#they always. ALWAYS. FUCKING ALWAYS SAY WITHOUT FAIL

[qveerthe0ry]

Your Ride, Best Trip

Summary: You sleep with your boyfriend Marcus for the first time Word Count: 9,001 Pairing: Marcus Pike x f! afab! reader Rating: 18+ Explicit Warnings: 18+ mdni, first time, vaginal fingering, oral (m! and f! receiving), unprotected PIV, squirting, creampie, dirty talk, so much fluff, so much kissing Betas: @for-a-longlongtime and @perotovar as ALWAYS. Love you homies I'm kissing u both <3 A/N: I have nothing to say for myself this time

Marcus Pike is perfect. 

He’s your dream man. 

He’s sweet. He brings you flowers just because, and he’s remembered your go-to coffee order, and he never goes to bed without texting you goodnight.

He’s effortlessly kind. He offers to walk your dog for you when you aren’t feeling well enough to get out of bed, and he always does the dishes when you cook for him, and he makes sure his bathroom is stocked with all the personal products you use at your own place. 

He’s fucking handsome. His smile is straight and pearly white, and his big brown eyes warm you up, and the way his broad shoulders fill out those suits he wears to work never fails to make you weak in the knees. 

He’s so smart, and he’s so funny, and he’s all yours… finally. 

See, when he hadn’t so much as kissed you by your third date, you wigged out a bit. 

How could you not? He’d been so thoughtful and caring and all you wanted was to feel those pillowy, soft lips against your own. 

So you asked him what was up, and he told you.

Divorced. Broken engagement. A whole year of therapy to pinpoint what went wrong, what he could change, and how he could do better, how he could feel better. And then, he said, he found you— like fate— when he wasn’t even looking, when he least expected it. 

You had no problem taking it slow. You’re still convinced you’d wait forever for him, as perfect as he is.

After too many little dates to count, he told you he wanted to be your boyfriend, if you’d have him.

You told him you’d love for him to be your boyfriend, of course. You’d be crazy not too. 

And then he finally kissed you.

It was slow and hesitant, but it still made your heart race, made your stomach do flips. He cut it off before it could become anything more than chaste, and left your front door with a sheepish goodnight. 

You’ve kissed a lot since then. You never really enjoyed kissing that much, before. It always just seemed like a means to and end, a formality before moving on to other things. 

But now it’s one of your favorite ways to pass the time with him. Waiting for an Uber to take you downtown, finally getting to his place on Friday after a long work week, cuddling in bed together with an old movie playing.

You haven’t made out with anyone this much since high school. And you enjoy it, you do, but Jesus Christ, he’s been your boyfriend for three weeks now and you need him. 

It doesn’t help that he touches you like you’re the last person on earth. His hands are so big and they’re gentle and electric when they find the bit of skin just under the hem of your shirt. 

You think it’s going to happen, this time. Friday night takeout has long been abandoned in the living room. You’re in his bed, in his clothes, and his pinky is teasing at the waistband of his sweats that you’re wearing. 

His tongue in your mouth is making you dizzy, and there’s no more blood in your brain with all of it rushing between your legs. You whimper, and you arch against him, and you want him so bad but you can’t say it. You’d feel bad, making him rush when he’s made it clear he wants to take things slow. 

When his lips leave yours, you open your eyes, and find his pupils obstructing all the deep, dark brown you adore. 

You have to squeeze your thighs together for a miniscule amount of relief. He notices. Of course he does. Damn that Quantico training. 

“Sweetheart—”

His eyes flicker down to your lips. You’re sure they look obscene, red and slick from nearly an hour of him sucking and nibbling on them. 

“I’m sorry,” you whisper. 

You don’t know why you say it, but you are sorry. You feel so bad for wanting him like this, desperate and aching in his bed, over eager. 

“Don’t be,” he shakes his head and gives you a reluctant smile, a smile that tells you you’re going to fall asleep extremely sexually frustrated. 

But it’s fine. He’s so worth it. 

You give him a soft smile back, and lean in to peck his lips. But he pulls away with his brow furrowed. 

“What do you want?” 

His voice is gentle when he asks. So is his hand on your back, under his shirt you’ve claimed. But it doesn’t stop that fight or flight response from kicking in. 

“Nothing! Nothing, Marcus, I’m okay— I’m great. Just wanna cuddle.” 

But the creases in his forehead don’t smooth out, and his hand ceases the soothing circles across your spine. 

“You’re lying.” 

You sigh and close your eyes. 

“I’m not lying, I’m just— I don’t want to push you to move too fast.” 

You expect him to be angry. But when you open your eyes again, his own have taken on that puppy-like quality you usually love. Right now, it just makes you feel guilty. 

“I’ve been lying, too,” Marcus whispers. 

It’s your turn to scrunch your face up. Your blood runs cold, waiting for him to elaborate. A million scenarios run through your head at lighting speed— all worse and worse until your breathing picks up and you beg him with your eyes to just get on with it—

“I have a small dick.” 

His face is so flushed. He can’t meet your gaze.

He’s staring at the bedsheets between you, and you’re both just silent for a long, awkward moment. 

“I mean— the divorce and all that, it’s all true. And I did want to keep from moving too fast. But— the last few weeks I guess I’ve just been… stalling?” 

He finally looks up from the threads to gauge your reaction. 

“Marcus…”

“I get it, okay? If you wanna go. I know I lied, and you didn’t sign up for—“

“Marcus.”

You watch his shoulders raise and his mouth snap shut, and he looks terrified.

“I don’t want to leave. You didn’t lie. It’s just— you really think that would bother me?” 

He lets out a big breath, and the tension in his body eases up a little. 

“I don’t know. Most people were… bothered. I guess,” he shrugs. 

You cradle his jaw in your hand, let the day-old stubble tickle the pad of your thumb as you think about how to best navigate this conversation. 

Because saying ‘I don’t care’ seems too dismissive. But you don’t. You couldn’t possibly care less about what’s in his pants, when everything else about him has made you fall so, so deep already. But you don’t want to make it sound like it’s something you have to even bargain with, like the pros outweigh the cons, like it even is a con. Because it’s not. 

“I’m not bothered,” you finally tell him. 

He still doesn’t meet your eyes, in fact, he rolls his. 

“You don’t have to lie to me. It’s okay, I’ve heard it all. I know I’ve lead you on—”

“Jesus,” you cut him off, “what did— who made you feel this way?” 

He finally looks at you. His eyes are wide and he looks vulnerable and hesitant. You swipe away some hair that’s fallen flat across his scrunched forehead. 

“Everyone?” 

You sigh his name, and you’re tentative when you lean forward to kiss him, softly, when he lets you. 

He looks less terrified when you pull back. You try to smile, but this whole interaction has left such a bad taste in your mouth that it feels more like a grimace when your lips turn up. 

“That’s— Fucking awful, to be frank. Pardon my French.”

He chuckles, but his gaze falls away from your face again. His sheets are not that interesting to look at. 

“Really, Marcus. I mean— maybe if someone’s just looking for a hookup, then I get it. You want something specific, whatever. But why would you ever think you were leading me on?

All you’ve done is be sweet to me, and shown interest in me, and taken care of me. Unless you’re like, secretly an ax murderer, or committing some kind of major tax fraud, you haven’t led me on at all.”

He’s still not looking at you. Why won’t he look at you, and believe you? 

“I don’t want to sound dismissive. I understand you’re insecure about it. I’m insecure about some things too. I don’t want to invalidate that. But I need you to know that the last thing I care about is how big your dick is.” 

There. He’s looking at you. He looks a little mortified, but he’s finally meeting your gaze. 

“Really?”

You scoff. 

“Really really.”

A reluctant smile tugs on the corner of his pretty mouth. 

“Why?”

“Because— now, don’t go getting a big head about this— you’re perfect. Like, everything about you. You’re sweet and you make me laugh and you’re gorgeous.”

His face flushes, but he lets you continue.

“And I’m in this, with you. I want this to go somewhere. And I think we’re super compatible.”

“Me too,” he whispers.

“Good, so… we’re on the same page then.”

You watch him lick his lips, and his hand that’s been loosely draped over your waist finally starts back up, drawing little circles across the base of your spine. 

“And… There’s other reasons,” you mumble, voice low with a hint of mischief.

“Oh yeah?” 

“Yeah… For one, your hands.”

“My hands?”

He emphasizes his question with a squeeze of your hip, and you giggle at the way it tickles, and also with a bit of embarrassment. 

“Yeah… They’re uh… big. I look at them a lot. Honestly surprised you haven’t noticed.”

He huffs, lets his big hand travel further up the shirt on your back. 

“Your nails are always trimmed, and— your fingers are long and thick. I’ve thought about them a lot.”

He breathes your name, and now you realize you’re the one avoiding eye contact. When you look back, his pupils are all blown out again, and it spurs you on.

“And I love to give head.”

“Jesus.”

“And the bigger it is, the quicker I get tired. I could stay down there all night, if my jaw didn’t get sore.” 

“Sweetheart—”

“Really, it’s one of my favorite things, making someone fall apart under my mouth. But I hate gagging and choking my way through it. It’s tedious.”

He says your name again, this time with a warning tone. 

You bite your lip to keep anything from tumbling from your mouth unwarranted. 

“You’re not lying.”

His eyes dart back and forth across your face, and you shake your head in lieu of opening your mouth again. 

“Fuck.”

It’s the first time Marcus has cursed in front of you. Your eyebrows shoot up in surprise, and your clit throbs. 

“I’ve thought about you so much. Your lips, you have to know, right? How plump and full they are… I think about them at night, when I’m touching myself.” 

That’s convincing enough, apparently. Before you can embarrass yourself any further with your confessions, he surges forward to press those plush lips against yours and groans into your mouth. 

His hand flattens against your back and pulls, manhandling you closer to him. Your fingers find his silky hair and tangle in the strands, holding on for dear life at this shift between the two of you. 

You can’t muster up an ounce of shame. Finally, you have Marcus where you want him, pressed against you. You hike a leg over one of his, getting it between your thighs for even the smallest amount of friction. 

You feel him gasp, chest inflating to press even closer against yours. It’s a rush, finally getting this after waiting so long. 

Your hands scramble to get under his white t-shirt. His skin is hot, even against your sweaty palms. There’s so much to feel, the slight swell of his stomach, and the muscle of his flank, the soft but firm pecs. 

You whine when he pulls away from your lips. He shushes you gently, and you open your eyes to watch his slick lips and his hooded eyes and flushed face disappear briefly, just quick enough to shed his shirt. 

