beatfrr

[moki-dokie]

I've had to correct so many people on this in the last couple days so, in case you were also unaware...

james cameron is an actual, very legit authority on deep sea submersibles, especially in relation to the titanic. he is one of the top authorities on it. in the entire fucking world. yall seem to conveniently forget how much of his life and his money has gone directly into research and development for deep sea exploration. he went to the challenger deep and only two people ever had been before him and it was over 50 years before. i'd go as far as to say we owe most of our data on the deep sea of the last 20 years almost directly to cameron. he's worked on solutions to help clean up ocean oil spills, he's helped nasa with the mars curiosity rover, he runs a green and sustainable business (with peter jackson even!!), he researches alternative energy solutions, he personally paid ransom money to save Guillermo del Toro's father beause that was his friend and he could help. he is one of the very few rich white guys that actually puts his money where his mouth is and one of the even fewer who says when he knows something, he actually really fucking knows it.

so yeah. there's a reason why he's been interviewed so much about it all and why people actually care about his opinions and facts.

[teamatsumu]

do you? i do. (akaashi keiji x reader)

summary: you lose a bet, so now you have to confess to your crush. for my valentine’s day event - theme: confessions.

word count: 1461

tags: @nishayuro @kitas-tapioca @kakashineedstotouchgrass @amisuh @avis-writeshq @samanthaa-leanne @akaashi-todorki @sp1ng @kur0obaby @bleach-your-panties @pinkiipeachiikeen @keiva1000 @msbyomimi @sleepyxxhead @kindnessspreads

event masterlist

Turns out, promising to do ‘anything you want’ wasn’t something Konoha Akinori took lightly. Especially not when you add Bokuto Koutaro to the mix. Konoha was a sly opportunist, while Bokuto wasn’t embarrassed by anything, so it was a deadly combination.

You didn’t know why you let yourself be talked into making a stupid, silly bet with the two boys. Konoha had a talent to goad, and he managed to successfully goad you. So when you lost the bet (really, why did you think having a physical competition with two volleyball players was a good idea), it was like Konoha had his winning prize ready. The request fell from his lips like he had been practicing it for days.

Which he probably had. The menace.

So here you were, hands shaking violently as you put away water bottles and towels, cleaning up the club room and taking all the time in the world to change back into your uniform. The other managers had offered to wait for you so you could walk home together, but you encouraged them to go on, saying you had some stuff to organize before you left so it would take time. You didn’t need them to stick around to see you horrifically embarrass yourself when you confessed your silly crush and got rejected. Already Konoha was making all the boys stay behind to witness the moment. You couldn’t bear to have your closest friends see it too.

You locked the club room behind yourself before slowly and painfully making your way to the gym. You could hear the thuds of volleyballs and squeaks of shoes as the boys noisily cleaned up. They were talking and laughing amongst themselves, and you felt your nerves tighten even more. This was the worst possible place and time to confess. The chances of public humiliation were sky high. But Konoha had made his demands clear. And you weren’t one to go back on your word, no matter how dire the consequences.

You smoothed your skirt when you reached the gym doors, standing in the doorway and watching the scene before you. Despite the net slowly being lowered, Bokuto was still bounding towards it.

“Akaashi, go again!”

The boy in question was already in position, setting the ball high towards Bokuto, who spiked it hard over the half-up net. Washio was yelling at them to stop and it was enough for the day.

You watched Akaashi wipe the sweat off his forehead and kneel to tie his shoe, breathing slightly labored from the exertion. Your feet remained frozen, eyeing him silently and dreading how your relationship with him was about to change forever. While Akaashi wasn’t someone who harbored ill feelings, you weren’t sure how he was going to react to a love confession and subsequent rejection. What guarantee did you have that this wouldn’t affect your friendship going forward?

“Oi, look who’s here!” Konoha’s voice was filled with glee, and all eyes turned to look at you when he pointed at the door. You fought the urge to roll your eyes and deck him across the face. Violence was not the answer.

“Do you have something to say?”

Okay, maybe violence was the answer.

You gave him a large, fake grin, before nodding jerkily. You could feel the edge of your face and your ears turn burning hot, hands already going clammy as you tried to clench and unclench them.

“Akaashi-san, may I talk to you in private?”

Akaashi seemed surprised, blinking twice before nodding and standing up to walk towards you. No one else was caught off guard, of course, grinning faces looking between you two, knowing what was about to happen. You wished the ground would open up and swallow you whole so you wouldn’t have to do this in front of the entire volleyball team. But a bet was a bet. You had brought this upon yourself.

Whenever you had lain in bed and fantasized about confessing to Akaashi, you had pictured just you and him. Either outside the gym, or in the school grounds, nice cool air blowing through your clothes and hair. You had imagined how he would smile and return your feelings, which was a long shot but anything was possible in your imagination.

Akaashi was…. dignified. Organized. He was crazy smart, perceptive to a fault. It was almost impossible to not like him. Two years since you had started managing the Fukurodani team, and your crush on him had only grown. The more you learned about him, the more you liked him. And he was leagues above you in every sense.

That was the reason you had always believed Akaashi couldn’t return your feelings.

He stepped out behind you, following you only a few steps away from the gym doors. Konoha had explicitly said that you had to stay within earshot. A childish, immature request but part of the bet reward, so you couldn’t exactly refuse. You turned back to the boy, unable to meet his eyes and instead staring at your own hands as you fiddled with your fingers. You had rehearsed in your head over and over how you would take Akaashi’s rejection, what you would say, how would you tell him it wasn’t a big deal and you didn’t expect him to return your feelings. That you hoped you could still be friends. But now, standing before him, you realized you hadn’t really thought about the actual confession. You were completely blank.

“Is everything okay?” Akaashi’s voice was laced with concern, and he tilted his head a bit to catch your eye. You stared at him for a good minute before blinking and vigorously nodding.

“Yes! Completely fine. I’m fine.”

Embarrassment was already beginning to crawl up on you. There was a bout of silence. Behind Akaashi, you caught sight of multiple heads peeking through the window. You felt annoyance build up in you.

“Screw this,” you mumbled. “Akaashi-san, I like you. A lot. Not as a friend. And I was never going to tell you, but I lost a bet to Konoha and he thought this would be the perfect way to humiliate me. By making me confess. So….. here I am. I’m sorry for dragging you into this.”

Akaashi watched you unblinkingly for a few moments. You glanced at Konoha who was scowling, probably because you name dropped him. But that wasn’t one of his conditions, so you didn’t care. You felt a twinge of satisfaction at having bested him even in your current circumstance. Good. He deserved to feel even a fraction of the anxiety and embarrassment you were feeling right now.

“Why would that humiliate you?” Akaashi finally spoke.

Your eyes met his dark ones, and you felt yourself freeze. Of all the questions you thought he would ask, this was not one you were prepared for.

“Uh-” You tried to come up with an answer that didn’t sound equally as embarrassing as the confession. Because you will reject me and they will all witness it?

Akaashi sighed and toed at the ground a bit, mouth pursed in thought. You stared at him wide eyed, waiting for him to speak. To say something. Follow up on his unusual question.

“This isn’t exactly how I imagined this moment to go.” He muttered, and you wouldn’t have caught it if you weren’t already looking at him. Your breath hitched, eyes so wide you were sure they would pop out of your skull. You tried to process the sentence, tried to think of any reason he would say that without getting your hopes up.

Akaashi peered around, as if searching for something, looking left and right before he finally caught the floating heads behind him. There was a yelp as they disappeared from the window suddenly, followed by thudding and a curse. You bit back your laughter. Akaashi rolled his eyes.

“I would like to talk about this more. Where others can’t see us.” His voice was as calm and quiet as ever. You felt your heart race. Your limbs felt jittery. Did this mean….?

“Akaashi-san, do you-”

A smile that made your heart leap. “I do.”

You felt a smile stretch over your face, feeling giddy at the thought of something you had considered so impossible materializing in front of your very eyes. You could still hear faint bickering from the gym, and you were sure Konoha had not seen this coming. Somehow, he was the least of your concerns now, in the face of Akaashi’s quiet smile and the way he was leaning towards you. You leaned forward too, realizing you had never been this close to him before. You basked in the moment.

In ten million years you could not have wished for a better outcome.

[klausysworld]

Hey.. Been having a rough few days mentally.. Is it possible you could write an angst/fluff fic about Klaus saving the reader from death when she tries to unalive herself..? Pills being her poison of choice.. Klaus becoming terrified he lost the one thing that truly made his life meaningful again. He uses his blood to bring her back at just the brink of time. When she's conscious Klaus holds her tightly in relief and its super fluffy at the end..?

(Triggering content‼️)

A Moment of Comfort

Klaus had taken an interest in Y/n from day one.

She was a quiet person in a loud town and it interested him.

Everyone was self absorbed, nosey, invasive and involved but she just didn't seem to care.

At first he thought she might be the sarcastic type, the one that would give little quips that made up for her mostly observant side but she just didn't care. Not about anything. He thought that would bore him but he wanted to know why. He wanted to know what she wanted, what she needed to pull some care and some love, some happiness from within her.

Klaus had watched her a little, wanting to learn about her, to know her. However she wasn't someone you could know from the outside, he needed to understand her mind, her thoughts and her feelings to ever have any idea about who she really was.

Which was how he ended up sat beside her in the grill, tracing little patterns on her arm with his forefinger and chatting her ear off for the entirety of the afternoon. Eventually he had pulled a laugh from her and it made his whole face light up to see the smile that lingered on her delicate face.

She ended up with that same slightly detached look in her eyes when she pulled her hands away and left to walk home. Klaus followed her to keep her safe before going to his own house, wondering about her.

He learnt quickly that there was something mildly wrong. Maybe something sad had happened or maybe it was just the way she had become. There wasn't something wrong per say but there was something about her that made him worry for her. He wanted her to feel safe and secure but it was clear that she didn't always have that. Klaus wanted to be her net to catch her.

But first, he needed her to like him. Just a little bit.

She started to aswell.

She liked talking to him, listening to him. He grounded her when she got lost. After a while he would invite her over to his house and she would get to appreciate the Mikaelson manor. It was void and peaceful, she liked that about his home.

Klaus had bought a new chair just for her, it was round in shape so that she could curl up like he knew she wanted to. It was a protective position, defensive and he would often wonder why she felt so scared sometimes or perhaps just unstable?

He wasn't sure how to offer the security that he had to offer. However he knew that to really protect her, he needed her trust. Their understanding needed to be mutual to build a relationship of sorts. She had to help him help her.

But Y/n didn't really know how to do that. Who does?

Klaus tried though. He would offer her affection and someone to rely on from time to time. He would hold her when he could feel that she wanted that. Sometimes she would be more hesitant but after a little while she got used to his touch and enjoyed being wrapped in his strength, it made her feel shielded from the evil of the world.

Klaus would play with her hair until her eyes got heavy and sleep overtook her sweet mind. Often whens she slept he would just hold her tight and keep her warm, very occasionally he would actually put her into his bed; usually if it was already night or if he knew she was particularly exhausted. Every now and then her eyes would be particularly tired, sometimes he wondered if she was asleep with her eyes still open. He would see her expression go blank and he would try to talk to her, bring her back but every now and then he would accept that she wasn't in with the conversation and he would try to supply a source of comfort.

She was a good girl. Klaus knew that, she was sweet and loving but she reserved it for small moments and for certain people. Klaus became one of those people.

He cared for her, he even started to love her.

She was what he looked forward to when he got home. Whether he got to physically see her (which he did usually) or if it were just a phone call, even a text conversation. Y/n was the highlight of each day and he was hers.

Each week had gotten a little easier since he had started talking to her. He wanted to see her whether she was talkative or not, happy or not. Klaus was always there for her and she loved that, she learnt to love his love and she tried to love him but she wasn't sure that she. could allow herself to.

She was troubled, some would say. Y/n had been in a pattern of lows that would absorb her life more often then she anyone could handle.

It wasn't the first time she had spiralled. Collecting pills had become a habit years ago. She would save them up, had to be enough to actually kill her, she would always worry that she needed more to really cut it.

To be honest, Klaus hadn't even crossed her mind when she twisted the cap off of the once forgotten bottle of tasteless wine that had collected its own coat of dust.

Nothing passed her thoughts, not really. She just knew what she had to do, she had thought about it for too long. The consequences wouldn't be hers, she wouldn't be suffering. That was how she had grown to look at it.

It was only after she had swallowed an uncountable amount of pills that she considered Klaus's reaction. Surely it couldn't affect him that much though, they had only known each other a few months and he was a busy man. He would be able to distract himself after a couple days. He had a family that would support him. He didn't need her.

But he did.

Klaus had been calling her on and off for hours, the first couple times she didn't pick up he thought she might've bene asleep but the fear that something deeper was wrong started to sink in.

He was in his car and at her house after the seventh missed call and he knew something was wrong.

The door was broken in within seconds and he was making his way inside, calling for her.

"Y/n? Love?" He yelled, brows furrowed as he pushed through the rooms to find her room.

Everything stopped moving when he saw her.

On the floor, leant against the side of her bed unconscious, wine spilt and staining the carpet but that didn't concern him. It was the barely beating heart in her chest and the few pills that she must've been too out of it to take.

"No no no no no" He whispered, his legs going weak causing him to crawl toward her, pulling her to him with urgency. "Oh love, it's okay" He uttered, tears welling in his eyes and his throat closing. "It's okay, I got you"

His hands lifted her head but she couldn't hold it up, her eyes wouldn't open and she couldn't breathe. He couldn't get her to breathe.

He bit into his wrist, forcing it to her mouth and tried to have his blood drip down into her system.

"Come on, come on, come on" He begged, cupping her jaw and kissing her forehead.

"Yes" He uttered when she groaned and coughed, spluttering a burst of his blood out. She gagged and he held her up, rubbing the top of her back.

She went heavy in his hold but she was alive and that's all that mattered so he just kept holding onto her. Burying his face into her hair and whispering his prayers.

"It's okay sweetheart, it's alright I have you"

His eyes stung as he clung onto her. He could see her vision returning and cupped her face gently but firmly in his hands.

"Look at me, love." he murmured, hidden desperation behind each word as she senses came to and she glanced around confused. For a split second she wasn't sure what had happened before the memory flooded in and she let out an exhausted cry. She closed her eyes and let her body stay limp, head against his shoulder whilst she breathed shallowly.

Faintly she could hear Klaus's begging whispers, she could feel his soft touch and smell his rich scent. It brought a small sense of comfort but did not stop the silent tears from slipping down the cheeks that his hands held. The press of his lips lingered for a moment on her forehead before she felt his arm slip under her knees and lift her body.

He held her to him whilst his spare hand hurriedly grabbed whatever necessities he could spot. A blanket was tucked against her and to his arm so she was shielded from the wind when they sped outside and through the streets of New Orleans. Within a moments thought they were within the warmth of the abattoir and Klaus's cologne swallowed her. She murmured uneasily as he lay her in his bed and wrapped both the sheets and himself around her, leaving her no opportunity to ever get away from him. Not that she had any desire to pull away from his hold in that moment. Waking up from what was supposed to be her death was only the slightest bit manageable with Klaus at her side.

Silently she thought about apologising but she wasn't sure it would be truthful so she remained quiet as he stroke her hair and pepper the tiniest of kisses across her face as though they were sun-kissed freckles.

"You cannot leave me like this" He whispered, his voice cracking in a way that hurt her heart and made her eyes squeeze shut. She worried he would be angry or upset with her but when his arms held her tighter and his forehead pressed to hers, and he muttered to her "I promise I will do all that I can to make you feel whatever comfort you need so long as you never attempt to leave me again", she didn't feel pressure or weight.

She content in a strange way, she felt a slight feeling of peace overcome her mind for a moment as she put as much trust as she could in his hands.

Klaus would never break that trust, he would never take away her comfort, he would never leave her alone again.

[alotofpockets]

When your heart stops beating | Part 1 | Leah Williamson x Lioness!Reader

Where you go down on the pitch and go into cardiac arrest

Warnings: cardiac arrest, CPR, AED, possibly incorrect medical terms

A/n: Happy birthday @wosoamazing, this one is for you!

Read Part 2 here

Woso masterlist | Words: 2.1k

-----

“She does know this game day walk is meant to be relaxing, right?” Millie asks Leah, while the two of them watch you run around with Grace. Leah’s face lights up as you rush past and your giggles reach her ears. “I think she knows, but that she doesn’t care.” 

Where Leah was often found in a quiet corner of the room playing her sudoku’s, you were always running around and doing something active. Today on your game day walk, that consisted of playing tag with Grace. 

“I don’t know how you keep up with her.” Millie had known the both of you for a long time, and yet the question always lingered somewhere in the back of her mind. Leah Williamson was usually the quiet and composed one, especially since she became a part of the captain’s team. You, on the other hand, were always present and expressive. 

