#touch some grass and get less stress

[trashquisitor-shirozora]

For the send a fandom, i'm going with one i know nothing about…Tron

Oh boy. Now this is an ask I appreciate. I'm answering for Tron, Tron: Betrayal (the comic), and Tron: Legacy. Not answering for the TV show or videogame.

The first character I first fell in love with: Sam Flynn. basic, I know, but I had a great time with his struggles with his father's legacy sitting on his shoulders The character I never expected to love as much as I do now: Tron!Kevin Flynn. have thoughts about him post-first movie, but he's great as the viewpoint character helping Tron on his quest to stop Sark. The character everyone else loves that I don’t: Clu. I don't hate him. I like what he represents. I just don't care enough to do anything about it. The character I love that everyone else hates: I'm going to take "everyone else" as "people outside the fandom" and then say "A Female Character". hell, I'm sure the corporate creatives didn't care much for them either, but the Tron franchise always had great female characters. Lora and Quorra, my beloveds. The character I used to love but don’t any longer: never fell out of love with the characters, but Disney can go roast in the fires of hell The character I would totally smooch: friendly pecks on the cheek, right? because that would be Quorra. The character I’d want to be like: Lora Bradley The character I’d slap: KEVIN FLYNN POST-TRON, YOU ASS A pairing that I love: I have a life pre-Sam/Tron and a life post-Sam/Tron. I am what I am now because I spent a long time in the Sam/Tron sandbox, and it was a great sandbox. It is still a great sandbox. People who do shipping should spend more time in sandboxes for improbably ships and get some perspective. A pairing that I despise: Clu/Rinzler.

Play ask games, win ask prizes!

[ms-demeanor]

Hello,Do you have any tips for recovering from internet brain rot? It's like my patience has dried up and if there's a huge amount of text (even about topics I'm very interested in) that I have to read, I get annoyed and just don't interact with the material at all.

I have multiple tips!

TL;DR (Because of course I generated a wall of text): Take a break from the internet, create a schedule for getting yourself used to reading longer texts, take breaks while reading, and perhaps reconsider how you interact with The Internet and the world in general.

Here are the basic "to reduce the brain rot just don't interact" tips:

Take a break. Give yourself time off from The Internet (for these purposes The Internet is the social media industrial complex; clickbait news, recommended videos, social media sites, etc. You don't have to totally check out of email or your local news site, just get away from the huge time sucks). I'd say to take at least one day a week where you're online for less than an hour a day, and to maybe work up to doing a week-long break from whatever the main agents of rot are.

Once you've identified the main agents of rot, give yourself a time limit or set up rules for yourself. I don't let myself look at social media in bed, for instance; no staying up late on my phone, no scrolling before I get up and start my day. I don't give myself a strict time limit anymore, but for a while there I was very firm about "you only get to go online 4 hours a day" with myself.

Don't comment (or at least only share the things you really want to share). If you feel the need to argue, or if you feel pressured into sharing something, don't. Step back, maybe even open the post in a new tab or send it to yourself, and come back later. If you've been thinking about it and have decided it IS something you care enough to talk about, share it. If you look at the tab and feel stressed out or still feel reactive, close the tab and walk away.

Go out and interact with the real world in a non-work capacity for a few hours a week; take walks or go shopping or go out and take pictures of insects. Touch grass so that The Internet is not the only thing you're doing with your downtime.

Here are the "work on reading longer texts specifically" tips:

Set a reading goal for yourself. Maybe you want to read one New Yorker article a week, maybe you want to read all the way through news articles, maybe you want to read novels like you used to in high school. Figure out what your actual goal is and articulate that goal to yourself.

Set up a practice schedule and gradually increase the amount of time you're reading. Don't go from short tumblr posts to a novella, go from short tumblr posts to slightly longer news articles, then to slightly longer essays, then to a novella. You can do this in literal paragraphs if you want to - maybe your goal for your first day is to read five paragraphs in a row, and the second day is seven, and the third day is ten, etc, until you are comfortably reading for longer amounts of time without counting paragraphs. (Try this with books from gutenberg.org; read a classic you haven't read a few paragraphs at a time and if you find yourself going over your paragraph count, let yourself run with it. If you finish a book, good for you, find another one and start again.)

Set up a maintenance schedule. If your goal is to read longer news pieces, try to read a longer piece every week and try to read to the end of every news article you open. If your goal is to read novels or longer nonfiction, try to read a book a month (maybe setting aside dedicated time each week to read, maybe Thursday evenings are book time now). If you find yourself falling back into old habits, take a break from The Internet and do some more rigorous practice for a while.

If you find yourself getting frustrated while you are reading you can also take a break! Read until you get frustrated and then *instead of switching to a different page or closing the article* close your eyes or look out the window or away from the screen for thirty seconds (count 'em! count out the time in your head) and then continue reading. You can also take a longer pause and sit and think about why you're getting frustrated. Is it the subject matter? Is it just looking at this text for longer than a couple minutes (if you are experiencing FOMO because you're reading for another few minutes instead of scrolling, the harder tips at the bottom are going to be important to you)? Are you comfortable? Are you reading this text to procrastinate from something and the procrastination is making you nervous? Are you trying to read to the bottom of your dash and reading a long post is taking up more time than you want while scrolling? Are you bored? Genuinely and very seriously: are your eyes straining and does your head hurt (if this is the case when is the last time you had your eyes checked or your glasses prescription updated)?

Here are the much harder "examine yourself and reassess your reactions to things" tips:

Work on re-training your attention span.

Identify something that you enjoy and find deeply engaging, and schedule some dedicated time for that thing. Set a literal timer (it can be a short amount of time at first) and sit down and do the thing without switching to a different website or opening up an app on your phone. This can be re-reading or watching a couple episodes of a show you like or listening to your favorite album while you sit down and draw. What's important is to spend a longer time focusing on doing something you DO like before attempting to spend a longer time focusing on something you DON'T like.

When you're starting on things you DON'T like, start with things you mildly don't like, or that feel tedious but aren't actually unpleasant. One way I do this is by transcribing poetry; I look up poems that I connect to and I transcribe them into a notebook that I have for that purpose. I enjoy having the finished product, but I don't enjoy the process, so it takes some effort to stick with it. Maybe there is a boring book you have been trying to get through, maybe you need to detail your car, maybe you've been trying to take up embroidery - these are good things to make yourself pay attention to (having music or a podcast on can help, but avoid watching videos or opening social apps)

When you're okay at that kind of thing (doing something not actively unpleasant) work on your attention span for things you ACTIVELY don't like. I don't think you should be a masochist about this, but you should work on being okay with doing unpleasant things for a sustained period of time. All of us have to do unpleasant stuff sometimes, and it's better to be able to pay attention to it for an hour at a time than it is to put it off forever.

This leads into the next Big Tip which is:

Work on being less reactive

Find something that you dislike; I'm going to use conservative talk radio as my example.

Expose yourself to the disliked thing for short periods of time (under ten minutes, maybe under five minutes).

Work on moderating your emotions during the time spent exposed to the disliked thing. If it makes you angry, work on intellectualizing the anger without becoming agitated by it. If it makes you sad, work on accepting that sadness without letting it drag down your mood. This isn't precisely about becoming numb to stimuli, but it is about being more in control of how your emotional reactions impact you.

Analyze the disliked thing. Why does it make you angry? Is that on purpose by the creator of the thing? Would it make someone else angry in the same way? How would you explain the anger to a neutral third party?

Consider responding instead of reacting. Let's say you're seeing a lot of very sad and upsetting things online and it's making you sad and upsetting you. You re-share these things because you don't feel like there's anything else you can do or you get angry when you see people sharing incorrect information, perhaps you argue with people about this. Now try looking at the upsetting things through the lens of point number four. This has upset you; how has it upset you? And once you've thought about how it upset you and have articulated that to yourself, find out what you can DO. I cannot make conservative talk radio go off the air, but I can support the groups harmed by conservative talk radio; thus there is no point in me getting upset and angry about conservative talk radio when I could be helping the people they target instead.

And that gets us to the last big tip which is:

Ask yourself if you are spending your time in a way that is enjoyable and edifying.

We all have limited time in our days and limited time in our lives. If you are finding yourself frequently frustrated online, it's a good time to consider whether you want to be spending so much time online.

If you feel like The Internet has become a rat race in which you can't read more than a few paragraphs without getting frustrated, there's a good chance that not only are you spending too much time on The Internet, but you're also spending it on doing things that you don't particularly like.

A realization like yours, Anon, that you are getting frustrated with any longer texts, can actually be really helpful because it provides a good opportunity to look at what you're engaging with and consider the questions:

Is this something I enjoy?

Do I feel good when I do this thing?

And that's a great way to figure out how to get rid of things that are leading to your background frustration. Maybe that looks like paring down the list of blogs you follow, maybe that looks like unsubscribing from some youtubers and podcasts, maybe that looks like uninstalling apps, maybe that looks like blocking a whole bunch of people and terms on your socials.

I don't think that everything we do has to help us grow as a person or expand our consciousness or anything like that, but I do think it's important to prioritize doing things that you like and doing things that you feel good about.

Like, I'm not doing something *wrong* if I spend an afternoon on Youtube watching drama channels every once in a while, but if I come out of a few afternoons of watching youtube drama channels feeling restless and anxious and like I wasted my time - even if I enjoyed myself while I was watching - it's probably a good idea for me to take a break from drama channels and see if there's something I can do instead that will make me feel better.

ALSO, A NOTE:

You are an animal that requires significant enrichment in your enclosure.

Think about tigers. Tigers in captivity are going to be excited to get high-value treats for any reason. They will eat and enjoy the treats. But if a tiger in captivity is only given the treats and never given any other form of activity to engage with, it is not going to be a happy tiger. If you start putting their treats in a pumpkin or a puzzle feeder or giving them toys to play with, that is going to be a much happier tiger.

Please give your brain things to play with that are more than just treats (though it does need some treats!). Make yourself a happy tiger. Your brain need a puzzle feeder, not a treat button.

[nymphaura777]

Welcome to the Land of Manifestation Burnout

Alright, sit down, babe, we need to talk. You’re out here manifesting like your life depends on it—and honestly, at this point, I think you might be possessed.

Affirmations? Check.

Scripting? Girl, you’re on your fourth notebook.

Visualizing? Your Pinterest board is basically a digital vision board shrine.

Subliminals? You got six different audio layers playing at once like you’re a damn radio frequency scientist.

And yet… NOTHING. Nada. Zero. Your desires are ghosting you harder than your toxic ex (yes, I went there).

So let me ask you something: are you actually manifesting, or are you in a clingy, desperate, toxic situationship with your desires?

Because, sweetheart, your energy is SCREAMING lack.

You’re refreshing your phone for signs like you’re waiting for a text back. You’re side-eyeing every angel number like it owes you an explanation. You’re whispering affirmations at 3 AM like a feral raccoon with WiFi access.

And you STILL don’t get why it’s not working? Babe, be so fr.

The Harsh Truth: You’re Doing Too Much.

The universe is not a sugar daddy. You can’t just send it a million requests and expect instant delivery.

The more you chase, the further it runs. The more you obsess, the less it flows. The more you stress, the more you literally block your own blessings.

Imagine trying to fill a cup while holding it upside down. That’s YOU right now. Desperation energy is repelling your desires faster than bad perfume on a first date.

“But I’m doing everything right!”

Are you, though? Because alignment means ease. Flow. Effortlessness. And right now, bestie, you’re gripping your manifestations so tight, they can’t even breathe.

But don't worry Celeste has solutions too:

STOP OBSESSING: Your manifestations aren’t running away; YOU’RE scaring them off with your clingy energy. You’re acting like a girl who triple-texts a man who left her on read don’t do that.

DETACH: I know it’s hard, but stop refreshing reality like it’s your IG feed. Stop “checking” if it’s working. Trust me, it IS, but you’re too busy being a control freak to let it unfold.

