#impulse variability

[therighthandofvengeance]

It’s all fun and games until your doctor finds out that you directly disobeyed his orders to take things easy (you followed your husband through the multiverse while pregnant)

[yourgamemasterthewhiterabbit]

Listen, if I influence anyone to try self-experimentation, such as trying out regular sleep, or trying a multivitamin etc... and documenting it's impacts, I will consider that a win. Please don't hold back on account of seeing me get such mixed results, my body is very -very- very incredibly weird. Like multiple genetic mutations weird.

Other things I found useful for a time or might try again:

-Documenting what you eat at each meal to track potential triggers for symptoms

-Documenting your general mood and sleep quality daily to look for patterns

-Actually keeping a financial record even if you don't think it will change anything

-Tracking things like your blood pressure and heart rate

Like worst case scenario, you were right all along and now you have the recorded data to back it up.

[cuzxai]

challenger - nsfw

spencer reid x afab!reader

a/n: need this real bad… spence fucking the smart out of you in the bureau bathroom

You’re exhausted but sharp. The kind of exhaustion that lives in your shoulders but doesn’t quite dull your brain. It’s the third day of a case that’s left the team running in circles—three abductions, two confirmed murders and a ticking clock no one can afford to ignore. The fluorescent lights in office hum above your head like a warning tone. You’re all gathered around the case board and Spencer is talking.

“There’s a pattern here,” he says, eyes flicking across photos and timelines like they’re just numbers on a chalkboard. “All of them were taken on a Tuesday, between 5 and 7 p.m. Each one from a public area—a park, a parking lot, a bus stop. I think the unsub’s operating in a comfort zone that’s tied to routine. He’s not escalating, he’s repeating.”

You shift your weight onto your other foot, arms crossed. “Or,” you counter, “he’s desperate and trying to regain control by mimicking his own methods. The injuries aren’t the same. Look at the restraint marks on the last victim—they’re erratic. Sloppier.”

Spencer’s head turns slightly, jaw tightening. “That could be due to external pressure. Media coverage, police presence—there are other variables.”

“Sure,” you say, voice even, “but you’re assuming external pressure. What if the pressure’s internal? What if this guy’s unraveling and trying to hold it together by copying his own process?”

Morgan leans back in his chair, muttering something like “here we go,” but you don’t look away from Spencer. He’s bristling. You can see it—subtle but there. His fingers twitch near his temple like he’s restraining the urge to rub at it.

“I’m just saying,” you add, “you’re so focused on the statistics, you’re ignoring the behavioral inconsistencies.”

“And you’re so obsessed with profiling the emotions,” Spencer says, turning toward you now, “that you’re missing the quantitative signs. You can’t draw a conclusion from three data points and call it behavioral science.” Your heart rate ticks up—not from the argument but from him. From the way his voice raises half a decibel, from the way he always assumes he’s right until you force him to consider otherwise. It’s infuriating. It’s also kind of hot. But you’d rather die than admit that.

JJ glances between the two of you with raised brows and Emily mutters under her breath, “This is getting academic.”

“No,” you say firmly, stepping toward the board and pointing at the newest photo. “This? This is him slipping. The duct tape placement here is completely different. Look at the angle—it’s hasty. Rushed.”

Spencer steps closer too, too close really but neither of you move away. “That doesn’t prove unraveling,” he replies. “It proves a change in circumstance.”

“You mean the same thing.”

“I mean exactly not the same thing.” His tone is clipped, your glare sharp. It’s quiet for a beat.

Then Hotch looks up from his tablet and says dryly, “You two. Step out, now.”

Your eyes widen just slightly, heat crawling up the back of your neck. Spencer’s brows shoot up like he didn’t expect to be reprimanded. Morgan smirks into his coffee. Emily lets out a low whistle, not even trying to hide it. “Go cool off,” Hotch adds.

You both leave the room in tense silence, walking too fast, too stiff. The door clicks shut behind you and you’re in the hallway—alone, fluorescent lights buzzing again, echoing against tile and drywall. Spencer’s breathing is tight. Controlled. “You didn’t have to challenge everything I said.”

You blink at him. “I wasn’t challenging. I was correcting.” That’s when it turns. His head tilts slightly. His voice drops low.

“You’re incapable of letting me finish a thought without interruption.”

You raise a brow. “Maybe if your thoughts weren’t so half-formed.”

“Oh, that’s rich—coming from someone who once claimed impulse control was a myth while eating licorice for breakfast.” You step into him without realizing, your shoulder brushing his chest.

“That was one time. And I stand by it.” Spencer exhales, sharp and disbelieving like you’re somehow both beneath and above him. His mouth opens like he’s about to say something but then he doesn’t.

He just looks at you. Really looks. Like he’s trying to study you, like you’re suddenly not the opponent but the hypothesis. Like he’s trying to profile you. And that’s when you both notice the door to the staff bathroom is half open. He doesn’t ask. He doesn’t say a word. He just turns and walks in. And you follow.

The door clicks shut behind you and the silence is thick. Spencer’s already facing you, his expression unreadable—tense, a little breathless, like he’s not sure who’s going to make the next move. So you do. You step up until there’s barely space between your chests, your chin tilted just enough to meet his eyes. “You were saying something about impulse control?” you ask, soft and taunting. His eyes flick to your mouth, fast. Like he didn’t mean to, like it betrayed him.

“You’re impossible,” he breathes, but his voice has lost all edge.

You smile slowly. “You don’t sound like you hate me.”

Spencer exhales a shaky breath through his nose. “I don’t.” There’s no more talking.

His hands are on your face, your waist, your back—everywhere at once. His mouth crashes into yours like he’s been biting his tongue for years and now it’s all spilling out, heat and frustration and something deeper. You grab the front of his button-down, half pulling, half clawing at it, and he groans into the kiss like he’s starving. You spin him until his back hits the stall door. It creaks under the weight and he barely manages to flick the lock shut before you’re pulling at his belt. Your fingers are frantic, fumbling but he stills them with one of his own—curling over your wrist, grounding you. “Let me,” he says, low. “You’ll stretch the leather.”

“You’re unbelievable,” you mutter but you let him. And when he works it open with those long, practiced fingers, you barely notice that your back is now pressed to the wall, cold tile seeping through your clothes. Then Spencer drops to his knees. You gasp. “What are you—”

“Don’t stop,” he murmurs, eyes flicking up as his hands move to the waistband of your pants. “You’re always so good at talking back. Keep going.” You open your mouth to say something smart, something biting—but all that comes out is a breathy moan as he pulls your pants down your legs with precision, lips brushing your thigh on the way. His mouth is warm. Skilled. Unrelenting.

You slap a hand over your own mouth, back arching, one leg trembling against his shoulder as he holds it steady. His fingers dig into your thigh, hard enough to leave bruises. And when his eyes flutter shut, he moans like this is about him, like you’re his favorite meal and he’s been starving for weeks. You tangle your fingers in his hair, tugging hard and he groans again—like praise. “God,” you pant. “I—I should’ve—”

“I know,” he whispers against your skin. “You should’ve argued with me earlier.” You let out a shaky laugh. He smiles, going back down. You slap a hand against the tile behind you, the other gripping his hair like a lifeline.

“Fuck—Spencer—” His hands grip your thighs, spreading you just enough, holding you steady as his tongue laps slow, then firm, then teasing again. He shifts a little, then locks eyes with you as he seals his mouth around your clit and sucks.

Your head knocks against the wall. You bite down on a moan so hard your lip might bleed. He doesn’t stop. If anything, the sounds you make just fuel him. He’s greedy with it—licking like you’re a problem he’s solving, a theory he’s proving, something he won’t give up on until you’re falling apart in his hands. One of your legs starts trembling.

“Spencer—God.” your voice breaks as your hips buck against him. He groans again, mouth dragging slow and wet over you, nose brushing where you’re most sensitive. His grip tightens. You can barely stay upright. And just when you think you’re about to come—he pulls back. You whimper, flushed and panting and glare down at him.

He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, lips glossy and red, smirking like the bastard he is. “You’re not getting off that easy,” he says, low and smug. You barely have time to curse him before he stands, kisses you rough and lifts you back into his arms like he never left his knees at all.

He kisses you hard—sloppy and eager, like he can’t decide whether to savor you or consume you whole. His tongue finds yours, tasting the echo of you still lingering on his lips, and you moan into his mouth because god, he’s not playing fair. You barely register the way he lifts you until you feel the cold counter under your ass. His hands are firm on your thighs, dragging you forward until your legs are bracketing his hips. The friction makes you gasp. Your shirt’s still on but your bra is shoved up, his button-up hanging open, his belt clinking with every shift. It’s messy and loud and rushed but the tension between you has been simmering for months—this was never going to be slow.

“You still think you’re smarter than me?” he growls against your neck, nipping hard enough to leave a mark. “Still think you can walk around acting like you know better?”

You choke out a laugh, tilting your head to give him more access. “I am smarter than you.” He bites down harder. You yelp but it turns into a moan as he lines himself up, pushes in—slow, deep—you both gasp. “This is so,” you whisper, breath caught in your throat, “so inappropriate.”

He grins, eyes wild. “Technically we’re on a mandated break.”

The thrusts start slow. Deliberate. Like he’s memorizing the feel of you, like he wants to make this last longer than he knows it can. Your hands grip his shoulders, nails digging in and his breath stutters when you bite down on his jaw. “You’re so—” he groans, “God, you’re insufferable.”

“You love it,” you whisper.

He replied without hesitation, “I really do.” It’s a rhythm then. Heated, sloppy, completely unprofessional. You both know someone could walk in. That there are voices in the hallway, that the lock isn’t strong—but none of it matters. Not when he’s like this. Not when you’re like this. And not when every thrust makes the wall groan behind you. “Oh my—fuck, Spencer.”

