#the correct response to a provocation

[tanadrin]

What response would you recommend to people attacking shipping? For that matter, what response would you recommend to Hamas doing that thing they did last October, which everyone has decided didn't happen and wouldn't matter if it did? I don't think the current response is good, but the alternative being offered is literally "roll over and die."

We are so far past a reasonable response to what Hamas did in October that “well what would you have done?” feels like a question that’s in extraordinarily bad faith, whether or not you mean it that way. A policy genuinely aimed at preventing massacres like the one in October starts with not illegally occupying territory, stalling a peace process indefinitely, and persistently dehumanizing and abusing a large civilian population—by the time we’re asking “how do you respond to a group like Hamas attacking civilians” we are already in the realm of abject policy failures, because a group like Hamas only exists because of Israeli policies. An honest response would be something like “fundamentally reassess our approach to Palestine.”

But if Israel has the kind of politics, and Netanyahu was the kind of leader, capable of doing that, it’s hard to imagine things getting this bad in the first place. This is one reason it’s important to put pressure on governments like the UK and US to criticize Israel’s actions, because the push for restraint is not going to come from within Israeli politics.

[uceyliyahh]

I HATE U

summary: when he posted a thirst trap pic on his story for all the women to see his print through his Nike sweats made Bri’s blood boil so she decides to get her lick back.

warnings contain; jealousy, toxicbdjey!, choking, unprotected sex, swapping of saliva, degradation kink, daddy kink, fluff at the end of the suffering:)

word count: 3.3k

AWFUL GRAMMAR IM GETTING BETTER I SWEAR LOL.

Jey Uso x Bri

comments, likes, repost are appreciated I would love the constructive feedback in what area I need to approve in. 🤍

ALSO! I don’t not want nobody stealing my fanfics or take it as theirs that will be an issue fasho so keep it cute respectfully.

I only own my OC along with the make up scenarios

again mdni you have been warned.

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uceyjucey just posted on their story!

Bri felt a mix of pride and anger as she saw her baby daddy's shirtless post on his story. He was wearing Nike tech sweats that highlighted his physique while proudly displaying his championship. Although she was happy for his achievement, she couldn't help but feel upset that he was flaunting what she considered to be hers.

It seemed as though he intentionally provoked her to elicit a response, and it succeeded; she angrily sent a message, expressing her disdain for him and how much she loathed him.

She felt uncomfortable with her overly eager fans witnessing the intense emotions she experienced whenever he visited, especially when he would come over to drop off their daughter Amora at his parents' house to manage her behavior.

Determined to reclaim her power, she took to her story to share a glimpse of her new fling, a secret connection she had been nurturing since her breakup with Jey, whose toxic and narcissistic behavior had driven her away.

freakslovebri just posted on their story!

jonathanfatu replied to your story: ooop Jey ain’t finna like this one 

trinity_fatu replied to your story: I LIVEEE FOR THE DRAMA GIRL 😭😭

biancabelairwwe replied to your story: that’s the kind of stuff you watch from a DISTANCE 😭😭

uceyjucey replied to your story: who the fuck is that Bri?

samizayn replied to your story: see me personally..

zillafatu replied to your story: you playing with something dangerous my dear 🙂‍↕️

yaonlylivonce replied to your story: BESTIE??? LIKE HELLO? 

She laughed at everyone's responses until she received a few text messages from Jey, prompting her to roll her eyes as she read them.

Jey📍: Bri who the fuck is that in that fucking picture? Jey📍: why do you choose to play with me? Like I won’t fuck the shit out of you? Jey📍: you just gonna leave me on read huh? Jey📍: Ik where you stay at Bri

She couldn't grasp why he was so angry when he was the one eager to share a provocative thirst trap on his story.

Bri🩷: don’t worry about it nigga, I didn’t say nun when you posted that fucking picture of you showing off your little title and that dick print in those sweats.

Jey📍: so that’s what this is all about? Me posting one pic on the gram? You’re so full of yourself Bri

Bri🩷: nigga the fuck you want if it ain’t about picking up Amora ion need you texting me hoe

Jey📍: hoe? Aye you better come correct Bri when you speaking to me

Bri🩷: bitch fuck you aight? now stop playing on my fucking phone 🙄

Once she sent her last message to him, she set her phone aside with a heavy sigh—why must they remain trapped in this destructive pattern? Why couldn't she simply let him go and focus on their daughter instead?

There was something deeper behind her inability to break free from him, and indeed there was. It was the way he asserted his authority, exuding a powerful dominance, and that allure was so intoxicating that she would have willingly let him fill her with his seed, yearning for another child together.

But did she really want to endure that once more? Managing the baby all alone while he was away on tour? This was yet another factor that contributed to their breakup, as he was hardly present during Amora's birth due to his chaotic work commitments, leaving Bri to shoulder the responsibility by herself.

When he returned, she noticed the hickeys adorning his neck and the lingering scent of perfume on him. In that moment, she realized he had been unfaithful during his travels, and the pain of betrayal cut so deep that it ignited a growing hatred within her.

Despite her lingering hatred for what he did to her, she found it impossible to distance herself from him. His manipulative and narcissistic nature kept her trapped, as he showered her with empty promises each time he came to see Amora. He had the potential to be a wonderful father, but whenever he approached Bri, she would turn away, refusing to acknowledge him.

The deceitful promises and cunning strategies left her profoundly affected, realizing he was not a man of integrity, while his relatives urged her to reconcile for Amora's benefit.

Bri picked up the baby monitor to check on Amora, who was peacefully dozing in her crib, looking adorable in her tiny onesie. Suddenly, a loud banging on the door jolted her, catching her off guard.

They relentlessly pounded on the door, and Bri's irritation grew with each echoing thud.

“Hold Up! I’m coming!” She hollered.

As she rose from the sofa, she noticed the door was ajar, revealing Jey standing there with his arms crossed, looking sharp yet visibly annoyed.

“What the fuck are you doing here Jey?” Bri questioned him.

Without uttering a word, he strolled past her within the confines of her home, seemingly on a quest for someone—she let out a sigh as she closed the door behind her, observing him meander through the rooms.

“Jey! Hello!”

“Where the fuck he at Bri?” Jey asked while searching up and down in the house.

“Where’s who Jey? You look fucking dumb right now.”

“Don’t playing fucking stupid with me Bri, Where’s his bitch ass at!” He hollered.

Bri feared that his loud shouting would disturb their two-year-old daughter, Amora, from her sleep. “if you don’t lower your fucking voice! She’s asleep upstairs you fucking estúpida.”

Jey marched towards her, his eyes blazing with fury, and seized her by the throat. He had reached his limit with her taunts for the evening. “why you gotta be such a bitch huh?”

A bitch? That’s rich coming from him.

“A bitch? Nigga you better come correct because I’m not a bitch, last time I check I was the one taking care of Amora while your stupid ass was on the road cheating.” She retorted while rolling her eyes at him.

“I told you I was drunk and that I was sorry. What more do you want from me Brianna?” He responded.

She scoffed at him, “I wanted you to become better Joshua not only for me but for our daughter but it seems like fucking bitches was the only thing you can do instead of being a fucking parent.” With a forceful shove, she turned her back on him, determined not to waste a moment on his nonsense this evening.

Jey had grabbed her arm while she looked at him, “don’t pin that on me Brianna, you know I couldn’t just stop what I was doing.” She yanked her arm away from him.

“That’s the fucking problem Jey! You didn’t care! You didn’t care how you cheating and not being there fuck me up! Our daughter is two fucking years old!” 

One thing about Jey is that he can't stand being yelled at; it sparks a fierce fire inside him. “Lower yo’ tone Bri.”

“No! Fuck you! See this is why I didn’t want to be with your stupid bitch ass! Because you ain’t shit! You didn’t even care about me nor your daughter while being away!” She shoved him more harshly causing him to stumble back.

Once more, she pushed him relentlessly, driving him to the brink of his patience. In a moment of desperation, he seized her throat, crashing his lips against hers in a fierce, passionate kiss. Despite her struggles to break free, he held her tightly, their connection both intense and tumultuous.

His tongue danced within her mouth as he fell back onto the sofa.

“G-get! the fuck off of me…” She murmured between the kiss as she tried fighting him off but it wasn’t enough.

“You know you miss me baby…” he murmured softly as he sat down on the couch with her straddling him.

They passionately embraced, their bodies entwined as they shed their clothing—she felt his icy hands exploring her firm breast, and as he broke the kiss, he seized one of her breasts and playfully nipped at her nipple, eliciting a gasp of surprise from her.

He playfully traced his tongue around it before reconnecting his lips with hers, while Bri started to move rhythmically on his lap, feeling the heat of his arousal beneath her.

His lips glided along her jawline, descending to her neck, where he left a mark that would require makeup to conceal in the morning, all while his hands firmly grasped her curves, delivering a playful smack.

“Ride this dick for me baby.” With gentle hands, she guided his strong length to her entrance, then gradually sank down onto him, drawing out deep groans from both—she had never experienced such fullness with him deep within her.

Jey's hands rested on her hips, guiding her graceful sways as she nestled on his lap. He watched intently as her breasts shifted with every gentle motion, giving her time to adjust to his considerable presence.

She discovered her rhythm, swaying her hips on his lap as he adorned her neck and cheek with gentle, lingering kisses—whispering those empty promises once more, stirring emotions within her each time he spoke them.

“You know I love you right?” Jey groaned in the air.

Bri asserts firmly, "You don't, so stop lying to me." She felt him thrusting deeper, pressing against her inner walls.

“Why you gotta act like that?”

“Act like what? I have every right to act like this with you.” Bri could only emit gentle whimpers as waves of bliss enveloped her, her body igniting with an inner warmth while his deep, raspy voice whispered sweetly in her ear.

He adorned her neck with hickies, a bold declaration of ownership—he was certain she wouldn't be slipping away from him anytime soon, particularly with their daughter in the picture.

“Fuck, this pussy is so good. Can’t believe you gave this up to someone else. Now I gotta reclaim it.” 

Her eyes were rolling in the back of her head as she gazed down at him, “at least he was better than you.”

Jey smirked at her backhanded comment, “oh for real? Bet.” They changed places, with her leaning against the sofa, while Jey positioned her legs close to her hips, prompting her to lift them for him as he thrust himself back into her.

He positioned her in a launch pad position, thrusting deeply within her, delivering slow, powerful strokes while their lips met in a fervent kiss. Jey's hand gripped her throat, intensifying the connection as he pushed himself deeper inside her.

His member was pressing against her cervix in such a delightful way that it left her breathless, seeing stars as she moaned his name repeatedly. She realized that uttering his name would provoke him to take action, eager to make a statement.

“What’chu tryna prove here nigga that you’re better? You were never better than Derrell.” Bri taunted seeing his facial expression changed.

“Open that fucking mouth.” She complied with his desires, their tongues entwining as he passionately exchanged kisses, overwhelming her senses with his fervent touch.

The way their tongues twirled and intertwined in each other's mouths captivated him, especially since he truly cared for Bri. Yet, he struggled to express his feelings, fully aware that deep within, he was in love with her.

He realized the pain he had caused her ran deep, and only now could he face the truth, especially after making countless empty promises of change and improvement for their relationship—she was exhausted from listening to it.

“Don’t fucking compare me to that bitch.” He murmured between her lips.

“I can and I will at least he treated me  like I meant something to him.” She whispered softly, her back curving against the sofa as she felt him penetrate deeply within her, prompting her to clutch his biceps tightly with her nails.

“Keep holding them fucking legs you fucking slut.” Jey thrust his hips forcefully against her thighs, making her mouth open wider, while the sound of his hips striking her thighs echoed throughout the entire room.

She clutched her legs tightly, biting her lip as she watched him thrust in and out of her, the white cream glistening on his shaft, facilitating his movements.

His hand gripped her throat, his hips moving in a rhythmic dance that struck various angles as he observed her unravel—he reveled in shattering her into fragments, asserting that this was his domain and she was his to possess.

“D-daddy!” Bri whined.

“What baby? Huh? What?” Jey taunted watching her face turn into a pouty one causing him to smirk. “Nah, don’t fucking pout now slut. You weren't doing allat when you posted him now did you?”

Her disdain for him was so intense that it allowed him to say anything he pleased and take charge, even though she believed she wanted nothing to do with him.

“Fuckk, daddy.”

“Shit feels good don’t it? I bet he don’t be making you feel like this huh baby.” She shook her head, unable to articulate the whirlwind of emotions swirling within her at that moment.

That’s when his hand came down onto her left thigh causing her to hiss at the pain, “speak the fuck up Brianna tell me I’m better than him.” She could feel his movements getting slower causing her to whine. “Yes! You’re better than him Jey please don’t stop daddy!”

Jey intensified his rhythm, driving his hips forcefully against her thighs as she clung to him, her head thrown back against the sofa. Bri felt waves of pleasure building within her, each thrust pushing her closer to another climax, leaving her breathless and unsure of how much more she could endure.

He gazed down, captivated by the way she enveloped him completely; it was a mesmerizing sight, especially as he glanced back at her and noticed tears streaming down her cheeks. “Yeah, that’s it mamas. Lemme see them fucking tears fuck.”

“I fucking hate you Joshua, I hate you so much.” 

“If you hate me so much we wouldn’t be here in the first place mamas you love me but won’t admit it.”

He was right; her love for him ran deep. After having Amora, she found herself utterly lost whenever he was near—he had always pampered her like a cherished princess, and now everything had come crashing down.

A tight knot twisted within her abdomen as she tightened her grip on him, causing his eyes to roll back in ecstasy.

“I’m finna c-cum…” 

“nah hold that shit, ion think you deserve to cum yet.”

“Joshuaaa!” Jey didn’t have time to hear any of that nonsense; he didn't think she deserved to cum after being a bratty bitch towards him.

He pounded relentlessly against her depths, her cries echoing in the air, drowned out only by the sound of their bodies colliding fiercely.

The atmosphere grew heavy with a scent of desire, and as tears streamed down her face, she yearned for liberation. Overwhelmed, she released her grip on her legs, attempting to shove him away by his midsection, only to feel the sting of his hand against her left thigh once more.

“Move yo’ fucking hand and take this shit Brianna.” He growled.

“D-daddy! P-please! Can I C-cum…I’m sorry!” She begged.

“Now you sorry? Nah.” He held her wrist against the couch, driving her wild in his pursuit of ecstasy, “un-un, stop fucking runnin’ “ Bri could feel the tears streaming down her cheeks, desperately trying to shield her face from view so he wouldn't witness her emotional turmoil.

She was gasping for breath, her nose twitching and hiccups escaping her lips as she wept through his movements—at that moment, her thoughts were a jumbled mess, and she struggled to articulate anything further without tripping over her own words.

He observed her hands shielding her face, prompting him to gently pull them away. As he revealed her tear-streaked cheeks and swollen eyes, he leaned closer, pressing a gentle kiss on her lips, inviting her to explore his warmth as his lips brushed against her neck.

“I’m sorry daddy, I’m so sorry. I can’t take it…”

“Take. This. Fucking. Dick.” He thrust into her on the sofa, feeling the familiar twitch of his arousal as he reached the peak of pleasure. “Joshua!” 

“Tell me you love me and I’ll let you cum.” She was teetering on the brink of insanity, her nails clawing into the skin of his back, eliciting a sharp hiss of pain from him, yet he seemed unfazed by it. “Tell me.”

She couldn’t help herself anymore, “I love you! I love you Joshua fuckk!” A wave of sensation surged through her as it slickly enveloped him, the warmth cascading down her thighs, her body trembling beneath him��overwhelmed and exhausted.

With each powerful thrust, his movements became increasingly uncoordinated, a low growl escaping his lips as he reveled in the sensation, beads of sweat cascading down his back and chest.

The atmosphere around them was a curious blend of warmth and coolness. She embraced him tightly as Jey pulled back from the kiss, burying his face into the softness of her neck. “I’m about to nut baby, you gon’ let me nut inside of you huh? You want another baby?”

“Yes! Yes! I want all of your babies daddy!” Bri Mewled out.

“Yeah? You better take all of my fucking babies mamas.” 

He tilted his head back, his eyes rolling as he thrust into her, his grip firm around her throat.

“Fuckkk.” A deep, primal groan erupted from him as his warmth surged forth, filling her completely with each powerful release.

