ghostswisp

[l0rd-0f-c0ws]

I frequently feel completely isolated no matter how much I talk to people. So that's fun

[redroomrecord]

[nomairuins]

whining hours . sry

[gaystardykeco]

fun wednesday night activity: thinking about all the ppl who left me and how much better their lives are because of doing so

[sehnsuchts-trunken]

Great Balls Of Fire

Bradley Bradshaw x fem!reader 9k words (ik. i did it again. im sorry)

summary: It’s been four months since you last saw Bradley Bradshaw. Today's the day he finally comes back from his mission and you have more than one ace up your sleeve to surprise him with.

a/n: smut ahead. 18+ im serious theres smut theres a lot of smut. okay. as usual i will now list everything you may have to look out for

fancy ass lingerie, oral sex fem!receiving, unprotected sex (dont be like them, just know theyre in a committed relationship theyve had the talk and all), a lot of begging, hair pulling, good girl's because yes, in general again bradley is a talker, otherwise that's it

top gun masterlist

It had been so long. It had been too long.

With the sun beating down hard on the pavement of the parking lot, the sunglasses on your nose doing their hardest to protect your eyes from the worst of the light, the sound of your heels clicking against solid ground as you took a few steps into the shade of the tree next to Bradley's Bronco. You had been waiting for ten minutes now, checking your phone what seemed like every five seconds, too nervous to actually pay attention to it but too nervous to keep calm either.

You had been so scared you would crash into a grandma on the way over here that you had honestly considered taking your own car instead of the Bronco - but Bradley had trusted you with it, had trusted you to keep his lady running, you, even though he never let anyone else as much as touch the steering wheel, and you would be damned if you didn't pick him up in it.

You hadn't seen him in four months. Four months.

You had been by yourself, had been on your own, had been lonely for four fucking months.

But today was the day you would see him again. Today was the day his oh-so-secret mission would finally, truly come to an end, the day that you would finally, truly see him again. Not over some low-quality video call in the middle of the night, with only your kitchen lights on in the background and your mind hazy and tired because he was nine hours ahead of you and seemed to be at the other end of the world - no, today you would finally, finally, finally see him in the flesh.

You'd been anticipating this moment for the past four months.

So this had to be perfect.

This would be perfect.

You had done everything possible to make this the most perfect day of his goddamn life. You had spent the last four months moving things from the old apartment to the new house - those things that you and him hadn't already moved anyway - and the past week, you'd been cleaning, decorating, anticipating.

He had told you so often how much he missed you. How much he wished he had been there for you, to help you pack the things, to help you take them apart and put them back together, to do more than just the paperwork and set up the bed and the couch.

But he couldn't. And now you were bubbling with nervous excitement, with the joy of sharing all of it with him, to show him the desk you'd put up in the bedroom, the pillows you'd bought for the couch, the paintings you'd hung up on the walls, the kitchen table you'd replaced, the kitchen tiles you'd painted. To show him how much better this new home was than the old apartment had been (even though you'd been very happy there for the past four years as well).

And Bradley would love it. You were sure of that.

You just wanted him to see it so desperately.

You looked up as another car approached - it wasn't Bradley, you knew that, Bradley would come out of that door opposite you, not out of a car, but... There was still some tiny little sliver of hope, the same way there had been every single goddamn time someone had rung your doorbell. It had only ever been the postman or your food.

The car stopped next to you. You watched the engine being turned off and the driver get out because, well, what else was there to do except nervously shift your weight from one leg onto the other and go insane?

So you watched the stranger hop out of their car, nodded politely at them and then refocused your attention on the tips of your sandals. At least you weren't the only one waiting here anymore.

You got out your phone again, checked the time (it'd been a minute and a half since you'd last looked at it) and let out a sigh.

It wasn't that Bradley was late. There wasn't really a "late" anyway, he'd only been able to give you a vague time he'd arrive on, but still. You'd been buzzing with nervous energy for over a week.

You took a deep breath to steady yourself, wiped your sweaty palms off on the sundress you'd put on - the tiny yellow sundress that Bradley had picked out for you on your birthday last year. The tiny yellow sundress that hid the sinful white lingerie under it just perfectly. The sinful white lingerie that you had bought for this very moment.

Bradley would go feral for it, you knew that. He loved white. You thought it was because it looked innocent, chaste. Like something untainted, something waiting to be ruined. Not that you minded. One day, he had promised himself, he would admit to you that it was because it looked like something you would wear on your wedding night.

But either way, you had gone shopping for the perfect set of lingerie and you were more than happy with your final choice.

Bradley could unwrap you like a present. You were desperately hoping he would unwrap you like a present.

You had spent the last four months not doing anything other than hoping. Imagining. Remembering.

So you weren't surprised that you felt like you'd soaked through those pretty (and expensive) panties already.

Your breath hitched. You shifted your weight again.

Bradley would carry you in his big, strong arms over the doorstep, would push you against the wall, would take everything he wanted from you and give everything you needed - he'd pull your dress right off and, at the sight of your lingerie, would fuck you raw.

You had to bite down on your lip to keep you grounded. Four months away had been a long, long time. Four months in which you'd only had yourself, your fingers, your vibrator to keep you company - four months in which you'd only heard Bradley's moans spill over the phone, had only heard him call you honey and good girl through a low-quality mic, had only seen him on pictures he'd left you, on a tiny screen at best.

You were depraved. And pretty sure you'd fall apart at the first touch.

You were so immersed in your thoughts, in that lovely imagery you had created in your head, that you almost missed the door opening. Finally. Finally. You straightened up at once.

It wasn't Bradley who stepped out first - it was one of his colleagues, you guessed, with blonde hair and much shorter - but it was Bradley who stepped out second. You'd know him from miles away.

He strode out of the door and into the sunlight, all familiar brown curls and broad shoulders and Ray-Bans on his nose and an Hawaiian shirt on and his bag lazily slung over his shoulder and that moustache - by god you'd have killed him if he'd shaved that off!

He turned his head and looked at you and a grin broke out on your lips, so wide, so incredibly wide that it felt like it'd split your face in half and before you could think, before you could form any coherent thought you were already moving, your legs with a mind of their own. You were sprinting towards him. Sprinting all through the parking lot, your heels click-clicking on the pavement, and Bradley grinned, grinned and let his bag fall to the ground carelessly, opened his arms instead. Wide, so wide. He was so tall. So broad. So inviting as you ran at him, as you jumped at him, as you wrapped your arms and your legs around him at the same time, as he caught you effortlessly, as your lips landed on his.

As you crashed into him, completely, and he didn't even stagger an inch back.

You had missed four months of this.

And now his lips were on yours. Your legs around his waist. Your arms crossed behind his neck. His breath against your mouth. His lips parted. His tongue against yours.

You were desperate. And you could feel just how desperate he was, too.

You could feel all the passion, all the fiery, red passion, all the force and firmness put into this kiss as his tongue ran along yours, as your breaths met and mingled, as his hands dug into your thighs to keep you upright, to keep you snug to him.

You pulled back incredibly reluctantly. You didn't want to let go of him. You never wanted to let go of him ever again. You wanted to have him, all of him, right here, right now, and then for eternity. But you couldn't, you couldn't because this was the middle of the parking lot, and also because you at least wanted to say hello first.

So you blinked open your eyes and took him in and allowed yourself to grin as broad and as wide as you needed to right now.

"You're back", you whispered, just because that realisation still had to sink in. "You're really back."

Bradley nuzzled your nose with his and let out a hum - god, how you'd missed him. The feel of him, the sound of him.

"Yeah, I'm here, honey", he muttered, that smile of his dripping down onto his voice. "I'm here and I won't leave any time soon."

You couldn't help but lean in again, couldn't help but capture his lips again because how else, how on earth would you let him feel all the joy you were experiencing right now? You didn't even know if you could actually feel all of it. You definitely wouldn't be able to put it into words. So you dug your teeth into his bottom lip and sighed into him and pulled him closer, closer and closer, even further into you.

"I missed you", you breathed against his mouth. "I love you and I missed you, Bradley."

He chuckled, kissed you again, drew back just enough to still touch you somehow, to still have his lips on your skin somehow and be able to talk at the same time.

"I love you so much, honey", he muttered. "And I missed you so much."

And then his lips were on yours again, his fingers digging even harder into your thighs, his breath and his tongue and his moustache scratching against your skin and you moaned, because there was no more anything you could possibly have done, because you couldn't help yourself, because you couldn't stop yourself, because you didn't want to either. You wanted to let him know just how goddamn fucking much you'd missed him.

Bradley had to bite back a laugh, pulled back and looked at you through his sunglasses.

"Sounds like we should get home, honey", he said, his eyebrows raised and his smile deepening with every word. "Been waiting for that for four months."

You let out another soft moan, pushed yourself even closer to him, dug one hand into the back of his hair and scratched the other down his shoulders, down his shirt. You wanted to feel him. All of him. God, the ride home would take ten minutes. Ten minutes. How were you supposed to survive that?

"Please", you whispered onto his lips, and you didn't think you had ever meant it as much as you did now.

Bradley groaned and kissed you again, quickly, heatedly, his tongue running along your bottom lip and then pulling back again. This wasn't enough. This wasn't enough.

He set you down on the pavement again softly, your legs a bit wobbly, unsteady, and trailed one hand from your thigh to your back - anything to keep touching you as he bent down to pick up his bag again. You smiled up at him, smoothed down the front of your dress and beamed as his eyes traveled down your body.

When they snapped back up to catch your gaze, the grin on his face had turned into a much more intense expression.

"You look gorgeous, honey", he muttered, tugging you further into his side, letting his eyes drop down to your chest again. You had to bite down on your lip to keep from jumping at him right this second. He should not have been allowed to just look at you if you couldn't have him touch you too. "Did you pick out new nail polish just for this dress?"

Your grin broadened. Of course he'd notice. Bradley Bradshaw was the only man in the whole universe who would notice. And he was yours.

