#at the ripe old age of 11

[agent-calivide]

Sometimes I wonder how I ended up so off-kilter, then I remember that my grandpa was basically Cave Johnson if he was a priest, and when I think about how that man would fuck up a child, and how those children would fuck up their children, it all makes just a little more sense.

This has cursed me with only thinking of my grandpa whenever I read Cave Johnson posts, however

[sharp-tooths]

Thinking about the fact that Knives loved western movies as a kid and liked the idea of gunslingers and how after the crash he took the gun from a man he killed and gave it to vash, not only because he wanted his brother to protect himself and join him in killing humans, but because he thought gunslingers were cool. He gave Vash a gun cause he thought having his brother be a gunslinger on a desert planet would be cool. Just like a western movie.

Im dying

[cowboywiththenecktattoo]

someone needs to put me in a medieval fantasy world i yearn to quest

[hailstormdeath]

Im realising I have been fundamentally changed by the minecraft end poem

Like how can you read this and not have a permenant shift

I love you because you are love

[scorittanius]

brooooo planetary (go) is like. one of my favorite mcr songs !!!!!! banger

SO TRUE it's literally like. the greatest song ever it changed me forever

[p3pto-bysmal]

Harsh reminder to anyone that was into undertale in 2016

[starlingskulls]

also one of the cats i work with really fucked my shit up last shift and i feel very upset about it One because uhmm. rude. but also because ohhh that's deeper than i've ever gone and it didn't hurt that bad .. very interesting information

[unexpectederawhilesubmitting]

WARNING: DOCTOR WHO SPOILERS EXPLAINING REGENERATION SHENANIGANS

-------------------

okay so I was kind of not on board with the concept of bi-regeneration, mainly because of how it seemed like all of the Sad and the Trauma that the Doctor had undergone got kind of handwaved away? i'm all for ncuti's Doctor being sort of a fresh start/jumping on point for new viewers, but i didn't get how that could work if like, literally 40 minutes ago he was David Tennant being a sad wet puppy dog of a man

however, after rewatching it, i've realized what i think happened there, and it goes all the way back to something introduced with the 4th doctor's regeneration that was never explained: the Watcher

^this spooky guy

so, for those that don't know (or haven't seen every episode of a show that is over half a century old), the Fourth Doctor regenerates at the end of a story called Logopolis (he falls off a satellite dish, but that's not important right now). all throughout the episode, this weird figure, The Watcher, stands off in the distance, and even intervenes slightly by saving the Fourth Doctor's companion. there's not much given in the way of an explanation until the Fourth Doctor regenerates, saying "it's the end. but the moment has been prepared for..."

the watcher walks up, and gets absorbed in a super rad 1980's digital effect (never change doctor who), while his companion just gives us the not-super-helpful-for-lore statement "He was the Doctor all the time!"

then, in a crossfade, the Doctor goes from Four to weird-powder-man to Five

canonically, the Watcher is explained as a future version of the doctor that comes about in sort of a weird overlapping thing with the doctor's timeline, it's very wibbly-wobbly timey-wimey.

-------------------------

SO what does this have to do with biregeneration and satisfying character arcs/moving on from trauma?

Well, remember, Fifteen said this, about Time Lords doing rehab out of order:

so, here's the thing: Fifteen is the Doctor AFTER Fourteen (duh, I know?) But to be clear...Fourteen lives out an entire lifetime with Donna and family, gets to a ripe old age, and then, when his lifetime of healing is over, he gets yeeted back through his own timestream just to zoot himself out of David Tennant's chest.

Remember, his first words to Fourteen (after popping out of his chest) are "So good to see you! So good!", not the RTD classic "what?". He greets himself like he's almost expecting this, he then says "does anyone want to tell me what the hell is going on here?" which only makes sense if he's coming from a different point in his own timestream (remember, when two doctors interact, memory gets really weird, 10 and the War Doctor don't remember the events of Day of the Doctor until they live through them as 11).

SO TO BE CLEAR: Ncuti Gatwa is playing the Doctor AFTER he has spent years healing from his traumas. His Doctor is fine because Fourteen takes the time to rest and work on himself.

tl;dr: I didn't like biregeneration at first because I thought it looked like this:

In actuality, it looks more like this:

[coco-loco-nut]

Revelations

pairing: Daniel x reader

summary: Daniel casually mentions his wife after 11 YEARS OF THEIR RELATIONSHIP. Danny Ric comeback. 2025 season, he is back on rbr

request are open pookie masterlist part 2

—————————

Being an engineer for Red Bull was something else. You have been with them since you graduated college, and truthfully you never want to leave, the team is your family, having been with them for 11 years.

You met your husband through your job, both starting at the ripe old age of 23, and despite the potential HR violations, Christian Horner practically set the two of you up on a date after being oblivious about each other’s crushes. Thus began Red Bull’s best kept secret.

“Happy 10 years, Danny,” you kiss your husband, him watching you analyze data. Christian made him promise to never use you as a mole, and the two of you very quickly agreed. Even when he was on Renault and McLaren, work talk was kept quiet. Daniel had a great season last year and was brought back to Red Bull Racing, Christian promoted you to be his race engineer, knowing Daniel would listen to you.

“Happy 10 years, my love,” he hugs you tight. Your children are home in Australia with their grandparents for the weekend.

“Good morning, Ricciardos. Happy wedding anniversary,” Christian greets you, sitting for the pre-race meeting. Christian celebrates your wedding anniversary almost as much as you do, but he is a part of the family. He officiated your wedding at this track 10 years ago today, and he is the godfather of your eldest.

“Good morning, I printed out some data sheets so we can determine strategy. I noticed some unusual tyre degradation, while it could be from the unusually high track temperatures yesterday, it is something we should plan for today,” you start, passing out the papers. Daniel will never not be able to admire you. Sometimes he misses what people say because he stares at you, the exact reason Christian helped get you two together.

“Let’s grab some coffee then go on a track walk,” Daniel holds his hand out to you after the strategy meeting, you happily take it. After your lap around the track, you meet with the other engineers while Daniel warms up and does media. As you are watching the F2 race for valuable data, someone from PR comes over to you.