As he withdrew, a rush of her fluids, mingled with his essence, flowed out. Bri's body quaked with intensity, and she struggled to regain her composure, inhaling and exhaling deeply to steady her breath. Jey came back, gently kissing her skin to soothe her nerves.

He gently kissed her lips several times, tenderly wiping away her tears as he shifted positions, lying her down on his chest while he reclined on the sofa, soothingly rubbing her back in slow, comforting circles.

“I’m sorry I did that to you and left you behind like that.” Jey apologized as Bri lazily looked up at him.

“You don’t understand how badly that hurt me, Jey, it wasn’t fair either. It just felt like you didn’t care enough about me or Mora.” Bri said. “I just wanted you to be there and you gave me false hope and promises ion think I’ll ever come back from that.”

He absorbed her outpouring of emotions as she expressed her hurt over his decision to abandon her and their daughter for the company of other women, sharing sweet nothings with them that mirrored the very words he had once whispered to her.

“I know lemme at least make it up to you Bri.”

“I need time Joshua, until I feel like I’m able to trust you again.”

“Take all the time you need, I’ll be right here waiting.”

And he meant that this time, he’ll be waiting for her.

fin 💚

a/n: Jey can never do anything wrong in my eyes 📍🙂‍↕️

[callmemonster68]

breaking the boy | p.js - park jisung

Jisung, often teased by his friends for being the only virgin in the group, gets an unexpected idea from Haechan to help him out.

paring: virgin!jisung x fem!reader 18+ | masterlist

wc: 1,666

warnings: nsfw, unprotected sex, strangers hooking up, penetration, explicit language, losing virginity

Reposting my first story / no correction

Jisung was different from his friends. While everyone else had already ventured into intimate experiences, he was still a virgin. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to, but his shyness kept him from even starting a conversation with girls. His friends constantly teased him, saying he wouldn’t be considered an adult until he "took care of it."

One day, during a casual chat, Haechan, his boldest friend, suggested something daring. "Why don’t you lose your virginity with Y/N? She’s confident, amazing, and, well, she owes me a favor. I think she’d go for it." Haechan and Y/N were childhood friends, always sharing everything with each other. They often made risky bets, and in one of their last wagers, Y/N had lost and owed him a favor.

Jisung was stunned but, after much insistence, reluctantly agreed. Haechan set everything up: a casual meetup for Jisung and Y/N to get to know each other. They decided to watch her volleyball practice along with the group of friends.

At the gym, Jisung was captivated watching her play. Y/N was a force of nature. Her confidence and determination were magnetic, and he felt something he’d never experienced before. Not to mention her body—she was unlike any girl he had ever seen, with curves that could only be described as obscene. When Haechan finally introduced them, Jisung could barely speak, but Y/N seemed amused by his shy demeanor.

After practice, they had all planned to hang out at Haechan’s house. While the guys played video games on the floor, Y/N and Jisung sat on opposite ends of the couch. Y/N pulled Haechan aside and gave her answer. "I’m in," she said with a confident, mysterious smile. Shortly after, she went upstairs to the guest room and asked Haechan to send Jisung up.

Jisung entered the room, his heart racing. Y/N stood near the window, wearing shorts and a light top that revealed her skin under the soft glow of the light. She turned to face him with a smile that mixed patience with a hint of provocation.

POV ON

“You look nervous,” I said, crossing my arms with a warm yet teasing tone. “Relax, Jisung. For now, let’s just talk.”

He sat on the edge of the bed while I remained standing. I approached him slowly. He didn’t seem to know where to place his hands.

“Tell me,” I began, leaning slightly forward, my voice low and inviting, “how far have you gone with a girl before?”

Jisung’s responses were short and hesitant, but I enjoyed every word.

“I’ve kissed a girl twice before. Just a few kisses and…” (he started to speak but couldn’t finish out of embarrassment).

“Let me be more direct—where did she touch you?” I asked calmly, glancing away to focus on random objects in the room.

His eyes widened slightly, and he cleared his throat before responding.

“Well, she touched my… you know, my dick . But just once, and over my underwear,” he answered quietly.

“That’s less than I expected, but don’t worry—I’ll be good to you,” I said with a mischievous smile.

He was gorgeous. Unlike the guys I usually hooked up with, he wasn’t my type—innocent and inexperienced. But that was exactly what was driving me crazy, making me wonder what it would be like to corrupt him. My eyes occasionally drifted to his hands—large, with long, delicate fingers. My imagination ran wild.

“Have you ever thought about what you’d like me to do to you, Jisung?” I asked, my voice steady but unhurried. He blushed deeply, averting his gaze.

I smiled—a soft, sweet sound—and moved closer, gently taking one of his hands in mine.

“You have beautiful hands, you know? I bet they’d look amazing…” (I paused, leaving the sentence hanging before continuing playfully) “…Anyway, I guess we’ll find out together.”

But his curiosity was already piqued, his anxiety consuming him.

“Please, finish. I… I want to hear it,” he said, looking down.

“Alright, I think we’ve learned something about your preferences. You seem to like dirty talk,” I teased with a satisfied laugh. “I think your hands would look amazing around my neck, choking me while I ride you.”

I looked into his eyes, searching for a reaction, and there it was—his legs pressed together tightly as his face turned crimson. I continued.

“I imagine they’d look even better wet with my release,” I said as I straddled his lap, “or even better in your mouth, with you licking them like your life depended on it.”

Now sitting on his lap, I could feel his hardness. I held his chin, making him look into my eyes.

What followed was intense but unhurried. I guided him into a kiss that started slow, gradually building in passion, ensuring Jisung felt comfortable while exploring his curiosity in a natural, engaging way. There were touches, glances, and sensations exchanged that Jisung would never forget.

As our kiss deepened, I pulled his shirt off, taking a moment to catch our breath before removing it completely. I paused the kiss to trail my lips down his neck, eliciting soft vocal reactions from him. Standing from his lap, I began to unbutton his pants. He was shy but didn’t try to stop me. His body language revealed a mix of confidence and anticipation.

When his length was finally free, I salivated. It was beautiful—not very thick but long, with prominent veins and a perfect soft pink tip. I knelt between his legs, taking him in my hand. He tensed. I kissed the tip before licking along the shaft, then took him fully into my mouth, sucking slowly and torturously. He gasped and moaned softly, clutching the sheets.

A few more movements, and he came with a long, breathy moan. Still holding his release in my mouth, I stood and leaned in to kiss him—a messy, heated kiss that shared his release with him.

“You taste amazing, don’t you think?” I asked, locking eyes with him and smiling.

He was so dazed from the intensity of his first orgasm that he couldn’t even think of a response. I straightened up and began undressing, moving with the same calm and confidence I had shown all night.

It was adorable how he watched my every move, as if he thought it was wrong to look but couldn’t bring himself to miss a single second.

Now completely naked, I instructed him to sit in the middle of the bed with his back against the headboard. Once he was in position, I climbed onto the bed and straddled him. His breathing was heavy, clearly revealing his urgency. I positioned his length at my entrance and sat down without warning.

By reflex, he gripped my waist tightly—hard enough that I was sure I’d have marks the next day. Once I adjusted to his size, I began to move slowly. His eyes closed in pleasure, his cheeks flushed, and his lips red from biting them in a failed attempt to stifle his earlier moans. He was divine, like a fallen angel. The thought crossed my mind that continuing this wouldn’t be such a bad idea—meeting him casually to teach him new things, hooking up in random places, and then having him return to sit with his friends, talking about the new car Renjun had bought last week, as if just moments ago, he hadn’t been on his knees in a dirty diner bathroom, his mouth drenched while he devoured me with his tongue.

Back to the present moment, with the rhythm now quickened, his fingers dug into my skin. He opened his eyes as if begging for mercy, his lips parting slowly.

“Please, I can’t take it anymore. I’m close,” he murmured, his eyes glistening with pleasure.

“Come for me, pretty boy,” I said, holding his face gently. “Let me see your divine expression as you release. I don’t want to miss a thing.”

That was all he needed to let go. With just a few more movements, I felt his release fill me. His expression was otherworldly—it should have been illegal, a sin. How could a face so pure and delicate hold such obscene expressions? With a few more thrusts, I reached my own climax, and he whimpered softly as I tightened around him.

We stayed in the same position for a while, catching our breath and taking in each other’s presence. He seemed lost in the afterglow, questioning whether it had all been real or just a dream. Once I had fully regained my breath, I climbed off him, cleaned myself up, and dressed with the same calmness and confidence I had maintained throughout the night.

I had almost forgotten, amidst everything, that this was just a favor for Haechan—a repayment for a silly bet. He wasn’t here for me. If it hadn’t been me, it would’ve been someone else. That made things easier—no need for a conversation or post-care. It was just a simple goodbye.

While he still sat there, motionless, I looked into his eyes and smiled serenely.

“You’re an adult now, Jisung. It was my pleasure. See you around,” I said with a smile.

He looked at me with a pleading expression, as if he wanted to ask me to stay or suggest we see each other again, but I didn’t give him the chance. I grabbed my things and left, waving goodbye as I closed the door behind me.

POV OFF 

And with that, he remained sitting on the bed, caught between exhaustion and a whirlwind of emotions. For the first time, he felt more than just curious. He was utterly captivated—almost enchanted—by the woman who had made his first experience unforgettable.

When he went downstairs, only his friends were still there. Y/N had already left, but he wasn’t going to let it end like that. Now that he’d had his first time, he was eager to learn more—and to return the favor for everything she had made him feel.

✿If you don’t reblog and comment, you can be sure I’ll be showing up in your dreams tonight… and I won’t be as sweet as in the story✿

[awesomelly]

There is something I need to get off my chest in the Nimona fandom:

I dislike the depiction of Ballister being a subservient, emotional and fragile man, especially when in comparison to Ambrosius who is often pictured as the manly protector and voice of reason in their relationship - both in pre-canon and post-canon fanfics.

This isn't correct. I have to state it that way.

Let me explain:

The basic principle of a good narrative is to have people/characters act opposite to their nature. That means to put those characters in situations where they are forced to adapt and overcome obstacles, otherwise situations wouldn't be obstacles if it was easy.

And this is true for both Ambrosius and Ballister in the movie as well.

As you can see even in this tiny glimpse of the scene before the knighting ceremony (where everything was still sorted and their lives were still adjusted to their characters), you can see how Ambrosius is the one fuming at Todd's teasing. And Ballister is the one who stops him with a simple gesture and a slight headshake no. In the lair scene and the innocent's wall Ballister even corrects himself for repeating Nimona that Todd needs a good punching, so that scene above must have happened more than once beforehand during their time as squires - Ballister is the one with a straight determination, a cool head and a reasonable attitude while Ambrosius is righteously emotional at the provocation of his boyfriend.

Ambrosius proves his righteous and emotional character trait by forcing Ballister out of his brooding and trying to lighten him up by goofing around. Don't get me wrong, I love this trait of Ambrosius, and it gives us a perfect insight how the relationship works; apparently very well in their different ways of calming their nerves:

Another proof is the way Ballister ascends the steps during the knighting ceremony. He is determined despite his nerves whereas Ambrosius whoo-hooed at the spectators and then at Ballister after he is knighted. Again, a perfect opposite of reason (Ballister) and emotional outlet (Ambrosius):

And then everything goes to shit. This is where the story begins - can begin in the first place, actually.

Ballister's and Ambrosius' controlled lives crumble to dust and they are faced with exact opposites: Ambrosius is forced to take the role as a leader and a cool-minded persecutor of the man that he loves. A starker contrast is nearly impossible. And we can see an exposure of his true nature during the scene in the carriage with the Director, where he loses it in his mind but has to (and succeeds!) in suppressing his true emotions.

He even succeeds while he is facing Ballister but the struggle in his face is visible:

Ballister, on the other hand, loses his focus and goal in life in one single strike (literally). He is badly injured and still manages to hide, take care of his wound, and build himself a functioning prosthetic. He is on edge, worsened by the fact that a kid rampages in his life that has an overflow of emotions and attitudes. Ballister is forced to accept his new role and has to cope with a variety of very difficult and deep emotions. This is hilarious and fun, of course, but why is it that way? Because it is the exact opposite to his nature.

During the movie, depths of his character get exposed that would normally never come to the surface. That does not mean that Ballister isn't per se emotional or sometimes silly but the large mimics and gestures of him during the movie are a sign of his absolute overextension:

Both their characters are developing in this movie. Ambrosius becomes responsible without losing his sunny nature while Ballister breaks old habits of keeping to himself to become more expressive without losing his autonomy and his integrity. He is strong because of his fears and pushing through it with bravery, he is independent because he develops a deep connection to Nimona and ultimately saves her from herself, and he is manly because he shows his emotions with such intensity during the movie.

In summary: You need characters to face difficult situations because that's how character development is possible at all! It's the same thing in real life.

So, please understand that a superficial view on the pairing just does not suffice. Especially considering Ballister. And no, a simple hand placement, the crook of an eyebrow, or a slight difference in height does not depict who is top or bottom in a relationship!

I want you to know that every headcannon and alternation of the original canon is absolutely fine bc everyone deserves to build their own headspace, but please don't project anything ooc on these characters when it is a dysfunctional power play or a degradation of one character.

Thank you for reading! I am open for discussion!

[bumbled-bees]

Lily, the Victim-Blaming Victim

Lily presents herself as a victim, someone who has been relentlessly harassed, mistreated, and pushed to the breaking point. She insists that she’s only ever responding to provocation and that any hostility she displays is just her defending herself. But when you actually examine her words and actions, it becomes clear that she has a deeply toxic, victim-blaming mindset—one that excuses her own cruelty while demanding absolute obedience from others.

She’s made statements along the lines of “If you don’t want me to get mad, stop doing things that make me mad” (paraphrased). This is classic abuser logic—it places the responsibility for her emotions entirely on other people. If she lashes out? If she berates or humiliates someone? That’s their fault. They should have known better. They should have anticipated her reaction. It’s the same rhetoric used to justify mistreatment: “I wouldn’t have yelled at you if you didn’t do [x].” The implication being that her anger is always justified and that anyone who upsets her—whether intentionally or not—deserves what they get.

And because Lily sees herself as infallible, she refuses to entertain the idea that she could ever be in the wrong. Any attempt to correct her, even gently, is treated as a personal attack. If someone tries to offer clarification on something she’s misunderstood? That’s “talking past” her. If someone presents evidence contradicting her claims? That’s “bad faith”. If someone even slightly disagrees with her stance? They’re “um, actually”-ing her and deserve to be mocked or banned. There is no room for discussion in Lily’s world—only obedience.

This was on full display during a recent stream, where a chatter (bravely) pointed out, “You’re kinda mean to your audience.” Instead of reflecting on her behavior or even considering their perspective, Lily’s response was “Listen the first time.” This one sentence is so revealing. It tells us that she doesn’t see her own behavior as the problem—she sees her audience as the problem. In her mind, if they ever feel mistreated, that’s on them. They weren’t following her instructions well enough. They weren’t paying attention. They weren’t obeying quickly enough. It’s not her job to be kind, it’s their job to avoid making her mad in the first place.

This ties directly into how she treats her fanbase in general. Lily has an unforgiving, authoritarian approach to her audience—you’re either fully on board with her and completely obedient, or you’re a problem that needs to be removed. She demands complete control over her space. Any deviation, any questioning of her, and you’re gone. She doesn’t tolerate discussion. She doesn’t tolerate clarification. She expects blind loyalty and submission.

This is why she frequents fandom spaces dominated by younger, impressionable viewers. She relies on audiences that won’t push back against her. Children and teenagers are less likely to question authority figures, and if they do question her, they’re easy to shame and guilt-trip into compliance. But when she ventures outside those spaces? When she tries to engage with adults who actually know better and aren’t afraid to call her out? That’s when she gets laughed out of the room.

It’s also why she has to rebrand herself over and over. People wise up to her patterns. The same cycle repeats itself:

She gains an audience of people who initially buy into her persona.

Over time, they notice her contradictions, hypocrisy, and toxic behavior.

They push back—whether by asking questions, correcting misinformation, or calling out her mistreatment of others.

She purges them, calls them stalkers or bad-faith actors, and attempts to paint herself as the victim.

With her reputation tanking, she rebrands and tries to attract new fans who don’t know better yet.

And the cycle begins again.

Lily thrives in spaces where she can control the narrative, silence dissent, and frame herself as the ultimate authority. The moment people push back or start thinking for themselves, they become the enemy. The moment she loses control, she abandons the persona and starts over.