Smooth, is the first thing that comes to mind. His tan skin has no hair above his belly button, just the errant freckle here and there. His nipples are peaked, and you reach out to press your thumb against one before your mind catches up to the action, before you realize you’re gawking. 

But when your hand stutters against his skin and you look up at him, he’s smirking, amused and turned on. You falter a bit, mouth open while you search for something to say, some sort of excuse as to why you’re devouring him like you’re starved. 

He saves you though, with his low, grumbled voice. 

“I think about you, too. All the time.” 

You dig your nails into his soft skin at his admission, scraping against his chest. 

“You know that? You think I haven’t had you a million different ways in my head?” 

Your heart stops beating, and you stop breathing, and the heat between your legs only gets heavier and wetter. 

“You want me to show you, sweetheart?”

Your heartbeat comes back as a rush in your ears, and you squeeze the meat of his pec as you nod. 

He kisses you again, licks at your lips until you suck his tongue into your mouth, and now it’s just filthy. No more pretense, it’s been months of pretense, and neither of you have any more patience. 

His fingers seek out your own nipple, a tight bud protruding through cloth, and he rolls it between his fingers gently over the material of his shirt. 

“You come over and wear my clothes like this, and you think you don’t drive me crazy?” 

The words are grumbled into your mouth, against your cheek, then your jaw and your neck as he seeks out more of you to kiss. 

“I don’t wash them when you leave. I wear them and I smell you all day and it makes me feel insane.”

You mewl at his admission. Everything he says now is so fucking raw, now that you’ve broken down his walls. He shushes you again, grabs the hem of his shirt to help you pull it over your head. 

He curses when he sees you. It’s the first time. You’ve both been toeing this line of modesty, and maybe you’d be more nervous if you weren’t careening toward the pleasure he’s promised you. 

He coaxes you to lie on your back beside him, and his mouth works a slow trail down the side of your neck, nipping and suckling until he finally gets your nipple in his mouth. You arch into it, encouraging him with a hand tangled in his thick hair. You feel his groan reverberating around your rib cage when you scrape your nails back and forth across his scalp. You need him, like nothing you’ve ever craved before. 

“Marcus—”

“I know, I know.”

His syrupy voice isn’t as soothing as his lips, though, when he cranes his neck back up to kiss you again. He nips there, a sneaky distraction from the way his fingers trail down to circle your navel, and then even farther, teasing the hem of his sweatpants you’re wearing. His featherlight touch makes you jolt when it finally registers, your stomach jumping under his fingers. 

“Can I?”

You’re nodding against his lips, into the kiss, and then whining when his hand breaches the waistband. Those thick, long fingers flutter across your mound. Your breath catches on every wiggle. But when his fingers splay out, half on one side of your slit and half on the other, teasing your lips, you exhale hard and press up into his touch. 

“Oh, are you that sensitive?”

His voice is half-teasing, half-shocked, as he mumbles into the tingling skin of your neck. 

“It’s just you.” 

And it’s true. There’s no ego-stroking here. You’ve waited too long to get this and now you’re fiending, any touch is a relief. 

And he’s huffing into that skin under your ear, like you’re playing it up too much, but he bites down on the skin anyway and groans. 

“So sweet, huh?”

You make a disgruntled noise but there’s not enough blood in your brain to get your point across. Instead, you wrap your hand around his meaty forearm and force his fingers lower, where you know your underwear is a soaking, sticky mess. 

He curses and pulls away from his assault on your neck to look at you. You’re certain you know what he sees, blown out pupils and sweat-slick forehead and bitten, shiny lips. 

“That’s all for me?” 

There’s a sly smile tugging at one side of his mouth, just barely there, but you see it in the way one dimple grows more than the other. You nod in answer, scrape your nails up the hair on his arm and watch him shudder.

But he retreats from between your legs, and chuckles when you squeeze his forearm tighter in protest. The sound makes you shiver, all low and gruff and teasing. But he softens the blow with another one of his kisses, heated and sloppy and needy. His hands, always so gentle and careful and big, find the creases between your hips and thighs. It makes you arch up into the touch and whimper again, and you wonder briefly if you’ll ever not be desperate for him again. 

He watches your face twist up when he pulls away from you, watches the way your breasts move with every heave of your lungs. His dark eyes travel lower, where his thumbs sear circles into your hips, and his tongue swipes across his lower lip. 

“Can I take these off, sweetheart?” 

The tenderness in his voice fills you with a completely different warmth, white hot flames simmering into a blaze of feelings you aren’t sure you’ve ever truly experienced before. You let it consume you. 

“Yes, please.”

He hums a satisfied little noise as his fingers hook under the waistband. He takes his time, making sure to catch your underwear as well. It’s a sight, his huge hands working your only remaining cover down, down, until you’re bare to him and he’s gently cradling each of your calves to fully remove the last of your clothes. 

Those hands work their way back up, attentive, memorizing the valleys and peaks of your flesh, the nuances of your skin, the way it bends over your joints. Before you know it, he’s propped himself up beside you once again, one arm supporting his weight so his other hand can work its way between your thighs. 

You drag your eyes away from his fingers to look at him, only to find him focused on your face. 

It’s a few long moments before either of you move or speak or breathe. It’s you who breaks the spell, only because you know you’re at the very edge of control. 

“You sure you’re ready?”

You reach up to cradle his neck in your hand. It’s hot to the touch, and so are his ears, the tips of them burning a cute pink where your thumb grazes them. His eyes get softer and crinkle even more around the edges.

“I’m positive… can’t believe I psyched myself out for so long.”

He huffs and shakes his head at himself. You’re ready to kiss that apprehension away again, but his hand on your thigh pulls, as gentle as everything else he’s done, to spread yourself open for him. 

The cool air makes your breath catch in your throat. Or maybe it’s the anticipation. So close to what you’ve thought about every single night for weeks. Months– since the day you first met, if you’re being honest. 

He keeps his eyes on you, and you hold his gaze even though it burns. But only until his fingers brush you. Your eyelids flutter shut at the feeling, mouth open wide in shock at how electric just one simple touch feels. 

His finger glides so easily around your opening, and you hear him gasp as he explores all the slick.

“You’re soaked.” 

His voice is thick with awe, as another finger joins in on the fun, gathering up your arousal. But they don’t breach, and you feel like he’s teasing, readying a whine in protest. 

The noise gets stuck in your throat when they trail up, gliding through your swollen folds. They find your clit, full and begging for attention, and circle with hardly any pressure. 

Oh, he’s fucking good at this. 

There’s no apprehension in his movements. It’s like he’s read a fucking manual on how to press all your buttons. The light, slick touches are building up that heat in your gut quicker than you can ever remember with anyone else. 

You’re stunned silent, eyes pinched shut and your head tilted back into the mattress, digging in for even an ounce of grounding. 

“That feel good, sweetheart?”

Your vocal chords come back to life, finally, as you whimper from the gentle drag of his fingers. 

“You have no idea.”

He chuckles, and you open your eyes to see his own still trained on your face. 

“I think I do,” he mumbles.

He shifts, presses his hips into you, and the hard line of him digs into your side. 

You clench around nothing, and your clit pulses under the pads of his fingers. He curses and responds to the needy little bud, applying more pressure and speeding up those little circles. 

All the while he grinds his hips into you, soft little movements that sync up with his hand, and you want him so bad. You’re losing patience by the second, the only thing keeping you from pouncing is the way his fingers work you over so perfectly it’s like you’re touching yourself. 

You’re not, though, and that becomes perfectly clear when one thick, long finger presses lower and slips into you. It slides so easily, despite how much girth it has on one of your own. You both make stuttered noises at the feeling, and Marcus’ lips capture your own to let them mingle together. 

Your hips egg him on, lifting and shifting, but he is teasing now. It’s a slow drag in and out, his finger pin straight, and if he hadn’t been so diligent this entire time you’d think he didn’t know what he was doing. 

But you whine, a soft plea of his name into his mouth, and he obliges. That thick finger crooks up, just as the heel of his hand flattens against your clit, and stars bloom behind your eyelids. 

You groan, and he laps it up before his lips leave yours. 

“That’s it. This what you needed?”

A pathetic whimper comes out in response as you nod your head. His finger presses harder into that perfect spot, and his palm slides over your wet clit. You’re clenching around him, savoring the feeling of being filled by him, working your hips down and back to meet his motions. It grows and grows, that feeling in your gut, so close that you can’t be bothered to worry about what needy noises you’re making.

He mutters another frantic curse, and his hips jump to press his cock into you harder. 

“I gotta taste you, sweetheart. Can I? Will you let me?” 

You nod so fast you’re surprised your head doesn’t detach from your neck. He soothes that frenzied part of your brain with another kiss, slips his finger out of you, and moves to get between your legs. 

You thread your fingers through his hair to keep him still, even if it’s just for a moment. Your legs instinctively wrap around his waist, and the drag of his sweatpants across your sensitive center makes you arch up into him for more, to seek out more friction. 

He just huffs a laugh against your lips and angles his hips away, denying you the simple pleasure of grinding against the tent in his pants. 

“Not yet. Let me take my time with you. You’ve waited so long, right? I’ll make it up to you, you just gotta let me.” 

You huff. 

You should’ve known Marcus would be just as much of an infuriating tease in the bedroom as he is outside of it. The trivia dates and the cocky smirk he always sported when he won, the little bets he’d make on how a movie’s plot was going to twist, the refusal to ever let you pay for dinner— it’s all adding up now, and you can’t believe you didn’t expect it. 

Marcus Pike is a smug little prick underneath the humble, sheepish grins, and it’s hot and it’s yours. 

“Put your money where your mouth is,” you breathe. 

He chuckles and trails said mouth down the length of your naked body. You watch his plump lips explore your skin and leave wet patches littered in their wake, shiny little stakes claiming you. His five o’clock shadow is just long enough to abrade your skin a bit, delightful little pricks that make your muscles jump involuntarily.

He makes it to your mound before looking up at you. His brown eyes are mostly obstructed by his pupils, but they shine all glassy in the dim lamplight of his bedroom. His shitty grin has faded and he looks determined, and it steals the breath from your lungs. 

He teases some more, of course he does. His lips peck and tickle the creases of your thighs, the skin of your outer lips, and the very tip of your hood before you finally see his pink tongue slip out. 

All of a sudden you can’t watch, can only let your head fall back and close your eyes and drown in the anticipation. 

The pointed tip of his tongue just barely grazes you, tracing a razor-thin line from your dripping hole all the way to your mound. It tickles, and your breath comes in faster as he does it again, and again, and again. 