“Watch this clip,” she says and you oblige.

Daniel, you seem in better spirits than usual, care to share?

I don’t know mate, I am usually a pretty happy person.

Here I was thinking that maybe you finally had a girlfriend

Nah, I don’t think my wife would be happy about that… I wasn’t really supposed to say that. If you are watching, sorry! I’ll make it up to you, love.

Well, I hope there isn’t a couch in your future. Good luck today.

Thanks, but she’s put up with me for 11 years, I doubt there will be a couch in the future.

“Oh, he might have the couch tonight,” you laugh a little, honestly surprised it took 11 years for him to accidentally say something.

“Looking back at all the photos, he is wearing a wedding ring, how did we not see that?” You hear one of the Mercedes drivers say outside the garage.

“You saw the video?” Daniel asks as you playfully glare at him.

“I did. I have a winning strategy for you, so maybe you can move off the couch tonight. Lose and you stay there longer,” you tease. Being his race engineer helps so much because you can subtly say things and no one picks it up, and any interactions between you seem normal.

“Yes, Mrs. Ricciardo,” he smiles and goes to get changed for the race.

Last car in, good luck Daniel

I don’t need luck, I have you guiding my race

Ok, Daniel, whatever you say

The strategy works out well, and planning for the hotter heat was a smart move. Christian hasn’t told you not to race with Max, so you push Daniel for the overtake.

“Come on, honey badger,” you whisper. Daniel has had the better strategy and better pacing, all day so he easily overtakes and keeps the lead through the final five laps.

Okay Daniel, last lap, Verstappen behind, keep the pace.

Does this mean I’m off the couch?

Focus.

Sorry.

And that’s P1, P1 very good, Daniel. Red Bull 1-2. You are officially off of the couch.

LET’S GO! Thank you team! I couldn’t have done it without you guys. Thanks for the brilliant strategy, and for letting me off the couch. Best wife ever.

Mhmm. Happy 10 years. Parc Ferme is clear for you, pull in so the team can celebrate.

Let’s just say that F1 TV streaming your radio broke the internet, and the drivers when they all got out of their cars and into the garages. You followed the team to wear Daniel was parking and the team pushed you to the front. Daniel celebrated there with the team, taking his helmet off and kissing you. The team wolf whistles around you.

“Go to the podium, we will celebrate with you there,” you push him in the direction of where he needs to go. Unknowingly to Daniel, Red Bull chooses you to represent them for the Constructors Trophy.

“Mate, how did you keep that a secret?” Oscar asks Daniel in the debrief room.

“It wasn’t much of a secret. Everyone in Red Bull knows most of the relationship,” Max says and Daniel nods along.

“Honestly, I don’t know how people didn’t know,” Daniel laughs. The FIA tells them to start heading out to the Podium and Daniel searches the crowd for you when he steps out, but can’t find you. He’s shocked but extremely delighted when you step out and stand beside Oscar for the Constructors trophy. The mischievous glint in his eye is a loud warning that you will be sprayed with champagne. You happily stand through the national anthems, clap when Daniel is handed the trophy, and beam with joy as you are handed the second trophy. Soon enough you are presented with champagne and the go ahead to spray it is given.

“Max!” you squeal and hide behind him as you both spray Daniel.

“Quit hiding my wife!” Daniel laughs and in a split second, your cover is gone as Max moves to spray Oscar. You and Daniel both pour the champagne in each other’s mouth.

“Ew, that’s almost as bad as if you guys were to kiss,” Max laughs. Daniel gives you a devilish smile, pulling you close to him and capturing you lips with his.

“The kids are going to be so grossed out,” you laugh and Oscar looks almost horrified.

“THE KIDS?!”

[falselyfabled]

watching percy jackson as a whole ADULT is such a wild experience

like I was 11 reading these books thinking how cool it would be to be a half blood and go on all these adventures

but seeing these children go through such trauma (like percy watched his mom DIE right in front of him !!) is awakening my maternal instincts at the ripe old age of 20 lmao

[bluetooththereptile]

Crimson bride

(Yandere Damian Wayne x twin sister reader)

( English is not my first language so I apologize for any mistakes in the following text.)

Summary: Your life is going to end horribly, your will to live is slipping away, will your only hope come to save you?

Tw: mentions of violence and abuse

The smell of blood and incense had filled the air, your lungs could hardly bear the responsibility of bringing you oxygen under the pressure of your stress, not that they could easily filter the smoke in the air anyway. It felt like the air was on fire, with each breath your body shuddered slightly, your body could hardly bear the burden of keeping you alert. The beads of sweat slithered down your spine, making the already uncomfortable rags even more unbearable. You were just 11, why were you stuck in a room full of adults in dark long robes...you were not sure...or perhaps you knew what was going to happen, but you didn't know why on earth you were there. You eyed the sacred blade in the hand of the leader of the group, the light of the candles shimmering on its uneven blade, and swallowed your saliva down your throat that now had turned extremely dry. You could already feel the pain in your chest. Dear God, if you hear me...please help!

The dark monks' chants echoed in the chambers, and the puddles of red wax candles under the feet of pillars carved with different images of unholy creatures, seemed like oozing puddles of blood to you, already boiling with crimson liquid of life right out of hell, where they hailed their master from. The veil on your head was thin enough for you to recognize people's faces, well, at least the ones who didn't have a mask on, and your terrified eyes spotted the figure of your grandfather standing behind the leader, himself holding a golden bowl at hand. You gritted your teeth at remembering his words. The memory is still fresh for you, it was just two months ago when he was having a drink with the leader himself in his boudoir, with you present by his side.