Her entire public identity is built on being the victim, but when you actually analyze her words, actions, and expectations, it’s clear: she has no real empathy for victims at all. She is only interested in wielding victimhood as a weapon—to excuse her own behavior, silence criticism, and demand absolute control over those around her.

[floralpascal]

Taking Care of You

Summary: You've been stressed out and working like crazy lately. John finally has enough and devises a plan to take care of you and make you forget all about your work.

Pairing: John Price x f!reader (no use of y/n)

Word Count: 2.9k

Rating: Explicit (18+ only, minors do not interact)

Warnings: stressed reader, kissing, fingering, oral sex (f receiving), unprotected p-in-v sex (you know the drill, wrap it y'all), orgasm denial, praise

A/N: This one goes out to all my stressed and busy babes out there! This is 100% self indulgent since I've been working day and night recently. We all need us some Price to take that stress away

You knew that you had been distant for a while. Work had been piling up on you, responsibilities pressing in from all sides. It seemed like all you did was work, work, work these days. 

Your husband, John Price, was as supportive as he always was. He, of all people, understood that sometimes you just had to put your head down and get work done. When he was home with you, he always made sure that you ate and stayed hydrated. He limited your caffeine intake. He made sure you took breaks. In all, he was the most supportive, understanding man on the planet. 

…which was why his reaction now was so surprising. 

You saw him approach the makeshift office that you had set up at your kitchen table from over your laptop screen. In a soft, even voice he ordered, “Close the computer, love.”

Continuing to type, you spared him a questioning glance as you shook your head. “I just took a break like… an hour ago.”

“Three,” he corrected. “It’s almost eleven at night.”

You whipped your head up to look at the clock that hung on the wall behind him. Sure enough, he was right. Dread spread through you, your brain already kicking into crisis mode. “Shit. God, I’ve got to get this done.”

“It’ll be there tomorrow,” he countered. “You’ve been workin’ like mad all weekend long. I’m not gonna let you run yourself into the ground. So. Shut. The. Laptop.”

He stressed each word, and suddenly you felt what it must’ve been like to have John as a Captain, calm but commanding. Your eyes met his, your mouth open to fight him on the matter, but you found him ready for it, a testing eyebrow raised. It was rare that he would ever tell you what to do, but it always came when he was worried about you and trying to take care of you. Any time you had gotten a significant injury, he had made sure that you stuck to every word of the doctor’s orders. 

You huffed and leaned back, already sensing defeat. Instead, you tried to plead with him, “John, I won’t be able to sleep unless I get this done. I’ll just keep thinking about it.”

He put one hand on the table, leaned toward you, and pushed the laptop closed with the other hand. With his face barely a breath from yours and his eyes darkening, he rumbled, “I can fix that.”

Your body reacted to his sultry insinuation immediately, your heart rate jumping in an instant. You couldn’t help but drop your gaze to his lips for a moment before meeting his eyes again. “And how’s that?”

“I’ll make it so that you can barely even think anymore. I’ll wear you out so much you’ll fall asleep without even a thought about this,” he said, tapping the closed lid of your laptop. 

At times like this, you hated how easy it was for him to get you riled up. He knew exactly how to play you, exactly how to make his gravelly voice even more enticing, exactly what to say to get you squirming in your seat for him like you were now. 

You pressed your lips together, thinking for a moment. You couldn’t pretend that you didn’t want this. You were so tired of all the work and John knew exactly how to play you. But if he was going to have some fun, then so were you. With a provocative flit to your voice, you challenged, “Then prove it, Captain.”

For a moment, all he did was let a sultry smile pull at his lips. Then he was on you, his hands guiding you up from your chair and his lips finding yours. It was all fire and passion, but yet not too rushed. No, John never rushed this early. He loved to work you up slowly and leave you begging for him to just touch you already. He followed that playbook now, walking you backwards to press you up against the wall, his hand guarding your head from hitting it. 

As he tilted your head to give his lips access to your neck, he rasped against your burning skin, “Never too stressed to tease me, are you?”

Your breath hitched as he found the sensitive part of your neck, your hands clawing at his back and tangling in his short hair. After a moment, he moved back up to kiss you, his tongue dancing with yours for a long while. 

Eventually, his hands on your hips guided you to walk with him towards your shared bedroom. You took turns pulling at the other’s clothes, leaving a trail haphazardly in your wake. By the time you both passed through the doorway, John was only in his boxers and you in your plain black bra and panties. As he laid you back onto the bed, he eyed you as hungrily as he did when you wore lingerie for him. 

“D’ya know how fuckin’ sexy you are, love?” His hands pressed against your stomach before roaming up, up, up as slowly as possible. Your eyes fluttered shut as he ghosted his hands over your bra, arching shamelessly into his touch. Still drinking the sight of you in, he rasped, “Gotta take care of you. Gotta make sure I get rid of all that stress, all those worries.”

“John…” you whined, already needy and falling for his plan. One side of his mustache raised in a smile, clearly understanding that he already had you right how he wanted you. “Just touch me, please.”

John chuckled, giving your breasts a quick squeeze before placing a kiss just over your heart. “I am touchin’ you, baby.”

“Fuck, John, you know what I mean.”

He pressed the faintest of kisses up your chest and to your neck. Against the skin of your neck, he teased, “Maybe I don’t. Tell me. Use your words, love.”

Despite his insistence, he gave you no time to answer. Instead, his lips found the sensitive column of your neck, the touch no longer feather-light like it had been before. Now, he kissed and nipped with a passion that had you gasping beneath him. 

“Hhm? I didn’t catch that. Gotta speak up,” he mumbled next to your ear, the heavy timber of it sending shivers down your spine. But you could feel the curve of his lips against your soft skin, his beard prickling you as he did. 

“Don’t be a tease,” you grumbled halfheartedly. Even now, though, you couldn’t resist him. Giving in, you begged, “God, just fuck me, John.”

He made a sound of appreciation, deep and reverberating, the kind you could feel in your own chest. Leaning up over you, his icy blue eyes came to meet yours. “Now, was that really that hard?”

You rolled your eyes, suppressing your own smile as you grabbed his neck and leaned up to give him a bruising kiss. Returning the heat immediately, he dropped the act for a moment. Lips moving in tandem with yours, urgency lacing every movement, you felt him get lost in it. Surely enough, as he adjusted over top of you, you felt his hard-on graze your lower stomach. You chased him, hooking a leg over his hip to roll your hips against him. He groaned into your mouth, eyes squeezed shut. 

“So impatient today,” John chided. He pulled away and sat up, his hands coming to unhook and discard your bra on the floor. As he went to do the same with your underwear, you breathed a sigh of relief thinking that the torture of his teasing was finally over. 

Settling between your thighs, a man in heaven, he brought his mouth close to where you needed him. However, at the last second, his breath dusting your sensitive skin, he turned and brought his lips to the inside of your thigh instead. He still couldn’t hide his smile when you groaned in frustration. 

You were in for a hell of a ride. When he got in a teasing mood like this, there was no stopping him. 

Beard and mustache picking deliciously against you, he kissed up one thigh. Then, when he almost reached your center again, your breath hitching, he switched to the other thigh. There were some days when he did this that it felt like heaven — days when you were already losing yourself to the feel of him before he even got going. While you tried to conjure up that more present, more patient version of yourself, it didn’t seem possible now. You needed him so badly it ached. 

When your fingers found their way into his hair and gave him a light tug in the direction you needed him, he finally let you have your way. He hooked your legs over his shoulders, a small chuckle shaking the broad plane of his back. As he lowered his head, his hooded eyes meeting yours, he purred, “If tha’s really what you want, love. Have it your way.”

With that, he finally brought his tongue to you. Ever so slowly, he licked into you, drawing a gasp from your chest. Sliding his hands up from your hips to hold the sides of your stomach, his tongue made a twin journey up to your clit. He flicked his tongue a few times, slowly testing you.

Though it was all too slow for your liking, he steadily built up the pace. The scrape of his beard. The flick of his tongue. The reverb of his moan as you tugged on his strands. It was a delicious cycle, speeding up each time through. 

You let your head tip back into the pillow as you finally felt that tension in your stomach — a coil winding tighter and tighter. Your breath was ragged now, your legs already bracing around John’s head. 

“Yes,” you panted, eyes squeezed shut. “Just like that. I’m so- I’m so clo-”

Right as you were about to crest that hill, John pulled away all at once. Your orgasm dissipated like a wave against the beach — there one moment and gone the next. 

You whipped your head up to look at him, disbelief and righteous fury in your eyes. You were met only with a hungry, conniving smirk from the infuriatingly sexy man between your thighs. In this moment, even with his beard and the signs of age on his face, he didn’t seem a day older than the first time you had seen this smirk. The John Price that smirked in triumph at you now was the same as the John Price who had done it for the first time nearly a decade earlier. Had you not just had euphoria ripped away from you, you probably would’ve been more sentimental about this revelation. 

“Jonathan Price, I swear to god-”

You were cut off by another one of his chuckles. He licked his lips slowly, making sure you watched as he tasted you. “Still too stressed, love. Don’t think you’re ready yet.”

“You teasing asshole,” you huffed, but the edge was lost to it. 

It only made him smirk even more. “Fine,” he acquiesced, leaning back down. “Let’s try this again.”

At the same time that his mouth found your clit again, one of his hands traveled down to slip a finger into your dripping entrance. A small moan escaped you at the new sensation. As he started to build you back up again, his mouth and finger moving in tandem, you couldn’t help but forget his past transgressions. All that mattered now was the buildup leading to the big drop, the wonder that John could work between your thighs. 

Suddenly, he slipped a second finger into you, drawing a surprised whine from your lips. “Ohh… oh, fuck…”

He groaned in approval, the vibrations of his mouth against you only upping the unbearable pleasure. 

You were there again, so close to the edge that you could practically see it. Your body tensed in anticipation of the drop like a rollercoaster. It was just-

John pulled away again, shattering the buildup to your orgasm for the second time.

You let out a pained hybrid of a groan and a whine. Now, rather than annoyance coursing its way through you, all you had was desperation. “Fuck! John, please!”

“Hmmm, there we go,” he mused. “Now we’re gettin’ somewhere.”

“Please let me come, baby,” you pleaded. “I need it so bad.”

Pushing himself up, your heart sunk at the thought that he might keep teasing you and leave you hanging. Though he was never, ever one to leave you wanting, you were too far out of it to think straight anymore. All you knew was that you needed him and he was holding that just out of reach. 

Instead, he climbed up to lean over you. With a gentle hand, he cradled your jaw, making you look at him. Your slick glistened on his chin and beard. His pupils were blown wide, the icy blue of them nearly lost to it. With how much self control he had, his eyes and the tent in his boxers were the only indications that he was as affected by this as you were. 

“D’ya think you’re ready for me, beautiful? Think you can take me?”

You nodded immediately, still breathless. “Need you so bad, baby. Please. I can take it.”

He searched your eyes for a moment before nodding. “That’s my girl.”

Finally, he stripped off his boxers, revealing his red, leaking cock. You couldn’t stop the small whine you made at the sight, your need for him overriding any coherent thought.

John pushed into you in one swift stroke, drawing your nails to scrape across his back. The stretch was delicious, tearing you apart and soothing the insatiable ache in your core at the same time.

“Feel so fuckin’ perfect. So fuckin’ perfect for me,” he praised. If the feeling of him seated inside you wasn’t already enough to set you ablaze, his praise was. It always was. 

His arms came to rest by either side of your head as he leaned down and stole a heated kiss from your lips. Then, he drew himself slowly out of you before sharply driving back into you again. Your body shook with the force of it, forcing you to break from his lips as you let out the most lewd moan of the night. 

But, of course, that was just the beginning. John continued like that, fucking you harder with every quick snap of his hips until the only sound in your bedroom was the slap of skin on skin and both of your grunts and moans of pleasure.

“This what you needed, baby?” John asked, voice gravelly and breathy. “You needed to get fucked this good?”

Your voice caught in your throat, a strangled sound coming out in place of an affirmation.

He sped up his pace, his cock hitting so deep within you that you had to squeeze your eyes shut. He groaned, “My good girl. Always workin’ so bloody hard. You deserve this — deserve to just let me take care of you.”

Your pussy clenched around him at his praise, drawing groans from you both. You clawed at his back, searching for some sort of tether in the tidal wave of pleasure you were trapped in now. For the third time tonight, you could see the salvation of your orgasm on the horizon. Having been denied it so many times, its immensity and force was almost alarming. 

Though you were too lost in John to think clearly, you were able to gasp out one plea. “Don’t stop! Baby, don’t- don’t stop!”

Rhythm growing sloppy, John assured, “Not gonna stop this time. Been so fuckin’ good for me. Come for me, love.”

That’s all it took to have you falling apart on his cock, the tension in your stomach snapping in an overwhelming flood of euphoria. Breath catching in your chest as you rode out the high, John continued to fuck you through it, murmuring deep praises all the while. 

Just as you were coming back down to earth, your body finally feeling like it was yours again, John was nearing his high. 

“Fuck, fuck, fuck!” He groaned, head lowered by your ear. With a few more sloppy thrusts, he was burying himself to the hilt in you, his warm cum coating your walls. You gasped at the feeling as he ground his hips into yours a little.

Still propped on his arms, he sagged down over you, his breath ragged like yours. You dragged a hand up from his shoulder blade and into his hair, letting your fingers card through the soft strands as John came back to you and pulled out. Then, he lifted up enough to meet your gaze again. He took you in for a moment before leaning down and giving you one last heated kiss. 

The two of you clearly spent, he leaned his forehead against yours after he broke away. He brought a large, calloused hand to brush against your cheek. 

“You’re so bloody gorgeous,” he mused. “I love you.”

You smiled, leaning into his touch. “I love you.”

“Feelin’ better?”

“So much better,” you answered. The stress and pressure you had felt for days was gone now, replaced only with the feeling of John. For the first time in a long time, you truly felt relaxed. 

“I told you I could fix it,” he said triumphantly, wiggling an eyebrow at you.

After taking a moment to clean you both up, John crawled back into bed and shifted to spoon you from behind. With his strong arm over your stomach and your legs intertwined, you let him envelop you. As sleep slowly pulled you under, the only thought on your mind was him.

[iniquitousyearning]

MATTHEO RIDDLE- Beg For Me

Chapter Eighteen-Info: You and Mattheo have been butting heads for months, since you were assigned as his tutor, and one day during a session full of tense bickering, he has enough.

(This will essentially be a toxic book where we are Theos fucktoy. No love here, very minimal fluff.)

Tags: 18+, Angst, Fighting/Bickering, Sexual Tension, Dirty Talk, Grinding, Kissing, Teasing, Anger Issues, Slight Degradation.

****FIND THE REST OF THE CHAPTERS HERE.

In the hushed atmosphere of Dumbledore's office, the venerable headmaster sat regally behind his desk, his piercing eyes gazing over the rim of half-moon spectacles. Mattheo Riddle, an embodiment of stoic strength, stood tall beside you. His usual cool demeanor was marred by a simmering rage, evident in the tight clench of his jaw and the intensity of his gaze. You, on the other hand, stood meekly, your nerves palpable, a stark departure from your typically composed self.

"Thank you both for joining me at this early hour," Dumbledore's voice cut through the silence, stern and unyielding. There was no warmth in his tone despite his polite words. "I understand there was an altercation involving Mr. Berkshire and the both of you, Mr. Riddle. Is my understanding correct?"

Mattheo stood like a monolith, his façade unyielding, revealing nothing but a subtle inclination of his head in response. You stole a quick glance at him, a surge of frustration bubbling within you, wishing you could shake him out of his cold indifference, aching to see any sign of remorse or regret just for the sake of Dumbledores scrutiny. The room was saturated with a heavy silence, punctuated only by the distant murmur of students in the corridors, amplifying the tension in the air.

Dumbledore sighed, his disappointment evident as he shifted in his chair, his gaze fixed on both of you. "I must express my profound disappointment," he began, his words measured but stern. "Your actions were deeply troubling. Resorting to extreme violence, regardless of the provocation, is not the way we resolve conflicts here at Hogwarts."

Mattheo's eyes sparked with a hint of irritation, his silence resonating with unspoken defiance, his fists clenched in his pockets. The weight of his anger hung in the air, intensifying your own nervousness. Your palms grew damp, your fingers twitching with unease as they hung anxiously at your sides.

