#how can I be expected to work in these conditions

[dovenskin]

Love your work!

Could you do an all x reader ask for the Eltingville club where they take turns on the reader and try to one up eachother?

⋆

eltingville ep. ノ

✦ Title: Glory Hole

cw : gangbang (m!4 x gn!reader), semi-public sex, reader-insert with neutral genitalia, degradation, praise kink, rough sex, overstimulation, biting, bruising, and knife play, canon-level misogyny, fatphobia (Bill toward Josh), incel-coded dialogue, and general toxic masculinity, multiple creampies (implied)

an : bill is unfortunately my favorite 💔

© dovenskin

Bill’s basement always smelled like stale soda, BO, and melted plastic. The couch was sticky, the table cluttered with Magic: The Gathering decks, grease-smudged dice, and crumpled fan letters. Pete was already scowling, slouched against the busted pinball machine.

“I’m just saying,” Pete grunted, arms folded, “none of you are doing it right if they’re not screaming your name.”

“Oh please,” Josh snapped, red-faced under his Dune tee. “You don’t even last long enough to make someone scream. You just cum and quote Cronenberg.”

Pete shot him a glare. “You think jackhammering with approval issues counts as skill?”

From the couch, Jerry mumbled, “It’s not about being rough. It’s about being attentive. Like... making sure they’re comfortable—”

“Comfortable?” Bill barked from his metal lawn chair, swinging his head around, half-eaten Slim Jim in hand. “This isn’t a fucking spa day, Jerry! Christ. No wonder people avoid you. They don’t want a heated towel—they want to be ravaged. Dominated. That’s why I’m the only one in this club who’s had actual sex.”

He puffed out his chest like he expected applause.

Pete rolled his eyes. “We’ve all done it, Bill. With the same person, too. The difference is some of us do it better.”

Bill opened his mouth to fire back, but that’s when you came down the basement steps.

You hadn’t expected to walk into this. You were dressed for comfort—maybe a little too warm for a basement this humid—and when all four of them turned to stare, you froze.

“…What?”

Bill’s smirk came first, slow and curling like a lit match. “Speak of the devil.”

“Don’t say it like that,” Jerry sighed.

“What the hell are you guys talking about?” you asked.

Josh cleared his throat. “Hypothetically. Performance stuff.”

Pete shrugged. “Just wondering who’d fuck you the best.”

You blinked. “Are you serious?”

“C’mon, friendly competition,” Pete said, grinning. “No harm, no foul.”

Your brows knit. “There is harm. And there will be foul, because you losers don’t know how to act. Am I just a fucking toy to you?”

Bill started to speak, but you cut him off with a sharp glare. “Don’t answer that. Not one of you better say a word or I’m going home.”

Bill rolled his eyes. “Can we do this or not? Quit your bitching already.”

You shot him a look. Jerry stepped forward, voice gentler. “We promise not to do anything you’re uncomfortable with.”

That small, tentative smile of his made you hesitate. Made you cave—just a little. Which is how you ended up here: half-naked in a filthy basement, your skin prickling from the cold and four sets of eyes crawling all over you like vultures at a con table.

“I’ll go first!” Josh declared, already halfway upright.

Bill groaned. “If you don’t crush them with all that fat, it’ll be a miracle.”

Pete and Jerry laughed. Josh ignored them.

“Keep laughing,” he muttered. “I’ll be the one to satisfy while you three sit there with limp, lopsided dicks.”

He placed a hand on the small of your back and guided you to the futon like he was offering you a Star Trek captain’s chair.

“Lie down, will ya?”

JOSH

Josh stripped like he was defusing a bomb. His fingers fumbled at the buttons of his gray blazer, yanking it off like it had insulted him. The black shirt underneath clung to his round belly, pits stained and soaked. You caught the unmistakable whiff of sweat and knockoff cologne as he tossed it aside and stared at you like you were a rare mint-condition variant.

His khakis strained at the zipper. Converse laces flopped loose. His brown ponytail clung damp to the back of his flushed neck. Glasses slid halfway down his nose as he drank you in—sprawled on the futon, legs open, breath hitching.

He looked like someone watching a forbidden scene from a fan-edited VHS. Reverent. Horny. Horribly sincere.

“Holy shit,” he whispered. His voice cracked halfway through. “You’re… I mean, fuck. You look…”

His eyes traveled your body like it was a treasure map.

“You look better than anything I’ve ever jerked off to,” he breathed. “And that includes the Slave Leia bust I keep under my bed.”

You smirked. Barely. He was already gripping your thighs, maneuvering you like a wrestling coach setting up the “victory position”—which, apparently, meant knees to chest and Josh on top, breathing like he’d just finished a 5K.

His cock was flushed and thick, twitching in his hand. He lined himself up, trembling like a joystick during a boss fight.

“Oh my god,” he said. “Oh my god, you’re real. You’re really letting me—fuck—”

He pushed in, slow and shaky, like he was afraid he’d blow too soon. You were tight, warm, wet—and he felt everything. His whole body shuddered as he sank deeper, big hands under your thighs, gasping like he’d leveled up in real life.

“Holyshitfuckholyshitfuck—you’re tight—you’re so fucking tight—Jesus—”

He started thrusting, but it wasn’t coordinated. It was frantic, sweaty, slapdash fucking—powered by adrenaline and sheer nerd desperation. His belly pressed against you, glasses fogging with every grunt. Sweat dripped from his forehead onto your chest.

“Bet none of them’ll fuck you like this,” he panted. “I’m giving you everything. All of it. I’m gonna make you scream my name—gonna stretch you out so good they won’t even fit after this—”

His pace was sloppy but overwhelming, hips smacking with wet, anxious urgency. You moaned—and his eyes widened.

“Shit—did you just—did you clench? F-fuck—”

You clenched again. He twitched.

“I’m coming,” he gasped. “I’m—I’m fucking—oh my god—fuuuuck—”

Josh came like it hurt—loud, trembling, choking on every sound as he jackhammered through the orgasm. He rutted into you helplessly, groaning into your neck, stomach slick and pressed to yours as every spurt dragged through you like a death rattle.