Just before you can beg for more, he flattens his tongue and drags it up your slit. He laps at your folds, slow and calculated, and the satisfied noises tumble out of you as you feel his taste buds glide against you. 

All you can think to do is find his hair and use it to hang on. Your legs spread wider, and he takes the encouragement. His tongue finds your clit, so swollen and sensitive with need by now. He circles it, then wiggles his tongue back and forth, playing with it, playing with you. He shakes his head from side to side to give you more, presses even more firmly, and the heavy feeling in your gut tightens tenfold. 

Your hips start to move on their own, rocking up into his face, helping his motions along. He groans with it, muffled and wet between your legs. 

A delirious thought gets stuck in your horny brain. You don’t know how you’ll ever let him leave this spot between your legs now that you’ve finally got him here. It’s so wet and warm and incredible, and your nails dig into his scalp to drive the point home, to try and lock him here forever. 

His voice snaps you from your reverent thoughts, thick and deep. 

“Fuck, sweetheart. You taste so good, looks so fucking pretty.” 

You brave a glance down at him, his red soaked mouth and his dark eyes that are boring holes into your pussy. One of his hands releases its grip on your thigh to glide across the dripping mess of your center. He toys with you, spreading you open with splayed fingers, watching the way your folds bend to his whim. With it exposed and protruding and aching for his touch, he leans down to wrap his plush lips around your clit and suckle. Curses fly from your lips at the concentrated attention, and it’s so so so fucking good you’re sure you’re going combust. 

His hand slips lower, and his mouth doesn’t stop, and you’re dangerously close to tipping over the edge. And then two thick fingers slip easily into you, immediately seeking out that spot inside you and tapping there. 

It’s blinding pressure overwhelming the two places you need him most. He drums up a rhythm that would remind you of a dance, maybe, if your brain were cognitive enough to form a coherent thought. Down with his head, engulfing your clit, and up with his fingers, squeezing that spongy spot inside you. Over and over, he works you with soft grunts against your cunt until your fingers lock up in his hair and your hips start to shake. 

“Please don’t stop,” you pant, “I’m so close.” 

To his credit, and this is more than you can say for the majority of men you’ve been with, he doesn’t stop. He doesn’t slow down, nor does he speed up. He keeps at you exactly how you need it, moaning strung-out little noises into your center until you’re dropping. 

All the wind is knocked out of you. Your hips jolt into his face and he takes it in stride, lapping at your clit when the seal of his lips is broken from your erratic movements. You tremble through it, clench around his fingers, and squeeze his head between your thighs as you ride it out on his tongue. 

As the shivers roll through you, Marcus’ fingers slow, and though he can’t remove his tongue from you because of how your legs have him in a headlock, he stills his tongue so you can take the last bit of what you need from him. 

His breathing is just as heavy as yours, wheezing out moans and muffled words of encouragement. When you feel yourself slipping down from your peak, you let go of the death grip on his hair, and open your legs, and grant yourself a few deep breaths before you dare to look down at him. 

He carefully, cautiously pulls his fingers out of you. A comforting ‘shhh’ is cooed into the sweaty skin of your thigh when you make a strangled sound. Both of his hands splay out on either hip, a light and grounding touch accompanied by the kisses he’s dropping all over the skin he can reach. 

Finally, you grant yourself a peek down at him. The first thing you notice is how his broad shoulders are, heaving with baited breath. Then, his normally pristine hair, sticking out every which way and then some from your frantic fingers. 

His face is red, you guess from exertion. Or maybe you really did restrict some blood flow. Christ. That’s what he gets, being so goddamn good at that. 

And then his lips. His lips. Those lips that up until now you’ve only ever kissed or dreamed of. They’re even more plump, swollen and slick with you, shining just like his chin is. 

You don’t know what to say. You know you want to kiss him. Funny, considering that’s how all this started, but you’re dying to see what you taste like on him. 

Luckily, he breaks the silence, after licking those delectable lips and clearing his throat. 

“So… How’d it compare?” 

Your face contorts on its own, surprised at the sudden and intrusive question. 

“Pardon?”

But then he laughs, pressing those wet dimples into your heated skin to hide them. 

“To all those thoughts you told me about. How’d I do?” 

You laugh too then, a weary huff of breath as you sit up. 

“Don’t go fishing for compliments,” you tease, though there’s not much heat behind it with how out of breath you still are. 

He goes to respond, but you get a hand in his hair again and coax him up. You meet him halfway, swallowing his surprised noise when you finally get those pillowy lips against yours and lick at them, his tongue, his teeth, until you aren’t sure what taste is you and what is him. Until you realize you’re flat on your back again as he hovers over you, still between your thighs. 

You both hum when the kiss breaks, and you rest your forehead against his, nuzzle his nose and sigh at the floaty feeling in your limbs. 

“Better,” you whisper. 

You feel his grin bump into your own. You nip at it, playful and languid as you finally begin to get some of your bearings back. 

And then you’re shocked back into the realization that there’s all this smooth skin right in front of you, this hunk of a man hovering above, the one who just melted your brain into a fuzzy little mold of itself. You grab his hips as he licks into your mouth and scrape your nails up his flanks, unhurried, while the touch makes him shiver. 

You feel out the strength in his pecs, those broad shoulders you often daydream about, and then you push. Catching him off guard, he gasps as he loses his balance and tumbles to the side, and then laughs when you press him into the mattress and straddle his hips. 

You laugh along with him, but it slowly tapers off as his hands find your naked skin— your stomach and hips and back and then your ass, where it hovers just above that bulge in his sweatpants. 

He’s looking up at you with what you can only describe as horny apprehension. 

His eyelids droop over his dilated pupils, but his brow is all pinched up in the middle. His mouth hangs open, like he wants to say something, but nothing comes out. 

So you kiss him, soft and gentle, as gentle as he’s been with you all night. His sigh washes heat across your cheeks, and you feel him relax under you just a little. 

But then you shift in his grasp, lower your ass, and press your soaking center to his crotch. You whimper at the feeling of his sweatpants dragging across your sensitive, wet cunt. He moans and bites at your bottom lip maybe a little too hard. 

But it’s okay. He pulls away and pants your name and you settle there, your weight pressed down on his cock. Your lips find that smooth patch in his stubble, biting that chiseled jaw, licking down the curve of his neck, his shoulder, up to his ear. You delight in every goosebump you draw, and breathe in his scent before you speak up. 

“Will you let me suck it?” 

All his breath rushes out in a big gust. His fingertips dig into your naked sides, and he nods. 

“Please.” 

It’s a barely-there whisper. You pull away from that silky soft skin where his pulse is hammering to check his reaction. 

He’s begging with his eyes. It makes you smirk, sitting up straighter, trailing your fingers down the front of his body until you reach the drawstring of his sweatpants. 

You’re still sitting on his groin, though. You give a little playful wiggle, and his hips rock up to grind harder. But you don’t want to tease any more. Every moment spent teasing him, you’re also denying yourself, and you’ve been patient for long enough. 

So you shift down the bed, nestled between his legs, and get to work on the tie of his pants. Every time your fingertips brush the hair below his belly button, he sucks in a breath. You finally get the thing untied, and look up one last time for permission before you start to drag the material down, grabbing his boxers as you go. 

Your eyes stay trained on his face instead of staring at his crotch, especially as he wiggles a bit and lifts his legs to remove his pants. You don’t want to stare, and you also don’t want to not look, you don’t want him to be uncomfortable at all with you. 

You want it to be perfect. You want to make him feel the way he makes you feel. 

He nods his head, and you cease averting your eyes to trail down his body, the bushy happy trail and the neatly trimmed hair above his cock and his cock. 

His little cock. 

It is, indeed, on the smaller side. Probably one of the smallest you’ve seen in real life. Three and half or four inches long, if you had to guess. 

And it’s so pretty, cut and on the thicker side, the slightest upward curve that makes your pussy tighten around nothing. 

You dive right in, press your nose to all the hair while you kiss at the base of him, humming when his cock twitches against the side of your face. He smells so good and clean, like always, but down here there’s even more of that Marcus smell that always lingers beneath his soap and cologne, salty and warm.

When you drag your eyes up to him, his head’s thrown back against the pillows, not looking at you. You want him to look, you want him to see how much you’re going to enjoy this. 

You’ll make him look, one way or another. 

For now, you just lathe your tongue up the underside of him, then back down to tickle his balls, all the while enjoying how his prick jerks under the attention. 

He’s making little noises, mostly puffs of breath and gasps, and his hands twist up in the sheets beside you. You grab one of them, slow and steady, and lead it to the back of your head. 

And then, you finally get your lips wrapped around the head of his dick, and you slowly sink down until he’s entirely in your mouth. 

It’s not until your nose presses against the flatness above his cock do you hear him release a strangled groan. That’s when you look back up at him and find him staring down, mouth agape, locked on your mouthful of him. 

You pull back up, wiggling your tongue as you go, memorizing the ridges and hairs and veins. Your eyes are locked on his, and his are locked on your lips, so you try to give him a show. 

You open your mouth and stick out your tongue, nod your head up and down to let his cockhead tickle your tastebuds. A gruff noise leaves him, hearty and hoarse, and you want to smile but you’re not in a position to. 

Instead, you flick your tongue against that little band of tissue just under his slit, and his hips stutter as his grip on the back of your head tightens. 

“Fuck, sweetheart.”

Now you do smile, your lips upturned against the head of his cock, and it jerks against your mouth while you kiss it, until you envelop it once more. 

You hum around him, at the weighted feeling of him occupying your mouth, how smooth it feels against your tongue and how nice it is to take him all the way in and not gag or choke or drool. 

It makes your cunt ache, makes you crave him even more, makes you want to be full of him everywhere. 

You reach a hand down to touch yourself. You’re still dripping, can feel it all slipping from your entrance and cooling your skin in the air conditioning. You’ve had just enough time to recover from the mess Marcus made of you. You’re sensitive but not too sensitive, when you trace your clit with your fingertips and moan around the mouthful of cock. 

“Oh fuck, are you touching yourself?”

Your eyes flicker open and look up to him. He’s clenching his jaw, grinding his teeth as his nostrils flare. You hum and nod your head to answer, his cock slipping back and forth through the ring of your lips. He whimpers, and his head tips back against the mattress again, and it makes you speed up the efforts on both him and yourself. 