Act like you ALREADY HAVE IT. Rich people don’t panic about money. Confident people don’t freak out about validation. People in love don’t stalk their crush’s last seen status. If you had your desire, you’d be CHILL. So start acting like it.

Go touch some damn grass. Go outside. Laugh. Watch a dumb movie. Make a snack. Have fun. Your manifestations will come when you STOP acting like a detective trying to track them down.

The Universe Responds to VIBES, Not Effort.

You can chant affirmations until your throat is drier than the Sahara, but if your vibes are screaming, “WHERE IS IT? WHY ISN’T IT HERE YET?!!” …guess what?

It’s NEVER coming.

You’re overcomplicating the hell out of this. The second you stop chasing and just start being?

That’s when it actually comes.

Now, go live your life. Your manifestations are already on their way.

[kathaynesart]

Bit of a random question, but as a teen I'm curious, what would you want to say to kids of today? Any advice?

Hm... every person's life journey is different, but I don't mind giving a few tips based on my personal experiences! If they can help in anyway then I am glad for it!

Ted Talk below the cut.

Life will always change. YOU will change. You may feel stuck or trapped in some aspect of your life right now and are worried that things will never get better. But they do... it will take time, but you will get there so long as you keep moving forward.

Try not to stress too much. All those things that seem like such a big deal right now... most of them will be forgotten within a few years. So it helps when you feel overwhelmed to step back and not let these little (or even big) missteps take control of your life.

No really, go touch grass. I can not express how important it is to disconnect from social media and just be present in the moment. Going out to a cafe or a park to help you unwind and ground yourself. If life allows, try traveling! Even if it's just a road trip. Get out and see and experience different things because those will be the memories that will stick with you!

Change things up. Even if that's just taking a different path to school or trying a different snack. I find that stepping away from the mundane daily schedule helps bring so much more variety to my life and helps me be more present in the moment.

Be flexible. Especially in your goals and expectations. We're expected at such a young age to choose our destination in life, when it's the journey itself that we should be seeking. So while it's great to have goals, do not make them so rigid that you will deem yourself a failure should they not come to pass. Often times it's the things that surprise us in life that help lead us to opportunities we had never even considered.

Your worth does not come from what you produce, or how many milestones you hit, or how much money you make. It is something you give yourself as you relearn time and time again to love yourself.

Your health is important! It is something we often take for granted when we’re younger but it will mean so much as you age. Also should you feel that you’re ever in pain or unwell, speak up. There are so many instances of people coming to greater harm because they only listened to the first doctor who brushed them off. Seek a second opinion. Know that your body is worth proper care!

Just because you have to grow old does not mean you have to "grow up." Those things you loved that sparked joy in you as a kid? Hold onto them or find new ways to instill them into your life. Keep that passion and remember what fun is! Because you will need it just as much when you're older. It is a major ingredient in the spice of life.

Remember, you ARE special. You may not feel like it... but the fact that you exist is such a mind boggling feat in this vast universe of mostly empty space. While that may be difficult to grasp as we are, stuffed in this tiny jewelry box we call Earth, that does not make any one of us any less special in the grand scheme of things. And in this tiny but overflowing box of treasures, there is no gem that is quite like you. You managed against all odds to come into existence. That is AMAZING. Congratulations! Hard part is already done. Now go shine!

[leggerefiore]

There was this twitter? thread where a guy was mind blown at how much his life improved/changed when his girlfriend moved in. Can I ask what boggles the mind for pokemen when their s/o moves in? ex) Nanu finally has a meal that isnt instant noodles/Local spaceman touches grass for the first time/Spoiled prince learns basic empathy and how to take sunglasses off indoors🌱✨️🌸🌼✨️✨️✨️

cw: fluff

characters: Nanu, Cyrus, Lear, Grimsley

🐈‍⬛️Nanu❤️‍🩹

🌑 The Kahuna was not so sure how he felt about the new situation… It was stressful to him in all honesty. His home really was not all that. What, with living in the police station he was technically supposed to be working in. Nothing really happened in Po Town, aside from whatever the now-disbanded Team Skull got up to. Nanu was more than capable of handling rowdy teens and twenty-somethings, though. You, however, were a force he was unprepared for. The couch he had so long used as a bed was replaced with something more proper in one of the back rooms. A more organised place for his sparse clothing was introduced, too. The front room became even more reserved for the Meowths. Though, his couch still had his computer set up next to it.

🌑 Food had become a little nicer… You encouraged him to join you in the little kitchenette area to actually make things. While his appetite certainly preferred Katonian dishes, your dishes admittedly made him quite happy. Your presence truly brought nicer things all around, he supposed. His energy certainly felt higher with the proper meals rather than just eating whatever cheap and easy thing he could get his hands on. It was shocking to him just how many little things you changed for the better around him. Even sleeping on a proper bed really did him some good.

🌑 What got him the most, though… Nanu would admit how much his mood seemed to improve. While he was still quite committed to being the exhausted old man he was, you somehow brought out a better side to him. It was no secret to those close to him that he had a soft side, but you helped him express it in a way that let him feel less concerned about being taken advantage of. Needless to say, Acerola was delighted to see the grumpy old man being nicer than usual. The other Kahunas teased him about it… On a second, though, maybe he disliked it.

🌌Cyrus🛰

☄️ It was difficult for the Galactic Boss. His long period of shutting himself away from everyone else led to a difficulty in having someone stay with him in his person space. Though, he felt himself unable to even think of pushing you away, despite how unsettling seeing your face in the morning at his side could be. Somehow, you always ended up far closer to him than you started in the night (even if he was on your side, and it was his arm around you). Yet, having company proved fruitful, he supposed. Coming home at night to you became a reason for him to actually leave the office and not entirely lose himself in the madness of his plans.

☄️ Somehow, you even brought healthier habits all around. Encouragement to join you outside in doing things led to him doing more than just going to work and going home. Veilstone was a decently busy city which brought you two in wandering various shopping centres. Though, one time, Cyrus had to catch you before you wandered into a pachinko parlour, confusing it for a popular clothing boutique somehow. You also led him out around the region to do more than just mule over his research. A visit to Jubilife reminded him of how interesting this world can be… Yet, he refused to let himself be swayed.

☄️ Those around Cyrus commented on how he seemed to be in a better mood… Almost like he had more going on for him. Though, he felt he was mostly unchanged. It was simply that he had intentions of indulging you when he could. His plans took time after all… In the meantime, he would enjoy the company you provided. It was what he enjoyed most about your presence ever in his home. The only person whom he felt able to stand… You truly were a calming bond in his life. A smile and greeting when he came home truly revitalised him in a way he could not understand. Perhaps… He could rethink a few things. But only a few.

👑Lear💎

🪙 You moving in with him was a given – He initiated it, after all. There were little expectations for change, except that you would be with him. Though, he did find himself more at peace. His quarters felt more lively with your presence within them. He felt excited to show you everything available to him and offer it to you… But, what truly ended up clicking for him were the small things you brought. Your presence was comforting in a sense that no one else seemed to bring. Lying with you in his bed compared to nothing else in this world. He felt so at ease just having always within his arm's reach after being alone for so many years.

🪙 Your gentle scolding about him about being callous about commoner things brought out different understandings from him… Especially when you explained your own experiences. Though, he would admit to being horrified. His concern peaked, and you would have to be more protected… His understanding of the need for more reasonably priced goods were finally understood. With you at his side, he felt that Pasio would become even more of a paradise than it already was. He was a bit more embarrassed by his lack of knowledge, but he had been intended to be king… This information was simply not a necessity to him. Fast food certainly had scared him, despite your insistence that it was good and cheap. These interactions definitely gave him more of an appeal to those visiting Pasio, at least.

🪙 The best thing he discovered…. Was how much he enjoyed just being himself with you. Sitting quietly with you at his side while you spoke about various things with him. The feeling of your skin to his bare hands was a certain intimacy he had been unaware that he was lacking previously. Seeing you with his exposed eyes was something enchanting – With you, he knew that you saw him as a person. He was not your prince. No, he was just Lear. That comfort was everything to him.

♠️Grimsley❤️

♤ The adjustment was difficult for the gambler. He was used to his home being nothing but a place he occasionally returned to in order to sleep. Knowing you were there… He found himself coming home more often. While, he had decorated his home quite extravagantly. Though, it hardly felt like a home. You, however, seemed to shift things around. Unlike him, you returned for more than just sleep. It was strange to see the rooms become something more lived in. You napping on his leather couch when he came in late made a small smile tug at his lips frequently. Your personal effects around the apartment made him sigh contentedly. There was a strange feeling at the thought of you being here for him.

♡ You brought him home more often. His vices were all-consuming, but his libido could be tamed by you with no risk. If you shot him a text asking him to come home makes him weigh whether gambling and battling that evening was worth it. It was strange… The gambler felt almost domesticated. He still frequently spent many nights out until the late hours, but his evenings in with you became a nice reprieve from it all. Even if it was just as simple as spending time with you – He became enchanted with your presence in a way that had spiralled his madness for you in the first place.

◇ Though, his favourite thing… He would relent… It would be seeing you doing domestic things. The rich boy would admit that there was something oddly pleasant in seeing you cook for him. He liked quality dishes, but he would relent the special feeling that settled inside him at the thought of the effort you put into your cooking. Even the act of doing his laundry made him feel oddly, more and more interested in you. This was far too much like a normal relationship. The dynamic was oddly addicting to him. He has a strange urge to participate… Get ready for Grimsley to attempt the dishes by himself.

[ronearoundblindly]

a kiss out of envy + ari 🤭

As promised, love, I give you...

frat boy!Ari Levinson x reader, one of my Valentine's Fics of 2024 (yes, you read that correctly, and no, I don't want to talk about it. 🥲 It's been a rough year lol.)

Summary: You and Ari want each other for all the wrong reasons.

Warnings (regarding both parts of the story) for drinking and partying, language, shitty behavior from...yeah everyone is a bit of a mess in this ngl (it's college), vaguely taboo mutual pining, and not-really cheating/implied cheating (applies to multiple people). This is an angsty weird fluffy sorta romance with an ambiguous ending because no one can communicate to save their f**king lives...BUT HEY! KISSES. MINORS DNI. There's plenty for younger readers on my Light Masterlist, but not here! WC 3.9k

A/N: This is the first half from Reader's perspective.

College is…predictable.

You spent the first weeks of your freshman year faking self-assurance you didn’t actually feel because confidence is sexy—or whatever the saying is,—and if you had to start from scratch, you might as well start from a place you’re proud of.

You made friends. You went out with your roommate. You stayed out late with lots of people you don’t know, and you smiled. Holy shit, did you smile…

The attempt to ‘get out there’ brought constant stress; you wanted to define your social life right off the bat, but good people are hard to find.

You officially decided you were looking in the wrong place for any good people while at the Lawn Party three-quarters of the way through your first semester.

Finally, you’d tried. You pulled out all the stops. You wore the nicer, trendier clothes that you splurged on for events just like this. You put on extra makeup, brought some with you in your little purse to touch it up, and when you smiled in the mirror seconds before running out of the dorm with your roomie, you really were self-assured. You felt sexy.

Though the party was outdoors, you stuck with just the one layer of a light-colored, flowy top, something whimsical and fun, something less useful and more useless, but that’s the idea of fashion, you suppose.

When the breeze caught the fabric, you imagined you were in a movie, one of those scenes where the heroine is about to get noticed by the man of her dreams.

That is exactly the opposite of what happened.

You’d been there all of half an hour, your roommate off to get drinks (after you whined and waited and stalled, hoping to strike up some conversation without partaking in the shared, bad decisions of the swath of 18-22 year olds meandering across a grass field behind the sports complex), when you heard a really loud, shrill laugh behind you and turned.

A red Solo cup crumpled against your boob and beer exploded across your chest, drenching your shirt and dripping grossly down your stomach.

“Wooooah,” the big guy still gripping shredded plastic drawled, eyes glued to your see-through blouse as it clung to your front. “Sorry.”