"Yes, I did", you smiled, looking up at him as he walked with you back to the car. He hummed softly.

"It works great together", he said. Your breath hitched. He was gorgeous and he was here and he had noticed your nail polish. He was perfect. And you wanted him to fuck your brains out. "Reminds me of your burgundy silk dress."

You had to bite down on your lip again - god, you hadn't done that nearly as often when he'd been away! - to keep yourself grounded and to keep your grin in check before it could truly split your face in half.

Your burgundy silk dress was the one you'd worn to Penny and Mav's wedding two years ago that you had spent three weeks hunting down matching lipstick and matching nail polish for. Bradley had worn that lipstick on the base of his cock for most of the night.

"You're incredible, do you know that?", you asked, your voice a bit breathy. Bradley stopped in front of the Bronco, turned to you and pulled you close again. You brought your hands up to his chest.

"I've been told", he muttered, tilted his head down to look at you and then leaned down even further to brush a kiss to your nose. "Open up the Bronco so I can put my bag in the trunk?"

You let your eyes flutter close for just a tiny little moment (he was close, so close and you would literally die if he didn't start touching you any time soon) and breathed in as Bradley chuckled. You'd put the key in your pocket and were scrambling to get it out now, taking one, two seconds too long before you heard the familiar click of the car unlocking.

"Thanks, pretty girl", Bradley mumbled, letting go of you to pull open the trunk and you had to push down a sigh of disappointment, even as anticipation rose up in your stomach. You hadn't heard him call you pretty girl in months.

When he turned back around to you, you were still frozen in spot, still smiling dumbly at him, still waiting for him to touch you, to kiss you, to fuck you. He smiled back and you knew that he knew just what you were thinking. But you couldn't even begin to care. You wanted to get him home as quickly as possible.

"You need to stop looking at me like that, honey", he said, his voice an octave deeper and you just so managed not to let another dumb, pathetic moan slip. He closed the trunk and took a step back to you. "You know I can't help myself when you look at me like that."

At that, you did let the moan tumble from your lips after all.

He'd been away for four months. And he was looking at you with his eyes all dark and his jaw clenched and his chest rising and falling heavily. How on earth were you supposed to be normal about this? You were falling apart already and he hadn't even got you home. Four months had been a long, long time.

His hands were on your waist then, forcing you against the side of the bronco, the door handle digging into your back, the metal warmed up by the sun and your arms crossing behind his neck as his body crowded yours, one leg between yours and no more space to touch, to feel, to see anything that wasn't him - he turned his head to check if the other car had driven away and then his lips were on yours, his knee pressing against your centre.

"Bradley", you moaned into his mouth, before his tongue brushed yours and rendered you speechless. You rocked against his knee, bare skin against your thighs and you wanted to sob, you really actually wanted to sob, because this was the most contact you'd gotten in four fucking months.

Bradley pulled back an inch.

"You're soaked", he groaned against your lips, his breath on your skin, his hands on your waist and you thrust your head back against the car, against the window, squeezed your eyes shut, kept on rocking against his knee.

"I know", you whined. "Been soaked for months."

Bradley let out another groan and pulled back, pulled away from you and you whimpered, blinking your eyes open again because you'd been so close to finally getting what you wanted and now he was taking that right away from you again. You looked up at him and the only reason you didn't straight up voice your disappointment was that he looked just as debauched as you felt - running his hands through his hair, running them over his face, his curls all messed up and a considerable bulge already visible in his jeans.

"Get in the car", he rasped, taking another step back from you as though he had to physically put distance between the two of you so he wouldn't give in and take you right in this parking lot. Not that you would've minded. That other car was long gone. But that he had to restrain himself so much, that he looked so positively exhausted, that his voice was so hard and so rough and so raw, that he had already, so easily begun giving you orders drove you crazy. Orders that you knew you had to follow because this was him, this was Bradley, and if he wanted something from you.... he'd get it. You'd give it to him no matter what. You'd give him everything.

So you pushed yourself off the car with a hard breath and trailed around to the passenger side, keeping your eyes on the ground even as you heard Bradley shuffle and open the driver's door because you knew that if you looked at him, no matter how much you wanted to follow his commands, there was a high chance you wouldn't be able to help yourself.

It wouldn't be the first time.

The seat felt hot and your skin sticked to it immediately and you would have cared in any other situation, but not in this one. Not when Bradley put his hand to your thigh, to your bare skin, to just below the hem of your dress. You could have cried.

He was here, finally, and he was touching you, finally, but he wasn't touching you enough, not nearly enough. This would be a long ten minutes. You pushed your sunglasses up into your hair, turned your head and rested it against the head rest, smiling at the image before you - Bradley in the driver's seat of his Bronco, the steering wheel in one hand, the sun on his face, his curls longer than when you'd last seen them. Had he got more tan? Was that possible?

God, how you'd missed this man.

And he was here now, here, next to you, with one hand on your thigh and a grin playing on his lips and you couldn't help but smile. Big and broad and all-consuming because he was here again, this man that you called yours, he was right here next to you after four months. You loved him. You'd missed him so incredibly much.

His hand moved a little higher up on your thigh, his thumbs brushing, stroking over exposed skin, raising up your dress the slightest bit. Your breath hitched.

"Bradley-", you sighed, jaw clenching as you melted, melted at every little touch because you didn't have to only remember it anymore. You could just push up into him, watch him, breathe in his familiar scent, run your fingers along his arm. This was no more imagining, no more picturing, this was real, this was happening.

"God, I missed you saying my name like that", he groaned, tightening his grip on your thigh and you bit down on your lip, wrapped your fingers around his biceps, his wrist, forced yourself to keep your eyes open so you could keep watching him. You wouldn't miss out on a single second of watching him.

"Bradley", you repeated softly. "I'll say your name as often as you want me to."

His fingers dug even harder into your thigh as he let out some strangled sounding moan.

"You're gonna be the death of me", he muttered - how often you'd thought the same about him! "I'm lucky if I can hold out these ten minutes."

You watched him quietly for a second. You could sense the heat radiating off of him, could see his clenched jaw, could feel his deathgrip on your thigh, could hardly ignore the blazing arousal in your own veins. But if he'd wanted to fuck you in the back of his Bronco, he would've. (As picky as he was about who drove his car, he'd never had a single problem railing you into oblivion in the backseat.) There was a reason he was holding out. You could only guess that he wanted to do this properly - with time and room and no risk of getting caught by the authorities. Should you have minded? Should you have begged him to take you as quickly as possible? You were sure he would have, if you'd pleaded prettily enough. But you were quite alright with time and room and no risk of getting caught. At least for right now. The both of you would manage a ten minute ride, right? You had managed four months. Ten minutes were nothing in comparison.

"Okay", you said, trailed your fingers down to his and intertwined your hands. "I'll help. I'll tell you something. Distract you."

"You can try, honey", he chuckled, sneaked a quick sideways glance at you. "Tell me about the house."

You lit up at that. You had been dying to tell him about the house. So you pushed your arousal deep, deep down (which was easier said than done) and smiled up at him.

"I don't even know where to start", you said honestly, giving yourself a second to think about it. You had ten minutes, after all. And you had to fill them all if you wanted both of you to survive this drive.

So you told him about everything.

The short version, of course.

He'd heard some of it over the phone already, but he hadn't been able to call often and you'd spent most of your time crying and telling him how much you loved and missed him when he had answered, so...

The ten minutes went by more easily this way. You went on and on and on and on about the house, his fingers between yours, your eyes locked on his, with the occasional comment about how sorry he was that he hadn't been there to help. It had been unfortunate, of course, but at the same time it had given you something to put all your time and effort into, which had greatly helped you through his deployment. Plus, there had always been help when you had needed it - Penny and Amelia and Mav, Phoenix and Bob and Jake. The rest of the squad had been scattered, called off to their own missions, but those six you had been able to count on whenever.

Bradley's hand on your thigh was still highly distracting. He moved it up and down a few times, and each time your breath hitched, each time you stumbled over your own words, each time he grinned again.

At one point, his fingertips brushed so close to your underwear that you pushed his hand forcefully back down to your knee. He had been the one so worried he wouldn't manage a ten minute ride and now he was the one teasing you.

Not that you really minded.

But you truly felt like going insane.

Then, finally! you caught sight of your driveway. Bradley was out of the car the second he'd parked it, pulling his hand from your thigh and the key out of the ignition and you had barely unbuckled yourself when he was already opening your door, taking your hand and tugging you out, sending you stumbling into him, into his arms.

He pressed his lips to yours as he pushed the door close, pushed you up against it again, pushed the hem of your dress up to grasp at your bare thigh. You wrapped your arms around his neck, forced him even closer.

"Bradley", you gasped softly. You hadn't moaned his name like that in four months, you'd do it so often today he would get tired of it. Even though you knew that he wouldn't, of course - he would never get tired of you whispering his name into his mouth, into the nothingness of an empty room, into his ear, into the pillows.

He didn't pull back from you, even as he took a slow, careful step away - making sure you'd catch on, making sure you'd follow, making sure to keep you safely, steadily against him. Not that you'd have done anything else. You trusted him with your life, you would trust him to keep you upright. So you did just what he wanted, followed, stumbled with him, eyes closed, lips on his, fingers brushing along his shoulders.

He did pull back then - just an inch or two, to turn you around, to look over your shoulder once, to tear his hand from your thigh and wrap his arms around you instead. And then his lips were back on yours again and his tongue running along yours. He pushed and you followed his wordless command, your legs working quicker than your mind, stumbling, tripping backwards, backwards, backwards and you barely cared, barely even acknowledged the ground beneath your feet because you were wrapped up in his arms, because you were tugging at his curls, because he was here, kissing you, finally.

You weren't needy.

You were desperate. You were depraved, frantic, starved. He was the air you needed to breathe and you hadn't taken a single breath in the past four months.

So you weren't pretending in the way you pulled him close, closer, closer, or in the frenzied way you kissed him, or in the desperate way you sighed, groaned, moaned against him, into him. You needed him. You needed more of him. All of him. You needed to get inside so you could have him.