“Say it again,” he grits out, hips snapping into you. “Say you’re smarter.”

You’re breathless, half-laughing through the haze of it all. “You—fuck— need me to stroke your ego that bad?”

He slams into you harder in response. “Need you to shut up before someone hears you.”

“I don’t think you care if they do.”

He doesn’t deny it. His hand snakes up between your bodies, thumb dragging over your clit in tight, perfect circles. You jolt in his grip, hands flying to his hair, your thighs trembling where they’re locked around him. It’s dizzying, relentless, the heat curling low in your stomach growing unbearable. And just when you’re sure you’re about to unravel again—he pulls out.

You blink, dazed. “Huh—?”

He turns you around before you can catch your breath, bending you over the counter. His hand flattens between your shoulder blades, holding you there as he kicks your feet apart and sinks back in from behind. You can see yourself in the mirror. You cry out at the stretch, fingers scrambling for purchase on the smooth surface.

He’s fucking you now—deep and fast, every thrust knocking the breath out of you, every slap of skin against skin echoing loud in the small bathroom. His hand slips around, rubbing your clit again in sync with his thrusts, you see stars.

“Spencer—” Your voice is shaking, half-strangled with need as he pounds into you from behind, every slap of his hips sending jolts of pleasure down your spine. Your hands are braced on the counter, knuckles white but it’s not enough to keep you steady. Not with the way he’s fucking you like he’s got something to prove. And maybe he does. Maybe this is him trying to one-up you in the one arena where he knows he doesn’t have to compete—because you’re already falling apart under him. But he doesn’t let you go over that edge. Not yet.

“What’s wrong?” he breathes low and smug. “You were so confident before and now you can’t form a sentence? Thought you had all the answers.”

You jerk your body up to meet him, head spinning, breath coming in sharp gasps. “Shut up,” you bite out, muscles tightening as you force out a laugh, defiant even as his dick keeps dragging that perfect angle.

“Don’t want to hear me talk, huh?” he mocks. “But you can’t help but listen, can you?”

You try to move your hands but his grip is too tight, fingers digging into your wrists as his pace quickens. His thumb slips under your chin, lifting your face just enough for him to look at you with that insufferable smugness, his own arousal written all over his features.

“Are you really going to argue with me now?” he mutters, voice thick with want but still that level of condescension. “Because last I checked, your body’s telling me everything I need to know.”

“Fuck you,” you manage to snap, even as he angles his hips to hit deeper and it knocks the breath out of you. You almost choke on your words. He doesn’t let up. Instead, he pulls your hair just hard enough that your head tilts back and your throat is exposed.

“You’re dripping for me and you want to tell me you hate me?”

You don’t even know why you answer but you do. “Yeah, I fucking do. I hate you.”

“You don’t,” he mutters, tugging on your hair again, forcing you to look him in the eye. “You can’t hate me when your pussy’s telling me otherwise.” Your jaw clenches, a frustrated growl escaping your lips. You’re so fucking close but he’s pulling back just enough that you can’t come. He’s in control now. He’s always in control. And you hate it. Spencer leans in, his breath brushing against your ear. “I know what you want. Don’t act like you’re not dying for it.” He shifts again and suddenly you feel his fingers slide into your mouth—uninvited but not unwelcome. It’s messy as you suck on his fingers, the taste of him coating your tongue but the position he has you in—helpless, needy, at his mercy—makes it hard to care.

“Still hate me?” he asks again, the words almost teasing.

“I’m so close,” you breathe, and your voice is breaking. “Just let me—”

“You need to ask for it, don’t you?” He pulls his fingers from your mouth, wiping them on your cheek as he watches you, his mouth falls open slightly. “You can’t finish without me telling you to.”

“Let me,” you almost whimper, your body shaking, on the edge of something. “Please. Please.” He grins like he’s won, his grip on your wrists loosening just enough.

“You’ve got such a dirty mouth, I kind of like it,” he mutters, then he finally lets go, his fingers back at your throat, not quite choking, just keeping you where he wants you. “You don’t get to finish just because you ask,” he says, thrusting hard enough to knock the breath from your lungs. “Not yet.”

It’s a mix of sweet relief and pure frustration, your body writhing under him. Every angle is perfect, every inch of him dragging you closer to something you can’t control. He’s fucking you through your angry little comments, through the way you fight him even as you beg for more. Spencer leans in to bite at your neck, growling in your ear as he pulls your hair again, tighter this time.

“God, you’re so fucking stubborn,” he hisses and suddenly, he’s fucking you harder, faster, like he’s punishing you for every dumb word you’ve ever said to him.

“I hate you,” you gasp, hands desperately trying to grip anything to steady yourself but it’s futile. He’s the one in control and you’re too far gone to care about anything else. But when his hand snakes back between your legs, fingers finding your clit with practiced precision, you lose it. You’re falling apart and you don’t care that you’re still supposed to hate him. You don’t care that you’re both too stubborn to admit it.

“Don’t come yet,” he growls. “Not until I say so.” You bite back a scream, his voice still ringing in your ears.

“Fuck, Spencer.” His grip tightens again, fingers digging in and you know he’s close too. He’s holding you, using you and in this moment, you have no power. And you fucking love it.

You don’t know if you ever hated anyone this much. You don’t know if you ever wanted anyone more. Spencer’s breathing is shallow now, hot against the back of your neck as he drives into you from behind, both of you falling apart together—his hand spread over your lower stomach to keep you from moving, his other hand tangled tight in your hair.

“Jesus, you feel so good like this,” he groans, low and rough. “So fucking wet. You gonna come for me now?” You barely manage a response—something choked and shaky, some version of his name that sounds like begging. Your face is red, mouth parted, flushed and panting and he doesn’t slow down. He wants to ruin you. “See?” he murmurs, his voice shaking with effort but his mouth still so fucking smug. “I knew all that attitude was just overcompensation. You were dying for this.” You shake your head weakly, more from the overwhelming heat and pressure than actual disagreement.

“You don’t even know what you’re saying anymore,” he says, thrusting deeper, harder, one hand sliding up your body. “Just so cock-drunk.”

“Fuck you,” you breathe but it comes out weak. Your legs are trembling, fingers scraping against the counter, mind clouded by nothing but the pace of his thrusts and the filthy rhythm of his voice in your ear.

“Mm. You are.” His lips brush the edge of your jaw, voice dark and breathless. “You’re so fucking close, I can feel it. You’re pulsing around me. You wanna come, sweetheart?” Your head nods instinctively, a small sound tumbling from your lips. “You need it, don’t you?” he keeps going, fucking into you like he’s trying to mark his territory, like he wants to fuck the fight right out of you. “You’ve been giving me shit for months and now you’re so dumb on my dick you can’t even talk.”

You’d hit him if your arms weren’t shaking. You’d argue—tell him to shut up, tell him he’s full of shit—but all that leaves you is a needy, whimpering sound. “Come on,” he mutters, his hand sliding down to your clit again, rubbing rough, desperate circles. “Come for me. You want to.”

It only takes a few more thrusts before you’re unraveling, your body arching back into his, a sharp cry caught in your throat. Your orgasm hits you hard, hot and fast and blinding and you’re squeezing around him so tight it forces a moan from his chest. “Fuck, just like that,” he groans, slamming into you once, twice more before he follows, burying himself deep as he spills inside you, panting through clenched teeth, his fingers bruising your hips as he holds you still.

The only sounds for a few seconds are ragged breathing, your heart pounding, and the faint, distant hum of a case still happening outside that locked bathroom door. Then he slumps forward slightly, letting go of your hips and leaning his forehead against your shoulder.

“Well,” he breathes, hoarse and wrecked. “That escalated.” You don’t say anything for a moment—still catching your breath, still trying to convince your legs to hold you up.

And then you mutter, “I still think your theory was bullshit.”

Spencer lets out a laugh, soft and disbelieving. “Jesus Christ.” His hands are still on you. You don’t move. Neither of you do. Because as much as you hate each other, neither of you wants to stop touching. It takes a moment before either of you move again.

You’re still pressed up against the counter, legs shaking, heartbeat trying to slow down, when Spencer finally steps back. He’s quiet about it, gentle even, his hands catching your waist like he’s afraid you might tip over. You tug your pants back up, spine still curved, bracing yourself with one hand against the counter. He fixes his pants with shaking fingers, running a hand through his hair like it’ll make any difference. It doesn’t.

You glance over your shoulder, your voice still raw when you say, “You’ve got a scratch on your neck.”

He gives you a look—half amusement, half disbelief. “From you.”

“You were asking for it.”

He huffs. Rolls his eyes. Tries not to smile but fails anyway. You grab some paper towels to clean up, stealing glances in the mirror over the sink. Your mascara’s slightly smudged, your lips kiss-bitten. He’s worse—hair mussed, lips swollen, eyes a little too glassy.

“We look insane,” you mutter.

“We look like we just had sex in the Bureau bathroom,” he says flatly.

“Same thing.”

He catches your eye in the mirror. For a second, it’s awkward. Just enough for the realization to hit—you just fucked Spencer Reid. During work. In the middle of a case. He clears his throat, straightens his tie like that’ll fix anything. “We should get back.” You blink at him. “You think we’re not gonna get ripped to shreds the second we walk in there?”

He shrugs. “We’re both excellent profilers. We’ll gaslight them.”

You smirk despite yourself. “You’re the most unhinged person I’ve ever met.”

“And you’re the most competitive person I’ve ever had sex with.”

You tilt your head. “That wasn’t a competition.”

“It was absolutely a competition.” He opens the door first, checking the hallway. When it’s clear, you both step out like two spies post-mission—subtle, casual or at least trying to be. The bullpen is busy again, everyone preoccupied.

