#it's just been a feeling I've been getting more and more over the past half a year

[esperderek]

I have to have a chuckle at the Screenrant article posted recently about the Galactic Starcruiser, which totally wasn't about Jenny Nicholson's video honest.

In part, because early in Nicholson's video, she talks about how unnatural it is to have your influencers speak in adcopy and copyright rather than the more colloquial nicknames, and how it makes the people speaking about the product seem very insincere and, well, paid off. Because normal humans don't speak that way, but advertising does.

What's the first two lines in this article?

"As a life-long fan of Star Wars, there was nothing quite as exciting as finding out that I would be working on the immersive Star Wars: Galactic Starcruiser experience. Located at the Walt Disney World Resort, the Galactic Starcruiser opened on March 1, 2022, and welcomed passengers to board a two-day, two-night cruise through the stars, during which they could live out their own Star Wars adventure."

No one talks like this naturally. No one writes like this naturally.

This is supposed to be your passioned defense of the place you worked at, the people you worked with, and the memories you made along the way. C'mon! Why don't you open with a story, perhaps an anecdote about the best moment you had working there, or the devastation of the day you lost your dream job. We need to feel your humanity! But there's nothing of that here, to the point where you can just hear the TM behind Galactic Starcruiser.

The first half of this article continues in this vein, reading like a press release Disney marketing put out, just with past tense rather than present or future tense:

"Essentially, the Starcruiser experience was a 48-hour movie that passengers were actually a part of. It was all facilitated through the "datapad," which was accessed through the Play Disney Parks app."

"To facilitate the overarching immersive experience and storytelling, the Starcruiser built a jam-packed itinerary for each and every guest that would consist of a variety of important activities: the captain's toast at muster, a bridge training exercise, lightsaber training, and more. These types of events were essential to understanding what was happening, as they would give passengers the chance to interact with characters and build their story. This is why the Starcruiser could never be just a hotel; every part of it was designed for enthusiastic interaction."

Like, c'mon. I used to work in television. I've seen and used adcopy in my former job, and this is some serious adcopy. It honestly wouldn't shock me if the author dredged up some old adcopy they had lying around about the topic and just transferred it over, changing the tense. You're not here to sell us this product, because there is no product to sell. It's gone, it's been gone for a year, you don't have to sell us on IT. Speak about your experiences.

The next part is yet another topic that Jenny Nicholson pointed out, the bad faith excuses that influencers and advertisers made for the extreme price point:

"What many people don't know, however, is that the price included much more than just a room. The passengers' food, park tickets, recreation activities on board, non-alcoholic drinks, and more were all included - with merchandise being one of the few additional costs on board."

Which is absolute bad faith reasoning, especially when there are plenty of other vacation options that are ALSO all-inclusive, but are MUCH cheaper and offer MORE amenities than the Galactic Starcruiser did! Including Disney Cruises, owned by the same company! Seriously, you can go on a halfway decent sounding cruise or all-inclusive resort somewhere warm for, like, a week or two and spend far less than GSC cost.

Then the last part is essentially: "All the workers liked working there and the bad reviews afterwards make the workers who worked on it feel sad. :("

Which, like, companies have been hiding behind that reasoning for ages. Curiously, the author never offers....any reasons or stories. WHY did working on it impact you so much? What set it apart, what were the people like, what did you like about working there, why are you so passionate about it even a year later? There's nothing, just a generic sort of "We worked hard." and "We're sad it's gone." Why? How? What happened? The video you're obviously writing this in response to is filled with personal anecdotes and stories, it's the backbone of the video! Again, you need to give us something to show your humanity!

Especially when you consider that Nicholson repeatedly points out that the only highlight about her experience, the only thing that kept the damn thing going was the workers.

She had nothing but praise for them, and nothing but contempt for the higher ups who wasted and abused that enthusiasm, to the point where one of her last points was "Hey, Disney is basically exploiting labor."

Much like Jenny, I'm also not condemning anyone who had a good time working there. Good! If you were having a good time at work, that's great. If you have good memories about the people, awesome. But I'll note two things:

a) That doesn't meant you weren't being exploited, and

b) That doesn't mean you have to be a useful idiot for the corporation you worked for afterwards.

I'm not conspiracy brained enough to go "Oh, Disney TOTALLY forced this article into being.", because a cursory examination of the author's prior works and such suggests a lifelong passion for Star Wars, she did work at the hotel, and she's a Star Wars Editor (whatever THAT means in this day and age) for Screen Rant. Apparently one of the heads of Screen Rant says that Disney had no hand in it either.

Though, I can see why people would think that way. It READS like a press release, not something a normal human being would write about an experience they feel passionate about.

[mayajadewrites]

could've been you: aizawa x reader x hawks

summary: You're the new teacher at UA with a rocky past with one of their beloved teachers, Shouta Aizawa aka Eraserhead. You'd rather never see him again but alas, such is life. You also meet Keigo, aka Hawks, who is the opposite of Aizawa. Smiley, golden retriever energy. Nothing could go wrong... right? relationships: aizawa x fem!reader, hawks x fem!reader warnings: some chapters will be NSFW, they will have a warning on them in bold.

CHAPTER THREE

"You're starting to give me stalker vibes, Aizawa." You watch as his body leaves the wall he was leaning on. "How long have you been standing out here?"

"Since I heard you moan that bird's name."

You freeze. He heard that? He's 2 doors down. He has to be lying.

But that's way too specific to be a lie.

"Sorry I disrupted your sleep." You shrug and turn to go back into your room.

"You know I don't sleep." Aizawa slid his hands in his pockets and stepped towards you. His hair was pulled in a half up, half down style, pieces of his hair framing his face.

"Yeah, I can tell." You look up at Aizawa as his tall body hovers over yours. "Those under eye bags don't lie." You take the pad of your thumb and softly touch the skin under his eye. He watches your movements closely, his body jumping slightly at the touch.

You pull your hand back, unsure of why you even did that.

You hate this man.

"I might have some face products that'll help you out." You try to ease the tension you now feel in the pit of your stomach. "You know, to look less tired."

"I don't trust you coming near my face like that." He turned his head away from you. "Do you hear that?"

You try to focus on the noises in the building. There's pipes, the sounds of students playing video games, and then you hear giggling.

"It's my students." He whispers. "It's past curfew, they should be in their rooms."

You hear footsteps starting to get closer, and closer.

Aizawa pushed you gently into your room, locking the door behind him.

"I didn't know this was your room, Eraser."

"I didn't want the students seeing us, well, more you dressed like that." His dark brown eyes travelled up and down your body.

"And why's that?! Teachers can't have a life outside of school?" You plant your hands on your hips. "It's stupid to think they don't know that teachers are real people outside of the classroom."

"You have a hickey on your neck." Aizawa used his index finger to poke at the bruise. "They would've thought I did that if they saw us standing together."

"You wish you did." You turn on your heel to your kitchen and grab a water from your fridge. "Since you're here, do you want something to drink? Poison perhaps?"

"Water is fine." Aizawa makes his way to your couch, around were Keigo was just sitting, making out with you. His hands all over your skin.

After you hand Aizawa the bottle of water, you sit parallel to him on the couch. A considerable space away from him.

"You really paused the movie you were watching?" Aizawa extended his arm across the back of the couch, almost touching the top of your head.

"Yeah, I wanted to finish it. I also don't like background noise when I'm... you know."

"Start it over." He leaned back and got himself more comfortable.

"Why? I've seen-"

"I haven't seen it. So can you for once just shut up and listen?"

You didn't argue. You pressed the 'Start Over' button and let the movie play.

You couldn't believe it. Aizawa was laughing. Not a loud laugh, by any means, but he let out a chuckle. You couldn't help but smile at the sound of his laugh.

As the movie progressed, your eyes felt more and more heavy.

You don't remember when you stopped watching.

_________________________

Your eyes fluttered open as the sunlight of a new day crept through your curtains.

But you weren't on your bed.

You felt someone breathing underneath you.

Your eyes grew wide as you softly turned, noticing the white t-shirt that you were just laying on. Complete with a chest and arms of muscle.

Your eyes flicker up, noticing Aizawa's eyes are closed. He's sleeping. His snores are light as his arms wrap around you tighter. You didn't want to wake him up, but you also didn't want to be laying on him anymore.

You squint to look at your microwave clock. 6:04 AM. You could let him sleep for another hour. He never sleeps.

You close your eyes again, leaning your head on his chest. You feel his cheek rest on top of your head as his hold on you tightens just ever so slightly.

You feel Aizawa's arms gently move you off of him as he stands up. "How long was I out?"

"Your guess is as good as mine. I don't remember when I fell asleep. But when I woke up, there you were."

"Shit, I have to get ready. The students can't see me leaving your room."

"Well how the turns table." You pad over to your bathroom. "Find a way out. I'm gonna shower." You wave and close the bathroom door.

What the fuck is happening.

__________________

You dont know how, but Aizawa got out without being seen. You showered off last night and covered your hickey with some concealer. You can't help but think about how calm you felt with Aizawa. How relaxed he was.

When you walk into the classroom, it's like nothing ever happened. The students are all talking about... whatever it is going on in their teen lives. Aizawa is in the front of the room, organizing papers on his desk.

"Good morning Eraser." You set your bag down. "What's on the agenda for class today?"

"The kids are gonna spar each other in the gym space. We're gonna observe how they do against each other."

"That explosive kid is gonna be insane." You watch Bakugo as he pouts at something Midoria just said.

"Alright class, we want to see what you can do. We'll be sparring in the gym, so be prepared to use your quirks. Sparring partners will be told to you when we get there." Aizawa opened the door and walked out of the room. You followed behind him, along with the students.

"You better watch out Icy Hot, I'm gonna beat the crap out of you."

"You're awfully confident." Shoto said with his hands in his pockets. You worry about him and his home life. Enji was a terrible father, maybe still is, and Shoto no doubt has a lot of trauma. You stare at the scar on his face, a piece of your heart breaking.

You sit on the bleachers with Aizawa as he names off the list of people and their sparring partners. You lean back, looking up at the sky through the sun-roof of the building. The sky is bright blue, only a few clouds in the sky.

You watch as the clouds move over head. So peaceful.

Then you see a flash of dark red flying through the air. You smile when you see Keigo stop and wave at you, his yellow glasses sat perfectly on his face.

You watch him pull his phone out, seemingly texting you.

Keigo: You look beautiful even from up here.

You smile down at your phone and you can feel Aizawa staring at your phone screen. But you weren't going to give a reaction.

You: Hopefully you can't see the little present you left me. ;)

Keigo: Sorry, I couldn't help but want to taste you.

Your cheeks started to burn and you slid your phone in your pocket. Aizawa rolled his eyes, leaning his forearms on his legs as he leans his body forward.

You knew Aizawa was watching you. You knew that bothered him.

Oh well.

