#and trying to do most of this without reference

[chrissv4mp]

MISS ME? ᝰ.ᐟ

warnings. smut, angst, fluff, fingering, g!p (girl penis), p in v, unprotected sex, semi-public sex, car sex, switch!billie × switch!reader, added characters, porn with some sort of plot, language.

synopsis. billie eilish. everybody knows her: the girl who always left both men and women in the dust during her races. you've been the starter to each one of them, and recently, you've noticed she hasn't been showing up. it's been two years, and when a big new name comes into town, billie's quick to pull up to reclaim her special title. and her girl.

au. g!p street racer!billie × starter!reader

words. 6.7k

letters. let's excuse my horrific description of street racing—and just cars in general.... also, i'm re-reading this and just now realizing i only made one reference to 'just keep watching...' the song i was originally taking inspiration from—alongside '2 hands' and 'sports car'..... anyway, enjoyyy!!! i had so much fun writing this 🙂‍↕️🙂‍↕️

there's a stretch of road just outside of the city no one uses anymore—too bumpy for traffic, too dark for cameras, and too far out for any law official to care. potholes like craters. traffic lights flickering yellow every now and then. most maps don't even list the name of the street anymore.

but the second the clock ticks past 11pm, the place lights up like vegas. and everyone who matters knows where to go.

you're always there before the first wave of engines start to pull in, headphones slung around your neck, pistol on your waist, boots up on the concrete barrier like you own the damn place—because you basically do. since you were just sixteen. an older girlfriend of yours had brought you to one of the races, offered to let you shoot the starting pistol, and you fell in love with it instantly. the adrenaline. the rush. and now, five years later you're not even the slightest bit bored.

your clipboard's tucked under your arm, pen behind your ear, eyes focused on the roster of names and heats for the night.

behind you, the old lot's filling fast—old imports, mustangs, beat-up chevys with rebuilt engines and matte paint jobs that already have scratches. headlights making the dust particles visible, exhaust rolling low and thick through the air. cars park in crooked rows beside yours, grills gleaming under the floodlight hung on the power pole. some racers lean against their hoods with their arms crossed, scoping out the competition. others are all talk, loud and gassed up, trying to seem special before they even touch the start line.

you don't flinch when engines rev. don't move a muscle when someone pulls up too close. you've been the starter long enough to know who's real and who's noise.

and you? you're something in between. not a racer. not a spectator. but the one who calls the shots, drops the flag—the signal that turns waiting into war.

people watch you more than they should. and, yeah, you notice, you just don't care.

the boys flirt. some ask if you've got a favorite just to see if you'll flatter them. you never do.

you do have a favorite, though.

but you never say her name. not anymore. not after she kissed you without informing you it was her last race and just up and left without another word—without a proper goodbye, without a proper way of letting you know how she felt towards you.

though, you do still say things like: "no one ever drove that curve like she did," or "that start? it was okay. my girl used to redline smoother."

or the one that always riles them up—"mariah's fast, sure. but she wouldn't beat my girl. not if they went head to head."

and that's when they start arguing.

"you're crazy."

"who the fuck even is 'your girl'?"

"mariah would kill her."

you let them talk, let it go in one ear and out the other. you don't bother answering them when they ask who she is. don't mention that you still check the list every week in hopes of her being on it. you don't tell them she's the only racer on the track who ever had your heart stuttering when she looked at you from behind her tinted windshield and smiled like she already knew how the night was gonna end.

it's nearing midnight when a particularly loud engine rolls into the lot, and you look up quickly—a cherry red charger, engine purring low and smug. some whistle. some cheer. others hold up their phones like they're filming something that can only be seen once in a lifetime. mariah moore.

she kills the engine and steps out slow, calm. mariah's a whole show: gold hoops, leather jacket, acrylic nails brushing her tan cheek as she tucks a strand of hair behind her ear. she doesn't look at you, not at first. but you can feel the way the air shifts.

someone murmurs, "she's takin' it all."

you shake your head mindlessly. your mind drifts. like always.

because even with mariah here—the biggest name in street racing, fastest in the city—she doesn't make the street rumble like billie did, she doesn't even compare to the way billie had your palms sweating and your breath hitching.

you don't say it out loud. but she's already here.

lingering in the sound of a loud bass in someone's car. ghosting through the exhaust haze. trapped in the back of your throat each time someone asks, "who's your favorite?"

they all think mariah would crush her just because you keep her nameless. but you know better.

you know what it felt like when billie pulled up the line, slow and sure, making everybody forget who they really came to watch. you'd recognize the sound of her engine from a mile away, the melody of the song that was always playing when she rolled in.

you're leaning back in one of the old metal chairs under the check-in tent, clipboard in hand now, pen in the other, trying to make sense of the barely legible names scribbled in sharpie and faded pencil. the lot feels more alive than any other night before—laughter echoing off the crumbling brick of the nearby warehouse, engines revving in an effort to intimidate others, bass rocking a few cars subtly.

someone slides up next to you. aiden, one of the other starters. tall, kinda weird, always smells faintly of gasoline and peppermint gum.

"you got heat one lined up yet?" he asks, leaning in to scan the paper over your shoulder.

"workin' on it," you mutter, squinting at the mess of names, pen caught between your teeth. "who the hell wrote 'slim jim with the jaguar'? i swear, these guys are getting out of control."

aiden laughs, full and loud. "hey, that's jaxson. he's been coming out since last spring. you'll probably remember him once his muffler explodes again."

you shake your head with a soft laugh, but your attention stays sharp. you've done this a million times—balancing chaos, keeping things moving, occasionally breaking up a fight or two. you're not just the starter, you run this area of the streets.

"alright," you say, tapping the paper. "heat one is jaxson, reneé, and..."

before you can finish, a silhouette of black and red steps into your peripheral.

mariah.

black leather jacket, tight red crop top, sweatpants low on her hips like she owns the pavement. she walks like a girl who knows she's untouchable—chin up, hair falling over her shoulders effortlessly, eyes locked on you.

"got my name on there?" she asks, voice smooth.

you glance up, meet her gaze. unreadable, but steady. it doesn't faze you at all.

"heat three," you say, clicking your pen and tapping the paper again. "against miles and taylor."

she hums, eyes scanning the list and sighing like she's disappointed. "figured i'd get someone tougher. guess not."

"miles' been doing pretty well," aiden chimes in. "heard taylor's been doing overtime off the track to prepare."

mariah shrugs, uninterested. "i'll dust 'em anyway."

"real humble, moore," is what you want to say, but you keep it in your mind. you don't doubt her words, you just don't feel like she has the right to brag that much just yet.

so you just nod instead, standing up and setting the clipboard on the table beside the flags.

"check-in's by the cones," you say simply, nodding toward the start. "just tell 'em your name and they'll put you in the lineup."

mariah doesn't move right away. she lingers. eyes still on you, tilting her head just a bit to meet your gaze.

"...you seem quiet tonight," she says. "nothin' like before."

you raise an eyebrow, eyes flicking to hers, "and what was i like before?"

she grins. "flirty. sharp. mouthy as hell."

you scoff, turning toward the cars. "maybe your conversations just aren't as flirt-worthy as the other girls' are."

aiden laughs a little, then starts to walk away when mariah glares at him.

mariah laughs, low and real. "okay, starter girl. i'll catch you after i win, sound good?"

you don't respond, instead offering a single nod that doesn't really come off as one. but the second she walks away, that flicker starts again. and not from her. definitely not from her.

from the back of your mind.

the itch of a ghost. again. billie, who always made you stumble over your words like no other—nearly making you forget to shoot the gun when she sent a wink your way from inside her car.

you don't even realizing you're scanning the lot again until aiden comes up and nudges your side.

"expecting someone else tonight?"

you blink. "nah."

but the lie tastes bitter. because billie's name isn't on your list. and you're still looking for her anyway.

praying silently that you'll hear the low hum of a bass line later in the night, that you'll feel the familiar vibration of her engine beneath your feet, through your body.

you look over at the start line just as matthew waves you over. heat one is lined up a few feet behind the line, engines revving, the racers exchanging glances.

the crowd goes quiet as you walk over, starting pistol in one hand, the other resting casually on your hip.

you raise your arm, breathing in deeply, eyes locked on the cars—then you shoot the gun.

they're off before you can even process it, a silver camaro speeding past the line quicker than the others. everyone bursts into loud cheers for their separate bids, others only screaming just to scream.

it was always comforting hearing the cheers and laughter coming from the crowd—even if they weren't for you, it felt like you were still getting your flowers each time you shot the gun and everyone erupted into a loud choir of excitement and happiness. you thrived on it, but never would you dare get behind the wheel and actually drive in one of the races.

billie always terrified you with the way she drove—sometimes with only her knees, other times with one hand while she went 100 on the last curve before she really stepped on the gas and flew down the finish line in first place.

you recall the times she asked you to ride with her. "everything's always better with you. like... like a good luck charm," she'd said to you, fingers twirling a strand of your hair between her fingers before one of the biggest races of her life—and the last race you'd seen her at.

the sound of an engine quickly approaching broke you out of your trance. jaxson's purple jaguar skidding across the finish. reneé comes in second, her black audi following a few feet behind.

then the crowd erupts in mixed reactions, some angry and sad, others screaming and jumping around happily like they've just been rewarded with a million dollars in cash—which, in reality, no bid today was even a quarter of that amount.

the next heat passes by slower than the first, a few rookies taking the wheels of cars that they definitely spent their entire life savings on and didn't research at all.

it's all heat and noise around you—couples kissing over the hoods of cars and girls arguing about something that sounds like a cheating boyfriend? you can't really hear over the loud, obnoxious rev of mariah's charger at the start line, the hood just a few inches away from your legs where you stood between her and her opponent.

you felt the atmosphere change as soon as her name was called to the line. the crowd went quieter, murmurs filling the night instead of loud hollers and disapproving boo's for opposing racers. you couldn't blame them, she was the biggest name in street racing right now—but she was no billie eilish. nowhere near that territory. she didn't even compare to your girl. not now, not ever.

but still, you can feel her eyes on you before she even rolls down her window, smirk calm and cocky. "promise me a date if i win?" it makes your lips curl into a small, amused smile.

"what's the point?" you say, tilting your head to see her better. "i already know taylor's gonna beat you by a mile."

mariah laughs once, hollow. "yeah, funny joke."

you cock a brow. "never said i was joking, moore."

aiden snaps at you off to the side. you don't bother giving him a mere glance. instead, you just walk over to mariah's window and lean over, lips so close she feels your breath on her skin.

"fine," you whisper. "but if you pull some shit like you did last time, except to be blacklisted from any future race you're lookin' forward to."

her expression change is so subtle you're sure nobody would think she's fazed even in the slightest, but you see the way her brows furrow just that little bit, the way her lips twitch in that cocky grin that's wavering on nervous now.

"good luck," the tone of your voice is sweeter than before, eyes softening as you walk back to the middle and pull the gun from it's holster in your belt.

mariah rolls her window back up slowly, eyes locking onto the road in front of her as silence envelopes the crowd.

pop.

and they're off.

everyone lets the quiet continue for a second longer before going insane. grown men are screeching like little girls as they scream mariah's name, bouncing on their toes as they watch her clear the curve. smooth. calculated.

everything she does almost looks staged.

taylor trails behind her in a white bmw m3, drifting around the curve and momentarily grabbing first place. you can feel the tension from all the way across the track, your own heart pounding wildly in your chest—the deal with mariah sounds stupid now that you're watching her keep up with taylor.

"shit," you sigh, stepping back from the track quickly and running a hand through your hair, eyes never once leaving the cars.

aiden walks up just as you say it. you hate how he always has the worst timing. "finally see why mariah was named the best?"

you shake your head, and it slips from between your lips before you can stop it. "no, just finally realizing how stupid i was for promising her a date if she won."

he smirks. "same thing."

the final stretch of the race has you clutching onto your pistol, breath caught in your throat—it's mariah and taylor. miles isn't even in the question anymore, having spun out near the first curve.

it's a blur of white and red as they pass the finish line, engines roaring over the crowds applause and screams. not even you can tell who won—and it seems that neither can the girls as they come to a stop and jump out of their cars, their breaths still controlled as if they didn't have everyone on the edge of their seats.

matthew runs to watch the playback, and you swear you see his hands shaking as he brushes past you.

it's quiet as everyone watches him rewind the tape from the camera at the line.

one beat.

two.

then, "mariah moore. first place by a millisecond."

it's even louder than you expect it to be—people honking their horns while hanging out of them in the parking lot, groups of friends crowding each other and jumping up and down, someone even pulling out a megaphone and starting a chant of mariah's name. that makes you let out a quiet giggle.

but as you watch mariah jump back in her car and park it off to the side, nothing's funny anymore—because her next stop was definitely your house, picking you up late in the afternoon tomorrow for the date.

mariah hops out of her car again, strutting over with even more confidence and cockiness than before. her eyes are locked on you, smile growing, hair flowing perfectly in the cool night air.

she stops in front of you, already pulling her phone out of her back pocket. "think you owe me—"

the sound of an unexpected rev catches everyone's attention. including yours—in fact, you're the first one to turn your head in the direction of the noise.

your heart nearly jumps out of your chest.

that familiar vibration of a bass through blown-out speakers, the thick exhaust smoke trailing behind the car—the car.

billie's black dodge challenger.

mariah is the last thing on your mind now, your eyes locked on the windshield, hoping you'd see her sexy grin even through the dark tint that was definitely illegal. she doesn't even park in a space, just stops in front of the check-in tent and gets out, jordan's hitting the ground lightly, shorts hanging low on her hips despite the temperature, brown strands falling over her shoulders.

the crowd has the same reaction as they did before mariah's race, but the murmurs are louder—more curious.

"is that really her?"

"holy shit, i thought she was gone for real."

"time for mariah to retire."

"didn't she quit?"

billie doesn't spare them a glance. her focus is set on the check-in table, steps long and filled with confidence that even had mariah crumbling a little. you watch as she walks toward aiden, who stood behind the table with a clipboard in hand. he looks up, and you swear you see his jaw drop.

"i want a race," she says—no, demands. firm. unrelenting. "the best you've got. can you do that for me?"

aiden stutters, struggling to find his voice as he steps forward. though he was starstruck, he was also very strict on the rules. "i—i'm sorry, we've already got everyone in their assigned heats. there's no—"

"nah, i don't think you heard me," billie brushes him off, shaking her head with a smirk that you always saw when she was getting pissed off. "i want a race."

"yeah, and i said—"

"she's right here, eilish," you cut in, motioning toward mariah, and billie's head turns instantly. the smirk on her face grows into one of excitement, eyes glinting with something you can't quite name.

the brunette scoffs, his eyes widening. "y/n, you can't—"

you eye him. "she's billie fuckin' eilish. go read an article before denying her again."

billie laughs quietly, pushing off the table and walking over to you, stepping between you and mariah, who she doesn't pay any mind. her eyes flick to your lips, biting down on her own before finally looking you in the eyes.

"miss me?" she whispers.

you shrug. "did you win yet?"

her smirk grows. then she gives a shrug of her own and raises her brows. "we'll see."

mariah steps forward just as billie steps back, the two of them now side by side in front of you. their eyes gravitate toward each other, both of them giving the other an obvious once-over before billie speaks.

"mariah moore," she murmurs. "i've heard about you. best racer in town as of now, yeah?"

"yeah," mariah answers quietly. "you must be billie. haven't shown up to a race since 2022, correct?"

the question has no obvious bite, but the tone in which she says it has billie poking the inside of her cheek in frustration, nodding her head instead of saying something stupid.

"hurry up, girls," you interrupt, nodding toward the line as they both look up at you.

"yes, ma'am." they answer.

billie jogs back to her car quickly, jumping in and pulling around to the line, the crowd pulling back and forming a path for her. it's nearly silent now as mariah reverses just behind the line again, the low hum of both engines setting the mood.

tension is high as you step onto the track again, planting your feet firmly onto the small sliver of pavement between both cars.

you look over at billie, who flashes a smirk before turning back to the road, lips lowering into a thin, tight line. once she was focused nobody was able to break her out—not until after she won the race.

then you glance at mariah, who's already staring at the road, gripping her steering wheel tighter than she did when put up against taylor and miles. the last race scared her, you could tell in the way she was so quiet after jumping out of her car earlier—so there was no doubt she was terrified right now.

your eyes flick to the pavement behind them, pulling out your gun and raising your arm, elbow straight. you inhale, exhale.

the gun goes off.

and so do billie and mariah.

billie's challenger jumps forward first in your peripheral, and you turn quickly to see who gets the starting advantage. it's billie, per usual. the adrenaline running through your veins is 20x more strong than it was when you were watching mariah's race. because after not seeing billie race in so long, you're unsure if she still has it.

but you don't lean into the doubt just yet.

mariah's red charger weaves around billie's challenger, taking the curve perfectly and bursting out of it. she doesn't get far. billie kicks her gear lower and speeds past mariah with practiced ease, accelerating quick and drifting on the last curve.

you hold your breath as mariah creeps up on billie, engine revving loud as she tries keeping up with her—but billie's already got the length of a car hood between her. the crowd screams in anticipation, watching as billie bolts through the finish line and slowly comes to a stop.

mariah follows behind her, tires not moving nearly as fast as billie's were. the crowd is speechless, not even hollering coherent words anymore, just babbles of nonsense and excited cheers and squeals.

billie reverses with her head sticking out of her window, a proud grin on her face as she parks just off of the track. she steps out, and you can already feel the smugness radiating off her even from a few feet away.

she walks over to mariah, tapping her shoulder and holding out a hand. "good race," she compliments. "'m'not bad, considering i've been gone since 2022, right?"

you see mariah's expression flip quickly, brows furrowing in frustration as she pushes away from billie and mutters something under her breath.

billie's in front of you before you can even announce the winner—even though it's clear.

