#i would kill to have both the time And motivation to dedicate myself to something for that long

[jellyfiishbones]

“30 days of portraits changed my style” “i drew in my sketchbook every day for a year” ok. fuck you

[gold-rhine]

Sub! Thoma x Dom! Gn Reader

Warnings: nsfw, minors please get out, edging, praise kink, service play, slight degradation, chastity cage, overstim, vibrator, oral (reader receiving), ruined orgasms. Fluff. Yes, I said fluff, and I mean it.

Wordcount: 4k

A\N: Repost bc my previous blog got shadowbanned. as always, filth is under the cut, don’t worry. If you’re a worldbuilding purist and vibrator bothers you, pretend it’s from Fountaine. If they already have cameras, they can manage vibrators.

Thoma is just great. He would almost be too sweet if he didn’t have another side as a problem-solving fixer or didn’t have a spine.

And he does have a spine, unarguably, he threw a spear at the face of his country’s god during her one-hit kill boob-nuke move. So when he submits to you, you know he’s doing it by choice and not because he’s a pushover, which makes it even better.

Like Diluc, he's a dedicated pyro workaholic who will not take care of his own needs or pleasure unless he’s literally forced to, but unlike Mond’s Batman, Thoma is not on 27 layers of dissociation and is actually aware of what he wants.

It’s not that he couldn’t be smth more ambitious than a housekeeper, it’s that the combination of mild OCD and people-pleasing motivation make both housekeeping and being a fixer a very rewarding occupations for him, and why be ashamed of something that makes you happy.

Thoma’s natural impulse when he sees something wrong or out of order is to fix it, and the scale doesn’t really matter - from spilled coffee, to trade deal disputes, to tyrannical government decree. And because of his indifference to the scale, he doesn’t turn this world-bettering into a grand mission or an isolating burden of responsibility, unlike SOME people, and therefore manages to have one of the healthiest mentalities out of all genshin workaholics.

His biggest turn-on is bringing pleasure to the partner and he will always put others' satisfaction above his own, which is why he can top if that’s the best way to please his lover, but his ideal role is a service sub.

with proper encouragement, he’ll be very open and needy, but also bashful enough to be fun to tease when you want to. Literally best of both worlds.

You might not appreciate Thoma or not find him interesting compared to other, loudly flashy characters, everyone has a right to have no taste.

He might be ready for almost anything to please you after you’ve already made him yours, but he has his quiet dignity. He will not be advertising if you don’t notice first.

He’s a bite of a fresh green apple, warm from being left in the summer sun, a tangible pleasure to sink your teeth in, with just enough tanginess to offset the sweetness. A breathy laugh, ruffled sunset-gold hair, agile body, always in motion, green-grass bright eyes, a late spring on the cusp of turning to summer, warm and sunny, but not yet stifling hot. Golden time, all yours to claim, but very easy to miss if inattentive.

Has a praise kink, obviously, but whatever he does for you, he will never ask for the compliments himself. He can be easily persuaded to beg, but not for praise - he needs to be complimented not because he asked you to, but because he’s earned it.

Also likes degradation at the same time. In the hangout event he was like “Nooo, traveler, don’t stop these authorative men from openly disparaging me, I don’t mind. Despite the fact that I have more than enough influence as both Ritou fixer and closest confidant of the Kamisato clan siblings to put an end to it myself. It just doesn’t bother me haha.”

Yeah okay, sure, whatever you say, babe.

Has a highkey oral fixation. Not only the balls-eating idle animation. But also completely unprompted, out of nowhere basically railroaded his friends into doing a weird “game” where you have to guess the unknown weird foods just by taste and texture. Brought the weirdest foods and tasted them the most for no reason until he’s literally got sick. Like, you didn’t have to go this hard, king, your friends were just sitting there confused anyway, it wasn’t even a competition.

Later brings up said event as a fun time that he’d like to repeat

Yeah okay, SURE, whatever you say, babe.

Someone please fuck this man on the mouth with a variety of differently shaped and textured dildoes to satisfy his need for interesting mouthfeels and save him from another indigestion.

Thoma’s biggest insecurity is belonging. Caught between two heritages, disconnected from Mondstadt, but always seen as an outsider in Inazuma. He found his place in the Yashiro commission, and he threw himself fully into his work for this sense of belonging, but secretly and, as he thinks, selfishly, Thoma yearns for someone to want him just for himself, not for his skills. And not just to want him, to claim him, own him fully, without stipulations, to reward or punish him as you see fit, but to know that he’s completely, undoubtedly, unquestionably yours.

His enjoyment of chastity cage stems from both of his main preferences, first, it’s a constant, tangible proof of belonging to you, more permanent than any mark on the skin could be. Second, it appeals to his cheeky part that enjoys the thrill of having a hidden side, like  “oh, you think that i’m just a humble housekeeper, but I’m actually a resourceful influential fixer, but you’ll never know that :3”

He’s not clingy, but he blooms when given attention, like a sunflower quietly turning to the sun. He cherishes anything - from the smile and quick peck on the cheek, to slap on the ass or you dragging him into a broom closet and fucking him against the wall while he bites his handguard to stifle moans. The anticipation that you might ask for anything from him at any moment sparks deep in his belly like a small flickering candleflame.

Like any pyro, he loves a challenge, but because Thoma is like the farthest you can get from a brat, he doesn’t like challenging you, but enjoys endurance or patience tests, and the more he has to work for it, the sweeter the reward will feel.

If he’s only left one room to clean, you can order him to do it with a remotely controlled bullet vibrator in his ass and enjoy the show of him struggling to keep his composure and finish the job.

At first he tries really hard to pretend it’s not affecting him at all and go on as usual, but you notice his hitched, and then quickened breath, tensed body, his movements are stifled in comparison to his usual easy fluidity, he’s stealing quick glances at you from the half lowered eyelashes.

As it gets worse, you can see him breathing through the mouth, swallowing harshly, his hips twitching, so you ramp up the vibrator’s setting and he almost doubles over the table he was wiping, gasping from surprise. For some time, he struggles to get a hold of himself, his thighs shaking, fists clenching on the table’s surface, but then manages to get back to cleaning, his hands a little trembling, but still careful and melticiuos and you turn the intensity down. You don’t want this game to end too quickly.

Of course, you can cheat and tease him directly, starting from fleeting caresses, to stealing kisses and getting in his way and groping. He’s left with his clothing ruffled, shirt riding up from when you slid your hands under it, pants half-undone by you and hanging on hipbones. He blushes, but doesn’t fix his clothes, because you made a point of leaving them like that, and the way you watch him with obvious desire riles him up just as much as the bullet pulsing inside of him. It takes all of his willpower to not go to you, collapse at your feet and beg to touch him, fuck him, let him finish.

Finally, there’s only one bookshelf left to dust, and at this point Thoma is no longer even trying to keep up the pretenses, he’s squirming, letting out shaky gasps, lightheaded from mix of desire and ache in his aroused cock, cage feeling more and more painfully tight. He’s steeling himself, taking deep breaths, because by the archons, he’s not going to let some dusty wood planks get the best of him.  

He’s so focused on his goal that he doesn’t notice how you approach him, until you hug him from behind, so he shudders, letting out a surprised gasp, and you chuckle.

“So, how is it going, baby?” you ask with an innocent tone, but your mouth is pressed to his ear, and you feel him shiver from your warm breath.

“Great,” he manages to start out with an upbeat tone and a smile, but then you start kissing his neck and sliding your hands under his shirt, and his voice gets wobbly. “I’m… ah, I’m… so close…” you find his nipples and they harden immediately under your touch, forcing a shaky, needy moan out of him before he can continue, “Almost done… just…mmmhm… just a bookshelf…” you twist his nipples and buck your hips against his ass, and he arches in your arms, “Oh, fuck, please!”

He’s too fucking delicious, so you turn him over and press him against the wall, claiming his mouth. He’s such a good kisser, even half out of breath and out of mind like this.

“No, I can’t let you fuck the bookshelf, babe,” you tease, smiling. “That would just be a mess.”

He starts rolling his eyes at your joke, but ends up with his throat arched, your lips trailing kisses under his jaw.

“Wait, I didn’t finish…”

You smirk and pull his pants down to the thighs in one abrupt motion. “Oh, you’re definitely going to finish.”

He blushes, but meets your eyes anxiously. “You mean, like that?..”

“Yeah, with your pretty cock still caged, darling.”

He blushes even more brightly and swallows hard, but doesn’t argue, doesn’t complain, doesn’t ask you to take it off, despite how uncomfortably tight it feels, despite knowing that coming like that won’t bring him pleasure or even relief, just frustration. It’s been a few days, and he wants to finally be allowed a real orgasm so badly, but he follows your order like a good, obedient boy that he is.

He lets the last dregs of his control go, because that’s how you want to see him, submits to your caresses, and the world drowns in a delirious, needy haze of desire. He hears his own filthy, shuddering moans without realizing it’s him making them, basks in how you rake your eyes over him in hunger, exposed, writhing against the wall under you, blushing cheeks and parted lips, shirt pulled up to the collarbones and pants pulled down to the thighs.

It’s worth the sweet, maddening torture of his aching dick and overstimmed, abused prostate for how you claim him, your hands and lips all over his body, your tongue sliding inside his mouth, it’s overwhelmingly too much and desperately not enough. He isn’t sure how much time has passed, every moment feels like stretched out, agonizing eternity, until he can’t take it anymore.

He comes with a half-choked moan, his legs going weak, and slides down against the wall, panting. You kneel down next to him, kiss his face and whisper praises as he’s trying to catch his breath, and reach between his legs to take the bullet out.

But instead of switching it off, you press it against his cock, sending a violent jolt through his entire body.  He gasps, his bright green eyes going wide in disbelief.

“Shhh, baby, I just need you to cum one more time for me,” you tell him, kissing his cheekbones tenderly. His cage has an opening that leaves part of the cockhead exposed, it’s swollen, red and throbbing against the bullet.  

“No, please, I can’t,” he gasps for air with an open mouth like he’s drowning, presses his back against the wall in an instinctive urge to get away.

“Of course you can, baby,” you catch his chin, forcing him to look at you. “You are mine, aren't you?”

“Yes,” you can feel his throat moving under your fingers when he swallows.

“And your cock is my favorite pretty plaything. So I need you to come for me again like my good little whore.”

“It hurts,” he moans weakly and shuts his eyes, blushing brilliantly, his gasps turn into quiet whimpers. His body is twitching, nails scraping helplessly on the floor, but he still hasn’t said the safeword, so you keep the bullet pressed to his throbbing cock.

“I know, baby,” you press a gentle kiss to the corner of his parted lips. “But I want to have you whole. I want to take everything you have, sunflower, and I know you can still give me more.”

His arm springs up abruptly and for a second you think he’ll try to push you away, but instead he finds your free hand and intertwines his fingers with yours.  

“Yes,” he whimpers shakily and looks up at you, his eyes bright and glittering green from tears. “Oh, please, please…”

He looks incredible like this, luminous in combination of filthy hunger and naked tenderness, an exposed, helpless mess, writhing on his knees, trying to spread legs that are caught in half-undone pants on his thighs

his cheeks glowing bright red, he’s keening and begging, without even knowing what he begs you for, with wet parted lips, chest raising in heavy feverish breathing, cum from his first orgasm still staining his cage and stomach, the swollen, pulsing tip is leaking under your finger when you thumb his slit with the same hand that holds the bullet against it.

Сompletely undone, unraveled, tortured and trembling, but nonetheless, he’s clutching at your hand, reaching, leaning into you with desperate need.

“You’re so fucking beautiful, baby,” you squeeze his hand, press yourself against him as he whines, and you can tell he’s close by how the muscles of his abs tighten, his thighs tense. “Show me how good you can be.”

He comes with a choked, broken sound, half-moan, half-sob. You hold him as he’s shaking, pepper his face with kisses, whisper praises as he’s trying to catch his breath.

“Good boy. You are such a delight to have, my little treasure.” His body is full of raw-nerved, unreleased tension, but your words add a maddeningly sweet undercurrent, shiver that runs down his spine, makes the torturous frustration worth it if you’ve enjoyed him. “You’ve been so good for me, I’ll even let you choose your reward. If you want, I will take off your cage and make you cum until you lose your voice from screaming.”

His breath hitches, eyes light up in hungry anticipation, but you continue.

“Or, I’ll let you serve me. I’ll fuck your pretty mouth.”

“Let me serve you,” he answers without hesitation and you smile, because you always knew what he'd choose.

Few minutes later, he’s kneeling at your feet, already naked except for the handcuffs and the cage, the longer strands of his molten gold hair falling freely over the sculpted shoulders. He’s quiet, but he’s looking up at you in restrained anticipation.

“Are you sure, baby? You can still change your mind.”

“Yeah,” he says without hesitation, nuzzling at your knee. “I’m sure.”

“I might not let you out today at all.”

“I know,” he kisses your knee, rubs his cheek against it pleadingly, looking you in the eye. “Please… Use me.”

You smile, let him start slowly, trail a line of kisses up your thigh until he presses his mouth to your sex. It’s not the first time you use his mouth, so he knows what you like, eager lips and searching tongue. He looks up at you, watching for all signs of pleasure: heavy breath, narrowed eyes, bitten lip. You slide your hand into his hair, stroke it softly and he hums in appreciation. When your hips buck against his face, you can feel his moan reverberating against your flesh.

Your fingers tighten in his hair, and you forcibly pull him closer, fuck his mouth as he goes slack, his eyelashes flutter, warm and willing for you to take.

You slow down a little bit, just enough to hear him make a tiny choked noise, caught deep in his throat, see him look up at you from under half-lowered lashes with glistening, dizzyingly grateful green eyes.

When you finish, it’d be enough for him to cum if he wasn’t caged still, so when you let him go, he slumps against your leg, breathing heavily through his bruised mouth, his ragged breaths hot against your skin.

“Thank you,” he whispers, blush on his cheeks heating up against your knee, just barely loud enough for you to catch it.

You take him to the bed, throw him on his back, and he lies sprawled helplessly in front of you, delirious from the constrained pleasure, watching you with bated breath.

“You’ve been very good, my treasure,” you whisper, looming over him, move the unruly bangs, no longer held by a headband, from his forehead. His hair is too bright and saturated for a blonde, not dark and red enough for ginger, another duality caught in between, gold and tangerines, amber and buttercups, sunflower petals in the light of the late sunset.

“So even though you refused your reward, I’ll give you a chance to cum. If you can win a little game,” you smile, open his cage and slide it off. It goes slowly, with an effort, too tight around his swollen dick, and he shudders, sighs deeply when he’s finally free.

You press your palm against his cock and kiss the corner of his lips. “I’m afraid you’ll have to work for it, baby.”

He throws a glance at you, blushing, unsure. Is that all you’ll ask from him, to debase himself to show how much he wants it? That seems too easy for how far gone he is in his desires, but he doesn’t question you. He catches your mouth in an eager, sloppy kiss, thrusts his hips up, rubbing his cock against your hand.

You let his dick slide a few times against your palm, drink lovely, sweet moans from his lips, and then move your hand up, out of his reach. You chuckle as you watch him thrust helplessly into the air, groaning in frustration.

You only touch him again after he settles down, let him build up the rhythm, his thrusts turning quick and frantic as he’s getting closer to release. When you smirk and caress his cheekbones, he tenses, your grin is so teasing he expects a catch.

He waits for you to move your hand away again, but instead you lean down and sweetly tell him: “Slower.”

This catches him off guard, his eyes and mouth going wide in surprise and dismay. He has to brace himself forcefully to obey against his natural instincts. He grips at the bedsheets, but manages to slow himself down to half the speed.

You watch him struggle with a smile, his chest rising in heavy panting, parted lips, fingers clutching at the sheets, involuntary arch building in his spine as he focuses all his willpower on controlling his hips. You kiss a line down the exposed column of his throat, feel him shudder and his cock twitch against your palm, he almost bucks erratically, but catches himself at the last moment.

“Good boy,” you whisper, raking your fingers through his tangled hair. He meets your eyes, pleading, at once desperate and hopeful for release.

Instead, you tell him “Stop moving.”

He lets out a loud groan that breaks into a shaky whimper as he forces himself to pin his hips down to the bed. He throws his head back and arches his back, squeezing his eyes shut, his dick twitching against your palm and his knuckles whiten from how hard he’s clenching his fists. You run your hand up the length of his painfully hard, throbbing cock, provoking a moan, gently thumb at the slit of his swollen, leaking tip.

“Fuck, please, I’m so close, please…” he gasps for air with an open mouth, writhing under you as you kiss his jaw, slide your other hand over his body in tantalizing caresses, feel his muscles clench under your touch. You’re not so cruel to count this against him, because he does manage to keep himself from thrusting into your teasing hand as you slowly, maddeningly slowly stroke his cock, pearly string of precum dripping on his stomach.

“Very good, sunflower,” you whisper in his ear, feel his eyelashes flutter as he’s struggling to look at you. He’s so tense he’s shaking, sweat pooling on his temples and a trembling slope of his collarbones. You kiss his parted lips, cover his clenched hand with your own. “You’ve been such a delightful, beautiful plaything today. Come for me, you’ve earned it, baby.”

He comes undone immediately, with a desperate, strangled scream that he’s too unraveled to feel ashamed about. You pump his cock, let him ride out the pleasure he’s been waiting so long for, forcefully held control finally lost completely and his mind going completely blank, watch him thrashing under you until his screams turn to whimpers and he grasps at you and pulls you close.

Later in the shower he has no strength left, so you start cleaning him up yourself, and he tries protesting, but you gently pin him to the wall.

“Can I take care of my own little treasure, hm?” you ask him teasingly, and he laughs with both embarrassment and gratitude, melts under your touch.

You feel quite tired yourself, looking forward to finally getting to bed and falling asleep entangled in his warmth. But when you walk into the room, he slips out of your arms and starts tearing off sheets from the bed with amount of energy that he frankly should not be able to produce in this state.

