#no need to spread lies jfc

[benetnvsch]

ppl be like "knkdz is abusive bc knkd is mean to dazai when dazai canonically struggles with mental health and is suicidal and blah blah blah :(" and then turn around and ship skk with their full chest as if their dynamic isn’t based entirely on the fact that they canonically genuinely hate each other-

Like? U can dislike characters all u want - go ham - hate them for no reason even but u don’t have to lie and mischaracterize and be a massive hypocrite abt them idk

[ca-suffit]

Black fans went to the screening in NY last night and completely changed their minds about Sam Reid character. People like you and your gang, that hide behind racial issues to spread hatred, defamation and misinformation about Sam Reid, calling him nazi, abusive, trying to create rivalry btw him and the cast members, telling that JA needs a restraining order against him - WE HAVE RECEIPTS OF ALL THIS YOU FRAUD - will now have to find a job or another fandom to annoy for the next years. Or find another way to project your frustrations bc, girlies, all the lies y'all were spreading untill yesterday... 😆

are these black fans who think sam reid is a nazi abuser in the room with us rn lol.

ur attempts to frame this as anything else fail with me because this entire account is up front about everything I'm saying and it's *not* any of this. ur v bad at this and it's so funny to keep exposing that. anne rice only taught u all how to be loud, not smart. u keep thinking if u repeat things enough ppl will just believe it.

post ur fucking receipts gd I am tired of hearing u have them. post them already and shut up jfc.

[azriel-edgemont]

I've been meaning to write this one for awhile. This happened in session #3 or #4, we're now have session #14 in the books as of last night. It finally made its way out of me.

The coterie encountered a group of Society of Saint Leopold Hunters early on in our story; we killed most but captured one for interrogation, a young French university student named Jacques, in Chicago on a scholarship from the Vatican. During the altercation, Aggie was struck by a Compulsion--to possess the captive, own him, by any means necessary.

For Aggie, that ended up meaning Kiss him, take him back to the safe house, let the muscle chain him up so he can't escape and kill us all--and seduce him for information, and also sex.

Jesus fucking christ this ended up so long what the fuck

ETA: JFC HEY THIS THING IS LIKE 4k WORDS THAT IS LONGER THAN MOST OF MY AO3 FIC. FUCK. WUT.

Now on AO3 for easier reading if you prefer!

---

Rating: E Archive Warnings: Graphic Depictions of Violence Category: M/M Word Count: 4,275 Some definite warnings for this one:

Mildly Dubious Consent*, Blood/Blood and Torture/Blood As Lube/Blood Drinking, Power Imbalance/Power Dynamics, Restraints, Vampires/Vampire Hunters, Light Sadism/Light Masochism/Light Bondage, also: judicious use of Google Translate**

*Our Storyteller was pretty clear that Jacques was Into Aggie at the time, even despite his precarious situation and status as a Vampire HunterTM. Also, a Lingering Kiss doesn't really take effect until a few days after it's delivered--and doesn't mess with consent so much as just make the victim crave to be fed from again. Still, it is entirely possible to argue that this whole thing is BadWrongMessedUp.

**I make no promises about the French. I've got a decent grasp of foundational basics, and a linguistics background, but vocabulary--especially casual, colloquial, non-high school appropriate vocabulary--is not my strong suit, so Google was a friend throughout. Hopefully it's not too egregious. I'm just proud of the amount I was able to do with minimal assistance! Go me!

It's easy, slipping into French as the door shuts behind him. No lock to speak of--everything else in the austere condominium the height of luxe, but a lock on a bedroom door is evidently a bridge too far for Briar. Still; the door shuts with a reassuring click. Azriel's back meets it, resting against its solid weight, as he finally takes a moment to do what he's been wanting to all evening and looks his fill.

It's not entirely dark. There is a small bedside lamp on the table at the far side of the bed taking up most of the space. It casts a warm yellow light over the room, spreading shadows like bloodstains over the coverlet, limning the man's hair in a halo of gold, cresting over the slight swells of muscle before being swallowed by the shadows they cast on his skin. The room smells like blood.

Aggie's mouth doesn't water anymore, but he feels it's absence. He sucks in a short breath, eyes closing briefly to center himself as he gives just a little tug to the chains of the Beast within, and his mouth fills with saliva. When he opens his eyes, Jacques is looking back, and Aggie is pleased to see the open, naked want in his expression. Lapsed, indeed, he thinks. It's early, yet, for the Kiss to have taken hold; it's typically days before they feel the pull, the yearning aching need for it. No, this look, this want--its all the Hunter, and all for him.

"Bonsoir, ma beauté," he greets the man in his native French, and is rewarded by a quick flush to Jacques' pale cheeks; the scent of blood thickens, ever so slightly, as his elevated heart rate forces more of it out the wounds in his leg. It's a matter of steps to the bedside, feet muffled in the plush carpet; Aggie's fingertips find Jacques' ankle, then trail up his leg as he draws nearer, sidling into the vacant space between the bed and closet.

"Salut," Jacques responds cautiously. "Tu es venu a me torturer, alors?" His tongue darts out to wet his lips as Aggie's traveling fingers draw near to the wound. It weeps, dark red blood seeping black in the low light from the seared flesh. Despite his apparent nerves, though, Aggie notes that he doesn't try to pull away; just holds, still and trembling, waiting and watching. How very interesting.

"Non...mais je pense que tu as moins peur de moi, et de la torture, que je l'aurais supposé." As though to punctuate his point, Aggie lets the pads of his fingers skate over the raw edges of the wound, applying pressure ever-so-slightly. He is rewarded by Jacques' sharp inhale, the sight of his eyelids fluttering in involuntary response. His plush, full lips part around the gasp, and Aggie feels his mouth drop just a little slack in response. "Sí belle," he murmurs, drawing out the lateral like sticky honey on his tongue. "Je le pensais. Papistes." The laugh that accompanies this is affectionate, amused. The wound pulses with another erratic heartbeat. His index swipes through the shiny, sticky blood; he watches Jacques watch him bring it to his mouth, tongue protruding just enough to lay the pad of his finger on it. Choleric, Melancholic--but there, bright at the edges of his tongue: Sanguine. His lips twitch up in a smile, and he blinks down at the young man.

"Je sais mieux qu'a penser tu ne veux pas quelque chose de moi--plus qu'une baise," Jacques says, and Aggie is startled into a laugh by the bluntness of his speech. He licks his finger clean, then helps Jacques shift his legs away from the edge of the bed, settling into the space by his hip. The mattress is firm and unforgiving, like any bed in any anonymous three and a half star hotel (not that he would know from personal experience, you understand). He plants his hand on the coverlet anyways, bracketing Jacques' hips with his body. The man is warm to the touch, against his own cool static temperature.

"Oui," he states, conversational. "J'espère que tu me diras ce que j'ai besoin de savoir--sur Alice, sur ton petite groupe. Mais--ça ne doit pas être désagréable. Pour toi, ou pour moi." From this close, he can smell Jacques' breath; it's sour with fear and pain, but the way it picks up at Aggie's proximity speaks of a different type of arousal. Still, that is unpleasant; so instead, Aggie lowers his face to Jacques' neck, pressing his lips to the jumping pulse point there. He smirks to feel Jacques' entire body tense, the instinctive reaction of prey to a predator. But when he doesn't bite--when he mouths wet, open kisses at the warm skin instead--some of that tension dissolves beneath another wave of desire.

"Et--et après ça, que alors? Tu me abbas? Tu me...comment le diz vous...m'embrasses? Ah, merde..."

Aggie's laugh is warm, delighted, at the way Jacques' breath catches at the same time his teeth do; the utter subsumation of any real fears about his fate beneath a wave of emboldened desire. His nose is filled with it, his ears recognizing the staccato beat of a heart thumping in wild need. The fingers of the hand not holding himself above Jacques find their way to the hem of his shirt, instead, rucking it up to dig into the planes of hard, young muscle in his abdomen--he hums in appreciation. He can't resist a brief nibble, giddy to hear Jacques' bitten off cry in response. The scant drops of blood he sheds are almost entirely Sanguine, now, heady as they fall on his tongue, and he licks the love bite closed.

"Impressiones-moi," he murmurs in Jacques' ear, before sitting back to look into his face. "Et nous verrons. Je peux être un amant...généreux."

Jacques, may his absent God help him, looks bereft at Aggie's sudden distance. There is a rattle of metal on metal--the handcuffs rattle against the headboard as he makes an aborted attempt to reach for the Kindred. Aggie tuts at him, but takes pity, letting his hand stroke along Jacques' thigh and delighting every time his fingers catch on the calloused skin and slick blood of the wound. The way it makes the prominent apple of Jacques' throat bob, each time; his eyes flutter and glaze. His breath catches. And Aggie watches with keen delight as the flesh beneath the zip of his jeans swells.

"Qu'est-ce que tu veux savoir?" Jacques groans out, and Aggie grins.

***

It is a...fruitful interrogation.

An outside observer could be forgiven for viewing the scene and thinking it torture. Aggie hovers over Jacques in a way that cannot suggest anything other than predator and trapped prey, Jacques' hands trapped to either side of his head by the police cuffs, his legs similarly restrained by the ankles near the foot of the bed. Despite Aggie's smaller and slighter stature, it's clear who has the power--not least because of the insistent, probing fingers Aggie delves into the grotesque wound on Jacques' leg. His hand is slicked with blood to the wrist, and Jacques twists and writhes in his bonds with each idle circle Aggie draws around the edge of the seeping flesh, even as their conversation carries on as though nothing remarkable were happening.

But an outside observer might not see what Aggie sees. The way Jacques' pupils are blown, wide and wanting; the way he swallows and gasps, and dares Aggie with his gaze to do his worst as he stutters through his answer to a question. The confusion--the seedling of a pout, even--that dawns on his face if Aggie pauses too long, distracted by thoughts and theories introduced by the information that spills freely from Jacques' parted lips; the relief of his expression when Aggie resumes his idle movements, learning the patterns of the phosphorus burn until its landscape is as familiar as his own hand. The way Jacques' hips hitch, seeking friction, seeking relief, as pain and pleasure coalesce into one singular sensation.

Find the prettiest thing in the room. Make them want you. Then give them what they want.

"Tu chantes si bellement," Aggie murmurs to him, as a thumb swipes an invisible streak of blood up the blood-soaked denim of Jacques' inseam. Jacques groans under his touch.

"Comme une canari," he complains, half-hearted, and Aggie giggles.

"Non, mon cher," he reassures; and, merciful, flattens his palm over the hard ridge of Jacques' cock beneath the fabric. Jacques nearly shouts, folding forward as far as his shoulders will allow, curling in on himself at the sudden provision of long sought-after touch. "Non, ça c'est la chanson que j'aime. Ton plaisir chante si joliement, si sans vergogne. C'est très beau."

His heel drags up the length of Jacques' cock, feeling the heat and swell of it, leaving an angry red streak smeared against the acid-washed denim. Jacques trembles under his touch; his gaze drops to watch, heavy-lidded, as Aggie strokes him through the fabric. He licks his lips. "S'il te plait, Aggie, please, Jesus--"

"Il blasphème! Ça doit être très sérieux," Aggie teases, and Jacques laughs too, breathless, rattling the cuffs next to his head. "Oui, mais oui...tu as été très bon--toi, et moi aussi. Je pense que nous méritons un prix, non?" Another pointed, agonizing stroke--drying his hand of excess blood-- and then he removes it, shifting to the button at the waistband of Jacques' jeans.

"Ça va faire mal," he warns idly; and both men pause for a moment at the ridiculous, needless warning, before Jacques breathes out a laugh and Aggie grins at him with bared Kindred teeth on full display. The laugh becomes a pained shout as Aggie tugs the denim down, over the wound, not bothering with gentleness, and he is rewarded by a broken, gasped string of curses from Jacques as he yanks the clothing--jeans and boxer briefs together--down past his knees. It leaves him exposed, bare from the waist down, and Aggie can see the furred, bruised calves, the angry phosphorus burn, the knobs and ridges of bones and muscle shifting under skin--the thick thatch of dark brown hair, and his cock, uncut and intimate, standing stiff and erect between his parted thighs.

"Vraiment, Jacques--si beau, si bon pour moi," Aggie admires, as he stands near the foot of the bed, looking his fill as he methodically removes his own clothing; tugging the tight neck of his sweater over his head, unbuttoning his slacks to let them pool, in a whisper of expensive fabric, around his ankles before gracefully stepping out of them. He takes a moment--turning to catch the best light from the lamp, long decades of experience putting his body on display to best effect in the golden glow. Jacques' gaze rakes him, up and down, in a way that suggests he might have entirely forgotten that this is is monster he is about to bed. Hunger, want, desire stoked by pain and pleasure both are all visible in Jacques' gaze, audible in his breathing and evident in every taut, quivering line of his body. But Aggie sees his face fall as his gaze focuses on the lack of interest from Aggie's own cock.

"Je suis mort, chéri, souviens?" Aggie offers; and his voice is gentle as he steps back forward to stand next to Jacques, who cranes his neck to look up and meet his gaze.

"Est-ce...pourquoi?" Jacques asks.

"Pourquoi est-ce que je veux te baiser?" Aggie laughs, and Jacques nods. "Chéri, parce-que il faire bon! Je n'ai pas besoin d'une érection à savourer ta bite, crois-moi. Tu es trop gentil, penser à moi comme ça."

Jacques shudders at the matter-of-fact words, delivered as though it weren't painfully erotic. Aggie sits on the mattress, then swings one knee over him, straddling his hips. Both men react, audibly, when Jacques' cock nestles in the cleft of Aggie's arse. "Oh, yes," Aggie murmurs in English, eyes fluttering shut at the promise of pleasure, so near. Jacques gives an experimental flex of his hips; even restrained as he is, even with the pain of the wound which must, must bother him with a movement like that, the strength and power of him is a delight, and Aggie sighs happily. "T'aimes ça?" Jacques asks, voice rough and strained, and Aggie beams at him.

