course you can’t, and he knows it. He leans back on the bench, his back resting against the wall and his legs spread comfortably. It’s a silent invitation, one you can’t refuse, and you find yourself moving to sit in his lap with a shaky gulp.

His hands weave their way to your hips, warm through the material of your jeans. “Good girl.”

With just the right amount of pressure, he encourages you to move your waist, swaying your hips as your ass brushes against his groin. He’s half hard, the bulge firm against you as you set a rhythm, listening for any other customers entering the dressing rooms nearby. The classy elevator music hums softly through the speakers while the silk covering your ass glides against his slacks in a filthy narrative.

A low hum of approval sounds from Matt’s chest, eyes glued to the way you work your hips. It isn’t long before you’re glancing behind you, meeting his eyes as he regards you with his easy, lazy gaze. Beneath the firm press of your ass, you can feel him hardening as the tick of your heartbeat increases in your throat. His signature smirk slides its way onto his face, smug, soaking in the fact that he’s got you wrapped around his finger, willing to do practically anything he asks you.

It isn’t long before he’s stiff, solid beneath you, and you feel an involuntary throb at the size of him. Every moment, you remain vigilant, ears perked for voices—or worse, the sound of someone’s gasp. It reflects in your movements, not lackluster but certainly not to your usual level of enthusiasm. There’s something about him when he’s like this—cocky confidence rolling off of him in waves, his gaze heating your skin—that drives you desperately, deliciously wild, a feral urge in you snatching control of your conscience.

But not right now. And he knows it.

He hums, displeased, and you have a split moment to register his disappointment before he’s purring, “Sweetheart, I think you can do better than that, can’t you?”

The velvet of his voice strokes the flame inside you, sending a wave of warmth between your thighs. Another throb against the stiffness under your ass. His hands remain at his sides, not offering any assistance. You can practically feel his lazy gaze on your ass, waiting patiently for you to react.

He senses your hesitation, knows the reason you’re timid—waiting for the fitting room attendant to come back at any minute and discover the lewd situation unfolding. So he changes his approach, voice honeyed and silky smooth. “Look at that gorgeous dress. Y’look fucking stunning in it, baby. But you gotta earn it, darlin’.”

You meet his gaze in the reflection of the mirror, see the glitter in them that tells you he’s serious, accepting the small nod he gives you. Bracing your hands on his meaty thighs, you resume your movements, pressing yourself into his groin with more force.

Matt’s words echo in your head as you work him—and yourself—into a frenzy. Earn it. He didn’t specify what his… end goal was, but from the glint in his eye you think it’s safe to assume it’s more than just a clothed lap dance in the middle of the dressing room. 

How you ended up half-naked, thong tugged to the side, hands bracing yourself against the wall of the fitting room, you’re not sure; all you really know is the feeling of Matt’s weight behind you, so tall his face is almost out of your view in the mirror’s reflection. He’s not looking at you, instead focused on tapping the head of his erection against your ass.

You bite your lip to stifle a whine, staring at him in the hopes he’ll offer you just a glance so you can beg him silently to please, put it in. Eventually, he does, sees the desperation pooling in your eyes and chuckles smugly, pleased at the rash desire he finds in them.

“Arch it for me, sweet girl.”

Obeying, you press your ass out toward him, thinking you’d break your back right here, right now, if it meant he’d provide you with some relief. His warm palm presses against your spine, encouraging you to go further, and he hums in approval at the view you present him: expensive dress bunched over the swell of your hips, ass out, pussy dripping, eyes wanton and pleading with him in the mirror.

“You want it?” he asks, his voice so low you strain to hear it.

You’re almost embarrassed at how fast you nod, not wanting to waste any time. He smirks again, and you know he’s biting back the urge to tease you, instead just offering, in all its simplicity: “Slut.”

There’s a brief moment where he allows his words to sink in, a flood of arousal seeping out of your bare, uncovered core, threatening to drip onto the faded wood flooring of the dressing room. You’re grateful that he didn’t make you beg—he usually does—but then he’s pressing into you without warning and a loud cry leaves your lips.

Your hand slaps over your mouth to muffle the sound, but he’s already gotten what he wants out of you, a more than obvious admission of the debauchery occurring just inside the fitting room. Instead, he focuses on the warm wetness enveloping his dick, watching the way your cunt sucks him in, greedy.

Despite his reckless attitude, he’s aware of the slap of his hips against your ass, and instead of jackhammering into you the way he wants to, he’s opted for hard, deep, slow thrusts; hard enough to have a soft, involuntary sigh every time he sheaths himself to the hilt inside of you. It’s the opposite of a quickie (even though that’s exactly what this is); instead, he’s diligent, indulging himself in the feeling of your tight walls throbbing around his length. 

All things considered, you’re pleased with the minimal amount of noises sounding from your stall; though your body shivers when you hear the low groan rumble in his chest. With a glance in the mirror, you can see the way he’s watching himself pull out of your cunt, biting his lip at the sight.

Matt offers a light slap of his tip against your lips before he’s jutting his hips forward, subtly, to rub his length against your clit. The sensation makes you shiver, the slickness of his shaft sliding against the tender button, and you feel the shockwaves coursing through you at the movement. 

With his free hand, he gathers your hair in his fist and yanks backward, arching your back until your head is resting against his chest. The sharp pain melds into pleasure, loving the way he knows exactly how to take control over your body to have you dizzy with lust. Hot breath fans over your ear, soft and subtle pants puffing air down your neck. “Fuck yourself on it, baby.”

His warm fingers press into your hips, urging you to move; you do, seeking out that delicious tingle when the fat tip of his cock brushes against your clit, running between your folds. You hear the pleased hum in your ear, quiet, and then the chuckle that follows when he slips into you, a loud gasp leaving your lips.

“Fuck, sweetheart,” he murmurs with a low groan. “So fucking wet for me, just the way I like it.”

Matt urges you to keep going, biting back another moan at the feeling of him being buried inside you. Your hips roll him in and out of you, and Matt’s hand trails over your ribcage, groping your breast on its way up to finally land at your throat, fingers curling around the base and squeezing. “Makin’ too much noise. Someone’s gonna hear you, and then I won’t get to flood this pretty little cunt with cum, will I?”

Swallowing the urge to whine with need, you shake your head, trying to tell him with your eyes how badly you want that. His lips press softly against the place where your shoulder meets your neck, keeping eye contact with you through the mirror while he angles his hips in search of the spot that’s going to have you dribbling down your legs. He knows he’s reached it by the way your mouth falls open, your brows scrunching in pleasure when the nudge of him against your g-spot has your eyes fluttering shut.

He hums again, and you know he’s pleased—both with himself for reading your body like his favorite book, and with you for being obediently quiet. The hand around your neck tightens while the forceful punch of Matt’s hips grows more intentional, aiming for precision rather than speed.

The smirk in the mirror, flashed in your direction is enough to make you shiver in his arms. “You think you can stay quiet while you come for me? Hmm?”

You’re trapped—can’t nod, can’t speak, barely hanging onto your last shred of control before you’re succumbing to the release that rips through you. Your legs shake, lungs scrambling for breath as the wave crashes over you, hands clutching the wall in search of purchase. Tears prick at the rims of your eyes, blurring your vision. 

Matty’s eyes glitter as he pulls out of you, grinning when he hears the slickness between your legs. 

“Love it when she purrs for me.”

It’s only when you feel hot liquid oozing out of you that you realize he met his climax, too, burying the evidence deep within your core. Your shaky legs clench together in an effort to prevent his cum from seeping down your legs and onto the floor.