"She's a fitting lady Ra's...I give you the credit of having good hereditary genes..." the leader spoke in his smooth voice, his eyes scanning you up and down. You knew how the way he looked at you was inappropriate but you still stayed, holding the tray of drinks, standing by your grandfather's side, if you were going to flinch even for an inch, your mother wouldn't be happy. "She is..." your grandfather hummed, rubbing his chin before he chuckled "What is it old friend? You seem too interested in my child..." the words spoken made your shoulders stiffen slightly, your fingers tightening around the edges of the tray. "I am...but not for what you think...she is too young for marriage for a mortal man..." his smirk grew wider as he continued "But she's at the ripe age for being gifted to our dear lord...she'd make a decent bride..." you could see Ra's hold on his glass of drink tighten, what did his friend mean? Did he want to marry you off to someone? You wondered, but your confusion soon turned into horror as the leader continued "Her heart fits the unholy bowl perfectly" Oh no...you had heard from your nanny that this man was bearer of bad news but this...this was unpredictable! Your head turned to your grandfather to see how he'd respond...please say no, please say no, I've been a good granddaughter...please say no! "What price do you offer?" And with that, your whole world shattered, you felt like life was slipping away from your shell of being as he negotiated the price of marriage, did he...did he just agree on making you a sacrificial lamb?!

You snapped out of your thoughts by feeling the extremely warm hold of the leader on your naked arm as he pulled you away from the corner of the damp room, the metallic chains on your weak ankles clinking loudly as you dragged them on the floor, your feet already bruised by the rough edges of the old tiles on the floor, leaving red trails of blood. He walked you to the alter, your heart skipped as you saw the white dressing of the stone bed, flower petals spread on the surface, how hauntingly fitting for a bridal bed... The man stopped you right before the altar and started chanting in a language you didn't know a word of. But whatever it was, it was working...because the tiles under your feet started to turn unbearably hot, the circles and symbols drawn onto the walls and the floor turned bright red, oh dear God...if you hear me...please help! You had lost your hope a long time ago, but still, you wanted to hold onto a sliver of hope, maybe your grandfather would change his decision at the last minute, or perhaps he would come...but no...how could Damian come to the other side of the world that quickly? He was just a child, like you, sure, he was a capable boy but still, he was just a boy. His words circled in your mind as the priest poured a warm liquid on your body that painted it red, its sweet aroma filling the air, unbeknownst to you, it was a poison that through skin pores penetrated the body and ran into your blood, slowly relaxing your muscles until your heart would stop, this way, if the demons preferred to have your body whole, you'd still be dead. As you felt your skin itch and your vision turn slowly blurry, Damian's voice echoed in your mind "I will come...I promise...I promise!" His voice was filled with determination, but you knew he'd be late. It was already too late...

They helped you lay down on the alter, the wet veil sticking to your face, slowly suffocating you, but you were too weak to move on your own, your eyes were closed, as if the liquid had sealed your eyelashes together, and the voices around you were turning into distant murmurs, your hands limp as they crossed it on your chest. It was too late...and he hadn't held up to his promise...your lips formed a pout, unable to cry, hardly latching onto the task of breathing, your breaths became labored. Soon your chest would be cut open and your warm paralyzed heart would be put into that golden bowl, and then thrown into a fire...you had hoped things would be different, but you knew from the very start, that you were unwanted, and one day, your family would give you up if they have the chance to do so.

Your ears couldn't detect the loud sound of the explosion of the tear gas in the room, how the cult members shouted and pulled out their weapons but were disarmed quickly by the man in black and a few younger ones. You didn't notice them until someone yanked the wet veil from your face and wiped the clotted liquid off of your nose and mouth, putting an oxygen mask on your face "Y/N!" The voice seemed familiar, but you were too weak to respond "Y/N!" He cried for your attention, his trembling hands shaking your shoulders, his voice muffled by his mask, his hold was pushed away from you when you felt a sharp pain on your neck, the detoxing liquid surged in your veins forward by copious amounts, yet you were already unconscious to see your father cry silently as he held your body close to his chest. Poor girl...poor poor girl...he wished he was there sooner.

Your nanny had pulled the small phone behind her apron with trembling hands, she knew your actions had consequences, but she wanted you to feel happy, so she'd do anything in her power to ensure it'd happen. You quickly snatched the phone out of her calloused hands and started to take the number you had repeated over and over in your mind since the moment you had snuck into your mother's study and had found it deep in her files, it was the Wayne Manor's, where your Damian lived with your father. You were separated since birth, him getting most of the attention of your mother, well the one who was to be her weapon, you were too weak to fight from the very first moments you had started to walk, but still, you tried to have a connection with your twin, who even if neglected your attention or bullied you, still felt a twinge of sibling love deep down. It was not until when he was sent to live by his father that Damian had found out how much he dearly loved you, and how much you meant to him. You dialed the number, hearing it slowly beep, one...two...three...you could hear your nervous breaths into the phone, and four "Hello?" You stiffened at hearing Damian's voice, moving your lips to speak but you couldn't, the sheer luck of having him pick up the phone himself was too much! "Hello?!" Damian's voice turned sour with annoyance, you knew he'd hung up quickly so you finally spoke "Hi..."

"Y/N?!" Damian's voice had turned from annoyed into one of surprise and concern, you spoke softly, asking how he had been doing, smiling as he quickly stammered to answer you, but then, when he was rambling on about missing you, you smiled sadly "Hey...I wanted to tell you something..." you interrupted him "Hmm? What is it?" He had asked with curiosity "Please, forgive me if I've done you anything wrong...okay?" "W-wait...Y/N..what do you? What is happening?!" "Grandpa wants to marry me off...to death..." and there was silence, a very uncomfortable silence. "I will come..." his voice was now filled with determination "I will come, I promise!...w-when's is the ceremony?" "Within two weeks-" the phone had slipped off of your hand when your mother's stinging slap met your face, you turned to look at her with wide eyes, trembling as you heard her crush the phone under her feet.

Your eyes opened up to a white light, with warmth surrounding your body. Were you in heaven? You naively asked yourself, but when the pain washed over your body, you knew you were still alive. "Hi..." Damian's voice made you turn your head to his direction at your side, your neck strained from being motionless for too long. He was holding your hand tightly, and your blurry vision could find the outlines of his face in what you could recognize as crying. "Welcome back..." his voice trembled as he sniffled, adjusting the oxygen mask on your face. You blind a few times to make your vision better, still, it felt a little blurry, but you could at least recognize you were somewhere dark, which you'd find out was the Batcave in the future, and Damian was sitting on your side. Your lips curled upwards slightly at how he held your hand to his chest, looking at you affectionately "Sorry I was late..." he spoke softly "But I will make things right from now on, I promise" he promised, and he would do anything in his power to ensure that.