"Oui, jusque comme ça. Je vais te cheveaucher jusqu'à tu vous des étoiles, chéri." As though to demonstrate the promise, Aggie rocks back against Jacques, his hips and arse and body all moving in a sinuous line. Eyes locked to Jacques' gaze, he rakes a hand back through his curls, down the side of his neck, pinky finger catching on a sharp fang as he tosses Jacques a wink. The other hand cradles around the base of his throat, squeezing lightly--visibly--before traversing a path down the center of his body. He catches, tugs at the manicured nest of curly hair, carding his fingers through before those elegant digits wrap around his cold, flaccid cock, tugging at it lightly with a pleased, self-satisfied groan.

"Putain de merde, je veux te toucher. Tu vas me tuer, Aggie...!"

Aggie's eyes flash, and a wicked grin crosses his face. "Je l'éspere, Jacques. Un petit mort, et un autre, et un autre, et un autre..." Each promise punctuated by a perfunctory stroke of his cock, rocking his hips back to meet the hard, hot line, grinding down into Jacques' lap, Aggie lets himself feel the dull spark of arousal it brings. Like a song playing from another room, he is aware of the sensation, but distantly; the feelings somehow at a remove from his body, not roused enough for full sensation. Still, though, he likes the tease of it, and the positive encouragement from Jacques is heady, and Aggie knows he looks good like this--he has a painting to prove it.

Jacques groans, another plea gritting out from between his teeth, the cuffs rattling again as he gives an insistent shove against Aggie's backside, and Aggie takes pity on him. He lifts up on his knees, just enough to get a hand beneath his legs; reaches back, past Jacques' weeping cock, drooling pearly precum down the length, and liberally coats his palm in blood from Jacques' wound.

To his credit, Jacques immediately grasps his intent--and, further to his credit, locks a hungry, lustful gaze on the sight of Aggie's hand spreading blood along his length. "Sa mére, c'est tellement foiré," he breathes out, rapt, as his cock is slicked in blood, mixing with his body's natural lubricant. Aggie feels it jump in his hand, eager for the attention, not remotely flagging at the inclusion of his own blood in their play.

"Je pense que tu es un petit peu foiré," Aggie teases. "Qu'est-ce que l'église t'a fait?"

He doesn't give Jacques a chance to respond before he is pressing the blunt head of the blood-covered length against his hole, sinking down with the full weight of his body. The stretch and split might have been agonizing for a mortal body, unprepared, unstretched, with only blood and precum for lubricant; but where the feel of a hand on his own dick felt disconnected from his body, this intrusion sends sparks of pleasure racing along his Blushed nerve endings. He lets out a long, loud groan, echoed by Jacques as he is slowly, inch by inch, engulfed by Aggie's body.

The room reeks with the scent of sex and, to Aggie, Sanguine blood, filling his nose as he works his way down the cock impaling him in Jacques' lap. He doesn't feel any pain--the stretch, the discomfort, sure, but mostly the way pleasure radiates through him, forming a feedback loop with the Sanguine tang of the air to fill up his senses and drive him mad, needy, with want. He could seat himself fully in an eyeblink, he knows, shove down and take it all at once--it would heal by morning--but the awed, slack-jawed look Jacques is giving him makes him want to take his time and put on a proper show. So he braces his bloody hand in the center of Jacques' chest, and works his hips. He takes it slowly, savouring every hit of pleasure; tiny movements back and forth that make Jacques whine. His hands flex and Aggie considers what it might mean to release him--final death, almost certainly, but surely Jacques would want to finish fucking him first, and with those hands on Aggie's hips and that powerful arse and thighs, he's fairly certain the Frenchman could do some real, glorious damage. Still--that would mean finding keys, and that would mean getting off, and as Jacques' cock brushes against some part of his anatomy that currently houses the banked embers of thousands of roused nerve endings, he finds himself entirely unwilling to make that sacrifice.

Jacques keeps up a murmured, groaning litany the whole time. "Tu es très beau," he says, and, "Tu me prends si bien," and, " J'adore voir ma bite dans toi," and a healthy number of blasphemies, which are a complete delight every time, if a little distracting. He can feel Jacques trembling with the strain of holding back--almost wants to tell him to let go, just give it to him, release his own inner gay sex demons--but watching him shake with restraint is far too much fun. Finally, though, Aggie is resting fully seated in Jacques' lap, Jacques buried to the hilt inside of him.

"Ça va?" Jacques asks, licking his lips as he shifts slightly under Aggie's weight. His cock shifts inside of him, and Aggie lets his head loll back at the sensation, humming with pleasure as he rocks experimentally.

"Très, très bien, chéri," is his response. He rolls his head back around to fix Jacques with his gaze, delighted to see heat and want reflected back at him--and then he moves.

***

Nearly two hours after first coming into the room, Aggie pulls off of Jacques with an audible pop, the soft, malleable flesh of his flaccid cock falling limp from his mouth. His lips and teeth and chin are a mess of blood, his fingers and palms and inner thighs, too, smeared like a crime scene from cheek to cheek, drying against his skin and flaking rust every time he moves. He leans across Jacques' thighs, elbows digging into the mattress for leverage, to give the wound an affectionate kitten lick. Jacques groans out a laugh above him.

"Désolée, Aggie, je pense que--j'ai finis. S'te plait."

"A plusieurs égards," Aggie chides, but laps only once more before pushing himself to his knees besides Jacques. It's true--despite his best efforts, it seems he has wrung every "petit mort" from Jacques that the man's body can muster, and even his own stamina is relatively finite. Besides which, he's sated; he's drunk and fucked his fill, gotten all the information he can think of to ask for from the pliant young man, and while he wouldn't be opposed to another round, the sticky itchy feeling of drying blood and cum on his skin is threatening to become a major irritant. "Attends ici."

Jacques hums, watching him go from half-lowered lids, chest still heaving with the effort of pain and exertion. Aggie slides backwards and off the bed, revelling in the lingering feeling of soreness in his backside; already fading, sadly, but still there as a pleasant echo. He pads on bare feet into the en suite as he allows Jacques a moment to recover.

There are hotel-style towels folded and waiting on a rack above the toilet. He grabs a washcloth--using it to turn on the tap--and waits out the water until it runs warm. His hands are first, thrust under the gushing water, which quickly turns pink and then bright red beneath his hands as he methodically scrubs them free of the worst of the blood. There's blood under his nails, he notes; but no vanity kit here. Pity. He leaves it there for now, and takes up the washcloth again, soaking it in the flow. Face and neck are next, scrubbed and blotted free of bloodstains until the cloth is soaked with it and his skin is shining white. He tosses the cloth in the bathtub, and grabs another, now wiping the blood that is smeared over his thighs and arse and bollocks, swiping away the pearly pink mixture sliding down along his inner leg.

He presses the damp cloth to his mouth, biting down around it and drawing the liquid--water, blood, cum--into his mouth. It aspirates over his tongue, and he moans quietly, happily, at the flavour, sucking at it until it gives no more. It joins its fellow in the bathtub, and he draws down a larger handtowel from the rack. This one, too, is soaked in warm water and wrung out, and he carries it with him back into the bedroom.

It's clear immediately that Jacques has passed out. Exhaustion and exsanguination have done their work; his hands hang limp from the wrists in the handcuffs next to his head, and his head droops uncomfortably against his shoulder. Aggie tuts a little, and drapes the warm towel over his lap to soak up some of the excess blood and fluid spread there. He grabs a pillow and props it between Jacques' shoulder and his cheek, then goes to retrieve his clothes, dressing with graceful efficiency, patting for the reassuring feel of the stiletto dagger in his inside pocket.

Returning to the bed, Aggie takes up his spot next to Jacques' hip, setting to providing him a perfunctory clean-up. He laps up the blood that has dribbled in shining trails down the side of Jacques neck--he had asked, in fairness, to know what it would feel like to be fed from during the act, and Aggie was only too happy to oblige. He licks at the wounds until they seal shut. He wipes the skin clean from waist to knee. He takes gentle care with the flaccid cock that, exhausted, doesn't even attempt to stir in his grip, wiping it clean as well; and makes an attempt to wash around the outside of the leg wound, cleaning his thigh of excess.

Throughout his ministrations, Jacques barely stirs, and Aggie pauses a moment to watch him in his sleep. It would be so easy, he thinks, to take his life right now. To bleed him dry and leave him for dead; the way he and his Hunter friends would no doubt have done to us. It's no less than he deserves. He feels the weight of the stiletto in his pocket; a stab through the heart, in his sleep. Not such a monstrous way to go.

Sleeping, though, Jacques looks much more the part of the boy he is, rather than the man he pretends to be; his face softens, showing hints of clinging baby fat still around the edges of his otherwise chiselled face. Not once had he pleaded for Aggie to free him, not even under the guise of sex. He hadn't even asked for anything, except more, more, more.

Fucked up little Catholic boy, confused about so many things, Aggie thinks with a snort of derision. Pain and pleasure, need and want and desire, men and monsters. But in the end--Aggie got everything he wanted out of him, and Jacques, apparently, didn't want anything more from him than this.

"C'était la meilleure baise de ta vie, chéri," Aggie tells him fondly. "You should at least be allowed to keep it for a little while."

He rises, tossing the now cool and blood-soaked towel into the bathroom; returning to the bed, he pulls the dagger from its hidden sheath and uses it's sharp point to start a tear through the fabric of Jacques' ruined jeans and boxers, adding the scraps to the pile of laundry in the bathroom. The shirt is next, covered in Aggie's bloody handprints; he rips that one by the seams, entertaining for a moment the romantic idea of a smitten young Frenchman desiring a token to remember him by. That he discards in the waste basket next to the bed--in easy reach, just in case.

There's a spare blanket in the closet. He can't do anything about the blood-soaked coverlet and sheets--and probably mattress, at this point--underneath him, but at least he doesn't need to freeze to death. Aggie tucks him in under the blanket, covering as much of the man as he can given his posture; and for a moment, then, he hesitates.

Dawn is so close. It wouldn't be so hard to lie down here; to curl against this warm body, which has grown so familiar in these past two hours, and allow himself to keep it for just a little while longer. But the Compulsion is fading along with the ache in his arse, and the hoarse soreness in his throat, and the idle fancy is just that. He is older, and wiser, than Jacques is or will likely ever be.

He knows better than to lay down with a monster.

[aus-wnt]

There is a stan of a certain English Arsenal player who has been relentlessly trolling about Sam these past few days. The same one who created dozens of accounts to troll Ellie for years. They're addicted to trolling our players and spreading lies. I'm so bloody sick of them. Sorry I just needed to vent.

That person is still at it? Jfc. The fact it's been years and this person is still just spreading hate online says everything about them and their miserable life.

Just try your best to just ignore them, anon. Trolls love nothing more than getting under people's skin.

[rancorsdelight]

Wait… @rottiebones sees a post about fandom abuse of real live people and then CLAIMS to see something that in NO WAY endorses CP, then proceeds to make a shit post like OP is out here endorsing CP?

You take the focus about something really happening — fandom abuse of real live people — and turn it around by making up lies about the OP to make yourself sounds smart? So you are an abuse apologist?

Antis like you endorse online abuse, bullying, TERF behavior tward trans fans and mental abuse of real people then. Okay. Good to know.

Because that’s exactly what OP was talking about. You just tried to derail the message with lies and throwing around CP like so much shit.

Way to prove OP’s point, kid. Your entire post is basically PSA on antis behavior of spreading lies and slander and twisting anything you don’t agree with into “this person obviously endorses CP or whatever” . OP filters CP and anything else sick like that out. You’re just a fucking liar… full stop.

Sounds to me like you think it’s fine for real life trans fandom people to be harassed and threatened AT THIER HOUSES because they wrote a piece of fanfiction the antis didn’t like? Do you know how fucking NAZIish that sounds? Maybe they aged up a character to well over legal age and wrote that and the fucking antis called them CP writers!

These antis better check their closets, lest someone take issue with THEM about something “problematic”

See this is what Op is saying — antis coming in crying wolf to get attention and then throwing around lies about ANYONE they don’t agree with. They’ll hide anti-poc sentiments and TERFy believes behind the “fictional moral good” to brainwash young people in fandom.

If you are in a fandom where people are writing shit about 10yr olds in relationships with adults - you need to choose better fandoms. If they are writing about an 18 yr old having a relationship with a 25 yr old an you call it CP - you need to seek help and touch grass.

. People need to be warned about people like them, running into posts and screaming PROSHIPPER — because if they will lie about anyone, they’ll lie about you too. And then hope you don’t look too closely at THEIR little fandom fetishes.

Real people > Fictional people jfc.

[roseband]

now the mom groups are spreading that "if they find out your baby has defects they'll make you abort" crap again and lies lies lies lies

i know most families don't have pictures of their cute little triplet cousins where one was photoshopped in for the newborn photo cuz she was immediately rushed to the high risk NICU after C-section when the other two were mostly fine and then lived in the hospital for over a year after she had her feeding tubes put in at birth (we obviously all visited her constantly lol like she was never without family members)

but jfc my cousin had a major organ defect. she was missing a valve in her esophagus and it wasn't connected to her stomach. they needed to know with ultrasounds in utero so that she didn't immediately die at birth. now she's a fairly normal teenager after three surgeries and unless people either notice her scars in the summer or she tells them (or she downs like a dozen antacids after eating 10x the pineapple she's allowed lol) people can't tell

telling people that doctors will abort their babies if they get ultrasounds is EVIL and will actually kill babies that were wanted and could be alive with modern medicine

[harleyquinnzelz]

Hello Halquin it is Cat. I am at my last straw. Please help me. I am in a lot of trouble. You know it is me. I have two blogs one is fake. I want to leave the OC community but I need help posting my confession which I submit to you. Cat

Funny how my close friend has apparently forgotten my name. Despite joking around, most of my friends in the OC community call me Cat, including the person you're pretending to be. If you're going to pretend to be someone else, you could at least attempt to get your facts straight before going into peoples asks and submitting bs posts. God, how fucking sloppy can you be.

This is fucking pathetic, but at least made for a good chuckle because of how pathetic it is. You disgust me. Get off our blogs and stop pretending to be our friend and trying to get us to belive your lied. Also, claiming that OCFA "scares you" and "doesn't like to be made a fool of" is not a good way to sell their claim of being all about spreading lovs in the oc community. Jfc, what are they? The fucking mafia? Your bogus submission has also been deleted btw.