Matt’s hands linger on your sides to make sure you’re steady before he’s tugging your panties back in place and swooping the dress back over your hips. He hums at the creamy drips on the inside of your thighs, swiping up to collect it on his finger. You don’t even have to be told to open your mouth, eyes fluttering shut when he presses the salty mixture onto your tongue. He hums when your lips close around the digit, sucking it clean before he releases it with a pop.

His eyes are still dark when he presses the call button on the wall with a crooked grin, and when the attendant knocks gently on the door, he says simply, “We’ll take the dress.”

[queercanon13]

The Karma music video is packed with queer and sapphic themes. But what’s with that yellow beret?

We all watched the Karma music video on Friday (or Saturday), right? And then we all watched it ten more times because there IS JUST SO MUCH THERE. Right?!

I can’t even begin to unpack the whole thing yet, but let’s talk about the yellow brick road scene.

Taylor is obviously wearing ruby slippers (“the rubies that I gave up”) alluding to Dorothy/the Wizard of Oz. But she’s not wearing the rest of Dorothy’s getup. That’s because she’s not Dorothy, but in fact a friend of Dorothy.

She’s holding a broom (lots of witchy themes from her lately) and blows a kiss of blue (iykyk) glitter to three grim reapers (the two SBs and…?).

She’s keeping her side of the street clean, which harkens to the YNTCD MV where she clearly shows which side of the street she’s on:

Other things of note: it appears there are daisies embroidered on her collar, as well as growing along the yellow brick road. Her braids are also looped (“your braids make a pattern”).

The yellow brick road itself may be a nod to Elton John and his album/song Goodbye Yellow Brick Road. Here are some of the lyrics from that song, as well as a generally accepted analysis of the lyrics:

&

Seems like it would be super relatable to Taylor, right? Add in Elton John’s queerness/coming out journey, and the parallels continue.

There are probably a hundred other things I’m missing just from that scene alone, but what I really wanna talk about is the yellow beret, especially in light of current news surrounding Taylor.

When I saw the yellow beret, I furiously googled “yellow beret” + the names of Taylor’s muses, but I came up empty-handed. Because Taylor is specifically not wearing a Dorothy costume, I knew that fucking hat had to mean something. Then I remembered — isn’t yellow beret a military term? And we know she loves a good war story. To Google I went, and the results did not disappoint.

During the Vietnam war, all physicians in the US had a mandatory draft order. One of the ways to avoid the draft was to apply for a position with a Public Health Service program called the NIH Associates Training Program. Because the elite program was highly competitive, only a small percentage of doctors were able to serve their required military time without going to war.

Yellow beret was a self-deprecating and derogatory term used by and for doctors who avoided getting a green beret/going to war (yellow can be associated with cowardice, i.e. “yellow-bellied”) via the NIH program.

Sounding familiar? But wait there’s more.

Bob Seger wrote a song in 1966 called The Ballad of the Yellow Beret. It was written as a parody of the song The Ballad of the Green Berets. Here are some of the lyrics (I encourage you to read all of them!):

Verse 1: Fearless cowards of the USA // Bravely here at home they stay // They watch their friends get shipped away // The draft dodgers of the Yellow Beret

Okay, I’m seated.

Verse 3: Men who faint at the sight of blood // Their high-heeled boots weren't meant for mud // The draft board will hear their sob stories today // Only the best win the yellow beret

Oooookay.

Verse 4: Back at home a young wife waits // Her yellow beret has met his fate // He's been drafted for marching in a protest //Leaving her his last request

Are you screaming yet? Just wait.

Verse 5: Put a yellow streak down my son's back // Make sure that he never ever fights back // At his physical have him say he's gay // Have him win the yellow beret

And if that wasn’t enough, two of the last lyrics are “I've got a pimple on my trigger finger” (ew) and “well, we were planning on having children sometime soon” (devastating). These themes also align with The Great War, epiphany, etc.

But despite attempts to diminish their efforts through claims of cowardice, these “yellow beret” physician-scientists contributed to some of the most important and innovative medical research we have today. Dr. Fauci attended the training program, as well as nine others who went on to win Nobel Prizes.

Could it be that Taylor is trying to tell us that, while it looks like she dodged the draft (didn’t come out), she’s doing some important mastermind shit behind the scenes? Only time will tell, but since we are now at “dawn,” I believe daylight is soon to follow. ☀️

[treedaddymcpuffpuff]

imagine… julian mercer x fem reader ; tw(blood, fear, nsfw), dr julian is not what he seems. chase gif by @scarlettspectra

on a lovely getaway to a very secluded cabin in the mountains.

you get inside, marveling and cooing about the woody fresh bookcase that seems to be stocked with all your favorite reads, the sprawling kitchen with the skylight that illuminates the cozy boho theme—he’s even bought some new plants for you, and no doubt the fridge is prepared with chicken and cream and fresh veggies so he can conjure a delicious meal tonight with those magic hands.

your boyfriend is just short of a saint. holds doors open, cooks and cleans, carries both suitcases, takes your strappy sandals off for you and places them by the doorway. the just short part entails the way he fucks, or rather the way he prefers to have you while fucking. you’re starting to really like it, though, being tied up to his bed and at his total mercy even if maybe he bites or smacks or pinches too hard sometimes.

“what would you like to do, darling?” he asks, wrapping his arms around your waist from behind and kissing the top of your head. “we could watch a spooky movie, go for a hike, take a bath, hm?”

you giggle at him, and it feels strange in your throat. not because it’s not genuine, but because before him you weren’t such a girlish, blushing idiot. of course, before him you genuinely also thought you could win a fight. but when he’s pinning you down effortlessly with one big hand wrapped around both your wrists, it’s hard to keep that confidence hot.

“let’s watch a creepy movie,” you suggest. “not too scary, though.”

“oh, honey,” he coos, playfully nipping at your cartilage. “i’ll protect you from the monsters.”

“you promise?” you ask, batting your eyelashes at him, playing along. “you won’t let them eat me?”

“the only monster that’s going to be eating you is me,” he grumbles against your hairline, somehow encapsulating soothing and terrifying with his voice all at once. shivers pimple over your skin, and he laughs at the squirming you don’t realize you’re doing.

seems he likes that idea—eating you—because his teeth gnash the air right above your jugular, and for some reason you have the vivid vision of him ripping it out of your neck and juicy red blood spurting over the polished oak walls.

you push him away, laughing nervously, backing up towards the couch. “julian, we just got here.”

he takes a long minute to roll the sleeves of his crisp button down up, putting on a show with those beautiful thick forearms. “you’re right,” he says, his eyes shiny black, wet and hungry. “how silly of me, to forget that it needs to be christened properly.”

“j-julian,” you warn through bubbling nervous giggles, hand up in front of you in flimsy self defense. too slow, too late. he’s inching forward, eyes narrowed, sly cat grin sitting so sinisterly on his handsome face.

he lets you get to the bed before he tackles you, those long legs tangling with yours, his hips pressing you down into the give of the pillowy mattress.

hysterical laughter screams and dies in your throat, paving way for little breathy whines and huffs when he pins your hands up above your head. “oh, come on.”

“i plan to,” he muses, sizing you up, “just where is the question.” he pretends to look at your for a minute and really think about it, eyes taking in everywhere from your painted toes to your pretty puffed cheeks. “hmm, what do you think honey? maybe your tits? or perhaps the soft little tummy she tries to hide from me—oh no, don’t you pout…you want me to bruise your ass or cum on it?”

“julian,” you admonish, eyes unable to keep his own as such filthy words roll off his posh tongue.