[starstruckkittensweets]

Paper Cranes

Osamu Dazai x Reader

fandom: bungo stray dogs

I've had this fic idea in my head since Christmas, and finally finished it up when I was supposed to be doing my homework. (Help I've started grad school and I already regret everything.) Also I've never written for Dazai before, so I'm a little nervous as to how this will be received. Anyway I hope you enjoy!

warnings: fem reader, a bit of profanity because learning origami is hard damn it, Reader is a bit insecure but she tries, and Dazai is a little shit who loves attention || words: 2.1k

It’s nearly an hour after closing when he finds you, still hunched over at your desk.

The rest of the agency has gone home, the first rays of the setting sun streaming through the windows. He’d left a few minutes ago, just to kill time at the café until you’d finished your work. But it’s been nearly a half hour by now, and Dazai’s starting to get a little antsy.

He just wants to spend the rest of the day strolling through the city without a care in the world, with you at his side. So what’s taking you so long?

But you don’t seem to be doing paperwork like you were when he’d left; instead you’re focused on a piece of colorful paper in front of you. A shade of green, folded in half on both sides with a few messy creases down the surface.

You haven’t even noticed him yet, too engrossed on the little piece of paper. Folding it in half again, before tucking the sides underneath the top flap. Eyes dart back and forth between the paper and a little book sprawled open at your side; your tongue pokes out the corner of your mouth as you fold the sides of the paper to meet the crease in the center. 

As quietly as he can (and he actually tries to be, Kunikida would be so impressed if he saw him now), he makes his way towards your desk. Careful not to disturb you, although you seem to be lost in your own little world. You don’t even realize his shadow’s crossing your own on the floor. 

Are you…? 

His suspicions are confirmed when you pull the top half of the paper back, forming a long diamond shape with the sides tucked in. The wings of a crane, albeit a little messy. And slowly but surely, he can feel the corners of his mouth pull up in a smile—you seem to be doing really well so far… 

But then you tug just a bit too hard on the second flap, tearing the paper straight down the middle. You stare at the broken pieces in your hands, lips parted slightly, unable to tear your gaze from 

“…Fuck it.” 

You shake your head with a sigh, toss the pieces in the trash with a little more force than necessary—and nearly jump out of your skin when you see Dazai standing just a few feet away from your desk. 

“Sorry, didn’t mean to scare you,” he says with a smile (and noticing the way your bottom lip trembles between your teeth), “I thought you’d be done by now, no?” 

“Ah…”

Your eyes dart almost nervously back to your desk, as though you’re just now realizing you haven’t been doing any actual work for the past fifteen minutes or so. Your chest heaves with a sigh, arms stretched out in front of you as you roll your shoulders.

“Sorry, just killing some time. Anyway, you wanna head out now?”

But his eyes are fixed on the little trash can beside your desk, and the multi-colored scraps of paper decorating the top. Your cheeks flush with heat as he glances back up at you, a playful smile on his lips.

“I didn’t know you had a thing for origami!”

“I…don’t.” Your throat feels unnaturally tight when you swallow. “I’ve never done it before, I thought I’d try it out, but…”

Turns out it’s actually much harder to do than it looks. Turns out that, no matter how many instructional books and videos you follow along with, you can’t seem to grasp even the most basic concepts. For the love of God, it’s folding paper into different shapes—how hard could it possibly be?

Very fucking hard, as a matter of fact.

You’re about to slap the little book closed and shove it back under the stack of paperwork on the corner of your desk (you know, what you should be working on instead), when a shadow blocks out your sun. Dazai hums to himself as his eyes skim the instructions, the little detailed pictures above the words, bold and dotted lines to mark each fold and crease.

Then he shakes his head with a laugh. “No wonder, they left out a few important steps…”

Your mouth falls open as he grabs a random chair (probably the one from Kunikida’s desk) and plops down right beside you, his elbow brushing against your own. He takes a small slip of paper from the stack in front of you—pure white this time—and gives you a smile that makes your heart leap in your throat.

“I can show you the right way to do it, if you’re interested?”

You don’t have the strength to deny him, even when he uses that familiar teasing tone. You simply nod your head and grab another sheet, a light pink shade that’s easy to see any creases you’ll make.

He waits until your eyes are back on his to start your little lesson. Folding the paper vertically, horizontally, diagonally until eight little creases stare back at you. He nods when you’re finished; the silent praise sends your heart hammering in your chest.

“Now shift it like this”—he turns the paper diagonally—“and tuck the sides in like this. Like you’re making a smaller diamond shape.”

He folds the paper so elegantly, so beautifully, you almost don’t realize he’s talking to you. You swallow and follow his lead. A bit shaky with your creases, but at least now you have a diamond shape that roughly mirrors his own. 

“…Looks like a frog’s legs, huh?”

That gets a laugh out of him. “Wanna learn how to make little frogs next, huh?”

“If you don’t mind teaching me,” you answer with heated cheeks.

“I’d be delighted to! But one thing at a time. If you can make a crane, you can make anything.”

If you say so. Dazai can be incredibly convincing when he wants to be. Has a habit of pumping you up over the smallest of tasks. Sometimes it’s helpful (when it comes to handing in paperwork on time), other times it’s overbearing.

“See this middle line right here?” A finger slides over the crease in the white diamond. “Fold these edges so they meet in the middle.”

Seems easy enough. Now both papers look like little kites.

“Now what?”

“Take the top corner and fold it down. On both sides.”

Wait a minute. “…Could you repeat that?”

“This corner,” he points to the top of the kite shape, “fold it over like this.” He angles it down, creasing it down to meet the line in the middle.

“But…why?”

Must be one of those extra steps he mentioned, you don’t remember anything like this in all the books or worksheets you’ve read through. But you don’t really see the point in this one. Won’t the crane still look the same if you don’t do this part?

“Here, I’ll show you.”

Dazai presses down on the newly made fold, before folding it back up to maintain that kite shape. He flips it around and glances over at you; you jump and take it as your cue to continue, following his lead with shaky hands.

“See? You got it.” He gives you a smile, and you swear you feel your heart leap in your throat.

…Stop looking at his hands.

But you can’t help it—they just look so dazzling against the paper. His fingers glide against the surface, tucking each corner perfectly, pressing along the sides with just enough pressure… He’s built up quite a bit of experience, with all the paper airplanes he’s made out of his paperwork (along with Kunikida’s and Atsushi’s).

A snicker pulls you from your daydream, and your cheeks flush with heat when you see his eyes fixed on your face.

“Don’t daydream on me now, love, we’re only halfway done!”

You clear your throat and glance back at the kite shape in your sweaty hands. “What’s next, huh?”

 “Now open it up, tuck these edges in, and it looks like this.”

You follow his lead, eyes darting back and forth between your paper and his—and you have to admit, folding the edges is much easier now with that extra top crease he’s made. The kite slowly stretches into a longer diamond, with two thick flaps on top and two skinny tips on the bottom.

“Fold these in, so it’s a thinner shape.”

You fold the edges of each side into the middle, a small smile donning your features. This is further than you’ve ever gotten on your own. Maybe all you needed was a damn good teacher.

“Alright, see these little tips?” Dazai taps his finger against each one. “You’re gonna bring them up to the same height as the top one, like this. Then the next one…”

He folds each tip upwards, meeting the top flap and pressing down on the crease.

“And now you’ve got a cute little crown!”

A laugh bubbles up in your throat as he holds it above your head, even more so when you see a soft smile on his face. You don’t have the heart to brush him away, even as you focus on your own paper. It’s a little uneven and bent a weird way, but when you’re done you hold yours up and over his head as well.

“Like this, huh?”

“Perfect,” he says, and your heart skips a few beats. “Now, which one’s your favorite?”

His finger dances back and forth between the smaller tips of each crown. You pause, and then point to the one on your right side, closest to him.

“That one? Alright, take it like this…and fold it down. Now he’s got a little head.”

He shows you with his own, expertly folding the tip down to crease right down its middle, bending it to give the little paper a head. Yours is a little clunky (you’ll never understand how he moves his hands the way he does), but it still gets a smile out of him.

“And spread his wings slowly…”

Slowly, carefully, each delicate wing pressed between your fingers.

“…Ta da! Say hello to your new little crane!”

Dazai holds up his own, a perfect white bird with no corner or fold out of place. The prime example of a paper crane.

Yours is roughly the same thing, with a few beginner mistakes thrown in. A slight tear on his nose, his head hanging a bit too low, and he doesn’t stand on his own when you place him down. But he’s here, right in front of you, next to Dazai’s own crane. To be honest…

Not bad for your first try.

“…Here, take it.”

In all your years of knowing him, you can’t recall ever seeing Osamu Dazai stunned into silence. It almost makes you laugh, the way his mouth tightens into a line, his soft brown eyes unusually blown wide. It looks…kinda cute on him.

He’s still staring at you, so you take the lead and grab his hand, careful of the bandages around his wrist, and place the tattered pink crane in his palm.

“I…I wanna give it to you.” You can feel your face start to burn, but force the words out anyway, no matter how stupid they sound. “So here, take it. It’s for you.”

It’s not perfect, nowhere near it. It’s messy and crumbled in some places, and the more you look at it the more you wonder if this is a good idea after all. If he would even want something like this in the first place.

But then his hands close over the crane and hold it up to his face, inspecting each and every crease and fold. You hold your breath, nails sinking into the corner of the desk.

You’re three seconds away from snatching the thing out of his hands and taking everything back—but then he places it on the corner of his desk, propped up against a stack of paper so it won’t fall over.

“No fair if you give me yours,” he says with a smirk, “and I don’t give you anything in return!”

So he slides his own paper crane towards you, urging you to take it. It almost makes you want to cry, the soft way he looks at the pink crane on his desk, tracing his finger along the edges. You hold his own crane close to your chest, before placing it on the corner of your desk, its nose touching the pink one’s.

“…Thanks, Dazai.”

The smile he gives you sends a swarm of butterflies straight to your stomach. And when it’s time for you two to finally leave the office, with the last rays of the sunset streaming through the window, you can’t help but steal one last look at the little pair of cranes, right there on your desk, their noses brushing against each other’s.

A perfect sight to walk into tomorrow.

The thought makes you smile, as Dazai’s hand slides into your own, and the two of you close the door behind you.

[ivyembracertifiedbitch]

FHJY Finale Thoughts: Episode 20

Disclaimer: I know I've been really negative about the last two episodes but I do actually have real criticisms, and I will try my best to not be just 'I hate this' about everything. No promises though. Also, none of this is hating the IH or Bleem. I respect that they're very fucking tired when shooting this and don't have a week in between episodes to think, and so these criticisms are made with that in mind. Also feel free to debate and discuss, I just wanted to share my opinions and try to pinpoint where the narrative went wrong, or where BLeeM could've made a better DM choice, but I love hearing other people's thoughts!

The Battle

The allies: Again, they have too many advantages! There is no concern here! Also, having the allies would've been more helpful at the beginning of the fight. Now? When half of The Rat Grinders are dead? When they've already hurt Porter and Jace? We know how this goes, just break out the champagne already. I appreciate that Brennan made it a Nat 20 check though, that was for me. (I do like the callback to the calling for Sklonda and the police from the freshman year finale.)

