#fucking tired of celebrating the scraps

[saturnniidae]

Shout out to Sweet tooth for having strong male-female friendships that end in tragedy but remain completely platonic as well as little to no romance throughout the entire show

[a-killer-obsession]

S 1&2👀

Congrats on 250 followers!<3

Deep Sleeper

Prompt: Somnophilia

Additional Tags: afab reader, she/her reader pronouns, dub-con, fingering, oral (giving? and receiving), p in v sex, facial, humiliation, threesome F/M/M

WC: 1.9k

Event Masterlist

“Night everyone,” you yawned, ready to leave the post-battle victory celebration and head to bed, “wake me if anything exciting happens.”

“Like we could wake you if we tried,” Killer snorted, receiving a round of laughs from the surrounding crewmates at your expense.

“Whatever!” You puffed your cheeks and huffed, “I'm not that deep of a sleeper!”

“Yeah?” Killer smirked under his mask, “you wake right up don't you?”

“Like that time you fell asleep in Dive's spot on the couch,” Heat laughed, “so she bit you!”

“I thought she was dead!” Dive clattered her teeth together as she giggled, “she didn't even wake up when House was stitching her up!”

“It was one time!” You pouted, “I was really tired!”

“Okay, then what about that time you fell out of bed during a storm,” Wire added, “and you came to breakfast with a shard of wood sticking out of your shoulder that you didn't even realise was there?”

“I have a high pain tolerance!” You frowned, crossing your arms and staring daggers at Killer for starting this. “I wake up just fine when someone wakes me, thank you very much!”

“No you don't, you narcoleptic bitch!” Kid roared, “Kil and I could fuck ya brains out and ya wouldn't wake!”

“Yeah? Bet!” You squinted at him, laying down the challenge. Sex was not something any Kid Pirate was shy about, but you were confident you'd wake up at that, especially knowing how big the two men are in that department.

“Yeah, and what do we get if we win?” Kid smirked, exchanging a knowing look with Killer.

“The two of you can freeuse me for a week,” you replied confidently, “and if I win, you take me off the bathroom cleaning rotation for the rest of the year.”

“Deal,” Kid held out his flesh arm and you shook it, Kid grabbing your hand hard and pulling you close, “Yer gonna look so pretty at breakfast with my load on yer face,” he purred in your ear, making you shiver, before you turned and scowled at him for appearances, despite the electricity pooling at your core.

Kid and Killer gave you plenty of time to fall asleep, not that you needed it, you always fell unconscious hard and fast after a good battle and a good feast. The two of them made their way to your room, laughing and shoving each other, anticipating the fun they would have with your body. They knocked on your door, out of principle, but of course you didn't reply, which only made them laugh more. They entered your room with muffled snickers, even Killer having trouble suppressing his true laugh as they found you asleep face down on top of your covers, still fully dressed, shoes included, like you'd just flopped on the bed and immediately passed out.

“What did I say?” Kid laughed, “Fuckin’ narcoleptic!”

“Adds to the challenge,” Killer noted, pulling your shoes from your feet, “probably did it on purpose, thinking pulling her clothes off would wake her.”

“Sounds to me like she's askin’ to lose these clothes,” Kid smirked, pulling a dagger from his bandolier. He slid the blade under the edge of one leg of your pants, before sliding the blade up, cutting open the fabric, repeating the action on the other side until all that covered your ass was a scrap of denim. Killer removed the scrap, before tearing your panties and pulling them away as well, leaving you without clothes on your lower half and exposing your cunt to the men. Killer pushed at your thighs to spread your legs, your pussy pretty and inviting, a slight glisten to it from your earlier arousal.

“Pretty,” Killer noted, running his thumb through your folds, to which you still didn't wake, snoring softly as he touched you. “She's wet, she was really counting on us trying it huh?”

“Little slut,” Kid gave an amused bark, “let's roll her, I wanna see her tits.”

Killer rolled you over unceremoniously, and Kid was quick to rip open your blouse and run his dagger through the connection between your bra cups, your breasts springing free, nipples pert as the cold air breezed over them. Kid gave your nipple a pinch, watching your face for a reaction and smirking when you didn't even twitch. “She's fuckin' out of it,” he laughed, “let's have some fuckin’ fun, aye?”

The two of them stripped off their clothes, Kid even leaving his metal arm against the wall and Killer removing his mask - that was how sure he was that you wouldn't wake up. Killer knelt between your legs, nuzzling his nose against your clit before running his tongue through your slit. It wasn't often that he got to indulge in one of his favourite treats, since he didn't usually remove his mask, and he groaned against your cunt as your honey collected on his tongue. He lapped at your cunt, circling your sensitive bud and toying with your entrance. Your pussy leaked as he stimulated you, your body responding to the pleasure he was giving you even while unconscious, which pleased him greatly.

Meanwhile, the bed dipped as Kid knelt next to your head, stroking himself as he admired your pretty, plush lips. He ran his thumb over your lips, pushing it inside and feeling how hot and wet your mouth was. He rubbed his cock against your cheek, smearing precum on it, before rubbing his shaft against the seam of your lips. He used his thumb to pull open your mouth, pushing the fat head of his cock between your lips, just putting the tip in your mouth and making shallow thrusts before deciding to go a little further. He couldn't deepthroat you like this, but he could enjoy the way your cheek bulged as the head of his cock prodded against the inside of it. He held your jaw open just enough that your lips were still tight around his shaft as he worked his cock in and out of your mouth.

Killer began the process of stretching you out so they could take turns fucking your pussy, first bullying his tongue inside you before switching to his fingers, sucking on your clit as he worked two inside of you, then a third, pumping you slowly and scissoring his fingers to stretch you out. Killer curled his fingers and the two of them heard you moan softly around Kid's cock. “Fuck, do that again Kil,” Kid instructed.

Killer made come hither motions inside you, and your gummy walls fluttered around his fingers as you moaned again, your pussy getting tight around his fingers as a small gush of fluid came out of you. “Oh fuck, she came!” Killer laughed, “she fucking came and she's still asleep!”

“Now that's what you call a wet dream,” Kid chuckled, “she ready for a cock?”

“Yeah, you want to go first?” Killer asked, still pumping his fingers into you.

“Yeah, shove off,” Kid barked. The two of them swapped spaces, Killer opting to wrap your hand around his cock to fist himself with it, the head of his cock pressing against your open lips with each motion, his free hand playing with your tits. Kid lined his cock up with your entrance and pushed in, making you whimper in your sleep as his fat cock stretched you further. “Fuck, so tight and wet,” Kid growled, “her cunt is sucking me in, greedy slut.”

The two of them used your body in unison, even the jostling of Kid's increasingly hard thrusts not waking you from the bone deep sleep you were in. You made the occasional soft moan but made no sign of waking as they fucked you, Kid getting more daring with the speed and force of his thrusts as Killer slipped his cock in your mouth just as Kid had earlier. Kid felt himself getting close as you made little whines in your sleep, drool pooling at the corner of your open mouth and dribbling down your cheek and neck. “Swap with me,” Kid barked, “I'm about to paint that pretty face.”

The two of them swapped places again, Killer groaning as his cock slid inside you, squeezed tight by your hot wet cunt. Kid held your mouth shut as he rubbed the underside of his shaft against your lips, precum leaking from his throbbing cock before he grunted and came, spilling thick white all over your lips and cheek, some of it dripping into your hair. “Ha, nice,” Kid mused, slapping his softening cock against your cheek and using your soft skin to wipe away the last drips of cum. “Your turn Kil, paint her white.”

Killer didn't need much longer to get him there after watching Kid cum on your face, fucking you hard and fast in a manner that would have any conscious woman screaming in pleasure. He truly didn't understand how you hadn't woken up, he was really being rough with you, and his fingers would no doubt leave bruises on your hips. He pulled out quickly when he felt himself getting close, not making it all the way to your face but managing to coat your chest in a viscous spray of cum, a few rogue splashes making it to your chin as he straddled your stomach and panted. The two of them exchanged shit eating grins, knowing they had won the bet, before Killer climbed off you.

They removed the remaining scraps of your clothing so you would just assume you'd fallen asleep naked, knowing you were ditsy enough to forget you went to bed clothed, before getting their things and redressing. Killer scooped you up bridal style so Kid could pull back the blanket, and they tucked you into your bed, not cleaning off their cum purposely.

The next day nothing seemed amiss when you woke. You could have sworn you went to bed dressed, but you guessed you must have misremembered. You preferred to shower after breakfast, when there were less people taking up all the showers in the communal bathroom, so you sleepily made your way to the galley. Crew mates snickered and nudged each other as you made your way to the table where Kid and Killer sat, the two of them struggling to keep a straight face. You served yourself breakfast from the sharing trays on the table, shoving a forkful of eggs in your mouth before realising everyone was staring at you, slowly removing the fork and swallowing your mouthful.

“What?” You asked anxiously, worried there was some sort of spider on you or something.

“You got a little something in your hair,” Wire snickered, pointing at the side of your face. You touched where he pointed, your hand coming away covered in something white and sticky.

“Uh.. ARG,” you shouted as you realised what it was, wiping your hand on your pants, “KID THAT'S FUCKIN’ DISGUSTING!”