"let's try this again," she breathes, taking your hand and bringing it up to her lips, pressing a soft kiss to your knuckles. "miss me?"

your hand finds the collar of her shirt, pulling her close, lips mere inches away from hers. "you know i did."

you don't let her get another word out before kissing her. hard. passionate. like you've been waiting for this since the last moment you saw her. because you have. you've been waiting for it so desperately and now you finally get to do it.

her hands find your waist, pulling your hips forward, pressing your body flush against hers as she kisses you back just as passionately, eyes fluttering shut, heart thumping against her chest so loud she's sure you've already heard it.

you pull away abruptly, breathing hard. "let me show you."

billie doesn't miss a beat—and you don't even care about the small, sharp pain in your wrist as she twists it, dragging you toward her car and practically shoving you into the passenger seat.

you swear you hear aiden call after you, but billie's already pressing on the gas and speeding out of the lot without a second thought.

she doesn't drive far from the noise, pulling off to the side directly under a blue streetlight, a ray shining in through the tinted windshield. billie shifts into park, then glances over at you, still breathless.

neither of you say another word. you just climb over the center console and straddle her lap, legs pressed against either of her thighs, hands snaking up her chest and around her neck, squeezing lightly just to hear her gasp.

then you lean forward, lips finding hers, rougher than before—dirtier because you weren't accompanied by a large, judgemental crowd. billie's tongue presses against your lips, asking politely for entrance. you grant it without another thought in your hazy mind, moaning softly against her mouth when you feel her tongue clashing against yours.

her hands slide down your body, squeezing your waist gently. then they move down to your ass, pulling you down against her lap, pulling you closer to her like she wants to morph your bodies into one.

"don't ever fuckin' leave like that again," you growl against her lips, kissing down her jaw, then scattering open-mouthed kisses along the expanse of her neck.

she huffs a laugh, head falling back against the headrest, eyelids fluttering shut as she lets out a small, relaxed breath.

your teeth nip softly at her pulse point, eliciting a pained hiss from between her pretty lips—you soothe the bite with your tongue, sucking gently, the sensation a contrast from the sharp pain just moments ago.

billie brings a hand up to your hair, fingers tangling in the messy strands of your hair. "thought you'd have forgiven me by now."

a scoff escapes your throat at her words, but it dies down into a surprised gasp when she bucks her hips up, something hard pressing against your clothed core. a shiver runs up your spine.

"don't get an attitude with me now, sweetheart."

you roll your eyes, lips pressing back onto her skin, one of your hands snaking down her chest and slipping under the hem of her shirt, fingertips teasing the smooth skin of her stomach. her breath catches noticeably, pulse jumping under your tongue.

"i have every right to have an attitude with you," you grumble, palm finding the cup of her bra and squeezing through the fabric. "i should fucking hate you. i mean, you kissed me and then up and left without another word. a text would've been enough, billie."

billie bucks her hips again, groaning at the pleasure.

"let me make it up to you then," she pants, slapping your ass.

her hand untangles from your hair, sliding down your neck, your chest, your stomach, before eventually snaking down into your little shorts. the damp spot on your panties is enough to make her moan, eyelids fluttering open to meet your eyes as you gasp.

she stares directly into your eyes while stroking your clit through your panties, biting her lip and smiling as she watches your brows furrow in pleasure, hands finding her shoulders, nails digging into her skin even through the fabric of her shirt.

then she slips her fingers past the cotton waistband, fingertips sliding through your soaked folds, running along your dripping slit and slowly pushing in two of them. the moan that escapes your throat is long. loud. like you've been holding it in for her since before you can remember.

your eyes roll back when she scissors her index and middle fingers inside of your cunt, thighs trembling around her lap, nails unrelenting on her shoulders.

"yeah," she coos. "there you go, baby girl. just needed me to fill this greedy pussy of yours for you to shut up, hm?"

billie lets out a moan of her own when you roll your hips forward, pressing down just enough for her to feel it through both the fabric of your pants and her own. she bites her lip, hips bucking up involuntarily as she watches you get off on her fingers.

she inhales sharply. "so tight, too. fuck," she breathes. "been waitin' for me, haven't you?"

you nod mindlessly, jaw falling agape when billie pushes her fingers deeper, thumb finding your clit and pressing down hard. if that wasn't making you see stars, the added pleasure of her lips on your neck definitely was.

"billie, oh my fucking—" you cut yourself off with a guttural moan, hips stuttering against her palm. "god—i—fuck you."

you feel her grin grow against your neck, lips so soft and plump and mind-consuming as she continues kissing you, fucking you. deep. hard. passionate.

"in a minute, doll," she teases. "can't even be patient and wait for my cock. so fuckin' greedy." she murmurs, kissing her teeth.

a low whine of frustration emits from your throat at her teasing, walls clenching around her fingers as you feel your orgasm start to approach quickly. your breathing goes shallow, quick, short breaths falling from between your kiss-swollen lips.

"shit—gonna, oh my god, m'gonna cum!" you whine.

billie huffs. "c'mon, mama. make a mess f'me."

and you do.

with a loud, broken moan, your walls flutter around her fingers and you finally feel the knot snap in your tummy. she slowly works you down from your high, muttering sweet nothings into your neck as she leaves a litter of kisses all over your skin.

her free hand creeps up your chest, fingers wrapping loosely around your neck—casually. like she owns you.

and after this, maybe she will.

"this make up for my absence?" she hums, thumb running along your pulse point, feeling it jump under the pad of her fingers. she presses down, eliciting a gasp from you.

you laugh quietly, but it cuts off into a disappointed moan when billie slips her fingers out of your cunt slowly.

she brings them up to her lips just as you open your eyes, pushing them in, plump lips wrapping around lengthy digits, tongue moving between the crevices and licking off every last remnant of your sweetness.

cold blue eyes never leave yours, eyelids hooded and dark with lust and desperation—and love, above everything.

you bite your lip, already pulling off your shorts and ruined panties, throwing them into the backseat. "m'still mad at you. but i know what'll make it better..."

billie releases her fingers with a 'pop,' a smirk growing on her lips once again. she cocks an eyebrow, tilting her head, eyes finally leaving yours to trail down your half-naked body. her eyes land on your dripping pussy, clit swollen and puffy, arousal leaking down your smooth thighs. she groans.

"yeah, and what's that?" she inquires, hips already moving.

silence. instead, you answer with your hands—fingers undoing the button of her jeans, then pulling down her zipper. you lift yourself slightly, tugging her jeans down until they fall to her ankles.

there's a small damp spot on her boxers, a large bulge prominent in the dark fabric, straining against it. billie whimpers when you cup your hand over the print, hips lifting instinctively at the touch.

she hisses when you squeeze gently, your eyes finally snapping up to hers.

"this—" you squeeze her again. then adding, "—inside of me."

billie nods eagerly, hands leaving your body, moving quickly to pull down the last layer of fabric that was currently denying her access to your core. she could feel the warmth stronger now that her lower half was clad in only her boxers.

you lift your hips again, helping billie tug the fabric down to ankles, joining her jeans. her cock springs up, slapping against her lower stomach softly before standing at attention.

her tip is a light red, leaking profusely with pre-cum that spills down her 9 inch shaft until it reaches the base. she's already such a sticky mess and you've hardly touched her.

it made you giggle.

"looks like you missed me more," you tease, looking at her through your lashes.

billie sighs, nodding again, hands scrambling to find your hips again. she tries pulling you closer, tries to even run the tip of her cock through your slick folds—but your nails dig into her forearms, and she yelps quietly.

"hypocritical much, don't you think?" you giggle again, and billie pouts deeply, hands relaxing on your hips. "patience, baby—remember that?"

you lift yourself higher, positioning your dripping slit directly over billie's tip, and you hear her breath hitch before you even sink down in the slightest. and when you lower yourself, billie lets out a noise you weren't sure she was even capable of.

she whimpers brokenly—high-pitched and already hoarse—as her cock splits you open, stretching you out slowly as you continue to lower yourself until you reach the base.

billie's nails dig crescent-shaped indents into your skin, the pleasure already too overwhelming.

"fuuck," she groans, dragging it out. her head falls back against the headrest, eyes squeezed shut. "you—fuck—have you, mmh, always been this t-tight?"

you moan softly when you feel billie buck her hips up again, her tip kissing your cervix. she gasps at the feeling, cock twitching between your gummy, warm walls.

her mind goes blank.

you stay in the position for a moment longer, trying to adjust to her size. your hands wrap around her neck, nails scratching along her skin and sending a shiver down her spine. the feeling of your breath so hot on her lips has her in a trance she's not sure she'll be able to break out of.

billie leans forward to capture your lips in a needy, sloppy kiss just as you start to move, hips lifting until all that was left inside of you was her tip—then slamming back down. hard. desperate.

both of your moans are muffled against each other's mouths, lips parting. you sneak your tongue into her mouth, tasting her—and she falls apart even further underneath you, fingers twitching at your sides.

your hands slide across her neck, hips grinding fast, hard, just right for the both of you—billie squeals into your mouth when she feels you clench around her.

"baby, fuck," she grunts, grabbing onto your hips tighter and thrusting her hips up, pushing her cock deeper. "missed you, missed you so—god, i missed you so much. c-couldn't stop thinkin' about you."

a moan passes by your lips when you pull away. "yeah? touched yourself to—shit—to me?"

billie nods frantically, brows knitting together and jaw falling lower. her hips stutter—a clear sign of her impending orgasm. but you don't stop. don't even pull away or slow down in the slightest.

you needed it. needed to feel her cum inside of you.

the windows fog around you, and now the blue shine from the streetlight is hazy, different shades of blues spilling in through the windshield and onto your bodies and faces. you can feel the car shaking beneath you two.

but it only urges you to keep going.

harder.

faster.

billie mewls quietly, struggling to hold herself together. "holy shit—baby. baby, baby, m'gonna cum! can't hold—fuck, i can't hold it, i—"

"cum, bil," you moan. loud. breathy. "want it—need it so bad. please, please cum inside me."

the second that jumbled sentence left your mouth, billie let herself go—body trembling, mind short-circuiting. your jaw falls open in a silent moan at the combined pleasure of your own orgasm and the feeling of thick, warm ropes of her cum painting your insides.

billie whimpers beneath your body, nuzzling her head into the crook of your neck like she needs your scent to stay alive.

it's all heat and heavy breathing after that—the windows still fogged, skin still layered with a thin sheen of sweat, loose hairs sticking to your neck and forehead. billie stays with her face in your neck, arms wrapping around your back, your own hands still around her neck.

billie pulls out slowly as not to overstimulate you any further, helping you lift yourself off her lap. you lean over the center console and grab your shorts from the backseat, pulling them on once you're seated in the passenger side.

you watch billie pull up her own boxers and jeans, buttoning and zipping them with trembling fingers, still facing a few of the aftershocks of her orgasm.

and, though she's still spent, billie's the first to talk.

"...do you forgive me now?"

you can't help but giggle—you wonder how she still even remembered the situation you two were in. it slipped your mind the second you sunk down on her cock.

"i think you know the answer to that," you exhale, stroking her damp hair gently.

billie hums, then pulls away from your neck, eyes softer than you'd ever seen—sincere, a little worried. "...yeah, but i wanna hear you say it."

your face changes, features softening once you hear the quiet, shaky tone of her voice. fear swirled in the pools of her ocean blue irises, and it's only then that you realize she really was worried about this the entire time.

taking her face in your hands, you pull her close, eyes flicking back and forth between the two of hers. she bites her lip, an unreadable expression flashing over her features—fear again, maybe. or maybe it's hope. you can't tell.

"i never hated you for leaving, billie," you explain. firm. "it just... scared me. i thought you wouldn't come back, and i almost lost hope—until tonight."

a ghost of a grin curls on billie's lips.

"so, yes, i do forgive you. even if i still think kissing me before leaving without another word was really low of you," you murmur.

billie inhales, exhales. "i know, that—that was stupid of me."

her lips find your cheek, then your forehead. and, finally, your lips. and then she looks at you again. "nationals were just... they were all over the place, and i finally realized that i had some sort of feelings toward you. but i didn't know what they were—"

"—and when you were the first one to come up and hug me after i won, i just—i felt so full of love and adoration and it all just spilled over and—" she pauses. finds her words. "and i kissed you because i felt like it was too early to tell you..."

she trails off, voice going quiet near the end. she looks away for a moment. and when she feels your thumb brush across her cheek, her eyes snap back.

"...to tell you that i loved—that i love you."

your breath catches.

it's not what you expected her to say—far from anything that popped into your mind. but everything you were thinking quickly faded as soon as she said those three little words:

i love you.

words that you'd only hear in teasing tones from drunk guys who came up to you during races, from racers that were still riding high on the adrenaline they got from winning.

but now, hearing it from billie, it felt like your whole world shifted on it's axis.

billie's cheeks flush pink when you don't reply, shifting uncomfortably in her seat and nearly pulling away from your touch—but you pull her back. into a kiss. one that's far more passionate than the ones before. it's filled with something you can't describe with words. something far stronger than love and adoration and admiration.

when you pull away, you're both out of breath.

"i love you, too," you murmur after a beat, eyes never leaving billie's. you wanted her to know that you meant it.

and, by the look on her face, you were almost 100% sure it got through to her. a cheesy smile curled up on her lips, her teeth shining bright even in the dark space of the car. you return the same smile, and billie practically throws her arms around you.

she pulls you as close as she can over the center console, nose nuzzled into your neck, inhaling your scent—and it felt like she was smelling an entire different person. because now there was a weight lifted off her chest and a something new blooming in her heart.

you hold her just as tight, unable to get rid of the stupidly big smile on your face—especially when you feel billie's fingers twitching nervously on your back.

you both just hold each other like that for a few minutes. in silence. but it's not an uncomfortable silence, far from it. it's warm. gentle. filled with shared understanding.

and, suddenly, you forget that she even left in the first place.

tags. @mseilishmwah @sophloveswomen @love4madii @livvydunneness @partyf4vor @chxhir0 @loving1dsworld @tan1shere @fallingforfalll2 @cierraonline @dandelions4us @scarlittt @ifwdominicfike @slxtarchive @bilsdillldough @47lake @hopingforgoodblogs @mybluebossanova @strwberrybils @justtr @greenbttrflyy @billsbaby @bilsova @lottiepierce @northlndnisred @asterisk-eyes @dragoneyelashart @xxangelfarrlzxx @ilomiloblohshh @kittymarrow @meliciousmel13 @jul3esz @rightarion @svelish @eilishssiennaa @eeuni @dragoneyelashart @thinkshespretty @cnnibalize @canthelpit0 @hailwiggly @karaaeilish @bilswifee @drunkinyourbenz @aka-persephone @bitchesbrokenpromises @jayjaywetforbils @slvt4subchratt @cantlandonmyfeet @tezzzzzzzz

[galadrieljones]

Okay but wait is no one gonna talk about the part where the reason this freshman can't focus is because they're spending so much time on tiktok that their eyes hurt?

Too much reliance on generative AI is a symptom of a larger problem. It's not the problem itself. Social media addiction has actually destroyed the attention spans of an entire generation, and it's not even funny. The difference between someone who's 18yo with a social media addiction and someone who's 35+ is that the olds have memory of a time before and methods for returning and finding clarity. We were already young adults when social media became a Thing. Most of us were out of college or at least in college before the first iPhone even came out. We had already developed methods of living and coping and problem solving BEFORE we had social media and the internet at our very fingertips to tell us what to do.

BUT someone who grew up in this environment, unless they've been actively taught and guided by conscious, well-educated caretakers, has zero knowledge of anything else. We can't expect that our experience is in any way relatable to theirs. It's as alien as anything. And those caretakers by the way, aka parents who are usually Gen Xers, are imho doing the best they can, in most situations. Just like their children, most don't have a frame of reference for what's going on. They may assume that what they lived was the default setting for human existence because life really was different without the internet, like it was REALLY DIFFERENT, and so they do simply assume it will Be Okay, and while this sort of naïveté is ALSO a problem, we can't just outright blame them either. There's no one person or group to blame.

But. This is part of why there is a huge disconnect in academia, as your teachers are in their 40s and 50s, and they legit cannot grasp the issue. Just put down the phone and type! Ha. In the other direction, you have institutions creating entire departmental roles to try and meet the attention span issue halfway. Gamification. Online learning environments. Shorter readings. In-class personal essays. The list goes on. Anything to keep the kids from running to the ChatGPT!! I taught in higher ed for 14 years and I saw all of this. The rancor and hand-wringing over AI in its earliest, most misunderstood days was insufferable in its futility.

So at the risk of sounding contrarian, we actually can't just ban AI or demonize AI and those who use it. AI exists now and is readily available to even those who don't go to college. This is the new normal. Learning how to use it and incorporate it effectively while slowly introducing the concept of an Attention Span to those without one is just part of the only way forward. Also, people are going to use AI for things we may consider to be "stupid" but like, it is going to find its place, just like everything else. We've already entered the "moral superiority" stage, btw, in which people tout their "ChatGPT virginity" as if it makes them a better person than some tired college kid in Bowling Green who used it a couple times to finish a research paper the night before it was due. Realize that in 2007 there were ppl for whom Not Being On Facebook was a point of pride and virtue also. Every single one of them is on Facebook now at the very least, and some are social media addicts just like the rest of us. Such is the progression of time and adaptation!!

In terms of kids "cheating their way through college," again, we can't just blame AI. There really is something to be done about the cultural importance of "college," and figuring out why we have so many kids in college who actually don't need or want to be there. If college were a place you went to learn and grow, then ChatGPT would not be such a pressing concern. Instead, it's become a mostly mandatory extension of high school, with any perspective on what it means to NOT go to Traditional College entirely limited and in many places, outright and unfairly stigmatized. But that's really another discussion altogether.

Anyway, when it comes to AI, noticing the problem is GOOD. But Fighting it tooth and nail and hoping it just goes away is futile, because it's actually not the root cause of what's going on, imho.

Generative AI has destroyed academia.

In the next few decades we’re going to have thousands of people who don’t really know anything, and can’t do any critical thinking.

[atefingers]

professor ! abby x reader

cw not proofread. professor x student (obviously) subtop!reader, power bottom abby, i guess??? she’s so sexy i need to fuck her ough. strap referred to as cock :P abby calls reader pup like once Sorry im mentally ill and have a problem Ok

"hey.. focus."

abby's voice cuts through your hazy thoughts, her large hand engulfing your thigh, grip tight. she scoffs as you jot some random numbers down, shaking her head.

"what happened to my star student, huh?" she pouts, tilting your head towards her. "you're usually on top of it."

you shake your head, brows knitting together.

"i.. i don't know." a simple mumble leaving your lips, too entranced by her hand on your thigh to say anything coherent. "can i have a break?"

abby simply laughs, shaking her head. "fine, but i need you to do somethin' for me." she pats your thigh, small smirk on her lips. she presses a series of small kisses along the side of your neck, adjusting your position in her lap.

"yeah. whatever you want, professor." you say softly, gaze meeting hers, head tilting to allow her more access.

she grins at that, patting your thigh again. "up." abby rasps, moving to lead you back into her bedroom. you know where this is going.

you sit on the edge of her neatly made bed, hands folded in your lap. you always were polite when it came to abby, watching as she grabbed a shoebox from her closet.

