#and specifically because i was concerned about professional opportunities

[bastard-aziraphale]

love the kiddads bc i can project such weird niche shit onto all of them. anyway welcome to my ted talk on how sparrow is cannonically transfem but doesn’t ever really Come Out(tm) because she’s made a pro/con chart and it simply did not rank above her desire to conform and to mirror lark and to fix what she started in re: the doodler

[projectionistwrites]

FOR SCIENCE | SUBJECT 2

In which the Moon Knight alter system presents a unique opportunity to settle the nature versus nurture debate, once and for all...

Marc Spector x afab!psychologist!reader (11.0k+)

RATING: EXPLICIT (18+, mdni) WARNINGS: fetishization of mental disorders (DID), psychoanalysis, potentially unethical scientific practices, SMUT (dom/sub dynamics, fingering, oral (f! and m!receiving), unprotected p in v sex, squirting, creampie, bondage, intense edging, reader is very mean, facesitting/riding, 69ing, praise kink, dirty talk, use of the stoplight system) NOTES: time for everyone’s favorite babygirl. again, i really hope i did marc’s character justice. also, you can’t tell me marc wouldn’t look so pretty crying for you. i kinda went feral on this one. <3 DISCLAIMER: although i’m incredibly knowledgeable about psychology, i am NOT a professional. all psychoanalyses made throughout the course of this storyline are entirely my own, based on my own interpretations of the characters. in a similar vein, i am also not an expert on DID specifically (although i am well-read on mental disorders and diagnoses), so i apologize for any incorrect terminology or misrepresentation. don’t hesitate to call me out if i say something wrong!

← previous part | next part →

CASE STUDY: MARC SPECTOR

ROLE IN COGNITIVE SYSTEM: Host / Apparently Normal Part

ATTACHMENT STYLE: Fearful

CHARACTERISTICS: cocksure, standoffish, pensive, calculating; resilient to a fault; views himself as irredeemable in the face of his past, unworthy of forgiveness or compassion; must be in control of every situation in order to feel secure.

SPLIT FROM HOST: N/A

TRAUMA RESPONSE: tendency to run when facing emotionally distressing situations

SEXUAL PRESENTATION: dominant, assertive, deliberate, practiced, indulgent; derives majority of satisfaction from his ability to draw pleasure from his partner; cognitive blockages that are reminiscent of self-sabotage (undeserving of release or pleasure).

“You’re early, Doc.”

Marc teased—he was leaning against the doorframe with a smug smirk on his face, successfully blocking your entrance into his flat. You felt your face heat up beneath his devious gaze.

“I know.”

Your words were softer than you’d intended them to be, more hesitant—Marc’s eyes narrowed at your wavery response.

He wordlessly stepped to the side, allowing you to finally slip past him and into the threshold of the apartment. You paused in the entrance as the door clicked shut behind Marc. He narrowly avoided colliding into your form as he turned, his arms jutting out to brace himself against you to prevent either of you from stumbling. His hands gripped your biceps, his chest pressed against your back. Your body tensed under his touch, and he let out a low chuckle, slipping past you and further into the space.

“Jesus, you’re touchy today. Everything okay?”

He leaned back against the kitchen counter, his arms crossed over his chest as he studied you. The movement was so easy, so casual and relaxed, as if this was just like any other time you’d hung out at his place—as if you weren’t there just to get into his pants. You felt a blush rise to your cheeks as you glanced down at your worn sneakers. It felt...different, this time. With Steven, you knew there would be a learning curve for both of you. You knew that, to some extent, you would be the one calling the shots, making Steven feel safe and comfortable. But now...you were intimidated. And ashamed to admit it.

You must’ve been quiet a beat too long, because the next second, Marc was in front of you, standing toe-to-toe. When you didn’t meet his eyes, his left hand came to nudge your chin upward, forcing your gaze upon him. You gulped, but his dark eyes were softened with concern.

“Hey. You gotta talk to me, Y/N. What’s on your mind?”

You blew out a breath.

“No, it’s nothing, I’m just—”

“—nervous?”

Marc finished for you, and you squeezed your eyes shut in an effort to prevent yourself from seeing the satisfied look on his perfect face.

“Yes, Marc, laugh it up. I’m nervous.”

“Hey, I didn’t even—”

“Yeah, but you were gonna.”

You snapped with a glare, but you felt guilt punch through your gut when a look of hurt crested Marc's features. You sighed.

“Shit, Marc, I’m sorry, I didn’t—”

“I am, too, you know.”

You blinked once, then twice.

“You’re...what?”

He rolled his eyes, huffing out a bitter, humorless laugh, as if he thought you were toying with him. When he saw the genuine confusion on your face, he threw his head back with a groan.

“You’re really gonna make me say it, huh?”

Your eyes narrowed, but when you finally realized what he meant, you felt a small smile creep onto your face.

“Wait—you’re nervous?”

Marc shrugged sheepishly, and you could see a bit of color rise to his cheeks—was he blushing?

“You’re telling me—Marc Spector is nervous?”

“Yeah, and who’s laughing it up, now?”

He quirked a brow, giving you an accusatory look, and you giggled at him, the tension melting away from your body easily.

“I’m not laughing at you, Marc, I’m just—why would you be nervous? Especially around me?”

He shook his head at you incredulously, taking a few steps closer. You felt your back press up against the door behind you, successfully trapping you in Marc's vicinity.

“S’that so hard to believe? A pretty girl like you, coming over to study how I am in bed—even if it’s just for science?”

Marc wiggled his brows theatrically, and you laughed again, shaking your head. Still, there was blood pumping loud in your ears as he spoke, and you could feel electricity crackle in the air between you, charged with energy.

“Yeah, for science. But—you have pretty girls over all the time to see how you are in bed.”

“Yeah, but s’never been you, has it?”

The words were barely audible, muttered lowly beneath his breath, but you felt your jaw slacken at his quiet confession. Your eyes flitted up to his, and there was that cheeky, self-satisfied grin on his face again—fuck, he was too handsome, you just wanted to—

“Can I just fuckin’ kiss you, already?”

He was close, now, his warm exhales mingling with your own. His brown eyes glittered onyx as he drank you in, lips parted just slightly, the tip of his nose barely brushing your own. You felt faint, the proximity dizzying as temptation sank its teeth into your flesh. With the faintest nod of your head, Marc took the plunge.

You’d never had a kiss quite like this one before. Of course, Steven’s was great, but it was exactly what you’d expected—a desperate clash of teeth and tongue, the two of you battling your insecurities to fall into a steady rhythm. But this—this was fucking special. Marc’s hand slipped behind your head to thread through your hair, his other arm looping around your waist to pull you flush against him. You were frankly surprised at the tenderness with which his lips found yours, starting with a barely-there brush of his mouth. It was sweet, and raw, intimate, and you felt his lashes flutter against your cheek when he pulled away too soon.

You were breathless, your face following his as he drew back, desperate to maintain the contact. He chuckled at this, but remained close, eyes finding yours again.

“Still nervous?”

He asked, his voice low and gravelly. His eyes seemed darker as he smirked down at you, his bottom lip pulled between his teeth. Your eyes flitted down to his mouth, your breath catching in your lungs at the sight. Something resembling a squeak involuntarily escaped your throat.

“Marc. Please.”

You whined, big doe-eyes glimmering, and Marc scrunched his face up as though he was in pain, eyes squeezed shut tight as he groaned. He rested his forehead against yours.

“Shit. You really gonna make it that easy for me, baby?”

He practically hissed, and a breathy laugh blew past your lips. Marc captured your mouth with his again, harder this time, the hand that was in your hair reached up to brace himself against the door above your head, successfully caging you in. You hummed against him as his tongue passed through the seam of your lips, sinking into you further. Your desperate hands reached up and clawed at his chest, gripping the navy blue fabric of his cotton t-shirt in your fingers as you held him close. He pressed himself into you, and you could feel the hardness of his bulge flush against your lower abdomen. A moan escaped you at the feeling of his arousal, your body instinctually thrusting into his hold. You could feel him smile into the kiss.

“Yeah? You feel what you do to me, huh, baby?”

He teased against your lips, and you tossed your head back, thudding against the door behind you. You looked down your nose at him, through your lashes, panting slightly, your hands still twisted in the material of his shirt.

“Fuck, Marc, want you so bad, just—”

Your words died on your breath when his arms abruptly slid beneath your butt and hoisted you upwards, your legs wrapping around his waist and your arms around his neck. One of his large hands stayed firmly squeezing the flesh of your ass, the other roamed the length of your back as he pressed his lips against yours again, turning to walk you further into the apartment.

“Jesus, this is gonna be fun.”

He mumbled at your eagerness and responsiveness, your hands threading through his brown curls as he brought you towards the bed, teeth nipping at your bottom lip. You gasped when he threw you back onto the mattress abruptly, your body bouncing once at the contact, causing you to giggle. But then Marc was stalking over your body, hovering above your body with a predatory look in his eyes. He licked his lips as you blinked up at him.

“Gonna take my time with you, pretty girl. Gonna absolutely ruin you.”

You impatiently pulled his face back to yours, and he didn’t resist, kissing you back with equal fervor and desire as your own, but the moment you lifted your hips to seek friction from his body, he pulled away, tutting at you condescendingly.

“Ah, ah, ah. Relax, baby. Don’t torture yourself.”

He smirked, fingers dancing across the skin of your stomach beneath the hem of your shirt. You reacted immediately, lifting your arms above your head to allow him to pull it from your body.

“Look at you—so obedient.”

His patronizing tone normally would’ve pissed you off, but there was something about the look in Marc's eyes—completely enraptured with you, ready to give you the world—that made you want to do whatever he said. He reached behind your body to undo your bra, fingers nimbly unhooking the clasps as he yanked it off of you, his face immediately sinking into your cleavage. He groaned, lips frantically attaching themselves to the flesh between your breasts, wandering across the expanse of the newly-exposed skin and wherever they could reach.

“Oh, baby. Got such pretty tits.”

He growled, teeth playfully sinking into the skin at the top of your right breast, earning a yelp from your mouth as he quickly soothed the sting with a swipe of his tongue, smirking up at you. The heat of his mouth was enough to briefly distract you from his wandering hands, but then he was yanking your pants down your legs in one fell swoop, leaving you bare save for the plain pink cotton panties you’d worn today—they weren’t particularly sexy, as you had been trying to prevent your apparel from serving as a confounding variable, but Marc still looked like he wanted to devour you.

His rough hands ran up the plush skin of your thighs, over your hips before squeezing at your tits, making your back arch up and off the bed. A dark chuckle sounded from above you.

“So eager.”

He hummed, pressing a kiss to your mouth, and you felt his hands travel down your body again, teasingly fondling at the waistband of your underwear as you sighed. You let your own hands travel beneath his shirt, running your hands along the warmth of his toned abdomen, coaxing him out of the material. You were happily surprised when he honored your silent request, allowing you to pull the shirt over his head and toss it to the side. His expression flickered for a moment as you admired him, his eyes briefly shining with a certain warmth that you couldn’t decipher. He pressed his lips to yours, a soft, sweet kiss, but when he pulled away, the wicked gleam in his eye had returned.

“Gonna make you feel good, baby. You want me to touch you?”

Your nod was frantic, your head pressed back into the pillows as you forced your body to stay still beneath him, even as you desperately wanted to rut up against his jean-clad thighs.

“Yeah, you do, huh? Bein’ such a good girl for me, baby—you gonna keep behavin’ yourself? Gonna let me take care a’ you?”

You whined, desperation starting to pulse through your limbs, making you want to squirm.

“Yes, Marc, yes, just—please—”

He shushed you, his lips pressing hotly beneath your jaw before continuing down the column of your neck, down your sternum, across your breasts, and finally stopping above your navel. He hummed into your skin, the vibrations causing a chill to pass over your spine, goosebumps rising in their wake. He lifted his hands to spread your legs further apart, granting him the space to lay between them so he was face-to-face with your clothed core.

“Fuck, baby—soakin’ for me already.”

You could feel his hot breath against the cool, damp material of your panties, and you jolted when his fingers lightly pressed against the wet spot, the pads of his digits just barely swiping over your folds. Your toes curled and legs tensed, trying hard to withstand Marc's slow, relentless teasing. He seemed to be enjoying it, a dark chuckle escaping his mouth at your reaction.

“Tell me what you want, baby.”

He requested lowly, hands pressed against your inner thighs to hold them apart in front of him. You tried to make your voice steady.

“Marc, please, just—”

His fingers harshly curled into the flesh of your thighs, creating divots in the soft skin as you flinched. He gave you a warning glare.

“You never struck me as the bratty type. C’mon, baby—tell me what you want.”

“You, Marc, fuck—want you so bad. Always wanted you.”

You flinched at your own confession, but Marc responded with a throaty growl.

“Oh, yeah? Thought this was just for research, hm?”

You felt his nose brush against the crotch of your panties, and you whimpered, your hips lifting of their own accord. Marc’s hands gripped your waist tightly and slammed your ass back into the mattress, pressing you down firmly.

“That’s enough.”

He warned, suddenly strict, and you swallowed, trying hard to resist the urge to sink your hands in his hair and force him towards where you needed him most.

“Fuckin’ greedy little thing. I’ll give you whatever you want, pretty girl—just wanna hear you say it.”

You bit your lip defiantly, feigning confusion at his request, and he growled again, teeth sinking into the flesh of your hip right above the waistband of your panties. You jumped at the sensation, letting out a sharp cry, and you felt the vibration of his chuckle through your skin.

“Go on, Y/N. Tell me the truth. Tell me how bad you want me.”

Your resolve shattered.

“Want you so bad, Marc. Wanted you since the day I met you. Wanted you to bend me over the desk in my office, wanted—wanted to get on my knees for you right there on the bus. Got off to the thought of you fucking me so many times, Marc, shit, please, would you just—”

He practically ripped the panties from your body as his mouth finally surged forward to steal a taste of your sopping cunt. You yelped in surprise when his tongue swiped through your folds, and Marc wasted no time in sinking two fingers into your throbbing entrance, already beginning a relentless pace within you.

“Oooh, FUCK, Marc—”

You exclaimed, hips thrusting upward at the sudden stimulation, and Marc’s strong arm reached up to press down on your stomach, forcing your movements to halt.

“Sit fuckin’ still—want you to cum all over my fingers, baby.”

He muttered against your clit, lips wrapping around the bud to suck harshly. Your orgasm was rapidly approaching already, the pleasure mounting and mounting with each sudden thrust of Marc’s thick fingers, each move deliberate and practiced. You were mewling beneath him, back arched harshly as he continued his pace, dark eyes watching as your face contorted into a look of pleasure.

“That’s it, baby, can feel you squeezin’ my fingers, fuck—you gonna cum for me?”

Your climax peaked easily and you let out a long sigh as you let the waves of pleasure overcome your senses, only acutely aware of Marc’s gentle praises being muttered against your throbbing cunt as your became pliant beneath him.

Your muscles began to loosen after your sudden and intense orgasm, but the sensation didn’t last for long—Marc wasn't stopping. His tongue had replaced his fingers, thrusting in and out of your dripping pussy, his nose nudging at your clit in a move he must’ve learned from Steven, the cheeky bastard...

“Fuck, Marc, shit, I can’t—”

You couldn’t stop yourself from squirming, but he held you down securely, not allowing you to pull away from the intense stimulation he was still offering.

“Color.”

The sound was muffled, mixed in with the sinful slurping noises he was making, and your cloudy mind took a few moments to process his request, but as his fingers pressed harder into the divot of your hipbone, you threw your head back to respond. Stoplight.

“Green, Marc, but—God, fuck, s’too much, I can’t—”

“You can, and you will.”

Your eyes met his from his position buried in your mound, and the sight of his hungry eyes and the tone of his demand were enough to send you rapidly toppling over the edge yet again. The high-pitched wail that you let out was shameful, but Marc didn’t pause, watching you closely as you came apart on his tongue yet again.