[gutsby]

Wingman

Pairing: Himbo!Joel x Reader

Summary: Your bestie braves the tampon aisle for you.

Warnings: 18+. Period crackfic starring Himbo!Joel—don’t take it too seriously. R has a uterus that hates her. Mentions of blood, cramps, & hangover-induced puking. Dirty talk, f!masturbation. One (1) Mean Girls reference.

Word count: 1.7k

You were fucked ten ways to Wednesday if you didn’t get your hands on some soap, a steamer, and a supersized box of maxi-pads in the span of the next eleven minutes.

Joel Miller moved like molasses on a flat slab of granite.

“WILL YOU HURRY— THE FUCK— UP?”

Your cheeks were hot. The night air was cold.

Every other word that managed to claw out of your throat was punctuated by a breath—your stomach clenched, and the sex organ below it was in hysterics.

Joel continued to lace up his loafer, clumsy as ever.

“O-kay, okay,” he hummed, “Steamer, soap, and, uh…”

“Pads!”

“Uh-huh. Right. So what kinda…blood stuff is it, again?”

The words were like an aspersion on his tongue. At the ripe old age of forty-seven, Joel still hadn’t quite learned to jibe with the menstrual product lingo, and it showed.

“Heavy flow. Any brand. With wings,” you hissed.

“Boneless or traditional?”

And if he hadn’t been standing outside the truck, foot propped up against the driver’s seat while he tied his shoe, you likely would’ve smacked him upside the head. The glare you gave him was sufficiently vicious to extinguish the smirk, though. Your hand made a fist in the front of your dress, and you groaned, leaning inward.

Joel got the picture and finished his bunny ears quick.

“Sorry.”

Then, a little more sheepish as he straightened up,

“I’m goin’. Be just a minute.”

And he was off.

Your body curled into a ball as soon as he left. It cried in pain, to nothing and no one around but that fugly slut, the nastiest skank bitch you’d ever met, your uterus.

There was no way you and Joel were making it to this rehearsal dinner. You needed to be at the venue by 7:00, the clock on the dash read 6:11, and you were, currently, twenty miles shy of Fredericksburg with a rag between your legs and your best friend scouring the local H-E-B.

That afternoon you’d been running late, so of course you’d thrown on your thin, satin, pre-wedding-ready dress before you left—and forgotten a change of clothes. Joel had been hungover from all the batshit bachelor party antics, so of course you’d had to stop three times along the way just so he could throw up on the side of the road. And, though your friend was many, many things, discreet was not one of them, so of course he’d told you, point-blank, when he saw you reaching for something in the backseat with your butt sticking up:

“You been pissin’ tomato juice or somethin’?”

And you’d looked back in abject horror.

Of course your period had come a week early and made you bleed straight through your bright yellow dress.

Maria was your best friend. You were her maid of honor. Tommy’s groomsmen happened to be the most fuckable bunch you’d ever seen—save for Joel—so there was no way you’d be caught dead at that dinner with the flag of Japan on your ass. And Maria had bought the dress just for you, so you felt like you had to get this bloodstain out.

You lifted your head to peer out the window. Even with the help of a fistful of ibuprofen, you could barely move.

6:29

“Dude, where are you?!”

It was like your phone and the FaceTime call to Joel had just materialized on their own. The man on the screen was blinking slow. Ogling something in front of him.

“So ‘L’ stands for…long?” he said after a beat.

“No, that’s light, Joel, I need a heavy one.”

“This one’s got cardboard in it, I think.”

“That’s a tampon applicator, dipshit.”

In a blink, Joel’s eyes flitted to his phone. His nostrils flared, and he met your gaze with a scowl of his own.

“Well how the hell am I supposed to know that? Only stuck two— three things in a pussy before and it sure as fuck wasn’t cotton,” he griped, and if he were any less mature he likely would’ve rolled his eyes. Drama king.

You winced as another cramp rolled through you. You shook your head and tried to regain your composure.

“Just find a heavy-flow. pad. with wings. for me. Please.”

Joel sighed and turned back to the shelf, eyes searching.

It shouldn’t have been this hard, but it was. You had no doubt Joel had never willingly touched a pussy product before in his life, so the road ahead was treacherous. Silently, you felt the urge to tell him he had no business being in pussy at all if he didn’t bother to learn what came out of one every month, but you let him cook.

His dark, greyish brows drew together in concentration. He leaned forward and reached for a box. Then stopped.

Went low to grab another, before pausing to show you.

“Very close, Joel. That’s a pantyliner.”

You felt somewhat like a mother showing a headstrong four-year-old how to copy shapes onto paper. No, darling, that’s a diva cup—and be careful with that crayon. Joel stood and he stewed and, by the look in his eyes, you’d already resigned yourself to another ten minutes of this back-and-forth rummaging at least.

Then you shifted in your seat, pushing your legs down a bit. They rubbed, of course. In spite of the pain that had seized your whole lower half, you felt a sweet, dull pulse.

You stared hard at Joel’s face on-screen to make sure he hadn’t seen it in yours, but damn that friction felt nice.

Sensitivity elevated with the influx of hormones, no doubt, you sat tight and tried to enjoy the feeling on purpose for a moment. You slowly sucked in a breath.

“Aw, hell, there’s just too many’a these damn boxes.”

You flexed your thigh muscles and let out a sigh.

“I don’t know how y’all do it,” Joel grumbled.

Keep looking, Miller. Just keep looking.

Slowly, your hips began to stir, and one small grain of pleasure gave way to a jolt—a twist in the pit of your belly that made the pain less grating. You leaned into it more.

Holding your phone, you could feel when Joel let out a frustrated groan. The sound low and almost enticing.

Wait.

Wait.

“Gross,” you said out loud, half-whispered.

You couldn’t help it. Joel was one of your closest friends; a man who loved beer die, Pall Malls, and Keith Whitley like nobody’s business and gave suffocating bear hugs whenever he was sweaty just to gross you out. You weren’t supposed to find men like that attractive.