“oh,” he murmurs, pitch dropping your heart into your stomach. “i think i have a better idea.”

you look back at him, and his grin has flipped on a sharp axis. his face is strangely calm, eyes wide and unblinking, matte black. you worry for a minute that you’ve fallen into some mirror world, some upside down alternate reality where your boyfriend has turned into a statue that will keep you pinned on this bed until your heart beats it’s finale and your body rots to bone.

when your friends and family used to balk about your overactive imagination, they were never really wrong. that’s why you can’t trust yourself when you get too afraid of julian, when you start thinking he’s not so nice—because he is, and he’s never done anything to prove you wrong. jesus, the poor guy just can’t catch a break around you.

julian begins operating again, like someone slipped a coin into his slot, face starting in a slow upturn that hastens your heartbeat. he tilts his head at you, and it would look adorable in another circumstance.

no, you’re being ridiculous. julian is your boyfriend, probably the love of your life, if you’re being honest. he’s perfect. a man that could have been a famous actor, with women throwing themselves at his feet, and playgirl magazine begging him for a front cover spread. instead, he chose to help people, get his hands dirty and become one of the best doctors on long island’s golden coast. so what, he likes kinky shit. we all have our vices.

“we should play a game,” he suggests. you feel him shaking on top of you, and quickly realize it’s because he’s excited, adrenalized, giddy.

eager to please, you smile timidly. “oh yeah?”

“hide and seek,” he tells you, leaning down to lay a soft kiss on your top lip. “make our own little horror flick—x rated, of course.”

“who’s hiding and who’s seeking?” you ask.

he chuckles, and it ties your belly up in knots. your brain doesn’t know whether to be scared or turned on, so it settles for a torturous mixture of both. “noes goes.”

he keeps both your wrists pinned above your head with one of his hands while he touches his index finger to his own perfect nose. “looks like you’re hiding.”

“jerk!” you laugh, squirming under him. “and what do I get if I win, huh?”

“when i win,” he teases, running his pointer across the goose flesh on your collar. “i get to do what i want to you, whatever i want.”

“and if i win?” you ask.

his smile widens just a little too much at that silly notion. “same deal.”

getting to tie him up and pay him back for some of the wicked things he’s done to you doesn’t sound too bad, and you did excel at this game as a kid…

“deal,” you say.

tbc…

this is all thanks to @johnwickb1tsch and @sweetwolfcupcake for being diabolical gremlins. please, anyone feel free to continue… 😈

[forlorn-crows]

one time someone asked me for a little something about cirrus and mountain's friendship. i don't know where that ask ran off to, but. tagging @askingforthesun bc i think i mentioned this to you randomly one day.

sometimes cirrus asks mountain to help her shave. gives them a chance to spend some alone time together and catch up. slice of life & banter for a sleepy sunday.

words: 680

“Ah, there it is,” Mountain hums, running his thumb along the newly shaven patch of skin.

“There’s what?”

“Your cute little mole.”

“Oh,” Cirrus snorts, thwacking him with the end of her tail. 

“Whaaat,” Mountain complains. He swishes the razor in the dish of water on the nightstand, laying it on the towel so he can go back to admiring the little blobby heart-like mark nestled in the fold of her upper thigh. “I love it. One of my favorite kissy spots.” The earth ghoul dips down as if to do just that, only to get a hiss and a face full of feathers.

“Uh uh,” she scolds. “No. You’re gonna give me pimples.” As if Mountain doesn’t already know this.

He sighs dramatically, resting his cheek on the opposite thigh. “Can you blame a ghoul for wanting to kiss such a perfect spot?”

“For an untrimmed bush? Yes. Because we both know once you start, you’re gonna get all horn-dog on me and I’ll be left indecent,” she pouts. 

Mountain tuts and rolls his eyes. “Would not,” he protests. He’s terrible at lying. With a pointed glare, Cirrus says as much. “Okay, maybe I would.”

“You have,” she corrects. “And I am not in the mood.” It’s not malicious, the way she says it. More haughty, teasing, and matter-of-fact, re-settling herself against the pillows with a wriggle of her shoulders. 

Mountain chuckles, placing a kiss to her bare thigh instead. “Alright, darling.” He runs the pads of his fingers lightly over the edge of her hair, feeling for rough spots or stray hairs. Pulls the thin skin to check in the creases too, mentally taking note of where to pick back up. 

“Thank you,” Cirrus chirps, crossing her arms playfully. 

Mountain just smiles and picks up the safety blade again. He shaves carefully along the crease of her thigh, brow furrowing as he concentrates. Cirrus has dark hair, so it’s easy to see, but he always vows to be precise when she’s asked him for help.

He cleans the blade again. “How’s mentoring going?” They’ve been talking about everything and nothing, mainly Cirrus’ newly developed finger joint pain (“So stupid, I’m how old and this vessel is just now deciding to fuck with me?” “You have been going hard on that baby grand recently, though, Cir.” “It’s new, it needs breaking in!” “Little harder on the hands, isn’t it?” “Well–”).

“Aurora?” Mountain hums an affirmative. “She’s . . .” Cirrus interrupts herself with a laugh. “She’s a handful, I won’t lie. In the best of ways.”

“She’s an eager one. Maybe more than Sunshine,” he muses.

“Yes,” she sighs. “So eager. She makes me feel like an old woman sometimes.”

“A wise old owl.” Mountain’s smirk earns him another tail smack. “You are going to make me miss a spot,” he accuses. 

Cirrus ignores him. “She has so much energy. She fits in wonderfully, and Sunny is taking well to mentoring, too. But Lucifer, that inner fire of hers . . . somehow it’s more pronounced than Sunny’s, if that were possible.”

“She’ll mellow out,” Mountain assures. “Sunny did, too. You and Lus have a calming influence.” The earth ghoul sets the razor aside and surveys his work. He hums, considering. “How’s the shape for you? I know you wanted a bit less this time, but I didn’t want to take too much off before I trim.”

“Hmm . . .” She peeks over her torso, assessing. Mountain hands her the mirror so she doesn’t have to crane her neck. She palpates her mound, pulling away hair from the shaved perimeter and spreading her thighs to see the rest. Tilting the mirror this way and that. 

“No, that’s great, sunflower, thank you.” 

“You’re welcome, darling.” Mountain takes the mirror back and trades it out for the comb and scissors. “Same as usual for length?” 

Cirrus nods. “You know I can always bring you my clippers too, right?” 

“Call me old fashioned,” Mountain shrugs. “Sometimes it’s nice to slow down. More time to catch up.” He offers her a smile, one that she mirrors fondly.

“Can’t argue with that.” 

[pixelated-pogues]

Gucci Induced Heartbreak (r.c)

Pairing(s): Rafe Cameron x Reader; JJ Maybank x best friend!reader

Summary: The girl from the Gucci store captivated Rafe's attention, and you never got it back. JJ helps gather the remnants of your broken pieces.

Warnings: Cursing, cheating, angst, asshole Rafe :)

Word Count: 5.7k

A/n: MY WORK IS ORIGINAL AND IS NOT TO BE COPIED OR REPOSTED ELSEWHERE. Be kind. DON'T steal other people's writing, thank you.

Gif Creds: @seredelgi

I wish I was that girl from that Gucci store She never wore any makeup and she owns couture I got pimples where my beauty marks should be I got dry skin on my elbows and knees

I never liked her, wanted to be like her Hate how you look at her, 'cause you never saw me Like I was an arm piece, like I was an ordinary girl

“Rafe, why do we even have to go to Gucci? We’ve had a hundred conversations about how ugly all of their products are. How many times have you insisted that their stuff looks like it’s modeled after the tackiest pieces you’d find in your grandmothers house?” You groan, not understanding why he’s suddenly so interested in a store that he’s always hated. Rafe rolls his eyes at your displeasure, continuing to guide you down the busy street toward Gucci. “Why waste time ogling over things that cost more than your bike?”