Then he flopped to the side—half on the futon, half on the carpet—gasping like he’d just respawned.

He adjusted his glasses with one shaking hand and grinned at the ceiling.

“Top that, assholes.”

PETE

Pete didn’t wait for an invite. He rolled his eyes, walked over, and shoved Josh off the futon with a grunt and a boot.

“Move. That was pathetic.”

Josh landed with a thud and a winded “Hey!”

Pete didn’t respond. He was already undoing his belt, smirking like he’d been waiting for this moment all week. “Let me show you how a real man does it.”

He slapped your thigh—loud and sharp—earning a side-eye, but you turned over anyway. Pete grabbed your hips and pulled you up, flush to him. His cock was already out—thick, flushed, twitching—and you barely had time to brace yourself before he spat. Hot. Messy. It hit your lower back and slid down.

Two fingers shoved the spit in, fast, rough. No finesse. Just brute prep and attitude.

“Goddamn,” he muttered. “Look at you. Already wrecked… guess Joshzilla wasn’t completely useless.”

You whimpered as his fingers curled, tugged, then withdrew.

“You like that, huh?” he said, voice thoughtful but mocking, like he was inspecting a new action figure. “Didn’t expect you to still have anything left.”

Then came the pressure. The blunt head of his cock pressed against your entrance—and without warning, he slammed in.

You yelped. Pete grunted, fingers bruising your hips as he held you in place, buried to the hilt. He stayed there a beat, panting, then leaned over you—his hoodie brushing your spine, his breath hot on your neck.

“This what you wanted?” he sneered in your ear. “Bent over for a bunch of basement freaks? Getting stuffed full like some kind of fan service side quest?”

You moaned. His hand cracked down on your thigh again. Stinging heat.

“Answer me.”

“Yes,” you gasped.

“Good.”

Then he moved.

No teasing. No rhythm. Just raw, mean, relentless thrusts—hips slamming into you like he was trying to leave bruises. His jeans were halfway down, belt buckle clinking every time it slapped your ass. Sweat darkened the collar of his hoodie. The whole basement stank of arousal and effort.

And then he did something that made your blood run cold.

While still inside you, Pete reached into the front pocket of his hoodie and flicked something open with a soft click.

Your breath caught.

Cold metal kissed your back. Thin. Dull. But unmistakable.

A pocket knife.

He didn’t cut you. He just dragged the flat side up your spine. Slowly. Deliberately. Until the tip rested at the base of your neck.

“Could slice you open right now,” he murmured. Calm. Cruel. “Just one little push.”

You were trembling. He loved it.

“Bet you’d taste as good as you feel.”

Then he bit you. Hard. Teeth sunk into your shoulder, your neck, your back—deep enough to leave marks, maybe scars. You moaned, helpless, and he groaned into your skin.

“You sound so fucking good like that,” he breathed. “Like someone who gets it.”

Another slap to your thigh. Another punishing thrust.

He kept fucking you like he was punishing himself for liking it too much. Every breath came out through clenched teeth. Every motion was laced with something unstable. He muttered filth under his breath—too low to catch all of it—but you caught pieces.

“Fucking perfect.”

“Should’ve gone first.”

“God, this hole—tight—tight—tight—”

You started clenching around him. He twitched.

“No—don’t—fuck, don’t do that—”

You clenched again.

He growled. A full-body shudder ran through him.

“You little—fuck—”

He slammed in hard, deep, and stayed there—hips flush, cock twitching as he came. Hot, fast, angry. His teeth were still at your shoulder. One hand twisted in your hair, the other gripping your hip like he wanted to pull you apart.

Every pulse of it poured into you.

When it was over, he pulled out with a grunt and wiped his mouth on the sleeve of his hoodie. His eyes lingered on your back—on the bite marks, the knife track, the twitching heat between your legs.

He didn’t say thank you. Just zipped up and muttered:

“Should’ve saved the knife for Bill.”

Bill scoffed from his lawn chair. “Thought you said a real man would do it right. That was weak.”

Pete flipped him off without turning around. “Stick it up your crusty ass.”

“You wish.”

Bill nudged Jerry, who was watching you with flushed cheeks and his hands in his lap like he didn’t know what to do with them.

“I’ll let Romeo go next,” Bill drawled, tossing his Slim Jim wrapper at the table like a smug bachelor. “I’ll clean up after.”

Jerry stood, hard in his jeans and pale as printer paper.

Pete rolled his eyes. “Have fun writing them a sonnet while you’re at it.”

JERRY

Jerry had been quiet the whole time. Watching. Red in the face, thighs clenched, hands folded like he was in a church pew instead of a basement full of sweat, spit, and ego. When Bill waved him forward with that condescending smirk, Jerry hesitated—just for a second—then stood.

Obvious hard-on straining against his jeans.

He stepped toward you with shaky hands and wide eyes, like he was approaching an altar, not a mattress. He didn’t touch you right away. Just knelt between your legs, sweater sleeves rolled up, fingers flexing like he was warming them before a delicate job.

You looked down at him. He looked up at you.

“Can I…?” he asked, voice quiet. “Can I take my time?”

You nodded. His whole body relaxed with a sigh, like he’d been holding his breath since you walked in.

He touched you carefully. Reverently. His palms skimmed your thighs like he was memorizing you through texture—thumbs stroking circles into your skin, breath trembling. Then a kiss to the inside of your leg. Soft. Then another, closer.

“You’re so beautiful like this,” he murmured, like it physically hurt him to say it out loud. “I—I mean, you always are, but…”

He trailed off. Swallowed hard. Slid his fingers between your legs.

First one. Then another. Then three. All slow. Measured. His touch wasn’t bold or skilled like Pete’s. It wasn’t desperate and sloppy like Josh’s. It was… careful. Grounded. He studied your face with every motion, like he was waiting for a signal, a sound, a twitch to tell him what you needed.