The girl who laughed with him put her hand up to her mouth. “Oh. My god.” Yet she just laughed more.

That was it. That was the sum total acknowledgment of your destroyed outfit and evaporated dignity.

“Ari,” someone called, startling your assailant to look away with his unresponsive, blown pupils.

You noticed a few drops of beer on his letterman jacket, so, sure, in comparison to your entire front half being soaked, that seemed a fair-and-equal trade for your embarrassment.

Then he was gone, the laughing girl following the asshole, Ari, and his idiot friends as they recapped the football game from…whenever.

You left the party once the waistband of your jeans felt soggy.

You spent longer washing your beer-sponge bra in the dorm sink than you did on the lawn.

Now you know college is a fucking joke. That party became a defining moment in your social life. You realized men—no, boys—like Ari will never care about you as you really are, and finally, you’ve accepted that you don’t want them to.

They don’t deserve to know you.

Sophomore year. Women’s Studies. Of all the fucking classes…

On day one Ari plopped down in the desk next to you.

He plopped because his whole left leg was strapped into a thick brace that kept it straight and jutted out, unable to fit in the tiny seat. He’s so tall his thonged foot tapped at yours beneath your own chair.

In your utter frustration and irritation (since the professor had already started talking), you automatically muttered an apology—to Ari, like some pushover—and moved your legs.

“Not your fault,” the footballer softly chuckled, taking another long moment to settle his crutches on the floor.

Were there no other seats?

You sighed and knew, you just knew down in your bones, that this would be a long damn semester. You also had every faith, however, that this fuck-boy classmate would do just about anything to stay in the course dedicated to his favorite pastime: women.

Though that was an assumption, Ari proved you right, and it sucked.

It took all your innate kindness and compassion not to spit on him. Honestly, the guy is just…dumb. When your eyes wandered every so often, you always found him looking confused, but he wouldn’t ask questions. Several times you caught him sneaking peeks at your notes. You just couldn’t take it.

He fell asleep in one class!

With the course final mere weeks away, the OCD part of your brain kicked in and shoved several sheets of important points you’d written down into his lap before he fully woke up.

His brace was off by then, but Ari still moved slowly.

Again, he looked so confused.

“I expect them back on Wednesday,” you said with a tight jaw, barely restraining the choice names you’d wanted to call him.

You’d been conditioned so heavily to be nice that you smiled at him. A small smile, yeah, but you smiled at the coddled asshole who did not deserve to pass the class. You should have let him fail. You should have let him lean harder on that damn scholarship.

Football held his dead-weight up this long; what’s a few more years?

Nearly the end of your Senior year. Off-campus. You’ve tried.

Socializing is a hit-and-miss game, and you’re learning that sometimes the miss happens slowly, without failed plays, with all the effort you could muster.

“Look, if we’re not doing anything here, then I’m going to the party. You coming? The house is two blocks away.”

Your boyfriend, Billy, stands with his apartment door open and his roommates calling to him from down the hall. He’s frustrated, you know that, but his frustration doesn’t negate the uneasy twist in your gut you get whenever he tries to take things further than making out.

Billy is perfect on paper. He studies hard, has a job already lined up for summer, is driven to achieve…and desperately wants to get laid.

He’s cute, totally adequate in that department, yet still, you can’t force yourself to let him touch you any more than absolutely necessary. You two have excellent conversations, multiple shared interests, and you have no words to describe your lack of…want. It eats you up right along with that twisting aversion to fuck him—because it is specific to him.

You don’t lack for interest in men, even if these are still boys around you. You’re attracted. Kinda. You thought attraction could grow from affection, too, but it hasn’t in months with Billy. It doesn’t make you think he lacks in some way; you feel lacking.

Maybe you lack sympathy. Maybe you lack understanding. Maybe you are just as superficial as those slutty girls you hate, the ones sure to be at this party. Maybe Billy thinks those girls will rub off on you if you’re surrounded.

There’s no one thing, no quantifiable logic; he just doesn’t do it for you. That won’t change.

Your relationship has an expiration date, and you feel it approaching.

Unsurprisingly, you can’t bring yourself to be mean and tell him an outright ‘no.’ It’s rude to say ‘I’m not attracted to you,’ right? You’re a nice person, and it’s not nice to hurt someone who hasn’t done anything wrong.

The heavy pain in your belly grows dense, but still, nothing changes.

The compulsion to be kind and quiet continues as you follow him out, tucking your hands under your arms so Billy won’t try to touch you, but it doesn’t matter. He walks a few feet ahead to keep up with his friends on the walk down the road to the Kappa house.

The two-story, plantation-style home is packed to the gills, making it hard to maneuver past the front door, and of course, the first person you recognize is a brother of the fraternity living there.

Ari Levinson stands halfway up the staircase overlooking the crowd like a king surveying his domain, hair grown long and a beard worthy of his fifth-year undergrad status. He’s wearing a button-up linen shirt as if he just walked in from the beach, perpetually sun-kissed skin glowing, the carefree blue fabric matching his eyes.

Asshole.

He probably showed up to his own damn house, cocked his head, and smirked.

“Y’all having a party?” he probably asked, chill as fuck.

Idiot…probably. You don’t know what happened to him after Women’s Studies, but you can’t imagine he got better. Nothing changes.

His queen-for-the-day leans into his ear, her chest covered only by a red bandana and not much below that hidden by a miniskirt.

What sluts. Both of them. They deserve each other.

He’s so sexy though.

His smile is bright while he doesn’t spill the contents of his red Solo cup on anyone beneath him on the stairs. Seems his drunk coordination has improved at the very least.

“Babe,” you hear yelled close to your ear, “take it!”

Billy shoves one of two cups he’s carrying into your hands and shouts to follow him. He wants to play beer pong in one of back rooms downstairs, a room with no space to stand and watch. There are no chairs, but Billy asks if want to play with him. In no reality would he think you’d answer ‘yes’ in this chaos, but then again, he hasn’t noticed you won’t take a sip of the drink you didn’t see poured either. That’s not even a trusting him problem; for all you someone else made the drinks for Billy, and then you absolutely don’t trust it.

If he can’t manage to notice your reticence, why should Billy care if you’re comfortable?

You yell back that you’re going to find a seat somewhere. Billy gets whisked away for the next partnered game, and relief washes over you.

The only open spot that isn’t a squeeze beside couples going at it in public is a bench underneath the cutout of the staircase. You take a detour to dump your cup in the crowded kitchen’s sink and sit alone for a while, people-watching, wondering vaguely about the king and queen above you on the steps.

Parties…are not all that fun when you don’t feel safe, welcome, or seen. College is predictable this way.

You’re not sure how much time passes before a light blue linen shirt invades your view.

Looking to your right, you don’t see anyone paying attention, and looking to your left you see a sloped wall.

He’s looking directly at you.

“Thirsty?” Ari asks casually, offering the only cup he carries.

You wave it off with a polite ‘no, thank you,’ even though that should be sketchier than your boyfriend getting you a drink.

Ari takes a huge gulp and shuffles his broad body onto the too-short edge of the bench beside you. He seems careful not to touch you or invade your space, the barest graze of a short-sleeve cuff brushing the skin of your upper arm.

Again, Ari tilts the cup toward you. “Jack and Coke,” he shrugs, lifting his eyebrows, “mostly Coke though. I’ve been here a while. You’re basically late.”

You can’t help but blurt, “you live here.”

“That is an astute observation, smartie pants,” he adds with a proud smile. Those, you imagine, might be the biggest words the guy knows.

You also imagine he wouldn’t drug himself with anything,, and worst case, Ari’s already much drunker than you.

You pluck the half-full Solo from his hand, your pinky running the length of his forefinger in the process, knuckles hard beneath callused skin, and take a small sip. He’s right about one thing; you can’t smell or taste any alcohol.

His smile softens. Your pinky tingles even after you return his drink.

“Where’s whats-his-face?” Ari scans the hall. “Probably getting you something better, huh?”

You can’t help but frown and sigh as he takes another swig of soda, pink lips nearly hidden beneath the hair of his beard, but you remember they are quite plump. He only had stubble in class two years ago. You shouldn’t be thinking about what those lips might feel like. Hell, you shouldn’t be sharing a drink with anyone because that’s more intimate than anything you’ve enjoyed doing with Billy recently.

Billy is pushy and inexperienced. Every time he goes to touch you, it reminds you that he’s desperate for it, but…not in a flattering way. It’s difficult to describe.

“Where’s your girlfriend?” you throw out loudly, keeping your guess silent. Perhaps hugging the toilet bowl?

Though a simple question, Ari looks somewhere between giddy and chided while contemplating his answer. He’s so dumb, poor thing. “Flying with the pigs,” he settles on.

“What?”

He repeats himself, and then, seeing your confusion, he leans closer to clarify, “she doesn’t exist. I don’t have a girlfriend.”

Ow, rough gig bandana girl. That’s a little harsh: being fobbed off mid-party. Although, you aren’t exactly replacing her. Ari is just talking to you. It doesn’t mean anything. He’s sitting beside you, only a little closer than Women’s Studies, sharing a sip of soda. That’s all.

“So, genius—”Ari elbows you gently, taking advantage to stay arm-to-arm this time “—how you been?”

You notice you’ve been shrinking against the wall and straighten as best you can without looking as if you’re pushing your boobs out.

“Fine. Just…busy with school work.”

Internally, you groan, hating to sound so boring and feeding into this idea you are nothing but a bookworm.

Ari swallows the last of his drink, and you watch as his adam’s apple bobs lewdly—at least, it should be considered lewd with how the motion leads your eye down to the matching dark chest hair peeking behind the shirt collar. He scrunches his nose when the bubbles hit the back of his palate.

“Good. You always seemed happy. Bet you’re top of our class.” He emphasizes the year because he should have graduated already. Originally, he was a year ahead, but then he took a red-shirt year while injured. Ari doesn’t appear to mind that’s something else you share.

You bite your lip and wonder if he’s baiting you. If there’s one thing you’ve heard consistently in your whole young adult life, it’s that you ‘look angry’ and could ‘benefit’ from smiling more.

“I’m…somewhere up there, yeah,” you allow.

He points over his other shoulder and shimmies the empty cup in front of him. “You want one? What’s your favorite?”

For the first time all night, what you want has been considered. Not only if you want a drink, but which one do you want. Such a small thing, and yet the twist in your stomach unfurls a little. The drink itself doesn’t matter; the thought does. That, and being comfortable near him.

“Whatever you’re having.”

Ari flashes that megawatt smile of his and says he’ll be back in a jiffy.

The true value of a beautiful idiot is you don’t have to be on edge. Your basic knowledge of any subject (save sports) would read as genius to a guy like him…which is also why it feels so unbelievable Ari’s choosing to hang in this corner with you. He’s friends with everyone. He could get anything from anybody here. It’s nice to be wanted, not needed.

He returns with two cups, one with a couple shots worth of Jack Daniels, the other full of CocaCola. He looks at you for approval, hesitating in case you want just plain soda, and then makes a huge show of his ‘mixing’ skills.

Absolute moron did not consider the carbonation exploding with every pour back and forth.

It’s a horrible mess of foam and splashing liquid. Both his hands are dripping and sticky, but you laugh freely by the end. You never thought you’d see the day Ari Levinson spilling a drink wouldn’t be triggering.

Not even a fleeting image of that ruined blouse crosses your mind while you weakly clinkthe plastic cups together. It’s the epitome of the college experience in your eyes. For once, you aren’t upset by that fact.

You keep smiling, wrinkling your nose at the fizz bursting on the back of your tongue. You can’t help it.

Ari is a happy drunk, and he starts talking, joking with you, tucked away in your own little bubble.

It’s the most you’ve ever heard him speak.

He’s self-deprecating about the same, drunken party behavior that you have watched him participate in for years, and yet you dismiss that as nothing, normal even, and unconsciously nudge closer to Ari, your side flush with his as you bend to see the person he’s bad-mouthing now.