"As for you," Dumbledore's gaze shifted toward you, his expression softening slightly, a glimmer of understanding in his eyes. "I am beyond relieved to know that you were not hurt, and I must say, you displayed commendable courage in the face of danger," he said, his words carrying the weight of acknowledgment. "You have once again proven yourself as a remarkable and strong young witch. I have no doubt that you will continue to exhibit such qualities for as long as you remain here. There are no reprimands to be given to you, and please, if you need any support at all, my door is always open."

A rush of heat surged through your veins, his words igniting a spark of excitement in your chest that you couldn't suppress even if you tried. With a soft, appreciative smile, you nodded, swallowing hard, acutely aware of the gravity of the situation.

"However," Dumbledore continued, his gaze shifting back and forth between you and the still tense Mattheo. "In light of this incident, Mr. Riddle, consequences must be faced. There is no way around it."

Mattheo's facade remained as unyielding as ever, but the tension in his shoulders spoke volumes. You, on the other hand, felt a mixture of dread and frustration at the injustice of the situation. The fact that Mattheo had to face punishment for defending you didn't sit right with you, stirring a storm of emotions within.

"Given the unique circumstances of this situation," Dumbledore continued, his gleaming eyes locked on Mattheo, "I'm willing to offer you a choice." His voice held a sense of gravity, emphasizing the importance of the decision. "You can either serve detention a few times a week for a month, during which you will also participate in counseling sessions to address your anger management issues...or, I can arrange a Mentorship for you."

This grabbed Mattheo's attention, and admittedly, yours too--your voice penetrating the air before anyone had a chance to even blink. "A Mentorship?"

"Indeed," he affirmed, his gaze shifting between you and Mattheo. "Tom has provided commendable feedback about your capabilities within the guild. I believe this presents a perfect opportunity for you, provided Mr. Riddle is willing to embark on this path. Your role would involve guiding and supporting him as he confronts his challenges. Instead of formal counseling, you will be his coach, helping him navigate his problems and providing the necessary guidance."

He paused, allowing the weight of his words to sink in before elaborating further. "You'll be required to maintain a detailed log, documenting the situations that provoke his anger and the strategies you employ to help him cope. This log will serve as a valuable resource, aiding us in evaluating his progress and providing targeted support where needed...in order to do so, you would be required to shadow him for a few weeks, outside of class time of course."

His tone softened, a glimmer of hope in his eyes. "I have faith in your ability to make a difference, young witch. This mentorship holds the potential to not only help Mr. Riddle manage his anger but also foster a sense of understanding and empathy between both of you...you have been the only one thus far who has truly been able to make a difference in helping him achieve success...I'd have never suggested this if I didn't think it would work."

The weight of Dumbledore's words hung in the air, a heavy silence stretching between the three of you. Your gaze shifted to Mattheo, his features etched with a mix of unreadable emotions. Time seemed to slow, the tension in the room palpable. After what felt like an eternity, Mattheo swallowed hard, his throat working visibly as he prepared to speak. His voice, when he finally spoke, was firm, each word carrying the weight of his resolve.

"No," he said, his eyes locking onto yours, a storm raging within them. "I won't do the mentorship."

Your heart plummeted to your feet, a sinking feeling spreading through you like icy tendrils. You were certain you were going to be sick.

"What? Why not?" you blurted out, the words escaping your lips before you could fully comprehend the weight of the situation.

Before Mattheo could respond, Dumbledore's voice cut through the building tension in the room.

"I understand this is a significant decision, Mr. Riddle," Dumbledore said, his tone measured. "I will give you until Wednesday, two days from now, to give your answer. Take this time to think about it wisely. My advice for you to take with you as you leave, is that if someone makes you feel, let them. It's a rare gift to be truly understood."

Mattheo's response to Dumbledore's words was an infuriating silence, his lack of acknowledgment felt like a slap in the face. He spun around abruptly, his demeanor so icily distant that it sent a wave of frustration surging through you. Embarrassment clung to you like a second skin, the prickling annoyance intensifying as he navigated the situation with all the subtlety of a raging bull. Despite the tumult of questions and emotions swirling inside you, you stifled them, opting for professionalism in the face of his blatant disregard.

Desperate to maintain your composure, you managed a tight-lipped expression of thanks to Dumbledore, somehow managing to suppress just how fucking furious you were. And as you briskly exited the office, you huffed in frustration, hastening to catch up with Mattheo's brisk strides who had already made it half way down the hallway at this point.

Gasping for breath, you pushed through the bustling crowd of students, your determination fueling your pursuit of Mattheo, his long strides effortlessly outpacing your hurried steps. You called out his name, your voice almost drowned out by the chatter of the passing students. Despite your efforts, he continued to distance himself, his figure becoming a mere blur in the sea of moving bodies.

Driven by sheer persistence, you pushed harder, your determination propelling you forward. It took several minutes of relentless chasing, your voice echoing down the corridor, before he finally came to a halt. His broad frame towered over you, his chest heaving with pent-up anger as he turned to face you, his eyes ablaze with fury.

"What the fuck do you want?" he snapped, his words laced with a potent mix of frustration and hostility, the raw energy practically crackling in the air around him.

"Excuse me?" Your response was tinged with incredulity, your irritation palpable. "Would you like to start over?"

Mattheo ran a hand through his disheveled hair, his jaw clenched in visible annoyance. He scanned the corridor, his eyes darting around as students hurried past, completely oblivious to the tension brewing between the two of you in their midst.

"If you think you're going to change my fucking mind, you're not," he hissed, his gaze locking onto yours with unwavering determination. "Don't waste your breath."

Your frustration flared, your brows furrowing as you glared back at him. "Can't we at least talk about it?"

"No," he retorted sharply, adjusting his tie with a swift motion. "We're just going to fucking fight."

Nervously, you glanced around, ensuring no prying eyes were lingering on the intense exchange between you and Mattheo. The corridor buzzed with the hushed conversations of passing students, each one oblivious to the storm of emotions brewing between you.

"I don't care if we fight, I don't care if you literally yell and swear at me...we always fight, Mattheo, that's what we fucking do." You stepped closer, dropping your voice lower. "We are talking about this. Wether you like it or not."

After a moment of intense silence, the challenge in your eyes seemed to finally register with Mattheo--annoyance flicking across his features before he gave an exasperated nod. He motioned for you to follow him, his tall frame moving purposefully toward an empty classroom nearby. With a swift motion, he popped open the door, gesturing for you to step inside. His eyes scanned the hallway, ensuring no prying eyes were watching the two of you.

As you entered the empty classroom, your mind raced with conflicting thoughts. The sweet, vulnerable boy you had encountered in his dorm room on Saturday night was nowhere to be found. Instead, you faced the hardened, brooding Mattheo, a stark contrast to the person you had glimpsed during your intimate encounter. The disparity left you unsettled, a feeling of confusion mingling with your frustration.

Inside the classroom, the door clicked shut, drowning out the clamor of the bustling corridor outside. With a quick turn, you dropped your bag and confronted Mattheo, your eyes blazing with a mix of frustration and pity, unable to fathom the complexities of the man standing before you.

"What the hell is wrong with you?" you exclaimed, your words slicing through the tense silence. There was no holding back now that you were alone. You searched his dark eyes, desperately trying to decipher the turmoil within him. "I mean, what are you thinking-"

"Stop," Mattheo interrupted sharply, his voice cutting through the air like a dagger as he took a step forward.

"No," you retorted, refusing to back down. "Don't you see-"

In an instant, Mattheo closed the distance between you, his presence engulfing you as he pressed you back against the desk. Your bodies were inches apart, the proximity sending shockwaves through your senses.

"I fucking said stop," he spat, his teeth clenched, his eyes burning with intensity. "Stop looking at me like that, Raven..."

Your heart stumbled in your chest. "What-"

"All I am to you is a fucking tragedy, right?" he snarled, his anger radiating off him in waves. "Just some loser you want to fix, yeah? Take me in as your new little project to impress your future boss...follow me around all day like a fucking dog..."

"N-no-" you stuttered, your pulse thundering in your ears. "That's not what this is about, Mattheo..."

Helping him was a genuine desire, not some shallow attempt to gain favour, but you knew that it'd be hard to convince him of that, considering that he knows just how much you have been dreaming for an opportunity like this. The words caught in your throat, but he didn't relent.

"Bullshit, Raven...I won't be your charity case," he spat, his tone laced with defiance. "I won't fucking do it."

The air swirled with tension as he stood, a formidable figure, glaring down at you. Your chest rose and fell rapidly, matching the rhythm of your racing heart. His words hung between you, heavy with accusation and resentment. He shook his head, a frustrated growl escaping his lips, and raked a hand through his disheveled hair. With a defeated sigh, he moved to a nearby chair, slumping down into it, his eyes fixed on the floor.

Caught off guard by the sudden intensity of his anger, you took a moment to gather your thoughts. The silence stretched, pregnant with unspoken emotions. Slowly, you found your voice, laced with a mixture of frustration and genuine concern.

"Who did that to you?" You said, fingers trembling at your sides. "Who fucked you up so bad, emotionally and mentally, that you've completely shut down anyone who tries to fucking help you?"

"Give me a bloody break," he hissed, bitterness dripping from his words as he rolled his eyes dismissively. "Romanticize me all you wish, Raven, but the devil wrapped in silk is still the fucking devil."

Your chest tightened at his cutting words, a potent blend of hurt and frustration surging within you. Desperate to maintain your composure, you ran a trembling hand through your own hair, now, attempting to quell the storm of emotions threatening to overwhelm you.

"Why are you being like this?" you shot back, your voice quivering with a mix of anger and vulnerability. "Is it because you got what you wanted from me, and now you're reverting to being a complete asshole?"

"Don't even fucking go there," Mattheo's anger surged, his eyes narrowing with a dangerous intensity, his tone dripping with venom. "I never forced you to fuck me...that was completely your choice..."

Your heart plummeted to the floor at his words, your stomach twisting into a knot so tight it felt like it might suffocate you. A choked sound escaped your lips, barely audible as you croaked out, "Oh, gods..." there was a brief pause before you managed to find your voice again. "It was all an act? Is that what it was, Mattheo?"

Mattheo grumbled, once again rolling his eyes in exasperation as his head fell back, his gaze fixated on the ceiling.

"Not an act, Raven," he replied, his voice weary. "I meant everything I said, but this is who I am, don't you fucking dare act like you didn't know that already."

At his words, you were fucking stunned. A tempest of emotions raged within, a maelstrom of desire and frustration, adoration and resentment, crashing against the walls of your heart. Adoration burned hot, entwined with bitter resentment, all while desire surged like a wildfire, intertwined with seething fury.

The tumultuous whirlwind of feelings left you teetering on the edge of reason, torn between the impulse to hurl something at him and the overwhelming urge to throw yourself into his arms.

With a long, trembling sigh, you expelled some of the tension from your lungs, your eyes fixated on him--his tousled brown hair, those mesmerizing brown eyes, the sharp contour of his jawline, and those strong, powerful hands that made you weak in an instant. He was complex, complicated; Gods, so fucking complicated, but he was yours.

"I should get my damn head examined for being associated with you," after a moment, you shook your head, a bitter grumble escaping your lips. "Gods, I hate you sometimes."

Mattheo's eyes sparked with a devilish amusement at your words, his demeanor oozing arrogance that set your body ablaze with a single glance.

"Oh, you hate me, huh?" he sneered, his voice dripping with provocation. He leaned back, lounging in his chair, his legs spreading wider as he patted his lap. "Why don't you come sit on my lap and tell me all about it, baby? I'll drill that hatred out of you real fucking good..."

"Grow up, Mattheo," you said, trying to suppress the wildfire of lust that he awakened in your lungs. Playfully rolling your eyes, you crossed your arms over your chest, leaning against the desk. "Don't try to seduce me out of discussing your insanity issues."

"Yeah, that's what I thought Raven," Mattheo huffed, his amusement evident. "You don't hate anything...isn't that why my name never seems to leave your filthy little mouth, hm?"

"Oh, I'd say your name leaves my mouth quite often, actually..." you shot back, smirking. "Mostly when I'm cursing you for being the insufferable asshole that you are, just like right now."

Mattheo's eyes narrowed, the tension in the room escalating by the second. "Hate me all you want, princess, but you're always gonna' love how I fuck you."

You let out an exasperated huff, your teeth sinking into your lower lip. "That sounds a lot like a challenge, Mattheo."

"Can't be a challenge without any competition, baby," his voice was low and husky, his confidence sending shivers down your spine. "Consider it a fucking promise."

Releasing a breath of amusement, you stood up straight, and with a deliberate, almost hypnotic sway of your hips, you began to close the distance between you and Mattheo. His eyes, dark and alluring, drank in every curve of your body as you approached, watching as you delicately pulled your lip between your teeth, a gesture that spoke volumes. Your eyes trailed down his form and then back up, locking onto his with unwavering intensity. His tailored uniform strained against his strong shoulders, accentuating the raw power beneath, his legs spread confidently, and his arm casually draped around the back of the chair as that devilish smirk of his played on his mouth.

Pausing right in front of him, you leaned in, the soft scent of his cologne filling your senses. Your fingers, like a whisper, brushed against his lips, tracing the contours as if seeking entrance to the mysteries he held within. Your voice, barely more than a sultry murmur, hung in the charged air between you.

"There are secrets in here," you purred, your touch sending shivers down his spine, "and I want them out."

Mattheo's breath hitched, a low, guttural sound escaping his lips as he fought to restrain himself. His eyes, dark and stormy, were fixated on you with a hunger that was impossible to ignore.

"Fucking hell..." he breathed, his voice laced with desire and frustration, "I'll tell you anything you want to fucking know, Raven, as long as you let me bend you over this desk right quick..."

Your entire body swarmed with lust, an insatiable need that coursed through your veins. Without a second thought, you climbed into his lap, wrapping your arms around his neck as his hands found your waist, pulling you against him. A sigh escaped your lips, head falling back in surrender as his lips trailed along your jawline. However, determination flickered in your eyes, a fierce intensity that matched his own desire.

"I want answers first, Mattheo," you breathed, your voice a sultry whisper, "then you can have me. Gods, you can have me anywhere you fucking want."

Mattheo growled, his hips instinctively surging against your core as he struggled to contain his desire. Taking a deep breath to compose himself, he whispered, his voice husky with need, "I want you everywhere, Raven...against the wall, over the desk, on a fucking table in the Great Hall..."

"Shit..." you breathed, your words a desperate plea, quickly losing yourself in his fervor. "Then you better get talking, Matty...don't you want this? Don't you want me to be able to follow you around all day without drawing suspicion? We'd be able to hide in plain fucking sight..."

"No," he groaned, his fingers digging into your hip bones, his touch a blend of desire and restraint. "I mean, yes, but fuck, no...you'll be too close, it'll be too much..."

"Too close?" Your brows furrowed, your frustration giving way to determination as you buried your hands in his hair. "What does that even mean?"

"A man I called my best fucking friend put his goddamn hands on you...he tried to fucking force himself on you...if you hadn't come around, if you'd never known me, that never would have happened...I will only bring bad things into your fucking life...I can't risk it..." his voice was low now, resonating deep within you like a thunderous echo. "You're my only fucking weakness...they'll start to notice it...someone will try to hurt you to get to me...and I can't--"

Cutting him off, your lips crashed onto his, a desperate, passionate kiss that silenced his words, your body molding against his, fingers gripping him with a fierce intensity. In that moment, words ceased to matter, and all that remained was the raw, unspoken connection between you, a bond forged in defiance of the world around you. You understood his concern, you understood his fears, but everything else be damned, you knew you'd go through fucking hell and back if it meant you could hold his stupid hand.

"I'm your weakness, huh?" you murmured, pulling back, your fingers delicately tangled in his curls, your hips moving provocatively against his, noting the subtle clenching of his jaw. "Guess it's time to prove how strong you really are, big boy..."

"Raven," Mattheo groaned, his dark, smoldering eyes fixated on your lips, his breath hitching with desire. "Keep grinding that tight little cunt on me like this and I promise I'll show you just how fucking strong I can be..."

"It's tempting, I'll admit..." you whispered, your voice a sultry murmur, slowing the movement of your hips as you took a sharp, shuddering breath to compose yourself. "Look, I understand your concerns, and I won't tell you what choice to make, but it'd mean the fucking world to me if you reconsidered...I don't know about you, but I'm not entirely satisfied with only seeing each other twice a week during tutoring..."