“You’re still so sensitive,” he breathed, almost apologetic. “Does that feel okay?”

You moaned, and he flushed brighter. His hand moved smoother. More confident. Then, when he was sure you were ready, he pulled his fingers away and stroked himself—already flushed, leaking, twitching in his palm.

“Tell me if you want me to stop.”

Then he pressed in. Slow. Inch by inch. Face twisted in awe.

You were warm. Soft. Tight.

He made it halfway before groaning out, “Holy shit,” and resting his forehead against your chest.

Once he was fully inside, he just… stayed there.

Breathing. Feeling. Soaking in the closeness.

“Okay?” he asked, eyes darting to yours. You nodded. He kissed your collarbone, then began to move.

His rhythm was steady. Gentle, but deep. Each thrust was measured—focused. Intent. Like he wanted to carve the feeling of you into memory. His hips rolled smoothly, pressure just right, pace gradually building as you gasped underneath him.

“God, you’re perfect,” he whispered. “You take me so well. It’s like… like you were made for me.”

He adjusted your hips just a little, and it changed everything—angle, pressure, depth. You moaned louder. He sucked in a breath, moaned right back, and leaned in to kiss you. It wasn’t performative. It wasn’t horny. It was grateful. Like you’d given him a gift he didn’t deserve.

“You feel incredible,” he panted, pressing into you deeper. “You—you’re everything.”

You clenched around him, and he whined—not high-pitched, not embarrassing. Just raw. Needful.

“Say my name.”

You did. His hips stuttered.

“Again.”

You repeated it.

He threw his head back, fucking harder now—pace losing control, sweat dripping down his chest. The sound of your bodies slapping together filled the room. His grip tightened. His face twisted like he was fighting not to break.

And then he broke.

He gasped—deep, desperate—and came inside you with a cry. You felt every pulse, every twitch. He held you through it, forehead pressed to yours, chest heaving.

He didn’t pull out right away.

He just stayed there. Close. Warm.

When he finally slid free, he kissed your cheek. Soft. Almost bashful.

“Thank you.”

A beat.

Then Bill’s voice cut through the air like a fly buzzing in a light fixture:

“How romantic,” he snorted. “Jesus, can we move it along, Romeo?”

Pete and Josh were already back on the couch. Pete cracked open another Mountain Dew, rolled his eyes, and muttered, “This oughta be good.”

Jerry helped you lie back gently, then stood—adjusting his jeans, still flushed, still dazed.

“Are you okay?” he asked softly, ignoring Bill’s theatrics. “Do you need water, or…?”

You didn’t have time to answer before the metal chair screeched.

And Bill stood.

BILL

Jerry had barely pulled out when Bill shot up like someone lit a fire under his ass. His metal lawn chair crashed behind him, forgotten. He was already peeling off his flannel, muttering curses under his breath like he’d been holding back a volcano the entire time.

“Jesus Christ,” he spat, pacing once, twice. “Are we done reading fucking sonnets to their holes now? What is this, a Hallmark special? You guys treating this like a sleepover when I’m about to redefine their goddamn spine curvature.”

Josh snorted from the floor. Pete cracked open another soda.

Bill ignored them.

His glasses were fogged from sweat and fury—he ripped them off and tossed them onto the cluttered table, knocking over a Mountain Dew can in the process. His black tee rode up over his pale, sweaty belly as he shoved his jeans halfway down his thighs, boxers bunched awkwardly beneath.

Acne across his chest. Damp hair sticking to his forehead. The distinct stench of Axe body spray and bitterness.

“This is the main event,” he muttered, climbing over you like a storm cloud with a hard-on. “This is real.”

He didn’t ask.

He didn’t prep.

He just shoved in.

One long, rough thrust that knocked the breath out of your lungs.

“Fuuuuck—” he gasped. “Jesus fucking CHRIST. You feel better than I ever—fuck—”

Your body clenched on instinct, still sensitive, still aching—and he twitched hard inside you, already panting like he’d run a marathon.

His hands were under your knees, spreading you wide, forcing eye contact. His pupils were blown out, glassy, like he was drunk off you. Off the idea of you. Off the conquest.

“Look at me,” he growled. “You better fucking look. I want you to see who’s wrecking you.”

You did.

And it wasn’t pretty.

His thrusts were frantic—angry. Like he was trying to erase the memory of every other guy before him. Like every slap of his hips was revenge. He leaned in close, nose almost touching yours, hair hanging limp around his face.

“You think Josh made you cum?” he hissed. “Think Pete’s little psycho routine gets you off? Think Jerry—fucking Jerry—knows how to make you feel like this?”

He bit down hard on your neck. Not sexy. Not playful.

Possessive.

“You’re squeezing me on purpose,” he growled. “You think that’s funny? Trying to make me lose control?”

You clenched again.

He yelped—and slapped his palm against the mattress.

“Shitshitshit—don’t—don’t do that! I swear to fucking god—”

He snapped his hips forward. Again. And again. Brutal, desperate. He was unraveling by the second, sweaty bangs sticking to his cheeks, mouth hanging open in something between a grimace and a moan.

“You think you’re in control?” he panted. “You’re not. I am. I’m—fuck—I’m in control—”

He wasn’t.

Not even a little.

His thighs were trembling. His rhythm was breaking down. He was panting into your mouth like he needed your breath to survive.

And then—

He broke.

Bill came with a choked, wet gasp—biting your shoulder as his body locked up. You felt him twitch and pulse inside you, loud and unfiltered, rutting like a dog in heat even as his legs gave out. His breath hitched with every thrust, like he was trying to keep it going, trying to prove a point.

Even as he was falling apart.

When it was done, he collapsed on top of you. His sweat slicked between your bodies, breath hot on your neck. He didn’t move for a long time.

Then he shoved himself up, muttering, “Whatever. Fucking—told you.”

He reached for his jeans with shaking hands. Didn’t look at you. Couldn’t. His voice came out hoarse and low, almost sulking.