“Babe. What are you doing? Cum didn’t even get on the sheets, it’s fine.”

“I’m not going to sleep on sweat-covered bedsheets,” he throws an affronted look over his shoulder as he’s pulling a new sheet over the frame. “I wasn’t raised in a barn.”

You sigh and watch him silently, until he grabs a pillow.

“Thoma. Thoma, what did the pillows do to you? We haven’t even touched them.”

“It’s going to bother me if the sheets are fresh and pillowcases aren’t. *And* if they don’t match.”

“I’m starting to think I’m taking the handcuffs off you too early,” you say sourly, and he chuckles, blushing faintly.

“Sorry, sorry, I’m almost done. Just a minute.”

He is done pretty quickly, but then you catch him eyeing the heap of bedsheets on the floor.

“Baby, if you try to start laundry right now, I will have to knock you unconscious for your own good.”

“I was just going to put it into a basket…”

“NO.”

He laughs airily, lets you drag him into bed, falling down next to you.

“But you have to admit, sleeping on clean linen is so much better.”

It is pretty great, it’s fresh and cool, and smells faintly of lavender.

“It’s nice,” you concede, pulling him close.

Thoma gives absolutely the best hugs and cuddles, firm, but not restrictive, like all pyro, he emanates warmth even when he’s not using his vision, but from him, it’s a lenient sunlight, not the aggressive heat of fire. Amber-hued protective bubble where nightmares seem stupid and everything is going to be alright, a feeling normally only achievable by months of therapy, being covered in puppies or copious amounts of drugs.

“But you are still crazy. I’m going to fuck you over the counter in the morning instead of the bed, so you don’t change the sheets *again.*”

He makes a content little noise, something between a chuckle and a purr.

“And what would you like to have for breakfast? Other than me, of course.”

“I don’t really care. Other than you, of course. Surprise me, sunflower.”

[georgealias]

i just finished watching the new netflix avatar the last airbender series immediately after binging the orginal show. i went into the live action with an open mind and still found myself to be profoundly disappointed. the first 2 episode are easily the highlights in terms or writing, directions, action, and changes (both new and subtracted material). it because very clear that the writing is the worst part of the show and it suffers drastically because of it. the characters are flat and 2 dimensional, barely reminiscent of the original show. sokka and zuko are, in my opinion, handled the best and still fall short. their actors have clearly been directed to tone down their performances for the sake of realism. i would argue that suki, a character we see only once in the first season of the original, is made better in the live action. she is provided a backstory and minor conflict with her mother that adds to her character’s motivations without taking away the reasons audiences liked her in the first place. something the show attempts, and fails, at doing with multiple characters. azula, zhao and yue are all expanded upon with mixed results.

azula is introduced a season early with the purpose of balancing out the relationship between zuko and ozai. the show wants the audience to understand the abuse, stress and self loathing that comes from being the golden child of a monster. but fails in capturing her ruthlessness and intelligence that makes her a formidable antagonist. the writing fails to let the audience figure out her character themselves, instead opting for bland dialogue that openly states how she feels about zuko and her father. the result is a well acted cosplay that leaves you lacking interest in seeing her arch playout.

zhao is a similar problem. the show has retconned his backstory, making it so azula is responisble for his promotions and his conflict with zuko is no longer a battle of strategy and intelligence. his alliance with azula sees her planing his moves out and leave the character with little to do on screen. add to the fact that the actor thought he was joining james cameron’s avatar and its obvious know one on set knew what to do with his character. by introducing azula early zhao is robbed of any potential as the seasons antagonist. his determination and lust for victory is forgotten and makes his plan to kill the moon spirit beyond suspension of disbelief. zhao’s arrogant, confidence is replaced with a overly ambitions fool that lucks his way into short lived victories. the invasion at the north pole is an exceptional example of this when he tells iroh we wouldnt kill the ocean spirit and subsequently all the water benders in the world because he isnt a monster. something the orginal zhao would not have hesitated to do if given the opportunity.

this bring us to yue. amber midthunder is the only redeemable quality of the character. she provides and warmth and believability to the character that makes it a joy to watch. however the writers have seen it fit to change most of her story as well as her relationship with sokka. her betrothal is no longer a issue in this show as she apparently broke it off a year early to become a priestess. not an unwelcome change but it eliminates any example of her being dedicated to her duty over self happiness. the very same thing that has her giving her life back to the moon spirit. without this perviously established character trait her sacrifice is left feeling hollow. the audience isnt alllowed to mourn her because we dont know her.

i could probably go on forever on how the show has failed almost every character, and in time i probably will. but i will end by saying that sometimes beloved pieces of media do not need to be adapted. they can just be remastered, simple as that.

[margridarnauds]

fanfic writer emoji ask: ✍ 🎢 👀

✍ Do you have a beta reader?

For a while, I did, and they were and are great (we have not had a falling out! We are still friends!), but real life kind of got in the way for both of us, and that's fine. Sometimes, I do miss having someone look over my stuff so that I know I don't sound insane, but it's fine.

🎢 Which of your fics would you call your wildest ride?

I feel like "wildest ride" could mean so many different things. Like, content wise, just on the basis of it existing? ABSOLUTELY A Soft October Night, mainly because I don't think I'd ever gone as far as "Incest Murder Threesome" before. (I will make no promises that I won't do so AGAIN, but it definitely is a shocker from the usual.)

Though this is ALSO from the same creative team that brought you "Romeo has sex with the personification of Death on a crucifix" and "Ronan and Lazare have sex on a printing press" (which seems MUCH tamer compared to the other two), so, really, you can pick your poison.

As far as plot? Either The Midnight Mass or Pour la Peine, depending on if you think "Ronan discovers his old friends are zombies that want to kill him" or "The Thing that happens in Pour la Peine that changes the whole plot" is more shocking. (Personally, I am still REALLY proud of that twist in PLP, since I'd sat on that for years.)

If you're talking about in a crackficky sense? ...I mean. Goosefic. Goosefic. The fic that solidified my reputation in the 1789 fandom. If I say so myself, every single fic I've listed before that has some larger motivation for why it's Like That. Goosefic was just me reading a writing prompt and thinking "I want Lazare to get chased by a pissed off goose." And it is beautiful.

👀 Tell me about an up and coming wip please!

I don't think it's a SECRET I'm working on writing out my playthrough of BG3, or at least. Key parts of it. (I am NOT. Novelizing. An 125 hour playthrough. Yet.) I have about 11k words into it at the moment, but I'm not publishing a word of it until it's in a place where I know I can very likely finish it, or at least make a dent. We are NOT doing that thing where I just publish one chapter, hit a major bout of writer's block, and can't go through with it. (I can't make any promises for AFTER one chapter.)

It deals, primarily, with Kitrye's Happy Fun Times in the game, her ongoing verbal game of cat and mouse with Raphael, her relationship with her sister, and her relationship with her culture, as well as her overall development during the course of the game. (I don't really consider it a spoiler, given I put it in an actual gifset, that Kitrye breaks her oath as a paladin at one point -- there is a LOT dedicated to the circumstances around that and how it changes the game, even though that's a late development.) A spoiler that literally only you and a couple of people will understand and so I can give without any worry is:

"Ich will dich nicht, ich brauch' dich nicht. GEEEEEEEEEHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH."

(Honestly, thus far, it's looking like how I'm writing out every act is taking inspiration from something else. Like, if Pour la Peine and its related stories drew a lot of inspiration from the Evilious Chronicles, I would say that the third act in particular is very, very Elisabeth tinted if you know where to look; second act is looking to have at least one scene inspired by a very memorable moment from one of the branches of the Mabinogi; and the first act, which is still the roughest, is a little bit more up in the air, with all of them borrowing at least a LITTLE bit from The Last Trial.)

Of course. It would be much easier to work on it. IF I HAD MY GAMING PC THAT COULD RUN THE GAME SO I COULD DOUBLE CHECK MY FILES. MY CUSTOM MADE GAMING PC THAT I CHOSE EVERY SINGLE PART FOR SO THAT IT COULD BE A MONSTER AT RUNNING GAMES.

(I'm cool, I'm chill, I'm fine.)

Anyway, have the Symryvvin girls, out of context. (Malla 🤝 Raphael: Being in an eternal state of Done.)

[saveraedae]

Why I’ve been inactive / What’s been going on with me

I’m sorry, this is going to be a long post. You might have noticed that throughout the months I have been very infrequently posting after claiming I want to be more active, and here’s why. This is not me attempting to beg / guilt trip / ask for sympathy, it is merely an explanation. I apologize if you don’t want to see this kind of thing, but I really thought I should let everyone know what’s going on.

(Continued below the cut)

Throughout the years of me posting under the username “Saveraedae,” I have been through so much. I’ve made so many friends, accomplished many goals that I had set for myself, had a lot of fun; My joy has always came from creating things and sharing them with others and seeing you all enjoy them with me. However… throughout said time I’d also been battling with a lot of personal issues. For one, I had come to notice that with creating and developing a series, something that I had always dreamed of doing ever since I could remember, brought a lot of hardships. Namely, pressure; I am aware that I do things quite differently than most cartoon creators. I wouldn’t really call my reach huge by any means, but I do know a lot of indie creators would kill to have people so dedicated and interested in their series and lore, especially people who stick around for years and years. But back to the point, I essentially wasn’t private with the development of my work. This lead to me getting an audience for myself quite early and in turn having loads of feedback from onlookers during its creation. Now, like I said, lots of indie creators would kill for this sort of thing. But let me tell you, while I am forever grateful and definitely do not want to give the wrong impression, having attention to this degree so early on is both a blessing and a curse.

“How is this bad?” You may ask, “Isn’t getting attention for your work a good thing?” Let me explain.

I began to develop these characters when I was twelve. I turn twenty in 2 months. Let that sink in. Throughout my whole teenage years I had spent my life being praised and even worshipped in some cases for creating TMS. (No, this is not an exaggeration, there were seriously people who referred to me as a god among other things in a joking yet semi unironic context) I had asks flooding my inbox daily; people discussing amongst each other headcanons, ship arguments, and simping hard for characters; consistently got fanart sent to me; It really was a lot, and I absolutely loved it. Talking with other people in a community that I had built and watching it grow really was a dream come true, I had people to talk about what meant most to me and other people could share my sentiments. However, things would not always be like this. People eventually move on, this is the dark side that people don’t realize when building a community around a creation. That’s not to say people aren’t interested anymore if they leave or become less invested in a fandom, but if they no longer make themselves noticed, the support becomes transparent; They no longer comment, interact with my posts, send asks, etc. Engagement lowers when you can’t see the support. And in turn, my self esteem, motivation, and drive to do anything at all also lowers.

Now, this issue is very morally grey to say the least, I wouldn’t say anyone is at fault, it’s more an issue of circumstance. Everyone knows that TMS is my pride and joy and I want nothing more than to be happy creating it and watch others enjoy it as well. But if you’ve read to this point now, you can probably tell that at the moment I’m just not happy. I won’t even lie, I’m just not happy with the way things have been going lately. I’ll attempt to subtly hype something up, post a new lore tidbit, tease something that I’d to come, draw something that seems fanservice-y, anything, and yet it comes and goes without fanfare. I just don’t know what to do anymore. I know there’s people who like TMS out there, I see each and every one of you, and I’m more than grateful that you like the one thing that means the most to me. But take a look at my numbers lately, not just on tumblr. My posts on average barely break 5 notes. Maybe they’ll get 10 on a good day. Really my breaking point though that lead me to thinking this way though was my latest YouTube video; After it had been up for a week it had barely even broken 300 views. Really!? Anyone could see clear as day that I have nearly 10,000 subscribers. The video was a silly little animation that in the long run means nothing to me, but there is no way that that was right??? Stuff like this has made me cease or slow down on my bigger projects in fear of them not doing well. If I put a lot of effort into something only for it to flop or not get much feedback, there is not really much of a drive for me to do it at all. Things like this have been a pattern lately though, this was just the icing on the cake. When I get little to no engagement or no reactions to my content, I just feel like I’m disappointing people or that I’m not good enough. Of course I do try, I try my hardest, but when I do all I can and in return get radio silence, it makes me wonder if I did something wrong. Things weren’t always like this, so what happened? I know that people support me, but for some reason my mind and body doesn’t think it’s enough to move forward, and I just go into week long depressions, come back for a few days supper motivated and productive, then fall back into the same cycle again. I’m not enjoying this as much as I used to, and I really believe it’s because I don’t see other people enjoying it like they used to either. When I look back at things from 2015-2017 I have such fond memories and remember how fun things were. When I compare to now, it just looks depressing, let’s be honest. I’ve always tried to pinpoint where exactly the problem began, and I’m fully aware of where it truly started: The creation of the TMS discord server.

Now I have met, grown close to, and learned of quite a bit of people since the creation of the original server back in 2017. Fun fact, it was actually originally only created for the cast as a sort of ‘alternative’ to our Skype hangout until one fan/soon to be friend of mine wanted to talk to us, but didn’t have Skype (as there was a small and short lived TMS fan Skype group) Ever since then, the Discord server was open to the public and soon got turned into the TMS fan server. Mid 2017 was when it was created, and late 2017 is when it took off and began to grow in members. …Guess when my engagement on tumblr began to drop? It’s taken me a long time to realize, but the community became essentially “gated off” to the public, and people couldn’t see what it truly was anymore; It’d essentially gone private. I started to post more exclusive content into the server since it was easier to reach people in there, and began to post less to my public socials. People began to interact with my posts less and less, and soon, my engagement dropped dramatically. Let me tell you if you are not in the server, there are many more talented artists and people in the fandom than meets the eye, I’m honestly… not sure why people seem shy when posting their TMS stuff to the public. Like… are you ashamed to be into it or something? Is it not good enough for you to be publicly interested in it? Are you just pretending to like it so much just to humor me? I just don’t understand posting stuff only in the server if you claim you care about the growth of the community... But whatever the reason may be, this kind of stuff is the other thing that brought me to this point. I’m not sure what I’m doing wrong, but like… what? This baffles me. I don’t want to seem like I’m taking anything for granted, but things like this make me want to delete the server and see if people will actually come to my blog again like years ago. I do like getting to meet individual people, but I don’t know anymore.

Moving forward, I don’t know what I’m going to do to combat this feeling. I’ve only really had support in the few people I’ve trusted and confided this information to, because I’ve always felt like if I publicly said this I’d just be seen as selfish, and I know I’m gonna get it, but with the pattern constantly continuing like I said, it just doesn’t feel like I’m enough; So I’m saying it here too. I’m sorry if this makes you think any less of me, or disappoints you, I really have thought hard before making this post. But yeah. I’m not quitting development of TMS obviously, as like I’ve made sure to reiterate, is what matters most to me, but i just wanted to share my feelings. I’m going to try and take it slow for a little while and see if things look up. Just to let people know though, don’t be shy to reach out to me if you want me to see something or you want to talk to me.

[minguchoiparsonsparis]

I Am Malala : Girls Global Education

Response to that phrase in the title: "Period. End of a Sentence"

"Period. End of Sentence" is a strong term that breaks the rules and myths about getting your period. Some old ideas that have held women back for a long time are being thrown out. This means the end of a sentence. This strong statement wants to end the shame that comes with having your period and allow girls to start school and be free. Women taking back control of their stories is a big deal. It turns something seen as a problem into a place where people can have fun and help each other. For women, their period shouldn't be the end of their lives; instead, it should be the beginning of a new time of health, growth, and learning.

Review of "I Am Malala" by Malala Yousafzai

1. If you could describe this book in one word, what would that be?

I would use "courageous" to best sum up "I Am Malala." Malala's narrative is a potent monument to her bravery in the face of life-threatening peril, her relentless dedication to education, and her resistance to quiet even in front of the Taliban. As Malala notes, “I told myself, Malala, you have already faced death. This is your second life. Don’t be afraid – you can’t move forward if you are afraid.” Her bravery motivates people to defend their rights in front of any challenges.

2. What does this book reveal about Islam, women, girls, and education?

"I Am Malala" challenges a lot of myths about Islam by emphasizing how, in contrast to how extremist organizations like the Taliban have depicted it, education, equality, and peace are essential components of the religion. Malala demonstrates the difficulties girls encounter in traditional nations where cultural norms frequently limit women's rights, particularly regarding education. "Islam tells us every girl and boy should be educated," the speaker notes. I don't know why the Taliban have forgotten it," demonstrating that she is fighting against both the distortion of her religion and radicalism. The book highlights how important education is to girls' empowerment, showing how having access to education can change people's lives, strengthen communities, and open doors for social change.

3. What elements of chance are crucial to her story?

Critical events of chance in Malala's narrative include her father's progressive ideas and support, which were unique in her hometown, and the worldwide attention she got following her survival of the Taliban attack. Apart from providing the necessary medical treatment, the global outpouring of support helped Malala increase her voice and enabled her to campaign on a more extensive international stage for girls' education. Malala's observation, "When the whole world is silent, even one voice becomes powerful," reflects how her will, combined with the world's reaction to her tragedy, turned her struggle into a worldwide movement.

4. What would the world look like if all girls were educated? What do you think would change?

The world would be fairer and more prosperous if every female got an education. More often than not, educated girls are empowered women who support their rights, boost the economy, and engage in leadership positions. Educated women are demonstrated to prioritize education for their children, fostering a positive cycle of change and helping to lower poverty, enhance health outcomes, and promote peace. When Malala says, "With guns, you can kill terrorists. With education, you can kill terrorism," she is brilliantly capturing the transforming force of education, which is the most effective weapon against ignorance and violence.

5. What is your favorite quote from the book? Please explain why.

"One child, one teacher, one book, and one pen can change the world," says my favorite passage from the book. Malala's advocacy's core that education is the most effective weapon for change is summed up in this quotation. It reminds us that every effort toward education counts since even little deeds of learning and teaching can majorly influence society.