“Because, Y/n, there’s a pair of sunglasses that Ward absolutely despises, and I want to buy them for our trip to Boca next week, to piss him off,” he explains, making a point to hold the gaudy door open so that you can walk in. You shoot him a displeased glare, begrudgingly walking past him into the overly air conditioned building, immediately crinkling your nose at the strong scent that wafts into your nose upon entering. The Pogue side of you immediately switches into overdrive at the proper atmosphere of the building. There are countless couples and shoppers ogling over various overpriced products, each of them looking straight out of a vogue magazine with their perfectly pressed clothing and expensive accessories. You can’t help but feel out of place in the vast room, the only sense of normalcy you feel comes from Rafe’s arm slithering around your waist to guide you through various display cases.

“Rafe Cameron, it’s good to see you again,” a sickly sweet voice muses, making the hair on the back of your neck stand up. Your eyes follow the voice, confusion clouding your features due to the unexpected greeting. Your eyes fall on a woman that can’t be much older than you. She’s naturally gorgeous, no sign of makeup adorning her face as she shoots your boyfriend a, much too, friendly smile. Bile rises in your throat at the sight of her inadvertently scanning over Rafe with a hungry expression, completely oblivious to your presence.

"Ah, Marissa, the pleasure is all mine," Rafe's flirtatious tone only adds fuel to your inner fire, confusion coursing through your veins at their being on first name basis. Unsolicited insecurity embeds itself into your chest the longer you witness them staring at each other. The woman's beautiful attributes and unwavering confidence makes the crisp air in the room feel like it's choking you out. You're convinced that if you walked away right now, neither of them would notice, and that fact makes you wish it was possible to combust in the thin air. You suddenly feel very aware of the weight of Rafe's hand on the small of your back, the normally comforting touch feels fiery and tainted against the fabric of your shirt.

"Who's your friend?" Marissa questions, not tearing her eyes away from Rafe's as she nods in your direction. The boldness in her lack of even sparing you a glance only makes you feel smaller and more out of place.

"Girlfriend," you speak before you're able to catch yourself, noticing the way Rafe's hand dropped to his side the second Marissa addressed you. You look in his direction, expecting an introduction, but opt to speak for yourself when he doesn't. "I'm Y/n."

She shoots you an overly cheery grin, reaching to shake your hand. "Y/n, that's a pretty name." You can tell she's being inauthentic by the way her voice grows slightly more shrill as the complement rolls from her tongue. Her focus doesn’t stay on you for too long, her eyes dancing to Rafe again, the insincere complement she’d uttered seemingly wasting away with the passing moments. “Can I help you find anything?” The flirtatious tone comes back the second he’d focus returns to Rafe, making your blood run cold at the way he clearly appears to be eating up her attention.

You willingly become a shadow in the conversation, opting to watching their interaction unfold as though you’re nothing more than an irrelevant fly on the wall. While the flirtatious demeanor and seductive heart eyes she’s pointing at Rafe emit a sour taste in your mouth, all you can focus on are the stars in Rafe’s eyes as he drinks her in. The sudden suspicion that Gucci sunglasses weren’t Rafe's actual intention behind stopping at this god forsaken store hits you like a ton of bricks, making you feel embarrassed by the fact that he dragged you into this interaction with zero regard of how it'd make you feel to see him so engrossed in another girl.

You decide right then and there that you don't like this girl. This apparent goddess, in Rafe's eyes. Yet, the reason for the dislike can't fully be attributed to the way she's shamelessly undressing him with her eyes. While that fact is a valid reason for your dislike in her, a bigger part of you dislikes her because you envy her. You envy the way that Rafe's soaking in her presence, latching onto her every word. You envy the way that he looks at her like she formed the stars in the sky, because he's never looked at you like that. Not even the first time he he'd admitted to being in love with you.

Being in the the presence of another woman that Rafe seemingly idolizes makes him feel like a stranger next to you. Rather than being Y/n Y/l/n, the girl who tamed Rafe Cameron by teaching him what it's like to be loved, in this moment, you feel like a nameless bystander. Nothing more than an ordinary girl. And it leaves you spiraling, standing invisible as they carry on in fruitless conversation.

I wish I was special I'd give all my special Away to a loser Now I'm just a loser

Standing in the Gucci store, silenced by insecurity and frustration, all you can do is feel envious of Marissa while harboring a major resentment for your boyfriend. The entire situation makes you feel ridiculously small, a wave of sadness settling into your chest the longer you remain unaddressed. Everything in you screams at you to move, to at least excuse yourself and pretend to scale the items in the store while the two catch up, but your feet feel glued to the tile floor below them.

Your sadness only grows when self deprecating thoughts begin trickling to the forefront of your mind.

Maybe if I wasn’t entangled in friendships with the Pogues. Maybe if I learned to bite my tongue and smile pretty during business events. Maybe if I let Rafe do whatever he wanted, be it coke, be it dealing, be it getting handsy with other girls at parties. Maybe, just maybe, I’d be deemed as special in his eyes. Maybe I’d have even an inkling of what this girl has that makes her so special. Maybe I wouldn’t be and feel like such a loser. Your brain relents, causing your hands to tremble and your breath to catch in your throat. Your eyes sting with tears of humiliation, but you quickly blink away all evidence of them. The last thing you need is for either of them to catch you getting emotional.

God, Y/n, you’re so pathetic. You scold yourself, forcing a tight-lipped smile when their conversation ends and their focus returns back to you. You notice them that, in the midst of their conversation, Rafe secured the sunglasses he came for. They’re now perched on the edge of his nose as his arm moves to snake around your waist again, the comforting touch feels insincere now that you’ve witnessed the way he looks at her.

“Ready to go,” Rafe asks, glancing down at you the second Marissa walks away to assist another customer.

“Yeah,” you hummed, your voice feeling poisonous on your tongue.

I used to be special But you made me hate me Regret that I changed me I hate that you made Just like you

You gon' hear mouth, you could kick me out You say I'm too wild, you gon' hate me now

"You're too wild, Y/n," Rafe's voice was condescending and low when he addressed you. His hand ripped through his previously styled hair after slamming the driver's side door, locking you both into the confined space. His eyes pierced through you, clear disapproval etched onto his expression as he glared deep into your eyes. The pressed suit he wore to the business event was wrinkled, no longer pristine due to being jostled in his manhandling you while dragging you out of the club to save himself further embarrassment.

You couldn't contain the bitter laugh that bubbled from your chest after he uttered those words, disbelief replacing the anger you were feeling when he shamelessly allowed that woman to throw herself all over him in front of everyone, knowing you were standing right there. "Of course that's all you have to say to me right now," you snorted, breaking eye contact to slide the uncomfortable heels from your feet. You needed something else to focus on outside of his insufferable gaze.

"What the hell else am I supposed to say? You know how important this event was for my family, and you just had to make a scene and ruin our chances of a normal night of business," he seethed, ripping at his tie. "Jesus Christ, you're a fucking child."

"I'm the child," you released an incredulous scoff, the insincere smirk on your painted lips growing. "That's right, I'm the immature one in this relationship. Have you stopped to realize that I wouldn't have caused a scene if you had enough respect for me to keep other women's paws off you? Hm? You didn't seem too concerned with your reputation when she was trying to rip your jacket off."