“Had to leave some proof,” Kid smirked, “we're gonna have so much fun with that tight cunt over the next week. Hope you're ready to not get any sleep. Or maybe we'll just fuck you in your sleep again.”

You groaned and pushed your plate out of the way so you could slam your head against the table in defeat. Maybe you should see a doctor about your sleeping issues. Or not.

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Taglist: @daydreamer-in-training @chairmanraph @florcxo @luvnisstuff @nocturnalrorobin @fanaticsnail

[michellemisfit]

WEEKLY TAG WEDNESDAY - FIRSTS!

Tagged by @suzy-queued @deedala @darlingian @heymrspatel @lingy910y @energievie @mybrainismelted @blue-disco-lights

Name: Michelle

Age: Currently getting a kick out of telling people that I’m nearly 40 and having them go ‘NO WAY!!!’ - It’s funny and flattering :)

First Pet: Siberian gerbils called Tom & Jerry

First Word: No idea. Turns out my parents kept a baby book for my older brother where they painstakingly recorded all of that stuff. I found mine a few years ago and it’s got a grand total of 3 entries, one of which is talking about how chubby I am, and how I am yet to find a food I’ll say no to, and let’s hope that’s not a sign of things to come… after which it was abandoned. Thanks mum.

First Celebrity Crush: Leonardo DiCaprio

First IRL Crush: Dominik. We hung out basically every day after school. I would go round to his house and he would play me the latest Michael Jackson tape and show me new dance steps that he’d taught himself. I thought he was so cool.

First Kiss: Age 14 with my first boyfriend. He was 20 years old. We were in a relationship for over a year. Shit was fucked up. At the risk of repeating myself… Thanks mum.

First Car: Bebop 🚙 He’s my baby and I bought him this year and I love him! He’s a turquoise 2013 Toyota Yaris Hybrid.

First apartment/house/dorm/whatever away from your parents: Heh. I moved straight from my childhood bedroom to a different country. If you’re gonna do something, do it right! lol

First Time on a Plane: I was… 18 months old? Parents went on holidays to Florida. I have about 3 memories from that trip.

First Cellphone: Nokia 3210 😎

First Concert: David Hasselhoff. I was maybe… 6? And I got very tired and slept through the second half, but my parents woke me up for Looking for Freedom, which was my favourite song of his.

First Foreign country you visited? Italy or France most likely. Pure proximity, and most of our family vacations were done by car from Switzerland so…

First sport you ever played? Hmm. I did competitive swimming when I was very young. And then gymnastics. And after that… about five minutes of football (the only sport I to this day do not understand. How do I run AND kick a ball simultaneously?!?), then 3 years of tennis, 2 years of basketball, 8 years of roller hockey, and a whole smattering of other sports on and off.

First career aspiration? I mean… I basically wanted to be a Disney Princess, purely for the Animal Best Friend aspect! And then any form of Animal Whisperer would have done the trick. I watched all the TV shows and movies where characters had magical bonds with animals, and I wanted that. And then I realised that the characters in the shows and movies aren’t real, but the people training and handling those animals *are*. However that wasn’t something realistic to aspire to, being Swiss, so instead I became a bookseller (somehow that made sense at the time… 🤷🏽‍♂️). And then 15 years later, in a different country and a different life, I did end up training animals for TV and film. So that’s kinda nifty.

And finally… tell me about the first time you wrote/drew/created/whatever something that made you think “wow”

Hmmm. I dunno. I thought I was really fucking talented when I was about 12. I wrote a novel and sent it to publishing houses and literary agencies. One of them invited me for an interview, because they thought my writing was great and they wanted to meet the kid that had sent them a manuscript aged 12/13. They ended up giving me a job, working as a admin/secretary/slush pile reader. They also gave me lots of feedback and constructive criticism on my writing. I scrapped the novel I had sent them in favour of writing a different, better novel. I still think that novel was pretty fucking good. I tried to get my mum to proof read it and give me feedback so I could do any necessary corrections before I spent my pocket money on photocopies, C4 envelopes, and a whole bunch of stamps so I could attempt to get it published again. She was dragging her feet and I tried to explain the urgency, because I was clear that it needed to happen before I turned 14. That was the goal in my head. I had huge ambitions and dreams. I was also convinced that if it happened after I turned 14 it wouldn’t be special anymore. Like anyone could do it after 14… 🙄 In response to this my mum told me that she’d had ambition and dreams, too, when she was my age. But not to worry, that’ll go away, and once you’ve put away the fanciful notions of being talented then you can just get on with your life…

Not sure if this actually answers the question, but that was kinda the first and last time I remember feeling uncomplicatedly good about and proud of something I created. After this anything creative I did was always immediately followed by the doubt of ‘is this actually good, or is this just a fanciful notion I have about being talented, when in actual fact it sucks?’ 🤷🏽‍♂️

Wow. Ended that on a downer, didn’t I?

…

Erm… I wrote Tell me we’ll never get used to it,

They’re the only two people left that know what it’s like to have loved and to have lost a Lightwood.

And it’s a good story.

There.

I said it…

Tagging @crossmydna @palepinkgoat @too-schoolforcool @vintagelacerosette @heymacy @loftec @mikhailoisbaby @rereadanon @the-rat-wins @tsuga-of-mars @ian-galagher @andthatisnotfake @francesrose3 @faejilly @jrooc @creepkinginc if you fancy playing? I’m just very exited I’m actually posting this on a Wednesday still! Whoop!!

[melmedarda]

@meljaymicrofics ⸻ cherries ⸻ wc: 913 ⸻ rated G

Mel's lips taste like cherries. Her mouth is dark red wine, of the finest variety. Like the bottles his parents only broke out for their anniversaries. The finest thing he’s ever tasted, her lips have the power of an addiction. It’s a mistake. They are buzzed, and she’ll regret this in the morning. (He won’t, he’ll never pull away first, will take whatever scraps she’ll give him because he’s desperate and hungry and hopeless gone for her.) On his back is how he carries her, echoing the habits of shared university days. and she relaxes against his back, the ghost of her lips tattooed on his spine. On his mind. She’s wearing the ring he gave her. Wearing his hoodie too, and it hangs off her. Far too large to be fashionable. Too endearing not to stir feelings he tries hard to ignore. Whispers of mine mine mine. It’s his idea, his fucking stupid idea because this is a dream that haunts him, this dream in which she is his. Dreams aren't to be messed with. The entire thing is a joke, of course; she’s lounging against his side at some random eatery they’ve been frequenting.

Outside the windows, the sun lowers over Piltover, and Mel sips her beer, murmuring around hoe she's like something sweet. He’s a joke because it is him who belongs whole-heartedly to her, and he’s got this stupid grin on his face as he extricates himself from her warmth and lowers himself onto one knee at her side.

"Jayce, what are you doing?" the look on her face is incredulous, but her eyes betray curiosity and fond amusement. "Come back, I was comfortable."

They are drunk, too warm on this summer night. He'll use this this fact in order to deny everything later. And by then maybe it will be true, that he's too tired, too drunk that he's lost his mind. Maybe then he'll be able to laugh about it like the joke he means it to be. But right now, Jayce is looking up at Mel. He feels an errant smile creeping along his lips.

Their friendship is a binding cord. A force intangible that upends and encroaches upon reality. Wider and wider is goes. Tighter and tighter it binds until his heart fails beneath it.

"Play along, M," he whispers, making a show of dropping his hand to his pocket. "They give free deserts to those who are celebrating something, anniversaries, proposals, and the like."

Her eyes narrow, lips twitching conspiratorially. "And you know this how? Been proposing to many girls here?" His heart clenches the words nearly tumble from his lips. He grasps for them, reins them back and stuffs them down down down.

"Never. I saw a couple here during Valentine's. Heard the waiter announce it was on the house." The ring he pulls out is one that fits her slender finger perfectly. He knows because he has measured it, though not intending to use it for this purpose.

"You've come here without me?" Mel asks, a small frown furrowing her brow (a frown which he wants nothing more than to kiss away). And he understands why. It was their place. But sometimes, their friendship is too dangerous for him, their little push and pull. Especially when he is the only one to see it in that light.

Within him, his fragile heart and mind rebel. Mel is your friend, your dearest one. You will ruin this by your feelings, and we cannot live without her. Your love is not enough to keep her.

"Might I remind you, Mel, that you were still dating Salo then." Jayce her best friend and he hates her boyfriends. He hates that she cannot find happiness in him alone. But Salo is gone now, and Jayce still remains. "Back to the topic. Free desert." He clears his throat then, raising his voice a bit as to get the attention of those around them.

"Mel, would you do me the honor of marrying me?" He hides none of it now. The love he will not speak off, the tenderness far beyond friendship that he feels towards her. Lets his hope peek through.

There's a strange look in her eye, one he's never seen before as she watches him. For a moment, he feels like running away, disappearing, certain she can tell see the depths of his emotions (she's always been rather good at reading him).

But her smile widens until Jayce feels like he is staring at the sun as she nods, reaching for his hands. In that moment, he is jubilant. He takes Mel's hands in his. Relishes their softness as he slips the ring onto her finger. Tries not to think about it too much as their fellow diners clap and cheer.

And then, the bittersweet sets in. She accepts but it is not real. It is a joke. One of which he is the pea-brained punchline for putting himself in such a situation. Mel is still smiling as Jayce gets to his feet, but there is a lump in Jayce's throat that will not go away.