Served up a plate of redemption arc: Let's be clear here. Fig did not try to give Ruben redemption. She helped brutally kill his friends and told him 'join us or meet the same fate.' And he stuck to his guns. I'm positive that if the Bad Kids had been remorseful at all, then Ruben would've given it some serious consideration, but like this? No dice.

Kipperlilly Copperkettle: Fucking W's this entire battle. That speech Brennan gave was undeniably false and full of contradictions though. She is the definition of what Aguefort defines as a hero, but because she's antagonistic to the Bad Kids, suddenly she's a villain or boring. Also, no practical application? She dug up a teacher's grave! She killed Buddy! She might've killed more people! Her stealth is just that good that she wasn't seen at all this year! There's no world where anyone can reasonably say she has no practical application.

Mary Ann: Yeah, again. The fact that she's willingly taking 18d10 lava damage to try and kill Fig, this is undeniably a meltdown, and if anyone makes fun of it, I'm meeting them in the parking lot outside. Also, telling her she chose the wrong team, they don't know TRG! Those are her friends! How dare they say she chose the wrong team, they didn't even choose their team! Whatever!

Jace and Porter: Let's be honest for a minute here, without them in episode 20, I don't think I would've even had the strength to finish the episode. (My take on their dynamic is Jace is over here having sex with his coworker and then Porter rage stars him. And gives him 6/7 kids to watch over. Jace isn't getting paid enough for any of this. Porter chose him because he's really fucking angry under the cheerfulness, and that would be useful as a worshipper. And sometimes they fuck. Also, they hate each other.) They're literally divorcing during this fight but they were never married. They're so fun!

Squeem and Balthazar: I think the problem with this fight is that it didn't feel serious enough. There was no worry for the Bad Kids, we knew Porter and Jace would be taken out, we had a ton of allies, the victory was guaranteed and so no one was taking it seriously. Because of that, we kinda lost the plot. In past IH seasons, they've been pretty good about keeping the tone of the finale serious, if not a little goofy, and it feels odd to just have a ton of bits in the finale and then try to go into emotional shit. None of it matters! The plot was set up in earlier episodes, but we didn't give a shit about it here! (I have no problem with them being funny, this is the chill 'nothing's serious' season, but also we've been serious before! We've had plot before! It's just kinda disappointing. Also, I don't give a shit about Squeem or Balthazar at all because they were here for maybe 1 or 2 episodes)

Dispel magics: Given the way the finale goes, I'm glad they didn't just pull out dispel magics on The Rat Grinders (the whole 'rage stars completely take over you and change your personality' bullshit is not my vibe), and I'm taking it to mean dispel magics probably didn't work after you've had the rage star for too long, but why? They were just kids too! Operating under the rage stars! They didn't even try to un-ragify any of TRG! No fucking empathy to be seen in this house.

Agent Cuspin Clark: I get that he's one of Brennan's self-inserts, he's also a cop, and only funny as a bit. I want him dead.

Ankarna: I would've liked to have seen more of a split, like, Porter is here and calling on her as the goddess of War, and Fig's here calling on her as the goddess of Justice. I would've liked some back and forth between her and the two of them. Like Porter being like 'kill them all' and Ankarna agreeing and Fig asking 'is this just?' and Ankarna being split between the two. As above, so below.

Divine Intervention: I'll be honest, just a solid fuck no. Fuck. No. I'm aromantic, so maybe this is something funny for the allo's, but I genuinely don't understand why. First off, like maybe only 5% of teenagers actually care about their virginity. They're all too busy with other things to worry about if they've had sex or not, no-one cares. Second, the idea that you HAVE to lose your v-card sometimes feels like it's bordering on the edge of sexual coercion. Sex is great, no-one should feel like they have to lose their virginity, or like any of that fucking matters. (I'm not blaming Fabian or Mazey, or any of the other Bad Kids, (I have some really good Thoughts™ on Fabian and his relationship with sex re: Sophomore Year, but that's not for this post) I think they're just parroting what they've heard and they don't realize what they're doing, but still.) And the fact that it's posed as an injustice and not, y'know anything to do with his family, or him being a maximum legend, or hell, the fact that he's going to have a half-sibling that his mother is going to be present for? Sex isn't that important. Also, I know it's funny to have an extremely powerful goddess do something funny, but I think it's an injustice (lol) to Ankarna to have her care about specifically this. Also, Ankarna's not mad about him lying to her? About him trying to kill her?

Epilogue

Riz being unfair to Fig and Kristen: I don't honestly think Riz has been unfair to Fig and Kristen throughout this season. (Yes, I'm mad he didn't do more introspection about him and Kipperlilly being foils. No, this is separate from that). Like, maybe if he had been forcing them to do it all on their own, then yeah. But he's out here helping Kristen's campaigns. He's taking stress tokens so Kristen can pass. He's helping Fig manage her workload and figure out what she wants to do with classes. And he does need them to do well so he can go to college so if he's a little overbearing, who cares? (Yeah I really think he should've had some introspection on him being similar to Kipperlilly. Because prevent change? Promoting fairness has like nothing to do with preventing change.)

Vignettes: Those were sweet honestly. Not a lot of notes there, it is a HARD pivot from silly to emotional, but it's sweet once you get over that.

Ankarna: I get that it's comedy, and it's really fucking funny to have a goddess be really fucking powerful and then turn around and make her nice or whatever, but Ankarna's not going to be a chill god! Even when she's not the goddess of war and conquest, her domain is summer, justice, conviction. None of these things are chill! These are all intense things, and justice can be very black and white. I don't know, I'm just annoyed that there's this running trend of 'if you're a god of the Bad Kids then you're nice, and if not, then you're either a dick or a turncoat or useless.' Gods are gods. They're fucking neutral, and people are either going to like them or hate them or not give a shit about them, but none of that means they're good or bad. Also, Fig's worship of Ankarna, despite how sweet it seems, really does have the feeling of 'he doesn't know what's good for you, but I do, and it's what you want to be (provided you want to be the uncorrupted version of you).' Which is very terms and conditions, I want you to be you as long as you are "good."

Hypocrisy: It's really funny that in the middle of battle, it's 'brutally kill the kids, even once we realize that a dispel magic has a chance of removing the rage stars' and outside of battle it's 'people aren't just black and white. they can be bad but they don't deserve to get sliced in half.' This is the function of DnD, to kill the bad guys mercilessly, which means playing with foils and doubt and anger doesn't work with a 2 episode combat finale.

Kalina: She wasn't evil. She simply wasn't. She's a fucking familiar, and tied to Cassandra, and can't be evil. This is full retcon behavior, and it fucking sucks. I hate it.

Mary Ann: I will scream it to the fucking roof if I have to, just because she's autistic, does not mean she was unaware. Just because she followed along with the plan at first, doesn't mean she didn't stay with the group for three years, full of rage. She's not evil either, she's 17 and fully manipulated, just like the rest of TRG. Every single IH is being weird about her. (But slay, for voting for yourself.)

Henry: He loves his nephew! Why isn't he doing anything? And if he was here the entire time, what, he's just fine that Fig eternally damned Ruben? Get yourself a personality!

Lucy: One, I think it's really funny if Lucy does in fact have a mini crush on Kristen and that's part of why Kipperlilly hates Kristen so much. Two, I am a firm believer in Lucy having also, at the very least, disliked the Bad Kids so I'm not a fan of her in the finale episode. Also, she's allowed to be glad they were killed, they killed her first, but to make no mention of Kipperlilly not coming back? Just nothing? (I adore Lucy being Kipperlilly's best friend and also crush, and Kipperlilly being Lucy's crush but Ruben being her best friend. The implications.) There was so much emphasis put on her coming back that to just have like 10 seconds of conversation with her and move on, dead wife montage for real.

The Rage Stars: Nope. Nope. Fucking nope. Nope. Forgetting everything they did? Then who gives a shit? They're all fucking innocent and nothing matters and you brutally killed 6 teenagers for no fucking reason and everything's sunshine and unicorns. Just, every teenager is so fucking angry, and the fact of being a teenager is you have to deal with the consequences. So if you full on beat up a dude, you have to go to school with them until you graduate (they'll get over it in like a month). Like, in reality, the rage stars most likely just amplify any rage they actually have, but don't completely change their personality. This season is about 'chaos isn't cute anymore,' so to have TRG do a bunch of shit but face no consequences is. The themes guys, the themes! Also, the idea that Oisin and Ivy remember more because what, they were more willing to be angry? Every single one of them was willing to be angry. And Kipperlilly's dead! Staying dead! Because she "willingly" chose it? After being manipulated by an older teacher, who we know is charming enough to deceive Fig and Gorgug, how willing do you think it was? But whatever!

Refusing to bring back KLCK: Honestly, refusing to bring back Kipperlilly highlights the problem a lot of people have with mental disorders, which is that you can be mentally ill, as long as you NEVER hurt anyone, or as long as you don't have an "evil" disorder. I've seen a lot of people headcanon Kipperlilly with more demonized disorders (I've seen BPD, Bipolar, OCD (real OCD, not the romanticized bullshit), personally I think she's repping us NPD peeps, but they're all great headcanons) and I think it really speaks to the way that some people see certain disorders as evil. You can be mentally ill, but god forbid you need attention to be normal, or have intrusive thoughts about murdering your best friend, or etc etc. Y'know what? God forbid mentally ill people do a murder.

Mary Ann "Redemption?": Just full on. If Mary Ann/Gorgug have 0 haters, assume I'm fucking dead and there's no afterlife. First off, the Bad Kids have been weird to her all season. Half of them have been terrified of her, and calling her evil, for tackling Gorgug, in a game where the MAIN GOAL is to tackle your opponents!! The other half of them have been infantilizing her and acting like she had no choice in anything and was just forced to join TRG. So the idea that she'd be just cool with that, is only acceptable if we take the idea that losing the rage star means you lose all the memories of what you did under the rage star. Also, the idea that as a female character, she's only redeemable (to Gorgug) if she's a potential romantic interest strikes me as misogynistic. Like, no! Just let her be a friend! I'd take weird sidekick friend over Gorgug's girlfriend. (None of this is on Mary Ann, she can have whoever she wants. I don't like the Bad Kids' side of it).

Worshiping Cassankarna going viral: I know the problem at the start of this season was that Cassandra didn't have enough followers, but also like the first essay Kristen writes is about how not every religion needs to have a ton of followers. Isn't it more important that people believe strongly than that you're well-known? (Also, them getting on Tracker for backing her religion with money, but making her religion go viral is like. Double standards.)

Arianwen: She lost her magic. How is she able to be a powerful wizard at work in the forest without magic? (Adaine and Aelwyn do deserve to kill her though, as a treat!)

Telemaine Lomenelda: Right, so that weirdly pointed racist remark he made to Riz, we're just going to be cool with that? Also, to leave Wolfsong in charge of Kei Lumennura and then turn around and be like, Tracker's not in charge anymore. Who's running Kei Lumennura? Nara? Because the IH seem to think she's too stupid for anything.

The child: That child is not Fabian's nemesis, it is the other way around, and he slowly falls in love and keeps pushing the date where he fights the kid back and back until it's just a family joke at that point. Fight with the wall. (I know, comedy show, this one's just a complaint. I think it's more funny if the child full on loves Fabian and he's over here like 'I will kill you when you're 18. Now, time for a nap!')