"Mm." Mattheo's low hum resonated against your skin, his lips trailing a path of warmth over the sensitive flesh of your neck. "Addicted to me already, aren't you?"

"Shamelessly," you confessed, your lips brushing against his ear, your voice a sultry whisper. "Mostly to that talented tongue of yours, though. The rest of you, well, I suppose I could manage without..."

"You wound me," he chided, his voice laced with mock hurt, his teeth lightly nipping your earlobe in a teasing manner. "Can't tell if you fucking love or hate me, Raven...don't think I've ever met someone like that..."

Your muscles tightened in response, his strained tone drawing a low sigh from your throat. "Does that bother your precious ego, Riddle?"

"It bothers something, Raven, but definitely not my ego," he growled, his grip on you tightening possessively. "You drive me fucking crazy, did you know you got that effect?"

"Hm, let me check," you pondered, a playful smirk gracing your lips as you smoothly slipped out of his lap. His fingers reluctantly released their hold on your hips, his groan of reluctance filling the room. "Yeah, I did."

"Where the hell are you going?" he grumbled, his hand adjusting his straining arousal in a futile attempt to ease the tension. "You said if I told you-"

"I know what I said, but I lied." you retorted, a nonchalant shrug emphasizing your indifference as you moved toward your bag, slouched on the floor. Your hidden smirk played on your lips. "Apologies, Riddle, but I'm already late to meeting Emily."

"You're unbelievable," Mattheo stood, his eyebrows raised in disbelief at your audacity. "Just wait until I get you alone later, princess," he huffed, his voice saturated with a promise that sent shivers down your spine. "You're going to regret this."

A rush of excitement coursed through you, the sincerity in his tone electrifying. "Is that a threat?"

"Consider it yet another promise," he replied, stepping closer, his hand gently tilting your head back to meet his intense gaze. "You know what they say, Raven...little girls that tease, end up on their fucking knees."

He leaned down, his presence enveloping you as he brushed his lips over yours in a feather-light kiss, sending a tingling sensation through your body. The delicate touch lingered for a heartbeat, a fleeting moment of intimacy, before he released you, stepping aside with a subtle gesture, allowing you to head toward the door.

"I look forward to it, then," you grinned, your heart thundering in your chest as you made your way past him. "And I must say, I genuinely do hope you change your mind, Riddle...it would be such a shame if you were occupied with constant detentions and therapy sessions, wouldn't it? I might get terribly bored…most likely would have to find someone else to entertain myself with…”

Almost immediately after the words left your lips, Mattheo's fury exploded in his eyes, a storm of anger and frustration. He lunged for your arm, but you slipped past him with agility, your adrenaline-fueled speed giving you the advantage. With a swift movement, you whipped open the door, leaving him seething in your wake, his voice echoing with pent-up rage as he called after you, his words lost in the distance as you made your escape.

————-

Chapter nineteen->

[withoutyouimsaskia]

Don't Stop (Sandman One-Shot)

​GIF: Originally posted by @imironstark

Pairing: Morpheus/Dream of the Endless x AFAB reader

Summary: One-shot. Reader self-insert. Smut. You and Morpheus are in the exploratory stages of your relationship. Morpheus asks to worship you, and all is going well. At least, that is, until you start to wake up...

Warnings: Minors DNI. Smut. Porn with plot. Kissing. Oral sex (AFAB receiving). Slight dominant Morpheus.

Word Count: 1.7k

A/N: So I watched Sweetbitter. With my partner. Maybe not the best idea because suppressing the squeaks of excitement whenever Tom came on screen was tough and not always 100% effective! The hyper fixation is still going strong... Hope you enjoy this one. All my love, Saskia xxx

Sandman Masterlist

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It is only when the violent spinning not only stops but holds for several minutes after, does Morpheus make steps in allowing his guard to drop.

He straightens elegantly out of his crouching position, withdrawing his hands from the scree smattered earth. He looks to his left, to Lucienne, who is warily regarding the ground and sky, wondering if they might start to rapidly switch places again.

She meets Morpheus' gaze and adjusts her round-framed spectacles with a steady hand.

"I might be speaking too soon, sir, but I truly think it is over now."

Morpheus takes one last steely appraisal of the horizon, almost daring it to misbehave.

He nods once. "I believe you are correct, Lucienne."

"Will you be requiring anything else from me, my lord?"

"Not at present."

"Very well," Lucienne replies with a warm smile. "I will return to the palace now."

She does a little incline of the head in deference and goes to start the winding walk back towards the glowing lights of the Dreaming's seat of power.

Morpheus calls to his friend.

"I thank you for your persistence in supporting me to resolve these issues. I suggest you take some extra hours to rest."

"I suggest you do the same, sir."

Though her reply is innocuous, the knowing gleam in Lucienne's brown eyes hints at an alternative interpretation, one that Morpheus cannot help but notice.

It was becoming generally well known that he was in the early stages of courtship with a dreamer, you, and there was no doubt that Lucienne was aware of how far the relationship with you had recently gone.

He raises an eyebrow in response, earning a grin from Lucienne and then he watches her walk away.

Once alone, Morpheus allows his eyes to flutter closed as he sifts through the myriad of dormant minds and tunes into the space occupied by yours. He takes a reading of your emotions, thankful to find that you are contented and have not been rendered feeling neglected by his absence.

There's a faint undercurrent lingering below the surface level of your emotions that he is also able to lock on to given the familiarity that you share.

Desire.

They are present, filling you with neediness and longing.

A longing to be touched, to be touched by him.

Morpheus is with you in seconds, appearing in the doorway of the room you have chosen to conceal yourself in.

You are curled up in a large armchair by a panoramic window that frames the mountainous vista beyond. The torches that mark equidistant points along the bridge leading to the palace project a soft gleaming warmth over your skin. You are gazing softly at the landscape, the fingertips of one hand combing through your hair, the others trailing up and down your inner thigh.

Such an innocent yet provocative display. It makes Morpheus' voice drop to an even deeper and more sultry register than usual as he calls to you.

You are out of the chair instantly, meeting him at the threshold of the room. Your heart pumps out an allegro drum beat, the sound of the blood rushing in your ears like a waterfall.

You are pulled into a searing kiss, arms encircle your waist to ensure you are flush against his hips and chest. It is a relief that he is holding you in such a way for your knees are threatening to give out within seconds.

The power he has, in his body, his actions, through his words, in a metaphysical sense; you are helpless against them all.

When Morpheus pulls away from the kiss, you follow him on instinct, aching for more. He smiles faintly at your eagerness but maintains the gap in order to explain his length of absence.

"I must apologise, Y/N. The issue was a little more complex than Lucienne and I had anticipated."

He's looking down with a tint of shame in his aquamarine eyes.

You slide your hands up his forearms, gripping tightly and angling your head so you can capture his gaze.

"There is nothing to be sorry for. Your work and the safety of your dreamers take priority."

He simply nods. Your unwavering understanding is always on the side of overwhelming for him.

You register this in his stance.

"You feel a little tense. I can help with that if you want. Like I did last night?"

You move a hand up to stroke the hair on the back of his head. It is a form of touch that never fails to release tension.

Morpheus indulges in your attentions for a bit, leaning into you and sighing deeply, before staring at you directly with sudden seriousness.

"I cannot deny that what you did for me yesterday was beyond exquisite," He leans in to speak by your ear. "But it is my turn to worship you."

"Oh," you swallow down your surprise. "Okay."

Morpheus wastes no time in guiding you back towards the armchair and sits you on the very edge of the seat pad.

He carefully removes his long sweeping coat and then drops to his knees before you.

His rosy lips are parted, eyes dark pools, both standing out against his beautifully pale skin.

"Where can I touch you?" He asks urgently.

"Everywhere," you reply as the flutterings in your stomach warble your voice.

He begins by trailing his hands up your legs. The patterns he draws are intricate and intoxicating.

"May I have the honour of tasting you?"

"Yes," you consent, breathless already.

You remove your trousers and underwear in the same movement and allow Morpheus to adjust your position.

The image of him looking up at you with lust and intent as he parts your legs is immediately imprinted deep within your memories.

He trails innocent kisses up your left calf to your knee. A long-fingered hand is hooked under it and once Morpheus slips your leg over his shoulder, he continues his path along your inner thigh.

Wisps of his midnight hair tickle your skin and make you squirm in the most delicious way. You whimper when you feel his cool breath hit your pulsing core.

Morpheus speaks your name reverently, a taster of what was about to come.

He leans in the last few inches and kisses your vulva. You melt with an ecstasy-filled exhale. His tongue gently licks at your labia, encouraging them to part and expose your clit. He laps at you with precise strokes before sealing his mouth over the nub.

It's like a direct current has been shot into your body; you jolt into him, moaning his name with abandon.

He hums against you, lips curling into a naughty smirk. You are completely at his mercy and he knows it all too well.

He manipulates your clit between his plush lips and the pleasure reaches a higher ground.

"Whatever you do, please don't stop," you beg.

Morpheus obeys, slowly increasing and decreasing the pressure of his suckling until you are almost unable to think clearly anymore.

Then, suddenly, you are distracted by a strange feeling radiating through your body. You recognise it with immediacy. It's like you are being dragged upwards by a marionette string. You are waking up.

You stiffen, falling silent, hoping above all hope that if you stay still, you can stave off the pull back to consciousness.

Morpheus, noticing your change in demeanour, stops his attentions and pulls away.

He speaks your name in a caring tone, "Are you alright?"

You grab the arm rests in a further attempt to keep yourself in the Dreaming. The sensation isn't letting up.

You respond with haste, "I think I'm waking up. I don't think I can stop it."

Waking had been the cause of cutting short your time with Morpheus many times before. It was to be expected; you were a human being with things like sunlight and birdsong and routines to contend with. The worst had been mid-way through a conversation, one that you were able to pick up again the next time you passed the Dreaming threshold.

Right here while Morpheus was working on you so perfectly, however left you with one thought: Why did it have to be now?

Your surroundings flicker and all sound becomes warped. The support of Morpheus' body and the chair vanish.

"I'm sorry." They are the last words you speak before you disappear.

You come to in the semi-darkness of your bedroom. Your chest is heaving and wetness has spilled onto your pyjamas from the dream of Morpheus lavishing your aroused core.

Your phone is blasting out a morning alarm, its shrillness the clear root of you disappearing on him.

It turns out though, initially unknown to you, that Morpheus was having none of this separation business. That is until you notice him sitting between your splayed legs.

"Morpheus?! What are you -"

"You asked me not to stop, my dearest dreamer," he interrupts, pouring every ounce of seductive energy into the words as he can muster.

Morpheus' eyes bore into yours as he climbs up to fully straddle your body. He reaches over you to turn off the alarm with a precise tap on the screen of your phone. He takes a deep breath.

"Much better," he purrs. The pitch of his voice is pleasure enough on its own, even without the fact that his hips are subtly grinding against yours.

"Now, would you like to resume with what we were doing before we were so rudely interrupted by that repugnant tone?"

You nod.

"Verbal consent, please."

It's suddenly so hard to speak now he is in your bedroom, your domain. You hope that a clear display will be an acceptable alternative. You reach your hands down to rid yourself of your pyjamas only to have each wrist pinned either side of your head.

You gasp.

"I need to hear you say it out loud, Y/N."

Another wave of hot, stifling arousal is released between your legs. You shiver in reaction to it, to his dominance.

Your mouth is open but no coherent words leave it, just the starts of failed sentences. Morpheus comes to your aid:

"Will you allow me to taste you here, in the waking world, just as I did in my own realm?"

"Yes," you breathe. "Yes, Morpheus. Please. Put your mouth on me."

He hums his approval before lowering your shorts and beginning to feast on you once more.

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Tag List: @herfantasyworldd @shadowqueen1318

[zvtara-was-never-canon]

I saw your post you made just now, talking about Zuko and Azula’s similarities which I agree with everything you said expect for “Azula is verbally abusive to her brother”. She’s mean to Zuko, sure, but he’s also mean to her. Can you elaborate more if that’s okay?

Azula is mean when she does stuff like call him names or taunt him about how she's the better bender and he'll never catch up. She's verbally abusive when she does things like borderline give Zuko a panic attack in Avatar State just by twisting the knife about just how ashamed their dad is of him.

Her telling him to make sure the royal painter "gets his good side" is somewhere in the middle because the general vibe is typical sibling banter in which one makes fun of the other... but the thing she's making fun of him for is fucked up. Zuko's reaction (or lack thereof) is what makes not that bad of a moment. Same for her infamous "Dad's going to kill you" because she IS taunting him quite cruelly and getting a kick out of it, but it's also the closest she'll allow herself to get to actually helping her brother out at that point so he doesn't literally die.

Again, to use Zuko himself as basis for comparisson: Him snapping at Iroh and shouting he doesn't need any calming tea (when he very much does) is mean, and him going "For a wise old man, that was a pretty stupid move" when he firebends in public is pretty warrented...

But saying he's a lazy, shallow old man that's always been jealous of his brother, or that he's crazy, would be sleeping in a gutter if he wasn't in prison, and can rot away for all he cares? That's crossing the line from "I'm a dick and don't care if what I say is hurtful" into "I WANT to hurt you as much as possible"

And about Zuko also being "mean" to Azula, lets look at the exemples.

1 - Zuko saying "girls are crazy!"... after Azula put an apple on her friend's head and set it on fire just to put her brother in an embarrassing situation.

2 - Telling her to put an apple on her own head so they can see if truly does suck at throwing knives.. because she was the one taunting him about being bad at it.

3 - Zuko saying Azula is sick... because she's literally saying "Dad's gonna murder you" which he assumes is another joke of hers.

4 - Being ready to fight her with fire daggers... because she almost took him home as a prisoner, aka posed an actual threat to his safety/freedom.

5 - Not arguing when Iroh says she's crazy and needs to go down... because she just attacked him.

6 - Immediately assuming she doesn't actually have his best interest in mind whenever she decides to be nice to him... because as Azula herself said, she HAS the habit of lying to him.

7 - Dismissing (in a condescending way) the notion that she could be struggling with anything in The Beach since she's so "perfect"... because she just called him pathetic for his own inner struggled and dismissed both his and her friends rants about their problems as "performances."

8 - Not having any form of "goodbye" with her like he did with Mai once he left, wanting to put her "in her place", and dismissing her (obviously sarcastic) "I'm sorry it has to end this way, brother"... because, to put it mildy, their relationship is a fucking mess and he doesn't believe Azula sees any vallue in it.

When it comes to Azula, Zuko is almost always reacting. Are his reactions sometimes disproportionate, questionable or based on a deeply flawed understanding of how Azula feels about him? Sure, but he's not the only one to blame for it (and Ozai is far more responsible for this mess than both of the Fire Siblings) and we don't really have any instances of Zuko being a dick to Azula unprovoqued (whether the provocation in question was genuine or all in his head depends on if Azula felt like being nicer that particular day) and, again, never got to the extreme of almost triggering a panic attack like she did with him, or bring her to tears like he did with Iroh.

They both got some behaviors to correct to improve their relationship, and I'll gladly point that out to anybody that acts like Zuko was just her helpless victim, but Azula did cross the line into abusive territory and that needs to acknowledged.

[the-music-maniac]

How fucked up would it be if Sefikura got Hanahaki? Either one of them. That ship is already toxic AF (affectionate) but imagine the HAVOC.

I'm gonna ramble a bit so I can get the brain worms out but feel free to correct me on any plot points, or character interpretations: I've absorbed all this shit from watching walkthroughs (cause I'm broke and video games are expensy) and I haven't finished watching yet. I'm also playing it fast and loose with when this occurs in canon - I have no idea tbh. My interpretations are probably influenced by fandom already cause I've been reading posts and fanfics, and I am aware that this is SO self indulgent, so again. Biased viewpoint here.

Also since I'm aware that sefikura is a controversial ship even with the ship's popularity and age, if you don't like it, that's fine, just block me or scroll on.