[deman1313]

Its funny How people can twist and mutate a character like Shigaraki to be this ”misunderstod soul and pure baby that needs saving 🥺” and Nobody cares but when people like or stan characters like Chisaki yall lose your minds-

Stop spreading gross lies like”overhaul is transphobic!” Just beacuse you dont like him- jfc We hate this fandom

[wandaluvstacos]

I swear to god man if I have to see one more “this obvious mlm scam is sex trafficking” post i’m gonna lose it. Why are the teens so obsessed with sex trafficking?????

Lady acting weird in a store? She’s part of an mlm. Sign that says “jobs for teens!”? Obvious scammy business venture. Neither of these things are sex trafficking. They just want you to work for Cutco.

The reason I hate this all so much is that everyone acts like sex trafficking is some big secret lurking in the darkness when in fact we know who these people are, but none of yinz wanna listen to their victims. You don’t want to listen to sex workers, trans women, immigrants, or runaway teens, who are almost always the victims of sex trafficking (the chances of some middle-class white girl getting trafficked by a stranger in fucking wal-mart I mean are you kidding me). You’d rather concoct these vast conspiracy theories because they’re fun for you. Being scared is fun, that’s why you watch horror movies, right?

99% of missing children are found alive and returned home. Sex traffickers aren’t waiting behind trees to kidnap random ladies and sell them on the streets. A lot of these stupid ass posts people propagate were thought up by some idiot white dude pretending to be a teen girl because it makes him money. Meanwhile, real people are being harmed but no one is giving them a microphone, because none of yinz actually give a shit.

If people had actually listened to women, this whole Epstein thing wouldn’t have happened like it did. But it’s more fun to go spelunking for bullshit than to just, I dunno, listen to women who come forward with rape accusations?????

I’m tired of all these conspiratorial teens on Tumblr and elsewhere. Give it a rest. Stop spreading these obvious lies for a scary thrill. If someone is acting weird to you in public, then just get yourself away from them. You don’t need to speculate over why they were talking to you. They probably wanted you to buy Essential oils or some shit.

This all makes me so mad because it’s scaring people for no reason AND it distracts from REAL victims and REAL issues and THAT is what pisses me off the most. Listen to women. Listen to sex workers. Listen to immigrant and trans activists. Fix the foster care system. Until yinz do that, i don’t wanna see another dumb ass post about plastic zip ties on review mirrors or whatever other dumb shit yinz get yourself worked up over. jfc. LISTEN TO VICTIMS. IT’S THAT EASY.

[artlessictoan]

Uhh is it possible for you to do a yodocho thing? Where yodo is kinda butch and chocho is the fem one and yodo is trying to ask her out but they keep getting interupted by like family and friends?

boy howdy is that possible nonny dear! sorry it tookso long to finish this but jfc 5000 words ofc it’s the yodocho one that ends up this long but it was an absolute blast to write so thank you for blessing me with this prompt!

(requests open)

(ao3 mirror)

---

“Maaan, haven’t been here in so long, this place looksexactly the same.”

Yodo rolled her eyes – the thing that never changed was herfriend’s reaction every time she came over to her house – but helped Chouchou bringin the many bags of luggage she’d brought with her. The woman had claimed she’dpacked light for this trip, but Yodo couldn’t imagine how she’d ever manage togo through so many outfits in just a week.

Without bothering to wait for Yodo to shed her extra layers,she bounded up the stairs, already on a bee-line to Yodo’s room.

“Oi, wait up!” She struggled with fabric, finally justthrowing it on the floor for someone else to pick up later. Or for her dad tonag her into doing it herself. Whichever came first.

By the time she caught up to Chouchou, she was almost to herroom, but had stopped at the open door to the Kazekage’s study. With the kindof brazen disrespect that he somehow managed to inspire in a lot of kids andteenagers, she waved at him and practically screamed, “Hey Uncle Gaara, thanksfor having me!”

He nodded and gave a brief smile – the only kind he wasreally capable of, but no one thought less of him for it. “Of course, it’salways a pleasure to see you.”

They passed by his office and got almost three feet beforehe poked his head around the door and called after them, “Do you want me tobring you anything?”

“No thanks papa, we had lunch before we got home.”

Despite her words, he trailed after them, with the kind ofslightly anxious twitchiness he always had whenever a guest came over. “Are yousure?” he asked, respectfully staying in the hallway when they got to Yodo’sroom. “You don’t want anything to drink at least? I can-”

“We’re fine, just call us when dinner’s ready,” shesaid, shutting the door before he could continue pestering them.

Leaning against it until she was happy that he had walkedback to his study, she let out a sigh before turning around. Chouchou hadalready made herself at home, flopping down on Yodo’s bed face-first, her luggagedropped carelessly on the floor.

She elected to leave it there – she didn’t like tidying upher own shit, she wasn’t about to start doing it for someone else’s – andinstead took a flying leap on top of her friend.

Chouchou grunted, but didn’t scream, which was a littledisappointing.

“Ugh, knew something like that was coming, you’re such achild,” she said, twisting her head enough to glance up at the weight attachedto her back.

Yodo snorted, but shifted so that she was just leaningagainst her. “You love it,” she mumbled, seeing if she could rest her headagainst her friend’s back in such a way that she could hear her heartbeat. Shehad to wonder if her closeness would be appreciated if Chouchou knew about thereal depth of her feelings towards her.

It was weird, they’d been best friends since the moment themet, they roughhoused all the time, Chouchou had never been shy about pokingand prodding and tickling whenever Yodo let her guard down and none of that hadever bothered her before – well, except the tickling. That was just cruel – butthen she hit eighteen and realised that holy shit Chouchou was smokin’ hotand she was suddenly beset by feelings that she had not been prepared for inthe slightest. They had turned what would once have been a friendly,comfortable interaction into something at once exhilarating and filled with anunexplainable tension.

The gentle tapping immediately derailed her train ofthought. She leapt to her feet before she could be accused of something.

Gaara’s head appeared around the door, a tray hoveringbeneath it. “Here, I’ve brought you some tea.”

“I said we didn’t need anything!”

If he noticed her suspiciously loud voice, he didn’t mentionit, instead just calmly saying, “Well, I still thought I should make yousomething, just in case,” as the tray floated into the room, supported by a platformof sand.

She groaned, long and loud, until it was carefully set down.“Ok, fine, can you go away now?” Because she was embarrassed enough around Chouchouwithout adding parental interference into the mix.

Her father levelled her with a heavy stare.

“…Thank you for the tea,” she muttered, trying to sound moredefiant than she really felt.

He smiled in that way that always managed to make her feelbetter, no matter how annoying he could sometimes be. “You’re welcome.”

The door clicked shut, leaving the two girls alone oncemore.

Chouchou immediately began snickering, as she grabbed a cup.“Chill, girl, what’re you acting so weird for? I don’t mind Uncle Gaara hangingaround.”

She puffed her cheeks out, before stalking over to the bedand sitting heavily next to her. “He still treats me like a little kid, eventhough I’m legally an adult now!” Maybe if she wasn’t pouting, her words wouldn’thave had her friend snorting unashamedly.

“Well, to be fair, you can be pretty immature,” she eventuallymanaged to say, easily dodging the fist swung at her head, “but, you’ve grownup a lot these past few years, I’m so proud of you.”

“You’re the worst, you know that?”

For a moment, something in Chouchou’s eyes changed, a flashof emotion too fleeting to pin down, leaving Yodo all the more unsteady for it.Before she could question what was wrong though, a sly little smirk spreadacross purple-painted lips. “Is that what you really think?” she asked,voice suddenly low and husky and if she didn’t know better, she might call it seductive– that was certainly the effect it was having on her.

She might’ve been able to make a snappy retort, except Chouchouhad chosen this exact moment to cross her legs, causing her skirt toriiide up, exposing juuust enough gloriously muscled thigh to shut down everyone of her higher functions.

She didn’t even notice the door opening again, until a softvoice directly behind her blew away the fog in her brain.

“Kankuro made some snacks earlier, I forgot to bring them upwith the-”

Her neck cracked at the speed with which she spun around. “DAD!”

“Yes?”

The grin stretching across her face felt like it was goingto tear her face apart, even her dad looked a little uncomfortable at seeingit. “Thank. You. Now please leave us alone.”

He quickly dropped the plate in his hands next to the tea he’dbrought up earlier, then extracted himself from the room. She listened out forhis footsteps to completely disappear, taking the opportunity to catch herbreath and try to calm down her short-circuiting brain, before finally turningback around, to face Chouchou’s perfect legs and devastating smirk.

How had she been so oblivious to Chouchou’s beauty for somany years?

“You know, you didn’t answer my question,” she said, in thatvoice that left warm trails dancing across her entire body, “am I really theworst?”

“N-no, ‘course not.” Wow, suddenly she couldn’t be more thankfulthat her dad had brought up tea, because her mouth had never been so drybefore. Hands shaking just slightly, she poured herself a cup and downed half ofit. “I was just jokin’ around.”

Her eyes were still fixed on the delicious expanse ofexposed skin however.

Chouchou followed her gaze with sharp, amber eyes, grinwidening when she glanced back up. “Yodo~ where are you looking that’s so interesting?”

“Nowhere!”

She then had the absolute gall to lean forward,framing her chest between her arms. “Oh? You don’t see anything you like?”

This… was too much, even for a joke. Chouchou’s actions werefar too deliberate to be unintentional and too extreme to be a prank – Yodo wasthe one with the mean streak and even she wouldn’t mess with someone’s feelingslike this – was it possible that her best friend’s feelings weren’t entirelyplatonic either?

“Do- do you-” was she actually thinking this? Was sheactually going to ask something so dangerous? There must be somethingvery, very wrong with her. “Do you, maybe, li-”

“Chouchou, is there anything you would like to have fordinner?”

“FUUU-”

“Yodo. Language.”

“-UUUG! I was gonna say fug.”

The look on Gaara’s face suggested that he didn’t believeher for a second, but he let it slide and turned once more to their guest.“Well, Chouchou? You can ask for anything you like.”

Yodo silently fumed as her friend lit up and began mullingover her options. Was he doing this on purpose? He had to be, surely, how elsecould he have such perfectly terrible timing. And Chouchou’s dark, alluring airhad evaporated, leaving behind her usual cheerful self and leaving Yodo towonder if she’d somehow slipped into a dream back there and had just beenbrought crashing back into reality by her dad’s determination to be a goodhost.

And she wasn’t sure if she should be enraged, or grateful.

Eventually, after much thought, Chouchou settled on a porkstew and Gaara was sent away to buy the necessary ingredients. And now that hewas finally out of the picture for at least thirty minutes, Yodo could finallyconfess in peace.

Just as she was taking a slow, steadying breath however,Chouchou opened her own mouth. “So anyways, what was it you were gonna ask?”she asked, chipper and completely innocent, as though the last five minuteshadn’t even happened.

With her cheeks flaming, Yodo stomped over to the plate of snacksand tried to swallow four at once. “Forget it!” she snapped through hermouthful. “The moment’s gone forever.”

A fine, red eyebrow raised, but Chouchou didn’t question heron it, just grabbed some nibbles for herself before they were completely demolished.“Ok then, so what do you wanna talk about? Been on any cool missions lately?”

She took the change of topic with both hands and ran withit, immediately rambling on about how her brothers had nearly ruined their lastdisaster aid assignment.

But an idea had been planted and she wasn’t going to let itgo so easily.

---

Ok, today, she was going to say it. She had a plan, she hada good feeling, this time would be the one.

She had already dragged Chouchou out with her to one of thefew parts of the city with some real greenery – though not her own garden,despite it being prettier, she’d had enough trouble with her dad yesterday; noway was she going through that again – she had spent half the nightlying away coming up with a perfect script and she had buttered Chouchou upwith this morning’s breakfast – she’d gotten up super early just to make atraditional Sunan spread, with a wide range of homemade breads, jams, cheeses,fruits, eggs and soup.

Suna folk did nothing by halves.

And she wasn’t gonna half-ass her confession either.

“It’s really cool you still get so many plants this time ofyear.” Chouchou was idly sniffing at some flowering cacti, her long, brightyellow dress making her stand out, even amongst the colourful flowers. Thelocation was a success, now it was for the important bit.

“Thought you might like it,” she said, waiting until herfriend was fully focused on her before continuing. “Hey, so, there’s somethingI’ve been wanting to talk to you about, something really important-” she hadn’teven got to the scary part and yet she could still feel the sweatrolling down the back of her neck “-see, a couple months ago something changed,I don’t really get it at all, but I-I, I mean you’re- that dress- hey, are youeven listening to me?”

She had to ask, because for the last twenty seconds,Chouchou’s gaze had been very much not on her, instead fixed on a point justabove her shoulder.

It was probably for the best; “I mean you’re that dress,”wasn’t a line likely to win anyone’s heart any time soon, but she how could shebe so distracted when she had put so much effort into making this perfect?

“Uh… why is your brother hiding in the bushes?”

“…What.”

Yodo spun around to glare in the direction that had socaptivated Chouchou’s attention and, indeed Shinki was lurking in theshadows; managing to look even creepier than usual. She tried to radiate asmuch ‘go away now’ energy as possible with her facial expression alone, but heremained unimpressed and unmoving.

She decided to barrel on past it. Sure, maybe her idealconfession scenario wouldn’t involve a family member ominously watching in thedistance, but as long as he stayed far away, he couldn’t possibly ruinanything. “Oooookaaaay, well, as I was saying-”

But her friend didn’t seem to hear her. Chouchou’s gaze wasutterly transfixed, she didn’t even seem able to blink. “…Now he’s giving me athumbs up.”

Right, this conversation could wait, she had a fratricide togo commit.

---

Kankuro’s snickering was a level of obnoxious that she’dnever experienced before.

“C’mon kid, it can’t be that difficult.”

She lifted her head enough to glower at him, then dropped itheavily back against the kitchen table. “You’re one to talk, have you ever eventried to ask someone out?”

He rolled his eyes. “You know I ain’t interested in thatshit, but I’m still better at flirting than you.”