You bumped into the door then, just short of digging the doorknob into your spine - Bradley pushed you right up against it and you gasped into his mouth, into the kiss. He crowded you against the door much like he'd crowded you against the Bronco, pulling his arms from around you to grasp your waist instead, to press your hips up to the door as well, and used one hand to fumble for the keyhole. He did so blindly, with his eyes still closed, his lips still on yours, with one of your legs coming up to wrap around his hips, your heels digging into his shorts.

Needless to say, he needed quite some time to turn the key.

You didn't mind. Not in the slightest.

You were making out with Bradley Bradshaw right on the doorstep of the house you shared with him, in the bright afternoon sunlight and truly, you couldn't have minded less. You didn't give two fucks about any of your neighbours or any passerbys spotting you - should they, by god! Bradley had come home from deployment after four months, you would make out with him on your doorstep for as long as you wanted to. You wouldn't ever stop making out with him ever again.

Not when he was here again, in your arms, with your fingers tugging at his hair, brushing along his neck, stroking along the collar of his shirt, sweeping along his shoulders. Not with your leg around his hips. Not with your lips on his. Not with anticipation, with arousal in every fibre of your body, of your soul. You were going mad with it. You were getting drunk on it.

You were euphoric when Bradley finally opened the gods damned front door.

He kept you safe and steady even as the support at your back broke away, as you almost crashed onto the floor of your own hallway. He walked you back into the pleasant cold and for once, for the first and probably the only time, you were the one to break away. You gave yourself a second to catch your breath. Then you pushed off of him completely. You took a step away, pulled the key from the door, pushed it close and when you turned back around, Bradley had set his sunglasses down on the little table you had put next to the coat rack a few weeks ago.

And you looked him in the eyes for the first time in four months.

He motioned at the table.

"Looks great, honey", he said, his voice a little too rough to sound quite normal. "Nice touch."

You shook your head softly.

"I couldn't care less about the table right now", you muttered, and with that, you were on him again. Actually, truly, fully on him again. You pushed yourself right up onto him, into him, pried his shirt off his shoulders, off his arms, let it drop down to the ground and then reached for his jaw to drag him further down, to deepen the kiss even if you knew that was impossible. So you bit down on his lip and allowed him to finally push your dress up over your hips, over your chest, over your head - you had to let go of him for a moment then, had to pull away from him so he could drop your dress on the floor and before you could even come close to reaching out for him again, he was taking a step back.

You could feel his eyes raking down your body. You could feel him taking in the white lingerie on your skin - the strings of the thong high up on your hips, intricate lace around your waist, the small bow right in the centre of it, the bra cups almost transparent, the floral white pattern covering up your nipples, the other few, small bows sown onto the straps.

You sucked in a breath at the look on his face. You hadn't seen that look in far too long.

"God, honey", Bradley groaned, reached for your waist, brushed his thumbs along the lace, ran his fingertips along the lingerie. You bit down on your lip as he pulled you, slowly, carefully, into him - gave you enough time to rest your hands on his chest, your palms against his tank top. "You look sinful. Did you buy that just for me?"

You nodded, swallowed.

"Just for you", you admitted. "Wanted to surprise you."

Bradley tugged you another inch closer, so close that your chest bumped into his, your breasts pressing against him. He let out a hum, his eyes dropping down to your cleavage.

"You did that, pretty girl", he muttered, his fingers digging into your sides. "You're incredible."

Then his lips were on yours again and you were melting, becoming putty in his hands, turning to goo in his arms. Your breaths met, lips parted. You couldn't quite believe you were finally touching him again.

He walked you back to the bedroom, narrowly avoiding the doorway, his hands on your hips, his fingers digging into your bum. You reached for the hem of his shirt, forced him to stop right on the threshold so you could get rid of it - get rid of that one layer of fabric still in the way. You drew back for a second to pull it over his head, to drop it to the floor, to let your eyes travel all over his bare torso.

God, how you'd missed this man and his broad shoulders and his washboard abs. How you'd missed his touch and the sound of his voice.

"Bradley", you gasped softly, your fingertips trailing over his naked skin, down to his shorts. "I need you."

He let out a groan.

"I've waited four months for you to say that again", he muttered. You could hardly take another breath before he was on you again - lips on yours and hands on your hips and your back hit the bed a moment later, the cushy mattress, the fluffy pillows softening your fall.

You raised yourself up onto your elbows so you could watch him as he stood in front of your bed, the sunlight dripping down him like drops of water hitting the floorboards, his torso bare, his curls messed up, looking down at you with a heaving chest, his fingers on his belt, unhooking it, opening the button on his jeans, pulling down his zipper - you swallowed hard as you watched him drop his shorts on the floor, step out of his shoes.

A whine rolled off your tongue.

"Bradley, hurry up", you whimpered, your fingers cramping in the sheets, your legs pressing together all of their own accord, trying to get some kind of friction as he undressed himself in slow motion while you just lay there, your panties long soaked through and your fingers itching to trail down your own body.

Bradley chuckled.

"Don't worry, honey", he muttered, kneeling down on the ground to drop kisses to your calves before pulling off your sandals. "I'll make sure you forget about the past four months, alright?"

Your breath hitched as your heels hit the ground.

"Please", you begged softly. "I've missed you so much."

He wrapped his hands around your hips, pulled you to the edge of the bed - his breath ghosting over your underwear, over that tiny white piece of lingerie you had bought for him, for him to take you apart in. His fingers dug into your skin, spread out wide, to touch as much of you as he possibly could. He pressed a kiss right to that wet spot on your thong.

You let out a moan. God, how had you survived four months without him? You were barely surviving fifteen minutes of not having him fuck you.

Bradley grinned, raised his head to meet your eyes and seriously, you were close. Too close. He hadn't touched you yet, not really. You'd die today, you were sure, die and go to heaven.

"You look almost too good to undress, honey", he muttered, brushing his thumbs below that lace around your waist, not making a move to pull it down your legs.

"Bradley, please", you whined, your hands brushing over your own chest, running over your bra cups, tracing the flowers, desperately holding back from just ripping everything off yourself, pushing him onto his knees and riding him into oblivion. "Don't tease. I need you."

He groaned into the skin of your thigh.

"Anything you want, honey", he muttered - and then your thong was gone and he was burying his tongue inside you, dipping, tracing, licking, circling your clit, breathing you in, devouring you. Taking and giving everything. It had been four months since he'd had you like this and he wanted everything, every inch of you he could get. He wanted to taste you, every last drop of you, wanted to eat you out until you couldn't think anymore, until you had truly, fully forgotten all the time he had been away, all the time you had been forced to be on your own, alone.

You thrashed, moaned above him - your fingers clenching around your bra, brushing over your nipples. You were close. Close after the entirety of three seconds, close to tears, close to coming.

"Bradley", you choked out, tearing your hands off yourself, burying them in his hair instead - tugging him off, tugging him away from you. You took a deep breath as he let go of you, as he loosened his grip on you, looked up at you with desperation in his eyes.

"I need you to fuck me", you whimpered, already too sensitive, too tense. "I need you inside me."

You hadn't had him in four months.

Four months had been enough goddamn foreplay. As much as you loved when he ate you out, you needed him, you needed his cock, you needed to feel him inside you, you needed him to take you apart and make up for all the time lost.

Bradley nodded, nodded because he knew, he understood - he saw the frantic look in your eyes, had felt the desperate drag of your hands at his clothes, his arms, his shoulders, his hair. He'd give anything to you. Everything. He would do whatever you wanted of him.

Maybe in another situation he'd have made you beg more, would have teased you more, would have edged you a few times. Maybe in another situation. But not in this one. Not after four months of being away from you, not when you were so beautifully, so desperately spread out beneath him, looking up at him with wide eyes and rosy cheeks, your lip pulled between your teeth, your gorgeous white lingerie still concealing too much of your skin.

As he'd said, you were almost too gorgeous to undress. But just almost.

So he rose up from the ground, pulled you up with him, pulled you in, his fingers brushing along your sides, your spine, your bra clasp. He let it fall open. You worked fast, worked your bra down your arms and off your hands and drew back from him to fling it against the wall and lay down on the bed, lay down all pretty and waiting.

You needed him to fuck you. Now.

He let out a groan, closed his eyes. The look on his face had you pressing your legs together again. Wetness was coating the inside of your thighs now. It glistened on his moustache. And you were sure you could have tasted it on his tongue too.

He was making you go insane.

"How do you want me, pretty girl?", he asked, pressing his knees into the side of the mattress. "Tell me how and I'll do whatever you want."

Your breath hitched in your throat. Your nerves were bubbling up. Four months. You'd waited four months for this one question.

"Behind", you whined. "Need you from behind."

Bradley had known, of course, because that was what you always said when he stood at the front of your bed and asked you this question. His hands were on your waist, grasping, grabbing, turning you over before you had fully finished speaking, your cheek pressed against the pillows, your breath coming short and shorter, adrenaline pumping through every single one of your veins. You felt hot and sticky and needy and nervous.

Nervous because Bradley stilled.

Nervous because he sucked in a sharp breath.

Nervous, even though you had been here a million times before, in his bed and in yours, bent over desks and bars and couches, with the heat of him behind you, arousal flowing through your body like oxygen, anticipation clouding your mind.

"Shit, honey", Bradley breathed.

You closed your eyes and clenched your jaw.

How you'd have loved to see his expression. But you had known you wouldn't. You had prepared yourself to be satisfied with the sound of his voice, with the feel of him so close to you.

"Shit", Bradley repeated. He took another deep breath in. "You got a tattoo?"

A tattoo.

Your tattoo.

You nodded into the pillow, scraped your cheek against the fabric, so eager, so quick to agree. Four months you had waited for this. Four months since you had begun planning this - the very day after he'd left, in a conversation with none other than Phoenix. Four long, lonely months.