Wolfsong and Tracker: My thoughts on Wolfsong are just. Tracker wasn't doing anything wrong with Wolfsong. It's not like she went to a place and said 'your religion is wrong, worship my superior religion'. Tracker is providing a different view on Galicaea and we know not every elf believes the way she does! But she's not telling them they're wrong, she's leaving them alone! And having a little money is not the worst thing. Giving people a free place to sleep and free food is not the worst thing in the world. And calling Wolfsong a cult when the Bad Kids walked in, got a tent and hot chocolate and were able to have fun despite not being believers? (I know they're Tracker's friend, hush) Like, she cares about people and she's giving them somewhere to go. And they're not in a basement covered in mosquito bites so is it all bad? It does feel like a nice 'gotcha' moment for the IH so they can be like 'we were right for completely distrusting our close friend and her religion and her girlfriend, because that's what good friends do!'

Girlfriends and exes: Look, if Tracker and Kristen want to be messy exes who get back together again, I'm fucking all for it. I love them in an off again on again situationship. I also love Gertie and Naradriel, and it really feels like this is just to reward Kristen, and not like, an actual decision Tracker would've made. Also, calling Naradriel stupid? I am always up to bat for her! I can not stop defending her or people will think she's just a dumb kid! I think Gertie should absolutely hold a grudge, but to make her be all 'you should've never kissed me if it wasn't going to be forever' and then everyone laughing at Gertie feels iffy. Because that is how it feels in high school, and obviously that's a stupid way of feeling, but it's equally real and valid. And also it feels like another 'gotcha!' moment for Kristen to be like 'yes, I'm hurting someone's feelings, but they're being weird about it so it's fine, and I'm still a good person.'

[vraska-theunseen]

i keep dismissing societal concepts i think are silly in my head and so i go around being like we made this up it's so pointless... abt like copyright law or whatever but then i kind of lock myself in an echo chamber of my own brain where i go around thinking stuff and then i have a conversation with a friend where i find out they put weight in [concept] i've dismissed like they're talking about how IQ is real and measurable and important for statistics and im like WHAT THE HELL...

[ghostoffuturespast]

Being a writer is weird.

[flagsontheland]

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[theultracharmingladynoire]

Added a 'not ml' tag for posts about shows other than ml!

[visgae]

I need to say this here because I don't feel comfortable saying it in a reblog but I've been having Gender™ feelings for a few years now and that post about Gerard's androgeny has made me realise that the way they gender is exactly how I want to gender. I'm not transmasc, I'm AMAB like Gerard but I want what the transmacs want too

Thank you for sharing this! Yeah I've been thinking about their presentation and gender expression recently and trying to find a way to articulate it from a personal point of view and that post did it pretty well. I hope there's a similar post about trans fem expression on here because I would love to hear it from their perspective too.

Honestly the power of someone like Gerard Way to make you think about your own personal gender identity is so strong for so many fans. MCR were my first music special interest when I was 12 and they made me Feel Some Kind Of Way (no pun intended) that I couldn't really understand at the time. I didn't even know what being transgender was until I was like 15 or something but now I'm like....... yeah Gerard Way was an early Gender Moment for me!

Now I've gotten back into them, I can really appreciate the impact their music and aesthetics had on me at such a young age. I also love how much more openly unapologetically trans and queer the fanbase is now compared to 2008 - 12, it's really refreshing and I LOVE the trans readings of songs and albums. x

[neverendingford]

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[a-b-riddle]

Part Six

Can't stop thinking about reader finally giving the boys a taste of their own medicine. And hurting my own feelings in the process of it all. I wanted to make this a baddie reader chapter, but its just a saddie reader chapter. I played Down Bad by T.S on repeat while writing this. Y'all need to thank @blueladys-world for being my ventor for this part.

None of them came the next day to pick up the box of everything you had collected. By everything, quite literally everything. Birthday cards and gifts. Keepsakes from your time together they had given you. Even going as far as returning lingerie they had given you. You didn't want any trace of them in your home anymore. You were gonna have to work hard in rebuilding it to be your safe space once again.

You were surprised that someone from the expo had DM'd you. Renée was an author who had tried to stop by to your stand, but got too caught up in the day. She was in London, working on her next series installment and wanted to pick your brain. Writer to writer.

The two of you agreed on a time. She had mentioned wanting to try this restaurant the last time she visited and you already knew you would be putting that meal on a credit card. It was a bit of splurge, but after the past week you deserved it. You could even wear that sexy black number that had been collecting dust in your closet.

By the time you were done getting ready and squeezing into your dress, you looked more ready for a date than dinner with a colleague.

A colleague. You had a colleague!!!

The knock on the door pulled you from your girlish glee. You didn't need to guess who it was. Your friends knew to text you before they came over and Renée had agreed just to meet you at the restaurant.

It was one of them.

You didn't even t bother looking through your peephole before you opened the door to find Johnny standing there with a floral arrangement of your favorite flowers.

Johnny began to speak, afraid you were going to shut him down immediately no less. But no words came out. His eyes traveled up and down your body, taking you in.

A vision.

You wanted to snap at him that your eyes weren't located on your hips. But damn if it didn’t feel empowering seeing Johnny’s gaze gloss over.

"Fuck me." He swore, gathering his bearings before realizing you were dressed. In a sexy black dress and heels and makeup and oh, fuck you were going out. "Where are you going?"

"First off, none of your business," you said holding a finger up. "And secondly, what are you doing here?"

"Listen," "Bon-"

"The box is right there." You said pointing to a large cardboard box on the floor. "That's everything."

"If you just let me make it-"

"Up to me?" You cut him off again. "I'm over it. Really."

"Just give me a chance."

"Either you haven't spoken to the other two to know I am well and truly done with this situationship, or you’re hoping some half-ass apology and flowers will let you get a last fuck in and the skedaddle. So hopefully if it was latter, hopefully the former answered that for ya.”

So if that's all you came here for, I've got to get going. My reservation is at seven and it's rude to keep a friend waiting."

"It's been a week and you're already going on a date?" He accused.

"Who said anything about a date?" You didn't outright say it wasn't. Where would be the fun in that? “It's just dinner with a colleague.” You didn’t want to lie. It wasn’t a date. But you didn’t need to say it was a woman. “Hardly a date.”

“Look at the sight of ye!" He said, taking the opportunity to take a quick look at how deliciously your ass filled that dress. “A fookin’ dinner with a colleague. Like one of us would show up to a briefing like that.” You opened your compact. Not needed in the age of cellphones but loving the feminine touch.

There was something so... seductive about using a compact mirror to apply your lipstick.

“Kyle does have the legs for this dress.” You said, applying that lipstick he loves. That same shade that looked beautiful on your lips. The same lipstick you would mark all over Johnny’s body. “Believe what you want. Not my problem anymore.”

You put your compact back in your purse along with the lipstick in case you needed to reapply it after dinner.

Johnny's eyes zeroed in on your lips before his eyes met yours. That's when you felt it again. That undeniably spark of chemistry that you had with him. With all of them. That feeling that sucked the very breath from your lungs and for a moment all you could see was the man in front of you.

"Bonnie," he said placing his hands on your neck. His thumbs stroking your cheeks softly. "Just one more chance." He begged, his voice breaking. "I'm a fucking git, but I won't let you go again. I won't leave." You knew that when it came to promises, Johnny had proven that even if he didn't mean to break them, he had forgotten he made them in the first place.

But in that moment you didn't care. Even after everything, Meredith was right. You had loved them. Everything else had ended so shitty. John had blamed you. Kyle had only shown up until it was too late. And Simon. The last time you would ever hear his voice was after he said such cruel things to you.

No.

If you were done with Johnny, you won't let the last time he fucked you being a quick, rough fuck doggystyle before leaving you naked and alone in your bed.

No. The last time with Johnny needed to be good. It might make it harder to finally leave, but you needed this. You needed to know that he could still make love to you and not just fuck you like an animal in heat.

"Johnny?" You asked. Your mouth dangerously close to his. "I don't want you to fuck me."

"I don't have to," he said, starting to take a step back to give you some space before your hands reached his. Holding him in place.

He can't let you go. You couldn't let him go. Not yet. Just one more. You needed just one more time to get him out of your system. The closure you needed.

"Make love to me." You begged, your eyes pleading. "I need to know that I wasn't just something you wanted to fuck." You don't move as his eyes search yours, looking for reassurance. When you nod, his mouth softly touches your own.

His hands travel along your body, but never fully leave you. Sliding your neck to your back. Pulling your body closer to his. A hand placed on your hip so tightly he's afraid you might disappear.

There's no rush, no haste in his touch. His mouth not eager to devour you.

He's slow. With his hands, his tongue. Even when he picks you up and walks to your bedroom with your legs around his waist.

He doesn't throw you on the bed.

Not this time.

He lays you down. His body laying on top of yours. His hand skimming along your bare thighs, but not daring to travel any higher.

But damn you needed him. You wanted love making, but if he didn't get inside you soon, you weren't sure you could let him go after this. You weren't sure you would be able to leave.

"Johnny," you whimpered, pulling away from his mouth. "Please." You took his hand, putting it between your thigh. Aching for any friction.

He obeyed without hesitation. If you told him to get on his bark, he would in that moment. Anything to make you happy. Anything to keep you.

"Got to get you out of this dress first." He resting on his knees before he began to slide the black satin from your thighs to your stomach. You maneuvered, helping him undress you leaving you in nothing.

"I thought you liked the dress." You couldn't help, but tease. Your hand finding its home on the back of his neck, pulling you to him once more.

In a tone lacking any note of humor and in all seriousness, he looked at you. Really looking at you. Taking in how your smile reached your beautiful eyes before he said, "I want you bare to me when I take you."

You felt your stomach flutter at his words before he began to take off his clothes.

He joined you again. His body relaxing when they got between your legs again. His mouth traveled from your exposed neck to your nipples. Sucking and flicking them with his tongue until your back arched. Pressing harder into his mouth.

Your hands tangled in his soft brown hair before you boldly guided him to your already dripping core. He slid down your body before his hands began to push your knees apart until you were fully expose to him.

With your knees bent, Johnny settled on his stomach, placing soft kisses on your soft inner thighs. God, did he love seeing you squirm. He smiled at your tortured expression before looking down at your sex. "There she is." He said before placing a kiss on your pussy.

It wasn't sloppy. He wasn't diving in and licking at your center like so many times before. He was kissing it just as tenderly as he kissed your mouth. Slowly building it deeper and deeper. Adding tongue. Breaking away to readjust his head.

The delicious ache between your thighs began to become to unbearable. "Need you inside me." You panted. "Johnny-"

"Shhh." He soothed. "Got to warm you up first , Bonnie." He said before slipping his finger inside of you. One was all it took before your head settled against the pillows again. When your body relaxed, he added another. He would need to add three to make sure you were good and ready.