As much as she’d like to disagree with him, she knew he waskind of right. Even if he wasn’t that invested, she had seen him do his thingat enough – otherwise dull – political events, to know that he was more than capableof finding hook-ups. Somehow. She still didn’t understand the appeal at all,but the fact that the only person she’d ever crushed on was a girl maybe explainedit.

She still had her pride to uphold however.

“Fuck off, I’m amazing at flirting!” She smirked whenshe heard the feet bouncing down the stairs, pushing herself out of her seatand slamming both hands down on the table with enough force to rattle the cupson it. “You’ll see, Chouchou’s on her way down and I’m gonna get her to go outwith me, right here, right now!”

Kankuro leaned forwards until their noses were nearlytouching, a wide, sinister grin exposing far too many of his teeth. “Do it then.”

“I. Will.”

Suddenly, Chouchou swept past them, mumbling a low, “Mornin’,”as she opened the fridge and began rooting around in it like she owned theplace. If she had noticed the weird staring contest between uncle and niece throughher grogginess, she had elected not to say anything.

Clearly she had just come from washing up; her hair was slightlydamp and messy curls had yet to be tamed, she hadn’t put on any makeup and she’dthrown on a robe without much thought.

Yodo had never been more attracted to anyone in her entirelife.

“Mornin’.” She glanced over to where Kankuro was waggling hiseyebrows at her, wordlessly daring her to prove him wrong. “Sooo… you got anyplans for today?” she asked, very distracted by the sweet, fruity scent waftingoff of her – a Konoha perfume most likely, Suna ones were generally muskier, withhints of the many spices grown in the region.

Chouchou blinked at her a few times as she took a slow sip ofjuice. “Girl, I’m here to see you, my plans are gonna be the same as yours.”

Out of the corner of her eyes, Yodo could see her uncle withholdinglaughter. She tried to ignore the blush creeping up her neck. “Right, right, duh,must still be half asleep,” she muttered, wonky smile forced upon her lips.

Her attempt at playing it off with a laugh was immediately ruinedby Kankuro blurting out, “You’ve been awake for an hour and a half already.”

She glared at him. He grinned at her.

He was gonna play dirty then, huh? Fine by her, she’d just haveto bring out the big guns, something so irresistible that Chouchou would practicallyfall into her arms before her uncle could ruin it. “So, you… dress good, huh?”

Every eye in the room dropped down to the decidedlyun-glamourous fluffy bathrobe she’d had to borrow from Araya – because Yodostill had to shop in the children’s section to find clothes that didn’tcompletely swamp her and Chouchou was over six foot of pure Woman.

It had a cute little duckling pattern on it.

The dam of Kankuro’s not-very-high restraint finally brokeand he started howling with laughter. “Woooow, smooth!”

“I know right? I’m amazed at how she manages to function ineveryday life,” Chouchou said, not bothering to hide her own amusement as shestarted sharing the story of that time a few years back that Yodo had beentrying so hard to forget about.

Entire body flaming red, she practically leapt out of theroom, yelling behind her as she stormed up the stairs, “You’re both jerks and Ihate you!”

---

She wasn’t sure why Araya had insisted on joining themtoday, they were just doing a little souvenir shopping for Chouchou’s friendsand family back home, hardly something he hadn’t seen before.

Though his presence was at least keeping her somewhatfocused on their task, rather than on how lovely Chouchou looked in that brightblue dress; which was very. Very, very lovely. So lovely that shedesperately wanted to remove it to see how much lovelier she looked underneath.

If this was what being in love felt like, she wondered how humansas a species had ever lasted this long.

Araya casually asked who they were shopping for first,immediately reminding her that she was in public and should really get her mindout of the gutter before she did or said something that would get them thrownout of the market and probably earn them a lecture on the importance ofrepresenting a village from the Kazekage.

To distract herself from her thoughts, she picked up alittle clay figurine, some kind of lion thing. “Inojin would probably like this,right?” It wasn’t exactly like his ink beasts, but it was close enough; he couldprobably do with some new ideas anyways.

Before she got any response from the one she’d actually beenasking however, Araya had leapt upon her, taking the object reverently in hishands and waved it in front of Chouchou’s eyes. “Wow, he’d love it! You’re sogood at this Yodo! Isn’t she amazing?” The smile hidden by his mask wasdefinitely made up for by the pure excitement in his voice.

“Hmm, I guess she’s pretty good, dunno that I’d go as far asamazing though.” Chouchou still took the lion though and wandered over to the stall’sowner to haggle.

Yodo took the opportunity to scrutinise her brother. “What’swith you today?”

“Nothing, at all,” he said, utterly failing to sound like hewasn’t lying – he’d never been very good at it in the first place.

“Mhmm.”

“Really, there’s absolutely nothing going on. C’mon, it lookslike she’s done, let’s go to a food stall next!” Quickly running off to grabChouchou’s hand, he dragged them both off.

And things continued being weird throughout the day; as theybrowsed the market for interesting trinkets and regional delicacies to sendback to Konoha, Araya took every opportunity – and several opportunities thatdidn’t actually exist – to praise Yodo to the high heavens, no matter howtrivial her actions. She normally wouldn’t mind, her ego was big enough that itcould take a little stroking every now and then, but everything about him todaywas just screaming ulterior motive and that could only mean bad thingsfor her.

Araya with a Plot was not someone to mess with and she wasfeeling very twitchy as a result.

So twitchy, that when she heard the slight hitch of breathbehind her, she immediately spun and caught the heavy weight that wasthreatening to fall on her.

It must’ve looked ridiculous, a six-foot-something giant,who was eighty percent leg, being held like a princess by a scrawny, five-foot-on-a-good-dayrunt.

Araya looked up at her and threw his arms around her neck.

“Oh, Yodo, my hero!” He was practically weeping now,catching the attention of more than a few passers-by. “Thank you so much, whoknows what would’ve happened if you hadn’t been here to catch me in yoursurprisingly strong arms! I’m sure you would be an amazing catch for anyone!”

She closed her eyes and counted to ten before dropping hisweight and letting him fall the whole five inches to the ground with a lightthud. Everyone around them looked either confused or amused, as she bent down,grabbed her brother’s ankles and wordlessly dragged him into the nearest dark,abandoned alleyway.

When they were sufficiently alone, she leaned over to glareat where his eyes should be; she might not be able to see his face through themask, but he could certainly see hers. And hopefully he would be rightfullyscared of it. “Ok, seriously, what the fuck.”

“I’m just trying to get Chouchou to see how cool you are, soshe’ll want to go out with you!” he said, arms gesticulating wildly, even as hewas lying on his back.

“What’s that got to do with you? I can take care of thismyself.”

He sighed and slowly pushed himself so he was sittingupright. “Look, I support you one hundred percent in everything – you’re thebest sister in the world – but you’re definitely going to screw this up if weleave you to your own devices, so we all agreed that you needed a hand toactually make this happen.”

“I’d be doing just fine if people didn’t keep distracting me-”she stopped, suddenly thinking back to everything that had happened the lastweek “-wait, we? You’re all in on this?”

“Well, Uncle was mostly just being himself and Dad was justgoing along with what Kankuro told him to do, but me and Shinki at least have yourbest interests at heart! He just thought it might be better to quietly supportyou from the sidelines while I think the more… direct approach would be better.”

Even if she’d wanted to respond to that, she couldn’t findthe words, so she just spun round and stomped out into the street whereChouchou was still waiting for them. “You guys done?”

“Yeah, let’s go.”

The peace lasted for all of five steps before Araya joggedup behind them and leaned down to whisper in Chouchou’s ear. “Yodo’s great, don’tyou think?”

“I can hear you and I don’t need your help,” she ground out,teeth practically cracking with the force of her strained grin. Was he reallyplanning to follow them around until she finally confessed? Sure, she hadn’tsucceeded so far, but she was just waiting for the right time!

She couldn’t see Araya’s expression behind the mask, but sheknew she didn’t like it. “Are you sure about that?”

“Chouchou, let’s go look over there.” Grabbing her friend’shand – and definitely not feeling a little giddy about it – she led her to aclothing stall, already eyeing up a beautiful, deep, ocean blue and gold scarfthat would look amazing against Chouchou’s dark skin.

Araya remained undeterred. “I know she can be very dense,and stubborn, and she’s pretty lazy and her dress sense is… distinctive-”

“This is what you call helping?” she snapped, bristlingat his tone of refined disdain.

Just because he didn’t appreciate her butch, punk fashionchoices, didn’t mean that she was a bad dresser. She was at least above herfather and uncle in the family style rankings. Which was a real thing; Shinki kepta constantly updated list in his desk.

“-but she has somegood qualities too! She’s fun cool and she always loyal to her friends andfamily, I bet she’d be a really great girlfrie-”

As much as she would love to just throttle him right now,she settled for grabbing his shoulders – mostly because she couldn’t actuallyreach his neck – and shaking vigorously until he shut up. “Go. Away. I’ve. Got.This.”

He carefully removed her hands and held them together betweenhis own. “Look you don’t have to do it yourself; it’d be less painful foreveryone if I just said it for you.”

“That ruins the whole point though!”

She could feel the Look, and she hated it. “Are you gonna doit yourself then?”

“I- wha- ye- no-” she looked around for someone to save her,unfortunately most of the civilians had grown bored of the show and returned totheir shopping, the only person still watching was Chouchou herself, gigglingsoftly, with her long hair shimmering in the sunlight. Swallowing a painfullump, she turned back to her brother, saying softly, “Look it’s hard, ok?”

“It doesn’t have to be, just be honest, I know that nothingbad will happen, trust me, you can do it, it’s really not so scary,” he said,tone gradually shifting from soft and encouraging to exasperated and critical, “I’veasked out tons of people before and I don’t get this worked up about it, reallyI thought you were the brave one-”

“God! Fine!” She spun round, pointed directly at her crushand yelled at the top of her voice, “CHOUCHOU YOU LOOK GREAT IN THAT DRESS BUT IT’DLOOK BETTER ON MY BEDROOM FLOOR! Are you happy now?!”

Chouchou stared at her, completely still for a second, then burstout laughing.

Loud, unashamed guffaws probably weren’t the ideal reactionto a pick-up line, but, listening back to her own words in her head, she couldunderstand how they’d gotten there. Still didn’t mean she couldn’t be offendedby it though.

“Hey, quit laughing! I’m tryna be serious here!”

Araya crossed his arms, shaking his head slowly, clearly notfar off of laughing himself. “And that’s the line you chose to be serious with?”

“Ok, you shut up you’re no help at all,” she said, elbowinghim in the stomach before snapping back to her friend, “and Chouchou stoplaughing at a girl when she’s bearing her soul! Can’t even get some respectwhile confessing, honestly…”

Slowly, Chouchou straightened up, wiping a tear from her eyeand pure delight still lighting her voice as she asked, “Yodo, are you sayingthat you like me?”

Fuck, how red was she right now? Had to be pretty bad if theburning of her skin was anything to go by – even the midday Suna sun felt coolby comparison. “Y-yeah, obviously,” she muttered, suddenly all too aware of howmany eyes were upon them again.

“Finally!”

She blinked expressionlessly at Chouchou. “Huh?”

“Girl, I’ve been trying to get you to admit you like me for months,I really thought I had a winner with that ridiculous seduction act when I firstgot here.”

“If you knew then why didn’t you just say something!” shespluttered, defaulting to her usual anger while she was waiting for the joy tokick in.

Amber eyes rolled, but she was still grinning widely. “I’vebeen in love with you since we were kids, I figured I’d let you stew for atleast a little while, get some revenge for you being an oblivious idiot.”Chouchou had liked her for that long? How had she not noticed?

More importantly, however. “Wait, so are we, like… datingnow?”

Closing the distance between them and leaning down, Chouchoustared deep into her eyes, mouth set in a hard line and brows furrowed heavily.“If you say you don’t want to after all this, I will literally throw you intothe middle of a sandstorm,” she said, before her warm smile returned and she lightlypecked her on the cheek.

“Ha, I win!” Araya immediately managed to ruin the momentwith his loud declaration.

Kankuro landed next to them with a thud; Yodo didn’t evensee where he came from. “I call foul! We never agreed that you could get sopersonally involved!”

Family members began appearing out of the aether, until theywere surrounded by her brothers, father and uncle. Her blood pressure shortthrough the roof.

“Exact terms were never agreed upon, it’s your fault forbeing so vague, so you have to pay up.”

Yodo felt all feeling drain from her body. “…Were you allbetting on this?” she asked, voice soft and chilling.

The sudden silence could’ve been cut with a rusty butterknife, it was so thick.

Araya was the first to attempt a response. “N-noooo,definitely not!”

“You just said that you won!”

“Which I’m still not accepting, by the way,” Kankuro cut in,earning twin glares from Yodo and Araya both.

“Ok I’m not surprised by you three-” she glared at her brothersand uncle, who looked varying shades of ‘not especially guilty’ “-but even youwere in on it, papa?” Yes, she was bringing out the big, watery, puppy-dog eyesand no, she didn’t feel bad about it.

“Kankuro said he had a plan to make you very happy and Ididn’t think to question him on it, I can only apologise.”

“My baby bro is a snitch! How could I let this happen, I’vefailed you, my brother…” Kankuro wailed, as though he wasn’t the main bad guyhere; Yodo had absolutely no doubt the whole bet was his idea and she would notbe letting it go unpunished. Though her dad’s look suggested that he wasdefinitely going to be dragging him off later to have a Chat with him first.

A heavy arm dropped across her shoulders and long hairtickled at her cheek as Chouchou leaned down to snicker in her ear. “Yourfamily’s hilarious, I love it.”

She basked in the casual touch of skin against skin anddecided that – if this was the reward – she would happily deal with a thousandmeddling families. “You guys are lucky my girlfriend likes you, else you’d all bedead to me!”

Didn’t have to let them have the satisfaction of knowingthat though.