I can see the story being more interesting if Seph is the one to get the disease. Mostly because, while I understand his obsession with Cloud is quite complex and not really there bc of romantic reasons (Cloud has S-cells, Seph kinda just views Cloud as his to control I assume, plus Cloud is useful to him, and the fact that Sephiroth has a god complex a mile wide and Cloud was somehow able to beat him as a mere trooper, etc. etc.) I do think for an individual like Sephiroth, that level of obsession is likely the closest he's going to get to love, or at least a blurring of the lines between love and hate. I don't think he really feels that emotion much anymore, especially not after the first time he died, but whatever he DOES feel for Cloud could be strong enough and close enough in shape for something like Hanahaki to latch onto.

Sephiroth's course of action in response would be interesting to see. Hanahaki weakens the individual, which is something Seph is probably not gonna stand for, even if he has enough hubris that he doesn't think he'll die from it. Maybe similar to the degeneration Genesis was experiencing? There's a thought. I honestly think Sephiroth would find it more intolerable if he reaches a stalemate with the disease, not enough to kill him, but enough to weaken him to the point where it hurts his pride and gets in the way of his plans. That seems like it would grate on him more than the threat of death, which doesn't stick anyways.

Sephiroth's go-to in that situation (upon exhausting other avenues - the first and easiest being, y'know. Murder) would probably be to try the puppet route - force Cloud into feeling that reciprocating emotion. Which like. It doesn't work like that Sephy. And here's where it could get really dark if you were so inclined to write it that way, but I'm not in the mood for that right now so I'm gonna say this - that course of action would bring up a lot of PTSD for Cloud obviously, but a perplexing point would be if Sephiroth just y'know. Succeeded in controlling and forcing that emotion for a bit and then upon realizing Hanahaki doesn't work like that - immediately releases his control. Cloud is left there, sound of mind again and fucked up in the mental health but ultimately unharmed and very confused.

Second course of action, good old fashioned manipulation. Here is where it would probably get convoluted though, while I don't think Sephiroth would go down the full on cracky shit of trying to woo Cloud or anything like that (keep in mind up until now, I don't think the nature of Sephiroth's emotions for Cloud are necessarily romantic, so that's not where the Hanahaki is stemming from, or at least not at the beginning - since we are talking about Sefikura and I do like the romance even if I acknowledge it's a little out there in terms of canon. I'm aware he says some provocative shit, but I think that's to get a reaction - it's taunting more than flirting. So, I don't think it would necessarily occur to Sephiroth to do anything romantic here), I do think Sephiroth would be forced to do shit that's actually helpful. His world domination plans are at a standstill cause he's too weak to enact them, and he's trying to get some sort of reciprocation that's enough for the disease to be satisfied, so even if he doesn't give a shit and thinks it's stupid and a waste of time, he studies Cloud and his friends and their movements and acts accordingly to help. Probably in the most violent way possible, granted. Sending Cloud into more confusion.

What I do find interesting is if Cloud finds out what's happening. Fear in response to learning about possibly romantic feelings on Sephiroth's end is probably unavoidable with how fucked up their in game relations are (Sephiroth's attentions are not exactly kind), but once Cloud realizes the nature of those emotions are not romantic (and therefore not r*pey - while I do have a vested interest in avoiding that, I also don't think it's in character for Seph. He always struck me as someone who either didn't have interest in intercourse for its own sake or just never felt safe enough to try when he was still sane) ironically? I can see Cloud eventually feeling guilty. Because his first reaction would obviously be relief or even happiness at the fact that this is weakening Sephiroth and may potentially lead to his death, and I do believe that would be genuine relief. At the beginning there is no guilt. Just fury at the audacity and a vindictive type of happiness. And then the guilt stems from the insidiousness of a disease like this, as Sephiroth keeps being helpful, and seeing the reality of an individual who no longer acts untouchable like a God, suffering. Not beating the enemy by any honest means but by the simple fact that Cloud despises Sephiroth, and something is responding to that and doing the dirty work for him. And then, feeling guilty about feeling guilty bc he should be happy about keeping Seph contained and unable to hurt others by any means necessary, but he's not. He seems like the type of hero to spiral like that.

And then of course, as time progresses on, the hatred lessening the longer Sephiroth isn't doing any heinous shit, the worry of no longer being able to hold onto enough of that hatred to keep Sephiroth contained, because Cloud isn't stupid, he KNOWS Sephiroth isn't doing this out of anything genuine, but it's still working because humans are humans who have sympathy for those who look like they're suffering and memories that fade and get overwritten with time and new information. And so Cloud knows the second he lets go of that hatred, Sephiroth will go back to killing, but in the same breath he can't help feeling sympathetic. Knowing the manipulation and still falling for it despite yourself is probably uniquely infuriating and seems like the mindfuckery Sephiroth would enjoy.

Here's the kicker though, Cloud's response to that "not-hatred anymore, but not nearly indifferent enough to be neutral" emotion would probably be paired with him treating Sephiroth better than he was treated by any of the Shinra personnel, barring of course Angeal, Genesis and Zack, without even realizing it. Like Sephiroth was dehumanized for so long, both as a weapon to be used and feared and as a public figure to be idolized and adored - none of that was his own to control - so Cloud extending basic courtesies and concern is going to feel different. Maybe it reminds him of Angeal and Genesis, I dunno. It wouldn't be out of the left field, the disease probably already reminds him of the degeneration. So now he's reminded that he was capable of loving people, once. We don't got time to unpack Sephiroth's mile long list of issues in this post but let's say it actually makes Seph come to a couple epiphanies. If Sephiroth's feelings eventually shift to romantic love while Cloud's feelings are shifting to that not-hatred, not-quite-romantic-yet, but not-indifferent, Sephiroth is y'know. Still gonna be stuck with the disease cause it's not technically reciprocation. That would be hilarious wouldn't it. So let's say that happens and Sephy is confused and Cloudy is also confused at the fact that he's beginning to feel charitable towards Sephiroth but he's still not getting better.

On the contrary, I think he would get worse. Because NOW what the Hanahaki is latching onto is real and genuine love. Yeah, that previous weakening wasn't even the disease at full strength, have fun with that.

I can see Sephiroth getting frustrated at this point cause he doesn't seem well adjusted enough to notice his own feelings shifting and put two and two together, so upon realizing that Cloud feels some level of reciprocation and the disease is getting worse, he probably would just. Leave. And at this point in the story I think what would disturb Cloud the most is if he sees Sephiroth give up entirely. Because consistently, the man has never done that before. Sephiroth has never in all the crazy shit that he's done - given up.

Keep in mind, it's only really possible at this point cause Sephiroth has been feeling like absolute dogshit the entire time. Chronic pain wears on you, and for someone who has been inhumanly healthy and then the equivalent of a God, that constant exhaustion and weakness, the choking on your breaths and pain in your chest, and then being so sure of a solution and having hope, only for it to not work and to even get worse - also Seph doesn't have good coping mechanisms clearly - he gives up. And I think this is the push Cloud might need for his own feelings to shift.

And how fucked up would it be if the hanahaki flowers were sent by Aerith though. I don't think she would do that maliciously, but as a way to test if there's any hope for Sephiroth. She maybe didn't necessarily know it would manifest for Cloud, but just some type of reaction. A way to keep her loved ones safe from him? Weakening but not killing him because Sephiroth pollutes the lifestream if he enters it, and he also won't stay dead and everyone keeps suffering because of it and - basically they're at a stalemate. If there is no hope for Seph, then the flowers would do nothing. If there is, then the flowers may be a chance to change things. Imagine that. Whether or not it's in character for Aerith is up for debate but it would be quite interesting.

So Cloud talking to Aerith and learning that? Learning that things aren't as hopeless for Sephiroth as he had assumed? Another point that may cause Cloud's viewpoint to change. It's hard to deny the authenticity of someone's humanity when it's literally killing them.

And since my entire reason for liking Sefikura is partially because Sephiroth's backstory upsets me (most of it's because it's just an interesting dynamic, but the fact that Seph was made to be a weapon, abused throughout his entire life with little to no bodily autonomy nor freedom, thought he had been betrayed by two of the only people he loved, and then manipulated until he went insane, and is now never going to be free of Jenova or his anger and hatred because he gave into his worst demons - that makes me sad. So, admittedly I got into sefikura because of time travel fix-its where Cloud goes back and tries to fix things - which often includes people gradually realizing just how much abuse Sephiroth had suffered, and all the factors that were pushing Seph until he snapped. I mean granted, that doesn't excuse the awful shit he did by any means, but the odds were by every definition, against him from the beginning. The romance was just a large bonus of those fix-its) I'm going to give them a happy ending. Cloud stays there and tries to get Sephiroth back to how he was, and in the process with the amount of time they spend together, and the worry he's been feeling at how Sephiroth is deteriorating, helps push the feelings that are there into fruition. The Hanahaki clears, and Cloud expects to need to fight Sephiroth, expects that he would have to kill him. Sephiroth doesn't - not because he now values humanity or anything because I don't think any amount of redemption is enough for Sephiroth to reach that point, at least not that quickly, that shit would be a lifelong battle - but because he knows Cloud, and he knows he would kill him if he went back to how he was. If it really came down to it, to save the world, Cloud wouldn't hesitate. And once he crosses that line after they've had this dynamic, that's the last betrayal and there would be no going back, no returning. That would be the end, permanently. And he actually wants to stay by Cloud's side. There could be a moment where Sephiroth contemplates it, but in the end his better demons win out, if you wanna add more drama.

I have also thought about what it would be like if Cloud had Hanahaki and it would also be interesting, although the disease type wouldn't quite be the same as for Sephiroth, because Cloud does genuinely hate Seph. So, it would probably be more fucked up - if Sephiroth succeeded in keeping Cloud as a puppet, and that results in a manifestation of Hanahaki because of that forced devotion, since Sephiroth is only using Cloud as a tool. And it ironically weakens Cloud enough that he's no longer useful as a puppet and Sephiroth has to let go. Rinse repeat. Or if Sephiroth is somehow able to use his cells to induce a similar disease in Cloud. That'd be pretty damn fucked up, huh. Compels me though.

Anyways, I dunno if I'll ever use any of these ideas for anything, but it was still interesting to think about. Thank you for reading!

[yupuffin]

Instead of making a long, convoluted post on my opinions on public online shaming ("callout culture"), I'm just going to make a list of bullet points derived from my observations and experiences with it and why I think it's unproductive at best.

It erodes the importance of critical thinking. A friend I had at the time once spontaneously messaged me with an allegation regarding someone I knew -- one that I could easily factually disprove, and promptly did so. When I pointed this out, their response was along the lines of "Oh yeah, I didn't have any knowledge or experience with this subject -- I just thought you should be aware." This demonstrated that, to them, as an active participant in public shaming, the spread of information was more important to them than whether the information was actually true.

People can lie. I've encountered many situations now where someone had false accusations spread about them, resulting in tremendous stress as, like in the example above, people simply further spread the allegations without so much as questioning their validity, much less investigating them themselves. It's heartbreaking to watch it happen to people you care about. People, unfortunately, can and do take advantage of the "believe victims" mindset by distorting and weaponizing the word "abuse" to add the illusion of legitimacy to their claim. In cases like these, even if the instigator of the rumors admits to lying, the damage is nearly impossible to reverse -- one reason being:

Social media algorithms are designed to prioritize provocative posts. The reach of the initial "callout" will invariably be much higher than any amendment or follow-up. Even if allegations are eventually proven false, or even if the accused does genuinely rectify the situation, a significant proportion of participants in the spread of the initial callout will likely never become aware of the correction. Therefore, the damage inflicted by public shaming is effectively permanent, further legitimizing the need for discretion in addressing allegations.

It distorts the connection between actions and consequences. The only major endorsement I can find of public online shaming is that it supposedly "promotes accountability." ...Is dealing with the developments in your interpersonal relationships as consequences of your behaviors not already the very definition of "accountability?" Why expand the scope of an individual relationship to involve people without any direct relationship to the incident? In cases of public shaming, as is the case with general policing, the alleged transgression has already been committed, so shaming doesn't actually prevent, address or rectify the initial damage. This incongruity between action and consequence is, indeed, the opposite of accountability.

"Educate, don't shame." There are legitimate reasons that this is a popular expression; accusations and attacks are proven far more effective in causing the accused to "double down" on their behavior rather than attempt to address or rectify it. People are especially unlikely to yield to attacks by people they don't know, i.e. internet strangers participating in callout culture. When it comes to addressing potentially harmful behavior, open communication about things someone can do to correct or avoid the situation in the future are more productive.

Public shaming perpetuates the cycle of injury. Prolonged or intense shame is proven to contribute to mental and behavioral disorders, and may lead to the shamed individual "lashing out" at others in response, exacerbating the damage connected to the original incident.

It propagates a state of constant public scrutiny, encouraging paranoid and bad-faith interpretations of behaviors, in which anything can potentially be twisted as "problematic" and hence cause for a callout. According to callout culture, an accusation, or dissemination thereof, serves as a type of virtue signaling, with potentially no connection whatsoever to the legitimacy of the accusation. It "others" the accused, establishing the dangerous illusion that transgressions are exclusively committed by a certain type of Inherently Bad Person, and that the accuser is somehow a member of a benevolent "in-group" by virtue of having recognized the transgression. Furthermore, a crucial component of public online shaming -- the fear of being "called out" -- is very different from actually understanding and rectifying harmful behaviors.

[legionofshaza]

◇Safe in your arms◇

Day 7 @officialfeysandweek

➷➷➷➷➷➷➷➷➷➷➷➷➷➷➷➷➷➷➷➷➷

Feyre Archeron had never thought her art would become the focus of such dangerous attention. But as she sat in her sprawling, modern studio—light streaming in from the massive floor-to-ceiling windows that overlooked the bustling city of Velaris—her hands trembled over the canvas, her focus fractured by the latest death threat sitting crumpled on the table nearby.

The threats had started out vaguely disconcerting—anonymous messages about her controversial work, some hate-filled rants on social media—but over the past few weeks, they’d become much more personal, more violent. Her name was on every gallery-goer's lips, the art world mesmerized by her paintings, each one steeped in raw emotion, but this was not the kind of attention she had expected. Her pieces had always been provocative, challenging norms, but now... it seemed they had provoked something far darker.

It wasn’t until her agent, Mor, had demanded she get protection that she realized the situation had spiraled beyond her control.

“Feyre, I’m serious,” Mor had insisted over the phone that morning. “This isn’t just about your art anymore. You’re in real danger.”

Which was why Rhysand was there now—leaning against the doorframe of her studio with an air of cool confidence, as if he owned the space. His dark eyes, almost indigo in the shifting light, watched her carefully, assessing her like she was one of his assignments—because she was.

"You’re nervous," Rhysand said, his voice smooth but edged with concern.

“I’m fine,” Feyre lied, dipping her brush into a vibrant shade of crimson, dragging it across the canvas in sharp, agitated strokes.

He stepped closer, his presence magnetic, though Feyre pretended not to notice. Rhysand was unlike any bodyguard she had expected—he was far too good-looking, his broad shoulders clad in a sleek black suit that did nothing to hide his athletic build. She’d imagined someone more inconspicuous, not a man who could easily stop traffic.

“You’re a terrible liar,” he remarked, his tone playful but his gaze serious. “I’ve seen your hands shake three times since I walked in.”

Feyre sighed, setting the brush down with more force than necessary. “It’s just… everything. I’m not used to being caged in my own home. I can’t even go to a gallery opening without looking over my shoulder now.” She paused, catching his eyes. “I don’t know how to feel safe anymore.”

Rhysand's expression softened, though there was still a hint of steel beneath his calm demeanor. “That’s why I’m here. You don’t have to worry about your safety. I’ll handle that. You just focus on your art.”

The words were meant to be reassuring, but Feyre could hear the weight of responsibility in his voice. This was his job, and he took it seriously, but something about the way he looked at her—like she was more than just another assignment—made her pulse quicken.

“I’m not used to someone hovering over me while I paint,” she muttered, crossing her arms as she turned back to her half-finished work. Her latest piece was chaotic, a swirl of colors that screamed her frustration with her situation.

“I don’t hover,” Rhysand corrected with a smirk. “I observe.”

“Is that what you call it?” she shot back, though she found herself smiling despite the tension curling in her chest.

He chuckled, the sound deep and warm. “I’ll try to be less conspicuous then. But I’m not going far.” His eyes flicked toward the windows, where the city stretched out below them, unaware of the storm brewing in the artist’s world. “Whoever’s sending those threats isn’t going to stop just because we pretend nothing’s wrong.”

Feyre swallowed hard. “Do you think they’ll really... try something?”

