#i...did not know i was gonna write this

[bangchansbackohmygod]

I think Jeongin is the type that cums a lot. Not frequency, load size. He’s so demure and cute, even in bed, that it takes you by complete surprise. You’re both on the cusp of climaxing, having been locked in a feverish whirlwind of groping and grinding and open-mouthed kisses when you find the boldness to reach your hand into his sweats and pull out his needy cock. He gasps into your mouth and begs for you to keep going, his own hands diving beneath your panties to return the favor. You stroke him once, twice, three times and suddenly he’s biting down on your shoulder with a whimper as he hits his high. Except instead of the dripping splatter of white squirting onto your stomach you’re expecting, a veritable river of cum is pouring out onto your thighs. Jeongin’s eyes are squeezed shut as his shaking hips thrust into the grasp of your hand which has gone still as you stare at the flow that’s somehow still going. It’s a full fifteen seconds before he’s empty, your lower half absolutely soaked in semen as his glazed eyes make their way to yours. As he dips two fingers into you in a semi-lucid act of thanks, you find yourself clenching like crazy, suddenly hyper-sensitive and very aware of every inch between your entrance and your womb. You come undone with your eyes fixed on the mess he left on you, one thought on your mind as your vision goes white: how completely full you’d be if he came like that while he was inside of you.

[daphnalia]

and they were galpals

[synthe4u]

The stress was beginning to seep in. Your eyebags becoming more visible by the day. No one could tell you were more tired than the past week.

You were more quiet and less aggressive in your talking. You seem to have lost your spirit in a way, but of course, the man in the mask figured it out.

Ghost eyed you on the other side of the room. You were bobbing your head, nearly falling asleep before being shaken awake by the slight fall of your body.

You were being distracted by the lights and paid no mind to Ghost's wandering eyes.

It wasn't until around 2100 (9:00pm) when he knocked at your door. You weren't asleep yet. Your light was still on.

Opening the door you asked, "Is something wrong?"

You hadn't changed out of uniform and still seemed out of it.

"Why aren't you asleep?"

"Why are you awake?"

You snapped back at him. You weren't in the mood. You've been tolerable all day, no arguments or fights, but it's clear he came to ruin that.

He stared at you in silence. The mask made him more intimidating which caused you to fess up.

You ran your hands through you hair, frowning in disgust at the knots in your hair.

"Just some family problems is all."

"Losing sleep over your family?"

You sighed, "What do you need?"

"Need you to sleep so we could complete this mission."

"I'm not broken, I can still do the mission."

Silence permeated the hall, other than the occasional fizzle from that one light the base swears isn't broken or haunted.

"Can I come in?"

The door widened a foot further, allowing the masked man inside. You didn't understand why you would let him in. You don't let anyone in your room, at least, not for silly matters like this.

He followed you further into your room after shutting the door, and settled on the side of your bed. You didn't have time to question it before you fell.

Collapsing on the spot, Ghost caught you before the ground could do actual damage to your body.

I guess the sleep had caught up to you, just as Ghost had caught you.

Sleep truly is not for the weak. Stay healthy, guys.

.............................................................................................................

masterlist

[stellamancer]

limitless (satoru gojo x reader)

notes: uh. should be working on my halloween fic lmaoo. but uh. thought i'd bang this out. inspired by a conversation with @shotorus about the names we use to refer to certain characters in narration. lmao.

contains: fem! reader (the only physical trait is that reader is shorter than gojo, gojo almost uses a gendered term for reader, but is cut off), established relationship (me: coughs up blood), typical gojo antics, nickname usage (darling, honey, sweetheart, babe), part of the infinite loop fic verse

wc: around 720

"...I have a question."

You look at Gojo expectantly. Normally, he just says whatever is on his mind without pause, without filter, so you don't get why he's standing on ceremony right now. "Yeah?"

"We're dating, aren't we?" he asks.

You nearly spit out your drink. He's not wrong; for better or worse, he is your boyfriend now. The fact of it is actually kind of unbelievable when you think about it. Not just you dating Satoru Gojo. But you dating Satoru Gojo. If you had told yourself that it would have come to this ten years ago, even five years ago, you would have thought yourself a liar.

Now he's the one giving you the expectant look, his lips curved upward that little smile that always manages to get your blood boiling. The cocky bastard probably just wants you to admit it.

You consider saying 'no' just for the hell of it.

You decide not to. It feels almost as if you’re pulling teeth when you respond, “...we…are.”

Gojo’s mouth puckers and you brace yourself knowing full well that he’s about to start whining about something. There’s always something with this guy…"If we’re dating, then why am I still just 'Gojo' to you? I call you by your first name!"

"You've always called me by my first name," you dead pan.

"That's because I've always loved you!"

You roll your eyes. You know that's a lie, but you don't intend to argue with him— at least not head on because you know that it’s just going to lead to a dead end. "No, you love disregarding proper social etiquette. Or rather, you don't see the point in it."

"Oh, darling, you know me so well!" Gojo gives you a saccharine smile and you almost gag.

"Don't call me that."

He pouts. "Well, if you say I always call you by name, shouldn't I call you something else to show how special you are to me?"

"...no, actually, just my name is fine." A nickname from Gojo sounds dangerous. The thought of being called some cutesy nickname in front of everyone you know is mortifying. In fact, Gojo would do it solely to embarrass you.

So, naturally, he ignores you. "If darling is no good, what about... babe? Honey?"

"Gojo, really, you don't—"

"Sweetheart? My love? Oh, I know, I bet you'd love to be called pr—"

"Satoru."

He immediately stops talking, his mouth hanging open in stunned silence. You didn't think that that would have that much of an effect to be honest. For once, it feels like you have the upper hand. You make sure to savor the moment because you know they are far and few in between.

"Just my name is fine," you repeat. "...okay?"

He gulps and answers, "...okay."

You try not to let your mind linger on the fact that his voice just now was lower than usual. "Good. So—"

"Say it again."

You blink. "Huh."

"My name," Gojo says, his voice thick with emotion. "Say it again."

When you don't say anything he takes a step toward you, the infinite cosmos in his eyes staring you down. You feel defiant. It's not fair of him to ask you anything when he looks and sounds like this. Gojo takes another step closer and you think that if you're adamant about not giving in to him you better do it before he gets too close.

"You've... " you start and hate how breathless you sound. This bastard knows exactly what he’s doing to you. "You've hit your daily limit."

Gojo pouts and takes another step. "Well, that's not fair."

"You're not fair," you retort.