"That's enough," he barked, slamming his fist against the steering wheel, earning a startled jump from you. Your reaction gave him enough reason to compose himself. He sucked in a sharp breath and blinked his eyes shut, pinching the bridge of his nose before straightening in his seat with a clenched jaw, finding you with his eyes again. "That's enough, Y/n. Your insecurity in yourself isn't enough reason for an unprofessional outburst in public. I get that you're half pogue, but that doesn't mean I need you flaunting it during business dinners like it's some special prize. Reputation may not be a big deal to you, but it matters a whole lot to Ward. If you want to keep him from forcefully extracting you from this equation, you'll hold your tongue next time your pride feels threatened by another woman."

Your jaw dropped at the audacity he had to utter those words to you. Of course he couldn't, or wouldn't, see your side. Of course he wouldn't admit that he should've had enough respect to politely deter the woman's advances. In Rafe's eyes, he's never wrong. Conflict and disappointment always fell on everyone else when it comes to him.

"Your insecurity isn't enough reason for an unprofessional outburst in public." "..hold your tongue next time your pride feels threatened by another woman." Rafe's words echoed through your mind the entire way home that night, your heart heavy with their hurtful connotations which you couldn't help but accept over yourself during the drive. It was one of the many times you were left to accept false realities over yourself after a situation that could’ve been shut down had he spoken up for your relationship.

You’ve always felt that having your feet on both sides of the island, being half pogue & half kook, made you special with your ability to understand both sides. Yet, Rafe always makes a point to remind you that your Pogue side makes you a liability, it hinders you from being extraordinary. At first, you told him off about it, throwing his antics right back at him whenever he declared that being half pogue was a major flaw. As the months dragged on though, the constant reminders, warnings, and arguments were tiring. You love Rafe and every arrogant, infuriating, slightly manipulative aspect about him. So, you stopped letting him hear your mouth. You stopped talking back and instead took everything that he had to say about your inescapable flaws, internalizing them. Eventually letting them silence you completely as you became the cookie cutter girlfriend he appeared to want.

That’s what you do when you’re in love. You compromise, no matter what it costs you. Right?

Boy, you got me fucked up, now I'm gettin' fucked up Thinkin' 'bout us fuckin', why you'd have to fuck her?

"Rafe, what the-" you stop in your tracks, jaw falling slack, at the sight of him in bed with another girl. "Rafe, what the fuck." Your voice comes out low and bitter, eyes trying to make sense of the scene in front of you as they scramble to separate from each other, clearly surprised by your presence. Rafe clamors out of his bed, swiftly pulling his boxers back on while you stand unmoving, in complete shock. Your fight or flight reflexes appear nonexistent as you freeze completely, the room spinning as Rafe approaches you.

"Y/n," he begins, eyes lacking any trace of sympathy as he grasps your face in his hands. "You weren't supposed to see this."

"You told me to come over an hour ago," you spit, shocked that any words rolled from your tongue in your seemingly vegetative state. "How am I supposed to believe that you didn't want me to see you fucking another girl?"

"It's nothing personal, baby. This is on me," he continues, resisting the urge to turn around at the sound of his guest shuffling out of his bed in nothing but his t-shirt.

"Obviously this is on you," you agree, words dripping with malice. "You're a piece of shit, and in case it isn't obvious, we're done."

With that, you shove him away from you, feeling accomplished when he stumbles backwards, managing to catch himself before he crashes to the floor. "I hope she was worth it." Your breath catches in your throat when the girls identity registers in your mind. The girl from the Gucci store. Marissa. The realization hits you like a freight train, carrying you out of Tannyhill hastily. Your brain solely focused on exiting the house as fast as possible.

****

"Y/n," JJ calls after noticing you approaching them on the beach. He rushes to embrace you once you’re close enough, the water droplets on his tan skin dampening your clothes. "We didn't think you were coming." A light smile forms on your lips when he blots at a wet spot on your shirt with an apologetic grimace.

"I wasn't," you hum, keeping your voice and stature light. "Last minute change of plans but I'm here and I brought snacks for everyone. Maybe a bit of alcohol for me." JJ's eyebrows furrow, his eyes subtly doing a once over on you, knowing fully well that you only willingly provide alcohol when shit hits the fan or there's something worth celebrating. Kie runs to greet you before he can question it, immediately dragging you towards the rest of the Pogues. You refrain from meeting the concerned look JJ's been sending your way since you walked onto the beach.

"You're drunk at five o'clock on a Tuesday, Y/n. What gives?" JJ asks, knowing full well that your filter disappears after a few drinks. Everyone’s seated in a circle on the sand playing a game of truth or dare, letting the afternoon sun dry your wet clothes.

“You’re supposed to say, Y/n, truth or dare. You can't just assume I'm picking truth,” you state matter of factly, taking another swig of the drink in your hand. Silently testing JJ with the sarcasm lacing your slurred words.

“Okay, you got me, Y/n, truth or dare?” His eyes are expectant, clear anticipation showing in his raised eyebrows.

“Dare,” you wink, a shit-eating grin on my face at the sight of his shoulders deflating in defeat.

“I dare you to jump off the dock, alone,” he huffs, obviously displeased by the obvious deflection.

“That’s too easy. You’re too kind to me, J,” you giggle, kicking your shoes off. You shrug your flannel off and take a big breath. “Rafe cheated on me.” You’re bolting toward the dock, enjoying the feeling of the wind whipping against your face at the break of dawn before you can catch any of their reactions. You miss the looks of shock plastered on all of their faces, and the way JJ immediately rushes after your retreating figure, calling your name as you sprint to the furthest dock without a second glance. Your speed and coordination shocks you due to the sheer amount of alcohol coursing through your veins, but you don’t falter, allowing your feet to carry you over the aged boards as you anticipate the fall.

“Y/n,” JJ shouts from behind as you near the edge of the dock, the sound of the waves crashing below only adding to your adrenaline high, which started the second you dropped the bombshell of your ended relationship on them without second thought. You reach the last of the dock before he can stop you. Your foot beats against the wood one last time before you shoot into the air, arms out as though you’re taking flight. Time slows as you stare at the horizon before the view is torn away when you collide with the water.

The sheer momentum from running, partnered with the crashing of the waves, drags you further and further into the waters depths. Rather than fighting against the current, your body freezes, instinctively letting the breath inside your lungs escape in a mass of bubbles, slipping away for several moments. Peace floods your chest as the water tears the weight of the last several hours away. You let yourself go with the waves, body unmoving while the water takes its course.

The next thing I know, I’m being dragging out of the ocean and onto the beach. There’s a series of yelling as my body falls limp against the sand. The weight of someone’s body comes over me, their hand softly, yet firmly, smacking against my cheek in an attempt to pull me back to a conscious state. In a matter of seconds I’m sputtering and coughing up the water I’d sucked in moments before, my lungs screaming for a breath of fresh air as my eyes fly open, immediately falling on my friends who are gathered around me in a panic.

“What the hell was that Y/n?! What were you thinking, you could’ve gotten yourself killed,” JJ exclaims, his hands falling on my shoulders now that I’m awake.

“JJ, let her breathe,” John B instructs, carefully dragging JJ from his position on top of me while Kie and Pope help me sit up. JJ follows John B, his hands flying everywhere while he rambles incoherent words while John B does his best at consoling him.

“Here,” Kie breathes, draping a towel across my shoulders which I gladly accept. I tap her hand gently as a silent ‘thank you’ my eyes instinctively drifting back to the horizon where the sun has fully began setting. Heaviness welcomes itself back on my chest with the reality crashing back onto me like the waves did moments ago. My body constricts on itself, my arms tangling themselves around my legs when they fold against my chest. There's a heavy ringing in my ears, drowning out Kie and Pope's voices asking if I'm okay.