“I still won.”

He jammed his glasses back on, crooked and smeared, flannel tossed over his bare chest without bothering to button it. He turned away like he didn’t care—but the tension in his shoulders, the pink flush across his ears, the way his hand curled into a fist near his thigh?

It said everything.

He wanted to win.

And he wasn’t sure if he did.

[svt-ara]

go through ara's miumiu bag thanks to an interview made by vogue korea!

ᯓ★ 𝗪𝗔𝗥𝗡𝗜𝗡𝗚𝗦 mention of food, mention of health conditions (asthma) | ๋⸝⸝⸝⸝ 𝗪𝗖 2.1k | ๋⸝⸝⸝⸝ 𝗔𝗡 literally loved making this, it's so funny. i tried to fit the members in as much as i could without making it too forced, hope i did my best 😭. not proofread

italics is the staff, [ additional subtitles ]

꒰୨ 𝓜asterlist ୧꒱

«hello, this is ara from seventeen. it's such a pleasure to meet everyone— today i'm here with 'vogue' to show you what's in my bag and what i never leave the house without» ara comfortably sat on a dark brown couch, her posture relaxed and her tone sounded warm as she spoke.

the room around her was minimalistic— white walls surrounded the space, the light was bright and a low glass table that mirrored the color of the couch sat in front of her. ara was clearly the focal point, dressed in a soft pale pink top adorned with a black lace around the neckline, elegant black trousers flowing down her legs and a pair of classic louboutins on her feet. beside her rested a sleek black miumiu bag— simple and cozy.

«should we start?» she smiled, though the tension in her body betrayed her— her hands were lightly rubbing the fabric of her pants. ara was used to having cameras pointed at her face all the time, but usually, there were other thirteen of them to share the spotlight. this time she was alone— all the eyes, the lights, the focus were on her and no matter how many years had passed, she still wasn't quite used to it.

«so, this is the bag i use the most. it's from miumiu, made of leather, and i really love how it's big but super fashionable at the same time. i can basically carry my whole house in there and still look cool» of curse, it was the frist thing she reached for. ara proudly showed it to the camera, it wasn't just for sponorship as the global ambassador of the brand. she genuiely loved that purse, carrying it around every chance she got.

«the frist item is my phone» she pulls out a white iphone 13 pro max with an adorable semi-trasparent case, decorated with sightly raised pink-ish sheeps. «i usually don't carry my phone in my pockets because i have this phobia that i will lose it, so it's always in my bag. it's a bit annoying to open the bag everytime i need to check the time or see if i got notifications, but it's better than losing everything i have on it» one hand held the phone, showing it to the cameras, while the other ran her fingers over the little sheeps. it was some kind of stress reliever.

«also, look how cute the case is. jun bought it for me when he was in china, he said it reminded him of me» she smiled softly, running her fingers over the little sheeps again. «honestly, the members always find the weirdest things that remind them of me. i'm still deciding if that's a sweet comment or if he was making fun of me. either way, it worked— i haven't changed it since» she ended with a soft smile, remembering the exact moment he had given to her.

«have you ever lost your phone?» a voiceover asked, making ara lower her head in embarrassment as soft giggles escaped her lips. that question should have been expected. «yes, i actually did one time, it was a long ago tho. when i was a traniee, i lost it and didn't find it for almost a week. i couldn't contact my parents and they got seriously worried. turns out, it was in a forgotten corner of the building the whole time. that's how i developed this phobia» she was grateful the lights were so bright to the point they could barely notice her flushed cheeks.

«okay, i think we can go on with the second item»

[ escaping the funny story ]

«oh...» a small sound escaped her lips as she was seen reaching for something, but seemed to be stuck inside the bag. her fingers fumbled for a moment, eyebrows furrowing in mild frustration before she let out a quiet— and embarassed— laugh. «hold on, give me a second. this always happens to me» after a few more second of gentle tugging, she finally pulled out a pair of white earbuds. «they're stuck with me, basically glued to my ears at this point. i can't survive without music, but they get tangled so easly-» her attention was somewhere else while she talked— her hands buried in the bag, fishing out a pair of airpods.

«-that's why i also bring a pair of airpods, they are comfier» she said, holding up the small white case now far from plain. it was proudly decorated by her with some tiny stickers— like some hearts, a tiny peach right in the corner or a bear sleeping. «but the most beautiful part is the case. i decorated myself out of necessity— one time i accidentally switched them with one of the member and spent the past three days trying to figure out why they didn't connected to my phone» ara chucked, admiring her own case until she came across her favorite sticker. «i really like this one, wonwoo said it looks like me when i nap backstage» she finally placed the case next to her phone, a quiet smile still lingering on her lips at the memory of his words.

[ sudded sentimetal moment ]

«the fourth item i never leave the house without is my hand sanitizer. i think i could actually go insane if i forgot to pack it in my bag» ara held up a small pink bottle with a white cap, turning it sightly so the camera could catch the sparkles inside. «but the regular smell really bothered me, tought. it used to give me headache. that's when i discovered they make it in so many scents— this one smells like strawberries, that's why it has a pink cap» she explained innocently, opening the bottle to smell it. her nose crinkled a little in satisfaction. «yeah, that's it. strawberry is one of my favorite scent» the satisfaction in her tone clear as she dared to put some on her hands.

[ because regular sanitizer is too basic 🍓 ]

«top 3 scents?» the voiceover asked, making her laugh. her hands clapped togheter as she threw her head back in amusement. she thought about it for few seconds after speaking again «hmm... the frist one is absolutely strawberry, it remindes me of my home and it's so comforting. then, maybe cotton candy and vanilla» she smiled, clearly enjoying sharing this little detail of herself.