From the corner of his eye, two of the hospitality team members move forward, a large smile on their faces and something sweet in their hands. Something with cherries on top.

[bohemian-nights]

https://x.com/variety/status/1824513959237673355?s=46&t=v0aRzBMS_59x76wuJg8Brw so Sophie isn’t going to be black. I knew it, white men picking black women will never be normalised in media or in real life. We will have the odd couple just to push the “we aren’t racist” aspect but overall we are still treated like the scum on society. Even black men have an extreme weird fetish for white or asian women over us that’s why when a lot of black men become rich or successful they leave their loyal black loving gf or wife who held it down while they had nothing for a white woman, while we are left feeling ugly, unwanted and never good enough next to a white or asian woman. I’m tired of white women laughing at us and telling us “who cares if a white man isn’t attracted to you” ermmm I do because if all our black men are running off with white women. Who are we left with? Who looks at us? Why are we so unattractive in these peoples eyes. Even a lot of white men seem embarrassed to be with a black woman and it’s so so upsetting to me. Sorry for this rant, I’m just in my feelings at the moment.

I believe that while the media pushes a certain agenda(Black women being undesirable to men) and we do need to push back at that harmful narrative, that isn’t true in real life.

Not that we should be putting men on pedestal, but there are plenty of men(Black, white green, whatever) who do find us attractive, marriage material, etc. in real life so please don’t buy into their lies.

I do greatly dislike how the show used its Black audience, particularly its Black female audience for views (for years) and has rewarded everyone else with happily ever afters while we get crap. This is why I get fucking pissed off when passive aggressive racist non-Black women say we have “enough” representation, but at the end of the day Bridgerton is a silly show that peaked with Queen Charlotte.

Let’s not forget that the last season, which was shit, is a great indicator of what s4 is to be like since that Jess woman is still the show runner. Trust and believe anybody “celebrating” will be crying when this crap airs in two years— if they still have enough people tunning in.

Now there is still “hope.” Provided this show doesn’t get canceled they can recast Gregory(Jonah Hauer King, Tom Blyth, or whoever) bump up his season and cast a monoracial Black girl to play Lucy(which is probably what they’ll do considering the backlash they are getting from their Black female audience for their racist decisions), but the wait (4+ years) will be too long so just boycott the show cause it ain’t worth it.

Even in this messed up media landscape there are shows (and movies) that prioritize Black female representation. We don’t have to beg anybody for scraps.

[male-reader-haven]

~That Horrible, Wonderful Feeling~

Author note:

Here is chapter 1 of the project I've been working so long on!! I'm super passionate about this storyline, so I'm hoping you guys enjoy it as much as I enjoy writing it. As of right now, I have about 4 chapters completed, and depending on how well this is received I plan on posting them as well. Enjoy your Namjoon crumbs, there is SO much more to come!

Chapter 1: Ideal Woman

Namjoon's POV as he deals with prying reporters, stalkers, and some unwarranted feelings that send him spiraling. How can he claim to know and protect his fellow members if he doesn't even know himself? Y/N, one of 8 members of the worldwide popular K-pop boyband BTS, slowly helps Namjoon along in his journey of self-discovery and acceptance, dealing with his own feelings along the way.

Pairing: Kim Namjoon x male idol Y/N

TW: Stalking, internalized homophobia, heavier topics, invasion of privacy, slight NSFW, 18+

Word count: 2801

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“Now, RM, the fans are dying to know. What are your ideal traits in a girl?” The interviewer smiled and held out the microphone towards Namjoon expectantly. The camera pans over to his face and he forces a smile and glances down.

What a stupid fucking question. 

He is so tired of being asked the same questions. Although he knew it was bound to happen due to BTS being worldwide famous idols, still, indulging reporters and tabloids who are constantly hungry for new content and scandals to feed their prying gossipers is so exhausting.

“Ah, well, you know, we all are focusing on our career and don’t have time for anything like that.” He avoids the question, hoping the reporter will drop it. She doesn’t catch on. She has a smile that is too wide and obviously faked. Honestly, Namjoon is pretty sure this american interviewer doesn’t even really know BTS too well or even listen to their music.

“Come on, everyone has a type. ARMY wants to know what kind of woman is RM’s type?” 

As if you can speak for ARMY.

“Why do you care?” Namjoon snaps. He surprises himself with his response and immediately follows it up. “I-I mean, it doesn’t really matter. As long as they love and accept me, I guess.” He saves it the best he can. The interviewer stares him down.

“Awe, how sweet. Well before you go Namjoon, we just gotta know! There have been rumors going around that you secretly have a girlfriend! Is it true? Should we be expecting an announcement soon?” As she speaks, pictures flash across the screen of Namjoon caught in the street taking pictures with a fan. Namjoon feels frustration bubble up, not only at the accusation but at the lack of privacy and how the tabloids must have been following him around taking pictures.

“Wow. Really? Shameless.” He loses his patience. “I don’t appreciate being followed and stalked everywhere I go, you know. She is a fan and we took a picture. Sorry I couldn't satisfy your gossip.” He can’t stop himself. “Do you guys really get paid for this? Pushing this  scummy, heteronormative agenda on celebrities hoping for a sliver of drama just so you can get a few clicks in by exaggerating and lying? We are people too, just like you. Normal people. So no, you don't get to make assumptions about me or pry into my life.”

“Heteronormative? Are you saying you are something other than straight? Is this official?” The woman interjects. Namjoon is fuming.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” Namjoon gets up and storms away from the lit up booth and over to his staff, who briskly apologize to the interviewer and team and take him back to the studio.

Namjoon knows he went too far. Luckily his agent made sure that the interview would be scrapped and not published, but that is now an entire news group that BigHit won’t ever get an interview with again. Honestly they didn’t need the extra publicity, since at this point any company would be more than ecstatic to host an interview from BTS, but this was supposed to be a series of solo interviews from each of the artists, which would have no doubt been popular. Still, he didn't feel bad. Too many times have people asked BTS questions about their private lives and tried exposing them with false accusations and start scandals, none of which ever stick due to ARMY being so protective of them, but it took a toll on their mental health sometimes. Namjoon sinks into the back seat of the car as he looks out the window, listening to the patter of rain on the roof and watching the street lights reflect off the dripping window. 

My ideal woman, huh?

He reflects. Everywhere he goes where people ask him these questions, they always say “ideal girl” or “woman,” always assuming he is straight. I mean, he IS straight, but it bothers him nonetheless. It’s not like anyone bothers to ask, they always just assume. He knows that people just want to hear him talk about specific traits and types to fulfill people’s fantasies. It seems people also assume that all ARMYs are straight fangirls. It’s 2023, how are people still pushing heteronormative standards? He takes out his phone to see new messages in the BTS group chat.

WWH: How’d the interview go?

Namjoon sighed and typed out his response.

Me: Horribly. Pretty sure I ruined it for   all of us, sorry guys. JK: How so?  Me: I lost it and kind of snapped V: Dang, sounds like they deserved it then.  No worries man, probably for the best Me: Stupid private questions. I got  too pissed though, it is my fault, but still Y/N: Ew, don’t they have anything better to do? Jimin: Fr. Don’t feel bad, I would have  been short tempered too J-hope: Does this mean we have a free  weeknd? WWH: Nice spelling J-hope: thx dad JK: Hell yeah, let's do a movie night! (read by SUGA, WWH, J-hope, and 4 others)

Namjoon puts his phone away and looks out the window again. 

“Are you saying you are something other than straight? Is this official?” 

The woman’s words echo in his head longer than he would have liked. Namjoon has always liked women, that he is certain of. Ever since he was little he had crushes on disney princesses and actresses all the time. He had his fair share in heartbreaks and girlfriends in school too. Ever since becoming an idol, however, everything relating to romance seems to have left his life and been put in the back of his mind. He knows it's because they are idols that they aren't allowed to publicly date. That isn’t to say however that he didn't fantasize about having a partner or being in a romantic relationship. Despite BTS being his family and never truly being alone, he couldn’t help feeling lonely in some ways. These days, Namjoon finds himself stuck in his room working even in his free time. Maybe this weekend becoming suddenly free would be a blessing after all.

Namjoon walks into what he and BTS know as the “safehouse,” which is a large home away from the city where all 8 members have access at all times and their own separate rooms. They usually go to the safehouse when they want to meet up, have events and parties or just whenever they want to get out to somewhere private from their own separate homes. The other members are already gathered around in the dining room as he comes through the door.

“Hey, there he is! Welcome to the finest restaurant in all of Korea.” Hoseok yells over from the table where they are all feasting on what looks like bbq.

“Join us, I slaved away at making this for all of you, congratulate me.” Jin’s bubbly voice calls.

“As if. All you did was order the food hyung, don’t act like you prepared it!” Jimin teases Jin and reaches over to put some beef over the bbq and then dips it in some sauce.

“Ah, perfect. I’m starving.” Namjoon puts away his things and sits down in the empty chair next to Y/N. They all get into food and conversation, laughing and smiling and having a great time.

“I’m curious, what did she ask you that sent you over the edge?” Jungkook quired, sitting back as Taehyung brought over some beers.

