#lacking in something to make it stand out to me

[sweetcalebb]

Another request if that's okay🙂‍↕️ so Caleb is nosing through MC's books (again) and he finds some queer romance books? And he's confused as MC has never said anything about being queer🫡

Caleb reacting to you being queer ! ⊹ ࣪ ౨ৎ˚₊

a/n: again, if this isn't what you envisioned, feel free to comment, DM me—just let me know!

wc: 1k

Caleb should've learned his lesson the first time he snooped through your books. But how could he resist when the first time he did it, you ended up reenacting one of your smut scenes? The opportunity was just too good to pass up.

You're in the bathroom, completely oblivious to the snooping Caleb in your room.

He's grinning ear-to-ear, ecstatic to see what other kind of filth you read. He bends down, running his finger across the spine of your books while he hums to himself.

Then Caleb stops.

He picks out whatever book his finger landed on and takes it out. Caleb gives the book a once-over. A barely-there look before he starts flipping through the pages.

"What other kinda stuff do you imagine, Pips?" he murmurs to himself, leaning against your bookshelf as he skims every few lines.

So far, no smut.

But he does find something else.

"She" and "I".

You're reading a first-person point of view with a male protagonist. That's what he assumes, anyway, as he continues to read through the pages. But he almost reaches the end of the book and there's still no smut.

Caleb pouts, a little disappointed.

"So you're not a complete fanatic." He lets out a small breath at his own teasing, about to put the book back in place when he pauses.

He glances at the back.

Caleb doesn't know why he decides to read the summary. He just does. Then he sees it.

Caleb looks closer, like maybe he read wrong, but he didn't. The protagonist isn't a "he". The protagonist is a "she."

Caleb's brows pinch together.

Did he misunderstand something? You'd never said anything. Had you..?

He's turning questions in his head, trying to make sense of it all.

Then you walk in and he gets an eerie feeling of déjà vu. You smile at him as you walk past, barely looking at the book he has in his hands.

Sure, last time was mortifying, but now you know you can trust him with that part of your life. So you don't really question him. Just sink down into your mattress.

"What do you have there?"

Caleb’s gaze shifts between you and the book. He opens his mouth, brows still furrowed like he's going to ask something, then he closes it again.

You quirk a brow at his lack of response. "What?" you laugh. "What are you reading this time? Monster smut?"

Caleb widens his eyes. "W-What?" he nearly chokes. "You read that stuff too?!"

You shrug. "No, I only have like, one book."

Caleb makes a mental note to ask you about that later. "Uh. Well, no... it's not monster smut."

Your smile falters slightly. Why was he being so serious? Your eyes dart down to the book, but you can't make out which one it is.

"Okay… So… What did you find?"

"It's..."

If you wanted to tell him, you would’ve, right? He stutters, "Uh… it's just.." But he still can't find the right words, so he simply shakes his head. "Nothing. Never mind."

You stand up and walk over to him. What did he find that could possibly be worse than all the things you read? "Caleb, what is it?"

You snatch the book from his hands.

Then it makes sense.

"Oh."

You feel your chest tighten as you look back up. Not because he's angry. But because you can't tell what he feels at all. He doesn't look angry, or disappointed, or shocked. Just.. nothing.

"Is that—I mean—is that personal to you?"

You hear the question he won't ask and you feel your chest squeeze again.

You fidget with your book, absently running your nails through the pages. "Yes."

Silence.

Agonizing, deafening silence.

Why isn't Caleb saying anything? Why is he just... looking at you? You hate it. It's making your head spin with worry.

"Are you mad?" you ask, your voice barely above a whisper.

Caleb seems to finally notice the weird look he has. His eyes widen and he instantly steps towards you, hand reaching out to grab yours.

"No! No, not at all! Not.. mad.. Just.." He sighs, giving you a gentle squeeze. "Upset."

"Because I'm—?"

"No! God, no!" Caleb groans, running a hand down his face. "I'm digging myself a deeper hole. Sorry, no, not because of that. I just wish you felt safe enough to tell me sooner."

You let out a quiet breath, the tension finally bleeding out of your shoulders. "Wait, so you don't mind that I'm queer?"

"No," Caleb repeats, leaning in to press a kiss to your forehead. "I just.. I'm selfish."

"Selfish?"

You still feel your heart pounding, but a soft smile is tugging at your lips now.

"Yeah." Caleb's lips purse with a small pout. He doesn't even mean to do it.

"I wanna be a part of every aspect of your life, Pips. I want to know every secret, every detail…" He sighs. "I want to know everything about you."

"But you're really not mad at me?"

Caleb laughs. "Never."

"Okay."

You stare up at him, your chest all warm and fuzzy. And you think this is it. That everything is fine because you finally said it and Caleb doesn't mind. But the small tremble in your lip takes you by surprise.

Everything went fine, so why do you feel like crying?

"What?" Caleb breathes, pulling back when he sees the small shake of your lip. "Did I say something wrong? I didn't mean to, Pips—"

"No," you whimper, shaking your head. "I don't know why I feel like crying. I just—I thought it would be this big thing but it wasn't. And you were so sweet, but I was so scared—I just—" You stop yourself, biting your lip to stop yourself from actually crying.

Caleb softens, tugging you in by your hand and wrapping his arms around you.

"It's okay. You're safe."

You let out a weepy laugh, nuzzling into his chest and letting a few tears melt into his shirt.

"So… Do you wanna talk about this?"

You shake your head. "Not yet. But it feels nice that you know."

Caleb nods. "Okay. Wanna watch a movie? Your pick."

You scoff and playfully nudge him back. "Of course it's my pick. You're in my house."

Caleb puts his hands up in mock surrender. "Alright, no need to get all snappy."

You laugh, blinking away the rest of your tears. "Thank you, Caleb."

"Of course."

—

go to my tag list if u want to be tagged every time i post a new piece :)

tags: @exe-toby @seungkwansflower @asiatic-apple @floatinginaer @halfawakeblobbu @starryeyed-apple @heartyluv @walrusbreath @sylvieisoffline @awquaz @purpleamethyst25 @pinksaiyans @browneyedgirl22 @beaconsxd @crimsonrubie @schnittled @saturnsringss @anthrokiaera @floofycookie @0nyxvesper @sylusqt @calistaxoxo24 @crimsonsylus @alyssac9 @frostydragonsstuff @bidisasterforevermore @politefawn @destinysrequiem @haleaf @goochfiddler99 @calebsbabyapple @peachlycheetea @lioria @colonelpantysniffer

(sorry if i missed anyone </3)

[tamayula-hl]

I've received several DMs that say things like:

"That artist in the fandom quit because you copied her art style."

"You’re the one who killed her motivation."

"I can’t believe more people aren’t calling you out."

"You should go back to your original style."

In response to these messages, I’d like to take a moment to carefully explain the history of my art style and how it has evolved over time.

The first image has already been shared on my side blog—it's a sex-themed gag comic I drew around 2013. (It was originally posted on DeviantArt, timestamped Jun 20, 2013.)

The second is a one-page sexual comedy I drew in 2020. It was also uploaded to my Pixiv account (under a different username) on October 2, 2020. I prefer not to publicly share that account, but if you’d like to confirm the timestamp, feel free to DM me.

As you can see, I’ve been drawing this type of work—“silly NSFW comics in a Japanese manga style,” using “pastel, soft colour palettes” and “short, one-page formats”—long before I ever joined the Hogwarts Legacy fandom.

In other words, drawing “sexual content in a comedic tone,” using “a cute art style to depict sweet but dumb couples,” and creating “self-contained comics with clear setups and punchlines” has always been a core part of my creative identity.

However, when I first got into Hogwarts Legacy—a story set in Victorian-era Britain—I wanted to try drawing in a style that better matched the mood of the world: something more subdued and atmospheric. At the same time, I saw another artist already succeeding in the fandom with a soft pastel, manga-inspired style similar to mine. I felt afraid of being compared to them, and anxious about my own lack of skill being exposed. Because of that, I distanced myself from my original style for a while and tried my hand at more realistic rendering and serious, moody art (up until around December 2024).

But earlier this year, that artist released a sexual comedy comic that received a huge positive reaction on Twitter. The execution was so polished that I was genuinely stunned—and deeply drawn to it.

The way it teased sexual content, balanced comedy and cuteness, and managed to stay tasteful despite the theme... it was all incredibly refined. And honestly, I couldn’t help but admire that success. I found myself thinking, “I want to create something that people love just as much.”

So I reached out to the artist via DM and asked, “Would it be okay if I tried making a comic like the one you just posted?” They kindly gave me permission, and I publicly tweeted about it at the time—with a reply from them confirming it.

Since then, starting in late January, I’ve returned to the style that suits me best: lighthearted, pastel-coloured NSFW comics. It’s something I’ve drawn many times in past fandoms—it brings me joy, feels natural, and puts far less strain on me creatively.

I hope people can understand that while I was definitely inspired by that artist, the core of my current work is still rooted in my own long-standing preferences and artistic journey.

That said, I won’t deny that I was heavily inspired by certain stylistic techniques found in her work—such as pencil-like line art, colour-coded speech bubbles, handwritten-style fonts, and her delicate balance of sexuality and cuteness.

I’ve learned a lot from her art, and I truly respect her as an artist. While I’ve never intentionally copied her stories or compositions, I do recognise that her refined techniques have influenced me.

I also feel guilt over the possibility that returning to my original style may have unintentionally hurt her feelings. Even though she explicitly gave me permission to draw “silly NSFW comics like hers,” I now wonder if she might have had more complicated feelings beneath the surface. I wish I had been more sensitive to that.

If my lack of maturity ended up casting a shadow over her creative spirit, I deeply and sincerely apologise.

However, it is extremely painful and upsetting to be publicly labelled as “someone who copied her entire style and drove her to quit.”

I see my current work as a result of evolving my old style by integrating what I’ve learned from others. Still, I acknowledge my tendency to be easily influenced by others’ art and my past failure to show enough consideration for her feelings. That’s why moving forward, I will do my best to avoid looking at the fandom timeline altogether—to prevent myself from unintentionally absorbing or echoing the styles of others.

Additionally, if she ever directly contacts me and says, “Please don’t use certain elements in this fandom—like coloured speech bubbles, handwritten fonts, or pencil-textured lines,” I would accept that request with sincerity and stop using those elements.

A quick note about my future creative plans: The “bad boy × good girl” dynamic in my Sebastian × Sakurako stories—and certain Studio Ghibli-inspired motifs I love as a Japanese artist—are not derived from her work. They reflect my own long-standing interests.

(In fact, the concept of Sakurako—a studious, straight-laced original character—was born shortly after the release of Hogwarts Legacy, well before I ever discovered her work. In November of last year, I sent her a DM to explain that, by pure coincidence, my Sebastian × Sakurako dynamic happened to resemble the “bad boy × good girl” trope her pairing also explored. I didn’t directly ask for permission, but she generously responded by saying I shouldn’t worry and that I should feel free to draw what I like.)

So I want to clarify that what I create is not imitation, but a genuine expression of what I love and want to draw.

From here on out, I hope to keep facing my style with honesty, and to continue creating with greater care and thoughtfulness.

Thank you so much for reading this far.

[storkmuffin]

This just went up today, but especially in light of your excellent insights into San behaving at a meal/table.... I'm not sure how long they were drinking before camera's started rolling, but he was absolutely off his face by about 30 seconds in, bless.

https://youtu.be/SxPTgpdboiQ

Also featuring Mingi hyping up the tiniest room like he's in a full-on stadium (and doing a fantastic job!)

One of them - I forget, sorry- said they'd had about two glasses before the shooting for this began.