“I don’t have to keep up, cause at the end of the day, she always comes running back to me.” Leah said with a content smile. As if you heard Leah’s words, you came running towards her, “Hi baby.” You put your arms around her as you walked backwards for a few steps. “Hi love, did you win?” 

The smirk on your face instantly gave away the answer. “I did, ‘cause Gracie gave up when I was too fast for her.” Leah kissed your forehead, “That’s my girl. Hope you have enough energy left for the match.” You make your way around so you’re now walking next to Leah, “Oh yeah, don’t worry cap, you know I’ve got plenty more where this came from.” Leah rolls her eyes, she might be your captain, but she hated when you called her that.

You had been right though, you were running up and down the flank as if you hadn’t been running around all morning already. You went into halftime with a 1-1 score, knowing Leah was going to give her captain’s speech about being better on set pieces. There had been plenty of opportunities to have broken the tie with them, but hadn’t been able to get the ball in the back of the net from them yet. 

After halftime you're able to break free on the left hand side of the pitch, you manage to get the ball in the far corner where you are quickly surrounded by two defenders. You tried to get out with some fancy footwork, but they weren’t falling for your tricks. Instead you opted on getting the corner, so you kicked the ball against one of them to get it out of bounds. 

Alex ran up to take the corner, while you made your way to the box. You give each other a quick high five, “Let’s show Leah what we can do from set pieces.” Alex said before continuing on her way to the corner.

Once everyone was in position, Alex lifted her hands, and sent her cross in. The ball was coming right in front of the goal, you ran forward and jumped up into the air hoping to reach it. What you hadn’t seen was that the goalkeeper had taken a couple of steps forward and took a firm stand to punch the ball out of the way. Less than a second after you head the ball in the direction of the goal a pair of fists collide with your chest. A shot of pain goes through your whole body as you fall to the ground. The moment your head hits the ground, the world around you goes blank.

Alessia was the first one by your side, as she had stood ready at the back post. You weren’t moving, and you weren’t responding. Alessia looks up with a face full of worry, only to meet Leah’s panicked eyes. 

The medical team was quick by your side, and told the surrounding players to give them some space. Alessia stood up and pulled Leah away from the scene, “Come on, they need space to help her.”

“She isn’t breathing.” One medic said to the other. He went to check your pulse next, “Her pulse is weak. Let’s get her on some air and get her on a heart rate monitor.” The medic made quick work of getting the right equipment, while the players watched the scene unfold in horror, their faces pale with fear and concern. 

They put the oxygen mask on your face, and connect the electrodes to your chest. Your heartbeat was shown on the monitor, and like the medic said it was weak. The beeps sounding from the monitor started slowing down. “Heart rate is dropping. Prepare for CPR.”

Beth stood with her arm around a crying Leah. It was hard for the whole team to see you on the ground like this, but Beth knew that someone needed to be strong for Leah. The rest of the team stood grouped to the side, worriedly looking at their unconscious teammate.

Leah fell to her knees when they started doing CPR on you, Beth tried comforting her as best as she could while tears started forming in her eyes as well. An ambulance was driven onto the pitch, and the paramedics ran up to take over CPR. 

One of the paramedics took over compressions, while the other got the defibrillator ready. The paramedic halts the compressions for a moment as they cut off your shirt. “Hold compressions.” The lead paramedics says, and places the defibrillator paddles on your chest. 

The whole stadium was quiet as the paramedics got ready to shock your heart. “Charging.” The paramedic said, followed by a beep signalling that the defibrillator was ready to shock, “Clear!” 

Your body jolted from the shock, and the paramedics eyed the monitor hopefully. Still nothing. They started compressions again, while the machine recharged. 

“Come on, stay with me.” Leah cried out as the pedals were brought to your chest again. “Clear!” Another shock jolts through your body. “We’ve got her!” The paramedic says, his voice full of relief as the monitor shows a steady heartbeat.  

Your heart might be beating again, but you were still unconscious. “Alright, let’s get her to a hospital.” The stretcher was brought from the back of the ambulance, and you were moved onto it. 

Leah was taking off her armband and shoving it in Beth’s hands. “I have to go with her.” Beth understood, “Go, we’ve got this.” Leah runs over to the ambulance and gets into the back with you. Her eyes were focussed on the steady rhythm of your heart beat on the monitor, while she held your hand tightly. “Stay with me baby.” She whispered over and over again. Leah was definitively in shock, having just watched her girlfriend die and be brought back to life, but your fight wasn’t over yet, you still had to wake up.

Leah sat at your bedside, her hand clutched around yours. The doctor's had done many tests and scans, and had told her that all the tests came back negative and your scans were clear. They had to wait until you woke up to fully assess your memory and motor function. While the doctors were sounding hopeful, Leah still feared the worst.

Doctor's checked on you every 30 minutes. Leah never moved away, staying by your side, holding your hand. It was after the fourth check in that Leah suddenly felt you squeezed her hand. She shot up instantly, “Baby, I'm here.” 

You slowly open your eyes and take in your surroundings. A hospital? You’d have to ask someone what happened, but first you had a more urgent question, so you turn towards the voice. “Did it go in?”

Leah’s eyes filled up with tears. “Did what go in?” You frown, Leah wanted better set pieces and now she didn't know what you were referring to? “The corner, did I score?” Your girlfriend chuckles lightly, realising that this meant you remembered what happened before the accident. “Yes, you did.” Leah wipes the tears from her cheeks.

“Did we win?” You ask next, still having more important questions on your mind than the one relating to you being in a hospital bed. “I don’t know actually.” You’re about to take out the nasal cannula cause you didn’t like the feeling. “Baby, don't touch that, you gotta leave that in.” 

Leah pressed the help button on your bedside, like the nurse had urged her to do when you woke up. “What’s going on Lee?” She shakes her head, “Let’s wait for the doctor’s.” You didn’t understand why Leah didn’t just tell you what was going on, so you pushed more. “Why so serious, love? I just want to know why I can’t take these tubes off.” Leah really tried not being the one to break this to you, but she knew you wouldn’t drop it. 

“Because I watched you die.” You watch her in disbelief. “Your heart stopped on the pitch, they had to shock your heart back to life. You aren’t taking that off until a doctor tells you it’s okay.” The realisation of what had happened started dawning on you. “Copy that, cap.” She rolls her eyes, but steps closer to hug you. 

“Sorry to interrupt,” The nurse walked in. “I see someone is awake. How are you feeling?” You look between Leah and the nurse. “Leah, said I couldn’t take this oxygen thing off, because I died. Did I really die?” The nurse nods, “You did for a moment. Your heart stopped beating after your accident, but the medical team and the paramedics got you back. After that you were brought here, all your tests and scans looked good. The doctor just wants to do a couple tests before you can take the nasal cannula out, I will ask her to come down here soon, I promise.”

Sure enough the doctor showed up in your room within the next five minutes. She did some tests and you were able to take the tube away. “Alright, I want to keep you overnight, just to make sure. Some more tests in the morning, and if those are clear you can go home.”

You couldn’t wait to get home and no longer be in the gloomy hospital room. Lotte had come by with some dinner, and your bags from the stadium. Leah used the time Lotte was there to keep you company to quickly get changed out of her kit, and into the clothes she had packed this morning when she left home. 

After some dinner, Lotte took a picture of the both of you to send to the group chat with an update to the rest of the team. The admin team contacted you to ask if you consented to them using the picture in your injury update post, which you agreed to.

-----

Lionesses just posted

Lionesses: After some scary moments today, we are happy to share that Y/n is concious and doing well.

She will continue to be monitored, but should make a full recovery.

Sending all our love and well wishes towards you, Y/n!

-----

Leah stayed the night, there was no way she was going to leave your side any time soon. She spent the evening cuddled up with you on the hospital bed, watching a movie together. For you the accident was just what people told you had happened, otherwise it was just one big blank space and then waking up in the hospital. Of course it had been scary to hear that your heart stopped beating, but Leah had seen all that happen. She watched you die, and that visual wasn’t going to leave her head any time soon.

The next morning you successfully finished all the doctor’s tests, and were ready to go home. Lotte was there again to pick you up, since you had both gotten here in the back of the ambulance. 

The doctor’s had put you on bedrest, which you weren’t looking forward to, but you knew it was for your own safety. Leah had already let the staff know that she was taking the week off to be with you, which they fully understood. 

After Lotte dropped the two of you off at your house, Leah took you right to the bedroom where she told you to stay put. Five minutes later she came back with blankets, pillows, water bottles, and snacks. “We’re having a movie marathon, doctor’s orders.” You smiled at her fondly, usually you had too much energy to sit through a full movie, and you realised that Leah was going to take advantage of your bedrest situation. Not that you mattered one bit though, you were all for a night of cuddles with her.

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Continue reading part 2!

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[turcott3]

safety net

jack hughes x fem! reader

warnings?: cursing, semi slow burn, a kiss, angst and some fluff ofc

positions masterlist!

~trippin’ fallin’ with no safety net~

-

you made your way into the bar, as it was your first weekend living in jersey. you walk in and head straight to the counter, asking for a drink that was sweet and didn’t taste too strongly of alcohol.

“hey stranger.” a voice says to your right and you turn your head.

“dawson?” you say, your eyes widening.

“hey y/n.” he says opening his arms for you to hug him, which you gladly accept.

“how have you been? oh my gosh it’s been what like 3 years.” you say smiling at your old school friend.

“i’ve been good, playing hockey here is fucking awesome.” he says.

“yes! that’s right you play for the devils, how could i forget you getting drafted!” the two of you laugh.

“well how’s your boyfriend? haven’t seen him in a few years either.” he asks curiously.

“funny you should ask, i broke up with him and that’s why i moved here.”

“wait really? why? you don’t have to explain if you’re not comfortable.” the brunette boy asks leaning on the counter.

“well things were so great when we started dating our senior year but within the last year he became a real fucking asshole, so i broke it off and moved away so he couldn’t try to find me and sucker me into being with him again.” you explain, leaving out any details you weren’t ready to share.

“well shit, i’m sorry y/n. i bet that hurt a lot.”

“it did but i’m over it, ready to find someone else.” you say and you practically see the light bulb turn on over his head.

“i think i have someone i want you to meet.” he smirks. you grab your drink and follow close behind him, holding onto his arm.

“hey jack!” dawson says to a brunette boy with bright blue eyes.

“what’s up daws, who’s this?” he says looking at you. you release dawson’s arm and give him a smile.

“jack this is y/n, y/n this is jack.” he says looking between you two.

“nice to meet you, jack.” you say.

“yeah, you too.” he smiles, causing a blush to burn in your cheeks.

“i have to go to the bathroom, you two have fun. don’t get too drunk.” he says giggling and walking off to the bathroom.

“so y/n, what brings you to jersey?” he asks.

“just needed a change of scenery from my hometown. dawson and i went to highschool together.” you tell him.

“oh wow, small world. are you still new to living here or?”

“yeah this is only my first weekend but i’m glad im already meeting people, it was getting pretty lonely.” you laugh.

“well now that you’ve reconnected with dawson, you have a whole new group of people to hang out with.”

“oh are you guys like on the same team?” you ask.

“yeah we are, my brothers around here somewhere. probably tongue deep in some random girl.” he laughs.

“is he older or younger?”

“younger.” he says taking a sip of his drink.

“oh nice.” you smile doing the same.

“can i get your number?” he asks.

“yeah of course.” you say as he hands you his phone.

“what have i missed?” a tall, curly haired boy asks.

“ah yes, y/n, this is my brother luke.”

“nice to meet you.” you say.

“nice to meet you too.” he replies.

“so where were you?” jack asks as i hand him his phone back.

“i was talking to john but i didn’t wanna ruin his game so i came back.” he laughs.

“johnny getting some ladies?”

“he sure was.” luke laughs, taking a sip of his beer.

“i see you’ve met the other one.” dawson says returning from the bathroom.

“yes i have.” i laugh at him. you spent the next 2 hours with the boys, enjoying their presence and the fact that you’d made some friends in your new town.

“well i think im gonna call it a night.” you say taking the final sip of your drink.

“let me walk you?” jack asks.

“yeah sure.” you accept and the two of you make your way out of the bar.

“did you walk here or drive?” he asks stopping once you made it outside.

“oh i walked, i live like two blocks away.”

“okay cool, show me the way.” he says.

“jack you don’t have to.”

“i’m not letting you walk back to your apartment by yourself at midnight in a big city y/n.” he says firmly.

“oh, thank you.” you blush and begin your walk to your apartment. the walk was filled with small talk and laughter, the chemistry between you two growing more and more with seemingly every step.

“well this is my place.” you say arriving at your door.

“alright, have a good night y/n. i’ll text you.” he says as you pull him in for a side hug.

“goodnight jack.” you say shutting the door behind you. it’s been 5 days and you already have a crush on someone you just met. it felt almost wrong. you had broken up with your boyfriend just two weeks ago. you couldn’t allow yourself to move on too quickly. your phone buzzed in your back pocket and you see that dawson had texted you.

dawson: glad you made it back safe!

y/n: thank you! except really you can thank jack

dawson: hahaha well i guess so🙄 have a good night y/n

y/n: you too, see you again soon?

dawson: yes for sure, season starts in like a month and a half i’m sure you’ll get sick of seeing me

y/n: doubt it

dawson: only bc ill bring jack

y/n: bitch

dawson: i’m messing with you lmaooooo goodnight y/n

y/n: goodnight daws😭

-

you woke up the next morning to a text from jack saying good morning, to which you replied with a simple, good morning. texting a new guy felt so wrong. you didn’t know what to do about it but you couldn’t ghost him so you figure you should just keep chatting and see what happens.

“lunch?” you say reading his next text. the boy asked you to lunch, to which you hesitantly agreed to join him. you made yourself a small breakfast to tide you until lunch. you sat on the couch watching tv, growing more nervous by the second. he didn’t ask you on a date, just lunch. maybe he just wants to be friends? after you ate, you put on a casual outfit and added a natural touch to your makeup. he texted the address and you left your apartment, hoping to arrive after him. once you arrive at the, what appears to be, small coffee shop, you’re greeted by jack smiling at the counter.

“sorry i’m a little late.” you laugh nervously.

“no don’t worry, i was just about to order. what do you want?”

“oh jack you don’t have to pay i can’t wait in line.” you say.

“now what kind of man would i be to let a pretty girl like you wait in line and pay for her own food?” he says boldly, a blush creeping up on your cheeks.

“an iced vanilla latte and a buttered croissant is good then.” you simply reply, finding a seat at a table by a large window. he meets you soon after, with a table number in his hand.

“you ever been here before?” he asks, noticing you staring out the window.

“i haven’t, i didn’t even know it was here until you told me about it.” you say redirecting your attention to the boy who already had his eyes on you.

“i come here sometimes, it’s like my special little spot for special occasions.” he smiles leaning back in his chair.

“what’s so special about this occasion?” you question, wanting real answers.

“it’s our first date.” he smirks causing your face to burn bright red.

“well i guess it is isn’t it.” you laugh.

-

once you arrive back at your apartment, you throw your purse to the side and kick off your shoes.

“what have i done? what do i do? oh fuck me, i can’t do this.” you say, that piece of your heart never healing from your past relationship. you couldn’t let go of the mistrust you felt. you never wanted to make the same mistake again, so you called dawson.

“hello?” you speak when he picks up.

“hey y/n, what’s up?”

“can you come over, i need advice.”

“yeah of course, send me your address and i’ll be there.”

“thank you so much, bye daws.” you say hanging up and sending him your address. you sat on your couch almost in a panic. you told yourself over and over to not do this again, especially this soon. a short 10 minutes later, you hear a knock on your door and you open it to see dawson standing there in his sweats.

“did i wake you from a nap?” you laugh.

“yes actually you did, but it’s okay, what’s up?” he says stepping in and shutting the door behind him.

“jack is what’s up.”

“oh?” he says plopping down on my couch.

“so we went out to lunch, he called it our first date.” you say.

“okay what’s the problem with that?” he says.

“you’re not understanding, my ex and i broke up what 3 weeks ago? i can’t move on, how do i know i can trust him?”

“y/n, jacks a nice guy, i wouldn’t have introduced you two if i thought otherwise.”

“i just think it’s too soon dawson.”

“relax, calm down, chill out.” he says standing up and placing his hands on your biceps.

“how am i supposed to be calm?”

“y/n, no one is rushing you into a relationship. you are not committed to the guy, you went on ONE date. you aren’t married to him, just relax. i know it’s hard, i don’t know all the details of your break up but obviously you let your mistrust cloud your vision of good people. i wouldn’t let you go down a dark rabbit hole, and you know that.” he says calming your nerves. dawson always had a way of getting to you and calming you down when necessary, even though it had been years since you last saw the boy.

“okay you’re right.” you say sighing.

