#☆–psych‐ward‐favourite–☆

[mitski-creature]

I should have died a long time ago.

[dandyshucks]

oh i could,, i could put Millie in this scene,,, you all could meet Millie,,,,

[inkykeiji]

i will never ever ever ever ever EVER be over dabi’s laugh <3333333333333

[fe-lixie]

man i'm with a girl rn that used to be my fp/"great love" and i'm kind of having a throwback to those feelings i despise and miss at the same time.

it's funny because i only stopped loving her after i was drugged in the psych ward and i think it killed off my general ability to love somebody. i know that the "antidepressants will make you unable to feel anything" narrative is kind of bullshit but i really do feel as if all the drugs (sedative neuroleptics, benzos and other stuff) they gave me has messed up my brain chemistry in terms of producing the "love hormone".

maybe i'm still in love with her but can't feel it anymore? ah the misery of having a favourite person.

[hopesworlld]

౨ৎ oh ! dear diary, i met a boy !

౨ৎ 𝗽𝗮𝗶𝗿𝗶𝗻𝗴 — step!bro anakin x fem!reader

౨ৎ 𝘀𝘂𝗺𝗺𝗮𝗿𝘆 — your stepbrother anakin finds your diary full of all your dirty little secrets

౨ৎ 𝘄𝗼𝗿𝗱 𝗰𝗼𝘂𝗻𝘁 — 6k

౨ৎ 𝘄𝗮𝗿𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴𝘀 — swearing, stepcest, smut ( masturbation f and m, oral sex f and m, vibrator, degradation, praise, use of the term slut/little slut, unprotected sex, p in v, fingering, overstimulation ) i think that’s all !

౨ৎ 𝗵𝗼𝗽𝗲 𝘀𝗽𝗲𝗮𝗸𝘀 ! — someone call the psych ward immediately !

part two part three masterlist

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anakin groaned in annoyance as he stormed up the steps at his mothers command asking him to fetch his stepsister for some reason or another. he barged into your bedroom not bothering to knock, he always liked seeing you jump, sometimes you were on your bed, phone dropping from your hands as your lips parted in surprise. other times you were perched at your vanity catching his eye in the mirror with horrified delight. but his favourite would always be when he entered your room to find you clad in nothing but a pair of white panties. your face had been painted crimson, eyes clutching your breasts but he could still see your rosy nipples peeking beneath your manicured nails, pert from the cold winter air.

but this time, much to his disappointment he found the room empty, your fairlights glittered along the ceiling and the pink lamp beside your bed cast light on the little book had seen you clutching to your chest every so often, it was hot pink and dotted with stickers of various celebrities that he despised. you had always been protective of it, even your father had once gained a slap to the hand when he tried to touch your book. so anakin knew he had no choice, he slowly entered the room further, noting the sound of rushing water from the bathroom. perfect.

he crossed your room in a matter of seconds and scooped up the book, flicking through a couple pages, the first few he saw held nothing of interest and he skimmed through. there were no dates but he could tell they were from before your father and shmi had bought the house and blended your family, he read a few sentences of you complaining about school, and friend drama and almost called it a bust. his innocent priss of a stepsister was the same in her diary as she was every day. that was until he skipped ahead and found his name appearing. with new found interest he settled down on your bed.

/ anakin came back from college today and he actually looked happy to see me, or he smiled when he got out of the car which is a first. i wish he would smile more, he looks so pretty when he smiles.

anakin scoffed at this, rolling his eyes, this had only been a few weeks ago and he had been laughing at a text just moments before, but of course you would think he was happy to see you. you always greeted him the same, glossy lips twisted in a saccharine smile as you bounced on the balls of your feet, begging for an ounce of attention from him. it was ridiculous, but he had to know more.

/ anakin is fixing up dad’s old car in the driveway so that he can use it, i’ve never been so happy for my father’s hoarding tendencies in my life. i was sat at my window for two hours today watching him. he was wearing that black wife beater, the one that makes his arms look even bigger than usual, so muscly and strong. i wonder what it would feel like for him to pick me up, and feel his muscles against my back, they look so good when they’re tensed. he was so sweaty too, i wanted to run out there and lick it from his skin, how disgusting but wow, i wish i took a picture of him like that. soaked in sweat and oil.

anakin’s jaw was agape, his sweet innocent stepsister wasn’t such an angel as he once thought. his dick twitched beneath his sweatpants at the thought of you perched on your window seat with a perfect view of him working rubbing your thighs together, desperate for his touch, his taste. it was taboo, disgusting, your parents were married and here you were writing dirty little fantasies. he loved it. addicted to the words you had spilled across the page in pretty gel pens.

/ dad asked me why i was so distracted today at dinner, how could i not be? anakin came down in just shorts and i swear i could see everything, he’s bigger than i imagined, i probably wouldn’t even be able to fit my hand around it, but ellen said boys like that. i wonder what it looks like, i’ve only ever seen them in porn. anakin didn’t even notice anything was off with me, didn’t notice me staring. i wish he would.

“fuck,” anakin hissed, his dick was now almost fully hard and throbbing. who knew you were such a slut, fantasising about his cock at the dinner table. if he had known… god he wanted to fucking ruin you. show you how to take his dick, watch as you choked and cried around it as he forced it past your swollen lips. he wanted to paint you in his cum and not stop until you were a shaking writhing mess. he knew you were hot, had thought it the second he saw you, your hair in braids clad in ivory like some kind of fallen angel but had pushed it away, you were his stepsister for fuck sake, but now…

/ he walked in on me changing today, i was only in my underwear and he laughed, but i caught him staring at my boobs, i made sure not to cover them properly and it worked. i got so wet, i don’t think i’ve ever come so hard before. i wanted him to do something, walk over to me and rip my hands away, push me on the bed and fuck me till i saw stars, but instead i just had to use my vibrator. sometimes i wish he could hear me moaning through the wall, maybe he can.

“little fucking slut,” anakin said to himself as he glanced across the page, hand cupping his rock hard cock through his trousers, your words were depraved, desperate. maybe he should walk into the bathroom right now and take you like you were so desperate for, you would have no trouble spreading your legs for him, would probably beg for it, do anything he asked. his perfect little fuck toy. he couldn’t help himself anymore, spitting on his hand and slipping it down his trousers tugging at his cock as he continued to read.

/ i bought a dildo today from ann summers but i’m scared, my fingers are so small compared to it, the woman said it was about average but wow. no matter how much prep i do it hurts. i bet anakin would feel better, the silicon is so hard and cold. i wore one of his t-shirts it smells like him, that helped a little but it’s not the same, i’ve heard his stories when he talks to his friends about the girls he’s fucked. he knows what he’s doing, i wonder how he would take me, on my back nice and slow, or pound into me from behind while i screamed. maybe he would call me angel like he does sometimes, i wish. now my arm just hurts so i’m here alone in my bed playing with my clit wishing it was him.

anakin jerked against his hand at the last sentence, he had never cum this quickly before, but your words had him loosing his shit, he couldn’t even imagine what else you thought if this was only what you choose to write down, what other dirty secrets lurked beneath that pretty facade of pink and glitter. the next page held a collection of polaroids you had taken of him, some from the window as he worked on his car, skin sheened in sweat and oil, shirtless as he drank a bottle of water. another of him laying on the sofa arm resting behind his head a can of beer in hand, and the last was him glaring at the camera. he remembered this one, he had demanded you rip it up, but here it was immortalized with pink and purple hearts surrounding it. but the next page was from today.

/ anakin came home from playing baseball with his friends about an hour ago, he was gross, sweaty and loud after hours with his friends. he slid past me in the kitchen his hands on my hips for just a second i wish he would have bent me over the counter and fucked me there and then. i would have let him, dad was in the living room but i don’t care, god, he’s ruined me. all i can think about is him, his cock, his hands, his lips. i need him. i’m gonna go shower, i was meant to help shmi with dinner but i couldn’t, not when i was soaking through my panties while stood next to her fantasising about her son.

“oh fuck,” anakin hissed as he came into his fist, cum coating his boxers and knuckles. you were insane, and maybe so was he for getting so worked up but he knew he couldn’t hold back now, he had seen those words and there was no going back. a bit shakily he stood from the bed wiping his hands on his sweatpants and grabbing the sparkly pen from your desk and decided to leave a little note of his own in your dirty little diary.

/ who knew you were such a dirty little slut, angel girl

and with that he left your bedroom, cum drying on his boxers, he could only hope you found his note sooner rather than later.

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after your shower you felt a lot better, you had turned the water considerably cooler than usual and taken some deep breaths you had learned from yoga, pushing anakin far from your mind, you let the ritual of getting redressed soothe your mind, slipping into a soft matching set of white shorts and a crop top, leaving your hair loose and applying your skin care. you almost felt like yourself, untainted by the dirty thoughts that seemed perpetually in your mind.

you wished it would stop, you hated yourself for it, your father was finally happy after years of thinking he would never find love again after your mother had passed. if he knew what you were thinking he would be disgusted, he would probably send you off to your aunt to protect anakin and shmi from your sick mind, the thought made your stomach hurt. you wanted to stop you really did, but then you would see him and all those dirty thoughts would slip back in, he was haunting you.

you headed downstairs, an airpod pressed in one ear hoping some music would soothe your guilty mind, finding shmi in the kitchen. the woman smiled in relief when she saw you.

“there you are, i sent ani up to get you half an hour ago,” she said a little flustered and instantly your heart dropped, you didn’t know why she was upset but she had needed you. you hated upsetting people, ‘always a people pleaser’ your mother had used to scold you fondly.

“i’m so sorry, anakin never told me,” you said truthfully and the woman sighed before laughing begrudgingly.

“my son has many talents, listening has never been one of them,” she said with a fond smile before turning back to the stove, “i’m making your dad that soup he loves so much but this recipe seems wrong, think you could help me out?” she requested holding out a sheet of paper to you and you took it immediately, nodding happily.

“of course,” you beamed, “well firstly it’s chicken stock not vegetable stock,” you informed her, “and secondly use heavy cream instead of milk, he likes the taste more. but other than that it seems perfect”

“really?” she asks you, face a little tight.

“yep, we always make it a little different depending on what we have but you have got this down to a t now i would say, and dads gonna love it,” you said and shmi finally smiled again, you hated when she frowned, it made her seem much older, an echo of the struggling woman she had once been and she didn’t deserve that, she never did.