Disclaimer: Apparently getting to do this drunk content is meant to be an indication that your group has really Arrived. I don't quite get why but sure. This is where my being Korean does not alleviate my fundamental lack of information about what's normal or a milestone or whatever inside the Idol music genre, so I apologize in advance for the highly personal and specific nature of my response.

Ateez are so obsessively, compulsively, endlessly rehearsed that they can be really quite drunk and still perform these songs. Is this normal? I'm not a showbiz person, so I don't know, but I think that people who are part of a long running Broadway show or something also get like this, where they can turn in a professional performance under almost any physical condition as long as they are even halfway conscious. They must really live these songs day in day out.

This was a moment, during Wave, where my being a still relatively new Atiny who is also not terribly interested in like, the whole history of everything that's ever happened, is an obstacle. Yunho asks, "Do you know what this song is??" in a voice that sounds like he's mimicking Mingi, and then Mingi comes from behind to choke him, so I assume this is another one of those Eternal Yoke of Teasing that Mingi is trapped in?

Can anyone explain?

Unlike a Broadway play, though, when Mingi fumbles his lines, neither Seonghwa nor Yunho let it pass. At all.

If I was at an actual 회식 (hwesik) I would fight everyone to go sit next to these two, and only these two. Jongho is such a solid dude. He's really growing on me. And kind of like how I assume that people that my cat feels comfy with are great humans, the fact that the Untouchable Yeosang is so at ease with Jongho only adds to his aura.

If I were to conduct character analyses of this group based on just this one video, I would have to conclude that there's exactly one really cool guy, one really solid guy, and then six total doofuses, two of whom are exceptionally camera conscious and controlled, and four that are normal people.

One of the abnormal doofuses, of course, is Yunho.

There's always this guy. The overly strong one who gets suddenly very physical with the furniture in a drinking setting. And yeah, they're also usually the biggest one, and nobody can stop them.

Seonghwa says, with that air of surprise, "I'm actually getting drunk." This is Seonghwa being extremely relatable because I too (apparently) announce it to the table, unasked, when I feel myself getting drunk, with this same look and tone of surprise, even though I was the one drinking.

Then you get a demonstration from Yunho and Wooyoung of Good Drinking Etiquette. If you're someone who can hold his liquor, you're supposed to keep an eye on the weaker members of the pack to make sure they pace themselves. I'll say this for Yunho - he reacts fast, and correctly. The active body language of intervention is part of the correct behavior.

Wooyoung also running intervention. He suggests that Seonghwa needs to drink water, and when that doesn't really seem to work, he too stands up and engages in active body language to make sure Seonghwa keeps to a pace he can manage.

They have lost San, completely, pretty early on, and the Right Way to deal with someone like him, and there's again always that one guy, the ones who can't drink but also don't vomit, cry, or get violent. You include him in the group and socially reinforce his not-fun-but-just-fine way of being drunk by telling everyone (or him) that he's just real quiet when he drinks.

Jongho and Seonghwa play that role here, for San.

You know how I said there were two unusual doofuses, and one of them is Yunho? The other one is Yeosang. They are imbibing at what looks like the same pace as everyone else, and yet they never fail to address the camera. And Yeosang is cooler than Yunho - Yunho just does the choreo. Who is he outside the choreo? Does he know?

Seriously, these two are always somehow center frame, looking at the camera, hitting their angles.

So Wooyoung is the cool guy because he's the only one who actually brings up a general, relatable, light topic of conversation that can keep the mood bright and people engaged. For example, in answer to the question, What sort of performance stage makes you the most nervous? He has a creative answer - throwing the first pitch! Yunho relates so hard.

Wooyoung also tries to bridge the strange east-west divide that keeps happening at this table because Seonghwa and Mingi literally have nothing to say to each other, ever. He does it by addressing Jongho, who is usually a great partner for him in banter.

Which hyung is the least dignified these days, he asks, basically. (Literally he asks, Who's the hyung that comes crawling down to you, meaning, on the bottom of the hierarchy ladder where the maknae lives). And Jongho is like, I'm glad you asked, and says YOU. And Wooyoung pouts and they have a drink.

Then Mingi does the thing. The thing you're not supposed to do, actually at a hwesik or a drinking outing, but people do, constantly. And since Mingi specializes in doing stuff you're not supposed to do if it fits what he thinks is right, here goes.

Mingi tattles on Jongho to outsiders, kind of using their presence as a backup and a protection for the score settling attack he's about to launch. San is out of it, asleep, kaput, gone. Seonghwa generally does not really care what Mingi is saying, I think. But Yunho is totally alert, all systems on red, because he can sense the disturbance in the force.

All Mingi has said is, "I asked Jongho to go to dinner..."

But Yunho know something is up, and he looks to see if either Wooyoung or Hongjoong can be of use. I think he concludes that they cannot, because he runs intervention as soon as Mingi finishes the setup for his tattletale - "And Jongho said he didn't want to eat.."

"Take a shot! Take a shot!" And make up the spat, whatever it is. Yunho doesn't say it to Mingi because probably it's no use He's addressing Jongho. Mingi refuses to be led back to the socially smooth path.

He finishes telling the story, that after refusing Mingi, Jongho was spotted by Mingi going out with San. Meanwhile, Yunho has smiled for the crew (and the camera) and glares at Mingi. Mingi isn't supposed to do this, but he's doing it.

Hongjoong takes Mingi's side, and because the point is to make this awkwardness introduced by Mingi end as soon as possible, leans on the more socially adept Jongho hard by saying, We won't hear your explanation. Hongjoong is very often on Mingi's 'side' but I don't know if he genuinely is, or if this is the less costly method.

Then Wooyoung takes over the leadership for the mood again, and calls on San to do his cute aegyo.

Seonghwa speaks up, suddenly, to say, "It's a special weapon to save the day when the vibes are bad." (Because the vibes almost went bad just now). Yeosang is doing Yunho's same placating smile at the third party production crew. Jongho is just annoyed.

San gives it a hearty go, because he's a kind boy and drunk and he has heard the beseeching tone in Seonghwa's voice that said, Do the thing and please lift the mood please please.

Jongho recovers enough to do this killer follow up, to the delight of everyone.

During the next to final singing bit, the theater kid takes over again, and Wooyoung, as the one cool guy, puts a stop to it with a smile.

Wooyoung was MVP this outing, saving the day repeatedly.

I'm really excited for the upcoming concert. Despite it being the comeback song, Lemon Drop seems to already be residing in the members' bones. I can't wait to see it live.

Public health announcement: Don't drink the green bottle soju. It's shite. Absolutely shite. It's a cheap chemical bastardization of proper soju, which is delicious and doesn't give you nightmare hangovers. Soju in green bottles is SHIT, kind of like how wine coolers are not actually wine. Nobody I know voluntarily drinks the green bottle soju. I mean, all alcohol is carcinogenic, especially for women, but that's neither here nor there.

[faghubby]

family spanking

"What where you thinking embarrassing me last night" Susan my fiancé scolded me. I stood in the living room surrounded by her Mother, Father, two sisters, and her brother in law. My head was pounding. My soon to he brother in law. Had just gave a play by play account of what had happened at my bachelor party.

"What do you think I should do. Call off the wedding" Susan continued.

"No Susan I love you" I pleaded.

"How am I going to stand in front of all our friends and family next week and marry you, I couldn't face them" Susan patted her eyes with a tissue.

"Susan, I'll do anything" I fell to my knees.

"Take him over your knee" my mother in law Gina told her.

"That's not helping" I shot back at Gina.

"No it is an excellent idea" Susan said standing up.

"Get up! Drop your pants" Susan commanded. I stood to look her in the eye.

"This is the only option drop your pants right here in front of everyone so you see how humiliated I am" Susan told me. I looked around the room I had no allies here. I loved Susan and if a spanking is what it took. I dropped my pants.

"Underwear too" her little sister Katie giggled. Susan yanked my boxers down. Then sat down patting her lap. I laid across her lap. My future father in law handed her a wooden paddle.

"The same one I used on the girls when they where little" he told me.

"Sue you never told me he was lacking" her older sister Cindy laughed. Just then the paddle stuck my ass. I jumped.

"Get back here" Susan scolded. Grabbing my ear. I laid back across her lap. As soon as I did another smack this time I stayed in place.

"Sue you got yourself a very obedient little husband there" Cindy laughed as a third and forth blow rained down.

"Now you went and got drunk, kissed a half naked girl" Susan said smacking my ass again. "And flaunted it in front of our friends" another two smacks. Tears formed in my eyes.

"Look at him, you can't marry him now" Katie told Susan. "He is barely a man."

"It's okay we can find a use for him, besides she can always find lovers to please her" Gina added. Susan squeezed her legs together my cock hard between them she smacked me again.

"Wow look how red" I heard Cindy exclaim everyone seemed to leave me and Susan alone after that. I heard them going outside.

"Come on let's get you cleaned up" Susan said letting me up.

"Susan I am very sorry, I didn't mean" I told her with tears in my eyes. She grabbed my dick which was rock hard and led me into the bathroom.

"You liked that" she told me as she gently applied lotion to my ass. She stroked me once applying lotion to my dick as well. She gently pushed me so I was bent over the sink. Her hands rubbing my sore ass. Her fingers slid into my crack.

"Do you like this?" She asked me. My cock was harder then it had ever been.

"Yes" I hissed.

"I think we have to rethink the type of marriage we will have" she told me as she did she pushed a finger into my asshole. I jumped up. She just pushed me back down.

"We will talk more about this tonight" she told me. Her finger still in my ass. "Right now you are going to go apologize to my family. Individually" she informed me.

"Now go get dressed" Susan old me. I left her alone in the bathroom I got dressed and waited for her. She was in there for quite a while. She came out flushed and led me around to everyone making me beg forgiveness not only for last night but for also having to witness my punishment today. We stayed for a family cookout.

"You will not consume alcohol unless I hand it to you" Susan told me. At first I grabbed a coke.

"Paul, that caffeine will make you all gittery" Susan told me. Gina handed me a lemonade. Although no one treated me any different or said a word about earlier. Inever left Susan's side. Only when I was asked to get something or cleared the table. It was still kinda early when Susan decided we should get going. We only live 10 minutes away.

Susan made small talk about her dad's nee BBQ sauce. When we got home.

"Why don't you go get ready for bed" she said plainly.

"What?" I said thinking I heard her wrong.

"Get your sore little butt upstairs and get ready for bed" she told me.

"Will you be joining me?" I said trying to be cute.

"Get your ass upstairs and put in the pajamas I bought for you, you know the ones you don't like to wear. Brush your teeth and don't worry about what I am doing" she ordered me. "Only when you are ready for bed come back down here so we can talk"

I lowered my eyes and did as she had told me to. I never wore pajamas just always slept in my boxers. But I went upstairs and did as she said. I found the pajamas she had bought for me months ago. That I had never even tried on. I came downstairs. Susan was scrolling on her phone a glass of wine. In her hand.

"Good come sit, dressed like a little boy all ready for bed" Susan said softly. "You got excited today, when I spanked you" she said softly she had me rest my head in her lap. As she stroked my hair. "You liked me controlling you" she told me. I couldn't deny that I had gotten excited by it.

"We should talk about what we will do after we are married" she continued. I just laid there quietly as she explained what she thought we should do.

"You obviously need disapline to keep you from getting in trouble" she told me. "You have told me how you have never been any good saving money" she stoked my hair as she continued.

"Do you agree?" Susan asked.