"you know what i want, yeah? gonna be good for me?" abby asks, leaning down to kiss your cheek. it's almost sweet, really. you're nearly so caught up in how soft her lips are against your cheek that you're barely noticing her shoving the box into your hands. "c'mon."

you nod, gaze meeting hers. "alright, alright.." you get up, disappearing into her en-suite bathroom to shimmy out of your jeans and take the obnoxiously pink strap out of abby's shoebox, fastening above your boxers.

meanwhile, abby's shimmying herself out of her slacks and unbuttoning her shirt, leaving it on and open, ultimately slutting herself out for you in a way she knows is irresistible. she sits against her pillows, legs crossed and shirt open, awaiting your arrival in the most impatient way possible.

as you emerge a heat spikes in your stomach almost immediately, gaze landing on abby's nearly bare form on the bed. "fuckin' finally." she grumbles, beckoning you closer.

abby laughs as you crawl over to her on the bed, tugging you down for a sloppy kiss.

"gonna earn that break, huh?" she nearly purrs, grinning at your eager nod, her fingers tangling in the back of your head. "well? go on."

you scramble to tug her lacy panties off, teeth sinking into your bottom lip as her wet heat gets exposed to you, hands finding home on her strong thighs. you know your routine, bending down to try and nestle yourself between her thighs, ready and eager until abby pushes you away.

"not tonight. you've not earned your reward, pup." she tsks, grinning when you whine.

abby takes her sweet time getting on her hands and knees, discarding her unbuttoned shirt, hips swaying as she gets herself in full downward dog position, spread open and dripping.

"jesus." you shuffle behind her, spreading her fully open with your thumbs, teeth sinking your bottom lip. "you're dripping."

abby huffs, glancing back over her shoulder to look at her. "hurry up." she barks, her brows furrowed in a pout. "takin' too long."

without a wordy, ou slowly bottom out inside of her, hands finding her hips, head thrown back as if the dildo is physically attached to your body. you start with slow, long strokes, grip so tight on abby's hips you're sure it's bruising.

"faster." she instructs. "you wanna make me feel good, don't you?"

you do exactly as she says, thrusting with more fervor, the sound of her ass and your thighs meeting filling the room, along with your combined moans.

abby glances over her shoulder, unable to keep herself from laughing at the look of pure desperation on your face, shaking her head.

"jesus, you're pathetic." she mumbles. "if you cum before i do i'm flunking you, y'know that right?"

a soft whine escapes your lips, nodding softly. “y-yeah.. i get it, professor." you moan, shifting a little bit, trying to adjust yourself so that the strap isn't directly over your buzzing clit.

abby slams her hips back against yours, a throaty moan leaving her lips. "yeah.. good job, baby.." her voice is low and seductive, pretty blue eyes hidden by her eyelids as she continues to move against you, growing more and more desperate.

she moans as you thrust deeper, taken aback by the sudden switch in your movements, hands clawing at the sheets. "fuck, fuck."

it gets harder to move, abby's walls are clenching down on your cock, she's close and so are you. "don't stop, please." she whines, and when she looks so perfect sprawled out beneath you, how can you deny her what she wants.

your thrusts grow more and more desperate, legs shaking as you try and withhold your own orgasm, desperate to make her cum first. luckily she does, a loud moan slipping from her lips as her orgasm washes over her, slumping onto the bed.

following shortly after, you bottom out inside of her, a whine ripping from your throat, grip on her hips never wavering. "fuck." you fall forward, chest pressed to her back, nosing into neck with a sigh.

abby glances over her shoulder, small smile on her lips. "y'did good." she whispers, still coming down from her high. "take the strap off 'n hold me, yeah?"

she sounds almost needy, you don't waste time, kicking the strap off and sliding into bed alongside her, arm wrapping around her shoulders, smiling as she snuggles up to your chest.

"guess you're not failin' after all, huh?"

[e1e4n0r5]

Their Little Plaything: 3

Part 1, Part 2

Fandom: Arcane: League of Legends

Pairing: Bullies Cait & Vi x Loner Nerd Reader

Words: 4650

Synopsis: Cait and Vi introduce a few new things to you

Warnings: Bullying/mocking, power imbalance, FFF threesome, secret filming of sex*, mention of masturbation with toy, fingering (r! receiving), sex toys (anal beads, nipple clamps, butt plugs, vibrators, dildos) strap-on, strap-on referred to as cock, description of masturbation with sex toys, squirting, mild degradation, mild spit play, dirty talk, praise kink, finger sucking, anal fingering (r! receiving), anal sex (r! receiving), double strap usage, mild choking/breath play

Notes: We've got more of this to come!

Secret filming of sex*: I don't want to spoil the story but I need to disclaim this now: this is not a revenge porn/public humiliation scenario. Those recording do not intend to release the footage or show it to any third parties. It's a toxic behaviour that will be addressed in a future chapter. I do not condone or encourage this behaviour.

A few days later, and thankfully without a second visit from Sky, you got a text in the group chat. You still hated the chat name ‘Plaything’ but your tummy always got fluttery when you saw a message come in.

It was Cait, sending you an address.

Caitlyn K: 7pm?

You: That works for me

Caitlyn K: You remember we talked about those toys of yours?

You: …Yes? 😳

Caitlyn K: Bring everything you have, we’ll see what we like when you get here

At 7pm, the Uber pulled up outside a large ornate house. Not quite a mansion, but a house most people would dream of living in. You thanked the driver, then walked up to the front door, admiring the house as you went.

Ringing the doorbell, you waited.

Cait answered a few seconds later. She looked as perfect as she always did, tight-fitting navy blue blouse pristinely tucked into tailored pants. “You’re on time. Good.” She stepped aside, letting you in.

“This is your house?” you asked in amazement, looking around at the marble floors and ornate decorations. Art covered the walls, expensive rugs protected the shining floor.

“Her family’s rich,” Vi explained, leaning against a doorframe as she looked you up and down, “remember?”

“My parents purchased the house in the summer before we started at Piltover, so we could live somewhere suitable.”

“Live somewhere forever? Because this is beautiful,” you gushed, not even noticing Cait taking your hand and pulling you into the kitchen.

She chuckled. “Don’t be silly; this is just our college home. We’ll move somewhere else when we graduate.”

“Another family property,” Vi smirked, joking, “I’m gonna be a trophy wife.”

“Is your wife single?” you joked back.

Cait eased the Piltover Uni tote bag off your shoulder. “Is this all of it?” she asked, not looking through it yet.

You blushed, suddenly remembering why you were there. “Yeah, that’s everything.”

Vi leant one elbow against the kitchen island. “Hey, sweetheart,” she called to you, “come here.”

You walked over, standing in front of Vi. And waited.

She smirked back at you, looking you up and down ravenously. “Pretty skirt.”

You looked down, touching your blue flowy knee-length skirt. “Thank you.”

“Bend over,” Vi instructed, nodding her head to the counter.

You flushed. “Bend…?”

“Bend. Over.”

You hesitated but obeyed. The counter was a little higher than your hips, so you had to pull yourself up a little, your feet dangling off the floor.

Vi lifted your skirt over your hips and snickered when she saw your underwear. “How many times do we have to tell you, sweetheart?” she teased, pulling them down and stuffing them into her back pocket.

“Are you going to take them every time?” you demanded, trying not to blush as Vi’s fingers spread your pussy, exposing your moist hole.

“Damn right we are, until you learn not to wear them.”

“But people will see-”

You gasped as, in a split second, Vi bent down to your pussy, spat on your hole, and slid two fingers into you.

Cait laughed as she looked inside the bag. “I said bring what you have, not go and buy out a sex store.”

You trembled as Vi turned her fingers inside you. “I didn’t!”

She did a double take at the bag’s contents. “You already had all this?”

“Yes,” you whined.

“And you’ve used all of it?”

“Most of it.”

Cait laughed, rummaging through the toys inside. “Well, you were a horny little freak.”

Vi curled her fingers inside you. “Don’t keep me in suspense, Cupcake; what’s she got?”

Cait just shook her head in disbelief, laughing as she started pulling out items, placing them one by one on the counter next to you. Multiple sets of anal beads; nipple clamps; half a dozen butt plugs; several vibrators of different sizes; different brands of lubricant; and an unopened beginner’s leather bondage kit, including a blindfold, ball-gag, wrist and ankle cuffs, a small paddle, and a small flogger.

Vi’s fingers stopped in your pussy. Looking over the array of toys now spread out on the counter, she grinned at Cait, then into the camera recording you all from the side from its hiding place in an outlet in the wall,. “Well, well, sweetheart. You are just full of surprises.”

“This,” Cait said, picking up the bondage kit, still in its clear packaging, “I’m curious about. You clearly haven’t used it; were you too scared?” she asked in a patronising tone, bending down in front of your face, holding up the kit.

You shook your head, lip trembling as Vi resumed fucking you. “It was a joke gift-”

“A gag gift, you mean?” Vi mocked with a chuckle.

“From some people I worked with over a summer. They said it would get me out of my shell.”

Cait ran her thumb over your bottom lip. “Oh, but you had no-one to use it with,” she taunted.

You shook your head, your clit throbbing as Vi started curling her fingers.

“How about we open it when we go upstairs? Finally put it to use?” She slipped her thumb into your mouth, and you sucked it with a moan. “Which of those is your favourite?” she asked, nodding her head to your collection but keeping her eyes on yours.

You blushed as you glanced at them from the corner of your eye, Cait’s grip on your mouth keeping your head straight. “Lots.”

She raised an eyebrow at you. “Tell us.” She kept her grip on you, turning your head to the side so you could see more clearly. “How did the lonely little virgin spend her Friday nights?”

“I’d…” Vi started thrusting faster, like a woman on a mission, “Oh god…I’d put the clamps on.”

“Hmmm,” Cait nodded.

“Put in some beads.”

“Any particular ones?”

“I like those ones best,” you pointed to the average sized black beads connected by a flexible thread.

She nodded again, feeling her own pussy grow wet at the thought. “And then?”

“And I’d play with my pussy with that vibe,” you finished, pointing at a relatively small pink realistic vibrator.

“Very nice,” Cait praised. “Shall we recreate that upstairs?”

“Not yet, Cupcake, we’re not finished here,” Vi insisted, reaching a hand under you and starting to rub your clit.

A strange feeling started to build up inside your pussy, making your legs shake. “Wait, Vi, stop! I-I need to pee!”

“No, you don’t,” she ignored you, continuing her thrusts.

You gritted your teeth, fighting against the feeling. “No, really, stop! I don’t want to pee!”

“Sweetheart,” Cait said softly, turning your head back to look at her, giving you a firm but reassuring look. “You are not going to pee. Just let go, and see what happens.”

You wanted to resist – it seriously felt like you needed to pee! – but they were both so sure you wouldn’t. And they would know better…

You forced your body to relax, taking a deep breath, allowing the feeling to build up inside you. You panted as you rocked your hips on Vi’s hand.

“Good girl,” Vi praised, rubbing your clit a little faster, “Just let go, baby. Let go.”

With that, your pussy clamped down on her fingers and violently squirted all over her hands and the floor. You gasped for breath as your hips writhed on the counter, your feet scrambling for purchase against the cupboard doors.

“Fuuuck,” you breathed out, moaning as your eyes rolled back, flopping down on the counter.

“Good girl,” Cait praised, placing a kiss to the top of your head. “Let’s take a few things upstairs.”

You sprawled across the counter as they moved around you, Vi washing her hands in the sink, and then helping you up on shaky legs. You looked down at the floor, seeing the large amount of liquid splattered there.

“Oh god!”

“It’s not pee,” Vi assured somewhat testily, holding you against her front.

How could it not be?! you wanted to ask. “Are you sure?”

Vi’s hand cupped your cheek, turning your head to hers. “What did we say before you came?”

You whimpered. “That I wouldn’t pee.”

“So, are you calling us liars?”

Your eyes widened. “No! No, I swear.”

“It’s squirt, not pee. So, stop fussing.” She started pulling you upstairs, leaving Cait in the kitchen to choose some toys.

Their bedroom was just as finely decorated as the kitchen and foyer. A large rug covering most of the marble floor, one wall covered in spotless floor-to-ceiling mirrors, a bookcase filled to the brim with books and knick-knacks on another wall. Against the wall in front of the door was an extra-large bed covered in fresh sage green sheets, a violet-coloured throw spread across the end.

You were only able to marvel at the décor for a second, before Vi nudged you further inside, pulling her shirt over her head. You watched in awe as her torso and breasts were revealed, your hands automatically reaching for her.

She chuckled. “Eager, are we?”

You just nodded, cupping her breasts.

“Good,” she said, cupping the back of your head and pulling you in for a deep kiss. You moved your arms over her shoulders, running your hand through her hair as she cupped and squeezed your ass. Pulling you against her front, something hard rubbed into your lower tummy.

You pulled away briefly, giving her a playful squint. “Have you got something in your pocket?”

“Something that’ll wipe that smile off your face,” she challenged. “On your knees.”

Your cheeks turned redder, but you obeyed as Vi opened her jeans. Around her hips was strapped a larger toy than before, thicker and more detailed. Without Vi saying it, you sat on your heels, opening your mouth and waiting patiently.

She chuckled as she looked down at you. “Oh, such an eager little slut, aren't you?” You didn't blush; you nodded. She was impressed at your eagerness. “Then get to work.”

You leaned forward, taking the tip of the toy into your mouth. You slowly slid your mouth up and down the toy, unsure of your movements but enthusiastically trying your best. You couldn’t get very far down before you coughed and gagged, but Vi soothed you, stroking your cheek until you tried again. You didn’t get any further, whining unhappily.

Vi laughed, pulling out. “Don’t worry, sweetheart; you’ve got plenty of time to practice.” She sat down on the floor, only a few feet away from the large mirrors, pulling you into her lap. “Open again,” she held up her middle and ring fingers, sliding them into your mouth. You moaned around the digits, moving your tongue over them, keeping your eyes locked with hers.

Pupils blown wide, her own cheeks flushed, she smirked at you. “Little slut,” she said affectionately. Pulling her fingers out, she moved them to your pussy, sliding inside again. “Gotta get you warmed up for this strap.”

“I’m warm!” you protested, riding her fingers.

“Oh really?” she raised an eyebrow. “You think you can take this?” she nodded down at the toy glistening with your spit.

“Yes,” you whined. “Just fuck me!”

She laughed. “Alright then, you asked for it.”

Pulling her fingers out, she aimed the toy at your entrance, pulling your hips to slowly lower you onto it. It stretched you immediately, making you gasp and groan. Your breath caught in your throat as she forced you further down, not stopping until your hips pressed against hers, the toy pushing against your cervix.

“See? I told you,” she mocked, rocking your hips back and forth a little, letting you adjust.

“Fuck,” you breathed, trying to hide your wince.

“Think you’re a big girl now? That you can take any cock you see?” she challenged.

You shook your head. “No,” you pouted.

“You gonna believe us in future when we say you need warming up?”

You bit your lip, nodding. “Yes. I’m sorry.”

“Good, so you’ll listen to me now.” Cait appeared in the doorway, your tote bag hanging from her hand, a strap around her own waist. Looking closely, you saw your small pink vibrator attached the harness.

“Cait?”

She approached you seductively, her hips swaying as she walked. “Where do you think I’m going to put this, darling?”

You paused, opening your mouth as a guess when she stopped in front of you.

They both laughed at you.

“Try again,” she taunted, kneeling behind you.

“What?” you squeaked, trying to look around but Vi held your cheeks, forcing you to look at her.

“You can’t dangle those toys in front of us and not expect us to play with your ass,” Vi smirked.

“But you’re already in-”

“And this is why I’m going to warm you up,” Cait chided, taking a tub of lubricant out of your bag, “If you’ll allow me to, Your Highness,” she mocked.

“Ohhh…” you moaned, a little worried.

Vi held you tightly, moving you both to lie on your side, her hips sliding her toy in and out of you slowly. “Just relax, baby,” she soothed, kissing your neck. “We’ll take care of you.”

Warm fingers pressed cold lube to your back hole, making you twitch. Cait rubbed the lube around, before gently sliding a finger inside. It was so much, with the toy already stretching your pussy, but not enough at the same time. They both filled you slowly, carefully, letting your body adjust to both of them.

When you were moaning loud enough for them, your head thrown back and eyes closed, Cait reached into your bag, pulling out a small camera. Half the size of a Rubik’s cube, she turned it on and angled it between your legs, directly at your holes. Vi pulled your top leg up, holding it back to your side, opening and exposing both your holes.

Slowly, she added a second finger, making you gasp and shudder as she stretched your ass just a little. “Breathe,” she coaxed in your ear. “Well done.” She pumped her fingers inside you gently, turning them slowly, stretching you a little. With her free hand, she coated your toy with some more lube, moving onto her side behind you.

“Ready?” Cait asked softly in your ear, pulling her fingers out of your ass, holding the base of the vibe to your hole.

You nodded desperately. “Yes. Please!”

“Please what?”

“Please fuck my ass,” you begged, and were rewarded with Cait sliding the toy into your waiting hole. You moaned softly, your eyes closing as you felt Cait turn on the vibe, the sensations moving through your body.

Cait rocked inside you, letting you adapt to the feeling of being filled fully in both holes. “Are you alright, darling?”

You panted. “So full,” you whined when Vi slowly started moving again. You let your head hang down to the side, too weak to keep it up.

Vi gave Cait a look above you. “Sweetheart, look in the mirror,” she said, knowing you were too tired to do so.

As if you’d planned it together, you whined sadly. “I'm too tired.”

“C'mon, try for me,” she encouraged, knowing you wouldn't be able to see anything anyway.

You weakly lifted your head up, but you couldn't see around your propped up leg. “I can't see,” you complained, flopping your head back down.

Vi hummed thoughtfully. “Do you want us to show you later?”

“Show...later?” you asked weakly, your clit throbbing from the sensations in both holes.

“We could record it? Show you later?”

You whimpered at the thought of them filming you. “But…Who else would see?”

“No-one,” Cait promised firmly from behind you, kissing under your ear. “No-one else gets to see you like this.”

“Just for us, sweetheart.”

You hesitated. That sounded risky…

Vi continued. “Imagine having something you can look back on, something to remember this moment.”

Cait added, “And you’d remember how your body felt, how we feel inside you right now, filling these little holes. You could remember that every time you watched it back.”

You whimpered again, it did sound fun when they said it like that. “O-Okay. Just for us though!”