“and you don’t have to worry, he’s leaving to go to michigan for a couple days tomorrow, so you can spend time away from him and just texting, so you can get to know him better without it being to serious for you.” he adds.

“perfect.” you laugh.

“now why don’t we chill out and watch a movie, you’re clearly stressed and i want you to clear your mind.” he states, grabbing the remote and switching on the tv. after a couple hours, dawson heads home, leaving you alone with nothing but your phone.

jack: hey i’m headed to michigan tmrw morning, hang when im back?

y/n: yes for sure!

jack: ok awesome, see you then

y/n: *loved a message*

you sat with your thoughts. you were terrified of the possibilities with jack, you couldn’t help it. it’s like your brain had been hardwired to push him away, but you fought the urge harder than anyone could ever know.

-

it had been about two weeks and jack returned from his trip a few days ago. the two of you have been texting nonstop. you learned the silly facts about each other and his personality shined through even on text. he was beginning to give you that glimpse of hope that you thought you’d lost for good.

“i just don’t know.” you spoke to dawson through the phone.

“he’s never texted a girl this long, he obviously likes you.”

“well you never know.”

“he has had women throw themselves at him and he’s rejected all of them. don’t you see it.”

“i do but i just don’t know if it’s the best idea.”

“y/n, just give it another go. go on another date with him. you won’t regret it, you and i both know that as much as you don’t want to admit that your crush is more than just a silly little crush.”

“god, daws you always know how to pick my brain what is wrong with you?” you laugh.

“um nothing, im just correct.” he scoffs.

“okay whatever, ill call him tonight okay?” you reply hoping it’ll shut him up.

“i’m holding you to it, so you better.”

“whatever mercer.”

-

“hello?” you hear a muffled jack on the other end of the line.

“hey jack, i was wondering if maybe you’d wanna go out again some time? i had a great time with you.”

“yeah absolutely!”

“does tomorrow work?” you ask, holding your breath.

“yeah i don’t have any plans. ill come pick you up at 1?”

“perfect.” you smile to yourself.

“i’ll see you tomorrow y/n.”

“bye jack.” you say hanging up the phone, wanting to scream with excitement. you had no clue how this could feel the way it does so soon after your breakup.

-

2 months later

“hey,” jack says shaking you awake.

“huh.” you groan opening your eyes.

“i have a skate to go to, ill be back okay?” he says, you fully processing your surroundings.

“oh, yeah okay. have fun.” you smile as he leans down to kiss you on the cheek. you’d stayed the night at his house just like you have for a few nights every week since your second date though you never established a label for your relationship, just placing the boyfriend name tag on him when you’re out by yourself, too afraid to use it around him. the idea of him leaving you to skate sucked, and you shoved down these feelings so they wouldn’t get in the way of anything. you never wanted him to leave your sight. you hated that you’d grown so attached. you pulled out your phone to call dawson, always filling him in with updates.

“hey miss hughes, what you up to?” he asks picking up.

“dawson stop,” you laugh, “i just woke up, jack just left for optional skate.”

“oh that’s funny i’m on my way there now.”

“i’m sure he’ll ive you all the details.”

“yeah he always does but you’re gonna tell me what’s going on in that little brain of yours first.”

“i hate when he leaves dude. i hate it. i feel like i have no right to be this attached. being around him makes me so fucking happy, it’s like all my problems disappear when he’s around. but i need to face it, he probably doesn’t even want me.”

“you’re lying but go on.”

“lying about what?”

“you really think he ever keeps girls around this long if he doesn’t wanna be with them? be for real with yourself y/n.” he says plainly.

“okay well, point is, i’ve grown attached and i don’t understand my feelings daws.”

“i think you love him.” he laughs.

“you’re crazy.” you scoff.

“did you listen to anything you just said?”

“what part?”

“god damnit, think before you speak y/n. the way you feel when you’re around him is love. practically in its exact definition.”

“it’s only been 3 months that i’ve known the guy.”

“bitch do you really think love has a timeline?”

“well n-“

“THEN GO GET HIM.”

“i’m not gonna go, he’s skating.”

“i meant it figuratively, just wait for him to come back and see how different you feel compared to talking to me on the phone. don’t leave. don’t panic and push him away y/n. give him a shot.”

“okay okay, ill talk to you later dawson.”

“alright, bye y/n.” he says hanging up abruptly. you knew deep down that he was probably right and you couldn’t admit it to yourself. you sat on his couch for a few hours, waiting to hear the lock turn again, when suddenly it did.

“oh hey, you’re still here? i thought you’d be gone by now.” he laughs, hanging his keys on the hook.

“no i wanted to stay, your couch is cozy.”

“well i’m glad you’re still here.” he says, kissing you on top of the head as he passed behind the couch. dawson was right, you felt giddy when jack entered the room, and the feeling didn’t settle. he returns back to the living room.

“you look like you’re thinking.” he says sitting down next to you. you sit up and turn to him.

“i am thinking.” you say, anxiety running through your body at full speed, knee bouncing.

“what’s on that pretty mind of yours?” he giggles placing a hand on your leg gently.

“i think i love you.” you say quietly, the words slipping off your tongue with struggle. you finally let yourself trip and fall. it felt almost freeing. his demeanor shifts as a smile grows on his face. he sits up to get closer to you.

“what was that?” he asks, smile growing wider.

“i think i love you. no no, i do. i do love you. i love you jack. i know we never attached a label to whatever we are but i can’t keep pushing my feelings away anymore. i just love you.” you say finally being able to lock eyes with him. he connects your lips in response, framing your cheek with his callused hand. when you pull away his gorgeous smile returns.

“fuck, i love you too y/n.” he laughs, a wave of relief washing over you. you couldn’t believe how jack changed your perspective on love and men so quickly but it never felt more true to you. you couldn’t deny your feelings anymore no matter how hard you tried. you finally let yourself fall, and thank god it was into the right hands this time.

-

[ghxstwrites]

Forgive Me Father

Pairing: Priest! Yunho x GN! Reader

Summary: It’d been forever since you stepped into a church, but after one too many life altering events, a friend suggested confessing as a last resort, and it turns out you got more than you prayed for. 

WC: 2.6k

AU: Religion! Au

Genre: smidgen of Angst, Smutty smut smut smut, porn with plot

Warning(s): Smut! MDNI! priest kink went brrrrr with this man, dacryphilia, impact play, lotttsss of degradation, lil bit of praise, discussion of religion and blasphemous acts, reader can be a bit of a smartass, unprotected sex (that's not very holy… wrap it up) - sorry if i'm missing anything!

A/N: Well, I wont ever see Heaven after this. Thank you to @bunnliix for the proofread and help on this one, also @skzdust for you Catholicism knowledge, big shout out to @kpop---scenarios for the title!

Nets: @mirohs-aurora-society

Tag List: @bethelighthalazia @a---shura @kpop---scenarios @autieofthevalley @wisejudgedragonhairdo (send me an ask if you'd like to be added!)

Kinktober & Flufftober Masterlist

It felt like one thing after another, your fiancé ran away with their co-worker and work had eliminated your position, and you’d lost what was supposed to be a lifelong friend in the process, it felt like something was out to get you. You’d tried everything to help clear any negative thoughts with every feasible solution you’d been recommended when searching the internet.

Journaling? Didn’t work - after you’d nearly jammed the pen through one of the books writing all the warning signs down after your fiancé left, and ruined another with tears talking about your friend.

Yoga and Meditation? Nope, after 3 sessions you decided being alone with your thoughts was definitely not the route you wanted to take.

Blasting your favorite songs? It worked… until the song you were going to use as your first dance at your wedding came on. Your speaker went through the open window right before you cried yourself to sleep that night. 

Which brings you to today, a group of your friends had decided to invite you out to lunch, the first time you’d really seen the world had set its sights on you. 

“Oh sweetheart…,” your friend cooed at you across the table, it sounded like she was mocking you at first, despite you knowing she wasn’t, you weren’t convinced she had an evil bone in her body. “Listen… I know it isn’t usually your thing, but.. Have you thought about church? Or even going to confessionals? They don’t really talk to you, the priest just listens…. Once you're done he offers solutions and if you use them, great. If not, no harm no foul?” she shrugs her shoulders unsure of her own words to you. 

You contemplated for a minute “You’re right it isn’t my thing, I don't really get how sitting next to a stranger who’s whole personality is religious context, talking to him like you’re talking to air…but if it works for you, that's great… for you,” You, admittedly a little harsh, reply back to her. 

Late one night you’d sat on your bed looking for jobs on your laptop, and with every passing one you’d grown more frustrated, you either didn’t have matching qualifications, they wanted a better degree or they weren’t even paying a livable wage. 

“Fuck this,” you huff out as you close your laptop, shoving it off your lap and fall back in bed. You’d pull your hoodie over your face as you listen to the sound of rainfall hit your apartment window and your friends' words ring back in your brain, what else did you really have to lose? Talking to a stranger who knows nothing about you and would likely never see you again, huffing you get dressed and head over to your local church.

Walking in, you take note of the admittedly beautiful surroundings, stained glass windows, marble statues, all of it was cloaked in darkness as night had fallen, but the moon light cascaded through the windows beautifully. 

You took a moment to look around, familiarizing yourself with your surroundings as it had been years since you’d entered a church. Wooden pews, rich velvet red floors, as dated as it may look, it was beautiful. 

It wasn’t long before your eyes fell on the confessional, a wooden box in the far corner of the room, sighing to yourself, you walked toward it. You slowly reach for the handle and open the door, you sit down in the booth as the silence is suddenly so loud. 

“What brings you here, Child?” A male voice spoke from the otherside of the grate.

Startled, you respond as calmly as you can. “I-I’m down on my luck and a friend suggested this… I’m hoping you can listen or help?”

The man spoke up once again “Very well, you may proceed.”

With a heavy sigh you proceed to recount the last few months of troubles to the man, feeling yourself getting angry and the tone shift slightly. You feel like you can dig your nails into the laminated wood you sat on, that same grit showing up in the way you speak.

“Easy child...” the man lulls out at you “There's no need to speak with such venom.”

The tone of his voice admittedly going straight to your core, but why? You don’t know anything about the young priest on the other side, other than exactly that, a young man who has devoted his life to the church, are you really that insane?

“Sorry sir -” 

“Please, refer to me as father, Father Yunho,” He cuts you off.

“Sorry Father…” you manage to say back, a calmness washing over your voice as you try to push those thoughts  to the back of your mind.

“Father, please help.” you whine out, feeling frustrated “I am at the end of my rope and nothing seems to be working,” you admit.

“I see… is that all you’d like to confess, child? I have a feeling there is more,” he all but whispers. 

The way his words fall from his mouth has you pushing your thighs together, his voice was as velvety as the floors of his church, delicate yet demanding.

“N-no father,” you say, barely above a whisper, when you hear a small chuckle on the other side.

“Very well, I sense that you need to reflect on yourself and perhaps your relationship with our savior, putting your faith in him may guide you to the path you are seeking,” he retorts back at you.

“Thank you Father.. For listening and.. Helping,” you sound pitiful, you felt as if you were about to cry

“If you feel the need to come back to confess anything further, I’m always here child.” he said back to you, his tone calm but with a hidden undertone to it that you couldn’t quite discern.

It had been a few weeks since you’d gone to visit Yunho, and out of everything you confessed that night, the one thing that stuck with you was the sound of his voice. 

The way it flowed like warm honey wouldn’t leave your head, what would your name sound like falling from those lips, the noises he’d make, maybe even… No, stop, he's a priest, he was there to listen and guide you and now all you can think about is the noises you could make him elicit.

You’d laid there, it’d been a rough day as several more rejection emails clogged your inbox, you think back to the young priest's words, full of encouragement - but the more they replayed the more you stirred, your hand guiding its way down your body, “Father please…” you’d softly moaned out as your hand dips into your shorts.

It had felt like the universe had given you a break, you’d been given a job offer, and a nice one at that, could this have been the divine intervention the young priest was talking about?

Despite the feeling of gratitude, and things looking up - there was still one thing in the back of your head. 

Father Yunho.

You found yourself back in the walls of the church late one evening, you’d just come from your first day of work and since the church was on the way home you wanted to stop in, if nothing else to pay your respects and close this chapter of your life. 

You’d sat down on the cold bench in the confessional. “Father Yunho? Are you there?”

“Oh it’s you again,” he speaks softly. He remembered me? “Is everything okay?”

That damn voice, the way it seeps out of his mouth, the way it makes you think the unholiest thoughts in the holiest of places.

“Y-yes… well yes and no,” you say to him “I was able to find a job, Today was my first day actually, I wanted to stop in and say  thank you…’ you trailed off

“And?” the young priest smirks to himself, he knows something else has brought you back - no one comes to confess a warm hearted thank you. “I feel as if there is still something you are withholding, child.”

“Please, call me Y/N…” you muster, trying to change the subject.

“Very well, Y/n,” he says, “Please, I will not force you but how can I help you if you do not confess what is plaguing you?”

Damn it. He has you cornered, you can’t back out of this now. 

“F-Father, please forgive me, but I.. I have sinned,” you whimper out. “Since the last time we spoke I.. I can’t stop thinking of you.” you confess to the young man sitting across the partition from you.

“Thinking of me? Thinking of me, how?” he asked you.

“I-” you choke on your own words, “Late at night.. When I replay your words, they start as encouragement and then I can’t help but think of what other sounds you can make.. I..” you look at the floor, embarrassed by your own confession, across the partition Yunho's face is getting hotter, and embarrassingly enough to him, his pants are getting tighter. 

When Yunho took the oath to be a faithful leader for Christ on the altar in this very church he made many vows, including celibacy, which never affected him until now. You, a seemingly innocent individual, came to him for advice, advice he was happy to offer to you, and now sitting across from you as you recount the blasphemous things you’d done while thinking about him, had made him feel things he’d never felt before.  

“Y/n, Pl-Please,” Yunho whined out

“I’m so sorry Father… I feel so ashamed at the amount of times I've gotten off to just the mere thought of your voice…” you feel the tears well up in your eyes.

Yunho is sat across from you and with every whimper and sob he feels it go straight to his dick, painfully aware of just how bad he’s affected you, as it’s now affecting him.

“Y-Y/n.. Please.. I…” he breathes out as his head tilts back against the confessional as he tries to push the thoughts out of his head, but now all he can think about is your tear stained face begging for forgiveness and he lets out a low moan. 

“Father are you… are you okay,” you lift your head to look at the mesh partition as if it were him. “I’m sorry if I…If i said too much.”

“Such- ah- filth should be reprimanded,” Yunho says through gritted teeth.

The sound goes straight to your core, causing you to press your thighs together in response.

“Father I -” Your words were cut short by the confessional door swinging open, leaving you face to face with the young priest. 

“You come into the house of Christ with such a perverted mouth and expect me to let you walk away?” He spat at you.”You are beyond saving Child,” as he pulls you out of the confessional and pushes you onto a nearby pew, leaving you shocked.

“The likes of you should be punished” he sits next to you and pulls you over his lap eliciting a yelp from you. His large hand comes down on your ass, the sound echoing through the church, causing you to cry out. 

“Quiet, you’ll take the punishment as penance for your sins, understood?” You let out a muffled sob “Now, Count.”

“One..” spank “T-Two,”  spank  “Th-Three,” you cry out as Yunho's broad hand comes down on your ass, tears rolling down your face.

“Such a waste of obedience in such a disobedient slut,” he says to you, gently massaging your asscheek from the smacks. 

“On your Knees,” you quickly move to place yourself on the ground. “Years ago, I vowed to Christ I would serve him in all his glory, I vowed obedience, poverty and celibacy.. And then my only thanks is to be sent a filthy slut to break me of those vows.” he spits as he removes his robe, and makes quick work of his belt. You sat back watching his every move, eyes eventually finding the tent that had been forming in his slacks.

“Father.. Please… please forgive me,” you sob up at him. “Quiet, you’ll speak when spoken too, understand?” he looks down at you. “Yes, Father” you squeak out as he smirks. “That’s better…” he reaches out to cup your face, wiping the stray tear away. ‘Now, why don’t you put this pretty mouth to good use?” he coos at you, tracing your lower lip with his thumb. 

Leaning back, he pulls out his aching cock, you lean forward and give him and give him a couple experimental pumps, which draws a beautiful noise out of the taller man before taking him completely in your mouth. 

The warm wet feeling has him in shambles, he’s putting all of his focus into not cumming down your throat immediately as you expertly work his length, his hand finding your hair as he attempts to take control of the situation. 

“There you go…” He lulls out, as his mouth drops open, as an unfamiliar pit starts forming in the pit of his stomach. He can feel it building as you bob your head up and down his cock, his grip on your hair tightening as he feels himself getting close, he pulls you away from him, using the hand in your hair to make you look up at him. Drool trailing out of your mouth as you look at him with slightly glassy eyes.