"Yes, I can't argue you are right" I wimpered. Her hand ran down my back. "Bare your bottom, show me how much you want this type of life" Susan told me. I stood and dropped my pajama pants and boxers. And laid across her lap for the second time today.

"I am going to spank you to show you want this, you may get regular spankings to remind you of what you want. That does not mean I won't spank you if you mis behave" she explained her hand rubbing my ass as she did. I was rock hard she spread her legs holding my dock between her thighs.

"You get so excited" she told me her hands now roaming over my legs and ass. I had not even realized I had started to move. Humping her thighs. "It's okay I don't mind sweety go ahead make love to my legs" I stopped embarrassed that I had been doing it. Susan ran a leather strap across my ass.

"Tell me what you want" Susan teased as she bought the strap down hard.

"I want you" I quivered. Another smack

"To do what?" She asked.

"To take charge. To control me" I wimpered. Another smack

"I would be happy to lead you" she told me another smack hen another. "But it will be in everything. You will never pester me for sex. If I am to be in control. I will be the one in charge in the bedroom as well. Another smack 10 in total. My ass was on fire when she stopped. I remained in the same position as she started to apply some lotion to my ass. Her finger pushed into my ass faster this time.

"Sue I" I moaned.

"Prehaps I have also found a reward for when you do something special" she told me. She removed her finger.

"I am also excited" she told me. I got up and pulled my pants back up. Susan stood and placed my hands on her hips. I slowly pulled her shorts down taking her panties with them. I dropped to my knees and she sat down spread her legs. "You know what I like" she told me. I buried my head and licked and sucked her clit. Tasting all her juices.

"You may often have to go without even when you pleasure me" 'Susan told me. I just nodded not stopping from my task. "You will learn not to even want to cum unless I allow it" she continued.

"Who knows you may even ask me to take a lover, like my mom suggested." She told me as she came on my tounge. My cock was so hard straining against my pants. My ass was on fire. As I laid in bed and watched Susan get ready for bed. She seemed to take her time and bend over as she did. As I watched I knew our marriage would be different. And I couldn't wait to see what else might come. Susan climbed into bed and snuggled up to me.

"You do know, you will not take things into your own hand" she told me kissing my cheek. "If you are unable to control yourself maybe chastity will be required" she told me.

"Susan, would you really take a lover?" I asked softly.

"We will see, would you like me too?" She smiled I didn't answer but my dick was throbbing in my pajamas.

[hooked-on-elvis]

"What do they expect me to do with shit like this?"

In February 1965, Elvis began his next project for MGM studios, Harum Scarum (which was retitled, for no particular reason, Harem Holiday on its release in the UK). This film was something of an anachronism. The progressive changes of the late-fifties' film industry had all but signaled the end of swashbuckling costume pictures. For Elvis to be involved in such a venture as late as 1965 suggests that even less care was now being taken when selecting scripts for consideration. It is considered by critics and fans alike to be Elvis' worst ever film. Loyal fans spoke of walking out of the theater before the end. Such reports were a heavy indication that Elvis was following a disastrous cinematic path. What was conspicuously absent from this mid-sixties' period of intense film-making was the participation of film industry luminaries. Where notable Academy Award-winning writers, producers, co-stars and so on had been employed on previous projects, Elvis was now having to contend with people who were either fresh from television work or who, quite simply, lacked any talent. Colonel Parker's motives in this respect were always patently obvious. He made no apologies for the fact that he was only interested in huge profits. What is inexcusable is the way that Elvis himself agreed to appear in such films, which he must have recognized as being potentially very harmful to his career. He later admitted to having been bored stiff during the making of a number of movies, but the fact remains that he accepted the assignments in the first place. In his defense, people do state that Elvis was signed to a long-term contract and had little control himself. Perhaps this was true to a certain extent. However, when he was quoted as asking "What do they expect me to do with shit like this?"about a script, then it was surely time for him to make a personal stand and change the course of his career.

He is kidnapped during a personal tour of the Middle East. He manages to escape from his captors, but his life is fraught with danger as he attempts to return to the Western world. He encounters the beautiful Princess Shalimar (Mary Ann Mobley), who is disguised as a slave girl, and is helped in his flight by Zacha (Jay Novello), the leader of a strange band of market-place thieves. The greedy Zacha demands payment for each and every form of assistance to Johnny. The reason for Johnny's abduction is that a group known as The Assassins want to use his talents as a karate expert to kill a ruling monarch. They have been made aware of Johnny's skills at a world premiere showing of his latest film, Sands of the Desert, in which he supposedly kills a leopard using karate. The scheming Prince Dragna (Michael Ansara) is in fact responsible for ordering the execution of his brother, King Toranshah (Philip Reed), in a bid to take over the throne himself. The evil Aishah (Fran Jeffries) is also involved in this 'takeover bid'. With the aid of Zacha's many henchmen, Johnny defeats The Assassins and saves the king. Shalimar and Johnny have fallen in love, and they return to the United States with Zacha's motley crew. The film ends with Johnny performing 'Harem Holiday' on stage in Las Vegas. One obvious plan with Harum Scarum was to capitalize on a sport in which Elvis was, in real life, highly proficient. The opening of the story showed the film-within-a-film sequence in which he kills the leopard. One strange point is that, although numerous references were made to 'this skill with his hands' (and other euphemisms), the word 'karate' was never mentioned.

(...) At his press conference in New York on 9 June, 1972, when asked why he was now so available as a public performer, Elvis started his answer by saying "Just as soon as I got out of the movie contracts … " This reply makes it seem that he had been a prisoner within Hollywood and that he was now expressing grateful relief for being released. The sad reality is that Elvis did not, or perhaps could not, make any obvious attempt to alleviate his predicament.

"The Elvis Files: 1965-1968" by Erik Lorentzen.

[fancy-a-dance-brigadier]

Some random thoughts I’ve been having about Blake’s 7 season 4 under the cut

So I really enjoy the last half of the season (basically every episode from ‘Games’ onwards), but one thing that’s always bothered me is the inconsistency in the emotional arcs of the characters, particularly concerning the lack of fall out from the events of ‘Sand’. That episode is a pretty big deal in terms of what it does to the crew dynamic. Tarrant shatters the trust he’s built with everyone by having his tryst with Servalan, and it’s evident that Dayna, Vila, and even Soolin hate his guts for it based on their reaction when he tells them about it at the end of the episode. Yet in the very next episode, ‘Gold’, everyone’s pretty friendly with him again, especially Dayna, which just doesn’t feel right because we know that nobody holds a grudge like she can. And with Tarrant (arguably her closest friend on the crew) sleeping with Servalan (the woman who ruined her life), that’s not something she should be able to let go of that easily.

I think there is a way to reconcile this inconsistency though, and that’s to simply swap the episode order around. As it stands, the latter half of season 4 goes as follows:

Games -> Sand -> Gold -> Orbit -> Warlord -> Blake

But I wonder if the emotional arcs of the characters might make more sense if this was the viewing order:

Games -> Gold -> Orbit -> Sand -> Warlord -> Blake

I’ve put ‘Gold’ earlier because that episode has always struck me as one where the crew works really well together. They feel like they’re in sync, like they actually enjoy working with each other, and it doesn’t make sense that an episode like that would come directly after ‘Sand’. It’s the same situation with ‘Orbit’ - at the start of that episode, there’s a similar camaraderie between the crew. They joke with each other, they trust each other, and there’s an ease with which they work together to discover the truth about Egrorian’s plans and figure out how to outthink him. That, of course, all changes when Avon tries to murder Vila - that camaraderie and ease vanishes as soon as Orac tells Avon how much Vila weighs.

And then we come to ‘Sand’. Of course, Vila’s behaviour in this episode can be explained by the Sand on Virn trying to kill him, but I think his palpable depression here is made all the more tragic if it happens after ‘Orbit’. He’s already miserable because Avon, his closest friend, genuinely tried to murder him, and so he’s that much more vulnerable to letting the sand overwhelm him. ‘Sand’ is one of the only episodes where they acknowledge Cally’s death, and Vila’s the one who does it - it’s no surprise that he’d be thinking about her after ‘Orbit’, because she was the person who kind of kept Avon on his leash, as it were. Avon wouldn’t have tried to kill him if Cally was still there. As for Tarrant and Servalan, I have so many thoughts about why they do what they do in ‘Sand’, but that probably deserves its own post. But for now, the main thing that matters is that It Happened, and it’s another major blow to the trust the crew had built with each other.

Jump to ‘Warlord’, and it feels like there’s this subtle and weird tension between everyone. Maybe it’s just the pressure of hosting all these planetary leaders and getting back into the revolution again, but the way the crew interacts with each other is a far cry from what we saw in ‘Gold’ and the beginning of ‘Orbit’. I don’t know if I could’ve ever described these people as friends necessarily, but there was Something there that held them together. In ‘Warlord’ the crew dynamic feels overwhelmed by the sense that that Something has been lost. And Tarrant falling so head over heels for Zeeona makes sense if you consider her as a sort of rebound for him - his crew is shunning him after ‘Sand’, and so naturally he gets attached to the closest person who’ll treat him with anything close to kindness, which Zeeona does. There’s a sort of dismissiveness to the way Dayna, Vila, and Avon treat the Tarrant/Zeeona romance - they’re not taking it seriously because they recognise it for what it is. And then that adds an extra layer of tragedy when Zeeona dies - she was put into a situation where she had to sacrifice herself largely because of a romance that, deep down, didn’t genuinely mean anything.

All this, of course, leads us to ‘Blake’. I think Tarrant sacrificing himself on Scorpio is his way of trying to atone for what he’s done - for sleeping with Servalan, and for inadvertently leading Zeeona to her death. It’s him demonstrating that his ultimate loyalty is to his crew, to the point where he’s willing to die for them, and I think his sacrifice makes the rest of them realise that, deep down, his mistakes don’t matter. And, in turn, everything else that’s shattered their trust in each other over the last few episodes ceases to matter as well. By the time they’ve all reunited in Blake’s base, they’re that same crew as we see in ‘Gold’ - inseparable, devoted, loyal. That’s why Avon immediately trusts Tarrant’s word that Blake is a traitor. That’s why Vila drops his cowardly facade and attacks Arlen after she kills Dayna. And that’s why the massacre at Gauda Prime is so tragic - because these people finally learned to trust each other and stand with each other again, only to get immediately slaughtered before they had the chance to acknowledge it.

[wendichester]

can I request reader x soulless!sam, like they were dating before he lost his soul (and in looooovvvve<3) and she was so happy he was back but missed how he used to be, like he now openly flirts with literally everyone and he doesn’t care about her at all and it hurts her, maybe he snaps at her or he sleeps with some random girl (the hippie chick, some waitress) and she finds out or something else?

love you 💋

-💌

⋆˚꩜｡ half a heart doesn't beat right,

summary. sam lost his soul and with it, you lost him.

pairing. soulless!sam winchester x reader genre. angst

wordcount. 579

notes / warnings. complaints are not accepted. i am just completing the request 🛑 // heartbreak & emotional neglect, depiction of toxic relationship dynamics, implied infidelity, reader being dismissed/invalidated

You waited for him. Through the nights when he didn't call, through the rumors and whispers, through Dean's eyes when he couldn't look at you. Through the clawing hope that he’d still walk back into your arms like nothing ever changed.

And then he did.

Sort of.

Sam's taller, colder. The weight of him feels different, even when he’s standing right next to you. His smile doesn’t reach his eyes—hell, half the time it's not even his smile. It's a stranger's. Plastic. Crooked in a way that makes your stomach turn, but you still chase it like you’re chasing something holy.

You tell yourself he’s just adjusting.