“I don’t know,” Rhysand admitted, moving to stand beside her, his gaze trailing over the painting. “But I’ve seen enough to know we can’t underestimate them.” His eyes slid back to hers, sharp but kind. “That’s why I need you to trust me.”

Feyre studied him for a long moment. He was far too collected for someone who might have to throw himself into the path of danger at a moment’s notice. It should have made her uneasy, but instead, she found herself relaxing slightly in his presence. There was something in those eyes—something that made her feel like maybe she could breathe a little easier with him around.

“I’m not good at trusting people,” Feyre admitted, her voice quieter now.

“I’ve noticed,” Rhysand replied, his lips curving in that infuriatingly knowing smile. But then his expression grew more serious. “But if it makes a difference, Feyre, I’ll do everything in my power to make sure you don’t have to fear anyone.”

Her heart stuttered at the sincerity in his voice. The room felt smaller, the air between them charged with something unspoken, something that had been simmering since the moment he’d walked into her life.

Forcing herself to look away, Feyre picked up her brush again, trying to focus on the painting in front of her. But she could feel his gaze lingering, could feel the strange heat building between them, even as she tried to pretend it was just nerves.

“I’ll do my part,” she said quietly, as if the promise was more to herself than to him. “But... thank you. For being here. Even if I don’t act like I appreciate it.”

“You don’t have to thank me,” Rhysand murmured, his voice low and soft as he turned to leave the room. “Just keep painting. And leave the rest to me.”

As he left, Feyre found herself exhaling a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding. The weight of the threats, the fear that had clung to her for weeks, was still there—but it felt a little less suffocating now.

She dipped her brush into the paint again, her strokes more measured, more deliberate this time. And as she worked, she couldn’t help but wonder if maybe, just maybe, her protector would end up saving more than just her life.

○End○

[garfinkelstingle]

magic and maybes | draco malfoy

pairing: draco malfoy x fem!reader (implied slytherin!reader but only once i think)

warnings: swearing; implied mentions of verbal abuse; this is not in chronological order, but i do think it makes sense this way (especially if you've listened to the song); angst

word count: 5,2k

summary: based on “wendy” by maisie peters; loving draco is like something out of a fairytale. but not all of those always end with happily ever after, do they?

a/n: oh my!! hi!!! my first full-length fic in over a year!!!! so exciting!!!! this came to me while listening to wendy (which you should defo listen to if you haven't yet; the whole album is too good!!) and i just sort of rolled with it. i will never understand why i keep coming back to draco, but i just do. i have never written anything like this, and i certainly have never written draco like this, but the song called for it!! and also, let's be honest, this really matches draco better than it would most other characters. oh and i put it in the warning, but please beware that this is not written in chronological order. it's supposed to showcase the rollercoaster of relationship that reader and draco share, and i thought this was the best way to do it! let me know if you like it, it would really mean a lot <3 happy reading babes

masterlist

rolling like a stone / laughing like a kid

She had never seen him like this before.

Correction: She had never seen him like this before in front of people that weren't just her. Because this is the only way she had ever seen him, really seen him. She knew the charade he kept up, could see right through it better than anyone else. And if you took all of that faux meanness and excruciating ass-ness away, this is what you would be left with, what she's been left with all these years that she's known him. A silly kid, rolling around in the grass, holding his stomach laughing, eyes glistening with tears and shining brighter than any star ever could.

This is how she saw him, always, and how she hoped she would get to see him forever. This, and nothing else.

calling like the future / closed up like a fist

It was always the same. He always did this, and she swore that one of these days she would hex him into oblivion for it.

"What do you mean I can't come with you? We've been planning this for months; I told my parents to make plans without me and they have. What am I supposed to do now?" They had been at it for close to an hour now, going back and forth, nowhere close to having this argument reach its conclusion.

Usually, she didn't mind backing off. He was stubborn; she knew that. This wasn't something she had discovered only recently. She had known him for longer than she hadn't, so she was acutely aware of this quality of his. It didn't surprise her, but that didn't mean it didn't annoy her, either. So she'd just let it slide and move on—one of them had to.

This time, however? She wasn't going anywhere.

"I'm not responsible for you and how you spend your time," he provocatively stated, his eyes ablaze with fury that nearly matched hers. How dare he? As if this was in any way, shape, or form her fault.

"You have got to be kidding me! You were the one who invited me to spend Christmas break at your house! You were the one who wanted me to meet your parents! You were the one who made all these grand plans, and now you just blow me off the day break starts and talk about responsibility?" She couldn't believe him. She really, truly, couldn't.

Except that, maybe, she should. This wasn't the first time Draco blew off their plans. In fact, it wasn't even the second or the third. But he usually had a not-so-terrible reason for it, and the worst thing he had ever cancelled before was a Saturday in Hogsmeade or a picnic by the lake. This, however? This was huge, a plan that had been set into motion during the summer, when they had sent their owls into a frenzy, corresponding through multiple letters a day and vowing not to spend another break apart. She had told her parents before she boarded the train to take her back for another year at Hogwarts, that she would spend the Christmas break with her boyfriend and that they should take that trip to the sea they've been dreaming of forever. And since they did just that, and she didn't feel like ruining their holidays as well, she would now have to spend hers at the dingy castle, with people she barely knew and couldn't care less about.

She didn't even need him to change his mind at this point. While the reason he was giving her sucked, she was sure the real reason didn't—even if he wasn't planning on telling her. What bothered her so much was his refusal to just simply apologize for screwing up and leaving her hanging. If he would just say that he was sorry, she'd let this go. But she knew him well enough by now to know that the chances of that happening were non-existent at best.

"I will not apologize for your lack of a backup plan," he said, with a voice so cold that she could feel actual shivers run down her back. "I will see you after break is over. Merry Christmas." And with that, he turned around and made his way back to the castle, without even sparing her a backward glance.

And all she could do was stare after him, seemingly frozen in place, with tears flowing down her cheeks freely, and wonder if this was what loving someone was supposed to feel like.

lost my page when you kissed me

She hadn't meant to fall in love with him. They had been friends, or at least something very close to it. Draco believed that only people who had nothing else to their name cared about having friends, and she somewhat agreed with him. Friends were feeble; people came and went. There was no use getting attached to them, not when you couldn't ever be a hundred percent certain that they wouldn't just up and leave one day.

But he—he was something else. They had known each other for years, attending the same balls thrown by both their parents and their associates, riding in the same train compartment on their first trip to Hogwarts, reading the same books side-by-side on their common room's couch. They were put in each other’s orbits due to their inescapable proximity, yes, but they were welded together by baked goods that they would steal from the kitchen and share in some dark corner of the too-big houses they would be dragged to, shy smiles and squeezing of hands followed by it's okay, you're not alone's, two a.m. conversations in front of the fireplace in which they discussed whatever books they just finished reading and, sometimes, maybe even more. That's what made her the first person he would say "good morning" to at the breakfast table, and what made him her preferred potions partner. Nothing more and nothing less. They weren't friends, but they were each other's person. Whatever that meant.

It made sense, and it worked, and neither of them needed more. Or so she thought. Because when Draco kissed her after one of those infamous two a.m. conversations and told her „You just looked too pretty not to kiss", after she asked him why he would do something so ridiculous, she came to realize that maybe they were wrong. Maybe getting attached to someone wasn't the worst thing there was. It couldn't be. Right?

i know the girl you want / it scares me

He was scared. He was scared, but so was she. The future was uncertain and terrifying. It didn't make sense on a good day and was simply revolting on a bad one. So much could go wrong at any given moment in time, and not knowing when or what could happen made it sometimes feel like, maybe, life just wasn't all it was cracked up to be.

And when you add love to that equation? You're pretty much just signing off on a death sentence. Draco knew that, and so did she, but unlike him, she believed it to be worth it. Love was never something she saw herself needing, or even wanting, but now that she had it, she was certain it was worth all the heartbreak it might possibly entail. Draco, however? He still didn't trust her enough to let his walls down completely, to give her the power to destroy him and believe her when she said that she would never, ever do that.

She loved him, and she was certain that he loved her, too, but she also knew that he might never be able to let her know that himself. And she knew that he expected that to be enough, that her own knowledge would suffice her and that she would survive without his confirmation, and maybe she could. She just wasn't sure if she wanted to. Spending your time with someone who was emotionally closed off to everyone around you and made them feel like they were replaceable was one thing, but spending your life with someone who was emotionally closed off toward you and too proud to tell you that the one person he could never replace was you? She wasn't sure if she was strong enough for that. She doubted she ever would be. And that terrified her more than anything else ever had before.

pretty like a girl / vicious like a man

He was beautiful. She had always found him inexplicably beautiful; his was the kind of beauty poems were about, a beauty that ran so deep and was so intricate that she sometimes wondered if he wasn't put on this world solely to be admired and stared at.

Even now, when his face was laced with fury and his knuckles white from how tightly he was gripping his desk, he was still beautiful.

She wasn't even sure what they were fighting about now, stopped paying actual attention to the ugly words leaving his mouth. Instead, she was questioning her judgment. She had always found him beautiful on the outside, just as everyone else did, but unlike them, she had also always considered his soul to be beautiful, too. And yet here she was, target to his livid shouts and insults, wondering if maybe that was just another thing that she had been terribly, terribly wrong about.

give up like a ghost / leaving halfway through

It was moronic at best, really. They had spent a fortune on these tickets and had been excited for this game for months now. So, the fact that they were now letting it all go to waste? It was pure idiocy.

Especially when you looked at the why. He was being a child, a petulant little toddler who got upset at the idea of giving his girlfriend of nearly four years a kiss in public.

And the worst thing is that she hadn’t even been upset because it hadn’t surprised her in the slightest. She knew Draco, knew that he liked keeping their PDA to an absolute minimum, and she didn’t mind it in the slightest. Or, well, not enough to be actively affected by it. So, when the kiss-cam panned to their faces, she blew it a kiss and winked for good measure and went back to talking to Draco about how pathetic Potter and his friends looked standing there on the very far side of the stadium, most likely not even able to see the scoreboard. She had moved on, and so had the camera, but for whatever reason, Draco didn't.

Instead, he started huffing and puffing about Salazar knows what, getting upset at her for what, exactly? For respecting his need for privacy? For not pushing him to do something she knew he wouldn’t be comfortable with doing, even though she really wanted to? For, once again, putting him first and foremost? Is that what he was trying to punish her for? Because he certainly didn’t seem to be able to put it into words, storming off like an actual imbecile instead, leaving halfway through the match.

And of course, she had to follow him like the ever-loyal girlfriend that she was, trying to catch up with him and calm him down, even though she was seconds away from losing her bloody mind herself. She was sick and tired of his juvenile behaviour, was just so exhausted with having to put up with his shit instead of just enjoying herself, and yet it seemed as if some invisible string kept on pulling her in his direction, not allowing her to choose her own needs and herself, ever.

She wondered if he would ever grow tired of this pretence of his, or if this was what being with Draco Malfoy would entail, forever. She didn’t want to believe it, but it became harder and harder with each passing day. Maybe this is who he was, who he always would be.

But maybe it was just a matter of time before he would finally give it all up and be who she has blindly believed him to be all this time. All she could do, it seemed, was to hope that she wouldn’t be the one to give up, first.

if i'm not careful we'll be married

"Do you ever think about the future?" His voice broke through the quiet reverie they had both found themselves in. She was used to him being the first one to speak up after a long beat of silence; he didn't find it quite as peaceful and tranquilizing as she did. Not that she minded, though. She liked his voice, and she liked talking to him even more. To say that the question surprised her, though, would be an understatement.

Putting the book she was currently reading to the side, she snuggled further into him. The fireplace was providing a fair amount of heat, but the chill seemed to be inescapable in the Slytherin common room. It was also just very nice to be able to have him hold her close like this, even if the only reason he did so was because it was far past midnight and everyone else was already fast asleep.

"Sometimes, yeah," she said. "Do you?"

"Yeah." She didn't expect him to elaborate, so it stunned her when he did. "I see us. You and me, together. Married. But not like them. Like us. Does that make sense?" It did. She knew exactly what he meant. Not like them. Not like his parents, who didn't love each other in the slightest and could barely stand each other most days. And not like her parents, either, who cared deeply about one another, at least as much as you could care about someone you didn't choose to marry. They found a way to be friendly and cordial, mainly because they didn't want their daughter to grow up with parents who were constantly at each other's throats, but it was still far away from the real deal.

Were they the real deal? That's what Draco was implying, wasn't it? That if they would get married, it'd be because they loved each other. He's never even said it, she thought. And he hadn't. But he's said this now, hadn't he? And that should be worth more than any stupid three words ever could be, right? Because he wanted to marry her, really marry her, not because he had to, but because he wanted to. It rarely happened for people of their status, so she should be beyond delighted that it was happening to her. Plus, she loved him, too, and unlike him, she hadn't been afraid to say those three words. Marrying Draco was what she was supposed to want; finding out that he wanted to marry her, too, was supposed to be the greatest news she's ever heard. So why was there some nagging part of her brain that knew that saying yes would be the worst thing she could possibly do?

"I know what you mean," she said. She had never lied to him before.

you want me / you're sure

Blaise Zabini was flirting with her. Then again, Blaise Zabini flirted with everything that had legs and a mouth he could kiss, so it did nothing to impress her. It did, however, do its damage by making Draco furiously jealous. After all this time together, she prided herself in being able to read him like a book. Him storming off like a petulant child made her think that, in this instance at least, even a visually impaired person would be able to deduct the fact that he was (unreasonably) upset.

Sighing, she made out to follow him, annoyed that she had to make yet another excuse for her friends. It shouldn't be her job to smooth things over every time his tantrums killed the mood at a get-together, and yet it seemed like part of the "Dating-Draco-Malfoy" package.

She found him at the lake, the same way she always did. She wondered if there was any specific reason he chose this place to run off to , but she doubted he would tell her even if there was. Some secrets just weren't worth the effort of trying to figure out.

She expected him to be upset with her, to accuse her of leading Zabini on and whoring herself out to him—Salazar knew it wouldn't be the first time. It used to upset her beyond measure. There would be a good amount of crying and screaming on her part; calling him a pretentious douche, telling him to screw off if he really thought so little of her. It always ended the same: he would storm off, eventually, and disappear for a good few hours. Then, he'd come back, without something even remotely close to an apology, and tell her he wasn't mad anymore. She knew what he really meant when he said it: I expect you not to be mad anymore, either. And even when she was, she was usually too exhausted to keep on fighting. After a while, she decided there wasn't even any point in being upset in the first place. Draco was who he was; she knew what she was getting into. Or so she kept telling herself.

This time, however, seemed different. She was sure he could hear her approach him—he always did. So why wasn't he turning around? Why wasn't he yelling at her and making her feel as if the affection of others was her fault?

He stayed quiet until she finally reached him and made to stand next to him. "I don't like it when others try to make a pass at you," he said. She waited a beat, wondering if he was going to add anything else. He did. "I know I have no right to be upset with you." This was new. It surprised her. So much so that she wondered if she might've misheard. "It's not your fault Zabini has no respect for boundaries, or anyone else, for that matter. I just... it's paralyzing, sometimes. Realizing that you could leave me for someone else at any given moment, and there's nothing I could do about it. I want to be with you. I know I'm not always good at voicing it, but I do. I'm certain. That's why I get upset. Because it terrifies me."

She took his hand in hers and gave the back of it a soft kiss. This was possibly the most vulnerable he had been with her, ever. She understood him; of course she did. Didn't he know that she was just as terrified? That a life without him in it didn't seem to make any sense whatsoever to her? She loved him, and now she was sure that he loved her, too.

Nothing else mattered.

lose the world that you live in / pretend that it's what you wanted

“This isn’t okay, and you know it.” Maybe she did. Maybe she knew that this wasn’t right, that this wasn’t how it was supposed to feel like. But it’s all she’s ever known, and sometimes it felt as if this was all she’d ever want to know. Because when it was good it was great. It was all she could ever want and then some, and she honestly didn’t think she would ever find anything better than it.

Draco wasn’t perfect, but neither was she. She had her flaws just like anyone else, so to expect him to be something she herself couldn’t be? That seemed unfair and illogical at best.

“Look, you don’t get it, alright?” And she didn’t. None of them did. Not her mother or her father, not her friends or his. They were complicated and messy, but they were right. Right for each other, right in all the ways that mattered. She loved him, and he loved her. If there was anything in life she was sure of, then it was that.