As you came back down to Earth, he finally offered you a moment of reprieve, coming up for air to press a bruising kiss to your lips. The tangy taste of your arousal on his lips made your face flush hot.

“Taste so sweet for me, baby. Gonna give me another?"

You hummed, mind still foggy with bliss, but then his fingers were ghosting over your swollen clit, swiping carefully in circular motions on your tender flesh. Your head lifted to press into his shoulder, and he chuckled wickedly, increasing his pressure as you writhed beneath him.

“That’s it, baby, doin’ so well.”

He praised, hot lips pressed to your ear, and you could feel heat pool in your lower belly, red and hot and seething. Your lip was pulled between your teeth, hard enough that you could taste the metallic tinge of blood on your tongue as Marc sped up his pace. Your fingers wrapped around his arm, trying to pull him away, but his muscles flexed beneath your hold, and the overstimulation quickly made way for yet another stuttering orgasm, your cunt clenching around nothing as your teeth sank into the flesh of Marc’s shoulder, body twitching uncontrollably. You heard him hiss from the bite to his skin, but it quickly evolved into a groan as he turned his head to the side, littering your jaw with open-mouthed kisses as sweat dappled your face.

“There we go. Good girl, baby. Good girl.”

He cooed, finally pulling his hand away from your core. He lifted his slick-coated fingers and pressed them to your lips, and you absent-mindedly obeyed, sucking his digits into your mouth and lapping up the residual arousal from his knuckles. He hummed in approval, your face utterly fucked-out and eyes hazy. He pressed a soft kiss to your nose before sitting upright above you, his hands making quick work of his belt buckle as he pushed his jeans and boxers down simultaneously.

“Think you’re ready for my cock, pretty girl?”

Your legs were still quaking with aftershocks, your thighs sticky with wetness from your prior orgasms and Marc’s saliva. Still, even with exhaustion weighing heavy in your limbs, the sight of Marc’s cock standing at full height, ruddy and weeping, was enough to inspire a nod of your head.

“Want you—fuck, Marc, want you inside me, please.”

“Sound so pretty when you beg for me, baby.”

Marc crept forward on his knees, stroking his cock with practiced precision as he slid between your split legs. You felt the head of his member slide experimentally through your folds, nudging at your clit. You bristled, the heat of his hardened length jostling your shot nerves. You nearly cried at the contact, hips pressing into the mattress and away from the pressure, but then the tip notched at your entrance and you wanted nothing more for him to sink into you. Before he pressed further, though, he slipped fingers beneath your chin, turning your head to look at him. Your lip was quivering with want.

“Color?”

He rumbled, brown eyes gentle, and your ass lifted upwards, trying to force his cock further into your awaiting channel, but Marc pulled away completely, drawing a long whine of protest from your chest.

“Easy, baby. Say the word, and I’ll fuck you just how you want. But I need to hear it.”

You swallowed, fingers sinking into his curls, and your voice was hoarse when you spoke.

“Green, Marc. Fuck me, please.”

Your swollen folds made way for his thick length as it sank into you quickly, bottoming out in one swift thrust as Marc groaned throatily.

“Oh, fuck.”

He growled, eyes squeezed shut tight at the sensation of your tight walls fluttering around him. His balls pressed firmly up against your ass, and Marc reached down to grip one of your ankles, hoisting your leg high above your head so the front of your thigh was to your chest. He offered a slow roll of his hips, his cock nestling tightly into you as he snapped them forward.

“Oh, fuck, yes, baby—so fuckin’ tight.”

His pace started to build, and soon he reached for your other leg to hold it above your head, effectively folding you in half. The new angle allowed him to reach even deeper within you, the head of his cock prodding at something devastating. You were moaning shamelessly, now, incapable of forming coherent words at this point as Marc continued to pound into you, his teeth bared as his hips pistonned forward.

“Always wanted to fuck you like this, baby. Knew you’d make the prettiest noises for me, knew you’d let me do whatever I wanted to you. You gonna gimme another one, baby? Gonna cum on my cock?”

A sob ripped through you at his words, your hips thrusting upwards to meet his strokes. He had one hand wrapped around each ankle, braced over your head as he railed you into the mattress, the bedframe creaking under the strain. You felt your stomach coiling yet again, but your body was resisting, so overstrung and sensitive that your muscles felt like they were on fire. Still, Marc’s pace was relentless, and you couldn’t stave off the overwhelming need for release as you started to fall apart.

The groan that Marc offered was animalistic as your pussy clenched down on him, hard, throbbing rhythmically as you surrendered yourself to the onslaught of shockwaves that pulsed through your core. You felt faint, weightless, the crux of heat in your center exploding.

“Oh, fuck me, baby, oh my God, did you just—”

His words dissolved into a growl as he pounded into you harder, and it was only as you slowly regained your bearings that you could feel the slickness coating your thighs and Marc’s abdomen—you’d squirted all over his cock.

“Jesus, not gonna last much longer, baby, so fuckin’ good.”

His head was bowed, curls falling into his eyes as he rammed into you, balls slapping against your asscheeks with each thrust. Punched-out moans passed through your lips surreptitiously as you tried to maintain your focus, although your consciousness was slipping away.

Marc’s left hand released your leg and you felt his fingers swirl over your clit again.

“Gonna cum for you, baby, but you gotta gimme one more, first.”

You sobbed, body lurching off the bed as if you were possessed, your knee curling over his shoulder.

“Oh, fuck, Marc, I can’t, s’too much, please, just want you to—”

“Not gonna cum until you do.”

He spoke through gritted teeth, a hardened determination glinting within his crazed eyes. You drank him in—sweat dripping from his curls, nostrils flared, lips pulled up in a snarl, veins in his neck straining beneath the skin with his effort. His pace abruptly switched, his rapid thrusting replaced with a few slow, deep, and fucking bone-rattling plunges within you, the sound of his skin roughly slapping yours filling your ears. The change in tempo was too much, you were spiraling, and with a guttural cry of his name, you felt a blissful numbness erupt from within. Marc threw his head back as you clenched around him once more.

“Oh, fuck, baby, yes, yes, so fuckin’ good, God—”

You watched through half-lidded eyes as he pulled out of you hurriedly, hand reaching down to jerk his cock rapidly as he finally allowed himself to reach his release.

“Fuck, gonna cum all over you, baby, yeah, you ready? You want my cum?”

You nodded, whining greedily, your legs settling down on either side of him as you raised your hips towards him so you could feel his knuckles brush over your pubic bone with each rapid stroke of his cock. The desperation in your eyes is what hurled him over the edge.

“Fuckin’ take it, baby, I’m cummin’ for you, oh, fuck—”

His spend spilled all across your mound, spraying upwards over your stomach and some droplets even landing themselves atop your tits as he continued to jack himself off above you, deep grunts passing through his parted lips with each spurt of cum that he coaxed out. He was panting heavily, watching his white seed ooze across your skin and down his knuckles as he finally slowed the pace of his hand, squeezing one final drop of pearly liquid from the tip as he groaned, leaning forward to rest his forehead against yours to catch his breath. You hummed, unable to open your tired eyes, but the intimacy of the action was welcomed as his lips just barely brushed over your own, a silent ‘thank you’ in the aftermath of an intense moment of passion.

You didn’t think it was possible to feel simultaneously weightless but so heavy at the same time, your limbs sinking into the damp sheets beneath you as you attempted to catch your breath. Marc nestled his face into the crook of your neck—an action vaguely reminiscent of Steven’s habit of nuzzling into you—and you felt him take a slow, deep inhale against your clammy skin, his warm breath fanning out along your collarbone.

You tried to stay awake when you felt his body peel itself from atop yours, but he returned moments later with a cool damp cloth to wipe away the evidence of both of your orgasms. You whined when the cold came in contact with the swollen, sensitive folds of your cunt before he moved up to wipe away his own release—Marc easily shushed you, pressing soft kisses against the skin after he wiped each spot clean. When he was finished, he haphazardly tossed the towel aside, crawling up towards you yet again.

Marc liked to be smothered. If you could take any one thing away from this moment, that’s what you saw—he laid down beside you, flat on his back, before rolling you over on top of him, your face pressed up against his pecs as your body settled between his legs. You hummed at the new position, his arms curling protectively around you, fingers of his right hand playing with your knotted hair. Your ear was pressed up against his chest and you listened to the steady rhythmic thumping of his heart, and you easily could’ve fallen asleep in an instant. Still, you wanted to enjoy the tenderness of the moment for a bit longer.

“You okay?”

Marc finally asked, and the vibrations from his throat reverberated down through his ribcage for you to feel. You breathed in long and deep, the feeling of his soft, warm skin comforting and familiar.

“’M great.”

You whispered, tilting your head slightly to look up at him. There was a small adoring smile on his abused lips, his brown eyes sweeping over your face in a way that only Marc could do—calculating, observant, as if he was looking straight through you. Sometimes, his unusual skill for reading people made you uneasy, but now, you felt completely relaxed beneath his scrutinizing gaze. It would be hard not to, when his eyes glowed as if you’d hung the stars in the sky just for him.

“…was that okay?”

Marc rephrased, and it was only then that you caught on to the insecurity he so desperately tried to mask. The crease between his brows betrayed him, making his concern for you evident. You smiled up at him reassuringly.

“Marc, it was great. You were great. You are great.”

Maybe it was the post-orgasmic bliss that had you feeling sappy, the endorphins boosting you higher into your serenity. The look on Marc’s face was heart-wrenching—the gratitude that shone in his beaming smile, the glow of his face as it lit up with pride, the—dare I say—love, in his eyes, as he gazed upon you.

A comfortable silence settled between you, and the hand that was resting against your back reached down to pull the duvet up and over the both of you, cocooning you in its warmth. You let yourself settle further into Marc’s welcoming embrace, eyes fluttering shut as you let your exhaustion take you. You quickly spoke before you found yourself dozing off.

“So…what’s your typical post-sex ritual look like after this, hm?”

You questioned, lifting your chin slightly to see his face. His eyes blinked open to look at you, and he frowned, pursing his lips.

“Believe it or not…with most of my, uh, hookups, I—uh, I have the tendency to leave in the middle of the night so I’m not there when the girl wakes up—gotta leave ’em wanting more, y’know?”

You laughed breathily at that, but hoped to hide how crestfallen his admission made you feel.

“Thanks for letting me know. I’ll try to sneak out after you fall asleep—”

His arms tightened their grip around you, and there was a sort of pleading look in his big brown eyes as he shook his head.

“No, you don’t have to do that, really, I just thought you should—”

“It’s really okay, Marc, I don’t mind.”

You assured with a shy smile, but he shook his head more firmly this time.

“No. You aren’t just a hookup, and you aren’t just some girl.”

Your lips parted in a silent gasp, eyes searching within his to try to gauge his thoughts. He seemed genuine, insistent. Your heart practically melted in your chest.

“But, I don’t—”

“Please, just stay?”

He hadn’t meant for it to come out as a question, and certainly hadn’t meant to plead—this was more vulnerability than he’d ever displayed to you before, something you’d ached to see for as long as you’d known him. For him to open up to you, to trust you, to finally let you in.

You mustered up whatever strength you had left to lift yourself up and press a soft, chaste kiss to his lips. You gazed up at him through tired eyes, face aglow from his apparent affections.

You didn’t give him a verbal response—you didn’t need to. Instead, you settled back in against him, curling your head into his shoulder, pressing your face against the warm skin at the side of his neck. Sleep came easy for both of you—Marc felt lighter having finally let his impermeable facade yield to you, even if just for a second.

Tomorrow, you intended to convince him to drop his guard completely.

POINTS OF CONTENTION: - relinquishing control - embracing uncertainty - asking for help

TREATMENT: - practice submission - express vulnerability - communicate needs

You briefly got déjà vu when Marc opened the door to his apartment for you, a familiar cheeky smirk adorning his handsome features. This time, however, your expression matched his own as you stood on your tiptoes to plant a peck on his lips, pushing past him and into the flat as if you owned the place. He was startled at your forwardness, and he would be lying if he said your surge of confidence didn’t make him slightly uneasy—what had gotten into you?

“Back for more?”

He managed to quip, quirking a brow at you as he shut the door behind him. You approached Gus’ fish tank and tapped the glass a few times to get his attention, leaning over to watch him swim around aimlessly for a few seconds—it gave Marc a perfect view of your ass through your yoga pants as you bent down, and he sucked his bottom lip between his teeth as he stared unabashedly.

“I can see your reflection in the glass, you asshole.”

You jabbed, a teasing smile lighting up your face as you met his gaze in the mirrored tank, but he didn’t stop his shameless ogling—instead, he watched you with darkened eyes, a wicked grin on his lips.

“At least I don’t have to hide the fact that I stare at your ass every time I see you, anymore.”

Your brows lifted at his confession, and you carefully straightened up, turning to face him at an agonizingly slow pace. Your hands found your hips as you studied him with an amused expression. You stood across from him in challenge.

“So you admit that you’ve checked me out? Even before this little experiment?”

Marc fought hard to keep the smirk off of his face as he crossed his arms over his chest, sizing you up carefully to gauge your seriousness. You were clearly teasing him, but he offered a subject change nonetheless in an effort to avoid the fact that he just admitted he’d been eye-fucking you since the day you’d met.

Instead, his eyes flickered down to the small black paper bag that you had set by your feet, his brow raising in question.

“I see you brought props with you, this time?”

He closed the gap between you with two large strides, bending down to snatch the shopping bag from your feet before you could protest. He wasn’t sure what he was expecting when he peered inside, but his eyes widened when he realized what you’d brought.

“Jesus, Y/N. You dirty, dirty girl.”

His fingers reached in to pull out a pair of black silky restraints—it didn’t go unnoticed by Marc that the receipt was in the bag and the fabric still had a tag fastened to it. You must’ve bought them just for this occasion.

The expression on his face was practically carnal as he smirked at you, but something about the look in your eyes made him hesitate. You looked up at him shyly, reaching forward to thumb at the fabric before settling your hand into his open palm atop the silk.

“They’re not for me.”

Four words, and Marc was stunned into silence. His face fell, eyes wide as they studied you, expression bemused and slightly fearful. You swore you could actually see his face drain of color.

“We don’t have to, Marc, I promise—I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to just spring this on you out of the blue, I’m sure it’s not something you’d normally—well, I mean, not that I know what you’re into and everything, but I just thought it might be—”

“Slow down, baby, it’s okay. I just—took me by surprise, s’all. Wasn’t—wasn’t expecting it.”

You looked up at him thoughtfully, now hyperaware of the trepidation in his features. He avoided your eyes.

“Come on.”

You grabbed his wrist softly and guided him over to the bed, sitting down on the edge and gesturing him to follow suit. He sat down beside you and carefully turned to lay out the two black restraints on the mattress behind him. Then, he turned back to you, eyes gentle. You reached over to pull his hands into your lap.

“Marc.”

You started softly, and his eyes flitted to you nervously, an uneasy lopsided smile on his face.

“Listen to me. We really, really don’t have to do this if you’re not comfortable. I know it’s—it requires a lot of trust, and—well, I don’t know.”

You fell silent, unsure of what to say or how to proceed. Marc was giving you that familiar calculating stare, taking you in and analyzing every breath you took. You grew impatient with his lack of response.

“Aren’t you gonna say anything?”

There was an apprehensive edge to your tone, your eyes round and full of worry, afraid to offend him or make him uncomfortable. You could see the gears turning in his head as he pondered.

“And this... of anything in the world you could possibly want to do with me, to me... this is the one thing you’d choose?”

You carefully nodded your head, squeezing his hands in your own.

“I think—I think this could be good for you. If—if you’re up for it, of course. No pressure.”

He hummed at your reply, before he turned to you with a small smile.

“Okay. Let’s do it.”

You blinked once, then twice, surprised at his easy response.

“Wha—really? Are you sure?”

“I trust you.”

Maybe those words were just that—words. But you couldn’t help feel your eyes grow glassy as the gravity of his admission weighed on you, your heart soaring in your chest as you smiled widely at him, eyes crinkling at the corners. The glow radiating from your face made Marc’s shoulders roll back with pride—he would do anything just to see you smile at him like that.