He doesn't argue and you take that as Gojo admitting that he's playing dirty. "I think you should up the limit."

You hold your ground as he takes one more step closer.. "No. You think there shouldn't be a limit."

Gojo chuckles and leans down to bridge the rest of the distance between you. He cups your cheek, bringing your face closer to him. Your breath stills as you feel his own on you and it’s damn near intoxicating. His mouth is barely touching yours and your thoughts shift from trying to keep the banter going to how the slightest movement from either of you will result in a kiss.

“You’re right,” he murmurs, lips brushing against yours. “There shouldn’t.”

[luxaofhesperides]

We Are Robins meeting to Signal apprehending Danny ; requested by @zylev-blog!

“Hey, Danny. How are you feeling?”

Danny gives Duke a tired smile, his head falling back against the wall. He’s sitting up today, which is good. It’s definitely an improvement from the many days Danny was unable to do much but lie down and grit his teeth through the pain as Duke checked on the gunshot wound. It’s a good thing Danny’s a meta with a healing factor, or nothing Duke could have done would have saved him.

As it is, the wound was severe enough to keep Danny vulnerable and unable to move on his own without making it worse. Though Duke has looked, he hasn’t had any luck in finding whoever did this to Danny. He hasn’t brought it up to the rest of the We Are Robin gang, but only because Danny only let him help if he kept it between the two of them.

What’s another secret? If it lets him stay close to Danny and make sure he’s healing well, then he’ll keep quiet and carry on the search by himself. He’s got plenty of practice in doing things on his own.

“Busy out there?” Danny asks as Duke sits down next to him, dropping his backpack onto the ground. 

“Yeah, it’s tough with the cops after us, but someone needs to help Gotham and with Batman gone…”

A pained expression crossed Danny’s face. Eyeing him carefully, Duke opened his backpack and pulled out a few protein bars and sports drinks for him. Once Danny takes them and began eating one, Duke takes out the first aid kit, always kept at the bottom of the backpack, and sets it in front of Danny.

The most he can do is offer supplies and company at this stage of Danny’s healing. He gets twitchy and tense when Duke tries to tend to his wound, and seems to have plenty of practice in patching himself up. 

He didn’t answer when Duke commented on it once, so Duke let the matter drop. 

Metas may have legal protection, but that doesn’t stop people from targeting them. Duke has no intention of pushing Danny into remembering unpleasant things while he’s already wounded, hiding out in the upper corner of an abandoned warehouse taken over by a group of homeless people. Most aren’t inside during the day, choosing instead to be out with the rest of the city, which leaves them alone. 

Duke keeps an eye on the ground floor of the warehouse, making sure no one comes in while Danny tends to his wound. When he peeks back, he can see that it’s much smaller than it was the night Duke found him, crawling down an alley with one hand clutching his side, tears slipping down his face. There had been so much blood that Duke was sure he had just stumbled upon someone dying and froze, horrified. 

And then a shout down the road prompted him to move, hauling Danny up and helping him into the warehouse to hide. 

For a normal person, if it didn’t kill them, the wound would still be raw and bleeding, larger than any gunshot wound he’s seen before. But Danny’s wound is closing up quickly, no longer bleeding, the edges a healing pink.

It doesn’t look like it’s going to scar, either. 

“Think it’ll be all healed up by the end of the week?”

Danny glances up, then continues covering it with new bandage, large enough to cover the entire wound. “Hopefully,” he says. “Then I’ll be out of your hair and can figure out a way to get home.”

“Your folks gonna look out for you?”

“Probably. I’m not planning on telling them, though, since they’ll get way too overprotective. The only reason they’re not tearing Gotham apart looking for me is because I came here with my godfather and he told them we’d be gone for two weeks. Can’t believe he tried to kill me on day one…”

“Your godfather tried to kill you?”

“Yeah. Not personally, or anything, but he definitely hired the guy who shot me. Though he also yelled at him for shooting me? Not sure what that’s about, but I never trusted the guy and he didn’t try to help me afterwards when I ran away, so. You know.”

Duke wants to have a conversation with Danny’s godfather. Maybe bring the other Robins along to make sure the message sinks in: Don’t touch Danny.

But Danny, acting so casual about his godfather trying to kill him, would be unhappy about it, and Duke would really rather be able to take care of him than be shut out for trying to take control of the situation.

“Shit, man, that sucks,” he offers, instead of prying for details so he can hunt down his godfather. “You want a hug or something? I can’t really do much else, but if it can make you feel better about all this…”

Danny brightens and shoves the first aid kit away, his shirt (one of Duke’s old ones he offered up to replace the bloodstained one) falling to cover the bandage. “Please. I would love a hug, dude, I don’t remember the last time I felt so lonely.”

Carefully, Duke wraps his arms around Danny, leaning back so Danny could relax fully and not worry about holding himself up. Danny sighs into the hug, going fully limp as he drops his forehead onto Duke’s shoulder.

“Thanks for this. And everything,” Danny says some time later. He doesn’t move to pull away, so Duke stays as he is, watching the weak sunlight slowly move across the warehouse as it spills in from dirty windows. 

“You don’t need to thank me. I mean, I’m a Robin.” He brings up a hand to tap a finger against the R embroidered into his jacket. “It’s what we’re here for.”

.

.

.

It’s been years since he saw Danny. After he was fully healed, Duke helped him get to city limits, watching as he boarded a bus and disappeared down the road, leaving his life just as suddenly as he entered it.

After spending so much time together, quiet hours of stillness just looking out for each other, his life feels emptier without Danny in it. He knew it wouldn’t last, that Danny would go home eventually, but it didn’t make the parting any easier.

Even now, as Signal, taking a break from going on missions with the Outsiders to spend some time with the Bats, his thoughts drift towards Danny, wondering if he’s alright. In his darker moments, he wonders if Danny’s godfather has tried to kill him again, if he’s succeeded. In calmer, happier moments, he remembers Danny’s quiet stories about his family, his town, all his dreams and hopes for the future, remembers the easy company and how Danny didn’t look at him with pity when talked about his parents, just quiet and contemplative. 

Sometimes, he can’t resist the urge to look him up, but there are so many Danny’s out there that he doesn’t know where to start. He never got Danny’s last name or learned when he came from.

It’s not like he can just ask the Bats for help finding a guy he knew for two weeks before he ever joined them. They’re all busy with their own missions, and definitely don’t have time for Duke’s reminiscing. 

“Just caught sight of the truck entering city limits,” Oracle says in his ear. “It’s heading towards the Coventry.”