Bradley ran his thumb along the soft expanse of your skin. Along that strip of skin right above your hips, just where they met your back - right above your ass, right where he could see so very perfectly.

He was gentle. Almost not touching you at all. As though he was afraid he could somehow, even after all this time, hurt you, as though he was afraid he could wipe it away.

"It's healed", you whined, breathlessly, trying your hardest not to squirm, not to push back further into him even though you felt like you were going insane. You'd known he'd take his sweet time staring at that inked expanse of skin. But you hadn't known you would be so goddamn desperate for him to fuck you into delirium while he did so. "It's fully healed."

Bradley was quiet, silent behind you. His thumb stilled, stayed still. You sunk your teeth into your lip.

You would truly go mad here. For more than one reason now.

Bradley was always loud. Always moving, always doing something. He was forward and honest and loud and it was a miracle, really, when he wasn't. When he was calm and quiet and still. It didn't always mean something good.

It surely didn't always mean something bad, either.

But it didn't always mean something good.

And you hadn't been nervous. You hadn't been nervous about showing him, because you knew he loved you and he'd love this - this show of him, this show for him. Just for him. But you had still been fidgety. You had still been excited, flustered.... nervous, after all. In a good way. Now, good was turning to less good because he was quiet, for once, quiet and you didn't know what to do, what to say. You had expected him to go feral, had expected him to fuck you raw, to go absolutely ballistic. You had imagined, pictured, visualised it, four months long. Every night that you hadn't been remembering him, you had been imagining this - this moment right here, where he read the words inked forever into your skin, and every time, again and again, your fingers hadn't been enough, your vibrator hadn't been enough, nothing had been enough. Not in comparison to him, to his fingers and his tongue and his cock.

And every time, again and again, when nothing had been enough to replace him, you thought to yourself just how right it had been to have lain on that leather table bed in that tattoo parlour four months ago. Just how right it was to have him marked on your skin like that. Forever.

Great Balls Of Fire.

"Bradley, please", you whimpered, your fingers closing around whatever piece of fabric you could manage to grab at - the covers, the sheets, the pillows. "Say something. Please"

Bradley let out a long breath.

"Great Balls Of Fire?", he asked quietly, his fingers brushing over your skin again. Some kind of reassurance, at least.

"Thought you'd like it", you mumbled into the pillow, stumbling, tripping over your words a bit, still breathless around the edges. You couldn't be expected to talk now. Not when he was so close to giving you what you needed.

"Like it?" His hands wrapped around your waist, his left thumb still stroking over those unfamiliar familiar letters on your skin - Great Balls Of Fire, in his handwriting, taken from one of his sheets of music, from his piano. His song. His father's song.

Your song.

Your song.

Your song.

"Honey", Bradley rasped, pulling you an inch back to him and you let a whine fall from your lips. You were soaked, you were dripping, you were desperate and still so very unsatisfied. "Do I like it? I love it. I love you. God, you got a tattoo. You're incredible. You're-"

He stumbled over his own words, trailed off, left his sentence hanging unfinished in mid air. Instead, he leaned down and pressed a kiss right on top of your tattoo. Right on top of those letters, on top of that song, on top of your song. On top of the very reason you had met, six years ago in a stuffed navy bar.

"You're the best thing that's ever happened to me", he muttered, dropping another kiss onto your skin.

You whimpered again.

"You've been so good to me, honey, haven't you?", he went on, as though he wasn't hearing those little whines, those little moans rolling off your tongue. He was. You knew that. "You waited so prettily for me to come back, didn't you? You were so eager for me to be home again, so eager for me to be with you again that you even got a tattoo?"

You nodded along, nodded and nodded and kept on nodding because yes, yes and yes - yes to everything, yes to him.

"You got a tattoo just for me, honey. You can't even see it. Probably had to twist and turn in the mirror every day to take care of it, didn't you? And all just for me."

You nodded again - never really stopped nodding, not with his fingers brushing along your back, over your skin, with his voice so deep and rough and real.

"Just for you", you whined.

Bradley chuckled.

"Just for me", he repeated, his voice deeper than before - if that was even possible - his fingers stroking along your sides, roaming over your back, your spine. "Such a good girl."

A shiver went through your entire body at that - through your legs, your arms, your shoulders, through every single one of your fingers and toes. He knew just what he did to you when he said that.

He knew.

"Bradley", you moaned, unashamed now, the nerves in your veins long subsided, replaced once more by that all-consuming heat that you could never get enough of.

"Yeah, honey?", he asked. You could hear the grin on his lips. "What do you want?"

You let out a sort of sob that sounded pathetic even to your own ears. It wasn't that you minded begging. Because you didn't. You really didn't. But you had already done so, had already begged him miserably, had told him so prettily how you wanted him to fuck you. And he was starting all over again.

"Just once more, honey", Bradley whispered, dropping kisses to your spine, climbing higher and higher. "Tell me once more and you'll get whatever you want."

"Fuck me", you cried out, burying your face in the pillow, not letting even half a second pass by. Bradley always made good on his promises. And you needed him more than anything right now. "Please fuck me."

He was on you within a heartbeat.

One hand around your waist, pulling you into him, as the other one guided himself into you. He pushed into you in one smooth movement, pushed his hips right to yours, stretched you out like he hadn't in four goddamn months.

You were clenching around him, moaning his name, tears brimming in your eyes at the feeling of him again, finally. He was grunting, groaning behind you, his hands clasping around your waist as he settled deep inside you and let out a breath.

You hadn't felt so stretched out in so long. You hadn't felt him in so long. You needed more. You needed to feel more of him.

"Bradley", you whimpered. "Move."

His fingers dug even firmer into your sides. You bit down on your lip. He felt so good, so heavenly with his hands on your skin and his cock deep inside you, but you needed him to move, you needed him to move now, you needed him to fuck you and make you fall apart for him.

"Need a second, honey", he grunted, running his thumbs along your skin - along your new tattoo, just for this, just for him. "God, pretty girl, you're so tight. Missed you so much."

You whimpered underneath him, whimpered as you forced yourself to keep still for him, even as your thighs burned with the need to move, the need for more, the need to finally come undone around him. You knew you were close already. You could feel it, had been feeling it, dancing around the edges of your perception, melting in your blood, scorching in your stomach.

"Missed you too, Bradley", you moaned into the pillow, breathless and desperate for him. "Want to be good for you. So good."

"God, honey, you are", he groaned. "So good. Perfect."

And then he was moving, finally, and you let out a sobbed kind of prayer, your eyes falling shut, your fingers digging into the sheets as he thrust in and out of you in a slow, steady rhythm - enjoying the feeling of you around him, letting you enjoy the feeling of him inside you.

Just that you couldn't enjoy this.

You couldn't enjoy this because you were wound so tightly, wound so goddamn tightly that tears were pricking in your eyes, threatening to run down your cheeks and drop onto the covers. You needed him to make you fall apart, to make you come, you needed more. Just a little more.

You were teetering on the edge and he had you spiralling with how slowly he was fucking you. You needed him to send you over that edge, not build it higher and higher and higher up.

"Bradley", you whined, stumbling clumsily over his name as he ran a hand up your back. "More."

"Dunno if I can-" He broke off, his breath hitching, his fingers resting on your neck, brushing through your hair. "Fuck, honey, dunno if I can do more without coming."

You bit down on your lip at that, let out a moan so absolutely filthy that you were sure you would have been embarrassed of it if you'd had any more capacity to think - to think of anything other than him, anything other than how this god, who could fuck you for hours on end without tiring once, with so much stamina he could have you sobbing, coming for him four, five times on his cock alone, how this god was so desperate for you after four months that he was worried he'd come if he went any faster.

You were almost pushed over the edge just by that alone.

"I don't care", you cried, because you really didn't. "I don't need long, I need you. I'm so close."

Bradley grunted, his fingers brushing even higher up on your scalp.

"You're gonna be the death of me, honey", he muttered, just before he grabbed a fistful of your hair and pulled you up onto your knees - into him, into his arms, your back flush to his chest. You dropped your head against his shoulder with a moan, let your eyes fall shut again.

He thrust up into you with vigor then, with more urgency, with less fear of coming undone, less fear of cutting this short. His hands smoothed over your sides, over your chest, holding you up against him, brushing along your breasts, along your stomach.

And all you could think was yes, this, this was it. This was what you had been imagining, what you had been picturing in a cold, lonesome bed every night, what you had been so desperate for.

His fingers trailed down your thigh, trailed up again, caught on your clit, drew a circle against that little bundle of nerves and you fell forward, doubled over, only held up by him, by his arms around you as you came undone, as you clenched around him.

Four months.

Four months and a tattoo.

And he hadn't even had you there for two minutes, had barely touched you, and now you were falling apart for him, lips parted, eyes squeezed shut, legs burning, fingers cramping. You'd waited four months for this.

You could feel him spilling inside you, noticed it somewhere dancing around the edges of your perception as you gasped for breath, tears stinging your cheeks and your nails digging into your own thighs.

This.

Him.

Bradley's finger had stilled on your clit. You blinked your eyes open, refocused on your green wallpaper, on the pictures, the old vintage polaroids of you and him right above the bed until you could see them all clearly again, until you could see them and realise what they were, until you could manage to tilt your head back and rest it, once more, against Bradley's shoulder. Until you had come back to reality again.

"I missed you so much, honey", he muttered into your ear, pressing a soft, open-mouthed kiss onto your exposed neck. "Missed this so much."

"Missed you so much too", you mumbled, reached for his hands. He pulled his finger from your clit, let you intertwine your hands with his, rested them carefully on your stomach. "Love you, Bradley."

He pressed another kiss to your neck, his lips warm, oh so warm on your skin, soft and warm and you needed him to kiss you now, to press his lips to yours.

"I love you too, honey", he whispered, halfway to brushing another kiss onto your skin when you turned your head, met his lips with your own, cut him off by surprise.