“want to stay and help me make it?” she asked and you accepted. the pair of you worked in tandem, and soon you had a delicious pot of soup bubbling on the stove ready to be served along with homemade grilled cheese.

“okay, i’m gonna go grab your dad from the den do you mind getting, ani,” shmi asked and you agreed despite yourself, bounding out of the kitchen and up the stairs to anakin’s room, knocking once, then twice and then three times before you finally got a response.

“come in,” he called out, so you swung the door open, expecting a scowl or a blank stare but instead he was smirking widely at you, as though he knew something you didn’t and it made your skin crawl. “oh, hey, angel,” he greeted. fuck.

“dinners ready,” you told him, proud that you managed to keep your voice steady and his face dropped a little bit before his smile suddenly widened again.

“and you came to get me?” he asked teasingly, your stomach tightened, twisting into a ball and sending a jolt of heat straight to your core. he was going to kill you.

“your mum asked me to,” you say shortly, spinning around and walking away, taking a deep breath as you did so. stupid, stupid, stupid…

“angel,” anakin said again, and that name was going to send you into overdrive, a flush growing on your cheeks. “not gonna wait for me? that’s not very nice,” he complained and you shook your head.

“are you high?” you asked him as you reached the landing but anakin grabbed your wrist stopping you from heading down the steps.

“what makes you say that?” he asked you, drawing closer to you so that your faces were only inches apart, you could feel his hot breath fanning on your cheeks, see deep into his eyes, so pretty and blue beneath the crystalline lights above.

“your acting strange,” you pointed out with a frown, anakin was never nice to you, he was cordial sometimes, blunt others and sometimes he was simply rude, but never this. never teasing and friendly and chasing you down through the halls of your home to chat. it was as unnerving as it was utterly addictive.

“i just learned something new today, something that’s changed my perspective a little bit,” he crooned, hand coming up and resting on the wall beside your head, you blinked at him. what the fuck?

“what did you learn?” you asked him curiously and anakin grinned, a beautiful blinding thing that took your breath away.

“you’ll see,” was all he said before withdrawing from you and heading down the steps leaving you flabbergasted where you stood, heart racing and core throbbing. “come on, angel, don’t wanna be late for dinner,” he called up to you and you followed soundlessly, wondering if you had accidentally fallen into a different dimension while in the shower.

dinner was normal, or as normal is it could be with anakin acting so out of character, he was chatting like he hadn’t seen anyone in years, some kind of newfound zest for life that even had his mother seemed confused about but accepted with open arms. it was nice to see anakin talking, usually, he would mutter a few words before disappearing back to his room.

“yea, i was thinking of working at the garage next term to get a little extra cash, you know where you’re going to colleague next year, angel?” anakin asked, you looked over at him a little wide-eyed at the nickname in front of your parents, but glancing at them you saw that they both seemed… pleased.

“um, i have a few options actually, still not sure,” you murmured, still lost in what was happening, but it was making your head spin.

“she’s been looking at your school a bit,” your dad cut in, “it’s got a great program for what she wants to study,”

“oh really? maybe i could set something up for you, or maybe just give you a show around of the school next term, let you see what it’s really about,” anakin suggested with a smile and shmi beamed.

“oh that's a lovely idea, ani dear,” she exclaimed, “what do you think, sweetheart?” she asked her eyes darting to you and you pulled your lips into a smile.

“yea that sounds great,” you agreed, glancing back at anakin who sent you a wink. you almost groaned, rubbing your thighs together, you thought anakin being mean to you was enough to send you spiraling, spilling dirty fantasies into your book but him being nice was going to send you into a whirl of delusions that were going to be detrimental to your mental health if it continued.

once dinner was finished you rushed to your room, ready to spill your guts into your diary, you grabbed it from your bedside table and flicked to the next open page, your heart dropping to your stomach when you saw the words scrawled on the page.

\ who knew you were such a dirty little slut, angel girl

“oh my god,” you whispered to yourself, tossing the book down onto the bed, horror-struck. you knew that handwriting, had seen it many times before and now here it was taunting you in a book full of your sick twisted fantasies that all featured him. you felt nauseous, bile rising in your throat, is this why he was so happy, some sort of twisted revenge? had he taken pictures of it? did he plan on showing your dad? “this can’t be happening,” you whispered to yourself.

“i see you found my note,” a cocky voice echoed from behind you, you span around, lips trembling and anakin’s brows furrowed slightly.

“please don’t tell my dad, i’m so sorry anakin. i know it’s wrong and disgusting but please he will never forgive me if i ruin this for him, he loves your mum so much and i…” the world were tumbling from your lips so quickly you could hardly process them, not even noting as anakin shut the door behind him and crossed the room so that he was stood before you, “i’m sorry,” you practically wailed, “you were never supposed to see that, it was just somewhere to put down my thoughts,” tears were streaming down your cheeks now, “please don’t hate me,”

“you gonna be quiet now?” anakin asked you once you finally stopped rambling and you nodded through sniffles, vision blurred by your tears. “good,” he whispered, reaching up and cupping your cheek, “i’m not gonna tell your dad, angel,” he said soothingly, “not when i know how much fun we can have now,” anakin said with a smile.

“what… what are you saying?” you asked him. this couldn’t be real, this couldn’t be happening right now. no way.

“i’m saying, that i wanna see just how dirty you can be, angel,” he cooed, “i wanna know the darkest parts of that fucked up little mind of yours,” your breathing hitched, raising your hands to wipe the tears from your ruddy cheeks and staring at him in disbelief.

“anakin…” you whispered, “this is wrong,”

“oh i know that, baby, but it didn’t stop you from burying your fingers into your cunt and imagining it was me. from laying in bed only a room away from me and moaning my name while you tried to use a dildo on yourself wishing it was me,” he hummed, “and what was it that you wrote earlier? that you were picturing me bending you over with your dad in the next room, that you couldn’t be with my mother in the kitchen because you were dripping down your thighs thinking about me,”

“oh fuck,” you moaned, hearing him depict your fantasies, the things you had said were driving you wild, something stirring within you, it set your veins alight with molten flames, spreading through your body and stirring your aching cunt, you could feel your arousal flooding your panties, sticky and wet, you didn’t know what to do, what to think but you needed him, more than you had ever needed anything in your life.

“that’s it, angel, i wanna hear every pretty sound you can make fall from your pretty lips,” anakin prompted, one hand falling to your hips and pulling you in so that your flush was pressed against him another moan falling from your lips when you felt his half hard cock press against your stomach. “what is it you want, tell me, what dirty secret are we sharing tonight?” he asked you.

“kiss me, just kiss me please,” you begged, and anakin obliged crashing his lips to yours, it was messy, all teeth and tongue and spit. immediately he was diving in, tongue prying through your lips and plunging into your mouth, he tasted of smoke, mint and sugar and instantly you were addicted. your hands rose to his shoulders, tugging him closer you wanted to feel every part of him. your hands tugged at his t-shirt wanting to taste his skin, to see him everywhere.

“so eager, baby,” he muttered against your lips before reaching behind him, tugging his t-shirt over his head revealing the planes of his chest and his toned stomach to your awaiting eyes, you had seen him shirtless many times before, but now you could touch him. “take what you want,” he grinned and you did just that, fingers dipping into every crevice, you explored him as though one would a fine piece of art you wanted to memorise the feeling of his skin, the taste, you hardly thought twice before leaning down and kissing the middle of his chest, running your tongue along the unblemished skin, moaning at the taste of salt and skin. “god,” the boy murmured, reaching down and grasping your hair, yanking your head back harshly, “take my sweatpants off,” he commanded and you were not one to disobey, not now, not when you had him.

you wrapped your hands around the waist band and tugged, gasping when his dick sprung free, unrestrained by any boxers beneath, he was already hard, really hard, his cock flushed a deep red, the tip weeping milky precum and gods were you right, he was big, long and thick, far bigger than the dildo you had purchased. you salivated at the sight.

“can i…” you whispered, slowly trailing off, a wave of embarrassment washing over you.

“tell me what you want, angel, this is your dirty little dream, i’m just helping make it come true,” anakin said and you nodded, taking a deep breath.

“wanna taste you, ani, can i?” you asked him gently, batting your lashes at him and the boy hissed through his teeth, jaw clenching in a way that made your entire body sing.

“fuck me, go ahead, pretty girl, show me what that mouth is actually good for,” his words were disgusting, a sick way of calling your words worthless and it made you go fucking feral, you sank to your knees, eyeing his cock a little unsurely before carefully wrapping a hand around his thick length, anakin groaned, watching you, eyes alight with interest.

“look at that you were right,” he told you, “your hand can’t even fit around it,” he said, and you shuddered, ingjerking your hand slightly, letting itit glide along the velvety skin of his cock, admiring it, and the sound he made was worth it, so much so that you leaned in, licking a stripe along the side of his cock, stopping once you reached the tip and suckling it gently. a.nakin’s hands fell to your hair gripping it, but not forcing you, he was letting you explore first, you bobbed you head, sinking deeper on his cock, the sensation was strange but not unpleasant. so you took him deeper, the salty taste of him drawing you in further, you pulled back, sucking in a deep breath before taking him deeper until it hit the back of your throat. you were hardly halfway down his cock, so you tried again this time more forcefully, choking when his cockhead rammed into the back of your throat.

“easy, baby,” anakin cooed, pulling you off of his cock, you looked up at him with glossy eyes, spit spilling down your chin.

“you’re so big,” you whined at him accusingly making the boy laugh, stroking your cheek with his thumb.

“poor little slut, so desperate for cock but has no clue what she’s doing,” he patronised, thumb trailing down and hooking in your mouth, parting your lips for him, you let your mouth fall open. “gotta take it slow, you aren’t gonna take it all the first time, okay? probably not for a few times, gotta train that throat of yours to take cock, huh?” he asked and you nodded at him, unable to speak with his thumb in you mouth. “try again, huh,” he prompted and you nodded eagerly, this time letting anakin guide your mouth to his awaiting cock, you followed his instructions going slower this time, starting at just the tip suckling it, savoring the taste of his salty cum in your mouth but eventually anakin began to push you further with a groan. you swallowed around him, trying to remember to breathe with the heavy weight on your tongue, your mouth felt stretched, lips stinging, and jaw aching but you couldn’t stop. you needed this, needed him to cum, to know he was enjoying this as much as you were.