“On it. Any movement from the mobs?”

“None yet. I expect this to change soon. Red Hood and Black Bat are patrolling nearby if you need backup.”

“Got it. Signal out.”

His comline shuts with a little click, and then he’s grappling over the roof tops, keeping an eye on the roads in search of the truck. He doesn’t have time to think of Danny anymore, not when a shipment of new, experimental weapons is passing through Gotham. Spoiler had heard a few whispers of it and Red Robin helped find more solid details; the mobs are all looking to take the shipment for themselves in an attempt to get the upper hand in the nonstop fight for control of Gotham’s streets. 

It’s passing through during the day, visible and a good move to keep from being ambushed at night, but it’s not enough to stop mobs hoping to take out their competition with new weapons. Duke enters the Coventry just as his comline beeps once and Oracle begins giving him specific directions, along with a brief description of what the truck looks like. 

Apparently, the weapons are being moved in a U-Haul rental truck. That is… certainly a Choice™ to make for moving weapons around the country.

He follows it from the rooftops, but nothing happens. The truck passes through the Coventry without incident and takes a turn that keeps it away from Crime Alley and the Bowery. It gets to the middle of East End then pulls to a stop in the parking lot of a diner. 

Two people get out and stretch, then head in to get something to eat.

It would be the perfect time for someone to break in. Duke pulls the light over himself, manipulating it to make him disappear from sight as he looks down from the edge of the rooftop, tense and prepared for anything.

He almost doesn’t see it at first. It’s just a flicker, a flash of color, a shift in the shadows across the street. But he does see it, even if he can’t find it again, and drops down from the roof, creeping towards the truck.

Duke waits, holding his breath, off to the side of the parking lot. 

A minute passes. And then a figure materializes out of thin air, floating right behind the truck. All Duke can see is white hair and a black body suit; they’re either a meta or an alien, but either way, Duke is ready to take them down.

The figure lifts their hands and a bolt of neon green energy hits the truck, melting the back and leaving a large hole that gives them direct access to the weapons. And then they shoot again, destroying the weapons.

“Phantom!” someone shouts, and the truck driver comes tearing out of the restaurant, a white gun in his hand. His companion follows, her gun also out, and the begin shooting. 

Phantom dodges the blasts, then vanishes from sight. He reappears behind them a moment later, tackling back of them into the side of the truck. 

“No you don’t!” Duke say, rushing forward as he pulls at the shadows around him then sends them racing towards Phantom, restraining them. The driver and his companion collapse onto the ground, groaning weakly, and Duke grits his teeth. “O, send someone to look after the people moving the weapons. Apprehending an attacker now.”

He doesn’t wait to hear a response, tightening the shadow’s grip on Phantom, who struggles fiercely.

“We can do this the hard way, or the easy way,” he says, pulling Phantom closer to him.

Phantom doesn’t answer. They just scream, the force of it making Duke fall back. His shadows dissipate, and Phantom flies up.

“Get back here!”

Duke gives chase, dropping in and out of shadows, throwing some at Phantom in the hopes of catching him again. But Phantom is fast and it takes all he has to keep up as they cross Gotham.

He thought Phantom was flying around blindly, but the way they move across the roofs and then through the streets are too confident, too focused to be anything other than someone with a destination in mind. But where? Where could they be going? If they’ve been in Gotham, then Duke would have heard of them.

A flying, powerful meta with a multitude of powers? Yeah, he would have known about them.

Phantom flies through a wall and Duke curses, going onto the roof and looking around, waiting to see them fly out. But they don’t and Duke finds a broken skylight to drop in from, landing on the support beams of the warehouse, well above the ground.

He knows the warehouse, he realizes suddenly. It’s the warehouse Danny hid in while he was healing. Duke hasn’t been back in years.

“Just listen to me, please,” a voice says behind him, and Duke tense, spinning around to face Phantom, floating just out of reaching distance. “Those weapons are dangerous. No one should have them, it’s why I had to destroy them. Please, you can’t let them get those weapons out.”

Duke stares. Something about Phantom is familiar. The shape of his face, maybe. His voice. Maybe it’s just because he’s in the warehouse again, with someone pleading for his help.

Maybe it’s all in his mind.

“Danny?”

Phantom flinches, floating back a few inches. “What— How—”

“What happened? Is it your godfather again?”

“My— Duke? Is that you?!”

He definitely shouldn’t be doing this, but Danny’s here. Danny’s here in front of him, needing help, and he doesn’t need the Signal. He needs Duke.

He pulls off his helmet and lifts his bare face to Danny.

“Oh,” Danny breathes. “Well. I guess I should have known you’d be a hero. Can you help me one last time?”

“Yeah, of course Danny. Tell me what you need.”

“Those weapons, they were first made to kill me and others like me. It’s a whole thing I don’t have time to explain. But they’ve been changed to affect humans, all types of people, as well. I can survive a few hits from those weapons, but for most people, it would kill them instantly. I need to destroy all of them and stop any further production before the rest of the world gets a hold of them.”

“That’s why you—”

“They have to be destroyed,” Danny says. “And the people making and selling them need to be stopped. I can’t do it on my own. I’ve tried, but…”

“I’ll help,” Duke says, “I’ll help. This is a big enough problem to bring the Outsiders into it. Or the Bats, but they like to stay in Gotham.”

Danny floats closer, looking painfully relieved. “Really? They’ll be able to put an end to this?”

Duke reaches for him. “Yeah. they can do it. I’ll make sure of it.”

Danny’s feet land on the support beam as his hand meets Duke’s. They balance above the rest of the warehouse, drinking in the sight of each other. Duke rubs his thumb over Danny’s knuckles in soothing circles and watches as the tension begins to fall away from Danny’s shoulders.

“Duke,” he whispers, “I’ve missed you—”

The door below is kicked open, and a gunshot rings out. 

Moving on instinct, Duke tackles Danny, wrapping him up in his arms as they fall off the support beam. They hit the ground hard, rolling a bit, and Duke tucks Danny into his chest, bodily protecting him.

“Narrows!” 

The Red Hood stands over him, menacing, a gun pointed at him. 

“Hood?” He loosens his grip on Danny. “What the hell was that for?” 

“Thought you needed back up. You chased after our guy and lost your helmet, I think I’m right to be a little worried about you. So, who’s this?” There’s a hard edge to his voice, and Duke realizes with a sinking heart that all anyone else sees is an aggressor, a meta who attacked a truck full of weapons, attacked two people, and had to be chased down by the Signal. Jason’s seeing a threat and acting accordingly, putting Duke’s safety first. 