Apparently, that really did mean anything.

You leaned over and kissed him deeply, hand sliding to cup his face as he pulled you against him, sliding you atop his lap easily as he sucked at your bottom lip.

You settled down onto his thighs, your core easing over his hardening bulge as you pressed your front into him, your pebbling nipples brushing against his chest as you kissed him feverishly. His hands held a bruising grip on your hips as you grinded against him, feeling his hold tighten with every brush of your clothed core over his growing erection.

He hummed when you pushed on his shoulders, coaxing him to lay back against the mattress as you pulled his shirt over his head easily. You guided him towards the headboard as you continued to kiss him, settling him carefully onto the pillows in the center of the bed. You drew your head back quickly, your breath catching in your throat as you drank him in—his dark umber curls a stark contrast to the white downy pillows beneath his head, his brown eyes darkening as he watched you with half-lidded eyes, spit-soaked lips parted. You’d never seen a prettier sight—and you knew how to make it even more enticing.

Your fingers traced up his chest and danced across his shoulders. You kissed him to distract from you sneaky movements as you reached behind yourself to retrieve the pair of restraints that had been discarded earlier. You let your nails skate across his nipples, causing him to hiss, before you gently pried his hands off of your hips. You grabbed each wrist carefully, intently watching his reaction as you guided them over the top of his head and towards the headboard.

You grinded down against his cock once more in an effort to relax his body—he groaned quietly, and you reached for one of the restraints, pulling his left arm straight out to the side and carefully winding the fabric around the bedpost before reaching to fasten it around his wrist. You watched his jaw ripple as you carefully looped the silk over his skin, tightening it just slightly to prevent his hand from slipping out. You tugged at the fabric lightly, testing its resistance, before you leaned back down to peck his lips.

“That okay?”

You asked carefully, nose brushing against his, and he squeezed his eyes shut, tugging against the binding before offering you a soft nod. You smiled at him graciously before repeating the action on his right arm, successfully rendering him incapacitated beneath you, his arms spread wide on either side of his body. You allowed yourself to draw back once more, the sight of him splayed out atop the mattress, completely at your mercy, caused a wave of arousal to rush straight between your legs. He must’ve felt the clenching of your thighs from where they caged his hips in, because he let out a breathy laugh.

“You like this, don’t you?”

His voice was low and hoarse, and you kissed him again, nodding against his lips.

“Yeah, Marc, I do. So pretty for me.”

You felt the warm huff of air that he let out at your praise, and you knew he secretly loved your verbal affirmations, even if he’d never admit it to you. You offered him one last kiss before slowly dragging your face back—his head followed your backwards movement, chasing the feel of your mouth against his, but he jostled at the feeling of his movement being restricted. His eyes opened suddenly at the sensation, as if he was surprised to find the restraints actually lived up to their name. You couldn’t help the tiny grin on your lips as he accustomed himself to his limited range of movement—you could feel the tightness in his muscles, his biceps flexing and tensing as he mindlessly fought to gain control back.

“Easy—you’re okay, I’m right here.”

You soothed, running your hands up his torso as his abdominal muscles contracted beneath your fingers. There was sweat beading at his hairline, his jaw grinding rhythmically as he finally opened his eyes to look up at you, forcing himself to inhale a steady breath in an effort to calm himself down. Your fingers rubbed at the tension in his shoulders and you felt him soften under your touch, becoming pliant beneath you as he allowed himself to settle back into the mattress, finally coming to terms with his current situation. You rewarded him with a kiss, leaning yourself forward so your front was pressed to his.

“Before we start, I need you to promise me something.”

His eyes followed you when you sat back upright, and he nodded for you to continue. You breathed.

“Marc. You have to swear to me that you will use the safe word if you need to.”

He rolled his eyes in response, but you squeezed your thighs together in response, putting an uncomfortable pressure against his hips. He glared at you, but you gave him a stern look.

“I’m serious, Marc. I don’t want you to think—to not use it just because you want to make me happy, or because you wanna seem like a big tough guy. You do make me happy, and I know you’re tough, regardless of whether or not you choose to tell me to stop. Okay?”

He could hear the sincerity in your tone, the genuine concern lacing your words. He swallowed. He wasn't going to lie and say it wouldn’t be hard for him to safeword—he didn’t like admitting defeat, showing weakness or cracking under the pressure. But this wasn’t some mission or fistfight with an adversary, he reminded himself—this was you. He was safe, and he trusted you, and he was supposed to enjoy this. Finally, he nodded at you, and you mumbled out a ‘thank you’ before pulling yourself off of him completely.

He watched you like a hawk, eyes trained on you intently, analyzing your every move in anticipation. You carefully reached for his waistband, and he obliged, lifting his hips from the bed to allow you to undress him. You pulled his briefs down in the same motion, discarding Marc’s final two articles of clothing and leaving him bare before you.

His cock was at full mast, resting atop his navel as he drew in slow, deliberate breaths, trying not to feel bashful beneath your scrutinizing gaze. You were still trying to fathom the fact that you had this Adonis of a man splayed out in front of you, completely surrendering himself to you.

He really had no idea what he’d gotten himself into.

“Color?”

You asked, kneeling back on your heels from your position beside him, one hand resting on his abs, just above where the head of his cock was patiently waiting. He breathed out a chuckle.

“You haven’t even done anything yet.”

You raised a brow, and at your persistence, he offered a roll of his eyes.

“Green.”

“Good.”

You smiled, fingers sliding down from his stomach to ghost over the tender skin of his shaft, causing a shiver to crawl up his spine. You were careful to take note of just how his body reacted to each ministration—the way his breath hitched when you finally wrapped your hand around the base, the barely-audible grunt when your thumb swiped the bead of precum from his slit.

You removed your hand briefly just to spit into your palm before you were back on him, beginning a slow and gentle pace of stroking him. He hummed at the motion, his heels digging into the mattress as he threw his head back into the pillows, fingers wrapped around each restraint tightly to give himself something to grip. Your other hand reached over to fondle his balls, and his hips jerked just slightly at the added stimulation.

“S’that feel good, baby?”

You purred, your hand gradually picking up speed as your jerked him. He groaned lowly, nodding at your question.

“Shit, yeah.”

You smirked, carefully shifting so you were kneeling in between his legs, lowering yourself down to lay on your stomach. He watched you closely, bracing himself as you leant forward and suckled one of his heavy balls into your mouth, your other hand continuing its steady pace.

You hummed around his sack and he grunted, abdominal muscles flexing as you popped it out of your mouth and traded it for his other bulb, tongue swirling around the flesh and listening to his small moans of pleasure.

He was trying to stay quiet, you noticed. You didn’t press him on the issue—you knew he wouldn’t be quiet for much longer.

You pushed yourself up and licked a long stripe from base to tip, tongue flicking over his frenulum which caused his hips to quake. You offered a few kitten licks to his slit, tasting the salty precum as you continued to stroke him steadily.

“Fuck, baby—just like that.”

He whispered, eyes squeezed shut at the sensations. He was holding himself back—you wanted him to fall apart.

You carefully drew the head of his cock past your lips, bobbing your head up and down over just the tip, matching your pace to that of your hand. He growled, and your eyes flitted up to watch his biceps strain as he tugged on his bindings, desperately wanting to bury his fingers in your hair. You sank your head lower, taking him deeper, lewd choking noises escaping your lips as you swallowed him down. His hips were weakly thrusting upward, now, his feet planted into the mattress to seek leverage in a sorry effort to fuck into the heat of your mouth. You didn’t stop him—you let him cling to the sliver of control he was desperately seeking, removing your hand to sink your head down completely, allowing him to thrust his cock into the back of your throat with his shallow movements.

“Oh, fuck, baby, fuck.”

He moaned, and you could see the muscles of his stomach clenching as you reached to fondle his balls again. You were breathing in carefully through your nose as he continued to abuse your throat, his length sliding in and out of your mouth sloppily. One sharp thrust caused you to gag and he let out a deep groan from somewhere in his ribcage—you could feel his balls tightening up, thighs flexing.

“Yes, baby, gonna cum in that pretty little mouth, yes—”

You sat up abruptly with a gasp, pulling your body from his completely as his limbs involuntarily jerked beneath you, his back arching at the sudden loss of contact. He yelped, and you could see veins bulging in his arms as he harshly pulled against the restraints.

“Jesus fuck!”

He cried out, hips falling back down into the mattress, defeated. You sat silently, watching as he tried to catch his breath. He blinked the bleariness from his eyes to fix his stare on you—there was a somewhat sadistic shine in your gaze as you met his eyes challengingly. When you didn’t back down, you were surprised when he let out a bark of a laugh.

“So this is your game, sweetheart? You gonna edge me? Really?”

He was trying to intimidate you—you could see right through him. He was mocking you, hoping to berate you into submission, into backing down. It wouldn’t work.

When you didn’t respond, he shook his head lightly, feigning composure as he lazily closed his eyes.

“Go on—have your fun.”

He offered, a small smile on his lips. You felt anger briefly flare up inside you, but you quelled it down with logic—you were in control, right now. You had all the power.

It didn’t matter how disciplined Marc’s psyche was—his body betrayed him. It told the truth. Your hand reached back up towards his shaft, and his cock jumped beneath your touch, thighs tensing just slightly. You bit your lip to prevent yourself from giggling with satisfaction—Marc’s face was set into a look of quiet concentration, lips pulled into a straight line.

You started again, the same way you had before, with your spit-soaked hand slowly escalating until your lips joined in. His noises were subdued—they came from deep within his chest, escaping through barely parted lips only when he was powerless to stop them. He writhed beneath you, responsive to your touch, and when the telltale signs of his approaching orgasm began revealing themselves again, you ceased your movement.

“FUCK!”

He yelled, back arching off the bed as he attempted to curl into a sitting position, but he was snapped back into complacency by the fabric bound to his wrists. There were veins bulging in his neck as he seethed, sweat beginning to bead along his hairline. You blinked up at him innocently as he glared at you, eyes dark and filled with disdain.

“So fuckin’ pleased with yourself, huh, baby? This what you wanted? To rile me up? God, if I wasn’t tied up right now, I’d—”

“You’d what?”

He blinked at your interruption, your voice showcasing your defiance.

“What’re you gonna do, Marc? Nothing. You’re not gonna do anything. You’re gonna sit back, and fucking take it, and there’s nothing you can do about it.”

His jaw clenched down tightly, his face practically trembling with rage. His nostrils flared as he stared at you, trying to win the silent battle between you, in complete denial of the fact that you were completely in control. He wasn’t backing down, unwilling to admit that he was powerless—so you reached forward and scratched your nails down the length of his shaft. He shouted in protest, hips jolting backwards to retreat from the uncomfortable sensation, and he growled lowly in his throat before sagging back into the mattress—his eyes were still on you, but his lips were sealed shut.

“That’s what I thought.”

You antagonized, leaning down to take his cock back into your mouth. It was taking increasingly smaller increments of time to get him to the edge, and you continued—once, then twice more. On the third round, he’d nearly lost it, but you squeezed around the base of his cock tightly to force the orgasm to dissipate as it peaked.

“You fuckin’ bitch.”

He snapped, and the words seemed to surprise him just as much as they surprised you. A heat of the moment utterance, offered in a second of desperation—but he didn’t take it back. Maybe you should feel hurt—instead, you felt pride swell inside you as you stared down at him wickedly.

“Such mean words from a guy who can’t even see me through his tears.”

It was true—there were tears streaming down either side of his face, eyes red and puffy as he fought viciously against your torture. He shook his head at you, overwhelmed with anger, but he couldn’t hold back the sob that practically pulled itself from his lungs when you gave a single lick up his shaft.

“Oh, fuck you, fuck—”

“You can cum whenever you want, Marc. I’m not stopping you.”

You tone was even and steady, expression blank as you studied him. His brows furrowed, his eyes suspicious as his breathing slowed again. You smiled coyly at him, innocently, leaning forward to press a kiss to his lips—he didn’t kiss you back. He just watched you as you carefully resumed your position between his legs, waiting to hear your stipulation.

“You just have to beg for it.”

Marc’s venomous laugh was replaced with a long whine as you took his cock in your hands once more, stroking him a few times before simply holding him there. He sneered at you.

“I don’t beg.”

“Then you don’t cum.”

You shrugged easily, releasing his throbbing member from your grasp and allowing it to drop back down against his stomach. You could see every muscle in his body fighting for release—his heels digging into the mattress, his arms continuously straining against their restraints. You tutted at him condescendingly, your eyes mocking sympathy as you stood from the bed. He studied you carefully as you began to remove your clothes until your were completely naked. You rejoined him on the bed, loving the way his eyes turned ravenous as he admired your body.

“If you wanna torture yourself, Marc, that’s your choice.”

You purred, crawling up until you were straddling him. You watched the way his breath hitched when you were hovering over his cock, and you felt it jump beneath your cunt—but instead of dropping down, you crept further upwards until you were straddling his ribcage. He looked at you, confused.

“So what are you gonna do?”

His voice was gravelly and hoarse, raw from the moans you had been pulling from him. You leaned down and shoved your tongue into his mouth—he whimpered at the intimacy, but you pulled away soon after.

“I’m gonna ride your face, and you’re gonna be a good boy and make me cum on your tongue.”

The whine that he let out was carnal—you’d never heard anything like it in your life, and Marc might’ve been embarrassed if it weren’t for the painful arousal that was burning a hole through the bottom of his stomach. He tilted his head back as you began to position yourself over him, lips already parting in anticipation of tasting you, but you paused, your eyes turning gentle. Your hand reached down to stroke through his damp hair, and he pressed his head into your touch.

“Color?”

You whispered, and you watched his Adam’s apple bob in his throat at he swallowed. He breathed in once, then twice, before meeting your eyes again.

“Green.”

You settled your knees on either side of his head, your folds already soaking from your time toying with Marc—you shuddered at the feeling of his warm breath on your awaiting cunt, and with trembling thighs, you slowly and carefully lowered yourself onto his mouth.

You lurched forward at his eagerness, his tongue immediately breaching your entrance and slurping up the arousal that was flooding your pussy. You yelped in surprise, arms reaching forward to grip the headboard as you tried to keep most of your weight off of him, allowing your face to just barely skate over his features.

He mumbled something into your core, and you lifted yourself from him in concern, worried that you'd hurt him.

“What?”

You asked for clarification, brows furrowed, but when you met his eyes from between your legs, they were dark and gleaming savagely.

“I said, sit the fuck down.”

He growled again, and you could feel the headboard bend as he strained against the fabric on his wrists, obviously wanting to grab your waist and pull you down onto his mouth with full force. You let out a breathy laugh before you eased your way back onto him, allowing yourself to relax more against his face. The thick muscle of his tongue immediately began fucking into you and it wasn’t long before you were grinding against his face, his nose rubbing up against your bundle of nerves and his mouth savoring your juices. Your head was thrown back in ecstasy, and Marc watched you from his position between your legs as you came apart on his tongue, quiet cries of his name leaving your lips as your rode out your high on his mouth.

Marc greedily lapped up all you had to offer, and he almost whined in disapproval when you began picking yourself up off of him—but then you were turning around, and he got a perfect view of your perfect ass as you slowly settled your cunt back down to his mouth and—

Fuck. He nearly cried into your pussy when he felt your lips attach themselves to his cock, and he jostled against you, hips jolting upwards of their own volition. He squeezed his eyes shut and tipped his head back, trying to fight the orgasm that he was already teetering on the edge of. You hand came up and squeezed tightly around the base of his cock, helping stave off his climax.

“I didn’t tell you to stop.”

You hissed, and Marc gulped before diving straight back into you cunt, his lips wrapping around your puffy clit as he suckled it into his mouth and flicked over it with his tongue. You moaned, you fingers beginning to stroke his cock again. When you turned your attention back to his length, however, his mouth immediately stopped its movement. You sank against him, rolling your eyes in theatrical annoyance.

“Jesus, you really can’t multitask, can you?”

“Y/N.”