Cait smiled at the successful ruse, reached for her phone inside the bag, and resting it on the floor between all your legs, next to the small camera that was already recording. She angled it directly at your holes, pressing the record button. When the timer started counting, she returned to kissing your neck.

“You’ll look so pretty for us, sweetheart, our star of the show.”

“You wanna say how this feels?” Vi asked, stroking your thigh as she supports it.

“It feels so good,” you whined weakly.

“Louder for the camera, baby,” Cait coaxed in your ear.

You trembled at the mention of the camera, even as it made your pussy leak. “It-It feels good,” you said louder. Vi raised an eyebrow at you, urging you to continue. “It feels good in my pussy. In my ass too.”

She smiled proudly. “You like having a vibe in your ass?”

You nodded. “It feels really good. It's making my clit throb.”

Cait smiled against your cheek. “Well done, sweet girl,” she praised. “Reach your hand down, play with that button for us.”

You moved your hand down your body and rested it on your clit, rubbing gently. You didn't want to cum straight away.

“Good girl,” Vi praised, looking down at you rubbing yourself. “Show the camera how much you want to cum.”

You moaned loudly, rubbing faster as you imagined what the camera was capturing. As you drew closer, your holes started clenching on the toys, your hips rocking between the two women.

“I’m cumming,” you gasped, your fingers moving faster.

“Wait for us, sweetheart,” Cait breathed in your ear, chasing her own climax as her strap vibrated against her clit.

Shaking your head, you panted, “I can’t.”

Vi took hold of your throat, squeezing firmly. “Cait said wait, baby. Do as she says.”

The blood rushed to your head as Vi kept her grip on your throat, both women working themselves towards orgasm. You’d stopped rubbing your clit as it threatened to send you over the edge too soon, but Cait took over, forcing you to hold yourself back until they were ready.

When they were just about to cum, Vi released your throat. The sudden rush of air and blood, combined with Cait’s manicured fingers on your aching clit, sent your brain into overdrive. All three of you climaxed simultaneously, all writhing and moaning together, your bodies moving as one.

When you all settled down and caught your breath, Cait gently pulled out of your ass, earning a groan from your tired throat. Sitting up, she picked up the small camera off the bed, stopping the recording. Switching it to photo mode, she quickly pointed it at the three of you, taking a few post-sex selfies, you and Vi clearly visible in the background. With your head down and breathing deeply, you were none the wiser about what Cait was doing, but Vi smirked at the camera, kissing you or rubbing your body, at one point giving the camera a ‘rock on’ hand sign as she stuck her tongue out. Pointing it at you, she took a few more, then stood up, heading into the bathroom. She hid the turned off camera in a drawer, slipping the harness off.

Heading back into the bedroom, she picked up her phone, stopping that recording. Stroking your leg gently, she called your name.

“Sweetheart? You want to take a look?”

It had been a few weeks since that night, since Vi and Cait had finally asked, out loud and deliberately, if they could film you. You’d said yes, conditionally. From then on, you always said yes when they held up a camera or their phones, and they grinned like you were giving them a gift each time.

At first, it felt like control. Like a choice. And the look in their eyes, how hungry they were to capture you, to remember you; it had made you feel flattered, even powerful. You’d flushed under Cait’s praise as she scrolled through shots afterwards, and Vi’s rough kisses had made your heart flutter in ways you hadn’t expected.

After that, it became something regular. Not constant. Not predictable. Just often.

They’d ask. Usually. Cait with her soft, coaxing tone, or Vi with a smirk and a tilt of her phone. Sometimes it was during sex, sometimes it was after, when you were curled up in their bed, bare-chested, blinking blearily as your brain tried to function again after being fucked dumb. Sometimes it was video, sometimes pics. Sometimes both.

You tried to keep track. Tried to remember all the times you’d agreed. You told yourself it was fine. That you trusted them. That the way Cait sometimes didn't ask was just forgetfulness, or heat-of-the-moment urgency. That the one time you noticed Vi filming from the side of the bed as you ate Cait out on your knees…Well, maybe she’d just assumed you’d be okay with it, since you always were.

Your stomach always twisted after those moments.

But you didn’t stop. You never stopped.

Your dorm room was quiet, late afternoon sun stretching long and lazy across the carpet. The warmth clung to your skin as you sat on your bed, your phone buzzing steadily in your hands.

Cait had been sending more photos again. A drip-feed of images from the past few weeks. Ones you remembered approving. You tapped through them slowly, mouth watering. As they had told you during the first time they asked, your body flushed and throbbed as you remembered what you were doing when the photos were taken.

You saved each one.

Your phone buzzed again. Another image. You tapped the screen.

It was from two nights ago: their room, soft lighting, Cait’s fingers splayed across your bare stomach, Vi’s hands on your breasts. The photo was angled from above, beautifully framed, almost cinematic. You remembered that moment. You remembered saying yes.

A knock on your door broke you out of it. Heading over, you opened the door for Powder.

“Hey, babe!” she greeted cheerfully. Holding up a bag of snacks and drinks, she stepped inside. “Ready for that new season?”

The two of you lay together on your bed, her phone connected to a mini projector, casting the TV show onto your ceiling. The volume wasn’t too loud – you were still paranoid about a formal noise complaint, even though the three of you had stopped having sex in your room. Cait had added you to her Uber account, so you go over whenever you wanted, her family's card footing the bill.

Your phone buzzed every so often, but you ignored it. It was most likely Cait, sending you more things. You couldn’t open those messages next to Powder!

After about the tenth buzz, Powder paused the show.

“Just answer that, would you?” she teased, sitting up and getting a drink.

You sat up too, turning a little so she wouldn’t be able to see your screen. You were right, it was Cait. And the photos were rather intimate. She’d sent a few photos, but also made some GIFs from videos. Your own body parts and theirs filled your group chat.

“What are you looking at?” Powder asked teasingly, seeing your blushing face.

You held your phone against your chest. “Nothing!”

“I don't think ‘nothing’ makes people blush like that. Oh wait, is it Vi?” she grimaced.

“No. No, it's Cait.”

“What's going on?”

“Just some pics.”

Powder oooh'd playfully. “What kind of pics? Naughty pics?”

You blushed. “Maybe. Of us.”

“Of you? Together?” You nodded. “Like, sex pics?”

“Uh, yeah,” you laughed nervously.

“Oh my god, show me! Nothing with Vi in it!”

Your eyes widened. “Really? You want to see that?”

“I bet you look hot! C'mon, show me,” she winked.

You supposed one pic couldn't hurt. You held your phone close to you, so Powder couldn't see – to which she groaned dramatically and looked away – and looked through all the pics Cait had shared with you over the weeks. You flicked through, looking for one that was either just you or just you and Cait.

You found one, turning your phone to Powder. “For both our sakes, don't swipe!”

“Alright, alright, jeez...”

The pic you'd selected was of you and Cait. You both knelt on the bed in front of the large floor-length mirror, her front pressed to your back as she filled you with a strap. You couldn’t see her breasts or pelvis, only her side profile, so you’d felt comfortable showing Powder. Her hand closest to the mirror held the phone by her side, her other hand turning your face to the mirror and the phone. She was smiling, you looked blissfully fucked out.

“Wow! Holy shit, Y/N, you're gorgeous! Look at your tits, they’re so perky. Why do you hide them under those clothes?”

You blushed but enjoyed the compliments.

“What's that?” Powder asked, zooming in on the image.

“Don't zoom in! You might see something you don't want to see! What if Vi’s in the background?”

“Well, what's that? Is it a camera?”

Your head shot up, grabbing the phone from her. You squinted at the zoomed in image. Your slightly old phone didn't cope very well with the pixels but even you could tell what you were looking at. In the back of the room, obscured on a shelf in the back, was undeniably a small camera. Pointed directly at the bed, a small red pixel above the lens. Had the camera been recording? You remember that day, Cait hadn’t said anything recording videos, she only asked for that one photo.

“You guys record too? Jeez, I don't even want to imagine what footage you have. You could probably make a fortune online though.”

You felt sick.

And you continued to feel sick for days. You felt like there were bugs crawling all over your skin, and your stomach twisted and flipped anytime you thought of the women. You'd successfully avoided them since you made the discovery of the camera in the background of that photo, telling them you’d caught a stomach bug and were recovering in your dorm. They wished you well but didn’t come over, though Cait had sent a courier with rehydration meds, anti-nausea pills, and some food packs.

Since then, you'd spent hours trawling over every frame in every photo and video Cait and Vi had sent you. You didn't find any other cameras, but some of the files felt off to you. You couldn't always remember when they'd been taken.

Most of them, like the one with you and Cait on the bed, you definitely remember happening. You remember seeing one of them pick up the phone or camera, ask you if they could take something, and the files matched what you'd been doing in the moment. But some other files...You weren't sure you remembered. One video was you on your back, Vi riding your face as you fucked yourself with a toy. Cait had been with you, but she had supposedly been pleasuring herself too, not taking videos of you. Some photos of either woman using a strap on you, normally with your ass up, face buried in a pillow or the covers.

Like you hadn't known the camera was there.

You went to the coffee shop early one morning, hoping to get your mind off those images. You knew it was too early for Vi or Cait to be on campus; on Thursdays their first class was at 11 and they stayed home until then.

You sat at your usual corner table, quietly and miserably reading a textbook, trying to get back into your study habits, when a soft accented voice spoke.

“Sorry to bother you; are you Y/N?”

You looked up, really not wanting to talk to the pretty redhead with freckles. “Can I help you?”

“Sorry, we haven't met before. I'm Maddie. Can we talk?”

@sevikas-whore, @djstinkyfartz, @jinririz, @abbyandcaitlover, @ayuxiru, @bebeluvvv, @youdoyou-andiwilldome, @kittymrtnezz69, @wyprettylilone, @jlb20416, @autisticratbagtm, @theoreticalfreak, @riotstemple29, @zaunite-516

[rabbitindisguise]

I do think it's important to know that this isn't because of skill. People can have this problem at a very beginner level and not have it at advanced knowledge levels. It's mainly an issue of mental fortitude and crossed wires with pre-processing post-processing and active participation. Mindfulness, if folks lean that way (though this is less whimsy, more brute force ime . . . but that might just be my personality)

A general concept that might help understand this better is the "inner editor" people reference a lot during nanowrimo. You're trying to write a novel, juggling 3744747 things, and your brain is like "is that a proper use of a semicolon?" The correct answer is not "no one has this problem" but rather that your answer can be "who gives a shit" so you can move on and then later (if there is a later- the most frustrating thing is figuring out you didn't need that sentence at all anyways after you spend 30 min waffling over it) deciding to think it over.

So when you're reading and your inner editor has Opinions you can just tell it to fuck off. Close the book, take a deep breath, make your mind blank, and then open it back up and try again. When I do this with anime I try to mentally translate the audio before confirming with the subtitles because I find it occupies the same portion of my brain. Similar exercises are trying to predict the ending, picking out favorite lines for your ship, waiting in anticipation for the next scene with your blorbo in it, trying to articulate all your favorite things you like about it, etc. The galaxy brain takes are for the second pass, if there's a time for this at all (ancient college wisdom: read/watch it twice, once to know what it is, a second time to analyze it)

The other thing is that a criticism doesn't necessarily mean it's low quality. Sometimes the thing we're engaging with just isn't stimulating enough- for example, a kids book is easier to criticize because you're not distracted by subplots and unusual poetic language. The kids book might be a rock solid classic beloved by all, and the book your reading got 1 star on goodreads- but that's what I mean when I say it's not a matter of skill, or even quality of the work. Sometimes people's brains just attack stuff willy nilly. Even constructive criticism can be "attack" because it means "looking at this critically rather than as an audience member."

So like. Practice mental fortitude and it probably won't happen as much and maybe eventually you can turn it on/off whenever you want 👍 it's a skill that can be improved, and some discipline for a couple weeks goes a long way to forming a habit of staying present in the moment and not getting completely taken out of the text just because there's Just One Super Excusable Thing

(apologies if this is a post just meant to rag on this one guy and confirm that it's a good question, however I find getting distracted by this stuff super unpleasant so I figured people might want to learn how to avoid it)

(I also think in general I tend to enjoy media more like this because something like a sentence being grammatically incorrect has never killed anyone* and I'm glad that I don't notice it when it happens anymore unless I put on Fic Beta Critique Goggles™ x.x I fucking hated my grammar snob phase of middle school it was horrible for other people sure but it was also horrible for ME. Now whenever I get corrected on grammar I'm like. I could have cared. I cared once. Not anymore!! And then I go idk read my childhood faves without any concern for the art styles on the cover or the typos. I won't let me ruin my favorite things. That's what mental fortitude is all about.)

*patients in hospitals and people using medications excluded, among others

okay sorry, one other thing annoyed me about that writing class. one of the students is this super clean-cut doctor who works at an HIV clinic, and he asked the prof "do you ever get distracted while reading books, because you find yourself analyzing the craft of them instead of sinking into the story?"

and she said "no," and turned away. and the whole class laughed awkwardly, bc it was a pretty abrupt and dismissive answer. so then she turned back to him and said "you wouldn't ask a musician if they get distracted listening to songs. they just enjoy the music."

but I dunno, I'm a newbie writer with only one (scheduled-to-be-published) book under my belt, but I get distracted sometimes when I'm reading. if I find I'm not sinking into a block of text, I'll squint at it and be like "okay, they're using too much passive voice, that's why my brain isn't grabbing on to it." so I'm sorry Mr. HIV doctor, I thought your question was reasonable!

[sirfrogsworth]

Let's talk about screens and eye comfort.

@krakenartificer wrote this in response to my motivated lighting post.

Maximum-visibility lighting is also accessible lighting. I cannot turn the brightness on my screen up any more than it is -- even a few seconds of a light-mode app at 75% brightness will give me a migraine. I believe you when you say that the train-light photos are legible to you. But with my screen at ~50% brightness in a medium-dim room, that second one, with the bright-white light, is already painful to look at. And since my pupils have constricted to protect me, I can't see almost anything else going on there.

I already mentioned that if people are having issues seeing dark elements in their content, their room may be too bright. That is a strategy to get the highest quality viewing experience, but it may not be the most comfortable for people with various eye sensitivities.

So I'm going to address eye comfort over image quality in this post.

I think many people have a misconception about the brightness setting on their display. Often people will turn it up and down depending on the content they are viewing. If something has a really bright element, they may turn it down. If something is too dark, they may turn it up.

That isn't really how display brightness is meant to work. This setting is meant to maintain picture quality and contrast as much as possible while raising and lowering the overall intensity of the display. And the intensity is meant to be adjusted according to the viewer's environment, not what is on the screen from moment to moment.

You want the intensity of light in the room to match the brightness of your screen.

Some people prefer to adjust their screen a little brighter than ambient so it is a little more legible. But that is a personal preference.

So if you are in a dark room, you'd turn the brightness down.

If you are out in bright sun, you'd turn your brightness up.

If your screen is displaying near white or pure white and it hurts your eyes, that usually means your room is too dark. A brighter ambient environment can help make "light mode" more comfortable. Try turning on some lights or going to a brighter space and see if it helps.

However, some people do not feel comfortable in brighter rooms. This is when you might consider "bias lighting." This is a soft light source behind your screen that you can adjust to the maximum tolerable brightness to keep your eyes from going into night vision mode or max dilation.

It's better if the bias lighting is spread out rather than using a small light source like a night light. Small light sources feel much more intense and can add to eye strain. You want the light to cover a large surface area.

String lights across a wall work well.

Or you can bounce a light off a wall or ceiling to diffuse and spread it out. Many people just put a light behind their TV and light up the wall behind it.

The idea is to make the room *feel* dark while still having enough light to keep your pupils from opening up and feeling like any sudden bright light source is blasting you in the eyeballs. Your pupils prefer gradual adjustments to light and dark. If you go straight from a dark scene to a bright scene without any bias lighting, your eyes might feel a bit melty.

If you are *still* uncomfortable with white on your screen and have a particularly strong eye sensitivity, then you might consider sacrificing picture quality for comfort.

Turning down your brightness is not a great solution because it makes *everything* darker. Again, the brightness of your screen should be close to the room lighting.

Typically, to get the highest quality image you want to adjust your screen so the blacks are as black as possible and the whites are as white as possible without losing any detail.

Rtings has a guide for monitors and TVs for this.

They have two patterns for black and white point adjustment.

They look like this.

You want to see bars all the way up until the reference point.

The white point is most commonly called "contrast" in display settings. Sometimes there will be a contrast adjustment AND a white point adjustment. In that case, the white point only deals with the brightest highlights and the contrast will affect all whites.

But if you have really sensitive eyes... forget the charts. Forget peak image quality.

Instead, try lowering your contrast and reducing the intensity of *only* the white elements rather than darkening everything.

The picture might look a little gray and dull, but you won't lose as much legibility in the shadow areas. You are just turning down the brightest stuff to make your eyes more comfy.

Max white point...

Lowered white point...

And if you still need to turn down your screen brightness, you can raise the black point to keep more detail in the shadows.

Again, that might not look great, but it will keep your eyes comfortable and you will be able to make out all the details you need to see.

You might also consider adjusting the color temperature of your screen to be warmer. Blue light is higher frequency and more energetic. Which means it can pierce and glare more than warmer light. So shifting things to the orange could also bring some comfort to sensitive eyes. Search for a “Warm” mode, “Eye Comfort” mode, or Night Shift settings.

Most TVs and monitors have these adjustments. Sometimes they call them different things, so you may have to do some googling. (God forbid tech companies ever agree on a standard.)

And if you are on a phone or laptop, you may need a special app to adjust these specific things. I would research "how to reduce white point" for whatever device you are using.

To review...

Adjust your ambient room lighting first. Brighter ambient room lighting can make bright white elements on your display more comfortable.

Display "brightness" should be adjusted to your lighting environment, not the content on screen.

If you don't like bright rooms, bias lighting behind your display can keep your eyes from going into night vision mode. This can prevent bright screen elements from being too intense or glaring.

If you have eye sensitivity issues, try all of the above first, and then consider lowering your contrast or white point setting. This will dim only the brightest elements on screen without making everything else too dark.

If you need to lower the screen brightness AND white point/contrast, you may lose detail in the shadows as well. You can try raising the black point to compensate. This is a worst case scenario and will probably not look great.

Consider warmer color temperature settings to reduce glare from high-frequency blue light.