---

[localbisaster]

i once saw a post on radblr how men argue semantics to derail from the main point of the argument (or like it’s just an annoying tactic of theirs)

and i’m seeing this play out real time

today there was a discussion on TV which included topics like catcalling and sexual harassment and one of the women involved said how she has experienced harassment by flashers

and there is a man in the comments getting mad over the fact she said “a lot of times” and how she’s spreading lies because “how often is A LOT” and the usual “i have never heard of this happen so this woman saying A LOT is spreading propaganda”

like ok sir is flashing ok at all? do we really need to go down that route jfc

[roymusdamn]

philippine national elections be really throwing the logic out of some people. the mental gymnastics that’s currently happening by blaming the ND/progressives for being divisive even if the one spreading lies and malicious comments is the fascist red-tagger in the liberal bloc. i usually refrain from saying “just touch some grass” bc i know it’s a process for twitter petty bourgeoisie to actually go out and organize in communities but jfc the perspective twitter and social media gives you is so limiting. when we go to urban poor communities and farming communities every week, i dont have people there screaming at my face that progressives enabled duterte or whatever fucking lies pseudo-progressives in that bird app espouse on the daily. first thing people tell me when i go to the communities is how they need financial aid, jobs, and safer houses. they really need resumption of face-to-face classes. they condemn the corruption and human rights violation of the current regime. and twitter petty-b’s primary concerns are who enabled who??? how could something that’s purpose is to connect so much people and widen the information sphere be the thing that lets us limit our perspective on certain matters lmao??? not to mention the waning urgency of current issues as if it’d all go away once duterte’s out (and we’re not even sure if he’s out by next election bc we all know elex is a fraud). 

sometimes comrades need to know when something should be personally handled/answered or when something needs to be ignored. time, effort, and energy are spent on echo chambers when a big chunk of communities and sectors need their anger organized. internet liberal lapdogs dont mean well, urban poor communities, farmers, workers, out of school youth, and the likes mean well

[yeoldontknow]

Unforgiven (M)

Author’s Note: listen. i’ve listened to sweet lies about 166 times today (or however many times you can fit 3:45 into fifteen hours, jfc). this fic exists because i woke up at 6 in the morning and promptly died over it Pairing: Chanyeol x Reader (oc; female) Summary: The guilt that comes from cheating on your husband with his best friend is heavy and complicated. It means you lie to a lot of people - including yourself. Rating: NC-17 Warnings: explicit sex; explicit language; angst; infidelity Word Count: 6,645

Guilt is a heavy, twisted thing. In your mouth it tastes sour, in your chest it burns, and in your bones it settles. Most people reject it, want it gone from them the moment they feel it linger in their bloodstream and turn their words to slow syllables of malcontent. No one is supposed to relish it or want it, no one is supposed to savor it or claim it as their own.

But you do. You do.

You rather think guilt defines you and, after all this time of feeling pregnant with it, you can't imagine yourself without it. Guilt, you think, reminds you that you are alive, that you still feel, and have the capacity for kindness. If you didn't feel this way or this intensely, you think you would become something inhuman. Or, possibly more accurate, something inhumane.

It's important you remind yourself you love him. You love him in a way that sex or lust or skin or sweat cannot replace. It’s the kind of love that takes work, takes compromise - loving as a choice to weather a storm instead of love as something easy or fragile. You love him in a way that feels like it will last, but then, even this truth you find yourself doubting.

If you loved him, you would not crave someone else’s touch.

If you loved him, you would never have wandered into guilt’s uncharted waters so recklessly.

If you loved him, you would never have strayed at all.

You regret the seating arrangement the moment you sit down, sliding into the booth with a racing heart as you settle next to him. Dinners with large groups are always disorganized chaos, you think, everyone too polite and timid to take the first seat, glancing around for who they really want to sit near. Eventually, someone makes a move, bold and brash and frustrated with hesitations, and you all rush to get close, frantic in a discordant version of musical chairs. You always feel like this and, usually, you can laugh it off. Usually, you find this sort of cacophony charming in its amicable mess. But tonight of all nights, you are beside him, thighs sticking to the leather booth and body already starting to flush from the closeness.

Your husband sits across from you, laughing and smiling and beautiful, perfect in all the ways you beg yourself to hold on to. Forcing a serene smile on your lips, you regard him, eyes watching without actually seeing. Slowly, you mouth the words happy birthday, shaping the phrase without actually saying it. Simple, romantic, endearing - you know that's how it looks. In his eyes, you are doting and adoring, a loving wife he gets to call his.

For you, it is hard to focus on him, hard to see him, and hard to want him when Chanyeol is beside you. So close to you, he is radiating into the side of your body through the smooth satin of your dress and arresting your senses completely. Keeping your eyes straight ahead, you try to imagine it’s your husband that makes your skin feel so tight, makes your thighs clench and your mouth water. But then, you've never been good at lying, especially when every shift in the air puts Chanyeol’s cologne in your mouth.

For him, you are salivating, mouth wet and tongue heavy. For you, he is pining, eyeing you with a pout and a blush on his cheeks you know to be a sign of all his impure thoughts. You know he is imaging you spread eagled on the table, mouth at your clit and fingers inside you; you know he is imagining you straddling him, riding him with ease as you scratch the nape of his neck raw.

You know he is imagining these things because you are picturing the same.

Tonight, he is dressed in your favourite blazer and trousers - purposeful, you know, worn simply to get a rise out of you and to distract you. He wants all your attention on him, you can feel it in the way he presses himself against the back of the seat, forming a dent in the cushion that sends your shoulder sliding into his. He wants all your attention on him, you can feel it in the way he laughs, hard and jovial, as though he does not want you at all, and making the booth vibrate from the force of it. Chanyeol is making sure he is all around you, making sure you cannot escape him.

He ensures these things as though he has to, as though he needs to, but, most appalling of all, you know you couldn't escape him if you tried. You do not want to.

Hours into the evening, your husband sits across from you, and beside you his best friend lets a hand fall into your lap beneath the table. A waiter passes, dropping a dessert menu on the table, and you clutch it like a cross, peering around the restaurant to make sure no one can see the placement of his fingers. Around you, your friends laugh and joke, tell stories of your past, your college years, but next to you, Chanyeol his teasing.

Subconsciously, you lick your lips and press your hips deeper into the booth as your knees part, welcoming him even though you know you shouldn't. This separation of skin is just enough for Chanyeol to let his digits roam along the soft expanse of your inner thigh, stroking, luring, and coaxing you into a state of palpable desire.

Languidly, his touch works its way up to the line of your underwear, making your breath catch with each new caress of his deft fingers. You tighten your grip on the menu, minutely pushing your hips forward to lean into his fingertips, desperate for more and needing less at the same time.

Chanyeol bends slightly, bringing his mouth close to your ear and smiling as though whatever he wants to say will be harmless, completely innocent and pure. On instinct, you shift closer, pulled into his orbit like the lonely satellite you are.

‘Don't let anyone see,’ he murmurs, hot breath warming the tendons of your neck and making you release a clandestine sigh.

Closing your eyes, you try to center yourself enough to speak. ‘The cheesecake,’ you say softly, hoping it appears as though he wants to know what to order, but you know he hears the weak tremble in your voice.

‘I can feel you getting wet,’ he breathes and, this time, his lips graze the shell of your ear as he speaks. Sparks work their way down our spine, the feeling of his words electrifying, and igniting within you a yearning you can taste even on your teeth. ‘My favourite part.’

The low intonation of his voice, the teasing touch of his hand, these things make your eyelids flutter, your chest tense with need. For years, now, you've known that Chanyeol is the vessel that controls your blood - body and soul existing under his command. One word from him and you are a keening, wonton thing, anxious to have more of him and desperate to drink him dry. For years, you have known this, but it never fails to catch you off guard.

Sensing your reaction, he cups your center with the flat of his palm and presses, watching the way you lift your chest, presenting your breasts to him on instinct. A moan threatens to spill out and over from your mouth, bursting in the center of your throat, and you swallow it down with a nervous frown. Your hand goes to Chanyeol’s lap, neither to tease nor to play, but to hold on tightly, digging your nails into his trousers and into his skin just to stop yourself from evaporating.

‘Are you feeling okay?’

Your husband’s voice breaks through the thick atmosphere, sending Chanyeol’s hand careening away from your wetness and back into his lap. Swallowing heavily, grimacing as though you have just tasted acid, you stifle a whine at the loss of contact and consider lying.

It’s easier than you think it should be, letting falsehoods slip from your tongue and into his eager ears, if only because he trusts you implicitly. You could tell him you are fine, could sit for hours more having coffee with your friends and pretending to laugh like you care about the conversation happening around you. But, truthfully, you are not fine. You are not ill, yet you are sick with want, and you want to leave the tension of this world behind. Across the table, your husband looks at you with loving concern and worry, and you know you are lucky. He would do anything for you - if you asked for the world, he would bring you the sun.

And that, you think, is the problem. You don't want the world, or the sun, anymore. You want whole galaxies.

‘No, not really,’ you say, shaking your head and wrapping your arms around yourself to give the effect of a chill - even though you fear you may be burning alive. ‘I think I might head home.’

He nods gently, lifting his arm to call a waiter for the check. ‘Okay, let me pull the car around.’

‘No,’ you say quickly, eyes wide and tongue turning the word into a knife. ‘No,’ you repeat, softening your tone. ‘It’s your birthday. Don't miss your party just because of me.’

Leaning over the table, he brings himself close to your face and beams. ‘It's not a real party if you aren't with me,’ he whispers, before kissing your nose. Beside you, you can feel Chanyeol bristle at the tender action, displeasure cascading over soul, and he brings his hand to your knee, giving it a possessive squeeze.

‘I promise I'll be okay.’ You offer your husband a sweet smile, one you hope appears genuine, as you lean over to capture his lips in a chaste kiss.

Chanyeol’s voice cuts in, hard like iron and making your hands grip the table to steady yourself. ‘I can take her.’

Sitting back in your chair, you regard him cooly. He knows what he wants, he knows what you want. This grand exit the perfect opportunity for you to be alone - and you want it, oh how you want it, but you’re trying, for the first time in years, to be good. ‘Chanyeol, no -’

Frustratingly, it’s your husband who cuts off your protest ‘Are you sure?’ he asks, cocking an eyebrow at his friend.

‘Yeah,’ Chanyeol replies with a shrug. ‘I have an early start tomorrow anyway. I can get her home.’

So, too, does your husband shrug, both of them effectively removing you from the conversation as your mouth runs dry. ‘If you're sure.’

‘Positive.’

Something about the confines of his car makes everything feel amplified, more intense, as if the small space means your desire has nowhere to go. It presses on you, making your skin feel damp and your hips grind into the seat every time you hear him release a shallow breath. You know how it feels to have that breath tumble down your breasts, your stomach, and over your folds in a deluge. You know how he feels, and that makes you grip the sides of the leather seat just a little bit harder, makes you bite your lip, and your eyes glance over at him every few minutes to study his expression.

Chanyeol is just as tense, living inside his head and hardly sparing you a second glance. His hands hold the wheel tight enough for his knuckles to turn white, thighs looking stiff and jaw clenched. Your eyes travel down his body, studying the strong muscles of his arms, accentuated by the expensive tailoring of his blazer, down his slim waist and to the long line of his legs.

‘I can feel your eyes on me,’ he announces, deep voice filled with gravel. ‘You’re making me hard.’

One look at his trousers and you can see the angle of his hardness lifting the fabric, his legs parted wide enough to accommodate his want. Your mouth waters at the sight, tongue swiping over your bottom lip and muscles clenching, already eager to take him inside you and hold him there.

‘Spread your legs,’ he demands, hand leaving the wheel to fist in the hem of your dress and pull it up, slowly, until your leg and panty line are exposed to him.

Immediately, you obey, spreading your legs as wide as they can go in the seat and filling the car with the scent of your arousal. His hand paints lazy figure eights on the supple flesh of your thigh, before languidly dragging his nails over to the inside and stroking up to the wetness at your center. At the first press of his fingers, you release a small whine, head pressing back into the seat.

‘You've already felt me,’ you protest, voice terribly small and eyes locked on the road through half-lidded eyes.

‘Yes,’ he agrees, ‘but that doesn't mean I ever want to stop. And now I want to taste you.’

Sliding your underwear to the side, he drags one finger along your slit to tease and collect the wetness he finds. A moan breaks out from your chest, loud and encumbered in the otherwise quiet car, and Chanyeol growls beside you.

‘Fuck, you’re so wet for me,’ he hums, happily.

‘I’m always wet for you,’ you mutter, because it’s true.

Bringing your eyes down, you look at his arm as he strokes you, sleeves rolled up and strong forearm muscle flexing with the effort of pleasuring you at such an odd angle. The sight of his strength makes you bite your lip, a broken whine tumbling from your lips, as you lift your chest slightly to arch your back off the seat. Chanyeol dips the long length of his middle finger into your folds, curling the digit and pumping it in and out of you in shallow thrusts before burying the finger to the knuckle.

‘Oh, my god,’ you gasp, closing your eyes and letting your head fall forward.

Once more, he curls his finger, keeping it held inside you, and you shudder, the ache between your thighs and in your stomach rising, body hungry for something larger, something stronger. Chanyeol laughs at your reaction, low and needy and proud, and removes his finger in one smooth motion before bringing it to his mouth. He runs it along his lips, spreading your juices over the plump flesh, before sucking the finger into his mouth.

Briefly, he shuts his eyes as he hums, satisfied both with you and himself. It’s painfully slow, you think, the way he pulls the finger from his lips, how he hollows his cheeks to suck all of you off his skin, and, when he does, when the hand returns to the wheel, he smiles.

Impish, wicked, and beautiful, he smiles.

‘God,’ he exclaims, sucking his bottom lip into his mouth and letting it get caught between his teeth before continuing, ‘your cunt is so fucking sweet.’

Bringing the car to a halt at a red light, he rounds on you, cupping your face between his large hands and presses your lips together. Instantly, you open for him, allowing his tongue in to take complete control of your mouth. Hands fisting in his shirt, you try to bring your bodies close, as close as you can get with seatbelts and a console in the way. Sucking on his bottom lip, you take it between your teeth, tugging lightly and pulling a moan from his chest as you lean back to let it go.

‘Fuck,’ he whispers, pressing his forehead against yours. ‘I'm so hard for you it hurts.’

Dropping one hand from the collar of his shirt to his lap, you let the heel of your palm rub slow circles over his hardness, and watch with a small grin as his eyes close and his lips part. He’s gasping, drowning on air, as you hurry your motions, his hands moving from your cheeks to your neck, body desperate to hold onto something solid.