Looking at you, a switch flips in his mind, “So pretty, so obedient for me,” he says barely above a whisper as a smirk forms on his face. “Up, I’m not finished with you,” he pulls you to your feet as he stands up, leading you up to the altar, he forces you over it as he kicks your feet apart, he reaches for your hair, pulling it forcing it to look up. In front of you is a large marble statue of Christ. 

“To make sure you know just what you’ve done, I want you to see him,” he says sternly as tears well in your eyes again, before you can form a reply you feel Yunho’s cock slide into you, bottoming out rather quickly. The young priest throws his head back as his fingertips dig into your hip, causing you both to moan. Yunho pulls out slowly before ramming himself back into you, setting a rough pace. 

 “Father.. P-Please” you beg as his grip on your hair tightens. “F-uck please.. I can’t last much longer like this, Father please,” tears stream down your face as you stare at the marble statue in front of you.

“Not my favorite sinner begging for forgiveness now” he quips at you, his pace slowing down “Tell me exactly why I should forgive you for the sin you’ve brought into this church? Before our Lord and savior?” He punctuated each word with a sharp thrust. “How pathetic, now you’re crying?” he smirks as he pulls you back, body flush with his “Go on, let go.. Show me how much you really are sorry,” He coos in your ear. 

“Father - I.. I” your mind goes blank, your orgasm hits you like a ton of bricks with one final thrust from Yunho, his name falling from your lips like hymns on a Sunday morning, he lets go of your hair, causing you to fall forward onto the altar as he pulls out of you, painting your back in his seed. The feeling of his seed on your back makes you shudder, the aftershocks of your orgasm pulling the energy out of you as you lay on the altar. Catching his breath, Yunho looks down at you, covered in his release and smirks.

”Whoever conceals their sins, does not prosper,” He breathes out  “but one who confesses it finds mercy.”

[vechter]

ao3 for dick grayson fics is such a trying experience, truly bc what do you mean there's not one, not two but an overwhelming abundance of fics where dick is a bad sibling and jason todd is the ideal, supportive, drops-everything-for-your-crisis sibling?

like i can understand the appeal of exploring the lesser of dick's choices and character traits and how those impact his relationships with the rest of the bats but you mean to tell me that any of them- damian, tim, cass- tim, especially- would willingly go to jason for help when they have the option of asking dick?

as much as red robin is a deeply rich, complex story about grief and morality, i'm afraid it did irreparable damage to dick's character, not to mention tim's (that boy does not have an egregiously high body count, comics would never gloss over that kind of mass death or be implicit about it in any way if that had actually happened)

dick's primary character thesis is being a safety net for people who fall- the way bruce and batman were for him after his parents died. it's one of his chief driving forces. there is no world where he doesn't help out a stranger, let alone his siblings if they come to him for help. and despite all of the bats being notoriously bad at asking for help and support, the number of instances where dick is an empathetic listener, doling out advice and emotional support and compassion (even when people are tight-lipped about needing any of those things) far outweighs the times he has been short-sighted or intentionally harsh. no character is perfect but to see how often jason is written favourably whilst simultaneously dragging dick is maddening fr

like, fine you like jason a lot. it can be fun and cathartic to write about him choosing to develop relationships outside of his grief/trauma/revenge with bruce (although i think that the most compelling thing about jason is how much of his character post-resurrection is driven by existing as a dead boy walking so to see him actually care about living and making healthy choices would probably require something beyond therapy with harley quinn lmao) but is it really necessary to do that while putting dick down? both tim and damian have seen dick while he is decidedly not at his best (reeling from the circus burning down in nw '96, grieving bruce, finding his footing as batman) and have come out the other side firm in their belief in him. cass, unfortunately is more removed from dick's immediate circle but that's a whole other tangent about how peripheral dick is to both of the batgirls that come after babs. steph, by virtue of having a parent who is alive, is lucky enough to be removed from more of the complicated dynamics all of them have with each other. and while dick is an ass in her initial batgirl days, he does warm up to her (but that again is a whole other post considering the legitimacy and nuances of characterizations in batgirl- tim never gets the same flak for his treatment of steph despite being much, much closer to her and actually knowing her beyond the second robin to die- and even then, when dick finds out about steph's death, the gist of initial reaction is to blame bruce, perhaps, rightfully so)

like you're falling for his act!!! as readers of a form of media like comics, we are lucky enough to get a glimpse into dick's inner neuroses and thought-processes while simultaneously seeing how he acts on them. ofc we see him make mistakes but a lot of the other characters don't!! and if/when they do, they don't see beyond the performance he delivers. even barring the fucked-up-ness of a high stakes job like vigilantism where trauma and death and adrenaline are linked together messily, no relationship between two people is perfect. people hurt each other, people lash out!! but the most compelling thing about dick is how often he reaches out, how often he swings back even after he has swung away!! that's what makes him such a source of light, hope and positivity for everybody he encounters

and this is not even touching n52 which seems like the most hasty kind of decision making and writing from editorial with no consideration for a lot of the characters' histories, lore and their core characterizations

[samwinchesterism]

in re: “cas knows dean better than sam”

“cas sees dean as a whole person and sam just sees dean’s façade as his big brother slash parent” but like how and where. outside of your fanfiction. season and episode. scene and line. if it’s so obvious and apparent you should have at least 3-5 concrete examples right? “sam doesn’t know dean carried him out of the burning house” yeah but did cas? outside of a footnote in the angelic manila folder they gave him between seasons 3 and 4 so he could better manipulate him and sam into doing heaven’s bidding? like if you’re going to say “cas knows dean better than sam” than you need to show how cas succeeds where you perceive sam to be failing at the very least. but even your perceptions of how sam doesn’t measure up are so warped, blinkered, and moronic that it wouldn’t even be worth much if you could provide the textual evidence, but at least you’d have a semblance of a point. like say anything without going “as an eldest daughter…” “well my relationship with my sibling isn’t…” please say anything without fucking projecting your own self-pitying crybaby bullshit onto your little woobie dean and using the actual canon text of the show. I’m literally begging you.

like the thing of it all is and always has been that you’re so hell-bent on twisting the sam and dean relationship to fit into this narrow and almost entirely inaccurate mold which is the basis upon which you build the entire Destiel Mythos that you literally lose all sense of media literacy. you don’t even miss the forest for the trees, you miss the trees for like, the pretend invisible things you’re seeing in between the trees, the forest is a whole long way away from your current level of perception. because the Destiel Mythos is based entirely on the fact that dean is Not Seen and Not Appreciated and Not Loved and Cannot Be Himself until cas comes along, and that Family (read: sam) Is Only A Burden on Him That He Must Be Freed From In Order to Flourish, so you keep trying to warp the sam relationship into something that is only one dimension of it – and keep ignoring the ways in which dean is seen, loved and understood within it, because you need to keep lying to yourselves that there is a narrative need to emancipate dean from something that he has never wanted emancipation from because it is ultimately a net good for dean in the particular circumstances of their lives. it’s also profoundly unhealthy, codependent, evil and toxic etc. (a lot more dean’s fault than sam’s but I will nawt be getting into all that right now) but that doesn’t change the fact that sam and dean both know and understand and feel deeply that they are each other’s person – that they know the best and love the most in the world. but that – which IS true canon fact – is incompatible with the Destiel Mythos so it must be ignored and all good sense must be thrown out the window in order to do it.

anyway i digress there are two main categories of Bad Thinking that i will be addressing below

childhood/ “parent/child” / blah blah blah

every single thing people are saying in favour of the deeply stupid thesis in the title of this post is proof positive of the very silly form of ‘analysis’ I just described. a few things:

“wah sam didn’t know that dean carried him out of the burning house :( this means that dean withholds things from sam to protect him because he is a PARENT and sam can only know things about him in the context of him being a PARENT to him” – what the fuck are you on about genuinely. first of all reducing the sam/dean relationship exclusively to parent/child is in itself foolishness for so many reasons that I don’t have time for right now. but also, it’s clear that this is just something that happened when sam was a baby that just never came up. in the scene (1.09) where this is brought up, dean is mildly surprised that he or john never mentioned that detail and then states that sam knows the rest of the story (i.e. the actual traumatic stuff) just as well as dean does – which is true, demonstrably whenever they talk about it.

obviously there are some things that happened to dean in their childhood that sam doesn’t know about (or didn’t know about, until told in whatever episode they come up in). equally, there are things dean doesn’t know about sam’s childhood, e.g. the fact that he was so lonely he needed a zanna (11.08). or how dean didn’t remember that sam was friends with barry cook until he mentions it when they go back to their old school (4.13). or about the nature of sam’s relationship with amy pond (7.03). these don’t mean that ‘sam withheld these things to protect dean out of parental love’ lol, it’s just that there are details and events in each of their lives that the other happens to not have been told about.

similarly “sam didn’t even know dean wanted to be a firefighter L” girl did dean know sam wanted to be a lawyer? in 1.01 he’s pretty surprised that sam has a law school interview. the point here isn’t “neither sam nor dean know each other well,” these are minutiae that aren’t relevant to how well you know someone as a whole, and very poorly demonstrate the bad and inaccurate point that dean withholds things from sam the way a parent does a child (on a constant or regular basis). obviously the way they were raised, sam was deemed too young to know about certain things until he got older and dean had to keep that secret, but as shown in 3.08 flashbacks, most if not all of this is eventually revealed throughout their childhood when sam is still fairly young.

or possibly the dumbest one is that “wah sam doesn’t even know that dean reads books L” whenever that was he was also obviously joking because in more serious moments (e.g. 8.14) he admits that dean is smart/a better researcher than he is, literally remembers dean reading to him as a kid (8.21) so like. clam down  

one of the extra annoying variants of this type of ‘proof’ covers things that are very clearly novel pieces of information about dean that dean, sam, and the audience are learning about dean in real time. like if you’re actually watching the show to comprehend it as it was intended to be comprehended, instead of funnelling everything through the Destiel Machine until it’s unrecognizable slop that fits neatly into your pre-ordained molds that Make Destiel Necessary In the Narrative (when it actually isn’t, at all) it’s abundantly clear. the top two worst offenders:

“sam didn’t even know that dean is good with kids :( he doesn’t even realize that dean raised him :(” first of all you people need to understand that parentification does not literally create a parent-child dynamic between siblings but I digress – this doesn’t make any sense bro. in 1.03 dean admits he doesn’t know any kids as an adult. dean being good with his own kid brother when they were both kids is to any reasonable person not necessarily linked with him being good with other random kids when he’s an adult. in 1.03 it’s clear that dean himself is a bit surprised that he’s able to connect w/ lucas so well because he’s clearly not dealt with a lot of kids since sam grew up. the whole point of this is that dean, sam, and the audience are all sort of seeing a new side of dean. who again is just 26. after this very early episode, there’s no question from sam that dean is able to connect w kids. sam being a bit surprised by this also has absolutely zero connection with him not understanding or realizing that dean looked out for him when they were both kids – sam is standing there at 22 years of age talking about adult dean and children – of fucking course he doesn’t mean himself are you stupid.

from the very first season, sam is very clearly aware of everything dean ~did for him~ when they were kids, see e.g. 1.21: “Dean...ah...I wanna thank you. […] For everything. You've always had my back you know? Even when I couldn't count on anyone I could always count on you. And I don't know, I just wanted to let you know, just in case.”

and 1.06: DEAN: Well, I’m a freak, too. I’m right there with ya, all the way. (SAM laughs.) SAM: Yeah, I know you are.

and then possibly even more stupidly, the one where it’s like “wah sam doesn’t even know dean can cook :( he doesn’t even know that DEAN was the one making him food as a babe in arms :(” – when sam is surprised that dean made something fairly gourmet and from scratch literally the first time they have ever had a permanent living space with a functional kitchen. in this VERY scene (8.14), dean himself points out that they haven’t had a kitchen before and when sam remarks on the irregularity of him doing serious cooking, he says “I’m nesting”, clearly showing that this is a novel development because they now have a kitchen, and that it’s irregular relative to past behaviour – both of them acknowledge this. because real proper in-depth cooking and making box mac and cheese for sam until he was like 11 and old enough to be left alone are two different things, which sam understands because he’s smart, unlike whoever chooses to make this point. dean never showed significant signs of liking to cook before this, which is what the exchange is about, but he did have to prepare food for them both when sam was too young – of course sam knows he had to, there are childhood memories referred to (e.g. 14.11) where sam is mentioned to literally help dean do the cooking as kids lol (and yes, genius, sam says ‘I didn’t know you knew what a kitchen was’ or something to that effect, but if you think he’s being 100% literal there I have an oceanfront property in Kansas to sell you)

again, obviously there are pieces that sam doesn’t know about dean, e.g. when he’s talking about his response to mary dying in 1.03. but again, Sam is 22, dean is 26, the last time they were in regular contact was when sam was 18-20, these are things that happen when people grow up, they’re able to reflect and share on childhood experiences if they’re close with their siblings as adults. it’s clearly not something that 26 y/o dean wanted to hide from 22 y/o sam. yes sam didn’t know everything about how dean felt when they were young, but that’s equally true in the other direction, and it’s such an irrelevant point in this discussion when, crucially, sam does learn these things about dean mostly fairly early on in the series (i.e. when they’re really not that deep into adulthood yet). cas was also not magically blessed w/ knowledge about dean, he also had to learn whatever it is that he knows, but somehow sam has to know everything about dean from age 7 or it doesn’t count when it’s sam lol.

“sam doesn’t know the One True Dean / doesn’t see through his facades”

the next branch of defending this flawed thesis is invariably that sam has little idea of the fronts and facades that dean puts up and is content to just believe them, whereas cas digs deep and sees the One True Dean that stupid sam always misses. there is nothing in the text that demonstrates this is true. multiple times, we see sam being very knowing of the fact that dean puts up fronts and facades. sam is also knowledgeable of the way dean perceives himself, and – demonstrated in multiple episodes before such sam lines were very poorly recycled and regurgitated into cas’s dialogue in 15.18, but keep acting like that was the first time anyone ever showed that they knew the One True Dean.

Obviously there are times where sam teases dean when he’s being more touchy-feely than usual, but 9.99 times out of 10 (as a conservative estimate in case there's something i'm forgetting otherwise i would say every time) that’s very clearly coming from a place of knowing the real dean vs. the façade he puts up because that’s the whole joke. and it’s allowed to be a joke because they’re siblings and that’s what siblings do lol. esp since sam and dean have touchy feely moments at the end of like every episode.

examples of all of the above off the top of my head (there are more than these, but these are the ones I can think of):

2.02 (about John’s death)

Sam: “I mean this ‘strong silent’ thing of yours, it's crap. […] I'm over it. This isn't just anyone we're talking about, this is Dad. I know how you felt about the man.”

Dean: “You know what, back off, all right? Just because I'm not caring and sharing like you want me to.”

Sam: “No, no, no, that's not what this is about, Dean. I don't care how you deal with this. But you have to deal with it, man. Listen, I'm your brother, all right? I just want to make sure you're okay.”

2.03 (Sam to Dean, also about John’s death): “You know, you slap on this big fake smile but I can see right through it. Because I know how you feel, Dean. Dad's dead. And he left a hole, and it hurts so bad you can't take it, but you can't just fill up that hole with whoever you want to. It's an insult to his memory.”

Note that Dean essentially admits that Sam is right in these two instances in 2.04 bc I know yall have stupid shit to say about john too that has nothing to do with how anyone actually felt about him in canon

3.07 (about Dean’s demon deal – also proven true in later episodes)

SAM: Dude, drop the attitude, Dean. Quit turning everything into a punch line. And you know something else? Stop trying to act like you're not afraid.

DEAN: I'm not!

SAM: You're lying. And you may as well drop it 'cause I can see right through you.

DEAN: You got no idea what you're talking about.

SAM: Yeah, I do. You're scared, Dean. You're scared because your year is running out, and you're still going to Hell, and you're freaked.

DEAN: And how do you know that?

SAM: Because I know you! […] Yeah, I've been following you around my entire life! I mean, I've been looking up to you since I was four, Dean. Studying you, trying to be just like my big brother. So yeah, I know you. Better than anyone else in the entire world. And this is exactly how you act when you're terrified. And, I mean, I can't blame you. It's just […] I wish you would drop the show and be my brother again. 'Cause... (can't find words; tears in his eyes) just 'cause.

5.18 [Sam figures out what Dean is doing re: his plan to let Michael possess him, tracks him down, and eventually is the catalyst for Dean ‘making the right call’, which he predicts] – e.g.:

SAM: No, you won’t. When push shoves, you’ll make the right call

DEAN: You know, if tables were turned…I’d let you rot in here. Hell, I have let you rot in here.

SAM: Yeah, well…I guess I’m not that smart.

DEAN: I—I don’t get it. Sam, why are you doing this?

SAM: Because… you’re still my big brother.