6. What positive global messages does this book provide, and why does it continue to be relevant in light of recent developments in Iran, Afghanistan, and the United States?

The powerful message in "I Am Malala" about working for girls' rights and education is still essential today, as similar fights continue in places like Afghanistan, where women’s and girls' rights are being threatened more and more. In light of recent events worldwide, Malala's quote, "We realize how important our voices are only when they are silenced," hits home. It reminds us that advocacy and the courage to speak out are essential in the ongoing fight for justice and equality.

[rhine-gold-archive]

Dude I LOVED your sub diluc analysis and 110% agree. If you're taking suggestions for more sub characters analysis how about our favorite malewife Thoma

Sub! Thoma x Dom! Gn Reader

Warnings: nsfw, minors please get out, edging, praise kink, service play, slight degradation, chastity cage, overstim, vibrator, oral (reader receiving), ruined orgasms. Fluff. Yes, I said fluff, and I mean it.

Wordcount: 4k

A\N: as always, filth is under the cut, don’t worry. If you’re a worldbuilding purist and vibrator bothers you, pretend it’s from Fountaine. If they already have cameras, they can manage vibrators.

Thoma is just great. He would almost be too sweet if he didn’t have another side as a problem-solving fixer or didn’t have a spine.

And he does have a spine, unarguably, he threw a spear at the face of his country’s god during her one-hit kill boob-nuke move. So when he submits to you, you know he’s doing it by choice and not because he’s a pushover, which makes it even better.

Like Diluc, he's a dedicated pyro workaholic who will not take care of his own needs or pleasure unless he’s literally forced to, but unlike Mond’s Batman, Thoma is not on 27 layers of dissociation and is actually aware of what he wants.

It’s not that he couldn’t be smth more ambitious than a housekeeper, it’s that the combination of mild OCD and people-pleasing motivation make both housekeeping and being a fixer a very rewarding occupations for him, and why be ashamed of something that makes you happy.

Thoma’s natural impulse when he sees something wrong or out of order is to fix it, and the scale doesn’t really matter - from spilled coffee, to trade deal disputes, to tyrannical government decree. And because of his indifference to the scale, he doesn’t turn this world-bettering into a grand mission or an isolating burden of responsibility, unlike SOME people, and therefore manages to have one of the healthiest mentalities out of all genshin workaholics. 

His biggest turn-on is bringing pleasure to the partner and he will always put others' satisfaction above his own, which is why he can top if that’s the best way to please his lover, but his ideal role is a service sub.

with proper encouragement, he’ll be very open and needy, but also bashful enough to be fun to tease when you want to. Literally best of both worlds.

You might not appreciate Thoma or not find him interesting compared to other, loudly flashy characters, everyone has a right to have no taste.

He might be ready for almost anything to please you after you’ve already made him yours, but he has his quiet dignity. He will not be advertising if you don’t notice first. 

He’s a bite of a fresh green apple, warm from being left in the summer sun, a tangible pleasure to sink your teeth in, with just enough tanginess to offset the sweetness. A breathy laugh, ruffled sunset-gold hair, agile body, always in motion, green-grass bright eyes, a late spring on the cusp of turning to summer, warm and sunny, but not yet stifling hot. Golden time, all yours to claim, but very easy to miss if inattentive.

Has a praise kink, obviously, but whatever he does for you, he will never ask for the compliments himself. He can be easily persuaded to beg, but not for praise - he needs to be complimented not because he asked you to, but because he’s earned it.

Also likes degradation at the same time. In the hangout event he was like “Nooo, traveler, don’t stop these authorative men from openly disparaging me, I don’t mind. Despite the fact that I have more than enough influence as both Ritou fixer and closest confidant of the Kamisato clan siblings to put an end to it myself. It just doesn’t bother me haha.”

Yeah okay, sure, whatever you say, babe.

Has a highkey oral fixation. Not only the balls-eating idle animation. But also completely unprompted, out of nowhere basically railroaded his friends into doing a weird “game” where you have to guess the unknown weird foods just by taste and texture. Brought the weirdest foods and tasted them the most for no reason until he’s literally got sick. Like, you didn’t have to go this hard, king, your friends were just sitting there confused anyway, it wasn’t even a competition.

Later brings up said event as a fun time that he’d like to repeat

Yeah okay, SURE, whatever you say, babe.

Someone please fuck this man on the mouth with a variety of differently shaped and textured dildoes to satisfy his need for interesting mouthfeels and save him from another indigestion.

Thoma’s biggest insecurity is belonging. Caught between two heritages, disconnected from Mondstadt, but always seen as an outsider in Inazuma. He found his place in the Yashiro commission, and he threw himself fully into his work for this sense of belonging, but secretly and, as he thinks, selfishly, Thoma yearns for someone to want him just for himself, not for his skills. And not just to want him, to claim him, own him fully, without stipulations, to reward or punish him as you see fit, but to know that he’s completely, undoubtedly, unquestionably yours. 

His enjoyment of chastity cage stems from both of his main preferences, first, it’s a constant, tangible proof of belonging to you, more permanent than any mark on the skin could be. Second, it appeals to his cheeky part that enjoys the thrill of having a hidden side, like  “oh, you think that i’m just a humble housekeeper, but I’m actually a resourceful influential fixer, but you’ll never know that :3”

He’s not clingy, but he blooms when given attention, like a sunflower quietly turning to the sun. He cherishes anything - from the smile and quick peck on the cheek, to slap on the ass or you dragging him into a broom closet and fucking him against the wall while he bites his handguard to stifle moans. The anticipation that you might ask for anything from him at any moment sparks deep in his belly like a small flickering candleflame.

Like any pyro, he loves a challenge, but because Thoma is like the farthest you can get from a brat, he doesn’t like challenging you, but enjoys endurance or patience tests, and the more he has to work for it, the sweeter the reward will feel.

If he’s only left one room to clean, you can order him to do it with a remotely controlled bullet vibrator in his ass and enjoy the show of him struggling to keep his composure and finish the job.

At first he tries really hard to pretend it’s not affecting him at all and go on as usual, but you notice his hitched, and then quickened breath, tensed body, his movements are stifled in comparison to his usual easy fluidity, he’s stealing quick glances at you from the half lowered eyelashes.

As it gets worse, you can see him breathing through the mouth, swallowing harshly, his hips twitching, so you ramp up the vibrator’s setting and he almost doubles over the table he was wiping, gasping from surprise. For some time, he struggles to get a hold of himself, his thighs shaking, fists clenching on the table’s surface, but then manages to get back to cleaning, his hands a little trembling, but still careful and melticiuos and you turn the intensity down. You don’t want this game to end too quickly.

Of course, you can cheat and tease him directly, starting from fleeting caresses, to stealing kisses and getting in his way and groping. He’s left with his clothing ruffled, shirt riding up from when you slid your hands under it, pants half-undone by you and hanging on hipbones. He blushes, but doesn’t fix his clothes, because you made a point of leaving them like that, and the way you watch him with obvious desire riles him up just as much as the bullet pulsing inside of him. It takes all of his willpower to not go to you, collapse at your feet and beg to touch him, fuck him, let him finish.

Finally, there’s only one bookshelf left to dust, and at this point Thoma is no longer even trying to keep up the pretenses, he’s squirming, letting out shaky gasps, lightheaded from mix of desire and ache in his aroused cock, cage feeling more and more painfully tight. He’s steeling himself, taking deep breaths, because by the archons, he’s not going to let some dusty wood planks get the best of him.  

He’s so focused on his goal that he doesn’t notice how you approach him, until you hug him from behind, so he shudders, letting out a surprised gasp, and you chuckle.

“So, how is it going, baby?” you ask with an innocent tone, but your mouth is pressed to his ear, and you feel him shiver from your warm breath.

“Great,” he manages to start out with an upbeat tone and a smile, but then you start kissing his neck and sliding your hands under his shirt, and his voice gets wobbly. “I’m… ah, I’m… so close…” you find his nipples and they harden immediately under your touch, forcing a shaky, needy moan out of him before he can continue, “Almost done… just…mmmhm… just a bookshelf…” you twist his nipples and buck your hips against his ass, and he arches in your arms, “Oh, fuck, please!”

He’s too fucking delicious, so you turn him over and press him against the wall, claiming his mouth. He’s such a good kisser, even half out of breath and out of mind like this.

“No, I can’t let you fuck the bookshelf, babe,” you tease, smiling. “That would just be a mess.”

He starts rolling his eyes at your joke, but ends up with his throat arched, your lips trailing kisses under his jaw.

“Wait, I didn’t finish…”

You smirk and pull his pants down to the thighs in one abrupt motion. “Oh, you’re definitely going to finish.”

He blushes, but meets your eyes anxiously. “You mean, like that?..”

“Yeah, with your pretty cock still caged, darling.”

He blushes even more brightly and swallows hard, but doesn’t argue, doesn’t complain, doesn’t ask you to take it off, despite how uncomfortably tight it feels, despite knowing that coming like that won’t bring him pleasure or even relief, just frustration. It’s been a few days, and he wants to finally be allowed a real orgasm so badly, but he follows your order like a good, obedient boy that he is. 

He lets the last dregs of his control go, because that’s how you want to see him, submits to your caresses, and the world drowns in a delirious, needy haze of desire. He hears his own filthy, shuddering moans without realizing it’s him making them, basks in how you rake your eyes over him in hunger, exposed, writhing against the wall under you, blushing cheeks and parted lips, shirt pulled up to the collarbones and pants pulled down to the thighs.

It’s worth the sweet, maddening torture of his aching dick and overstimmed, abused prostate for how you claim him, your hands and lips all over his body, your tongue sliding inside his mouth, it’s overwhelmingly too much and desperately not enough. He isn’t sure how much time has passed, every moment feels like stretched out, agonizing eternity, until he can’t take it anymore.

He comes with a half-choked moan, his legs going weak, and slides down against the wall, panting. You kneel down next to him, kiss his face and whisper praises as he’s trying to catch his breath, and reach between his legs to take the bullet out. 

But instead of switching it off, you press it against his cock, sending a violent jolt through his entire body.  He gasps, his bright green eyes going wide in disbelief.

“Shhh, baby, I just need you to cum one more time for me,” you tell him, kissing his cheekbones tenderly. His cage has an opening that leaves part of the cockhead exposed, it’s swollen, red and throbbing against the bullet.  

“No, please, I can’t,” he gasps for air with an open mouth like he’s drowning, presses his back against the wall in an instinctive urge to get away.

“Of course you can, baby,” you catch his chin, forcing him to look at you. “You are mine, aren't you?”

“Yes,” you can feel his throat moving under your fingers when he swallows.

“And your cock is my favorite pretty plaything. So I need you to come for me again like my good little whore.”

“It hurts,” he moans weakly and shuts his eyes, blushing brilliantly, his gasps turn into quiet whimpers. His body is twitching, nails scraping helplessly on the floor, but he still hasn’t said the safeword, so you keep the bullet pressed to his throbbing cock.

“I know, baby,” you press a gentle kiss to the corner of his parted lips. “But I want to have you whole. I want to take everything you have, sunflower, and I know you can still give me more.”

His arm springs up abruptly and for a second you think he’ll try to push you away, but instead he finds your free hand and intertwines his fingers with yours.  

“Yes,” he whimpers shakily and looks up at you, his eyes bright and glittering green from tears. “Oh, please, please…”

He looks incredible like this, luminous in combination of filthy hunger and naked tenderness, an exposed, helpless mess, writhing on his knees, trying to spread legs that are caught in half-undone pants on his thighs

his cheeks glowing bright red, he’s keening and begging, without even knowing what he begs you for, with wet parted lips, chest raising in heavy feverish breathing, cum from his first orgasm still staining his cage and stomach, the swollen, pulsing tip is leaking under your finger when you thumb his slit with the same hand that holds the bullet against it. 

Сompletely undone, unraveled, tortured and trembling, but nonetheless, he’s clutching at your hand, reaching, leaning into you with desperate need.

“You’re so fucking beautiful, baby,” you squeeze his hand, press yourself against him as he whines, and you can tell he’s close by how the muscles of his abs tighten, his thighs tense. “Show me how good you can be.”

He comes with a choked, broken sound, half-moan, half-sob. You hold him as he’s shaking, pepper his face with kisses, whisper praises as he’s trying to catch his breath. 

“Good boy. You are such a delight to have, my little treasure.” His body is full of raw-nerved, unreleased tension, but your words add a maddeningly sweet undercurrent, shiver that runs down his spine, makes the torturous frustration worth it if you’ve enjoyed him. “You’ve been so good for me, I’ll even let you choose your reward. If you want, I will take off your cage and make you cum until you lose your voice from screaming.”

His breath hitches, eyes light up in hungry anticipation, but you continue.

“Or, I’ll let you serve me. I’ll fuck your pretty mouth.”

“Let me serve you,” he answers without hesitation and you smile, because you always knew what he'd choose.

Few minutes later, he’s kneeling at your feet, already naked except for the handcuffs and the cage, the longer strands of his molten gold hair falling freely over the sculpted shoulders. He’s quiet, but he’s looking up at you in restrained anticipation.

“Are you sure, baby? You can still change your mind.”

“Yeah,” he says without hesitation, nuzzling at your knee. “I’m sure.”

“I might not let you out today at all.”

“I know,” he kisses your knee, rubs his cheek against it pleadingly, looking you in the eye. “Please… Use me.”

You smile, let him start slowly, trail a line of kisses up your thigh until he presses his mouth to your sex. It’s not the first time you use his mouth, so he knows what you like, eager lips and searching tongue. He looks up at you, watching for all signs of pleasure: heavy breath, narrowed eyes, bitten lip. You slide your hand into his hair, stroke it softly and he hums in appreciation. When your hips buck against his face, you can feel his moan reverberating against your flesh. 

Your fingers tighten in his hair, and you forcibly pull him closer, fuck his mouth as he goes slack, his eyelashes flutter, warm and willing for you to take.

You slow down a little bit, just enough to hear him make a tiny choked noise, caught deep in his throat, see him look up at you from under half-lowered lashes with glistening, dizzyingly grateful green eyes. 

When you finish, it’d be enough for him to cum if he wasn’t caged still, so when you let him go, he slumps against your leg, breathing heavily through his bruised mouth, his ragged breaths hot against your skin. 

“Thank you,” he whispers, blush on his cheeks heating up against your knee, just barely loud enough for you to catch it.

You take him to the bed, throw him on his back, and he lies sprawled helplessly in front of you, delirious from the constrained pleasure, watching you with bated breath.

“You’ve been very good, my treasure,” you whisper, looming over him, move the unruly bangs, no longer held by a headband, from his forehead. His hair is too bright and saturated for a blonde, not dark and red enough for ginger, another duality caught in between, gold and tangerines, amber and buttercups, sunflower petals in the light of the late sunset. 

“So even though you refused your reward, I’ll give you a chance to cum. If you can win a little game,” you smile, open his cage and slide it off. It goes slowly, with an effort, too tight around his swollen dick, and he shudders, sighs deeply when he’s finally free.

You press your palm against his cock and kiss the corner of his lips. “I’m afraid you’ll have to work for it, baby.”

He throws a glance at you, blushing, unsure. Is that all you’ll ask from him, to debase himself to show how much he wants it? That seems too easy for how far gone he is in his desires, but he doesn’t question you. He catches your mouth in an eager, sloppy kiss, thrusts his hips up, rubbing his cock against your hand.

You let his dick slide a few times against your palm, drink lovely, sweet moans from his lips, and then move your hand up, out of his reach. You chuckle as you watch him thrust helplessly into the air, groaning in frustration.

You only touch him again after he settles down, let him build up the rhythm, his thrusts turning quick and frantic as he’s getting closer to release. When you smirk and caress his cheekbones, he tenses, your grin is so teasing he expects a catch. 

He waits for you to move your hand away again, but instead you lean down and sweetly tell him: “Slower.”

This catches him off guard, his eyes and mouth going wide in surprise and dismay. He has to brace himself forcefully to obey against his natural instincts. He grips at the bedsheets, but manages to slow himself down to half the speed.

You watch him struggle with a smile, his chest rising in heavy panting, parted lips, fingers clutching at the sheets, involuntary arch building in his spine as he focuses all his willpower on controlling his hips. You kiss a line down the exposed column of his throat, feel him shudder and his cock twitch against your palm, he almost bucks erratically, but catches himself at the last moment.

“Good boy,” you whisper, raking your fingers through his tangled hair. He meets your eyes, pleading, at once desperate and hopeful for release.

Instead, you tell him “Stop moving.”

He lets out a loud groan that breaks into a shaky whimper as he forces himself to pin his hips down to the bed. He throws his head back and arches his back, squeezing his eyes shut, his dick twitching against your palm and his knuckles whiten from how hard he’s clenching his fists. You run your hand up the length of his painfully hard, throbbing cock, provoking a moan, gently thumb at the slit of his swollen, leaking tip. 

“Fuck, please, I’m so close, please…” he gasps for air with an open mouth, writhing under you as you kiss his jaw, slide your other hand over his body in tantalizing caresses, feel his muscles clench under your touch. You’re not so cruel to count this against him, because he does manage to keep himself from thrusting into your teasing hand as you slowly, maddeningly slowly stroke his cock, pearly string of precum dripping on his stomach. 

“Very good, sunflower,” you whisper in his ear, feel his eyelashes flutter as he’s struggling to look at you. He’s so tense he’s shaking, sweat pooling on his temples and a trembling slope of his collarbones. You kiss his parted lips, cover his clenched hand with your own. “You’ve been such a delightful, beautiful plaything today. Come for me, you’ve earned it, baby.”

He comes undone immediately, with a desperate, strangled scream that he’s too unraveled to feel ashamed about. You pump his cock, let him ride out the pleasure he’s been waiting so long for, forcefully held control finally lost completely and his mind going completely blank, watch him thrashing under you until his screams turn to whimpers and he grasps at you and pulls you close.