He seems to like the irony in that and chuckles as he says someone over there is getting sloppy, lifting his Solo to his mouth with a dainty pinky raised in defiance. He’s a goofball. You haven’t been so relaxed with someone in…months.

Both drinks are finished quickly, and Ari offers to grab more.

The warm buzz humming beneath your skin tells you ‘yes,’ but your higher brain function steadfastly puts a foot down.

“I shouldn’t,” you mutter, sounding undecided.

He shrugs. For whatever reason, you appreciate that Ari isn’t pushing for anything from you, but that’s exactly what makes you want more from him. He stacks the empty cups and mentions walking you home. He could use some fresh air, he says.

“I should find Billy…”

Ari rolls his shoulders and thinks, his eyes follow suit, scraping his peripheral vision for an alternative that never presents. He stands up, arms akimbo, dramatically squinting to ‘think’ harder.

“He was wearing that red ball cap, right?”

“What?” You’ve never seen your boyfriend don a hat once but suddenly remember the pong partner who pulled him over. “No, that’s Leo,” you scream over the noise now that Ari is standing a few paces away. “Billy’s in, like, a neutral t-shirt.”

Ari smirks, scanning. “One beige Billy, coming up!”

Off he darts into the crowd, much faster than you’ve ever seen a drunk man move, and you skitter behind, realizing Ari stops at the kitchen only when you slam into his back.

He throws the empty cups into the trash and turns to the sink, washing his hands with dish soap, drying them on his shirt, leaving darker streaks of blue.

“Okay, not sticky,” Ari beams, “so now we go.”

Easily, naturally, his hand scoops up yours, and Ari leads you deftly through the throng.

He’s holding your hand. It’s damp and rough and cool and warm all at once. And you grasp it. You’re holding his hand back.

Though tall enough to see over most heads, Ari takes a good long while to notice everyone because they keep moving about. 

Pointing with your still-joined hands, you shout to check the beer pong room, but no Billy.

You two amble through the entire lower floor, stopped several times by people greeting Ari, and he introduces you automatically. You hope none of these other drunk frat boys remembers seeing you hold his hand while asking where your damn boyfriend is.

Without fail, each friend asks if you two are together, and to his credit, Ari quickly changes to “have you seen a guy…” and describes Billy.

“Dunno, man. Check upstairs?”

Ari thanks them and glances at you, a look of defeat creasing his forehead.

He drums his free fingers on the banister. He hesitates.

“Wait here?” he offers but drops your hand and doesn’t pause for your reply.

Using a football drill tactic, Ari bolts expertly up the stairs while you get waylaid by some girls holding up a selfie-stick to make a video. They bitch at the angle, ignoring you, and have to reshoot. You can’t get past.

Yelling.

Suddenly, there’s lots of yelling coming from the packed second floor and a door slams. Half the people in the stairway and hall look up.

More crashing and thudding noises ring out.

With everyone frozen, you shove your way through.

“What the fuck,” you hear just as some guy backs away, almost knocking you down. “Who the hell do you think you are, man?”

Your legs take you inside though your heart lodges in your throat.

Ari’s got Billy pinned over a wrecked desk on the other side of the room while the girl with the bandana top stands by a bed, pulling down her mini skirt. She snaps for Ari to mind his own business, and Ari immediately shoots a glare at her over his shoulder, keeping Billy pinned beneath him.

“Beks, for fuck’s sake,” Ari starts, but quickly, the guy who pushed you in the hall cusses her out louder than anyone else.

“Serves you right for getting back with Erin,” Bandana Girl snaps.

“Eat shit, Rebekah. You don’t actually care!”

What…is going on? These people are nuts.

At least four more bodies squeeze through the door, all looking blazing-mad while you get pushed farther into the suffocating room. You’re bewildered and overwhelmed.

Blocker Guy lunges forward and shoves Ari off of Billy.

Your hands are up, claiming space to breathe, but there’s way too much going on. No one—not even you—can hear your voice crying to be let out.

Funny thing is, you aren’t crying for Billy to help you. Only after you yell for Ari does your brain process that your boyfriend’s fly is down, his jeans unbuttoned, too.

A large, rough hand grabs your wrist and yanks you to the door, barreling you both through the crowd to another room down the hall. It’s surreal to see the group descend on the fight like moths to a flame, drawn to watch what horrible thing these students will do next.

Ari man-handles you inside without hitting a light switch. It’s pitch black, but the closed door at your back muffles only a fraction of the commotion.

From the other side, you hear Billy calling your name, but Ari’s soft, panting breath steals your focus as it gusts across your neck.

His lips shift close to your ear.

“Don’t do it, smartie,” he whispers. “Leave him.”

The stale smell of beer wafts forward when you lean farther into that letterman jacket Ari keeps prominently hung. You feel the ribs of the cuffs against your bare arms until, suddenly, it’s the ridges of Ari’s rough fingers ghosting over your skin.

If Billy’s still screaming, you can’t tell. Your heart thunders in your chest as the hot breath rolling over you moves up your neck and over your jaw.

He’s right there.

He’s right there. He’s drunk. He’s stupid. He doesn’t matter. You don’t matter to him. It’ll never work and it doesn’t have to. This could be so simple.

You envy how easy this is for him, always another girl around the corner, in the next room, who will want him, but you can’t bring yourself to feel bad about wanting to use him. He’s right there, willingly, single or not, sober or not, and so you grip the soft linen of his shirt collar and tug him straight to you.

It doesn’t matter how sloppy you are, how shy or how forceful you get, because you live like him in this moment.

Ari doesn’t care about anything. Self-assured. Confident. Sexy. Popular. He doesn’t have to care.

Now, neither do you.

[Next Part]

⬅️ Steve Rogers and a kiss where it hurts

[Main Masterlist; Ko-Fi]

[k1ng-ej]

I saw you were doing Shadow the hedgehog requests, I was wondering if you can make shadow x reader having a picnic in a warm day, thank you

Tastes like strawberry

Note: Thank you for the request! this one is a little shorter, but i hope you enjoy! for anyone interested in sending a request, check out my pinned post for rules & info.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀୨ ₊ ┈ ⪩⪨   ┈ ₊ ୧

. . .

The sun cast warm, refreshing rays to the earth beneath her, allowing plant life to receive the sunlight it needed for growth, and providing the perfect day for everyone to get out and enjoy a breath of fresh air. You were sat at home, gazing out of your window and awaiting your boyfriends return. Today proved to be a nice day, and you desired to go out and enjoy it, instead of staying inside and missing out on the comforting weather. The harsh winters recently made you miss the warmth and beauty of summer, and so you were excited for when Shadow returned from his trip to the market. You had eagerly asked him if he could spend a few hours outside with you, and he agreed, needing a day of peace to relax. You told him you wanted to have a picnic, but didn't have any fruits or snacks to bring, he offered to make a quick trip to grab some.

With a sigh, you pushed yourself up from the couch and strolled into the kitchen, beginning to prepare waters and simple sandwiches to bring along with you. You heard the click of the front door opening and poked your head around the corner to see a familiar raven hedgehog stepping in. He ran a frustrated hand through his highlighted quills, which were due for a touch up soon. Quickly, you washed your hands and hurried over to him. You took the paper bag that carried the fruits you requested from his hands, and placed them on the kitchen counter.

Taking Shadows gloved hands into yours, you offered him a warm smile. "Hey, try and relax today, okay?"

He had a tendency to take on workloads greater than he could handle, he wanted to believe he could take on multiple problems at once, but it would lead to him being overworked and stressed, which in the end, made him moody and not fun to be around.

With a quick, subtle nod, Shadow snaked his arms around your waist and rested his chin on your shoulder, inhaling your comforting scent. You smiled, beginning to gently stroke the top of his head. You knew better than trying to force a conversation with someone who already didn't like them, and on top of that was stressed out of their mind. Today was a day for you two to relax together and enjoy each other's presence, and the warm weather.

Reluctantly, you pulled away from his embrace and got to work washing the fruits and putting them into containers to bring along for the picnic. Shadow had made himself comfortable on the couch, enjoying the pleasant silence that settled in your home. Not long after, you two were setting off towards a secluded spot for the picnic.

Arriving in a small field, beneath a large tree that provided some shade, Shadow threw down a soft blanket over the lush grass before settling down. The field you two were in was beautiful, with blooming flowers and fluttering butterflies, the breeze was warm and provided a relaxing environment. Shadows expression seemed much more relaxed in this setting, the crease between his brows seemed to have less tension, and his lips rested in a fine line. You enjoyed seeing him like this, it was a rare sight, and you learned to savor every moment of it. With a content smile on your face, you sat down next to Shadow, placing the basket of goods in front of you. You felt a sudden weight on your shoulder, when you looked over you were greeted with the sight of your boyfriend resting his head on your shoulder, eyes fluttering shut.

Your heart swelled, and you reached into the basket and pulled out strawberries along with some chocolate you had melted before. You knew Shadow was not the biggest fan of sweets, but he seemed to enjoy chocolate covered strawberries a lot. Most weekends, if he were home, he would pepper you with kisses while shyly asking if you could make him some, it was an adorable interaction, The Ultimate Lifeform asking you to make him his favorite treat instead of buying cheap, store bought ones.

Dipping a strawberry into the chocolate, you brought it up to his mouth. "Open."

He quirked his brow, but parted his lips for you. You fed him the chocolate covered strawberry, he hummed with confusion, which then turned into a hum of satisfaction as he chewed.

"Good?"

"It's good, thank you." His eyes slowly opened as he lifted his head to look at you. His gaze was filled with nothing but affection for you, it made your heart warm.

You chuckled, reaching your hand up to his face and wiping away some chocolate that smeared. Bringing your thumb to your lips, you licked the excess. You watched as Shadows eyes slightly widened, and he stared at you with a blush creeping up his cheeks. Before you could ask him what was wrong, his hand was cupping your cheek and his lips were pressed against yours in a deep kiss. Your heart skipped a beat, his fur was soft beneath your fingertips as your arms instinctively wrapped around his neck, pulling him flush against you. You felt him smile against your lips, his free hand moving to the small of your back. His tongue pressed against the entrance of your mouth, and with pleasure you allowed his tongue to slip past your lips. He had the subtle taste of chocolate and strawberry on his tongue. A soft moan rumbled in his chest, a delicious sound that ignited butterflies in your belly. You yearned for more, to have him closer, despite having him pressed against your chest, but your lungs begged for air and you would have to part from the kiss.

With flushed cheeks and swollen lips, you rested your forehead against his, breathing heavily. He looked at you with half lidded eyes, and parted lips as his thumb tenderly rubbed your cheek.

"Shadow…" You began, fingers unconsciously twirling the fur on the back of his neck.

"Shut up." His tone was soft and sarcastic as he pulled you into another kiss, but this time it was brief, just to get another taste of your lips and hear the delectable sound you made when his lips connected with yours. When he pulled away this time, he shuffled to rest his head in your lap, demanding you to feed him more strawberries, to which you happily obliged.

[jojissalsa]

Perfect body, Pretty face

Warnings: dom!Leon x fem/sub!reader, power dynamics (boss/assistant), daddy kink, mentions of nudes/sex work, taking pictures during sex, facial, condescension, slight praise, mentions of age gap (reader is in mid 20s), clothes ripping (tights), reader is bratty at some point.

hello again :3 i wanna post what i can while i have the time, so i can kinda build this page up. hope u guys enjoy this one even if i feel like i made a few mistakes and lmk where i can improve! constructive criticism, reposts and requests are always welcome :D (minors don’t interact, touch grass.)

WC: 3.3k (proofread)

When Leon first came to the D.S.O, he expected bigger missions and harder work. Not boring ass reports and paperwork. The missions were definitely longer, which meant piles atop piles of paperwork that would take longer than it should. When the D.S.O realized Leon needed more time on his reports compared to the rookies or standard agents, they gave him a hand. You, his new assistant. And god, were you helpful. You were more than a sight for sore eyes, you were distracting at first, but even more so as he got to know you. You even remembered his favorite coffee order, and what he liked most for lunch. To him, you were just doing a good job. But in reality, you just wanted to get in his pants more than anything.