8.14 (basically the o.g. version of whatever went on in 15.18 + sam intrinsically understanding the trials are a death wish for dean): “I'm closing the gates. It's a suicide mission for you. I want to slam hell shut, too, okay? But I want to survive it. I want to live, and so should you. You have friends up here, family. I mean, hell, you even got your own room now. You were right, okay? I see light at the end of this tunnel. And I'm sorry you don't – I am. But it's there. And if you come with me, I can take you to it. […] I AM smart, and so are you. You're not a grunt, Dean. You're a genius – when it comes to lore, to – you're the best damn hunter I have ever seen – better than me, better than dad. I believe in you, Dean. So, please – please believe in me, too.”

10.22 (understanding how much dean has ~done for him~)

SAM: I'm saving my brother.

CASTIEL: You told Dean—

SAM: —I know what I told Dean. Cas, look. I've been the one out there, messed up and scared. And alone. And Dean—

CASTIEL: He did whatever he could to save you.

SAM: Yes. I mean, it's become his thing. I owe him this. I owe him everything.

10.23 (basically the o.g. version of whatever went on in 15.18, x2 – from Sam to Dean): “You were also willing to summon death to make sure you could never do any more harm. You summoned me because you knew I would do anything to protect you. That's not evil, Dean. That's not an evil man. That is a good man crying to be heard, searching for... some other way. […] You will never, ever hear me say that you -- the real you -- is anything but good.”

11.13 (Sam understanding exactly how Dean feels about Amara being his ‘deepest desire’, and confirming that it doesn’t make him a bad person)

Dean: Why? Because if she is that means that I’m…

Sam: Means you’re what? Complicit? Weak? Evil?

Dean: For starters, yeah.

Sam: Dean. Do you honestly think you ever had a choice in the matter? She’s the sister of God, and for some reason she picked you and that sucks, but if you think I’m gonna blame you or judge you…I’m not.

Dean: You know that I want her ass dead.

Sam: Yes. Of course. And I know you’ve also probably beaten yourself up a hundred times over it, but where has that gotten us? (Long silence) Just how bad is it?

13.02 (Sam perfectly explaining Dean’s psyche to Jack)

JACK: Is that why Dean hates me?

SAM: Dean doesn’t hate you. It… Look, sometimes the wires in Dean’s head get crossed and—and he gets frustrated, and then he mixes frustration with anger, and—and fear.

JACK: Why would he be afraid?

SAM: Because Dean feels like it’s his job to protect everyone. And right now, we need to protect you. But we may also need to protect people from you.

14.03 [Sam assesses Dean’s psychological/emotional response to the Michael possession; end of episode, Dean confirms that Sam’s assessment was fully accurate]

14.10 [Sam is the only one able to snap Dean out of his weird Michael mind loop by using their code word]

14.11 [Sam figuring out that something is troubling Dean just based on the fact that Dean hugs him]

15.17 (self explanatory at this point)

DEAN: Chuck has to die. He has to! Otherwise he'll keep us tap dancing forever, and I can't live like that, man! I can't live like that! I won't!

SAM: I know you feel like that right now, okay. I know you do. But you gotta trust me. My entire life, you've protected me— from Dad, from Lucifer, from everything. I didn't always like it, you know, but... it's the one thing in the whole world that I could always count on. It's the only thing I've ever known that was true. So please... put the gun away. Just put it away, and we'll figure it out, Dean, we'll find another way, you and me. We always do.

like maybe there are some cas moments w dean along these lines too. i don't know, i don't remember what the guy says or does anymore it's been too many years and he is not memorable. but the point is where and in what capacity and based on what metric other than the amount of bad fanfic you've read does cas exceed sam in these respects.

so basically just. genuinely, what are you people literally ever talking about. go watch the show instead of saying stupid wrong stuff about sam on the hellsites all day. or watch another show (please for the love of god watch any other show this one is absolutely lost on you and it’s such a stupid one too i'm embarrassed for you)

[nanamis-bigtie]

sentience

↬ yuta x gn!reader | lucid love ↬ lucid love masterlist // jjk masterlist // ao3 version

cw: smut, gender neutral reader (no excessive body descriptions, no gendered pronouns), aged up character, dom reader, handjob, overstimulation, cum play summary: the strongest in the world, the sweetest in your bedroom. yuta loves succumbing to your hands word count: 1.6k a/n: yuta fuckers, this one is for you (i say, as if i wasn't one of you). i don't write dom reader often but ngl, despite initial difficulty, i found this quite fun to work with. i hope you will enjoy this too! tag list: @thesacredfanfics

"One more time?"

It's a question in your mind but words falling out of your lips pass more as an order. And he treats them so, obediently opening his eyes and rolling his head between pillows so he can look straight at you.

He was so beautiful when sunken in them, avoiding your piercing gaze and trying to hide his flushed cheeks. He's even more beautiful now, watching you with half-closed glossy eyes, his lips swollen and slightly parted, his chest heaving and muscles spasming, the remnants of his latest orgasm still shaking him whole. He's a mess, but for the few rounds you've already put him through, he's quite holding himself collected. As expected from the strongest.

"Please be gentle with me," Yuta smiles, such a pretty sight when mixed with bright-pink taint. He lifts himself on elbows and adjusts his position, your weight perched in his lap meaning nothing to him. 

You let him squirm for now. You know he'll listen when the right time comes, meanwhile relishing in the touch of reins in your hands. He entrusted you with full control over him, despite being in power in almost every other dimension of your life. Little can you both do about it, the gap of battle experience, social status and sheer strength is too great to be just adjusted to your whims. But here, in your shared bedroom, he's eagerly kneeling in front of you and laying his head in your lap, not the strongest anymore, just your pretty plaything to spoil and use however you want.

Yes, you let him have this little control from time to time. As a reminder he could, if he wanted, enforce his position even here. As a reminder that he never will—because you're in power far greater than what he possesses.

He's finally found a comfortable position for you both and blends into his pillows again. Still holding his cock with a firm grasp, you lean forward and kiss his sweaty forehead, then claim his lips, sloppy, lazy—yet, merciless with the way you steal the little breath he's gathered when recovering from his high. You feel him spasm under you when he's at his limit, much faster than a few rounds ago, but you don't stop just yet, not until you hear a pleading whine for air.

"There, there," you coo, stroking his cheek with a thumb and watching his chest twitch with sharp drafts for oxygen. "It's okay now."

Slowly, testing the current waters, you resume stroking. His cock is hot and slick with cum and so deliciously sensitive against your palm. You don't need to move much to have his abs twitching and breath growing heavier—so you're not overdoing it for now, instead feeding your eyes with the views. Your hand and his abdomen are covered in thick, milky ropes of his prior releases. His hair, from the long and thick strands plastered to his forehead and sides of his face to his soft pubes, is drenched in sweat. So is his skin, glistening in the ray of light sneaking through loosely drawn curtains. 

The game of moisture and shadows brings out the subtle lines of his muscles. You trace them with the thumb of your free hand, relishing in ticklish spasms, then switch your interest to the net of scars and stretch marks of his sudden height growth. For someone still relatively so young, Yuta is adorned with lines and crevices like a fatigued map—and always laughs your concerns away. Now, when he's the strongest, hardly anything can reach him anymore. 

The scar he's wearing on his forehead is the last mark he's received, and it's been...years. Yet, it always looks so fresh, and whenever your attention is pulled towards it, you only crave stronger to melt and spoil him.

You reach out to trace it, and Yuta steals this opportunity to nuzzle his cheek into the palm of your hand, then to kiss it when your eyes meet.

"Did I say you can?" You click your tongue, softly, not really mad nor disturbed with his little disobedience.

"I can't help it." The way he smiles at you now, his eyes seeming even bigger when he tilts his head to net even more of your warmth, melts you straight from the core. "Your skin tastes so good."

His tongue darts out to steal moisture from your wrist—and this is where you finally set the line. Your hold on him tightens, until he's wincing and inhaling sharply through clenched teeth. It's just some discomfort, nothing he couldn't handle, and you soon replace it with a different, more pleasant yet intense sensation. His eyes flick wide open when you switch between them so abruptly, his hips stutter upwards, following the motion of your wrist in search for another release, approaching so fast with his nerves already strained and fried.

"Yuta." There's a warning in your voice and he immediately stills, only his chest heaving with desperate breaths. "That's right. This is how a good boy should behave."

You've listened to his body though and returned to lazy, almost gentle strokes from a while ago. You take this time for yourself too, your wrist and knees feeling the time you've spent on doting on him and torturing him in turns. You try to not squirm too much in his lap, shifting your weight forwards just a little, to find a more comfortable angle for your feet. It's enough to drag a reaction out of him—a delicious, loud moan and a sharp twitch of his cock. 

You clench your hand around it harder and cease the strokes, pushing the wave away, and hold it until his mewls calm down enough to be sure he's going to actually listen.

"Not yet," you smile at his almost disappointed face. "We're going to milk you properly, sweet thing."

If there's anything you can still milk out of him, you wonder as you return to your tracks. With your hand drenched in his cum, you can't even tell if he's still gushing any fluid like he's been before, so starved of your touch. At least he's still as reactive, each of your strokes rewarded with sweet noises, his muscles tensing and Adam's apple bobbing as he tries to swallow. Most of his drool ends elsewhere, flowing free out of his wide-open lips, such a messy thing, already slipping into mindless, blissed-out state. You scoop some of it from his chin and slide your thumb into his mouth; Yuta follows instinctively and sloppily sucks on it.

"Good boy." You approve with your touch as well, applying more pressure to your strokes and relishing in the loud and obscene moan, just barely muffled by your finger. 

His hips snap out of control again and this time you're not trying to stop it. He's too far out of his mind to listen, your digit in his mouth and your hand around his cock the only world that matters to him. He's rutting into your palm like an animal, following your strokes and racing even after you've ceased them again, focusing just on the right pressure. He's sparing your wrist and giving you an opening for something you've had in mind for a while but haven't tested when so engrossed with his expressions and reactions.

All you need is to catch the right moment.

Yuta's eyes roll to the back of his head and hands clench on sweat-drenched sheets underneath. His cock throbs in your hand differently, harder than before, all of his muscles focused on gushing another load out of him. You finally move your hand again, squeeze him right under his glans and hold until the tension is almost gone, and his expression starts to melt.

Then, you release the hold, dragging him away from dry orgasm right at the very last moment. Built-up pressure spurts out of him, having his cock twitch and bob, even if for the few past orgasms it only lazily poured.

"You still had something for me?" you coo, tracing a new rope of cum he's left over his abdomen. "Such an insatiable, messy thing."

Yuta whines under your touch, his abs spasming almost painfully and his breath teetering on the brink of hiccups. His back arches when you grab his cock at its base again, there are tears pooling at the corners of tightly shut eyes, so delicious and tempting. You listen to your sadistic call just for a few more strokes, until he's almost sobbing, so sensitive it hurts without a doubt.

Still, he's not calling for a break. And he looks at you almost grumpy when you let go of him.

"Look what have you done to me." You show him your hand, sticky with his cum from the tips of your fingers down to your wrist and forearm. "Will you make it up for me?"

He opens his mouth immediately, you order, he listens. However weak, he's swirling his tongue around your digits and eagerly sucks his own seed off them and prompts you to slide even deeper. For being such a good boy for you, you can only oblige, making him gag until his tears flow down his flushed cheeks.

You watch his cock with attention meanwhile. After all of this, he's still not growing soft.

Truly an insatiable thing.

"One more time?" You pull fingers out to let him speak—and smirk at the disappointed whine he lets out as soon as he's allowed to make a noise.

"Yes." Yuta almost chokes on saliva and cum mix filling his mouth. "Yes, please."

[tiredsmashbros]

"happy birthday, bluejay."

2k words ; tsari fanfic

"gAH!" tari yelped as she lost her grip on the wooden plates nailed to the tree. fear of adrenaline rushed inside her veins, glancing a peek below her, acknowledging the height and distance above from the ground. she didn't have a fear of heights, yet it still was an alarming issue to imagine in her mind what could happen if she were to fall.

"w-wOaH! bj, grab my hand!" tsb directed extending his arm out, using his stretchable ability to allow tari a more secure reach. "come on!" he exclaimed, assisting her up until she was finally standing on the wooden surface base marked on their destination. "heh, trying to fall again now are we?" the man chuckled in hopes of lightening the mood, referencing an inside-joke recall based on their first meeting, "but on your birthday? what kind of a crazy bird are you!"

tari giggled, relief dominating over her after finally arriving at the top of tsb's home. "i'm not used to climbing up!" she began, taking a break to catch her breath, "why'd you have to live up so high? it's challenging to come to visit you!" the bluejay spoke glancing her eyes to take in the view as she recovered. she could see the showgrounds perfectly where she stood, watching her friends play in the grass field, and even a clear view of smg3's coffee and bombs. it was just a marvelous view, pondering why she hadn't thought to come here more often. with the wind brushing onto her face, and the shade provided by the tree's leaves to guard from the sun it was evermore peaceful and quiet. her worries gone within an instant, it was relaxing to say.

"then i suppose you'll have to come by more often to see silly o'l me, huh?" tsb responded, opening the entrance door for tari to enter. "birthday girl first~" tsb flirted, forming an exaggerated body gesture for her to enter in. tari shyly smiled and nodded, making her way inside the blue and yellow man's humble abode.

as if it was her first, tari couldn't ever grasp how peculiar and unique tsb's home was structured. the outer appearance appearing as a regular small treehouse built from wood and nails. yet the interior, god the interior was like an entirely whole other world. seemingly cartoonishly larger, covered in bright light blue walls, white clouds painted onto them. additionally, small rainbows scattered around. a giant painted sun on the ceiling, accompanied by multiple small paper-shaped stars assisted with tape dangled down from right above. high enough where her standing wouldn't bother it, but not so high where you couldn't acknowledge them. the area was furniture filled with shelves of unused big and small canvases, all sorts of art materials neatly placed and organized, with the man's silly personality of individually colored beanbags to sit on, and nets filled with all kinds of plushies and toys. it felt like a dream house for an art child really. dried used paint splattered about here and there on the walls and floor adding color to the bright white room.

"still breathtaking for you, birdy? i thought it would still be boring even doing some minor edits here and there." tsb scratched the back of his neck in embarrassment noticing tari's positive expressive expression as she glanced the place up and down, side to side.

"are you kidding? how could i not be? any normal person would find this breathtaking! your place is an absolute dream house, tsb! it's bright, cozy, colorful, and a playground of endless creative creation! i can't get over how you can manage to create this all yourself! very impressive!" tari exclaimed, as her smile stretched up to her cheeks, really absorbing and giving a twirl around the space. excitement fueled her as he bounced about exploring the other familiar areas and all of its satisfying gleam of bright colors. it felt like she truly was up in the clouds or a figment of what she felt was a physical imagination of heaven.

tsb could only watch and giggle from the side. his heart was pounding in glee seeing the bluejay prance about in joy, admiring the work of art he's created for himself to call home. he felt an over beamed of satisfied joy he endlessly craved being appreciated. especially from her. a compliment from anyone would've still been appreciated of course, yet hearing those words coming from her felt like he could die at any moment. and he wouldn't mind.

after some time of tari exploring the area admiring all the nooks and crannies of tsb's dream-like treehouse, tsb finally directed tari to his bedroom. a place he... coming to the realization he had never shown her before up until now. the first time smg4 interrupted them cutting their time short, and other visits were with other guests visiting to do arts and crafts or play board games. yet this was the first since her first visit it was just the two of them. tsb grew nervously anxious as he tiled the sun-shaped knob of his door, allowing entry to the girl he admired most. it was just his room and he truthfully had nothing to hide, yet it was still nerve-racking for him, pondering about her opinion.

"t-this is my room-" before tsb could even continue to create a proper introductory description, tari jolted up in joy, squealing in glee rushing inside to admire the new room, eager to explore. it had the same vibe and aesthetic as the main entrance room, the entire treehouse quite frankly, yet this room specifically was more in the theme of tsb's main colors. yellow and blue! additionally, instead of the walls being painted or scattered with paint, they were filled with drawings drawn on paper of different mediums taped onto the wall.

entering the room revealed tsb's bed, filled with drawings of rainbows and clouds above as seen the theme all over the place. the bed is cuffed below of soft felted cloud-shape border with a uniquely colored placed rainbow for a bed frame. to the right side of the wall was a large window viewing of the sky, and next to it a tall dresser. accompanied by the wall where the door was placed, was filled with drawings she could recognize were drawn from her friends. boopkins, luigi, heck even some dumb doodles from smg3 she recalled tsb telling the tale of them hanging out one night.

the last wall to the left side of the room erupted with colors of different shades of green and brown. taken aback coming to the realization tsb's home lacked the color green almost entirely, let alone any color of brown other than the "disguise" from the exterior. illustrations of trees, squirrels, and small rodents, and what she could make out looked like a television. causing a shiver down her spine being reminded of mr. puzzles, yet these looked nothing like him. furthermore, they looked the same tv of a design with a nice chestnut brown with a cyan-like blue screen. some with hearts, some crossed out even wrinkled, and others... tari stared at it in confusion. she assumed it was an interesting relation due to tsb heavy interest in cartoon shows, he would watch several frequently with mario. however, something inside her told her it meant something else. as if it linked to-

"soooo what do you think, bluejay?" tsb queried, interrupting tari's thoughts. to the bluejay's surprise, he was resting on his bed in a crisscross position with his hands questionably behind his back slightly awkwardly.