That it’s normal. That he just needs time. That the soul, or lack of one, doesn't erase what you had.

But it does.

It has.

It starts small. A hand on a waitress’s waist. A wink at the blonde in a crop top who asks about local motel recommendations.

“I’m right here,” you whisper once, fingers brushing his arm.

He doesn’t even look at you.

“You’re not blind, are you?” he says without blinking, eyes still locked on the girl behind the counter. “She’s hot.”

The first time he snaps, it’s because you ask him if he’s okay. (You shouldn't have. You knew better. You keep doing that—looking for Sam inside him.)

“I’m fine,” he says flatly.

You press, too soft. Too loving.

“Sam—”

“I said I’m fine,” he growls. “Jesus. You always do this. You cling.”

The word hits like a slap. You flinch before you can help it, and his eyes flick over you like you're a fly on the wall. Nothing more.

You catch him in the parking lot of some dive bar in Nebraska. She's got long legs and a hemp necklace and her laugh sounds like wind chimes. The kind of girl you would’ve called sweet, once.

He’s leaning against the hood of the Impala, her hand under his shirt, mouth on his neck.

He sees you.

And doesn’t move.

Doesn’t even blink.

Later, in the motel room—your motel room—he shows up like nothing happened. Like he didn't spend the last thirty minutes letting someone else kiss parts of him that you haven’t touched in weeks.

You sit on the edge of the bed. Still dressed. Still shaking.

“I saw you,” you whisper.

“So?” he says, kicking off his boots. “She wanted to. I didn’t stop her.”

“Are you serious?”

“Don’t start,” he sighs, rubbing a hand over his face. “It’s not a big deal. You’re making it a big deal.”

“I love you, Sam.”

“You loved a version of me that doesn’t exist anymore,” he says, voice flat. “That guy? He died in that cage. You don’t get to hold me to his promises.”

You cry in the bathroom later, silently, while the shower runs to drown out the sound. He’s already asleep on the bed. Or pretending to be. Either way, he doesn’t come looking.

You wonder if he ever will again.

And the worst part?

You still wait.

Every goddamn day, you wake up hoping he’ll feel something. Anything. That he’ll remember the way he used to look at you. The way he said your name like it was something to believe in. The way he held you after hunts with trembling hands like he was scared to lose you.

But he’s not scared anymore.

He’s nothing.

And you’re still here.

Waiting for a man who doesn’t even flinch when he breaks your heart.

ꔛ. navigation 𓂃˖ ࣪ all drabbles ; compatibility readings ; support my work .ᐟ

[justatiredghost]

Lot in Life ch3 of 3 ao3

For Jonathan Sims and Martin Blackwood, mutual pining becomes a love confession becomes a discussion on asexuality and touch and PTSD.

-

Martin felt like he was in a dream, waking up in John’s arms. He’d dreamt about this so many times before, actually having it happen took his breath away. And the way John looked at him, his eyelids still heavy with sleep— he thought he could die happy, in that moment. Sadly, they’d already slept in later than intended, but at least they both seemed equally reluctant to climb out of bed. 

After putting on the kettle, he took a moment to watch as John pulled down mugs for them. His hair had gotten so long lately, and it was wild from sleep and absolutely gorgeous. Because he could, he moved behind John, placing a kiss to his shoulder and listened to his satisfied hum. Then he ran a hand up his back— and John recoiled violently. 

He flinched so hard, he dropped one of the mugs and flinched again as it shattered with a crash. Martin leapt away from him, afraid at first that he’d hurt him. He wanted to steady him, to make sure he was okay, but what if his touch was unwanted in this moment?

“I am so sorry,” Martin began. “Are you okay?” 

“No, no, it’s not—“ John cursed, rubbing a hand across his face in frustration. “It’s not you, I just— give me a moment.” 

They quickly cleaned up the shards, but when Martin replaced the mug and handed it to John, he sneered at it, like it had personally offended him. 

“I honestly don’t know why you bother,” John snapped. 

“Well, if you’d rather I didn’t, I’ll just drink it,” Martin began, feeling a flash of annoyance. Was John angry with him now suddenly? If he didn’t want the tea, he could have just said so. 

“No, no, that’s not what I meant,” John said quickly, and Martin could see the regret and desperation on his face and he softened. He knew John struggled to express himself and he certainly didn’t want to discourage that by jumping to conclusions. It took John a moment to order his thoughts enough to speak. “I just don’t know why you put up with me.”

“John,” Martin said, and there was so much fond exasperation in his voice. “You have to know by now that I care about you. Why else do you think I agreed to run away to Scotland with you?”

“Look,” John said, not meeting his gaze. “I’m clearly not fit for this whole relationship thing.”

“It’s literally been a day, and you’re already regretting it?” Martin asked, trying to stifle the flood of disappointment and rejection. He knew something was going on with John and he wanted to know what he meant, and giving in to those feelings would only make him close himself off. If John really did want to break things off, he could feel all of that later. 

“I’ve never been good at any of this, and now— I don’t know how— This is just one more way in which I’m lacking. I don’t want you to settle, or feel like you have to pretend to be happy with less—“

“Stop, wait, hang on,” Martin interrupted. “Use more words, John. I don’t know what you mean, I’m not settling.”

“I’m talking about physical touch,” John snapped, and then he was pacing, gesturing wildly as he spoke, like he’d been stewing in this for ages and now it was all pouring out. “It’s not something I often indulged in, as I’m sure you can guess. I was always too set on keeping people at arm’s length. And then I got kidnapped by the Stranger and I barely feel like I belong in my own skin anymore. They wore people like suits, their hands didn’t feel right and even though it’s been months, I still can’t forget. The feeling of lotion still makes me gag and I don’t know what kind of physical contact I can stand for any length of time.”

Martin just stared at him, a sick growing pit of realization behind his ribs and he ached for John. They had all been so set on trying to stop the Unknowing, he’d never properly asked what he’d gone through during that month kidnapped. How could he be so careless? John had been suffering this entire time, and he hadn’t even known. He remembered John saying that his skin hadn’t been softer, making light of it all, and he hadn’t really understood what that meant. He was beginning to put the pieces together now and he hated what he was seeing. He couldn’t imagine the helplessness, the violation he must have gone through. 

“John,” he said with as much feeling as he could. “You’ve been through something terrible, of course it still bothers you.”

“That’s not the point,” John said, waving away his concern as he continued his pacing. 

“It’s not?” Martin asked. 

“No, it’s just—“ John began, and he finally turned to face him, his expression pleading, like he so desperately wanted him to understand. ”I can’t— there are things I won’t be able to give you.”

“You don’t have to give me anything,” Martin said. 

“But there are certain expectations, aren’t there? 

“You just explained that physical touch is complicated for you. I don’t expect you to force yourself—“

“Maybe I get better, maybe I get worse,” John interrupted. “How can you possibly be okay with a relationship that never involves that?”

“Are you saying you can’t?”

“No, that's not— I just need you to understand that I don’t know that I can provide any sort of consistency. And then there’s the asexuality on top of everything else, it isn’t fair to expect you to settle for a relationship like that.”

“Okay, first of all, I’m not settling for anything and I’ll thank you not to make those assumptions for me,” Martin said with finality. Then he continued more gently. “Just, sit down for a second before you wear a hole in the floor.”

“I-okay,” John sighed, and the two of them moved to the couch. John seemed to be having trouble making eye contact, suddenly fascinated by the fraying cushion under him as he began picking at it. 

“So—“ Martin began. “Just to make things clear, is a romantic relationship something you even want?”

“Yes,” John said quickly, his eyes snapping up to his in surprise, and there was so much feeling behind the word it went a long way to making Martin feel better. “With you.”

“Okay,” Martin said with a smile. 

“I just—“ John said, frustration bleeding through again. “What if I’m too broken? How many more exceptions can I put forward before you feel it’s not enough? I can’t possibly be worth all this.”

Martin thought about what it would be like, to be so close to John but never able to hold him in his arms, to never be held by him. To never kiss him. But then he thought of the way John held his hand, like it was something precious, like getting to do something so simple was the most wondrous thing he could imagine. He thought about the food he’d prepared for them the day before, sharing his culture, his childhood. And then he thought about how he’d wrapped him in blankets when they’d first arrived, how he’d spent an hour struggling to light the fireplace because he was worried Martin would be too cold. He even thought back to the last few months at the Institute, the way John had dropped everything and gone sprinting down the halls when he realized Martin was nearby, just for a chance to see him, and he knew.

“Yes,” Martin said, with as much finality as he was able. “You’re worth it.”

John’s eyes snapped up to his and he just stared at him, looking so lost and confused, desperate for something to make sense. But it all made sense to Martin. He wouldn’t give those moments up for anything. John had been through some truly terrible things, and if that made touch difficult, Martin would be fine with as little or as much as he was comfortable with. Because he could see so clearly how much he cared. He hadn’t realized at first, he’d been so stuck in his own mind, so sure John couldn’t love him. But he had, all along. It shown through every action he took, even when he was grumpy and irritable. 

There was no way Martin could ever feel that what they had was lacking, not when John looked at him like that. Not when he sought him out to tell him his thoughts, not when he slept beside him, the first and last thing he saw every day. And not when he struggled to find the right words because even with that big stupid brain and his connection with the Eye, he still had so much trouble figuring out the right words but he still tried because it obviously mattered so much to him when he tried to explain things to Martin. 

“I like being with you. Whatever that looks like.”

And then John was crying. There were tears streaming down his face as he stared at him and Martin panicked, looking around as if there might be something to fix this, terrified he’d said the wrong thing. 

“Can I—“ John began, voice strangled with emotion. “I think I would like it if you hugged me now.” 

And Martin was so desperate to give him whatever might help him. He hesitated for only a moment, wishing he knew more about his flashbacks and the things he had gone through so he could do a better job, but they could have that conversation later. Right now, he just trusted that John would tell him as he wrapped him in his arms, placing a kiss to his temple for good measure. 

“We can work it out,” Martin said, and he knew he was babbling, wishing it was that easy. “As much or as little as you’re comfortable with. If you can tell me what you need, I’ll do the same.”

“Okay,” John said, and the trust in his voice made Martin feel like he was going to cry as well. 

Martin couldn’t help but worry, knowing John had a tendency to push himself. Neither of them were the best at communication, really. But he wanted so desperately to try. He wanted to be here with John, and he wanted to make him happy. It was a little bit terrifying; not too long ago he’d reveled in numbness, and now he was drowning in too many emotions. He still felt that impulse to cut himself off and shut down, because it was easier. Maybe they both had their own issues to work through. It would only make sense after everything they’d been through. 

Maybe he could tell John that later, show him he wasn’t alone in this. At least they could work on it together. They’d already been through so much, he wasn’t about to abandon John now and he knew he felt the same. They’d get through it. They’d be okay. They were both too stubborn not to. 

[miffysrkv]

"Even If Just for Tonight"

Pairing: Naruto Uzumaki × Uchiha!Reader

Setting: Naruto Shippuden Era (Post-Time Skip) Tone: Tension-laced, heavy with emotion, forbidden sweetness, canon-divergent lean Themes: guilt, longing, soft yearning, angst, soft smut (non-explicit), found-then-lost

He sensed you the second your foot landed on the small metal beam outside his window.

With his window wide open, you could have killed him. But there was no such intent. Just a shadow of something familiar. Something warm. Something lost.

“…Y/n?”, Naruto called out, voice low, tired.

You were there, crouched in the moonlight, hair longer now, eyes still Uchiha-dark, a cloak clinging to your form like a secret. The same chakra signature that once danced beside him on missions now pressed against the threshold of his window

“I’m here,” you murmured.