He spoke your name lowly and with a warning edge, and you craned your neck to look at him—his head was peaking out from behind your asscheek, eyes desperately searching yours. You could see he was struggling to maintain his composure, but he kept his voice level and steady.

“I’m gonna cum if you don’t stop.”

He voice cracked at the very end of his statement, but you appreciated his honesty with you. You swiftly removed your hand from where it was wrapped around him and he let out a long sigh, steeling himself before attaching himself to your clit once more.

Your second orgasm came easily, creeping up and washing over you without warning as Marc continued to lavish your clit with his tongue, the obscene noises he was making only adding to your arousal. He slowed his movements as you came down from your high, lapping at your release as you slowly pulled you cunt away from his mouth. You pulled yourself off of him completely, kneeling at his side and pressing a sweet, gentle kiss against his lips. His face was coated in your slick and his eyes were alight with a sort of lovesickness, as if he’d completely forgotten the torture you’d been putting him through simply because he got to watch you fall apart on his tongue. You pressed your forehead against his for a moment before you swung your leg over his hip, finally settling yourself where he needed you most.

Anticipation flickered in his dark brown eyes, his body tensing beneath you as you reached between your legs to stroke his cock, using your dripping arousal as lube to give him a few tentative strokes. He hissed, his hips jumping at the touch, but he immediately froze when you pressed the head into your entrance. He held his breath.

“I’m gonna ride you now, okay?”

You asked, although it was less of a question and more of a statement. He nodded vigorously, eyes squeezed shut and head turned to the side as he braced himself for the feeling of your hot channel swallowing him whole.

“Marc.”

You probed softly, and he winked one eye open, looking up at you where you were paused, right in the moment before sheer bliss. You eyed him warily.

“Color?”

He smiled softly up at you, more relaxed than he’d been this whole interaction—finally, finally relinquishing his control and allowing you to take the reins.

“Green.”

The duet of moans that filled the room was intoxicating as you slowly eased yourself down onto his rock-hard length, the stretch offering a sting that was just painful enough to be pleasurable. Marc’s head was thrown back into the pillows as he began to ramble incomprehensibly.

“Oh, God, oh, fuck yes, so fuckin’ good, fuck—”

You braced yourself by planting your arms against his sturdy chest, raising up your hips until just the tip remained before slamming yourself back down, burying him to the hilt within you. A wrecked sob sounded from his mouth.

“Oh, fuck, God, I can’t—”

You settled into a steady pace, angling your hips backwards just slightly so his cock rutted up against that place deep inside you that sent you reeling. You keened, grinding back and forth against him as he moaned wantonly, knuckles turning white as he pulled on the restraints with every ounce of his strength. You orgasm was rapidly approaching, and with each careful plunge of his cock into you, you felt the coil tightening.

“Fuck, Marc, gonna cum on your cock, baby.”

You whimpered, throwing your head back as your walls clenched down around him. You must’ve blacked out for a moment, your vision going bright white as pleasure speared through you—when you regained your bearings and sensation over your limbs, your ears were blessed with a sound you weren’t sure you’d get to hear.

Marc was falling apart.

“Please, oh, God, Y/N, baby, please let me cum for you, I can’t—can’t hold it anymore, please, please, please, baby, please let me cum, pleasepleasepleaseplease—”

There were sobs ripping themselves from his lips as tears flooded his eyes and streamed down his cheeks, the muscles of his abdomen clenched so tightly you thought he might sprain something. The fluttering of your tight walls against him was unbearable, truly torturous—he couldn’t do it anymore.

His eyes blinked open to watch you as your hands crept up the length of his strained arms, fingers deftly untying the knots that held him hostage to the bed. His arms fell limp at his sides when released from their hold, and he looked up at you with wide eyes, glassy with tears.

You pressed a kiss to his lips.

“Been so good for me, baby. Go ahead and take what you want, Marc, it’s yours. Cum for me.”

Something snapped inside of him. A vein throbbed in his forehead as his hands flew to your hips, planting you firmly against him as he began to thrust up into you at a rapid pace, his hips slamming against your thighs loudly and roughly. You yelped in surprise at his sudden burst of energy, and he was staring intently at the place where his cock was splitting you open, hips relentlessly pistonning upwards into you as he slammed your body down against him to meet each thrust.

You didn’t expect to cum again, but the harsh drag of his cock inside of you as his hands grounded you firmly sent you hurling across the edge, your cunt clamping down on his aching length as you pulled him across the threshold with you.

“Oh fuck, yes, yes, gonna fill you up, baby, cummin’ so hard, fuuuck—”

Each harsh pump upwards was punctuated with a grunt as he spilled inside of you, his cock pumping you full of his white hot seed as he continued pounding into you relentlessly. Even as you came down from the climax that had blindsided you, and even after he’d completely emptied himself inside of your slick walls, he continued rutting up into you, his face contorted in a look of pain and determination as he gritted his teeth.

“Woah, Marc, hey, hey, slow down—”

You urged, reached to wrap your fingers around his wrists from where they were still firmly attached to your waist, the wet sounds of his cock still pumping in and out of you filling the room. His eyes finally looked up to you, the haziness clearing as your worried face settled on him.

“It’s okay, Marc, you’re okay.”

You assured, and he finally let your full weight rest down onto him, his body slowly rolling to a halt as the aftershocks of his intense pleasure pulsed through his limbs, blood pumping loudly in his ears. He was breathing heavily, his heart beating against his ribcage harshly, but his eyes watched you as you smiled down at him, reaching forward to cup his jaw in one hand as the other ran through his sweaty hair.

“There we go. There you are. There’s my handsome boy.”

All at once, he collapsed into a fit of sobs again, sitting up to pull you against his chest impossibly tight as he wrapped his arms around you. You felt your heart break as you coddled him, one hand stroking the back of his head and the other rubbing soothing patterns into the bare skin of his back. Years and years of internalized vulnerability spilled out of him in your embrace, and you held him there until his stuttering cries turned into shaky exhales, his face buried in the crook of his neck. He fell back into the pillows, pulling you down on top of him and keeping you snugly pulled against his body.

His cock was still nestled deep inside of you, and you could feel Marc’s cum leaking out and creating a stickiness between your thighs and atop his hips. When you shifted to move, he tightened his hold, his breath wavering just slightly.

“Please, don’t. Just—stay with me. Like this. For just awhile longer. Please.”

He whispered against your temple, begging for this brief moment of reprieve, of absolution, of solace. You sank into his chest, breathing in his heady scent and allowing yourself to indulge in the intimacy of this moment, too—a moment of comfort, of safety, of resolve.

Marc had one final thought before sleep overtook him.

Is this what being okay feels like?

TAGLIST: @kezibear143 @gingermous @josephquinncore @steven-grants-world @am-3-thyst @fanofverymanythings @vaneyvfs @theboggyman @belladri @roserfz27 @nowayhomerry @justanotherkpopstanlol @bagsy-not-it @elles-mind-palace @pimosworld @winterbiip @moonmoonboys @icuminurbutt @spxctorsslxt @fandomqueen74 @freerangesweets @wumpsquill @wordacadabra @lunaleah @hornkneeforbucky @my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction

[iplaywithstring]

Part of chronic illness that healthy, able bodied people really can't grasp is the tenuous relationship we have with medical professionals.

My current Dr is wonderful. Lovely woman. Very open, has never had any push back over any concern I've brought up. We met when I was teaching a knitting class. I feel comfortable with her, both personally and as a doctor.

I still have a ton of anxiety every time I make an appointment.

I worry that it's something serious. I worry it's something minor and I'm wasting her time. I worry that she's going to brush me off - even though she never has.

Today, I had a sebaceous cyst drained - I was pretty sure that's what it was when I went in, but she confirmed it and offered to drain it an no big deal. I felt so awkward getting it taken care of. She also warned me it would be a little painful - didn't hurt at all. I updated her on my frozen shoulder (it's improved so much! Almost full range of motion and very little pain!). Told her my mom had been diagnosed with celiacs - she offered to run my tests again (it's been 10 years) but expected they'd be inconclusive/negative again as I've been avoiding wheat for over a decade at this point, but I needed my yearly bloodwork done anyway so why not (and she reminded me a negative test doesn't mean I don't have it, just that they can't detect it, and it's not worth it to go back on wheat to confirm at this point). I asked about a repeat ultrasound of a cyst on my ovary (it was 3.6 cm in 2018 and I've been having pain in that area again) and she agreed it was a good idea to take a look at.

There was nothing negative in the appointment at all, and I still feel like I want to cry about it.

And I understand everyone has a certain amount of medical anxiety - I remember what it was like before I was sick - but this is different. So much of my quality of life and my day-to-day functioning is dependant on this woman. What if she thinks I don't need one of my medications anymore? What if she disagrees about my level of pain and sees no need for pain management or further testing (like the ultrasound)?

My relationship with my body is messed up - in some ways I am too aware of things, and in other ways, I don't notice/acknowledge problems because it's just always been like that. If she hadn't believed me about my wrists aching I wouldn't know about my hypermobility in my hands. If she didn't take my word for it how drained and worn out I am, I wouldn't have meds that allow me to function with ME/CFS (stimulants in the past, cymbalta currently). I didn't realize how bad my pain was until it was managed better. I never know day to day what I am going to be capable of or how limited I will be.

I have had Drs in the past who did not take me seriously. I lived with debilitating pain for years because a Dr took a clear MRI as "no signs of endometriosis". I've been dismissed as fat and lazy and accused of drug seeking (when I was specifically asking about pain management that did not include opioids). I am so thankful I was able to access a new doctor - not everyone has that opportunity!

but even with these ideal circumstances, it's still hard, and exhausting, and emotional. and that's something that most people in my life will just not understand.

[lookingfts]

I'm so happy you're here on tumblr! I really like when authors give us the opportunity to talk with them, to take a peek inside their creative space, so to speak...i do have a very important question about the By your side universe. How the living arrangements between Newton and Anthony are going? because i'm rereading say my name and our canine hero just peed on a very pricey rug... -i love this version of Kate and Anthony very much, by the way! -

Hahaha thank you, and an excellent question. Asking the important stuff. Enjoy this glimpse into their domesticity:

Nobody loves a pet quite as much as a man who claims he doesn’t like animals.

Daphne had joked that to her once, after Simon fell in love with a tiny orange kitten they found wandering in their backyard. But Kate thought she had been right, watching the scene unfolding before her.

Specifically, Anthony sprawled out on his sectional, flat on his back with his arm arranged haphazardly across the cushions. Newton had backed up to him, his fluffy bum pressed into the crook of Anthony’s neck and shoulder.

Kate couldn’t blame him. She was pretty partial to curling up in that spot as well.

She took her phone out of her pocket and snapped an incriminating photo, trying to be stealthy, but Anthony heard her soft snicker and blinked awake, looking confused by the mass of fur in his peripheral vision.

“Your beast fell asleep on me,” he said groggily, rubbing a hand over his face.

Newton made a little noise of protest as the movement disturbed his nap, digging his face into the pillow.

“I’m very happy you’re friends,” Kate quipped, swinging her leg over Anthony’s prone form so she could straddle his lap. “I was worried about that.”

“Were you?”

“Yes. It was my biggest concern about dating you, actually.”

Anthony cracked a sleepy grin. It was nice, to be able to joke about it now that the truth was out in the open and Edwina was most of the way toward accepting it.

“In that case,” he murmured, dropping his large hands to her hips. “Newton and I are best friends. I was thinking we should take a boy’s trip, actually.”

Kate giggled, looking down at his heavy-lidded eyes, then to where Newton had shifted position and fallen back to sleep, still tucked against Anthony’s side.

Her heart felt full at the perfect tableau. When Newton made his first mess on the rug and Anthony bought a professional-grade carpet shampooer in response, Kate couldn’t have imagined that they would come this far.

But she thought Anthony was secretly fond of Newton. Because he had a big heart. And because he loved her enough to love him, too.

That knowledge made her next words come easily. “Newton really likes living here.”

Her boyfriend cracked one eye open. “Newton does, hm?”

“Yeah. It feels like home to him,” Kate said, running her hands over his. “And I think he’d like to stay. Permanently.”

She was already living there in everything but name, and Anthony had seemed content to let her take over his flat piece by piece. Newton’s leads hanging on the hooks by the door, food dishes in the kitchen, toys strewn over the floor. Kate’s clothes in his dresser and her books on the bedside table. A hundred tiny pieces of her, mixed with all the pieces of him. The very beginning of a shared life.

And now she wanted to put a name to it.

Anthony gazed up at her, looking a little starstruck as she brushed his floppy hair off his forehead. “It’s already his house,” he answered earnestly. “And yours.”

“Okay,” Kate said, all she really needed to say before she leaned down to kiss him, Newton snuggled happily between them.

[ravensilversea]

Title: 1-800-LEAP

Author: Raven_Silversea

Rating: T

Pairing: Sasagawa Ryohei/Sawada Tsunayoshi

Prompt: Real Mafia AU / Professional Fake Boyfriend

Tags/Warnings: Alternate Universe - No Mafia, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Humor, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Strangers to Lovers, Professional Fake Boyfriend Ryohei

Summary: Maybe it's loneliness, maybe it's desperation, maybe it's because he wants his mother to stop looking so concerned whenever he fails to mention so much as a name when she asks if he has a 'special someone'. Whatever the reason, Tsuna finds himself hiring a Professional Fake Partner… just for a few months.

Tsuna twists the phone cord around his finger as the line rings and rings and rings. Untwisting the phone cord, he pulls the pamphlet closer and reads the number again. He dialed it correctly right? Suddenly, he can’t seem to remember.

The line clicks.

“Moshi moshi! Thank you for calling 1-800-LEAP! How can Haru help you today?” The voice on the other side of the line sounds chipper, almost bird-like, and Tsuna can’t help but smile at the brightness of Haru’s voice.

“He-Hello,” Tsuna clears his throat and shifts his feet. “Hello, my name is Sawada Tsunayoshi, and I would like to hire a,” he lifts the pamphlet up to read, “ ‘professional partner’?”

“Of course, desu!” There’s a sound of keys click-clacking. “Is this for a specific event or a long-term employment opportunity?”

“Um.” He looks up to the ceiling, twisting the phone cord around his finger again. 

Haru laughs. “Don’t worry, desu, we get a lot of that. What’s the reason for your call?”

The look of concern, the pointed questions about girls, boys, anyone in his life, the way his mother frowns when he can’t come up with a name. “Kaa-san worries,” Tsuna says.

“Ah, so a long-term employment then.” More keyboard sounds. “I do have to get some information from you, Sawada-san, but let’s start with your preferences. Are you looking for a girlfriend or a boyfriend?”

Tsuna feels a red blush spread across his cheeks as he stammers out, “Boyfriend please.” 

“Wonderful! Would you prefer him to be taller or shorter than you?”

And so it went on, Haru asking questions about Tsuna and his preferences for a partner, Tsuna answering, sometimes in stutters, sometimes confidently. By the end of the phone call, he’s leaning back against his kitchen counter and laughing at something she said. The phone cord hangs loose in his grip, half-twisted between his fingers. “Well everything seems to be in order!” Haru chirps. “Thank you once again for calling 1-800-LEAP! Your boyfriend will contact you to arrange your first date, and remember if it doesn’t work out, you just give us a call and we’ll arrange a different boyfriend for you!”

“Thank you! Have a good day!” Tsuna hangs up the phone and takes a moment to just stand there, hand still on the phone in its cradle. The AC turns on with a soft roar of air, but otherwise the house is quiet save for a few creaks as it settles. “What did I just do,” he asks himself.

The pamphlet he had found in his mailbox a few days ago flips its pages, blown by the AC. It lands open on a page of a smiling couple who claims to have met by hiring a professional partner and just never wanting it to end. Tsuna snorts. If ever there was an impossible dream…

Ah well, at least I’ll make Kaa-san happy for a few months, he thinks as he tosses the pamphlet into his junk drawer. Ao3

Tsuna hears nothing for weeks. Day after day, he carefully checks his voicemail when he comes home from work, and day after day, there’s nothing except the occasional missed call from his mother. He just about gives the whole thing up as a scam when he wakes up on a Saturday morning to someone pounding on his door. 