"oh! i-it's awesome!" she quickly responded, trying to rid herself pondering over the mystery of this "tv". "i don't recall you ever showing me your room before. what gives! trying to hide more secrets?" she confidently spoke back, removing any possible suspicion. taking a seat next the the cartoony man.

"noo, of course not! just something i suppose i hadn't had the time to show you till now." tari rolled her eyes playfully trying to seem hurtful by his response. tsb giggled.

suddenly, he began to clear his throat, straightening his back, and shifting closer to tari with a slight struggle refusing to use his hands for support. however, fear rose inside as he wondered if he was too close to the bluejay, but she didn't seem bothered and instead mimicked his actions. receiving another giggle from the man feeling his face grow hot. "i uh," tsb began, "i have a gift for you! um..." tsb slowly unhidden his hands to reveal a bird-like figure in his palms. tari began to decipher it being a hand-crafted bluejay figure with a neatly small bowtie around its neck. yet she was utterly confused and speechless, it allowed tsb to continue his monologue. "i'm... not very good at making something supposedly grand like parties or cakes, for someone's orbit around the sun, but i do like handcrafting things for people i... um... admire most." tsb confident outward speech turned to stutters and quiet speech seemingly looking down as he could feel his hands sweat under his golden gloves. "i hope you like this gift-"

"of course i do!~" tari finally bursted into squeals having her hands turn to fists positioned up to her face in an attempt to hide her overly joyous smile. shifting her position to admire the beautifully hand-crafted bluejay more up-close. "it's so cute!~" she squealed once more feeling like she could feel herself almost cry from overstimulated happiness. "how did you use to make it?" she queried swiftly, staring at tsb's shades, eyes wide with sparks of adoration.

tsb only stuttered to find the words, his face growing hotter by the second hearing the beats of his pounding heart inside his ears. "i-i used cardboard to create the base of the shape... and um gluing layers of newspaper to give some texture... a-after painting it with acrylic- nO gouache a-a-and reusing some old thick ribbon i had in my scrapes to gave it a bow!" swiftly adding in the end, "y-you know! because it's a gift! cause it you're birthday! a-and purple to match your eyes! b-because your eyes are purple! oH and this is a bluejay, not a duck i-i-i-im not sure if that was obvious um-"

"it's perfect.~" tari softly interjected, cupping tsb's hands and lowering them down from their chests. "it's adorable of you think of me like that. i've never received a gift like this before... it exactly represents me and considering the thoughts you had i seriously appreciate the effort you put in. it's," tari couldn't help but giggle.

before tsb could muster to search for words to say thank you, tari kissed tsb on the cheek. "it's really cute. thank you.~" shots of physical cloud of air flew out of tsb's ears, face even red than the color red itself, stunned and completely flustered he sat there frozen. tari once again giggled seeing the clouds of smoke coming out of their ears like a real-life cartoon, yearning to see what more of a reaction she can get. she was always fascinated by tsb's strange cartoonish nature she just simply adored him more and more. nothing about him could ever bore her. 

just if by instinct, she removed her hands from tsb and reached out to remove tsb shades. settling it down by the bed, gazing admirably into his brown eyes as they were shifting animatedly to pink hearts back and forth. "t-tari-" tsb started, but was unfortunately cut off by someone outside. turning his eyes into pupils with red outlines from surprise.

"tari!" a familiar voice called, "TARI!" smg4 called again louder.

"smg4 must have the party essentials ready. we should go till he gets impatient hehe!" tari stood up from the bed grabbing the bluejay gift with one hand while the other grabs for the cartoon man's glove. 

"y-yeah..." he replied, still stunned by what happened. eventually after a soft tug from tari, he regained his senses and threw back his shades on. springing off the bed and following tari out of his room. 

"you think there'll be cake left after mario gets to it first?" tsb asked.

tari chuckled, "i doubt it." 

END

[mostlysignssomeportents]

Uplinkchump Linkdump

On June 20, I'm keynoting the LOCUS AWARDS in OAKLAND.

It's Linkdump Saturday! This is the day on which I clear the giant backlog of links from the previous week that I haven't managed to post in my newsletter's "Hey look at this" sections. This is my 19th linkdump; here's the previous 18 dumps:

https://pluralistic.net/tag/linkdump/

Let's start with some fun and games. Liam is a high-schooler who created "Bad Plumbing," a Jenga-style boardgame using a variety of 3D printed shapes; the game was a smash hit at his local game-jam, so now he's kickstarting it:

https://www.kickstarter.com/projects/liamclift/bad-plumbing

The shapes are delightful and Seussian, and there's a very ingenious game dynamic that's not just "make the pile bigger." You can pre-order for $30, and for $100, you'll get a version with a custom-designed shape of your specification. I backed!

It's lovely to see something that's both excellent and delightful, but to be honest, the majority of this week's links are excellent and enraging. Most of these links from The American Prospect, which has, under David Dayen's executive leadership, gone from "a magazine I really like" to "the first thing I read every day."

This week saw a the Prospect publish a stunning series of articles on prices, a sacred object for neoliberal economists, who see them as the carriers of the information that allows society to order itself for maximum efficiency and broadest benefit. Unfortunately for these economists, the love-affair with prices is one-sided: they may love prices, but prices hate neoliberalism.

The dogma that says that any government interference in pricing will destroy the economy by "distorting" prices does not survive contact with reality. The instant the government steps away from regulating monopoly, and its handmaiden, fraud, prices go batshit crazy.

This week's Pluralistic newsletters were dominated by this brilliant series in the Prospect. On Wednesday, I wrote about the Prospect's investigations into algorithmic and surveillance pricing:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/06/05/your-price-named/#privacy-first-again

And yesterday, it was the epidemic of junk fees:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/06/07/drip-drip-drip/#drip-off

There's more than I could fit into the newsletter, though, like Friday's excellent piece on the scourge of surge pricing by Sarah Jaffe:

https://prospect.org/economy/2024-06-07-urge-to-surge/

Jaffe's piece was especially interesting given economist Ramsi Woodcock's compelling case that surge pricing is a per se violation of antitrust law:

https://pluralistic.net/2021/07/26/aggregate-demand/#pure-transfer

The Prospect series was so timely. After decades of pricing orthodoxy, economists like Isabella Weber are making huge waves (and attracting a tsunami of abuse). Weber's interview with Vass Bednar on the Globe and Mail's Lately podcast this week is a must-listen:

https://www.theglobeandmail.com/podcasts/lately/article-the-millennial-economist-who-took-on-the-world/

(Though if you get your econ ideas from the New York Times, you'd miss this whole revolution, as the Grey Lady's views on prices remain mired in the Reagan era:)

https://twitter.com/HalSinger/status/1798849195664916648

Few prices are more important than the price of the roof over your head – after all, "shelter" is only second to "food" in the hierarchy of needs. Dayen's Friday story for the Prospect in NIMBYism gets to the crux of the cost-of-living crisis: people who own houses want houses to be expensive, and will go to enormous lengths to make sure that shelter costs as much as possible:

https://prospect.org/infrastructure/housing/2024-06-07-homeowners-want-housing-prices-to-go-up/

Dayen attributes this to "the wealth effect" – that is, most people would like to be richer, and the minority of Americans who have a positive net worth owe that status to rising house prices, and the plurality of Americans who have a negative net worth thanks to a mortgage are counting on rising house prices to flip them into the black.

When America threw off the Gilded Age, we charted two courses to prosperity for working people: labor unions and home ownership. The ruling class cannily convinced us to rely solely on the latter. The housing emergency raging across the country is the inevitable result of that decision:

https://pluralistic.net/2021/06/06/the-rents-too-damned-high/

The Prospect's consistent brilliance isn't merely an editorial matter, of course. The magazine features a recurring cast of some of the best muckraking writers in the field, and the absolute peak of that impressive pile is Maureen Tkacik. Tkacik's work on Boeing is stunning:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/05/01/boeing-boeing/#mrsa

Her labor coverage is second to none:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/09/14/prop-22-never-again/#norms-code-laws-markets

And no one writes better than her about private equity:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/06/02/plunderers/#farben

I am in pure awe of Tkacik's prolific and expert work. So when I read her piece on Long Covid in the Prospect this week, I was stunned to learn that she has been severely disabled by this heavily downplayed – but rampant – chronic illness:

https://prospect.org/health/2024-06-06-nih-perpetuating-long-covid-denial/

The fact that Tkacik is doing this career-defining, high-frequency work while being randomly smashed by a series of acute Long Covid incidents makes her achievements nothing sort of heroic. But Tkacik's Long Covid coverage isn't a lament for her personal situation – it's a characteristically brilliant investigative story about the systematic cover-up of Long Covid by the NIH, which has a long history of dismissing inconvenient illnesses as psychosomatic, from black lung to chronic fatigue.

Tkacik's Long Covid coverage adds yet another subject where I'm learning more from the Prospect than from other sources – part of a host of issues where the magazine leads the pack. An issue far more squarely in its wheelhouse is antitrust, especially the intersection of antitrust and labor rights.

This week, I eagerly devoured Luke Goldstein's story about the latest in a series of lies that Amazon executives were caught making to the US government:

https://prospect.org/labor/2024-06-06-senators-allege-amazon-lied-delivery-drivers/

You may recall when Jeff Bezos lied to Congress, claiming that the company didn't spy on its sellers and clone their best products:

https://www.bbc.com/news/business-58961836

Or when Amazon posted a lying rebuttal to a Congressman who objected to its drivers being forced to pee in bottles in order to meet its punishing schedules:

https://www.aboutamazon.com/news/policy-news-views/our-recent-response-to-representative-pocan

The latest lie: Jeff Bezos and CEO Andy Jassy lied to the Senate about the company's relationship to its drivers, whom it insists are "independent contractors" because they are hired through cutouts called "Delivery Service Providers":

https://pluralistic.net/2022/04/17/revenge-of-the-chickenized-reverse-centaurs/

These drivers work for Amazon. It dictates their working conditions. It installs cameras that watch their eyeballs while they drive. It enforces an illegal "no poach" system that fixes their wages. And it lies about all this. To the Senate.

You know what they say, it's not the crime, it's the cover-up. Tech barons go through life in a warm bath of their own bullshit, surrounded by lackeys who are contractually prohibited from calling them on it. They forget that there are people out there in the world who won't offer them this deference – including lawmakers and regulators.

That's why Facebook lied to the FCC when they bought Instagram, withholding key information in order to secure regulatory permission for the merger:

https://finance.yahoo.com/news/ftc-claims-facebook-withheld-information-152834983.html

After decades of inattention, the world's governments have discovered a newfound energy for busting trusts and smashing corporate power. Five years ago, it looked like maybe this was a fixup by Big Cable or Big Content to take Big Tech off the board so they could claim more dominion over our lives:

https://memex.craphound.com/2019/06/04/why-is-there-so-much-antitrust-energy-for-big-tech-but-not-for-big-telco/

Today, every sector is coming in for antitrust scrutiny, and the tempo is only increasing. Just this week, the FTC and DOJ opened investigations into Microsoft, Openai, and Nvidia:

https://www.theverge.com/2024/6/6/24172868/ftc-doj-antitrust-openai-microsoft-nvidia-investigations

Yeah, there's still a lot of policy focus on tech, but that's because tech has extended its tendrils into every area of policy. That's the end-point of a decades-long process of tech going from sitting alongside important policy questions to being inseparable from them. I've had a front-row seat for that transformation, through my work with EFF, whose brief just keeps expanding as tech infuses every aspect of our lives and rights.

The latest example; EFF's "Surveillance Defense for Campus Protests" by Rory Mir, Thorin Klosowski and Christian Romero:

https://www.eff.org/deeplinks/2024/06/surveillance-defense-campus-protests

The military has gone all-in on electronic surveillance, and campuses have gone all-in on militarized policing, so campuses are now sites of electronic warfare, and protesters are vastly overmatched. This is an excellent and timely guide.

Well, this is where this week's linkdump comes to an end. It only falls to me to send you off with one last week: Libro.fm's buy-one/get-one sale on DRM-free audiobooks, with a share of each sale going to an indie bookstore of your choosing! This is a heckin deal, and a great way to start weaning yourself off of the Audible monopoly (also, my latest novel The Bezzle, is in the sale):

https://libro.fm/bogo

If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/06/08/medley/#the-prospect

Image: Cjp24 https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Automobiles_in_a_french_junkyard.jpg

CC BY-SA 3.0 https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0/deed.en

[talaricula]

I know this is a gay lawyer opinion and as such probably spectacularly biased but ever since ntn came out I have been going absolutely crazy about the reveal that Cassiopeia is a gay lawyer and that she was the one to, first, call Jod out for granting more importance to punishing billionaires than to saving the billions of other people on Earth, and to, second, plot for ten thousand years to betray him. Idk if tazmuir did it on purpose but this reveal hit me right in the fucking heart and is for some reason incredibly meaningful to me.

Other ppl have already pointed out that Jod picked his STEM buddies to be necromancers and the more humanities leaning people/very broadly service workers (not that I'm a big fan of cops or clergy but you catch my drift) as cavaliers. But what's interesting here is that Cassiopeia is the exception to that. She's a necromancer and she's a lawyer. Which speaks v interestingly to the position law holds in a lot of STEM ppl's minds - it's "tough" enough to kind of be honorary STEM. But, crucially, it is factually not STEM. It is factually, very obviously, humanities. Its whole point is analysing society and figuring out how we want to shape it. And STEM people forget that. Which means that Of Course it's the STEM ppl who forge ahead, doing things because they have the capacity to, and of course it's the lawyer who is the first to question whether they should do so, what the impact of that is on the actual world, whether there shouldn't be agreements and rules about this.

And look don't get me wrong, I don't have an idealised view of law. Law can be one of the most oppressive forces in our current society. People often uphold it for the sake of itself and not for the sake of what it can do for people, to make the world and people's lives better, and the consequences of that are, unquestionably, a net bad. But that's where the gay lawyer part comes in. I work in an office where over half of us are queer lawyers and there is something fundamentally delicate and "in the middle" about being gay and a lawyer. Law is often actively hostile to queer people, and most queer people who go into law go into it with the intent to change it (or its application, even on a very small scale) rather than to uphold it because they are aware of its unfairness and oppressiveness. But simultaneously you need to believe in law enough to believe that it can be a useful tool for change if you're going to devote your professional life to it, which is a relatively idealistic position to hold. In my experience, the consequence of that is that queer lawyers are often the most likely to be very critical and sceptical of law and agreements and systems and people in power, even the ones they're close to, because a significant part of their lives is led in the midst of, very close to, or at least in a state of constant hyper awareness, of a system that is hostile to them for being queer.

Which is why it is so crucial that Cassiopeia is a Gay Lawyer. Of course she is the one who realises that the new rules and agreements implemented by her friend who suddenly finds himself with incredible power are detrimental to society as a whole. Of course she's the one who sees the inconsistencies between what he says he wants to achieve and what he's de facto working towards. Of course she's the one who calls him out for it. Being in close contact with both the rules and the people who makes them or enforce them isn't new to her, and analysing them is literally her job. He made a contract with his friends and with the world and he's not upholding it. Of course she's the one who takes issue.

Cassiopeia has to be radical enough to actively support Jod's cause at the beginning and traditionalist enough to see when he's going overboard and then again radical enough to call him out for it and build her own revolution. Cassiopeia has to be idealistic enough to believe a better world is possible and sceptical enough to realise when the new world they're building is emphatically not better and then idealistic enough again to believe it is possible to change it again, not back but forward, to something even newer. Cassiopeia has to be radical enough to spend thousands of years fomenting a rebellion against Jod and also traditionalist enough and enough of a Fucking Nerd to decide that the best and most efficient way to do that is to turn her House into a Rebellion University over that time period instead of, idk, anything a normal Rebel Against The Established Order would do. Of fucking course she's a gay lawyer.