“The interviewer started asking about my ideal type of woman, a question which I can usually dodge, but she was persistent. Then they pulled up pictures of me back when I was visiting Switzerland where I met a fan and they tried to frame it like a secret girlfriend situation.”

“They followed you to Switzerland?” Y/N looked up, a disgusted look on his face.

“Guess so. Anyways after that she-” Namjoon cuts himself off.

 “Are you saying you are something other than straight? Is this official?” Her words came bubbling up again, making him feel nauseous.

“She what?” Taehyung presses. Namjoon shakes his head.

“Nothing. I just got pissed, snapped at her and left after that.” He avoids eye contact with any of them, hoping someone will change the subject.

“I think you were in the right. I would have been so snarky.” Yoongi speaks up from the corner seat. 

“Yeah, don’t think about it too much man. There will always be more interviews, with better and more respectful people.” Jungkook says, trying to make him feel better.

The conversation shifts from there and as the night goes on, the boys get more and more inebriated. Jin is practically howling from laughter at Hoseok, who is falling over in his chair with his face bright red. Jimin is half asleep, Jungkook is not far behind him, and Taehyung is talking about some nonsense with Yoongi. Y/N and Namjoon seem to be the better off in the bunch, simply making stupid jokes and laughing at the other members. Namjoon speaks up.

“I’m drunk, gonna turn in for the night. As should all of you.”

“I think Jimin is already there.” Jin laughs and points at Jimin, who is face flat on the table.

“I’ll take him to his room.” Jungkook sighs and lifts Jimin up and carries him away. The other members eventually all go to their respective rooms also. Namjoon makes his way to his room. 

Namjoon closes his door and goes to get ready for bed. His tipsiness makes him stumble sometimes, but he manages to get changed and brush his teeth. After getting ready, he practically falls into his bed and crawls underneath the light brown and white covers. He drifts into thought.

Ideal woman… 

Namjoon starts thinking about what he finds attractive. He imagines lean, fit bodies and smooth skin. Silky hair and slightly parted lips. Sparkling eyes and light voices that entice him. He imagines a pair of hands caressing his face, feels the hands move down his neck and to his chest, constantly moving. The hands then become arms attached to a lean and skinny body, a dancer’s body. He feels the body with his own hands, moving to the sides of the person and down to their hips. The person materializes even more, revealing defined abs that lead to a man’s chest and strong thighs that straddle Namjoon’s middle, masculine shoulders that carry beauty and grace. The person is a beautifully built man. The face is blurred, but he can make out plump lips that shine, half parted in a silent breath. The figure leans down into Namjoon, hands on his chest and head as it gets closer to his face. Namjoon is lost in a trance by this beautiful person, and leans in to meet his lips with theirs, when he is met with air. He opens his eyes to his empty room and him in bed.

What a strange dream. 

He winces as he adjusts under the covers and discovers that he is partially hard.

Great, just what I need. 

He doesn’t have the energy to fix it right now, so he just takes a deep breath and ignores it. Eventually, Namjoon drifts off to sleep.

The next day arrives quickly, and the members are all hung over in the house waking each other up and groaning in the living room.

“What’s everyone’s plans today?” Jimin pipes up, cheerfully, as if he didn't get absolutely wasted the night before. J-hope looks up at him from his fetal position.

“How are you a real person?” 

“Yoongi-ssi and I were going fishing if anyone wants to join us.” Jin puts the offer out there, to which nobody volunteers.

“I thought you hate fishing?” Y/N asks Yoongi.

“I do, but it makes Jin hyung happy. And it's more fun with friends.” Yoongi half spoke, half groaned his response.

“Awe, he does have a heart!” Jimin teased. Yoongi curled deeper into his blanket in response.

“I want to go hiking today, anyone want to come with? We can get ramyeon after and karaoke!” Jungkook suggests.

“Oh, that sounds fun! I'll come.” Hoseok blinks the sleepy away from his eyes and nods.

“Jimin and I will come too.” Taehyung holds up his arm.

“Do I get any say in this?” Jimin smacks Taehyung’s shoulder.

Guess that leaves Namjoon and Y/N. Namjoon turns to him.

“Would you be interested in going to the National Folk Museum of Art in Seoul? I haven’t been there in a while.” Namjoon and Y/N both share a passion for minimalistic art and artists as well as art history. Y/N looked up at him and smiled through groggy eyes.

“Sure, that sounds fun!” 

Cute. 

“Sounds like we all got plans then! Get up and get going boys, or these hangovers are gonna take your Friday away.” Jin initiates the march to get ready for the day and get going. As everyone gets up and gets ready to leave, Namjoon also stands up. Y/N stays on the couch for a second before groaning and putting his arms out.

“Help me up hyung, i'm dying.” Namjoon smiles and exaggeratedly pulls Y/N up from the couch.

“I take it I will be driving us?” Y/N teases.

“It’s safer for us and the universe that I don’t.” Namjoon laughs and lets Y/N go upstairs. He trips over the first step, making Namjoon smile.

Was he always this adorable?

Some time goes by and Namjoon gets a text.

Y/N: I’ll be ready in 15, meet me in my car? Me: SOunds good Y/N: Lol typo

He puts his phone away and gets ready. After 15 minutes of looking for a good art museum outfit (he decides on jeans and a hoodie because he couldn't decide) Namjoon heads downstairs and to the parking lot to meet Y/N. He sees the light mint green beetle with its engine on and in the driver’s seat is Y/N, in what looks to be a brown sweater and a green beret with thin circle glasses. He opens the passenger door and buckles his seatbelt.

“You look nice! Perfect for the museum.” Namjoon compliments his outfit.

“Ah, a classic Namjoon look.” Y/N laughs, pointing out Namjoon’s plain outfit.

“Yeah well, I'm okay with being inconspicuous.” 

“You will be my staff as I get all the attention!!” Y/N smiles and gives Namjoon’s shoulder a light punch. Namjoon looks around the inside of Y/N’s car, taking it all in. The interior is light brown and clean, Y/N likes to keep his things tidy. On the windshield mirror is hanging a car freshener that looks like a daisy. Y/N turns on his bluetooth and connects his phone to the radio.

“Any music suggestions?” He asks Namjoon.

“I want to listen to what you want. What are you listening to these days?” Namjoon inquires. It has been a while since he hung out with any of the members one on one. Y/N nods and scrolls through his phone as if it was a super important decision.

“I need to find songs that you wont judge me for.” Y/N laughs, half joking.

“You know I listen to a bit of everything, not much can surprise me.” Namjoon reassures him. Y/N smiles and a song begins to play. Namjoon recognizes it as Troye Sivan’s “Lucky Strike.” Y/N bops his head along to the music and looks at Namjoon for approval.

“I know Troye Sivan. He has a great voice.” 

“God, what I would GIVE to do a collab with him!” Y/N reels, then puts the car in reverse and they set off. The car ride is pleasant and calming as they take turns recommending songs and vibing to them, moments of silent listening as well as gushing about artists they like.

“I wish we could be more open in our music. Like Troye Sivan or Frank Ocean.” Y/N expresses. “I mean, I know we technically can, and there is nothing wrong with expressing your true self through music, but I feel like we have to be so on edge because of how many people listen to our music.” Namjoon understands what he means.

“I get it. We have to tiptoe around certain topics because of how international our reach is.” Y/N nods solemnly to Namjoon's response.

“Yeah. I just wish I could write about what I want without worrying about scandals. We write about girls all the time, I'd love to write a boy love song.” Y/N is focused on the road. Namjoon turns to look at him when he says that, but doesn't say anything. They bop their heads to music the whole way, Y/N making silly gestures and expressions to the music as he drives. A slight burning feeling arises in Namjoon's chest, and upon realizing he is staring quickly glances away and swallows.

Must still be hungover.

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

Aaaaaa what did you guys think?!?! I have SO much more written that I'm excited to share with you about this story. If you enjoyed and want to see more chapters please show this some love and tell me what you think below!!!

Stay tuned, Jae loves you <3

[orderofthelosers]

My first post and it's cringy Minecraft: Story Mode headcanons. Give a round of applause for me, folks.

The Ocelots (Minecraft: Story Mode) headcanons.

A lot of these are pre-witherstorm !!

{Lukas}

• Autistic.

• Loves big blankets. Quilts, comforters, etc. If it's not puffy, he doesn't want it.

• Feeds stray animals. He buys extra cat/dog food and saves table scraps to give them.

• He hangs out with Jesse sometimes but he mostly sticks with the ocelots.

• Very extreme speed-walker. He's walks super fast 24/7 for no reason.

• Buys random little contraptions. Like those water toys where you flip it upside down and the droplets slide down the platforms.

• Him and Ivor gossip.

• Loves when people show interest in what he's talking about. He'll sit and explain something for hours upon hours to someone if they ask him too.

• He hand-made the matching jackets.

{Aiden}

• Dyslexic.

• He snores a lot. The volume varies, but he's usually a little hard to sleep next to.

• Perfers black cats over ocelots but will never tell Lukas.

• Acts like he's the coolest person ever but he's actually pretty lame. (affectionate)

• He has like 20 middle names, so it takes him like a solid 5 minutes to write down his full legal name.

• He had a fairly bad childhood and makes jokes about it all the time.

• Despite them being extremely deadly, Aiden unironically loves hostile mobs. He tries to pet spiders all the time, makes attempts to give zombies fists bumps when they have their arms out, hands blocks to enderman, dodges the arrows when he gets shot at by skeletons and pretends their "playing," ect.