He yawns, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. “What time is it?” he asks blearily and turns his alarm clock so he can read it better. “Six-thirty?!” No wonder the light coming in his windows was still a weak, pale, barely-illuminating gray. The pounding continues.

“I’m coming. I’m coming,” Tsuna mutters. He grabs a bathrobe on his way out of his room, slinging it on over his bare shoulders. “Who the hell knocks on someone’s door at six in the morning?”

His professional fake boyfriend apparently.

“Good morning to the EXTREME!” The man standing on Tsuna’s doorstep is tall, enough that Tsuna has to tip his head back a bit to look him in the face. Gray curls glisten in the morning light, and equally gray eyes are forced almost closed by the strength of his smile. He wears a red tracksuit and smells like dried sweat- who the hell works out before dawn?!

“Uh… good morning?”

Apparently that was all the invitation his fake boyfriend needed to push past him into his house, leaving his shoes on the rack by the door and excitedly babbling about making him breakfast. Tsuna follows this stranger through his own house in a daze. Despite the volume, he can’t seem to hear a single word out of the man’s mouth, nor does he get the chance to butt in and direct the conversation in any way. 

Instead, he’s left to watch as a stranger opens all of his cabinets and gathers the supplies for a hearty breakfast. At six-thirty in the morning.

His fingers find the phone in is cradle, and he picks it up, dialing the company number from all those weeks ago. His… boyfriend… doesn’t seem to notice, just keeps on chattering and cooking away. 

The line clicks. “Moshi moshi! Thank you for calling 1-800-LEAP! How can Haru help you today?”

“Hello, this is Sawada Tsunayoshi.” He pauses, then adds, “Again.”

“Ah! Sawada-san! How can we help you this morning?”

“Um… my boyfriend just showed up out of the blue and is currently cooking me breakfast… I don’t even know his name,” Tsuna says quietly. No matter how awkward the situation was, he doesn’t want to insult the man currently waving a scoop at the rice machine as if lightly threatening it will make it cook faster.

It’s actually kind of cute now that he thinks about it.

“Oh my! Haru is so sorry, that is completely unacceptable, if not entirely surprising, behavior! We will absolutely recall Sasagawa-san and arrange a different fake boyfriend for you.”

The rice machine beeps, and Sasagawa-san beams at it and gives it a pat before opening it and scooping the rice out into a pair of mismatched bowls from Tsuna’s cupboards. On the stove, a pan of eggs pops in oil. The smell of the warm rice and egg begins to fill the kitchen, and Tsuna’s stomach rumbles.

It’s… been awhile since someone has cooked breakfast for Tsuna. And right now, Sasagawa-san is standing in his kitchen, waging a fierce battle against the mason jar lid holding Tsuna’s pickled vegetables hostage.

“Actually, Haru-san,” Tsuna says, interrupting the representative. “I think I’d like to continue with Sasagawa-san, if it’s all the same to you. I was just surprised this morning.”

“Oh well,” Haru hems and haws for a moment. “If you’re sure, Sawada-san. Please remember that you can call us at any time, and we will arrange a replacement for you.”

“I’m sure, but I’ll keep that in mind. Thank you, Haru-san.” Tsuna sets the phone back on its cradle just as the top pops! off the mason jar in Sasagawa-san’s hand. 

“AHA! That was an EXTREMELY tight lid, Sawada-san! You must be EXTREMELY strong to tighten it so well!” The brightness of Sasagawa-san’s grin is almost brighter than the dawn light that is finally breaking through the curtains behind him. 

Tsuna would be lying if he said it didn’t take his breath away just a bit, and he pushes that thought deep down and locks it away. This isn’t real, he’s just doing his job. “Ah, I guess so,” he says, rubbing the back of his head. “I, uh, didn’t catch your name?”

For a brief moment, Sasagawa-san looks like he ran into a telephone pole. A bright red flush spreads from his cheeks all over his face and to the tips of his ears as he curls in on himself a bit. “Hehehe, I must have EXTREMELY forgotten to introduce myself.” He straightens, “Sasagawa Ryohei, at your service!” Then he bows deeply still holding the jar of pickles.

“AH! Sasagawa-san! The pickles!” Tsuna lunges for the mason jar as the pickling juice begins trickling out, but he only succeeds in slamming his forehead against Sasagawa-san’s.

  Together they land smack on their asses on the tile. The jar shatters, sending glass shards and vegetables everywhere. Tsuna exchanges a wide-eyed look with Sasagawa-san as the vinegar seeps into his pajama pants. A smoky undertone accents the smell of the vinegar filling Tsuna’s nose.

Smoky… no, burning… THE EGGS!

Sasagawa clearly has a similar train of thought because as Tsuna reaches up to turn the stove off, he leaps to his feet and takes the frying pan off the burner. Crisis averted, Tsuna rests his head against the oven door with a heavy sigh. “So much for a warm breakfast,” he mutters.

Sasagawa barks a laugh above his head. “We’ll just have to be EXTREMELY quick in cleaning the glass up then!”

And suddenly, it’s just a bit easier to smile, stand up, and get the broom from the corner.

[1yyyyyy1]

Tips & tricks on how to stop giving a fuck about other people, specifically their feelings and chimpout reactions, if you're sensitive to that stuff?

This is a complex topic. You can become sensitive to people's reactions for quite a few reasons, ranging from mild workplace disagreements to severe trauma. The most effective approach will depend on the cause. As such, I will always advise to consult a qualified professional if it is possible. The following is what found helpful in my own introspection and what I personally find important to understand about mental health.

Do you have these moments in your life where, long after a conflict subsided, you replay an event in your head wishing you had retorted with something clever? Do you find yourself thinking how stupid you are for being bothered by something this petty? Is your immediate decision to shut your eyes tight and wish for it to go away? Don't. Stop in your tracks and finish your line of thought. A disturbance like that is not petty. In situations where retaliation is not an option for a variety of reasons, be it the danger of calling out your superior, or simply because the opportunity is long gone, people tend to not only opt out of confrontation, they opt out of experiencing the related emotional feedback as well. How often do you feel that your anger is useless? That the situation is simply too dire to be resolved with a simple display of emotion, and that expressing your displeasure would be a waste of time? Anger is an indication that something is wrong, and it is useless for as long as you devalue yourself and your own biological processes. The reaction you wish you had had has not gone anywhere, you are simply suppressing it over and over again, just like you did during the incident. Recalling it in an untimely manner is what the brain does in an attempt to process the event in earnest.

The solution comes down to the following psychological phenomenon: it does not matter to your brain whether the person you are referring to is real or imaginary, it treats them all the same. If it is not safe for you to confront the person, do it retrospectively and it will have a similar effect relieving emotional tension. The same principle applies to situations where it is dangerous for you to express your disdain outright: dealing with an abusive ex-boyfriend, your parents threatening to evict you should you make a fuss. You can see me refer to an imaginary person in this post as to avoid a spat and let off steam all the same. I have had women confide me in the fact that they talk to themselves in private, and it is crucial to recognize what this process functionally is. Do not deny yourself this on the premise that it is stupid or bizarre. Whenever you catch yourself slipping into an unpleasant memory, take a step back and play out the event as if it were real. Defend yourself to the best of your ability and don't mince words. I assure you, you will not only feel better, you will no longer be haunted by the incident soon after the exercise is over.

If I were you, I would ask myself this: Why do I care? Why do I care about people's feelings? Why do I feel like I have to take them into consideration?

Many a thing with insecurities are an inverse trauma response. It is easier to assume that you breaking down means you are unfit for the job, and not that your supervisor is a bully. It would require reflecting on the circumstances that led up to the moment: financial instability, fear of losing the job, a potentially triggered flashback; that in itself is traumatic. The best thing you can do is not make an enemy of yourself. Few a person has your best interest in mind. Now is not the time to be insecure.

I do not care about people’s opinions and feelings because their input is of limited value to me. Living by this world’s principles has never worked for me, it is stupid to assume that it will now. A common concern I have seen women express over consistently making a harsher judgement is that they will end up not having enough self-awareness not to go overboard, and that they will needlessly hurt the people around them and themselves in the process. The truth is that people who are malignant behaviorally do not ask themselves these questions, and they certainly do not consider themselves being at fault a possibility. With a smidge of awareness, you are good to go.

[sistermclarens]

Hungarian GP 2024: McLaren Race Radios 2

We pick back up behind the scenes where both Lando's tires and tongue are heating up.

Laps 1-30 | Laps 31-39 | Laps 40-54 | Laps 55-70

Lap 31

TS: "And turn 1 exit last lap, don't use the rears quite that much."

Oscar has now gotten repeat tire feedback on turns 1, 3, and 7.

Lap 32

TS: "So Oscar there's some cars ahead now; they're all backmarkers that have come out of the pits, but you'll start to pick up some dirtier air. There's quite a few cars there."

WJ: "Gap to Hamilton now is 4.7. In turn--" LN: [interrupting] "Yep! I want the gap ahead; I'm gonna need a number to go quicker [cause I'm?] slower." WN: "I'm about to tell you. So Lando, mind the rear slips, turn 5, turn 7. Opportunity turn 4: early lift. And opportunity turn 13: early brake release."

This is a FASCINATING exchange. Lando interrupting Will and sounding frustrated, then Will giving a borderline snarky response back. His "I'm about to tell you" is very sing-song "I'm annoying you because you're annoying me" in a kind of sibling petty argument way. Then in the end he doesn't even tell Lando the gap to Oscar 😂 The whole exchange is definitely an indication that Lando was unhappy with the race WELL before the last pit stop strategy/fiasco came into play. Note that Lando is still asking for the tire advice for how to speed up, rather than being nagged about it. However, he's already framing it in terms of CATCHING OSCAR rather than LEAVING LEWIS BEHIND. He wants to win (of course of course, as professional athletes all do), but in doing so he's ignoring that Will has told him twice that "our race is with Verstappen [P3]" (lap 14) and "our opportunity ahead and behind is potentially to extend" (lap 23). In hindsight this looks to be where the seeds of the conflict are planted rather than the end of the next lap where Oscar goes off track. Lando here is already chafing against the team order to protect the 1-2 rather than race Oscar. Oscar going off the track just gives Lando an opportunity to take advantage of in terms of getting ahead.

Lap 33

WJ: "And Lando, opportunity: tight into apex turn 1 and turn 2."

Lap 34

TS: "Oscar is everything ok?" OP: "Yep." TS: "Ok we're in the window for a full safety car, in the window for a full safety car."

😂

WJ: "And Lando the full safety car window is open, just the full one. For your info it might mean a short soft stint at the end."

Lap 35

TS: "Kay pace is still good; make sure you stay off the astro cause that put a lot of temperature into the rears. Settle them back down; it's a really good place."

WJ: "And Lando both cars struggling with the rears. I know you know: you need to avoid those snaps."

So here what we get is Oscar fucked his rear tires by going off track. Between laps 33 and 36, the gap between Lando and Oscar drops from around 3.5 seconds to about 1.5 seconds. Lando has been concerned about his rear tires since lap 10. In Lap 27 Will specifically said that Lando was locking up his rear tires in turns 1 and 2.

This moment of Oscar going off track is literally the moment that changes everything. In Lap 33 we hear that Lando wants to fight Oscar for P1, but he doesn't really have any options to do so: too far behind to undercut, stuck in bad air and traffic. Oscar going off track closes the gap between them by SO much SO quickly that it suddenly becomes a new race. This is the moment where, if they were competitors, it would make perfect sense for Lando to take advantage of Oscar's mistake by undercutting him. And they ARE competitors to the extent that they are directly competing in the driver's championship. It makes sense that in this moment Lando spots a weakness in the competition and begins to focus on ways to exploit it. HOWEVER. Lando specifically is currently operating under the team's orders to defend P2, NOT challenge P1. Refer back to Andrea Stella's interview about potentially punishing drivers who disobey orders and you can see here the first hints of the future conflict between Lando and the pit wall.

Lap 36

TS: "Okay we're now in both safety car windows, safety car and virtual safety car." OP: "Copy, I think target level will be enough." TS: "Understood. We think we need target minus five, target minus 5."

Oscar is pushing for that (I think) lap 50 pit stop; the pit wall has already decided to move it up to around 45, probably because both cars are doing a shit job with their rear tires. At this point, given the pre-race decision that whoever lead into the last pit stop would be uncontested papaya P1, the pit wall is probably anticipating pitting Oscar first. He gets more specific instructions than Lando does (target minus 5 vs mid-40s) so it seems clear that they expect to maneuver Lando's pit stop around Oscar's rather than vice versa. Oscar is the priority driver at this moment.

WJ: "Lando, the key here will be to get to the mid-40s, and both safety car windows are open; please confirm."

That's not a typo; the radio recording has no response from Lando. THIS is why we get Will's cunty "is ur radio broke" message in lap 52, because LANDO HAS IGNORED HIM FOR 16 LAPS STRAIGHT.

Lap 37

TS: "Ok pace looks to be recovering a bit; how's the tire?" OP: "Yeah, recovered a bit now." TS: "Next few laps will be tricky with the traffic. You're doing a good job."

Lap 38

TS: "Ok you've got five seconds of clear air now, five seconds of clear air. And we're still putting a gap on Hamilton, and Verstappen is still stuck behind him."

Oscar can't make use of this clear air to pull ahead of Lando. Across laps 38 and 39, the gap between them hovers around 1.3.

WJ: "Lando, just be careful of the rears, turn 4, turn 11."

Here is where we get the beginning of the end in terms of specific Lando tire comments. He's known that his rear tires are not where they'd like him to be since lap 10. He's been warned twice in the first half of the race about using too much tire in turns 4 and 11. Now we put those two issues together: rear tires specifically struggling in turns 4 and 11.

Lap 39

WJ: "And Lando, gap now is 1.3; ok to race the papaya car, but still the mid-40s."

So now Lando has been given permission to race Oscar until the mid-40s pit stop. This I think we all assumed just from hearing the radio message over the broadcast. The key info that we didn't have on Sunday was that this is not just "race then stop." We now know from Baz's tweet that whoever lead INTO that pit stop was meant to be the uncontested winner. Of course I soooooo wish to have been a fly on the wall of that meeting so I could have the exact language of the agreement. Presumably "leading into the pit stop" is that whoever was P1 before either of them pit was meant to be P1 after they pit, or reestablished as P1. But I can easily see how, depending on the language of the initial instruction, this could be open the door for confusion re: Oscar being P1 but Lando being given the preferential undercut. Lando WASN'T P1 going into the pit stop, but by pitting him with an undercut, literally everyone knew he was going to be P1 coming out of the pit. Are you functionally P1 "going in" if you know you're going to be P1 coming out? I'm overthinking this way too hard and certainly thinking about it more than Oscar and Lando are capable of 😂 I think without the full story (which we'll never have), the most plausible explanation is "what conclusion is most likely to be reached by two under-educated rich white men" and the answer is of course the simplest conclusion: Oscar was leading into the pits, so Oscar should be reestablished as P1. The fact that Lando was so worked up about the situation is, in my view, more of a demonstration of the fact that he always assumed he would be winning, right from the initial pre-race agreement, rather than an indication that the instructions were unclear. But we can never really know 🤷‍♀️

[dancingbabya-notes]

Nothing is right with you!!

<-♡—♡—♡—♡—♡—♡—♡—♡—♡—♡—♡—♡ —♡—♡—♡—♡—♡—♡ ->

Speedy (Roy Harper) x Male half alien reader

This is very much young justice influenced, how old am I? you don't need to think too hard about that just know this is the first of a series I tried to write and... never played out say hello to some of my 2017 writing

<-♡—♡—♡—♡—♡—♡—♡—♡—♡—♡—♡—♡ —♡—♡—♡—♡—♡—♡ ->

Roy? It just had to be him, huh? The universe didn't just set me up with some cute alien boy or something? Why did the only thing to survive have to be the fucking glowing of the heart?  