And with his helmet off, identity clear, Danny’s even more dangerous now that he has this knowledge.

“I’m sorry,” Danny whispers to Duke. He doesn’t have time to ask for what? before Danny’s shooting another beam of green energy at Jason then taking off, flying through the roof and out of sight.

“Shit,” Jason mutters, straightening up from where he ducked to avoid being hit, then puts his gun away and kneels next to Duke. “You alright? Why’d you let him go? I thought you had him.”

“I’m fine. He’s not… He wasn’t going to hurt me. He just needed help.”

“Sure. And what are you not telling me?”

“I knew him. He’s a good person, but he’s been in danger for a long time. This was him trying to protect others from what he went through.”

Jason takes off the helmet and stares at him. Then he sighs and reaches a hand down to help Duke to his feet. “Alright,” he says, “Let’s head back to the truck. You have until then to convince me that they’re the problem, and if they are, then I’ll help you blow up more of their weapons.” He claps a hand on Duke’s shoulder, then pulls his helmet back on. “Grab your helmet. We’re wasting daylight, Narrows.”

There’s nothing else he can do, no way to search for Danny when there are other leads to chase, so Duke grapples up to the catwalk where his helmet landed and grabs it.

Just before he puts it on, he sees a flicker of white just outside the window he’s facing. He ducks his head to hide a smile. It’s almost like he’s stepped back in time; Danny’s here in Gotham, needing help and asking for it in the warehouse. 

And though so much has changed in those years, there’s still one thing that Duke will ensure never changes: he’s Danny’s hero. Above Robin, or Signal, or anything else, Duke is Danny’s hero.

This time, he has the power to actually help Danny. He’s going to make sure no one ever hurts Danny again.

“Let’s go,” he says, jumping back down to Jason, helmet on. “I’ll tell you everything you need to know.”

[franeridart]

The Housecat Philosophy - Ep 37

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[mingirn]

heavenly

lee minho x reader

genres: smut, some fluff

warnings: smut, grinding, dry humping, some dirty talk, getting off on the way someone smells, gender neutral reader

notes: titled after the song heavenly by cigarettes after sex

word count: 1,7k

”You smell good,” you say quietly, nose squished against his neck and lips brushing over the collar of his t-shirt as you speak.

”I smell good?” he asks, and you hum. ”Like my perfume? Or just the fact that this shirt is fresh from the wash?”

Minhos voice is humorous, underneath the softness of it he’s poking fun at you.

”Yeah, but also just- you. Your skin, your breath, your hair, your sweat, everything.”

Your hand is under his shirt, resting on his side. His naked skin is so smooth and warm, and with your eyes closed you can recall exactly what it’d feel like to kiss the skin thats underneath your hand. You know exactly what he feels like, every inch of him, you know every little spot on his body from the countless times you’ve kissed all over him. You know what he smells like too, whether he’s just gotten out of the shower and his skin smells like the bodywash he uses, or if he’s just woken up and he smells of sleep. You even love the way he smells when he comes to see you right after practice, when he hasn’t yet washed up and he just smells like himself.

”You’re crazy,” he laughs softly above you, while his fingers stroke over your hair. His voice reverberates through his chest and sounds a little lower when you lay on his chest like this. Everything about this, about him, feels like so much right now. His smell in your nose, his body in your hands, his touch on you, his leg between yours, the very warmth of him so close.

You scoot a little further up, aligning your chest with his so you can burrow into his neck, the tip of your nose brushing against his ear. You give him a quick kiss there, just where his ear meets his jaw and neck, and he shivers from the sudden contact in a place you know he’s sensitive.

Minho must be able to tell that your breath has gotten a little heavier, but he’s kind enough to say nothing of it. You bury your face in his neck, inhaling the scent of his skin. He smells best here, somehow stronger than any other place on his body, here it’s just so richly Minho. Without even thinking you hitch your hand higher, moving from his side up to his chest, letting his shirt bunch around your arm and reveal the skin of his stomach. He smells so good it’s almost makes you dizzy, having all your senses be so full of just him.

”Do you like this?” he asks suddenly. He has dropped the tone he had earlier, no longer teasing you but sounding genuinely curious, or just entirely oblivious. It’s not the first time you’ve commented on his smell, nor the second or the third, and Minho should be more than aware of his effect on you at this point. The fact that he somehow doesn’t know, or perhaps didn’t really realize the depth of it until now has you whining silently into his neck.

”Yeah, I thought you knew,” you mumble sheepishly, pushing closer to Minho as if you’d somehow be able to sink into him to avoid the embarrassment.

”I knew you liked the way I smell. Fuck, I love the way you smell too. I just.. didn’t know you liked it this much,” Minho says.

”Mm, what?”

”This much,” he states, grabbing onto your hips. ”You’re grinding against me.”

Minho is right, but until now you hadn’t noticed the unconscious pull of your hips against his thigh. Suddenly, you become aware of your own body, before you’d been preoccupied taking Minho in, feeling him underneath you and trying to drink in as much of him as you can. Now, you feel pleasant warmth spread through your body, pooling together between your legs where you’re far too effected by all this and somehow you still can’t make yourself stop, even though your boyfriend has drawn attention to it.

”Oh my god,” you whine in embarrassment. Your hips stutter as you try to will yourself to stop, but it just won’t happen, your lips are brushing against the skin of Minhos neck every time you take a breath and he still smells so fucking good, you just can’t bring yourself to stop. Then, you feel his hands wrap around your hips further, fingers digging into the side of your ass, and you realize he’s helping you guide your hips.

”That’s it, there you go,” he says softly. His voice is right by your ear, so close it sends shivers down your spine. ”You should have told me you like it this much.”

”What?” you manage to spit out, trying desperately to stay focused in the moment.

This is something Minho likes to do. He talks to you, asks you questions and makes little statements he fully expects you to answer. He words them like he’s not helping you grind yourself into his thigh, and he’ll do the same when he’s fucking you, not relenting until he’s gotten the reply he wants. It makes you just a little dizzy, how he stays so composed when he’s got you falling apart in his arms and your head always feels so light when you think about how much control he has, not just over you but of himself too.

”If I had known you liked my smell this much I think we could have had some more fun with it,” he says, and you can hear it on his voice that he’s smirking.

”Fuck,” you breathe out. ”What- what fun?”

”Something like this. Or maybe I’d skip showering at the studio, if I knew I’d come home and get you to be like this for me.”