"Y/n," Kie's voice sounds distant, but you feel her collapse next to you, promptly throwing her arms around your trembling frame. She pulls your head into her chest, her hand running up and down your back in a comforting manner while your eyes remain fixed in front of you in a daze.

"I didn't mean to scare everyone," you whisper, voice trembling with the tears stinging the back of your eyes. "I just needed it to stop for a second. I can't believe I thought he changed."

"Oh Y/n," she pouts, pulling you closer to her. The tone in her voice is what sends the tears pouring down your cheeks partnered with strangled sobs. More bodies surround the pair of you as you unfold, becoming a blubbering mess of heartbroken cries.

"That was stupid," JJ scolds, dropping on his knees in front of you, cupping your face in his hands to give himself a little extra assurance that you're okay. His thumbs swipes at the ongoing mass of tears pouring down your cheeks, the frown on his lips creasing his brows together as he studies you. "Being the idiot in the group is my job. I don't need you trying to take my spot." His words successfully lighten the dim mood, earning a watery laugh from you as he pulls you against his chest. Shooting John B a sad look as your body molds against him, his heart still hammering in his chest due to the fact that he'd nearly lost you to the high tide of the sea.

I don't wanna see you, why'd you have to treat me Like I was an ordinary girl?

A few weeks later, you're at the boneyard with the Pogues, and a good half of the island, enjoying a kegger to take advantage of the crispy summer breeze.

"Do a shot with me," you command to no one in particular, unconvinced that any of the random people around you by the fire actually heard the request. Your eyes blearily search the group to see if any of them make even the slightest move to humor you through shots.

"Come on kid," JJ interrupts your haze, his hand on the small of your back as he helps you off the stump you're seated on. "I'll do one with you."

"This is why you're my favorite," you gush, shamelessly leaning against him as he guides you toward the booze table.

"If taking a few shots with you is what it takes to be your favorite, I should've been your favorite person a long time ago," he jokes, slipping a disposable shot glass in your hand, humoring you. You graciously tip the cup in his direction as a wordless "thank you," your blushed cheeks beaming with the smile you're directing at him. He notices that it doesn't quite reach your eyes, but chooses not to comment on it. Knowing that your hurt from Rafe's betrayal is still so fresh and that you're utilizing alcohol to cope tonight, he doesn't want to be the one to distract you from the attempted progress.

"You've always been my favorite person," you admit. Though there's still a lighthearted aura around the two of you, your words drip with a sincerity that doesn't go unnoticed by him, humbling the heavy heart in his chest as he studies you.

"Good," he hums, knocking his cup against your gently. "You've always been my favorite person too, and it'd be really awkward for both of us if you didn't reciprocate the feelings. Now, what do you say? Can we drink to that?"

"Hell yeah, we can drink to that," you giggle, knocking your cups together one more time before welcoming the stale liquid into your mouth, letting it coat the walls of your dry throat. JJ smiles fondly at you, watching as you immediately turn to find another drink, mumbling incoherent words in his direction. Once you find the beer you were looking for, you slide one into JJ's hand, accepting the arm he throws over your shoulder to lead you back to where the rest of the Pogues are seated.

The rest of the night carries on for several hours until your alcohol driven carefree energy depletes, welcoming your sleepy drunk side with open arms. Your eyes droop as you fully lean into JJ's side, who's got his arm draped across your shoulder as he carries on with a few tourons who'd seen him surfing several days prior.

"Yeah, man, I'm going back out tomorrow if you want to join," he tells them, catching the exhaustion oozing from your position against his side. "Listen, we've got to get out of here, but I'll be at that same spot around noon. Meet me there if you guys are free." Each of them nod, a few of them dabbing him up before the two of you retreat.

You grumble into his shoulder at the movement, having been enjoying the opportunity to get comfortable where you two were standing.

"Tired sweetheart?" he asks, scanning the plethora of people in hopes to find John B and the rest of the group. He tuts his tongue at the sight of Pope, practically dragging you to where he's seated next to Kiara. You simply nod against his chest, shivering due to the temperature that's dropped drastically since the sun disappeared over the horizon. "Yo, Pope, round the troops. Princess needs sleep." Pope glances in your direction, nodding in understanding before ending the conversation he'd been in. JJ follows his friends retreating figure for a second before turning the two of you around to make the short trek to the Twinkie. You'll be able to get comfortable while Pope gathers the rest of the Pogues, and that's JJ's sole focus due to the fact that you're fighting to keep your eyes open.

Several minutes later, the rest of the group is filing into the Twinke, sliding into random spots around the van as John B starts the ignition.

"We good? Everyone's here?" he asks, shifting the van in reverse. After being assured that everyone is accounted for, he pulls off of the beach, making the short drive back to the Chatteau.

"Alright, sleepyhead, let's get you inside," JJ instructs, shaking your sleeping figure awake one the van pulls into the driveway. Everyone files out before JJ moves to help you up.

"Too much moving," you grumble, folding against the seat you've been napping in. "Just let me sleep in here."

JJ rolls his eyes at your antics, not releasing your arm from the gentle hold he has on it to help you out of the vehicle. "No can do, sweetheart. You'll be complaining for the next week about how your neck hurts from sleeping like that, and I refuse to endure that. If you sit up long enough, I'll let you ride my back into the house." He smiles when you straighten up at his words, immediately climbing onto his back which he promptly offered you. His arms hook around the bottom of your thighs to steady you against him, making sure that you're situated before he guides you into the house, passing all of the Pogues to get to the guest room.

"Home sweet home," he breathes, carefully setting you on the bed to find more comfortable clothes for you to sleep in. "Here you go, tiny."

You smile at the nickname he'd given you back when you were in elementary school, gladly accepting the small pile of clothes he hands you. "I'm gonna change in here," you inform him, your smile growing when he immediately nods, spinning to face the wall so that you have privacy to do so.

The second you're both changed, JJ switches the light off and meets you by the bed. He tucks you into the covers, combing his fingers through your hair as he sits in the space next to you. You hum at the feeling, unable to keep your eyes from drooping further.

"You're lucky you're my favorite. I don't just give my bed to anyone," he teases after a few seconds of favorable silence, his heart swelling at the way his presence seems to ease the emotions swirling behind your tired eyes.

You scoff at him, thinking back to the amount of times he's shared this bed with other people. "Actually," you begin, but pause, unsure of what you're even thinking about saying before the question rolls from your tongue. "Can you stay with me? I don't really want to be alone."

He blinks at you from his spot, barely making out your features before he nods. His voice is steady as he murmurs, "Of course." He accepts the spot next to you as his own, unsure why he feels so shy about sharing the bed with you. Having grown up together, you've fallen asleep together countless times. You've even crashed in his bed here, and vice versa, but that doesn't stop a humble feeling from spreading through his chest as you cuddle into him.

I wish I was special I'd give all my special Away to a loser Now I'm just a loser I used to be special But you made me hate me Regret that I changed me I hate that you made just like you Just like you

"I hate myself," you breathe after several moments of silence. The utterance of your inner truth brings a fresh round of bitter tears to your eyes, which you hurriedly wipe away, hating the bile rising up your throat at the brief moment of vulnerability.

"Don't say that," JJ hums, reaching to brush your hair away from your face. His voice is stern, but there's an undertone of sadness to match the look in his eyes.

"It's true," a forced laugh bubbles from your chest, furthering the anguish threatening to burst out of you. "I hate myself so much." There's a heavy silence after the words roll from your tongue, JJ's hand lingers on your cheek for a moment before falling dormant against the mattress, along with all of the words he clearly wants to say. "Why couldn't I have just been enough?" The words were whispered more to yourself than to JJ, it was meant to be an unspoken thought but your mouth opted to spew it regardless. Normally you'd feel embarrassed for unintentionally allowing yourself to be vulnerable, but the heaviness in your entire being is consuming all of the excess energy you have left, so you can't force yourself to care.