«and right after the hand sanitizers, comes the profume» the giggled softly, a genuine smile lighting up her face. she reached into her bag again and pulled out a small, elegant bottle— it's the miss dior absolutely blooming. holding it up carefully, she explained «dare to say i'm not the biggest fan of profumes in general, but this one is so lovely» she gave the bottle a gentle spritz into the air and took a small, satisfied smell. «it's like... flowery, it lift up your mood» she took a moment to find the right words, her eyes sparkling in joy at the little trasure she found. «if out there there are people who hardly finds profumes they enjoy, that's the perfect one» she said as she placed the little bottle near the other things on the low table and smiled. «alright, that's enough scents for today. let me show you something more pratical»

«this is my wallet» she pulled out a pink wallet adorned with some cutw bows— completely the opposite from the sleek black bag it came from. «i know people matches their wallet with their bag. well, clearly i'm not one of them. when i saw this wallet i fell in love, it was too cute to not buy it even if it didn't matched with my black bag at all» she smiled admiring the stones on the wallet. «sometimes is nice to have some contrast, don't you think?»

[ completely the opposite ]

she began to open the wallet, eager to even show the inside, but then she hesistated for a moment. tucked in one of the clear pockets, sat an untouched polaroid of her and hoshi. it was from a casual night when they had gone for a walk, and when they saw a polaroid machine, hoshi insisted they had to take one. the photo captured something really genuine between them, and she loved it so much she had do keep a copy in her wallet. the original one belonged to the back of hoshi's phone «i can't show you, i'm sorry» she giggled, gently closing the wallet once more.

«is this the seventh item?» she asked, her voice was a mix of concern and amusement as her eyes scanned the sea of staff members in front of her. her eyebrows furrowed sightly while her hand continued to search throught the the bag. she almost looked suspicious at the amount of things had already come out, she even lost the count. «i swear i didn't think a packed this much today» she almost whispered to herself before letting out a quiet laugh. «my bag is surprising me like it's surprising you» she smiled one last time before taking another item.

«my lip liners and a lip balm» ara smiled at the camera as she finally pulled them out of her bag. she held them proudly— two small pencils in netural tones and a soft-looking balm with a minimal package. «i think lip liners are honestly the best beauty item, and those two are my favortie ones. can't go around without them» she twirled one pencil around her fingers while her head slightly tilted on the side. «no matter how messy i fell, if i have my lip liner i feel a little more putted togheter» she added with a quiet laugh.

[ proof it's all in your head ]

«we're finally leading to the eight and last item» ara said with a playful sigh, glancing at her almost-empty bag and all her perfectly allined items as if saying bye to her little advenutre. her tone was light but with a hint of fondness— this whole thing turned out more fun than she'd expected. «you know, i didn't know i carried around so many things until i had to sit down and explain each of them» she added with a chuckle, her fingers already inside the bag reaching for the final item.

«and last but not least— gummy worms» she announced, pulling out a small, slightly crinkled packet from her bag with a big smile. the colorful candy peeked out the trasparent part of the packaging immediatly adding a playful vibe to the items lined on the table. «this used to be my secret weapon— none knew about them. then, i don't know how, one of the member discovered and the day after everyone were going throught my purse to search them» she said, shaking the pack a little before leaning forward sightly. «now i have to hide them, if i leave my bag unattended for too long, they just magically disappear» ara laughed at herself and then placed the candy next the other items, everything is perfectly lined up. «anyway, i have them just in care— you never know if you'll need a sugar boost» and with that, she smiled at the camera one last time before the staff asked her some questions.

«which item would you save frist if your bag caught in fire»

ara sightly widened her eyes at the random question, lips twiching into an half smile «that's such a dramatic scenario» she laughed, shaking her head «but okay, let me think... well, definitely my hand sanitizer— especially if it's the strawberry one» she added, playfull difensive and then continued with her little list «then we have my phone, because... it's my phone and lip liners, i need at least one of them to survive emotionally» she joked, nodding seriously like it was a matter of life and death.

[ priorities, but make it pretty ]

«if you had do dye your hair a crazy color tomorrow, what would you choose?»

«that's actually a good question, let me think» her fingers tapped the table few times as her eyes galanced upwards. after few seconds, a grin curved her lips. «i feel like half lavander and half light blue, is this crazy enough? i don't know» she laughed, tilting her head sightly already imagining it «i think it would look so pretty under stage lights, like glowing candy foss or something— maybe i should consider it for real» she joked, brushing a strad of hair behind her ear.

«do you think your bag matches your personality?»

she paused toughtfully «i think it's actually the opposite. the outside it black and simple while the inside it's a mixing of colour and personality» she shrugged lightly «but in real life, i'm kinda of in reverse. i look bright and bubbly outside— and, hey, inside i'm like that most of the times, but sometimes it's not»

[ looks can be deciving ]

«what's a thing no one knows about you?»

ara thought about it for a moment and then responded. «no one ever knows i have athsma, it isn't something i struggle with everyday fortunately— it's not that bad. but it can get very challenging during long perfomances, like concerts, my stamina definitely gets affected»

«if you could switch lives for a day with someone else, who would it be?»

«i think it would be s.coups. i'm curious about what its like to be the leader— is it that stressful? or maybe woozi, i'd love to try his producing skills and see life from another point of view— like that of an introvert»

«who do you trust the most to leave your bag with?»

«i think... vernon. he's the kind of person who barely even galances at it, so i'm sure noting would ever get stolen»

[ trust level : vernon ]

COMMENTS ⁸⁶⁴

not the gummy worms being stolen 😭

wdy she would rather save some hand sanitizer rather than her wallet, that's a crazy work

╰┈ girl, she has a diagnosed ocd ☠️ have some respect

the lip liners are the realest thing i've ever seen

og already knew she has asthma

the way she smiles when she is talking about the other members makes me wanna choke, i love them

the black bag ISN'T so her

how can someone lose for a week their phone inside a closed space 🥀

girl thinks we can afford a dior profume

the contrast between the black bag and the pink wallet got me

what does she has in that wallet we can't see 🤨

can we talk about how perfectly simmetric those items were on the table

we need to see a what's in my make-up bag next because her make up it's always soo good

this is for the people who says she doesn't deserve her main dancer position because of her stamina, hope they can stfu now

my junRa heart is so weak rn 💔

who knew lip liners were emotional survival tools?

if vernon barely pays attention at the bag, then a thief gonna steal it lol

in the late 13 years old i'm discovering that hand sanitizer existed in different scents

╰┈ it ain't that old 🙏

[the-indigo-symphony]

Living as a system with DID, over and over I come across situations that make me think: I am so glad I know about my plurality, because this problem would not have been solved, wouldn't have been helped at all, if I didn't know that I am plural.