"Y/n, what's wrong baby boy," the soft voice of my mother catches me off guard as I pull my hand from my hair. 

"Nothing, I…um gotta go now. Don't wait up for me, alright? You have work early tomorrow," I smile as I walk over and give her a small hug. 

"Be careful, I know how it was when I met your father, it was difficult to put it simply," she whispers as she walks away. 

I chuckle and shake my head as I teleport with a quick snap of my fingers, being in the kitchen of my mom's apartment wasn't much of a change from the chilly rooftops of Starling city. California is a lot colder at night than I really appreciated, but one can learn to love it. Standing on the rooftop in front of me was a slim redhead with dark circles around his emerald eyes. Both of us were very aware of the peeking glow of red on the left of our chests. Closing my eyes, I waited for the wind to blow one last time before I heard his voice. 

"So, what exactly are we going to do about this problem, Y/n?" His voice was hoarse like he had been yelling for hours. 

"I dunno Roy, what do you suggest? It's not like it would change anything we still have a job to do, don't we?" I state, clenching my hand in the pocket of my hoodie. 

"Possibly quit," he hisses. 

"Yeah, I'm totally going to give up the best opportunity in my whole life, Roy. Either you act professional or we can butt heads the whole time," I glare at him. 

"I am being professional, Y/n. Maybe you should be the one that sucks it up," Roy states in a monotone voice. 

"I understand that you want nothing to do with me, but honestly you aren't being professional at all. One: just because you didn't want to work well with other kids you go off on your own and try the whole solo hero thing, but oh wait you got kidnapped and cloned. Then once back to being yourself you somehow have some kind of heart and try to be 'kind' but that fails too. Now you are being a douche all because you don't want to follow some stupid matching of your species," I had started at a whisper and felt my voice climbing. 

"How do you know all that?" He steps back. 

"Your mind isn't the quietest. You lack mental barriers," I groan and turn to leave. 

Before I can go anywhere someone lands down in front of me, with a sigh I sit down cross-legged as the alien superhero walks closer. 

"What seems to be the problem, boys?" Asks the broad voice of Superman. 

"Nothing that concerns you," Roy hisses. 

"Sure, it is, only if the two of you insist on being so loud," sighs a deep voice behind me. 

"Fucking hell," I curse. 

"Did you really think I wouldn't notice?" The dark knight states. 

"This really has nothing to do with either of you," Roy groans. 

"What are they talking about?" Superman, obviously clueless, asks. 

"They are talking about their glowing hearts, humans have evolved over the generations and this trait specifically has seemed to be the one that has lasted the longest," Batman explains. 

"Roy, we are leaving," I grumble about to snap my fingers when Batman grabs my hand. 

"Not so fast, this is something that you will need to understand. It's no game," Batman snaps. 

"Well we don't want anything to do with it," I counter with a glare. 

Roy turns his back to the two adults trying to lecture us. Superman seems still very confused. Batman sighs and forces Roy to sit down next to me as Superman looks the both of us over. 

"I've been on earth for a long time and I've never noticed this," he frowns. 

"Because not everyone is close to their match, and some don't care enough," Batman explains. 

"Will you leave the two of us alone," Roy shouts. 

Before either male can answer, I wrap my dominant arm tightly around the angry redhead next to me and teleport again. This time as we stop, I shoot my hand to cover his mouth shaking my head. The black walls of the room we stood in were glowing red as I walked to one wall and placed my hand against it. Once the entrance way opens, I pull Roy into the room and wait for the opening to close again. 

"Where did you take me?" He frowns as he pushes me away. 

"My second home," I shrug sitting down on the table that was right next to the door. 

"What do you mean second home?" He sighs. 

"To put it into simple terms, we are on another planet. To be specific we are on my dad's home planet," I explain. "Surprise, I'm half alien. Specifically sarulk." 

"Why did you bring me here?" He shouts louder. 

"Well, it only takes me a few seconds to get here. The only other person who knows about my home planet is my mother and Batman, but Batman has never been here." I state, looking back at him. 

“So, our situation still needs to be handled,” he sighs. 

“If that’s what you want to do then I guess that’s what we will do,” I nod. 

"What are we going to do exactly?" He groans sitting down. 

I stare at him for a moment as I think. "How about we just accept it? Now before you try to argue against it, hear me out. I'm not saying let's get married or anything, I'm really not in the mood to accept defeat like that. Why don't we just keep going about our lives like we have been? All because our anatomy thinks that we belong together doesn't mean we have to stay together; I'd rather keep life going about the way it is. And being half alien on earth isn't easy like how you're human. I'll take all the help I can get with this being accepted into human society, how come you never found out I had a sister until today, it's due to the fact that she was cast out of human society, and I don't want the same." 

"Are you sure this is going to work?" 

"No, it takes two and I know that I'm asking a lot of you and your pride. But I feel like we can continue about life and you can find a nice girl to marry in a few years and have kids, and I can do the same. Hell, if it's to keep things normal I'll personally ask if we can be separated and never have to be in the same place unless absolutely necessary," I offer with a nod. 

“We can see how this works,” he nods. 

Returning back to earth was quick, as we stood on the top of the roof, I stared at the sky above. Roy was looking at me as I considered something. 

“I’m going to do something,” I sigh. 

“What are you going to do?” he frowns. 

“I’m going to do something, and you close your eyes after I’ve done, I’ll leave,” I explain. 

“Fine, do it quick,” he rolls his eyes as he closes them tight. 

With a nod and a quick wave to be sure that his eyes are closed, I lean close and press my lips to his. He stays statue still and I pull away, with a small nod I quickly leave and chuckle at the food sitting on the counter for me. 

“I told her not to wait up for me,” I roll my eyes as I make my way to tuck my mom into bed.

<-♡—♡—♡—♡—♡—♡—♡—♡—♡—♡—♡—♡ —♡—♡—♡—♡—♡—♡ ->

Masterlist

[coldalbion]

Like Covid, climate change will force more artists away from traditional opportunities for community and inspiration. The pandemic turned drag Twitch streamer DEERE into a full-timer; as a makeup artist, her gigs vanished. So she focused on her passions: drag, horror games, and streaming. Early in the pandemic, comedian Jenny Yang created and hosted Comedy Crossing, a twice-monthly standup show streamed over Zoom from inside the game Animal Crossing. Throughout 2020, it raised more than $40,000 for Black Lives Matter. “I’m in this industry and have dedicated my life to it because I want to be part of a conversation,” she says. “To me the collective conversation is what makes life meaningful.” BOARLORD is an indie game developer who “pivoted to porn” (and Patreon) during the pandemic after working in tech, where she discovered “the naked hatred they all have for cultural production.” It was there she found her place. “I am not trying to capture the largest audience. I’m being hyper-specific, sometimes to my detriment," she says of her work. Or, to put it another way, DEERE, Yang, and BOARLORD all found their own ways of seizing the means of production, of audience-building. It's the same thing Black Girl Nerds CEO Jamie Broadnax discovered live-tweeting Scandal years earlier. “I didn’t know I was building a community,” Broadnax says. “I was tired of waiting for a seat at the table, so I built my own table.” The appeal of becoming one’s own studio head is obvious. “Take TikTok,” says Clifton. “You have teens with a more polished presence online than most companies, who have become TikTok experts seemingly overnight, and their work just keeps getting more and more professional-grade.” But in a world where everyone is a brand, no one can be a star. And influencers have discovered what porn performers already knew: Platforms are fickle. Content guidelines, corporate ownership, and payment structures can change overnight, without explanation. Much like humans have permanently altered and unsettled the natural world, online ecosystems for fans and creators have experienced rolling shocks in response to technology. Just as users find another den, it’s burned down. The story of the internet is the story of America itself: a seemingly limitless landscape transformed into a shopping mall populated by the same handful of brands, products, and voices. MacDonald tells me that what’s important about pornography isn’t what it can tell us about entertainment but what it can tell us about how platforms will treat people in the future. “Porn workers are the canaries in the coal mine. They are the first ones to be censored, demonetized, deprioritized in recommender systems, shadow-banned,” MacDonald says. And their vulnerability will soon be everyone’s. “Porn workers are at the bleeding edge of showing that if we don’t address this unilaterally and quickly, next it will be queer video gamers, and after that it will be certain political opinions, and that is alarming. That should concern everyone.” To understand how the American media landscape fractured, one must first understand the brands that forged it. According to Faris Yakob, cofounder of creative consultancy Genius Steals and author of Paid Attention, advertisers created the neutral “view from nowhere” voice in media. In the 19th and 20th centuries, national brands looking to grow customers wouldn’t partner with biased publications. But everything changed when ad tech arrived. “People started tagging their digital media buys so it wouldn’t appear next to topics like homosexuality, or Covid, to avoid getting into clusters,” Yakob says. “But that means that the news isn’t being funded. If you can pick and choose what topics to fund in news, you can distort what is being reported on, to some degree.”

This a fantastic article that touches on so much

[jae-bummer]

My Idol 3: Part Sixteen

My Idol from Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia

My Idol is a South Korean competitive reality dating game show. It currently airs on Saturday nights on Jae-bummer’s blog. First broadcast in 2016, the show offers the opportunity for a lucky fan to go on seven blind dates with seven idols. The idol plans the date with the show throwing in a specific mission to complete during the day. At the end of the initial dates, the show opens up an audience vote to decide what four idols will move on to the second date.

My Idol 3: The Series

.

"Shhh," Chan cooed into your hair, pulling you closer to him. Hongseok remained on your opposite side, his hand holding tightly to yours.

You let out another whimper, trying your best not to cry. You could feel San's fingers lightly grazing your shoulders from behind and Hyungwon sat crisscross at your feet, staring up sympathetically. You had been cocooned by the boys you had borrowed strength from for weeks, and now you were taking from them again.

Jungkook and Jackson stood side by side, arms crossed as they watched one of the small screens still connected to the various cameras rolling on stage. Speaking quietly amongst themselves, you all waited with bated breaths.

Where was Hoshi?

"Are you sure you're okay?" San directed toward Chan. During the skirmish, he had also ended up on the ground.

"I had a bad wrist anyway," Chan smiled sadly, flexing his hand that was now wrapped in a bandage. "Someone stepping on it didn't do much more harm than what was already there."

"You two match now," Hongseok joked, looking from San to Chan. He was now sporting a small band aid on his cheekbone, courtesy of a fan trying to grab for him. You knew they were making light of the situation, but it was hard to laugh when you were mostly the reason for both injuries.

Chewing on your lip, you looked up with watery eyes as Insu burst into the room. His expression was wild as he tried to assess what was going on, not calming until he finally set his attention on you.

"Hoshi?" you croaked. As you had all been ushered into a safe room backstage, he was nowhere to be found.

"We have him," Insu confirmed with a tight nod. "His security guard couldn't get to him, so he took matters into his own hands and hid."

Hyungwon let out a small huff of a laugh. "Hid where?"

"One of the equipment cases," Insu sighed, shaking his head. "He actually got stuck. We couldn't get the locking mechanism undone."

"So he's still in there?" Jungkook asked, whipping around with lifted brows.

"He's still in there," Insu confirmed grimly.

"How are you getting him out?" you squeaked, trying to wrap your head around the situation. Leave it to Hoshi to be so resourceful that it gets him in trouble.

"The camera guy who's responsible for the case is on the way with the keys," Insu explained. "He normally doesn't keep them with him because he rarely locks it up."

"Will he be okay in there until then?" you whispered, suddenly very worried about the amount of oxygen one of those things allowed to filter through.

"He'll be okay," Insu confirmed with a reassuring nod. "We have emergency staff on standby if anything goes sideways."

"This is just perfect," the host groaned, stomping into the room. "Kpop civil war erupting on live television. Production cannot be happy with you right now."

Insu hardened his jaw and narrowed his eyes at the host. "You don't know what you're talking about."

"How?" she gasped, flapping her hands in the air. "I saw it with my own eyes! Security let those people get through and that's your specialty."

This incited an eyeroll from Insu, which was shocking, considering he was usually so professional. You tried to swallow down the new worry of Insu losing his job on top of everything else. If you sat back and counted all of the things you had to be concerned with, your brain would explode.

"What's the plan?" San asked, looking hopefully toward the host. "Are they clearing the studio? What happens next?"

"They're escorting out the final audience members now," she sighed, pinching her nose between her fingers. "We'll do the rest of the show without them."

"We're going back out there?" Jackson gasped, now spinning away from the monitor he had been focused on. "Are you crazy?"

"I'm not, but production is," she muttered. "They aren't going to just cancel the show because of one little fan uprising."

"How do you expect us to go back out there?" Hyungwon chuckled bitterly. "Who says something else won't happen?"

"I think that's up to this guy," the host mocked, patting Insu heavily on the shoulder. "I'm sure we're all in very capable hands."

Turning on her heel, she vanished from the room again, leaving you all to stare blankly at the security guard.

Shaking his head, he followed after her, a light curse dropping from his lips.

.

"Are you sure you're alright?" you groaned, leaning your head against the box.

"I'm great," Hoshi's muffled voice came through the other side. "Just let me know if I made it to the second round."

"I think you have bigger things to worry about right now," you chuckled.

"I'm stuck in a box, Y/N," you could hear him giggle. "I don't have much else to think about."

"What even happened?" the question had been bothering you since you first heard of his circumstances.

"There were several, very enthusiastic fans grabbing my clothing," he explained. "None of the security guards were coming for me, so I had to get away or I would be half naked on public television."

"And to protect your virtue, you locked yourself in a camera tote?"

"Something like that," he laughed. You were glad that he could take this all in stride. "Don't you worry about me though! I'll be out of here and sweeping you off your feet in no time."

"Y/N," a PD interrupted. He tapped on his watch before motioning to the stage.

"I have to go now," you sighed, placing your hand lightly on the case that separated the two of you. "I'll be here whenever you get out, okay?"

"Sounds good!" he chimed. "Can you make sure someone has water on hand? I'm parched."

Shaking your head as you laughed, you pulled yourself to your feet. You felt like you were living in a poorly scripted sitcom. How could you even be upset when they were so bizarre?

Climbing the steps onto the stage, you settled back into your chair. You could admit you were a little shaken, but ready to try again. At this point, you had something to prove. What was essentially an angry mob came after you and a group of people you cared about. You weren't going to let them see that their bad behavior got them what they wanted.

"And you're comfortable with this?" Insu appeared, draping a blanket across your legs.

Giving a short nod, you glanced up to his face, searching his pinched expression. "What about you?"

"I'll be fine."

"But she said-"

"She didn't know what she was talking about," he said quickly, glancing over his shoulder to the host who was now fiddling with her dress. "I'll explain everything later."

Having to trust him on that, you offered a sad smile. "Later then."

As Insu disappeared from the stage, you watched as all of the contestants came out again and took their seats. Hoshi, of course, was still missing.

"Nothing like a little on-air disaster to really make you feel alive, huh kid?" the host grinned, straightening her posture. Not even sure what to respond with, you remained silent as the camera crew began counting her down.

"And we're back!" she gasped, perkiness written across her mannerisms. "You just can't keep My Idol down!"

Awkward chuckles echoed across the group of men, unsure of what to do with themselves now that things had gone so terribly awry.

"Now, to fill those fans in watching from home," the host continued. "Before we had to pause our programming, there was a bit of a disturbance in the studio. No matter, we've got everything sorted out and we're back to let you all know who will continue on in hopes of being Y/N's idol!"

You were starting to feel like the grin on your face had slipped into something more similar to a cringe. The trauma-ception happening in this moment made your skin crawl.

"As a note, due to our earlier interruption, Hoshi was not able to join us for the rest of the show this evening. This does not disqualify him from advancing though."

Exhaling a breath you had been holding, you nodded. Hoshi's smiling face was an obvious gap in the group of men before you. You hated having to continue on without him but realized that there was only so much time slotted to record the show.

"Y/N," the host cooed, turning to you. "How do you feel now that Jungkook has made it into the second round?"