Minho lifts his leg a little, pushing his thigh further between your legs so you have no choice but to ride it. The new angle makes your breath hitch, it feels even better like this and Minho is still controlling your hips, making you yearn for a lot more than just his thigh.

”Really turns me on to know how you get for me, you know that right?” he says. You can tell that he’s hard against the side of your leg, but Minho still grabs your hand and places it over his shorts to make sure you can feel how hard he is. He speaks again, ”Fuck, it makes me so hard, can you feel that? Just for you.”

”Minho, please, please-” you choke out, mouth against his neck. He understands you somehow, reads your mind in that stupid Minho way, and weaves his fingers into the hair at the back of your neck so he can pull you up and then he kisses you.

It’s messy and desperate, even Minho is starting to lose himself and he kisses you as if he’s never kissed before. He’s all tongue and teeth, tasting you and moaning into your mouth when your tongue meets his. It shouldn’t feel as good as it does, but the hurried kisses make your head feel like it’s spinning and all that’s repeating inside of it is Minho saying just for you, just for you, just for you.

It hasn’t been long, you know that, but you’re already starting to get close. Even though your underwear and his shorts are seperating you from feeling him, there’s something so intense about this and about Minho that it hardly matters, and you know it won’t be long until he’s got you making a mess in your underwear. It has your hips faltering a little, unable to keep up with how good it feels. Luckily Minho still has a hold on you, and when he notices that it’s getting harder for you to keep composed he lets go of your head to keep both hands on your hips.

”Don’t stop,” he murmurs into the kiss. You moan into his mouth, a lot too loud and a lot too desperate. ”Want you to be good and cum for me like this, okay? Can you do that?”

You nod fervently, stuttering out something between a ’yes’ and a sob, and he rewards you with a kiss. You lean your forehead against his, eyes shut tight and hands fumbling to get a hold of anything to get your bearings. You want him as close as possibly and somehow this, his mouth mere millimeters from yours, swallowing your breath, isn’t enough.

”Minho, Minho, please. Please, I’m so close-”

”Baby, you can cum whenever you want. Come on, sweetheart, want you to cum for me,” he speaks softly, his own breath erratic from being so worked up.

He starts thrusting up, meeting your hips so you don’t have to do any work, Minho does it all for you when he can tell you’re about to cum. It’s this that finally does it for you, his hands holding you and his hips meeting yours just like he does when he fucks you like this.

Your breath catches in your throat, too overwhelmed and sensitive and still cumming, and Minho doesn’t stop for a second, just talking you through it with mumbles of ”I’ve got you, you’re so good, there you go, angel”.

Your legs are shaking when you finally come down, vision unblurring and lungs catching air again. Minho is rocking his hips ever so slightly to help you ride it out, and when you return to your senses you can feel the cum that’s soaked through your underwear and probably now stains his shorts.

”Oh my god,” you breathe out, slumping down on him. He laughs quietly, stroking your hair and craning his head to kiss your forehead softly. You continue, ”Thank you, Minho, what the fuck.”

”Thank you,” he says. ”I think I’m gonna have a lot of fun with this.”

”Oh, shut up!” You squeeze his arm a little, a pathetic attempt at being intimidating, but your fingers feel fuzzy and you’re still regaining your strength.

”It’s just because I love you so much, you know,” you say. He hums lowly at this, and yet again you know he’s smiling without having to look at him.

”I love you too,” he says. ”Always.”

[whynotimtired]

The best part of Will saying he wants forever with Mike so blatantly is that he isn't the one who brought it up, Mike was. In an act of projection he asks "What did you think? That we'd actually get to be together forever? When we're both boys?" and will says yes. He says yes, and Mike immediately regrets it.

[carnivalcarriondiscarded]

the most Dog ever. or. dog shaped Thing ever

[carionto]

Everything gets recycled in Human space. Everything.

When we from the Coalition made first contact with Humanity, their space was a disaster in waiting - countless pieces of debris from jettisoned thrusters, random junk from individual space wannabes, and dead satellites that failed to enter a descent orbit, among other objects.

During the period before they and Earth vanished, it became an almost impassable barrier even without our containment measure.

From what the Humans have told and shown us, after they had that massive explosion that burst trillions of tons of the surface and mantle up, the sky was almost constantly dark. One of the first priorities they set was cleaning that up immediately or life on Earth was heading for a fatal ice age. And so they did, in spite of all other calamities happening at once, they put forth enough time, energy and resources to create their extraordinary Orbital Cleaner Crews.

For decades thousands of volunteers went up to man various harvesters, pilot drones, manage processing efforts, and often manually fix problems on the spot. The sheer chaos made predictive navigation and communication of any kind nigh impossible. It was suicide, as well as a complex and delicate task. Not to mention the fact that the Human population had been reduced to less than a billion, with all the associated challenges on the surface. Still, during a time of calamity and uncertainty for their future as a whole, some Humans stepped up to do what had to be done to preserve their future.

Most died on duty, only once most of the chaos had been dealt with did the mortality rate drop below 80%. The memorial for their sacrifice is a humble yet humbling small docking ring with all the surviving vessels and equipment they used parked and locked in stasis, and the names of each engraved on the outside hulls. If there is one thing that unites all civilizations across the galaxy, it is the culture of remembrance.

The result of their effort was an Earth that would not freeze to death, and their legacy is the unmatched professionalism and thoroughness of the OCC. Every object not planet-side is tracked. Regular scanner sweeps find anything as small as an iron atom that shouldn't be there, and within days any newfound junk is picked up and sent to the most relevant station for recovery, recycling, or reuse.

Even the maddening process of their planet crackers as they tear up moon after moon to be used in their insane projects doesn't leave a speck of dust afterwards. Everything has value, be it sentimental or practical, and nothing is left on the wayside.

When it comes to keeping their space clean of junk, Humans have become obsessively compulsive.

[jtl-fics]

Fluent Freshman - Part 19

PREVIOUS

There’s a couple things about FF that might be good to know at this point.

1. There are few things in the world he hates doing more than asking for clarification or admitting he doesn’t understand / know something. The thought of going up to someone and admitting that he hasn’t perfectly comprehended the situation upon the first explanation is something makes his stomach twist like he’d just eaten Mango-Habanero ice cream.

He has figured out his own math theorems in the pursuit of not having to ask the math teacher to explain he doesn’t understand. He got lost in an Ikea once for over 6 grueling hours where he considered making a home there and living among the display rooms until his grandma grabbed him by the ear and dragged him to safety (the food court) and let him regain his strength (eat Swedish meatballs). He, to this day, is not sure about one of his foreign language friend’s names (how embarrassing he just keeps waiting for someone else to say it but they go by some insane nickname).