This was a weird angle, you had to strain your neck to even slot your lips together somewhat well and you were sloppy with it, too, your chest still heaving and your mind returning to clarity just now, but you didn't care, couldn't care, not when he'd just made you come, when he was holding you in his arms, when he was finally here, right behind you again, as though the last four months hadn't happened at all.

When you pulled back, you were feeling more normal again - as normal as you possibly could feel, with him behind you, with him inside you still.

"You got a tattoo", Bradley breathed, a grin dancing around the corners of his lips. You chuckled.

"Just for you", you nodded, brushing your fingertips up his arms, up to his elbows.

Bradley kissed you again, all parted lips and breathing into each other. You felt almost melancholic when he drew back. But he was smiling - and when he smiled, you had to smile too.

"I'm never letting you go again", he said, loosened his grip on you to trail his hands slowly, softly down your body, giving you enough time to steady yourself without him holding you up anymore. "And I'm not letting you leave this bed until the sun comes up, alright, pretty girl?"

You had to bite down on your lip to keep from grinning, anticipation already bubbling in your veins again. You knew he could make good on that promise. And that he probably would.

"Yes, please, Bradley", you muttered, already bending down again, splaying out your hands to catch yourself on the mattress as you showed him your tattoo again, just for him to see, just for him to touch. Just for him. "Whatever you want. As long as you want. I love you."

[dr-spectre]

I saw this really great thread on twitter by Grungygrim and it definitely highlights my thoughts and frustrations with the story of these games and the Splatoon fandom as a whole. (be forewarned, i get really tilted in this blog post fyi.)

I made a blog post about 2 weeks ago where i said that i was happy that the narrative online that "Callie is an idiot who got kidnapped and then brainwashed/mind controlled against her consent" is going away. (Here's the link: https://www.tumblr.com/dr-spectre/749710338672525312/im-so-happy-that-the-narrative-online-that?source=share)

Unfortunately I'm gonna have to retract a lot of the stuff i said. I'm still seeing, TILL THIS DAY THAT NARRATIVE ONLINE! IM STILL SEEING SO MUCH MISINFORMATION AND IT MAKES ME REALLYYYY ANGRYYYY!!! As a big fan of Callie, people completely outright ignoring her character arc THAT WAS SET UP SINCE SPLATOON 1 BY THE WAY!!! and not even bothering to look at outside sources for more information and lore genuinely pisses me the fuck off to no end.

No, hypnosis is NOT MIND CONTROL/BRAINWASHING! I DONT WANNA KEEP REPEATING IT! YOU CAN LOOK IT UP! if a person is genuinely uncomfortable and doesn't wish to take the suggestions to heart while hypnotized, THEY WONT DO SO! THEY STILL HAVE CONTROL! Yes, Marie did say "kidnapped" in some of her dialogue, but from her perspective, OF COURSE SHE'S GONNA THINK CALLIE GOT KIDNAPPED! She's known to worry about Callie all the time and ruminate about her, of course she's gonna think of the worst case scenario, doesn't mean she's right though. Was Octavio still in the wrong for hypnotizing Callie in the first place and allowing her to bring out her darker traits more easily? YEAH! NO SHIT! HE'S A BAD DUDE! Not a totally evil person but he has made some awful decisions out of desperation for his people. Why do you think he was so quick to help out the New Squidbeak Splatoon in the finale of Splatoon 3? His people got turned into fluffy monsters by a giant bear, he's all about helping his people.

Hell look at how Callie acts while under the Hypnoshades, she decorates Octo Canyon and her peppy and energetic self is still in tact even during the final boss, she's just more mean and violent. Callie was in an emotional and mentally unwell situation due to her overworking herself and being incredibly lonely as her relationship with Marie was damaged overtime. Callie accepted the suggestions of DJ Octavio and heard him out, AS SAID BY HER FROM THE RELATIONSHIP CHART! She wasn't forced into anything. She didn't suffer "sexual abuse" from Octavio by being forced into skippy clothing as some psychos say online, if she didn't want to wear that outfit she wouldn't cause hypnosis is NOT MIND CONTROL!! I hate having to repeat this over and over again, i hate how the developers basically rushed and ruined this interesting villain arc with stupid shades, only to try and hastily fix it later with an obscure post about A GOD DAMN RELATIONSHIP CHART THAT PEOPLE EITHER DONT KNOW ABOUT OR DONT CARE TO LOOK AT BECAUSE THEY SEE SPLATOON AS SOMETHING FOR KIDS AND TO NOT GIVE ANY CARE TOWARDS!!!!!!!!

I made a god damn giant blog explaining Callie in Splatoon 2 because i felt so frustrated about how my favorite character in the series was being treated and i tried to salvage the story that the writers tried to make. The way that people made her situation worse by saying she got kidnapped and forcibly ""mind controlled/brainwashed"" actually gave me chest pain, thinking about that kind of scenario for Callie actually hurts me... Heck i cant even listen to the Splatoon 2 stage music or final boss music because hearing her reversed vocals makes me feel uncomfortable due to the misinformation online. I hated all the misinformation and i wanted it to stop. HELL EVEN IN GIANT TIMELINE VIDEOS WHERE PEOPLE DO TONS OF RESEARCH THEY STILL GET IT WRONG!! UGHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!! i guess it'll still be the common and popular notion that Callie is an idiot that got kidnapped and then ""mind controlled"" by some shades... oh well... ugh...

I'm sorry if I'm coming off as really angry, i am. It's just, my brain is really hyperfixated on this squid and she means a lot to me. Seeing the way the fandom as well as the writers treat her makes me really mad. I hope i can find some peeps who feel the same way as i do. Misinformation is so frustrating man... i dont even wanna get into the Octarians because that's a whole other can of worms... anyways im done ranting. have a good night or good morning wherever you live y'all.

[thewertsearch]

ERIDAN: for all that trainin you did ERIDAN: i wwouldnt be the incredible holy wwizard i am noww wwithout your help […] KANAYA: I Hope You Use Your Magnificent Powers Of Light And Hope For Goodness And Purity And Lets Not Forget Science

At this point. Kanaya is Human Sarcasming better than most actual humans.

ERIDAN: dont wworry im all ovver that shit you dont evven knoww KANAYA: Uh Oh I Hope That Didnt Come Off As Too Sarcastic […] KANAYA: Please Dont Take Too Much Offense ERIDAN: haha damn kan if thats your idea of offense bein made then i honestly gotta fuckin wworry for you ERIDAN: tell you wwhat ill givve you some lessons in dealin out the dark umbrage to repay you for your tutelage in the wwhite science

I think Dave taught Kanaya more about the art of trolling in a single conversation than Eridan could in an entire lifetime.

That guy can troll better than most actual trolls.

ERIDAN: wwhats that thing there KANAYA: The Matriorb KANAYA: I Was About To Go Hatch It In The Core To Restore Our Race ERIDAN: that sounds ERIDAN: hopeful […] ERIDAN: if theres goin to be any sort a hope for our race as the prince of hope i demand to be invvolvved ERIDAN: so dont go anywwhere wwithout me got it […] KANAYA: Fine

I’m all for the construction of neo-Alternia, but I really don't think Eridan should be on the planning committee, unless we also want a neo-hemospectrum.

Honestly, the only trolls I'd really trust to rebuild their society are the bottom half of the hemospectrum, and possibly Gamzee. The other highbloods can go sit in the corner.

ERIDAN: its not magic wwe talked about this kar KARKAT: RIGHT, IT'S POWERED BY SCIENCE, I FORGOT. KARKAT: OR HOPE. WHATEVER THE FUCK THAT MEANS

I don’t see how Hope translates to a robot-exploding beam, though.

If it was wizards he was blowing up, I’d understand, because it would be consistent with my theory that he's weaponizing his hatred of FRAUDULENT MAGIC. If anything, his Science Wand should strengthen a robot, since it's a product of the TRUEST SCIENCES.

ERIDAN: i had a harder time than anybody wwith this game ERIDAN: it wwas really fuckin unfair wwhat challenges i got saddled wwith ERIDAN: i wwoulda fuckin MURDERED for a land full of a lot a harmless brains and fire ERIDAN: but no ERIDAN: it wwas so lonely ERIDAN: hey guys anybody wwant to come hang out wwith me in the land a wwrath and angels

That sounds cool, though. Angels, I assume, are how Hope is represented in his Land, and I’m sure Eridan synergized well with its wrath. I wonder what physical form it took?

ERIDAN: anybody at all i knoww it isnt anythin like one of your flippin land picnics ERIDAN: anybody please ill evven settle for the kittycat shipper cavve girl

You can't complain about loneliness and then insult your ‘friend’ in the same breath. That's not how any of this works, and the fact that you're unaware of this should tell you everything you need to know about why you're lonely.

So Karkat does know about Nepeta’s little crush. He is a relationship aficionado, after all.

Poor Nepeta.

I sort of figured Karkat didn't reciprocate her feelings. He's preoccupied with plenty of other redrom prospects, and he basically never mentions her.

Karkat’s honestly a little too nice to Eridan. He’s being such a bro here, but what Eridan actually needs is to be brought down to size a little.

Granted, I think Eridan needs a bigger shock to the system than an angry tirade from Karkat. I feel like Terezi could tear him to pieces - but since it's unfair to expect her to put up with him alone, I'd put both the Scourge Sisters on this assignment. >:)

What Karkat is aptly demonstrating here is that there’s a difference between an Eridan kind of asshole and a Karkat kind of asshole.

Let's be real, here - Karkat's a dick. But he's a dick who holds no true malice, knows when he's crossed a line, and is willing to sincerely apologize for his past actions, and make amends.

Eridan possesses none of these qualities, which is why he sat alone in his house for a month while Karkat befriended the entire cast.