“..is this real?.”

That made your lips turn up, not in a full smile but something of the sort.

You didn’t utter the words of ‘sorry for the intrusion’.

You simply slipped inside.

He sat up cross-legged on his bed, hair messy from sleep. You observed his room; scrolls were scattered around him, a half-eaten cup of instant Ramen forgotten on the floor as he watched you move

“You always were a slob.”

“You always left before you had to help clean up,” he shot back, but it lacked heat.

“You shouldn’t be here.”

“I know.”

He stood slowly, uncertain, as if blinking might make you disappear again.

Your eyes met.

You both said nothing for a long time.

He didn’t ask about your brother. He didn’t ask what you’d seen on the other side of loyalty, or how many scars you were hiding under that cloak. You didn’t ask why he still waited—still trained, still fought.

Because none of that mattered, not tonight.

“I had to see you,” you spoke softly.

Naruto swallowed. “You’re seeing me.”

You stepped closer.

“I needed to.. really, see you.”

The silence between you vibrated, aching and fragile.

“…for how long?” he whispered.

“Til dawn.”

You expected him to break then. To be angry with you. To ask why you only came when you were ready to vanish again. But he just nodded—quietly, like a boy who had learned how to live with your reasoning and accept the heartbreak.

His hand reached for yours before his words could.

Your fingers brushed and curled, and it felt like stepping into a memory, into something half-alive and burning beneath your skin.

You sat down beside him, your knees touching, breathing slow.

“Tell me something real,” he said.

You looked away.

Then: “I dream of home sometimes. Not Konoha. Just… the smell of roasted sweet potatoes. Your stupid jokes. The way the sunlight looked shining through the window and they way it made you look radiant as we laid next to each other.”

He stared at you like the past was standing in front of him.

You continued. “I hate myself for leaving. Not because I regret it. But because… you’ve waited, all this time”

He shook his head. “it was worth it.”

“what was?”

“you.”

You leaned in first.

He barely flinched.

Your lips brushed against as if speaking an apology.

Like a thank you.

Like a goodbye.

But when you kissed him again, it wasn’t soft.

It was three years of silence crashing into one impossible moment. Teeth. Tongues. Shaky breaths. His fingers slid through your onyx colored tresses as his other held your waist, your own fingers tugging at his jacket, and every press of his mouth against yours felt like a desperate prayer to a god neither of you believed in.

He tasted like Ramen and loss and everything you should have forced yourself to stay away from.

But you didn’t stop.

Not when he crawled on top of you, gently pushing you back so you were now laid on top of the white sheets of his small bed.

Not when your hands slid under his shirt, caressing the new muscles that formed over the years.

Not when he moaned your name into your mouth, low and broken.

“Please,” he whispered, kissing your jaw, your neck, your collarbone. “Don’t leave me again.”

You did stop then.

Breathing hard, heart wild, your hand coming up to press itself against his chest to stop him. to stop yourself.

“Don’t ask me that.”

He trembled, brows furrowing. “Why not?”

“Because if you do…” Your voice cracked. “I might say yes.”

His hand found yours again, his grip tight. “So say it.”

“I can’t.” And then a quieter: “Not yet.”

The heat didn’t fade, but it cooled—settling into something sad and bittersweet.

You crawled into bed beside him, still clothed, back against his chest as his arm wrapped around your waist like he was afraid you’d vanish into smoke. He didn’t sleep. Neither did you.

You just stayed.

Breathed.

Remembered what it was like to be whole.

It was then when both your breaths leveled, you both allowed yourselves a few hours of peace

—

When the light cracked through the window, you sat up quietly.

He did too.

“There’s no convincing you to stay.”

You smiled, and this time it broke something in you.

“Until next time.”

You stood up to move yourself in between his legs, cupping his face delicately before kissing him once more, slow, soft, like sealing a memory and a promise all in one.

Then, without another word, you were gone.

The scent of of you remained on his pillow The ache in his chest still lingered while the world moved around outside. You left him with hope that maybe—just maybe—you’d find your way back home again.

[tragicvictoriantears]

So if you don’t read this fic I will

Let me start praising this amazing writer for doing such an amazing job in making this realistic and relatable. She always makes it relatable, and it’s not just me cuz I saw a lot of people commenting about how she gets the things right despite not having experience in that era. She is well documented and I live for everything she writes. I love you @stargirlygirl .

Now let me get straight to it, this fic is simply wonderful because for me and probably for those of you who also struggle w it, it’s not a smut from a men perspective. I feel like a lot of smuts are written in the men perspective of how sex is done. For example the whole thing of wanting a huge-HUGE dick: I’m glad for all the women, men or non-binary people that are able to enjoy one and have the space to do that but mostly a big dick is painful and it’s just aesthetically pleasing at least from my point. Even the medium sized ones are difficult especially when you have a small space, a strong himen or just difficulty in relaxing your body. Or there is this thing of being “tight”, it’s a lie made by men, because men rarely care about you during sex so they take it like “they don’t want me to stop hehehe” but no. When you like sex you usually (USUALLY because everyone is different) dilate. If you like it, you are gonna make “space” for him. If it’s too tight, it means the vagina wants YOU OUT. I always heard how tight I am how hard I’m tighting that I should stop groaning in pain cuz I like it but no, I was tight because I hated it and I felt invaded instead of loved or at least respected. Men will describe the sex as big dicks, dirty degrading words, tons of objectifying cuz “everyone wants that”, rough treatment and being tight (which again if u can ejoy it, I’m glad for u, truly, wish that was me). But it’s not. It’s not like that, that does not mean pleasure (in most cases) for the person that has a vagina. There is a whole process of dilation that is not taken seriously, a whole process of getting to know ur partner that is not taken seriously and for me smut fics are more of a: My fantasy to be able to live in a men fantasy and enjoy it but I can’t cuz there is something wrong with me.

For anyone that can relate, nothing is wrong w u. Just because your body was not made for this way of having sex it does not mean that you were made wrong and you CAN’T HAVE pleasure. It took a lot of time for me to make peace w my body and realise that maybe if my partners cared about me I would have enjoyed it, I wouodn’t just be the girl laying in bed and having to take every inch and rough treatment until he cums just to earn a 5 minute cuddle time and then be tossed aside.

If you are a virgin and even if you are not and sex is confusing for you: get a partner that cares about you and is interested in knowing how ur body works. Even if it’s not your lover, just a fwb or a one night stand, that person can CARE about ur pleasure and that’s who you need to aim for. It’s not impossible, I like to believe that. And if it’s gonna be your first time be careful of who u give it to because that’s unforgettable. I’m sadly living w the idea that sex is supposed to make me bleed a lot even through the next day, that I’m supposed to cry from pain and even scream from pain and hearing a “shut up you are exaggerating”, to just give sex because at least I gave pleasure to my partner and it’s my fault for being built in a way. Please, PLEASE, inform yourself, get to know your body, go to a gynaecologist, pick your partners right and always stay protected. Do not let a person that just makes u and object of satisfaction invade the most intimate part in yourself and take you for granted. All of you are deserving for a good first time and all of you are deserving of improving this side of your life. Nothing is wrong w u, you are completely fine. Don’t blame urself for somebody’s lack of care and respect.

Not trying to say that all smuts on this platform are bad and blah blah. I read them, I enjoy them (w the back of my mind telling me I will never get there lmao) and I believe the writers put their effort and they are good as they are. This is not me coming for everyone’s fics, just stating that most of them are not realistic or relatable for a certain category of people and they are based on this “fun facts” that mostly come from men. Again, it’s not wrong or bad but sadly not everyone’s vagina is gonna enjoy the events that are written. I repeat, not judging, not pointing any finger I like to read them and imagine myself able to get pleasure out of that as a form of comfort.

But this fic hits so close to home. It’s the first time for me where I can say: I think I can get there. And I love it so much, @stargirlygirl I will always be your fan.

Hey, how you doin baby girl?😏

Soooo, since you are the master of writing realistic smut fics, I’m gonna leave this request queen.

Like u know how every vagina is different and stuff. I think people who struggle w having sex don’t get much representation (crying rn). I’m obviously not a virgin anymore but honestly my himen is so strong and my space inside is pretty small that even when I did it several times I still don’t feel much pleasure and it annoys me a lot, like I feel invaded and so annoyed (or it’s the men I slept with, idk). It also doesn’t help that I can’t feel relaxed.

So Caleb, Sylus, both, or which one you want (ik both of them are probably packed down there). With a reader that struggles w being relaxed and her body not helping either. The reader insisted they are not a virgin and they can get to the good part but oopps. So they/ he are/is already inside but it’s clear as day that reader feels more discomfort than pleasure and idk, either stopping and getting to a pretty good aftercare or just continuing w some good old oral and dope aftercare. Your choice.

Or not do this ask. I don’t mind. Just wanting to tell you that you are wonderful and beautiful 😽🫶 may you wake up w Caleb next to you, amen.

star girl's initial words: thank you so much, girlie for requesting!! i hope you like this one. i went with your idea as the context and then built on it (i hope that's okay).

you're not alone in your experience, and i can relate to how frustrating it must be that penetrative sex hasn't been an enjoyable experience for you. because we expect p-in-v to feel amazing, right? it's made out to be THE most sexually pleasurable experience, the ultimate end game, if you will. media (cough porn in any format cough) and a lack of awareness for women around penetration plays a big role in this.

from personal experiences (sorry if this is tmi just skip if it is), it's pretty ridiculous to expect penetrative sex to feel great when you've had no practise. i'm still a virgin (literally 19; i'm still baby) but like... yo ain't nothing of that size is going in there without weeks of coaxing.

AND, often when you (as a woman) don't enjoy penetrative sex, i feel like others make it out to be a problem. like there's something wrong with you, when there's nothing wrong at all. we're all different, and some of our bodies need to be accommodated for differently.

however, how much of this do i actually capture in the fic? it's debatable. but i hope i've captured enough so you feel some comfort when reading this.

you find sex painful

sylus x fem!reader

summary: based on nat's req, you're mid-sex with sylus when he finds out that penetration is painful for you. so, he tries his best to help with your pain.

contains: nsfw, smut, sexual touching (f!receiving), squirting (first time), swearing, fluff, sy buys dilators for you, 3.4k words

note: i've shifted the focus to sylus helping you, rather than how penetration is painful. this post is not meant to be prescriptive.

“Just put it in, Sy,” you whine, bucking your hips up to meet his.

Your boyfriend sighs, “Kitten.” He’s been trying to pump you with a second finger for the past ten minutes, but every time he slips it in, you squirm in pain. And now, you’re insisting that he just shove his huge cock in.

“Please, Sy. It’ll be fine, I promise,” you try to persuade him. Your hips are propped up on a pillow, dripping pussy glinting in the warm candlelight. He’s sitting on his haunches, tip leaking at the sight of you. Spreading your legs a little wider, you notice Sylus’s crimson eyes dropping to your cunt.

Battling himself, he counters, “And what if I hurt you, sweetie?”

“You won’t!” You exclaim in your desperation. “You won’t, baby, so please, just fuck me already,” you plead. His jaw tenses as he considers your eagerness.

At last, he agrees, “Alright. But if it hurts, we stop, darling.” You nod fervently, your heart rate spiking as he shifts over you and grabs a condom from his bedside table.

Sliding it on, your boyfriend positions himself between your legs. With a final few rubs to your clit, he slides his covered tip up and down your folds. You moan, back arching slightly at how good it feels. But once he’s dipping into your hole, all of that pleasure dissipates.

It’s like you’re being split open; he’s so thick. You bite down on your lip, stifling your screams as your fists clench the black sheets.