Your last boss was such a douchebag, the typical mansplaining and ungratefulness. But Leon? He was such a sweetheart, and so understanding. He didn’t get annoyed when you made a tiny mistake, a couple minutes late or working slower at the end of your shift. You knew damn well your attraction to him was bad for you and this job, but Eve still ate that apple didn’t she? You were the same, always attracted to forbidden fruit. But when it was Leon, who cares about forbidden? It just adds to the flavor. Obviously being an assistant didn’t make the most money, but at least you got a pretty face to work with. And there’s no shame in a side hustle, right? That’s what you thought when you made a Twitter account when you first became an assistant, well, intern at first. The job was so damn stressful and your shitty boss didn’t help. It was harmless fun at first, posting a few lewd pictures of your cleavage or in cute two-piece bathing suits you got. And then it got even lewder, posting pictures of your bare tits, dim lighting from your computer, things like that until you said fuck it and showed all the goods. Complaining about your shitty boss became part of your brand, as well as the faceless part of your nudes. You never showed your face, only your hair if it was a full body picture, not because you were ashamed of what you were doing. Not in the slightest, actually. You were just worried about word spreading around the office, especially since you were getting fairly popular. No face, no case, right? Plus, it’s not like anyone had x-ray vision to see if you had the same tits. It’s not like it hurt business either, you had a perfect body. You weren’t the skinniest person in the world, average like most people’s bodies. But to you, it was perfect. It suited you and flaunting it made you happy.

Your brand definitely shifted when you changed bosses, less complaining about how much your job sucked to more complaining about how badly you needed your boss to look at you differently. Pictures of you up-skirt under your desk whenever he wasn't looking or left to grab you both coffee or lunch, captions that always mentioned him.

"is it bad that my boss gets me this wet?"

"wish my boss would crawl under my desk and take care of this ;p"

And they would only get more and more risky. Posts of your increasingly skimpy outfits and a courtesy picture of you out of them captioned "you guys think my boss will like? lol". A video of you cumming in the bathroom at work, another where you cheekily slipped your fingers in your cunt, rubbing your slick over your clit before giggling as you turn the recording off.

Leon really didn’t mean to find something of yours this personal, he was just a guy looking for porn where he knew he could find it. He may be old but the man still needs to get off. And he was a man of taste, he liked the amateur stuff, and he knew Twitter had it. When he stumbled across your account, he thought it was perfect. At first he didn't know it was you, but by your most recent posts, it was obvious. You never name dropped him, or even said what he looked like, only saying he was fine and looked like a dilf, which was definitely an ego boost when he figured out it was you. It was easy, really. He was bored at night, couldn’t sleep like usual, and hoped that jacking off would clear his head a bit. It didn’t clear his head in the slightest when he saw your most recent video. It was of you working overtime, fingering yourself on his desk. Biting your lip to stay quiet but failing miserably as your fingers keep rubbing against that spongy spot in your walls, palm slapping against your clit. The best part? You said his name while you came. Maybe not his full name, but the way you let it out subconsciously, saying "Mr. Kennedy" in the most pornographic way possible, realizing you did and then giggling when you felt no remorse. Only an "oh shit" and a cutesy laugh as you abruptly ended the video. He was gonna say something tomorrow. He had to.

The second you walk in the door with that polite smile you always have, cute pink blouse and short pencil skirt, he waves you over to his desk. "Y/n, come here for a sec." His stern tone makes you blush and immediately walk over after setting down your bag. "Yes, sir? Is there something you need from me?" You expect him to say he needs a file or some kind of paper, but he shocks you when he turns his monitor around to show your twitter page. "You know anything about this?" You don't show it on your face, but the way you clench your jaw makes it obvious. You've got a good poker face, he'll give you that. "No sir, am I supposed to?" You get a bit of an attitude, mainly because he just totally called you out. "I don't know, you tell me." He scrolled very little down to your last post, the video. You gulp, knowing damn well you said his name. "Is that you saying my name?" His tone is still stern, but it feels more teasing now, considering his cocky smirk. He has you in a corner. "Don't you think it's a little sleazy to be prying into my personal hobbies?" Your attitude gets more prominent, crossing your arms and giving him a sharp glare. You were more prideful than anything, his smugness starting to piss you off because of how turned on you were getting. "Don't you think it's a bit slutty to finger fuck yourself on my desk?" When he shot back at you with that you froze, face going completely red. Not only was he right, you had no room to talk about his habits, but the way he said it was so fucking hot it lit a fire in you, shockwaves shooting straight to your clit.

You felt uncomfortable under his gaze, your lips parted as you felt your pulse throbbing between your thighs, knowing your panties were soaked. "You gonna say something or just come over here already? Stop wasting my time, I have work to do." It was instant when he said that, hips swaying as you walked to him, holding your hands in front of you as you looked down at the ground. "What's got you all shy? You certainly weren't shy last night." His teasing was really getting to you, making your lips squeeze as you shift your thighs again, your chest feeling so heavy with every breath you took. "Didn't I tell you not to waste my time? Sit on my desk and spread your legs." Your breath hitches at his demanding words, hopping up on his desk and spreading your legs. You thank god that it was a little chilly today, making you wear sheer black tights. Not that you'd be wearing them long, you just hope the wet spot on your panties wasn’t noticeable. "Jesus, soaked through your fucking tights? You're that excited?" His teasing made you go wide eyed, whimpering at his smug gaze piercing through you. "Yes sir.." You finally manage to speak, even if it sounds breathless and needy. Your eyes stay steady on him, taking in every feature you can. You lick your lips from the sight of his hard cock pressed against his tight slacks, not daring to close your legs in the slightest even if you were desperate for friction. "See something you like?" You watch him palm over his hard on, just watching something that sinful makes you moan softly. "I thought you said not to waste your time? What are you waiting for?" You throw any bit of shyness out the window, brattiness taking its place instead. After all, he meddled into something private, why make it easy for him? That’s no fun~

His brows furrowed as he gives you an annoyed look, groaning in frustration as he shoots up from his office chair and grabs your waist, pulling you from his desk and flipping you to bend over. He certainly doesn't waste any time now, pulling your skirt up and ripping a massive hole in your tights, making you gasp and squirm, turning your head to try and see the damage. "Don't complain, no point in denying you like it. Why else are your panties fucking drenched?" You throw him a frustrated glare before grumbling something about those being expensive under your breath. "Sorry, what was that?" You gasp as his hand slams down harshly on your ass cheek, whining at his gentle kneading on the now stinging red spot. "You're trying so hard to be bratty, when you're usually such a sweet girl. Always coming here early, bringing me coffee, remembering my favorite lunch. You don't do that because you like this job, hell, a slut like you doesn’t care about working hard. You do it because you want my attention." His hand keeps kneading the fat of your ass, making you back up into his palm for more. That doesn't stop your attitude though. "Oh boo hoo, as if you didn't love every second of it. How'd you even find my page? The nursing home gives you internet after 10?" Your bitchy tone doesn't go unnoticed by him, and neither does your smug smirk that is clearly challenging him, if anything it lights the same fire inside him, dick twitching under his slacks. He shoots you a glare that says "you really wanna do this?", as if you care about that silly warning. What's the worst he could do? "Y'know they shouldn't give a pervy old man like you access to stuff like that, it rots your brain~" You get cut off by another slap on your ass, harder than the last one, he doesn't even bother to soothe the sting with his hand. "Pervy old man? Then what are you? Some slut thinking of her boss's cock all day. How high and mighty." Another slap, and you're already unraveling by the second, the tingling sensation from his spanks sending shock after shock to your clit.

"You go on and on about me on that damn site for thousands to see, so why not take what you want? You're getting nowhere by being an ungrateful brat." He's really starting to make sense with how desperate you are to be touched, for that release you so desperately need. And with how hard his spanking is getting, it's making your head dizzy. He presses his hard-on against your ass, making you whine and grind against him. That's not enough for him though, he needs you to say it, the same way you said his name last night. "C'mon pretty girl, get what you want and ask for it, I know you can." He grinds against your ass, finally snapping through the sane part of your brain. "Fuck! Fine, please, please give it to me, I can't wait anymore, please Mr. Kennedy.." You beg in a gravelly voice, nails digging into his desk as the neediness in you builds. "Need what? You can say it." He slaps your ass again, a little gentler now that you're finally getting there, sliding his hand down to press his thumb on the gusset on your panties, hissing at how wet it felt. "Your cock, Leon, please, I need your cock so bad.." You whimper in broken fragments from your voice breaking, sighing in relief as he finally pulls down your panties, feeling your slick connect to them in strings and the cool air contrasting how hot you feel. As you heard the sound of metal clinking and a zipper pulled down you wished he flipped you over, because you really wanted to see his cock, turning your head in a desperate attempt to steal a quick glance. "Don't worry baby, you'll get a good look later." You don't care enough to question him, you care more about his tip pressed against your folds, threatening to stretch you open.

The coil of anticipation that's released when he finally slides inside you is the most euphoric feeling, growling as he fills you completely, balls nestled right against your clit. "Fuck, barely had to do anything and it slipped in so easy. Like you were made to take this cock, huh, sweetheart?" He goes slow at first, letting you adjust to his thick size, agonizing in how slow he drags his cock along your walls. All you can mutter is 'yes' like a mantra to keep you in reality, but every stroke is sending you further into that cloudy part of your brain where all you can think about is how you can feel everything. His hands on your hips to keep you in place, the way his cock kisses right against your cervix then pulls all the way out just to make you drunk off the feeling, his low and heavy grunts dangerously close to your ear, and it's all getting you even more impatient and needy. "Leon, please, go faster, need it faster." You speak through broken sobs and high pitched whines, looking back at him with a pleading pout. You can't say no to this cute face, can you? His nails dig into your hips, finally fucking you faster, and so much harder, you can feel the air in your lungs get choked out with every harsh thrust. "Just can't help yourself, can you? So fucking impatient." He can hear you getting louder, and between you and the sound of skin slapping against wet skin, he can at least silence one. "So loud, the whole fucking office can probably hear you." He puts his hand over your mouth and pulls your head up, body arching backwards as your head meets his shoulder. You can barely make out his smug grin as he looks down at you, glossy eyes with blown out pupils, your cheeks flushed a deep red.

"You look so pretty like this, looking up at me without a thought in that pretty little head. Just needed Daddy to fuck you stupid, huh?" He gets a wicked chuckle at your wide eyes, the way you clench tighter and move your hips to meet his rhythm. You curse yourself mentally for tweeting about that godforsaken daddy kink you have, or any of your kinks because now he knows every little thing that makes you tick. How frustrating. "Ohhh, didn't think I would look that far? You have no idea, spent hours looking at your stuff, even during missions I couldn't help but think about this sweet pussy wrapped around my cock." Your expression goes blank at his words, completely cockdrunk. You know you shouldn't do any of this, you can only imagine how much trouble you’d be in if someone walked in right now. But who could blame you? You couldn't name a single person who would throw away an opportunity like this. Who needs responsibility when you could have the simple yet intense pleasure that Leon Kennedy brings?

"Almost went crazy when I heard my name in that dirty fucking mouth, never been that hard in my life. Gonna make sure that mouth is full of my name every chance I get." You scream and whimper, the sound rumbling against his hand as you get closer and closer, toes curling into your heels. The sight is so damn beautiful to him, and he just has to see what you look like when you cum in person. When you cum on his cock, not some silly toy that could never satisfy you the way he can. His free hand takes its time sliding up your blouse to palm your tits over your bra, his fingers raking over the soft skin of your stomach before stilling at your bunched up skirt around your waist, right above your clit. "You wanna cum, don't you, baby? You're gonna be good and ask nicely, yeah? Go ahead, tell Daddy you wanna cum." He moves his hand away from your mouth but keeps your head up, gripping your face instead, watching as you greedily suck in air between mindless moans. "Please Daddy, please, please, please let me cum, need to cum so fucking bad-" Your pathetic babbling cuts off when his fingers put pressure on your clit, rubbing fast circles that make your brows frown as your walls clench, the knot in your stomach slowly coming undone. "There you go, such a good girl, asking me so nicely. Cum for me, sweet girl, cum on my cock for me." And you do, harder than you have in a while, squeezing your eyes shut so hard you see white spots, those sweet, broken sobs leaving your lips involuntarily, moaning his name as he slows down.