Usual treatments for self-hate didn't work. These were, and still are, often persecutors who need(ed) to be directly addressed and shown kindness.

Usual treatments for obsessions and compulsions didn't work. These (particular ones) were born out of fear of my amnesia that I am now working to accept and accommodate.

Usual treatments for anything hit(s) roadblocks when you can't remember anything, can't understand the motivations behind the actions you do remember, and so many around you are treating your memory loss and lack of understanding as you being purposely difficult.

And as I tackle these problems on my own, I think of how medical professionals do not receive adequate education on dissociation. All the people with dissociative disorders who have been misdiagnosed. The way it takes people with DID almost a decade on average to get just a diagnosis, not to mention treatment. I am lucky in some regards that I learned about my system earlier in life than many, and still, I have to sit with a past of blaming and hating myself because I didn't understand why I was struggling so much, why I couldn't live up to people's expectations, why I was different. Plural activism is near and dear to my heart because its success means that fewer people will be suffering like I did.

This is also why people who twist the narrative of activism into "wanting to traumatize kids" or "but what about fakers" infuriate me so much – these are excuses to not care about people with DID while at the same time claiming to "protect" us and "fight against ableism". If you cared about children, you would try to make sure traumatized kids can get resources and support they need if they end up with a disorder like mine, or you'd work to prevent kids from ending up with this trauma in the first place. If you cared about people with DID, you would forgo disparaging fakers in place of welcoming all those who fear that their pain "isn't that bad" so they "must be exaggerating", or those who never see themselves in system spaces because they're "too weird" so they "must be making it up". If you cared about us at all, you wouldn't spend all your time spitting hate and misinformation against us, trying to tear apart any progress we make in awareness – not even true acceptance, just trying to tell people that we exist in words that they can swallow, that we are not just a trope used in horror movies or a cool metaphor in their favorite web novel – and trying to reach other systems out there, to let them know that there is an answer to why they feel stuck and nothing is helping (and that there are ways out of the well they've resigned themselves to).

Fuck fake allyship.

I want people to know: systems exist. Plurality is a real thing. We come in all shapes and sizes. Our plurality can get tangled up in other conditions, or it might get mistaken for something completely different, which can result in common advice or a suggested treatment just not working out, because sometimes something that works for others (those who aren't plural) or other situations doesn't work for systems. This is not a personal flaw. You are not a bad person for being different. You deserve kindness, too.

[edenfenixblogs]

Maybe my most genuinely controversial take?

We should talk about AI.

Generative AI, the kind that does Art for you or writes your school essay or does other tasks created for you to learn skills is super harmful. I feel like the vast majority of us agree on this.

Pattern-recognition AI? This can be genuinely lifesaving in applications like medicine where it can identify certain patterns that indicate a health condition. There are many examples of this. As long as these results are validated by an actual human being who understands medicine, this is a net good, I think.

No-nuance AI. This is the stuff of the devil. The stuff that decides insurance claims without a human eye or that determines if a bomb should be dropped somewhere with no human oversight is downright evil.

But let me tell you right now, there are things AI can help you do if you have a personal struggle with them otherwise, and those aren't inherently evil or dangerous. As someone who is writing a resume right now, I HATE having to figure out how to figure out what accomplishments I'm able to take credit for and condense them into snappy bullet points. It's very against my nature to peacock in the way that is required to get a job. It's nice to be able to tell AI "Here is a story of stuff I did. Make it into XYZ format" and just have AI condense it. I proof it. I edit it. I did the thing its helping to format.

But also, if you're a coder and your code isn't working and you've been staring at it too long, being able to copy your code into a chatbox and say "What isn't working here?" can help you when you've been staring at the same thing for too long and your brain keeps skipping over the problem.

Yeah, it's a problem that people can and will use AI as a replacement for human knowledge and skill.

At the same time, it's also a problem that we expect every person to have very skill or ability. And I'm glad we have tools that can help people.

[m0owu]

I’m not going to say which fanfic this is. I just want to talk about a situation that upset me, because I need to let out my emotions.

A large number of people in the SVSSS fandom, at the very least, dislike Yue Qingyuan. But that doesn’t mean he deserves unfair treatment. The fact that he doesn’t explain his reason isn’t because he wants to keep it from others, but because he thinks that staying silent is the better choice. Maybe that’s foolish, but it’s not a reason to treat him badly. He wanted to do what he thought was best. If you don't think so, then let’s blame a child who accidentally killed someone out of ignorance, indirectly?

And then sj's partner made a decision on behalf of sj without even asking him? Isn’t that the same “I know what’s best for you” attitude that yqy is being condemned for? yqy just needs to be shown what’s right. You can compare yqy to a parent who wants the best for their child, but does it in their own way. That doesn’t mean we should cut ties with them. We should show them how we need to be treated so we can feel better. If they still refuse to listen, then it’s okay to walk away—but not without even giving a chance for them to fix things.

When sj wasn’t feeling well, another character (sj's partner) forbade informing yqy about Shen Qingqiu’s condition, even though yqy was the one who caused it, even though yqy cared deeply. I can understand not letting him visit Shen Qingqiu, but why forbid simply informing him? yqy was concerned, sincerely cared, felt guilty—and this other character wouldn’t even let him know, which only increased his guilt. There was no point in hiding it. Just prohibit physical access if you're afraid it’ll worsen Shen Qingqiu’s state.