“It’s too much, isn’t it, kitten?” Sylus stops, barely inside, and stares at you. You shake your head energetically.

“No, no, it’s fine, baby! I’m fine, really,” you insist, but he can see right through you. Pulling the head out, it slaps against your clit, making you whimper.

“Syyyy—”

“No. I refuse to hurt you, sweetie,” he murmurs, yanking off the condom and tossing it into a nearby bin. Leaning over you, he places his large hands on either side of your head.

Your boyfriend kisses your forehead and mumbles against it, “We can do anything else you want, but not this.” You know you should just accept his words and move on, but something drives you to retaliate.

“I’ve done this before, Sy. It’s fine, like,” you shrug. He shakes his head, silver locks tickling your skin. His nose brushes yours, hot breath dousing your lips.

Sylus’s voice is a deep rumble as he asks sternly, “You’re telling me that your previous partners have… gone ahead when you’re clearly in pain?”

“It’s not that big of a deal, Sy—”

“It is,” he grumbles. “It’s a very big deal, sweetie.” Drawing back, he lowers himself onto one elbow while his other hand cups your cheek.

Stroking your cheekbone with the pad of his thumb, he says firmly, “Your pleasure comes first, is that clear? I won’t hurt you, even if you’re used to the pain.” Your resolve immediately falters.

“Sy…” you whisper, a loving warmth spreading throughout your body.

Wrapping your arms around his neck, you tug him into you. His cock is sticky against your inner thigh, and he’s so heavy, but you don’t care. His rare sincerity is what you live for, especially when he’s so sweet during moments like these.

“I love you,” you confess quietly, rubbing your cheek against his. Those muscular arms hold you tightly, reassuring you that not even death can pry him away from you.

“I love you, kitten,” he says low, peppering featherlight kisses on the shell of your ear, and down to your lobe before nipping at it affectionately.

You spend the night being pampered by Sylus. He showers with you: cleaning you up, drying you off, and moisturising your skin before you can do the same for him. You sleep in his meaty arms, your cheek squished against his broad chest, so you can listen to his soothing heartbeat.

The next morning, you wake up to empty bed sheets, which smell like leather and oud.

Sighing, you roll out of bed and freshen up. By the time you make it to the kitchen, there’s a note on the countertop. You pick it up with curious fingers and read your name in Sylus’s handwriting. Flipping it open, the note reads:

Good morning, sweetie.

Breakfast is in the oven. Text me when you’re ready. There’s something I’d like to discuss with you.

Yours truly, Sylus.

Giggling to yourself, you set the note down and crouch to the oven’s level. The light is on, a golden pastry glittering beyond the glass.

You pull the door open by the handle, sugary heat rushing out. Slipping on an oven mitt, you pull out the baked goodie and shake it onto a plate.

“Awww,” you pout. He got you a croissant from your favourite bakery and kept it warm. You almost tear up from the tender gesture while making yourself your morning non-negotiable beverage (for me, it’s peppermint tea, but I know y’all might like coffee).

Setting your mug down on the island bench, you haul your croissant over to you and take a bite. The puff pastry is crunchy and deliciously sweet. It melts on your tongue; the butter is rich. Your tastebuds relish in the delicate flavour, a low moan falling from your now sticky lips.

Humming fondly, you finish your croissant and enjoy your drink before texting Sylus that you’re awake. He responds immediately with Come to my office, kitten.

After rinsing your plate and mug, you scamper off to your room and throw on a decent outfit before heading to Sylus’s office. There’s no sight of the twins as you navigate the halls, nor as you stop outside the door. Rapping on it a few times, you hear your boyfriend’s muffled voice permitting you entry.

Pushing the door open, you’re greeted by the sight of your handsome lover. Fitting black button-up, tousled silver locks, and rimless glasses perched on his sharp nose. He beckons you to come closer. Once at his side, you press a kiss to his cheek.

“Morning, babe. Thanks for the croissant,” You chirp. He hums low, pecking your jaw and encircling your waist with his arm.

Pulling you onto his lap, you squeal gleefully, “Sy!” He shifts you so that you’re facing his monitor, your legs dangling over his. It makes him chuckle, seeing how cute his girl is.

Grabbing his mouse with one hand, he starts clicking away on the screen while explaining, “I’ve been thinking about last night, sweetie.”

“Mhmm,” you hum, your heart rate accelerating a little. Typing away on his keyboard, those arms encase your frame. You barely have time to register his search before he hits ‘Enter’.

“Dildos?!” You exclaim.

He smirks, “Don’t act so innocent, sweetie. I know you’ve used one of these before.” Twisting your back, you slap his chest playfully, earning an uproar of laughter from him. His chest vibrates against your back, making it difficult to frown as he clicks on a sex toy website.

“I’d like you to pick a few,” he grins cockily.

“Sy,” you sigh, rolling your eyes.

He drawls, “Let’s start with a small size, and then you can work up to my size. How does that sound, kitten?” His tone is gentler than usual as he heads to the filters tab and adjusts the results. You know he’s trying to help, and you appreciate it… But it’s just so embarrassing. Covering your face with your hands, you groan into them wordless frustrations.

“How about this one?” You hear the click of his mouse, your face heating up with the knowledge that there’s a dildo being enlarged right now for your inspection. Dropping your hands in your lap, they hit your thighs with a faint slap. You stare at a clear dildo.

“Look,” your boyfriend says. He expands the specifications and reads them aloud to you, “Great for beginners. Glass. Five inches—”

“Five inches?! They don’t have anything smaller?” You ask anxiously.

Five inches might not seem like a lot in today’s climate of booktok romance and fanfiction misinformation (myself included to an extent), but for you, who struggles with painful penetration, five inches with a good girth is not feasible for you just yet.

Sylus says gently, “Let’s have a look.” Hitting the back button, you watch red-faced as he scrolls through numerous dildos. Some are realistic, others transparent and streamlined. Six inches, eight inches, nine inches.

“Anal training kit. What about this, sweetie?” He hovers his cursor over the image, zooming in on three dildos ranging in size.

“Can you click it?” You ask, hand reaching for his covering the mouse. Your boyfriend releases it and allows you to control the mouse. You click on the product and read through the specs.

“Four inches. Made from PVC,” you recite.

Sylus remarks, “PVC isn’t body-safe, dear. Why don’t we browse another store?” Regaining control of the mouse, he closes the tab and searches for small dildos this time.

You two spend who knows how long going through several stores’ dildo selections. Finally, you settle on a set of dilators made from certified medical-grade silicone.

Your boyfriend happily pays the exorbitant price with a sincere smile and a promise: “You’re not alone in this, alright? I’ll be right here, kitten. If you have any issues, you know where to find me, yes?” Shifting in his lap, you nod and lean in, kissing him lovingly.

“Thanks, Sy. Thanks for supporting me,” you murmur. He nods slightly before returning to typing in his black card’s information.

Ever the accommodating partner, he lets you sit on his lap as he goes back to arranging shipments and taking business calls. You wrap your arms around his neck and kiss his Adam’s apple as it bobs, completely relaxed and content to stay like this for hours. He holds you tight when possible, but there’s no need with how securely you’re clinging to him.

“Something wrong, sweetie? You’re clutching me like a baby sloth does to its mother,” he teases.

You giggle into his neck, “Mommy Sylus.”

“Tch.”

“You were asking for it,” you grin, defending yourself. He rubs your back soothingly, his dark office silent. Until his ringtone blares.

Sylus reflects, “I suppose I was,” before answering the line.

…˚₊‧꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚…

“Your fingers are like—mhmm— this size, right?” You breathe out, clutching his wrist. You’re on your back, your boyfriend on his haunches as he eases a medium-sized dilator in and out of your cunt.

You’ve been using the dilators Sylus bought you most days of the week. It’s become a habit for you two to shower together and then insert a dilator before bed. Usually, you spend around 15 minutes adjusting to the size. But since you’ve been progressing quickly, your boyfriend wanted to try something different tonight (with your permission, of course).

He smirks down at you, “Curious, kitten?” You nod, your lip drawn between your teeth harshly.

Slowly, he pulls the dripping dilator out and sets it on a nearby towel. Climbing over you, he catches your lips in a tender kiss. The way he presses against you, the emotion in the rhythm, he’s asking for consent.

Drawing back, Sylus hovers close as you give your answer, “I want to try it, Sy. I think-I think it’ll feel good this time.” He hums, the sound reverberating deep in his throat.

Stealing a peck, he shifts and grabs the water-based lube that goes with the silicone dilators. Squeezing a decent amount on his rough palm, your partner smears the cool gel all over your pussy. His fingers slip up your folds, causing you to buck your hips. You moan quietly, heat rising to your cheeks like it did the first time he helped you insert a dilator. He chuckles low, squeezing more lube onto his fingers and rubbing it in like lotion.

“Alright, darling. Shall we start slow?” He teases, his silver brow arched. You hum in agreement, shimmying your hips closer to his lubed-up hand. Those slender fingers make contact with your aching cunt again. His fingertips roll over your clit; your breathing shallows.

“Sy,” you pant, encircling his wrist with your fingers once more. You slide his hand down to where you need it most.

With his signature grin, your boyfriend prods at your entrance. His other hand brushes your hair back, your eyes finding his in the disarray of anticipation. He slips his middle finger in slowly, whispering sweet encouragement as he does so.

“My, my, look at how well you’re taking me, kitten. Does this feel good?” You don’t respond as he pushes in knuckle deep. Already, you feel so full of him, but his lack of movement is torturous.

Gazing up with lustful eyes, you whine, “Sy, please.”

Leaning down, his nose ghosts yours as he repeats himself, “Tell me, darling. Does this feel good?” Arguing for the affirmative, Sylus curls his finger up, the tip pressing against your ridged walls in the most delectable way possible.

“Sy!” You squeak. “Feels really good. Please—” You rock your hips on his finger, desperate for more.

He chastely kisses your nose before steadying himself on his elbow to keep close to you. Sliding his fingertip down, your lover repeats the come-hither motion, shrewd eyes trained on your face. He observes every single detail, from your frequent lip biting to your eyes clamping shut from ecstasy.

The pressure in your tummy builds. But it’s not just in your tummy, it’s a little lower, too.

Drawing his now-drenched finger out of you, you mewl at the loss, “Sy, baby. Why-why’d you—”

“Quiet, sweetie, or you’ll miss the best part,” he murmurs. You open your mouth, about to ask him what he’s referring to, when you feel it. Two fingertips poking at your fluttering hole.

“Relax, dear,” Sylus instructs. A small whimper escapes your teeth-marked lips as he manages the tops of his two fingers inside. He remains there for a moment, letting you clench and unclench until you’re ready for more.

Pushing them in at a leisurely pace, he reminds you, “Now’s not the time to act all tough. If it hurts, kitten, you need to let me know.”

“Mhmm,” you hum, eyes on the lewd sight of his fingers sinking deep into your pussy.

A couple of months ago, you were in this position. Sylus’s fingers buried in your cunt, stretching you out. Then, he had been preparing you for his dragon dick what’s to come. But now, he was focusing on your reactions to ensure your pleasure.

Pulling his fingers out halfway, he eases them back in.

“This alright?” He asks lovingly. You nod, a quiet whine tumbling out of your lips.

Your boyfriend sighs, “Say it, darling,” while kissing the corner of your mouth. His fingers curl, making you gasp and moan. You gaze at him like you’re etching every angular feature into your memory (you already have).

“Feel really full, babe,” you manage out, pleasure wracking through your system as his fingertips hit your g-spot again.