[excusemyobsessions]

Inspiration

Sylus x /You/Reader

Genre:  One shot, scenario, gender neutral reader (this has violent descriptions but also fluff) Word count: 1890 words Scenario: You come to Sylus with a request; to watch him torture someone for reference, because your artistic preference is horror. Warnings: gore, descriptions of torture, reader and Sylus are unbothered as it happens, violent use of evol (binding, gagging, choking, breaking bones), use of pet names (sweetie/kitten), teeth-rotting fluff throughout

(Also posted on AO3)

"Are you comfortable, sweetie?"

Sylus' thumb traced languid circles against your collarbone, his hand a comfortable weight upon your shoulder.

You were curled up on his preferred armchair, by his request. The front row seat, he had called it.

You nodded up at him, humming your appreciation.

Standing tall behind the armchair, he smiled down at you, giving your shoulder a tender little squeeze. He looked relaxed, the first few buttons of his tailored shirt hanging open, his jacket tossed over the arm of the chair you were sitting on.

"Hmm, good," he nodded. "Now, tell me what you want."

You tugged your sketchbook a bit higher, using your knees as support for it and tapped your pencil against the blank page. You'd scribbled a single word on the very top and center; inspiration.

You'd come to Sylus looking for just that; inspiration.

You'd found yourself utterly tied, out of ideas. Words wouldn't come easily, the blank pages kept staring at you. You needed visual stimulation, something to light up the fire, to get your creative juices running again. The lack of creativity in your veins was driving you insane, much like a gym addict without their fix.

Your eyes lifted from the sketchbook when you heard a muffled whimper coming from the center of the room. 

The man staring back at you looked positively terrified. His pupils were blown out, taking up most of the blue in his eyes, nails dug into the wooden armrests of the chair he was tied to. Sylus behind you had silenced him with his evol, tendrils of black and red mist wrapped around his head, securing his lips tightly shut. Yet he still stirred, whimpering like a dog.

"That expression on him is pretty good, actually," you responded, tapping the pencil against your lower lip.

Sylus hummed and shifted behind you, lifting a knee to rest his thigh on the headrest of the armchair, in a half sitting position. 

"I'm sure he can make even better expressions for you, sweetie," he said slowly, deliberately low, his voice acquiring this monotone touch to it, reserved only to the lowly scum of this world.

He clearly wasn't talking to you, per se.

The man was visibly shaking, breathing erratic, as if he could cough up a lung at any moment.

“Would you like to hear him scream, sweetie?” Sylus purred dangerously.

“Can you do that?” you chirped.

The tendrils of his evol shifted, wrapped around the man's neck and squeezed, just a little. You could see the squeeze, the way the skin was pushed in, the muscles reacting.

Two tendrils crawled down his shoulders, one on each side, creeped their way down like two snakes, circling the arms all the way down to his wrists. From the wrist, five lines extended and hooked around each finger. They forced the hand open.

“Hope you don’t mind but I’d like to take this slow,” Sylus told you.

He stood up and leaned down, bending his back to set his elbows on the head rest. He rested his chin on his intertwined fingers.

You could see the way the man's thumb started bending backwards awkwardly, how he started stirring instantly.

“Those filthy fingers, I’d like to break them… one… by… one,” Sylus growled through his teeth, in a low tone.

The black and red mist continued shifting, prying open the mouth, keeping it opened, wrapping itself around the man’s tongue. The before whimpers became screams, enhanced by the prying of the mouth.

Crack.

“One,” Sylus counted.

Crack.

“Two.”

As Sylus kept counting by your ear, you started scribbling down furiously, trying to capture what you could see to the best of your abilities. Words, little doodles, whatever came to mind.

From the center of the room came gurgled screams, as the man choked on his saliva and tears. The fingers on his right hand were swollen and bruised and limp, and they fell awkwardly after Sylus’ evol crawled back, clearly detached from their knuckles.

He panted and whimpered and choked miserably.

“Can you squeeze just a little more?” you requested and Sylus smirked down at you.

The black and red mist swirled, tightened around the man's neck and he yelped, and gasped for air.

You giggled.

“He's like a squeaky toy,” you noted, amused.

Sylus’ large hand came down on your head, tenderly ruffled your hair and then smoothed it out.

“P-please… please, s-sir…”

The man's voice was very tiny, up a few octaves, a stark contrast to the deep, smug tone he'd used earlier when he firmly believed he had the upper hand.

The antimatter gun he'd brought along was twisted and shattered on the expensive carpet by his feet. And he was desperate. Talking around the force of Sylus’ evol, pleading, begging, voice raw from the strain.

“I-I swear I can be useful… sir, please!”

Sylus shut him up by squeezing his throat tighter. The man choked, gasping, a thick flow of tears flowing down his cheeks.

“Pathetic,” Sylus hissed, clicking his tongue.

A little snicker escaped you and you reached back to tenderly caress Sylus’ cheek.

Sylus moved his chin off his hands and leaned right into your touch. As he nuzzled into the palm of your hand, there was another crack. The man arched off the chair, his other thumb now detached from its knuckle.

“Six,” Sylus counted.

He pressed his lips to the palm of your hand, traced your love line with tiny little kisses.

Crack.

“Seven.”

You didn’t know where to look. Yes, you wanted to watch the way Sylus bent this man’s fingers until they cracked but your partner himself was so distracting. Especially how he kissed each pad of your palm, and nuzzled right into your fingers, letting them trace over his brow and temple. He rubbed the tip of his nose right between your thumb and index finger and then latched onto the skin with his teeth, making you yelp. There was a mischievous glow in his eyes when they met yours.

“Oops, I lost count,” Sylus purred cheekily, and you giggled.

You both looked back at the center of the room when the man collapsed loudly onto the chair, hauling it back a few inches. He sank down into the seat, sweat and tears trickling down his face. The fingers on his other hand were now broken and bruised.

Sylus stood up again, this time to circle the armchair and sit down on the arm rest. He rested his elbows on his knees, crouching over his thighs.

“Are you satisfied, kitten?” he questioned, watching your features tenderly.

You looked down at your sketchbook, scribbled down a few more things and when you were done, you closed it and slipped the pencil into the binding spiral.

“I am,” you nodded.

Then, you cranked your neck and pursed your lips at your partner. Every single time you did so, he leaned down to kiss you. This time was no exception.

When Sylus smiled and leaned down to kiss you, you leaned up and stole one, two, three sweet little kisses from his lips.

“Thank you,” you told him.

He chuckled lowly, and pressed one last kiss to your forehead.

There was a symphony of whimpers and hiccups in the background as you shared such a tender moment. For a moment, you wondered what was going through that man’s head as he watched his hangmen flirt and kiss on his deathbed. You might as well slow dance over his body next.

That made you pull out your sketchbook again.

“Any last words?” Sylus asked, his knee bouncing once, twice.

By the tone of his voice, he was quickly growing bored of this. Getting impatient even.

The man clearly tried to speak but his words got stuck in his throat as it was squeezed impossibly tight by that restless black and red mist. He choked instead, lips mouthing words desperately.

“It doesn’t really matter,” Sylus murmured.

You watched how those misty tendrils engulfed the man's body, forming a cocoon of eerie darkness around him. Soon, you could only hear the desperate screams, the gasping for air, the cracking of bones, the ripping of muscles and tendons. But none of that mattered.

What mattered was the man beside you, how his nostrils flared when he inhaled deeply through his nose, head tilted backwards, muscles tensed. 

And then, the screaming stopped. 

With his eyes closed, Sylus jolted in a way you'd only seen him do when you were intimate, a long groan rumbling from his throat. And then his muscles relaxed, body slumping just a little.

When he opened his eyes to look at you, his right eye glowed an eerie crimson which slowly dimmed until it settled into its mellow tones. And he smiled at you, a satiated little smile.

You wanted to jump on him right there and then.

“Should we go have lunch?” he inquired, one hand reaching out to deliberately tuck a strand of your hair behind your ear.

“Dinner,” you corrected.

“Same thing, kitten,” he responded with a low chuckle.

In the center of the room, all that was left was an empty chair.

As you sat across from each other on the table, dinner plates in front of you, you watched Sylus as he enjoyed his wine. Your head was always full of thoughts, full of questions.

“Does it bother you?” you chirped up, setting down your glass after a sip.

“What?” Sylus asked, popping then a bite of steak into his mouth.

You hesitated for a few heartbeats, using your fork to push a baby carrot around on your plate. Trying to think of how to put it into words.

“That I’m like this, that I write such gruesome things and that I come to you for inspiration,” you explained.

Sylus set down his cutlery, and reached for the napkin, dabbing at the corners of his mouth. He watched you with those observant carmine eyes of his, always so analytical. You always felt like he could see right through you, into the depths of your soul.

“Does it bother you what I do?” he asked.

He set down his napkin and waited patiently for your answer. The curve of his shoulders seemed relaxed but there was just this hint of expectation in his eyes. You’d learned to read it, to notice it down the line.

“No, because I know you do what you do for a reason,” you answered.

Sylus’ lips twitched and he reached for your hand, making you put down the fork so he could slip his fingers in between yours.

“It doesn’t bother me what you do or what you ask of me,” he assured you.

He lowered himself over the table, pressing sweet little kisses to the knots of your fingers and when he was done, he stayed right there, with his lips resting over your skin.

“I like the way your mind works. And I love your endless creativity,” he confessed.

The way he looked at you had your heart skipping a beat.

You reached out with your free hand, to caress his cheek. His eyelids fluttered and he leaned into your touch.

“Thank you,” you told him.

He exhaled a smile and turned his head to press a kiss to the palm of your hand.

“Thank you, for being you,” he responded.

[mylovesstuffs]

learning to be loved after forgetting what it feels like to be safe.

🥕 bae-sically fake. yoon jeonghan

a mylovesstuffs production...

“one hundred days for what?” / “for me to woo you.”

synopsis. you swear when you made up your fake relationship, you didn't know that someone worked at the coffee shop with the same name or that your family would go to check it out. now everyone thinks you guys are actually together, and, well, pretending to be fake partners has never been so complicated. jeonghan plays along, and even offers you a deal—100 days to let him try and woo your closed-off heart.

pairing. yoon jeonghan x fem!reader

genre/s. fake dating au, modern au, bit of social media au (?), romance, comedy, slice of life, slow burn, emotional healing

status. upcoming [estimated: ~ 40k words]

content warnings. mentions of past emotional abuse/manipulation, toxic ex, grooming mentioned [non-graphic but explicit reference], cheating and infidelity [past, non-graphic], mentions of underage grooming [girls legal but barely, predatory behavior], emotional trauma and flashbacks, ptsd-like emotional responses, manipulation disguised as affection [past], reference to stalking/following for confirmation of infidelity, heartbreak and betrayal, gaslighting implications [in past relationship], alcohol consumption, mild cursing/swearing, themes of grief and emotional vulnerability, soft romantic tension, no smut [so far; not written yet], emotionally guarded reader, indirect trauma references, workplace sexism [called out], fluffy but with realistic emotional baggage

will probably contain. fake dating, post-breakup healing, unexpected kindness, strangers-to-partners dynamic, deal-making [100 days to woo], soft and lover man!jeonghan, smart man!jeonghan protective best friends [celeste, seungkwan], healthy family, intense ex-relationship trauma, food symbolism [carrots, broccoli, lunches], slow emotional thawing, nice gestures [flowers, notes, meals], respect and gentle persistence, found family warmth, strong parent-daughter bond, work-life struggles, empowering ceo, flirtation, unspoken yearning, realistic emotional pacing [will be updated as chapters go on]

navigation/chapters & more under the cut ⟡

✦ navigation.

|| chapter one

|| chapter two

last updated: dd.mm.yyyy

querencia (spanish) /keh-REN-syah/ n. a place where one feels most at home; a source of strength and calm; a person or space where the soul feels safe without needing validation — often found not in places, but in people. “that name wasn’t meant to be a turning point, but somehow, it became hers — and he, her place.”

✦ in fiction we trust. love, celeste ˶ᵔ⤙ᵔ˶ so this fic is probably gonna be a long one [lmao oops] so i decided to split it into chapters. i’ve been wanting to explore some heavier themes for a while now [i promise, i kept it light], and this fic kind of became that space for me. despite the emotional grooming, infidelity, gaslighting, workplace sexism, and all that heavy stuff this fic touches on — one of the things i love most is that the reader has a genuinely healthy family. like actual supportive, emotionally present parents. and that’s something we don’t get to write often, so it means a lot to me. also the contrast between the two men… yeah. we’re gonna talk about that. and of course, we’ve got found family energy with the besties, so please look forward to their scenes too. also yes... i may or may not have written myself into the fic. yes it was intentional. yes i’m having fun with it 🤭

anyway that’s it for now. this fic went through a lot with me—emotionally and creatively—so i really hope you enjoy it and give it some love 🤍

ⓒ ! masterlist banner + dividers made by me. edits = google doc ss. photos from pinterest (ctto), prompt from my how do you fake it series ♡

started: dd.mm.yyyy — completed: dd.mm.yyyy

[tousey-mousey]

To be clear, from someone who is currently working as a med student in a GP office in Australia (where it is currently winter and thus virus season):

COVID is still present in the community.

COVID is no longer a pandemic. "Pandemic" is a word that has an actual definition and refers to when a disease is absolutely everywhere and is infecting absolutely everyone in a place. That is no longer true for COVID.

COVID is an endemic virus, exactly like influenza and rhinovirus. This means "it's floating around in the community, but in general most people are either fully or partly immune and new infection rates are stable." It will never stop being endemic: once a virus is endemic, it does not go away ever unless we find a way to vaccinate absolutely everyone, which isn't going to happen for a coronavirus because they mutate too fast.

It is currently on the tier of "bad flu" for the large majority of people. It sucks for a few days and then you get over it.

This can still absolutely wreck certain vulnerable people, but COVID as the strains currently stand do not actually do this worse than influenza A or B do, especially H1N1 strains. COVID and flu can both kill people, but neither of them kills otherwise-healthy people without causing some other complication along the way anymore.

If you are reading this on tumblr, you are unlikely to be IN that minority of people who are at significant risk.

Surgical masks do nothing.

Cloth masks do nothing.

P2/N95 masks are the only viable option.

If you want to use them, you should ideally be fit-tested. If you cannot be fit-tested, then please do not simply assume that the cheapest masks will work for you.

Please understand:

COVID is over.

The virus and the disease are not, but "COVID" as synecdoche for "the COVID pandemic" is absolutely over and has been over for years. Claiming otherwise is simply medically illiterate and I'm sorry if that upsets you.

If you want to wear a mask, please do. However, please understand that unless you are wearing a brand-new N95 or P2 mask, that you are fit-tested for, and that you are wearing correctly...

...Then you might as well not wear one.

Cloth masks do not work anymore. They only worked for the initial months of the pandemic when it wasn't airborne: now that it IS airborne, cloth masks are absolutely useless.

Surgical masks are also not suitable: we use them in theatres (hence "surgical") because they prevent a person who is breathing slowly and evenly from easily spewing bacteria into open wounds, but we aren't trying to prevent viruses and they don't really work to prevent viral spread very well. They're strictly better than nothing... but not considerably better.

I'm not saying you shouldn't have good hygiene about travelling outside, but please don't act like this is because "the pandemic isn't over."

The pandemic is over.

However, please do mask up if you want to, and make sure that you always wash your hands when you come in from going anywhere that involved you touching lots of public things, especially public transport.

---

Currently, the main viruses we're seeing in the community in Australia are

Rhinovirus (always present)

Influenzas A & B (please get your vaccines)

Respiratory syncytial virus/RSV (particularly a problem for the very young and very old)

Human metapneumovirus/HMPV (often causes croup in kids)

Coxsackievirus (causes hand-foot-and-mouth disease, if you have kids in daycare who suddenly get a rash this is 90% the reason)

We actually don't see much COVID, as people generally RAT test at home for it if they suspect they have it and stay self-isolating, which is nice of them!

You can also now buy RATs which ALSO test for influenzas A & B, which is VERY nice. They're what we're using in the clinic right now and it really speeds things up!

If you have a random rash that's appeared and/or you're suddenly getting mouth ulcers and/or abdominal pain... it's probably hand-foot-and-mouth. It's an extremely common childhood infection and kids with it tend to be a bit grumpy for a day or three and then get over it, but adults with it can find the rash extremely painful. If you do get a rash, just remember that it's going to be over soon I promise!

Also, please do make sure that you check your Australian Immunisation Record (AIR) on the Medicare app and see that you've got an MMR shot. Measles is sadly a bit on the rise right now, so make sure you've got your measles shot if you're unsure! You can always get a new one.

COVID shots are still available and I recommend them. I haven't got this year's yet because I caught COVID at the start of the year off a patient who sneezed Directly into my eyeballs, which no amount of masks (which I was actually wearing, and was indeed fit-tested for) will prevent. It's currently not recommended that you get the COVID shot if you've been infected in the last 6 months because your immunity is probably better than the vaccine's immunity anyway, but I'm getting the COVID shot in about a month. Just treat it like your annual flu shot.

If you're 65 or over (which, on Tumblr, is unlikely but your parents might be) then please do tell them to get the shingles vaccine. It's not worth it for young people but as you age your risk of post-herpetic neuralgia increases, so do make sure it's got.

[chrissssssmut]

yandere bully rei x reader

AFTER LIKE, AFTER YOU

Yandere Bully Rei x Male Reader

AN: Tried to reference some of IVE's Songs here!

You sit in your seat, trying to mind your own business. Really, you do. You keep your head down, work on your notes, ignore the whispers, and pretend like nothing’s happening even when your pen goes missing again for the third time this week.

But of course. Of course she’s here.

“Wow,” comes her voice behind you, laced with sugar and poison. “Is that your handwriting? That’s so…” A pause. “Pathetic. Are those supposed to be letters or worm trails?”

You don’t turn around. You don’t need to. You know the smirk that’s probably curling on her lips. The glossy IVE pink lip gloss that smears a little when she bites her pen out of boredom.

Her name? Rei.

Your tormentor. Your nightmare. Your—

Well.

“Not gonna talk to me now?” she says, sliding into the seat beside you even though she definitely doesn’t sit there. “That’s kinda rude, don’t you think, loser?”

You sigh. “Don’t you have friends to sit with?”

Her expression changes for half a second—just a blink—and if you weren’t always watching (you have to, to survive), you wouldn’t have caught it. That look of simmering rage just below the surface. Then she’s smiling again.

“I just like being near you,” Rei coos, leaning close. “You’re so… malleable.”

You flinch a little when she brushes her fingers across your wrist.

“Don’t touch me,” you mutter, not quite loud enough.

“What was that?” she grins. “Speak up, puppy.”