Before you know it, you're on your knees in front of him, finally getting a full, up close and personal view of his fat cock. He's thick, pre-cum pearling at his tip as he uses your slick to finish himself off, fisting his cock feverishly. "Told you you'd get a better look, now open up sweetheart. Gonna cover that pretty face in my cum, maybe even take a picture for those depraved little boys that get off on you." He’s one to talk.. His grunts and soft whimpers between his words make you bite back an eager grin, lolling your tongue out and getting blessed with the salty taste on his tip. You keep your lips pursed on his cock, looking up at him with doe eyes that make his cock kick in his hand, your own hands resting on his thighs. He pulls some hair away from your face with his free hand and keeps it there as he finally coats your cheeks and tongue with pools of cum, chuckling through breathless moans as he slaps his cock on your tongue. He grabs his phone as his free hand leaves your hair to press his thumb on your tongue, keeping your mouth open. He groans with a smug smirk as you look up into the camera, a clear, empty head as drool dribbles down your chin and onto his fingers holding your chin. "You'll get this picture tonight when I drive you home, 'kay?" He helps you back to your feet, cleaning off your face with his handkerchief and pulling your skirt down, fixing your wrinkled blouse. “Now go finish those reports for me, try not to work too slow, don’t wanna work overtime, do you?” He softly strokes your back, coaxing you closer to your desk. "Yes, Mr. Kennedy.." You breathe out, still wobbly on your feet as you walk to your desk, feeling the sting on your ass as you sit down, shivering at the tingle. Worth it.

[or0ch1maru]

Who in the akatsuki would have a daddy/mommy kink?

Who would be turned off by it?

Who wouldn't mind it but likes it because you enjoy it?

who would absolutely go feral the minute you address them by that?

Hiiiii bby ^.^ this definitely got me thinkin’ let’s get into it🫶🏻

-for starters, I don’t think any of them would be turned off by it, some would just be curious about it, not really understanding the concept behind it

18+, minors, and ageless blogs DNI. Mommy/daddy kinks, short blurbs about rough sex or sexual situations. Konan is wlw so mentions of straps/tribbing. Uses they/them for orochimaru

-Hidan would have you bent over the nearest surface the second the word fell past your lips. Even if that means having your face mushed into the grass mid mission. He’d also be very vocal about it. “Who’s daddy’s slut hm? Or “be daddy’s good girl and ride my cock.”

-Kakuzu would be just like Hidan but less vocal about it. He’d give you a knowing glance at first, taking in the way your soft lips parted as you said the word before pushing your knees to your chest. Thrusting into you at a cruel pace. You may get a “didn’t know daddy’s girl was so dirty”

-Konan I personally believe wouldn’t mind being called either(I don’t see her using the names on anyone though) it just depends on her mood. If she’s feeling softer and just wants your legs to be intertwined as your cunts grind against each other she’d love nothing more than to hear mommy fall from your lips in a chant. “Aww, you’re being so good for mommy.” Now, if she’s stressed and needs to fuck her frustrations out, she’d have your face pressed against the mattress in prone bone “speak up angel, daddy can’t hear you”

-Obito’s possession kink and obsession over you would just double, no, triple if you called him daddy. He’d make sure to fuck a baby into you that same night, even if that means round after round. Your cunt taking all that he’s giving you. Uchiha’s love the hardest, and I sense they show that best through physical touch and sex. So don’t be surprised by your third orgasm of the night your lovers mouth whispering “you’re taking daddy’s cock so well, so stretched ‘n full. You’re makin’ daddy feel so good baby” into your ear.

-just like Obito, Itachi would go a little crazy. He wouldn’t be rough about it, no. Our sweet boy would have you spread out before him, your hands pulling and tugging on his hair as he licks and laps at your cunt. Sucking on your clit as two of his fingers pump in and out of you, curling right where you need him too. “Louder baby, let daddy know how good he’s making you feel. Good girl.”

-Kisame would be similar to Hidan and Itachi. Yes he has moments where he’s rough, forcing both cocks into your tight hole, your nails digging into any skin or muscle you can grab onto. He’d start off rough, leaving bite marks and hickeys all over your neck and collar bones but when that specific word reaches his ears. He slows. “Hm? Daddy huh?” He reply’s cooly, hitting you with that smug smirk you love so much. “Let’s see how much daddy’s girl can take.”

-and lastly Juzo. I can see him being cruel with it, of course he has his soft side but when Juzo has sex, he fucks and fucks hard. You’d think he hates you when he rearranges your guts. “Daddy’s got such a whore, never knew she was so fuckin’ filthy.” He taunts, leaning forward, planting a rough bite into your neck as he takes you from behind. “That’s it, just like that girl. Daddy fuckin’ loves you.”

-deidara and Sasori would be on the curious side. I feel that our explosive blonde would definitely try it out and it comes naturally to him. If it wasn’t for you, he never would have discovered this kink. “Daddy’s got such a pretty little slut hmph. Gorgeous girl.” As for Sasori, he still can’t fully grasp it. I believe he’d only use it when he’s had a bad day and needs to get his anger out, using his favorite toy. You. Like Juzo, I feel like he’d be cruel about it and only uses it when he feels like it. “Daddy’s trained you better than this, take it. To the hilt, atta girl.” He groans as he forces himself down your throat.

-orochimaru is highly experienced, just like the zombie combo. They have tried out many kinks, toys, the whole works. They’ve heard of the daddy kink but never saw themself being the one to participate. Orochimaru doesn’t discriminate. So the day you ask to try it out, they don’t say no. In fact, Maru, encourages you. Goes a bit rougher than usual. Their three fingers in, stretching your hole to be able to take them. Making room for their tongue. “So stretched, can’t wait to feel my tongue stretch you lovie. Need you to cum on daddy’s tongue. Know you can do it.”

-Zetsu is a mix. White Zetsu would think it’s unusual, “humans and their weird names” is probably the first thing he’d think of but it wouldn’t be until black Zetsu uses it during sex that white Zetsu truly enjoys it. At least realizing he enjoys it. Seeing his princess’ fucked out expression as both cocks fill your little holes. Eyes glossed over and pink flushed cheeks that white Zetsu says “fuck princess, gonna’ make a mess outta daddy. Look at you.”

Extra:

Zabuza has you in doggy, this session already being rough, messy, and sloppy. Shoving your legs farther apart, deepening your arch. Only to lose his resolve when that one words slips outta you. His pace quickens, pulling you up onto all fours, one hand wrapping around your throat while the other slides two fingers into your mouth. Drool covering his entire hand with how sloppy you both are. “Fuckin’ brat, you just love pissin’ daddy off don’t you? Gotta fuck the attitude outta you.”

[lovelycrimsonredsnow]

hello, darling! Can I request the prompt 4 (from the list you shared) with a yandere Indra Otsutsuki? Don't feel pressured to write it if you're not in the mood. Take care!!

Ofcourse dear! To you as well ☺️ (holy cow I got carried away with this-)

(TW: blood, Indra being a moody bitch, slight dubious content, my poor grammar 🥲) (this was NOT proofread 😭)

Yandere Indra otsutsuki...(Prompt 4: "Stop struggling...it's hard to love you when your being difficult, my love")

You weren't sure how it ended up this way, With him pinning you down harshly on the prickly grass. Your clothes stained with blood and your limbs aching from the weight above you.

You were just a normal citizen in an unnamed village just north of the Great otsutsuki empire. You nursed people, that's all you did...nothing less and nothing more. How come someone as great as him come to be so obsessed with you then? Was it because you were attractive? No, Ofcourse not. You shouldn't be so arrogant as to think that. He was simply injured and you were the nearest doctor, that's all...

You were busy getting herbs from a nearby clearing for some medicine, one of your friends has gotten a rather awful cold. Thats when you saw him, laying next to a tree. His hands over his bloodied midsection and his brown hair a mess. As the kind person you were you couldn't just let this man die there...that would simply be cruel of you! You put your basket down and sprinted over to him, you tried your best to drag him to your clinic...which was hard since he was rather heavy for a man who looked so young. Thankfully he wasnt completely unconscious and seemed to understand you were helping him. You slung his arm around your shoulders and helped him walk to your clinic and immediately ran to get some thread to stitch the large hash across his stomach up. He was very quiet the whole time...you almost thought he died if it wasn't for the fact his eyes were open...staring at you specifically. It was rather unnerving the entire procedure.

When you were done you awkwardly suggested him to rest for a few days to prevent the stitches from popping out. He just stared at you with his black eyes...you swore you saw a hint of red in them.

For the next few days you brought him meals and attempted to keep him from getting up to much, you figured out quickly that he was the oldest son of lord hagaromo. Indra, was his name. He didn't speak much, other than saying thank you after you treated him and such. You just assumed someone as powerful as him was just disinterested in someone like you, which was understandable.

It was rather late since you just got back from a night out with your friend Hanna (if that's your name pretend it's something else-), you walked through the doorway and took off your coat. Yet the moment you turned around you were faced with the black eyed man. "Oh...! Indra! Did- did I wake you? I-im terribly sorry if I did-" you stuttered out a response, it scared you how close he was...yet the closer you looked you saw more red staining his clothes. "Did your stitches tear...?" You asked him with a concerned tone. When he once again gave no response you simply dragged him again back

to check his mid section, your hands running over the Injured area gently. Yet...the stitches were perfectly fine, not a single sign of stress. "Huh? Then how...?" You mumbled perplexed. Your thoughts Interrupted when he started talking. "Touch me again." ....huh? Did you...did you hear that right? "Are you deaf y/n? I told you to touch me again." He ordered. Though for some reason it sounded more like a threat. "..." You didn't bother to stop him when he forcibly grabbed you by the arms. "Tsk...and here I thought you were supposed to be taking care of me" he scoffed releasing you. You were rather shocked at that whole scene just now. slowly backing out of the room you made your way to a small kitchen like area to get some more medicine. Moody or not he was still a client....who could ruin your life if he wanted to... No pressure at all.

You opened the cabinet quietly and retrieved the herbal leaves from a bottle. Crushed them up and slid them in some sea for pain relief, hoping it would make him less agitated. You re-entered the room and placed the cup beside him before quickly turning on your heel to exit, yet stopping at the door, Curiosity filling you. "Earlier...I noticed you had blood on you. Yet your stitches weren't loose ...how?"

You saw him lightly glare at you, shit what did you say to offend him now? "You shouldn't give your attention on people who don't deserve it." You turned your heard twords him, was he taking about your friend...? Why on earth did he think he could say that...

"excuse me?" The words shot out from your mouth, though you probably shouldn't have questioned him. "Don't give them all your attention, I'm your patient. Focus on me y/n." He quickly snapped at you. "Weak, is what those people are. Why don't you stay with someone stronger?"

"what exactly are...are you suggesting...?" You tightly clenched the hem of your shirt, you kept feeling the urge to run from his tone... "Stay with me. I can protect and provide for you y/n, you don't need them." he got up and walked a few steps closer. He was acting so strange, like he was jealous or hungry...for you. The extra blood on him should've been a red flag for you to run before. He was dangerous and could kill you in an blink of an eye, was it to late to run now?

You didn't take my extra chances and started running...yet now looking back at it. Not the best decision...