• Got very heavily bullied as a kid and he projected that onto Jesse, Axel, and Olivia.

• Has a pet turtle

{Maya}

• Colorblind. (blue and green specifically)

•Absolutely obsessed with horror movies that it's almost concerning.

• She genuinely hates mint so so much. Doesn't matter if it's smell or taste, she is a full-fledged hater of mint.

• She has the opening skills of 3 month old. She can't open baby gates, she can't open child locks, she can't open jars or bottles,,,,,, actually nothing.

• She's a jerk to basically everyone, not just Jesse, Olivia, and Axel. She cools it down a bit when she's with The Ocelots, but they're still a target for insults. They love her, though.

• She pulls all-nighters 24/7. She literally never gets tired but she has massive fucking eyebags.

• She hates all of Jesse's friends but she loves Reuben. She'll never admit it, though.

• Both reread and rewatched Matilda all the time when she was younger. She still does sometimes for nostalgia purposes.

{Gill}

• Has Adhd.

• Very stupid. (affectionate)

• He has a little sister and he used to get in trouble all the time for purposely teaching her curse words.

• His birthday is the same day as Endercon, which is both a blessing and a curse because he gets to celebrate his birthday at Endercon every year, but the witherstorm was also created on his birthday, so he basically got traumatized for life on his birthday.

• He could honestly care less about Jesse, he just makes fun of him because Aiden and Maya do and he picked it up from them.

• Very good listener. Someone could ramble to him for hours and he'd listen and show interest the whole time.

• Collects Beanie Babies.

• He needs noise to sleep. A fan, the TV, anything.

• He's an extremely slow walker and is always struggling to catch up to people.

{More than one}

• Aiden and Maya have a sister/brother relationship despite not being related in the slightest.

• Gill gets worms off the ground after it rains and gives them to Aiden for his turtle.

• Maya tries to make Gill pull all-nighters with her sometimes but he always falls asleep at like 11pm.

• Maya made fun of Aiden for how many middle names he has once and he pushed her off a bridge. Never again did she make fun of his name.

• Gill and Aiden stay over at Lukas’s house all the time to make pillow forts and binge watch cartoons. Maya refuses to participate because she thinks pillow forts and cartoons are cringy and childish. (shame on you, Maya)

I will take absolutely no Maya, Gill, or Aiden hate. They are all my children, my cutie patooties.

Also, if anyone with artistic skill happens to see this lost and draws one of these (very unlikely) pls pls pls tag me in it ♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

[blueberry-gills]

Gill couldn’t make it up the whole mountain. Of course not.

Flakes of ice whirled in his lungs with every breath. His lips dried under the blistering, freezing sun, splitting beneath the dry air. He flexed his fingers, cold and numb. He slipped his hands into his coat’s pockets the best he could, inadvertedly dragging the Drifloon closer to his face. Her rubbery skin bumped softly against his eyelashes. Before him, the water on the Whismur-lite stove bubbled and boiled.

Gill craned her neck to the empty sky. The sky that was supposed to be full of clouds. Sizzle squeaked, nestled in the crux of her jacket’s collar.

This was a disappointment.

She should’ve expected this. Of course she wouldn’t be able to make it up to the peak. Of course the forecast would be wrong. Of course she wouldn’t get to see that stupid dust. Really, she was an idiot if she ever thought otherwise.

He just had to settle with staring into nothing with his skin feeling freezerburnt as a Ghost Pokémon surely drained his lifeforce.

Gill groaned, looking around at the makeshift camp he had set up. Just a chair, his Whismur-lite, and his bag. Nothing special. The bottle of Primeape Energy Rye so “lovingly” gifted him rested on top of the bag, already coated in a light dusting of snow.

…Gill assumed that was from the wind. There wasn’t a cloud in sight.

Anyway.

She leaned forward and pulled the pot full of water off the stove. The steam from it rose up in thick white clumps, the moisture sizzling in the air. With her metal mug in one hand (already full of hot chocolate mix), she carefully poured the water in. The Drifloon didn’t seem to mind being waved around.

“Loooooon.”

Gill was still on the fence on whether the Ghost Pokémon was planning on dragging his soul to the afterlife or not. She was a pretty Pokémon, to be sure- he had never seen a Drifloon be so clingy, too- but. Her tendrils were really starting to dig into Gill’s arm. He absently wondered if she was going to leave scars.

He turned off the stove and leaned back. He absently stirred his hot chocolate with his finger, too tired to reach for his spork in his bag. This worked fine. Even if his hand was getting to the point where the cold and the warmth felt the same. Even if the tip of his finger ended up feeling raw.

…

……

It was quiet up here. Gill lifted her head.

She had found a natural alcove. A hill exacerbated by a snowdrift, angled in such a way that she could only look out over the rest of the mountain. At the snow slopes leading down, down, down, disappearing into greenery and stone below. A few lone pine trees stood guard.

The air was still. The trees’ branches only cracked under the weight of the snow occasionally. The sound of Gill’s jacket rubbing against itself sounded like nails on a chalkboard. Not even the sounds of wild Pokémon permeated the air.

It was quiet.

It was lonely.

…tch.

Isn’t that what she wanted? She scoffed at herself and tilted her mug back. She bit too hard on the metal and she swallowed a clump of dry powder.

She wanted to be alone. She wanted to have this day for herself. She deserved it. No hearing people complain, no trying to cater to anyone else, no judgmental stares, no Susanne, no parents…

Nothing, really.

Gill sighed even louder this time in a desperate attempt to break the silence. The Drifloon glanced at her. Sizzle mumbled in her sleep.

The silence remain undaunted. If anything, it only got worse.

…

Disappointing.

Pathetic, even.

Happy Birthday, Gillian. He’s turning seventeen all alone on top of a fucking mountain, pointlessly freezing to death because he foolishly trusted the weatherman.

Because he couldn’t go to Lental. Because he couldn’t stand on Voluca Island, wishing on shooting Minior as the Sandshrew milled amongst the cacti. Because he didn’t want to spend another celebration sitting in that house.

Because he couldn’t do what he wanted to do, so he had to settle for scraps.

And it didn’t even work out in the end. Gill choked down another sip from her mug.

I bet Susanne’s having a nice day. Back at home, nice and warm. Probably hanging out with Mom and Dad. Waiting in line for Kofu Lounge. Celebrating with her friends, she thought with a rush of envy. Celebrating their little golden girl.

Gill was their golden girl, once. Well. Son. Something something gifted child burn-out.

(…But she wasn’t burnt out. Susanne just started shining brighter, she guessed. Or maybe that day in the desert knocked her down a peg in her parents’ minds.)

(Why was she thinking about her sister? This was supposed to be her day.)

(Some day it was turning out to be.)

This is why she hated being alone.

I should’ve just spent the day in Asado Desert. At least I’d be comfortable there.

But it was too late. She was already up here. She bit the bullet, didn’t like how it tasted, but had to swallow it anyway.

Besides, it could be worse. At least the Drifloon was cute. At least Sizzle felt warm against her neck. At least she got gifts this year. Lots of gifts. From Arven and Drayton and Susanne and even-

Swallowing back the bitter taste of regret, Gill took another draw of her hot chocolate.

(She wasn’t counting Rye’s delivery as anything.)

So. Yeah. She should quit complaining. She was having a good time.

The Drifloon hummed, as soft as the wind.

[eremosjournal]

Confirmation or Child Wedding

an Anonymous Contribution

I just played music at what I hope is my last Confirmation mass. And for all the Catholics and ex-Catholics not talking about it, Confirmation mass is a strange fucking phenomenon, right? Though I could go on for hours, I just want to bring up one thing. 

Confirmation mass feels a lot like a cultish child wedding. From the girls’ perspective specifically. 

A group of thirteen-year-old girls, all in pure white dresses. An older man anoints their heads with oil while touching their faces. Two of these girls bring baskets of fruit to the altar during the preparation of the gifts (it’s giving… dowry). They commit their lives to a man (the cult leader himself) whose teachings they are not to question, and at whose feet they are told to worship. All wrapped up in a coming of age ritual. 

***

Years ago on a Confirmation retreat, I was assigned the “girl’s talk”. For those who don’t know, the girl’s talk will almost always involve some kind of message regarding the importance of virginity and otherwise moral purity for Catholic girls. But in an attempt to avoid this topic (partly because I was tired of it and partly because I genuinely liked sex and didn’t feel like lying), I thought I would give a whole presentation comparing their upcoming Confirmation to a big white wedding. 

All the aesthetic parts of a wedding were there: the church, the flowers, the white dresses. But thematically, I feel my presentation got away from me. In my Catholic delusion, I implied that - at the end of the big wedding-y Confirmation mass, their “spouse” would be God. I, of all people, was telling a bunch of teenage girls to marry God. I was only four or so years older than most of these girls, and I cringe to think of how weird and misled my girl’s talk was. That is, if they even remembered it. At this point, I myself have repressed most of the nonsense I spewed in my time as a youth leader. But I remember very keenly one thing I said during this girl’s talk:

“You don’t have to find a man who loves you so much he would die for you. Because I know one who already did.”