Later in the shower he has no strength left, so you start cleaning him up yourself, and he tries protesting, but you gently pin him to the wall. 

“Can I take care of my own little treasure, hm?” you ask him teasingly, and he laughs with both embarrassment and gratitude, melts under your touch. 

You feel quite tired yourself, looking forward to finally getting to bed and falling asleep entangled in his warmth. But when you walk into the room, he slips out of your arms and starts tearing off sheets from the bed with amount of energy that he frankly should not be able to produce in this state.

“Babe. What are you doing? Cum didn’t even get on the sheets, it’s fine.”

“I’m not going to sleep on sweat-covered bedsheets,” he throws an affronted look over his shoulder as he’s pulling a new sheet over the frame. “I wasn’t raised in a barn.”

You sigh and watch him silently, until he grabs a pillow.

“Thoma. Thoma, what did the pillows do to you? We haven’t even touched them.”

“It’s going to bother me if the sheets are fresh and pillowcases aren’t. *And* if they don’t match.”

“I’m starting to think I’m taking the handcuffs off you too early,” you say sourly, and he chuckles, blushing faintly.

“Sorry, sorry, I’m almost done. Just a minute.”

He is done pretty quickly, but then you catch him eyeing the heap of bedsheets on the floor.

“Baby, if you try to start laundry right now, I will have to knock you unconscious for your own good.”

“I was just going to put it into a basket…”

“NO.”

He laughs airily, lets you drag him into bed, falling down next to you.

“But you have to admit, sleeping on clean linen is so much better.”

It is pretty great, it’s fresh and cool, and smells faintly of lavender.

“It’s nice,” you concede, pulling him close. 

Thoma gives absolutely the best hugs and cuddles, firm, but not restrictive, like all pyro, he emanates warmth even when he’s not using his vision, but from him, it’s a lenient sunlight, not the aggressive heat of fire. Amber-hued protective bubble where nightmares seem stupid and everything is going to be alright, a feeling normally only achievable by months of therapy, being covered in puppies or copious amounts of drugs. 

“But you are still crazy. I’m going to fuck you over the counter in the morning instead of the bed, so you don’t change the sheets *again.*”

He makes a content little noise, something between a chuckle and a purr.

“And what would you like to have for breakfast? Other than me, of course.”

“I don’t really care. Other than you, of course. Surprise me, sunflower.”

[poguesofthebau]

paranoia

summary: meeting dylan einstein, a genius forensic scientist from indianapolis, musters up some unknown insecurities about your relationship with reid. however, morgan-- and reid, once he figures it out-- isn’t willing to let you think that way. warnings: mentions of bombings (as pertaining to the case)

word count: 3k pairing: spencer reid x female!bau!reader

a/n: set in season 10, episode 14, this one was requested by @koc-help! as per usual, it took me forever to write, so i hope you can forgive me for that and enjoy what i came up with!! 

bombing cases were stressful. it always seemed harder for you; figuring out a motive, pushing down the overwhelming sympathy for the victims, convincing yourself that all of your team members were safe. because of your unshakable paranoia in the wake of those cases, you were already on edge by the time the team was boarding the jet to indianapolis. and, of course, spencer caught on to the way you were feeling almost immediately.

with the limited information the team had at that point, conversation about the case was reasonably brief. the file was reviewed and discussed, and hotch delegated a role for everyone to take when the jet landed. when the conversation came to a lull, you slid out of your seat, tossing the manilla folder onto the leather before moving to the back of the jet to make a cup of coffee. jj and derek’s voices were audible as they continued to spitball off of each other, masking the sound of spencer approaching where you stood. “hey,” he called to you as he neared. having been enveloped in the chatter your other friends were creating, you jumped at the sound of your boyfriend’s voice. when you looked up at him, his eyebrows were raised in concern at your reaction, immediately making you recoil into yourself. “you okay?”

“yeah,” you breathed, pulling the coffee pot out of its place to pour the liquid into your empty cup. “i’m fine.”

“that’s not very convincing, you know.” you turned to face him then, sighing and internally shaking the dread away. “what is it?”

“i’m not a huge fan of bombings,” you said sarcastically. spencer scoffed a laugh at that, reaching out to tuck a stray hair behind your ear as you continued with a bit more seriousness. “just a little worried. it’s nothing, spence.”

“i’m not used to seeing you worried in this way. are you sure you’re okay? i mean, do you want to talk about it?”

the soft-spoken concern in spencer’s tone along with the expression he was looking at you with warmed your heart. if there was one thing that could take your mind off of a murderous bomber, it was spencer. your eyes flickered over to the rest of the team, making sure no one was paying any attention to you and your boyfriend huddled up in the back of the jet, before you leaned up and pressed your mouth to spencer’s. the kiss was quick, but it was also just the reassurance that you both needed. “i promise, i’ll tell you if i need to talk. for now, i just want to get this son of a bitch and go back home.”

being present for the disarming of the second bomb only worsened your initial paranoia. the thought of an explosive device made you anxious enough; having to stand your ground and comfort an intended victim while a bomb was armed less than a foot from you was a whole new feeling. you trusted morgan to clip a wire without killing you, but the adrenaline in the heat of the moment was hard to shake. it had been a few hours since the scene had unfolded, but you still felt like your heart could possibly jump out of your chest at any moment the morning after the disarming. despite the underlying terror running through your veins, you were critically analyzing everything going on around you. your focus was completely dedicated to the case unfolding around you, because the sooner you cracked it, the sooner your thinly veiled fear would dissipate.

you were digging around in the bed of the pickup truck while einstein, the local forensic scientist, examined the bomb itself. out of your peripherals you saw reid and morgan approaching, but the bulk of your energy was going into analyzing the scene as best you could. your boyfriend’s eyes lingered on you for a few seconds as he neared, immediately gauging the nerves you were trying so hard to conceal. reid made a mental note to address that as soon as he could get you alone, but fought the urge to do so right then. spencer knew you well enough to know that, no matter how freaked out you currently were, your mind was concentrating on the scene before you, and anything else would simply be considered a distraction. he swallowed down the lump in his throat that formed at the thought of not being able to help you before tuning in to the comment einstein began to make. “he really went for a bigger boom this time.”

the short conversation that ensued between the two following that comment was something that shouldn’t have bothered you. you knew it meant nothing; reid wasn’t the only genius in the world who memorized excerpts from anarchy cookbooks or mathematical theories. just because some young, brilliant, beautiful girl knew the same book as spencer didn’t mean you had anything to worry about.

nonetheless, you became very worried about it.

you strolled around to the passenger side of the truck, sliding into the empty seat with a quizzical look on your face. “you know, it’s a wonder that he even realized he triggered the bomb.”

opening the driver’s side door as he spoke, reid slid into the truck next to you. “maybe he heard something when he stepped on the pedal.”

“and knew not to move? i mean, what’s this guy got, an ex-paramilitary background we don’t know about?”

the back and forth continued a few more times, and within a minute you and reid had developed the idea that allen archer, the bomb’s target, could potentially be your unsub. upon this conclusion, einstein spoke up again. “that’s what you guys do. you just talk a lot.” her voice was joking as the words left her lips, and a bright smile graced her face as she spoke. regardless of the playful tone you immediately identified, the words triggered something in you.

“well, there’s also a lot of kicking down doors involved,” morgan interjected from outside the passenger door, shaking you out of your internally-mortified state. you watched as einstein announced her departure then, mustering up a measly close-lipped smile in return to the courteous and friendly glance she offered you before leaving.

as she walked away, her words repeated in your mind. it was so simple for her to summarize; you just talk a lot. a woman so young and so intelligent had just condensed your entire career into a five-word sentence so simple that you couldn’t even disagree. was that truly all you were capable of? talking? bouncing ideas off of your coworkers’ ideas and hoping you’d end up catching the killer that way?

you spent the rest of the day arguing with yourself. in all honesty, your own inner monologue was starting to get on your nerves. despite your most sincere attempts to focus on the case in front of you, you couldn’t shake the feeling that  einstein was right. and maybe she was-- maybe your job was nothing compared to hers, and maybe she was a better match for spencer than you could ever dream of being.

this new uncertainty of your career and relationship definitely didn’t help to settle your previously established fear of being blown up at any given moment.

given the circumstances, it was only a matter of time until someone on your team noticed how uneasy you were steadily growing. they knew you. you were y/n-- sometimes stubborn, oftentimes overprotective, and always capable. sure, you had off days at work, just like everyone else. you weren’t always the one to solve the case, but you were always present and attentive, engaged in the investigation with your mind and body. however, right now, your mind was in two places at once. for that reason, you weren’t surprised in the slightest when morgan approached you at the station.

as you walked toward the conference room to find hotch, you were stopped by the familiar voice calling out. “hey, hold on little lady.”

“what’s up, morgan?”

morgan shook his head at that, a knowing look crossing his features as he began to speak. “nuh-uh. what up with you, y/l/n?” you threw him a falsely quizzical look, trying (and failing) to get him off your back by playing dumb. sadly for you, morgan was too good of a profiler and friend to fall for it. “don’t play with me, girl. i know cases like this always get to you a little, but i also know how badass you are. normally you would’ve bounced back from our brush with death by now, so what’s the problem?”

you squinted at him as your face morphed into dismay. of course you couldn’t fool morgan. your mind flickered to penelope, suddenly relating to one of her more commonly made complaints: damn profilers. “my first problem is that you might know me a little too well.” derek scoffed at that, waiting for you to continue. “my second problem? well, my second problem might be that i’m not smart enough, or maybe that spencer is too good for me, or maybe that our job is too easy, or maybe--”

“woah, woah, woah. slow your roll, little missy. ‘spencer is too good for me?’ where’s that coming from?” you blinked slowly in response, not quite willing to give up any more information than you already had. “fine-- i’ll figure it out myself. let’s see: you’ve been acting weird since we got this case, but that’s not what this is about. i’ve seen you on bombing cases before, and this ain’t that. so... oh, i know. is this about a forensic scientist, maybe? maybe one who has the same name as a very smart, very famous--”

“okay, morgan. i get it. you’re a great profiler, and you know my thoughts better than i do. that doesn’t really change the way i’m feeling right now.” your tone was a little sharp, but the look in your eyes was a mixture of sadness and contempt. “and, in case you needed me to put it simply, i’m feeling like shit.”

a look of pity overtook morgan for a moment. he knew what you were going through. sure, he wasn’t dating a genius with an iq of 187, but he knew how it felt to doubt yourself, and especially how it felt to feel belittled for your work. “y/n,” he said, placing his hands on your shoulders and crouching a little to get on eye-level with you. “don’t do that to yourself, kid. don’t forget how hard what we do is, and how important it is. you save lives every day. no matter how you do it, or how much brainpower it takes, there are people all around this world who are alive because of your work. whether they admit it or not, everyone has respect for that. especially our resident pretty boy.”

“i know, morgan,” you sighed. his hands slid from your shoulders as you finally gave in, looking him straight in the eye as you spoke. “sometimes it just feels like he deserves better.”

“just because it feels that way doesn’t mean it’s true. and i can promise you, reid has never felt that way. not about you.” after giving a comforting pat on the arm to go along with his final words, morgan was walking away.

damn profilers, you thought again. why are we always right?

before you got the chance to speak with reid, the team was off again. instead of splitting up this time, you were simply spreading out; hotch and rossi were scouring the crowd of civilians and news crews at the staged ceremony for allen archer, and the rest of you were divided into two suvs with morgan and kate in one and you, jj, and spencer in the other. your talk with morgan had lifted your spirits a bit, but there was still a tightness in the air as you sat beside your seemingly clueless boyfriend.

unbeknownst to you, spencer wasn’t all that clueless. not only had he caught on to your behavior long before anyone else on the team, but he’d also spotted you and morgan’s secretive moment from across the police station. (and, yes, morgan may have whispered “check on your girl” to spencer when you weren’t paying attention. he just wanted to help.) so, while you thought he was in the dark about your current insecurities, reid was very much aware of what was going on in your head. as much as he hated it, though, he was hesitant to acknowledge it with jj in the backseat and the rest of the team on comms. so, like the considerate boyfriend he was, he waited.

it wasn’t until you got back to the police station that spencer got the chance to catch you alone. everyone else was busy preparing to leave for the jet, the bustle of having solved yet another case causing an uplifting distraction for the team. while your friends were distracted, spencer grabbed you by the hand and pulled you into a nearby empty conference room. the surprise on your face was evident when he looked at you, and he couldn’t help but smile. you laughed nervously at his expression, not completely sure what he had taken you aside for. “hi, spence. you okay?”

“i was actually going to ask you the same thing,” he admitted. “except, i already asked you that once during this case, and you weren’t very willing to share, so i was going to approach it in a more insistent way.” although you were amused by this mysterious behavior of his, you were still confused about what exactly spencer was implying that he knew. “did you really think i wouldn’t notice that you were upset?”

“no,” you said unconvincingly.

“y/n, why won’t you just talk to me?” the desperation in his voice almost shattered your heart. the whole time that you’d been in your own head, spencer had been in his. all because you were scared to talk to the one person you trusted more than anyone in the world.

“i’m sorry,” you breathed, taking a step toward him. spencer’s right hand slid around your waist once you got close enough, and your forehead dropped onto his chest as you sighed. when you looked back up to him, spencer was already anticipating eye contact. “i’m sorry i didn’t say anything. i just didn’t want to worry you, or to make you feel like you’d done anything wrong, because it’s not your fault, i just-- i don’t ever want to feel like i’m holding you back.”

“holding me back from what? you could never hold me back.”

“i could, though! you’re this amazingly brilliant genius, and there are so many people out there who are so much smarter than me, and i--”

“is that what this is about? you think you’re not smart?” you felt his hand tense from its place on your lower back, his disbelief clear in his voice.

“no, no-- i mean, i know i’m smart enough. but sometimes when we have cases like this we meet some really, really smart people, and i can’t help but wonder if you would be better off with someone on your intellectual level. someone like einstein.”

“y/n,” spencer seemed stunned at this revelation, and you realized then that morgan had been right. the idea of you not being enough had never crossed spencer’s mind. “you are the person that i’m better off with. you. i don’t-- i’ve never even thought of anyone else as a possibility since i met you. there isn’t anyone else. i mean, before i knew you, i wasn’t even sure that i believed in love at all. the only reason that i know it’s real now is because of you. i can’t think of any statistics of mathematical theories or scientific discoveries to explain or defend it, but i have always known that there isn’t anything for me aside from you. i mean that. no matter how smart anyone else is, or how cool anyone else is, or how compatible anyone else’s intellect is with mine. i love you, y/n.”

and, just like that, your fears were gone. your inner monologue went silent, and the serenity that spencer’s words brought you washed over your entire body. spencer’s arm tightened around your waist, pulling you closer into him. his free hand moved to the side of your face, brushing back your hair as he waited for you to reply. the anticipation on his face sent another rush of absolute love through you, and you quickly closed the gap between you. as your mouth met his, your hands found their way to the sides of his neck, slowly wrapping around until they were laced together behind his head. for what could’ve been an hour, you stood there, melting into spencer as his words of reassurance replaced the chants of uncertainty that had filled your head hours prior. you were forced to pull back from him eventually, but even then your hands remained around his neck and the distance between your faces was minimal as you reopened your eyes. “i love you.”

a knock on the door suddenly interrupted the moment, causing you to release each other as a third party entered the room: morgan. “hey, lovebirds,” he grinned. “nice to see that you’re back to normal. it’s time to head home.” you smiled knowingly at the man, lacing your fingers through reid’s as you followed morgan out of the room. grabbing your belongings on the way out, the three of you headed toward your designated suv, where jj was waiting patiently in the driver’s seat. “so, you finally confessed, huh?”

“of course i did,” you laughed. “no secrets in this relationship.”

“yeah, and i would’ve figured it out eventually anyway.” at spencer’s interjection, it was morgan’s turn to laugh.

“oh, yeah, 187?”

“he is a genius, you know,” you added smugly.

“well, apparently so am i, because i figured it out before he did. oh, and by the way, pretty girl, i told you.” and with that, morgan was jogging off (in a fit of giggles) to the suv, hopping in the passenger seat before you had a chance to jokingly scold him.

damn profilers.

[epona610]

A Comparison of OUAT Redemption Stories

So I was DMing with someone about a different show entirely, and I brought up OUAT because I loved/hated this show so much and it’s largely based on redemption stories. I was going to briefly explain why I find Hook’s arc so compelling (though not without its flaws, of course) and Regina’s so lacking, but it turns out that I still cannot write briefly about this subject. So I’m posting this here because this is what my blog was originally about, and I find I still feel very much the same way even after a few years have passed. I want to preface this by saying I haven’t rewatched the show since it went off the air, and I certainly could’ve forgotten some things. And I’m obviously biased in that I loathe the character of Regina so much, although here I’m trying to explain exactly why I can’t stand her.

Hook and Regina were both motivated by revenge for the deaths of their first loves. Rumple murdered his ex-wife and Hook’s current lover/partner/co-captain, Milah, so Hook set out to kill Rumple himself, the Dark One, who is one of (if not the) most powerful beings in their world. Hook caused a lot of harm to innocent people as collateral damage, but eventually he gave up on the idea of revenge and basically peacefully coexisted with the guy who had murdered his first love and chopped off his hand. Regina’s mother was the one to kill her first love, but did she go after her? No, she went after the ten-year-old child (Snow) whom her mother had manipulated into telling about her first love (by playing on Snow’s feelings for her dead mother, whom Regina’s mother had murdered). Regina was going after an innocent person from the beginning because she was afraid of her mother. 