He easily caught up with you, almost inhumanly fast. You remember ending up tackled on the ground, the impact on your back making it hurt. "Ach-!" You yelped. "Be quiet. You ungrateful brat. I gave you a generous proposition didn't I?" He said, his voice laced with annoyance and a hint of disappointment. You tried to thrash around in hopes of getting him off, but he shifted his full weight on you, making it hard to move. "Look at me y/n. Do I look like I have time for your shit? Stop being a little brat and come back with me. Do I need to kill more people hm? They should stop taking so much of your time." Wait, kill more...people? your brain froze for a moment, that blood from earlier. It wasn't his...oh God. Did he kill Hanna?! No...that was impossible you were just with her! Your eyes started watering a bit, how did things turn out like this?! All you wanted to do was cry and bury yourself somewhere...

You felt a rather cold calloused hand wiping your tears away, an uncharacteristically gentle touch compared to moments ago. "Just stop struggling...it's hard to love you when your being difficult, my love" you felt his face burying itself into your shoulder, the blood from earlier staining your current clothes. You yelped when he started biting it, teeth leaving marks everywhere. The second you made that sound his hand shot up to cover your mouth. "Shh...just stay still. Let me take care of you for once."

[moonlightwritingf1]

Reposting this for the anon who is clearly too obsessed and doesn't have a life outside of Tumblr. + Added a new statement too.

I deleted this post because I was under the impression the anon had already seen it—since they love to stalk my blog very in-depth. Luckily, I had written it on Google Docs, like I do with everything I post here, before posting it the first time. And now I’m posting it again because apparently, they didn’t get the memo and love to create fake accounts:

For the anon who’s too coward to use their real account and clearly doesn’t have a life:

I was going to ignore the first ask, but then you had the time, energy, and weird obsession to create a fake account just to send me another ask—and then a private message. So let me be clear

This is the first and last time I address this. Any further messages or asks about this will be deleted and blocked immediately. Tumblr is my safe space—stress and drama free—and I will block anyone who disturbs that for me. You really came onto my blog and did what—threatened me? You ran my writing through an unreliable AI checker and then had the audacity to message me about it? Do you really feel like it's your place to question how people write fanfiction? Why do you feel so entitled to an explanation from someone you don’t even know? To quote you: “DM me and explain why” — WHO are you? And where is this entitlement coming from?

Let me ask you this: Do you not have a life outside of Tumblr? Who takes time out of their day to check if what a stranger posted is “AI” or not? I saw another account getting the same kind of asks recently—was that you too? Are you going blog to blog checking F1 fics like a fanfic detective? If so: get a life, get a job, get a hobby, or better yet—touch grass.

And the audacity to make a fake account just to send another message? Coward behavior. I’ve blocked the first anon ask and now your little fake blog too. I’ll keep blocking every single one if you continue harassing me.

Don’t like what I post? Scroll past it. Block me. Ignore me. I truly do not care. I use Google Docs for all my fics—outline ideas, drafts, requests order. Since that seems hard to believe, here’s one example straight from my docs.

And since you clearly have free time, here are actual credible sources that prove AI checkers are not reliable and should never be used as evidence of anything:

Source

Source

Source

Source

This is especially relevant to me personally, because English is not my native language. I've studied it for over 15 years, l'm currently studying English at university, and I don't live in an English-speaking country. I didn't grow up in an English-speaking country, and I've worked hard to develop my vocabulary, grammar, and writing style. So if my writing sounds "too repetitive" or "too perfect to be written by a human" and gets flagged by some Al detector—that's not proof I used Al. It means I've worked hard to get to this level, even though my English might not always be perfect.

Source

Al that claims to create undetectable Al content or "human Al"

Or maybe you want to read more on Google Scholar:

There are so many sources to inform yourself—you just need to know how to use them.

And this is what really gets me: someone could use Al, lightly edit the output, or run it through one of those "humanize Al" generators and pass every detector with flying colors. Meanwhile, people like me get flagged and questioned for no reason.

Also, if I were actually using Al, I would've used one of those humanizing tools too—so people like you wouldn't harass me over what I post.

These days, it seems you don't even need facts—just a fake account and a superiority complex.

That's all I had to say. Goodbye, and good luck finding a personality.

April 7

A few days after I posted the above post, you went on someone’s blog — someone who had sent me an ask without using the anon option — and sent them an ask about me, as if I had committed a crime. Less than 24 hours ago, you created yet another fake account just to message me (as seen below) and tell me about one of your other accounts (also fake), despite my explicit statement that I would no longer entertain this obsessive behavior.

Let me be extremely clear: I do not owe strangers on the internet an explanation for my writing process — especially not those who appoint themselves as investigators and issue condescending ultimatums. I will not “contact you privately.” I will not “own up” to a false narrative you've built around flawed tools and obsessive pattern-tracking. You do not get to demand private confessions like you're running a tribunal.

I already said everything I had to say when I made that original post, but clearly it didn’t register, and you continue to target me. I looked at the account you mentioned in your message. To quote: “Some members of the group of us working on this project have gone through PhD programs or work in education and understand the inaccuracies and limitations of AI detection tools.”

So you're adults — or so you claim — with PhDs, yet you seem to be unemployed based on the amount of free time you have to analyze what strangers are posting on the internet. Especially posts that are over 2k words long.

Seriously, who has time to do this much? Because I highly doubt someone with an actual job and a life has this much time on their hands.

And as I said in my first post: block me if you don’t like my blog or what I post. It is really that simple.

LEAVE. ME. ALONE.

[pink-slay]

I wish I had twenty-twenty vision, and a body just a bit more resilient. It could still be paralyzed, in agony, but just a little less, something that could withstand the dirt and grass and all its lumps. I wish I were different so I could... look at the stars. I recline my chair, craning my neck, as I park my wheelchair between two lamp posts, far away enough in an area unpolluted enough to see the stars. But it's not what I want. I want to feel the grass, expose myself to the bugs I fear, feel the dew, and see the stars... clearly, never even a tad too blurry--- perfect.

I want to go outside tonight but I stay inside and type and study. In my binder that almost matches my skin tone I wonder if I would want top surgery or if I like the versatility of binders. However, when I wear my binder, I often think that the question isn't if I want top surgery, its if my body would even let me. Is it too frail? Could it withstand it? I still don't know if i would want it regardless, but I wish the choice revolved more around gender euphoria/eliminating dysphoria than survival or damage.

Everything I do is heavily calculated, as it is completely random and chaotic, as it is subconscious.

I can't try to make my world better in the traditional sense. I can't eliminate my struggles by clinical positive thinking (aka cognitive behavioral therapy) and I can't undo what I've lived. I can't avenge anyone or get revenge or even clean my room, no. However, when I get up and put on my socks, even if they're dirty, I make my world better. Living a life I have built for myself, living a life that has been built for me by community, friends, love.

I worry of my capabilities often, and I wish I could have floor time like other people, but right now, I really wish I could just lay on the ground. I think of the moon, connections to being a lesbian, the stress, and the physical pain in everyday, and sometimes the Earth... she calls to me.

I want to feel the dew and the mosquitoes, and I can't do it, not unless my friends learn to lift me, but the point of looking at the stars often isn't connection, it's a menaingful loneliness, a chilling existence of connection to far away galaxies that may not exist anymore--- the type of connection that isn't real so there's no way of breaking it.

I want these words to eat me, consume my flesh, kill me if they'd like. I try to believe the song that repeats in the background that says it's clear you're gonna make it my dear, but I don't believe it because each day is so hard.

As the ruddy brown of May soon fades into the orange sherbert color of June, I am reminded of all the windows I looked through while undergoing some serious traumas. There are so many colors and worlds you can find in windows even if all that resides in your mind is a turquoise teal color that disorients your internal clock and memories of screaming.

Now that I have escaped the onslaught of pain in my adolescence, I find myself experiencing a duller yet just as violent anguish in my young adulthood. I guess I just want to look at the stars for the same reasons as everybody else: to remember worlds far beyond our comprehension exist... in places we'll never touch... encompassing lives we'll never experience. But I want to feel the grass too, all of its lumps, like everyone else because...

when we look at all that exists beyond us, sometimes it's nice to feel comfort in what we have. The ground cradling you as you look out at infinities you'll never know because...

however dewy or itchy you become, it's nice to be held by what we have or rather... what has us.

I can't go on the ground anymore, or, rather, I can't get up, and sitting on all the comforting lumps in the grass wears down my body, its tissue, its bones. I write this with longing for something I don't have while trying to be okay with what I do have: a life not bedbound, a wheelchair that fits, an ability to go outside more than I have at some points, and sometimes, if the stars align, friends to place me on the ground to take it all in.

Life is so so hard. I find I can never say that eloquently, but the night is still cool, the grass still wet, the sky still dark, and I, still alive. Tomrrow brings more chemistry and the mundane, but it also brings

a freedom I didn't have a year ago, so maybe life is worth living...

even if it's just for that.

Adieu

[youryanderedaddy]

tw: female reader, sadism/emotional torture, death threats, talk of death, degradation, Adamverse again (i am literally obsessed with his emo ass no joke)

You don’t know exactly what you did wrong. Maybe it’s because the dinner was just slightly less crispy than he likes, maybe it took you just one second too long to return his kiss - or maybe he just felt like torturing you - sometimes he got into these weird, sadistic moods, and you could never tell exactly where you had messed up. And you wish you did - oh how you wish he would tell you straight up, so you would be able to avoid the pain in future; alas that would never happen. Why would he let you in on the secret, why would he make the rules known if he has so much fun with you once you inevitably break them? He doesn’t need a reason to hurt you, because he already owns you, but sometimes he likes to have one; just so you’d blame yourself a bit more - just so you’d ask yourself what you could do better next time.

All you know now is that he’s mad, red - hot fury plastered all over his thin pale face. His expression, already deadly and hostile, at this moment looks simply demonic. All you know now is that he’s gripping your wrist and sinking his sharp nails as deep into your prickled skin as possible while dragging you somewhere unknown. Somewhere deep within the forest. 

You take in the smell of cold, fresh rain as your naked feet splash into the soaking grass, leaving a muddy trail behind. The forest feels alive - living and breathing into the early winter, the earthy scent of wet wood and linden heavy in the air. It’s breathtakingly beautiful, all this green scenery, even the icy air filling your lungs and the silent song of the sparrows left to die in the cold. You’re trying to appreciate this short moment of peace and quiet, of finally feeling the earth beneath you for the first time in what feels like years, but you just can’t ignore the biting, freezing chill that wraps around your body like a coat woven by Death herself. 

You’re wearing nothing but a flimsy white nightgown that sticks to your body, pretty and way too long it drags against the damp soil, sullying the beautiful lace. It’s almost funny, you think. The delicate fabric seems red under the soft moonlight - like blood, and it makes you feel like some fucked up fairytail metaphor of a princess, a trembling virgin waiting to be deflowered by the beast. But this can’t be further from the truth - there is nothing left for him to take.

Adam stops suddenly, making you trip and swing towards him - but instead of catching you, he pushes you to the side.

“Watch your step.” He hisses through gritted teeth, once again reaching to grab your hand. “We’re almost there. If you don’t want me to leave you to the wolves, you better keep up.” He adds, resuming his quick step ahead. Somewhere in your rational mind you know he’s just trying to scare you into walking faster - there is no way there are wolves this far up north, and even if there were, he would never let them hurt you. Would he?

“Alright. We’ve arrived.” The man stops after a while, letting go of you. You turn to look at him, eyes full of confusion. You’re in the middle of nowhere. There is nothing here aside from a few bushes and a big hole covered in dry leaves. “What is–”

“This will be your grave.” He interrupts you before you can even question him, gesturing to the wide open pit as he shoves you closer to the edge - so close you’re staring at the pitch black void that awaits you at the other side. You freeze in your place, unable to move an inch, cold sweat running down your back. 

You’ve pictured this night countless times before - the night when you finally die. Somehow you imagined it would be different; a lot less romantic. You thought your heart would stop due to the constant stress and paranoia, or Adam would squeeze your throat just a bit too tight - your face would get just a touch too purple and you’d kick the bucket. He’d force his length down your throat and you’d choke on your own vomit, or he would simply beat you up so badly you wouldn’t wake up the next morning. You never thought your end would be so picturesque - wearing a beautiful, sensual robe under the moonlight, slowly bleeding out as the sun rises over your cold, unmoving form. He’d probably kiss your dead lips and hold your hand too. 