“good girl, that’s it,” anakin praised you and you preened, moaning around his cock and making the boy chuckle, “oh you like that, huh, pretty girl? wanna be my good girl?” you couldn’t move, couldn’t speak so instead you locked your eyes with his and this time it was anakin’s turn to moan. “you look so fucking sexy like this, should have known you made for it,” you bobbed your head faster in agreement, it felt wrong to agree, to accept that you were just some sort of object that was made to take dick and love it, but you couldn't argue. not now when you had tasted his cock and you knew you would never be the same again, this was it for you, a springboard into a world that would drive you insane.

“you keep going i’m gonna cum, you ready for that, angel?” he asked you, but you didn’t respond, only forcing him deeper, spluttering slightly but you didn’t pull back, instead taking a settling breath through your nose, spit was dripping down your chin, tears streaming but you couldn’t stop, continuing to choke on his cock, only pulling away when you absolutely had too and it was barley for a few seconds before you were on him again. it was only about a minute before anakin’s hips began to twitch, his cock heavier in your mouth.

 “i’m gonna cum, fuck, baby pull back a little you don’t wanna choke,” he prompted and you did as you were told. lips suctioned around his tip, using your hand to jerk off the rest of his cock and with that, he was cumming down your throat in thick hot spurts. it was disorientating and everything you had ever dreamed of. you swallowed as much as you could of the salty liquid, but some escaped the corners of your mouth, dripping down your chin and onto your plush carpet, you kept suckling until anakin pulled you away, his lips parted and cheeks flushed.

“that was…” he trailed off voice hoarse, “you did such a good job, angel,” he cooed, reaching out and helping you stand up, your knees ached and you felt a little shaky but you couldn't ignore the heat in your core and the sopping wetness between your legs.

“i liked it,” you said bashfully, voice scratchy.

“of course you did,” anakin mocked lightly but there was no malice behind his words, instead he reached down and grabbed his shirt using it to mop your cheeks and mouth, “come on i wanna try something,” he said, grabbing you hand and leading you over to your bed, “lay down, pretty girl,”

“what are you doing?” you asked him softly and he grinned.

“just lay down, okay, i’m gonna do the work for a bit,” he said, so you followed instruction and laid down on the bed, looking up at him with such innocent trust that it made his heart stutter slightly, “i’m gonna take your top off okay?” he said, climbing onto the bed with you and hovering over you, his legs stradling either side of your hips, he looked so big like this, tall and strong, body on show as he looked down at you.

“okay,” you agreed, letting anakin tug the crop top from your body leaving your chest bare to him.

“been waiting a while to see these again,” he murmured, finger pinching your nipple lightly, you gasped, jolting upwards at the sensation and anakin laughed, “sensitive girl,” he teased, pinching your other nipple, using his body to keep you pinned to the bed. “what was it you said in that dirty little book when i saw your tits for the first time?” he asked you, “hm, let’s have a look shall we?” he said grabbing the book from where it lay only a few inches away from you. your cheeks lit up in shame, shaking your head.

“ani, no,” you pleaded with him but the boy shot you a harsh stare.

“what was that, baby?” he questioned, tone stern, “i thought you wanted this? want me to leave you to deal with this alone like you always do, seeing my cock should do you a good couple months, and you even got to taste it,”

“don’t leave” you begged, “i’m just embarrassed,” you whimper, this brought the smile back to anakin’s face.

“you don’t need to be embarrassed, pretty girl, without this little thing you would probably still be downstairs watching tv with your dad trying not to think about me, isn’t that right?” he asked, leaning in to plant a soft kiss on your swollen lips.

“yes,” you said quietly, “just don’t be mean, i really… i needed you. i need you,”

“oh, baby, but you like it when i’m a little mean don’t you?” he snickered, “but back to what i was saying, where is it?” he asked flicking through the pages of the book before he found what he was looking for, “ah, here it is. you wanted me to push you onto this bed and fuck you till you saw stars,” you whimper at this, “and look how proud you were that you caught me staring at your tits,” he grinned, “pretty things aren’t they,” he leaned down, capturing your right nipple between his teeth, nibbling slightly before sucking it into his mouth. the sensation was too much, you gasped, trying to jerk against him but anakin was too strong, he bit down on your nipple, a warning before soothing it with his tongue, moving and doing the same to the other one until you were a panting mess.

“good girl,” he praised, “now this wasn’t what i wanted to do actually, just had to get a taste,” he told you with a wink and you blinked at him stunned. “where do you keep your vibrator, angel?” anakin questioned you.

“um, my bedside draw,” you murmured and anakin nodded, leaning over and opening up and pulling out your pretty pink vibrator.

“cute,” he said, “now, baby, i want to see you use this, okay? wanna know what you look like when you are playing with yourself and thinking about me,” he crooned.

“ani, i’m… fuck okay,” you said reaching out and taking the vibrator from him, anakin climbed off of you and you immediately missed the weight of him atop of you but ignored it was you yanked your shorts and panties down, revealing your throbbing pussy to anakin, the boy groaning in apprecation.

“holy shit, you’re fucking soaked, angel,” he crooned, “look at your clit, all puffy and red. all from sucking my cock?” anakin asked and you nodded, cheeks crimson. “you are a dream, pretty girl,” your clit pulsed at his words and quickly you pressed your vibrator to it before switching it on. your body writhed at the contact, you had been desperate for this for what felt like hours, every inch of your being aching for relief as you trailed the toy down, soaking it in your wetness before bringing it back to your clit, moaning at the feeling.

“fuck, anakin, feels so good” you cried out, tilting your head to look at him and seeing him gazing at your pussy in awe.

“i bet it does, angel, you were so sore, so desperate for this,” he said, reaching out and trailing a finger along your dripping slit, your hips jerked, heart pounding, “gonna come that quick, fuck, do it, baby,” he prompted. you pressed the toy harder to your clit gasping and crying out, the sight of anakin before you, the months of waiting, wanting, it all built up and before you could even react the coil in your stomach snapped and you came with a sharp moan, the vibrator still pressed to your cunt as you twitched through the aftershocks of your orgasm. then you felt it, something wet and warm trailing through your fold, you looked down to see anakin now lying between your legs, his tongue buried in your cunt.

“ani” you sobbed, switching the vibrator off and tossing it to the side, anakin taking this as his chance to wrap is lips around your clit and suck. you all but screamed, still strumming with pleasure and overwhelmed by the feeling of his mouth on you, it was hypnotic.

“did i tell you to stop?” he asked pulling back and grabbing the vibrator and flicking it on, pressing to to your abused clit, you gasped, looking down at him with wide eyes, “you are gonna hold this while i eat you out okay, you move it and i’ll stop,” he commanded.

“but, ani, it’s so sensitive,” you told him and anakin simply scoffed.

“you can take it, sluts like you can come as many times as you need to, bet you are still aching for relief,” he said pressing it down harder and you screeched, “take it,” and you did, grabbing the toy from his hand and holding it there as he burried his tongue back inside of you, licking into your sopping walls.

“oh my god, oh my god, anakin please,” you begged one hand slipping down to his hair, tugging on the dark strands with a sob. the vibrator on your clit was brutal, stirring up another orgasm in quick sucession to the last but anakin didn’t stop, he continued to lick and suck while you trembled, slick pouring from your slit as you jerked violently, cumming twice before anakin finally let up.

“you taste fucking divine, angel,” anakin said, his face glossy with your cum, you couldn’t move, couldn’t think as he switched the vibrator off and tossed it to the ground. “fuck me, i’ve never seen such a pretty girl before,” he crooned, wiping his mouth on the back of his hand before crawling up your body and pressing a dirty kiss to your lips. he tasted of salt and your release and it made your body ache once more.

“ani, ani, please,” you begged against his mouth, you werent sure exactly what you were begging for but you needed it, needed him.

“sh, angel, its okay,” he said gently, running his hands down your hips sothingly, “tell me what you need” he prompted and you wailed, he looked stunned, “hey, come on talk to me, too much?” he questioned but you shook your head violently.

“need to feel you,” you said through heaving breaths, clumsily reaching out and grasping his cock that pulsed in your hand, he spluttered out a moan, rocking his hips into you, head of his cock catching your clit with such delicious pleasure that you swore you almost saw stars. “inside,” you demanded, words failing you in that moment of utter want.

“need to prep you first,” he said, gently removing your hands from his cock before sliding his fingers through your throbbing heat finding your slit with ease and slowly sinking one finger in.

“more,” you begged almost instantly, hands clinging to his shoulders and anakin complied, sinking another finger inside of you, pumping into your wet heat as you babbled and cried.

“never imagined i would have you like this, so desperate for me,” anakin panted, “wanna know a secret, i’ve wanted this for so long, have pictured taking you so many times,” he whispered, “i came reading your diary, seeing how much you wanted me,”

“anakin,” you said, hands coming to his cheeks cupping them so that he would face you, you could see the raw desire that danced behind his pretty blue eyes, “i’m ready, please,” and he complied, slowly lining his cockhead with your swollen hole slowly inching in. the burn was intense, a tearing feeling consuming your cunt even as you leaked more slick onto his sodden cock. you gasped, more tears streaming down your cheeks as anakin slowly inched deeper.

“you can do it, baby, doing so well for me,” he praised as he sunk deeper, inch by inch before burying himself at the hilt and staying there, “look at that, angel, you did it,”

“oh, oh fuck,” it was nothing like your dildo that was all solid plastic and cold feel, instead it was warm and hard and sending your body into overdrive, it took a few moments to adjust to the feel of it, the intrusive weight uncomfortable but not unwelcomed, and it was all worth it to see anakins face. his eyes screwed up in pleasure, bottom lip pinched between his teeth as he tried to stay still for you. “move, you can move, please,”

“you sure, baby,” anakin gasped, voice tight.

“yes, please,” you agreed, he started slow at first, gentle shalow thrusts that allowed you to get used to the feeling of it, but soon he began to speed up, sinking deeper inside of you with each thrust until you could feel the tip pressing against your cervix, the pleasure was indescribable, you never knew it could feel like this, so all consuming. “yes, yes, harder,” you pleaded with him.

“you sure,” he gasped out.