So he has become a master of piecing shit together on his own. He sometimes gets it wrong (Andrew, god how embarrassing) but for the most part 8 times out of 10 he can get to the right answer if he just has a couple pieces to work with. No one had ever actually explained to him how Exy works and he was too embarrassed to ask after the third week of practice in middle school so he just pieced together what he was and was not allowed to do through the art of trial and error. He’s even mostly pieced out the rules for the other positions.

So with the information he has gotten through people being bound and determined to talk in foreign languages in front of him he has an idea about the tenuous situation some of the older Foxes find themselves in.

He’s heard Kevin Day and Jean Moreau talk in French.

He’s heard that the anxiety in both of their voices as they talked about their futures and owing 80% of their salaries to the ‘Moriyamas’ and how nervous they were about getting on professional teams or else they’d be killed.

Captain Neil and Andrew are not always using Russian to talk dirty.

He’s heard Andrew soothe Captain Neil’s worries about playing for a professional team. He’s heard Captain Neil mention that at least ‘Ichirou’ would likely just kill him and not make a game out of it like his father did.

Organized Crime might have more to do with Exy than FF had originally thought.

(He had thought it. Plenty of times he had thought it but his Gran had warned him that he was overthinking things. That he wasn’t playing a sport invented by the Mafia. That he had caffeinated coffee instead of decaf. “It’s going to be okay sweetie. Just take a deep breath.”)

This leads into the second thing you should know at this point.

2.  Before he had signed with Wymack he had known the broad strokes of Captain Neil’s life. There had been a lot of news articles about it and Gran (bless her) loved trashy gossip magazines.

After he had signed with the Foxes he had done a bit of a deep dive on as many of their controversies as he could find. There’d been things from brawls on the court (worrying), player overdoses (concerning), a straight up MURDER (Oh god), and the very public breaking of the King of Exy’s arm resulting in his suicide (Warranted, that wacko was going to take off Captain Neil’s HEAD.)

But the thing that had made him actually a little bit, dare he admit, excited to go to Palmetto was the fact that Captain Neil was there.

For someone who froze for almost a decade, who just took it and didn’t have the balls to even react? Neil Josten is an inspiration.

This is someone who got away, who lived a life completely unlike FF’s, someone who knew how to run and more impressively someone who learned how to FIGHT. Captain Neil was being hunted but he still ripped people to shreds in interviews. Captain Neil was probably more scared of the Butcher than FF had been of anything in his entire life but Captain Neil was way braver than FF could ever hope to be.

Captain Neil was taken and tortured but he still fought. FF had seen the scars and Captain Neil is right to wear them proudly (though based on some conversations he has unfortunately overheard he is sure Andrew may have a role in Neil’s positive feelings about them).

FF had thought that he was being lead to his death down in a basement of a club (Don’t cringe. Don’t cringe. Don’t cringe. Don’t-) and he just trailed right behind the two of them without even an illusion of a fight.

Neil Abram Josten was a bit of a personal hero.

He’s proud to call him Captain Neil. He wishes Andrew hadn’t been there when Greg had mentioned wanting autographs because FF wants an autograph from Captain Neil but now Andrew has probably mentioned it to Neil.

Long story short, FF had looked into a lot of details on Captain Neil’s case.

Including two of the Butcher’s top men who were still on the loose.

Romero Malcolm and Jackson Plank.

He keeps his presence low but no matter how many times he blinks the man grumbling in Italian next to him continues to be Romero Malcolm.

Moreover Romero Malcolm continues to grumble about the fact that he is having a hard time finding ‘Nathaniel’ and that he’ll have to grab one of ‘The Wesninski brat’s friends’ to draw him out.

FF is a recently confirmed friend of Captain Neil.

FF who is standing next to this man, with his dick out, and trying to remain as invisible as possible.

After two shakes (Yes he was watching but only because he had to! He wonders briefly if he goes to the FBI if they would accept a description of Romero Malcolm’s penis for the wanted poster? Probably not but it is BURNED into his retinas.)

He watches as Romero tucks, zips, and then bypasses the sink entirely.

FF shivers at how unhygienic that is. Who RAISED him?

The door shuts and FF needs to get out of here ASAP but his hands are shaking with the sudden adrenaline of ’One of the FBI’s Most Wanted just took a piss next to me and is looking for me friend’. He pulls his phone from his pocket and ducks into one of the stalls. Even if there’s no door it’ll at least FEEL a little safer, a little more private. He needs to warn Neil, Warn Andrew, and warn-

The door to the bathroom SLAMS open and music blares in (palms are sweaty, knees weak, arms are heavy-) and his phone slips out of his hands and into the toilet. There are footsteps coming towards him and FF digs deep.

He’s in ultra stealth mode. He is the wall behind the wallpaper. Mantis shrimp can only dream of the color he becomes, the United States military have the CIA on the look out for him because he’s fallen off all conventional forms of radar and tracking.

He is a bargain fruit platter on a dessert table at a kid’s birthday party.

He is ULTRA stealth.

Romero’s gaze glides over him.

Then the man leaves (STILL DID NOT WASH HIS HANDS).

His heart is hammering in his chest but he manages to reach down and grab his phone. Well, Coach Wymack had gotten the extended warranty at least. (“Do you know what these fuckers do to phones? Josten crushed his last year in a fight with the Baseball team captain.”)

His phone’s extended dip into the toilet water had not done it any favors in working properly.

Well fuck.

He wipes his phone down the best he can. He wipes his phone down with some toilet paper before cramming it into his pocket (Sorry Nicky, he’ll wash the toilet water pants if they survive).

He sees a flyer on the wall of the bathroom and starts to think of a plan.

He rushes out of the bathroom (he still washes his hands because he will not have something in common with a man on the FBI’s most wanted list and he just dipped his hand into a CLUB TOILET) and clocks Nicky’s wild arm movements and WORSE clocks Romero just 10 clubbers away.

He sees Romero’s eyes lock onto Nicky and a smile that terrifies him.

He’s out of Ultra Stealth Mode even if every atom in his body wants to run.

He is so stressed and panicked that he has gone beyond his body’s ability to process that so all that is left is determination. He’s got a head full of a half-baked plan, a hand going to his pocket, a second hand on the only ‘weapon’ he has on him, and a stomach full of acid.