But when the grit of his voice was just so nice…

“What?” Joel stopped to look down again.

“What?” you shot back, instantly.

A frown tugged at his lips.

“What’s ‘gross’? Me?”

Not…exactly, no.

More disgusted with yourself than anyone else, you clamped your legs together and shook your head. You tried to swallow, as if the action might suck the pleasure down with it, but the hot, throbbing sensation only grew.

You were practically grinding into the towel that had been stuffed between your thighs when you heard:

“Wings!”

An exceptionally proud Joel displayed a box of extra heavy-duty maxi-pads, with wings. He was grinning.

You weren’t sure if you thanked him next, congratulated the man, or what. You probably strung some words together and tried to return the smile as best you could, but who knew? The next thing you saw was that the line had gone dead, the truck was silent, and all that could be heard above the hum of the engine were your moans.

You braced yourself against the seat and rolled your hips even harder. Out of habit, you caught your lip between your teeth to prevent a louder sound from escaping, but then you remembered there was no one to hear you but you—for now. Your palm pressed flat on the dashboard, your knees squeezed even closer, and your vision flooded with soft, minuscule pinpricks of an all-too-familiar hue.

The only thing new to you here was Joel—the thought of him had never crossed your mind in moments like these.

But now you were closing your eyes, humping the seat with nothing between your body and the old, weathered upholstery but a scrap of fabric. And you were moaning his name. Imagining a face that was littered with coarse, grey stubble—you might’ve teased him for that once or twice before—and lips that were soft. So soft against your own that you wouldn’t think twice if he tried to slip his tongue inside and hold the sides of your face as he filled your cunt to the brim. In fact, Joel’s mouth would be a welcome distraction. Knowing how foul he was in even friendly confab, he’d undoubtedly be whispering the most vile things in your ear while he fucked you.

Reminding you, quietly, that you made such a pretty cocksleeve for him—why didn’t we try this sooner?— and how you’d be the sweetest thing if you just gave his cock another squeeze and made yourself cum all over it.

The mental image of that alone was inducement enough.

You felt a hot, euphoric band of something start to give way inside you. It tightened up, twisted—then snapped. Your mouth fell open and your thighs clenched tighter, grinding desperately in tandem with a pace you’d hoped Joel might’ve set if he were laying there underneath you. You clung to one last thought of him gripping your hips and bruising your walls with the force of his cock driving in and out, over and over again until, eventually, his cum was leaking out through each fluid thrusting movement. It was all your body could take, conjuring thoughts of his load spilling into you and onto him in warm, wet, sticky—

Whistling.

Someone was whistling outside. Walking up to the truck.

You were still coming down from the staggering heights of your climax when the driver’s side door swung open. You blinked furiously, as though to drive all the filth and depravity and need from your eyes before he could see.

It didn’t matter.

Joel was too amped up off a white plastic baggy to be concerned with much else as he plopped down beside you and smiled—beamed, really. Completely oblivious.

Your extremities were still twitching with the residuum of bliss when he reached for your hand. His eyes somehow warmer than they’d been all that day, they sparkled and shone and crinkled at the corners in a way that seemed to say the words before his mouth had uttered a sound.

“I got three boxes to be safe…”

Joel was really too sweet.

“…and some chocolate for your cramps…”

Always so considerate.

“…and you look real pretty when you cum, by the way.”

This motherfucker.

[dira333]

Things to be sure of - Kazekage Family

part two of "If we have each other" - Gaara x Reader, Shinki & Reader. Shinki's 11, the twins are 4. - tagging @deathbytsubaki for the idea

Summary: Time changes, but some things stay the same

“Nii-chan?” The door opens and Hayato pushes his head through, bright red hair messy as usual. “What are you doing?”

“Packing,” Shinki explains, taking one shirt out of his bag and exchanging it for another. “I’m leaving for Konoha today.”

“Konoha?” Hayato waddles inside, a bunny plush tucked under his arm. “Are we visiting Uncle Shika?” 

Shinki halts. He often forgets how little his siblings engage in adult conversations. Not that his parents consider him an adult already, at the ripe age of eleven. 

“Yes, you are. But I’m leaving a week earlier. Father is going to take you with him next week.”

Hayato’s pale eyes widen. “You’re going without us?” He asks, voice quivering. Shinki sighs, crouching down in anticipation. Sure enough, Hayato stretches his arms out, wanting to be held.

“Just for a few days,” Shinki mutters into his brother’s hair as he picks him up. “You’re barely going to have time to notice it.”

“But who’s going to read me a story at night?”

Shinki chuckles softly. “Like always, Mother and Father will read to you. It’s like I’m going on a mission.”

Hayato doesn’t seem convinced, his hold tightening, his sand, pale yellow in color, mingling with Shinki’s iron sand as if to say “I will not be left behind”.

Hayato’s still dangling off him by the time you step into his room, freshly ironed clothes in your hands.

“Ah,” you pick your youngest off him, pressing a kiss to his cheek. “Can you do me a favor, Sugar? Can you get Daddy to eat something? Tell him you need a snack?”

Hayato blinks up at you for a second before nodding, leaving with one last tug on Shinki’s trousers.

“How are you feeling?” You ask, stepping closer. Your hand moves through his hair, tugging a little at a stubborn strand. 

He knows you’re referring to more than just him leaving. He also knows that you can catch him lying from a mile away.

“This week, I overheard something,” he starts, putting his bag on the ground to sit on the bed instead. You take the spot next to him without asking, don’t react when his iron sand moves to shut the door. “I doubt they knew I was there. They were discussing who was the best option for the next Kazekage.”

You don’t say anything, just nod your head to let him know you’re listening.

His eyes land on his hands, curled into fists. 

“It’s not always the firstborn who becomes Kazekage,” Shinki repeats, “but the one with the most talent.”

Silence stretches out around him.

“Do you feel that you have less talent than Hayato or Honoka?”

He considers it for a moment. Does he feel that way?

“I mean,” he licks his lips for a second, glaring at the floor. “Hayato has no trouble controlling his sand at 4 years old. He’s no victim to violent mood swings or nightmares or-”

He trails off and your arm pulls him in. His head sinks onto your shoulder like it’s meant to be there. Your fingernails scratch at his scalp.