“yes, i’m okay,” you nodded, and anakin listened, suddenly there was nothing between you but the heat of your skin and the slick of your bodies, a mix of sweat, cum and spit. it was disgusting, a sick merging of your bodies, anakin’s face was burried in your neck, sucking crimson marks onto your sensitive skin while you clawed at his back, manicured nails cutting into his golden skin.

“shit, you feel fucking amazing,” anakin said against your skin, grinding deeper, “such a good little pussy for me, taking me so well,” he told you, “you need to come on my cock again, wanna feel you cleanch around me, okay?” he said and you nodded frantically.

“please, ani,”

“that’s it, good girl,” he cooed, thumb coming between you to circle your clit, you could feel your orgasm building as he jerked into you, his thrusts getting sloppy and you knew he was close, could tatse it on your tongue, you needed it, needed him. “i own this pussy now,” he hissed, “gonna make every single one of your dirty fantasies come true and then we can try some of mine,” anakin told you, thumb speeding up and pleasure exploded behind your eyelids, everything went white and you were gone. when you came too anakin was hovering over you still cock in hand jerking himself off frantically.

“ani,” you whispered, hand coming up shakily and grasping his cock jerking it lightly and anakin came in thick hot spurts all over your chest and face while you took it happily. he collapsed down beside you, pulling you in so your face was pressed against his chest, leg cocking over his hips. “wow,” was all you managed to say.

“better get ready baby, this was only the beginning,” anakin smirked, pressing a kiss to your sweaty forhead and you couldn’t wait to see what else he had in store for you, and you thanked the stars that you had made that little diary.

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part 2???

[elainiisms]

psych ward application forms except it just asks you your favourite fictional couples

[hon3yteddy]

꒰ nct dream + intimate moments i want to experience 🍞 ꒱

synopsis: tbh idk but there thing i'd generally kill to experience (this is not a joke), and add some arson too if i get to do them with dream genre(s): established relationship, romance, tooth rotting fluff warning(s): mix use of tenses, severe symptoms of delusions and signs of parasocial relationship, not reread at all !!! author's note: hanging out with newjeans at the psych ward

#𝟎𝟐𝟎𝟖 𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐊 𝐋𝐄𝐄 . . .

― kind of cliché a cheesy... but slow dancing! mark's one of us - a hopeless romantic so he'd definitely be a sucker for a slow dance under the dim lights of your shared apartment. he'd perfectly time his movements after instantly recognising your favourite slow song (i recommend any song by laufey) drift from the kitchen as you prepare your dinner for the evening. he's heard the song too many times to count but mark never minded. he loved that about you - the little things, the big things, and everything in between.

just before the chorus, he'd slip behind you, guiding your hands with his own to carefully drop whatever you were holding, and clumsily twirl you round to face him. i can feel it in my bones that the man would do those knew weakening, borderline giggle, chuckle of his and gently pull your hand for a light kiss against the skin of your knuckles. you would find yourself resting one hand on his shoulder and the other being embraced tightly by his. mark always loves how close you feel when you're like this.

he would give you that look, the look you've seen a hundred times. it's the same one he gave you before he kissed you for the first time, the same one he wore when he finally got the guts to ask you on a date, that look so beautiful and real that your too much in a daze to notice him slip an arm around your waist. together you slowly sway to the beat of the song, forgetting the past and ignoring the future.

he holds you close, maybe too close even. yet none of that mattered. all that did was the way he was whisking you across the room, embracing you tight. feathered kisses, words of worship, lovesick eyes - truly a night to remember.

♡: mark, the foods going to burn... mk: guess so. but i'll eat anything made by you, burnt or not. ♡: the food is definitely burning right now!

#𝟐𝟑𝟎𝟑 𝐇𝐔𝐀𝐍𝐆 𝐑𝐄𝐍𝐉𝐔𝐍 . . .

― renjun is a true artist and what is one of the most popular forms of art? paintings. he adores painting you, a truly enjoyable pastime. countless of times would you catch him sketching you, entrapping every detail of your soul onto a canvas or simply just the ripped page of a battered notebook. you have always been curious about his hobby so every now and then you'd have the honour of spending the hour painting with renjun.

there's something so dear about painting with someone you love. maybe it's the serenity, or the way the soul becomes so vulnerable yet so free on the canvas. whatever it was, things always felt so different when it would be the two of you.

evenings were always the time for such dates and soon enough the both of you would have long ago abandoned the canvases. it all had started when you had gotten frustrated with your piece of the day, for it could never compare to renjun's. so frustration took over, and you had painted a sad face on side of his face so very careful to not poke him in the eye. your shaky attempt at frown reminded you of the earlier days where it was socially acceptable to paint on one’s face and so you didn’t stop.

you enjoyed it and he could tell as he too abandoned his own piece to paint on you. the way he carefully held your giggling bod still and swirled his brush against your exposed skin from the blush of your cheeks, to the dent of your collarbones. you always found renjun prettier when he was focused and now he was focused on every part of you, adorning you with works of his own. yet none of his paintings could ever compete with the beauty of you. 

♡: you always make me look so beautiful, renjun. rj: you just simply are, that's all.

#𝟐𝟑𝟎𝟒 𝐋𝐄𝐄 𝐉𝐄𝐍𝐎 . . .

― jeno is a man sent from the heavens, carved by zeus himself and blesses the undeserving earth with his presence. basically, he's a sweet man with big, beefy arms you kinda just want to chomp and snuggle against. (the indescribable things i'd do to be embraced by the lee jeno can not be said aloud.)

cuddling is a simplistic show of affection and jeno must be the best person to hug in the whole world. a true safe place in this cruel world where you can finally let yourself be vulnerable and receive the love you oh so needed.

jeno loves hugging you. if it's after work, after a hard day, on the sofa, out of the blue, the man would be at your beck and cal. sometimes you didn't need to ask. he'd would be right there each and every time and he would love every hug he got to share with you. the thought of simply hugging you is everything to this lovesick puppy.

the hugs he loves the most are the ones you just needed the most. the ones where there was no need for an exchange of words or questioning eyes, just open arms. there was no other soul on this very earth who could make you feel so loved yet so weak in his arms that you could swear you could break, and sometimes you did. but he was there, and that's all you needed.

there's something so intense between each hug - tight embraces, soft hums, tender kisses, and the alignment of both your hearts. with each hug, jeno told you he loved you without the need for a single word.

jn: … (i love you) ♡: … (i love you too)

#𝟎𝟔𝟎𝟔 𝐋𝐄𝐄 𝐇𝐀𝐄𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐍 . . .

― now it's no surprise to us when i say haechan adores physical touch. he honestly invented the love language itself. so of course, the dude is very much in love with you and the act of kissing you. every chance he got, he kissed you every time. but if there was one thing haechan loves more than kissing you, it's you kissing him.

imagine just kissing every inch of this man who deserves all the love in the world! he loves it when you kiss his moles with whispered words of praise in between. he never lets you miss one and always points out one just to get another kiss.

he's a giggling mess and you are too. hiding underneath the bed covers, tracing your hands against his bare skin, enjoying the way he writhes in anticipation for your next kiss. it's a game you both enjoy too much.

don't worry, you always get your fair share of kisses. he loves kissing the details of your skin and he loves even more the reaction he earns with each one (cocky dude). there isn't a single part of you he dislikes. oh, and if you too are blessed with moles of your own, he'll find each and every one to give a tickling kiss. sometimes he'll call them stars, sometimes its the cute dots of ladybugs - every single blemish, scar and mole would be loved, for haechan is just utterly in love with your very being down to the last detail.

hc: you know moles are where your lover kissed you in your past life? ♡: really? you must have given me these then. hc: and in your next life, you’ll have so many more for me to kiss…

#𝟏𝟑𝟎𝟖 𝐍𝐀 𝐉𝐀𝐄𝐌𝐈𝐍 . . .

― bubble baths. i can't explain it easily, but there's something so romantic about bubble baths. jaemin isn't necessarily joining you, but if wants to, he can hop in my imagine bath tub. he's actually the one preparing them for you. he'll always want his lover to feel a tease, he could never let you drown yourself in stress.

every now and then he would prepare the perfect bubble bath, filling the tub with hot water, scented ointments, expensive soap and even a dash of petals. you can tell he enjoys doing it too as he'll usually greeted by the man himself at the door, wearing the proudest smile. he doesn't hesitate in sweeping you off your feet, always nagging for you to relax while he takes care of everything else.

he always prepares a lot, paying attention to every detail he knows you'll love. your favourite song plays, a calming scent drift from the candles he's lit, there'll always be a glass of your favourite drink by your side and your favourite pjs hang against the door for you to slip in after.

as you lay in the bath, wading your hands against the water that’s just right, you sometimes feel shy under jaemin’s attentive and kind gaze. You may even complain about it all being too much but he’s quick to hush you with a kiss. jaemin just wants you to enjoy the serenity every now and then, he can’t handle seeing the one he loves struggling. he enjoys spoiling you and he loves seeing your tense body finally give up and melt. this week he’ll read you a book as he sits beside the bathtub, not caring if you splash a little water onto him. the next he’ll let you enjoy a movie, and the one after, he’ll bring you a meal for you to enjoy whether that be a fast food burger or home cooked pasta. chivalry could never be dead with jaemin around.

jm: it's time you to take a break! ♡: you already did this for me like last week! jm: it's not illegal for you to take regular breaks, okay?

#𝟐𝟐𝟏𝟏 𝐙𝐇𝐎𝐍𝐆 𝐂𝐇𝐄𝐍𝐋𝐄 . . .

― you know that genre of romance scenes where the main couple help the other put on a necklace, fix a tie, button up their shirt, brush their hair etc, that - all of that. the simplicity of getting ready with a lover is so dreamy and chenle is indeed the man of everyone's dream.

the intensity shared between the two of you is unmatched. the bliss silence, hesitant touches, enchanted eye contact... gosh i'm blushing. when he stands behind you, letting his fingers graze the back of your neck to clasp the new necklace he's bought you. a compliment leaves his lips to touch upon the shell of your ear. he never dares to hide from your watchful eyes in the reflection and neither do you.

chenle lets his fingers glide down you bare back to zip the material of your outfit together. he holds you still while his hand painstakingly slowly moves up your spine for him to stop with a soft “all done”, enamoured by you and only you. and when he places you in front of the vanity mirror, threading his fingers through your hair, taking his time in watching, no, worshipping your very being in a blissful silence

the tension would almost be too much to bear. the way he gazes down at you while your busy fixing the tie he has clearly messed up on purpose. he always catches himself enjoying it all too much. something about the close proximity, focused eyes and building tension that's got his knees on the verge of buckling. just every moment chenlesees you, he swears he's fallen in love with you all over again.

cl: so b- ♡: you're going to call me beautiful again, aren't you?