You grit your teeth. She always calls you things like that. “Loser,” “worm,” “puppy.” Anything to make you smaller.

But what you don’t see—can’t see—is the way her nails are digging into her palm under the desk, hidden from view. The way her leg bounces with a fury she can’t express aloud. Because you didn’t look at her today.

Because you didn’t say good morning, even though you always do, even if it’s quiet.

Because someone else talked to you in homeroom and she saw the way you smiled—really smiled—and it wasn’t for her.

After class, she follows you, naturally. You try to duck into the library. No luck. She’s there before you. Waiting.

“How did you—?”

“I just knew you’d be here,” she says. “You’re so predictable.”

You try to step around her. She blocks your way.

“You know what I hate the most about you?” Rei says, voice sharp like a knife under silk. “You think you can ignore me. Like I’m not the center of your universe.”

You blink. “You’re not.”

She stares. There’s a long silence.

Then she smiles, all teeth. “Wrong answer.”

Without another word, she reaches into her bag, pulls out your pen. The one that went missing three days ago.

“You want this?” she asks sweetly. “Get on your knees.”

Your face burns.

“No.”

Her smile falters, then sharpens. “I’ll break it.”

You scowl. “It’s just a pen.”

Snap.

You flinch.

She stares at the broken halves like they’re your bones.

Then—whispers.

“But I wouldn’t break you. Not really. Not unless you asked me to.”

“What?”

She looks up at you with that same unhinged grin. “Nothing. Run along now, puppy.”

Later that week, you wake up to a package taped to your locker. Inside: a new pen. The exact kind you like. And a note.

“Write me love letters with this one.

I’ll be reading.

—R”

You crumple it and throw it away.

She finds it later in the trash and cries laughing.

“I knew you’d do that,” she says the next day, smearing a bit of your lunch on your shirt. “You’re so easy.”

But that night, she’s laying on her bed, the crumpled note smoothed out and pinned to her wall like a treasure map.

She stares at it for hours.

She starts humming songs around you.

Snippets of IVE’s “Kitsch” and “After Like”. Twisted little lyrics dropped into your ear when she leans too close.

“You know, love is like playing with fire,” she whispers once while pretending to inspect your notebook.

You try to ignore her.

She doesn’t let you.

“Hey,” she says one day, out of nowhere. “Do you like anyone?”

You look at her warily. “Why?”

“Just answer the question.”

You shrug. “No.”

Another pause. Something deep in her exhales.

“Good,” she says. “Because if you did, I’d have to break their faces and eat their flesh.”

“…What?”

She leans in, dead serious. “What kind of psychopath would want to steal my toy?”

You freeze.

“I’m not your toy.”

Rei tilts her head. “Sure you are. You just don’t realize it yet.”

She’s laughing as she walks away.

But not before whispering:

“If you love me, say you love me. If you hate me… well, I’ll make you love me anyway.”

You start catching her watching you. Not the usual mocking glares. This time it's something else.

In the hallway. In the reflection of the bus window. In class, eyes boring holes into the back of your head.

Once, you get a note in your locker written in perfect cursive:

“If I disappeared, would you miss me?

Don’t answer. I already know.

—R”

You don’t reply. You don’t throw it out either.

“You know I hate when you talk to other girls, right?”

Rei says this as she corners you near the vending machines.

You frown. “I barely said two words to her—”

“But you laughed,” Rei hisses. “With her. And not me.”

You take a step back. “Rei, you’re fucking crazy.”

She leans in.

“Only for you.”

Her eyes are wild. Glittering.

Things escalate.

Your notebooks get vandalized with lipstick marks and crossed-out names. Every time you speak to someone else, something of theirs ends up missing. Or broken.

One time, someone tries to flirt with you.

The next day, they show up with a black eye and refuse to say what happened.

You suspect.

But you never accuse.

One night, you get a message. No name. Just:

“I watched you sleep.”

“You look better with your mouth shut.”

Your heart races. You don’t reply.

The next day at school, Rei walks by, licks her lips, and murmurs:

“You snore. Cute.”

You turn cold.

“Rei—what the hell is wrong with you?”

She grabs your collar, yanks you close. Her breath is warm.

“What’s wrong with you?” she snarls, voice trembling. “Why won’t you just look at me like you look at everyone else?”

You stare.

And finally, quietly, you say, “Because you scare me.”

She blinks.

And then, softly, with a terrifying smile:

“Good. That means I’m doing it right.”

But then, you find her crying.

One day, after school, behind the gym. Alone. Knees pulled to her chest.

You shouldn’t stop. You shouldn’t care.

But you do.

“…Rei?”

She jumps. Her eyes go wide.

“D-Don’t look at me,” she hisses, trying to wipe her tears. “I swear to God, I’ll kill you if you tell anyone—”

You kneel. “Why are you crying?”

She doesn’t answer for a while.

Then:

“I just… don’t get why you hate me so much.”

You blink. “You bully me.”

“And yet,” she says, voice breaking, “I think about you every second of every day. Isn’t that worse?”

You say nothing.

She looks up at you, desperate. “Do you think I’m a monster?”

You hesitate.

“…No,” you whisper. “I think you’re just… lonely.”

She laughs bitterly. “I’m not lonely. I have you.”

You don’t correct her.

Because somewhere, deep inside, you wonder if you’re starting to belong to her, too.

She sings softly behind you the next day.

“Tell me you want me, tell me you need me…”

It’s IVE’s “I AM.” Her voice is low, gentle. Dangerous.

You don’t respond.

But you feel your heart skip.

And so it continues.

The bullying. The obsession. The twisted little notes.

And her smile, wide and terrifying.

“If I’m your villain, then be my story.

I’ll make it a tragedy worth telling.”

And you?

You keep trying to survive her.

But somewhere, you know:

You don’t want to run anymore.

Not really.

Not after like this.

[hellfirebarnes]

Slow-Burns Part 5

@crowleythesexydemon

PART 1 PART 2 PART 3 PART 4 PART 6

I split this up in several, shorter parts because I know the feeling when you want to read a fic but don't have the time or energy to get through a 10k+ words one. Also if you hate my writing you can just read part 1 and then leave it. Win-win I guess?

Anyway, this is set after Thunderbolts so if you haven't seen it - spoilers I guess? It absolutely does not follow canon, but yeah better to be safe than sorry.

Summary: Bucky has fallen. Hopelessly. And the only thing more hopeless is his team trying to help him get to the end of this slow-burn.

Bucky x fem!SHIELD!reader

1.4K Words

Fluff, ''normal'' violence and descriptions of injuries. For sure out of character stuff, but I am who I am. Your appearence is barely desribed what I can remember, I think your hair and a couple types what clothes you're wearing?

You're referred to as ''Agent'' and ''Sunshine'' in a desperate attempt from me to not use Y/N.

Let me know if there's anything else I should warn about.

Otherwise, enjoy :)

The Tower had two personalities. Loud and unhinged by day, quiet and dimly lit at night. The kind of quiet that let your thoughts wander into dangerous territory if you weren’t careful.

You stood at the stove, barefoot in sweatpants, hair pulled back haphazardly. A pan of eggs sizzled in front of you. You weren't even really hungry, just… restless.

Behind you, a cabinet creaked open.

You didn’t have to look. “You’re about to ask if I made enough for two.”

A low, familiar voice answered. “No. I was gonna pretend I didn’t want any until I smelled it, and then pretend to be surprised.”

You turned, smiling. “Hi, Bucky.”

He was dressed in what passed as pajamas for him - black sweatpants, faded navy t-shirt, hoodie unzipped just enough to show a little collarbone that you refused to have feelings about. He looked good in the half-light. Tired. Soft.

“Bad dreams?” you asked gently, sliding some eggs onto a plate.

He hesitated. Then nodded.

“Same,” you murmured, nudging a plate toward him.

You ate in silence for a while. Side by side at the counter. The fridge hummed quietly behind you. Somewhere deep in the Tower, something beeped and reset itself. The world outside didn’t exist.

“You always this generous with your midnight cooking?” Bucky asked eventually, voice quieter now.

You smiled without looking up. “Only for people who share snacks with me on stakeouts.”

He huffed a tiny laugh. He wasn’t sure how much longer he could do this - be near you, know you like this, feel your warmth in the quiet, and not do anything about it. But he also didn’t want to rush anything. So he just ate his eggs. And stayed a little longer.

The off-grid training grounds were several hours into the woods, set against hills and pine. No cell service. No towers. No backup.

Val called it “team recalibration.”

Everyone else called it a nightmare.

“I’m not saying this place is haunted,” John said as he kicked open the cabin door, “but if a ghost asks me to get out, I’m leaving.”

“You are not leaving,” Yelena said. “You are suffering like the rest of us.”

There were three cabins in total. And it was somewhat assumed Alexei and Bob would take the first one, with you, Yelena, and Ava in the second, and Bucky stuck with John in number three. That was until the arrangements were revealed.

“Agent and Bucky, you’re in cabin three,” Val announced, like it was nothing.

John choked on his water. Yelena looked like she’d been waiting for this. Bob dropped a granola bar in shock. Alexei? Beamed like a man who’d just solved world peace.

“My time has come,” he whispered to no one.

That evening in cabin three Bucky stood awkwardly in the doorway as you set your bag down. The cabin was small. Too small. One room, two cots, and the world’s most judgmental kerosene lamp.

“This okay?” you asked, glancing at him.

He nodded stiffly. “Yeah. You?”

“Totally.” You were lying, but only a little.

You settled in - Bucky reading in silence, you flipping through a deck of Polaroids you'd already taken.

He watched you from the corner of his eye. The way your fingers lingered on each image. How your smile changed depending on who was in the frame. He could tell when you hit the photo Yelena had taken of you and Bob earlier. Your whole face lit up.

“He really likes you, huh,” Bucky said quietly.

You smiled, not looking up. “Bob? Yeah. I think he’d follow me into a volcano if I asked.”

“He would,” Bucky said, too quickly.

You looked at him, something amused and knowing in your eyes. “You jealous?”

Bucky froze. “Of Bob?”

“You’re the one who brought it up.”

He opened his mouth, then closed it again. His ears had gone pink.

You leaned back on your cot, watching him with an easy smile. “Relax, Barnes. I’m messing with you.”

He didn’t answer. But the tension in his shoulders dropped just a little.

The next day started with mud, yelling, and Alexei trying to invent new exercises on the fly.

“Three laps!” he bellowed. “Unless you are Sunshine, in which case you may do one and then rest!”

“She’s your favorite now?” John demanded.

“She is my destiny now!” Alexei announced.

Bucky nearly choked on his water.

The entire day followed that chaotic pattern.

Bob orbited you during warmups. You and John argued over the most efficient rappel technique, which ended with you shoving him into a river (he deserved it). Yelena dragged you into competitive sparring while Ava watched, amused.

Bucky, always nearby, stayed mostly quiet. But he saw everything.

The way you laughed with them. Teased. Protected. Belonged. How you were the gravity in the center of this storm of broken, volatile, half-saved people. And how you somehow made him feel like part of it too.

That night the stars were sharp and endless above them. The woods quiet. A fire crackled outside somewhere - Alexei leading a dramatic retelling of how he’d once survived an explosion “with nothing but sheer will and my elbow.”

Inside cabin three, it was quiet.

You sat cross-legged on your cot, a blanket around your shoulders, Polaroid camera in your lap. “I keep taking these,” you said, lifting the camera, “because I think one day I’ll want to look back and remember what this all felt like.”

He watched you carefully. “And what does it feel like?” he asked.

You hesitated, then met his gaze. “Like maybe this is the first place I’ve ever truly belonged.”

Bucky didn’t know what to say. Not exactly. So he reached for the camera. Held it up. And took a photo of you - quiet, wrapped in starlight and warmth and honesty.

You reached for it when it popped out, but he held it back again, just like he had the first time.

“This one’s for my wall too,” he said.

You blinked, surprised. Then your smile returned, soft and bright and achingly kind. “Good,” you said. “Then maybe I’ll start showing up in more of your memories.”

He looked at you. And his heart felt like it was overflowing.

Valentina stood at the head of the table, a sly smile playing on her lips. “We’ve got a situation,” she began, tossing a dossier onto the table. “A gala in Monaco. High-profile. Our intel suggests a potential arms deal going down under the guise of charity.”

She looked around the room, her gaze settling on you and Bob. “Agent, Bob, you’re going in undercover. Posing as a couple.”

Bob’s eyes widened. “A couple? Like, dating?”

Val smirked. “Yes, Bob. Dating. Try to act natural.”

Bucky’s jaw tightened imperceptibly. He glanced at you, who met his gaze with a shrug and a small smile.

Alexei leaned over to Bucky, whispering loudly, “This is perfect! A little jealousy might finally push you to confess your feelings.”

Bucky shot him a glare. “I’m not jealous.”

“Of course not,” Alexei said, winking.

You descended the grand staircase at the gala in a sleek black gown, your hair elegantly styled.

Bob, in a sharp tuxedo, offered his arm. “You look stunning,” he said, genuinely.

“Thank you, Bob,” you replied, taking his arm.

You mingled with the guests, laughing and chatting, all the while keeping an eye out for the target.

Bucky, stationed across the room in a security uniform, watched you closely. Every laugh, every touch felt like a punch to the gut.

Yelena sidled up to him. “You look like you’re about to explode.”

“I’m fine,” Bucky muttered.

“Sure you are,” she said, smirking.

Back at the Tower, the team gathered in the common room, debriefing over coffee.

“Great job, everyone,” Val said. “Agent, Bob, your cover was flawless.”

Bob beamed. “Thanks! She’s a great fake girlfriend.”

You chuckled. “And Bob’s a surprisingly good fake boyfriend.”

Bucky remained silent, his expression unreadable.

John clapped him on the back. “Cheer up, Barnes. It’s not like they’re actually dating.”

Alexei chimed in, “But maybe they should be. They have chemistry.”

Bucky stood abruptly. “I need some air.”

Later that night, you found Bucky on the rooftop, staring out at the city lights.

“Hey,” you said softly.

He turned to you, his expression softening. “Hey.”

You stood in silence for a moment.

“You were amazing tonight,” he said finally.

“Thank you,” you replied. “Bob was great, too.”

Bucky nodded. “Yeah, he was.”

You looked at him, your eyes searching. “You’re not jealous, are you?”

He met your gaze. “Maybe a little.”

You smiled. “Good.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Good?”

“It means you care,” you said, stepping closer.

He reached out, brushing a strand of hair from your face. “I do.”

You stood there, the city lights reflecting in your eyes, the tension between you palpable.

[polkadotjohnson]

Interview: MURDERBOT Star David Dastmalchian Likes His Humans Bloody and Complicated

[Warning: mention of Gurathin's past but no spoilers]

In the early episodes, Gurathin is set up as an antagonist of sorts to Murderbot, but most of what he says is true.

David Dastmalchian: What Gurathin said is a thousand percent true. The SecUnit is totally weird. It’s malfunctioning. It’s not safe. Something is off. I don’t mean to correct the interviewer, but… here’s what’s so wonderful about the world Martha Wells created: more than one thing can be true at the same time. Surprise!

That’s what it’s like to be a human being. In reality, oftentimes stories are distilled down — and storytellers distill down ideas, concepts, and characters — into the simplicity of a binary: this is this, and this is that. That’s not the world Martha Wells was interested in creating. It’s not the world she created, and it’s not the world that [creators] Chris and Paul Weitz brought to life with Murderbot.

So is Gurathin right? Yes. Is Gurathin his own worst enemy because he has such a difficult time trusting and putting faith in others and allowing himself to be vulnerable to others? A thousand percent. The masterwork of the way that they put this show together was creating this ensemble, these incredible actors in those scenes where you might see me or my approach to the character as antagonistic, I’m just trying to get in there and understand.

Gurathin is a great reflection for me on my life. I often go through the world just on the aggressiveness of the attack, looking for what’s wrong with things. Sometimes, when you think about Dr. Mensah’s (Noma Dumezweni) approach, like, “Let’s sit back, let’s talk about this,” as they say. Gurathin’s like, “Fuck that. We don’t need to talk about shit.”

I just watched episode seven. Without spoiling it, we learn about Gurathin’s complicated past. How much did this reveal influence your choices in the first few episodes? 

David Dastmalchian: I haven’t really gotten to talk about this in the press, but we’ve done a number of conversations now — you and I — and I can tell you, showing up to work that day, for that scene that I know you’re referring to, was one of the hardest things I’ve ever had to do as an actor. I was coming up on, at that point, my 22nd year in a journey of mental health and sobriety. I was going to be performing dialogue that was so incredibly written and that was so incredibly personal in a way nobody even realized how personal it was.

And yeah, I was able to look into the eyes of Tattiawna, Akshay, Sabrina, Tamara, and ultimately Noma, and what an incredible director, Roseanne [Liang], we had that day. She just gave us this space to feel safe and go there.

But it was intense and powerful, man. I watch the show with people I love every week. Tomorrow night we’re gathering with Bryan Fuller and my little group of friends to watch the show, but when that episode comes in particular, I don’t know if I want to show up that night. That’s going to be a hard one. But it’s beautiful. It’s not a bad thing. It’s a beautiful thing. I’m grateful that the universe provided such an experience for me and that Paul and Chris created that.

After that scene, did it feel cathartic? What went through your mind?

David Dastmalchian: I fell into my mind — I probably didn’t really do this, but in my mind — I collapsed in the arms of my castmates. They just lifted me up so much that day, as did the director, writer, and showrunner. Every day on that show, everyone was so there for you and made you feel safe and supported. But that was a big one.

I remember going home and sitting there and doing an online support group that I logged into that night, and I felt proud. I felt like, wow — I was able to be professional, show up, do the work that I was called upon to do while navigating stuff that felt personal and emotional. I like to think it didn’t detract in any way from the work, maybe even enhanced it. But whatever came of it, I do think there’s — even if it’s a micro drop of extra something in there — how could there not be, considering how personal that story was? Gurathin was speaking for David at that moment.

Something always apparent in speaking with you is you deeply feel what a character feels. Have you always had this level of sensitivity to the characters you play? 

David Dastmalchian: It's really important for me to be aware of myself and aware of how much the work or the character is affecting me personally, and that can transcend just the themes or the emotionality of the character. Sometimes it's the long hours, sometimes it's the demands of repetitively getting to emotional states of being. I have an incredible network of support in friends, family, sobriety, and mental health that I lean on so that I don't have to — I’ve just gone on and told you how much I leaned on my cast, but in the way that I think is healthy, in the way that we can creatively be there together. 