Last point and then I'll shut up but equally crucial to this is that Nigella, her wife and cavalier, is AN ARTIST. The biggest cliché of "useless humanities", the person STEM looks at and thinks "I mean sure, fun enough, but ultimately a luxury at best and a waste of money and resources at worst". Because part of the divide within the field of law wrt what law means for society (is law a tool for society as it is or as it should be) is very much informed by how you look at society, of course, and while part of that outlook is informed by personal identity and experiences (ie the gay thing), another part is informed by the experiences and views of the people you surround yourself with. And Cassiopeia who loves an artist, Cassiopeia who strongly believes in the value of art for society, Cassiopeia who admires her lover for the way she studies and represents and transforms society through her art? That's so relevant to her specific brand of gay lawyer. That's the same Cassiopeia who's enough of an active idealist to side with Jod in an active rebellion against the agents of climate change at first, to stress the importance of helping innocents over punishing the guilty second, and to, finally, try to organise a revolution which, if I am interpreting all the care she takes with the Sixth correctly, prioritises helping the people Jod fucked over over punishing Jod.

TL;DR: Of course Cassiopeia is a gay lawyer and I love her, your honour.

[forasecondtherewedwon]

Pure Grey

Fandom: My Lady Jane Pairing: Guildford x Jane Rating: E Word Count: 4514

Summary: One day Guildford's pleasuring a strange girl with his mouth, the next he's watching her walk up the aisle at their wedding. When Jane doesn't seem quite as delighted to see him again as Guildford thinks she should be, he decides he won't make this ceremony easy for her. And the reception? Gods help her. ✨The sequel to "Bad Latin."✨

While his apparently delicate bride is examined by Dr. Butts, Guildford has time to think. He hates having time to think. He'll never say as much to her, this clever Grey girl his father has found to answer their horseshoe-shaped prayers, but he detests quiet contemplation. He needs people to talk to, things to do. Otherwise, life starts to seem a little hopeless. His nihilistic thoughts race inside an ever-shrinking pen.

At least she has given his thoughts a subject that is not his own sorry self: Jane Grey. Upstart flirt and dutiful eldest daughter in one. Guildford believed he was unique in his two very different ways of navigating the world. Not so. As in the tavern, Jane is apparently eager to outdo him. Well, as successful as she might have been at playing hard-to-get, harder-to-forget, she's been caught in the same net he has. Marriage. He feels a smug satisfaction over her sharing his sentence.

Knowing what he knows, of course, Guildford could bring this whole wedding down around his father's ears. He's aware of the reputation he has, and so are many of the attendees to this fine farce of an occasion. If this Affliction business doesn't work out for her, Jane can be the girl who cried "rake"—only he'll be able to turn it back around on her. Enjoyed it though, didn't you? Nobody wants a spoiled bride. Guildford? Guildford doesn't care a whit... but then, he's the one who spoiled her. Sort of. He's unclear what exactly the degree of spoilage is on what they did. In the eyes of the Church, of course, it's straight to hell for her and repentence for him (paid in cash). Fortunately, Guildford prefers a little nuance. He walks in shades of grey.

Inconveniently, he's a bit too curious to see where this goes to bother snitching about Jane's compromised virtue, though he's feeling slightly wounded and the prospect of getting back at her does appeal. She might have at least looked intrigued upon clapping eyes on him again. She said it, didn't she? "Maybe we can do it again sometime"? Not so keen now it'd be her wedding dress he ducked under, is she? Not so raring for a shag in the ol' marital bed. A mouthful of blood! Honestly. With his logical mind, Guildford knows Jane would have had to plan the blood beforehand (he's nearly positive it was fake), a revolt against the whole idea of marriage rather than him specifically, but his ego smarts. Something that is not his brain whispers that his bride would rather endure Butts's dubious doctoring than get to the other side of this ceremony and face him—all of him.

Insecurity he would typically drown with drink makes Guildford briefly wonder if he maybe wasn't very good. It's an insane thought, of course—didn't he have her thrashing against that tree?—but he hates that he never got to look her in the eye to see for himself. Sod being the bigger person. He wants to punish her for making him doubt himself. One doesn't achieve a reputation such as his without some skill. Oh, that Guildford Dudley, he can drink a tavern dry! Untrue, but he can hold his liquor better than the less-practiced. Guildford Dudley can best a man twice his size in a brawl! Certainly, if the man is blind drunk. Guildford Dudley has bedded every willing lass from here to Suffolk, and left them all wanting more! How would he possibly have the time? What he would assure anyone who asked him directly is that the quality of the encounters, however, is God's honest truth.

How he might get back at Jane doesn't come to him until the lady herself reenters the nave. This time, Guildford stands ready to receive her, not hiding behind his father and brother to pretend until the very last second that this isn't actually happening. Her gaze locks on his to communicate grim resolution. From that alone, he can tell it's her intention to endure this wedding stoically. What a martyr. The heart bleeds, truly. Probably expecting him to be praying for the same swift efficiency.

"From the vows, I suppose?" Guildford's father suggests to the bishop.

"The vows," the bishop agrees. "Yes. Lord Guildford, if you would..."

Yes, this is the moment when he will make all his promises to her again, not haltingly now, because the shock of seeing her has worn off and the words are familiar in his mouth. He'll fly right through them, quicker than reciting an oft-read poem. This is what Jane will be expecting.

"Actually," Guildford says, "d'you mind if I come up with my own? Change things up a little?"

The bishop and his father exchange a glance, so Guildford explains the impulse, trying not to laugh at the way Jane has stiffened next to him.

"My bride gave me such a fright with that spray of blood," he says, directing a tender look Jane's way (he sees her clench her jaw), "that I felt I should say something more. Something from the heart, you know, to acknowledge that precious occasions such as this one are so very fleeting."

"And yet this feels like an eternity," Jane mumbles under her breath.

"Hmm?" he inquires, cocking his head with malicious attentiveness.

Lucky for her, no one else hears. The bishop and Guildford's father are exchanging stuttered sentences about the irregularity of the request. Personalized vows? Between strangers? Does it make sense? Can it be permitted? It certainly isn't traditional. Only God could really say whether such a thing honours him or should be considered an earthly indulgence, and therefore absolutely not allowed.

Since they don't have God in the pews to ask him, the bishop turns to the next best choice: King Edward.

"Your Majesty?"

"Delightful!" Edward determines. "Nothing could be more pleasing to us than to hear Lord Guildford's words of devotion to our dear cousin Jane. Yes?"

The question is addressed to Jane, who smiles the tightest, most uncomfortable looking smile Guildford has possibly ever seen and repeats, "Delightful," clearly for the King's benefit.

"Proceed," Edward commands, and who is Guildford to disobey his king?

Guildford sighs as though overcome with the import of the moment. He takes Jane's unwilling hands in his, ignoring how she bites her nails into his fingers.

"Lady Grey," he begins, then corrects, "Jane," as though to take the first step in developing an intimacy they could not yet share. It's sort of true; he knew the name, and he knew (in a way) her, but he didn't know the name belonged to her until earlier this evening.

"Jane," Guildford says, "I vow to you all those things I said before, which I know you're dying to reciprocate—not literally!" This gets him a laugh from the assembly and a stare of molten fire from his bride. "I would only like to add how much I appreciate your presence here today.

"To pledge oneself to a total stranger is a daunting prospect. To meet for the first time inside a church is perhaps God's ideal, but so rarely achievable for us humans. In that way, you and I are so deeply fortunate that our paths never crossed sooner, that our union might be that much purer in His eyes. I almost want to get on my knees now, just thinking about it."

By now, Jane is displaying some blend of emotions he can't read with absolute confidence, but which seems to contain raw fury, alarm, and a violent promise of vengeance. He'll worry about that later. That knees bit also makes her blush, so it's not all bad.

"Anyway," Guildford concludes, "it is my great pleasure to do my part in uniting our family trees." He can't entirely fight his smile at the look in her eyes when he says "trees." "I sincerely look forward to sharing that pleasure with you."

After a knowing look at Jane, Guildford smiles blithely at the bishop to indicate he has finished.

"Jane?" prompts the bishop.

Jane lurches in Guildford's grip and he rolls his eyes. Surely she hasn't forgotten that she needs to make her vows to him as well.

"I think I'll just say the regular ones," Jane says.

It seems to Guildford that what follows her words is a sigh of disappointment from their witnesses. Guildford shrugs at the bishop to excuse his bride's lesser enthusiasm.

"She's tired, I expect. Took quite a turn."

"Do not speak for me," Jane hisses between her teeth.

"Go on then," he goads.

Jane speaks her vows with clarity and precision. No fake blood, no more tricks, just the words she must say. Guildford would like to sarcastically congratulate her on her elocution, but they're suddenly married. Right now, it isn't funny anymore.

They smile perfunctorily for their audience, then walk back up the aisle without looking at one another.

Jane does not take his arm.

—

"You're going to have to look at me," Guildford tells her later, the two of them seated for their wedding feast.

"Don't see why," Jane replies, staring steadfastly forward.

"You're going to have to kiss me too."

"Please refer to my last response."

"Jane."

At last, she whirls on him. "What?"

He grins at her. She sighs as though she is so fed up with him, which seems awfully soon. They just got married.

"Seriously," he says, not really being very serious at all, "I need to know how you're going to play our first kiss."

"What do you mean?" She sounds—despite herself—interested. Not necessarily interested in him (faker), but interested in not fucking this up. He can tell she likes to have a strategy.

"Will you be charmingly inexperienced, or will the divine rightness of our match make us so compatible at kissing it will almost look as though... dare I say it?" Guildford leans towards her and whispers, "...As though we've kissed before?"

"Ugh!" she exclaims. "I hate you!"

"Do not," he scoffs, reaching for his wine goblet.

"No, I do. I do. I do."

"Steady, Jane, we're already married." He takes a leisurely sip while she stares what he imagines she imagines are very pointy daggers at him.

"Oh, thank you. I had almost forgotten." Jane crosses her arms and slouches down in her chair with a huff.

"You know," Guildford observes after a space of time that is clearly not long enough for his wife, given how she glares at him when he speaks, "I really don't get what your problem is."

Jane laughs in disbelief.

"You're my problem. You!"

A bit exhausting, his wife. Hoping she won't make a scene by fleeing from him, Guildford gets up and scrapes his chair over to be closer to her. There are some cheers from guests who catch sight of his approach. Though Jane's eyes widen in alarm, she stays put. Likely moved into the you don't intimidate me phase, he suspects.

"We both know you don't hate me," he says softly.

"Don't tell me what I know."

"Fine," Guildford concedes. "I know I don't hate you. Even if you are ruining my wedding. Souring the mood." He has another drink.

"Forgive me for not celebrating the death of my freedom. Forgive me for not rejoicing in my shackles!"

"I knew I forgot something! Never packed the shackles."

"That isn't funny."

"That isn't funny, my lord," he corrects.

Jane immediately appears so incensed that Guildford's forced to hold up his hands to show he takes it back (he never meant it in the first place, but, Christ, it's fun to provoke her). She looks like she's going to storm away, and he can't have that. Here at the head table, they're visible but also ignored. They can speak openly to each other—quietly, but openly.

"We're attracted to one another," he says bluntly, gaze flitting around her features. She is a remarkably pretty scowler. "Why isn't that good news?"

"Because I don't want to be attracted to you!"

"You'd rather I was horrible?"

"Yes."

"Ugly? Rude?"

"You are rude," Jane contends.

"Rarely," Guildford says with a dismissive wave of his hand.

"Frequently," she counters, "in my experience."

"In your experience, which has been very brief."

"And yet, how very rude you've been!"

"So rude that I won't be permitted to tell you something?" he wonders.

Jane eyes him suspiciously. "What is it?"

For just a moment or two, Guildford unleashes it. He rakes his gaze over her—the loose twists of her hair that hang down over the back of her chair, the gauzy sleeves of her wedding gown that make her appear wrapped in a fog he longs to brush away, the heave of her bosom when she's cross with him and breathing hard—and he murmurs, "I want you."

This affects her; he can tell that it does. She gets all blink-y and blushes and shifts in her seat. She straightens the utensils that have been provided for the food she isn't eating.

"I thought you were going to say something-something useful," she stammers.

"Is what I said not useful?" Guildford twists in his chair and rests his arm across the back of Jane's so that he might speak to her with even greater privacy, closer closeness.

"Not particularly."

"Then let me tell you something else." He continues before she can interrupt. "In the intervening hours, my mind has barely strayed from thoughts of you pinned against that tree—"

"That is hardly surprising as it has not been many hours," Jane protests, stubbornly avoiding his eye. It doesn't matter. He can see what he does to her in the flush of her cheeks.

"It happened on the eve of my wedding, and still, my thoughts have been on you."

"Then you have been irresponsible."

"Crushing, coming from the most responsible girl I know," he teases.

Jane's eyes flash as she looks into his to remind him, "I am a lady."

"And I am your husband. What do you say to that?" Guildford challenges.

"That you will need to accustom yourself to a cold bed."

"How can you be so unfeeling?"

"When I promised in my vows to love you, do you mean?" Jane asks, wearing a taunting smile.

"When I swear to the gods I still have your taste upon my tongue." He's gripping the back of her chair desperately.

Jane looks down into her lap.

"I think we should speak in private."

Bollocks. He's gone too far. Far too far. Guildford knew not to slacken the restraint he's had on himself, but he had to, to look at her properly, and now he's gotten completely carried away. No matter what they did together before, Jane is correct: she's a lady. It isn't right for him to speak to her this way. This is her wedding day, this is their marriage. The very least he can give her is unadorned respect. When he saw in the church that she would not let them be familiar, then he should have resigned himself to a cool distance between them. It would not have been remarkable; arranged marriages are meant to happen between strangers. He could have tried harder, played the role expected of him, afforded her a despairing kind of peace that at least would have been hers. Instead, he insisted, intruded. He has been ungracious and catastrophically improper. He should apologize, immediately, and pray she—

Jane's hand is on his thigh. She squeezes.

"In private," she repeats. Her eyes flick up to his, and ask a question.

—

What's marvellous about his father switching out all the tapestries for new ones is that, while the walls hung bare, Guildford was reacquainted with everything the old tapestries concealed. Rather a lot of grimy grey stone, but some more interesting secrets too.

Guildford waits for Jane in the corridor outside the hall where their guests are feasting; it was necessary to leave separately, more discrete. When she appears, he turns, trusting her to follow. He guides her back through the estate, to the entrance hall, hefting the heavy edge of one of the new tapestries away from the wall. Jane gives him a funny look.

"There's a passage," he explains. She continues to look at him skeptically, so Guildford sighs and goes first.

He isn't lying: there's an archway set into the stone. He lets her catch up, step into the recess with him, then allows the tapestry to thump back into place over them. They both sneeze. Already, the thing has trapped an incredible amount of dust. It's black as pitch in here, the hall's warm candlelight effectively snuffed. In the dark, Guildford fumbles for Jane's hand, getting a fistful of her wedding dress with it, relieved when she doesn't snatch it back. He leads her up three steps and through a door. It is much less dusty once they've stepped through and closed it behind them, and slightly brighter; the passage leads past the kitchen, then up a staircase lined with windows.

"Where does this go?" Jane wonders, blinking as her eyes adjust.

Guildford is standing very close to her, inhaling the mingled scents of wine, smoke, sweat, and whatever she used to perfume her hair and body as she readied herself to go to the church and meet her husband. And now he is that husband. It's enough to make him hard, just that. He tilts his head and asks, "Does it really matter?"

Jane answers his question by gripping his hair and kissing him hungrily. His fingers trace her jawline and tip her face up to his liking. She has his back against the stones only as long as it takes for him to get his bearings and swap their places. Jane is panting. Guildford bites her bottom lip. He can hardly think. He presses his thumb on her chin to encourage her mouth wider, then licks across her tongue, making Jane whimper and scrabble at the long line of silver buttons on his velvet doublet. There are a hundred guests in the other room. They will laugh and talk and drink and eat and dance on, and the couple they'll forget they've come to fête will fuck in this passageway where no one can overhear.

His impatient hand fumbles the hem of her wedding dress higher and higher, and Jane abandons his doublet to open his breeches. He doesn't mean to stop kissing her, but suddenly, they're just breathing harshly into one another's mouths as his fingers skim up her soft inner thigh.

"Careful," she whispers. He halts immediately. But then there's a flicker of a smile from Jane. "You might find the touch of me on your fingers as indelible as the taste of me on your tongue."

"Gods," he groans, and brings his hand up to explore her, to caress her, to drag his fingers through the warmest, wettest part of her, rubbing and teasing until her head falls back against the wall. He buries his face in her hair and breathes deep.

Manhood straining as he presses himself against Jane's hip for the illusion of relief, he prods her entrance with a fingertip. He exercises so much control to go slowly, to prepare her without pain, that it makes his hand shake. One of hers closes around it, steadying him. They stare at one another with heavy-lidded eyes as he pushes inside her. Her mouth falls open as her body makes way.

"Just like this," he explains, he promises, pressed so, so close to her.