Then there’s the scale of the harm done. Regina: literally slaughtered at least two whole villages, sent countless children to be literally eaten by a cannibal, cursed an entire population by permanently altering their minds, has murdered so many people and taken so many hearts she lost track of whose was whose, illegally adopted a child whom she knowingly raised in a town where no one else grew or aged and then gaslit him when he caught on, murdered her father in order to cast the curse. Hook: was a pirate so he has killed people (we learn that his rings come from murder victims, whose names and circumstances he remembers) killed his own father (who had sold him into child slavery) thereby orphaning his little brother, killed David’s father, backhanded Belle across the face once, shot her so she’d cross the town line and lose her memories, sort of turned Baelfire over to Peter Pan (but only after Bae refused to let Hook hide him so I never got why he felt guilty over that honestly). No indiscriminate mass murder that we know of. 

And of course there’s the remorse or utter lack thereof. Regina is constantly defending her actions. I’ll use her own words to illustrate. She at one point says to Snow: “To be fair, I was threatening you. Everyone else just became collateral damage.” And then later we get this infuriating exchange:

Regina: Need I remind you I dedicated years to knocking you down? But nothing could stop you. 

Snow: You took my kingdom, cast your curse, I lost my daughter for 28 years.

Regina: And then you found her. 

Clearly no remorse or recognition for the fact that she stole Emma’s entire childhood from her and her parents. And the classic, said as she was escaping a tree that attacks people’s regret: “I did cast a curse that devastated an entire population. I have tortured and murdered. I’ve done some terrible things. I should be overflowing with regret, but I’m not.” 

I feel that I should add that she ends that last statement with “because it got me my son”. And that sounds lovely, but that means that she doesn’t regret the harm she’s done since getting him (continuing to enslave and sexually abuse her victims, murdering Graham, attempting to murder the entire town so Henry would have nobody else to love) or even more notably, the harm she’s done to Henry (raising him in a psychologically unhealthy environment, cursing him in an attempt to curse his mother, gaslighting him, attempting to murder his entire family, altering his memories, etc.) Regina says time and again that she “gave up on revenge” against Snow, but as far as I can tell, she only decided she was satisfied because she’d succeeded in irreparably harming Snow. She took away her chance to raise her daughter, who ended up being raised in an abusive foster system and felt obligated to give up her own child. 

And then I compare that to Hook’s apologizing and making things right with people he’s hurt, like Ursula, his younger brother Liam, and David. And then he and Belle become close friends and eventually they have this conversation:

Belle: I’m sorry, I can’t stay here. If Rumple finds you harboring me...

Hook: His wrath will be an added bonus.

Belle: I don’t understand. Why would you risk your life for me?

Hook: Long ago, I... I tried to kill you in the queen’s castle once. I failed. But along the way, I did something I can live with no longer. I laid a hand on you. And there’s the matter of my shooting you at the town line.

Belle: Yeah, well. You’ve changed since all that.  

Hook: Maybe. I have a long road to travel before I can be someone I can be proud of. Despite the forgiveness of others, I must forgive myself, and I’m not there yet.

So yeah, that’s a summary of why I find Hook’s redemption arc to be (somewhat) believable and satisfying and Regina’s to be... basically nonexistent. The show tells us she’s a hero and a good person now, but she never apologizes or shows remorse. She makes it abundantly clear that she’s doing good only in the hopes of getting happiness for herself, which she absolutely feels entitled to even though she’s taken it from so many others (the amount of times she complained about not getting what she wants despite occasionally doing the right thing is incredible). She still even has a bunch of hearts whose owners she apparently forgot! There’s no indication that guilt weighs on her at all, or that she even feels any guilt. I can’t buy a “redemption” from someone who never shows remorse or accepts responsibility.

Note: these quotations weren’t taken from memory, nor did I go back and watch the episodes. They came from the OUAT transcripts found here.

[torilovestowrite]

Title: Liham para sa ‘yo, Dekada 70 (A Letter for you, Year ‘70) — An entry to @lumpiang-toge ‘s event.

Pairing: Jean Kirstein x Reader

Content Warning: Activism, Pure Angst, Disappearing Persons, Mentions of Death, Marcos regime AU. WRITTEN IN ENGLISH

A/n: I wrote this to raise awareness about happenings in my country. Right now, redtagging has been a problem for the Filipino society especially that the Anti terror law has been approved. I wrote this with the intention to let people know how dangerous redtagging is.

general masterlist || event details

To my beloved Y/n,

45 years, 3 months, and 18 days.

It’s been decades— even scores since the last time I saw you. You were as beautiful as the vast skies and your round eyes sparkle brightly as the sun. You were a gem— as strong as a rare stone but your heart was soft just like your skin. Your smile... it’s always been haunting me, Y/n. The image of you has been burning since the last time we met in the streets of Mendiola— where both of us would walk around the university belt area.

To become a writer, that’s what you’ve been dreaming of all these years, am I right? Those poems, rhymes, and songs that you’ve made for me years ago... I’ve kept them all with me. Remember the song you used to sing for me?

Sa pagsapit ng dilim

Ako'y naghihintay pa rin

Sa iyong maagang pagdating

[As darkness closes in,

I am still longing

For your early return]

Now, I know how it actually feels, my dearest. Because until now, I’m still waiting for you. I’m waiting for your love— your touch, your kisses, your voice, your presence. But it seems that I don’t have that much time anymore. I was diagnosed with bone cancer and I only have few months to live. I can’t believe that I’m actually dying in my early 60s— but I lived a meaningful life. Anyway, I still wrote this letter to keep myself sane in the span of few months. Who knows? I may meet you again on the other side.

Y/n L/n— your name sounds bittersweet whenever I speak of it. It sounds great— but my heart feels like crying. No, not just my heart— but my whole being breaks down at the thought of you.

You were your family’s living trophy— when we were in high school, you walked out of the stage with medals and awards. You left the stage with a heartwarming valedictory speech that left your parents crying. The graduation was memorable; but still, I couldn’t forget our high school prom. You were wearing a long blue gown back then— and you looked stunning. My voice disappeared the moment I saw you— but I was happy that you approached me. You even asked me out on the dance floor with you.

I couldn’t be happier when we reached college. You got into you dream school, the top University in the country. Well, I also got into one of the highest universities. Still, I was happy for you. Both of us hugged each other and out of joy and shock, you kissed me on my cheek. Your face was sparked with excitement as you stood outside of the university hall.

Oh, how I wished I could have stopped you back then.

As you attended the university, you became more outspoken of your political thoughts— even becoming a student leader and joining an underground activist group; something that was very dangerous during that time as I have heard of my fellow students getting killed for attending protests against the government. My heart shivers whenever I think of that time we talked about it— when I convinced you to quit. Believe it or not, but I tried to convince you not for my own sake, Y/n— but yours.

“Can’t you quit? You know being an activist is illegal, right? What will happen to me? To us?”

“I’m so sorry, Jean. But my heart is for the people; for the common good. I cannot just think of myself— because there are people who need me.”

It wasn’t too long after that conversation when suddenly, you were declared as a missing person— Y/n L/n, age of 19, missing since November 19, 1975. No one knows why you have disappeared— but the last time where people saw you was in the streets of Maginhawa— few days after you published your editorial paper about the regime; the leadership; and your hatred for its unjust treatment to the people.

I wasn’t stupid. I knew what happened to you— and my heart carries the guilt until this day; I was so angry with the destructive system— the chaotic system that took me away from you; the harsh system that has been making not just the both of us— but also the people to suffer.

My heart was filled with fury as I remember your sweet and smiling eyes while we held hands in the streets of Intramuros, eating our favorite street foods. It’s not your fault, my pretty Y/n— but the system— the tyrannical leadership of the administration is what swept you away from my arms. I was filled with anger that time— and until now, I carry that anger deep within me.

Two years later— I graduated and still, your body was not found. No one knows where you disappeared to and my heart still ached for you. I remember carrying my college diploma and my graduation cap while I was in the streets of Binondo— our first date. If it weren’t for you, I wouldn’t have the motivation to study and to graduate so I did this in your loving memory.

But I almost wept because all I see is you— your soul, the bustling atmosphere of the place, everything just reminded me of you. You used to love this place, am I right?

If only you knew that your sacrifices weren’t placed in vain, you would be more than happy. In the span of few years, our tyrannical leader was ousted; and it was done by who? By the people that you’ve dedicated your life with. That time, I already had a family with a woman named Pieck Finger— and we had a son which I named Marco. Remember the conversation we had before?

“If we had a child, what would you name them?”

“Marco... or maybe, Isabel? Gabriela? I don’t know.”

“Wow, maybe we could have three children and use those three.”

“Maybe, it could happen one day.”

My marriage with Pieck was normal— I loved her and our only son wholeheartedly. He went to good schools and I provided for everything that both of them needed. Pieck was a good wife too— she loved and showered our son with affection that they deserve. We were a normal family. We had our ups and downs too; but those memories made our bond closer to each other.

Still, there was a hole in my heart— a big hole that could be only be fixed and filled by you, Y/n.

Years have passed and our environment has evolved— perhaps, if you were here right now, you would have loved high-tech gadgets such as laptops and cellphones. The youth, nowadays, are becoming more progressive and they also like to engage in politics. You would have liked it here, Y/n. But for now, you must rest in peace. You must treasure yourself now— for your mission is done. You’ve done your part and fought for the people, my pretty heroine— Y/n.

I still love you, Y/n. And that love is not going to change anytime soon— whether we or we don’t meet in the other side. You’ll always be my lovely woman— my compassionate woman who always had her heart out for the poor, weak, and outcasted.

There’s nothing more beautiful than a woman— you, whose heart is as big as the sun and whose intentions are pure as the fresh water coming from the bamboo plants in the mountains.

I’m hoping to see you soon.

Lovingly yours,

Jean Kirstein

[a/n: ok maybe starting next week, i’ll go back to writing my SMAUs, just took a break because university was taking its toll on me ;-;]

[quietmyfearswith]

when you’re insecure ; preferences

warnings — body/weight insecurities, swear words, mentions of death, bit of angst??? bit of fluff???

characters — andy barber, steve rogers, ransom drysdale, jake jensen, bucky barnes, lance tucker, carter baizen, syverson, will shaw, august walker

a/n — so i read @gotnofucks’ drabble about how certain characters would react when the reader calls herself ugly and was inspired to write something similar to that ❤️ dont forget that you guys are beautiful and worth it!

their love language | with their little

masterlist

The utensils hitting the dishes was the only sound heard as Y/N and Andy ate in silence. The latter stealing glances at the girl; for he felt that there was something wrong. “I’m done eating,” Y/N declared, as she placed her hands under her chin and looked at Andy. Midbite, the lawyer had to pause and worriedly looked at her, “What’s wrong, honey?” Even though Y/N had an idea of what he wanted to know, she shrugged as she convinced him, “Nothing’s wrong.” Swallowing down his food, he was able to talk to her , “Honey, I know you well enough to know that there’s something going on in that beautiful mind of yours and a reason as to why you ate quickly.”

Feeling his warm hand grab onto hers, it was his silent way of coaxing her into confiding in him; that he was more than willing to listen to what she had to say. Taking a deep breath, she unconsciously found her hand squeezing Andy’s — as if finding the courage to say what’s bothering her. “I just don’t feel good,” she admitted, and before Andy could further pry for information she continued, “Like I’m gaining weight and it’s making me look ugly?” Shoulders sagging, Y/N sound defeated as she dismissed her own revelation, “It’s stupid I know, but you didn’t need to hear that.” Disagreeing with what she said, Andy rapidly shook his head, “It’s not stupid if it’s disappointing you,” Y/N could only offer a small smile with what he said, “If you feel as if the changes happening to your body are making you ugly, then I’m not doing my job to make you feel confident and beautiful.” She wanted to protest and say that there was nothing Andy could do to remedy the situation; but she knew better than to interrupt him when he was using his “lawyer” voice and reasoning. Lifting her hand up, he planted a kiss on her knuckles as he comforted her, “You’re the most beautiful woman I have ever seen and I’ll do everything in my power to make you feel and see it.  You may not like the changes you see, but I think it just makes you even more breathtaking.”

“It was absolutely crazy to see how Ilsa was more than willing to jump out of the chopper even though she knew her parachute was faulty,” August laughed out loudly upon recalling the events of the mission he’s just been to. They both were sitting on the couch, a glass of wine rested on Y/N’s hand while the other curled itself in August’s toned arm. Gulping down his beer, he shook his head as he once more at the recollection of what happened; upon seeing how the memory had such a positive impact on him, there were two thoughts lingering in her mind. The first one was that it was great to see August relaxed and happy. However, the envious part in her considered that perhaps she couldn’t always provide him with this joy — perhaps Ilsa could? “She really seems like a real package then huh?” Turning his head to her, August chuckled a bit even though the comment made him wonder with what she meant, “Yeah I guess you can say that.”

“Do you see you see yourself with someone like her?” If his confusion was just at the down low, August’s confusion could now be visibly translated through his furrowed eyebrows and shocked face, “What?” The simple question was just the surface of a web of follow-up questions he had, but he figured the time he spent with Y/N made her understand that he had a lot of questions that needed to be answered; and she did know what the simple question meant. “It’s just you seem so fascinated with Ilsa, so maybe she’s someone you want to settle down with. Someone who'll always make you feel excited and happy, I guess.” The beer bottle he was holding was placed down on the coffee table as he turned to her. “I don’t know how you came up with this analogy, but the only one I really see myself settling down with is you.” Y/N gasped out at his confession, her eyes were glossy as she felt overwhelmingly touched. “You think so, August?” Kissing her deeply, he spoke as his lips were against hers, “In this chaotic world I live in, you’re the only thing that keeps me sane and your love is something I surely do not deserve, but I’ll kill every bad guy if it meant I’d be worthy of it.”

“What’s this sticky thing?” Bucky groaned in disgust at the gooey and slimy thing he touched as he was stroking the stomach skin underneath Y/N’s shirt. They both were watching a show they got hooked on, and the super soldier just loved feeling her skin any chance he got. “It’s a new cream I got,” Y/N informed him as she giggled at his disgusted expression; he suddenly thought it was a good idea to smell the foreign substance and was disappointed to find out it wasn’t the most alluring fragrance. “Why did you put that disgusting cream in your body?” The question seemed to disappoint Y/N as she moved slightly away from him and fiddled with her fingers. “Just felt like I should put some cream on my stomach,” Her explanation had Bucky even more confused than he previously was.

“Can you explain more, doll?” Upon saying this Y/N felt uncomfortable to open up what has been bothering her; but when she looked at Bucky he had this worried and soft look that made her do so anyway. “I’m just insecure about the stretch marks that I have there — so I thought why not buy a cream that removes it.” Bucky’s initial instinct was to hold his girlfriend close as he whispered, “I understand why you felt the need to do so love, I mean that’s how I felt for a long time with my scars,” As he mentioned that, he could feel Y/N nodding as she recalled instances where she caught him staring in the mirror with disgust at his wounds, “But what’d you do? You kissed them and reassured me how they’re a part of me; and that I’m not really as ugly as I make myself out to be.” Kneeling on the floor, Bucky raised her shirt and wiped off the lotion she had rubbed on herself, and began placing kisses on it, “You’ve reassured me multiple times on my scars, now it’s my turn to do the same for you.”

“Damn Raiman is one badass chick,” Jensen whistled as he and Y/N were watching Black Mirror. As the said character was currently hellbent on getting the mission done, Y/N couldn’t feel uneasy with his comment. She knew about how initially her boyfriend had been attracted to Aisha; though she remains good friends with her, she still couldn’t help but compare herself with her boyfriend’s former crush. Turning her head to him, she could see how he was clearly enamored with the female soldier. But upon feeling her stare at him, Jensen looked at her and smiled, “What are you looking at huh?” Despite his teasing, Y/N couldn't find it in herself to reciprocate and continue the light-hearted banter. “You have a type, do you know that?”

The skin in Jensen;s forehead wrinkled in confusion, “A type?” Y/N nodded as she further explained, “You like women in the army, or at least those who aren’t afraid to go on dangerous missions.” Despite her explanation, it still did not satisfy the tech genius as he asked, “What?” She pointed to the screen where Raiman was currently shown on screen, “You like her and you were attracted to Aisha; so it really makes me think why you like me.” Finally putting the pieces together, Jensen could only chuckle at her analogy — not making Y/N feel better. After calming down, Jensen wrapped an arm around his girlfriend and kissed her forehead, “You have nothing to worry about, babe. I only liked Aisha because she was the first girl I talked to for a while; a shit excuse but yeah that’s really it. Raiman might be a badass but she sure lacks empathy. And I’m with you because you make me feel safe, loved, and appreciated. In fact you’re exactly my type.”

Y/N and Sy had just finished eating but they haven’t left the dinner table yet as they both were engrossed in conversation which was made even more delightful as they sipped on some wine. “So what, you’d be willing to lay down your life when you were in duty?” Y/N knew how dedicated her boyfriend was; the medals hanging on their wall were evidence of it. Nodding, he first took a gulp of his drink before justifying, “What better way to go than by defending your country, I guess.” Placing her chin on her hand she then pried more, “But wouldn’t you rather stay alive and continue fighting for your country?” The former soldier couldn't help but let out an amused chuckle; he didn’t know why his girlfriend had this sudden interest in his purpose or motivation when he was in the army. “Fair point, but I don’t know I just wanted to go all out.”

Though his justification was incomplete, it gave her all the confirmation she needed that he was this man of so much dedication and love for his country he was more than willing to give his all. “I feel like I don’t deserve you,” She found herself sighing to him adoringly, which caused him to look at her as if she had told him unbelievable news. “What?” Was the only thing he could mutter because he never thought of that way and he always thought that it was him who didn’t deserve her due to what he’s seen and done. “I don’t know I just feel like you’re this incredible person who’s selfless and passionate. Seeing what you achieved in the army makes me feel so small when I’m next to you,” Y/N didn’t expect that she was able to confess this to her boyfriend as she feared he might dismiss her. But Sy was awed with how highly she thinks of him considering he frequently doubts himself. “I don't know how you were able to come up with that idea, but I can tell you that you do deserve me. You loved a man who is scared and someone who’s seen unspeakable horrors, yet decided that I was worthy of your love and affection. And honestly? I think your existence served as my guardian angel during my time on active duty.”