His digits stroked that spongy spot inside of you that made your toes curl. "You're barely fitting around my fingers." Johnny was a good 6 inches in length, but the girth is what always did you in. It hurt to take anything past his head into your mouth. If you fucked him without any preparation, especially after a week of no sex, he would tear you into too.

His tongue caressed your clit, your eyes squeezing shut as you felt your first orgasm creeping up on you.

"Johnny." You moaned, your fingers running through his soft brown hair.

"Give it to me, beauty." He panted. "Come on my face. Squeeze my fingers, Lass." He begged before his mouth went back to you.

It was like lightning. Your body now sensitive after being forsaken for so long. Your vision blurred and before you could process it, Johnny was sitting on his haunches between your legs, stroking his cock.

You could only nod, dazed and barely keeping a grip onto the reality of what this was.

The end.

He leaned forward, his cock nestling against you. You knew this was going to be nothing compared to his fingers. "Tell me if I need to stop."

You smiled, mockingly. Reminding him, "Not our first time together, Johnny." just our last.

"You were wrapped tight around my fingers." He gave a half smile before kissing your forehead. The gesture like a knife twisting in your heart. "I just don't want to hurt you."

"I'm ready." You brought your legs around his waist again. Pulling him to you, your arms wrapping around his neck as your mouths meet.

He presses into you. The head of his cock sliding inside just one or two inches. You body contracting around him in a small spasm. He swallows your moan and lets you adjust. He pulls away before looking down where the two of you meet.

"I could die like this, Lass." He said, his breath coming out unsteady as he tries his best to control himself. So close to just burying himself inside of you to the fucking hilt. "Seeing you like this is this first thing I want to see when I make it to the other side." You let out a choked cry as he pushes deeper inside you. Another inch. And another. And another until you're taking all of him.

He slurs something that sound like "fuck", but you are in too much of a daze to care. You arch into him, trying to get closer.

His thrusts are slow and deep. His pubic bone brushing against your clit making you whine and squirm. Begging for more.

You're not sure how long he had fucked you like that.

You needed it to stop.

You couldn't handle it. The softness. His words.

I could die like this, Lass.

Your lip quivered as you told him you wanted to be on top. You needed a moment. A chance to create a bit of space before he shattered your world yet again.

He pulled out. His absence already making you ache for him again before he settled beside you.

You squatted above his cock. Your feet flat against the mattress as you grabbed his hardness and slipping it inside of you. The sound you let out was pornographic. A high pitched, soft moan slipping from your lips as he buried himself inside of you again.

You placed you hands on his chest. Using the leverage to ride him. Your arms serving as barrier for you to get your bearings.

You used his body just as he had used yours. Throwing your head back, you moved faster and faster. Readjusting so your hands went from his chest to his stomach, giving him a better view of your connecting bodies.

His hand slips between the two of you, thumb pressing against your clit, and you tighten even more around. A needy whimper coming out of your throat. The sound mixing in with the sounds of his labored breathing and slapping skin as he begins to fuck up into you.

Even though he had been doing all the work for the last several minutes, you felt the tension start to creep into your calf.

"Fuck fuck fuck." You screech, barely able to hold yourself up any longer. "Ow." You hissed as the cramp took hold.

"Leg cramp?" He asked, not even faltering in his thrusts. You pathetically nod before he takes it upon himself to flip you on your back again.

"I'm going to do this every chance I can." He promises, pressing a searing kiss onto your exposed neck. "Any chance you'll give me." You can't take it. His words, his mouth, his fucking cock. It's too much. "I'm going to show you how much I want you. How much I want to fucking worship ye. Do anything to make you feel good. Not going to leave you again like that, Bonnie."

You reach for him again, pull him into a searing kiss just to shut him up. You need him to shut up. You couldn't take his false promises. You wouldn't survive it. Couldn't.

"Shit." His thrusts quicken, his thumb returning to your swollen bud. Flicking it in a way he had crafted into an art. He buries his face into your neck and you know he's getting close.

You weren't too far behind.

He didn't want to come, not yet, but this was fully out of his control. It was pathetic. A week without sex and you had him nearly coming in the first ten minutes.

But that's what you want. To see him lost in the idea that you would stay.

"Johnny." You groan out. "Please. Cum inside me."

He draws fast, beautiful circles around your clit that immediately push you over the edge. You shut your eyes tight, squeezing him like a vice as you come in strong waves, continuing to push inside you.

in out in out in out.

Deliciously clenching around him tighter and tighter until he can't take it anymore.

"Fuck," he says again, and you see it in his face, and you see it in his face, the second it's all over for him. You want to sear the image in your head. Keep it there forever. Knowing you'll never see it again. The way those enchanting blue eyes squint nearly shut before closing in complete ecstacy.

His mouth would open. A moan caught in his throat that he isn't ready to let go.

His hand closes around your hip, holding you to him while he presses as far as he can go, and it's only then do you feel his cock twitch in quick, jerky movements. He moans out your name before taking your mouth into a searing kiss.

"I fucking love you." He says. "So fucking much."

He was still under the blanket when you returned from the bathroom. You picked up your clothes up from the floor. Looking at the clock realizing you had less than five minutes to get out the door before you would be late for dinner.

"What are you doing?" he asked. You couldn't look at him. Hearing the panic in his voice almost made you stop. Tell him it really was just dinner with a colleague. A woman. That you would be back. Beg him to wait until you came home.

"I can't cancel on the dinner." You said slipping your feet into your heels. "This was a mistake."

You weren't sure why you said it. You weren't sure if you were trying to convince him or yourself. If you wanted to hurt him or make him think you regretted it when you would truthfully do it again. You would do it again and again. You would never stop.

Like Johnny, you could have died in that moment, but for a completely different. Where he would be content, you would be saved from the pain. The pain currently coursing throughout your very soul.

"Lock the door behind you." You say as you practically sprint out the bedroom. Only slowing in your stride to snatch your purse off the kitchen counter before running out. The door slamming behind you.

The restaurant was nicer than you expected. The wine alone was the price of an entree. You didn't seem to be phased at all and were relieved when Renée insisted on picking up the bill.

Your dinner had been delicious and the conversation even better. Renée wrote fantasy romance and wanted to pick your brain about a Why Choose. You had nearly spent out the over priced wine you weren't even really enjoying. Oh the irony.

"It's like all the rage now, but it's hard to make more than one appealing as the love interest. You should have seen the Goodreads comments on my last book. So many people bitched about my FMC not ending up with a character who was quite literally her adopted brother."

"So," you took a breath trying to find the words. "I'm going to be honest. I only read your latest book and I loved Luka. But I can't compare him to other MMCs you've written about so I don't know if they are similar or different. But what I can say is that I'm seeing like this trend of MMCs where they are all this dark-haired, brooding or mysterious character who dislikes mostly everyone and is only soft for either a select few or only the FMC."

"I think if you are going to write a Why Choose you need to think of guys you wouldn't mind falling in love with." You couldn't help, but think of what drew you to your boys. "One could be the leader. Someone who isn't afraid to have his neck on the line. To make sure everyone else is taken care of and being strong enough to handle the stress of that. He would be big on words of affirmation. Lifting the FMC up. For me, it would be someone that I know will take care of business. He's confident in his decision. That confidence would extend to me." You clear your throat. "If I was the FMC, that is."

"Okay." She nodded, pulling out a pen and notepad. "You don't mind if I-"

"I don't write about polygamy." Crossed that bridge. Currently trying to burn it. "So feel free."

"Another could be the one who it's so easy to fall in love with their charm. The one who falls to his knees. Wanting to worship every inch of her. The one who makes her laugh. That one to make her forget about the sadness that creeps into her bones. The one to hold her whenever he could. He's about quality time and physical touch."

"So different love languages." She said, her pen quickly scribbling.

"Yeah." You said, leaning forward. "Then there is the gift giver." Your mind went to Gaz. Most of the gifts and trinkets in the box sitting by your door had came from him. He had gotten you new earbuds when yours broke. When you were being harassed at your gym, he had bought you and him a membership at a different one. "The one who would give her the world if she asked for it. If you're going with a high fantasy then maybe the one to take note of something at a market that the FMC had been eyeing and he bought it for her. Just someone who takes notice like that."

"So acts of service would fall with all of them then you think?"

No. Simon had been the one who probably spent the least amount of money on you. He didn't praise you like John. He didn't even try to attach himself at your hip like Johnny.

But if you needed something fixed, he would come fix it himself. He'd be damned letting a strange man into your apartment. And alone? Fucking forget about it. The one who hated any sort of cardio activity outside of fucking you, but didn't hesitate in attempting to keep up with you when you wanted to go on a run and get some fresh air. If you needed something done, he didn't pay someone else to do it. He did it. If you wanted to do something, he made it happen. He made you safe.

You couldn't bring yourself to say explain it. Your eyes begin to itch. Warning you to think of something else.

So instead you just told her yeah. That they would all commit acts of service. And even in your hypothetical explanation of characters that haven't even been written yet, Simon was still the ghost among them.

"Lucky fucking girl." Renée said setting down her pen.

"Yeah." You said, downing the rest of your wine.

You walked home. The cool crisp wind feeling like it was whipping your exposed skin. It was soothing as the ghost of Johnny's touch still seemed to burn you.

You had hoped that you would get some closure, but you just felt hollow. You came twice and still manage to leave unsatisfied. Johnny wasn't malicious... he was Johnny. He wasn't like the others. Simon would never apologize and John and Kyle wouldn't try to keep reaching out after you told them know once.

Johnny couldn't stand you being mad at him. He never could. He would beg and beg for your forgiveness. You didn't regret fucking him one last time. He needed to know that you were well and truly done. There was no going back from this.

"Hey, Love!" You were pulled from your thoughts at the sound of a voice coming from a source you couldn't see. You perked up, quickly scanning the dimly lit street before your eyes settled on a cluster of shadows just across the street. "Yeah." The slurring voice said again. "Talking to you gorgeous!"

You resumed your trek home. Now picking up your pace. "Don't be like that! Where ya off to?" The voice followed you. You kept your gaze straight. You were three minutes away. Three minutes and you would be at your building.

Three minutes.

Three minutes.

"What's the rush?" Another voice joined the cacophony. "Just want to have a chat."

You turned. They were maybe twenty feet away. You kept your eyes glued to them as your started to make a run for it.

You had made it about ten feet before your body collided with someone. Firm hands gripped your upper arms, steading you as you threatened to fall back.

You sucked in a breath of air, ready to scream when you looked up. It was too dark to make out the man's facial features. He was tall. His head eclipsing the street lamp just behind him. You shook beneath his hands. The voices behind you now silent.

"Keep walking." You didn't need to see his face. You knew that deep timber voice anywhere. He released you from his grip before letting you pass him.

"Just wanted to have a chat." You heard one of them try to reason. "No harm done."

"No harm done yet." Was the last thing you heard Simon say before you broke out into a full fledged run.

[hoshbrownie]

i need to start making orv art FR....... i love it sm........