I literally want to throw up just reading that. It’s certainly a compelling line, and I remember it sticking with a lot of people. But that’s the power of organized religion. It artificially inseminates people - sinful, flawed people like myself - with the power to say pretty much whatever they want. We’re all sinful and flawed, so why was I up on a stage propagating purity and devotion when I could have been reassuring these girls that sin and flaw don’t make them bad people? This seems to be a recurring theme in Catholicism: having every opportunity to relate and connect with one another in our innate human faults, and instead leveraging that moment to bring guilt and insecurity upon others. 

If I could go back and give that talk again, I would keep the first half of what I said and probably scrap everything else. You don’t have to find a man who loves you so much he would die for you. Find yourself. You’re sixteen. Your Confirmation will not and should not be like a wedding. It will be crowded and long and forgettable. And you will not marry God. I’m embarrassed to think that I was so far up the church’s ass that the best, most prized celebration I could think of for a girl was a wedding. 

I remember wondering, as I was talking and talking on that retreat, if I was even making sense. But I was so turned on by my own conviction that I didn’t even stop to check if I believed what I was saying. I hope those girls I was preaching to are smarter than I was, that they stop to check if they believe what they’re saying. I hope they see themselves as more than lost brides. And I hope they find themselves, whether that involves faith or not. 

I’m tired of not talking about the archaic traditions that the church still practices and upholds. Sure, there is power in tradition and ritual, but at what cost.

[sinisterexaggerator]

I know the answers to like 99.9% of these.

But. Here we go! 👀 ⛔️

⛔️ "Do you have a fic you started, but scrapped?"

Hmm, not exactly. I always have the intention of finishing something, even if it takes me a year or more.

Well, I guess there was this one for a young Trevor Philips and Michael De Santa in North Yankton for GTA V. Never got around to adding more to it, and probably never will:

---

“Jesus, T! Get us the fuck out of here!”

“I’m trying M, but if you’re not satisfied with my driving skills, why don’t you sit YOUR fat ass behind the wheel?”

“Why the hell did you have to kill that guy?! He’s probably got a wife and kids!”

“Hey! He triggered the alarm! That’s why we’re in this mess.”

“No, we’re in this mess because you’re TRIGGERhappy!”

“Nananana… That snitch got what he deserved!”

Flashing lights, red and blue, reflecting off the crisp, white snow; two robbers running from the cops. Always running, forever, until the end of time, or at least that’s how Michael Townley felt, locked in tight by his seatbelt, the getaway car little better than a piece of shit, found somewhere off the beaten path before the job. It was a small-time gig, just a liquor store, but plenty of people warmed themselves by getting drunk; the register loaded down with money while its patrons were loaded down with booze; a typical, cold winter’s night for the pair of two-bit crooks.

Michael turned around, his weapon drawn, a pair of police cruisers in hot pursuit. They were firing their own rounds, aiming for the tires, and Townley knew he had to do something soon or wind up behind bars. “Can’t this thing go any faster, T?!”

“You know what’s REALLY fast? Your God damn mouth. Quit flapping your lips and get those assholes off our tail!”

Michael took a shot simply to smash the rearview windshield, seeing the cruisers clear as day as they were gaining on them, M feeling that all too familiar rush of adrenaline permeate throughout his entire being; he would tell T that he hated it, but the rush he felt made him feel alive, something he rarely felt at all.

On a good day he was half a man, kept alive by petty theft and diner food, skirting from one town to the next, Trevor at his heels like an obedient, somewhat restless puppy that needed to be potty trained – M taking it upon himself to break him in. He was useful, beneficial, however unrestrained and somewhat uncontrollable; he had it in his mind it was an easy fix, but Trevor had other wild ideas.

Michael pulled the trigger, and one cop spun out in a flurry of ice and squealing rubber, the car being buried conveniently in a mountain of thick, white powder, but not cocaine; that would be saved for their celebration later if they made it out alive.

“Whooo! That’s my cowboy! That’s some rootin’ tootin’ damn good shootin’, Mikey!”

“I don’t ever want to hear those words come out of your mouth again.”

---

👀 Tell me about an up and coming wip please!

LOL, you know allllll about my WIPs. Probably before anyone else. I have too many to choose from, but I hope to do these three things first and foremost:

Chapter 15 of Stars Above. Bane is in the bacta tank, forced to endure flashbacks from his past in the form of nightmares, and Zulara is left alone with Todo until he wakes up, however long it takes. But will Cad be pleased to see her there? What will Kayson think about her disappearance over the next few days? What lie or cover story will Hondo make up, if any?

This Hondo x Reader fic, where the reader is a spoiled little rich girl who is the daughter of a weapon's manufacturer. Their fates are hilariously intertwined, and Hondo is going to wind up getting more than he bargained for when he had originally set out to simply steal a little something off her.

A Tech x Reader fic where the Marauder is left in Tech's care during a Separatist attack on the planet Bandomeer. He comes across the reader who is injured and trapped under some rubble. He must help you/her and then pilot you both to safety. An unexpected turn of events causes you and Tech to be stranded until he can repair the ship; you are at the mercy of nature and the elements over the course of the next few days, not to mention any droids who may find you, and the rest of Clone Force 99 is preoccupied and unable to help. Hurt/Comfort/Possible smut. >D

[calinaannehart]

in case I forget to tell you later (I had a really good time tonight)

Hollywood Boulevard is always busy, but on a warm Saturday night like this, it’s as packed as Eddie’s ever seen it. Tourists fill the Walk of Fame looking for their favorite celebrity’s star, bars and nightclubs have lines stretching down the block as loud music pours out onto the sidewalk, and the hookers gather on the street corners posing for potential John’s.

It’s the latter that Eddie’s focus is on as he heads back down the boulevard for the third time, keeping his speed low as he scans each one. Women in outfits that can barely be called clothing waggle their fingers at him as he crawls by, their breasts barely contained behind the scraps of fabric, but he passes them by. They’re not what he wants.

It’s one of those rare child-free evenings where Eddie can indulge his wildest fantasies and he’s after something particular tonight. He wants muscles. He wants broad shoulders, a tapered waist, and a pretty face looking up at him as his dick slides down a tight throat. He wants someone strong enough to give him a little resistance, someone who won’t go down easy, someone with a little spark. He wants to feel a rock-hard cock pressing against him, the flesh firm in his hand, and he wants a hole that’s warm and tight .

There are a few rent boys, twinks barely out of high school, and he even spots what he thinks are a few transsexuals, but none fit the bill. 

Eddie uses a gas station forecourt to turn the truck around for one last pass. If he doesn’t find what he’s looking for then he’ll call it a night and try another day. 

He’s almost at the end of the strip when he finally sees it.

A solid, muscular frame, bent at the waist and leaning into the open window frame of a sedan that’s pulled up the curb. The ass and thighs are covered in a dark denim that is so tight that it’s almost indecent. Almost .

Eddie slows down and pulls his truck over to the side of the road, crawling to a stop about 3 car lengths behind the sedan, and waits, watching the man as he apparently tries to barter with the John. He takes a moment to study the hooker’s body, he’s tall, well-built, and looks strong. Just what Eddie needs, and from what he can see of the man’s face from this distance he looks like he’s got a pretty one.

There are a few younger men, boys , standing just behind him, laughing and sniggering at whatever words are being exchanged, and when a curled fist with a middle finger extended is thrust out the window and into the hooker’s face the boys roar with laughter. The John peels the car away from the curb with a squeal of tires, perhaps to try his luck elsewhere and the hooker turns back to the group, chuckling along with them.

Eddie is just about to creep forward when the hooker catches sight of him idling, eyes raking over the truck. He gives what appears to be a jovial farewell, the boy’s catcalls reaching Eddie through the open window, and saunters over.

There’s a cocky confidence to his step that matches the smirk on his face and he doesn’t rush, instead giving Eddie plenty of time to look him over from head to toe. The muscles get bigger as the man draws closer, his shirt sleeves straining where they are wrapped tightly around his biceps and look as though they would tear open with the slightest flex.

He’s big, bigger than Eddie, and as he lowers himself into view through the open passenger window Eddie has to hold back a moan of pure want .

He fucking perfect.

“Hi,” The voice fits the body, rich and slightly gravely, but with a hint of mischievous charm. The smile is blinding and it makes Eddie rethink every cynical thought he’s ever had about love at first sight stories. It’s the birthmark over his left eye, however, that really catches Eddie’s attention, a smattering of pink smudges littered over the eyelid and either side of the eyebrow. Eddie is struck with a sudden image of this man on his knees while he jerks off over his face, aiming directly for the pink hue when he comes.

However much this whore is charging Eddie is willing to pay.

read on ao3

[weedandweasels]

11/8/2023 A Wednesday

I'm supposed to be in the prime of my life. That's the crazy thing. This is the age I am supposed to be out and about, partying. I think I am supposed to be living.

Currently I am in a crutch, my knee having decided to swell up for no reason last week. So here I stand, wearing all black, walking Sherlock. I am probably the most liberal looking person on this campus at this moment in time. A joint in my hand, my piercings, the crutch, the platform boots and the all black outfit. A fucking ferret on the end of a leash.

I watch these functioning people plan things with friends. I am alone with the very animal who is my only constant companion. No flaking out from him.