“He’s got two Kekkai Genkai’s.” Shinki continues, his voice now lower. “And even if he didn’t want to become Kazekage, what about Honoka? Surely there’s time for a female Kazekage. Both of them have the blood of the Kazekage running through their veins.”

“Shinki,” you pull away to look into his eyes. “It’s not blood alone that makes someone a parent or a child. It’s not talent alone that makes a great Kage.”

Something like a whimper spills from his lips. You pull him in again.

He’s reminded of nights, spent in this room, his body curled into a ball. Father used to sit with him, quietly, when the nightmares were at their worst.

You’d climb into bed with him instead, let him rest his body on yours, let skin melt into skin, warmth into warmth.

You have dried his tears often enough to know their shape by touch alone. 

“Do you question our love for you, Shinki, or do you question your qualifications for becoming Kazekage?”

“Both.”

“You are not even a Genin yet,” you remind him softly. “Yet you are already exceptionally talented. Uncle Kankuro and Aunt Temari are both perfectly capable of becoming Kazekage, but it’s just one position that cannot be shared. Whether you’ll be ready to take your Father’s place or not, I don’t know. But I know for certain that we both believe in you. We are so, so proud of you.”

You wait a moment, probably to let your words sink in.

“As for our love for you, Shinki… I do question it too, sometimes. Because I know that I love you. I know that your Father loves you. But I question if we show it to you in a way that you can understand.”

Your hand's card through his hair again. “You’re my special boy, Shinki. You chose me.”

“Better?” You ask, rubbing his back softly. He nods, pulling away. 

“Sorry,” he rubs a hand over his now-dried eyes. 

“Don’t apologize. It’s important to talk about these things. Can I do anything else to make today easier for you? I know it’s just one week and good preparation for next year when you’ll have to leave for the Chunin Exams, but if I can do something-”

“Can we have Lunch together?” Shinki asks, cutting off your rambling. “I leave before Dinner, so-”

“Oh, absolutely. I’ll go and convince Gaara right away. At least that way we can get him to eat something during the Day.”

He joins in your chuckles, leans into your touch when you pat his shoulder one last time.

“I love you, Shinki.” You kiss his cheek.

“Love you too.” The door closes after you with a click.

Gathering himself, he grabs his bag, going over the things he needs yet again.

The door opens with momentum only seconds later, almost crashing into the wall.

“Nii-chan!” Honoka declares like a war-cry. “You’re leaving?”

“Yes,” he states calmly as she takes a run-up and jumps onto his bed, upsetting the things he’d placed there. “Careful.”

“Why are you leaving? Where are you going to? Is it a mission? Can I come with? Oh, please, can I come with?! Uncle Kuro said I’m ready for my first puppet already, but one without poison. Can you believe that? I want one with poison.”

“Honoka,” he stills her, one hand on every shoulder. “Breathe. That’s too many questions.”

“Fine,” she huffs, crossing her arms. “Where are you going?”

“Konoha.”

Her eyes light up and she’s jumping to her feet, nevermind the fact that she’s now leaving footprints all over his bedsheets.

“Can I come?! Please, Nii-chan! I wanna watch you kick Bokuto’s ass!”

“I’m not going to kick his ass.” Yet, he adds in his mind. Maybe next year, at the Chunin Exam.

“Oh,” she pouts. “But I could still come. Aunty Temari loves me. I want to learn how to fight with her Fan!”

“You’ll have more than enough chances to do so when you come up to Konoha a week later.”

“That’s not fair,” Honoka declares. “Why do you get one more week with Aunty and I don’t?”

“Because I’m older.”

Honoka huffs. “That’s unfair. I should have gotten born first.”

He considers the missing logic of her statement, but decides against fighting it. There’s no use in fighting Honoka. She spends too much time with Uncle Kankuro.

“Tell me about Training instead,” he insists, packing his things. “What did Uncle Kankuro show you today?”

“Oh, sure. Well, first he had me recite all poisons and antidotes and I only forgot one. Then he had me practice using my Chakra Strings and it sucked a lot, but I’m getting better. Then…”

“Shinki.” Father stops him at the door, one warm hand on his shoulder. He looks tired, as usual, but Shinki’s long since learned to read his mind through his eyes.

I’m proud of you, they say today. I’ll miss you. Be safe.

“How are you?” Shinki asks, drawing out the moment they have to separate again, if only to come together at the table. “Are you sleeping enough, Father?”

“Have I ever?” He jokes softly. “When we return, I want resume our usual training. It won’t harm you to miss the occasional mission.”

Warmth surges through him at these words. He knows what they mean.

Let us spend more time together. I’ve missed your company.

“I’m looking forward to it.”

“Can you sit down?” Uncle Kankuro bellows from the kitchen. “Yeez, why do I bother having the food ready on time when you guys take so long in gathering. Honoka, don’t get in my way, this stuff is hot.”

“Sorry, Uncle Kuro.” Honoka rushes to her seat. She knows to head his warnings, after all, she once managed to trip him on the way to the table. 

They’ve just taken place, plates filled, when Hayato opens his mouth.

“Shinki’s leaving,” he says, with the tone of someone who’s suffering.

“I know,” Father leans in to smooth done his hair. “We’ll miss him.”

Tears fill pale eyes.

“Does he have to leave?” Hayato asks. He turns to Shinki. “Do you?”

“Don’t be a cry-” Honoka starts, but you interrupt her.

“It’s okay to miss him,” you say, leaning in to dry Hayato’s tears. “We’ll all miss Shinki. But some things are necessary. If we’d never left Suna, we’d never get to see Uncle Shikamaru. How do we deal with these feelings?”

Hayato considers it for a second. “We look for the good?”

Shinki waits for him to connect the dots. Soon enough, Hayato blinks up at his big brother.

“Can I sleep in your bed while you’re gone?”

“If you want.”

Honoka opens her mouth, no doubt to fight for her right to Shinki’s bed.

“Ah,” you cut her off. “Let’s eat first, and discuss things later, okay?

There are not many things to be sure of, even at eleven years old.