[nereidprinc3ss]

relax

in which spencer helps university student reader de-stress after a particularly exhausting assignment

18+ (smut) warnings: fingering, overstimulation, happy crying, lowkey softdom spencer, slight d/s dynamics, reader is referred to as a girl, ????idk i've never had to tag for smut before lols wc: 2624 a/n: been doing some insane literary cooking. lots of smut AND more fluff in the works (all uni reader... lol... ). idk if i love this but again need to fucking get it out of my word doc so here u go, PLEASE lmk if you like it!!

You don’t even realize the room has gone completely dark until Spencer comes in the front door and flicks on the light. 

“Why did you do that?” you snap immediately, looking up from your laptop screen for the first time in potentially hours, blinking hard as your eyes painfully adjust. Your boyfriend gives you an odd look. 

“Hello to you too...” 

“I’m sorry. Hi. How was dinner?” 

“It was good,” he says, crossing the room to the couch that has been your entire world for the past five hours. You sigh, releasing some of the tension in your shoulders when he leans down to kiss your head and set down a to-go box on the coffee table. “Have you moved since I left?” 

“...no,” you admit, moving your eyes dejectedly to the keyboard.  

“You made progress,” he appeases, leaning over you to angle the laptop upward. Immediately you wrench it away, holding it protectively against your chest. 

“Stop! I don’t want you to read it yet!” 

“I could help you with it though,” he pleads, bracing a hand on the arm of the couch. You look up into his hazel eyes, where he’s definitely playing up the puppy dog factor. His tie brushes your stomach, and he smells like lavender and clove and-- 

“You need to go away,” you realize, snapping back to reality and shrinking into the couch, away from him—trying to escape his all-encompassing sensory presence.  

“Wh- I just got back!” he scoffs, straightening. 

“You’re distracting me,” you accuse, throwing him a baleful look. 

“I’m literally offering to help you.” 

“And I’m respectfully declining because I care too much about your opinion to show you this essay until it’s less terrible. I really just need a couple more hours to finish it, please?” 

Spencer sighs, regarding your pitiful state before moving to sit down next to you. Automatically you move your legs out of the way before settling them in his lap and damn it he’s supposed to be going away. Your iron grip on the laptop involuntarily loosens a little as his hands begin to run back and forth over your legs. No—you must stay focused.  

“Spencer,” you whine, flopping your head back. You let the implied complaint hang in the air. 

“You’ve been writing all day. Your brain is exhausted, and your synapses aren’t firing at a rate that is intellectually productive.” 

“What is the point of having a brain if I can’t even use it half the time!” you almost-shout, pressing the palms of your hands into your eyes until you see fireworks.  

The couch shifts and you feel the warm, robotic weight of the laptop unpin you as Spencer lifts it from your lap. “Don’t read it,” you beg, watching through parted fingers as he sets it on the coffee table, and relaxing slightly when he settles back into the couch.  

“Come here,” he says, holding out an arm. Too mentally exhausted to do anything but comply, you pull yourself up just enough to fall into him. Immediately he wraps his arms around you, one hand slipping under your shirt to rub your back in hypnotizing passes. “I think you burnt yourself out,” he mutters. 

You nod into his shoulder, surrendering yourself to his warmth, letting yourself sink into a lavender-clove fog, wanting nothing more than to dissolve into it. The darkness behind your eyes glows an inviting amber, threatening to pull you under...  

But the essay... 

“Stop thinking about the essay,” he demands. 

“But I have so much to do,” you sigh against his jacket, the words coming out muffled. 

“The best thing you can do now is give your brain a rest. I promise you you’re not making that paper any better if you’re exhausted.” 

“I am not exhausted,” you insist, although your eyes are still closed, “I’m just really stressed.”  

Spencer hums, continuing to rub your back.  

“Do you need me to help you relax?” he says innocently. 

Oh? 

One of your eyes opens to peer up at him suspiciously. He sweeps some of your hair out of your face. 

“Because I would be happy to.” A moment passes—him looking down at you fondly; you wondering if you’re picking up what he’s putting down. 

“And how would you go about doing that?” you ask suspiciously. 

“Orgasms reduce tension and stress and improve brain function.” 

Damn. Why did the nerdiest, most un-sexy pickup line ever just turn you on?

You groan, burying your face further into his shirt—mostly to hide any trace of a blush. 

“You know what else would reduce stress and improve brain functioning? Taking an Adderall and finishing my fucking essay.”  

“Angel, you're such a smart girl, and you are fully capable of doing whatever you set your mind to—but I will lock your laptop in my gun safe before I let you look at that essay again tonight.” He speaks so softly, and his fingers are still gently combing through your messy hair... all in all, you put up a good fight, right? Maybe you should just listen to him...

“... fine.” you say eventually, reluctant to give in too quickly even though the idea quickly has filled your stomach with butterflies. 

“Fine?” he says, pausing his motions as you turn your head just enough to look up at him. “Sounds like you don’t really want it, baby. Maybe we should just go to sleep. Or I could take you back to your-” 

“Spence,” you whine, gently grabbing the front of his shirt. Now he’s going to make you beg? As if it wasn’t his idea? Those puppy dog eyes of his are deceiving. 

“You’re gonna have to do better than that,” he sighs, hand moving from your hair to your outer thigh. 

“Please?” you whisper, dignity forgotten as you look up at him imploringly. 

“Lean back, sweet girl,” he says, helping you adjust your position til you’re lying against his chest, legs sprawled across the couch. Your head lolls on his shoulder, intoxicated by his close proximity. “Perfect. Such a good listener.” 

Normally, you’d be quick to make a defensive remark, but with the way he’s slowly hiking your shirt up, running his hands over your sides so lightly it gives you goosebumps—you're really in no position to argue. Your eyes flutter shut as his hands grow bolder in their explorations, crossing your stomach, fingers just slipping under the waistband of your shorts and skimming over your hipbones before coming back up. 

“Does that feel good?” he murmurs, and you nod lazily, apparently losing access to your language facilities after running them dry all day. Unfortunately, that doesn’t seem good enough for your boyfriend. “Do you remember when the last time I touched you like this was?” 

Through the hazy blur of your exhaustion, you try to think back. Was it... two days ago? Three? More? 

“Almost a week ago,” he supplies the answer for you when you take too long. What? That can’t be right. 

But when you think about it harder... it is right. It was right before finals week started.  

An errant hand straying up your torso distracts you. “Do you remember what I did?” 

You flush. 

“You... yeah,” is the best you can offer, too flustered to say exactly what he did to your body. That stray hand moves over your breast. Your back arches just slightly at the stimulation through the thin fabric of your bra.  

Thankfully, he lets you off the hook.  

“I made you cum three times, right?” 

“Mhm,” you hum through closed lips, tense with anticipation as he finally slides both hands down to your shorts and wordlessly directs you to lift your hips so he can pull them all the way off along with your underwear. 

“You’ve been so busy lately, huh. Working so hard.” 

You unconsciously drop your bent legs open, brain too foggy to be insecure about how utterly bare you are—allowing him to slowly rub up and down your inner thigh. 

“I’m gonna make you feel good, honey. I don’t think three times was enough for such a stressful week.” 

You gasp when his fingers finally brush your clit, whimpering slightly when they just barely skim your entrance before tracing the wetness back up.  

“Give me your hand,” Spencer says, taking his own from between your legs and holding it up. You don’t even think about it, releasing your grip on the arm he now has wrapped around you and holding it out for him. At this point, you’d do anything he tells you to without hesitation.  

He takes the proffered hand, gently guiding it back between your legs. Your fingers meet slick, soft warmth. “Do you feel how wet you are?” 

“Yeah,” you breathe, seeing how your fingers glisten when you pull them away. His remain, running slowly up and down your clit. Your brain seems to be vibrating in your skull as warmth spreads throughout your body. 

“Who’s that for?” 

“You, Spencer,” you whimper. He hums in approval before the room falls into silence as you both watch his teasing intently, your breath baited as you try to be patient. But your body isn’t with the program, you keep twisting slightly, your hips cant upward. “Please, please,” the words escape on a held exhalation as you finally break, arching your back against him as your search for more friction.  

Without warning, he sinks two fingers inside you. The slight stretch after not having taken anything in a week scratches an itch you didn’t even know you had, and you let out a broken moan. 

“I know, honey. You’re so good, I know.” Spencer kisses your head as he speaks over your cry, barely moving his fingers for a few moments while you get comfortable. 

Still you’re not ready for it when he withdraws and pushes back in. 

“Look at that,” he breathes. 

“Oh, fuck,” you choke, watching how your arousal completely coats his fingers as he slowly, slowly begins to fuck you with them. 

Again you feel the vibrations in his chest as he laughs slightly—probably at your earlier insistence that you didn’t desperately want this. The laughter fades as you both become entranced by the sight of his fingers disappearing into you, and your stomach twists with pleasure. His pace remains languid, and he seems to delight in the filthy, wet sounds his hand is producing between your legs.  

“You okay, baby?” he asks after a moment, seemingly snapping out of some trance. 

“Uh huh,” you whimper. One particular drag of his fingers at just the right angle has you dizzy, and then he’s speeding up. Your jaw drops at the change in pace and your hips chase his hand, wanting even more. 

“So pretty,” he mutters as his other hand moves to spread you open.  

You attempt to shut your legs around his wrist, but instead he just ruts his fingers deeper into you, palm pressed against your clit. You attempt to twist away from the extreme stimulation, but he doesn’t allow it. 

“Too much,” you squeak, bucking your hips inadvertently. 

“No it’s not,” he states, like you’re talking about the weather. 

“Spencer, I really c- ah- can't!” 

“It feels like a lot, huh?” he asks soothingly, not letting up one bit. 

“Yes!” you cry, eyes stinging as tears begin to well. 

“You’re okay, angel. It’s just been a while.” 

You are so completely fucked. Each stroke of his hand feels like an electric jolt through your whole body. It is too much, but at the same time, pleasure is pooling deep in your stomach and at the base of your spine and you never want him to stop. You throw your head back onto Spencer’s shoulder, eyes screwed shut.  

“Relax,” he mutters, carefully bearing down the pressure across your waist with his arm to try and keep you from squirming. 

A rhythmic whine breaks through the barrier of your sealed lips as you focus all your energy into taking it, when the all-consuming need to kiss him hits you. You twist your neck to look up at him, observing the furrow of his brow and the way he’s tucked his bottom lip into a bite. Thankfully he notices your movement—his eyes dart from your own half-lidded gaze to your lips and he understands what you want. 

The kiss is messy and the angle is awkward and you’re moaning into his mouth half the time anyway, but it feels so good to have his lips moving on yours that you don’t care about any of it.  

“I—ah,” you cry into him, unable to form a coherent thought as your stomach drops like you’re mounting the peak of a roller coaster. 

His fingers again change their angle and he finds the spot inside you that makes your legs spasm. Attempting to hold in whatever noises you were making is now futile—the whimpers and pants turn to full-fledged keening moans interspersed with taut silences as you fail to breathe properly.  

Your wrench your gaze and lips away from Spencer to watch through a blurry haze the rapid movement of his hand between your bare legs, the way your hips buck and twist and the way your leg bends as he hooks his free hand under your knee and hoists it toward your chest. 

“You’re doing so well, honey. Being so good for me.” 