You walk in together, acting natural and you swear no one’s paying attention—until Morgan looks up from his desk with a slow, knowing grin. “Ten bucks says I’m right,” he mutters to JJ, who groans and rolls her eyes.

“Children,” Hotch calls from across the room, not even looking up from his file. “Back to work.” You slip into your chair. Spencer sits beside you, flipping open the nearest file like nothing happened. And maybe nothing did—except now you know exactly how good he sounds when he falls apart for you and he knows exactly what you look like when you’re coming on his cock.

You cross your legs under the desk and he glances at you sideways. You don’t speak. But the tension’s not gone. It’s just different now. And you’re not done fighting yet.

[athenalvss]

BATBOYS FAV POSITIONS ON BED

warnings: mdni (under your responsibility), 18+ links (pic with the position), unprotected sex, anal mention, slight mentions of power play, rough sex, dirty talk, praise, body praise, slight tit play

open request — batfam masterlist

BRUCE WAYNE.ᐟ

Bruce is extremely conscious of everything he does; he's a man with a long history, which gives him a wide menu of positions to make you feel ecstatic. He has a need for control that also translates to intimacy. He likes to lead, he likes you to follow him, he likes the silent power of making you tremble without ever losing his composure. He gets turned on when you submit and surrender completely to him.

LOW DOGGY ─ This position fascinates him, he has you controlled under his big and heavy body, taking you from behind, a position that leaves your ass free rein, I feel that Bruce likes a little anal sex sometimes, and this is a great position, holding your hair tightly bringing your hatred closer to his mouth while whispering the dirtiest promises you can imagine while he's deep inside you.

"You're taking it all so well, baby," he says, running his hands over your ass, spreading it wide open to watch his entire cock enter you.

MISSIONARY — Bruce can choose any crazy position, but never forget the classic one, it has many variables and they all work great. He likes to be able to look you in the eyes and extinguish any kind of distance between both of your bodies, reaching the deepest part of your being and touching places you never imagined. His torso brushes against yours, his hands run down your sides, his eyes are fixed on yours. he controls the rhythm, the depth, the exact moment when your breath breaks. He can go slow, plodding, almost tortuous, or he can lose himself in the moment and take you with him in a more raw and urgent swing.

"Don't you dare close your eyes," he murmured in a harsh, raspy voice as he moved his hips faster and faster. "If you close them, I'll stop, I'm warning you."

── ☆

DICK GRAYSON.ᐟ

Dick loves physical and emotional contact, he enjoys giving pleasure and maintaining connection with his partner, he has experience so he knows what he's doing. he enjoys contact, foreplay, and watching his partner enjoy.

LOTUS ─ He loves taking you in this position, having his partner close, holding them as you move together, so exposed to him, looking into each other’s eyes as you feel your bodies brushing. His hands run down your back as his lips get lost between soft kisses and muffled gasps. He loves how he can feel your breath on his neck, how he can kiss your jaw as his hips move slowly. And when your bodies touch, when he feels you shudder so close, he knows there’s no better place in the world.

COWGIRL ─ He loves the way you take control, watching you on top of him, moving to your rhythm, while you set the tempo of your movements. His hands run over your hips while his eyes stare into yours, completely surrendered to the pleasure he feels watching you on top of him. He loves watching your tits bounce when you ride him, that really tempts him to start moving his hips and filling his cock really deep.

“That's it babe… don't stop. You look fucking perfect from here.” while looking at you bouncing on his cock laying on bed.

── ☆

JASON TODD.ᐟ

Jason is passionate, impulsive, and a bit aggressive. He likes control, but he also has moments where he allows himself to be vulnerable and will let go of control a bit —don't believe him, it's a lie, he's just acting— seeks intensity, adrenaline and dominate the situation all the time.

DOGGY STYLE — This position allows him to unleash that energy while maintaining control. He loves taking you from behind, watching your hands grip the sheets as he holds your hips tightly, There’s something about the way your back arches for him, the way your hands desperately grip the sheets, that drives him absolutely insane. you’re his, right here, right now. —he's definitely going to leave some bruises there— he wants you to feel him long after it’s over.He gets drunk on the sound of your muffled moans, your breath catching every time he hits just the right spot.And when he leans forward, lips brushing your ear, voice low and wrecked, you know you're not going anywhere until he’s satisfied. you know the next day is going to be a hard day.

“That’s it, baby… take every inch. You feel that? You’re mine"

SEESAW — Sometimes all he wants is to take you quickly, urgently, as if he doesn't have enough time. Against the wall, with your legs tangled around his waist and his body pressing against yours, he can unleash all his intensity without filters. It only finds an outlet when he has you like this: elevated, trembling, gasping his name between his thrusts, leaving you dumb.

“You don’t know how much I needed you… and I’m not going to stop until you feel it in every damn corner of your body.”

[prettieinpink]

BUDGETING + SAVING MONEY FOR TEENS 𐙚

For many of us, we are entering an age when we can work casual jobs such as retail or fast food. It’s not a lot of money that we receive, depending on how often you get paid, but it can go a long way in the long term. 

In this post, I’ll be discussing how to budget for your needs/wants and save money for future goals. 

CREATING GOALS, you may want to save a certain amount of money in a time frame, want to make a big purchase (like a car) or buy everything off your wishlist. It is entirely up to you what your goals are, so I can’t say too much. However, the more specific it is, the better.

HOW MUCH? Determine how much money you need to save to achieve your goal. In total, and monthly. 

There are three types of saving goals that may apply to you;

Short-term goals >1 year (outings, latest gadget, buying your cart)

Medium-term goals 1-2 years (road trips, shopping spree)

Long-term goals 2-4 years (higher education, car)

It’s very important to set a realistic time frame, as teens we don’t get paid much and we also don’t work as much. You don’t want to overwhelm yourself as well, as it takes patience and self-control to achieve these goals.

NO LOOONG-TERM GOALS! This may sound aggressive, but any money that just sits in your account for years on end is dead money. Even though the amount of money is increasing, its value is slowly decreasing. Keep your goals achievable within a time frame of less than four years. It's much more useful if this money is put into some type of investment instead. 

CREATING A BUDGET

Calculate how much money you receive every month, and how much money you spend every month. 

You have two types of expenses. Fixed and variable. Fixed are any expenses required in your day-to-day life or it’s an amount of money that doesn’t change e.g. subscriptions or transportation costs. Variable costs are expenses that may fluctuate, like food, or any other recreational activities. 

Record the average you’re spending monthly with these two categories. 

There are many ways people choose to budget, but you have to choose a system that works for you.

Work out how much money you need to save each month to achieve your goal.

However, for anyone who’s starting in budgeting, I would say to allocate your costs using a percentage system. Your percentages for each category are going to differ from mine; e.g. 60% = savings, 20% = wants, 20% needs. Make sure it reflects the end goal. 

Track your progress. This is the major part of budgeting, you want to be recording and regularly reviewing how much money you’re spending and comparing it to how much you’re earning. It allows for space to reflect on the flow of your money like if some purchases are worth it, if you’re impulsively spending, or if you’re frequently withdrawing money from your savings. 

Adjust if needed. Maybe you want to put more money in savings and less into wants, or you want to put more into wants and less into needs. 

SAVING TIPS

SAY NO! This is probably my biggest struggle at the moment, but say no to things that will cause you to go off track. Whether its outings, getting fast-food or anything similar, say no. You have to be firm with your financial boundaries, as these opportunities will always arise again. 

RESTRICT IMPULSIVE SPENDING. We all have our moments when we see a product and we instantly think ‘I’ve got to have this’. Giving in once or twice is okay, but it shouldn’t become a habit at all. Its unnecessary spending (most of the time!) and leads to buyers remorse. 

IS IT WORTH IT? Always remember to work out which products you’re getting the most value out of. 

PAYING FOR THE NAME, a lot of brands will cut down on quality to save a few dollars, so essentially the customer is only paying for the name of that brand. Just because a store is more expensive, doesn’t mean its better.

[mariasont]

beach volleyball

hotch notices you struggling through volleyball matches and intervenes

pairing: aaron hotchner x sweetheart!reader warnings: fem!reader, age gap, power dynamics, fluff, hotch being protective, reader being a people pleaser (just like me fr) prompt: here wc: 0.6k

Aaron watches as Emily and Morgan launch into yet another plea for a rematch — enthusiasm undimmed by the blistering sun or the four, no, five rounds they’d already forced you through. 

From where he sits, sunglasses shielding his scrutinizing gaze, he notes your laughter, the kind that’s just a shade too forced. You’re nodding along eagerly enough — he can practically hear you insisting that yes, of course, another round sounds great — but he knows that politeness is stretched dangerously tight.

You’re caked in sand and sweat — in your hair, on your skin, places he probably really shouldn’t dwell on. But it’s your breathing, becoming increasingly uneven, that truly sets off every protective instinct he’s been trying to suppress all day.

He hadn’t exactly been thrilled about the volleyball idea in the first place. Too many variables, too many ways for you to end up hurt. His mental checklist had been exhaustive: twisted ankles, sunstroke, dehydration. Every scenario plausible, every concern well-founded. 

But he’d bitten his tongue — partly because he knew exactly how it would sound coming from him (overbearing, parental), but mostly because he refused to reinforce the insecurity you carried about being the fragile, delicate addition to the team.

Even if, in his quiet opinion, you very much were.

Aaron leans forward in his chair, setting down the water bottle he’d barely sipped from.

“Hey,” he calls out calmly, injecting just enough authority into his tone to catch your attention without alarming anyone else. When you turn, he gestures subtly, a slight tilt of his chin that makes it clear he’s not asking, exactly, more like strong suggesting. “Come here for a second.”

He’s relieved, maybe even pleased, to see the tension drain from your shoulders. Your smile softens, brightening into genuine gratitude as you deliver an excessively apologetic excuse to Emily and Morgan before slipping to his side.