“Angel, I’m home!” Lance announced as he shut and locked the door behind him, “Folding in the laundry!” Upon hearing where she was he then walked to where she was, seeing how she was folding clothes and pressed a kiss on his girlfriend’s forehead. “How was the training session?” Lance helped Y/N and grabbed folded clothes as they both made their way onto their bedroom. “It went great! Crystal did well in her flips and splits today,” As Lance went on about how their training session went well, Y/N could feel herself start to go down the spiral of insecurity. Unsure if she was able to mask it well, opted to nod along in silence. “Plus, her dance outfit came in today and it looks stunning! And it really looked good on her when she tried it on,” That remark of Lance’s was the final straw for Y/N as she walked out of their bedroom and moved to their ensuite bathroom.

Shocked by her sudden display of disinterest at their conversation, Lance followed her and waited after she was done splashing water on her face. “Are you alright, love? I’m sorry I got all excited about what happened today; what was your day like?” Instead of filling him in with what the day looked like for her, she dwelled on what he was rambling on, “Can’t blame you, sure seemed like you had the best day.” The gold medallist recognized that tone and choice of words and he called her out on it as he grabbed both her hands and turned her to face him, “Love, I know that what you said is sarcastic based on your tone and words; because if you haven’t noticed that’s how I converse with Hope,” Lance took it as a good sign that she chuckled which encouraged him to go on, “So I need you to tell me what’s bothering my beloved.” Her eyes looked at his, hoping that there was some other way she could tell it to him. But with his hands gently fondling hers, he somehow managed to coax her into speaking, “I just feel like it doesn’t matter what Crystal does but you’ll always be amazed with her. And it’s not just like today that you talk about her with so much admiration,” Despite feeling better since she voiced out her side, Y/N still felt silly about what she opened up about; Lance however found it helpful that she opened up about it. Pulling her into a tight hug, the gymnast rubbed her back comfortingly, “I’m so sorry for everything I did to make you feel that way. I promise to only speak highly of you and not any other girl out there.”

“Can I help you with anything, Steve?” Y/N wondered as she walked in on the Captain’s office area in their home. Peeking his head up from the computer and paperwork he had, “Not unless you can help me decipher these messages of HYDRA officials?” He groaned out in frustration which made Y/N chuckle and shake her head, “I’m sorry I don’t think I’m smart enough for those.” Just before she walked away to grab him another cup of coffee she heard him mumble out, “What’s new? No one really knows this shit.” As she was heating the beverage, she tried to convince her not to be so offended with what he said. That it was probably the result of stress and dissatisfaction from the lack of progress talking. But she knew that hit close to him since it was something that she had always been insecure about. Pouring the hot liquid on a mug, she then walked back to where Steve was and give it to him.

“Here you go,” She placed the mug on his desk and was about to walk away when she felt her hand be pulled back. “Why don’t you come here and stay with me for a while?” She didn’t even have time to answer as the super soldier already was maneuvering her so she could sit on his lap. “I don’t know, maybe it would be better if you go do that smart thing you were attending to,” Steve was able to pick up that there was something off about what she said. “Is there a reason you’re speaking to me that way, darling?” And as Y/N shrugged her shoulders, the Captain had all the confirmation he needed to come to the conclusion that there was a reason for why she was acting this way. “I just feel like, I’m not smart enough to be with you,” Upon meeting Steve’s bewildered look, she then took it upon herself to explain more, “I’ll never be able to help you out with these missions and reports; so why are you settling for me and not someone who’s real knowledgeable about all this,” She ended her explanation by pointing at the the different documents Steve had laid out in his desk. Kissing her temple, Steve hugged Y/N tightly as if he wanted her to know that he didn’t have those doubts. “I don’t think that you’re not smart; just because you don’t know a whole lot about these doesn’t erase the fact about how incredibly intelligent you are about your field of work. And so what if you’re not knowledgeable about HYDRA? It’s better because you’re not tainted by the malicious acts they did. Being with you is not me settling; in fact, it’s me finally finding something I searched for and needed.”

“Thank you so much, Melanie,” Y/N heard Will thank his assistant when she entered his office. As the aforementioned worker said it was no big deal as she exited the room to give the two privacy, Y/N announced, “I can come back later, bub, if you’re busy.” But her boyfriend shook his head as placed the files he was handed down on his desk, “Nonsense, come over here! I missed you.” And as they both shared a hug, they hugged tightly as if they were trying to explain how much they loathed having to spend time away from each other. “Brought you some lunch,” She placed the paper bag on his desk, careful not to stain any of his documents. “You shouldn’t have! I was just about to ask Melanie to grab some for us.”

Maybe it was the way her act of getting him food was easily dismissed; but the fact that he thought of relying more on his assistant ticked Y/N off. Standing up from the chair’s arm she was sitting on, her reply of, “Sounds like you don’t need me then,” had sass in it. The businessman however speculated that something was up. “You’re not leaving until you tell me what brought about this change of mood,” He pointed out her body as if the problem was something that could be seen. Y/N rolled her eyes to which her boyfriend tsked at; a way of telling her that there was no way they weren’t resolving it right now. “I just feel like you’re placing such a high regard or like you’d rather Melanie do things for you,” She sighed as she crossed her arms. Sighing as well, Will smacked himself internally for making his girl feel this way. Standing up from where he was seated, he pulled her in for a half hug which gave him the opportunity to look at her as he reassured her, “I don’t place Melanie in such a high pedestal, okay? It’s just I’m used to her assisting me for work and I’d rather put her through all the hassle instead of you. But you do me the greatest and biggest favor of all — you put up with my shit, look after me when you know I neglect myself, and love me unconditionally.”

When Carter told Y/N that they needed to go to this gala, he took it upon himself to take a day off to go shopping. The latter always claimed how the former went overboard when buying her an outfit and accessories. Less than a day prior to the gala, Y/N shocked Carter when she let it slip how she had no plans of attending the said event. “What? Why not?” The CEO panicked as he turned to face her. Wiggling in her seat, Y/N countered, “Well why do I need to go in the first place?”  Sighing, Carter wrapped his arms around his girlfriend, prompting her to lay her head on his chest, “Because it’s a celebration of the company’s accomplishment and I would really love for my inspiration and the love of my life to be there to celebrate it with me.” With his explanation, Y/N couldn’t really find a rebuttal to it, and he could sense that she had no answer so he inquired, “Why do you not want to go, love?” 

Tucking her head under his chin, Y/N then decided to unveil her reason, “I have nothing to wear.” Flabbergasted with that, Carter couldn’t help but ask, “What? Didn’t we go out shopping last week? Do you wanna go right now?” Y/N calmed Carter who was already making his way to stand up so he could get ready to go out. “It’s not that I don’t actually have clothes to wear; I do but,” She trailed off, not knowing how to properly say it. “But?” Carter wondered, and Y/n decided to just say it bluntly, “Nothing looks good on me.” Disbelief with just he heard, he looked at her as if he was expecting she would claim it was a joke; but upon seeing how she didn’t take back what she said, he then understood that she was indeed serious, “What do you mean nothing looks good on you?” Y/N then bit her lip nervously, Carter then pulled her lip and gently coaxed her to explain. “I was trying on the clothes we bought, and just nothing looked good on me. I mean, they’re pretty dresses so I figured maybe it was me who’s the problem. Like I can’t give justice to the dress.” Baffled with what she was saying, Carter put both his hands on her cheeks, making Y/N face his serious face, “Baby, that’s got to be the biggest load of bullshit I’ve ever heard; and I went to a private highschool full of privileged fucks. I think what you really mean is that all the dresses we bought don’t compliment your assets properly,” Seeing her shrug nonchalantly signified how he was getting through her, “And honestly? You can come up to the gala in just your pajamas and still look drop dead gorgeous.”

“Is there any way I can not go on Sunday?” Y/N ‘s small voice was barely above a whisper, but it didn’t fly past Ransom’s keen ear. Looking up from his phone, he looked down from where she laid on his lap, her eyes looking hopeful. “Why don’t you want to go?” This wasn’t the first time he brought her over to Harlan’s home and dined with his family. Granted, she was risking going inside a lion’s den and being devoured by the predators. “Because your family’s gonna be there and we both know how disastrous these gatherings can be,” Though she made a point, both the trust fund son and his girlfriend knew that was a lame excuse to forfeit from the gathering. “Baby, you and I both know you handle these gatherings well;  remember what happened when you told Walt off?”

Upon bringing up the instance where Walt had made an off-handed and misogynistic comment to which didn’t sit well with Y/N, resulting in her lecturing him about why his statement was problematic, the girl could only scrunch her face up. “It’s because of that I don’t want to go,” she mumbled quietly. But if there was one thing Ransom learned and developed after dating her for so long, it was to listen carefully to every sound she made for it all meant something. “I may not have heard what you said clearly, but I know that you said something. So better speak up, princess and tell me what it is about this Sunday’s dinner that makes you not want to go.” Y/N knew there was no way they could drop this subject since Ransom had set his phone down and looked at her seriously. She then covered her eyes with her hands as she confessed, “I just heard about Walt and Linda talk about how they never wanted someone like me for you.” With that revelation, Ransom round himself agitated and infuriated with how his family members had the balls to comment on his love life that made him very much happy. Letting the back of his knuckles caress her cheek he consoled her, “Just so you know, my family can eat shit for thinking that they can give nasty and irrelevant comments about what makes me happy. You make me happy and love me despite my spoiled ass. If anything it’s me who doesn’t deserve to be with someone as amazing as you are.”

[nationalharryleague]

Portfolio

Pairing: Harry Styles x Reader

Genre: AU, Angst, Boss!Harry

Word count: 3.5k!

Warnings: Domestic violence mention, boss/employee dynamic

A/N: Hi! I decided to write another fic after Overnight was received so well! Again, thank you to anyone who read and enjoyed it! I’m not sure how I feel about this one lol but I think it’s good enough to post. Please let me know if you enjoyed it and send feedback! Thank you for reading!!! More of my writing can be found in my masterlist! 

Part 2

You had always been a teacher’s pet. Growing up, you were the kid who worked hard to get a 4.0 GPA just for the rush of getting a compliment on your intelligence from your teacher. You craved that validation for all the hard work you put in and you just wanted people you admired to like you. And not for nothing, you deserved the compliments. At work, you were the first one there and the last one to leave. You loved your job and it showed.

You were currently working your first job with any real power at an up and coming public relations firm, Styles Public Relations. SPR was quickly growing in size and recognition and being brought onto the team was a dream come true. You loved everything about working there. The offices were beautiful, it paid well, and your ideas and proposals were finally being heard and brought to the public. Well, you loved everything except one glaring, irritating, and gorgeous problem: your boss.

Harry Styles was a striking man. He was tall, impeccably dressed, and obscenely attractive. His skin was perfectly tan and when it got warm in the office you could see  beautiful tattoos revealed by his rolled up sleeves. Those sleeves were worth more than your life and his head-to-toe Gucci ensembles usually showed his wealth off well. He looked like he should be on the front of a magazine, not behind a desk. Well, he was on the cover of Forbes that one time. While he was so nice to look at, the man was anything but nice. He had an abrasive attitude and not much care for pleasantries or mincing words.

Today, you found yourself on the opposite end of his brutal disposition. You had brought a campaign proposal to him for a newly acquired client and he began to rip it to shreds.

“I don’t know why you thought this campaign was a good idea, Y/N,” he told you sternly. “It’s childish, silly, and unprofessional.” Every word he said dug into you. You tried to attribute his harshness to it being Monday, but you knew he would say this to you any day of the week.

“The client said they wanted something more playful to soften their image,” you defended yourself. “I was doing what they asked for.”

“Well, you did a terrible job at it.”

That stung. You had dedicated your life for weeks to this proposal and had expected him to love it. You hoped this was finally the proposal that would secure your position in his good graces. Apparently, not.

“Okay. I’ll restart the project with a different angle.” You moved forward to grab the binder off the conference room table and flee the room back to the safety of your office. You were shocked when he put his own hands on the binder and slid it away from you.

“You’re off the account. I’ll have someone else do a better job,” he spat. Now, that really hurt. Your ego was closely related to your career and you knew you deserved better than this. You did everything you could to hold back your tears, but one betrayed you and fell down your cheek. You believed you saw his hard exterior soften for a split second before his ruthless demeanor returned.

“Fine,” you breathed, never breaking eye contact with the cruel man. “I’ll leave you now, your highness.” The words left your lips before you could fully register them in your own head. You turned on your heel and rushed back to your office, thinking about the insubordination complaint coming your way.

“Did I just get myself fired?” you asked yourself softly when you were finally in the safety of your own office.

The rest of your week passed in a blur. By Friday, you had accepted your fate and decided to get every passive aggressive dig at your boss you could before you carried your things out in a cardboard box. When you saw him around the office, you made sure to make direct eye contact and shoot daggers his way and you responded to his emails with one word answers. You were also producing the best work you had in years. Turns out, spite was a fantastic motivator for you. If he was going to fire you, he would feel bad about it.

As usual, you spent your Friday night typing away in your office. You were a workaholic and had no problem with staying at work late. Unfortunately, so was your new nemesis.

You caught your first glimpse of him after-hours on a trip to the copier. Your next was on your trek to the coffee pot. Later, on a walk around the office to stretch your legs. Each time you saw him, he was in the same spot. He sat at the conference table surrounded by spreadsheets and graphics and stared perplexed at the piles of paper encompassing him. You knew you could go in and ask him if he needed help, but you wanted to watch him suffer. According to him, you would just do a terrible job anyway.

It was about 7 o’clock when you heard a firm knock on your office door. You expected it to be the cleaning crew asking to vacuum your office. With a ‘come in’ your door opened and your boss’ large body leaned up against the door frame, careful not to enter the office he knew he wasn’t welcome in. While you were shocked he was coming to talk to you, you stayed quiet. If he wanted to talk to you, he would have to break the silence. After a few awkward moments, he did.

“Um, I was thinking about ordering dinner if you wanted to join me.” This was by far the nicest thing he had ever said to you other than ‘you’re hired.’

“Well, what are you getting?”

“I’ll buy you whatever you want for dinner if you take a look at the investor relations portfolio I’m working on.” You were taken aback. He was asking for your help. He needs me, you thought as you smirked to yourself.

“Make it the Italian place down the street and we have a deal,” you countered. You didn’t want to spend anytime with him at all but you were taking this as a sign that  1) he wasn’t firing you, and 2) he thought you did good work. Also, their spaghetti bolognese was calling your name.

Soon you were both knee deep in documents and investor information packets. You absolutely could not believe it but the two of you were collaborating well and making real progress on the portfolio. This was the working relationship you always wanted to have with your big shot boss; the opposite of his constant criticism and belittling of your work.

When the food arrived, you both decided to take a break and eat like an entire company’s stock shares weren’t resting on your shoulders. While your conversation stayed surrounding work, it inevitably steered towards the account he had taken away from you.

“So, how’s my campaign doing?” you asked. You knew it was a risky question but you two had been getting along and you decided you needed an update on the account that had become your baby.

“I gave it to Marcus and-”

“Marcus? Really?” You interrupted  him. “Marcus is a shithead.” Your baby deserved better than Marcus.

“You didn’t let me finish,” he said in a joking manner, with a small smile. The smile was just big enough for you to notice that he had dimples. He had never smiled in front of you before. “He’s doing a horrendous job and I was going to give it back to you on Monday.”

“Thank you. I appreciate the second chance,” you confessed. “Can you level with me for a minute?” you asked after a moment of silence. “Why did you rip into me like that? You could have just told me that it wasn’t right for me and taken it away.”

You watched him think for a moment. He scratched at his five o’clock shadow (that was more like a 9 o’clock shadow now) and you could tell he was searching for the right words.

“Because it got you fired up, but I could tell I hurt your feelings and I apologize.” You never expected an apology for the way he acted and you no longer regretted showing him your emotions. He had hurt you and he should feel bad for it. “I thought you were getting complacent in your ideas and you’ve been killing it since Monday.”

“Thank you for the apology. Here I am thinking you did it just to be a dick.”

“Is that what people in the office really think of me?” He looked genuinely hurt and you felt slightly guilty for being the bearer of bad news. But you hoped if he saw it from his fearful employees’ perspective he would lighten up a little.

“Do you want me to be honest?” He nodded his head. “You act like you have a stick so far up your ass it’s touching your brain and that you’re better than everyone else because your suit costs more than my rent.” If he never minced his words, why should you?

“Oh Y/N, tell me what you really think,” he said after a pause with a light chuckle. You were surprised by his reaction. You never expected him to take something like that so well.

“Listen,” you began again. “I understand and respect your toughness on us. But there is a line between criticism and just being mean.” You decided this was a time to call him on his shit, during this very very rare moment of comradery between you. You wanted to have a healthy relationship with him, maybe even a friendship.

“I understand that I can get a bit harsh. It’s just the whole ‘is it better to be loved or feared’ thing. I’ve always thought fear would be the safer option.” You felt like you were getting to pull back the layers of his hard shell and see the human being underneath for a brief period of time.

“But if you were truly loved, no one would ever betray you,” you whispered softly, always the romantic.

“Love has never been reliable, has it?” Your heart broke for him and you realized someone doesn’t become as hardened as he is overnight. Something did this to him.

“What about love being the most powerful force on earth?” you wiggled your eyebrows at him, referring to the slogan for an engagement ring campaign you were both working on.

“Well, when your wife tries to steal the company that you built together and run away to Spain with her personal trainer, love gets a little bit more complicated.” There it is, you thought to yourself. This was the first time he ever felt like a real person to you; not like a teflon shell of anger, wealth, and ambition. His features looked softer and he seemed less like your evil boss, and more like someone dealing with a painful trauma.