[bowl-of-brain-worms]

[disclaimer that im not very far into hades 2 and i dont want to spoil too much for people who also keep dying around oceanus lol]

I HAVE SO MANY THOUGHTS ABOUT CHARON. i mean i always do but MORE THAN USUAL.

like everyone is talking about how much he misses hermes when hes away doing his spy shit which is. so. fucking cute. BUT ALSO. this poor man has been through so much. one of his brothers is missing, another is in a damn COMA, moros is too busy to hang out (and is antisocial enough he probably wouldnt want to even if he did have free time), who even knows what nemesis is up to. i can only think about how lonely he probably is.

his edges have been worn down, hes so soft in this game. the way he talks to melinoe seems sweeter than how he talked to zagreus. and zag lived in the house his whole life, he probably didnt get to see charon very much growing up and no one can convince me he can understand charons language clearly. BUT MEL CAN. BECAUSE THEY TALK ALL THE TIME!!!!!

charon visits the crossroads often enough that the shades know him. people dont seem so terrified of him like they did in the first game. HES TRYING TO HELP. AND NOT EVEN FOR MONEY!!!! hestia says something about how the gold in this game (rather than charons obols) are from chronos. melinoe asks charon to "dispose of this" when giving him gold.

hes so interesting this time around i love it. im doing everything in my power to interact with him as much as possible on my runs (the boatman tarot will be helpful when i can finally afford it lol)

the second his portrait is released. its so fucking over.

[freebooter4ever]

ok i've been taking a break for the past half hour and doing research on the pens locker room, trying to figure out how i wanted to design my own version of geno's 'stall' (is that what it's called?). i love the circular shape it feels very king arthur

first, there isn't a lot of internet documented history on the various eras of the locker room design??? which seems sad

don't get me wrong the latest iteration is pretty epic but as far is i can tell, it hasn't changed much since at least 2013? i do not envy whoever is cleaning this place. thats a lot of sweat over the years.

second, im enjoying seeing little details that i had no idea existed, being a new fan and all. like the puck wins count???? crazy. these guys have a visual representation of how they're doing in the season right up there on the wall glaring judgmentally at them? im so glad im not in sports. i would not survive.

especially when the HISTORY of these pucks is on the walls.....like damn. talk about pressure. anyway 2011-2012 thats one of geno's best seasons right? :)

this is what I wanted. mesh, hooks, I need to figure out how i want to make this look cool.

i find it really funny and endearing that the thing these guys do to relax in down time is a playful version of their own job....

also im not sure about this like:

are they assigned a razor??? you get traded to the penguins and suddenly you're not allowed to use your fancy expensive specialized razor? is this a normal thing in hockey????? do they have group shaves for special events like the playoffs? hockey players are fascinating.

i dont know why but i never considered that the pens have actual lockers in addition to the little seats in the main locker room. this makes total sense. i dont know where i thought their clothes and stuff went. just disappeared into the ether i guess.

anyway definitely a necessity, the hot tub. it looks a little sad and lonely in this photo. it needs a hockey player in it.

racks and racks of gear???? again this makes total sense but never occurred to me. also maybe helps explain why geno likes to switch up gloves, look at all them, damn. i do wonder about helmets still - geno's looks so unique and he's been using the same design since at least 2009.

ok im guessing this is an away locker room and i have only one question: do they bring a little 'logo' carpet to roll out every time they go on the road? thats amazing.

if you read all that, nice! here's a shot of geno with his jock out:

very important locker room research. bonus the earliest pens locker room photo of geno i could find:

shy beautiful boy ^_^ (also he looks so young and vulnerable its hard to believe that even back in 2008/2009 he already had so much responsibility with so many grown adults making demands on his entire career)(like he went through all that AND is still playing in the league with three cups under his belt? thats fucking awesome)

[cherry-cosmoz]

Chapter 3 : new surroundings

This might be my favorite chapter 💪

You wake up in somebodies arms. Without a second thought think hard. You rip her right arm clean off. You scramble to your bag she was holding grabbing your dad’s gun from it and releasing 3 rounds into her skull. Out of breath you hear someone “h-holy fuck she absolutely slaughtered c-clockwork.” the crazed brunette looks at his now massacred ally “Big man wasn’t kidding when she said she was bat shit crazy” the man in the white mask spoke up. There was a man in a yellow hoodie and black mask but he stayed silent. “Who the fuck are you. Stay away from me!” She says The man with the white mask puts out his cigarette “listen kid you listen to us we might not hurt you” Fuck that! She snaps the twitchy brunettes leg. The silent hooded man quickly shot you in the thigh. The brunette twitching and laughing “picked the wrong p-person out the three m-missy, I can’t feel p-pain” he laughs some more The hooded man walks up to you and throws you over his shoulder. The twitchy brunette stuffs his hand in your jacket grabbing your phone. “L-let’s see what w-we have here” He clicks the camera roll “Fuck.” She says thinking of the previous selfies “Holy s-shit balls masky look at this shit!” The masked man speaks up “no shut up kid I don’t want to see selfies” well shit its kinda weird now who am i kidding they just watched you slaughter their friend. “N-no it’s d-different look!” The man you now know is masky looks at the photo of mel holding up a severed head and a peace sign “Huh maybe that’s why he wants her?” Melanie finally speaks up “I know what you��re looking at but 1 who wants me? 2 where is my dad.” the girl now worried on where her body bags were. “l-looking at it he’s d-dead” okay smart ass obviously hes fucking dead. “Yeah I know that fucktard where’s my bags with him inside of it” Masky speaks up “don’t know the rake will probably eat him” Melanie talks again “what the fuck is a rake” The hooded man finally speaks up “shut up bitch all you do is talk wait till we are done walking or something” Whatever it looked like there was a rickety cabin ahead. The rude hooded man throws Melanie down on the porch “Alright what are your god damn names I’ve already been shot and kidnapped” Melanie spoke “y-you broke my a-arm” the brunette spoke “YOU CANT FEEL PAIN DICK CHEESE” Melanie screams at him. “M-my names Toby and t-thats hoodie and t-thats-" before the brunnete finishes she cuts him off. “Masky I know, now why do you want me here.” the hooded man which is now known to go by "hoodie" speaks up again. "listen kid, WE don't want you here, the operator does." your now confused who the fuck is that. " the oper what?" masky goes to say something but the twitchy brunette cuts him off. "you know those weird slenderman stories" your still confused until you remember. earlier this year two girls stabbed their friend in the woods for that same man. " is this the same slenderman from the stabbing?" you think on how you hear about the girl that got stabbed 19 times and crawled out to get help purely running off of adrenaline. toby speaks again "ben told me about that. but yes its t-the same guy, those girls dont know what its like." well shit i know im gonna find out. "take her to EJ." alright who the fuck are all these people. we have operator, ben, and now letters. toby quickly gets closer and picks you up like a feather, he smells like pine,blood,and urine. not the best combo all i can hope is that they have showers. your thoughts were interrupted by your phone shaking violently, toby looks at it to see an elf looking entity "ben why are you in her phone." so theres one name off the checklist. "chill out man operator told me to do so and you know how it gets lonely in here" he says in a unserious puppy voice. "give me my phone" you snatch it out of tobys hands, before he could object a boy around your age pops out of your screen. "whats cookin good lookin" you couldnt help but giggle a little, meanwhile toby looks like lazari just ripped his heart out and ate it. he doesnt know why but hes...jealous?

[zuureleena]

i drew the mercs, miss pauling, admin, and my tf2 oc on the plane to uni 😭

i did all of these a week ago and completely forgot to post them HAJAHAH miss p, the admin, and a rlly simplified ver of my tf2 oc miss lynn!! (zoey lynn hehe + js rambles abt her) under the cut

IM ACTUALLY REWORKING HER DESIGN RNNNN bcs i made her on the sims 4 LMAO and realised how much better and concise she looked, but i really wanna try and make her look like someone you'd js see irl? sooOOo tryna make her also recognisable from silhouette alone and blahablahblah tho she isn't the kind of character that would rlly make too much of a difference in the tf2 universe

i js wanted to make a loveable character LMAO who'd have more of an impact on the relationships and kinda the story?

i liked the idea of miss p having an extroverted bestfriend who's also her wingwoman bcs miss pauling is obvs an awkward lesbian mess who needs help in the love department, and vice versa bcs zoey is into scout and miss pauling is js so glad to have him move on n realise that they r better as friends!! and that he needs to be with someone who isn't annoyed by him 24/7 (IM SORRY, LWNAKS MY SELF-INSERTEDNESS GOT IN THE WAY HAHAHAHA I CANT HELP IT) also, i haven't rlly thought of any orientation for zoey... i'm thinking of her js being a het woman or js whatever u wanna interpret her as!! cuz her sexuality isn't a core thing abt her

she's an absolute harbinger of chaos who'd do anyt for money and some company (this girl has been hella lonely n stressed out of her mind and i'll explain why in an oc post🤭🤭) and even tho she never outright admits it, she does enjoy the freedom of violence she gets to have as a mann co assistant 😭 (which will ALSO make sense when i explain her background to u guys later on)

and bcs of her long experience w shady bosses and asshole customers she's had to deal within all the jobs she's had, she catches onto the administrator's whole thing with the australium fairly early into the job, but she's in tooooo deep now and is like "damn. do i get myself out of this fucked up job (that i am fucked up enough to actually enjoy) or do i stay bcs i literally have everything i've ever wanted....shit." like,, she did say she'd do anyt for money but at the cost of what 😭 [also MAN i wish we got that final comic so i can js make zoey's suspicions make sense??!?@ but in a way it js works bcs it's js this massive mystery that we don't even know of ourselves???? so likeee, im js assuming its smth rlly dangerous or smth bcs helen literally goes to the most insane lengths to get australium and finish off her final... thingy.. that uh DEBT is it... i forgot what she called it BUT WHATEVER BUSINESS SHE HAD TO ATTEND TO B4 SHE DIED QOABJASH]

OH AND YEAH, zoey hates how bossy the admin is and is an ass abt it at times, and the admin wants zoey gone so badly bcs shes an annoying little shit (which she is and honestly, her and scout can be annoying shits tgt <3) but miss p always convinces her to keep zoey BAGAHAHA and they do get things done much faster w zoey there sooOoOOo 🌝🤭

i mean she does try to kill both miss p & l anyway but still, she can't deny that they r both good at what they do