Aaron pointedly ignores how natural it feels to have you there.

“What do you need?” Your voice is soft, tinged with breathlessness from the exertion, eyes searching his face for some sign of an assignment or request.

Aaron doesn’t answer immediately, simply nodding toward the towel laid neatly to his right, watching as you sit onto the shaded fabric. “You feeling okay?”

“Mhm,” you reply quickly, the sound practically tripping off your tongue.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, why don’t you sit here for a little while anyway? Humor me.”

You don’t reply, and Aaron takes the silence as confirmation that you’re genuinely too tired to keep up the polite charade anymore. He leans back a bit, shoulders easing into the chair, watching Morgan and Emily’s increasingly competitive volley across the sand.

“I’m really terrible at volleyball,” you suddenly admit.

Aaron smiles to himself, almost affectionately, though he quickly tamps it down. He’s been quietly confirming your theory all afternoon. A kinder man might have kept that truth to himself, yet he finds himself speaking anyway.

“I had noticed that, yes.”

“You’re not supposed to agree,” comes your drowsy complaint, the words blending as your eyes droop slowly.

His instinct to argue — to remind you he’d never lied to you before and isn’t about to start now  — softens beneath a gentler impulse.

“My mistake. I’ll pretend to disagree next time.”

You murmur something else — quiet, sleepy syllables trailing off into an indistinct, drowsy sigh. Aaron learns forward, trying to catch your meaning, when he suddenly registers the gentle pressure against his leg.

Glancing down, he sees you’ve fallen asleep right there, head tucked neatly against him like he’s the most natural place for you to rest. For a moment, he sits completely still, uncertain how best to react. Protocol has never covered this scenario.

Aaron decides waking you now would be unnecessarily cruel. 

A few minutes won’t hurt anyone, least of all him.

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[thejakeformerlyknownasprince]

Why do you think Rachel is the one the Ellimist and Crayak seemed to hone in on?

I think it's down to her being the most variable, and the most able to justify to herself when she does bad things. If there's anyone who could choose to work for Crayak because they've rationalized the reasons it's bad but necessary, I think it'd be her.

To be clear: Marco and Ax especially cross tons of ethical lines that Rachel would never. But Marco knows where the line is, knows what is right... he just chooses to work around it sometimes, based on what's expedient. Marco's the guy whose first impulse is ethical, who then rationalizes himself into being ruthless. Ax doesn't have that strong a gut-level moral compass, but he does have loyalty. In spades. For Ax, the idea of abandoning his team and striking out on his own is anathema, and he would never entertain a possibility of killing Jake for the good of humanity.

Rachel, on the other hand...

Rachel is most ethical in her second thoughts. Her first impulse often misleads her.

She's angry on behalf of the victims, to the point of wanting to annihilate every yeerk alive to get revenge for them.

She's sensitive to injustice, but her definition of "injustice" can be distorted from context to context.

When Jake and Cassie are around, she's ride-or-die for them. When they're not around, she tends to get tunnel vision and lose sight of what they're fighting for.

She's willing to do the hard thing for the good of the team — as #26 proves, that includes killing Jake.

So. She obviously chooses not to take Crayak's offer. But I think that if there was an Animorph who could justify killing Jake and selling out the team because it's the only way to save humanity, then I think it'd be her.

[evertidings]

— MAY 2025.

Accomplishments.

Happy pride month, everyone! I’m a few days late to when it officially started (and also late to this monthly update), but June has been a great month so far. And so was May! It feels like forever ago that I released Chapter 12—it’s crazy to think that it was only a few weeks ago.

Since then, I’ve started work on Chapter 13 and dropped some very heavy hints on what it’s about. I’ll do a real reveal in due time, but for now, I’m just enjoying everyone making speculations. Is that evil? Haha. It’s been really fun for me though! This chapter has way more branches than anything I’ve done before, which is really daunting but also exciting. There’re been a lot of mind maps made and a lot of incoherent scribbles made in my notebook. During the first half of the month, most of my time was spent brainstorming rather than writing. I’ve always been an impulsive writer (I just write based on how I’m feeling at the moment) and while most of the time it works out, this chapter is something I didn’t want to mess up. And so, my pages upon pages of notes were born.

I think the reason I’m so meticulous about this chapter specifically is because there are so many variables to what I’m writing. I mean, there always are—kind of comes with the territory when you write interactive fiction—but many things are coming to a head, so I have to take a lot more into consideration than I usually do. There is much flavour text to be triggered and a lot of it won’t even be seen by a majority of players. But that’s natural. I could leave it out entirely, but it’s so satisfying to me when something niche from Chapter 5, for example, is referenced again. It adds extra work for me, but it’s worth it. Things like these make the game more special in my opinion.

In general though, things are moving really smoothly. I’m not sure if it’s because I’ve done more planning than before, or because I found a good rhythm, but it’s good news regardless. And, most importantly, I’m having a lot of fun! The past few chapters have been very heavy on the mystery of Caine’s disappearance and the drug problem, but in Chapter 13, we’re taking a step away. It’s a huge breather for me and for you as the reader as well—it’s vital (at least, for me) to balance lighthearted and serious topics.

So yeah. I’m keeping a lot of things under wraps for now (hence the vague update), but as I get further into writing, I promise I won’t leave you all hanging. You’ll get to know more about what’s going on very soon. As always, I hope you’re all doing well! Also, I apologize for my silence on Tumblr. I took a bit of a step back recently, but I’m hoping to dive back into some asks soon <3

Stats.

Chapter Total: 10,341 words

Game Total: ~577,928 words

[elysiansparadise]

The gentleness that holds a strong and powerful soul. Moved by passion. They put their everything on things that set in motion their inner world. 

Taurus Rising: Strength & Softness

Consistency, loyalty, support and autonomy are perfect words to describe this rising. People with enchanting and natural beauty, accompanied by gorgeousness and a calm attitude in the eyes of others that protects a brave and passionate heart. Life encourages them to develop patience and a persevering attitude. They are people who remain strong and unbreakable, seek to appear stable, strong and very independent even if inside they feel that things are collapsing or if their surroundings are breaking, they want to show that they are strong and that they can handle anything. More easily being the support of others rather than being able to open themselves to being helped or seen vulnerable. 

With Gemini in the 2nd house are people who highly value their intelligence, they take great pride in their knowledge, especially in those topics that matter a lot to them. For them, learning is something crucial in their lives, so they try to know a lot about many different things. They may have a lot of interest in design, gardening, music [specifically singing], writing and reading. Financial topics can attract their attention and they can acquire a lot of knowledge about it. This position can show someone very skilled with money or sales. Being a house linked to value and self-esteem, this specific overlay tells us about people who find themselves constantly questioning their own value, however, it is not just something that only applies to them, as they will question value in those things in which they society puts value. They will question the values ​​of their home or the groups they interact with. Another common thing with them is this inconsistency in their sense of security, feeling unprotected on many occasions. Clear, honest and direct communication is something they deeply appreciate, they love the feeling of being able to have a long and pleasant talk for both parties. They tend to prefer those where they are one on one due to their reserved nature.

Later, we find Cancer in the 3rd house, a placement that could be one of the main reasons behind the soothing and soft essence of this particular Ascendant. With this overlay we see natives with such an appealing way of speaking, sweet and very pleasant, there is something about them that allows them to be very understandable with other people and their emotions. These people are very curious about knowing the depth and complexity behind everything and everyone. When it comes to relating to others, they put a lot of emphasis on knowing the core of others, their emotions, their past and everything that allows them to have a better and more personal understanding of others. They are people with a warm way of speaking, they aren't usually impulsive when communicating and they think very carefully about their words before speaking. We have very capable, talented writers and speakers with the ability to easily evoke feelings in others. They stand out for their good memory and a light touch of warmth in their speech. These people may have melancholy tendencies or may think a lot about the past. If the Moon is making tense aspects or if Saturn is in this house, a tendency to constant periods of depression is likely. Writing can be a way for them to better express their emotions, and reading can be very relaxing as well. One of their ways to better connect with others can be deep talks and in some cases sharing food. If they have siblings, they may have a somewhat variable relationship but they may have a deep affection for them or at least one of them. They can assume the role of older sibling regardless of their age.

Inside Leo in the 4th house, lies a person with a warm heart, a generous disposition towards all those with whom they have a strong emotional bond, and someone who fiercely protects those they consider family. They are without a doubt people who become restless, fun and very charismatic once they trust the person next to them, being more authentic and effusive with them, as well as more warmly open. In family matters, there may be a very strong connection with one of them in particular, likewise, it may indicate a very busy, somewhat dramatic and in some cases noisy environment. These people hide their hearts very well from others, making it visible only to those with whom they feel they really connect, they are capable of loving very strongly and publicly, they are not the type of people to hide their emotions. No matter how calm or reserved they may seem, deep down they are people with great brilliance, with a lot of emotion and great creativity and ideas that brighten the lives of those around them. From a very young age they learned to think about themselves, about doing things that make them happy before wanting to make other people happy. In some cases, it is likely that the native has had to deal with family members who thought only of themselves, who were egotistical, or who did not take into consideration what others or the native felt or wanted. These people may have a tendency to take things personally, they hate feeling that they or their feelings are not taken seriously or valued. Another likely thing is that they are relatively more independent than other members of their family. They hate feeling ignored more than anything in the world, they like to feel and make those they love feel that they are heard.