Sylus clarifies, “How so? A good kind of full? Or is it overwhelming?” Your lips press together, muffling a sweet moan as he continues fingering you oh-so-deliciously.

“Good. ‘S good, Sy,” you whimper.

Turning your head, you nuzzle his neck with your nose. Sylus has never cared for when you hide from him, especially at a time like this. When he needs to see you, to pick up on all of the little things you tell him with your eyes and incessant lip bites.

Kissing your hair, he mumbles into your scalp, “Won’t you look at me, kitten?” Whatever you hum into his skin is lost as a guttural moan tears through you.

One good thing about you being so close to his ear is that your boyfriend gets to hear your pornographic sounds like they were amplified by state-of-the-art speakers.

He groans, cheeks rubbing the side of your head affectionately while slipping his free arm beneath and around you.

Rolling you onto your side, Sylus whispers, “Throw your leg over my hips.” You obey, doing exactly that as he pulls you flush against his chest. His scent alone makes you moan, and his body is so warm it makes your insides all gooey. Or maybe that’s from his fingers. Probably both.

The squelching of your sopping cunt fills the dark bedroom. Through the window, the stars gaze upon your intimacy. Perhaps they cheer for you, rejoicing in the pleasure you’ve been able to find in something so daunting months prior.

“Sy— fuck! I—” Your moan cuts you off, arms tightening around his neck.

You hold onto Sylus like you’re stuck in the middle of the ocean, fighting for your life, so you don’t drown in the depths. But your ocean isn’t filled with water. Abundant are the sensations rippling throughout your body. Every movement of his fingers sends more and more arousal gushing from you.

Pressure accumulates in the pit of your stomach once more. It feels like he’s pushing down on your lower tummy, but you know he’s not. Drawing closer, you feel like you’re gonna wet yourself.

“Sy, wait! Wait, fuck, feel like I’m gonna pee,” you exclaim. But your boyfriend doesn’t heed your warning. If anything, it spurs him on.

“Do you now, sweetie?” He murmurs all seductively, his breath fanning your ear. You try to respond, but all that pours forth are broken whimpers and breathy moans.

He chuckles, “Don’t be afraid, darling.” You cry out into his chest, one of your hands flying to his working forearm, and he presses into your walls harder.

“Sy! I’m serious, Sy! I swear ‘m gonna—”

“You won’t. Now, let go,” he commands, his voice all gravelly.

It only takes a few more pumps until you’re diving headfirst into oblivion. The pleasure is unlike anything you’ve ever experienced before. You can feel the mess you’re making, but you can’t seem to care as moans rip through you and your body convulses like you’ve been possessed.

“Fuck,” Sylus groans, watching as you squirt all over his hand and arm. It sprays onto his clothed thigh and drips onto the inky sheets. He’s never been more proud.

Your boyfriend praises you, “Look at how good you’ve done for me, kitten.” He kisses your sweaty hairline, your thighs clamped tightly around his still hand. Slowly, he slides his fingers out and draws them up through your folds. You whimper as he rubs a few lazy circles on your cilt, making your body jolt.

“Sy, please,” you rasp out. You’re exhausted, your limbs as mushy and pliant as he chuckles. Sylus gently maneuvers you onto your back and kisses your lips reassuringly.

He says low, “Stay here, sweetie, while I grab another towel.” You nod feebly, too weak to protest. Like you’d want to, anyway. The last thing you want to do is move right now, let alone follow your long-legged boyfriend off to the linen cupboard. And good thing you don’t, or you would have seen the wet patch at the front of his sweatpants.

Listening to the rustling of the bedsheets and thudding of his footsteps, your breathing grows steadier. Your eyelids feel heavy, as does your body. Next thing you know, Sylus’s callused hands are caressing your thighs, pulling them apart before he wipes you up with a damp towel. The soft, cool cotton is refreshing.

You sigh as you feel your partner’s warmth shift, his body hovering over yours. Plush lips place longing kisses on your brows, then your eyelids, cheeks, and finally, your lips.

He mumbles against them, “Was that your first time squirting, my love?”

“Mhmm, maybe,” you grin tiredly.

“Maybe?” He repeats before pecking your lips.

You giggle, “Yes.” Slowly, Sylus bundles you up in his arms and pulls you on top of him after lying down. His now-dry fingers stroke your hair, and his short nails occasionally scratch your scalp.

In his embrace, you release all your fears and doubts about this entire process. Never did you think this could happen. That you could 1) enjoy penetration and 2) squirt from it. But Sylus has shown you that through his love that anything is possible. Even though you’re not where you want to be, the improvements along the way have been nothing short of magical.

embarrassing/gone wrong sex moments m.list

star's final words: oh the vaginas ahem hymens i looked at in prep for this. not that i didn’t know what they were beforehand, but i def know a lot more now.

helpful links for your education:

cleveland clinic ⟶ what is the hymen? healthline ⟶ does it hurt when your hymen breaks? bien australia (these are the dilators i was talking about; i haven't used this product and i'm not promoting this product; i cannot attest to how effective they are) ⟶ vaginal dilators

[t-u-i-t-c]

kyuukyuu sentai gogofive (1999)

[the-balloon-shed]

imma be honest I want to make a fic of this one day but for right now you just get me running wild with this headcanon

you know how there's those videos of surgeons being "inspirational" to their interns and then saying the meanest shit in the world? yeah, I think that's Iceman as an instructor at TOPGUN. 

Just the dry, rough sense of humor? The perfectly attenuated phrase in order to knock the arrogance out of some of these scrappy pilots? That's Iceman. The evidence is there in TG86! it's ICE who is saying the most bratty shit to Maverick. His criticisms are almost always valid or born of a real curiosity that's worth looking into, which I think is key, but he expresses it in the rudest and most inciting way possible. 

"Who was covering Cougar while you were showboating --"; (in response to Slider's calling Goose and Mav "famous") "I think you mean notorious"; "I don't like you 'cause you're dangerous" -- I mean Ice is right but he's also a bitch. (we don't have time to unpack ALL of what went into Ice goading Maverick seconds after meeting him with "need help figuring it out? who's the best pilot?" like my god man). 

So, some contenders for some of the commentary Ice might have for his students -- 

"Keep flying like that, I'm going to assume you're getting kickbacks from the military hospital." 

"I can only hope one day you fly for the enemy." 

"I was thrilled to hear the Navy's policy initiative for accommodating more disabilities went into action this year, however, I do think they should reconsider sending me blind pilots." 

"Are you on your wingman's life insurance or something?" 

"What did I say about making the same mistake twice?" "At least tell you I've learned something?" "No. What I said is don't." 

"Resist the urge to help me."

"I'm not looking for the best you can do. I'm looking for the best, period. So if you can't do any better, I suggest trying to emulate somebody else who can." 

"Well, you're no Artful Dodger, but artless dodging kept you alive well enough this time, I suppose." (I think it would be funny if he incidentally gave this poor pilot the callsign Dodger because of this, or A.D. for Artless Dodger)

"Did the Academy change its curriculum? Emphasize the element of surprise?" "Um... why do you ask, sir?" "Because you fly like you've never been inside a plane before." 

And I think he might say this to a colleague trying to pull rank over him that he neither respects nor cares about:

"I've neither the time, nor the crayons, to explain this to you." 

I think Mav would be so annoyed, too. "why do I have the reputation for being hard to work with when you're going around saying the meanest crap to these kids?" 

All Ice would do is laugh. "Sounds like a personal problem." 

Not to say that Ice is an asshole without restraint. Hell, the Iceman is all about restraint. He doesn't kick people when they're down. He doesn't say cutting stuff like this to people who are genuinely trying and not being a showoff. This is to knock overly arrogant kids down a few pegs, not send people into a shame self-doubting spiral, and Ice is usually pretty damn good at walking that line. 

Like, I imagine one of the students not understanding something to do with the physics portions of their classes and so he goes to Ice super nervous about getting reamed, and Ice is very patient with him. When Mav comes in and starts talking to Ice about instructor stuff, the student goes "oh, I can come back later, you know I think I'm getting it!" out of fear of wasting Ice's time and Ice would chuckle and be like "no, you clearly don't get it, and that's fine. Easier to teach you on dry land as opposed to up in the air, so let's keep working through it. Long as Mav's not about to talk to me about anything confidential --" which Mav shakes his head no "--alright, then how about you sit right there and keep working at it until you get it, and you will get it. If you've got the time, I've got the time, so let's get it done," and the kid stays in the office and keeps working at it for hours, occasionally checking his work with Mav and Ice until, voila, he does actually get it and also has a whole new understanding of Ice. 

Or if, god forbid, anyone had an accident, Ice would be all over trying to help with that (and help Mav work through it too) and protecting the students from any fallout from the brass because fuck them, they don't know what it's like to be in the air anymore. 

I also think that before the TOPGUN class starts, Ice would find Mav checking on all the canopies of all the jets and, once Ice realized that was what Mav was doing, would spend the next several hours with him helping out and making sure everything was operating properly, even though engineering had already looked at them. Can never be too sure, and if it provides Mav peace of mind, then Ice will do it, no questions asked. 

And so, despite saying some of the rudest crap most of these students have ever heard, they all love him. They all respect the ever-living-crap out of him, and learn to find him actually just kind of funny. It'd be a lot harder to like him if he were wrong, but he's so rarely wrong that in the end even the ones who do get pissed off at him manage to calm down. Students, as they graduate and leave TOPGUN, would probably talk to other graduating classes when they meet them on deployments like "oh my god, what did he say to your class?" "he once said --" "I didn't find it funny then but now I laugh every time I think about it -- " "he helped me figure out how to do..." so on so forth. 

There are a couple of the brass that aren't amused, but I think that's where Mav would come into play in his own way. Because Ice is good at what he does, and Mav sure as hell wants him around, and so should everyone else. Ice is just also not afraid to be an asshole about being good -- which the last person this is news to is Maverick. 

Maverick's just the only one Ice has encountered who can give as good as he gets, which is why as instructors, they do a pretty damn good job working together to whip their classes into shape. It's just funny that never in a million years did Mav think he'd be the "good cop" in their good cop/bad cop instructor situation, but he's resigned himself to his fate all the same. 

[all-pacas]

so i missed this post yesterday which means i need to yell about cameron for twice as long today to make up for the lack:

first, can we pour one out for dr. charles, the world's biggest fucking hypocrite? you talked already about how he and house are the same, and this is both their biggest difference and -- let's be real -- also another similarity: charles talks the talk and loves it, but does he walk the walk? house certainly doesn't think so. when we first see charles, he's going on about how he obviously has TB and it's no big deal and he's just playing along for the donors -- the moment he gets a diagnosis (the one he expected!), he's freaking out and having a moral conumption about it, how he needs to make a stand. is it sincere? was he actually taken aback? how much of him is facade and how much of him is performative? the episode never quite answers, but the question is very relevant.

but for me, this is the start of a series of episodes with the fascinating purpose of uncovering what makes cameron tick. she comes in hot, already clearly crushing on charles a little, and it makes complete sense: he is everything she believes she wants in a partner; he is house, but he is good. charles is forceful and stubborn and determined, he is confident to the point of arrogance, driven, intelligent, and heroic: he has dedicated his career to doing what is right and helping others. he's everything she saw in house, taken up to parody; he is everything she imagined house could be. and we see charles immediately notice this interest and actually pursue cameron, courting her pretty literally. cameron's dream guy, right?

except cameron loses interest pretty quickly. while she does briefly (when charles is looking like he's dying) entertain the idea of a date, she never quite seems to reciprocate once charles is actually interested in her. she cites ethics; she changes the subject. she goes to chase (the sounding board for her romantic feelings for the second time) to sort out her feelings, and when he asks her if she's interested she still can't answer. nor can she when house asks. she shrugs. she wavers. she never quite gives an answer. again, charles is on paper everything she wants in a guy. so why can't she sustain that interest for a week? chase suggests he's not house, but in this case, i don't think chase is correct.

there's something stacy will say to house in a few episodes that is very relevant to cameron. with house, stacy felt lonely; with mark, there is room for her. charles isn't suggesting a real romantic partnership, he is trying to absorb cameron: she can work for him in africa, she can join his life, his cause, give him her time and adulation and money. charles reveals himself to be a hypocrite, image focused and somewhat less than he presents himself. house, too, was less heroic than cameron wanted him to be; house, too, was the main character. how much of charles is sincere? how much does he want her, vs want to be adored? how similar to house is he actually? the more she gets to know him, the less interested she is.

and that raises an interesting question: on paper, charles is cameron's type, or what she thinks her type is. charles is a heroic version of house who is actually interested in her… and she couldn't be less. so what sort of man does she want? what does draw her to someone? well…………

at the end of the episode, charles asks cameron: do you like working here? are you happy? cameron once again has no answer, does not even try. is she? that's a question she's going to be asked again very soon, and the answer is going to shape the rest of her arc going forward. here and in hunting, the answer suggested by her silence is no.