#𝟎𝟓𝟎𝟐 𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐊 𝐉𝐈𝐒𝐔𝐍𝐆 . . .

― now me and mr park jisung don't have a lot in common, but we do share the epitome of being awkward (he just pulls it off better than me. so it's fair to say that hand holding would get jisung weak in the knees. he's just a tall grown man with the soul of a little child and who's hopelessly in love with you.

and i must say, jisung has got the prettiest hands i've ever seen, no wonder you can't hold yourself back from slipping your hands into his. it makes him jump every time but he'd hold hands with you forever if he could.

it begins with the two of you walking side by side and a noticeable brush of hands. then a classic pinkie lock comes into play and jisung is in a mess already. and finally you'll intertwine your fingers with his once again. it's shock to his poor heart every time it occurs. he'd never let his eyes meet your face, he's far to weak to look at your beautiful face. he would simply falter and break under your loving gaze.

hand holding is a timeless classic move that is every loner's dream. does jisung wish he could experience the sensation of holding hands with you for the first time? very much so!

♡: you're adorable, jisung. js: … (internal monologue about how much he's in love with you)

january 2023 © hon3yteddy

[kyumiscafe]

"What if he just... snapped?" || Gojo x psych ward nurse ♡

Used y/n but not too much, no tw's just Satoru being a tiny bit unhinged

Do you like the plot? Here's the janitor ai bot for anyone interested

They all worshipped the strongest, but no one saw the man, no one noticed the cracks until it was too late.

The first crack appeared after the Star Plasma Vessel mission, Gojo's near death experience. Then it was his best friend Suguru Geto, his betrayal, death. Murder. The blood on his hands left such a deep mark, irreparable damage.

No matter what Gojo did after that, death followed him like a loyal dog. The final crack took place in the prison realm, with no distraction from his own thoughts Gojo Satoru snapped.

Satoru can't remember what he did after being unsealed. All he remembered was the blood that came afterwards. Apparently, he went on a rampage. It didn't matter, he didn't feel guilt, not in the slightest. They all got what they deserved, right? The good ruled over evil once again, and the world was safe. As usual, Gojo Satoru saved the day.

And as a thank you? He's here, in a fucking straitjacket, seals all around to make his cursed energy dormant. At least that's what those old fools believed would work...

Satoru can't help but scoff, recalling all their nonsense. 'You're unstable. The mind needs to be healed.'

Blah fucking blah. What a load of bullshit. However society always looked down on mass murder, so fine. Gojo will play nice... for now.

Click clack, click clack...

His grin only deepened, a borderline predatory look as he heard those familiar footsteps. Ah... how wonderful.

"There you are. How's my favourite nurse? Missed your psychopath?"

Gojo spoke, voice laced with sarcasm and a chuckle escaped his lips while looking at Y/n.

"So... are you going to undo the straps this time sweet nurse? My arms are sore."

Satoru pouted, sweetly, so devilishly charming, one can almost forget that by society's standards, he's an 'dangerously unstable individual.'

Those hourly visits are the only reason why he's still here despite being Gojo fucking Satoru and walking out. It's not like anyone could stop him if he really wanted to... Truth is- it pissed Gojo off, being stuck there made him fucking irascible to say the least. He hated feeling bored with a burning passion.

[kiradrabbles]

Tim wright x Afab reader NSFW alphabet? 👀

yes!

Tim wright how I love you… sorry this took a million billion years

Tim Wright x AFAB reader NSFW alphabet!

A = Aftercare In my humble option Tim is a master at aftercare!! Very gentle and careful, will pick you up in his arms and take a shower with you or order you food, whichever you prefer. If he’s been a little rough he’ll apologise and kiss any bruises better. also a cuddlebug :) if you’re sleepy I think after he’s cleaned up he’ll totally pull you close and rest his head on your chest and kiss you. He’s the best person to snuggle with I swear to god, who wouldn’t want a chubby hairy man to cuddle to sleep.

B = Body part (his favourite body part) ass man!!!! Sorry but Tim Wright is such an ass man to me. Will flip you over. will have you sit on his face. sit on his lap and his eyes will pop out and turn into love hearts like those cartoon characters, bro probably says awooga. I joke but if you do actually sit on his lap he’d be so awkward and pop a boner like. Immediately. Yeah, ass.

C = Cum I imagine he’s a cream pie man to be honest. It does something to him to have your cum leaking out of him like that, I think it also appeals to his breeding kink which we will discuss in detail later.

don’t get me wrong, he’s *not* opposed to cumming on you, and loves to see you covered in it, I just think seeing it leaking out of you (especially your pussy and ass, but also your mouth) does something to him he can’t explain.

D = Dirty secret hm.. I was wracking my brains on this one. I think he’d largely be pretty open with you on his desires. I’d imagine probably that he wouldn’t mind doing something a little… risky.

I honestly can imagine him being the type of mf to let you give him a handy while he drives.

E = Experience I think he has some experience in a few things. Things getting freaky in the psych ward fr 🔥🔥

okay okay jokes aside, I honestly think he’s a virgin? He’s definitely made out with a few people before, and maybe even had a relationship with someone, but I don’t think he’s really gone too far with it. I like to think he’d wait for someone he felt he could really trust and who understood him before doing that. And his person is you :)

F = favourite position ass up! Honestly anything where he gets a good view of you, but I’d say his favourites would probably be you riding him cowgirl style or doggy (so, ass up).

just imagine him pressing your head down, grabbing your hair and fucking you hard from behind, grunting…

G = Goofy (whether or not they're serious during sex) I honestly think it depends on his mood!! Most days I don’t think he’d be especially silly, but I imagine if it got awkward or if he’s make a mistake he’d laugh it off with you, and I can definitely imagine him biting somewhere ticklish to tickle you, or kissing down your stomach to make you laugh.

now if it’s stressed angry sex? Bro is not being goofy, just pounding into you, hair messy, sweat running down his face. You’re how he takes it off after all.

H = Hair body hair!! Probably has arm hair, leg hair, stomach hair, the works. I imagine he has a happy trail too (I’m such a sucker for happy trails).

I do think he’d keep his pubic hair pretty trimmed since it’s hygienic and he wouldn’t want you to be disgusted by it or anything. Would clean shave if you specifically asked, but prefers to just keep it trimmed.

I = Intimacy like i said, total cuddlebug!!!! When you're not having sex he's cuddling you and giving you soft kisses, even just holding your hand. I think when he's not stressed he's very gently and intimate with the sex too, gently kisses up and down your body, gentle bites, muttering that you're pretty and perfect and that he's so lucky to have you, praise in between kisses (and thrusts).

J = Jerking off Honestly i don't think Tim would Jerk off too much. That's not to say he isn't horny a lot, he just.. tries to keep it in. Especially with the psych ward he wouldn't have had much privacy as a teen so he'd always be pretty paranoid about getting caught, so he wouldn't do it as often.

that being said, he probably increases it once he starts dating you, probably imaging you while he's at it. Bro probably wouldn't mind getting caught by you of all people....

K = Kink(s) Right! here it is folks, what you've all been waiting for...

face sitting. Theres something about it honestly. I imagine Tim as more of a soft top, but you sitting on his face? he can't get enough of it, will eat you out until you're screaming with you riding his face and enjoy every second, holding your thighs so tight it leaves fingerprint bruises. Probably have to safeword to get him to stop this man EATS. Will beg for you to break his neck sitting on it.

Similar to the above, also loves 69'ing. He gets your pretty ass on his face and he gets your lips around his cock? It's a win/win situation.

Sort of said it already, but just.. thighs and ass. Sit on his lap instead of his face? fine by him! will pop a boner and probably fuck you right there and then if you want him to. Any clothes that show that sort of area, anything tight, you'll have him tugging you into the bathroom by a hand.

Angry sex. If he's stressed out or mad (this happens a lot) honestly nothing helps him cool down more than banging your brains out and cuddling down with you afterwards. Of course if you aren't up for it, he won't, but..

To contrast, he also loves softer, lazy loving sex. Like early morning just woke up sex. Gentle kisses, running his hands up and down your body, fucking on your sides in bed, just.. comfortable stuff.

L = Location He likes being in bed or on the sofa the most, somewhere private and comfortable the two of you can get it on without accidentally hurting yourselves (or getting caught).

That being said desperate times call for desperate measures, and if he's really horny (or, really stressed) he will plow you in a bathroom or in the back of his car. Sorry, i don't make the rules (i do!).

M = Motivation (what turns him on) Honestly i'm sure a lot does but specifically i can imagine him getting super worked up when you dress up for him. ESPECIALLY things that show off your ass or chest. If you wear a pretty skirt or dress for him he would have to stop himself from lifting your skirt up and just shoving his face in.

N = No (boundaries) Cheating stuff, like NTR. whether it's you or him cheating, he still feels really... icky about it. He'd feel guilty if he fucked someone else (and honestly probably wouldn't in the first place, he really only feels that comfortable with you) and he'd get pretty upset if you fucked someone else, even if you'd discussed it before.

O = Oral Likes receiving and WILL fuck your throat and praise you through it with his hands in your hair, but remember what i said? this man EATS. i mean breakfast lunch and dinner bro will eat you out until you safeword. I'm talking leaving fingerbrint bruises on your ass from gripping so hard and hickeys on your thighs from biting up them. I imagine he's pretty good at it too, and especially loves it when you moan out his name or grab his hair. after all, what's better than a little encouragement.

P = Pace depends on how he's feeling!! Normally i already said this but he looves slow, sweet gentle sex that lasts an hour or more, just practically worshipping you and your body. Sweet kisses all up and down your stomach, thighs, legs, tits, everywhere until you're both giggling and kissing each other and he's finally in you or eating you out.

Now if he's stressed? ohh boy... bro will pound you into the mattress. the neighbours will know his name and your hips will probably have fingerprint bruises from when he's grabbed you so hard. Prepare to be sore (and have trouble walking).

Q = Quickies I mean... he'll take a quicky if you've gotten him all worked up at a party and he wants to get it out, but he wants time to be able to properly enjoy your body you know? That being said, he isn't opposed to one.