For Virgo in the 5th house, romance is something sublime when there is devotion and dedication on the part of both parties. These people are capable of loving too much, always establishing the importance of making their partner feel supported, understood and motivated, actions that they seek to receive in return. They are always looking for the relationship to improve, they will seek to know their partner better and more deeply, the conversations about ways to make each other feel better will be very constant as well as the small and significant details. They are people who notice the slightest thing about their partner, changes in their look, tastes, preferences and other areas of their personality. They are very loyal, stable and gentle when they love. They think a lot before allowing themselves to have a romance with someone, they analyze the person in question. They are quite demanding of themselves, and may have the mistaken idea that they could be loved until they are that way or achieve that thing, when the beautiful fact of being themselves already makes them worthy of that love that they so doubt if they can have. . As this is the home of talents and hobbies, it makes them people not only very dedicated to them, but also very perfectionist when it comes to dealing with them, practicing a lot and never settling, remaining willing to learn more and continue improving. They like to do things well and think that if they can't do it to the best they can, it's better not to do it. Their confidence, their gentleness and charm that they are not aware of, makes them people who can attract admiration from others, many even admiring them for all the hard.

In the workplace, people with Libra in the 6th house are extremely capable and excellent. They are very good people at finding solutions to all kinds of problems, from problems related to their work, such as problems of or among others. Diplomatic, responsible and willing to help and collaborate in their work and/or their co-workers. Even if they consider themselves independent and are very skilled on their own, they make teamwork enjoyable and comfortable for themselves and others. Self-care routines are something of utmost importance to them and they will always enjoy taking care of themselves in every way. Their body is their temple, one that they care for with delicacy and attention. These people are very likely to attract a lot of attention from their co-workers, a common placement for romances in the office or work area. They will be able to make good contacts through their work and will be seen as very approachable, helpful and polite people. They are people sensitive to noise or any negative hustle and bustle, preferring to work in quiet environments, with music they like in the background and, in general, in an environment where they do not feel so tense. They can have that tendency to be very perfectionistic, especially when it comes to doing their homework or activities that they really like. They have an excellent eye for aesthetics and decoration, they are very sensitive and appreciative of art, loving the idea of ​​personalizing and decorating the spaces in which they are.

To say that people with Scorpio in the 7th house take relationships seriously is an understatement, and I am not referring to the matter of seeking to get married quickly but to the level of emotional connection that they want with their partner. They are people who want to see beyond the sublime appearance of their partners, but rather the beauty, darkness, secrets, complexity and details of their soul. They long for a very deep emotional connection with that person to whom they swear forever. These people have the ability to make you feel completely loved, from those virtues that you have, to those things that you do not share due to fear or insecurity. They love completely and give absolutely everything in their relationships, which they expect in return. They can have a marriage in which the dynamic is very intense but above all very devoted, one in which your partner's matters become yours and vice versa, where you protect and show yourself completely to the other. Throughout their lives they may experience tense experiences in the field of love or even in any type of relationship. They may have a tendency to be overly wary of the intentions of others, bordering on distrust. They may fear never being able to be loved sincerely or never being able to enjoy the beauties and soft side of love. Future spouse is likely to be a person with very intense emotions, with a lot of appeal, self-confidence and a slightly more serious and mysterious appearance of that emotional and devoted interior.

The sensuality of those with Sagittarius in the 8th house is accompanied by a feeling of liberation, an insatiable curiosity and an open and inquisitive attitude towards sex. These natives are people who enjoy exploring every peak of all the pleasures of life. The emotion of connecting deeply with your partner, exploring every corner of your soul with each caress and reading the complex mind of your loved one with your gaze. Seduction becomes an exciting, fun and very enjoyable game for these natives. There is a deep desire to bring light to your partner's darkness and for your partner to do the same. Traveling through each part of their body becomes the journey they most fantasize about. For them, it is necessary that there be something deeper in the connections to be able to fully enjoy the relationship, that there is the feeling that they are on the same level, that the other person is interesting and open with them. There is a fear of getting lost in the superficiality of life, especially in the aspect of love. There is a feeling of hopelessness in them, the thought that faith is gradually disappearing from their being, the feeling of being left on their own, without guidance. They are very introspective people, sometimes they can spend a lot of time analyzing themselves in their minds. They have a very rich inner world, and a need to find deep and meaningful things in what seems to be a somewhat superficial life.

When we see Capricorn in the 9th house, we can be sure that we find a very intelligent person capable of standing out in the subject of their interest. A great mind that sees the harshness of the world and is aware of it from a very young age. Existential and deep questions are very common, and a tendency to pessimism can become greater if Saturn makes many harsh aspects. They are people who try to be realistic at all times, do not get carried away by the initial beauty of situations and seek to take into account all possible results. Their ambition leads them to want to acquire more and more knowledge, and they can have many academic achievements throughout their university years if they decide to attend it. They may have to work abroad, travel a lot thanks to work or interact with people from other countries because of it. They are very selective people with what they want to learn, they pass the information through filters and always prefer to create their own opinions on topics, especially the most complex or moral ones. As mentioned in the previous point, there may be a tendency to doubt that good things can happen to you, falling into a somewhat negative thinking regarding what you may or may not experience.

When Aquarius is in the 10th house, the native can work in fields related to science, astronomy, physics. It is a common placement for people with interests, skills and work as astrologers. They often choose a career different from what their family has chosen, or something that their family or others consider unusual. These people seek to make a change through their work, and they can also become very notable and remarkable in themselves. These people usually prefer and end up having a job that allows them to meet many people, experiment, learn new things and explore their originality and ideas. They tend to be people who attract attention very quickly, there is a peculiarity about them that makes them stand out from the crowd, likewise, from a young age they know that they want to be different compared to the people they grew up with or lived with when they were young. You can achieve great things if you work on your own, embrace your independence and authenticity. An idealistic and ambitious quality hides in them, these natives dream of achieving many things on their own and making themselves feel proud. They can more easily inspire the masses through their unique personality, perseverance, authenticity and ideas.

One of the things that is not usually mentioned with this rising is their enormous devotion to their friends and the great importance they give the natives in their life, this is given by Pisces in the 11th house. They are people who connect very deeply with their friends, being able to easily sense when they are emotionally bad and, likewise, knowing how to help them in the best way. It is very common for these people to send messages or seek to communicate with them just at the moments when their friends need it. They are the kind of friends who are there through thick and thin, who are a great emotional support and leave beautiful lessons in their friendships. For them it is crucial that their friendships can go through from the most lighthearted and fun moments to the deepest and most emotional ones. They stand out for their empathy and ease of understanding people well even if their experiences and background are completely different. They will seek to genuinely help those they see in poor conditions and treat them as equals instead of further marking their differences. They can have various incomes, but more in fields such as art, through activities in which they help others or even in esoteric matters. They have a great ability to solve other people's problems, usually problems that they find difficult to solve for themselves.

The inner desire to be an independent person and capable of resisting everything that life brings to them is born from the need for protection. What is left to do when there is nowhere or no one to find that stability? Will there even be stability in this turbulence called life? Within them lies someone active, intent on striving until they can finally find and enjoy some peace. A resounding fear in them comes from always being in search of something they cannot have: inner peace, a comfy and peaceful life. With Aries in the 12th house, everything feels fast and spontaneous, from their deepest emotions to the environments in which they grow. In their mind and subconscious are recorded all those times in which they had to stand up for themselves, times in which perhaps there was no one to rely on, in which they came to the conclusion of never being able to rely on anyone other than them. them, in having to tame the tides of life on their own. The fear that it would always be like this grew in them. Not many are allowed to know their core/what they really are for fear of different things, of getting hurt, of being judged, but in them we can find people full of passion, ambitions and with an endearing quality of joviality. They are somewhat restless and spontaneous people deep down, something that is not usually perceived by their calm appearance. They are gifted with a strong temperament, and although they are sweet and kind, they will not be afraid to bring out that impetus and anger if you hurt or touch something very personal to them. These people focus a lot and use a large part of their energy in facing their inner struggles, to which they never give up no matter how tense they may be. It is likely that at many points in your life you felt that in some cases you were about to lose the battle, but your perseverance and inner strength will mean that in the end you will be able to overcome those problems that you usually do not talk to anyone about.

[vinnyvamppp]

Your fics have my gay ass twirling my metaphorical long hair 🤣 to be desired and bite me back - easily my favorites!

If your requests are open, i really would like to ask for male reader since your okay with that 🙏🏾 Shiesty mark x male sub reader x omnimark with it being smutty and the marks smug and butting heads ☺️

Double Booked

Note: LMFAO, I'm glad I was able to manifest your inner diva, and so on! I always saw them as a friend/sibling comedy duo, BUT I see the vision, let me cook rq.

Warnings: Smut, Spit-Roast Position, Double Penetration, Face-Fucking, Power Dynamic, Explicit Language, Submissive/Bratty Reader Who Flips The Dynamic, Mutual Obsession, Ego Battles, Edging, Overstimulation.

Synopsis: You’re the problem that makes them argue, compete, and wreck you just to prove a point. Used, stuffed, and silenced—until you flip the game on them and make them beg to take turns. Who’s really in control? That’s the fun part.

Shiesty Mark x Omni-Mark x Male!Reader

Word Count: 2,050

It’s not that they get along, not really. They were never meant to coexist in the same space, two divergent directives spun from the same code. One optimized for logic, restraint, calculated control. The other? All instinct, all impulse, teeth bared and tongue always sharp. If Omni is the command line, Shiesty is the glitch in the system that learned how to want.

They disagree constantly. About methods, about meaning, and about you.

That’s the one variable neither can stabilize. You entered the equation soft, snarky, insatiable. Too mouthy for your own good. Too tempting not to take. Somehow, you hit the exact nerve that made them both decide: you’re theirs.

Not shared or split, but rather claimed simultaneously. Every interaction becomes a competition for attention.

And so, you live in the tension. Caught between a god and a demon in the same mirrored face. You’re a toy, test, and a pet they argue over. Shiesty wants to break you down and hear you beg. Omni wants to build you back up and train you to kneel. They take turns ruining you. Competing for your reactions. Measuring their worth in your moans, your obedience, your surrender.