I decide I am going to try and romanticize things. If I can type them I might finally be able to get out the words I've been trying to handwrite for years. They have felt too intimate, too sacred to me for them to be typed. That's what I told myself. So here I am on a random Wednesday night pretending my life goes beyond these four walls.

I by no means am an amazing writer. I think that's obvious in these first few paragraphs. I keep thinking of the moments that lead here. The recent PTSD flareups I've had in the last few weeks. Things I cannot seem to be completely honest with. Even with myself. I just spiral.

I romanticize the green of the forest in spring. I miss the rain on my skin. I need the cold again. I need the ice in my lungs.

Sherlock regains my attention. I let myself wander into those daydreams I have for myself. Those moments in moments that feel more and more real. I want to stay here. The beauty of the world around me, the sensations. I am alive. Its dark, and I am holding an herbal cigarette between my fingers. The smoke calms me. Just the action. I need something. If I kill myself smoking weed so be it.

I wonder when the prime of my life was. If it ever existed. If it ever will exist. I feel like my body is falling apart faster. I don't think I ever peaked. It feels like I am still dragging my body back up a hill. Never quite recovering from the last thing that drug me down.

I write letters in my head a lot. What I'd say to celebrities, my father. What I would try to get across to them. Hozier is my most often letter drafted. His music has healed and broken me in ways I will never fully understand. Every lyric a gash and a bandaid all at once.

I think I liken myself to a creature so often because I never felt human. I think the addition of body jewelry and tattoos are testament to that. Something for them to look at. Something for those who would judge to walk a little farther away from me. I enjoy the outskirts. Like a dog waiting for scraps from the fire. Is it because that's all I've known? I am ready for the men around the fire to kick me the first chance they get. To tell me to leave. Or just up and abandoning me, refusing to pay attention to me. Having to wait for the next group of people. I tire them, my cycles of usefulness wearing out. How tiring it is to restart.

I need to word vomit. Its tiring to write by hand. Blogging I think is the only reason I'd put it down. An open word document is too much. I need this. This email to someone.

Here again I crave notice. I want someone to see my words and connect. I want someone to tell me things. I am begging for recognition. A scrap. I want my words to matter to someone.

I am so tired of fighting and trying to prove myself. I am a human. I think I deserve more than this. I think I deserve worse than this. I cannot seem to decide if I want to be seen and adored, or if I should remain in the shadows. Someone unseen. I want to be alive and bold and better than this. I want to stay here in my apartment lit green with music playing and Sherlock running around. There are moments I feel I am missing out on everything. I love it. I love being here and I miss being out there.

Tomorrow I continue working on my research. I get to be smart and someone and important. These words rush out of me and I cannot stop them. I am smart, but I am feeling too. Perhaps this is too intimate to share, but I love it too. I love that someone out there can judge me. I hope they find me worth something too. I hope these words make them feel seen.

I wonder if they feel the poetry in my words like I do. If you're listening. Can you let me know?

[kafkaoftherubble]

所以2023年的最后那这几天你都去哪儿了？

...还问什么问？当然是去玩啦！不然做什么? 在什么树下打坐冥想几天然后悟道吗？哈！

傅尹比俺还有可能来这套啦！

Since I documented the Coldplay event here (and failed to find the time to document the same event in Paradehye, the diary, beyond the journaling scraps written in The Commonest Man in Festo, a.k.a our commonplace book), I'll also record some of the stuff happening on December 23rd and 24th here.

Yo bruh, what else could we have done?

It's fucking CF!

It's our way of semi-celebrating Christmas! Where you get to see Christmas splendor and cheer melding with weeaboo shits! Lotsa lotsa weeaboo shits!

Report: Still way too many Genshin Impact cosplayers. There was also a huge bunch of Chainsaw Man and Jujutsu Kaisen, but generally, I think this year was impressive in its diversity of costumes. There were a lot of really unexpected shits and some old anime/video game/pop culture cosplays reared their heads, but damn, you'll get to the Indisputably Bestest Cosplay Ever In My History of Attending CF real soon, Lyndises of the Future.

This time, we got to invite and induct Sharon, who had been missing from the main family for more than a decade. She couldn't even remember the correct terms she needed to address our uncle and aunt anymore! So the Me At That Time greeted Ah Cik and Ah Jim loudly before she did, so she could copy me!

She also said she had social anxiety and was really nervous about seeing everyone whom she hadn't been meeting for, again, more than a decade. But really? Wei Wei is bonkers and laughs like a banshee with an easy threshold for humor. Ah Jim likes to listen to gossip and is an impressive conversationalist. Ah Cik is an extroverted businessman with an origin as a salesman; holding conversations and making things not-awkward is his forte. Qian Qian takes some time to warm up, but she easily talks a storm when it's something she likes—such as performing on stage and Loki and some manga/manhwa and cats. Hang Hang? Bro dips in and out. But he laughs at the stupidest things until his face flushes and is generally chaotic. He acts like a cool bro and yet his body betrays him by farting when he's excited.

And she's got me. It's my principle not to make anyone feel left out or lonely as best as I can in a given room. What's the point of training to be observant and attentive to people if I couldn't even realize someone's feeling left out?

Oh, it worked out in the end! And I don't think it's because of me, either. It's because she's a good sport who did try to join in on the conversation and listened and talked! And because everyone else was so welcoming to her, too. I really picked the right family to induct her back into the Big Family. Phew. Good thing I was skillful enough at choosing...

(Annoyingly, when I told her we're actually an introvert, she called me a liar. Lyishere called me a liar too just two days ago. Liar?! Moi?!)

Anyway, this was us!

Damn, should have made sure Malaysia's easiest landmark is included in the picture instead of just the Christmas tree. The goddamn Twin Towers where Mei Mei was near in one of the last episodes of Jujutsu Kaisen: Shibuya Incident should have been here...

Why aren't my pocket-flowers showing?

Okay, this one showed a little.

We spent the first day completely inside Art Market so there wasn't time for cosplay pictures. I mean, the market took 5 fucking hours to tour, and I didn't even comb through everything as carefully as I wanted to because Qian Qian was suffocating from the crowd and the smell. Sharon was tired; she had never walked so much before. Conventions are tests of endurance.

This was one of the best stuff in the market! But it was too expensive for my budget. Goddamn it! I swear I will even make space for this amazing ass banner had I bought it. Kulit Wayang style on Zonai aesthetics? Fucking swell!

We did find the Uncle-est Nanami ever while we were on our way out, and honestly, he was one of the best Nanami I found on Day 1! Sure he didn't have the abs and the height, but he had the semblance!

There were some missions, really. Find buff ajuicy Nanami; take pictures of them. Find Nanami re-enactment; take pictures of them. Things I do for Crow Curry, man. THIS IS FOR YOU, YOU NANAMI SIMP!

This cosplayer was so happy, you know? He was so excited to see us excited to take pictures with him, that he forgot his gah-chang, okay? Ya know, the knife?

Even after we left, Qian Qian said she saw him still grinning widely over the whole thing. I didn't even know he could be so happy about it, because cosplayers are so used to being taken pictures. Turned out, his Instagram revealed that this was his first time cosplaying. No wonder!

When we later told Ah Cik about this, his Buddhist ass immediately characterized this as 布施 (Dāna). I mean, none of us thought we were making someone's day, so does it even count? But I'd be lying if I pretended that making one person—goddamn Nanami at THAT—happy didn't please me.

We then walked a few kilometers to Pavilion and the surrounding malls to find some place to eat. KLCC で大変混んでいったから食事が無理だった。

---

Day 2, 24th December 2023

We were pissed not to have taken pictures with any cosplayers (except Uncle Nanami), so we did what Ah Cik and Ah Jim and Wei Wei and Hang Hang thought was insane—BACK TO CF DAY 2!

The best part? I think most people had the same idea as we did! There were even more cosplayers on Day 2! Most of them hung out at the park, like us. I mean, right off the bat we got this:

Dude did work on their eyes!

She couldn't walk without her 4 assistants/friends helping her! Now that's fucking dedication. I wonder if I did end up doing my Monster Rika cosplay (don't bet on it), would I need help walking around too? My ears may be my best sensory organ, but I don't think they are good enough to replace my eyes. I've been a seeing person all my life, after all. I'm also not as good at sensing things as Fionn is...

Fucking found Waldo! And Waldo found us! Yo, here's Wonka over there too!

We looked good for each other, right? Wrong!

Every year during CF, there is a tradition: Qian Qian will always encounter people who just wanna take pictures with her even though she made it explicit that she wasn't cosplaying and was just putting on whatever she likes. The only makeup she ever does is her lips, but she's really pretty and eyeball-attracting, innit? Ha! Stuff like this makes Ah Cik proud.

This professional photographer was just one of the many people who wanted to take pictures of her.

I wonder what it's like to be so visible and eyeball-attracting. All the Past Lyns had wondered the same at some point, right? It would definitely ruin our ability to not be noticed and then jump on someone, that's for sure. Can't be a ghost if you're too visible. But I wonder if being so seen would lessen that feeling of being a see-through not-there... "thing", the way it seemed to be to us throughout our life.

HOLY SHIT ALICE LIDDELL FROM MADNESS RETURNS! Now that's old stuff being brought back!

(Here's the Twin Tower!)

GET IT?! BLUD WAS USING A SWITCH AX! A SWITCH AX!!! AND HE THEN TURNED IT FROM AX MODE INTO GREAT SWORD MODE!