"Woah, woah, woah," JJ's voice intercepts you from your inner turmoil again, your eyes tearfully meeting his. The look on his face makes your heart clench further, the sadness in the pit of your stomach churning into guilt prompted by over sharing. “I can’t, in good conscience, be your best friend and let you bash yourself on that assho-on Rafe’s account. Y/n, I’m going to say something, and I really need you to hear me.” He pauses, eyes scanning your face to ensure that he’s got your full attention.

He opens his mouth to speak, but closes it, instead moving to cup your face in his hands so that your eyes lock solely on him rather than insecurely bouncing all over the dark room. “He has you convinced that you’re a million things, but everything he’s forced into your head is wrong.” He takes a deep breath, wiping a stray tear away with his thumb. “You are more than enough, you understand? I get that you might not be able to accept that right now, but that’s the full truth. And I’ll be right here proving it to you until you believe me, you got that? No pogue left behind, ever. Especially not you. Especially not on some lowlife kook, who didn’t know how great he had it’s, account. I need to know you’re hearing me.” He finally pauses in the middle of his short rant, hands and eyes remained delicately locked in their original position, acting as glue holding your pieces together. He stares deeply into your eyes, silently searching for his answer before speaking again. “Are you hearing me?”

Your lips wobble at the interaction, eyes unable to bat away the reservoir of tears threatening to spill over your eyelids. Unable to trust your words, you nod, your hands gripping the front of his t-shirt for support.

“I need to hear you say it,” he murmurs, his expression soft yet stern.

“I’m hearing you,” you choke out, before erupting into a full on sobbing fit. He quickly shifts to wrap his arms around your shoulders to pull you flush against his chest. Your back twinges at the awkward position you're in, but the emotions bubbling from your chest keep you from having the energy to care as you fully break down against him, your hands balling themselves in the back of his shirt.

Weeks worth of a broken heart, self deprecation, anger, replaying scenarios over and over in your head, and various other emotions unapologetically pour from your chest while he steadies you against him, his comforting antics not faltering for a moment.

“I’ve got you,” he breathes into your hair, kissing the crown of your head. “I’m right here. I’m not going anywhere.”

"He's such an asshole," you tearfully groan, feeling ridiculous for wasting your time on the king of the kooks. "God, I feel like I molded myself into exactly what he wanted me to be, and for what?"

"Rafe's blind, Y/n," he responds, pulling back s he can rest his chin on top of your head. "And you're far too kind for a guy that didn't accept all of the qualities that make you so special."

You can't help but physically cringe at the word. You stopped feeling special the second Rafe convinced you that your Pogues side was a hindrance to your personality, a flaw in your relationship. The moment you realized he viewed that side of you as an eyesore, you did everything in your power to shield it from him, and seemingly lost yourself in the process.

"I don't feel special," you state with a sigh, wiping the leftover remnants of tears from your cheeks. You're over crying over the man who climbed in bed with another woman.

"Just because you don't feel special doesn't mean you are," JJ hums, snaking his arm around your waist. "I'll spend the rest of my life proving it to you if that's what it takes to make you believe it."

A sad laugh sounds from your chest at his promise, knowing that JJ means everything he's said. "I don't know what I did to deserve you, Maybank."

*************************************

A/N: Here's another draft that I finally dusted the spiderwebs off of and finished up. I hope y'all enjoy it!

Tags: @thelocalpogue @maaybanks @drewstarkey @ssjiara @bluebirdsbluebells @maebanks @poguemackin @tomfreakinghollandneedsaoscar @outerbongs @ilovejjmaybank @marvel-writer @astrydis @hijohnd @pogueslandia @scenesofobx @maybankslover @fallingwallsh

[muses-inn]

I really vibe with this track too, it fits Pimple and the state he's in during these passages. It's quite unfortunate he wasn't allowed to get some actual friends there outside of his Battletoad life, but I'm positive he'll find a bunch of friends here on my blog =,)

[hawkinasock]

Hihi! I wanted to ask about your chimera!Yanqing AU (LOVE it btw omfg) if that’s okay if not that’s alright just ignore this lol.

Anyway I wanted to ask about the sequence of events between the emanator “my tummy hurts”-ing, getting their head chopped (I’m assuming that did come to pass), and Yanqing regenerating his way into an additional 6 limbs because I assume it didn’t happen right away (unless it did). Like, I imagine the whole regen process started during the “my tummy hurts” phase, but like did Yanqing burst through like some pimple the second there was an opening or was it a slow process?

Also side question/musing: what are your thoughts on Lan’s thought process on this? Or on Abundance!Yanqing in general? Do you think that they know? And if they do, do they just not care?

Hi there, anon!

Unfortunately, I didn't really have a detailed chronology of events prior to your ask... To confirm, yes, the emanator was successfully decapitated by Jing Yuan, after some time of chasing it down and fighting it. As for the time between that and the chimera's appearance, well, I did some brainstorming, and I eventually decided it would happen some time after the decapitation when, simply for the fact that I find a reveal similar to what happens in Dunmeshi more fun <3

Also I lost it at "my tummy hurts". That actually sent into orbit (my editor also loved the pimple simile too). That's basically what happened to the poor guy lmaoo. Stealing that.

But to be specific, he did just kinda sprout from the neck. Had there been no decapitation, he might have manifested in a slightly different form, which gives me leeway for a ton of other potential designs. By the time the emanator was killed, though, its body was disfigured and almost unrecognizable, as the human body inside was attempting to reform using another body that was very much NOT human, and just being completely fucked up from the inside out (mmm eldritch abominations my beloved).

I'll be honest... the aeons' reactions didn't ever occur to me. Since we still know so little about them currently, its hard to gauge how they'd feel, but considering they're omniscient enough to cast their gaze onto their pathstriders, then it's safe to say they'd probably notice.

It's actually a really good question though, considering Yanqing would be an abomination treading the path of the Hunt. We saw a similar scenario in 2.5 with Feixiao, where, despite spending years struggling with her ties to the borisin and the Abundance in general, Lan still cast their gaze onto her in the end in a moment that was very triumphant.

Feixiao and Abundance!Yanqing's situations aren't identical, but you can paint a parallel. If Lan is aware of Yanqing's existence, and it's possible assuming every pathstrider has, at one point, caught the attention of their respective aeons, maybe Lan would see it as a good thing, that even an Abomination can resonate with the Hunt and turn their back against their author.

Or maybe Yanqing's path was Lan's way of taking custody and getting one over on Yaoshi in their endless divorce arc. Who knows. If Lan doesn't actually view Yanqing in a positive light, then they may not see him as an important enough to justify them stepping in. They have emanator's to do that for them, after all, although we saw how well that went...

I hope that answered your questions. Feel free to hop into my ask box if you have any more <3

[the-haunted-office]

✨ Deep interests for thursday!

Make my muse talk about one of their...

Thursday's eyes get huge, round like dinner plates. She whips her phone out of her pocket and starts pulling up her playlist of saved videos on YouTube to show you her favorite pimple-popping videos...

Then she stops about halfway through that process, presses her lips together, sighs, and puts her phone back into her pocket in disappointment because it dawns on her that most people don't want to hear about that kind of thing, much less watch videos about it.

A smile springs back onto her face seconds later, though, because of course Thursday has more than one deep interest and it doesn't take long for her to launch into that direction.