The problem is, you like it. You like the chaos. The control. The quiet jealousy and cruel smirks. You like being fought over, fucked through, and flattened under their ego games. And maybe—just maybe—you know exactly what you’re doing when you sass one in front of the other.

Because if there’s one truth you’ve learned? They don’t need to agree, they just need to have you. Today, you were asking for it and not in the subtle way, in the downright suicidal way.

“I thought Omni was supposed to be the smart one,” you say, breathless but smug, gaze flicking toward Shiesty Mark who’s already leaning against the wall like he knew you’d blow this. “But I guess even he glitches.”

Shiesty chuckles under his breath. It’s more like a snort, dark, amused, and ready to revel in your downfall. “You just signed your own fuckin’ death sentence,” he mutters, low and giddy. “God, I love this part.”

Omni Mark doesn’t yell. Doesn’t curse, doesn’t even raise his voice. He just walks toward you slowly, like he's weighing every step with divine precision. His eyes are unreadable, but the tension behind them is palpable. Your breath hitches.

“I expected more discipline from you,” he says, calm but cutting. “But if this is what you need to understand your place…” He doesn’t finish the sentence… he doesn’t have to.

Next thing you know, his fingers are in your hair—not rough, but commanding and he's pushing you down. No warning, not even the grace of patience. “On your knees,” he says softly.

You obey and fast. Faster than you want to admit to the point it's shameful. And you swear you hear Shiesty laugh again behind you. “Look at him, all obedient now. Got that mouth full and suddenly he knows how to behave.”

Omni unzips with clinical like practice, hand steady at the back of your head. He doesn’t thrust, not yet. Just lets you feel the weight of him resting against your lips.

“You will not speak,” he says. “Unless it’s to apologize.”

You try. You try to say something smart, something biting, but the second your lips part, he pushes in. Your throat contracts around the pressure causing you to choke.

Behind you, you feel movement, clothes shifting, and a belt coming undone. You don’t even have time to look back. “You always this dumb?” Mark murmurs, voice now low by your ear as he crouches behind you. “Or does Omni just make you cockdrunk?”

You moan around his length—reflexive, humiliating, hot as hell—and the sound makes both of them freeze for a second. He grips your hair, guiding you down onto his thick cock, your lips nudging the base of his pelvis. Your lips stretch around him, your tongue flattening as the bulbous head nudges the back of your throat. You gag, eyes watering, but he holds you there, letting you adjust to the girth stretching your mouth. The taste of salt wells in the back of your throat, a faint rumble vibrating in his chest with each inch.

Then Shiesty growls, “Oh fuck, yeah,” and you feel the first thick press of him behind you. He grinds his own cock between your ass cheeks, the blunt tip catching on your rim with every thrust. He's thicker than you remember, the shaft pulsing with need as he teases your hole. The shlick sound of precum echoes in the room, the perfect lubricant to poke and prod as he pleased. The soft thrum of his heartbeat rattled against his chest, muscles tensing as anticipation spiked his pulse. This was his favorite pastime. Then it happens–

They move in sync. Like they’ve done this before. Like you’re just another variable they’re testing, except you know better. There’s tension simmering between them. Omni doesn’t slow his pace as he starts fucking your throat—tight grip on your skull, breath even. It starts shallow. Thrusts that let you feel every ridge and vein of his cock gliding over your tongue. He’s savoring the heat, the give of your muscles as you learn to take it. Shiesty’s hands dig into your hips as he lines up behind you, already leaking, cockhead rubbing between your cheeks with no patience, the hairs of his pubes tickling your ass. He waits until you're flushed and panting before the fat head of his cock pops past your rim. The burn is instant, the stretch almost too much as he drives into you with a guttural groan. “You really think you can talk shit to him and me?” Shiesty spits. “You think we won’t ruin you for that?”

You can’t answer, not with your mouth full, not with your body pinned, not with your brain short-circuiting from the thick stretch as Shiesty finally thrusts in from behind.

Omni doesn’t break pace. Doesn’t even look up, instead focusing on the contraction of your lips, the hollowed outline of your cheeks, and the spit drizzled down his length..

“Don’t be sloppy,” he says coolly, hand still in your hair. “We’re not rushing this.”

“Sloppy’s how he likes it,” Shiesty snaps, already moving rougher, deeper. “Ain’t that right, baby? Bet you like being used like a fuckin’ trophy while we argue.” They bicker over you and through you. 

You’re gagging, moaning, twitching—every muscle in your body caught between their rhythm, their dominance, their fucking egos. You’re nothing but a body, a problem they’re solving together, a brat getting what he begged for without even saying the words and it’s perfect.

Your whole body coils like a wire pulled tight, pleasure knotting low in your gut, spreading fast—hot, sharp, overwhelming. Your cock’s swollen, untouched, dripping onto the bedsheets with every brutal, synchronized thrust inside you, and your muscles lock up, toes curling, abs twitching—right there, so close you can taste it, every nerve in your body screaming for release. But it never breaks. Your cock throbs, useless, your climax teetering on the edge like a cruel mirage—just out of reach, no friction, no mercy, only the relentless stretch of two cocks slamming into you and your body begging for permission it’ll never get. You can’t come. You just shake, trembling, leaking, ruined—forced to feel every unbearable second of pleasure with no end in sight.

Their bodies stutter in sync, each thrust sloppier than the last, both of them buried so deep inside you they’re shaking—Omni’s jaw clenched tight, eyes half-lidded as sweat beads along his temple, his calculated control unraveling second by second, while behind you Shiesty’s rhythm falters, his fingers bruising into your hips, teeth grit, breathing like he’s been sprinting uphill, too stubborn to give in first even as his cock twitches inside you with every clench of your hole; they’re both trembling, holding on by a thread, each of them locked in silent, desperate resistance—not because they want to stop, but because they refuse to let the other win. You don’t remember finishing, no, not really. Your mind goes blank somewhere between Shiesty’s filthy growling and Omni’s slow, devastating thrusts down your throat. Your knees are aching, your lips are raw, your hole is flooded—both of them finishing inside you like it’s a race neither wanted to lose.

And still... you smile. Your face is a mess. Saliva and slick, sweat clinging to your skin. But the grin is there, lazy and cocky, per usual. Because you know something they don’t. … Or maybe they do—and that’s why they’re staring at you like they don’t know whether to fuck you again or drag you out of the room and marry you.

You rise to your feet slowly, somewhat staggering, and grab Shiesty by the jaw first. His lips are still wet, his cock half-hard and twitching as it softens. He gives you that trademark smirk—the one that says, you ain’t done with me.

But before he can speak, you lean in. “You look prettier when you’re mad,” you whisper against his lips. “Bet you’d lose it if I let him fuck me again first, huh?”

Shiesty’s nostrils flare. You know you’ve got him. That possessive, unhinged twitch in his brow tells you he’ll be back in you within seconds if you say the word. You turn next, casually, even as your legs shake and face Omni. His chest is rising slowly, evenly, but his eyes? They’re intense. There’s a storm there, hidden behind all that control, hidden behind narrowing eyes, with the twitch of his eyebrow revealing more.

You step close, press your hand to his still-clothed chest, feeling the solid muscle beneath. “You’re both obsessed,” you say with a tired little laugh. “Like you didn’t just double-stuff me and argue like divorced parents in front of a buffet.”

Omni doesn’t move, but his jaw ticks.

And then, you do the unthinkable. You reach down, wrap your fingers around both of their cocks—Shiesty’s already thickening again, Omni’s twitching under your palm.

“Let’s go again,” you murmur. “This time I’m not shutting up.” You’re straddling Omni’s lap this time, facing him, grinding slow against the length you know he's trying to keep from reacting to, but he can’t help it. You feel it—thick, already getting hard again, his self-control cracking like glass under pressure.

“You should stop me,” you whisper, angling your hips so your slick, used hole is brushing against his cock. “If you don’t want this—” Omni cuts you off. Not with words but with mind numbing action. One hand grips your waist, the other wraps around your throat, not choking, but close. His cock slips back inside you in one long, deep push until he’s fully sheathed.

You bite back a groan and grind, loving the stretch even after what you just took. Omni groans softly, low in his throat. From behind, you hear Shiesty pacing.

“Oh hell no,” he snaps. “You don’t get to fuck him again without me. He’s still dripping my load.” You look over your shoulder, smirking through your moans. “You’re jealous,” you pant. “Say it.”

Shiesty growls like a full animal and grabs your hips from behind. Omni doesn’t stop thrusting. You’re sandwiched again, Omni below you, slow and deep, Shiesty behind you, lining up with zero patience. “Fucking ruined,” Shiesty says as he pushes back in alongside Omni—two thick cocks spreading you open again, one slightly off-center, with both of them stuffing you full of heat and vengeance.

Your eyes roll back and you swear you black out for half a second. You’re moaning now—loud, shameless, because you know they’re both obsessed with you. They can’t stop, they won’t stop. Every thrust is a battle between them, but every scream you let out is a win.