He curses, soft little chants, kneading the back of your neck in his big hand as you suck him in over and over. You close your eyes and lose yourself in it for a bit, the way he slips so easily in and out, the way his hips move just a little, like he’s trying not to but he can’t help it. The sounds, his grunts and your sloppy mouth and your fingers working over your slick folds. 

He says your name. 

You hum, use your free hand to play with the fuzzy skin of his balls. 

He says your name again, and this time it’s urgent, almost panicked. 

“Sweetheart, stop, please.”

You do, immediately. You open your mouth wide and let him fall from your lips and unhand him while you look at his exerted face. 

“Are you okay?”

He huffs, and his cock bobs beside your face. 

“I’m so okay. I just— did you want me to…? It’s okay if you don’t, I just didn’t want it to be over—”

“Marcus.” 

His heated babbling stops as he clamps his mouth shut. His broad shoulders lift and drop with his heading breath.

“Do you want to fuck me?” 

You smooth your hands across the scattered hair on his thighs when you ask. His prick twitches again at your question. 

“I— Yeah. Yes. I do.”

He looks almost guilty about it, with his wide eyes and the bashful expression spreading across his face. 

“I want you to fuck me so bad,” you tell him, “I’ve wanted it for way too long.”

His breath leaves him in a shuddery exhale, something like relief or awe. 

“Yeah? You still want it?” 

His hand skates from the back of your neck to your jaw, his thumb brushing the apple of your cheek. 

“Please, Marcus. Give it to me.” 

You turn your head to kiss his thumb, a sloppy little peck before you take it into your mouth. You smile around it when he groans, and bite it before it slips away. 

“Can you get on the edge of the bed for me?” 

You can, but not without throwing a cheeky ‘yes sir’ his way. You’re not sure if the noise he makes is from arousal or a lack of  amusement, but there will be plenty of time to explore that later. 

For now, you do as he says. You scoot so your ass is just about to fall off the side of his bed. The wooden bed frame is the perfect height to rest your heels on, and as Marcus slips a pillow under your head, you’re as comfortable as ever.

The mattress dips when he gets up to stand in front of you. The lamplight from the nightstand is really doing things for him. The slight sheen of sweat on his chest glistens, as does the wetness at his temples where his hair is starting to curl up. All those lean muscles have never been more apparent than they are now, the golden glow creating beautiful shadows across his naked body. 

He’s so hot. 

It doesn’t help that his big, warm hands snake up your bare thighs as he gets between them. His small dick stands at attention, pointing toward the ceiling, and you feel your pussy spasm with anticipation. 

“Please,” you whisper. 

He nods, steps closer as you spread your legs wider and wiggle even further off the bed. 

“Perfect, sweetheart.”

He leans over you with one hand on the bed to brace himself. The other is wrapped firmly around the base of his cock, and he looks down to watch it as he glides it through your slit. 

“Are you ready?”

You nod and hum your affirmative. He takes the go-ahead and his cockhead slides across your clit, down, so slowly, until it catches on the rim of your hole and you both gasp at the feeling. 

You look down to watch too, lifting up on your elbows to see the moment your pussy lets him sink inside, fluttering around him, engulfing his prick one inch at a time. 

You knew it. You fucking knew his cock was perfect but still you’re shocked at the way the curve makes him drag across your upper wall. And when his hips are flush with yours, all that pressure is concentrated at that bundle of nerve endings inside of you, and you’re going to lose your mind if he doesn’t move.

“Oh fuck.”

You let yourself flop back in the bed, but reach for his hand that’s supporting his weight. Your nails scrabble for purchase against the skin of his wrist as you curse again, your walls contracting around him as you tense. 

“Fuck, Marcus, please.”

You’re so far past caring about how desperate you sound. You need him, the textbook definition of it; it’s an absolute necessity that he fucks you. 

He curses, and you realize you’ve closed your eyes. When you open them, his jaw is hanging and he’s looking at you, your face, like it’s something he’s never seen before. Like he’s shocked you’re here in front of him. 

But his hips are still, and you’re helpless to the way your own cant up to urge him, and finally he’s pulling back out. The slow drag against the most tender spot inside you rips a noise from your throat, involuntary. He pulls almost all the way out, until the head of his dick is kissing your opening and you can feel how he stretches the tight ring of muscles. 

And then in again, almost as slowly, and you’re already out of breath. The feeling steals all the wind from your lungs. It’s setting you on fire, perfect friction against just the right spot, the one that’s still tender and alight from your previous orgasm. 

“It’s so fucking good,” you manage to choke out. 

Marcus moans above you, and his hips snap into you, and his free hand finds your waist so he can dig his nails into your flesh. 

“It is, fuck, sweetheart, you’re so fucking good.”

A bead of sweat drips from his nose and lands on your belly, and that seems to make you snap out of it. 

“Fuck me. Fuck me hard, please, make me come.”

You watch his mouth quirk up into a pretty smirk, dimples on full display. 

“Yes ma’am.”

Your giggles only last for a moment, dissolving into a high whine when he slides out of you and back in, a harsh thrust of his hips that doesn’t let up. 

He fucks you. You try to watch; it’s too hot not to. His biceps flex respectively, one with his effort to hold himself above you, and the other where he holds you in place by your waist. 

His neck, the one vein there that’s protruding as he bares his teeth. The way his chest is rapidly rising and falling as he drives into you. His big brown eyes, even darker now as he succumbs to the feeling of you. 

But you just can’t keep your eyes open for long. It feels too good, you’re too close to the edge. Your insides are so tender and alight from the first time you came. Every single thrust inside you is taking you apart and building your second so quickly. Your eyelids droop closed and there’s already stars blooming behind them. 

His little noises are louder, like this. Grunts and gasps and moans, falling over you, all for you. 

“Fuck, I’m so close,” you warn him.

Your back arches to encourage his pace. His skin slaps into yours faster as he groans.

“Thank god, me too. What do you need, sweetheart?” 

Without a verbal answer to his strained question, you slip your hand down to press against your throbbing clit. 

“Shit, yeah, play with your pussy for me. I wanna— fuck— let me see you come. Looks so gorgeous.”

His voice is thick in his throat, and you work your fingers over yourself faster. You’re clenching wildly around him, you can’t help it. Every thrust in sets your nerves on fire, almost too much, but not quite. His grunts are turning into growls, uninhibited and primal. You feel the mattress shift and open your eyes to find him standing up straight. 

Both hands grab your hips now, and that little angle change makes him grind even harder into your g-spot, and you’re tumbling over the edge. It’s been building under the surface for so long that when it hits, it’s blinding. There’s static in your toes that washes over you, up, up, dragging a fiery heat with it that consumes your center and makes your head fuzzy. 

There’s screaming. 

You’re screaming. Your eyes are clenched so tight, as are your fingers, all your joints, your pussy, around Marcus as he fucks you through it with sloppy thrusts. 

“That’s it, oh my god, sweetheart, you— fuck. I’m gonna come, I’m— where?”

“In me.”

Your throat is scratchy when you answer, and you don’t have any time to elaborate on why that’s not a bad idea. You’re still coming, wave after wave of warmth rolling across your body, and you’re vaguely aware of how wet everything is, the sound of him fucking you even more obscene. 

His shout doesn’t quite rival yours, but you feel it when he empties inside of you. His cock jerks and and twitches, wringing out every little bit of pleasure from you, and you think you’re still coming, the pinpricks of pleasure are still too intense to be aftershocks. 

He stays pressed as deep as he can be as his stomach convulses and his thighs shake, just like yours do where they’ve somehow wrapped around him. Your eyes open again, and the lamplight is so bright now, his breathing is so loud. He grunts and pulls out a bit, then presses back in, and again, until it falters and his whole body slumps. 

His top half collapses onto you, his little breaths huff and tickle the tingling skin of your belly. Your own breath comes out in a weak moan, and it takes all the strength you can muster just to run your fingers through his sweaty hair. 

“Jesus,” he says.

Your name cascading off his lips in such a strung out voice that it makes you clench around him again. 

“Huh?” 

God, how are you ever going to move again? 

“You uh… Is that a common occurrence?”

Christ, why is he using such big words? 

“What are you talking about?” 

He clears his throat. 

“You like— You squirted?”

You laugh, one delirious huff. It makes his head rock on your jiggling belly. 

“I what?”

You gather the will to look down at him. His mouth is open, surprised and amused, and his eyes are shiny and bright. 

“Yeah, like, a lot.”

He’s still inside you but softening, and his own chuckles make him slip out. 

You lift up on your elbows as he stands up straight and the evidence is clear. The hair above his dick and high on his thighs is all dark and soaked. 

“Oh my god, I’m so sorry.”

The sheets on the edge of the bed are absolutely ruined, and you pray he’s one of those men that has a mattress protector. You’re more than a little mortified, and the way he’s staring at you, silent, is beginning to make you squirmy.

“What?” 

“Why do you seem so surprised?”

His fingertips are feather-light across your thighs, and you shiver. 

“I’ve never actually… done that? I would have warned you.”

He makes a pained sound, and those fingertips turn into a tight grip just above your knees. 

He doesn’t speak up. Instead, he lies on the bed beside you. He holds himself by his elbow, but that hand strokes your scalp while the other traces up and down your thigh, your hips, your breasts, anything he can reach. You avoid the topic at hand to relax into it, and you think you’re finally coming down as that boneless feeling washes over you. 

You’re vaguely aware of his cum dripping out of you, but the sheets are a lost cause anyway. You just watch his lax face, the way the wrinkles in his brow are all smoothed out, the way his eyes follow the patterns he’s drawing on your body. 

He catches you staring. His gaze meets yours and he smiles and it’s sunny. It warms you through, despite all the sweat that’s cooling on your body. 

“Hi,” he whispers. 

You giggle, and he does too. He tries to hold it in by biting his lip, but it’s no use. You will your exhausted bones to shift and face him, and he presses his lips to yours and they meld together.

It’s languid, unhurried, just reacquainting after too long apart. It feels a little goofy, with how you’re both smiling so wide, but it calms you into settling down after such a high. 

Both of your breathing seems even, when you part. 

“That was—”

“It’s never—”

You both chuckle. 

“Ladies first.”

You feel shy now. You can’t imagine why, but a fluttery feeling overtakes your stomach. 

“I was just gonna say… That was better than all those times I imagined it.”

You didn’t think it was possible, but his smile grows even wider. His eyes flicker from yours to the sheets between you, and you think maybe he feels as bashful as you do. 

“It’s never been that good.”

A sigh escapes him when he speaks, and his nervous gaze lands on you when his face falls into something more earnest. 

It takes your breath away. Because it’s never been that good for you either, and isn’t that such a perfect coincidence?