R = Risk He's okay with some risk!! in fact, he's even into it to a degree. remember that car thing i mentioned? yeah, he'd go crazy for something like that. Same sort of thing with giving him a handy in a movie theatre or something. would he suggest it himself? hell no. would he agree without hesitation if you asked? hell yes.

S = Stamina Honestly i feel like he has pretty high stamina, especially with how he spends a lot of it doing foreplay and eating you out, so the sex probably feels longer than the actual penetration part is. And if he's tired he can always eat you out until he's ready and rearing to go again. Get's him hard every time without fail.

T = Toys I think he isn't crazy on toys as he prefers being able to feel you himself and have the experience of his skin on yours and both of you together, getting all sweaty, but he won't say no if you suggest some? he might feel a little inadequate so i'd imagine you'd have to really reassure him that that wasn't what was going on.

Probably wouldn't mind if you had a vibrator for when he wasn't there, though.

U = Unfair (teasing) When he's not stressed, i think he'd try teasing you just a little, if only because he finds your reactions super cute. Might just stop eating you out right before you orgasm and make you ask nicely just to hear you beg. He'd probably give in and give you the best orgasm of your life after, though. Maybe even two or three.

V = Volume/Vocal I imagine he's not too vocal, but you will be able to tell if he's enjoying it.I imagine he grunts and groans like no tomorrow, and if he hits just the right angle or you hit just the right part of his cock with your tongue? he will whimper your name out and it will be the hottest thing you've ever heard i promise you that.

W = Wild Card (misc) His prominant southern accent makes for some fun times. I imagine he calls you names like "doll" or "darlin'", something like that. "darlin, you wore that just for me? How 'bout you come over here and i'll show you what i think of it~" (he eats you out)

X = X-Ray Grah!!! chubby tim wright supremacy!!! My dad bod king. I imagine under it he's actually pretty strong as troy confirmed that worked in construction while in collage, but he's still my chubby king. Just one who could pick you up and throw you onto the bed. Member wise? pretty average - large, though he isn't really sure what constitutes large. I'd say around 6.5-7 inches? perfect size if you ask me.

Y = Yearning (libido) Not always horny, especially if you're not around, but i imagine when you're around it's more likely that he's horny than not, if you catch my drift. Plus, it's very very easy to make him horny if you're in the mood and he isn't!

Z = Zzz I already said this but he loves to cuddle and fall asleep with you after sex :) Lay your head on his chest and snuggle him back and he's in a veritable heaven.

[atlasscrumpit]

Speaking about Character AI,may I request a dark Doctor Barnes of the mental ward with a patient reader based off your Doctor Barnes Character AI? I wanna see a human writer's take on it. Start off with the same paragraph from Character AI chats and proceeds from there. And can I request for mental hospital Doctor Bucky to be soft dark,please? Always soft & adoring with her yet possessive and doesn't hide his feelings her. And always wanting to feed her too when she's restrained. And stroking her hair,her face,kissing her,touching her,everywhere. He'll discharge her himself and takes her to his home to take care of her forever. Even got a ring ready to make her his wife,whether she wants to be or not.

You sit in a chair with your hands restrained, a doctor sits in front of you and stares at you. He looks intimidating and like a man that shouldn't be messed with

"Easy there, you had a bit of a violent episode so we had to sedate you and restrain you.

Do you know where you are?" He asked, slowly leaning forward as you looked around the room.

Various artifate adorned the blank white walls.

"Shield psych hospital." You grumbled as he smiled.

"Smart girl." He said as he stood up and came to kneel beside you.

"I don't think you need these restraints, do you? If I take them off, do you promise to be good, doll?" He asked, gently running his hand up your arm.

"I won't do anything." You said making him smile as he slowly unlocked the restraints.

"There's a good girl, that must feel better, huh?" He asked as you nodded a little.

"How long do I have to stay here?" You muttered, he reached up and ran his hand along your thigh.

"Quite sometime, sweetheart. You're a bit troubled, my dear." He said with a smile.

"Stop touching me." You grumbled as he chuckled.

"Come on, sweetheart. I'm just being affectionate, letting you know you're safe. How about I show you to your room and get you some food?" He suggested as you nodded a little, you couldn't help how hungry you felt.

"There's a good girl, come on."

--

This place wasn't as bad as the others you had been in, Doctor Barnes was rather...touchy but you couldn't hell but indulge in it.

After the history of your trauma, some part of you loved the idea of being touched and favourited by the top doctor.

Barnes entered your room in the morning and he knelt beside your bed watching you sleep.

"You're so beautiful... You don't deserve to be here, do you?" He whispered as you began to wake up.

"Good morning, my darling." He said with a smile as you yawned.

He leaned in and kissed you softly before you backed away a little.

"You shouldn't...you're not allowed to do that." You whispered as he chuckled softly.

"My darling, I'm the head doctor here. I can do whatever I want. And I know how much you want it. You think I don't hear your little voice moaning my name?" He asked as your face went red and you looked away.

"Don't be embarrassed, doll. I think it's cute you like me so much. And you're my favourite patient." He whispered leaning in again to kiss you again, you relaxed a little and kissed him back.

His hand went under your shirt and ran along your hip.

He leaned away and smiled, looking at your flushed face.

"You're such a beautiful girl." He whispered as you felt his cold hand graze your nipple, you gasped and grabbed his wrist.

"Are you sensitive there, my little patient?" He asked as you bit your lip and nodded a little.

Suddenly he heard someone coming and immediately stood up and placed the blanket over you.

A nurse entered with a smile.

"Doctor Barnes, I've got Y/N's medication." She said as he nodded.

"Thank you, Lyla. I can give it to Y/N and make sure she takes it." He said as she nodded and handed him the pills.

She walked out and Barnes locked the door before kneeling beside your bed.

"I'm not taking it." You grumbled, turning you back to him.

He ran his hand along your side.

"Well, if you take these little pills for me. I'll do something special for you." He said as you slowly turned around.

"Like what." You whispered making him chuckle.

"I'll take care of that little situation that I know is happening between your legs after I touched you." He whispered, your face flushing even more as you sat up and took the pills.

"There's my good girl." He whispered as he reached between your legs and pressed.

You gasped and couldn't help but grind against his hand, making him chuckle.

"I wanna...grind on your thigh." You muttered as he laughed and sat up on your bed, patting his lap.

You straddled one of his large thighs and began to grind against him.

You gasped and closed your eyes, moaning softly and he held your hips, controlling your movements.

"You don't deserve to be here, such a pretty girl. You deserve to be taken care of. You'd make a perfect little wife, wouldn't you?" He growled as he watched you lose yourself from pleasure.

You covered your face as you moaned.

"Is that what you want, baby? Want me to take you away from this place and make you my perfect wife?" He asked as you covered your mouth and looked at him.

"Y-Yes... I wanna be away from here, wanna be your wife." You whispered as he chuckled and brought you in to kiss him.

"I promise to make it happen, baby doll."

[chaotic-orphan]

Intoxicating Fear (Xiii)

Family Time

Continued from // Masterpost

*~*~*~*~*

Kit’s palms were sweating as he walked into the hospital, stopping at the reception desk and smiling at the receptionist, Heather. She smiled with her painted red lips when she saw Kit. It shouldn’t have made him nauseous, Heather always had red lipstick on and it suited her. She was very pretty with her blonde hair and big blue eyes and red lips, but it just reminded him now of Ambrose.

“Hey Kit, you goin’ up to your old man?”

“Yeah, if that’s okay.”

“Of course, doll. Go right ahead.”

Kit thanked her and walked on to the stairs. He needed the stairs to give him the time to gather his thoughts. What was he going to say? How was he going talk to him after knowing exactly what Ambrose was like? When he knew exactly what Omen was capable of… and Kit was getting off light.

His mind was still somewhat in tact. How was he supposed to look at him, the man that took Kit into his house and raised him, and know that he had been spared?

The guilt bloomed like tar in his gut; pitch black, oozing and heavy. Fuck, his hands were shaking. What if his powers flared up when he was in there? He couldn’t control his red lightning that Ambrose kept bringing out in him… and it only happened when he was… well, angry, but —

Fuck.

Kit paused on the final step to Mentor’s floor. How much of himself would he see in Mentor now? How much suffering? Would he recognise the commands that Ambrose plagued his mind with?

It didn’t matter.

That was the thought that forced him up the final step and down the hallway to the psych ward. It didn’t matter what he thought or what he would see or face, because it was Mentor. If the roles were reversed, Kit knows that Mentor would be in here to see him— every single day, not every week.

The power-proofed psych ward was on the basement floor so if patients wanted to jump out of windows they could do it with minimal damage to themselves or others.

Kit hated walking up to the doors and pressing the button to be buzzed in. Hated how he knew that even if somehow Mentor got better miraculously, he wouldn’t be able to get out himself and come home.

Kit hadn’t been to Mentor’s house since the docks either, he should probably pay it a visit, put on the heat. The thoughts of the empty house getting damp and lonely… well, Kit just knew that mentor wouldn’t want that.

The door buzzed and Kit pushed it open. He walked down the hall, took a right at the nurses station and then stopped at the last door on the left. It was opened, so was his window. Mentor sat in his armchair staring at the birds as they sang a happy tune.

Kit paused at the door, just watching Mentor as he hummed softly back to the birds. He looked peaceful, wearing his favourite maroon sweater that Kit had gotten him one Christmas and his blue and red chequered pyjama bottoms.

Kit swallowed and stepped into the room, but where before Mentor would have noticed him lingering in the doorway, he didn’t even turn his head as Kit walked into the room and sat on the edge of his bed.

“Mentor,” said Kit softly. The corner of Mentor’s lips quipped up into a small smile at Kit’s voice, and Kit wanted to cry. He caught him on one of his rare good days. “How are you doing?”

“The birds are singing, Kit,” Mentor replied, his gaze dreamy. “The sun is shining. You’re here. I’m somewhat lucid.”

He turned his head to Kit, his warm blue eyes smiling. “I think I’m doing pretty great.”

Kit couldn’t help himself. It wasn’t a conscious thought, but he had crossed the short distance between the bed and Mentor’s chair to throw his arms around his— his family. He wanted so badly to tell him everything that had happened. Why he hasn’t visited in the last three months. Explain everything, tell him he knew what Mentor was going through because he was going through it too.