In the distance, a car honks, startling you both out of this intense reverie, to alert you the light as changed. You part from each other then, bodies tingling and lips swollen, and Chanyeol continues driving, the rasp in his breath even more apparent.

When you push through the door to your house, the tension from the car has not dissipated, but the wide, open space gives you room to think, gives your thoughts room to roam without Chanyeol’s greedy fingers trying to stroke them. Standing in your kitchen, you look around at the life you have built with your husband, all the things you own that you picked out with him - the refrigerator, the oven, the granite countertop - and know that, while these things do not matter, it’s the act of choosing them and compromising for them that does. These things, materialistic as they are, are the things that make the words form in your mind and on your tongue.

You want to tell Chanyeol this has to end, that your husband deserves better than this - than both of you. It won’t be the first time you say them, they always seem to fall from your lips in a weak protest as he sucks on your neck, your breasts, your hip bones, and always his response is the same:

‘You said that the last time.’

You think tonight is different, it’s your husband’s birthday and instead you are at home, your home, with his best friend, the man who stood beside him at your wedding, and you think tonight you can be different.

Tonight, you feel you could be strong. Tonight, you could be righteous.

But then, you feel him come behind you, hands sliding over your hips to rest on the flat of your stomach as he presses himself close to your back. Like this, held so closely in his arms, you recline against his shoulder and he drags one hand up your stomach, between the valley of your breasts, to cup your throat. Bringing his mouth down to press wet kisses along the tendon of your neck, you drape one arm back to fondle the hair at the nape of his neck, and luxuriate in the wholeness of him. For a moment, you sway, staying like this and letting your body capsize in the feel of him.

With a heavy breath, he drags his open mouth to your ear, panting as he grinds his hard cock into the curve of your ass. Lapping at your lips, you press back, seeking more contact, and are rewarded with a deep chuckle that dances along your skin. Quickly, though, this fades, and you can feel him become serious, his hold on you suddenly firm and tight, encasing you and caging you in his arms.

‘I hate it when you kiss him,’ he groans, nipping at your earlobe before gliding his tongue down, and down, to the juncture of your shoulder and neck where he bites, hard. The pain of it makes you jut back against his member with a yelp, eliciting a sharp, pleasured hiss from Chanyeol against your skin before sucking the spot he just marred.

Teasingly, the hand at your throat moves upwards, skimming light touches along each new patch of skin, before tracing his fingertips along your lips and making you shiver violently. At this, you mewl into the open air, voice tiny and lost in a sea of arousal.

‘Why?’ you question in a gasp, letting the small word float into the air you press soft kisses to his fingers.

‘Because,’ he begins, grinding his member against your ass as he holds you firmly in place, ‘I've come in that mouth, and that mouth is mine.’

Licking your lips, you nod at nothing, at his statement, at the understanding that you are wholly lost in the sensation of his nearness, letting yourself get drunk and get honest. ‘God, I love it when you come in my mouth.’

‘I love kissing myself off your tongue,’ he mutters into your skin, gasping as he places wet kisses up your shoulder, your neck, and your jaw. The hand at your waist moves slowly down to the apex of your thighs, where he starts to rub slow circles against your clit above your clothes with deft fingers. ‘God, you're so fucking pretty,’ he praises, nipping at your jaw as you move against his hand. ‘Everything about you. I could kiss you, eat you out, for hours. I want to wear you on my lips for days, fuck.’

He turns you in his arms, eyes wild and mouth hungry, to press your lips together with fervor. Moaning into the kiss, you wrap your arms around his neck and his hands fall to your zipper. For a moment he fondles the fabric of your dress before he latches onto the zipper and pulls it down, the cool night air greeting your back as the seam parts. Sucking on your lip, he pushes you away from his body gently, making you pout and whine at the loss of contact.

Chuckling, he steps back, and brings his hands to your shoulders, light and tender, grasping the sleeves of your dress to push them down your arms and sending it to your feet. Exposed to him now, he simply points beside you, silently telling you to step out of it, and you obey, keeping your eyes on him the entire time. A shiver runs through you, but you cannot tell if it is from desire, the kind that is gripping you so completely, or the cold of the room against your flushed skin.

In just your underwear, he looks at you, eyes roaming over your body and making sure you feel his gaze wherever he chooses to settle. Naturally, his chest leans forward slightly, his axis pulled towards you simply by the magnitude of his longing. For several minutes, he stares at you like this, dumbfounded and awestruck and brow furrowed in disbelief, like he cannot believe you are there and you are his for these short hours. You stand before him in just your underwear, and he worships you, and you, married and experienced and often feeling as though you are too old to feel special, have never felt more beautiful or more adored.

Unable to be apart from you any longer, Chanyeol rushes into you, mouth first and hands needy, as he kisses you again. Rounding his hands behind you, he cups your ass, lifting you as though you are weightless, and you wrap your legs around his waist with glee. Tilting your head back to take in air, he brings his lips to your collarbone as he walks you back to your bedroom. Your fingers move to the buttons of his shirt, and you feel a smile spread across his lips against your skin, his eyes remaining closed as his lashes tickle your collarbone. This is always how you love him most, boyish, innocent, and making you feel like a teenager, like you cannot imagine ever wanting someone more than this.

Kicking the door open with his foot, he pulls his mouth from your skin and regards you with a smile, eyes dancing with hidden laughter as he makes a few long strides and sets you gently on the bed. Pushing yourself back against the pillows, you watch as he slowly removes his jacket and his shirt. He’s easy to admire, the hard lines of his chest and muscles, the glow of his skin, as if he had swallowed the sun and it is burning within him, and, always, the smile that crosses his face as he undresses, shy, bashful, and so completely yours.  

Dropping a knee to the bed, his hands move to his belt, and this sends you rising off the bed with eager movements. Lifting yourself to settle on your knees, you reach for his belt to swipe his hands away.

‘I want to -’

‘No,’ he cuts you off, pressing a hand to your chest to ease you back down. ‘Let me worship you. Lay back at let me take care of you.’

Settling back against the bed, you study him quizzically. This request is intimate, quite unlike your normal encounters, but it makes you feel warm, like your blood has turned to honey, and so you don’t protest. Instead you let him drink your form in, let him look at you as though you are a work of art. You have the passing sensation of feeling vulnerable, like he’s looking at more than just your body, that perhaps he is looking at your soul.

As he undoes his trousers, Chanyeol looks at the mess of you, your lies, your love, your kind pieces, your cruel pieces, and makes it clear that wants them all. He looks at the mess of you and he craves it, slack jawed and face awash with pure adoration. It’s obvious now, in the way he watches your movements as though they are the key to his survival, that you are it for him. He makes you feel like a teenager, like you cannot love anyone more than him, because that is how he feels about you. For Chanyeol, there will never be anyone but you, and he wants you, all of you, any way he can have you, even if it means surrounding yourselves in a lie.

With his trousers removed, he takes your thighs and pulls you along the bed so that your feet fall off the end, lowering himself to rest between your legs. With the flat of his palms, he spreads your legs wide and looks up at you, smiling impishly through his lashes, and takes a large inhale of your arousal into his lungs.

‘Fuck,’ he whispers to himself, dazed and drunk on you alone.

The sight of him, slowly coming undone just by your smell and lips wet with want, makes your hands fist in the sheets, and this is when you think on them.

This morning, you fucked your husband in these sheets, on this bed, let him come inside you and you around him as the sun came up. Like this, spread open for Chanyeol on your back and turning your cheek into the pillow, you can almost smell him, can almost smell his sweat. You can almost smell your husband, but you taste Chanyeol in the air and feel Chanyeol along your body, his hot hands keeping your legs wide open, his mouth placing wet, open mouthed kisses on the inside of your thighs, and this is what grounds you in reality.

Now, you don't want you bed to smell like anything but the gasoline you and Chanyeol will smear all over the sheets with your bodies.

Just as before in the car, he traces one finger over your slit to collect the wetness pooled along your center. Again and again he does this, first with one finger and then with two. Slowly, he presses his fingers between your folds, parting them languidly as he dips the tip of his tongue in for a taste. A cry bursts through your lips, filling the quiet room with your pleasure, back arching at the small sensation of the tip of his tongue. He laughs, the sound vibrating into your pliant body, and lets his fingers slide into you until your skin meets his knuckles.

You feel all of him as he sets a steady rhythm, his mouth focusing attention on your clit as he laps at it in time with his fingers. In this pattern, he works his mouth against you, makes sweat build at your hairline and pulls cries from your lips, cries of his name, of expletives, making music out of the sound of your voice and your wet center. He hums against you, lets his deep baritone resonate inside and round you, rejoicing in the noise of your sex. Removing his mouth from your clit, he swaps positions, diving between your folds to drink his fill with his tongue while his hand teases your clit, pressing against the nub before rubbing it in languid circles.

Threading a hand through his hair, your orgasm builds in you without warning, dawning on you with the heat of the sun, and making your hips grind against his face for more, for all of him. Chanyeol stills, letting you thrust against his face and mouth, getting yourself off with his tongue, his nose, his lips, until you are rasping his name. When you’re close, he pulls back, eases your hand from his head with ardor, mouth glistening with your juices, and regards you seriously.

‘Tell me how you want to come,’ he demands, sliding his fingers into his mouth and shutting his eyes as he sucks them clean.

It takes you a long while for you to find your voice, partly because the throb at your core is unbearable and partly because he looks so debauched, so perfectly sinful that you think you could come just from the sight of him.

‘Gorgeous,’ he repeats, using the nickname he’s reserved for you and igniting a new fire in your veins, ‘tell me if this is how you want to come.’

‘Cock,’ you gasp, licking your lips and closing your eyes as you try to focus. ‘I want your cock.’

He doesn’t say anything as he rises to stand, hands sliding to the band of his briefs and sliding them down his bow legs, while you continue to pleasure yourself lightly, keeping yourself wet and ready for him. Naked before you, you release a sigh as you take him in, just as awed by the sight of him as he is you.

Nestling between your legs, he lowers himself against you, grinding his hips into yours as he captures your lips in a heated kiss. You feel his hand between your bodies, pumping himself as he guides his tip to your entrance, and you moan into his open mouth at the contact. Sliding into you with care, Chanyeol furrows his brow in concentration, trying not to bury himself inside you all at once as he gives you a few shallow thrusts. Taking his face in your hands, you sigh against into his mouth at the feeling of him slowly filling you, and he follows suit, whining gently as he braces his arms beside you so as not to crush you. Gathering his strength, he reaches behind your knees and wraps your legs high around his waist, securing them tightly as he looks at you with desire, eyes blown and dark. Then, he pulls back and pulls out, only to bury himself to the hilt in one smooth, deep thrust.

‘Fuck!’ you cry out, dropping your head into the pillow at the sudden fullness of him. ‘Oh God, Chanyeol.’

‘Christ,’ he grinds out, burying his face into your shoulder. ‘You’re so fucking tight, all the time.’

Connected, you remain this way, getting used to the sensation of each other, his size filling you completely and making you feel whole in ways you never have before. With ease, he stretches you, your body learning to accommodate him and every line, every sinew of his body, years ago. Now, taking him in feels like welcoming him home, feels like finding a piece of you that you did not know had been missing. Eventually, the burn of tension in your muscles demands that he moves, that you press your hips together to find release.

‘Move, Yeol,’ you choke out, winding your fingers through his hair and nuzzling your nose against his cheek. ‘You have to move.’

Chanyeol reaches for your hand, lacing your fingers together as he drops it beside your head, and begins to thrust into you with purpose. Each roll of his hips makes you gasp; each snap of his hips into you makes him choke out a moan, and, like this, foreheads resting together and lips granting small kisses, he fucks into you, hard and slow and deep.

‘Shit, Gorgeous,’ he moans, running his free hand over your breast to tease your nipple, ‘you feel so good.’

‘I can feel all of you,’ you whine, as he executes a punishing thrust, hitting places inside you so rarely reached. ‘Oh, fuck,’ you finish with a hiss.

Dropping his head to your neck, he bites at your skin, whining slightly at the knowledge he cannot leave a mark. ‘Is that good, Gorgeous?’ he asks, thrusting harder and faster to make up for the lack of his bruises on your skin.

‘Yes,’ you nod, sweat stinging your eyes as you meet him thrust for thrust, skin starting to feel slick with need and want. ‘Yes.’

‘Is it better than him?’ he growls, bending to suck your nipple into his mouth, pulling it between his teeth and making you cry out in ecstasy. ‘Do I fuck you better? Fuck you right?’

‘Shit, yes,’ you keen, clenching your jaw as you take your hand and drop it to his shoulder blade, squeezing his palm tightly with your other. ‘Fuck, Chanyeol, yes.’

‘Perfect,’ he whispers, mostly to himself as he kisses your breast, sucks on the flesh, and strokes the line of your waist with care. ‘You’re Perfect.’

It’s hard to keep yourself focused, the smell and the feel of him all around you. At the restaurant, you could taste him in the air, his beauty then something arresting and something mystifying. Now, he lives above you, lives within you, and you are consumed by him. With his hips thrusting into you at a rapid pace, your legs start to shake and your eyes start to water, chest and soul burning with love for him. Above you, he his focused and transcendent, fully alive at the concept of fucking you, having you, keeping you.

Seeing him so devoted to this, so devoted to you, makes your heart feel as though it may break, that your bones may seek out knives to carve his name into the marrow, so that he will never be parted from you. Holding onto him a little tighter, you relish the feel of him moving within you, fucking you back together and you kiss the side of his neck before choking out a sob.

‘Chanyeol, I’m -’ you words break off, splintered and fractured by the beginning of your orgasm, returning to you now with force. Clenching your walls around him in time with his thrusts, you release your hand from his to clutch him tightly, holding onto him for fear of dissolving beneath him.

‘I know,’ he pants with a grown, running his nose lovingly along your neck, and the simple affection from this makes you quake against him. The hand at your waist slides between your bodies, his hips thrusting in and out of you in a rhythm that makes your body feel like it’s alive with fire, and his fingers find your clit to move against it in quick, rapid taps. ‘I can feel you’re close. You’re so tight on me, Gorgeous.’