You tug him to you by the back of his neck, eat up the surprised little sound he makes against your mouth. 

“When can we go again?”

#Pedro pascal #Pedro pascal x reader #Pedro pascal smut #Pedro pascal fanfiction #Pedro pascal characters #x reader #marcus pike #marcus pike x reader #marcus pike smut #the mentalist

[atopvisenyashill]

Catelyn's resentment at always having to adhere to men is not talked about enough in my opinion. When she bitterly thinks that she always did her duty. When she thinks about having to wait for the men in her life. When she snaps that Robb did not her consider his sisters important enough. When she laments that no one sings songs of the battles of women aka childbirth and children.... Yes she conforms because she is realistic and pragmatic and dutiful and she wants to survive and be happy enough and she wants the same for her daughters.

YES EXACTLY. I think it’s like. For so long she conformed because it was realistic pragmatic dutiful, because being a perfect lady and heir made things easier on her parents, and she loved her parents, she wanted them to he proud, and it turned out she was GOOD at so many of the things they asked of her, and it gave her the ability to be in charge of herself and her life for so long, and when minisa died, she could help lift the burden off her father’s shoulders, and it gave her the ability to grow and speak her mind, and being dutiful brought her ned, who was so much more than she ever thought she’d get, and it brought her five amazing children, and a home she loves and can be free in - like jon snow thing does suck but compare this situation to like upwards of 90% of the marriages & you know what it’s a fucking dream and Catelyn knows this, she is aware things can always be worse, it’s why she understands immediately why jon & lysa were doomed from the start, she understands this system and how it works, and it’s worked so well for her she can ignore the ways it has hurt her.

And then it just. Completely fails her. She’s tricked by Lysa and Petyr, the two people she’d least expect it from that she never even entertains the idea, Ned is murdered, Sansa is a hostage, Arya is just gone, Bran has been nearly murdered twice, and she’s in her childhood home and Hoster is dying and Edmure is annoying and Blackfish is off fighting again and she’s reliving the worst days of her life but this time the person waging war isn’t a husband she doesn’t know, it’s her own son and she just can’t stop thinking about how she’s done everything right, she’s played by the rules her whole life, she upheld the social contract because it promised she’d have control over her life, and then the whole thing just completely fails because joffrey has a tantrum after petyr whispered in his ear, AGAIN, just another mad king with power hungry advisors, and she’s stuck in this room AGAIN-

AND SHE DOES.

like, that’s what happens, is she spends her whole life doing what she’s supposed to and then it crumbles down around her and she just figures, fuck it, if following the rules can’t do the one (1) most important thing it has to do which is keep my family alive than i’m not following shit anymore. she starts to just do what she thinks is best. starts to snap back. starts to just speak without being asked. like, she’s cracking, she’s breaking up, YEAH she’s still dutiful, but what is she being dutiful TOWARDS? is she doing what robb says? what edmure says? NO, she’s making her OWN DECISIONS she’s trying. and then people will see her become a literal undead spirit of rage and revenge and be like “she’s so dutiful and never struggles or chafes against the patriarchy” when she struggled and screamed so much at the ending she was clawing her own face to ribbons!!

#asks #anons #s2g made this months ago then scrapped the meta but now here it is akdjndndn

[historia-vitae-magistras]

A lightee ask than usual but do you have any food or eating habit thoughts?

Ooohooohh, I did a whole ass seminar on the history of food. Failed it because I almost bled to death but I got to keep all the material! I've got.... a lot of thoughts and feelings about food culture. Too goddamn many, tbh. This got really long so I'll have to do a part two for other characters if wanted but lol enjoy.

Alfred:

 —Actually pretty gourmet little shit when he's got time and effort. He's made food Maria loves so often she has to give up on pretending she didn't enjoy it because fucking hell, he makes good chilaquiles after they've been drinking and fucking. There is, however, a non-zero chance he hasn't eaten a vegetable since the Nixon administration.

 —With that combustion engine metabolism, he's also perpetually hungry, so he eats whatever is around him. His guts do not like this, especially when it's a lot of dairy.

 —He has that kind of lactose intolerance that's tied to his health and stress, so if he's been particularly freaked out lately, he'll remind the world of his nuclear arsenal when he's got to use the toilet after that triple cheeseburger with a side of deep-fried cheese curds.

 —He's a stress eater too. He eats every negative emotion he's ever had especially when he's trying not to binge drink or do drugs.

 —He’s exceptionally food-motivated. They didn’t call one of his first major historical eras ‘the starving time’ without reason. He has preferences, but food is also food, and he’ll genuinely enjoy it in most forms as long as it's not rotten or otherwise godawful. Cowboy coffee and beans for ten days straight, and he will genuinely be the only man on that cow trail not sick of it by the end.

 —This also goes into why he’s so generous with food. He’s big on homemade food. He’ll make a whole big ass batch of like some sort of mac and cheese, and all the neighbours will get a big ol’ bowl of it with an ‘oh just return the Tupperware whenever,’ and it will genuinely be one of the best things they’ve ever eaten in their lives. Europeans recoil in horror, but our portion sizes are almost never single servings. It’s a generosity and hospitality practice except drinks. He really will down like a 2 liter of Slurpee in a single sitting.

 —He doesn’t mind eating alone. Actually prefers it sometimes. He loves eating in his car. American frontier culture, especially mountain men, had an often hyper-individualized, almost mythic culture of spending long periods alone in the woods and not being very sociable; thus a lot of situations where single servings were a thing, eating alone in quiet without something to do can be a real goddamn luxury.

 —He’s a really big protein guy with his metabolism. Sometimes exists on protein shakes but is more often a beef or barbeque or ham or alligator jerky. And a somewhat chunky Alfred is a healthy Alfred. A perfectly cut no flab Alfred is an Alfred who might be severely dehydrated and on several kinds of uppers.

 —He has better tastes than Arthur who didn't really realize food was supposed to taste good until like ten years ago but his combinations can be equally wild and unappetizing as they are batshit tasty.

—He loves spicy food. He's got so many opinions about hot sauces.

—He’s always hungry. If he isn’t hungry or turns down food, its genuinely a bad sign. If he turns down anything or just is just picking at it his food alarm bells should be sounding. He’s either about to declare war or puke all over the table or keel over dead. Peckish or food coma is his default state. Like if he was a smaller guy someone would say he’s got a binge disorder but he’s tall and beefy so he’s pretty okay.

 —Incredibly adventurous eater too. People will assume since there’s that old school culture of Anglo-American who eats the same 7 meals every week and might keel over dead if the meatloaf is slightly different he’ll be a bit hard to please but then he’s absolutely charmed by everything from Korean kimchi to Lithuanian Lašiniai.

 —He loves anyone who feeds him, just got to be a bit careful because he’s got surprisingly delicate stomach for the world superpower.

 —That American obsession with authencity means he’s surprisingly good at remembering people’s food culture or eating norms. He figured out chopsticks in ten seconds and quickly picked up the cues and manners of eating in any given culture. Still struggles with modulating his voice and personality, so he can often come across as rude, but he's so excited to do so. It's almost frustrating how happy he is to try and adapt to people around him and how happy he can be to fit in.

Matt:

 —He's a very good cook when he's putting in effort for other people, but he's not really like Alfred, who he'll make a whole ass meal for one just to relax on a Sunday.

 —He does tend to eat more vegetables than Alfred, but only because his northern vitamin deficiency has him binging them when he can afford them or they're available during the summer.

  —He can be weirdly picky on his own, but no one ever really needs to ask about his favourite food or how he likes anything because he always just goes with the flow around other people. “Just get me whatever you’re getting.” comes out of his mouth often.

 —There's a lot of sour cream/crema and yoghurt/coconut milk involved when he eats Mexican or Indian food for as much as he loves it.

 —Katya was singlehandedly responsible for his ability to maintain a normal weight during the 20th century by adding rye bread and perogies/vyrenki to his diet. He craves mushroom-umami flavours when he misses her, which is most of the time.

 —When he’s normal and eating the Anglo-North American diet, but he isn’t always eating it, he gets some strong sugar cravings, especially when he’s west of Manitoba. He’s as fond of birch syrup as a flavour as he is maple; there’s just less production. But the kind of deprivation he got and his own tendencies to not eat sometimes cause white sugar to just straight-up burns.

 —There's very much something of François to Matt's dietary habits, but less in his personal tastes and more in that he might be more sensitive to flavours. He has that kind of discerning and slightly oversensitive palate, but he’s a shitty perpetually broke frontier settler colony. He knows better/feels too guilty/is too embarrassed of himself to really indulge it.

 —He kept too much of his peasant communalism in his eating habits. Where Anglo-American communities did have a lot of cooperation, communal eating was a special occasion. The norm was based on the individual household. In contrast, French Canadian habitants still technically lived on medieval land plots and owed labour to a lord while also having a culture of seasonal male work, so Matt grew up used to communal ovens and eating most of his meals around others. Later, in Arthur’s jurisdiction, it was usually the same. He got a plate of whatever he was given, and it wasn’t something he had ever had to initiate himself.

 —Partially, he's sometimes exceptionally bad at eating when he has to choose to do it himself. Especially since the Americanization of the food culture took hold in the '80s and '90s. Whereas Alfred is food motivated from going without when he was little, Matt learned how to block out physical sensation until he collapsed because it was rare that someone, including himself, cared about what kind of state he was in. He just doesn’t eat at all when he’s stressed or anxious. And now it's his sole responsibility to do so as there aren’t the same community structures. He has a lot of Alfred’s abundance now, all the brunch and BBQ places anyone could ask for, but it hasn’t meshed with his eating habits. His people gave up so much of their communal eating in exchange for various choices and then wondered why they were so lonely. So he’ll just microwave a potato or a packet of Kraft dinner a day for a week straight and wonder why he feels dead because, technically, he did eat something. It’s seriously a miracle he got as tall as he did.

 —Feed him nothing but hardtack for three years, and he won't complain until he's dropped dead of scurvy. If Arthur puts some sort of godforsaken mixture of plum sauce or gin-infused spag bol in front of him, he’ll compliment it before he disassociates to get at least some of it down.

#the ask box || probis pateo #hws canada #hws america #meatsack mechanics || the sociology and biology of nations #matthew || my country is winter #alfred || o beautiful for spacious skies

[eyesfullofsttars]

☆ obsessed with the idea of ellie & abby being mothers

synopsis: a few headcanons of abigail and ellie being mothers, from the way they raise the baby to the smallest details!!!

notes: hiii!!! i've just been thinking about these two being mothers for the past few days and this came up—sorry if it's simple or too dumb. (don't take it too seriously pls)

I'm still not sure whether they would prefer having a girl or a boy. It seems it wouldn't matter much to them, as they would raise the baby the same way regardless. However, these two are mothers of a boy!!!