"Okay, so, books, right? I love reading them, and I especially love reading horror books!" she says, grinning a sort of manic grin, her teeth on full display, eyes lit up with nothing less than pure joy. "I don't know why, it's just something about the excitement and dread that gets me. Like, I don't particularly care if there's a lot of descriptive guts and gore, that's not really gets me, because that stuff's just there for the gross factor, if you know what I mean. That's not what horror really is to me, although technically it is horror and to someone else it would be horror. To me, though? Horror is about getting inside your head and fucking around with you a little bit, ahahaha. You know? Getting in there and freaking you the hell out. Making you wonder what's really going on. Touching all the little parts of you that make you shiver and move and feel things involuntarily. It's about making you go to bed thinking about what you just read and thinking, 'damn, man, that kind messed me up a little bit' and then waking up in the morning and thinking, 'damn, man, I'm still kind messed up a little bit'... and then going back to read more, because there's something addicting about it. You just gotta keep reading, because you gotta know how it all ends. For better or worse, you gotta know. You sicko, you just have to know how these people die, don't you? Hehehe. Or maybe they don't die. Maybe they make it out alive, and they're all just fucked up a little bit at the end. Fucked up a lot. Whatever the case may be, they're fucked up by the end of it, because how could they not be? They just experienced some traumatic stuff. Some life-altering shit just happened to them, of course they'd be messed up for life. Or at least, they'd better be, whether it's physical or mental or emotional, or some combination of all the above. That's the horror of life, isn't it? Life translated into a horrific physical thing, chewed up, and spat back out into the image of some monster or beast or cosmic horror that's incomprehensible but it's come back to harm us all the same. Life is no longer an intangible thing that only kills us when it's over for us, it's out to get us, and you'd better run or fight back. That's what it's all about, baby!"

Thursday is breathing a little hard by the end of all this, and the manic look has only grown. She seems to realize this, because there's a real physical effort on her part to rearrange her features into something a little bit more calm and acceptable to a crowd.

She smiles sweetly. "I mean, it's just a really cool genre to read about, to see all the messed up things going on in people's heads and how they put it all down on paper. In my opinion."

[ddejavvu]

i’m dead. i went to request something, got distracted on my dash then took a nap😭

but anyway now that i’m awake could i request either tasm!peter or even like spider-man!james with like a shy reader who is needy and horny af but too shy to make a move or ask but they sense it with spidey senses?

p sure the way that i wrote this is not how spidey senses work but it's hot so just drop it

this post is 18+, minors dni.

There is something lethal about the combination of Peter's veiny, long fingers, and his thick black glasses frames. His jaw is wired tight with annoyance as he tinkers with his stubbornly broken web shooter, and the sharp angle only adds to your slowly building arousal.

He tries wrenching a slightly singed piece out of place, catching its jagged edge on the soft pad of his finger and swearing, "Fuck!"

That doesn't help your case.

You draw in a sharp breath and Peter catches it in frustrated abandonment of his concentration. Once his project has forsaken him you're the only thing left to focus on, and clarity slams into him with force that almost rattles his teeth.

His nerves crackle and fizz with warning, arm hair standing on end as goosebumps pimple and pucker his flesh with pricks of pain. He glances at you, sees your blown-out gaze focused on him, as well as the subtle clench of your thighs.

You want him.

"Hey," He breathes, voice coming easier now rather than the harsh bite of his cursing, "You okay over there, babe?'

"Mm-hmm," You nod, and if Peter didn't have a deeper perception for sensation than most, he'd have believed you. But his senses are screaming, rushing through him like turbulent waves on a rocky beach, grating against his nerves and telling him you want him. You need him.

"Don't lie," Peter grins wryly, "I can tell."

You don't answer; not a further lie, but not a retraction of your previous one, either.

"My body tells me, y'know." He muses, slowly standing from his place at the desk and stepping- almost stalking over to where you sit tensely on his bed, "It tells me that yours is on fire. That you need me to touch you. Here," He reaches down, thumbing at the edge of your plush inner thigh with a gentle touch, "Is that where you want me, sweetheart?"

You nod vigorously, but Peter catches your chin, scooping your lips into a brief, but firm kiss.

"Tell me." He prompts, which you think is awfully cruel considering he's just told you he knows exactly what you want and need, "Tell me where you want me, baby."

You reach for Peter's hand, and he lets you guide it to rest in the skinny divot you've created by spreading your thighs slightly. It's just barely big enough for him to slip his hand into, but he thumbs down your slit over your panties with a nimble touch.

"Here?" He confirms, and his response is a shiver that runs down your spine and shakes you like a leaf on the bed.

"Okay, baby," He concedes, the teasing flame he'd goaded you with snuffed out by your helpless desire, "I'll touch you here. Lay down," He croons, helping you recline over his mattress and plumping the pillow beneath your head, "Just relax, okay? I know what you need, baby, let me help you."

[ciaossu-imagines]

(day 16) 5, 8 & 21 from prompt 17 for haru? tysm!

Of course, my dear! Thank you so much for sending in a request about our lovely Haru! She’s always so much fun to write for. I hope you, and the other lovely readers, enjoy these little headcanons 😊

5) Do they have a skincare routine? If yes, how involved is it?

Haru definitely has a skincare routine. I do see her as someone who gets really into makeup and skincare as she turns into a teenager. She definitely has beauty bloggers who she religiously follows, and she reads up on what is best for her skin type. Until she became a teenager, she washed her face morning and night just with soap and that was enough.

As she grows into a teenager though, her skincare becomes more involved. In the morning, she uses a gentle formula face wash and washes her face with cool water, then puts on a toner.  After that, she uses an essence formulated to help with her dry skin, and she uses a serum once a week with hyaluronic acid. Then she puts moisturizer and once that’s sank in, she uses a sunscreen that’s SPF30 at least. At night, she uses cleansing oil, and she exfoliates once a week. She uses an alcohol-free toner at night and then a heavier moisturizer at night. Her essence goes on again after that. If she notices any pimples, she uses spot treatment on them and once every week or so, she’ll use face masks as an extra treat for her skin.

8) Name two or more things your muse can’t leave the house without

It really does vary. If Haru’s in her school days and heading to school itself, she’ll make sure she has her backpack with her books, homework, and whatever other school supplies she needs. She also carries at least one extra hair elastic with her, tampons, lip-gloss and lip balm, her phone, and a book for pleasure reading to school with her. If she’s heading out for the day with friends off school time, she carries lip gloss/lip balm, her wallet, her phone, and depending on the time of month, feminine products. If she has promised to bring something along with her or has something to give someone, of course she brings that along as well. I also do think that, after really falling in with Tsuna’s family and being around the kids so much, she starts carrying snacks for the kids with her as well. This habit becomes something that she carries with her into adulthood, where she’ll always have a couple hard candies or some sort of snack with her.

21) In a relationship, are they the ones stealing their partner’s clothing? Or are they the ones having their clothes stolen?

Haru definitely is one of those people who think it’s really cute to wear your partner’s clothing. She’s going to steal one of her partner’s hoodies, that’s for sure. She’ll either insist on them spraying their cologne or even spray deodorant on the hoodie too, if it’s freshly clean, so that the sweater will smell like them. It’s even better though when she borrows a hoodie they’ve been wearing, and she won’t want to wash it until it stops smelling like them. If her partner will fit in her clothes, she’s definitely going to be completely fine with them borrowing her clothes as well. With another female partner, or even a partner who shares her size and likes wearing female-coded clothing, she’s going to have a pretty open-closet policy where she’ll borrow from their closet and let them borrow from hers and will even suggest outfits or accessories from her closet that she thinks they’ll look absolutely amazing in.