He’s pulling his phone out of his pocket before he can really let himself think about it and walking up next to where Romero is standing. He holds his toilet water phone up to his ear and does the one weird social anxiety thing that he had never done before.

He pretends to be on a phone call.

“Hey Captain Neil,” he says and in the corner of his eye he can see Romero’s gaze shift from Nicky (surrounded by an adoring public, covered in sweat and therefore difficult to grab - a difficult target) to himself (alone, shorter, and probably looking like he’s about to pass out). “Yeah I think I’m going to take a break outside after I grab quick drink and then a water at the bar.” He says because he has to be the easier target and he has to go to the bar. “Yeah, yeah, okay I’ll mention it to that bartender guy.” He says and pretends to hang up.

He turns and he walks towards the bar and feels his pulse in his throat go to the beat of the music (success is my only motherfucking option, failure’s not).

He only knows about the alley because in the car ride to Sweetie’s Nicky had mentioned that he wouldn’t let FF’s first time be out there. He had been embarrassed but it was the only way he knew to get Romero out of the club and away from where he could hurt Captain Neil or anyone else in the pursuit of that.

He spots the bartender who had gotten the drinks for their table and his mind completely blanks on the name but the bartender sees him and smiles. “Oh you’re Neil and Andrew’s new friend! What can I help you with? I thought you were-“

“Hi, yes I am Captain Neil and Andrew’s friend.” He says a little loudly because he can feel Romero behind him and he does NOT want the man to know anything about where Captain Neil was.

“Captain Neil? Oh wow that’s adorable.” The man gushes. “What can I help you with? I won’t ask for ID for one of their friends.” He winks.

“I’d like to order the uh…” he tries to remember the exact drink name from the flyer, “…the deluxe chocolate martini?” He asks and knows he got it right when the bartender’s expression shifts ever so slightly.

“Oh yeah, how do Andrew and Neil feel about that?” He asks and oh great a coded conversation. It’s nice to actually be having a real one of these for once instead of just perceiving normal conversations to have hidden meanings.

“They don’t know. They probably prefer that I order it instead of Nicky or Aaron.” He lets his eyes dart to the wide where he believes Romero is watching him.

“I don’t know if that’s true.” The bartender says, “Nicky knows how to handle a drink and Aaron’s not a lightweight either.” He adds.

FF struggles to find a coded way to say ‘It’s not that someone’s hitting on me too hard like the flyer mentioned. It’s that there’s a mafia hitman in your club.’

Finally after a moment, “It’s not the usual kind of drink they get.” He tries and the bartender looks confused by the statement, dammit. He struggles to find a different way to say it before the bartender smiles.

“Y’know you’re really cute.” He reaches under the bar top and grabs a piece of paper and a pen. “How about you write down your number for me cutie? We can meet up sometime.” He says. “I’ll get started on that chocolate martini for you.” He says.

HE COULD KISS THIS MAN.

“I’d like that.” He says.

He writes out a quick message on the small note paper.

‘Armed. After Neil. Looked at Nicky. I’m going to the back alley. Phone is dead.’

The bartender comes back and looks at his note. “We’re out of chocolate martini mix, can I get you something-“ He hopes the club lighting obscures how pale the man got, “something else?” He asks and FF can SEE his pulse.

“Can I just get some water then?” He asks.

The bartender nods and pulls up his phone and hopefully is dialing the police and hands FF a water. His hand grabs hold of FF’s “You don’t need to go out into the alley. You could hang in the backroom with me?” He offers.

There really are some kind people in the world.

“I think it’s better if I’m not in here for a bit.” He says back and honestly he needs this kindness and he has a spare bit of courage, “What’s your name by the way? Sorry I missed it.” He says.

The bartender swallows, “It’s Roland.” He says.

“Thanks Roland.” He twists the cap off of the water bottle and takes a sip.

He turns and pretends not to notice how Romero is trying to be inconspicuous pretending to be on his phone.

He makes his way over to the alley door and notices that Romero is tracking his movements but is not following him like he did to the bar.

His heart is pounding and he can’t BELIEVE he’s doing this. He wants to run, wants to hide somewhere, wants to become imperceptible but…but…

He opens the door to the alley as the bass of the remixed song finishes.

(You can do anything you set your mind to, man)

He lets the door slam behind him and he is alone in the alley.

He was not expecting a van to come to a screeching halt in front of the entrance and for a different face to appear climbing out of the car.

Jackson Plank.

FF looks at the ugly smile on the man as he walks towards him with a knife in hand.

Okay now what genius?

MASTERPOST FOR ALL PARTS OF FLUENT FRESHMAN AU

NEXT

5/26/23: EDITED. Can’t believe I forgot to put the Captain in front of Neil’s name on the meme. I’m blaming the accidental early awakening.

Per your requests:

@i-have-three-feelings​ @blep-23​ @dreamerking27​ @andreilsmyreligion​ @belodensetdust​ @rainbowpineapplebottle @yarn-ace​ @iwouldlikesometea @lily-s-world​ @obscureshipsandchips​ @booklover242​ @whataboutmyfries​ @sahturnos​ @pluto-pepsi​ @dreamerthinker​ @passinhosdetartaruga​ @leftunknownheart​ @aro-manita-muscaria @hologramsaredead​ @Chaoticgremlinswishtheycouldbeme @tntwme​ @tayspots @nick-scar​ @crazy-fangirl2524​ @blue-jos10​ @stabbyfoxandrew​ @splishsplashyouropinionistrash​ @sammichly​ @the-broken-pen​ @bitchesdoweknowu​ @very-small-flower​ @ghostlyboiii​ @its-a-paxycab​ @bisexual-genderfluid-fan​ @cheesecookie​ @theoneandonlylostsock​ @foxsoulcourt​ @blueleys @adverbialstarlight​ @elia-nna​ @can-i-just-stay-in-the-corner​ @nikodiangel​ @foxandcrow-inatrenchcoat​ @hallucinatedjosten​ @satanic-foxhole-court​ @vexingcosmos​ @chalilodimun​ @insectsgetcooked​ @angry-kid-with-no-money​ @queer-crows​ @lillyndra​ @themugglemudperson​ @readertodeath​ @apileofpillows​ @mortalsbowbeforeme​ @hellomynameismoo​ @next-level-mess @youreonlylow​ @interstellarfig​ @notprocrastinatingatalltoday​ @percyjacksonfan3​ @queenofcrazy27​ @bsmr261 @ghostlyscares​ @spencellio​ @adinthedarkroom​ @harpymoth​ @sufferingjustalilbit​ @anxietymoss​ @oddgreyhound​ @ohno-myhyperfixation-itsbroken​ @ken22789​ @atiredvampire​ @isoldescorner​ @not--a--pipedream​ @azure-wing​ @bushbees​  @roonilwazlib-main​ @crumplelush​ @foldedaces-paperbirds​ @thesenseinnonsense​ @let-tyrants-fear​ @ketchupfriesandallthingsnice​ @legowerewolf​ @deadlydodos​ @but-we-respect-his-craft​ @cariniqe​ @zanypersonapricotbiscuit​

The requests to be added to the tag list keep being spread out across a few different areas. If I missed you please just ask again in the replies I promise I just missed you.