They speak to their baby as though he were a responsible adult who understands everything perfectly and frown when someone uses a high-pitched voice or baby talk.

Abby is the one who always gets up in the middle of the night if the baby cries. She automatically wakes up and goes to see what's wrong with her son.

Meanwhile, Ellie doesn't wake up at night, but she reads a dinosaur book to the baby before bed, tucks him in, and gives him a goodnight kiss on the forehead.

Ellie is enthusiastic about her baby, playing energetically and carefree, tickling him, putting him on her shoulders, and playing with his hands. She's proud of her baby and believes he's the best.

Abby is not so calm, paying attention to her son's safety. She comes from a family of doctors —she's a doctor herself— and watches Ellie carefully whenever she holds the baby. Abby feels the need to keep her son close at all times, either in her strong arms or on her lap, playfully touching his nose or gently stroking his hair.

Ellie can spend hours watching Abby take a nap with their baby. She sees Abby sitting on the couch with the baby on her lap, cuddled against her chest and holding her shirt tightly with his small hand, afraid of losing contact. They breathe softly, calmly together, which Ellie finds adorable — making her feel like the luckiest woman in the world.

At first, Abby worried about seeing Ellie handle the baby so lightly, but she has become accustomed to Ellie's relaxed attitude. Abby watches carefully to avoid accidents, but one of her favorite things is listening to her baby and Els laugh together at something silly Ellie does, causing Abby to laugh too.

Abby "I want to name our son after a writer" Anderson versus Ellie "Let's name our son after a constellation" Williams — Els won!

Ellie helps her son learn to speak by playing her guitar, singing songs about letters, animals, and the names of family and friends.

Abby cheers and celebrates every time she sees the baby trying to stand, keeping his balance by holding onto the couch. She's proud of her little prodigy and also believes her baby is the best.

Ellie lets her son trace the lines of her tattoo and even color the spaces with markers. She accepts without complaint, extending her arm for her child to do his art.

Abby lets her son comb her hair. She loosens her blonde hair and trusts her baby's hands as he tries to comb her long hair, clumsily attempting a braid but failing.

Ellie can't help but swear in front of the baby, as she hasn't managed to change her language yet. She often ends up letting out a curse word, especially when the baby does something that excites her.

She might say something like, “Fuck yeah, you're so intelligent, kiddo!” Or, whenever the baby cries for no reason, Ellie will get completely flustered and not know what to do, like, “What the hell do you want from me, dude? I can't help you if you don't tell me!”

On the other hand, Abby doesn't see the appeal in swearing in front of their son. So, whenever a curse word slips out of Ellie's mouth, Abby quickly exclaims; “Language, Williams!”

No matter where she is in the house, she can always hear Ellie swearing, which ends with Ellie responding with something like, “Fuck, sorry, babe. Shit, right, sorry, buddy. It just comes out like verbal vomit; I can't control it.”

Every time a rock song plays, Ellie can't help but do headbanging, and her son joins her in the fun. Both end up in the kitchen, energetically moving their heads to the music and dancing around.

For every special occasion, such as Valentine's Day, birthdays, or even Easter, Abby doesn't hesitate to buy flowers for Ellie and her son.

Both understand their child perfectly. The child might babble something unintelligible, but they simply nod, comprehending every word.

#ellabs #ellie williams #ellie tlou #ellie the last of us #abby anderson #ellie x abby #lesbian #abby tlou #ellie williams fic #abby anderson fic #abby anderson headcanons #ellie williams headcanons #abby headcanons #abby the last of us #tlou abby #ellie and abby #ellie williams tlou #tlou ellie #tlou fic #the last of us fic #ellie williams the last of us #abby anderson fanfic #abby anderson fluff #ellie williams fluff #idiots in love #wlw #ellie williams fanfiction #ellie williams fanfic #abigail anderson #ellie/abby

[slaymitchabernathy]

Back Together Again

For once, Coriolanus is home before Soarynn.

It’s unusual and he doesn’t quite know how to feel about it. She’s at a dinner with some of her friends and his meeting was shorter than he had originally planned for so here he is, nursing a glass of whiskey while waiting for the love of his life to return.

The penthouse is so quiet without Soarynn in it. Normally, it’s filled with music and laughter. She often sings out loud or talks to her cat Petunia, who she claims can understand her. But it’s quiet.

He checks his watch again for the tenth time within five minutes and sighs. Is this how she feels all the time? Soarynn doesn’t work, he’s seen to it that she’s well taken care of but that leaves her with a lot of free time on her hands and most of it she spends shopping, going out with friends and taking care of his ancestral penthouse. She does however, spend a good amount of time waiting for him to come home every night.

Coriolanus eyes the cat sitting on the armchair across from him. Petunia’s tail flicks back and forth as the two sit in a comfortable silence. Both waiting for Soarynn. Then, they hear it. The sound of the front doors unlocking. Petunia jumps off the chair and bounds down the hallway to greet Soarynn whereas Coriolanus takes the more reserved route and simply waits. She’ll come to him like she always does.

But she doesn’t. He can hear her make her way inside and close the door. He doesn’t hear any greetings for the cat which he smugly notes but it’s so…quiet. He listens to the sound of Soarynn’s heels on the hardwood floor as they walk down the hall but she never makes it to the living room.

Coriolanus furrows his brows. Has something happened? Is she upset with him? His worries persist when Petunia comes back into the living room, her tail lowered in defeat.

Coriolanus pushes himself from the sofa and makes his way to their bedroom where Soarynn has most likely gone to. He’s proven correct when he finds the closet light on and catches a glimpse of Soarynn throwing her heels towards the other side, a childish act that he is not too fond of seeing from his girlfriend. Especially because he bought her those shoes and every fucking thing in that closet.

He also notes her expensive handbag carelessly lying on the floor as well. Coriolanus strides across the room and knocks on the closet’s doorframe before entering and finds Soarynn sitting on one of the ottomans they have in the closet. She’s hunched over as she fusses with the tights she wore tonight, trying to pull them off and not paying him any mind.

Coriolanus clenches his jaw and clears his throat, “Is there a reason as to why you failed to greet me when you arrived home?” Soarynn would often wait right in front of the doors when he got home, not wanting to wait a moment longer to see him again. This behavior is the complete opposite of what he’s used to receiving from his girlfriend and he doesn’t like it one bit.

Soarynn mumbles something incoherent and Coriolanus raises his eyebrows, “Excuse me?” Soarynn snaps her head up and he’s finally granted a few of his girlfriend’s face. Her eyes are red and filled with tears and a bit of her mascara has run down her face as well, “I said it’s none of your fucking business,” she snaps, so much anger in her tone.

Coriolanus is taken back both by the tears and the snippy attitude which he does not appreciate one bit. Soarynn is normally polite and sweet. This is not the girl he’s grown to love.

Coriolanus grabs her chin, squeezing it between his thumb and index finger, “Say that one more time,”he challenges, his tone sharp. Soarynn jerks away from his hold and stands up, slightly unsteady on her feet which means she had something to drink at dinner. “Just leave me alone,” she huffs as she brushes past him and into the bedroom. Coriolanus is right behind her and he reaches for her arm, wrapping his long fingers around it.

“Have you forgotten all your manners or are you just trying to piss me off?” He asks, pulling on her arm. Soarynn whips her head around and he can see fresh tears falling from her face, “It doesn’t fucking matter so just let me go,” she says, her voice trembling. He’s more concerned than upset at the moment but when Soarynn attempts to break free from his grip, it all goes downhill.

She succeeds in pulling away from his grasp but the alcohol in her system has stunted her senses and her foot catches under the rug they have laid out on the bedroom floor. It’s within five seconds that Soarynn is hitting the hard floor with a loud bang. Coriolanus flinches and quickly reaches down to check on her and her shaking form. He rests and hand on her back and Soarynn lets out a whimper, “I…” Her voice dies off, “I just want today to be over,” she whispers.

Coriolanus furrows his brows at her words. “What happened tonight? Did someone hurt you? Try to touch you?” He can already feel his blood boiling at the thought of another man trying to hurt his precious girlfriend.

Soarynn slowly sits up on her knees and shakes her head, “No one touched me,” she whispers. Coriolanus withdraws his hand from her back in exchange for making his way around her so that he can look her in the eye. He kneels down until they’re almost at eye level with one another, even on his knees he’s taller than Soarynn.

Her eyes are trained on the floor, tears falling onto the rug. He ever so carefully reaches out to cup her face with his hand, being oh-so gentle while doing so.

“Darling, what’s wrong?”

Soarynn sniffles and shakes her head, “It’s nothing of importance.” It probably isn’t. It’s probably about something silly and something that would never bother Coriolanus. But it’s bothering Soarynn which means it’s bothering him.

“Tell me,” he gently urges, his heart clenching at the sight of his girlfriend upset. Soarynn wipes a tear and takes in a shaky breath, “Clemmie said some things and…” Her bottom lip trembles and he knows she’s about to start crying, “And I don’t think she’s ever going to talk to me again,” Soarynn gasps, her entire body shaking as she begins to sob.

Coriolanus wishes he could take every bit of pain away from Soarynn, who’s already been through so much already. He doesn’t hesitate to pull her into his embrace, wrapping his arms around her small frame as she sits on his lap, crying into his shoulder. “She hates me,” Soarynn cries in between sobs, “she absolutely hates me.”

Coriolanus highly doubts that Clemensia hates Soarynn, especially because the girl is somewhat easy to piss off and often gets into arguments with everyone. It’s a miracle that she and Soarynn haven’t already gotten into some sort of disagreement.

But it’s clearly weighing on Soarynn’s heart. Coriolanus knows how much she values all her relationships and how devastated she can get when faced with a fight. Soarynn doesn’t like arguing, she’d rather apologize and move on with things whereas Clemensia can hold a nasty grudge.

Coriolanus grows more worried though as Soarynn struggles to breathe, her breaths growing more and more erratic. “Soarynn,” he says softly, “Soarynn look at me.” Soarynn lifts her head and his heart shatters into a million pieces at the sight of his girlfriend’s teary eyed complexion. The tears aren’t slowing down and neither is her breathing.

Is this a panic attack? Does she need to lie down? Should he call the doctor?