No. You can’t let this happen. You don’t want this to happen. He doesn’t get to decide whether your death is pretty, ugly or fucking gruesome, whether your guts stick out for the world to see. You can’t let yourself die beautifully. You can’t let him see himself as some romantic gothic hero from the old books. He has to be the grim reaper, he has to realize he’s nothing more than a sadistic, lonely creep with vengeance and a sick fascination for blood that just happened to be yours.

“Are you going to kill me?” You whisper, voice as smooth as you can force it to be. You can’t let him know you’re scared. His eyes, so far sharp and calculated, suddenly narrow with a crazed glint - and he takes a step towards you, wrapping his hands around your waist. You can feel his weight resting against your body, a clear signal that one wrong move and you will both slip down the drain. “Maybe I will.” Adam leans in just slightly to whisper in your ear, chuckling at the way your shoulders stiffen completely - fists clenched to remain balanced. “Maybe I won’t.” His hot breath hits the freezing skin of your neck, but instead of another human’s warmth, all you feel is ice - cold fear. “It doesn’t really matter.”

“You fucking asshole–” You hiss inaudibly, small angry tears forming in your eyes. You can swear you’re not angry - or at least you shouldn’t be. One can only be angry when their expectations are being met - you should know better than anyone what the man is capable of. Yet somewhere far inside you still find the courage, the patience to feel rage, to feel cheated; tricked. “What do you mean it doesn’t matter? It’s my fucking life on–” Your sentence gets cut off by the deep guttural sobs tearing off from deep within your lungs. If you weren’t a second away from falling into your literal grave, you’d be beating at his chest right now with all the energy you have left - which isn’t a lot, but you’d give it your damn best.

“Shh, baby, it’s alright.” Your captor wraps his arms around you, breathing in your sweetness mixed in with the rain and the light earthy scent of the forest. For a second he can imagine laying you on the wet soil, not even shoving you down like usual, just gently pushing your body deeper and deeper into the mud until all that’s left unburied is your lips. “You always say you want to die, don’t you? I mean, you obviously seem to think that being with me is a fate worse than death.” He slaps on a big taunting smile, and you can’t decide if it makes you scared or furious. “So what’s different now?”

You inhale slowly.

“You-you–!” You feel your cheeks heat up with ire as your whole body prepares to attack the very source of all these complicated feelings, when… Nothing. Your fists can’t reach him, nor can your poisonous words break his heart for the second time. You’ve slipped into the world of the dead, somewhere far away. It’s darker than the winter night and more quiet than you had anticipated Hell would be - the only thing you hear is your own shallow heartbeat.

“Look at what you did, you stupid girl.” Someone pulls you back into the human realm, forcing you to open your eyes. “You’re fucking pathetic, you know that?” The voice sneers with the same old malice you can recognise even with your hands covering your ringing ears - so you must still be alive. Or maybe people are right, and Hell is on here on earth. “Scared of life, yet terrified of death.” Adam keeps mocking you, stepping closer to the pit so he can see exactly how pitiful you look, squirming in the dirt. “Also fucking clumsy at that. You know, I was just teasing you, but you really went and got yourself into that filthy hole. Just how useless can you be.”

You gulp, your dry throat straining against your tonsils. You’re alive - and you’ve made a fool of yourself just like always. Sometimes you wonder if you only exist to entertain Adam, if the whole reason for your being is one big excuse for him to hurt you until whatever is haunting him goes away. Yet it never does, and you’re not sure which of you is more pitiful.

“P-please…” You whimper weakly. You’re not sure what you’re even begging him for - to stop talking, to go away or to help you get out of this black, bottomless pit. You’re so cold, so wet - you just want to go home, although… Maybe your home doesn’t exist anymore.

“I can’t hear you, sweetheart. Speak louder.” The man coos, his shadow towering over you in a cruel reminder that even in death he’d still follow, somehow. “Do you need a hand? You’d have to be more convincing than that if you want me to help you, baby. Why should I waste my time saving a woman who doesn’t even love me?”

Your stomach turns, you’ve been here before. It’s a trap question - whatever you say, it’d still be the wrong answer, because with Adam there are no right answers. There is only suffering and dread over and over again until you’re both old and decaying in your own filth somewhere in the basement of his late mother’s cottage, surrounded by rats just waiting to feast on your flesh once your hearts finally stop. And even then you’d know no peace - he’d probably find you in Hell. You’ve been sharing his pain for too long, whether you like it or not, whether you love him or not, you can’t deny your souls are tied, glued together with blood and bile and sweat and tears.

“Please stop playing around, Adam. Just get me out of here, okay?” You make your voice small and whiny, just the way he likes it to be when you plead with him. Part of you is fighting against the survival instinct to snap into pure submission - to promise him anything and everything, because you will, and then what? He’d take you home, he’d be sugary sweet for the next two days, approximately, before you inevitably fuck up again. It’s all pointless. This love of his is nothing more than an exercise of nihilism - you’re just unsure why he feels the need to drag you along.

“You’re just hopeless without me, aren’t you?” He says rather softly, recognising the clear retaliation in your tone. Then he jumps down the pit, landing on his two feet like a panther - like he had rehearsed for this moment alone. It goes as usual. He stretches his hand towards you. You take a quick look at him. You reach in, just barely hanging on. Fingers hovering under his clenched fist. Shivering. He kisses your wrist. Standing up slowly. You’re dizzy. He wipes the mud off your face. Headache. Your chest tightens. 

And he gets to hold your hand and carry you away as the sun approaches, bright and blinding under the clouds just like a bloody fucking fairytale. 

[snderist]

my hiatus announcement...

realistically, i don't have to make an announcement on my hiatus, but i don't wanna go missing on y'all without saying anything so here i am lol. i noticed my attention span is very small, and i tend to get bored working on one thing for too long. as a result, i've drowned myself in many (unfinished) projects which in turn has caused me to experience burnout. i wanted to give myself an opportunity to step away and just breathe for a minute, maybe touch some grass lmao. i've learned it's way less stressful to just focus on one thing at a time, which is exactly what i plan on doing after my break. i hate to do this when i promised sm people some content, but i brought it upon myself lolol. hope to see y'all soon!

, snderist <3

[93millionmilesaway]

Hello people of the internet

(this is mainly for my mutuals and mutual in laws, but anyone can participate.)

i nominate you for the touch grass challenge of 2025!

that's right!! You 🫵 need to get out there and touch some grass (or a plant like object,) because the world is crazy right now, and we all need to reconnect with nature. whether that be stepping into your yard or courtyard, taking a walk (in a safe area, of course,) etc., the idea is to breathe a little, because it works and you'll probably feel less stressed out hopefully. you can reblog this with photo evidence if you'd like, but it's not required.

(this is totally a no-pressure thing also, i'm not forcing anyone)

(if someone has already made this or something like it i apologize, but i haven't seen it out there so yeah.)

i will tag some people but you definitely don't have to be to do this :)

@clumsy-words-again @angsty-worm @bloodiedbusstop @rapidlydecayingcorpse @spaghettiwithnachos13 @mutateddinonugget @jameslongforjimshortforgabriel @but-aint-this-texas @sunshinerosefromthedead @definitelynotavampire12 @utterqueerdisasterthesimp @tankerfishthesimp @greatgalaxywitch @rivenantiqnerd @rainystarssx @a-chance-of-raine

I DIDN'T REALIZE I HAD SO MANY MOOTS SORRY EVERYONE ELSE :((

[seoulciology]

korean media makes incredible criticisms of capitalism

this reminds me a lot about the "if i had a nickel every time... i'd have two nickels" because not only does k-media have multiple occasions of this happening but it goes insanely mainstream.

some people prefer to gatekeep, but personally, i think that this mainstream situation is actually an advantage, for 2 reasons. the obvious one being that it pushes non-western media forward, and often opens doors not just to lessen racism but to foster a feeling of cross-cultural connection. the other is the irony, and for that squid game makes a great example. (more on that later)

chapter 1: squid game

this miniseries launched korea into the spotlight in late 2021. i found it a bit gory then, but after revisiting it later i really appreciate it. not just for its meaning, but because even the use of gore is intentional: extreme poverty and having to fight for your life when you're in this kind of economic position is violent, and as we sit in the comfort of our homes watching netflix, that needs to be transmitted powerfully. still, i cannot summarise the miniseries and do it justice simultaneously.

the children's games and bright colors fool the players at first into thinking it's easy to win, and the aesthetic also tricked viewers! i'm sure many people understood the deeper meaning pretty easily, but on the internet you see children's games based on squid game or toys and kid's halloween costumes.

this is what i mean when i referenced irony in the intro. not only is squid game a metaphor within the series, but the reaction the world had towards it is metaphor on its own. turning it into something sellable, a toy, a game, a costume, is exactly the consumeristic capitalist direction that the series warns us about; the dystopian thriller mirrors our reactions towards the media.

delving deeper into sociology, this is literally althusser's theory of ideological state apparatus. we get fooled into thinking this is super memeable and capitalism becomes normalised. when children become consumers (robertson, 2001) and toys like these come into the home, they are socialised into class ideology (zaretsky, 1976). this makes it seem a lot more dystopian so if this is stressing you out go touch grass before reading the second chapter (lovingly)

p.s: the second season was amazing, but seemed to expand on more topics outisde of just class struggles, hence why it has no mention in this section (still worth watching tho)

chapter 2: parasite

if there's one thing i would recommend you watch after reading this article, it is 100% this movie. it is a very enjoyable watch and has less gore than squid game. it sits at 2 hours and 12 minutes (though you will spend an extra 30 minutes processing and researching because of how amazing it is). thank you to my boyfriend for forever changing my life by enlightening me with the knowledge of the existence of this work of art.

i love bong joon ho. his artistry in this film, particularly with the neverending symbolism is spectacular. especially the altitudes, lines and the rock (watch it, seriously).

in 2020, this beautiful motion picture made history by being the first foreign film to win best picture at the oscars. it's amazing due to its strength in delivering a powerful message about the "myth of social movement" (for sociology nerds it's vertical social movement, between economy classes). it is also a nice snapshot of korean culture. between collectivism which increases as you go down the social ladder and the importance of academic achievement which increases as you go up, this film shows not only korean culture but class culture (once again, sociology at its finest)

chapter 3: gangnam style

maybe i'm a little young for this, but gangnam style was a global sensation when i was at my prime (5 years old). i still listen to it nostalgically, but a few months ago i decided to translate the lyrics out of curiosity and found it is incredible.

i won't be surprised if you doubt me, it does seem like a meme song at its finest, but it this occasion, that is very intentional.

for non-korean speakers, i'll summarise my takeaway: the song is parodying the rich.

breaking it down, the main line "오빠는 강감 스타일" (romanised: oppaneun gangnam seuta-il) uses the third person. "oppa" meaning older brother (from a woman's perspective). this is a term for older men/boys often used playfully or flirtatiously. "gangnam" is a seoul district, the "beverly hills of korea", according to rotten mango. "seuta-il" is simply the hangeul for "style". so psy is says, directly, "older brother is gangnam style" or indirectly, "girls say i look hip/rich"

the rest of the song continues painting the picture of a man who is full of himself and wants to be seen for his high status, particularly among women.

personally, i believe this parodies the "new rich" and the expectation for popstars to have high class status and be draped in women, which leads me to add this to my list of critiques of capitalism.

closing thoughts

this post meant to primarily highlight these awesome pieces of media, so i don't know if there is a legitimate link/explanation between korea and anti-capitalism. my main guesses would be the work environment (which is irrelevant in this case since none of these pieces focus on the middle class) or perhaps a better assumption, it's in late-stage capitalism and the dependency index/situation for those in the sandwich generation is horrendous (in simple terms: there are very few workers, too many pensioners and not enough babies.)

i hope you enjoyed my first passion project!