“You’re both mine,” you whisper hoarsely, voice cracking as they both thrust into you at once. “Try to deny it.” Omni’s pace falters and Shiesty groans, “Fuck—shut up—shut up—”

But they don’t want you to, not at all. They want to hear you say it again. Every filthy word, every bratty taunt, every moan, every broken breath, and every whisper of I own you. Because deep down? They’re both obsessed with being the one who makes you break. And even deeper? They’re obsessed with how much you love making them break, too. A/N: I made it a little shorter than usual. I'm testing the waters. Hope you like it! lmfao

MasterList ོ༘₊⁺☀︎₊⁺⋆.˚

[bleue-flora]

Sometimes I wonder if we give too much credit to Dream for knowing things he doesn’t. If perhaps we sometimes assume he knows what we know. It’s something I often find frustrating with the takes on Dream being obsessed with Tommy, because a lot of times they require Dream to have this knowledge about things like the intricacies of Tommy’s and Wilbur’s relationship. I think we can forget that while we get to see the moments of them together and their dynamic, Dream isn’t getting that. Dream doesn’t get to see what we see. How much did he know about Tommy’s declining mental health during Exile? Sure Tommy certainly shows it while Dream is there, but Dream tries to cheer him up and perhaps afterwards he goes home and thinks it’s fine. He isn’t there to see the moments when Tommy wakes up in the ocean trying to drown himself. We, the audience, get to see some of these sad monologues that Dream doesn’t. In other words, I wonder how far Dream actually knew he was pushing Tommy towards the edge, if maybe he didn’t know it was to the point of suicide. In the finale, Tommy says something along the lines of ‘why driving me to kill my self makes sense’ with the assumption that that was Dream’s goal, but I hardly think it was.

How about the staged finale, a lot of times it is assumed that Punz and Dream did experiments prior to it as a fail safe in case something happened to Dream. Which isn’t an unreasonable conclusion to make by any means, but it is based on the fact that he assumed Tommy might kill him permanently. And I’m starting to wonder if maybe he didn’t. If maybe just like with Sam he underestimated people’s loathing for him. Maybe he didn’t think it would go that far. Maybe having the book was his fail safe without even knowing if it works. Maybe just how he underestimated how a majority of new L’manberg was ready to go to war just with him, just how he underestimated Sam’s betrayal, just how he underestimated George’s response to being dethroned, just how he underestimated Sapnap’s response to his speech and Berkerson on the wall, just how he underestimated even Tommy and Tubbo in the finale, he underestimated the staged finale too.

Maybe he isn’t as smart and well planned as we thought. Maybe he doesn’t have the foresight to predict things like we thought. Maybe his plans weren’t as well planned as we thought. Maybe he’s more emotional, more impulsive, more naive than we thought. Maybe every time they went above his expectations of loathing, it shocked and horrified him a little more. Maybe that horror pushed him to make impulsive plans where he thought he considered all the variables but underestimated them yet again. Maybe he didn’t know how much they hate him because he wasn’t there when they talked about him. Maybe he didn’t know how much he hurt them because he wasn’t there when they had to put the pieces back together. Maybe he wasn’t this mastermind but just a guy, grasping at straws, trying to make plans with the incomplete information he has…

[weskie]

The Wolf and The Lamb (Albert Wesker x gn!Reader)

2000 words, established relationship, wound tending, possessive behavior, biting, blood, briefly saucy, probably counts as angst, part of the lover, leader, liar series | Fic Directory

"Love blackens the lamb." -Hélène Cixous

Wesker has never been one to yearn for a sense of permanence.  Change was a necessity.  One of life’s constants.  The constant in a world of variables.

At any moment, you could walk.  He made sure you knew the consequences long ago, of course.  You’d been presumed dead after the incident at the manor.  It only made sense given the magnitude of the self-destruct sequence.  You could return to the world beyond the compound at any time, but trouble would surely welcome you with open arms.  Justification for your absence would be mandatory, and that’s not to mention the tax-based nightmare that awaited you if and when the IRS should discover that you are not, in fact, deceased.

But you could leave.  

A thought that weighs heavily on his mind day in and out.  He’d never quite been one to be… possessive before.  Why bother when things move along so rapidly?  From the time he was a boy, he’s been going from class to class, school to school, laboratory to laboratory… His time with S.T.A.R.S. seemed to be the most consistent his life had ever been.

And now… there’s you.

You’re unlike anything he’s ever experienced before.  He supposes you’ve always been this way, though.  Always reaching out to him beyond the line others would never dare to cross.  Pushing through whatever shell he’d cocooned himself in for safety.  Distance was a form of protection, he’d come to realize.  Distance shielded him from the pain of loss.  It always has.

Not even Birkin, for all they had been through together, could be more than an admired colleague.  A decision that proved… apt in the end.

It’s difficult to pinpoint the origin of this new screaming need that had made itself more than at home within his chest.  It grows worse, he realizes, every time you treat him with tenderness.  Perhaps that’s where it all began.  Back in the station.  Growing like a living thing until its life spilled into his very being.

“Does it hurt?” 

The skin on his face is broken and marred.  The burns are nothing short of hideous. 

Wesker had regarded you with a scowl and turned toward the bathroom, making his way in to strip away the remnants of his failure.  He’d had half a mind to shatter the mirror.  Had that explosion not interrupted them, he would have torn Chris in two.  Or perhaps beaten him to a bloody pulp.  Maybe he would have even brought his lifeless corpse back to the compound for experimentation.  What is it that makes the Redfields so inexplicably lucky?  To face death and live despite all odds…

Despite him. 

He grit his teeth, leaning forward with clenched eyes.  The edge of the vanity is a fragile buoy in the storm of his own anger.  A new development following his perimortem injection and subsequent gain of power.  Fury comes as easily as breathing these days.  Impulses are a tad harder to control.  Were it not for a lifetime of training and conditioning, Wesker doubts he would have as tight of a lid on it as he does.

He’d only stripped his upper body bare by the time you made your presence known.

You’ve never left him to drown in his rage.  Even then, despite how he’d pushed you away at the door, you still found it in yourself to wrap your arms around his waist and rest your cheek to his back.  You are warm, but his skin runs hot.  In this way, you are like a balm.  Something cooling to douse the hellfire scorching his body and mind.

You made him sit at the edge of the bed.  It’s funny to think of it that way… that you could make him do anything at all.  An impossible feat for any other.  Yet it’s the truth.  Just as you make his anger dissipate bit by bit.  Perhaps it’s the glide of the pads of your thumbs against his forehead that sap away at it.  The way they smooth and slide with loving ease over the parts that hurt, spreading an ointment that chills the belligerent bite into something far more tolerable.

Until now, he hasn’t acknowledged the pain of his injuries.  That was the golden rule throughout his life.  Not minding that it hurts.  Disregarding the pain lest he give it power.  He’s never realized before that such an instinct is absent in your presence.  Here you are tending to his pain.  That which he refuses to acknowledge, you embrace and seek to soothe.

He lets his nails bite into your forearm.  He’s unsure if it’s a way to admit the truth to you or to ensure that you will remain in place, here, tending to him.

He fears the answer is far more complex.

His touches grow more firm by the day, it seems.  A hand at your cheek becomes a grip at your jaw.  An arm around your waist now pulls you tightly to his side.  You’ve noticed, of course.  Commented on it.  He’s never admitted that he can tell how your body reacts to such deeds.

At night, if and when he permits himself to rest, you must be pulled tight to his chest.  In turn, you always make a teasing remark about him being a ‘snuggle bug.’  His hands roam, but he dares not venture too far.  Despite the many months since that fateful night your lips first met his, neither one of you has caved to the call of flesh.  He’s unsure of your reasons, and frankly finds no trouble in the matter either way.  But for himself..?

Lust was no stranger, but you are more than a sensation to be chased and left behind.  As much as he yearns for such a coupling with you, he fears it.  What he may do to you… What you may do to him…

For as much as that burning, yearning need to lay claim to every part of you threatens to overpower his self control, he knows, without a doubt, such a unification would result in you consuming all that he is.  It is excitement and terror all in one.

He’s already given you the power to ruin him.  Maybe, though, he should sink his teeth and nails into you and ensure that you never do.  

The thought runs rampant in his head all day until you settle beside him for a nightly routine you’ve insisted upon taking over since day one.  His arm rests in your lap and, for a time, his mind is silent.  The alcohol pad glides over his skin, followed by a gentle blow of air from your lips.  He hasn’t the heart to tell you that such an act just contaminates the injection site all over again.  Perhaps it’s that you are contaminating him that makes this misstep fail to ring any alarms in his head. With the bite of the needle piercing his flesh comes the knowledge that there is some part of you now inside of him.  It courses through his veins in tandem with the stabilizing agent.  It will pass through his heart.  

You will pass through his heart. 

The thought hits him so rapidly that you’ve barely drawn the needle from his skin before he’s–

“Mmph!”

He swallows your startled sound in a kiss far more forceful than he means.  He can’t help it.  Can’t help the resurgence of that gnawing feeling, that desperate need to consume all that you are.  Every noise, every breath of yours is his to take.  Your tongue holds no chance of fending him off once he’s breached your lips, but he’ll surrender a sliver of control to ensure you stay right here, a pliant, sweet lamb in the maw of an especially greedy wolf.  

But you don’t seem to ask for such a relinquishment.  There’s no apprehension on your part as he plants a firm hand to your chest and guides you back, following inch by inch until he’s bent over you like a beast ready to feast upon a carcass.  Wesker’s deaf to the groan that leaves him, but he’s not at all oblivious to the way your mouth quirks into a smirk against his.

Is it hubris?  Or are you a lover enjoying the reactions of his body?  Perhaps you’re a sadist reveling in the thought that his control has waned so far.  

Your wrists are like porcelain in his grip.  He could break you and not even know he’d done it until you cry out for mercy.  But there is no need for such extremes.  Not when you hook a leg around his hip and pull him flush to your pelvis.

He parts from you to gasp.  

How dare you?  How dare you take the weakening threads of his self control and tease a razor's edge at their fraying strands?  Don’t you know what you’re doing?

His hips roll seemingly of their own accord.

You do, don’t you?  You know that leading him into this tears down every wall and puts him right in the palm of your hand.  You must know. 

Your lips dance like butterflies up the curve of his cheek, sporadically graceful in every delicate brush to his skin.  He realizes how tight he’s holding your wrists.  His nails are biting into your flesh not unlike they’d done back then.  For a brief second, he locks eyes with you.