Moisture spills over from your eyes, tracing down your cheeks and down your neck as you begin to come with no warning and a desperate, broken cry. 

A string of praise from Spencer underscores your pleading moans, but you can’t focus on anything other than the buzzing warmth emanating from your core, the bright, pulsing white that blinds you and the feeling of stardust flowing through your veins. 

Your boyfriend continues pumping his fingers slowly in and out of you for a blissful few moments, before sensing the tail-end of your orgasm and bringing his fingers up to rub lazy circles over your clit. Aftershocks resonate from the hypersensitive area and make you clamp your legs shut around his hand as your toes curl and you attempt to squirm out of his grip. 

“Done! I’m done,” you squeak, rocking your hips back and forth to try and escape his toying. 

“Okay, okay,” he soothes, relieving the pressure of his hand between your legs and moving it to run over your stomach as you come down. 

You lie in silence for a minute, enjoying the liquid sensation weighing down your muscles and basking in the warm afterglow of your orgasm.  

“Shit,” you breathe shakily after a moment. Spencer chuckles. You manage to turn yourself over, laying your cheek on his shoulder and slipping your arms under his waist. He looks down at you as he moves on to massaging your back and bare hips, eyes full of warm adoration.  

“Feel better?” 

You hum an affirmation, wiping your eyes on his shirt. 

“Oh, honey, did I make you cry?” 

You laugh into his chest and nod, a few stray tears leaking from your shut eyes. “It’s okay. Not sad tears.” 

“What kind of tears?” 

“Orgasm tears,” you mumble, a tidal wave of exhaustion you’d been fighting all day finally washing over you. 

“That makes sense. Orgasms can be cathartic or even therapeutic depending on your head space. Major losses and life changes are often associated with sexual dysfunction but the opposite is actually just as if not more common. A spike in libido can—” 

Spencer pauses, looking down to see that you’re either asleep or close to it, and smiles to himself. You’ll probably be mad about it when you wake up, but he had to get you to stop thinking about that paper somehow. 

[leclerc-hs]

ex's and oh's - CL16

pairing: ex!charles leclerc x fem!reader summary: in which you and your ex-boyfriend are in complicated territory OR your ex fucks you in the drivers seat of his car warnings: 18+, SMUT under the cut, badly translated french (pls correct me), not proofread!!!! word count: 2.4k author's note: ok I just want to sincerely apologize for my long absence on here!!! i know you’ve been waiting for me to finish this for a while now LOL but I've been insanely busy balancing life with two jobs lol. So I'm going to leave this here. I can honestly say it's not my best work and I apologize for that but I really wanted to give y'all something in the mean time. I have a bunch of drafts I plan to work on whenever I get the chance. Love you all!! pls forgive me and don't forget to leave me some comments and thoughts xoxo

THERE WAS NOTHING that could’ve prepared you for this fight. You weren’t drunk, as promised. Although you weren’t sober either. 

You and Charles were...complicated. Exes but…. still, something more. You would always be something more. Your history stretched back almost forever, and that alone made it challenging to stay apart from each other.

There was a point in time when the aftermath of your breakup made it impossible for both of you to share the same space. It invariably led to bitter arguments over seemingly trivial matters. One such instance was during a movie night with your group of friends when you showed up in a sweatshirt that was far too big for your body, obvious that it wasn’t your own. Charles simmered with silent resentment in the corner until he could no longer contain it. The memory etched vividly in your mind, recalling the knots in your stomach throughout the night, feeling the intense burn of Charles’ gaze upon you. He didn’t cast a single glance at the movie that evening.

“Who’s fucking sweatshirt is that?”

“Already fucking other people, hm?”

As you slid into the familiar supple leather seats of his Ferrari, you felt the warmth of the car hug you like a blanket, providing much relief from the contrast of the cold air outside. In the process of slipping into his car, your skirt had ridden up higher than Charles would’ve preferred, your panties nearly exposed if it weren’t for the sheer tights providing more coverage. Did you really go out dressed like that? He felt his hands grip the steering wheel tighter than normal as a waft of your perfume enveloped the car. 

“Did you have fun?” His tone was neutral, but his body posture was tense. He barely turned his head to check if you placed your seat belt on before peeling out from the curb at a speed much too fast.

Sober you would’ve caught onto his attitude almost immediately. But tipsy you, thought nothing of it. 

“Oh Charlie!” You exasperated, the click of your seatbelt filling the car as the radio was turned on the lowest possible volume. “It was so fun!” 

He dropped one of his hands from the wheel, bringing his hand to rub the scruff of his unshaven jaw, as a deep sigh falls past his lips. He was annoyed—more than annoyed. The sole fact that you left him unanswered for hours wasn’t his only issue. What had his muscles all tight and the permanent frown on his face was the images of one of your guy friends being way too close to you. Too close for Charles liking. It was the same guy that his friends had briefly mentioned weeks ago on his boat. 

“Cha, l’aimes-tu toujours?”  Do you still love her? His friends sat around the table; half-eaten food left on their plates. He didn’t answer the question immediately. But everyone knew, subconsciously, that he did.

“Elle et Nick été proches récemment,” Her and Nick have been close lately. The phrase alone made Charles choke on his water. In that moment, he thanked the lord for the sunglasses covering his widened eyes. The burn in his chest began simmering as the conversation continued.

“Oui, ne sont-ils pas partis ensemble l’autre soir?” Yeah, didn’t they leave together the other night?

He couldn’t blame his friends for the discussion. They didn’t know that you two were still in complicated territory. Everyone always figured you two would rekindle, but it’s been so long, no one knew if it would happen anymore.

So, although Charles felt like the air was being sucked out of his lungs, he plastered a big smile on his face while throwing his arm around the back of the chair beside him. “Nick, hm?”

He made a genuine effort to control his anger. Honestly, he really did try. However, as you persisted in discussing the night, particularly when the name ‘Nick’ slipped past your lips, he couldn’t help but lose his composure just a little bit.

His voice took on a lethal edge as he maneuvered the car to the side of the desolate road. The act of driving demanded attention, but his mind was a whirlwind of a million thoughts. He was consumed by anger, it oozed from every pore of his skin as he scoffed and turned to confront you. Your eyes were already fixated on him, and his gaze instantly met yours.

“A-t-il touché à toi?” Did he touch you? His voice rumbled like a low growl, and the green in his eyes was so deep and intense that it masked their actual color, making it nearly impossible to discern the green hue. But you memorized those eyes. His eyes. You were familiar with every nuance of shade that adorned them. His breath was slow and even as he awaited your answer.

The idea drove him insane—the notion of another man laying his hands on you. And even worse, you wanting another man’s hands on you.

For a moment, you found yourself taken aback, only to fully comprehend his tense posture and the sharpness in his tone. Suppressing any inclination to react visibly, you wrestled to maintain a neutral expression, ensuring your lips didn’t betray a hint of a smirk at his jealousy. You didn’t even need to ask who he was. 

“Et est-ce que cela aurait de l’importance s’il l’avait fait?” And would it matter if he did?

The fact that you didn’t need to even address who he was talking about, only caused him to spiral further. As if you were confirming that Nick is the only other option. 

The car felt increasingly smaller as the anger in Charles grew. His knee was bouncing with impatience as he clenched his jaw. Yes. Yes, it fucking mattered. He wanted to shout until his lungs gave out that it mattered. He began to lose the evenness of his breathing pattern, becoming more erratic as you didn’t answer the question.

“Dis-le-moi et nous le découvrirons,” Tell me and we’ll find out. His eyes traced your every movement as your eyes narrowed at him, a scowl forming on your lips. The lips he dreamed about almost every night. 

The silence in the car heightened, and with each passing second, you could feel your heart rate quicken. His gaze remained fixated on your face, unwilling to divert elsewhere. It was as if he were a predator, and you, his prey, captivated under the unrelenting focus of his eyes.

“What? No snarky remarks for me?” C’mon play with me. Although he felt like his chest might crack in two, he needed to mask it. Needed to be nonchalant. 

The tension lingered until you took a sharp swallow, the muscles in your neck twitching, that his eyes shifted, descending to the nape of your neck. They fixated on the subtle gleam of your collarbones, still glistening with a thin sheen of sweat from the night’s dancing. His gaze traced the gentle rise and fall of your breasts with each breath. He wanted to devour you whole.

You felt your thighs clench slightly from his pressuring gaze. He is so fucking hot. His hair in complete disarray from running his hands through it. He wore a pair of grey sweats and a black hoodie that made you want to cling your body around him as soon as you saw him.

“Y a-t-il quelque chose entre vous deux?” Is there something between you two? His patience was wearing thin. You still haven’t answered his question, and the silence was eating him alive.

You detected a subtle waver in his tone, prompting a softening in your gaze. Your hand gently reached for his face, and he allowed his head to lean ever so slightly against the palm of your hand. It was as if your touch alone had the power to appease the turmoil of anger and jealousy rising within him. 

And as much as you loved to get under his skin like he did yours sometimes. You couldn’t find it in you to provoke him. To cause him any pain. “No.”

The corner of his lips twitched up slightly as your thumb brushed against his jawline. His hands tremble when they reach for you, pulling you out of your seat and across the center console into his lap. “Est-ce que cela aurait de l’importance?” Would it matter? You repeated the question as your legs straddled him. His hands slid around your waist, resting on your backside in a tight grip, so you couldn’t move. 

His mouth formed into a hardened line, as if he forced it to show you just how serious he was when he answered. “Bien sûr que cela a de l’importance,” Of course it matters. 

“Porquoi?” Why?

“Why?” He repeats your question. Scoffing at the fact that you even had to ask him. As if you didn’t already know why.

You suck in a sharp breath as soon as his warm tongue meets with the nape of your neck, trailing hot and wet kisses up until his lips meet yours for a moment before pulling away. 

“Mon coeur t’appartient.” My heart is yours. There was no questioning in his words. “Il a toujours été tien.” It’s always been yours. As those words hung in the air, your breath caught. You love this man. You love this man with every fiber of your being. 

His fingers gripped onto your thighs with an almost bruising intensity, as if he needed to confirm your presence by feeling you in his hands, ensuring you weren’t a figment of his imagination. His nails traced along the thin fabric at the apex of your thigh, before digging them in and tearing them open instantly. You let out an audible moan as his fingers found immediate solace to the damp spot on your underwear. Of course, you were already wet just by looking at him.

“Est-ce que tu m’aimes?” Do you love me? He questioned, adding slight pressure to your cotton covered clit. 

You moaned in delight at the contact but did not answer his question. It drove him mad.

His fingers slipped past your underwear, shoving them to the side, and slipping his fingers into your heated core. His fingers curled, hitting the spot you needed him most just right. Your back arched, barely grazing the horn of the steering wheel. Your hands were frantic, reaching for the waistband of his grey sweats as Charles lifted in hips off his seat to help you.

“Oh fuck,” You moaned out loud. The pace of Charles’ fingers had you careening forward with a cry, before he pulled them out of you completely, leaving you shouting “No!”.