He pushes all those questions to the side and simply focuses on her. He rubs soothing circles on her back and takes her hand in his other hand, giving it a gentle squeeze.

“Just breathe,” he instructs, “in and out darling. In and out.” He does the breathing exercises with her, both of them taking in a deep breath and holding it before slowly pushing it out. “That’s it,” he praises, “you’re doing so well my love.”

The tears haven’t ceased but her breathing is much better and he’s no longer considering medical assistance. He wipes away a few tears before resting his forehead against hers. “It’s all going to be okay Soarynn. She’ll come around, I promise.” Soarynn scoffs and shakes her head, “I fear that she’s quite upset with me, and I’m rather upset with her as well.”

He doesn’t ask what the fight was about. Not now, when clearly anything can trigger her into another spiral. Right now he needs to do damage control, calm her down, get her some rest.

He presses a soft kiss to her forehead before cupping her face with both his hands, cradling it whilst rubbing under her eyes with his thumbs. “I’m sorry for what I said earlier. I saw you weren’t being your normal self and yet I attacked you before making sure you were alright,” he says, the guilt already eating away at him.

Since dating Soarynn, Coriolanus has found himself to be a better man. More patient and kind. The old him attacked first and asked questions later. He acted like that version of himself tonight, attacking his girlfriend before finding the root of the problem. Soarynn sniffles and shrugs, “It’s alright. I…I should’ve told you right when I got home.”

Coriolanus shakes his head and gently presses his fingers into the soft skin of her face, his eyes looking into her with such deep conviction, “It’s not alright Soarynn,” he insists, “I should’ve gone about it in a completely different way and yet I’ve hurt you even more in the process.” Soarynn looks down at her lap and sighs, “I forgive you Coryo. Tonight has been horrible for both of us.”

He can agree with that. He still wishes he could do more to help with the ache in her heart. “Is there anything I can do?” He asks softly. Soarynn bites her lip, “I think I just want to take a bath and go to bed.” He nods, he can do that. “Of course darling.”

꧁ ꧂

With Soarynn safely tucked in bed next to him, Coriolanus feels much better already.

She’s fast asleep in his arms, tonight’s events had taken a massive toll on her. He’d bathed her with her favorite soaps and washed her hair. Then he brought her a dessert that was undoubtedly her favorite, chocolate covered strawberries. Petunia finally proved herself useful and cuddled with Soarynn for a good half hour and the two of them seemed to help improve each other’s moods significantly.

He watches her as she sleeps. She looks so beautiful. Tonight was a painful reminder of how nasty he can get, what he’s capable of. There’s some things he knows he could never be capable of. Harming her is the main thing. Hitting Soarynn is completely out of the question. How could he harm the love of his life with his hands?

He’d turn himself into the authorities if he ever stooped so low.

Tomorrow they’ll talk about it more, what led to the fight between the girls, how to make amends. Then he’ll take her shopping and spoil her the way she deserves to be spoiled.

And should something like this ever occur again, he’ll know how the put the pieces back together again.

| tumble oneshot/drabble |

#coriolanus fanfiction #slaymitchabernathy #coriolanus snow #hunger games #the ballad of songbirds and snakes #the hunger games #coriolanus smut #ao3 fanfic #wattpad #soarynn snow #coriolanus x soarynn #coryo snow #staywithmealways #soarynn nightingale #coriolanus x oc #coriolanus drabble #coriolanus oneshot #coriolanus imagine #coriolanus fic #original character #coriolanus x original character #oneshot #oc #drabble

[iamadequate1]

"Discomfort in a Married State" What does this mean?

In Discord, I jokingly said I'd do the Webster's Dictionary trope to start a post.

But... was I joking?

Webster's Dictionary defines marriage as "an intimate or close union," or closely, marry as "to unite in close and usually permanent relation." Taking about marriage is not just about a literal spousal union, and it is not just about romance. You have aspects and ideas in your life that you are married to even though you don't put the word to it. "Marriage of flavors", "married to your job", "marry academic disciplines,"... I had a teacher who said "I'm not married to this idea" when writing something in scratch work as a possibility.

The title "Discomfort in a Married State" is pulled from a quote from the real Stede Bonnet at his trial, and it's repurposed in the show, used at the start of Fictional Stede's pirate journey rather than the end. To me, I do not feel like the adjective is used in the episode as actually being about a spousal union. Stede is not a good fit with Mary, no, and the episode opens with both Stede and Mary both being pushed into the marriage by their parents because of societal expectations and goes on to show that their marriage doesn't work. However, Mary's not alone in Stede's horror dream, and it doesn't just feature his failures in their marriage: the "married state" title drop slides directly to his father mocking Stede's aversion to violence (and weakness, in his, the father's, eyes) and Smoke Blackbeard and Alma serving as a callback to his naive pirate dreams becoming more starkly real when he was stabbed. Mary wasn't what Stede left; unfortunate as it is, as a man, he had other less extreme options to make an unhappy marriage more comfortable for him. The "marriage" Stede has is the life that his father and role at birth pushed him into, and initially, Stede planned to take Mary with him in leaving it. Stede pushed out into what he viewed as a more idealized lifestyle, even though he's finding out its not the final destination in his journey.

On Ed's side, his parallel is not his relationship with Izzy. In his first big conversation with Stede (the one in the library), he says plainly what his "discomfort" is:

Ed: You ever feel trapped, like you're just treading water, waiting to drown? Stede: Yes, I very much have felt that way. Ed: Blackbeard always wins, that's the thing. He can't fail. It's not even a challenge anymore. People just see the flag, and they freak out, Blackbeard!, and they basically just give up, they surrender. What's the point? I don't even need to be on the boat. I'm a ghost. There's no chaos, there's no drama, there's no fucking life! Stede: Look, I can't believe I'm saying this, but have you ever considered retirement?

Ed's "marriage" is with the Blackbeard persona and the pirate life. He's not happy, and he is also looking for a way out. He's idly mentioning death as an alternative (e.g., the "I haven't died yet, have I?" outburst with Izzy, and "I'm thinking about packing it all in". It can be a bit of a grind"" to Stede before Stede introduces Ed to retirement). He then pivots to the brief identity theft escape, then the China plan with Stede. There is a parallel of the marriage -> finding escape pipeline. Ed and Stede were both intrinsically bound to lives they do not want, and they had to take dramatic steps to leave them.

Izzy narratively differs from Mary in that Mary isn't an antagonist (bless you, DJenks). This is a storytelling medium without monologuing voice overs or Shakespearean soliloquies, and something needs to be in story to represent that conflict. Izzy is the representation of the external antagonistic force that adds fuel to Ed's internal conflict, analogous to the function that the Badmintons (instead of Mary) have for Stede. This is what we mean when we say Izzy is a plot device for Ed's (and to a lesser extent, Stede's) story: most of his scenes (all in S1?) revolve around keeping Ed in a life he doesn't want while also functionally servicing as a conventional reaction to Stede's brand of captaincy (characters like Lucius or Frenchie have their own independent quirks, so that's why they don't get this same comparison). Izzy is in story as the obstacle that keeps pulling Ed into that life, into that marriage with that persona. The story is not literally saying Ed is married to Izzy or that they were former lovers, but as the representation in story, Izzy is going to act like a jilted spouse. (And Ed's not into him and views him as a father figure, so... not a literal spousal marriage.)

In the end, the "married state" is not literally about Mary or Izzy. Stede would still be unhappy with a different wife or as a bachelor in the same stagnating lifestyle. Ed would still be unhappy with a different first mate but still living as Blackbeard. Ed reacting strongly in 2x7 when he thought there would be a conflict of a possible deal breaking choice of staying with Stede and leaving piracy show that it isn't just about the right person but making sure that the two perfect people who found each other are both in a position to live a life that makes them both happy outside of their relationship. This is also a romcom very pointedly leading toward a climatic wedding of Ed and Stede, and the message is not that Stede and Ed don't like being married at all: they need to work together to reach a "married state" that satisfies all facets of their lives. They're so close!

We're joined to one another. Intertwined. We wrote our names on each other in permanent ink.

They're working together on their relationship ("the inn" at the end of 2x8 isn't literally about the inn), and they're finding the path to go on that takes them both to a place to where they want to be.

Also, "Comfort in a Married State", calling it as an episode title after WBD collapses and OFMD gets a pick up 🥰

#our flag means death #ofmd #stede bonnet #ed teach #mary bonnet #izzy hands #discomfort in a married state #i can't wait for wbd to collapse #don't stream on max #Youtube

[artiemartietartie]

it’s very interesting how nearly all ekurei haters are just dimple haters. they just hate dimple and hate the idea of him being loved for some reason 😭 sorry if that’s a wild conclusion but from what i’ve seen that’s the shit i’ve gathered

i know at this point im just screaming at a wall but dear lord can people just sit down for at least 5 minutes and think about how dimple has grown as a person since season 1 and how his looks shouldn’t destroy all that development and personality he has?

If you can’t understand the complexity of his character I am absolutely BEGGING to the moon and back please censor dimple’s name it’s very. disheartening trying to look for dimple content and come face-to-face with people hating on him and belittling people who like him

anyways dear dimple and ekurei truthers reading this i totally believe that dimple is so much more than what most people take him for and that he’s just as much of a person like anyone else in the show and he totally deserves to be loved. he’s worthy of it and me personally I think both dimple and reigen are so inexperienced when it comes to love and don’t like themselves too much but slowly and surely they learn how to love themselves together. like the love the other.. if they’re loved by someone so amazing, then maybe they deserve it..? GRAGRGAGRBHF I WANT THEM TO LEARN HOW TO LOVE THEMSELVES EVEN WHEN THEYRE NOT WITH THE OTHER‼️ ITS ABOUT HELPING EACH OTHER GROW AS PEOPLE AND HAVING THE GREATEST AMOUNT OF RESPECT FOR EACH OTHER‼️‼️‼️‼️ GRAFBRBSHHRHFJF I LOVE THINKING ABOUT REIGEN AND DIMPLE SLOWLY TAKING THEIR TIME TO OPEN UP MORE IN THEIR RELATIONSHIP AND THINGS LIKE PHYSICAL AFFECTION AND SAYING “ILY” ARE DONE IN THE SAFETY OF THEIR OWN PRIVACY BECAUSE THEY TRUST AND LOVE EACH OTHER SO MUCH‼️‼️‼️‼️‼️