“You can’t let him treat you like that.” That’s what it always boiled down to. Every fight she ever had about him—and there were probably too many to count—always came to the same conclusion: She shouldn’t let him treat her like that. But what did that even mean? No one would ever treat her the way he did. No one would ever look at her as if she was the reason they got up in the morning, as if she hung the moon and the stars in the night sky. No one would ever be able to make her feel like she was the thing they lived for, someone they’d die and kill for in the same breath.

So, what if he’d yell at her and insult her and make her question her worth sometimes? He’d never allow her to question herself out loud to him; he’d make sure to show her how important she was to him. And Salazar forbid someone else dared to say the wrong thing when it came to her—he’d made sure it’s the last thing they’d ever say.

Maybe she knew it wasn’t okay, what they were doing. There were a million words to describe their relationship, with toxic and unhealthy being the prime examples. But no relationship was perfect. Why should theirs be?

it's a life i could have, i know

They were invited to someone's birthday. She didn't even know whose, just knew to wear "that green dress that makes you look like actual royalty". There also had been a promise by a certain someone that the dress would later be carefully taken off, and that there would be some... not so careful actions afterwards. It was the prospect of that that kept her from making up some excuse as to why she suddenly had to leave this awful and hollow house and curl up with a book and one of Draco's sweaters in her bed.

The party in itself wasn't awful; on the contrary, it was lovely. The music was played by a live orchestra, and the entire house was decorated in different shades of blue and silver. There were white roses everywhere, and the food was exceptional, too. But she didn't know anyone here except for Draco; she didn't even know the birthday girl. She was a couple years older than the two of them, and from what she understood she was the wife of a son of a business partner of Draco's father. Or something like that.

She was currently standing in a corner all by herself, with a champagne flute in hand, trying to find Draco in the crowd. He had snuck off some time ago, claiming that he had to make the rounds or else "my father is going to chew my ear off about it", convincing her that it wasn't necessary for her to introduce herself tediously to every single person he would have to shake hands with. He wasn't wrong, but somehow standing in her lonely corner appeared to be an even worse fate.

Eventually, she locked eyes with Draco and gave him a small smile. She knew it was pointless to beckon him to her; he'd just shrug her off. Instead, he sent a quick wink her way, before turning back around to speak to whatever important person he was speaking to right now.

This could be my life, she thought. Going places with Draco, having him wink at her from across the room, promising to take her dress off at the end of the night and make it all worth it. This could be the rest of her life. She could see it, could see herself be one of the important men’s wives, gossiping away in some lonely corner just like hers, on their fifth or sixth flute of champagne already, trying to hide the hollow look in their eyes. This could be it. It was nothing like the life that she had wanted for herself all this time, and yet it didn’t seem to bother her nearly as much as it should.

throw your rocks / scream that you hate me

She didn’t even know how long it’s been. All she knew was that her mother had been up twice to tell her that she was this close to hexing him away from their property, and that she had begged her just as often not to.

“He has every right to be upset,” she had said, and could feel the bile rise in her throat at the bitter taste of the lie. Because no matter how often she told herself just that, it didn’t sound any more truthful to her ears than it did the time before. Yes, maybe Draco was allowed to be upset. She certainly was. But standing below her window, completely wasted, and throwing rocks at it, whilst yelling profanities at her? No one should have the right to do that.

And it wasn’t as if it was her fault, either. She had given him a choice; she shouldn't have had to do that. She hadn’t even meant to. It was supposed to be clean cut. She was supposed to tell him that it was over, that it should have been over a long time ago. If he still couldn’t tell her that he loved her after five years together, chances were that he never would. And she was just so tired of not hearing those words.

But she had looked him in the eyes and something—something made her believe that maybe, just maybe, he would realize that she was worth so much more to him than his pride and that being with her was worth more than being whoever he kept on pretending to be.

She should have known that her stupid, childish hope would be the death of her.

So here he was now, screaming that he hated her, that he wished that he had never met her, that being with her had been the greatest mistake of his life. And what if he wasn’t wrong? Would things had been different had she been different? Would he have been able to tell her how he felt if she had been more like Daphne? Would she have been able to leave him sooner and protect her own heart had she been more like Pansy?

It was driving her mad, the never-ending question of “what if?”, and yet her silly mind didn’t seem to be able to put an end to it. Because no matter how awful being (or in this case not being) with Draco may have been, it was still the most magical time in her life so far. And she didn’t even doubt for one second that the rest of her life might have been just as magical, too. Except that there was only so long a person could survive on magic and maybe’s, before eventually having to put an end to the madness and realize that the whimsical dreams weren’t anything other than nightmares hiding behind a pretty façade.

She loved Draco, loved him with her entire being, loved him more than she could ever imagine loving or even wanting to love anyone else. But, somehow, along the way, she had come to realize that just because she couldn’t see ever loving herself even half as much as she loved him, it was still enough to realize that leaving him was the only way she could ensure that she wouldn’t lose herself completely.

So, when her mother came up for the third time, this time with her father in tow, she didn’t fight them when they suggested to call the authorities to remove the Malfoy boy from their property. After all, just because Peter never wanted to grow up, didn't mean Wendy couldn’t.

i could love you / wait 'til you're ready

It was the little things more than it would ever be the big ones. She knew Draco, knew that the only way she could expect big romantic gestures from him was if someone were to put him under a spell, which is why she came to appreciate the small gestures and hold them as close and dear to her heart as she possibly could.

It was the little enchanted paper cranes that would hold little love notes of “your hair looks pretty today” and “how lucky I am to be dating the smartest witch in this castle”.

It was how he would lend her his robe without a second thought when he would see her rub her hands together in a fruitless attempt of warding off the cold, even though he had adamantly tried to convince her to wear a jumper underneath.

It was how he would press a kiss on her temple first thing in the morning, without fail, every single day, no matter if they had fought the previous evening or not, letting her know that he wasn’t going anywhere.

It was how he would rub her feet at the end of a long day in Hogsmeade, knowing that her boots were a size too small but that she loved them too much not to suck up the pain and go out with them anyways.

She loved him, and whilst she had no problem with telling him just that, he had no problem with showing her, either. And maybe he wasn’t lying when he told her that he just needed time, that she ought to just be patient, that sooner rather than later he would feel ready enough to say it, too.

The question wasn’t whether she could wait or not; she knew she could.  The question was whether she loved herself enough to know that she shouldn't have to.

forever 20

Twenty.

That’s how often she had said it, and how often he had stayed quiet. And every time he hated himself just a little bit more because he knew that with every time that she would say it without hearing a reply, he would get closer to hearing it for the last time.

And now here he was, stuck at twenty, forever, because he knew her well enough to know that it was over, really, truly over, with no one to blame but himself.

The worst thing was that for every time she said it, he had wanted to say it tenfold, had wanted to shower her with those words until she grew sick and tired of them. Had, on the worst days, wanted to just grip her by the shoulders and shake, shake, shake her and tell her, over and over, that he loved her, that he had loved her all this time and would love her for all the time to come.

But he never did, and now she was gone beyond his reach and as much as he hated it, he couldn’t stop himself from thinking that, maybe, this was the best thing that had ever happened to her. The best thing he had ever done for her. And that had to count for something, right?

[txttletale]

Genuine question, when a business of any size goes under, don’t the workers undergo a period of more stress/hardship as they search for new work? And then they’ll just end up having their labor exploited in the same capacity once they do settle into a new job. So like, when small business Jakey goes bankrupt, does anyone actually materially benefit? Sorry if this seems confrontational, you tend to be pretty good at explaining stuff and I’m interested in your response.

yeah workers suffer when businesses go bankrupt (something that will inevitably and continually happen under the conditions of capitalism). to be clear i don't think that stealing from businesses is in any way useful or effective socialist praxis (as i am always saying, it's an individual action--only collective action is meaningful).

when i say that it's cool and good (which is different from politically effective -- i think it's cool and good to write poetry and have gay sex, but neither of those are socialist action either) i am mostly specifically attacking the sanctity of the enterepeneurial capitalist myth that leads erstwhile anticapitalists to qualify what would otherwise be correct capitalist criticism by attacking 'big business' or 'megacorporations' or 'multinationals' or saying 'except mom and pop shops' or what-have-you.

like, above all else i am being a little tongue-in-cheek and purposefully provocative to illustrate the point that when it comes to class struggle the 'small business owner' is just as much of an enemy of the working class as the billionaire.

[justinspoliticalcorner]

Dean Obeidallah at The Dean's Report:

We are at war. Donald Trump calling out the National Guard to occupy parts of Los Angeles over the objections of California Governor Gavin Newsom to silence protesters is the latest example of this. Trump’s Secretary of Defense Pete Hegseth followed up by threatening to deploy the US Marines stationed at nearby Camp Pendelton to join in this war effort. (This is the first time in 60 years that a US President has invoked federal law to federalize national guard troops without a request by the Governor--and that was to protect civil rights protesters in 1965.) While there were protests in Los Angeles in response to Trump’s heavy handed ICE raids—and some pockets of violence—local officials had the resources to control the situation. As Gov. Gavin Newsom stated in response to Trump’s actions, “The federal government is taking over the California National Guard and deploying 2,000 soldiers in Los Angeles — not because there is a shortage of law enforcement, but because they want a spectacle." (Newsom’s use of term “spectacle” is 100% correct given what Trump wants is to create “fascist spectacles” to intimidate people—as I’ve written about.).

On Sunday morning, Newsom reiterated that point writing, “We have been working closely with law enforcement. There is no unmet need.” He added, Trump “would like nothing more than for this provocative show of force -- and Pete Hegseth's absurd threat to deploy United States Marines on American soil – to escalate tensions and incite violence.” But Trump’s latest escalation in the war against the Blue states and our freedoms can’t be viewed in a vacuum. Trump is waging a multifaceted war upon us. In just the first five months of his term, we’ve seen him arrest a judge, a sitting member of Congress and the Mayor of Newark for daring to defy him. (Charges versus the Mayor were later dropped because they were baseless.) Trump has used the power of the federal government to target critics and those who refuse to bend a knee including law firms, universities, the Democratic online fundraising platform Act Blue, media outlets, foreign college students, former Trump officials who refused to lie, green card holders and more. We never seen a President engage in this type of brazen attack on our freedoms. Again, we are at war. Let me ask you this: During the Civil War, would Union states pay taxes to the Confederate government headed by Jefferson Davis to fund their war against the United States of America? Of course not. But Blue states are currently funding Trump's war against us by paying federal taxes to what is in essence the new Confederate government. That needs to end--assuming there is a legal means that can allow the states and their residents to withhold paying federal taxes and instead use the taxes for state services. In fact, the prospect of withholding federal funds to the Trump regime was raised Friday by Gov. Newsom. That was in response to news reports that Trump was about to end all federal aid to California in an effort to make an example of the state. Newsom posted online: “Californians pay the bills for the federal government. We pay over $80 BILLION more in taxes than we get back.” He added, “Maybe it’s time to cut that off.” [...] We all know that it’s the large Blue States that fund the federal government. Newsom is correct that California—the world’s fourth largest economy if it were a nation--contributed about $83 billion more in federal taxes in 2022 than it received back from Washington. More broadly, a study from 2018 to 2022 found that Blue states contributed nearly 60% of all federal tax receipts—but received back far less as we subsidize the Trump loving Red states.

We need Blue state governors to work with their respective Attorney General’s to determine: 1. Can the state legally withhold taxes to the federal government? 2. Can residents of the state legally avoid paying federal taxes by paying what is due directly to the state? Perhaps the federal taxes can be paid into a state created trust account that the state promises to pay the federal government assuming certain conditions are met to respect the rights of the people of each state? If such a legal framework can be created, then the states should use the tax dollars to help the people of their state first. As a practical matter, people in Red States who rely on government safety net programs like Medicaid etc. will hopefully move to the Blue States where they will get freedom and these benefits. And for those who can’t afford to move, the Blue states could create a fund to help people seeking to escape from Trump’s tyranny to be able to resettle in Blue States. (As an aside, this would also increase Blue State population while decreasing that of Red states—which would help us gain more congressional seats at the end of this decade after the census is conducted.) Trump’s actions are neither unique nor original. He is following the aspiring dictator playbook. That is why I and many warned Trump’s war on freedom of expression doesn’t end with his arresting of green card holders who express views that the regime doesn’t approve of—that is where it begins. In fact, when Trump had green card holder Mahmoud Khalil arrested in March for peacefully protesting U.S. policy in Gaza, my article’s title warned what this meant, “Trump’s arrest of a pro-Palestinian student moves the U.S. one step closer to Tyranny.”

Dean Obeidallah is correct. Blue States should stand up for themselves and withhold federal taxes to protest Tyrant 47’s war on constitution-based rule.

[zoniteillusion-pyritedreams]

[Digital Diary Dump #5?: bored? interrogated my friends instead.]

So I got bored (read: sugar high & waiting for my face mask to dry.) and decided to harass my friends with Very Important Questions like:

“What kind of song do I remind you of?”

“Be honest, which celebrity do I give the same energy as?”

…You know, normal things for a totally normal day. And let me just say the responses had me SCREAMING. Crying. Writing in my Notes app & throwing shit . So here’s (some of) what they said, plus me being cute about it:

Top Song Pick:

Lee Hyori – “Bad Girls”

“This is sooo you when people first meet you. You're like in this villainous fairy mode playful, powerful, provocative. Without even trying, you walk into a room and everyone feels it."

Me: Yeah... that tracks. If I were a song, I’d also wear a fur coat, sunglasses at night, and crush men’s egos with just a wink and platform boots. She’s not a bad girl, she just knows her worth and people who can’t handle that... Shall Suffer.

Runner-Up:

BTS – “Pied Piper”

“This represents your siren muse energy. You pull people in with that irresistible charm. Your creative, addictive, otherworldly vibes. People know they should be focusing on their lives, but they’d rather get lost in yours.”

Me: Honestly? I didn’t choose the Pied Piper life. The Pied Piper life chose me. Blame the curls, the voice, the hint of chaos in my eyes. Also talk to your BTS all this is like one of my top three favorite besides by them alongside Coffee.

Third Place (but emotionally first):

2NE1 – “Missing You”

“Underneath your otherworldly armor, you have such emotional depth and softness. This is that bittersweet beauty of vulnerability, and emotional memory. It mirrors your ability to haunt people's minds in the most poetic way.”

Me: The romantic tragedy of it all… I’m not a phase, I’m the soft echo of past emotions when you’re pretending you’re fine. You’re welcome.

( I feel like you can 100% tell that my group of friends are all like very creative ass motherfuckers. Specifically in this group of people these are my close besties there is an aspiring artist, someone who quite literally works out of Art museum, a pediatrician in the making, in elementary school teacher in the making, and a fellow spiritual baddie.)

Honorary Mentions: (aka the wild cards or songs they didn't low key all agree on/pick)

Spica – “You Don’t Love Me”

Vintage glam + emotional breakdown = me in red lipstick crying cutely into a virgin martini. Honestly? Accurate.

Block B – “Her”

One friend said this is the sound of people tripping over themselves for my attention, "chaotic gorgeous energy with a side of delusion-inducing charm." They are correct.

Rain – “Love Song”

If men were writing songs about me? This would be the one. Down bad doesn’t even begin to cover it. It’s giving "hopeless poet sobbing in the rain" energy.

Celebrity vibe/look alike: The Esther Yu Agenda

Recently, my friends, especially the ones who are deep in their C-Drama era keep joking every time a new Esther Yu drama drops like,

“Oh? Didn’t know you were filming in China this month!”

Apparently, I’m her long-lost cousin or something?

They swear it’s the face shape + features = uncanny resemblance, and honestly? They’re not wrong. If I had to describe my looks to the internet (before I get bold or drunk enough to drop a selfie on here), it would be:

"Imagine if you took East Asian facial features and painted them in Afro-Colombian colors."

Eyes, skin, hair = pure Colombia. But the bone structure? Straight outta C-Drama. And then there’s the height. Imagine combining short Asian genes and short Latina genes what do you get?

A bad bitch under 5ft. Compact. Dangerous. Built like a limited edition Bratz doll.

Anyway, that’s all for now. Might go interrogate more people later ( maybe don't bother the baby Bros or my aunt or cousin who also like a pop and ask them the same shit.) Or nap.

See ya!