-

a quick digression for chase: it really is funny, even if i'm not sure how intentional it is, how easy it is to read his actions here and in other episodes as having had a crush on cameron for a long time. the nice thing about chase is that i'm not sure he would be self aware enough to notice, either. but seriously: i'm shocked when people don't ask you out? he also fulfills his role as cameron's one real work friend, offering her romantic advice and support. again, this all goes so far towards explaining his insecurities later on, given how much time cameron has spent talking about her feelings for every man but him!

foreman's subplot is brief, and house sort of takes it over from him, but it's yet another nice and deeply unsubtle reminder from the show that despite his efforts, foreman is house to the core. he is impatient and dismissive even when he isn't trying to be, and his little subplot with mrs. carter is an interesting view of his own outrage at being judged by appearances instead of merits. (my one quibble: you'd think foreman, of all people, would know this lesson already. but i get the point.)

i do think that cameron is a factor in house's dislike of dr. charles. even if the ship has sailed on that romance, we know house struggles to let things go and enjoys the idea of cameron having feelings for him as late as s5; i imagine jealousy is a factor, even if it's mostly annoyance that the girl who was supposed to like him has so quickly moved on to someone else. interestingly, house really likes to remind cameron that she's meant to have "a thing" for him, even as she moves on and he even helps her with her romantic problems in s5: there really does seem to be a bit of childish posessiveness in house's feelings for her, even if cameron is clearly no longer interested in him or his type.

house md rewatch: 2x04, "TB or not TB"

house versus altruism. unclear victor.

we are so in classic house md territory now. this episode is also another installment of the characters, house included, dancing around a vital revelation about his innerworkings that the audience is only privy to. this time, it's house's altruism. it's baked in there, i swear, and reaffirms my blanket belief that he cannot be a doctor that's so undone by failure without caring. again, he's such a failed misanthrope.

lots of me diagnosing house as an undercover good person below...

my leading question for 2x04 is why can't house contend with "good" people? and my answer is that he cannot find meaning in suffering, so he doesn't see bravery, or guilt, or outward altruism as meaningful. to house, these are words, but he's not introspective enough to realize that he's practicing the actions that make up love by saving patients. this says nothing of his interpersonal relationships. that's a different, bigger fish.

i think i've said this before, but if house hated people so much, he would have holed himself up in a research lab. he can't fool me. his belief that we have an "evolutionary imperative" to only care about those closest to our inner circle is completely defeated by his career choice. he simply wouldn't be a doctor if that were true. and when the patient, dr. charles park, a TB expert stationed in africa, asks if house "just has a problem with hope?" that hits the nail on the head. house fears hope because it could lead him, and others, astray; it prompts people to look for pointless meaning in suffering, suffering that a doctor ought to prevent (in his opinion).

of course, this manifests in him chewing out charles and all he stands for. charles campaigns to pharmaceutical companies, begging them to send the drugs to the populations in dire need, and has become a medical celebrity as a result.

when charles does, in fact, get diagnosed with TB, he decides he won't take any treatment to make a point. naturally, house finds this absolutely insane, and decides to make charles' experience with TB as "authentic" as possible - raising the temperature of his room, taking his cellphone and tv, etc. house is daring charles to find meaning in this excessive suffering. he cannot accept that this is an act of self-sacrifice and altruism and wants to reach charles' limit.

but this is where the brilliance of the episode title and premise come into play! both charles and house are practicing altruism here; both versions are flawed. if charles doesn't take the treatment, he dies, house fails, and the cycle that plagues house repeats. if charles does take the treatment, he risks failing the underprivileged TB patients in africa.

but house is still being selfish, especially when he reveals to wilson later that what seriously bothered him off about charles were the "adulations" he received for his work. and when house threatens to expose charles' underlying, non-TB diagnosis after he dies of TB, charles folds. he prioritizes his image over the moral stance he claims he's willing to die for.

both charles and house are very uncompromising people, however, so neither realizes this about themselves or the other person.

the only person who intuitively comes closest to this realization is cameron, who has been honing her ability to see through house. while chase is irritated and vehemently ant-charles' altruism, cameron is clearly drawn to it (but within reason; this is season 2 cameron, after all). they could not have understood the "TB or not TB" of it all without her help, since she understood that, if charles was positive, it would inhibit their diagnostic process. in a way, she represents the grey area between charles and house's altruisms. brilliant of her, as always.

at the base level, however, it's image that gets house down. again, he admits to wilson that it's the attention that charles gets that pisses him off, it's an alarming moment of shortsightedness on house's part, but it's very honest. it's also rich because he's demanding sincerity after saying over and over again that he finds it annoying...and because wilson is the only one to hear it. that's probably why he looks at him Like This:

this is also a nice season 1 throwback to how house used to use wilson as a confession soundboard. i love their vulernability.

in keeping with house's distaste for concerns over image, i think a lot of this episode amounts to more association with house and god. for one thing, house's inability to find meaning in suffering implies that he is a kind god-figure. very NOT catholic, which, the most i watch, the more significant that feels to his relationship with chase. despite the superfluous pain he puts patients through to arrive at their diagnosis, he thinks that to suffer under a mystery diagnosis is cruel. his own diagnosis was a mystery, and it has brought him suffering ever since. this is also why he has a problem with self-sacrificing tendencies. see, it fits!

but there's a brief conversation in the elevator between house and the fellows that takes this a step farther. charles is concerned with the optics/visuals of his work - he has to be, to an extent - which is solely TB (earlier in the episode, house makes a slight at medical specialists). house's work is more all-encompassing, and it's this broad-spectrum outlook that allows the team to discover the microscopic tumor, the not TB lurking under the real TB.

when the fellows resist this diagnosis at first, house asks them: "how do you prove something exists if you can't see it? does god exist? does the wind blow?"

foreman's reply: "we know because the leaves move."

they have been relying on the optics/visuals/image of this case that it's impeded their ability to find the root cause. daringly, it seems like 2x04 is somewhat discrediting what charles does. in this association, house works invisibly; in this ongoing characterization of house as god that takes us all the way to the series finale, house is god and wields god's invisible hand. they remove the "invisible" tumor.

if you wanna get really into the house-as-god weeds (my favorite weeds), the fact that chase is the one to remove the tumor, with his religious history and habit of "kissing house's ass," feels very significant. there's something worship-esque about his specialty, being the most hands-on and Doing The Work whereas house avoids directly interfacing with patients at all costs.

so, when we see charles receive the adoration of all the camera flashes, and house observing from above, we can extrapolate that charles' insistence on image (however necessary to his altruism), is textually lesser than house's. god works invisibly.

my last point is about how house then undercuts his own anti-image manifesto by being at least a little jealous of charles and by insisting on image's impact in the world. he tells cameron, through some clinic patient shenanigans, that "we are who people think we are." he demonstrates that he gets special, sympathetic treatment because of his disability by stepping on a stranger's toe with his cane (i won't get into who that stranger was lol this post is too long).

this is, of course, superficially true, that our assumptions, stereotypes, and image-obsessed minds create narratives about people (except they don't often end in sympathy, unfortunately). but this is another example of how black and white house is - when people get to know you, after you let them get to know you, then that image becomes full and true.

house almost never does this. i can't remember exactly when (though i think it's in season 2), but wilson makes the damning and hurtful accusation that house hides behind his disability and chronic pain to avoid any truth and sincerity. harsh as this might be, it's not untrue. house's defenses are so tall and unyielding that he can't see an alternative, however.

this one went a bit off the rails!! there's even more to say, i'm sure, but more than anything this episode really reminded me of why i came to love this show so much. it's so layered and full of it's titular character in the best way possible. i love shoving the fact that house does have a capacity for love right back in his obstinate face.

[firefly-suite]

hi and welcome to tdp callbacks that would actually send me

"if i am the king then you have to let me go"

"i'm corvus, i was specifically requested"

"i don't believe in locks"

"haha nice one callum, he deserves it"

"lady justice came to me in a dream"

"don't get yourself killed."

"strength isn't always about weapons"

"shhh, nobody likes a noisy mage"

"tell me she wasn't your world"

"you're just like your grandmother"

"she’s not my friend, she is my prisoner"

"rickety snickers"

"wasn’t the horse~"

"i am a storm dragon. i certainly hope it's working."

"in the name of love, you may perform acts so unforgivable… you will never forgive yourself."

"we could travel the countryside and try the seven cakes of xadia!"

"i am prepared to do anything to protect the king. anything. i hope you will understand"

"i guess it wouldn't be the first time i accidentally on purpose ruined a super rare magical artifact."

"don't do this. i will kill you" "probably"

"anyone know any adventuring songs?"

"we can find more practical uses for this one"

"well, i think about it like this, why see myself as chained down, when i can be chained up?" "i admire your tenacity"

"just the three of us"

"watch, he'll come back reciting an epic poem about his adventuring. he's probably late because he's stuck thinking of a rhyme for 'legendary heroics.'"

"the world just isn't ready for what we have. "

"i have been doing research!" "yes, i can see that"

"i do not understand girls"

"i thought you disapproved" "i disagree. but i stand by you anyway"

"you know what? in a few years, when you’re older, buddy, we’ll sit down and have a heart-to-heart talk about sandwiches."

"i would rather die a king, than live as a coward."

"edge-frazzled"

"soren is a doof but he's my doof!"

"it doesn't matter what happens to me. live or die, this dragon goes home."

"the kingdom of duren has been suffering from a terrible famine for nearly seven years. "

"you big dumb human."

"even if you were wearing the rarest legendary armor, forged by sunfire elves... super dead."

"fool me once, shame on you. fool me twice, shame on me. fool me three times, back to you again." "that's not how it goes." "shame on you."

[yaoiadderall]

ok i’m gonna be real here. i don’t get people who vehemently hate the mcelroy brothers and everything they’re associated with. it’s one thing to just not enjoy their content/humor/media presence but ive seen so many people go full on “these guys suck so bad and anyone who enjoys their stuff is an idiot and they’re cringe losers.” a lot of times its former fans. and it just makes me think about how deeply sad and insecure that person must be, to be so desperate to feel superior to random people who find joy in something ultimately harmless.

[you-will-return]

--

(I keep telling myself that I won't post it and then I don't and then I feel annoyed with myself but I tell myself that I shouldn't post it and then I don't and-)