Monster Hunters, riseeeeee! And he wasn't the only MH cosplayer with an amazing weapon prop! There was also a Zinogre cosplay set. You gotta see it for yourself in the album.

I didn't think Cursed Miku would show up, but show up she did!

Okay, here they are. Indisputably Bestest Cosplay Ever In My History of Attending CF:

NANI THE FUCK IS GOING ON?!

Goddamn Guanyin and Buddha cosplays?! And really, this wasn't even the only bunch:

AND THERE WERE AT LEAST TWO GUANYU, AND ONE SUN WUKONG, AND ONE XUANZHANG that we didn't manage to take pictures of—like guys, where did all these deity cosplayers come from?!

Fucking dope though!

Of course, the Nanami Shrine is ALSO hella dope. Hey, wanna see a dead body?

Rate them peaches Rest in Peace!

The Ubiquity of Gojo Satoru: How I Was Space Cleaved by Sukuna and Transported to Another World Along With Many Other Me

You don't always get to see a Mob Psycho 100 cosplay, so all three of us took pictures with them! Mob Psycho 100 is our commonality!

BRUH.

And last but not the least, because it was such a beautiful day where the rain was only half an hour long and a drizzle, and the sun was beautiful, I recorded my official drip of that day,

These are by no means the only pictures we took, guys. Please go to the Google Album attached to the account "black bird" and "short skirt" and "gmail." You know the one.

[mlmxreader]

Our Pilot | William Guarnere x m!reader

@satan-incarnate-666 asked: “Hey... hey... can you come here? It's too cold to sleep alone”

“Just wait here, I won't be long”

“can we even count this as a date?”

for my husband, love of my gay lil life, guarnere x m reader? ty my bestie 🥺

summary: when your plane goes down, you get taken in by Easy Company, with Winters promising to help you back to the RAF, but while you're with him and his company, you start to feel certain things about one of his men.

tws: mentions of injury, mentions of war/death, swearing

"Just wait here, I won't be long."

Winters' words echoed in your head as you pressed your body down against the ground, wide eyed and nervous; throughout the entire war, you had never once been on the land, but when some fascist cunt shot you down, you had been taken in by Winters and his company. He promised to get you back to the RAF, one way or another, taught you how to fight, trained you as best as he could while you travelled with him and his men; to you, Winters was a fucking hero. Your hero. He promised to get you back to the RAF, to your squadron. He couldn't save your beloved Hawker Hurricane, he was truly apologetic for that as he knew how much pilots cherished their planes. He really was sorry. But he did what he could for you, he did his best; he treated you like a son, more than anything, and when you asked if you would be home in time for Eid, he had to admit - he didn't know. When you asked if your family were safe back home, though, he managed to pull a few strings and find that they were just fine. He even offered to go around and collect enough scraps of cloth to make you a prayer mat, knowing that it wouldn't be perfect but it would at least be something.

Still, as you waited, you looked around, searching for the friend you had made during your time with Easy Company; you smiled when you caught his gaze, even daring to wave at him a little bit. You could feel the damp cold start to seep through your clothes, making you feel an uncomfortable tingle from your calves up to your arms, forcing you to shiver as you stole another look around. Everyone else was sound asleep, except for those who were on guard duty, some even huddled together or collapsed into piles to try and escape the cold; you had to be quiet when you spoke to your friend.

"Hey... hey... can you come here? It's too cold to sleep alone."

Bill rose his head, yawning as he opened his eyes and grumbled quietly; licking his lips as he tried to push away the grogginess. "What?"

"Can you come here?" You asked. "It's too cold."

Another grumble, and he dragged himself over, bringing his coat just to make sure that you wouldn't get too cold; he put his coat over your shoulders, and snuggled up as close as he could. "You okay, pilot?"

"Tired," you said weakly. "Cold. I don't even know if I'll see my family during Eid this year."

"Well... it ain't much," Bill started, "but y'could always celebrate Eid with me."

You leaned into him a bit more, smiling. "You'd do that?"

"Yeah," he nodded. "You shouldn't be alone for an important thing like that."

"Well... thanks," you cleared your throat, tugging his coat a little closer, a little tighter. "It'd mean a lot, Bill."

"Yeah, well, I care about you," he shrugged. "I don't wanna see you celebrate Eid alone... maybe I can ask Winters if he's got anythin' for you and if he'd celebrate, too."

"That's... really nice of you, Bill..." you frowned a little, your gaze on the mud as you sighed heavily and swallowed thickly. You wanted to say it so desperately, that although you did love Bill as a friend, you also loved him as something else, and the two different kinds of love weren't able to be expressed as much as you wanted them to be.

You could admit you loved Bill as a friend, without a doubt you knew that you could admit that... but admitting to the other kind of love was something completely different; soldiers weren't able to say those kinds of things, for tomorrow might not ever come, and a one day romance wasn't worth the risk. You couldn't be distracted, you couldn't lose focus; you had to find your way back to your regiment, you had to tell your commanding officer, one Captain Bruce, of what had happened, you had to go back to the RAF. You could not afford to lose sight of what really mattered.

Still, when Bill pressed himself further into you, snuggling into you as he sighed softly and buried his face against your flesh, you couldn't help but to think of how desperately you wanted to admit to all those things. But you couldn't.

"Say," Bill chuckled. "I've always liked you, (y/n), thought you were a pretty good lookin' guy when I first saw you."

"When you first saw me, I had a fucking slash down my face, mud everywhere and goddamn burns on my clothes," you couldn't stop the laugh that escaped you as you shook your head. "You're only saying that because you don't want me to be upset."

"I'm really not," he told you, shaking his head and gently pushing you. "I've been thinkin', y'know, maybe since you're headin' back to the RAF when Winters finds a bunch... maybe we oughtta make the most of this."

"What, like, go on a date?" You scoffed. "Bill... look at what we're doing right now, it's basically a date."

"Can we even count this as a date? We're only cuddlin' because you were cold." He pointed out, but when you shook your head, he nudged you again, and nodded. "It's a date."

You were starting to doze off, Bill could feel the way your breathing changed and he felt how your body relaxed, but when Winters came back, he looked up, and smiled.

"Winters."

"Hey, Guarnere," he smiled back. "You're gonna look after our pilot?"

Bill nodded, keeping his voice as quiet as he could. "Best as I can, Sir."

"Attaboy... uh, when he wakes up - there's a surprise for him stashed in my rucksack. Let him know." Winters put his things down, started to make himself a little spot to sleep beside you.

Bill nodded again. "Sure thing."

if you liked this fic, REBLOG IT - you SHOULD reblog it; spam likers WILL be blocked. as will blogs that refuse to reblog or to give feedback. if you don't wanna reblog, then you'll get blocked; reblogging is the BARE MINIMUM. don't just "like", REBLOG

[ketsuarting]

I'm so so so tired of being a Kurdish/Turkish girl in Germany that has been raised by parents that came here and assimilated so hard that I have essentially nothing of my culture left.

There is 1001 reasons why I can't connect with my culture, but all of them pale compared to my mother and father hating my ass so much that even moment where I try to bond over shit as simplictik as naming my cat in Turkish they will actually AVOID the topic. They will straight up tell me 'no comment'. I am trying so fucking hard to have anything ANYTHING that makes me feels less like an alien with no goddamn home planet and every day I am reminded that my parents about as interested in getting me involved in their lives as they're interested in scrapping gum off the asphalt for a living.

They use Turkish to talk behind my back, they refuse to teach me about our culture, and they consider me trying out stuff I think might connect me to my grandparents as backwards thinking and depriving myself of civilization.

They think that I must be embarrassed of them, a claim I have fought them on since I was 10 YEARS OLD. They are sure that in the next year I will learn to hate them a notion that INSULTS ME.

I hate this, I hat living like this, I hate having no Turkish friends, I have no culture, I'm a featureless blob, less than a godforsaken Jellyfish and I fucking hate it.

The thing that brings me closest to feeling like a human being is celebrating Christmas with my best friends family. It's a highlight of my year. I am so fucking grateful to them but I hate that the day I most associate with community is also a day I feel like an intruder. Like some rat that someone took pity one.

I'm a fucking alien, I have no home, I could die tomorrow and there would be no roots in the fucking earth.

[bonesandbrimstone]

@vetyver-soaked-stars asked:

2B Nancy? uwu

The thing about fighting off the supernatural is, it really got the blood flowing. Johnny hadn't known Nancy long, but they had a common interest in the demon he'd been tracking. He agreed to work together, to team up, to put an end to this thing before it could hurt anyone else. Long nights on the road, shared hotel rooms and scraps with the paranormal was enough to bring the two closer and closer.

Another victory, a hard fought one in some desolate part of the city was enough to bring it all to a boil. They were tired, but energized, happy to have finally sent the creature packing back to Hell...and Johnny was eager to celebrate. Nancy was the first to make a move, hugging the biker happily. Johnny took it further, chancing a kiss.

Before long he had her pressed against the nearest wall, ripping her pants down as she urged him on. His hard cock slipped between her slick walls with ease, pushing deep into her with rapid, needy thrusts.

Johnny held her tight, his face buried against her neck as he fucked her, hips rolling deep and rough, finally giving into that tension that was looming over their heads from the moment they met.