“I’m sorry, Harry,” you said softly, genuinely meaning it. “Oh shit, sorry. Mr. Styles,” you corrected yourself. He laughed at your mistake and you watched his dimples reach their full potential. He looked down at the table, obviously a little uncomfortable with his rare moment of vulnerability with the woman who was probably the biggest pain in his ass in the office. Before you knew it, you had decided to share your own uncomfortable vulnerability.

“My ex put me in the hospital while I was still living in New York,” you began, watching his eyes immediately jump to yours and listen intently.

“Oh Y/N, you don’t have to talk about this… I didn’t mean-,” he tried to stop you but you figured if he shared with you, you could share with him.

“No, it’s okay. It’s been a long time,” you reassured him, shaking your head softly. “We were fighting because I found out he had been cheating on me. I had packed a bag and was trying to leave when he pushed me down the stairs of our apartment building. I broke my arm in two places and I had to have a few surgeries.” You rolled up the sleeve of your blouse and showed him the scar that ran down your forearm. You scanned his face and it looked like he genuinely cared about you for a moment. You brushed it off. “After that, I decided I needed to leave New York.”

“Why London?” he said gently.

“I was obsessed with this English boy band when I was growing up,” you laughed. “I guess I romanticised London in my head and decided it might be a good place for a fresh start.”

“While I’m incredibly sorry you had to go through all of that to get to London, I’m very glad that you found your way to me,” he spoke tenderly. His face was serious, but not the seriousness you were used to while getting scolded about your work. It was gentle and like he meant every word he said. You were happy you found your way to this version of him too.

“To the firm, I mean,” he corrected himself and you felt a weird pang of sadness inside of you. You are just his employee, remember that, you thought to yourself.

“I’m happy I found the firm too. If only I could figure out how to deal with my hellish boss?” you asked sarcastically, rolling your eyes dramatically and laughing at him. You realized that this could definitely be taken as flirting, but you decided were okay with that.

“Maybe they’re just trying to push you because you are by far the best campaign director they have,” he said nonchalantly, leaning back in his seat and watching your every movement. You felt your cheeks heat and the rush of adrenaline from finally getting his validation. This was all you ever wanted from him.

“Oh, I know,” you smirked, leaning back in your own chair and studying him as well.

He really was gorgeous. His quaffed hair had fallen over the course of the day and a few stray pieces hung on his forehead. His black dress shirt fit him so well. You were fully able to appreciate the tailored fit after he had shrugged off his blazer and removed his tie, unbuttoning the top few buttons to reveal glimpses of two swallows that sat on his collarbones. A chain that you had never gotten to see hung around his neck, a cross and the Star of David resting on his chest.

“We should get back to work,” he murmured after a few extended moments of staring at each other.

“Probably.”

You two worked for another hour or so before you let out a small yawn and Harry insisted you both call it a night. Although you protested and told him you were fine, he was firm in his demand that you go home and rest. As you packed up your things in your office, he hovered in the room and watched your every move. Conversation was relaxed and casual, not stained with the malice you usually had towards each other.

He took your briefcase from your hands, offering to help as you struggled to carry a poster and a few proposal binders, and carried it as you walked in step with each other out of the office. When you reached the front doors and went to go your separate ways, you were met with a puzzled look on his face.

“Where are you going? The parking garage is this way?”

“Oh, I don’t have a car. I take the tube wherever I have to go.”

“Let me drive you home,” he offered. When you denied his proposal, you were met with a stern, “Let me drive you home or you’re fired.”

Although you fought him the entire walk to his car, asserting that you were fine to take the train, you climbed into his beautiful jet black sports car with a huff and a pout. He had a triumphant smirk on his face that you were tempted to slap off, but decided to take this as a sign from the universe that you just weren’t meant to get blisters from your heels walking home tonight. You watched as his long fingers gripped the steering wheel skillfully and you both sat peacefully, the silence between you only interrupted when you gave him occasional directions to turn right or left. The soft sounds of a Fleetwood Mac song you couldn’t remember the name to flowed through the speakers and his mouth silently lip-synced the words. You admired him the whole drive home and you didn’t want to get out of the car when he pulled up to your building.

You both departed the car, walking around to the trunk where he had stashed your briefcase. Your casual conversations had long passed, both of you beginning to mourn the night you had together. You had enjoyed this night far more than you anticipated and you hoped this would be the first of many late nights at the office that he would join you for. You looked up at him when he handed you your briefcase and you both stood there in silence for just a few more fleeting seconds, neither of you wanting to be alone yet. You were first to break the noiseless night.

“Thank you for dinner and the ride home, Mr. Styles.”

“Please call me Harry,” he said with a subtle smile, stepping up on to the curb, closing much of the space between you.

“I can do that, Harry.” His first name felt foreign on your lips but it was a welcome change.

“Thank you for all your help tonight. I needed your fresh set of eyes on that portfolio.” This interaction felt so intimate; his words hushed and complimentary, intensified by his body’s proximity to yours.

“Whenever you need me,” you breathed, refusing to break the eye contact you were both desperately holding on to.

With one swift step he pressed your bodies and your lips together, backing you up until your body pressed against his car. You dropped your briefcase to the ground and your hands flew up to the base of his neck. He tasted like the lemon cookie he had ordered for dessert and you smelled his intoxicating cologne as you drank each other in. His hands snaked their way under your blazer and rested on your hips, pulling you impossibly closer to him. His kiss was deep and demanding and you weren’t sure if you ever wanted it to end.

This morning you couldn’t stand to be in the same room as him and mere hours later you were ready to bring him up into your own. He was infuriating and rude and knew just how to push your buttons. But, he also seemed to be gentle, kind, and thoughtful when he wanted to be. Harry Styles was an enigma. You couldn’t wrap your head around him and it drew you to him even more.

Your bodies flowed in perfect sync with one another and your open-mouthed and hungry kisses were so hypnotizing you couldn’t think. Harry was the only person that existed to you anymore, tuning out the murmurs of a passersby, and anywhere your skin touched his was lit on fire.

Finally coming up for air, you breathlessly peeled your lips away from the other. You both refused to break your eye contact, your hands gripping tight to his biceps to steady your weak legs, and scanned each other’s faces.

“You have a little something,” he murmured, reaching to wipe your smudged red lipstick from your bottom lip with his thumb. You leaned into his touch and smiled up at him.

“So do you,” you panted, staring at his lips that were now stained red.

You both just stood there for a little while, soaking up the other’s company before you pulled away and things got more complicated. He was your boss after all, was this even allowed? Did he want to be something more than coworkers? If things ended poorly, would you still be able to work together? Would he be nicer to you now?

“It’s late. You should get some sleep,” he eventually broke the silence and your spiraling thoughts.

“I agree. You worked me real hard today,” you smirked at him, unable to pass up the innuendo. An amused grin spread across his lips and he took a step back from you, releasing you from his grip against the car. He gathered your things you had dropped on the ground during his assault and handed them back to you.

Harry leaned forward and pressed a kiss to your cheek that lingered a little too long to be considered friendly. It made your cheeks burn.

“I’ll see you Monday, sweetheart” was the last thing he said to you before he climbed back into his car and drove off into the night.

Part 2

[shojo-sylveon]

Discussion Post: Spoilers Ahead: Cardcaptor Sakura: Ruby Moon & Gang Excuse the fact that this is a crusty soundless video, it was supposed to be a gif, but even after putting it through like 5 separate compressors it was still too big for this pathetic website, so here’s a video.  So, the clip above is from CCS episode 50. I watched this scene twice: once with the Crunchyroll sub where I watched the whole series, and again with wherever this sub originally came from. The subtitles are slightly different so they are not the same sub, but the message was still the same in both, which is what I was checking to make sure of by watching the scene in two different subs.  Now, unless this is some sort of metaphor I’m not picking up on, does this scene not clearly state that Ruby Moon has eaten someone before? Am I missing something here? Because I just finished the series and this was never touched on again. And I googled it and no one else ever seems to talk about this scene. I thought maybe Spinel meant “snack on someone” in the sense of absorbing their powers the way Yue did for Toya (though even then, that’s absolutely not what the wording suggests, in my opinion. the wording suggests she has literally eaten a human being. but I digress), which may make sense as to why she always hung around him so closely from the start, but also, it was clearly part of Eriol’s plan for Yue to absorb Toya’s powers. Now, I’m not sure that he communicated that, but it seems odd that Ruby Moon would have done something that would directly interfere with Eriol’s plans. Though, perhaps he wasn’t planning that from the start? After all, he did not expect Yukito to end up with someone other than Sakura. I’m really not sure. I’m arguing with myself because I want to believe that CLAMP didn’t just make up this very extreme scene and then simply pretend it didn’t happen.  Eriol was introduced as a morally ambiguous character. We didn’t initially know what his motives were, if he was good or bad. We also don’t know Spinel or Ruby Moon’s motives. I had a hunch they would end up being good, just because Card Captor Sakura is incredibly wholesome and our last ambiguous character (Mizuki sensei) also ended up being good, but I wasn’t sure. Then this episode came along, and really had me leaning towards them being bad guys. I mean, Ruby Moon just said she EATS PEOPLE. Not a single person on this show has gotten killed. That’s kind of a HUGE step up. Then the show continues to reference that Eriol is likely good. And the whole time I was sitting thinking, “the eating people thing isn’t going to get addressed, is it?” and what did I know? It didn’t. But that whole scene was dedicated to making the three of them look excessively evil, plotting dramatically like cartoon villains in their evil lair. I’m not sure what this scene looked like in the manga, but I can’t help but feel like CLAMP went way overboard in trying to make them look evil. They concocted this unrealistic ridiculous scene that just takes away from the show with its nonsense. It feels like a few nights prior Eriol sat Ruby Moon and Spinel down and went, “okay guys, we’re gonna act as evil as possible from here on out while I bullshit Sakura for the next couple weeks. When we come home we’ll evil laugh and talk about murder and stuff. We really gotta get into character here.” Because in what other scenario would they really act this dramatically? Eriol is constantly like “>:)” in the privacy of his home in the beginning, for no reason. This is all just done to make him more morally questionable than he already was. He literally was already questionable. There was no need for this. Moving on, I also feel like Ruby Moon and Spinel’s motives are never clearly explained in general. Ruby Moon spent all that time keeping Toya and Yukito apart, and for what? Just to let them get together in the end anyways? Just like Eriol wanted? I feel like both of them are very neglected characters that received a lot of buildup, with very little explanation.  I have a lot more reactions to the series, but this is just the one big one that stuck out and bothered me. This very extreme scene that is never touched on again. If anyone out there interpreted this scene in a way that actually makes sense, feel free to share your input. I’d really love to wrap my head around this.  I apologize if this was organized/written poorly. I have covid and it’s late at night, my brain isn’t at its peak right now  

[buckyownsmylife]

Basket Case - A Tom Hardy Smut

The one where you anger Tom with your refusal to admit your feelings for him, until he gets you worked up enough that you can’t deny your desires anymore.

Warnings: smut, age gap, lots of swears, dirty talk (I can’t write smut without it), thigh riding, unprotected sex, overstimulation, spanking (briefly), pleasing kink? is that a thing? I might be making stuff up at this point tbh, hair pulling ‘cause I’m basic like that, squirting

A/N: This is pretty much a pwp motivated by my need to see more stories about this man. I hope someone else in this void is as attracted to him as I am. Enjoy!

Tom’s P.O.V.

“So you’re saying that it doesn’t matter how you feel about me, since society will never approve, you’ll not only punish yourself but also me, keeping us apart?” I was furious. My hands tightly pressed into fists, I tried to reason with the woman in front of me, my best friend. It didn’t help that she looked at me with those big doe eyes, obviously trying her best not to cry. It only made me get angrier at the whole situation, especially since I could never find it in myself to get angry directly at her.

“I’m sorry, Tom. You know I love you, I just…” she started, but I had had enough.

“Bullshit,” I cut her off, effectively getting her to close her mouth and stare at me in surprise. “You don’t love me, Y/N. Don’t lie to me, not when I’ve come here to your house, begging you to take me as your man. I love you. I’m willing to risk everything for you. Meanwhile, you’re standing there, too scared about what the papers will say tomorrow to act on your so-called feelings”.

I had to take a deep breath to contain myself, my hand coming up to comb through my hair in an attempt to calm the feelings that threatened to spill out of me.

“You don’t understand, do you?” She suddenly interrupted my train of thoughts, but before I could ask what the hell she was referring to, she crossed the room to stand before me, a fire in her eyes I had never seen before. “I’m not scared of my own reputation, Tom. Lord knows I have been drawn as the worst possible characters and I have always been able to come back unscattered. I’m worried about you. What they will say about you. That’s what I’m worried about.” She took a step back, taking a deep breath, her eyes still not leaving mine. “I don’t want you to be known as a predator or whatever the fuck they are going to say because of our age gap. You’ve been through enough under the public eye. You deserve nothing but happiness and I won’t stand in the way of you getting it,” she finished her speech, a little nod towards her own words as she breathed deeply once again, finally relaxing after saying what she had kept inside since God knows how long.

I would have been more surprised about her sudden outburst if her words hadn’t reignited the anger within me.

Y/N’s P.O.V.

“And who the fuck do you think you are to make choices for me?” He all but yelled, taking steps towards me until I was pressed against a wall. He looked so utterly handsome, his brown leather jacket accentuating his broad shoulders, a few strands of his brown hair falling on his forehead. 

“I’m a grown fucking man, Y/N, as you might have gathered from the papers’ headlines. That means I can make my own decisions and I have been doing so for the past forty years of my life. I don’t need you to limit what I can and can’t do.” His chest heaved from the anger I knew he was feeling, but instead of scared, arousal pooled in my underwear at the sight of my best friend towering over me, his eyes searching mine for something. 

“The only person standing between me and my happiness is you. Tell me,” he asked, his tongue coming out to wet his lips as his gaze dropped to mine. He was standing so close I could feel the coldness of the fabric of his clothes, as they were wet from the rain he had endured to come to my apartment. I could smell his minty breath as he breathed with his mouth open. I could feel the electricity between our bodies, as he stood just close enough, not yet touching me. “Do you want to be with me?” He inquired, and I couldn’t find one single reason to lie to him. Besides, I knew it wouldn’t be of much use. He knew me too well, and as his eyes stared deep into mine, I found myself answering in all honesty.

“Yes.” My own tongue wetted my lips, which suddenly felt dry and eager to meet another pair, specifically the ones that stood just above me. He panted over me and I shivered, just as his arms came around my waist to pull me to him, mounting me on one of his thighs. 

“Do you want me?” He asked, knowing I understood the difference between both questions as his eyes once again traveled through mine, looking for any sign of a hesitation they would never bear.

“Always,” I wheezed, just before his mouth engulfed mine and I drowned in the sea of passion that had been threatening to wash me ever since I had met this man.

His kiss was just like him, daring and overpowering. His beard scratched my face in a way that made me whimper against him, which in turn only seemed to urge him on. He pulled on my dress like he wanted it to rip under his fingers and I found myself grinding against his jean-clad thigh, desperate to find some relief for the need that was killing me.

He shamelessly made out with me right there, in the middle of my living room, igniting a desire in me that no one had ever been able to uncover before. His big palms spread across my back, he seemed to understand exactly what I was trying to do and approved of my plans. 

As if he was reading my mind, he parted our lips just enough for us to gather our breaths. “You’re drenching my already wet jeans, love,” he whispered, erupting shivers across my skin yet again. “If I had known I was able to leave you this needy just from a kiss, I would have done this a long time ago,” he teased me just as I pulled him to meet my mouth again. 

It wasn’t just the kiss. He didn’t know the effect he had on me every time he walked into a room I was in, even when we didn’t touch. The contact of his skin on mine, however, his warmth against my body, was like gasoline to my desire, never failing to keep me wanting more.

Tom’s P.O.V.

I tried to show how utterly devoted to her I was through the kiss we shared. I still remembered the first time I laid my eyes on her and I couldn’t believe I finally had her exactly where I had dreamed to bring her for so long. She had become my religion, I realized. I wanted nothing more than to fall to my knees and dedicate my entire life to worship her - preferably through eating her out until she cried for me to stop.

My dick throbbed on the confines of my clothing as she slowly moved against my leg, but it wasn’t enough. I wanted her to come, I wanted to see her fall apart right in front of me, against me, because of me. So I took matters into my own hands and forced her down on me, quickening her movements. She gasped, not expecting my actions, I realized - her head that had fallen down to her chest from the pleasure coming up quickly to stare at me.

I leaned down over her to kiss her neck, smiling as I once again witnessed the goosebumps erupting on her skin from my touch. My touch. The fact that it was me bringing her pleasure brought me pride like nothing else. I kissed her just below her pulse point, losing myself on the smell of cinnamon on her skin and on her tiny breathless whimpers, focusing my attention in a particular spot on her neck as I heard her first full-on moan.

“Oh, the princess has a special spot, doesn’t she?” I approved, licking the place over and over again. Her head fell down on my shoulder this time and I was the one who shivered as her labored breathing hit me.

“Tom,” she pleaded, her hands finding their way under my shirt to scratch my back as she tried to resist my attack. “Tom, please…” I didn’t even know what she was begging for but fuck if it wasn’t the hottest damn thing I had ever heard in my entire life.

“What?” I nibbled on her ear, fully enjoying the effect I was having on her. “What do you want, darling?” I asked, still not stopping my movements, despite her push on my shoulders.

“Fuck me,” she breathed, effectively managing to stop me dead in my tracks.

“What?” I asked, perplexed by the demonstration that she in fact desired me just as much as I wanted her.

“Please, fuck me,” she repeated herself, pushing her breasts against my shirt as I absentmindedly noted that her nipples stood up from under her dress, begging for some sort of attention. “Please… I never wanted anyone to fuck me this badly.”