Times are changing. Suddenly, traveling from Suna to Konoha takes less than a day. Things that seemed impossible are just “a new Jutsu” now. 

But there are things, Shinki knows for sure. He counts them, sometimes, when he’s unable to sleep.

His parents love him. His parents love each other. He has a home. Shikadai will always favor a nap over anything else and Boruto will be annoying…

“What are you thinking about?” Aunt Temari asks, checking the clouds above her. They’re early, but he doesn’t mind waiting.

“What things to be sure of.”

“Oh,” she nods. “That sounds interesting.”

“What are you sure of?”

Her eyes move away from him. Aunt Temari is different from you. She doesn’t like emotional topics. But sometimes, when they’re both alone, she opens up a little bit. He likes that. She reminds him of his Father’s Cacti. They do not bloom as often or as long as you might want them to, but if you treat them right, their bloom is like a gift.

“I am sure…” She hesitates, before she smiles, a twinkle in her eye that tells him that she’s not ready to bloom today. “I’m sure that Honoka is going to be the first out of the carriage today.”

He considers it. “Hayato will want to be picked up.”

“Gaara will have messy hair.” Her smile has turned into a smirk. “Because your mother cannot take her hands away.”

Shinki smiles. All good things to be sure of.

The train halts, the doors open.

“Nii-chan!” Honoka bursts through the open doors, her red hair like a beacon. “Aunty Temari!”

Following her, much quieter, though with no less urgency, comes Hayato, pulling on Shinki’s legs. “Up!” He asks, making himself look younger than he really is.

Shinki picks him up with ease, lets him settle into the curve of his shoulder. 

Behind his siblings, his parents walk out, smiles on their faces.

You’re holding Father’s hand, both of you clothed like the high ranking officials that you are.

But Father’s hair, usually combed to the side, is standing up in every direction, much like that of Hayato. 

Shinki shares a knowing look with Aunt Temari. 

Yes. All good things to be sure of.

[sailorgoon13]

Sebastian Sallow

Basics:

Full Name: Sebastian Sallow

Nickname: Seb, Sebby, or whatever clever name Ominis comes up with

Gender: Male

Date of Birth: 18 November, 1874

Heritage: Scottish

Blood Status: Pure Blood

Wand: Yew, Dragon Heartstring, 11", Slightly Yielding

Appearance:

Hair Color: Chestnut Brown

Eye Color: Rich Dark Brown

Skin Tone: Fair

Height: 5'11"

Body Type: Athletic and lean. Agile

Style: White button-down shirt and green tie. Suit jacket, in shades of dark green or silver. When not at Hogwarts he wears something practical and relaxed. He isn't one for fashion, just as long as he looks like he tried then it is an accomplishment

Features: Freckles!! His hair falls effortlessly over his forehead in waves. The natural, slightly unkempt style of his hair reflects Sebastian's casual confidence and rebellious spirit

Personality:

Traits: Charismatic, Determined, Optimistic, Fearless, Protective, Complex

Likes: Knowledge, Dueling, Quidditch, Forbidden Magic

Dislikes: Failure, Authority, Uncertainty, Injustice, Goblins

Hobbies: Crossed Wands, Quidditch, Breaking into the Restricted Section

Fears: Anne dying, Being sent to Azkaban, Ominis and Y/N hating him

Family and Friends:

Father: Unknown

Died when he and Anne were young

Was a Professor

Mother: Unknown

Died when they were young

Was a Professor, as well

Siblings: Anne Sallow (Twin)

Was always Sebastian's best friend

When she became cursed, it hurt Sebastian more than it hurt her

Friends: Ominis Gaunt, Y/N

Magic:

Special Abilities: Mastery of Unforgivable Curses, skilled duelist,

Boggart: Solomon

Patronus: Beagle

Polyjuice: It would have a deep, ebony color with swirling wisps of silver or green and would look like a syrup or a molasses. Smell smoky incense and the faintest trace of something sweet and floral. There is a sharp tang of bitterness with a lingering sweetness, like the taste of ripe blackberries.

Amortentia: Old books, Smoke from a campfire, Salty sea air and Cedar

Backstory:

Sebastian and his twin sister Anne grew up in the Scottish countryside, under the guidance of their parents who were esteemed professors. From a young age, their parents instilled in them the value of knowledge, curiosity, and the pursuit of truth. Sebastian admired his parents deeply, wanting to have their optimism, open-mindedness, and boundless eagerness for learning.

Tragedy struck when a lamp in their cellar, tainted with an undetectable toxin, claimed the lives of their beloved parents. Orphaned, Sebastian and Anne were taken in by their uncle Solomon Sallow, who lived in the secluded village of Feldcroft. However, their relationship with their uncle was strained; Solomon, a stern and unforgiving man who was also an ex-Auror had clashed with Sebastian's refusal to accept Anne's situation.

During this time, Sebastian found peace in the companionship of his friend, Ominis Gaunt, who he met in their first year at Hogwarts. Along with Anne, the trio would often retreat to the hidden sanctuary of the Undercroft, where they practiced spells and played Gobstones, shielded from the prying eyes of the world above. Ominis, like Sebastian, harbored secrets and shadows of his own, forging a bond of trust that endured more than most.

As Anne's condition worsened, Sebastian's desperation drove him to the forbidden arts of the Dark Arts, seeking a cure that eluded even the most skilled healers. When Solomon intervened, tensions reached a boiling point, resulting in a fateful confrontation that shattered their already fragile family.

Despite the turmoil, Sebastian found comfort in his friendships, including one with a fellow student, MC. Their bond, forged in the pain of their fifth year, provided Sebastian with a glimmer of hope in the darkness that threatened to consume him.

Amidst the chaos and upheaval of his adolescence, Sebastian found refuge on the Quidditch pitch, channeling his inner turmoil and anguish into the fierce competition of the game. Joining the Slytherin Quidditch team as both a Beater and Keeper, he found fleeting moments of freedom and purpose in the rush of wind and the thunder of the Quaffle.