‘Chanyeol,’ you moan, voice high pitched and tight, ‘please - I -’

‘Come for me, baby,’ he whispers against your skin, thrusting drilling into you as his hand starts to make sharp circles against your clit. ‘Just like that. Come for me. Come for only me.’

At his command, your body clenches around him, body tightening and coiling around his cock like a live wire as your back arches off the bed and into his chest. Your hands squeeze his shoulder blades, nails digging into his skin and lips parted in a silent scream as your breath catches in your lungs. The nerves in your body become raw, sensitive things, every touch and taste and sound heightened as your body starts to tremble, muscles relaxing and quaking around Chanyeol as your climax surges through you.

He increases the speed of his thrusts, slamming himself into you and your bed into the wall as he chases his high. Still trembling as you come down from your climax, you reach up to his face to brush the sweat and hair from his eyes. And then, he looks at you. Full, open, and filled with devotion, he looks at you.

‘I love you,’ he whispers, leaning down to capture your lips in a chaste kiss. ‘I’m so in love with you.’

Pressing his forehead into yours, he lets his lips graze against your skin, kissing whatever he can find before stopping altogether to cry out against you. Now, he isn’t fucking you, you realize. Chanyeol is making love to you, fucking himself into you so that you will carry him with you always, even if you leave him behind. Chanyeol is making love to you, holding you tight, panting into your open mouth, and asking you to swallow him whole.

And you do. You take all of him because you want all of him, the same way he wants you.

Soon, his arms begin to shake, body starting to quiver with the oncoming storm of his release. He holds himself back though, like always, waiting for you to tell him where and when. He holds himself back and shuts his eyes as though he is in pain, as if holding back how much he loves you makes him fear that he may die.

‘Fuck, I’m gonna - oh,’ he cries, words broken and torn apart by panted moans, hips becoming erratic and messy. ‘I’m gonna come, oh fuck, tell me where to come.’

You take him in like this, remaining silent as you shake from the aftershocks of your own orgasm. Like this, you fall into him, watch as he opens his eyes again and pleads with you, tells you that all he wants, all he’s ever wanted, was to love you freely.

‘Baby, please,’ he whines desperately, voice little more than a whimper. ‘I’m - I - shit, just tell me where to come.’

‘Inside me,’ you plead, words wavering with emotion, as you hold his face between your hands and let your eyes bore into his. ‘I want to feel you.’

Chanyeol comes inside you with a cry, something between a shout of euphoria and a broken, overwhelmed sob, and the whole time, the entire time he fills you with his warmth, he keeps his eyes open and looks at you.

Chanyeol looks at you as he comes, tells you he loves you as he comes, and when it’s over, he collapses against you and holds you close. For what feels like ages, he refuses you move, both of you trembling, stroking each other’s hair, and whispering soft words of reassurance to one another. Against you and into your neck, he gasps. Against his shoulder, you press soft kisses and clutch him tightly. For what feels like ages, you both fear separation with the totality of your hearts.

Eventually, he pulls himself out of you with a grunt, and settles beside you, pulling you to his chest to spoon you. In his arms, both of you panting and trying to catch your breath, you start to punish yourself. You punish yourself even though you know it really shouldn’t be fair, the idea that you need to be chastised for loving two people, for loving more than society thinks you should. Really, you think, people should only ever be punished for not loving enough.

‘You’ve never let me come inside you before,’ he whispers into your hair, pressing a kiss to the crown of your head. Seeking your hand with his, he entwines your fingers and wraps his arm around your waist to cage you against him.

‘Yes,’ is all you can manage, voice tired and filled with the metallic tenor of remorse.

‘Does that mean you’re going to leave him?’ he asks, and the hope you hear in his tone crushes your heart, leaving you winded.

‘Yes,’ you repeat, ignoring the tears that have started roll down your cheeks.

Right now, it feels like it could be true.

Right now, it almost does not feel like a lie.

[chaoticrice]

@skystones @the-caniderp  (it won’t let me tag youu)

WOW this is long overdue I AM SO SORRY.

Under a cut cause I write too much

Q. Quote three bits of writing you read this year. Can be your writing, or not.

·         “You promised dancers,” he says, his voice low, and she feels the flush spread on her cheeks.  “I only expect one.”

 – From chrio by seventhe  https://archiveofourown.org/works/10877289

“Let me give you some counsel, bastard,“ Lannister said. “Never forget what you are, for surely the world will not. Make it your strength. Then it can never be your weakness. Armor yourself in it, and it will never be used to hurt you.“

Jon was in no mood for anyone's counsel. “What do you know about being a bastard?“

“All dwarfs are bastards in their father's eyes.“

- From “A Game of Thrones” by George R.R. Martin

He laughed, and it was a cold, angry sound, but his fear crept like smoke past the laugh. And somewhere, somewhere a spark of hope that he wished he could stifle. "I failed you? I don't owe you anything. You should never have gotten your hopes up."

- From “Balance” by  CaptainArwenPond221B   http://archiveofourown.org/works/13027908/chapters/29798457

T. Themes

Themes from “The Burden of Rule”

1. Change:

How things have changed after the war, and how things have not.

Larsa wishes to change Archades into a society that is more understanding and loving towards foreigners in a post-war Ivalice, and he has visions of a multicultural Archades in the future. He wants to take the focus off of gaining status and reputation, and he wishes to decrease the class divide. (BASICALLY, Larsa wants to change everything. What an ambitious boy.)

Larsa is very different from Emperors of the past, and the Senate is having difficulty adjusting to the “radical” ways of their new emperor.

Penelo’s entire world changes when she is appointed Ambassador, of course.

2. Truth and Deceit:

Archades is a city of curious knowledge-seekers, and Penelo finds herself influenced by them, developing an investigative nature.

The news businesses twist the truth in favour of their own interests, as well as the interests of their respective districts. Rumours are spread about Larsa.

Penelo learns the balancing act of giving out the right info, while keeping the info that others can use to hurt her.

Penelo learns unspeakable truths that were hidden for a long time.

3. Unity and Division:

“In cooperation lies our hope.” – Larsa Ferrinas Solidor

Larsa wishes to strengthen Archadia’s relationship with Dalmasca, and Rozarria.

The formation of the new district, called Orbon, aka the reconstructed Old Archades, has reunited the “vulgars” of Old Archades with their loved ones in the city.

After spending the last few years isolated, Larsa finally reunites with his friends in Dalmasca, and eventually others.

The ever growing divide between Larsa’s ideals, and the Senate.

Archades is divided into districts, and each district has different opinions on Larsa. Some are heavily against, some are in support, and some are mixed (much like swing states in the U.S!) Because of this, when word gets out about Larsa’s bill, all hell breaks loose, and Larsa feels AWFUL for dividing his city.

The class and racial divides

4. Identity and Belonging:

Larsa struggles with his identity as a leader, whether he should compromise, or follow what he feels is right. As the last remaining member of House Solidor, there is no family to follow anymore, and he must make a new place for himself in Archadia’s history.

Penelo has always seen herself on the streets of Rabanastre, struggling to make ends meet, dancing with her troupe until she can dance no more. But now that the war is over, and the years have passed, Penelo finds herself at a loss for what to fight for, and grows bored with only providing entertainment. She looks to the mysterious and powerful world of government and politics in search of a purpose beyond her current understanding.

5. The Importance of Self-Value:

Larsa overworks himself in pursuit of his goals, neglecting both his mental and physical health, and Penelo will point out to him many times that he needs to remember to take care of himself.

Larsa and Penelo both feel like they are not good enough/ not worthy of their positions of power, and they each help the other realise that they are wrong.

 Themes of “The Mediator”

1.       Letting go of the past/ new beginnings

2.       Finding similarities with someone you least expect. Is that a theme? Something about bringing together two people from different nations… unity? Peace???

U. Any stories that took an abrupt u-turn from where you thought they were going?

THE BURDEN OF RULE, JFC. It was originally about the liberation of Landis, what a stupid idea right??? Lolololol  But now it makes sense why in the current incarnation of the story, I have crammed many Landisians in Archades’ new district, Orbon. Some of it had to survive - too bad my lesbian Landisian judge and her sky pirate/terrorist brother didn’t. I liked them. Maybe I can cram them into the story as minor characters Penelo gets info from. IDK.

OH. AND PENELO WASN’T AN AMBASSADOR. WTF WHEN DID I PUT THAT IN??? It’s been three years, man.

At some point I played with the idea of an impeachment storyline. I still do. I just love the idea of the Senate putting Larsa on trial for something. I get delicious shivers, and I think about the scene in FFX when Yuna is on trial.

Some things have remained: the decline in Larsa’s mental health, the panic attack scene, and Larsa vs. the Senate. Wow I am shameless when it comes to giving out spoilers.

V. Which story was the most viscerally pleasing to write? Tell us your narrative kinks.

The Burden of Rule, mainly because I’VE BEEN WAITING THREE YEARS TO FINALLY DO IT.

ANYWAYS… I’m a dialogue slut, so narrative has never been my thing. Butttt, if I had to choose, it would be INTERIOR MONOLOGUES. That’s the good shit. Any scene where Larsa is thinking about how inferior he is/ how much he hates himself, just makes me feel so satisfied.

Things like:

               Leave it to him to bore a girl to sleep.

               AND:

               “My Lord,” he warned, and Larsa turned his head to face him, “I advise we depart shortly if you wish to arrive before nightfall.”

Time is running short.

“She will be here; I am sure of it.” Larsa succeeded in keeping his voice calm, despite his increased heart rate.

Why must Basch always worry? Larsa did not need someone else to worry for him.

He directed his gaze downward so that all he could see was the floor, his own crossed arms, and his chest. He became increasingly aware of how shallow his breathing had become. Perhaps he could try to slow it down…

But there was no time for that.

She will not show.

Of course not; why would she? No one as pure as her would taint themselves in the twisted world of Archadian politics willingly. Penelo was no fool, unlike him. He was the only fool here, to think for a second that she would actually show up. The war may be over, but he was sure Penelo’s memories of it remained. He would not blame her if she wanted nothing to do with this…

 Z. If you could choose one work and immediately finish it, what would it be? How would you end it?

·         Like… with no effort? Like POOF, here’s your story? If that’s that case, then “Discreet” for sure. Ya’ll don’t know about “Discreet.” It was a sexy oneshot I made in my head about Penelo meeting a middle aged Dalmascan/Archadian woman who owns the only sex shop in Archades. (I headcanoned Archades as having a culture where sex is a dirty subject no one with respect talks about openly. Kids are taught abstinent-only bullshit. That kinda shit. The sex shop is in the new district, tucked away in some dark corner lol. Oh yeah, and it’s called “Discreet” lololol) So this had newly established Larnelo, and Penelo asks sex shop lady for advice on how to seduce an Archadian man, because Penelo is thirsty and Larsa is shy as hell and is not getting the hint. Oh yeah, and he might be demisexual. Obviously, this was gonna be femdom. Cause I love me some femdom.

AND I ACTUALLY STARTED WRITING IT, but… much like Larsa… I am shy. When it comes to. The sexy.  >___>

Oh yeah it ends with Penelo getting laid, obviously. XD

[pyxyystyxx]

ATLA Highlights

Okay so things I really feel are underappreciated in ATLA are as follows: 

{[(This is a long post so read under the cut)]}

Season One

-When Sokka implies that being an optimist makes you a liar (as a cynic/realist I found this hilarious)

-When Sokka gets his ass handed to him by the Kyoshi warriors and is super sexist but then realizes he’s wrong and apologizes all in one episode (that's growth and we love to see it)

-Zuko breaking into a fortress undetected (sneaking back out not so much but kudos for trying lol)

-Katara being a thief (seriously though stealing from pirates is cool)

-Katara fighting Master Pakku  (seriously he’s a master and she’s been bending for how long? like two weeks? fucking amazing)

-Zuko diving in after the turtle seals because obviously they have to come up for air somewhere (but dude, how long can they hold their breath for? you’re working under the assumption that you can hold your breath as long as they can? in freezing cold water? in something that doesn’t help keep out the water or the cold? while moving? he, in this moment establishes that he is a bad ass (and persistent) motherfucker)

-Zuko dragging all of Aang’s dead weight a couple of miles through a blizzard (presumably while still soaking wet from his trip through ice cold fucker water)

-Zhao being killed by a vindictive La is everything honestly (why Zuko tried to save him is beyond me (I suppose that this established that he is a compassionate person despite his intentions and words))

Season Two

-The hippie nomads were funny (and very irritating)

-King Bumi (everything about him)

-Toph (enough said)

-The entire Zuko Alone episode (my poor angry baby)

-Foo Foo Cuddlypoops

-Wan Shi Tong’s library is what I imagine The Library of Alexandria to look like in this world

-Sokka continues to impress with his strategist mentality in The Drill

-The City of Walls and Secrets is a horrifying episode that I somehow manage to forget every time and very much regret rediscovering

-The entire Tales of Ba Sing Se episode

-Katara and Toph having a spa day is so wholesome (and the fact that they put those snobby noble girls in their place is just an added bonus)

-Iroh coaching those boys on how to face consequences like an upstanding citizen (and how to run away from the consequences when the consequence can crush you like a soda can) | Iroh teaching the would-be-robber how to properly mug someone is hilarious (also good on him for wanting to pursue a career as a masseur | Iroh being knowledgeable on flowers and spreading that knowledge to others, and singing to the fussy baby is sweet | Lu Ten’s birthday segment always make me cry (and if you tell me you don’t cry at that scene I will call you a liar, don’t at me)

-Sokka being surprisingly good at Haiku poems (yay for bonus character depth)

-Aang letting wild animals loose in the city is fucking hilarious (the fact that all the domestic animals ended up in his makeshift zoo just adds to that)

-Zuko’s (valid if not somewhat awful) attempt at dating (Iroh why did you do that to his hair, why?!)