"I'm happy of course," you smiled, trying to keep things as normal as possible. "I think I would be happy if any of these guys had gotten through, but I really look forward to getting to know Jungkook better."

"You can tell us, Y/N," the host said slyly. "Are you sure he wasn't one of your favorites to make it through?"

"Why do you keep trying to pin us up against each other?" Jackson burst, truth behind his laugh. "We still don't want to know!"

"Alright, alright," the host laughed as well. "We'll keep the playing field even. Why don't we announce another contestant then?"

If the live audience were here, you would've expected to hear clapping (or possibly booing). You were hoping they had some sort of reaction track playing to cover up for the uncomfortable silence flooding the stage.

"The next idol to advance to the second round of dates...is..."she trailed, making the tension even worse.

"Choi San!"

"Me?" San all but shouted as he sprung from his chair. His smile was contagious as he began to approach you, arms open to pull you into his torso. "Like me, Choi San? Or someone else, Choi San?"

"You!" you giggled, allowing your chest to fill with happiness for a brief moment. It was difficult to chase away the guilt that came with another date making it through. While you were happy that you would see San again, it did mean you wouldn't see one of the other guys.

"My dubu," San cooed, rocking you from side to side once you were in his arms. "We did it!"

"You did it!" you gasped, leaning away from him to catch another glimpse of his over-the-moon expression. It was difficult to be upset when you had caught a ray of sunshine in your hands.

"I told you it was a great date," he giggled, finally letting you go. "Maybe you'll believe me next time!"

"It was a great date," you agreed. "But only because of you."

"Pfft," he huffed, the tips of his ears turning bright red.

"San, how are we feeling?" the host asked.

"Like I'm in a dream," he smiled. "I'm a pretty confident guy, but I never expect to just win things. This may be one of the best things I've ever won."

"And just think, there's still more to win!" the host chimed, swinging her chair back around to the remaining men. "There are two rounds left after this one, the second round, followed by the weekend dates. Is there anyone in particular that you all think can win this whole thing?"

The men looked thoughtfully amongst each other. "Maybe Hyungwon?" Hongseok offered.

"Me?" Hyungwon scoffed. "Why me?"

"You own a mirror," Hongseok countered, a sly smile on his face.

"Just because he's good looking, doesn't mean the chemistry is there," Jackson blurted out. Turning toward Hyungwon, he put his hands in the air between them. "Not talking about you personally, but that goes for any of us. I think we're all pretty attractive."

"Any of us could have a chance at winning," Jungkook nodded, chewing on his lip ring. "It's really intimidating."

"All of you think so warmly of each other this season," the host said, furrowing her brow. "What's caused the comradery?"

"Eating dinner almost every night together," San grinned as he once again found his place amongst his competitors.

"A lot of us knew each other before," Chan offered. "But living in the same building and using the same common areas led us to become more familiar with each other."

"Now that's a point we haven't touched on," the host picked up. "How did it feel to be sequestered in a hotel room while you waited for the rest of the dates to play out?"

"Luckily for me, my date was a little late in the first round," Chan chuckled. "But it's given me time to really buckle down and work on music, so I don't mind."

"I've slept so much," Jungkook laughed. "It's almost like a vacation."

"I did some choreography for TikTok," San nodded. "I kind of have built in collab partners. Hoshi was always willing to dance with me."

Nodding sagely, you attempted to look toward the area off stage you knew held Hoshi's predicament. He hadn't appeared again, so you assumed they were still working on getting him out.

"How does the thought of possibly being held in the hotel for a few more weeks sound?" the host smiled.

"I'm sure it won't always be fun," Hongseok nodded. "But I'm willing to make it work."

"Why don't we find out if you'll have to make it work then, Hongseok?" the host hummed. "Let's take a dive into the opposite end of the poll and reveal two of the idols who didn't make it."

"What?" you muttered, moving quickly to face her. "That's brutal."

"Reality television often is," she sighed, shaking her head. "Jungkook or San, do you have any words of wisdom for those who will not be able to continue forward?"

Still reeling from this unexpected change, both men looked up in a panic. Glancing toward each other, they looked as if they had swallowed something they shouldn't have.

"There's plenty of fish in the sea?" Jungkook attempted with a nervous laugh.

"Better - better luck next time?" San chimed in with a wince.

"Better luck next time indeed," the host chuckled before flipping to a new cue card. "Unfortunately for three of you, your journey stops here. The first two men who will be eliminated are...

Kwon Hoshi..."

You let out a hiss of air. He wasn't even here to react. You looked down to your shoes, trying not to be bitter. Hoshi had been your last date, but it was worth the wait. You had never met someone who could make you laugh so easily or help you feel so unburdened. Now you couldn't even look him in the eyes as the news was announced.

"And Yang Hongseok."

Your heart fell to your toes. While you didn't want to pick favorites, you felt a bit shattered at the thought of Hongseok not moving forward. Zeroing in on his face, you almost began crying by how crestfallen he looked. He had been one of your fiercest protectors and carried you through what was one of the worst moments of your life.

"It's okay," he said quietly before struggling to his feet. Walking toward you in a bit of a daze, he took your hands in his. Pulling you toward him, he repeated the words, more to himself than you. "It's okay."

"It's not," you whispered, burying your face in his neck.

"We'll be friends," he assured you, running his fingertips down your back again and again. "What we went through together...that can't be taken away."

You began to sniff as you leaned away from him. "Promise?"

"Pinky promise," he smiled, reaching up to dab at your tears with the edge of his sweater sleeve. "Now don't mess up your makeup over me."

"You're worth messing up my makeup over," you pouted.

"You'll be happy with any of these guys," Hongseok nodded, motioning to the men who were still seated. "Take care of my Y/N, okay?"

All of the contestants agreed in their own ways, varying from nods to shouts of "Of course."

Giving you one last sad smile, he reached down to squeeze your hand. "Don't miss me too much, okay?"

You shook your head before plopping back down in your seat. Letting him simply walk away made your chest ache, but you knew it was a necessary evil. You signed up for this.

"Chan, Jackson, Hyungwon," the host sighed. "How are we feeling?"

"Nervous," Chan groaned. "So nervous."

" This is cruel and unusual punishment," Jackson chirped.

"I'll move this along then," the host smiled. You knew she was enjoying every minute of what was happening. "The third idol to move on to the second dates..."

"Wait, wait," Jackson gasped. "You're not just telling us who the third eliminated person is?"

"Now where's the fun in that?" the host chuckled, causing Jackson to begin chewing on the inside of his cheek. He looked less than amused.

"So this is it?" Chan gulped. "We're just getting right down to it?"

Ignoring the men's complaints, the host continued. "The third idol to move on to the second dates...is...

Jackson Wang."

"Well, shit," Jackson giggled. Striding toward you, he paused in front of where you were sitting and began to hop up and down. "Saved the best for last, ay?"

You let out a huff of a laugh that was both self-pitying and happy. The moment was sweet, but so heavily tinged with sadness. In true My Idol fashion, only three men got to continue forward to the next round. You would have to leave Hyungwon and Chan behind.

While Jackson was obviously excited to be moving on, he instantly picked up on your stress. "Hey."

Glancing up at him through your lashes, you allowed him to pull you to your feet. "You're allowed to be sad," he said, his tone huskier than it had been only a few seconds ago.

"But I'm happy," you hiccupped, unsure if that was true. "You made it through."

"You can be happy on our next date," he nodded, offering a small smile. "But right now, you can be upset or angry. You can feel whatever you need to."

You were so grateful to have such an understanding person on your side. Nodding, you stuck out your bottom lip.

"Hyungwon, tell me how you're feeling?" the host asked, interrupting the tender moment between you and Jackson.

"Disappointed," he mumbled, shaking his head. "I knew there was a chance I wouldn't get through, but it stings."

"A chance you wouldn't get through?" the host said, fake confusion now painting her features. "But you still have a chance."

"I-" Hyungwon said, startled. "I what?"

"While My Idol usually allows votes for three idols to move forward to the round of second dates," she smiled. "This season, we've graciously allowed four."

"Christ," Chan hissed, his face dropping into his hands. "Would've been nice to know before I almost started to tear up."

You lifted your brows as you looked from Jackson to the host, and back to Jackson again.

"Cheer up, buttercup," he grinned, rubbing his thumb across your cheek. "You can be happy for me after all."

Letting out a surprised giggle, you engulfed him in a hug. "We're going to have so much fun."

"Damn right we are!" he cheered before letting you go and taking his seat again.

"Why wait any longer?" the host oozed. "Let's move on.

"The final idol...to advance forward...is...

...

..."

You closed your eyes, silently praying to any god who would listen. You weren't sure if you were asking for strength, understanding, or just the ability to get through this without passing out.

"Bang Chan."

Snapping your head up, you weren't sure if you were going to laugh or cry.

It was all over.

One boy to comfort and one boy to congratulate.

All that was left was to figure out how to push forward.

[skrrts]

i'm curious, maybe post a preview?

sure, if you want to. i picked one that has no specific warning other than adult language in form of curising. also, for this one other's use "she/her" for the MC.

also, san is a rich guy & mc a journalist, just to make a connection.

“I am waiting for my wink of fate,” you sighed into the phone, Jongho listening calmly as you reported about the interview.

It seemed a little unfair: in movies, now was the time when the life of the protagonist turned around. Suddenly, there would be a real job opportunity, and a wink of fate would reveal the best friend to be the true love of their life, previously overlooked, after some big asshole ruined the day.

However, in those fictional worlds, people chose their lovers, which wasn’t how it went here. Sure, those without soulmates had affairs and desires that needed to be fed, but it was not the same. Nothing could live up to the completeness your soulmate made you feel. At least, that was what everyone said, from your parents to your friends.

“You worry too much. As for the interview, I can write you a decent intro and we’ll just sell it as a documentary story. Don’t stress about it,” Jongho reassured you on the other side of the line.

“You are the best, did I tell you that?” you sighed, thankful for his support, even though you knew you brought this on yourself by being the most unprofessional you had ever been.

You were leaning against your car in front of the airport when a figure started to appear in the distance. You paid attention because, as a journalist, you learned to look out for details that did not fit, and the way this person moved indicated they were looking for something in a great rush.

As you stared, you kept scratching your hand, listening to Jongho, who was telling you something about your boss after you left the office yesterday.

It took you a moment to realize that the figure rushing toward you was none other than Choi San.

“Fuck,” the word slipped before you thought about it, and Jongho grew silent.

“What happened?” Jongho sounded alarmed.

“The fucking CEO… he’s walking towards me. Shit, I swear he was in a rush to get his flight and I did not provoke him that much. Ah, I better get going! Talk to you later.”

“If I don’t hear from you by the evening, I’ll call the police,” you heard Jongho say as you threw your bag on the passenger seat and slipped into the driver’s seat.

The moment your door closed, there he was. You could see a mixture of relief and concern on his face when he found you. You stared in disbelief as the fancy-dressed man, whose hair now seemed a little messed up like he had run his hands through it too often, placed himself right in front of your car.

“I need to talk to you. Now.” His voice struggled between a dominant approach, likely from shouting commands to his staff, and attempting to be… soft?

What the hell was this all about?

“Get out of my way,” you said, your hand indicating for him to move, but instead, he leaned forward, getting comfortable on your bonnet like a bartender relaxing against his bar while talking to a customer.

At this point, you realized that he was likely doing his very best to force you out of the car. Now your thoughts were running wild, trying to remember if you ever heard a story of this guy going after interviewers, but no, he was too good for that. He just used other people to wash out the dirt.

You exhaled and finally decided to get your bravery back and got out of the car.

“Mister Choi, if you’re suddenly freaking out about that interview, there is no reason to. While I let my professionalism slip for a moment, I have no intentions to write about your personal life…”

He made it to your side by the time you prepared a speech and found yourself pinned against the car. Suddenly, this guy seemed much taller than he did half an hour ago.

“What are you… doing?”

His breath tickled your skin, and for a moment, he was looking at your face before, more tenderly than you expected, reaching out for your left hand.

“I knew it.”

You swallowed thickly, feeling strange. The way your body suddenly reacted to him was odd, and your eyes lowered a little.

“I don’t… what are you talking about?”

San’s face turned, and he looked at you, turning your hand around.

After all this time, years of forcing yourself not to shake any hand just with the hope of finding your soulmate like that anymore, you stopped to stare at the spot that was meant to carry it.

How did you not notice that a mark appeared?!

The man entwined his fingers with yours and turned them around so you could comfortably see how his matched with yours: a moon surrounded by thorns.

Science had failed to explain soulmates, the marks, or the way how every pair was affected differently by it. It was only certain that they all shared a deep bond of trust, which could be challenging when the people affected were more distrustful in their general nature.

“You… are my soulmate?”

Oh great, you should not have joked about waiting for your protagonist moment. Nobody told you that getting the villain was a possibility.

“Let’s go.”

San simply skipped your reply, and before you knew it, a firm hand held you and pulled you along. You were glad now to be one of those silly people who always carried their phone around their body because otherwise, you’d be gone without anything.

“Hold on, what are you doing? Mister Choi! You cannot just drag me away!”

To your surprise, he stopped and turned around.

“San. There is no reason for us to bother with titles and surnames,” he simply replied.

So this man, one of the richest in the world, just figured out you were his soulmate, and it was just okay… you would have expected somebody like him to be disappointed, maybe judge a little.

You almost would have preferred it because it would have made fighting back easier.

“Mis… San, can we like slow down for a moment? You realized we are soulmates and just ditched that flight that was so important just an hour ago?”

You tried to phrase words that would distract you from the loud heartbeat in your chest.

“Nothing is more important than you now. I have waited patiently for you to finally show. Business meetings can be rescheduled, but I need to first take care of you. I do not see where the issue is. As it is custom in our society, two soulmates naturally belong to one another. We are fated, so there should be no concern for you. Let's return home, we can discuss everything else there.”

He was already back on the move when the words slowly sunk in. San really just took the hardcore route of the soulmate system and considered you went from zero to one hundred within less than five minutes too.

“Home? Please, hold on!”

This time, your tug was firmer, and a frustrated growl left his lips as he stopped again and fully turned to you, yet his hand squeeze almost felt desperate like you could vanish should he let go.

“I do not understand why you would reject it! Did you not wait for me? Have you not yearned to finally be completed too?”

His words hit you, and for a moment, you just stared.

Of course, you did, you always wanted to get home and have somebody waiting for you, who would kiss you and hold you, love only you just the way you were, and you had forced yourself to act like it was fine, that you could live without it while everyone around you got just that.

But was this how you wanted it to go?

“Of course I waited, all the time! I just… need a moment to let this settle. You just rushed here, yelled at me that this is it, and now you are kidnapping me.”

The word made him frown; he was obviously confused by your reaction, but before he could speak up again, a fancy car appeared.

The door opened, and from the backseat, a very handsome man about the same age stepped out, his long hair tied in a bun with a suit matching it perfectly, though he wore a shirt rather than a button-up.

“Wooyoung,” San sighed, his body relaxed a little, but he was still holding your hand.

“My my, you made quite a fuss. What kind of security guard am I if you just run away like that? Tell me,” he chuckled and looked at you, his dark eyes scanning over your appearance before he smiled.

“Miss Y/N, it is my pleasure to meet you,” he bowed playfully. “I am Jung Wooyoung, head of security for the Choi family. It’s a pleasure to meet you. We have waited for you for quite some time, but please relax and know we are already making preparations to find the most suitable arrangements for you.”

Oh great, everyone around you had turned insane now.

“She doesn’t want me!”

You didn’t expect San to sound so pitiful when he looked away, Wooyoung looked in confusion, blinking before chuckling.

“Ah, I see. I’m starting to get an idea of how this went,” he looked from the CEO back to you.

“You might not think it, but San and I grew up together. He can be a little… direct. Please, let me apologize on his behalf. May I make a suggestion? Let me drive the both of you to that restaurant which is quite popular right now. We’ll arrange for some privacy, and you two can talk properly.”

At least one man was mature… you looked up at San, who seemed tense, awaiting your answer.