Academics:

Best Subject: DADA

Favorite Subject: DADA

Favorite Professor: Hecat

Worst Subject: Astronomy

Least Favorite Subject: Divination

Least Favorite Professor: Onai

Student Life:

Despite his penchant for rule-breaking and his involvement in dark magic, Sebastian was a dedicated and studious student. He excelled in his classes, particularly DADA and Potions

His rebellious nature often landed him in hot water with the faculty. His frequent detentions for sneaking into the library's Restricted Section became a badge of honor

To find a distraction from all of his inner turmoil, he joined the Quidditch team and found it to be a good way to release his emotions

**All screenshots are mine, collage is mine but pictures used were found on Pinterest**

Template: @hazyange1s

[doberbutts]

Sorry if this is a silly question but is it ok if I follow you if I’m a Tolkien blog? I completely agree with your criticism of racism and racial/bioessentialism in Tolkien and fantasy inspired by him and attempt to critique those themes when applicable but if you’d be more comfortable if I did not follow I completely understand!

Oh you're probably here from that post that I worded a little clunky. To clarify: I am a huge Tolkien fan boy and I have an entire shelf in my house dedicated to all of his works, reference books included. I don't have some of the newer releases from his estate and the recent audio books are on my wishlist, but otherwise I own pretty much everything published with his name on it. So, in short, a Tolkien blog would simply be a fellow fan :]

I had a roommate for a while that hated Tolkien, in her opinion his works are irredeemable due to the sexism, racism, and related age of his works. I do agree that there is discussion to be had about the sexism and racism, as well as the constraints of his time, and how as the modern-day father of fantasy many derivative works don't put in the work required to perhaps fixing things he himself discussed as problems with his works in his many letters and journals- of which I have published copies on aforementioned bookshelf.

HOWEVER I think "irredeemable" is too far a step, not just because I'm a fan of his works, but because I think it's really not his fault that people inspired by his writing chose not to engage with fixing the problems the man himself admits to not being satisfied with. Most of his fame came after his death, so it's not like he was alive to fix it, and also when shitty people took the wrong message from his works we also have proof he told them to fuck off and that he hated that they touched his stuff.

The reason I'm online in the first place is because at a ripe 11 years old I wanted to talk to other Tolkien fans. 20 years later, I'm still of the same mindset.

[yangkitties]

bros before hoes ✰ chapter 01: the 'meet' cute

wc: 0.7k | tw/cw: drug mention (jokingly)

Breathe in, breathe out. Slow and steady. The words echoed through your head, reassuring you little by little. You sat beside Jooyeon, waiting for Tsuki to come with you to meet Sunghoon. 

You couldn’t believe it. If you had told 11 year old Y/n that they would have the chance to meet THE Park Sunghoon, they’d probably faint on the spot. You’ve admired him for years, watching his figure skating competitions and cheering him on. And when he got announced on the line up for I-LAND, you did everything you could to support him from the sides. 

And now you were standing here, in the pristine white back rooms of the Music Core studio, less than 5 feet away from your role model, and crush. 

When you saw him on the ice for the first time at the ripe age of 11, you knew you were done for. The crush never went away, even through the gruelling trainee days that beat you up, Sunghoon was a light in the dark path to your debut. 

Different thoughts flooded your head, colliding against each other and spiralling through out your mind. 

The feeling of Tsuki’s warm hand on your shoulder startles you. You look up to see her bright smile and shiny eyes, and just like that, the nerves slip away. 

‘Ready to go meet the so called ‘love of your life’, hm?’ She teases you lightly, grabbing your hand and pulling you up from your seat. Jooyeon shoots an encouraging smile, only to shove you so you’d finally move. 

You take a deep breath, ‘Well, as ready as I could possibly be…’ You mutter before Tsuki drags you forward. 

Getting closer and closer towards him, your nerves slowly creep back into your skin, infiltrating your otherwise composed mind. You turn to Tsuki to tell her to just go back, but even before you could get a word in, she glares at you, forcefully pointing towards Sunghoon. ‘You are doing this, Y/n. One way or another.’ 

Sunghoon has his back turned towards you, looking inquisitively at the vending machine. You take a deep breath before gently tapping his shoulder. 

He turns around, and suddenly the world stops spinning. His hair falls gracefully across his forehead, perfectly placed strands looking effortless. He tilts his head to the side, curiosity flashing across his face. 

‘Hello..?’ His voice snaps you out of your daze, awkwardness creeping into your limbs once more. Sunghoon clears his throat, eyes darting between you and Tsuki. A slow blush creeps across his neck, the crimson inching its way across his dazzling skin. 

‘Hi… I’m Y/n, from NEXUS. I just wanted to say I’m a huge fan of you, ever since your ice skating days. I even supported you through I-LAND, it’s so great to meet you.’ You stuttered out quickly, face heating up. The only thing holding you back from running away and never coming back was Tsuki’s strong grip on your forearm, her smile unwavering. 

Sunghoon smiles, and it’s like heaven on Earth. You swear you can hear a choir of Angels singing. He’s blushing more intensely now, a deep shade of pink covering his ears and cheeks. He stammers out a thank you, tumbling over his words in shyness as he bows non-stop.

Before you could say anything else, Jungwon is calling him, waving a brief hello to Tsuki as he sees you both. Sunghoon is bowing to you again, slowly jogging back to join Jungwon. 

As soon as they’re out of ear shot, you turn to Tsuki and let out a silent scream. She jumps up and down with you, hugging you tightly. 

‘You did it!!! You really did it!!’ She laughs as you both walk back, her hand slung over your shoulder. ‘And did you see the way he was stuttering?? Dare I say love at first sight??’ She giggled into your ears, teasing you lovingly. You shake your head, gently elbowing her side.

As you walk back to where the rest of your group mates were, you can see them cheering for you, proud faces all across the room. You laugh as you join them, happy that you could meet someone who meant so much to you.

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synopsis > with the help of fukutomi tsuki, park y/n finally gains the courage to face their long time crush, the one and only, park sunghoon. park sunghoon thinks it's love at first sight when he sees her. paired up as the new mcs of music bank, shenanigans ensue when y/n learns about sunghoon's crush...

note: speed wrote this like 5mins back, no beta reading we die like men (pls tell me if you spot any mistakes)

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