Then sj says he doesn’t understand yqy, and another side character asks if he wants to understand him. sj replies no. (Right. We believe sj, ignoring his past desire to know the reason, his hidden curiosity. If he actually learned the reason, he would have wanted his past self to know it too.) And the side character says that in that case, there’s no need—some people don’t deserve the effort it takes to reach them. And yet it’s sj who “deserves” it, and yqy who doesn’t? Are we just not going to help people who are deeply ill or in pain, physically or mentally, because it “won’t change anything”?

Toward the end, another character tells yqy that sj may never forgive him and that he doesn’t have to (which is true). But why not at least try? They were close to each other. They still cared after everything. And this other character just says sometimes it’s better to walk away. That some things are broken beyond repair. But why not try to make them even a little better? If this person truly wants to help sj heal, why not address the core wound—one that will remain horrible if ignored? And healing doesn’t always mean “go find new people and abandon the one who hurt you.” yqy will continue to carry unbearable guilt. sj will have an even deeper sense that people can abandon him—worse than it would’ve been if they’d tried to resolve things. People with PTSD, for example, don’t get better just because things around them are “good” now. They’ll still expect the worst.

Another character tells yqy to go make new friends. Then changes their mind and tells him to get a pet. “Not a person, an animal. Find something else to be gentle to.” Instead of showing him how to treat people right, instead of working through human relationships after realizing his mistakes, Yqy —who now has no close friends, no one to talk to emotionally, not just professionally, and who is hated and feared by his entire sect—is told that he “pierced his heart while having the best intentions,” meaning he traumatizes everyone. And now he’s basically being isolated from society. But humans need other humans to have meaningful conversations. It’s a real psychological need.

In the comments, people were saying that yqy finally got what he deserved. Deserved for what? For sincere motives, for trying his best to make things right as quickly as possible, for showing concern for sj? There were a few moments that maybe made yqy “deserve” what he got (like yelling), but to me that was pure OOC every single time. And if the author doesn’t think it’s OOC, then their interpretation of the character is just… wrong.

To help clarify, here’s a parallel situation involving another character:

Someone told the entire Cang Qiong that sj had been a slave and used to go to a brothel just to get some sleep. And instead of helping sj restore his relationships with the peak lords, they said, “You’ve done enough damage. Leave this mountain (and preferably never return, either directly or indirectly).”

Explanations:

Yes, the author has full rights to delete or block my comment and to not want any criticism. I even checked before writing whether she mentioned anything about that. I clearly stated at the beginning that this was a critique, and to read it only if interested. So calling it “unsolicited” criticism when it’s clearly optional to read feels wrong.

I wasn’t demanding that anything in the fanfic be changed. I just thought the author was trying to help the main characters resolve their problems in a healthy way—so why not yqy too?

[stellargh0ul]

Ftm perpetua using a strap on the reader please… 🙏

Dove, is there any other way I write him? (I am only joking, of course.)

his fingers are long and clever, working inside of you to such a degree that you think you’ll reach your peak before he’s even managed to get the strap inside of you. you aren’t sure how an orphan boy from a good catholic upbringing learned to be so dexterous with his fingers but you certainly aren’t complaining.

you’re whimpering in fact, thrusting your hips down on those digits inside of you. he laughs softly, free hand coming up to pet your head. you lean into the touch even as he withdraws from your cunt, bringing his slicked fingers to his mouth.

you watch as his tongue lolls out to lick up your juices and feel your heart skip a beat as his gaze meets yours.

there is only the two of you in this moment, as he reaches over to the lube bottle on the bedside table. only you and him as he slicks up the ribbed, knotted dildo he’s been working you up to all evening. you needed the stretch: it was massive, but you knew you could take it.

he knew it too. knew your body like the back of his hand, knew every place that made you sing and cry out for him.

Perpetua guides your hands to his shoulders, wrapping his own around your waist. with inhuman strength, he lifts your hips from the bed with ease, making it easier to slot the cock against your prepped hole.

“are you ready, little lamb?” he asks, and you can only nod, forcing yourself not to buck down on it until he was ready to give it to you. you’ve been well trained, conditioned to follow his orders above your own pleasure: you knew that Perpetua would give you everything you wanted, if only you were good for him.

the tip of the dildo presses against your core and slowly, gently, carefully, he slides it home inside of you. you’re stretched so impossibly wide on it- not even his fingers and the hour of prep had bene enough to make it not burn as the dildo seats home inside of you.

finally, you’ve taken it up to the knot and he pauses, giving your breathing a chance to even out as you adjust to the monster of a cock inside of you. it feels so good to be stuffed so absolutely full.

“so good for me, opening up like this… are you ready for the real show? the knot to tie us together?”

you’re beyond coherent words or thought, the only thing on your mind the cock inside of you and the man giving it to you. but you nod anyway, because you know he’s expecting and answer and because even though you’re stretched so wide, you want more.

it aches as he moves his hips forward, pressing the huge knot to your hole. there’s pressure and a burn that makes you cry out, but Perpetua shushes you with another hand in your hair, stroking it as he rocks the knot against you.

and just like that, it pops in with a squelching noise and you cum- you clench down hard on the dildo inside you, waves of pleasure rolling over you at the thought that now, you and he were one, tied together by a knot.

it felt so good.

[mariacallous]

Nine organizers from the Gender Liberation Movement, including the organization’s co-founder Raquel Willis, were arrested on Friday outside the Supreme Court. The demonstrators were protesting Wednesday’s United States v. Skrmetti decision, which was an expected but devastating blow to the movement for trans rights and bodily autonomy more broadly. In a 6-3 ruling, the Court determined that Tennessee’s SB 1 law, which prohibits gender-affirming care for minors, blocking them from potentially lifesaving and medically commonplace treatments like hormone therapy, puberty blockers, and surgery, is constitutional. The law does not prohibit any of these treatments for cisgender children. After being detained for two hours, all nine organizers were released without charges, according to GLM co-founder Eliel Cruz.