“Fine, let’s do that. I did not reject him, I merely disagree with being kidnapped.”

"I didn't want to kidnap you, I was taking you to my place. How can a soulmate kidnap his partner?!"

San was about to further counter, but Wooyoung already opened the car, indicating for you to get in.

“I won’t let go of your hand,” San replied, looking away.

You sighed, shaking your head: “Fine then.”

Without hesitation, you pulled him along, and you found yourself sitting inside the most luxurious car you had ever seen.

You swallowed hard as the vehicle moved, leaving your own car and the airport behind, with a hand suddenly clinging desperately to you.

[narrans]

The Orion's Daughter : To Lands Beyond | Chapter Ten : The Odd Learned

**~~~~~**

Chapter Ten | The Odd Learned

**~~~~~**

I have officially done it – I am now the town odd ball. It has taken twenty years since moving here, leaving me a young woman of twenty-seven, but I have finally managed it.

Granted, this was not a title I initially welcomed, but it seemed fitting.

Known now as the Orion’s daughter and the most unlady-like woman in town, I – Terrilyn Lun – was known around town for my various “odd behaviors.” Sure, I often wore my combination of pants and skirt into town. Yes, I did keep my blades on hand, often wearing one or the other on my hip as well as a dagger on my thigh or by my ankle. I absolutely was seen around town reading under trees or by fence posts, chatting with anyone and everyone nearby if they wanted to talk.

I didn’t feel odd, but, in a weird way, I could see their point. Some of the things I did were a bit unusual, but it was no different than some of the men in the town. Perhaps it was because it was uncommon for a young woman to do these things.

In the end, I didn’t care about their opinions. I lived by my momma’s phrase and Steele’s encouragement to live life how I wanted and to pursue the things that made me happy.

I was friends with beggars and gypsies, nomads and traveling scholars who started to come and visit Steele. They were interested in his culture and opinions on certain issues. One wanted to write about his life imprisoned as an innocent man. Others were curious about his perspective as an Orion living in our land. Some even wanted to learn Steele’s language because, for us, it was almost impossible to find someone who understood it in its entirety.

I involuntarily became some kind of liaison between these scholars and Steele. Initially, they kind of brushed me off. It seemed like they couldn’t believe that I could speak Steele’s native language and that I could manage answering many of the base questions they had about Steele and his culture.

Eventually, word seemed to get around to all of these university students and scholars seeking a topic to study and eventually publish on. They started to come and find me, or I would find them talking to Steele while he was out in the fields or by the ocean working or enjoying the breath of the day.

Each person I talked to said the same thing – you are very well learned.

My guess was that they meant that I was well learned for a woman, but I didn’t mind. I knew my worth, and I was going to prove it to them. The first opportunity came when one of the scholars asked me if I came from an affluent family, to which I laughed and told him no. He gave me some notes as well as a list of names of people to write to if I was interested in attending university, and he was not the only one.

There were several scholars who gave me names of professionals and scholars who, according to them, would be very interested in teaching me and learning from me based on my extensive knowledge, specifically about the Orion.

To me, this was one of the greatest opportunities I had ever had in my entire life. Steele had done so well teaching me, and now I had the chance of pursuing something I had a true passion for – learning.

The universities on the continent were far away, and it took several convincing conversations to both my mother and to Steele, which surprised me, to let me possibly attend. Their main concern was me being out in the world on my own so far away where no one would possibly be able to assist me, but I wasn’t worried. I knew how to handle myself and how to solve a plethora of problems.

Eventually, Steele came around and agreed that there was little he could teach me now and that if it was my passion that I should consider it. He spoke of his land and how our cultures were different in this way. Steele told me that it was expected in his land for both men and women to attend university and further their studies to begin a professional career.

Here, in our land, it was almost unheard of for a woman to attend university and to become a scholar of any sort. Tutored and educated, yes, but not at the well-known schools.

All of the scholars who came to visit Steele were men. Only one of these young minds brought his wife with him and, even then, she wasn’t exactly a conversationalist. She kept her conversation to gossip she had heard on the road and rumors she heard about Steele.

Boring.

Dull.

The guy, Glif Tian, was much more entertaining to talk to.

The more I interacted with the intellectuals from far off universities, the more I wanted to attend.

So, late one evening, I used an entire ink well and most of my lantern light to compose letters to all of the universities where I received names from. I wrote to them about my skills in the Orion’s language as well as herbs, stones, strategies, and histories I knew. I included a list of books I had studied, which was far less than what I had actually read and asked for their favor in letting me attend university.

It might have been a long shot, but it was worth taking. I wanted this, more than anything. This was how my adventure began. This was how it all started for me. I just needed one “yes,” and then I had my ticket to the lands and worlds beyond this small town of Creewood. Just one chance was all I needed. The real question was who was going to give me that chance.

~~~~~^*^*^*^*^~~~~~

Continue

Previous

Beginning

~~~~~^*^*^*^*^~~~~~

Book One: The Orion’s Factotum

[snowddeong]

Already had an idk how long hour rant session with Sarah about this shit but I'm still so annoyed so part 2 lmao

It's so profoundly frustrating and discouraging how itzy continues to be mistreated in every fucking facet you can imagine for the sin of literally being successful, talented women.

They're literally div 2's bottom line but the company acts like they're doing the girls a favour by even posting about their cbs on the accs that were literally made to promote itzy. We are just now getting some semblance of tiktok freedom 5 years into their career meanwhile idols that debuted after them have their own instagrams and their juniors in the same company have more freedom on all sorts of socials. We've confirmed that div 2 flubs so many of their opportunities for who knows what fucking reason after what happened with the CK Yeji event. And most importantly everything to do with Jisu — never fucking protecting her in any way, overwork, stifling her and the other girls' creativity, not utilising her voice well and every other fucking stupid thing they've done that's definitely made what she's going through so much worse. The girls are a cash grab to that fucking company (to the point we literally first learned about the cb and tour in the same post that was announcing Jisu's diagnosis) and they're not even allowed to express any frustration or sadness over that because "that's not professional" and they'd probably lose everything they've worked so hard for.

If they look sad you're not supposed to acknowledge to it or sympathise with it or treat them as human beings because it's "funny" to joke about how they want to get off work and anyway they're idols who gives af about idols anyway right? So called midzys are more concerned about making unfunny jokes than actually getting to know these girls. Every mf will say "ot5" then turn around and straight up hating certain members. Dehumanisation has become so fucking normalised in midzyville but then mfs will act surprised that the company gets away with this very obvious exploitation and mistreatment. If you view these human beings as a product that you can say whatever tf you want about on sites that you know they frequent because "it's just a joke lol" ofc the mfs presenting them as a product are going to benefit from it 😭

Then you have fuckass bitchass shitstain mnet and their hate boner for itzy. The largest number of most viewed videos on choom, the first choom performance to get more than 50 million views that's still consistently gaining more and more views, the first mix and max vid to get 50 million that's also still gaining views and gagged the kpop space so hard that Bebe Rexah released a korean specific version of break my heart myself and performed at fucking kcon because of Ryujin and Yeji, and their MAMA 2021 being the most iconic performance of that night (to the point that mnet decided to call back to it again last year mind you). You'd think wow hey these guys get us views let's be nice to them and keep them around.... but nah, deleted their iconic fucking performance that gave their boring award show relevance, deleted their debut stage, don't invite them to choom anymore, didn't even send ryeji their trophy or record something for Yeji when she got hers and then the bullshit that went on today lmao. Like it's so fucking obvious and you have to wonder WHY ffs

I have nothing against the group that won even though some of their stans are the most disgusting scum of the earth but like surely.... the numbers did not make sense. Even if you say itzy's digital points were too high okay fine that's just affirming that mnet isn't very honest with their numbers. They deleted itzy's untouchable stage for who knows what fucking reason then uploaded it later with reset views. How tf am I supposed to believe all this was above board when we've been beating that fandom in voting CONSISTENTLY even if they mobilised fandoms to help okay fine but did they enlist the whole of stantwt or something lmao how tf was the difference that great? Why were the sns scores so fucking weird when itzy untouchable shorts have consistently more views? Why is it "cope" or being a sore loser to call foul play when there's so much pointing to it being that AND mnet has a history of rigging??? The only real answer is it's because this happened to a girl group and specifically because this happened to itzy. They released one song people didn't like and suddenly deserve every terrible that happens to them is deserved and just "midzys complaining about nothing". And when it gets to a point where even the girls seem visibly frustrated and dissapointed? "Nah they just want to go home early lol don't read too much into it don't care"

This is so long and I feel like I could go on forever but tldr I just wish better for them man 🫠 every group is unique and important in their own way but itzy are really once in a lifetime performers. I know there's no such thing as a perfect world where everything goes smoothly especially for girl groups but fuck is it too much to ask for a little respect on their names and for everyone to leave them tf alone at the bare minumum 😭 itzy is the only group under div 2 just fucking do your jobs lmaooo

[adorablebanite]

Some questions from the edgy list for ya,

What is your OC's fatal flaw? Are they aware of this flaw?

How does your OC want to be seen by other characters?

What is your favorite thing about your OC?

Oooh man these are difficult ones, thank you!!

Fatal flaw....I suppose with Lilla it's her literal obsession and loyalty to Gortash - I mean the guy is ridiculous, lol, and doesn't deserve it - but she knows that and doesn't care. It took her a hot second to just accept that his unscrupulous nature doesn't really sway her feelings, and once she did, she fell into her role as his little minion quite well.

As we know, the whole Elder Brain domination thing is equal parts brilliant and idiotic - the massive feat for even just DOING THAT is amazing, but the short-sightedness and hubris of the enitire scheme is comedic (which is why Withers roasts the dead three in the end).

Lilla actually contributed to a LOT of ilithid research for Gortash upon his decision to dominate the Brain, and she even knew what the risks were, but she's so caught up in Gortash's web, she just goes with it anyway, because it's pretty much impossible to see him doing anything wrong.

As for Destri - I suppose her fatal flaw would be her inability to decide which "Destri" she wants to be, because these are two opposing forces, and she doesn't know how to deal with being stuck in the middle of the tyrant, and Bhaal.

She's never been in a position where she had to consider what she wanted - she was always loyal to Bhaal because it was all she knew since she was a child. It wasn't until she stepped onto the threshold of the Tyrant's chambers - like it was a sanctuary from the boiling and buzzing in her brain - did she even know there was any alternative. That threw a wrench into her well-oiled, easy life as a Bhaalist, but as an adult, she's wholly unequipped to deal with comprehending a relationship that isn't entirely transactional, and physical and emotional pleasure (as twisted as it may be) beyond just exchanging sacrifices for the ecstasy of murder). Obviously Gortash isn't really equipped for a relationship himself, but it doesn't stop him from trying, lol!

Anyway it's also plausible I don't really know what a fatal flaw really is, but that's as close as I can get, and I appreciate the opportunity to think about it!

- how does OC want to be seen by other characters?

Well Lilla doesn't care about much beyond what Gortash thinks, but she is still good at eliciting positive reactions from her sweet-lady charisma. She portrays herself as prim/proper and professional - even before being hired by Gortash.

At the time she was working for Mistress Contella, who ran a workhouse for young women once they got too old to live in the orphanages, and basically took advantage of their labour, but provided them room and board. She used Lilla specifically to spy/take notes on gossip while tending wine at parties (to sell to the Baldur's Mouth)- one of the many temp positions her girls where assigned to - so Lilla in particular is adept at blending in at fancy parties, and carrying herself with poise. Once she became a Banite, her demeanour was still prim and proper, but she began taking queues from Gortash in how to handle bargaining, polite banter, underhanded threats, and of course direct threats. So really it depends on which environment Lilla is in as to what she wants others to see her as 😉

Destri usually wouldn't care either, because she never had to, until the Tyrant. It's not that she really cared what he thought about her- it's more what Orin and Bhaal's temple would think if she started to have doubts about her destiny - To ultimately sacrifice her soul and body to her father as the final slayer form. She had no concerns about this before meeting Gortash, but afterwards, she was terrified Orin would know for sure she had doubts.

I answered the last Q In the first ask (I think? My memory is fried). Thank you so much for letting me blab about them, and it made me have to think!

[sicktember]

Hello, I would like to ask a question regarding prompt 9: My initial assumption about the term "white coat syndrome" was that it meant something like "medical professional getting sick and downplaying it", but after googling it I found out it specifically relates to hypertension that is only present at the doctors office due to anxiety in that specific situation. This confused me a bit. Could you please elaborate on that prompt?

You are absolutely correct. White Coat Syndrome is a type of anxiety that is characterized by a distinct rise in blood pressure (and sometimes body temperature as well) while in a doctors office type setting.

But what it boils down to is a person being nervous around/afraid of doctors. The symptoms are a result of the anxiety.

So in your writing, you may have your Character A refusing to go to the doctor because it makes them severely uncomfortable. Or maybe Character A has no choice but to go to the doctor and their blood pressure shoots through the roof causing concern. Then again, Maybe Character A is really out of it and simply whimpers at the mention of going to the doctor.

Any of those things offer an excellent opportunity for Character B to step in and offer some comfort. Holding Character A's hand and whispering calming words. Alternatively you could have a Character B who is baffled to the point of being completely unhelpful, telling Character A things like 'It's not that big of a deal' 'Suck it up' and 'Just calm down.'

Hopefully this helps and gives you few ideas!

[dogwittaablog]

I was never a nolpat fan (didn't hate him, he just wasn't one of the guys I was fannish about), and even I was... not devastated, but still felt something of a gut-punch when I read about what he said in these accounts. And it's not because I have some rosy view of hockey - I grew up around it, unfortunately I know all too well how toxic it can be. I try to go into fandom with the expectation that any player (including/especially the ones I admire) can do any of the myriad terrible things that are so common in this sport's culture, fall in step with the also terrible political views of the majority, would generally be a person I would not want to talk to irl. The gut-punch part for me I think comes from 1) plain old sadness/disappointment/horror at the reminder of how awful human beings can be, just, in general, because yes of course I know these people exist and see evidence of it all too often, and even if this was some rando on the internet those comments would be upsetting; and 2) that these comments hit me right in my sense of unfairness, that so much opportunity and privilege was given to someone so terrible. (Of course privilege isn't distributed based on goodness, but it's always infuriating to see shitty people get good things/no comeuppance for being shitty; sure, cosmic justice isn't a thing, but we sure wish it were.)

As many others have said, I do think it's important to understand the reality of this sport's culture and its myriad issues, and take steps back to make sure you're keeping that fiction/reality divide clear in your head, but as you pointed out, some people are new or have less experience with the realities of hockey for whatever reason, and even if they are, people will be upset by news of someone being a piece of shit because someone being a piece of shit is generally upsetting. I don't think it's productive to tear people down for simply not knowing how bad it was. Dismay and the misguided belief that someone being good-looking and talented and quiet correlates to their quality as a person aside, I have yet to see anybody digging in their heels and bending over backwards to defend him (like other anon(s) pointed out, the Kane fandom meltdown was... scarring, to say the least, and I have absolutely no patience for that, that is block on sight for me.) We're all in this fandom community together, do try to give people some grace to be upset, and maybe don't call them deranged or in need of professional help so readily.

(Which is to say, I agree with your stance!)

A little bit of a long read for some, but you broke down even more points and articulated parts I wish I could've come up with in some of my other anon responses.

I'm sure you're specifically talking about P.Kane (There is so many genuine problematic fucks in the league with the last name Kane, ironically). Though don't even get me started on that because I remember hearing stories about P.Kane through my brother even when I was 12 and seeing media gradually expose his problematic behaviours as well over time too. I am truly convinced anyone who's a fan of his new or old, just obsess over how hot he was in his early 20's and that's all they see when they think or hear of him, cause bro my man went downhill after a point, so it's like what are you even liking about this dude, cause I know it's not even about how he plays hockey LMAO... He literally has an open track record that with a 10 second search you can find everything problematic he's done the past decade, heck you even got grown men even saying fuck that dude too. His fangirls are definitely what I'd consider concerning.