As stated before if you’re up here and I spelled it  right but you didn’t  get a notification there might be something  switched around in  your settings that won’t let me tag you properly?

Lillyndra it worked this time!!!

[linkito]

kiss prompt #20: on a scar.

this is also scarian. i'm thinking hhau :3c and grian's newly acquired scars (which i guess doubles as #21, on a place of insecurity?)

Grian knows it’s silly to be so insecure over something ultimately so inconsequential, but it’s an amalgamation of several things, really, only made worse by the emergence of these new scars across his face. 

And it’s also horribly ironic, given that he’s neglected his wings for months on end, letting them gather dust and debris, secretly hoping that perhaps it’ll be enough to make him less desirable to the humans who seek out his feathers. It’s ironic that now he’d let something like facial scars bring him down, something that blatantly displays the damage that has been set on him. 

No one would want damaged goods, after all, right?

He ought to be happy about that, right?

Maybe he would feel that way if he had any say in their development, if it had been self-imposed like the time he’d desperately torn out his feathers, trying to hide the vivid purple that stained his body, but— 

It’s Scar’s steady hand that snaps him out of that sea of thoughts before it can spiral, his calloused fingers gently tracing over Grian’s cheek, giving the scar tissue the same tender treatment, almost like nothing at all was different. 

It’s a silly thing to be insecure about. To be insecure about it would be hypocritical. He’s never had a problem with the scattering of scars across his partner’s body, after all— why would he? It’s one of his favorite activities to trace over them, to map them out over his skin… much like Scar is now. 

“Scar,” Grian starts, but he stops at that, unsure of how to proceed. His voice is strained and hoarse. He feels like he can’t actually breach this topic, not without inadvertently insulting Scar with anything he could possibly say. 

It’s shallow, it’s stupid, it’s—

It’s something permanently strewn across his face reminding him of the time he thought he was abandoned. When he was alone and scared, left with only the severe chill of winter and the taste of blood on his tongue. 

Grian doesn’t want to be reminded of that.

He doesn’t want Scar to look at him and see someone different, someone irreparably damaged after just one week spent apart. What if that makes him less desirable to Scar now as well? 

(He knows he’s being ridiculous. He knows, he knows, but he can’t help it. It hurts. It hurts so so much.)

“Grian,” Scar replies after a moment, undoubtedly recognizing the moment Grian gets pulled back under by the torrent of his endless anxieties. He presses closer, offering himself as the tether keeping Grian afloat, foreheads touching so all Grian can see is the boundless affection present in his bright, green eyes.

It almost burns to look at.

Grian can’t look away.

Wordless tears form at the edges of Grian’s vision, but then Scar is speaking again, uttering something so bizarre that Grian is at a complete loss on how to respond, leaving his tears frozen in place as his eyes widen with confusion.

“Thank you,” Scar says, once again brushing his thumb over the mark next to Grian’s eye. His touch is gentle as always, which sets something in Grian toppling, and the tears fall, one by one. Some pool at the tips of Scar’s fingers, slowly streaking down his skin.

Scar is undeterred by it, smiling softly as he leans in and kisses the marred and tear-streaked skin. Grian can’t handle it. 

“Scar, what—“ he manages to choke out before losing his voice to a weak sob, his lips quivering as Scar leans down to press a kiss to the scratch on his chin as well. “Scar.”

Scar hears the unspoken question, and he hums softly against the fragile skin. He answers, but it leaves Grian with even more questions, unable to understand. “You survived.”

Grian opens his mouth, but nothing aside from a ragged breath escapes, because how is he supposed to respond to that? 

He cannot even begin to comprehend why Scar felt compelled to thank him of all things while tracing over his scars like they were something precious— something to be grateful for? celebrated? Grian doesn’t know.

But when he looks at Scar, he sees nothing but sincerity. An honest adoration. Genuine relief that he can look upon Grian’s face at all. That they didn’t lose each other.

And although he may not comprehend, Grian finds that he wants to. He wants to see what Scar sees, because somehow, despite everything, Scar still sees something beautiful when he looks his way. 

Grian’s heart swells and with another broken sob, he falls forward into Scar’s welcoming arms.

[drawnfamiliarfaces]

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[mintypsii]

author x barista cafe au (sanji is competing against himself)

[babacontainsmultitudes]

Now don’t get me wrong, I absolutely think that from a moral standpoint Glenn made the better choice at the end of the trial- in fact I think one of the most tragic things about that scene (where we hear Glenn’s reasoning and all that) is that if you needed irrefutable proof that Glenn is both a good person and a good dad, there it was! But of course by that point it was already too late.

But… Sometimes I find myself thinking about… How to put this… If Nick had learned of his dad’s decision, do you think he might have… Taken it the wrong way? Do you think if Nick Close had learned that Glenn chose to give up being his dad, he would have understood this as the ultimate act of abandonment? Or that his dad didn’t see him as someone worth fighting for? Not that I think Nick would have wanted his dad to fight the dragon either per se, but… Well, maybe deep down some part of him would have, actually.

[hella1975]

it's been pointed out on here before that a lot of terf arguments are actually rooted in sexist idealology that feminists fought and died to unnormalise decades ago and that's its own kettle of fish but one thing i also find very frustrating about this so called 'radical' feminism is that it's so... defeatist? like the moment you categorically label an entire section of society as Bad and Inherently Evil then there's also the implication that nothing can be done about it, and it completely takes all accountability away. saying all men are evil is just another way of saying boys will be boys. he raped her because he's a man. he hit her because he's a man. he didn't listen because he's a man - it's almost offensively oversimplified. there's no point trying to fix this issue in society because men are just Like That, okay! so now what? it's not like they're going anywhere, so you just accept that 50% of the population are evil and will forever treat you terribly and there's nothing to be done about it bc they're biologically predisposed to it? like is that fr the argument here? you're soooo radical for that