While at the same time, it's important for me to invest the time and energy into taking care of myself and being aware, going, “Oh my God, wow, this role is bringing stuff up for me.” There's stuff physically as you progress through this season —the threat of danger, real danger, and violence happens in really intense ways. So, there are things that my body and my voice and my person got the opportunity to experience. Even though I know it's all make-believe — you walk away at the end of the day — your body didn’t know that that didn't really happen. So, it’s just an evolving toolkit of ways of checking in with myself and staying healthy.

[cute-ellyna]

I’ll tell you what I like the most about this. Other than the mirror sex itself which is always an excellent idea, I mean ;D

Under the cut cause I wrote too much XD

I drew this almost all on instinct. I’ve been drawing people for almost 3 decades guys now, but I still feel kinda insecure about myself. I rarely move without finding references first (pictures or 3D models for poses) to guide me through anatomy, cause I’m afraid I won’t be able to keep up my personal minimum level of quality anatomically speaking. I’m often so afraid that more often than not I don’t even try to “freely draw” without a guide.

This means though that I’m quite tied to whatever I find/model, and I don’t like this.

So at the beginning of this year I gave myself a goal: to slowly move away from that and start being more free in what I draw. To trust my abilities better, to just let go.

And I’m doing it. Not always, but I did it here. AND LOOK AT IT, LOOK AT WHAT I ACHIEVED. Someone in the tags commented that this was so well sculpted and that I really understand how plains work. All from inside my head, no references on the light. ME??? So all those anatomy training on my sideblog worked!! *_* I’m so proud, I’m patting myself on the shoulder guys XD

I’m finding that some of my favorite drawings or comic panels are actually the ones I let myself draw without closely follow a reference. And mind me, there’s nothing wrong in having references, in fact they are essential BUT I am/was using them like a cage and it was so wrong.

So this is my proof to me that, heck, I did learned something through the years, it’s all in my head, and I should just let it happen and not being afraid to draw.

I feel like I’ve been riding a bike with training wheels, afraid I couldn’t go without. But I actually can, and it’s obviously so much better.

The magic doesn’t always happen I’ll be honest. I often just can’t draw some poses. I still often fall back to bad habits. But hey one step at a time :)

"Don't close your eyes."

*cough* and how could she?

[eveenstar]

I’m curious, what would the proxies do in an event the operator/ Slenderman died, probably eliminated. What would they do with their s/o reader afterwards (separately)?

Now, that's a very interesting possibility...But the question remains; is that an actual possibility? Well, that's what the Red Eye is trying to find out!

-> blog's canon for reference

->creepypasta masterlist

AU! THE SLENDERMAN IS GONE | FREE PROXIES AND THEIR S/O

-> In the lucky (or unlucky?) event that the Red Eye manages to defeat, even kill, our ol' SlenderMan over here, chaos would follow. What is better, to have a bunch of lunatics being controlled by an eldritch being, or to have them now roam free, confused and lost and possibly, violent?

-> The Red Eye, despite being primarly made of ex-military, ex-proxies that blindly follow the Saint Matriarch and having Mary as their leader, will not take accountability for those that were set free of SlenderMan's control. Mind you, their objective was to defeat SlenderMan, not take care of his playthings.

-> Unfortunately, many proxies would die. In some fucked up way or another, SlenderMan was their anchor and without him, most wouldn't survive or adapt in the real world. They would die, either by their hand, or Red Eye, or someone else.

So, for you, dear reader...Let's see what future would have in mind for you, if you so happened to be the s/o of our favourite proxies:

-> If you are Toby's s/o...Oh boy. Be prepared for this. I mean, you're already dating this guy, so I assume you know what you're doing and WHO you're with. With SlenderMan's defeat, you'd be a fool to think that it means freedom for your beloved and yourself. It does not.

-> A wall has been taken down, and many proxies want Toby dead, as well as the Red Eye. Of course, he was one of the oldest, higher ranked proxies. One of the few with the highest kill count, above 100+. Too dangerous to be kept alive after SlenderMan's death.

-> On the day that it happens, the cabin that you and Toby share will become a meeting point for those that seek to eliminate him. They will corner you and Toby, and like any cornered beast, Toby will bare his teeth. Blood will be spilled, guts will decorate the once-pristine cabin, and you can swear on your life that he will bring them down with him, if that's what it takes to defend you.

-> After SlenderMan is gone, Toby will struggle to find a new point in living. Not that he had one before, but since you came into his life? There was something to live for. Even if his "boss" is gone, Toby does not think of himself as free. No, no, freedom is the architect of an idea when you are knees-deep into mental illnesses. Toby does not care how much blood he spills, whether from himself or others, what matters now is that you remain alive.

-> You become his new objective. At all costs, his beloved must remain alive, and breathing, and safe. Which means that you two will have to disappear underground for a few years.

╳╳╳╳

-> If you are Masky/Tim's s/o... Allow me to bring you back to; "...there shall come the day where the Big Man will decide that your time has ran out and have Masky kill you. He knows this, he knows SlenderMan would have him kill you just for fun and giggles. Because of this, he gave you a map and instructions of what to do in case that day ever comes. He only hopes the training he gave you will be enough to defend you from himself."

-> The day has come. Any proxy suffering from stage two and onwards of The Sickness will feel as though a hundred thousand voices were being screamed into their minds, wailing and shouting. Anger and confusion will fill their minds and hearts, and they shall turn their hands on those nearby. Masky will turn on you, just as he had always prophesied would happen. That is why he trained you in the first place, to prepare you for the occasion.

-> With SlenderMan's defeat, the next few hours of your life will become a game of cat and mouse. You will have to survive your beloved, no matter how much it pains you to see that rabid, pained look in his eyes, like a wounded dog being forced to lash out. But you will survive him. That is what he prepared you for. To survive him.

-> And then you will see him. Tim. Underneath all that pain and trauma, Tim will emerge, sobbing and crawling on the floor, begging for something, for anything to relieve the ache in his heart and the confusion in his mind. To your beloved, it will feel as though a veil has been lifted over his eyes and he can finally see again. Masky will become a ghost, a haunting in the back of his mind. A whisper in the night, one that you two will always live with.

-> Tim will do what he has always done. He will take you and you both will head to a quiet town, away from forests, away from the Red Eye or any other creepypasta. For this, he will bring the maps, the journals, anything that tells him of safe havens - blind spots to proxies and creepypasta's alike. I won't lie, but despite living those years with Masky, this new reality will become the worst struggle of your life.

-> Tim is broken, but so are you. Together, you two will have to find low profile jobs, live off of motels until you can afford a small house or apartment in the quiet part of town, and live. You will live, not with the Masked Man, but with Tim. The love of your life, a man that looks at you with only pure adoration and content. If need be, you two find a way to get new ID's with new names and...Again, if need be, move out of America. But you will be together, and SlenderMan, Masky, the proxies...Will all become a thing of the past.

╳╳╳╳

-> Hoodie has always been the calm before the storm. Being his s/o when SlenderMan's fall happens... You will feel it. Now words will be spoken, no warnings, there will be no crying nor shouting. SlenderMan's fall will be quiet. You will remember how dark and cloudy the skies were, and how Hoodie stood by the window, gazing into the endless row of trees, as if he could see, hear or feel something that you could not.

-> Brian is gone, Hoodie is all that remains now. Brian would never be able to protect you from what's coming, and Hoodie knows that. The worst part about beings like SlenderMan? They are like the Hydra. Kill off one head and another one will rise to take its place. Hoodie knows that.

-> No words will be spoken between you two. You will move and act like ghosts, and leave the old house behind, taking little more than what's necessary for the journey ahead. You will be afraid, I won't honey things out for you. You don't know what Hoodie is planning - and you cannot see the storm behind his eyes. In fact, you cannot see much of anything at all. Brian is not there, only an impenetrable wall of fog.

-> You and Hoodie will disappear, as if you were never there to begin with. Many will wonder what happened to you and will be met with the silence of your now empty house, for its walls leave behind no answers as to where you two headed off to. Perhaps you both died in the chaos that followed SlenderMan's defeat, but no bodies were found, so no assumptions could be made.

-> No one will know how free you felt, when you and your beloved set out into the road, with no clear destination - at least, not that you were aware of. You will not see a glimpse of Brian again, and Hoodie...Hoodie will become a stranger to you for a while, but you will see the truth in his body language and his being. As if he was morphing into someone new, not quite Brian but not quite Hoodie - just someone new.

╳╳╳╳

-> When SlenderMan's fell, you thought you'd be next. Being Kate the Chaser's s/o (im jealous rn) meant just that. You were always free falling into something new, never quite knowing if this was your last day on Earth or not. But you loved her, and you were sure that somewhere deep in her heart, she loved you too.

-> But, granted, when SlenderMan was defeated...You were terrified. The wailing and screaming went out for hours, and you thought that Kate would not only take herself out, but you with her as well. And she might have, if the universe hadn't smiled down upon you that day, and some good samaritans found you and her. At least they weren't the Red Eye, because they for sure would've taken you two out at once.

-> Unfortunately (well, not quite), Kate would've been hospitalised. Pray that you're one hell of a liar to spin a story as to what happened (or perhaps tell the truth and omit certain things such as the eldritch, faceless being...). The next few months would be around doctors and the white walls of the hospital. Kate had no living family members or people that remember her (CJ is ashes in the wind and Lauren...well...), so truly, it is only you and her now. And you wouldn't have it any other way.

-> The process of adaptation would be difficult. Some days you wouldn't be able to recognise her, and she wouldn't recognise you. The amount of pills and therapy were astonashing, and of course, you were not falling short behind that as well. With time, Kate would come back to you. Expect memory loss, as for her this was a long, terrible nightmare that she has emerged from. Perhaps that was for the better. You have to remember that you and Kate were one of the few lucky ones to not die out there after His defeat.

╳╳╳╳ bonus!

-> Unfortunately, not all get a happy ending. Being Prowler's s/o meant that he saw you as above all else, including himself. He has always had his own plans, his way of coping and dealing with reality....And when SlenderMan fell, he only had you. And he feared that he would lose you too. Like Hoodie and Masky, he took you away on that fateful day, away to a safe house in some blind spot of America.

-> And then he left you. He left you, along with few necessities needed for you to start a new life, and you never saw him again. You don't know what happened to him, truly, no one does. Like Hoodie, he became a ghost. Gone in the wind.

[riddle-me-ri]

First off, I just want to say how much I love your writing for Jervis, especially for Joker's Asylum and Secret Six. You write him so well! Secondly, can I request some Jervi headcanons for what the Jervi are like as husbands? Like, how does their relationship with the reader change after they get married?

Thank you :D

a/n: awww thanks so much! I'm glad to hear you love my writing for the Jervi! It means a lot! I can absolutely do this for ya! Most of them are just ecstatic you take his last name and are willingly to bind yourself to him for life so…enjoy! lmao

The Mad Hatters as Husbands

Arkhamverse Mad Hatter

- Genuinely couldn’t ask for more!

- All Jervis ever wanted was a friend…but now for him to have a partner? A significant other for a lifetime?!

- Jervis will make sure to always take care of you and be there for you–you will never ever go without!

- He will no longer be looking for Alice–

- But the tea parties are still a must and you’re the permanent guest of honor.

- If any of his henchmen interrupt, upset, disrespect you in any way shape, form or fashion they’re tenure with him is terminated.

- You’re everything and more to Jervis, and he makes sure you know it.

BTAS Mad Hatter

- Literally husband material I can’t even–

- Most doting, loving, amazing husband ever…

- Definitely the type to just, “casually” remind you that you two are married.

- Will refer to you as Mr./Mrs. Tetch, if you're comfortable and he has the widest little grin every time.

- Jervis remembers all the dates; anniversaries, birthdays, first dates, proposal date–if he could throw a celebration every day he wakes up next to you he would.

- You will never want for nothing with Jervis.

- He will ensure your marriage is full of love and happiness.

TNBA Mad Hatter

- Jervis still swears up and down it's all a dream–that you two aren't actually wedded…not really.

- The idea of his life as a lonely wretch is officially over…

- He always wants you near him–

- He's worried more than ever that he may accidentally neglect you getting lost in his work.

- Jervis worries you may wake up one day and regret your decision.

- Thankfully, you're just as doting of a partner as he, and you're capable of reassuring him you two are truly married for life.

Gotham Mad Hatter

- Jervis is honestly surprised.

- This is what he always wanted, for you to be completely his…

- Now that you wear a ring and carry his surname…it makes the mad man delirious.

- Your wellbeing is always his first priority–

- He will do what he can to ensure you're well taken care of.

- Jervis will go through leaps and bounds to make sure you're provided for and you don't have to worry about anything.

- Jervis is definitely not letting you go now…

HQTAS Mad Hatter

- He's joyful but also anxious as hell.

- Being a “husband” was…the last thing he never expected to be.

- Jervis does try his best though…to be…husband-ly?

- But you reassure him not much has to change–

- You two are just bound together forever…

- Something that Jervis very much enjoys the idea of…

- Jervis was shy at first about admitting he's married, but after about a month he's proudly claiming your collaboration with him on the latest hat design.

- And like BTAS, he gets way more giddy than he cares to admit at referring to you with his last name.

Joker’s Asylum Mad Hatter

- Clingy-Ness up to the MAX

- Jervis always tried to imagine what the perfect happy ending to his book could be–

- He could have never imagined that getting married to you would be one of them.

- Not too much changes, but as mentioned he is definitely way more clingy.

- Very rarely takes his ring off, only for cleaning purposes.

- Will loving refer to you as “his wife/husband/partner” followed by a delighted chuckle.

Secret Six Mad Hatter

- Clingy-ness up to the MAX 2.0

- Possessiveness up to 11 and then some…

- Jervis is an absolute nuisance about your marriage to anyone that will listen.

- See his ring? Yes! That's right he's married! He's taken! He's spoken for!

- (may or may not have made matching hats for the wedding rings…)

- When you're married, Jervis doesn't change too much, he's still as loving and thoughtful as ever…

- If not more, if that is even possible…but Jervis always seems to find ways to even outdo himself

[mystxmomo]

hi hiii

so. what if. iiii. enabled u to be autistic on the internet again :3c

i wanna hear your thoughts on eilistraee and vhaerauns relationship! the nitty gritty, the dynamics, how they think of each other vs how they act, and how thats changed over time+how its reflected in their church

im ADORING all your posts on it if i could id print them out and eat them 🫶

Okay. So this is officially the third part of my "I need to go crazy on some character analysis" Saga. My analysis on Vhaeraun is Here, and my analysis on Eilistraee is Here. I recommend, if you're stumbling across this post in the wild as tumblr tends to do, reading those two first so that you have an idea of how I see these two characters and where the basis of my argument for their characterization comes from. If I need to reference something from either post, I'll quote it here. But y'know. Need be said.

Okay so.

I believe this post is going to the most subjective of mine. I am going to try and pull up canon screenshots from War of the Spider Queen, The Lady Penitent, and Evermeet, but unlike how you kind of get told directly how the drow gods behave and hold themselves and a lot of things end up getting built on them, I would argue so many hands have touched DnD and so many interpretations of their relationship have sprung up over the books that it's hard to give a truly simplified "This is how they see one another."

Water is wet statement, relationships are complicated.

Anyway. Given what my thesis is, I am going to be talking a fair bit about abusive family dynamics in this one as well. My goal for this (and any character relationship I do, really) if to try and keep it very fair. I think a of people make the mistake when talking about Eilistraee and Vhaeraun's relationship of picking a side. Like this idea of one of them being right and one of them being wrong and needing to "Fix" the other. And I don't think that's true at all. I think to be able to understand why they feel the way they do about one another and why their relationship is the way it is, you need to respect both of their characters individually.

(Granted, I think this should be true of any relationship you're writing for in fiction. If I can preach for a second, I think even if you don't like a character, you have to be able to respect the character to properly portray them.)

Final note before I get into this. Everyone thank @abracadav-r again for being on screenshot duty. The posts wouldn't get done nearly as fast without them, they know exactly where to find these little moments.

So. That all said. Lets get into it.

I've made a smaller joke post about what I think their dynamic is like before here. But now that you're giving me the opportunity to do so, I will go indepth about it. Yes.

I'm kinda of the opinion that Eilistraee is more incorrect about Vhaeraun than Vhaeraun is incorrect about Eilistraee (But also that this is the result of DND Canon not being entirely fair to Vhaeraun.)

Let's get the discussion about my thesis about the Elven Pantheon being an analogy for an Abusive family on a divine scale out of the way first, because it's something I've mentioned a few time's, but only every really shorthanded. And I think here, in the discussion about relations, is a GREAT place to start and actually explore that.

Now. I should probably start by saying, I don't think this was intended by DnD. Like, I think when they were originally making this lore, it was the intention to just make a justifiable evil worth killing. DND came out of a time of the romantic fantasy, the very Tolkien and Fairytale esc ideas of good and evil and have this classic hero's journey power fantasy ideal to it. Other people have gone into depth about that origin with far better sourcing and dissection than I can ever hope to, but basically: DnD is absolutely (as all art is) a product of it's time and of the community it stemmed from.

However, I personally think those themes and ideas are a little outdated, and a modern audience (myself being the modern audience) tends to be more enthralled by very nuanced interpretations of good and evil, and find indepth character driven narratives more engaging. And I think that for what this mythos has become over the course of it's 60+ years of evolution, you can reinterpret the narrative to be a fascinating depiction of a mythos that echo's the abusive family structure.

Copying and Pasting from my Eilistraee Essay:

It is of my opinion that, when you look at the Eilistrae-Vhaeraun Dynamic and how they were treated by Lolth and Corellon, you're looking at a classic Golden Child/Scrape Goat dynamic. This is important to mention here because I do think that's important context within how Eilistraee (the person) see's and understands the world, and where her mind is at when it comes to the perception of her sense of self. To VASTLY oversimplify about how emotionally abusive family structures work by a lot, when you look at emotionally abusive families with siblings, you tend to find a pattern where one child ends up getting the bulk of the favoritism and affection (The golden child), while the other takes the bulk of the abuse and tends to take a of blame and is seen as being deserving of the abuse (The scrapegoat.) I'll get a little bit more into the specifics of what that means for their relationship in a later post.[*] Now. Calling her the Golden Child, but I don't think being the Golden Child is strictly a good thing. In a lot of ways, I think a lot of golden children end up very emotionally stilted, and I think you kind of see that in Eilistraee. She HAS to be the perfect one. And she's had this expectation to be The Good One placed on her shoulders since she was young. Golden Children are often blinded to the abuse their siblings face because they themselves are not subjected to the same kind of abuse.