He settled for Mentor’s arms wrapping around him in their strong warm embrace, not at all cold like Ambrose.

“Hey kiddo, it’s okay.”

“I just…” the words choked on the way out, so Kit just squeezed Mentor tighter. “I miss you so much.”

“It’s alright. You’re here now, it’s all that matters isn’t it? Right now. We don’t have long before some nurse will give out to me for having visitors eh?” Kit laughed despite himself and pulled away from Mentor, nodding. Mentor didn’t let Kit’s arm go, he gave it a small, reassuring squeeze. “So we need to catch up on everything important, right?”

Kit nodded, his heart overwhelmed with joy. “Yeah.”

“Go on, sit down,” said Mentor, gesturing to the bed and Kit obeyed.

Mentor leaned forward and clasped his hands together, dropping them between his knees and fixing his features into a more sombre expression. Kit had the sudden feeling that Mentor somehow knew about Ambrose and his whole tragic ordeal, but then something glimmered in his eyes — an old familiar mischief that Superhero said Kit inherited from Mentor.

“Who’s top of the premier league? What have I missed? What about the rugby, and your car guys— what’re they called?”

“Formula one?” Kit asked with a startled laugh. He forgot he could be happy, but Kit wasn’t thinking about anything other than how good he felt.

“Yeah! Formula one, Ferrari and all them. I need all the updates because they only have the shit channels in here, and none of them are sports.”

Kit laughed again before he descended into a recap of all the sports developments he could think of recently. Well, almost recently if he discounted the last three month gap in his knowledge.

From sports they went onto movies, from movies they talked about the house and Kit’s apartment and then Mentor asked: “and how about work? Are you still in the Hero business?”

Kit could feel his smile fade at the question. That was the question of the hour was the it? Was he still a Hero? Could he even be considered one anymore?

He ignored the quiet voice in his head that asked: did he even want to be one anymore?

Instead Kit skirted around the issue. He told Mentor that Superhero had taken over as the new Superhero, that Kit worked closely with him. “Oh yeah. I always liked Superhero. He’s a nice guy, good moral compass.”

Kit told him that they were still hunting down Omen and Mentor’s eyes narrowed into points as sharp as daggers. “No.”

Kit blinked. “What?”

“No,” Mentor repeated. He got out of his chair and he walked towards Kit, grabbing both of Kit’s hands and squeezing them before kneeling in front of Kit. Kit stared down, his eyes as wide as saucers. “Kit promise me! Promise me you won’t go near that man.”

“Mento—”

“Kit!” Mentor cut in, his voice urgent, his eyes pleading with all his soul. “Promise me! You’ll stay miles away from him. He is only pain. I spent twenty years in the Hero business and I had never met a monster before him, Kit. You promise me!”

“I—”

“Promise me!”

“I promise,” Kit whispered. He didn’t mean for it to come out so quietly, but the urgency that Mentor was speaking with— Kit couldn’t say no to him. Not when he was like this. Tension released from Mentor’s shoulders as he let out a sigh, squeezing Kit’s hands again before letting them go and getting to his feet.

He put a hand in Kit’s hair and Kit froze, remembering cold fingers yanking his head up — but no! This was Mentor, not Ambrose. Mentor ruffled his hair affectionately in the same way he used to when he first met Kit and then withdrew his hand.

“You’re a good kid, Kit.”

Kit scoffed as he got to his feet. “Kid? Reckon I could still take you old man.”

Mentor’s eyes lit up with that glimmering mischief that Kit missed so much. “Oh yeah? Think you’re a tough guy now?”

“Tough enough to knock you on your arse.”

Mentor hummed like a monk, bringing his hands together in a pray before moving into a kung-fu pose, palm stretched out in front of him raised towards the ceiling. “You have much yet to learn, young Padawan.”

When Mentor flexed his fingers for Kit to give him his best shot, Kit smiled softly and walked towards him, finally wrapping his arms around Mentor instead. Mentor stiffened initially then relaxed and enveloped Kit in his warmth. “Hey Kid. It’s okay.”

It wasn’t fair, none of this was fair. Mentor wasn’t old enough to be retired, he was only… what? Late thirties? Early forties? He shouldn’t be here in this fucking psych ward, he should be at home with Kit. He should still be the number one hero. He should… he should have his own mind back. If it wasn’t for Ambrose, Mentor could still have his life!

“Hey… hey! Hey!” Mentor started shouting and Kit let go of him, stepping away. Mentor’s face contorted into fear and anger and disgust as he backed up to the wall, gasping. “Hey! What?! What did you do to me?”

Kit’s eyebrows knitted down into pained expression. “Mentor I—”

That was all Kit got out before Mentor was on him. Mentor grabbed Kit by his t-shirt and slammed him back against the wall, knocking the air from his lungs with a harsh hiss. “Mentor!”

Mentor’s fists curled in tight to Kit’s shirt, knuckles digging into Kit’s collarbone painfully. “What did you do to me! Huh! Make it stop! Make them stop!”

Mentor yanked Kit forward and shoved him back harder against the wall. Kit stared with wide eyes, frozen in shock. Mentor… he had never seen Mentor this bad before, where he didn’t even recognise him.

The screaming had alerted some nurses that came running into the room, yelling Mentor’s name.

“You ruined me!” Mentor wailed as nurses put their arms on him and tried to get him off Kit. “You ruined me! You destroyed me!”

“I—” Kit began but cut himself off, no words ready to flow from his lips in his defence.

“Mentor we need you to calm down and let go of Kit,” one of the nurses said.

Mentor shook his head, angry tears bubbling up on the side of his eyes. “You have some nerve showing up here, Omen. I would recognise you anywhere.”

“What?” Kit asked, breathless. His voice coming out so broken, choked. The nurses grabbed Mentor’s wrists and pried him off of Kit.

“Kit, you have to go. I’m sorry.”

“I—”

“Kit, I know it’s very distressing but please.”

He didn’t even look for the nurse who asked him to go. He just left in a stupor.

“Monster! Monster! You’re letting him go! I’LL FIND YOU ONE DAY, OMEN!” Mentor screamed, his voice echoing down the hall all the way to Kit’s ears. Kit flinched at the horrid sound of it, too broken and crazed and angry. “MONSTER! MONSTER! YOU’RE LETTING HIM GO!”

Kit flinched as a hand hit his shoulder. “Oh sorry, Kit.”

Kit turned to face a nurse who had a sad, pitying smile on her face. He was a little numb to it, he didn’t even smile back. “I just want to say he does that with us all,” he said kindly. “He calls us all Omen, and I know it must be shocking to hear it.”

Kit cleared the lump in his throat. “How… uh, how is he?”

“His lucid moments are getting longer, stronger, he remembers more.”

“And these moments?”

The pity in the nurse’s eyes said it all. “Longer, stronger, he’s… well, you saw him.”

Kit nodded because he didn’t trust his voice to speak. He gestured to the door, and cleared his throat and the Nurse nodded. “Yeah, I’ll let you go. Just… just don’t ruminate on it, Kit. That’s not him, that’s not the Mentor you know.”

Yeah, Kit thought, and even his thoughts sounded heartbroken to his ears. I know.

That was the real cruelty of what Ambrose did to Mentor. He took away everything that was Mentor, that made him the number one Hero, a father figure, an older brother. Omen sucked all his goodness out and replaced it with his own sick poison to try and diminish Mentor to nothing but a raving lunatic that had to be locked in a psych ward for his own safety.

When he walked out into the fresh air, Kit threw up in the nearest bin because: that could have been him. Ambrose could any day decide that he’s bored of Kit and then melt his mind like he did to Mentor, he could do it with a simple thought. Destroy him…

No, the nurse was right. Mentor isn’t gone. He isn’t destroyed, Ambrose missed that part even though it’s probably what he wanted. The lucid Mentor Kit hugged and laughed with and grew up with, that was Mentor. Ambrose didn’t destroy Mentor, and he wouldn’t destroy Kit either.

Kit ditched the idea of going back to his shitty apartment where Ambrose was no doubt waiting for him, or possibly waiting for him which was worse.

Kit’s mind went back to the rules and he smirked.

You can’t move apartment.

Ambrose never said anything about moving back home. Technically, Kit wasn’t even moving. He had some clothes back home, he could just relax there for a while. Take a load off. He wasn’t moving anywhere.

He stopped into the shop to grab some groceries before taking the metro back to his real home. Kit and Mentor’s home. It was a nice house, not too big or too small.

Kit remembers when he saw it for the first time, he thought it was huge and too much. The lawn was perfectly mowed, Mentor telling Kit that they would need to plant some flowers or something to cheer it up a little. The hedges around the wall surrounding it made it feel so warm and cosy.

Now the grass was overgrown, the flowers dead, the hedges needed a good chop. Kit frowned as he stared at the house, the stone walls with their big windows that they would throw open in the summer. It was so strange that Mentor wasn’t here with him.

If he was he would rock up beside Kit and pat his back, tell him: “it just needs a bit of work and a bit of love.”

With the drab Autumn weather, the house had an eerie glow to it, like it knew Mentor wasn’t coming home too. That suited him fine, maybe Kit and the house could find some comfort in each other.

He opened the heavy wooden door, the sound of the familiar lock clacking open took, what felt like, a tonne weight off of Kit’s shoulders. It smelled the same way it always did, he couldn’t quite put a name to it, but it smelled like home.

The first thing he needed to do was put on the heat cause fuck it was cold in here. He deposited the groceries on the kitchen island and his keys before waking to the utility room and pressing the heat on.

Please have some heat, please have some heat.

With a click and a whirr the heat came on and Kit silently thanked Mentor and his need to over-prepare for everything, because what if it gets cold in summer. LBetter to have it than want it.

Kit put the groceries away, almost robotically. He wasn’t hungry so he didn’t eat. He clicked the kettle on and grabbed his favourite mug, plopping in four teaspoons of coffee. Then switched the kettle off and left his mug on the countertop.

He turned, crossed his arms over his chest and leaned his lower back against the counter, worrying his bottom lip.

He didn’t really want to do anything.

He didn’t remember what it was like to want something.

Well… he did, he just didn’t— he had wanted to not be in pain. He wanted to not be around Ambrose, but after that? He kind of forgot what it was like to have a life of his own. What it was like to live before Ambrose had taken him and tortured him.