#yes this is bc of the poll #yes im mad about it #yes im just thinking about ekurei more to spite them #im gonna say it ekurei haters are so annoying #they have the same excuse for why they dislike the ship it’s getting old #they always. ALWAYS. FUCKING ALWAYS SAY WITHOUT FAIL #‘he’s a fart😭’ #k thanks for letting me know i cant trust any judgements you have #what happened to ‘looks aren’t everything’ #so bc he looks ‘ugly’ he cant be loved?? is that what ur telling me???? #stupid ass take #im not Even sorry for it #the poll itself is rlly stupid tbh #just hating on random ass ships #anyways dimple likers and ekurei truthers follow me please 💙 #mob psycho #mob psycho 100 #mp100 #mp100 dimple #mp100 ekubo #ekurei

[musashi]

me, a generally incendiary bitch who refuses to overexplain myself because it annoys me how much i see other autistics feel they have to do that: eh maybe today i will do a little clarifying that i am not trying to be combative

the person who i risk seeming combative to, immediately: OKAY WELL IF YOU ACTUALLY TOOK THE TIME TO READ MY THOUGHTS INSTEAD OF JUST ARGUING WITH ME--

me: nevermind i am never clarifying or explaining myself again

#wordy wendy #i constantly interact with overexplainers and nothing has made me stop overexplaining so quickly #'im so scared of being misunderstood!' #cool. me too. thank you for making me realize how much that is not my fault. #if other people wanna misunderstand me that is their problem and i have always lived my life in service of that #you wanna misunderstand me? die mad about it lol #btu every so often i microdose on overexplaining #just to see if it might serve me well in some scenario #and girl. it never does. #every time without fail it fucks me hdghgfhg #anyways people who want to misunderstand you are going to misunderstand you. #no amount of magic words you can say will convince them otherwise. #stop trying so hard. just live. live and scare away those people and revel in the fact that what is left when theyre all gone #is people who assume good faith in you.

[nyctoheart]

i can't wait until the next KH comes out and we can talk about the logic and weird fucked up shit it introduced and we gotta talk our way through understanding it <3 literally my fave

#I feel like I never really did it with ReMind and idk why #I think it was because I was trying to focus on youtube's community but that area just feels so untrue to myself #I didn't 100% vibe with the people approach things over there or the things people like to talk about #but HERE I feel like if I say ''hey what the fuck was happening when Sora was connecting the stars into mega-constellations'' HERE #we could get into some FUN fucking conversations #idk i miss KH tumblr talk it's always so fun literally without a doubt it NEVER fails or disappoints #anonymous is coming OFF when that KHDR shit drops. for SURE.

[zoekrystall]

Huh

#a wild lux appears #It happened so easily! What #Esp after multiple attempts and being so close each time #This time I didn't even try 😭 I'm just here farming mochis I didn't even care anymore #Ig the secret is just staying relaxed and not starting to panic. relaxo didn't even appear??? I had two at the same time once #I only cared abt the fairy feather idc abt the hard rewards keep your shiny #Not as suprised I beat it bc I without fail always got to at least lv 5 but still I am so tired I'm just wh? what? #Jsksjsks I just realized I used the german name. Snorlax. Snorlax didn't even appear once. #I love all pkmn and am against hating on any but fuck did those munchlax and greedent made me get a bit violent the last days #I tried beating it when the dlc dropped and now I only do it bc I don't want to get my ass beaten at blueberry academy #I heard it is hard from ppl that already played it I will not risk losing against a npc #I am not a competitive trainer and never will be idc if I had a say I would purely focus on pretty contests #So safe to say my pkmn are not trained in the slightest minus level 100. Idc wtf ub or whatever is #Anyways apropo dlc I am a kieran defender be mean to him or his sis and you will catch these hands

[bi-sapphics]

just read a “positivity” post that went along the lines of something like this:

“i want to be able to go to a lesbian bar! i want to have cute little deserts available and a peaceful place for butches and femmes to meet and set up dates together. i want trivia nights, bake sales, and weekly club meetings to learn how to write sappho poetry. i want spaces that are safe for talking about women having sex with other women and i want young women to be able to experience the joys of same-sex love in full like it was done in the old days. i want feminist love to be lively again. oh but i don’t want them to be bi tho”

(yes, it explicitly mentioned excluding bi sapphics at the end like that)

like ??? hello ???

what was the point of that last part ????? no really, what was the reason ?????

that was so unnecessary and unrelated. you can say that the post is about lesbians without expressing a distaste for bi women who partake in WLW culture.

i don’t know if you think bi women are incapable of loving other women properly and seeking out gay bars or if you just don’t want us to be cultured but i’m calling biphobia, even if that term means nothing to you.

i understand wanting lesbian-exclusive spaces and that makes sense. but the post a. wasn’t specifically about lesbians, but about wlw in general (”lesbian bars” use the word lesbian broadly in real life to include bisexuals, and always have due to pre-dating separatism), and b. wasn’t talking about about discourse at all. it was just a positive daydreaming post. where did that comment come from out of nowhere? why prohibit bi sapphics from having a fun night with other WLW?

excluding bisexuals from lesbianism isn’t supposed to turn into excluding bisexuals from sapphism. but we all knew where that was headed anyway from the start.

#i know some dumbfuck is about to come into my inbox 'why can't lesbians be left alone you homophobic freak' #as a response because there always is one. without fail. #read it again and please justify why saying 'i don't want bisexuals in gay bars' out loud isn't weird as hell #in a bar with all women that is only about engaging with other women #please tell me how you think some bihet is gonna be looking for a straight hook-up or to suck dick #we're not so dumb that we're gonna be looking for men in a group full of women you fucking idiot #if we don't belong anywhere then what ARE we allowed to do? (rhetorical question) #bi tag #biphobia #bimisogyny #bi women #bi wlw #bi sapphics

[mejomonster]

Every time a tarot reading for me says divine timing/universe has a plan I'm like dhjdjd

OK universe you can just say you don't wanna tell me and don't think it's any of my fucking business even though it's My Life shdhjd ToT

#tarot #rant #i know its random like horoscopes randomly sayung shit and if it gives u helpful stuff to xontemplate #and helps u think thing thru great! if not then let it go! #but also like?! youd be fucking shocked by the coincidence that is me #without fail getting wheel/magician/surprise/moon cards over and over and ONLY them #universe said im noT FUCKING TELLING YOU ANY ADVICE. #universe says over ans over i know ur cards are cute but luck aint giving u variety #i get cards to Randomly Consider and its always:unknown. itll be a surprise. u make ur own future. THANKS YEAH I KNEW #life is by definition UNKNOWN AND BASED ON MY ACTIONS i aint got no new random qords to contemplate!! #i finally got a different reading with a friend lmao and guess what?!!! #instead of any advice or any future considerations. cards/friends interpretation was ONLY #hey u mejo u have trauma. ur trauma versions of you are ALSO you and u need to integrate them and be kind to them #which like. yeah thats always true. i didnt need cards to say my own intwrnal state for years #but it was funny INSTEAD of any shit about random future guesses or advice on things to do? #my cards were just like lmao do some more self therapy! thats always a good idea right! #which to be fair. i did think it was a good idea so now im doing more true self exploration #but like. thats for my own quality of life and treatinf myself better and taking better care of self #thats still NOTHING to do with events/advice for future events lmao #i Love tarot and pretty cards but mostly only read for others #cause for me my fucking cards just say: lmao why did u ask? im not telling u. go live life and find out bitch

[s0urte3th]

mom is bitching at me how i need to wear short sleeves TOMORROW, and just get over it

#‘you NEED to wear them tomorrow’ or what. #youre gonna take my phone away? im just AnXioUs and need to get the fuck over it? #woman youre lucky i dont fucking take my car and leave. youre lucky i don’t disappear without a trace. #‘we love you and dont care and dont judge!’ i understand that. i do. #but sometimes that just doesnt matter. you can say that to me all you want and ill always have a voice saying otherwise! #i cant just get over this hump. i dont know how to explain it to you but i just cant. its not that simple. #i cant just.. get up and get moving like you want me to. i dont know how to tell you that im absolutely fucking exhausted. #‘youve been taking a break for 6 weeks now’ and? i worked my ASS OFF. FOR 5 FUCKING YEARS STRAIGHT. I DESERVE A BREAK! #IVE EARNED A GODDAMN BREAK. IVE EARNED A FUCKING SUMMER OFF. THIS IS MY FIRST SUMMER OFF IN 5 GODDAMN YEARS WOMAN #i dont care if you think im being lazy. im sorry i dont work the same fucking way you do! but thats a you issue! #‘you need to get your life together’ WELL I DONT WANT TO! I DONT WANT TO RIGHT NOW! I WANNA BE A STUPID COUCH BUM! #i basically just learned that EVERYTHING. I WORKED FOR! IS USELESS! i pushed myself to the edge a constant amount of times over the past 5- #years for NOTHING. because i am incapable of doing anything without someone telling me to or holding my hand. #how do you expect me to know what to do with my fucking life when the life i thought i always had was just shattered? #ive trailed off my planned path! i didnt plan for this! i never thought it could happen! i thought id be PERFECT! #imagine being told your entire life how smart and capable you are only to fail right as someone isnt holding your hand anymore. #just #whatever man. if i dont wanna wear short sleeves i wont. if i dont wanna go outside i wont. #i didnt want to interact with the world anyways. especially after finding out that i dont fit in whatsoever.

[sanchos]

just letting everyone know i absolutely SLAYED my first ever uni presentation🥲

#this was a BIG part of my grade and it took me so fucking long to do #but the presentation was the hardest part bc i have been avoiding it for 4 YEARS !! i lichrlly went to see a therapist only for that reason #bcs i knew i wouldnt be able to graduate if im not able to do presentations in front of the class #like id rather fail the entire class than speak in front of the class #also bcs i couldnt focus for shit like i couldnt even do the most simple assignment #BUT ANYWAYS #he interrupted me when i was at the end of the presentation and i was like 🧍🏻‍♀️🧍🏻‍♀️🧍🏻‍♀️ but then he said thats hes gonna give me maximum #points #by he i mean the prof #and he was super impressed and didnt ask any follow up questions because he said i already said everything and that he sees that i get the #assignment #and i just….: ive always been a terrible student and this was just 🥲🥲🥲🥲🥲🥲 one of my proudest moments fr #and the fact that i did the presentation without a panic attack…… #i owe it all to my therapist love her sm cant wait to let her know !!!!! #GOODBYE AND EVERYONE IN CLASS WAS SAYING HOW SCARED THEY ARE TO DO THEIRS BC MINE WAS SO GOOD.. EGO BOOOOOOSTTTT thanks everyone 😎