-Momo bonding with the pygmy pumas after freeing them is so wholesome (and the pygmy pumas leading Momo to Appa’s footprint was amazing too)

-Zuko freeing Appa

-(yay for the Earth King finding a spine)

-(of all the godforsaken food combinations why banana and onion juice, that sounds like a pregnancy craving if I ever heard one)

-The catacomb scene with Katara and Zuko (was the beginning of my descent into shipper hell)

-You were this 👌 close Zuko, why did you do that? (what happened to Azula always lies)

Season Three

-Aang going to school like a normal twelve year old (why would you make up words to an anthem you don’t know? instead of just not talking which is far less noticeable that getting it wrong? (also getting into fights on your second day is bad Aang (but Katara and Sokka pretending to be his parents is funny, I wonder if it was awkward for them? I imagine it was)))

-Katara continuing to be a bad ass motherfucker in The Painted Lady

-Sokka in Sokka’s Master was monumental for Sokka’s character growth, I really don’t feel the need to add anything to it, the episode speaks for itself

-The Beach is (for me at least) the cringiest fucking episode like jfc how did this get past everyone (the writers had to get this past editing, producers, directors, animation department, and the sound department, and for some reason no one saw anything wrong with any of it (”I don’t hate you”, “I don’t hate you too” and then they kiss, like for fuck’s sake man how?!))

-(also Zuko, jealousy is an ugly look on everyone, you’re not exempt from that)

-(sparky sparky boom man, really Sokka, that’s what you’re going with?)

-The Puppetmaster was another horrifying episode (cool but horrifying, like thanks I hate it)

-(I’m going to reiterate the point that all of us having been making for years... why the fuck are the adults letting children fight their battles? who does that? like ‘oh I’m fourteen and ready to fight in a war that I am wholly unprepared for’ like I don’t fucking think so, go sit your ass down in a corner somewhere and color or something)

-(Aang kissing people when you think you might die is cliche)

-(Zuko breaking up with someone in a letter is the modern equivalent of breaking up over text (which is a shitty thing to do))

-Toph inventing metal bending is the most bad ass thing I’ve ever seen

-(hooray Zuko, for standing up for yourself to your father though, I’m proud of you)

-(Iroh breaking out of a max security prison is fucking bad ass)

-Zuko making that speech to the frog was priceless honestly (he’s so awkward it’s adorable)

-Toph being the only pragmatic person in the group

-(”why am I so bad at being good?!”)

-(pettiness isn’t a good look on anyone Katara (says the pettiest person on the planet))

-The Firebending Masters was a very cool (du du tssss) episode (like visually speaking)

-(you should probably plan things out a little more than that Sokka)

-Sokka and Zuko being awkward turtle ducklings

-(that scene with Zuko in the cooler, when he looks up and exhales fire and smirks? I was dead, big sexy)

-Suki being a bad ass motherfucker

-(Shout out to Mai and Ty Lee for standing up to Azula, but being imprisoned doesn’t sound fun)

-The Southern Raiders episode (my shipper heart melts a little every time I watch it)

-The Ember Island Players (*side eye* *cringe* yikes)

-(Aang, kissing people when they don't give you explicit permission or when they say they're confused is... wait for it... shitty (I'm gonna be nice and not call it r@pist behavior even though I could))

-Everyone (except for Aang) being realistic about what it is they’re doing (or about to be doing rather)

-(glue bending? really Aang? also thanks for fucking off to nowhere in the middle of a war Aang, that’s super helpful)

-June and her shirshu Nyla are fucking amazing (also June, among a few others, should have tipped me off to the fact that I wasn’t straight, but small me was super oblivious)

-The Order of the White Lotus (enough said)

-(time for you to grow the fuck up Aang, even your past lives agree)

-Iroh and Zuko’s tearful reunion is so heartwarming

-Lion Turtles are fucking amazing and I want like eight of them

-Azula’s descent into madness is both revealing and sad

-Sokka, Suki, and Toph on the airship is amazing (airship slice!)

-The Agni Kai between Azula and Zuko is one of the greatest fucking scenes in cinematographic history, the graphics are truly awe inspiring (no I will not be taking any criticism at this time nor is this open to debate)

-The scene on the airship with Sokka and Toph is honestly so gut wrenching | like when they fall and Sokka breaks his leg and he catches Toph with one arm while on his back looks so painful | and when he throws his boomerang and sword but then more fire benders come rushing out and Toph starts slipping and they’re both crying (like goddamn it would be less painful to just rip my heart out and stomp on it)

-Aang in the avatar state is (visually speaking) really awesome

-When Zuko dives in front of the lightning to save Katara (him shouting no like that kills me) | The fact that Katara immediately tries to rush to Zuko (even though Azula was standing right there also kills me)

-Katara defeating Azula (who is at her most powerful, along with every other fire bender) proves that she truly is a master and in a league all her own

-Azula after her defeat was heart wrenching to watch (what did Ozai do to you Azula?)

-(Katara crying over Zuko as she heals him)

-Aang defeating Ozai by taking his bending away is amazing (seriously, spirit bending is cool)

Honorable Mentions:

-Aang and his dedication to mastering earth bending and also him learning spirit bending

-Katara learning to stand up for what she believes is right | Katara learning to forgive (those who deserve it) | Katara mastering her element in less than a year | Katara being a beacon of hope to everyone around her | Katara allowing herself to be human and make mistakes

-(Katara and character growth)

-Sokka unlearning his misogynistic bullshit | Sokka becoming a humble and thoughtful young man, but never losing his sense of humor | Sokka learning to apologize and forgive

-(Sokka and character growth)

-Toph inventing metal bending (it’s worth mentioning twice) | Toph learning when to apologize | Toph learning it’s okay to be vulnerable

-(Toph and character growth)

-Zuko learning to stand up for himself (to his father and Azula) | Zuko unlearning his biases | Zuko learning to own up to misdeeds and apologize | Zuko learning to forgive (himself) | Zuko learning to accept help from others | Zuko learning it’s okay to be vulnerable | Zuko learning how to love people again (starting with his uncle and the small group of kids he helped end the war with)

-(Zuko and character growth across the whole fucking board)

-(Mai and Ty Lee for learning to stand up to Azula, and for what they believe in)

-(Ty Lee joining the Kyoshi Warriors)

Dishonorable Mentions: 

-Azula for being a monster (even if I really (heavily) blame Ozai)

-Ozai for being the shittiest dad in the whole world (though admittedly his father was worse for wanting him kill his own son (then again the fact that he was absolutely and without hesitation willing to do so makes him even worse so never mind))

-(Zuko what on earth made you pick Mai as someone you wanted to date? who told you that was a good idea? cause they lied)

-Aang, when someone says they’re confused that is not the time to kiss them, I don’t care that he’s only twelve that is a shitty move (and you’re not allowed to be upset when you’re rejected either (that makes you even shittier))

-Also Aang had absolutely no character growth or development whatsoever in this series (don’t at me, I love Aang, but he didn’t grow as a person, like at all) | Aang on a consistent basis runs away from things that are difficult or that upset him | Aang thinks he’s entitled to people (no, just because you’re the avatar doesn’t mean anyone owes you their affection, attention, or their time) | Aang never learned how to face his demons head on (him learning spirit bending was just a cop out so Aang could stay this “perfect and pure child” with all his innocence and naiveté in tact), but that’s not how the real world works (sometimes you have to do hard things that you don’t like or agree with, life isn’t always fair.)

TL;DR

Avatar: The Last Airbender was a staple of my childhood that I love dearly. And though there are faults (personally for me they were faults, this won’t be the case for everyone obviously), it was a key foundation of my sense of self, like I’m sure it was for so many others.

[scenariosofkonoha]

How would naruto, Ino, and kiba react to finding out that their crush is deaf/hoh? For example, their crush prefers signing which could be a language barrier, but their crush can read lips decently.

I actually really like this ask, because I teach baby sign language (because that’s a real thing) so I do know a lot of basic signing and one of the older kids I watch is hard of hearing, so I know my way around this a bit (I am gonna use some hearing aides in this too, hope that’s okay) Plus I get ear infections a lot, so there’s  lot of fluid in my ears and sometimes I can’t hear for shit, so I feel this; though nothing to the extent of a person who is truly hoh or deaf, so please correct me if anything isn’t correct.

I’m going to switch these up a bit, some are more headcanons and others are like mini scenarios

Naruto

Honestly, he didn’t even realize that he S/O was had any hearing loss until he met their family and he saw his S/O and their sibling signing back and forth. Even then he still didn’t think that they were hard of hearing until later in the night when he made some remark about it, just thinking that it was a sibling thing from back when they were kids, and his S/O is just staring at him like, “You know I’m nearly deaf in both ears, right…?”

Nope, Naruto had no idea at all…

It catches him so off guard, because he’s never had an issues talking to them and they’ve never had an issue talking to him, and he really did have that stereotypical outlook that everyone who has hearing loss literally only use sign language and can barely speak, so he’s just blow away by the fact at how well they have adapted and that they don’t follow that stereotype.  

He asks them a million and one questions, because he’s never been exposed to this before (knowingly) and there’s just so much he doesn’t know. How did they learn to speak so well? Do they wear their hearing aids all the time? Have all the hand motions they do when they talk been sign language and he just never knew? How have they exceeded so as a shinobi while being nearly deaf? There’s just so so so much he wants to know.

“Well, you’re kinda loud, so I’ve never really had a problem hearing you… Plus you really use your mouth and body when you talk for some odd reason, so it’s easy for me to understand what you’re saying.”

In all honesty it was a struggle for them to get this far, but they’re not going to tell Naruto, he’d feel so bad for them, and that’s something they don’t want. It’s not like it’s ever stopped them, it’s made it harder, but never stopped them.

Now it makes so much more sense that there are random periods of time where his S/O gets really quiet and relies mainly on physical contact. He was kinda worried that they were upset with him, but also very confused, because they’d be dead silent, but they’d be smiling or hugging him, and now it’s like this giant revelation.

His S/O will just listen to him for days, even if they really can’t understand whatever he’s saying, his tone is nice to hear, because it’s so upbeat most of the time and, it becomes a comforting thing.

Actually tries and researches cochlear implants just because he thinks that it’s crazy that his S/O has lived their entire life without being able to fully hear, but when his S/O tells him that even with those it doesn’t replace hearing, he decides on just trying to pick up on some signing here and there, make it easier on his S/O.

Kiba

Before they got together or were really friends, Kiba use to think that his S/O was incredibly rude and stuck up, because his first couple encounters with them were not the best honestly. They went to the Academy together, and one time he tried to talk to them and they straight up ignored him and just kept staring out the window. On top of that, they never really talked that much to anyone around them, sometimes to some of the girls, but that was it, so Kiba just thought that they were stuck up. They always seemed to be getting special treatment in class too, because Iruka would give them already handwritten notes before the class even started, and he just didn’t think that was fair.

It was Akamaru who actually took a liking to them first, and that was how they first became truly acquainted. Kiba came out one day to find Akamaru sitting in her lap outside and she was making little hand gestures and just smiling at Akamaru. At first he was caught off guard because he always thought that she was stuck up, but this is so different than what he thought, and it’s really the first time that sees the girl inside that he eventually falls in love with.

Of course he went up to go and ask her what she was doing with his dog, and for a moment she just looked up at him before messing with her ears and actually turning on her hear aids. Almost immediately she apologizes, because she knows he said something but she couldn’t hear, because sometimes actually having her hearing aids on is a bit of a sensory overload, so she prefers them off if possible.

Ends up saying something like, “Sorry, I can’t hear well, can you say that again?”

It’s at that moment Kiba realizes that she isn’t rude or stuck up; she literally cannot hear half the time, and oh God, he feels like such an ass for thinking all of those things about her. All of a sudden he’s so jumpy, because she’s actually super sweet and likeable, but he’s thought so many bad things about her, and he just so nervous now. Still, they end up talking and playing with Akamaru for a while about that’s how their friendship got started.

As their friendship goes along, Kiba tries to learn signing, but sometimes he just frustrated because there’s just so many things to learn, but he still wants to communicate better with his S/O. Luckily, his S/O does a lot of reassuring with him, explaining that there are a lot of social cues that she follows and that his physical language is a lot more important than his verbal and as long as he can understand her, they’re good.

Kiba knows that when his S/O is about to hit her sensory overload for the day when she just flat out turns her hearing aids off or just takes them out altogether; usually she gets tired of them before they actually run out of power, because sometimes it’s taxing to hear and participate like a hearing person with her hearing aids. She’ll even do this in public when people aren’t looking and she’ll just give very generic answers like, “Yeah, I understand.” or “No, no; I getchu, don’t worry,” and  go over to Kiba and stay by him, just to make sure that if there is something important that he hears it.

Ino

You better believe that Ino knew that her S/O was hard of hearing since the very beginning. Something like that would not just fly under the radar with Ino, and she makes sure that she is able to communicate with her S/O as much as possible, because it’s one of the most important things in a relationship for Ino. With the assumption that Ino and her S/O grew up together, she would have already nearly mastered signing by the time that they were actually a couple. Or if she started dating them without knowing it, she would be constantly trying to become fluent at it; I don’t have a doubt about that.

OMG when they were kids and her S/O was insecure about her hearing aids, Ino used to fix her hair or make flower crowns for her in order to distract from them, but the whole time she would continuously tell her that there was no need to be insecure about it, because it just made her special. She was always trying to boost her S/O’s confidence, because she understood that it wasn’t always the easiest thing being deaf, but it shouldn’t be something that her S/O was ashamed for, if anything it makes them better than the average person- at least in her opinion, and that’s all that matters, right?

Ino also would always stand up for her S/O growing up if anyone dared make fun of her voice and all the little tics in it. She always thought that her S/O had a cute little voice and if anyone thought different then they should just go spread some lies somewhere else. Ino Yamanaka doesn’t have time for the pettiness of someone who’s making fun of someone else’s voice.

Ino and her S/O have this whole set of just glances and faces and small hand gestures they give each other while other people are talking. Like they can have an entire conversation just by giving each other various looks; it’s like a secret talent between the two. Honestly, it’s great, because they could be completely shit talking someone right in front of them and they wouldn’t even know.

All seriousness though, it’s not that big of a deal to Ino, because she can still very much communicate with her partner even if they cannot hear very well. There’s so much more to a relationship than just simple words, and Ino would be very capable of succeeding in a very fulfilling relationship with someone who is hard of hearing or deaf.

SO MUCH FUCKING GIGGLING. JFC