“Gender-affirming care is sacred, powerful, and transformative. With this ruling in U.S. v. Skrmetti, we see just how ignorant the Supreme Court is [about] the experiences of trans youth and their affirming families,” said Willis in a statement. “Everyone deserves the right to holistic health care, and trans youth are no different. We will continue to fight for their bodily autonomy, dignity, and self-determination just like previous generations. No court, no law, no government gave us our power, and none can take it away.”

Last year, the organization staged a sit-in at Capitol Hill to protest anti-trans bathroom bills. “Gender Liberation Movement is committed to supporting families and young people as they navigate the changing political landscape,” said Cruz. “We are committed to continuing to respond to the Trump administration, and the government’s escalating attacks on our communities, with defiance, as is in the legacy of LGBTQ+ movement advocacy.”

At Friday’s protest, nine activists took hormone-replacement-therapy drugs — some real and some symbolic — either via pills or injections. “It was important for us to do a sacred ritual of administering hormone-replacement therapy,” said Willis, speaking to the Cut after her release. “These folks are using their prescribed care as a part of this action because it’s important for us to understand that gender-affirming care is just like any other care that folks may need, if they have a condition like diabetes or if they may need fertility treatments. There’s a really inaccurate way that the media and folks who are not trans have been allowed to talk about our care and other our care.”

In a statement of reclamation that emphasized the difference between how trans people are targeted for the same treatments that cisgender people receive without any uproar, four activists also released pink and blue “gender reveal” smoke. After speeches from Willis, youth organizer Jae Douglas, and Hazel Heinzer, an affirming parent of trans children, a group of organizers peacefully blockaded the street and unfurled long banners in the colors of the trans flag.

“I am feeling a lot of exhilaration but definitely a lot of pride — go figure — in how we showed up today,” said Willis. “There’s just been so much silence around this care that has been green-lit to be banned in upwards of 27 states now, but we just want to remind folks that we always have people power on our side. And no matter what ruling comes down, or what bans people try to pass, we still have the right to exist and speak up.”

The organization will continue its work, Willis said, in direct actions as well as education around the importance of gender-affirming care — and the connection between attacks on trans rights and attacks on Medicaid and Medicare, funding cuts to HIV and AIDs initiatives, and abortion bans. “All of our bodily autonomy is on the line in this time, and we have to be more connected than ever to protect and defend ourselves and the people that we care for,” said Willis. This decision affects trans youth directly and devastatingly, but make no mistake — at the core of it is the idea that the federal government has the right to involve itself in private medical decisions made by any person, of any gender, in the country.

To be clear, the harm and violence of prohibiting gender-affirming care go beyond their political implications. Leading medical organizations including the Endocrine Society and the American Medical Association have released statements, backed by decades of research, reaffirming the medical necessity of gender-affirming care as well as the high risk of suicidal ideation for those who don’t receive it.

“Folks should double their support to families and organizations that support [trans youth], including Gender Liberation Movement, but also, particularly in this moment, the Campaign for Southern Equality’s Trans Youth Emergency Project, which offers grants for families who need to access gender-affirming care either farther in their state or in a different state, as well as Elevated Access, which provides trains and flights for folks who need access to abortion care or gender-affirming care in a different state,” said Cruz.

Of her arrest, Willis said, “I remind myself of our ancestors who faced criminalization just for being themselves, for speaking out. When I was in the back of that paddy wagon, I thought about the queen — the street queen — who essentially demanded that the crowd around her outside of the Stonewall Inn those decades ago do something,” referring to an unnamed demonstrator who took part in inciting the 1969 Stonewall riots. “This was the agenda.” What better way to honor the history of Pride Month than that?

[nyehilismwriting]

going through my inbox at work in the middle of the day when tumblr is at her deadest. it's just the three of us here rn

[ambernotember]

miraculously i have managed to write almost 1000 words this morning… in between kissing the cat and petting all his toe beans haha

Me: trying to write fanfic

My cat: exists

Me: well I just lost almost an hour

[uncanny-tranny]

I think it would really benefit people to internalize that mental illnesses are often chronic and not acute. Some of us will never be able to jump the hurdle of managing illness, much less sustaining a sense of normalcy. Many of us will never "recover," will never manage symptoms, will never even come close to appearing normal - and this is for any condition, even the ones labeled as "simple" disorders or "easy-to-manage" disorders.

It isn't a failure if you cannot manage your symptoms. It isn't a moral failure, and you aren't an awful person. You are human. There's only so much you can do before recognizing that you cannot lift the world. Give yourself the space to be ill because, functionally, you are.

[majortomboy]

Y'all I started playing the Yakuza games and I'm in Kazumaji HELL. I don't understand how this ship is not the #1 ship on Tumblr. All my Good Omens homies you need to get ON THIS I am losing my mind over these guys 🐉🐍

[malachitezmeyka]

Sometimes I go like “I’m fine” and then remember that one friend whom I loved dearly who did a complete 180, told me to fuck off and essentially split apart our entire friend group in 2022 simply because I was Russian and she was Ukrainian. We didn’t talk politics, didn’t discuss the news too much, nobody held any anti Ukrainian opinions. We showered her in nothing but sympathy and support. And yet somehow, it was all our fault. We were 15 and it was our fault. Because we were Russian, so how could it not be?

I’ve never been the same since

[byler-alarmist]

STOP EVERYONE STOPPPP IT"S A CRUCIAL DAY FOR ME

GUYS DON'T POST AMAZING BTS CONTENT AND THEORIES I HAVE TO WOOOORRRRRKK 😭😭

[moe-broey]

FUCK RECENT BOOK JUST ENDED?!?!???!!

[souenkun]

It's my birthday today, and I'm now as old as kita shinsuke in the timeskip! 🥳

[zugzwang4]

idk man i just think that if u celebrate resources many people desperately rely on collapsing bc it symbolizes the collapse of the bigger harmful system ur maybe overlooking the actual people part of why we want these systems to end. if libraries are collapsing but were gaining more and more millionaires, i think laughing at ppl who use libraries bc their 'precious system' is collapsing is maybe the wrong response.