BWOSBQJS BYE I DONT THINK ANYONE IS GONNA READ THIS AHAGAH BUT THANK YOU IF U DID 😭 I HAVE SM ABT ZOEY AND I RLLY WANT HER TO BE LOVEABLE AUGHWGS

[raven-the-claw]

A Complete Guide To Chaotic Academia

bc its my fav aesthetic and there is not enough content about it

Outfits

most people say that chaotic academia is just dark academia but a little bit more messy, and, well, chaotic. the truth is, chaotic academia is A LOT more messy than dark academia. you can still use dark academia as kind of a "base", but you are going to replace your blazers with flannels, your turtlenecks with tshirts. as for pants, you can go with litteraly anything: cigarette pants, tailored trousers, ripped-up jeans or normal black leggings. i personally really ike ripped up overalls bc they give that "i dont really give a damn, im so misunderstood, my parents didnt love me, im a crazy lonely introverted teenage child" vibe...idk. whatever you wear, make sure you feel comfortable in it! even tho in chaotic academia there are almost no rules at all, here are some things that might help you!

colours: any earthy tones are fine, brown, caramel, dark green, dark red, white, etc etc

fictional characters that might inspire you:

-remus lupin

- any dpc character

- jess mariano

- sydney novak

accesories: flannels (a personal fav + they make even the most boring fit look better), cardigans, converse (bonus points if you draw/write on them or if you have them laced in a weird way), bracelets or necklaces that mean something to you, harry potter back packs, tote bags...

hairstyles: whatever you want, just make sure your hair is ALWAYS messy, looking like you just fucking woke up

Activities and Traits

ok now we're getting to the actually important part bc (repeat after me): chaotic academia is not about how you look, its about how you live and how you act. so here r some thing that might help:

- annotating books with the most unhinged random thoughts

- learning poetry or speeches word for word but not remembering most of the things for school

- studying in the (school) library and being besties with the librarian (optional)

- leaving notes (on trees, mailboxes or library books) for strangers to find

- "studying while listening to classical music" and then instead of studying you end up agressivly mouthing your favorite song

- im sure yall already heard this one, but yes, swearing and slag while discussing deep academic topics is incredibly important

- speaking of important topics: posting something important on social media knowing no one will read it

- doodles on your hands 24/7 (NO SUSAN, I DONT GIVE A DAMN THAT ITS BAD FOR MY SKIN)

- sarcasm. a lot.

- random thoughts

- random quotes

- knowing a ton of conspiracy theories that you dont even beileve in by heart

- listening to all different types of podcasts

- one day reading the classics, the next ya fantasy and day after that ao3 smut

- multifandom, multishipper

- tea/coffee addiction

- adding b.c. to todays date when writing it in school

- random thoughts and the weirdest annotations in your school notebooks, especially the classes that you find boring

- "going to the bathroom" and then spending half of your math class drawing/reading/smoking/crying/thinking/whatever the fuck you wanna do there bc ur tired of everything

- stealing random stuff from stores (tho it is not encouraged blah blah blah)

- watching gilmore girls every fall

- telling people ur favorite colour is green even tho it isnt just to let them know that ur gay

- reading in class, on breaks, at home, parks, meetings, aethletic events, and generally all the fucking time

- doing (mostly) everything last minute

- bad at photography, but you enjoy it

- cold tea my beloved

- wearing one item every day: it can either be a necklace, a flannel, a bracelet, a badge, headphones, earrings etc etc

- extremely messy handwriting, always writing with black pen

- crying at least once a day, but only when ur alone, being super emotional but never showing it

- hobbies include reading, screaming in your pillow, learning unique languages that you will probably never use, rewatching dead poets society, harry potter, enola holmes, end of the fucking world and gilmore girls

- massive bookworm, reads all the time, always has a book with them

- skipping class, not that often tho

- 💫anger issues💫

- hyperactive and lazy at the same time

- uses big words but makes fun of other people when they do it

- writes (rebellious) book quotes everywhere, every single one of their notebooks had IF WE BURN, YOU BURN WITH US written in them lol

- random useless powerpoints

- analysing taylor swift's folklore and evermore instead of sheakspeare because its just better

- retired almost-emo, had a phase when they wore black and acted all mysterious but were never really emo i cant explain it

- likes mcr. this one speaks for itself.

- gay and sad. no explanation needed.

Books, Movies and Music

Books:

- Harry Potter by you know who (WE DONT SUPPORT HER THO)

- The Secret History by Donna Tartt

- Night School by CJ Daugherty (is that how u spell it lol)

- The Ninth House by Leigh Bardugo

- Six of Crows by Leigh Bardugo

- Heartstopper by Alice Oseman

- Pride and Prejudice by Jane Austen

- Emma by Jane Austen

- Hamlet by Do I Really Need To Say Who

- The Perks Of Being A Wallflower by Stephen Chbosky

- The Picture of Dorain Gray by Oscar Wilde

- Frankenstein by Marry Shelley

Movies/TV Shows

- end of the fucking world

- heartstopper

- harry potter

- enola holmes

- dead poets society

- gilmore girls

- httyd (no kidding lol)

im not really a film girlie so if yall have any recs please lmk

Music:

- Mother Mother

- Taylor Swift (obviously)

- Lana Del Slay

- Conan Gray

- Olivia Rodrigo

- My Chemical Romance

- Lovejoy

- Bowie

- Queen

- Radiohead

- Björk

- Those random Disney songs i know you scream to at 3am

also whoever sings the IMJUSTATEENAGEDIRTBAGBAABBYY song

here is my playlist if yall wanna listen to it

hope that helps lol

[fandomfluffandfuck]

i havent seen the inside of your ask box for ages so let me just say i finished money magic and WOAH. leave some talent for the rest of us damn. also. im going to add ‘financial domination’ to my mental list of kinks and im doing it with a sly smirk on my face because id never heard of it before this fic and i certainly will be looking for more in the future.

i genuinely think im into it only because you write it so. fucking. well. i love this community youve built where so many people can discover new kinks through your writing and it makes me so happy being able to find out new things about myself from a piece of art like this. i just love fandom sometimes.

plus i think of your blog as a haven bc i can come here anytime i want and its like someone took all the things i love about fandom and put it through your brain then onto here. a true blessing.

ok onto the fic itself, i have a few things to say:

1) i will never get over the way you build up to the climax of the fic. like, from the beginning, its always so obvious that something big is going to happen and i just can never wait until the next update to find out. i dont think ive ever skim read one of your paragraphs because every word pulls me in a makes me want moreee.

2) the way you use imagery in your work is actually something i think should be studied because you do it SO WELL. an example from chapter one that i cant stop thinking about;

His mind whirls. He’s back to spinning out of control. It feels as though his head might come off his shoulders, twisted and twisted and twisted around, thinning his neck, and becoming too unsteady.

like hello???? i can picture every tiny little detail of this moment and its insane how you can just do that.

3) the chemistry between your characters never feels forced or awkward. ive noticed that you dont use dialogue too much when writing smut and i love that because it lets the reader really visualise whats going on. but when you do its absolutely perfect. the way you kept the power dynamics going steadily throughout and even when they were talking on the balcony, it just made me realise how much you really care about what you write and it made reading so much more enjoyable.

theres literally like a million other things i could say but im not gna ramble here. instead, take some snippets that i especially enjoyed that i will think about for a long, long time:

A shiver wracks Steve’s body, accompanied by a rough exhale that fills his bedroom—a confession of how much he’s enjoying this by its very nature.

-

Steve shivers so hard it might as well be a convulsion. Good. The way his words leave no room for argument, for thought, for anything but all this electric embarrassment to fill his veins and circulate throughout his body, polluting him tip to tail. Jesus. He commands all of Steve without being there. It’s heady. He can feel himself being pulled in like a sailor, lonely after months at sea, to a siren.

-

A moan comes tumbling out of his mouth, humiliated to the point that he feels dizzy. He couldn’t stand and walk straight if he tried, he’d stumble and fall onto his knees. He wants to stumble and fall and have Bucky push his heavy hands into his hair, he wants to feel the cold metal of his rings and the blunt sharpness of his fingernails against his scalp as he grabs and pulls and twists, making sure Steve feels his place.

-

Steve imagines this is what being a pinata feels like, struck hard enough that it's twirling around its point of suspension, unable to know what’s up or down, left or right, just focused on each hit and when the next one is going to come, then, ah!, all of the sudden spilling its bounty.

-

i could put the whole fic here but you know. that’d be too long. ill just have to hope what ive said here is enough.

bottom line is that im OBSESSED and i will be taking the pleasure of rereading this fic as soon as i can. thank you so much for sharing!!! lots of love 💗

"Money Magic"

YOU ARE SO SWEET, ARCHIE!

Thank you, lovely <3

I'm so glad to hear that you finished that fic, and, more importantly, that you enjoyed the read so much! You're too kind. Haha, I'm hitting you again with the kink discovery. I think if I can't find a job (a scarily real threat, lmao), I can make a job of that alone 💀💀 I, too, though, am going to be looking for more of it! I haven't found anything else with fin domming in stucky fics, but I would love to!

I'm honored that it's even a possibility that you'd just be into it because of the way I write it <3 Me too!! I love the absolute filth I can write and people not batting an eye, aside from horny reactions that I enjoy very much. Thank you. Plus, even better, so many people have come into my inbox to say depraved, kinky shit. Like. YES. Discover more kinks from me, tell me more about your kinks, and let's explore it all. Not you calling my porn writing art

(Like, absolutely, porn is art. Art inspires emotion, and horny is a valid emotion. I wholeheartedly believe that and would very readily call lots of other writers erotica art, but hearing that about my own? Wtf. Shits wild)

And calling my blog a haven?! Staaawp. You're too cute and nice, I can't take it

1) Ah! I'm so glad to hear that 'cause I plan out my fics EXTENSIVELY, lmao, and I try very hard to up myself consistently within my longer, chaptered fics.