“Relax cherie,” He clicked his tongue before pulling your chest flush with his, raising you up an inch to slide his cock right into you. He groaned as your pussy clenched tightly around him, squeezing him so tight he could barely focus on anything else. He held you down against him, letting neither of you move. 

It wasn’t until you fully sat, completely full of him, that he rips the buttons of your shirt open, revealing a lacy ensemble across your chest. He traces the tip of his finger along cup of your breast and says, “Did you wear this on purpose, hm?”

You shook your head, wiggling your hips with a groan. You needed to move, needed to feel the force of his cock into you, but he wouldn’t let you. He just held your hips down as if he was waiting for something.

"You feel so good," He groans. "Squeezing me so tight."

“Cha, please.” You begged, getting agitated at the lack of movement.

“Est-ce que tu m’aimes?” Do you love me? He repeats again. A grin stretched across his features at your obvious struggle. The fact that you needed his cock this badly, had him only growing harder. 

You bit your lip as Charles’ fingers sprawled across your neck in a tight grip, pulling your face to his. Close enough that your noses were touching.

“Réponds, et je suis tout à toi.” Answer, and I’m all yours.

“Est-ce que tu m’aimes?” Do you love me?

You don’t know what held you back from answering before. Because you did. He knew you did. He just needed to hear the words from your lips. Needed the reassurance that this was more than a quick fuck to you.

“Oui!” Yes! You half-shouted, eyes blown wide with need. “I will always love you!”

His hand released your hips, giving you the immediate go-ahead. You wasted no time, working yourself over his cock, moans eliciting from the both of you almost instantly. His hands slid to cup your ass, controlling your movements as he urges you to move faster.

“Mon dieu,” Charles groaned, his fingers dipping into the cup of your lacy ensemble, rolling your nipples between his index finger and thumb. “Je t’aime,” I love you.

The mere utterance of those words had you instinctively squeezing his cock with an intensified fervor, bringing you perilously close to the brink of ecstasy. A sly smirk played on his lips, a silent acknowledgment of the effect his declaration had on you.

You moved your hips faster, the bounce of your breasts had Charles in a trance before he brought his eyes back to your face, looking you deep in the eyes. “Je t’aime,” He muttered again, bringing his lips to your mouth, swallowing your moans as if they were the oxygen he needed to breathe. “C’mon, give it to me.” He begged, thrusting his hips upward into you as much as he could, eyes rolling to the back of his head until you both reach that point of ecstasy you both needed.

His face was bright red, cheeks flushed, as you worked yourself over him in a hurried pace. His sweatshirt no doubt, making him feel like a furnace, as sweat forms near his eyebrow. His eyes were wild, unsure where to look until they met with your eyes. His cock twitching inside of you from the clench of your pussy on him, and the gaze of your eyes.

“Je t’aime!” You shouted, releasing all over him and falling forward in exhaustion onto Charles chest. 

Charles groaned hotly into your ear, his release catching him completely off guard due to the words you uttered. You could hear his heart pounding in his chest as you rested against it. 

“Mon Coeur est à toi.” My heart is yours. His fingers caressed the ends of your hair behind your back. The both of you made no attempts to move.

“Mon Coeur est à toi.” My heart is yours. You repeat back to him, pressing a soft kiss to his lips.

[alllgator-blood]

I call this one "found family but it goes horribly wrong in an irreparable way" :)

I've been doing a lot of cotl comics but I kinda lost my comic making endurance after not working on art since last september, so I made this to help me flex my art muscles. Apologies for the watermarks lmao they kinda kill the mood but I've already had people repost my art when I put it on reddit so...might as well get the credit if my stuff is gonna be reposted regardless. RAMBLE INCOMING!!

Thinking about how shamura was most likely the one to find + raise their adopted siblings and help them survive the mass deicide that happened thousands of years before....OUUGH. I have so many ideas for comics that take place when half the bishops were still lil kids. I have one in progress right now actually. But it just hurts when I remember how it all ends- they loved their family for so long and yet they credit their love as what caused it to fall apart!!! The lore of the bishops only sunk in when I was dealing with my own heavy sibling angst, and I was like wow....shamura supported the sibs so much they accidentally encouraged their brother into being a heretic, and couldn't close pandora's box in time to save him or the rest of the family. They blame themself for the past 1,000 years and seem to be totally okay with dying for what they did?? Like when they get sent to the shadow realm they tell you to "finish the job" instead of leaving them in purgatory. And despite being the bishop of war, they are the only bishop to not have a "desperate" phase where their attacks get more brutal. They're not desperate, they just want to get it over with. All their other siblings are dead by then anyway so it's not like they have anything to stick around for, even if they were healthy enough to win the battle. Plus I mean...narinder is the bishop of death so they probably just want to see him one last time. Owch

Don't get me wrong I love to hate narinder and his only role in my cult is the guy who cleans the outhouse, but I really like his dynamic with shamura vs. the other siblings. I kinda see him as the troubled kid that couldn't assimilate into the family and shamura took it upon themself to try and fix him. It's interesting thinking about how they're the only one he shows remorse for despite feeling the most betrayed by them. I don't think he 100% hates them, he's just been locked in gay baby jail for so long he's had nothing better to think about than "my sibling encouraged me to experiment with my godly duties, and then punished me for it!!". He's not wrong? But also is shamura that wrong either??? Idk it's complicated with no real answer and I like it a lot, I wish the game told us more about what the bishops were like before they got their shit rocked during the schism. I would've loved to see shamura before their brain was turned to mush by their tbi + 1,000 years of suffocating grief and crushing guilt :)

ANYWAY thanks for making it to the bottom of this rant, here is a sketch I did a while ago of shamura + baby leshy from a prequel au thing I don't have a name for yet:

[triptuckers]

I've got you - percy jackson

Request: yeah! "percy x fem!reader are on an unofficial quest together just before the big titan war (so set just before last olympian). idk what the quest is but basically reader gets injured during a fight w a bunch of monsters and percy goes a little crazy and does everything he can to protect her and once all the monsters are dead he’s super gentle and sweet w her??" Pairing:  Percy Jackson x reader Summary:  you're busy battling a handful of monsters when for a second it looks as if it might be your last fight. luckily, percy is there Warnings:  fighting, mentions of blood, injuries, swearing, angst Word count:  1K A/N: the show creators need to add grover's song from ep3 to spotify because it's been stuck in my head since wednesday. thanks for your request, enjoy!

gods forbid you're ever on a quiet quest.

you can't wait to get this over with so you can go back to camp and actually get a decent amount of undisturbed sleep.

the other kids at camp are probably spending their afternoon relaxing, or polishing their weapons, or sitting by the lake, or literally anything that's peaceful. not you and percy.

you're busy getting rid of at least half a dozen monsters.

percy's is in the distance, fighting his way through a couple of monsters. he's a blur of movement and you occasionally hear him curse or make a sound.

you know percy can handle himself. but it doesn't stop you from looking over your shoulder every once in a while, to check on him.

the second time you try to catch a glimpse of percy, it's a mistake.

you feel something sharp sink into your side.

with one swing of your sword you decapitate the monster, but not before his fang breaks off, still stuck in your leg.

'oh fuck.' you mutter as you see blood start to gush out of the wound around the fang.

but there's no time to rest. another monster lashes out at you, raking his claws through your shoulder.

you yell out in pain, getting percy's attention.

you drive your sword through the monster just as percy starts running toward you.

'fuck.' you mutter, looking at your leg.

well, that doesn't look good. you know demigods don't live long. but you would have liked some more time with percy. preferably when you don't have to fight monsters.

'y/n!' yells percy, who has nearly reached you.

'percy...' you say as he catches you before you fall to the ground.

'shit, hold on.' says percy. he carefully lowers you to the ground in his arms. there's a panicked look in his eyes as he looks at your leg.

he quickly reaches down and tears off a piece of his shirt.

'percy!' you yell, looking at a monster that's running towards the two of you at full speed.

with one swift motion, percy slices through the monster with his sword, then he drops it and turns back to you.

he pulls you towards him and wraps the piece of his shirt around your thigh, above your wound.

'how many behind me?' he says.

you look over his shoulder, quickly counting the monsters that are making their way to you. it doesn't look good. 'seven.'

'sorry.'

'wait, for what-'

you're cut off as percy pulls the knot tight, sending a sharp pain through your leg.

'fuck! percy!' you curse.

'I said sorry. stay here do not pull that out.' says percy, pointing at the fang that's still stuck in your leg. he presses a quick kiss to your forehead before turning around and charging the monsters.

you knew percy could fight but holy shit.

it's like he moves with unnatural speed as he works his way through the monsters, making sure none of them slip past him to you.

even more so, he makes it look easy. almost god-like.

when you overheard someone from your cabin say that he's the most powerful demigod of your generation, you thought "sure he's a poseidon kid, it makes sense". you hadn't really thought much of it.

to you percy had always been, well, percy.

he always makes you laugh with bad jokes and saves you a spot at the campfire. he'll walk with you to your cabin if it's raining so you wouldn't get soaked. he prefers to sleep with you next to him, claiming it's so he won't get nightmares, but you know it's because he just wants to use you as his pillow.

but as you see him fighting off the monsters, lashing out and stabbing them like it's nothing, you realise what others see when they look at him.

suddenly percy is in front of you again, brushing monster dust off of his shoulder like it's no big deal.

'you okay?' he says, kneeling in front of you. he reaches out to gently cup your face.

you're silent as you look at him.

'y/n?' he says, looking you in your eyes, brows furrowed.

'did I mention I'm like, really really in love with you?' you say.

percy smiles briefly. 'yeah you've mentioned it.' he says. 'how are you feeling?'

'lucky to have you on my side.'

'I meant your leg, y/n.' he says, moving so he can inspect your leg.

'still hurts.'

'that shoulder also looks bad.' says percy. 'listen, I'll pull the fang out and give you nectar but it will still hurt, okay? then we'll look at your shoulder.'

'alright, make it quick.'

percy nods, then hands you some nectar.

'want me to count down?' he asks.

you nod, reaching out to take one of his hands in yours.

percy wraps his free hand around the fang.

you take a deep breath and nod at percy.

percy looks you in the eye and gives you an encouraging smile. 'sorry in advance. 3... 2... 1!'

with one swift motion he pulls the fang out. blood gushes out of the wound and the pain is unbearable. you close your eyes and feel how percy gently pushes the nectar to you and you take a sip.

it tastes like the drink sally made for you when you visited percy's home for the first time.

you keep your eyes closed as you wait for the pain to go away. you can feel percy rubbing circles on the back of your hand with his thumb, comforting you.

'it's already helping.' says percy softly.

you reach out and wrap your arms around percy.

'it's okay. I've got you.' says percy, holding you close. 'we can sit here for a while, but then we have to keep moving, okay?'

'okay.' you say, feeling percy press a kiss to your forehead.

you're really glad percy's here with you. if it weren't for him, you're not sure you would have made it back to camp in one piece, or at all.

A/N: If you want to request something, make sure to read my house rulesHere’s the list of characters I write for. Everything that I have written can be found on my masterlist. Please don’t repost my work, as I spend much time and effort on it!! Thank you for reading! Much love, Marit/Max