You say the words, but his ears are ringing.  He heard it, but he can’t process it.  And, just like that, he can’t hide it anymore.  Just like the burns.  Like the memory of atrocities long buried in the skeletons of schools and punishments hidden away by healed flesh.  You pull the truth from him with such ease.  Three little words…

He doesn't mean to let it happen, only to hide and bury his secrets against your warmth. His teeth find you all the same. Finally, he bites. Finally, a mark that makes you squirm. A mark that makes you his.  The mewl that leaves you compliments so perfectly the coppery tang of your ichor.

“When you think of love, do you think of pain?”  

He should’ve never told you of his youth.

“What do you mean?”  He asked, eyes fixed on the file before him.  What a strange question…

“I don’t know,” you shrug. “But do you?”

He has no answer to give.  No point of reference, no foundation upon which to envision what love could be.  Perhaps he should think of his mentors or of the dormitory mothers employed for the care of the students.  Neither summons such a feeling.  When he was still a hopeful boy, he often imagined what it would be like to have parents – siblings, too, maybe.  In such fantasies, he found something warm growing in his chest.  Like a light nestled deep within.  It always ended the same, though.  He’d cease his thoughts and the light would dim, snuffed out and smothered by a rotten, hollow feeling.  By something painful.

Was that love?

Try as he might, he cannot cease the quiver of his jaw.  

When did your hands escape his grasp?  Why do your fingers rake so gently through his hair?  He holds you between his teeth, yet you cradle him.  

“I love you,” you say once more.  The words fall off your lips with such ease. A natural admission. 

The breath in his lungs has gone stale.  His eyes sting.  

He believes you.  

But why does the lamb love its wolf?

He believes you.

Could it be that the lamb loves the wolf’s fragility, just as the wolf loves the frail one’s force?  Could it be so simple?

He came to bed early that night.  Something in him screamed to do so.  Perhaps it was the lack of focus on his work.  A mind clouded by your question.

The warmth spills from between his clenched eyes.  He had no chance of hiding it.

He came to bed early that night.  He was greeted by welcoming arms and a smile brighter than the sun could ever hope to be.

Your lips press to his shoulder.  He swears he’s trying to hide every pathetic noise.  He doesn’t know why they escape anyway.

“Shh…”

He came to bed early that night because he thought of love.

“I’ve got you.”

Because he thought of you. 

*special thanks to @nshtn for pre-reading :)

[mayhaps-a-blog]

Do you ever do something while thinking "this is the most logical and obvious thing to do", and then afterwards look at the result and go "hm. perhaps only to me."?

Anyway, funny story!

I've been dealing with a fungal gnat infestation; these are little harmless flies that like to hang around houseplants, which I unfortunately prefer to keep right next to my desk to ward of The Void (seasonal depression), which means that I've had a lot of fungal gnats hanging around In My Face, the worst place for a gnat to be.

So I've been idling my way through possible solutions, limited by the fact that I am 1) cheap 2) too busy to run to the store 3) keep food plants and worry about pesticides, which I also tend to dislike for environment reasons and don't want to spend a lot of time researching. So the fungal gnat problem has remained unaddressed, except that I've been keeping my eye out for cheap carnivorous plants.

Because a carnivorous plant would not only solve my problem but also mean getting another plant! Win win!

Most carnivorous plants available in my area are butterworts and go for around $20, which was more than I was willing to spend on a plant (that might die, my track record is... variable). But then! I saw one on Facebook for $5!

So of course I jumped on it, and less than 24 hours later, arrived home with two little butterworts.

Unfortunately, since this was an impulse purchase, I did not do my research before buying the plant, or before going to the store. Which I'd tied into picking up the plants, and was therefore not inclined to do again for at least a week.

Butterworts, for those unaware (such as myself as of a few days ago), are very particular plants. They require high-drainage soil (can't use regular potting soil) and ONLY distilled water. Or rainwater.

I did not have distilled water or rainwater.

Also, if they dry out, they die. Cue panic.

It was past 10pm and I was not going back to the store for some damned distilled water, even if I could find a store that was open.

So I did the ~logical thing~

I pulled out my largest tupperware, poured in some boiling water, floated a small bowl inside, covered it with plastic wrap and used a piece of candy to slope the plastic down to the bowl, thereby improvising a solar still. To get improvised rainwater. In case my new plants dried out in 12 hours or less. (They didn't.)

It wasn't until I was standing proudly over my creation, set on top of my heating vent since the Sol in solar wasn't available, to realize that. Huh. That's probably not the solution most people would jump to.

But hey, I got two tablespoons of water out of it! And got distilled water on the way home from work the next day. Butterworts are doing well and already doing their job, so all's well that ends well!

[aquinnix]

Hermit-a-Day May Day 26 - Zed

It was no secret that most of Zed’s friends had a very hard time falling asleep. Whether due to strange natural rhythms or the simple inability to stop working. Zed would be lying if he said he didn’t have his fair share of late nights himself.

At first, it had been a joke.

Impulse called him over one night to hang out. But when the moon hung in the center of the sky and Zed’s eyelids began to droop, he got an idea. He herded Impulse into bed, and ran back in forth across the room in front of him.

One two three.

Count the sheep.

After a few passes, Zed looked back over at Impulse, expecting the other to be either laughing or rolling his eyes.

Those eyes were closed.

A bit of gentle poking confirmed, Impulse was actually asleep.

Had he really been that tired? He had seemed determined to pull an all-nighter before…

This, Zed soon learned, was not an isolated incident. He tried it a few times with different people in different environments. It wasn’t very scientific of him to have so many variables but then again he had never been a very orthodox scientist.

Without fail, it took less than ten passes before they were out cold.

And Zed had checked. He had poked and prodded and tickled and spoke. They weren’t faking it.

He tried to keep the secret for a while, a fun, harmless prank to pull. But it didn’t take long for people to start comparing notes.

Zed got a lot of nighttime calls after that. Lots of insomniacs finally giving in. Lots of interventions had.

Always counting sheep.

Counting Zed.

[heytheredeann]

#tmfu#napoleon x illya x gaby#of course my pet peeve is people making napoleon out to be impulsive and kind of dumb#man’s a world class thief you better believe he’s good at planning#just look at his extraction of gaby from east berlin#meticulously planned#is he good at improvising#yes#that doesn’t mean he’s always going off half cocked#if anything I think he’d be LEAST likely to tbh#anyway sorry for the essay in your tags#this is lovely ely (@cha-melodius)

HEAD, HEART, HANDS.

[the-last-thread-of-my-sanity]

I’ve been thinking lately about how much the ‘curse of Ymir’ really does affect the psyche of each of the nine shifters and how it impacts the ending of the story.

Up until the end of Season 3/Chapter 87-88, the reader and the viewer have no idea that the shifters have a limited amount of time to live. They seem to possess this god-like power and they can rejuvenate and survive almost any injury. They seem unstoppable.

This is what motivates Erwin to create a plan to take one of the nine shifter powers with the serum- having another Titan in your arsenal would make a difference in winning the war.

But what the Paradisians don’t know is how holding the power of the Nine just perpetuates a cycle of violence and cruelty. It’s a curse as much as it is a power. No matter how brilliant or grand your scope is for what you can do with this near limitless power, you have to contend with the fact that you will only have thirteen years to do it.

This revelation to me is the what colors the entire last arc of the story leading into and after the time skip.

For Zeke, it amps up the level of desperation he has for accomplishing the euthanization plan- relying on Eren was still a variable that was largely unpredictable, and he trusted him more than he probably would have if he weren’t running out of time.

Going back further in the story, it retroactively explains why Ymir (of the cadet corps) would go back with Reiner and Bertholdt at all- a seemingly nonsensical choice when it seems she has something to live for in her relationship with Krista/Historia. But Ymir knows she has little time left. She has no future. So she chooses to surrender.

For Annie, it shows her desperation to get back to her father, a man who showed her very little affection, and yet if she could just make it back maybe she could live at least a year or two with him and make at least one happy memory with the man who raised her to kill.

Armin, I honestly feel the most for, because what he and everyone else thought of as his salvation, was actually just saddling him with a curse. And heaps of responsibility to try and be grateful for it. He went from a character with a singular and wholesome conviction, to someone wracked with guilt and forced to solve the world’s problems with limited time and resources.

In Reiner’s case, I actually think the fact that he knows he is going to die is the only thing actually keeping him alive in the tail end of the story. He wants so badly to face retribution for his deeds, and he can only find the strength to keep towing the line because he knows his violent demise is guaranteed.

Characters like Pieck and Bertholdt seem to accept their lot in life- but deal with this internally and develop their own sense of morals despite it- albeit in different ways and in Pieck’s case with a shade of pessimism. Falco and Marcel stand out as a characters who see the farce for what it is- but still want to subject themselves to it in order to prevent someone they love from suffering through it in their place.

Eren, though, it’s easy to see how discovering he has already lived more of his life in powerless ignorance than what he has left is what ultimately causes the collapse in his character. Combine that with the way that he sees ‘future memories’ and doesn’t see any future beyond his own, and suddenly you have a naturally impulsive and violent person living in the most fatalistic reality ever. It makes perfect sense that his fall from grace is near immediate and precipitous.

What difference does all that power make if all it means is that you become a tool for destruction with no future? That you will be forced to curse someone else so that this cruel power will continue to exist? That is the true legacy of Ymir and the Eldian Empire- you can have near limitless power, but you will never have true control over your own life.

And it makes for such interesting discussions and questions about power and mortality and agency- and all the seemingly ‘correct’ and ‘incorrect’ ways to respond to their dilemma.

Anyway, it is always ‘thinking about the moral quandary of the titan shifters’ hours around here…