2) You are so fucking sweet I am gonna scream. Oh my god!! I love how you pulled quotes from my text! What the hell??? That's so nice!

3) Thank you, thank you, thank you!! I feel like I use a lot of dialog 💀💀 That's probably because I think so hard about my dialog, though, lol. I do care, definitely. I care too much sometimes 😅 but, yeah, I try to always think, okay, but would the character actually ever say or behave like that? Both this AU character, but also the canon character because the AU is, of course, a canon extension/expansion.

Aww, I don't have words (which is saying something for me, haha)! Again, though, I love, love, love that you included snippets that stuck out to you!

YOU'RE SO SWEET!

THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR READING AND THANK YOU FOR SUCH WONDERFUL COMMENTS ALONG THE WAY!

[borderline-culture-is]

(Long vent that may mot be ordered right or make sense bc im tired rn)

I’m so fucking done with this life tbh. Like from the bottom of my heart. I wish i can kill myself but im too scared. Thats that damn problem though, im still forcing myself to suffer because im a coward, i cant even make ip my mind to end it. I cant get therapy, or any type of medication because my parents dont care enough to notice even tho my symptoms are very bad. and even when i become an adult, id probably not be able to. I have no dreams for the future, i have no money, nothing. ill probably have to live with them for way longer. And im still not going to be able to kms ofc, im going to live very long and THATS THE PROBLEM. I cant fucking tell snyone irl about my mental issues because im too ashamed. In fact, im so fucking embarrassed that i fake a personality everyday to make myself as perfect as possible. Everyone thinks im really nice, kind, and patient. When in fact im really a fucking shitty person who just pretends to be cool and shit. All because im too fucking embarrassed to admit im mentally ill. How could anyone like me for who i actually am?? Hell, I cant even admit im autistic, even though its nothing to be ashamed of. I just know my parents will laugh at me and id rather die than hear it from them

Im at my fucking limits everyday, and im tired all the time even if notbing even happened. I have anxiety attacks weekly for no reason at all, and no one knows. I hate being this good at masking.

I cry in my room all the time, and sometimes i have to force myself to let it out because im so numb. I hate it when im breaking down and my parents are in the kitchen laughing and enjoying themsleves like its just another day.

I feel so apathetic and nihlisitic. I have felt lonely my entire life because i cant relate to anyone. I know people only like the person they see on the surface, not the person i am inside

Ive told many people online about my issues, and i dont know if its not helping much or im too numb to feel any good emotions. But either way, ive realised that it might hurt me too. Im just normalising living this way more because im able to vent to people without actually getting any professional help. And this is just one out of the billions of unhealthy coping mechanisms i have. But i have no other choice. I need to cope somehow because i cant get treatment, and if these mechanisms dont work, i need to try harder and make myself more ill. Its not like i can be fixed anymore, so oh fucking well.

yesterday, my parents confronted me abt how i always looked tired, they asked me if i was being bullied at school. That pissed me off. Why?? Have they ever took the time to realise they maybe theyre the ones causing it?? No, i am not being bullied, and the only reason for that is my good masking skills. Do i need to get bullied to be ill enough? Am i still not bad enough for you to care??

-🌟

.

[icey--stars]

non-sexual intimacy headcanons (ft. bat boys and two fire idiots)

dont mind me ya'll, im just silently crying at the chapter for stbt im writing, its so damn sweet i love it.

also, please tell me im not the only one who absolutely LOVES non-intimate, intimate gestures, like head scratches and cuddling and gentle kissing and then playing with their hair-

AH, its so good. i have an addiction. its so sweet. and sure- real intimate things are great and all, especially when it counts on a shit ton of trust or somethin, but like... head scratches- or aftercare! ya'll, aftercare. so damn cute.

↢ 『 ☾ 』 ↣

headcanons:

beside their names, their favorite non-sexual ways of showing love are in order :)

rhys: cuddling, hair playing and affirmations

would TOTALLY be addicted to cuddles and playing with your hair. but mostly cuddling. like, he'd let you curl up on his chest and just lay there, falling asleep, or just being in a permanent state of calm. and he wouldn't tell you, but he secretly loves when you let him lay on your chest/stomach, and play with his hair/head scratches. and we can all see from the books, this male does do some pretty solid aftercare, but again, cuddling. this male loves to cuddle. and he'd love just telling you how much you're worth to him. every damn day. "you look so perfect darling", "you're amazing, i love you", "i can't get enough of you and your beautiful body"

cass: hair playing, cuddling, kissing

hair playing. no cap. he's got long hair for a reason ya'll. and he's such a physical lover. he'd be playing with your hair, or scratching your head all you want, and would try to not show it- but he'd be leaning into the touch like a little kitty cat when you do the same. this male LIVES for someone to play with his hair. but he'd also enjoy some sweet cuddling, curling around you in a big bear hug and keeping you all warm with his wings. and some gentle forehead kissing to go along with it :) and aftercare consists of the sweetest little affirmations of his love AH. this male. i can't.

az: affirmations, kissing, cuddling

he be doing everything really. i see him kissing you so softly, or just staying awake just to see you in his arms, sleeping soundly. he lives for seeing the trust you put in him, he loves it. and he is, of course, KING of aftercare. he'd make sure you get a bath, no matter how tired he is, or you are, and then after, he'd dry you off all gently, and bundle you into the bed (after making sure whether or not you wanted clothes or not), and then he'd just say all these sweet words of affirmation, like "you're so perfect", "i love you, so much, alright? remember that", "so beautiful, so amazing, so perfect"

lucien: hair playing, kissing, cuddling

long hair gang, so automatically joining the hair playing gang 👑 and then i feel like he'd be more for just gently kissing, going more for wordless gestures that show how much he is just infatuated with you. and he'd make sure you're comfortable at ALL times. you're hungry? he's got food. you're thirsty? he's gettin whatever drink you fucking want. you feel lonely? he's got you in his damn lap, letting you just feel him, and smell him near. and aftercare? same damn thing ya'll. he be huggin you close.

eris: kissing, affirmations, head scratches

this male... oh this male fucking loves kissing you. any time of day or night. he is just infatuated with the feeling of your lips, even if he doesn't wanna go have some fun in the bedroom- no he just does it to do it. and while he tries to act all big and bad, he says the sweetest things in your ears all the time. he really do be about making sure you know he loves you. i think if you asked him, he'd play with your hair, but if he'd do it at all- he'd do it while you're sleeping and wont know, and absolutely revels in the soft contented sounds that come from you when he scratches at your head. aftercare with this man isnt immediate, because he will just immediately collapse and pull you close to kiss you all softly.

↢ 『 ☾ 』 ↣

anyway, i hope ya'll enjoyed that. i love making these.

[heartslobbf]

i watched heartstopper s2 because i was an avid osemanverse enjoyer in my early teen years (back when alice oseman still had anons on rip) and owe some of my aspec self-discovery to their writing. i knew they had written an aroace storyline into this series and wanted to see it because whilst i knew as an aroallo lesbian i wouldn’t totally resonate and might be a bit cheesed off by aspects of it, i enjoy aromantic crumbs, and i enjoy discussing aspec Stuff even more. it was……. an interesting experience? has certainly given me a lot to think about. gushy rant below the cut :)

i will say, i think that the amatonormativity is still strong, and rigid in this show. it’s like, isaac is the exception to the rule and his true love is books, and he gets to yell at his friends for all being so damn couple-y and romance-obsessed but there’s no resolution to that. is that realistic? yeah, sure, allo friends can fucking suck, but heartstopper is the kind of show aiming to do certain things for queer kids where id expect a dialogue about this. you know, charlie & co coming to understand aspec identities and becoming more conscious of how amatonormativity affects them, interrogating it in such a way that these queer couples can also be liberated from its trappings. juicy shit like that. didnt happen tho. isaac gets a book about asexuality (no mention of aromanticism on its cover!!! the word is used by the artist who vaguely explains both terms to isaac, but there is a much greater focus on asexuality, so much so that this morning i saw pink fucking news celebrating isaac’s asexual storyline without a mention of his aromanticism) and that’s it.

a lot of that criticism is arguably coloured by my experience as an aroallo person, because i just want aromanticism to be engaged with as aromanticism. you know aroaces we are besties in arms solidarity and all that, and im so fucking happy you got some great asexual rep that frequently used the word asexual, as well as your flag and iconography. like fuck yeah!!!!!! let’s go!!!!!! however, aromanticism is not a subset of asexuality, is not an ‘extreme form’ of asexuality, does not necessarily have anything to do with asexuality. im sure the aspec folks know this, but allo fuckers dont and that means that this canonically aromantic character who was emotionally affecting to me is one that im gonna be barred from resonating with again and again.

you know, moments of isaac’s story were so profound and moving for me. i cried at the kiss scene in episode 5, it was probably the single most relatable moment of tv (related to my experiences with sexuality) that ive ever seen. its certainly not my favourite tv moment of all time lol, relatability ≠ quality, but when youre part of a marginalised group and experience a lot of loneliness and alienation surrounding your identity it is great to see it reflected. i honestly loved that shit!!!!! ive been there!!!! that’s me!!!!!! the wanting and the not wanting!!! the jealousy and confusion and alienation, the longing to be able to feel what you can’t just so you don’t have to be so lonely, the knowledge that you’re just not that person…… oh it was great. it was fucking great. so you can maybe appreciate how upsetting it is for other people to neglect the aromantic facets of this canonically aromantic character, when we dont get shit.

having said that, asexuals also dont get shit; my issue is absolutely not with isaac being aroace, but rather with how mainstream understanding of aspec identities is still so piss poor that people neglect the aromantic aspect of that identity. i found isaac to be a relatable character and i enjoyed and appreciated that about him; i wish more people would talk about him being both asexual and aromantic, because aromanticism does not get talked about enough as anything other than an ‘extension’ of asexuality, an idea which only diminishes the complexity and vastness of both (fucking awesome and beautiful) identities. love and light and solidarity forever with all other aspec folk <3