[*] And well. It's that later post!

In emotionally abusive families, siblings tend to be pitted against eachother, either unintentionally as a result of the Golden Child being the subject of a parents time, attention, resources, and affection, or as a purposeful attempt on the part of a parent to put divides in a family. In the real life world, it is more often the first. I think a lot of people think Abusers are more like Lolth where there's an intentional "I looked at you and from the day you were born decided to make your life hell."

But I would argue the tricky thing about abusive family structures (Especially with parent-child situations), is that more often then not, the abusers love the idea of the person they're abusing. To them, what they're doing is love. It is very rare that an abuser is this knowing evil schemer that actively sits and thinks to themself that "That's my least favorite child, they don't deserve my attention."

(Though, as a small side tangent not immediately related to the fictional character, you might see this logic manifest more in the way finances are weaponized in abuse, especially see in America where college is more expensive and therefore often used as a control tactic. IE; My wonderful son wants to go into STEM, why would I waste money by giving it to my son who wants to do art college. Because people get comically evil about money.)

Instead, emotional abuse is often more insidious. It's... I'm going to put the blame on everything that goes wrong on my son (Who I left in the hands of his physically abusive mother to have his arm constantly bent behind his back by her) I can't bring myself to believe that my daughter would ever want to scheme against me. YOU could have been good once, but you're evil because you're not happy, you're too moody, you're too violent. I'm not even going to give you the chance or the environment to grow, because it's just in your nature to be evil, and because you are evil because you were born evil that all that goes wrong is your fault.

You know. That kind of logic.

So. Eilistraee was Corellon's Golden Child. She was the free spirited happy one. She was the one that loved to hunt and dance. She was the good one.

(But often, when a scrape goat leaves the family, the golden child becomes the new target.

Y'know. Like..

Corellon gave up on the idea of trying to turn his son Vhaeraun to abandon his ways. He vowed to kill Vhaeraun if he ever tried to hurt his sister. Nevertheless, the Masked Lord did threaten the Dark Maiden's life, without known action against him on Corellon's part.

Corellon's servant Solars claimed that, with this act, Eilistraee had exhausted her purpose, because the willing had been saved, and the unwilling cast down as a necessary sacrifice.

The in-story context for this being honestly worse and kind of containing bad racial implications:

“Her soul was destroyed,” Felarathael said solemnly. “But before she died, she saved many. She cleansed the taint from hundreds of drow who might otherwise have been condemned.” “But the rest!” Lashrael wailed. “Thousands! Hundreds of thousands! No hope of redemption for them, with Eilistraee gone. Condemned to darkness and despair, forevermore!” “Another necessary sacrifice,” Felarathael said without a trace of emotion. “Else the game would have been lost.”

This, to me, is the framework of Vhaeraun and Eilistraee's relationship.

Likewise, the Masked Lord nurtures an abiding hatred of Eilistraee. The Dark Maiden always held Corellon's favor more than her hateful brother, and she thwarted Vhaeraun's early efforts to bring all the Ilythiiri (southern, dark-skinned elves) under his sway, enabling Lolth and Ghaunadaur to make great inroads among those who would become the drow.

I'm under the impression that Eilistraee doesn't know Vhaeraun. She has this idea of who he is in her head seemingly both based on the what their father thought of him, and as a result of being an outsider looking at the things he did at the hand of his mother. (And again, let's be clear and establish in this post. That wasn't WHOLLY Lolth. Vhaeraun did play his part. But I don't think Eilistraee see's that, I think she strictly see's an eager climb for power) And then she makes a lot of assumptions about his motivations based on the idea of him she's made in her head that reaffirm that idea.

On the other hand, I think Vhaeraun understands exactly the kind of person his sister is, because it's really not that hard to understand who Eilistraee is. She really does just mean well. While I consider her to be a lot more guarded and lonely then people tend to give her credit for, I don't think she's being insincere with her wants and wishes and you don't have to doubt what her intentions are. Instead, the ways that I think Vhaeraun is often wrong about how well she can handle herself and how strong her allies are by 4e, and what that could mean for drow as a whole. Because he's so willing to discredit her as a threat, he doesn't pay attention to her, and because he doesn't pay attention to her I don't think he realized she'd gotten friendly to people like... Mysta the goddess of magic.

And being realistic, even if he had known, I don't think he understands the weight of her being friendly TO people like Mystra because he himself only ever makes allies, not friends amongst gods.

Now. The reason I capped that whole screenshot above is actually because it contains a very interesting bit of framework that I think proves this. Even back in the 2e source books, the phrasing of these things matters. If it was a matter of Vhaeraun thinking that something was the case, they would have mentioned it. However, the specific way that it's set up in that passage is: "It's not that Vhaeraun thinks Eilistraee's involvement in circumventing his climb to power allowed Lolth and Ghaunadaur to gain power. Her involvement DID allow Lolth and Ghaunadaur to gain power."

And I don't think she's aware of that. But Vhaeraun is.

To further this, we're to copy/paste a passage from Sacrifice of the Widow. Now. This is from the perspective of a Vhaeraun worshiper, and it holds as much bias as Eilistraee's priestesses have towards him. But. Because it correlates with metatextual information we have from all the way back in 1998, I'm inclined to say it's not a full dishonesty, just a biased truth.

The dance might have been beautiful, had it not been a violation of the sacred order. Had Eilistraee not interfered, Vhaeraun might have united all of the darkelves under a single deity millennia ago, but Eilistraee had proved as greedy as Lolth and had stolen the females away from the Masked Lord’s worship. She’d taught them to exclude males from her circle, to subjugate and revile them instead. Vhaeraun’s followers had learned a bitter lesson. Females could not be trusted.

Compare this to how Eilistraee speaks of Vhaeraun's influence in Evermeet: Island of the Elves.

Like... Eilistaee. There are bigger threats out there than your brother But. She's so blinded by her history with him that she can only ever see her brothers influence is a bloodstain on the land.

As I mentioned in my other post, I think Eilistraee is a biased narrator in this scene. I don't think Vhaeraun wants his sister to die for the crime of existing. I think his feelings on his sister are way more complicated than his feelings on either of his parents. And we know when Vhaeraun explicitly wants someone dead, because the text would have told us that.

...

So, to understand Vhaeraun and Eilistraee's relationship, I do think we need to talk about The Masked Lady.

Given how much of DnD is oral tradition and people building on concepts that the games give to us, I think people feel more comfortable engaging with some of these things through the wiki and building off of the idea of the ideas they get from the wiki without searching out the original source. And to be clear, this isn't like, judgement for doing that. Nevermind that the IP is older than I am twice over, that a lot of old blog posts are only acceptable through niche internet archive links, and that a lot the source books are neither applicable to 5e or still within print. I'M personally guilty of doing it all of the time.

Instead, the point I'm making is because of how the realms is set up and how people engage with DND, not a lot of people know when plot point comes from a source book, a blog post, a prose book, an official magazine, when something was fan-submitted and made canon, or Ed Greens personal twitter/discord. They all kind of merge together to create a collective canon. I think, as a result, a lot of people end up engaging with these concepts with the same amount of abstraction. But the thing about The Masked Lady is that they're like. A book character. This isn't just a concept that was placed out into world abstractly, they're a fully fleshed out character within The Lady Penitent.

This is important to us and our purposes of engaging with these characters on a more transformative level rather than at a dnd table. Being a character, we can look at how they behave and what the actual intent of their portrayal was. And I want to show you a few things, because I have an argument I would like to make given that portrayal.

==

A voice called to them: a voice that was neither male nor female, but both. A moment later, it became a pool of utter silence. Then song, then silence. Opposites, twined together, yet somehow harmonious. Side by side, the awarenesses that were Kâras and Valdar drifted to the place where the song-silence was coming from. It caught them like leaves and swirled them up toward itself. They drifted in front of an enormous face. Moonlight bathed the face’s upper half in shining radiance; the lower half was shadowed in utter blackness. A glint of blue danced across eyes the color of moonstones. Masked Lord, Kâras asked. Is it you? A feminine laugh rustled the mask. Masked … Lady? he ventured. The chuckle deepened, became male. Hands moved to the blackness that was the deity’s mask. Fingers gripped its edges. Kâras tensed, and felt the eager anticipation of the awareness that was Valdar. The mask lifted. Kâras wept. So did Valdar—and as he did, Kâras saw into the other Nightshadow’s heart. The emotions that had prompted their tears were as different as moonlight from shadow.

==

“Masked Lord,” Kâras prayed. “Is it your will the breach be opened? Have you—” He hesitated, then forced himself to say it. “Have you allied yourself with the Ancient One?” This time, the god answered. Not in words, but in the distant peal of a hunting horn. That alone wouldn’t have convinced Kâras; it might have been one of the priestesses, signaling the others. But as the horn sounded, a rectangle of darkness with two eyeholes appeared in the air a short distance away, within the tunnel leading to the ruined temple. The bottom of this “mask” fluttered, as if the mouth behind it were lending its breath to the hunting horn’s peal. Dots of angry red blazed where the eyes would have been. That decided it. Kâras wouldn’t run. He’d fight.

==

===

My argument about The Masked Lady is this: Despite taking a lot of Eilistraee's visage and Churches Iconograpy, When you look at how The Masked Lady behaves in practice I would argue that this isn't actually strictly Eilistraee. The Masked Lady feels like a new character that is both Vhaeraun and Eilistraee..... but also Neither Vhaeraun and Eilistraee. In that strictly esoteric kind of way, by merging their aspects together they've created a new god made of their parts.

And on one hand, you can read some of this as Eilistraee Masquerading as her brother to try and get his church to work with hers, but on an authorial level? I don't know if that was the intent. For one, I don't actually think Eilistraee is good at being manipulative, she's too well intentioned. She'd have fallen apart under the weight of that lie.

Granted, I do think with both of them being in there Eilistraee is more "in control." Vhaeraun is absolutely ""Dead"" in at least some ways. The piece he puts down representing himself is destroyed in the Sava game, Eilistraee ends up with his mask, and Lolth is able to show off his corpse in the astral plane.

But even all of that aside, I'm tapping in both Ed Greenwood's thoughts for this and something from Faiths & Avatars.

(I'm going to copy this summary from the FR wiki page on dead powers because, as always, it's quite good at summarization. But as always, I've double checked Faiths & Avatars to be sure)

Sometimes, the memory and personality of a deity was separated from their power and true form at the moment of their death, typically by the interaction of the magical turbulence of their death with the magic of a powerful relic or artifact into the same area. In such cases, the deity remained awake but imprisoned, in a sense, though vastly uncomfortable with their much-reduced state.

As such, I think during The Masked Lady era, three things were true simultaneously.

There was a part of Vhaeraun that was dead. That's the part of him on the astral plane. And even that part of him seemed to hold mild consciousness. But I also think a part of him was trapped by Mystra in a dream, and another part of him existed simultaneously within his sister creating a new entity as The Masked Lady, in the same way that Eilistraee seemed to both exist as herself AND The Masked Lady separate from herself as she's playing the Sava game. Because these are gods. Their existence does not exist in singularity.

But. Why does this matter to Vhaeraun and Eilistraee's relationship. Why do I think this is an important talking point for them.

Because I think the fact that they exist together implies a level of respect and understanding towards one another. This is not how this would have happened if they truly hated one another. What happened with Vhaeraun and Eilistraee seems closer to what happened with Zandilar the Dancer and Bast (Absorbed and became Sharess) or (Sehanine Moonbow, Aerdrie Faenya, and Hanali Celanil) > (Came together to become Angharradh and notedly, can separate to spent time apart as times have changed.)

This feels like. Notedly different, compared to what happened with (for example) Ulutiu and Auril, where he got entirely subsumed by her.

For a moment, they were one god. And they could have only synergized as one if they understood eachothers intentions well enough to agree to be one.

==

It's worth noting before I get into this section. Both the idea that Vhaeraun didn't actually die and was put in ⋆ ˚｡⋆⊹❇Mystra's Dream Prison <3 ❇⊹⋆ ˚｡⋆ and that upon returning to life he started working with Eilistraee are not actually ""canon"" to 5e. They are, like many things, Ed Green-ism's that a lot of people (myself included, because I do actually think he's an incredibly creative person with good character building ideas) take as canon. Despite taking it as canon, I think it's worth mentioning that there is no official source material to pull from for these ideas, because unlike the masked lady, these two ideas exist as concepts to be built off of rather than media to be examined.

We can only logic and reason what happened between them and how it's changed their relationship using everything else we have.

Posted from the FR wiki:

"The Grand History of the Realms explicitly says that Vhaeraun's assassination attempt failed and Eilistraee killed him. However, Ed Greenwood suggests that Eilistraee didn't actually kill her brother. The Dark Maiden defeated Vhaeraun with the indirect help of her ally Mystra, as the Weave frustrated the Masked Lord's magic while enhancing Eilistraee's. The goddess temporarily took her brother's portfolio, and trapped his sentience in the Weave, where it was enfolded in a dream by Mystra. The Lady of Mysteries did this to ensure that the two drow siblings would survive the cataclysm that she knew was coming—the Spellplague—in which she would be "killed" to renew the Weave and magic would go wild. After Mystra and the Weave were completely restored in 1487 DR, the goddess of magic could finally give Eilistraee her own lost power and do the same with Vhaeraun, after having awakened him from his dream."

It was one of Ed Greenwood's ideas to have the two deities reach a reciprocal understanding, and to make the personal enmity between them was no more. More to read here

So here's my take on this situation.

I think a lot of people like to paint the "Mystra and Eilistraee put Vhaeraun in Dream Prison" Situation in a very limited light. In the same way Eilistraee tends to get romanticized as a wholly good and Vhaeraun demonized as a firm evil, it tends to get boiled down to the idea that Mystra and Eilistraee managed to convince him to be "Less Evil."

But, I don't know. To accept the Mystra/Eilistraee tag team as something wholly good, you have to also accept the sentiment of Vhaeraun as someone who is evil and needed "fixed," and I don't think that's ever been the case. As I think my multitude of arguments have implied, I have never been under the impression he's an actual evil.

As such, it's always felt little bitter-sweet to me. I think it's more impactful if they just managed to rub off on eachother due to their time spent together as one. I think it was especially a turning point for Eilistraee, given how many changes came to the structure of her church as a result of that merger. She understands why he uses the tactics he does, she understands that what he's doing is coming from a place of (what I would argue) is sincere love for the drow as a whole, and I think she got a little bit more of a nuanced understanding of the uhh Sexism. I also like to think she understood his experiences more, and that his love doesn't come through the same lens as hers.

Likewise, I think Vhaeraun came out of that understanding that he was stretching himself thin. I think that he learned that he NEEDS to be able to rely on others, he NEEDS to start trusting the outside world more. While he's more accepting of drow as they are now, I think his goal has always been to put them back in power to the extent that they were when he had worship from the Ilythiiri. But, thats not the world they live in anymore. Even if he did pull all the drow from the underdark, they could not and would not manage to be that. I think he comes out of The Masked Lady era understanding that to get the drow away from his mother and to coexist is stability in itself. They don't need to rule to be powerful, they just need to coexist.

You know. It's choosing to forgive. We can't change what we were, but we can start this relationship over and grow something new from it. And sometimes, that might be enough.

....

And ALSO I think they had to start getting along, because it really didn't take their churches THAT long to start meshing together when they fused as the masked lady.

At the word “died,” the priestess glanced down at the male. The cleric didn’t look good; his eyes had fully rolled back in his head and his skin was turning gray. Halisstra reached out and lifted the priestess’s chin, forcing her to look away. “It’s only a weak venom,” she lied. “You have plenty of time to heal him. Plenty of time, still.” “Yes,” the priestess repeated softly. “Plenty of time.” Her eyes reminded Halisstra of another priestess who’d succumbed to Halisstra’s bae’qeshel magic, years ago. Seyll had stared just as trustingly into Halisstra’s eyes a heartbeat before Halisstra plunged a sword into her. And yet Seyll had told Halisstra, as she lay dying, that no one was beyond redemption—not even Halisstra. She’d been wrong. This priestess had a wide mouth and creases at the sides of her eyes that could only have come from frequent laughter. The frown of confusion looked out of place on her forehead. The slight bulge of her stomach hinted she might be carrying a child. Halisstra hated her.

Come on guys, The Masked Lady hadn't even existed for half a decade and there was already pregnancies. We don't know what their churches are like 100+ years out. But, for as much as Ed emphasizes the infighting of the churches (And I have no doubt in my heart there ARE factions who refuse to mesh, that's canon to the text) we are inevitably met with 1-2 generations where the combined churches are all that they knew. Vhaeraun and Eilistraee had to work together, because I think as much as they're their own people with thoughts and opinions and experiences, they are also a reflection of their worshipers.

==

I think, to summarize what I think Vhaeraun and Eilistraee's relationship is like in a few paragraphs

With the way their relationships are described, I think Eilistraee was the golden child and Vhaeraun was the scrapegoat in the earlier parts of their childhood. They become reflections of the parent that favors them, because those were the parents that acted as their main influence. Eilistraee saw Vhaeraun as a reflection of her mothers evil, and Vhaeraun saw Eilistraee as undeserving of the favoritism their father gave her.

This view of eachother was cemented when she followed him to Toril. She saw him and his power as an evil and bloodstain, unhelped when he exiled her (probably out of spite and due to the grudge he had as a result of the earlier years). As such, she worked to undermine the influence he had. And when that allowed their mother and Ghaunadaur to take hold, it was the same kind of evil to her.

Her enabling them to take that power worsened the grudge Vhaeraun had of her, because he knows he isn't the same kind of evil as Lolth or Ghaunadaur, and them having that power worsened things for everyone.

This grudge between them kept itself in the legacy of their churches, all the way until The Masked Lady Era. The Masked Lady era was one where they actually managed to come together for a similar goal. It was the first time they were truly about to understand eachothers motivations, experiences, and perspectives, and the first time that divide between them and their communities truly lessened.

And when they finally came out...? I mean. That's going to change anyone. I think not only their relationship changed, but they sort of managed to change eachother a little.

I don't know. I think their relationship is complicated and messy and such a product of their parents influence on them. There is no forgiving Lolth, and there really shouldn't be forgiving Corellon (though, dnd might disagree with me on that.) But I think theirs one that could eventually heal. Out of all of the relationships in the Dark Seladrine, theirs feels the closest to being one that can be refounded on equal ground and with respect towards one another, especially as drow return to the surface and find more acceptance (even outside of their communities.) Because they are to me, two sides of the same coin.