That did it for me. It was like I was not even in control anymore. Keeping her up against the wall with one of my hands, I opened my jeans, letting it fall down just enough to allow my dick to appear and pulled her panties to the side. I didn’t even wait for a second before pushing myself inside of her, growling at the feeling of the tightest warmth I had ever had the pleasure to fuck. 

“Fuck,” I spoke, taking some time to gather my thoughts before I came right then, before even beginning to move. My face hid in her neck, her scream of pleasure at my sudden intrusion wasn’t lost to my ears, just as her tiny whimpers as she tried to get me to move. “Hold on, tiny minx,” I warned her, grasping her by her hips once again. “I’ve waited for this way too long.”

Y/N’s P.O.V.

When he finally started to move, it was exactly as I imagined it would be like to be fucked by Tom Hardy. He was brutal as his hips moved in and out of me so quickly I could barely feel like he had left me at all. I knew I was screaming, but I couldn’t find the strength in myself to try to calm down, not when he was seemingly trying to nail me against the wall. 

“Tom, Tom, Tom,” I settled for repeating, over and over, not even sure why I was calling him, my head falling from the force of his thrusts. Despite his constant gentleness towards me and the declaration of love that had just left his lips, he fucked me like he hated me and I figured out then and there that it made me aroused like nothing else.

He managed to pull my dress down over one of my shoulders, barely exposing one of my breasts, before he engulfed the nipple into his mouth, biting on it hard. My vision blurred as I gasped and I felt my pussy contract around him, almost missing the long current of expletives he let out as he emptied himself inside of me.

We took some time to gather our breaths and I threw my head back against the wall in an attempt to find some air that wasn’t filled with him and his intoxicating scent. I didn’t miss the way he looked down at me, his eyes expressing the incredulity and amusement he must have felt at the situation, or the fact that he was still inside of me, still hard, despite the fact that his cum now pooled my underwear, dripping from my thighs

“You are unbelievable,” he started, making me meet his eyes again.

“What have I done now?” I questioned, curious but almost irritated at his comment. He simply shook his head, that cute lopsided smile appearing on his face just before he pulled me from the wall, turned me around, and deposited my chest over the kitchen table. My legs dangled as I tried to turn my head to see what the hell he was trying to do, but before I had the chance to ask, he had raised the skirt of my dress and thrust into me again.

“Fuck,” he repeated just like he had said the first time he entered me, and I briefly wondered if that was something he would do every single time it happened. My thoughts were interrupted as he pushed my head down against the marble counter and I welcomed the sensation of both the coldness that helped with my scorching face and of his cock inside of me again, especially since my stomach was tightly pressed against the table. He pounded into me again, apparently not in need of any kind of retraction period, something my pussy seemed to appreciate, as the feeling of being fucked despite its soreness was unbelievably arousing. “You are impossible,” he grunted, once again arising my curiosity. “Do you think this is how I wanted our first time to go?” He inquired and my heart skipped a beat as I realized the implication underneath his words. “I wanted to take you out to your favorite restaurant, treat you like the princess you are, maybe steal a kiss as the night was about to end, but did you let me?” A particularly rough thrust almost sent me across the table, but he impaled me on him again by my hips. “Of course not, you had to go and beg me to fuck you like the little minx you are.”

“You could have always said no,” I managed to let out between moans, but he huffed and gave me a spank on my ass.

“As if that would have worked with you, you little seductress,” he sneered, spanking me again. “I don’t think I would have been physically able to deny you, anyway. You make me so fucking hard, ‘ve been thinking about fucking you since the first time I saw you,” he admitted.

“Good,” I moaned, reaching out to grab the edge of the counter as he continued to pound me. “That makes two of us.”

My response only seemed to urge him on. My head was spinning with the fire that was rising from my belly and the sounds of his thighs colliding against the back of mine, our juices running out of my pussy as he fucked them into me again. As I let it fall down against my arms, that were splayed out in front of me, he slowed down a bit, gathering my hair in his hand to pull me up.

Tom’s P.O.V.

“You ok there, princess?” The last thing I wanted was for her to hurt. She released a long-drawn-out moan that calmed me down, but was still able to answer me.

“Y-yeah.” I used my other hand to pick some strands that were falling over her face, still not returning to my previous speed, just softly fucking into her. 

“You sure?”

Y/N groaned as she started to thrust back into me, effectively fucking herself on my cock.

“Yeah, yeah yeah… C’mon, Tom, please move. I just… I just really want to please you.” That little confession brought a silly smile to my face. I pulled her hair more forcefully, raising up the speed and force of my thrusts as I fucked her with all that I had.

“And you do, pretty girl… You really do.” The validation of her efforts seemed to do it for her. Her whole body quivering, she came one last time, squirting all over us. “Fuck, fuck, fuck!”

When I came this time, I had to focus all of my energy on making sure she was able to stand on her feet so I could drag us both over to the couch, where I let my body fall, making sure hers was covering mine.

For a few minutes, we didn’t say anything. I was unable to do much other than stare into the wall, softly caressing her back while I tried to find any strength in me to see if I could do something other than taking a nap. Finally, after long minutes of just relishing in the afterglow and each other's warmth, she wiggled her way up my body, so her face was just a few centimeters from mine.

“Okay,” she whispered, her eyes glancing from mine to my lips. I didn’t even question what she meant, just raised an eyebrow and she immediately clarified it. “Okay, I will be yours.” All I could do was smile, followed quickly by a kiss that grew deep very quickly. “You’re not gonna let me leave this apartment until you’ve fucked me against every piece of furniture I own, are you?” She asked after pushing me away to catch a breath. A laugh escaped my chest and I pulled her further up my body, so she could straddle my hips.

“You’re absolutely right, my love.”

[my-bated-breath]

Rage, Compassion, and the Bridge in Between

An essay on Katara’s emotions

On the spectrum of human emotion, rage and compassion exist on opposite ends. After all, rage is harsh and violent while compassion is soothing and nurturing; rage is unforgiving while compassion is all-forgiving. As such, they run a parallel course to each other, one canceling out the other whenever they do meet.

At least, that’s what we expect. We expect anger and kindness to be separate entities, and our media reflects this - a character is either severe or gentle, and in the rare case that they’re both, the contrast between their ability to hurt and their ability to heal is treated as a dichotomy. Except the human condition is not that simple, and sometimes, there is a not-so-simple story that remembers that.

In Avatar: The Last Airbender, Katara embodies the human condition - or more specifically, she embodies the duality within it. Throughout the show, her tenderness and her wrath are balanced in a way that renders her one of the most well-written female characters in children’s animation, perhaps even in all of television. Because Katara’s anger and compassion do not simply split themselves into two identities. Instead, they coexist and coalesce into one. They drive each other; they feed into each other; they are two sides of the same coin.

But how can that be true when opposite traits are supposed to clash and counter each other’s effects?

There’s no denying that at times, Katara’s anger and compassion serve to show two different sides of her. We even see this within the very first episode:

(on left) Katara: No that's it! I'm done helping you! From now on, you're on your own!

(on right) Katara: He's alive! We have to help!

At first, Katara’s irritation towards Sokka is what causes her to accidentally waterbend the iceberg open, in which the transcript describes her movements as “agitated.” However, as soon as she sees Aang, this irritation is replaced by concern for “the boy in the iceberg.” Hence, within a few minutes, we see how Katara can be motivated by compassion and rage separately.

Still, just because her kindness and anger are shown to be separate in many scenes that this separation applies to every scenario. Although Katara’s two opposite traits are opposite, that does not mean they are always opposing. Instead, they can fuel each other - her rage can fuel her compassion, and her compassion can fuel her rage.

Let’s see how.

Part 1 - Katara’s Rage Fuels Her Compassion

Throughout the series, Katara shares her grief over her mother’s death as a way to sympathize with others. In “The Southern Air Temple,” “Imprisoned,” and “Jet,” Katara tells Aang, Haru, and Jet about the effect the Fire Nation raids had on her, which establishes some of the most emotionally-charged scenes in these episodes. She is at her most vulnerable during these moments, laying bare a deep-rooted trauma in order to reach out and connect with someone else.

Dialogue from The Southern Air Temple

Katara: Aang, before we get to the temple, I want to talk to you about the airbenders.

Aang: What about 'em?

Katara: Well, I just want you to be prepared for what you might see. The Fire Nation is ruthless. They killed my mother, and they could have done the same to your people.

Dialogue from Imprisoned

Haru: Yeah. Problem is... the only way I can feel close to my father now is when I practice my bending. He taught me everything I know.

Katara: See this necklace? My mother gave it to me.

Haru: It's beautiful.

Katara: I lost my mother in a Fire Nation raid. This necklace is all I have left of her.

Haru: It's not enough, is it?

Katara: No.

Dialogue from Jet

Jet: The Fire Nation killed my parents. I was only eight years old. That day changed me forever.

Katara: Sokka and I lost our mother to the Fire Nation.

Jet: I'm so sorry, Katara.

However, these moments seem to distinctly lack any hint of anger from Katara’s end, so it may seem irrelevant to mention them here - that is, until we remember Katara had mentioned her mother one more time. Trapped in the Crystal Catacombs with a former enemy, she once again says that the Fire Nation took her mother away from her - but this time not with sympathy. No, this time she is filled with rage.

Dialogue from The Crossroads of Destiny

Zuko: You don't know what you're talking about!

Katara: I don't? How dare you! You have no idea what this war has put me through! Me personally! The Fire Nation took my mother away from me.

As Katara sits down, tears forming in her eyes, it becomes clear that her grief has festered into bitterness and anger towards the Fire Nation. By now, her grief is her anger, and so it’s not just shared pain Katara is empathizing within all four of these scenarios - it’s also shared rage.

She is gentle with Aang because she knows the effects of loss (inducing the Avatar State); she is sympathetic with Haru because she knows what she would be driven to do to have her mother back (inciting a prison break by stirring the prisoners’ righteous anger); and she is moved by Jet’s dedication to the Freedom Fighters because she would fight for the Southern Water Tribe too (against the Fire Nation, although Jet’s rage blinds him in a way that Katara’s doesn’t).

Then, in the Crystal Catacombs, it’s Katara’s anger towards the Fire Nation that uncovers her hidden pain. Her vulnerability is what causes Zuko’s words (“That’s what we have in common”) to resonate with her so much, enough for her to offer to heal his scar.

Therefore, Katara’s relationship with anger and grief (whether it’s emotionally-driven similar to how Aang enters the Avatar state or self-righteous similar to her calling the earthbender prisoners to action) is the foundation for some of her most compassionate moments in the series.

Part 2 - Katara’s Compassion Fuels Her Rage

Just as some of her most sympathetic moments are rooted in understanding someone else’s rage, many of Katara’s harshest moments see her acting on the behalf of others’ pain and needs.

As the designated “mother” of the Gaang, the Gaang’s more silly and immature antics often aggravate her and cause her to reprimand them severely, a clash that features prominently in Katara and Toph’s relationship.

In “The Chase” and “The Runaway,”  Katara shouts at Toph for lacking a sense of responsibility. However, her indignation does not simply stem from taking personal defense, but from wanting to safeguard the family she has found in the Gaang. Then, both these times, Toph learns the true motives behind Katara’s overbearing actions through a conversation with Iroh and Sokka, respectively.

Dialogue from The Chase

Toph: People see me and think I'm weak. They want to take care of me, but I can take care of myself, by myself.

Iroh: You sound like my nephew, always thinking you need to do things on your own, without anyone's support. There is nothing wrong with letting the people who love you help you.

When Toph talks with Iroh in “The Chase,” Iroh imparts some wisdom on finding mutual support in friendship, implying that Katara pushing responsibilities onto Toph is her way of solidifying and upholding the loving and supportive dynamic within the Gaang.

Dialogue from The Runaway

Sokka: I'm gonna tell you something crazy. I never told anyone this before, but honestly? I'm not sure I can remember what my mother looked like. It really seems like my whole life, Katara's been the one looking out for me. She's always been the one that's there. And now, when I try to remember my mom, Katara's is the only face I can picture.

Toph: The truth is sometimes Katara does act motherly, but that's not always a bad thing. She's compassionate and kind, and she actually cares about me. You know, the real me. That's more than my own mom.

As the dialogue states, “Katara’s been the one looking out for [them].” Hence, her mothering tendencies towards Toph in “The Runaway” are evoked by her wanting to avoid the danger that Toph’s high-profile scamming is beginning to place them in. In other words, she simply wants to protect her makeshift family because “she actually cares about [Toph and the rest of the Gaang]. You know, the real [them].”

Katara’s ability to empathize with others, to see past facades and prejudices, is one of her defining traits. Earlier, in the episode “The Painted Lady,” Katara manages to see beyond the people of Jang Hui’s Fire Nation background and recognize that above all else, they are suffering from war and poverty. Consequently, they are people who need her.

As such, even the notion of abandoning the people of Jang Hui (as suggested by Sokka) enrages her because Katara is someone who “will never, ever turn my back on people who need [her]!”

Still, Katara’s desire to fight for a village of strangers cannot compare to the lengths she would take to protect Aang.

Dialogue from The Western Air Temple

Katara: You might have everyone else here buying your… transformation, but you and I both know you've struggled with doing the right thing in the past. So let me tell you something, right now. You make one step backward, one slip-up, give me one reason to think you might hurt Aang, and you won't have to worry about your destiny anymore. Because I'll make sure your destiny ends ... right then and there. Permanently.

While Zuko was a bystander as Azula shot lightning at Aang, he was an active participant in his fight against Katara, whom, just moments ago, he shared an incredibly intimate moment with. But despite how Zuko betrayed Katara personally, it is the impact his betrayal had on Aang’s life (and death) that she focuses on. So even at her most threatening, Katara acts to protect someone else, Aang, the boy who is her friend and her family.

Together, all these instances reveal that Katara’s compassion is what grants her a protective instinct, and her protective instinct is what moves her to anger and violence.

Conclusion

Katara’s character provides invaluable insight into the relationship between compassion and rage, revealing how it is not simply black contrasting white, but a spread of grays and contradictions. After all, that is who Katara is. She is two sides of the same coin and the bridge in between.

Even more, that is the human condition - full of grays and contradictions, simultaneously negating and reciprocating, balancing and tipping the scales all at once. And perhaps human emotion, in all its breadth, cannot be contained to a two-dimensional spectrum where emotions can either be placed close together or on opposite ends - because humanity is of infinite dimensions, constructed from science, dictated by art. And yet, somehow it is a two-dimensional animated character who captures human complexity with such ease.

[human-person234]

LOL ok here's a chapter, oops, my bad, sorry guys. Glad to be back.

I'm actually feeling quite motivated to write, so I'm optimistic about finishing this fic before I hit my next major wall, but no promises--I've learned my lesson about setting expectations too high for myself. I do, at least, have the next chapter partly written, and the rest of the fic planned out.

I'm not here to give a whole sob story or make excuses--I know I don't need to. Y'all are great. But if you're curious, read on, and I'll tell you the gist of what's going on and give you some more detailed thoughts on this new chapter and where the fic is headed.

I never stopped wanting to write this fic! Like, I think about it nearly every day. I certainly didn't stop reading fanfiction, although I delved into quite a few different fandoms over the last few months. But for whatever reason, I just couldn't write.

There was writer's block, definitely--I got frustrated with how the plot got away from me in places, how my lack of planning meant I had to dig for inconsistencies, how I got bogged down in the details.

But I was also mad depressed, and writing about suicide was not a good way to deal with it, at the time. Like, last year, when I wrote Wish I Hadn't Got So Much Better, that was cathartic, because I was feeling that way. Like, I was counting my pills. Read the fic. Idk. But then, I started to get a little better. I moved, and stopped breathing mold 24/7, and things were looking up.

But reading and writing about suicide were like picking at the wound, keeping it open. I thought I'd take a little time, recover, and then go back to it. I started looking for a therapist.

Then, someone who is very very close to me very nearly committed suicide. I dropped everything and hopped on a train (dedicated readers might remember Izuku's thoughts about Shouto in Wish I Hadn't Got So Much Better) and for a while, I was so focused on my best friend, I tried not to think about me.

But, like Shouta said at some point in this fic, there's something intoxicating about despair. It's dangerous, for people like us, who spend our lives fighting in its hold.

Anyway, I'm in therapy now. I'm not going to kill myself. But I got kind of close there a few times, you know?

But I've talked to my therapist (I really like her!) about how I use reading ansty fics as both catharsis and self harm, and she's helped me. I'm eating better. I'm starting a new job soon. We're past the darkest night of the year (literally--I hate winter).

And I started reading my own fics, and the comments. I remembered how much fun it was. I got caught up in the story again, remembered how many things I'd written that I didn't get to post yet. I thought of things I could have done better.

So I started a note on my phone, which was how this whole thing started in the first place, and today before bed I just...opened the document. It felt like such a hurdle every day of these past five months, and it was so easy??? But like my therapist said, I don't need to stress about what I "need" to do, I'll do it when I'm ready and capable of doing it. And I did!

I do think I'm going to make a few edits to the older chapters, but nothing major. I probably will do a comprehensive edit at some point, but eventually I want to get to some of the other fics rattling around in my brain. I want to milk as much pain out of this au as I can, first.

I thought starting this chapter would be hard, because of the gap. But I opened the document, and I'd already written a page at some point in the past few months. And it just started flowing? I only stopped because I have to go to sleep.

I really need to go to sleep. Just a few more things. Damn this post is too long. No edits, sorry.

I previously had a basic outline for the rest of the story, but I've fleshed it out a bit, and done myself some favors in terms of planning for consistency and saving myself work later on.

I also started a section in the outline labeled "painful nuggets to include" and it's just little snippets of ideas or phrases or details that are especially agonizing. I'm going to build the rest of the fic around those nuggets. I'm so excited.

Thank you for having me back! Happy to be here.