Jane's channel is tight around his finger—at first with resistance, but then with involuntary attempts to take him deeper. Guildford's groans rumble below Jane's high cries as he introduces a second finger. Slowly, gently, he curls them inside her. Her hips chase the movement of his hand, which gets smoother, slicker. She grips his hand harder and they fuck her together, pitching Guildford closer to madness.

Her cunt is seizing, and he could give her more like this—trying to tell her as much with the targeted pressure of his fingertips—but Jane says, "Now. Please now." And like that isn't enough, she wriggles her hand into his undershorts and boldly grasps his member.

"I was trying to—" He cuts himself off with a groan when Jane decides to investigate, gliding her hand up his shaft.

"My apologies," she says with a small smile. "Continue."

"I was try—"

Her fingertips slip deftly across the wetness gathered on the tip of his member. The touch is clearly no accident; it sends a tremor through him, and Jane's gaze darts around his face, studying the reaction in each of his features. Guildford snatches her wrist to still her hand. How is it, when he has her panting against a wall with two of his fingers inside her, that she can look at him like that? Like she is a hunting hound from the tapestry they pushed aside, and he the cornered rabbit?

"You have a curious wife," Jane breathes. That's no way to say sorry he's ever heard.

Guildford manages to smirk at her.

"Then my curious wife will find herself with a singularly focused husband."

Ever so slightly, her hand tenses around his manhood before letting go entirely, as though awaiting his move.

When he reacts, he doesn't know what the test was or which of them failed. He slips his fingers from her body and crouches slightly to hoist her by the back of her thighs. Her wedding dress is voluminous between them, but not enough to stop him bumping his hips against hers, or to stop her from reaching between them to align the relevant parts. He feels her legs lock around his back and gradually eases into her—a little forward, a little back until she's clutching all of him. He's breathing hard through his nose as he fights not to fill her this instant.

Jane does little more than cling to him as he begins with slow strokes. It's them in the passage, and the passage of him inside her. A space has never seemed so sacred, so unreachable, so impervious to the laws of men and nature that exist somewhere back on the other side of that door, the other side of that tapestry. Guildford sinks into his wife again and again and feels neither Ethian nor Verity, but a third thing it seems unimportant to try to explain. He bows his head to kiss the swell of her breasts above her bodice.

He adjusts his hold, leaning her differently against the wall, changing the angle of his hips. On his next thrust, Jane utters a distinct and forceful "Fuck." Guildford lifts his head to reposition his lips on her neck, then thrusts again. Again, "Fuck!"

He tries to be measured, he tries to show restraint, but Jane uses the legs she's wrapped around him for leverage to bear down harder each time he bucks upward. Their fucking becomes loud and hasty, fleshy and rough and uncompromising as they drive each other onward to what he's been craving since their eyes met in the tavern. Since she crossed the room without looking away. Since he thought he might risk a run-in with the Kingsland guards to tarry with her under the stairs. Since he went willingly to his knees in the woods. Guildford didn't expect it to be this long before he was able to share her pleasure (as he stated in his wedding vows), but he's grateful for how very pleasurable it is.

Grinding his hips into hers makes Jane jerk in his arms and pulse around his manhood. He gives her a tenderly disarming kiss, then repeats the motion of his hips mercilessly as her body tenses and strains. It's like she can't hold him tightly enough—her limbs as well as her cunt. It feels good. It feels so deeply good to be held. He moves one of his hands to support her backside. The embellished fabric of her wedding dress prickles his palm; his knuckles chafe against stone.

Tears born of a surplus of sensation roll down Jane's cheeks seconds before she begins bargaining for her pleasure, her plea a single word: his name. She has no need to beg; he witnesses her rise and rise and rise and crack like thunder through a rainstorm. Her frisson is his, and soon after she shudders with climax, Guildford has to scramble to withdraw and set his bride unsteadily on her feet. Turning away, he closes his fist over the wetness she's left on his member and frenziedly pulls himself off, spending himself against the stone wall. He groans, forearm bracing the wall above his head as he slumps forward in satisfaction. Ah well. This passage will likely remain disused until the next arranged-marriage-followed-by-newlywed-tryst. Though Guildford suspects he and Jane are blazing a new trail that few could hope to follow.

He tugs his garments back into place and turns to her.

Gods, she looks beautiful, mouth and nose rubbed pink by their furious kissing. She swipes tear tracks from her cheeks before righting her skirt and sleeves.

"Why'd you do that?" Jane asks bluntly, nodding to the spattered stones.

"I didn't want it running down your thighs while you danced."

"Thoughtful, but I'm not going to dance."

"Then I didn't want it ruining your wedding dress while you sat for the feast. Or maybe," Guildford adds, pushing off the wall and taking a step towards her, "I don't care about your discomfort at all, and I just didn't think I'd be able to control myself if I knew you were sitting right next to me with evidence of this fuck still inside you."

Jane looks leisurely from his mouth to his eyes. Wryly, she replies, "That does seem like the kind of selfish thought you'd have."

"Not entirely selfish."

They hide their subsequent smiles in a kiss. The spontaneous affection of it startles Guildford.

"We need to get back before they start to think you've run away," he says abruptly.

"I did consider it. Why do you think I asked where this passage leads?"

"Oh? You were going to hide from me in my own house?"

"Not from you, exactly," Jane confesses.

"Just the world then," Guildford interprets. His smirk is not without sympathy.

"But what we did instead was alright too," she's quick to add.

Of course, the girl who pretended to bleed from the mouth and collapsed to avoid a wedding is suddenly the queen of understatement. He watches her a moment, then agrees, "Yeah, it was alright."

"Maybe we can do it—"

"Don't you dare say that to me again."

Bickering over whether Guildford is allowed to tell Jane what to say, and what sort of flirtatious, post-fuck flippancy will and will not be tolerated, they backtrack through the passage and bat their way out from behind the smothering tapestry. They'll need to reenter the feast separately to protect the knowledge of this one private moment they shared between the ceremonial spectacles of wedding and bedding. But until then...

Guildford offers her his arm.

Jane takes it.

[starflirts]

Hiii im sorry i forgot to put an au for prompt 70 and tbh none!!

hi anon! i ended up choosing an au that fitted the prompt! hope you like it <3

tennis player! percy jackson x tennis player! fem! reader

Percy Jackson and Y/N L/N, rising stars of the tennis world. That’s what every headline had to say about you. Fierce, competitive and unstoppable were the adjectives used to describe you and Percy. With a few trophies already under your belt, you could only grow and win more. The same thing applied to Percy. But although the two of you were seen as superstars, able to match each other’s strength, things weren’t as smooth off the court.

“Are you kidding me ? There’s no way I’m playing with him!”

Your coach sighs, pinching the bridge of her nose to avoid an oncoming headache. “Listen, there’s no other player your age with the same stats as you who can replace him. This is also, let me remind you, the opportunity of a lifetime. You told me you wanted to play in the Olympics and those doubles are just the beginning.”

“But he’s a jerk ! He was insufferable even when we were in boarding school together ! Doubles are all about understanding your teammate and working with each other ! He's so stubborn and so annoying! Do you think he’s going to even want to listen to me ?”

Pulling her chair back, your coach stares at you, a small smile on her face. “I think you’ll make him work just fine.”

The first time you step foot onto the court for your first practice, you hear him before you see him.

“Believe me, I don't want to be here either.” he bites and you roll your eyes

“I didn't expect anything else from you Kelp Head.” you answer as you turn around, putting a couple of tennis balls in the pocket of your shorts.

Percy scoffs at the old nickname.

“You’re still calling me that ?”

Ignoring him, you went to your designated position behind the net.

“Practice isn’t gonna start by itself.” you sigh, bouncing a ball with your racket.

That first practice was almost catastrophic. Hadn’t your respective coaches been there, the whole thing would’ve ended in endless bickering. You both reluctantly promised to make it work, for the sake of the whole team.

And you did, to some extent. The arguments were limited to the beginning and the end of practices and you were pleasantly surprised to see how well you played with Percy, looking forward to the actual competition.

After postgame interviews and celebratory pictures with your gold medals, you and Percy rush to the rest of the team who’s excitedly pulling the two of you in a bone crushing embrace. As the entire team cheers and celebrates the well deserved win, you pull back, admiring the sight in front of you. You’re moving away when Percy catches your wrist.

“Hey,” he calls out your name. “I uh, I wanted to apologize. I haven’t been that nice and… I guess I feel bad because you’re an amazing athlete and a great person too. Do you think I can make it up to you sometime soon ?” he shyly smiles.

A small grin is etched on your face when you answer him.

“Sure! I guess I haven’t been really nice to you either, Kelp Head.”

[dustykneed]

can you share some of your mirror verse hcs?

(gladly! ... as you can see this really got away from me in terms of length and i am SO sorry in advance for springing a whole short essay on you skdjsdh)

to open with a bit of a shocker, perhaps, well, the way i interpret the mirrorverse, i just... cannot see mirror mcspirk happening. now don't get me wrong! i think mirror spirk is absolutely possible, and in fact highly probable, and not even as just a sleeping together thing. i think their dynamic could absolutely yield a form of co-dependent emotional attachment on a highly personal level. everyone defines love differently, but i think that in the mirrorverse, if not love, it is certainly as close as you could get. but mirror mcspirk i actually can't see, believe it or not, and this is for a couple of reasons:

the thing about the mirrorverse is that it is all about the death of humanity (not humans, but for what we know as the human capacity for empathy, kindness and hope. i've seen the mirrorverse described as "the universe where no hope can survive". i think that is a very apt summary of what i explore here.) one key assumption of my interpretation of the mirrorverse is that the characters themselves, initially, are no different from how they are in any other universe at the core, and it is the varied external factors of the universe in which they exist that produces the people they become.

to examine the effects of the mirrorverse on the triumvirate, we might begin by looking at the original triumvirate's relationships with the concept of "goodness", with reference to the principles of ethos, logos and pathos.

one of the fundaments of kirk, as a character, is his relationship with goodness as a choice. he represents ethos, morality, in that his goodness is the result of a conscious decision to be good, to do good, as far as possible, to pick the least of any evils if he absolutely must and even if it is difficult, to keep going for the greater good. in the end, it all boils down to his core motivation to be a net force of goodness on the world, or in other words, to train his eyes on the bigger picture when interacting with the situation at hand and to believe that goodness can always prevail in the sense that he will have a net positive impact on the world around him.

spock, on the other hand, is arguably characterized by his relationship with defining goodness. his struggle to reconcile logic and emotion goes hand in hand with his desire to know if, and why, what he is doing is right-- logos. other vulcans rationalize displays of emotion by interpreting them through the lens of logic. spock, i think, is unable to do this because while he has been taught that emotions are illogical and undesirable, and internalizes this to perhaps a far stricter extent than most vulcans due to being held to unfairly high standards to prove himself "vulcan enough", he recognizes on a subconscious level that there is no inherent contradiction between logic and emotions, and that goodness is a mixture of value judgements and rational, ethical methodology.

but mccoy, i think, is a little different, in that goodness in itself is what defines him as a character. instead of ethos (making the right decision) or logos (understanding what makes something right), mccoy's pathos (an unrefined, innate compulsion for goodness; something similar to mencius' theory of good human nature) is not a conscious decision or a principle of action, but a visceral, impulsive, desperate, sometimes irrational and neurotic need to do good no matter the cost, simply because he instinctively knows that it is the kind thing and therefore the right thing to do-- which, sometimes, makes him disregard the bigger picture, and, ironically, do the wrong thing out of irrationality.

(to digress-- i actually think that kirk is actually far more logical than we sometimes give him credit for, especially in the context of spirk. the dynamic of a logical, stoic character and an emotional, affectionate character whose very souls find solace in one another is a hugely compelling and moving one, and i cannot fault people for applying that dynamic to their relationship-- but, well, by virtue of being relatively less direct associations of their character dynamics in the context of slash, i think what happens sometimes with spones, mckirk and mcspirk is that in the process of fumbling around for ways to fit them together believably, people often end up doing a greater degree of exploration of their character dynamics and nuances that is like catnip to me xD)

for kirk and spock, as men whose worldviews are rooted in tangible logic, where the goodness they have seen is the driving force for their pursuit of morality, i do not doubt that without external proof of goodness as a feasible, worthy path, the same traits that grant them their steadfast belief in humanity and hence their great devotion to goodness will be the traits that drive them to turn away from that goodness in the mirror universe. in a world where hope cannot survive, where cruelty and ambition are the only constants, kirk's resourcefulness prompts him to adapt to his environment and seek what he sees as the bigger picture-- ambition and power. spock, a being of logic, observes that cruelty is simply how the world functions, and as a result applies this science to his interactions with it, seeking power not because of a specific ambition, but, again, because it is a logical course of action according to his observations.

i see spirk as highly probable in the mirrorverse precisely because of how alike they are in this regard. they are capable of great compartmentalization of personal sentiments in order to do what they consider "the right thing", or take the "logical course of action", and this is what makes them effective in command roles, where dwelling on the implications of a wrong decision could either kill you from the sheer crushing guilt, or kill more of your men because of your indecision. they are comfortable in their pursuit of power by use of force because they have internalized the rules of the mirrorverse, and are able find solace in each other because they are evenly matched as opponents and a force to be reckoned with when in alliance, which gives them the space to develop that personal attachment and tension in the first place.

but mccoy? mccoy's goodness isn't rooted in logic, and as a result, this facet of his character largely remains untouched even in the face of the greatest cruelties and atrocities his world can offer. his great stubbornness (or illogic, or perhaps even self-delusion) lends him the ability to, against all odds, still believe that people are inherently worthy of kindness and compassion. he believes in good without ever having experienced it, because his belief in good is illogical by nature.

i have no doubt that mccoy would possibly love kirk, and spock, in part simply because he resonates subconsciously with the capacity of kirk and spock to show great kindness. it is possible that he sees the apparitions of what they could have become, had the world not been so unkind to them, and his love for them is tinged with an undercurrent of mixed grief and disgust, and pity. but fundamentally he doesn't trust spirk-- and because of that i think he could never bring himself to truly fall in love even though he has the capacity for it, because that would require betraying his love for humanity.

i think, based on the way mirror kirk and spock likely treat mccoy, as technically their subordinate (and especially in mirror mirror, when mirror spock mind melds with mccoy to figure out why he saved his life without so much as a moment's hesitation, because he doesn't see mirror mccoy as a threat, so why would a mccoy from a softer, kinder universe ever be anything more?) i wouldn't be surprised if they saw mccoy as... lesser. you know? they know that mccoy isn't capable of seeking power the way they do. that makes him weak. i think they trust him far more than anyone else other than each other, perhaps less out of respect for his profession or character, but more because they are able to clear him as a possible threat, as something too pathetic to seize power even when given the chance. they definitely have some interest in his motivations-- like you would a pet, or a plaything, because kindness makes you a target, a weakness, and a liability. a fascinating study, but ultimately, inadvertently disposable.

and it makes sense, in a way, that they are unable to bring themselves to ally themselves with mccoy the way they have each other, because in the mirrorverse, to believe in kindness is a death sentence. they might pity mccoy or regard him with contempt borne out of inexplicable regret, the same way mccoy pities them, for his wasted potential as an asset (and maybe even as a partner). by insulating themselves against their inevitable loss of mccoy, conciously or otherwise, they save themselves another hurt in their world where hope is a lost cause.

(i definitely have more bouncing around in my head about mirror bones especially, but i think 1.5k words is enough for one sitting LMAO so sorry i think i'm halfway in finals mode still. but this is why i could never take literature lol i can never help myself and it takes a lot out of me xDD)

(oh and @callofdooty i think the mirrorverse as a place where no hope can survive quote was from you during our conversations about mirror bones! but either way i think you might enjoy this hahah)

[mtp-posting-ld]

OMG I'M POSTING ACTUAL MEMES?? INSTEAD OF REEDITED MTP PANELS??? More likely than you think

Tiny rant about Milverton:-

From a characters stand point, I hate this guy. If I could, I would make his death day an official international happiness day for everyone to enjoy, because this man's death is a net positive to, not only the whole country, but also, this world.

But also:-

As a deranged villain fan, I LOVE HIM. Omg he's so much fun I can't help but think "this guy is such a bitch... I love him". Sure, like I said, I would celebrate during his funeral and throw a massive party right afterwards, but then this guy is so goofy literally all he does is plot intricate crimes, blackmail someone, driving someone to murder by orchestrating the murder of his family, digging up dirty secrets about their past just to use it against them when they finally forgot about it, and not to mention the fact that this guy is smart enough to connect the dots and find out that William is the Lord of Crime [which, mind you, the only other capable person to get this answer was London's greatest detective] and all of this shenanigans, just because he was in silly, goofy mood?? I love that SO. FUCKING. MUCH.

In short, as a villain, love him. As a character, hate him, even Satan flinches at the sight of this guy.

Thank you for coming to my Ted talk :]