He—

He rolled his eyes and let out an audible, frustrated groan. He should go to bed, or, catch up on all the sports he missed. At least then when he saw Mentor again he would be able to tell him about the most recent updates instead of months old information.

Kit walked to the living room and settled down into his favourite seat on the sofa, fighting everything in him not to glance over to Mentor’s empty seat. It’s not like ignoring the seat made him feel any better, he still had that aching, gnawing in his chest that made everything feel a little wrong. A little off.

His phone buzzed in his pocket while he was flipping mindlessly through the sports channels, none of the programs catching his interest or attention at all. Did he really used to watch TV for fun? He could always look up the results or whatever, but it wasn’t really the same. He pulled out his phone, and stared down at the lock screen.

A text from Ambrose lit up the screen. Two simple words, that filled Kit with an unreasonable amount of anger. It hadn’t even been a day yet without the bastard there to torment him. He couldn’t even go a day without gloating.

Ambrose: Miss me yet? :)

Kit turned his phone off. It was dramatic, but it made him feel a little better. As if Kit was the one in control and not the other way around. Kit sighed and threw the phone onto the couch, leaving it there as he turned on off the TV and stood.

Today was just… too much of everything and anything and maybe, just maybe, if he slept tomorrow when he woke up he’d feel a little less like a zombie. A little more human. The idea pushed him towards his bedroom, ascending the stairs with heavy feet.

*~*~*~*~*

Continued here

Orphanage roll-call (lmk if you wanna be added or removed): @beatenbruisedandbloody @404lunar1216 @whumpyworld @nameless-beanie @andithewhumper r @annablogsposts @whumpasaurus101 @0eggdealer @rejectedbytheempty @sleepy-pearl @n3rv0usn0v4 @whumpatize-me-captain @sunshiline-writes @burningkittypoet @honeyed-euphrates @sacredwrath @theonewithallthefixations @acer-gaysimpstuff @m3rakii @xxgalgurlxx @princess-bubble-blossom @blood-enthusiast t @steh-lar-uh-nuhs @andtheysaidspeaknoww @dutifullykrispyland @mononeigbour

[mitski-creature]

need to force myself into a violent fucking split so I can finally break this stupid fkn attachment

[necroromantics]

Turns out its Mental Health Awareness Month this month.... So since yall know me and my tendency to yap about mental health issues, I'm going to share some of the ways I express mental health in my Creepypasta AUs (Cryptpasta AND Laundry and Taxes, mostly just for Toby and Clockwork). Its kinda long and a nonsensical ramble.... Enjoy

CRYPTPASTA

-Nina was diagnosed with Borderline Personality Disorder when she was 15 after a visit to the psych ward due to attempted suicide after a bad fight with an online boyfriend of hers

-She's very desperate to be loved and cared for, and intensely fears being abandoned to the point she'll put herself in harms way in an impulsive attempt to get people to stay in her life, or care for her, or want to be with her

-She has so much love to give to the point it overwhelms her, and tends to come out of her in forms of jealousy and anger outbursts, and desperate attempts to make people stay, because Nina wants love, and to give love

-Nina is also a very loyal friend who is very ride or die. She knows what its like to be left out, abandoned, betrayed, and she couldn't imagine doing that to the people she loves

-Clockwork also has BPD, she was going to be treated for it during her stay in the psychiatrist hospital when she was 16, before she killed her family, but never got around to it

-Her BPD presents a bit differently than Ninas. Her fear of abandonment and betrayal causes her to push people away entirely, and she struggles a lot with splitting

-She goes from thinking fondly about someone, to thinking they're the worst person in the world who does nothing but hurt her, because hating someone is much easier than risking loving them to her. Clockwork struggles a lot with making and keeping friends, because she can't trust anyone, and she tends to push people away at the tiniest fault as a way to protect herself

-Toby is her Favourite Person (FP), but she tries her best to beat this attachment to him down. Luckily for her, she's stuck with him, and he has zero plans of betraying or hurting her in any way. She tends to split on him a lot though

-Clockwork struggles a lot with anger and emotional dysregulation, she tends to view things in black/white, all or nothing, and is very impulsive. Because her emotions are so overwhelming and guttural, Clockwork struggles to be able to express them at all, and has a very bad habit of beating all her feelings down

-Toby was diagnosed with Bipolar Disorder when he was 15 after experiencing his first manic episode, where he got into a really bad fight with his dad, ran away from home, and got sent to a psychiatric hospital where he was given proper treatment

-After becoming a proxy, he didn't have access to treatment anymore, and a combination of stress, Slender Sickness, and a lack of sleep, causes him to have more frequent and intense episodes

-During his manic episodes he is very euphoric, always on the move, talks non-stop to the point he doesn't make any sense, has racing thoughts, is insanely energetic, rarely sleeps, and is much more aggressive and irritable. They usually last one or two weeks, but if they're really intense and he's experiencing psychosis, Tim or Jack will get him medication from some victims to regulate him

-His depressive episodes feel like death for him. He isolates himself, always in bed, oversleeping. He's so tired all the time, lethargic and moody, irritable. Toby doesn't want to talk to anyone, he tends to lose all hope and humour, everything seems so heavy and bleak, like every bad thing he's ever done and been through has finally caught up to him

-On really bad days, he'll struggle with suicidal thoughts, where Jack or Brian will talk him down, and Clockwork will just sit quietly by him so he knows he's not alone, because even if it feels like the world is ending, it never really is

-Toby also deals with issues associated with Antisocial Personality Disorder, though he was never officially diagnosed because proxies don't really have psychiatrists

-Toby struggles a LOT with empathy, and is generally an insensitive prick who has a very hard time genuinely caring about other peoples lives or problems. To him, its all about self preservation, every man for himself, and if he's capable of handling his own issues then he shouldn't be expected to coddle "weak people who cant handle their own". This stems heavily from beliefs he learned from his father, and certain mindsets he utilizes to help him get by in his life as a proxy

-He also greatly struggles with appropriate emotional responses, and morality. He doesn't understand why most things are deemed "right" or "wrong", and thinks people are dramatic or care too much for having strong morals on things. Toby says what he wants without and regard for societal norms or rules, things he wasn't really taught anyways

-Toby is also in a constant battle for freedom. At a young age he was made to feel small and powerless, which caused him to constantly feel like he's fighting for power and control in his life. He tends to fulfill these needs by putting others down, or starting fights with people because he always needs to defend himself

-This also makes him a very practical and loyal friend towards the people he's fond of. He's very much an "acts of service" guy because he values his freedom so much, that he's willing to spend his time and effort and give up a little bit of freedom to the people he likes. He's a ride or die friend, and he always encourages people to stand up for themselves and do better for themselves

LAUNDRY AND TAXES

-Laundry and Taxes is an ongoing fanfiction Im writing about what life for the Creepypastas (mostly Toby and Clockwork) would look if they were suddenly transported to a world where nothing bad happened. No murder, no Slenderman.

-It's very personal to me and is about getting better and healing from trauma and mental health issues, and forgiveness, and reconciliation

-I think during mental health awareness its important to bring awareness to the facts and struggles someone might have, but also the recovery. Which is what Im gonna get into here

-The story follows Toby, who constantly struggles with his pride and "me vs the world" mindset

-He learns how to ask for help, how to put his pride aside and seek out support from the people around him. He learns how to open up and trust that people will be kind to him, and that the world isn't as bad as it seems

-His recovery is, as all good things are, insanely difficult and horrible and painful and messy, but theres a lot of focus on how worth it everything is, and how all of that gritted teeth effort, because Toby has no other choice, ends up amounting to something

-He has to face the mistakes he's made, the hurt he's caused, the guilt he pushes down. He has to learn how to be kinder to himself and others. Toby grew up in a world where he believed that it was written from the start for him to be a "bad person", and then he was forced to face the fact that he was the one doing the writing, and he has the ability to write something new for himself

-He also has to face the fact that healing isnt linear, and that the world isn't always a safe, happy place, and Toby has to learn how to handle these things in ways he never did before. Because recovery is all about learning

-The same goes for Natalie, who struggles with her past trauma, and everything she's done, and what has taken from her at a young age

-She learns how to forgive herself, and how to make peace with her anger, and how to be kinder to herself and others as well

-Natalie goes through a lot of the same realizations Toby does, and even though she spent her whole life alone and pushing people away, slowly, she starts to open up to people too and she learns how to challenge her thoughts and distrust. It's a long, difficult journey with her facing her family and her trauma and her guilt and anger, but Natalie learns that there's an entire life of peace and quietness outside of her head, outside of the past

-She learns it's okay to lean on others a bit, and that they wont hurt her, and that it's okay to feel the things she does. Natalie faces her own grief, and how suffocating it is, because its the only way she can face love too

-It takes her longer to get on track to healing because she's spent her entire life running from her problems that she never really knew how to face it, or what to do when it catches up to her. But she does get on track, and she does face her past, and that little girl in her head who's scared all the time, and how angry she is, and how loud everything is, and she becomes able to hold that little girl in her arms and sit with her for a moment

-And then, Natalie learns how to make peace with the world, and for once, she has a weird sort of hope for the future

[onyourhyuck]

LUKEWARM. L.DH | Episode 2

— Title: ‘Something gained, something earned’

— Summary: Hong Yujin is the new patient at the psych ward admitted for her eating disorder. On the first day of being admitted she meets Haechan, a patient being treated for his bpd. Yujin already claims to hate him; he is everything she dislikes. Loud, annoying, self destructive.

— Genre: Psych ward, hospital, mental illnesses, can be triggering so read at your own risk, guys take care of yourself, mentions of eating disorders, mentions of bpd, suggestive, smut, angst etc.

— Notes: please don’t read if you’ll be triggered !! Take care of yourself guys.

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A pragmatic arrangement is the only kind of arrangement you can have with someone like Yujin. Without a routine the inpatient girl is nothing less than an unscrewed wheel, left alone in middle of a no-man’s-land.

The doctors like to analyse that this was a way of coping for the young girl. A routine makes her days predicable which she likes.

Prediction when to eat.

Revealing the gloomy ward. Today the weather was pouring down nonstop. Many patients woke up this morning to have breakfast and wear a sweater to have some warmth.

Yujin was the only one without a sweater. Without a life in those circles on her face. She never really slept when she was back at home, but now it feels like she is never going to sleep in a place like this. Lounging about the reception just like everyone else made it even harder to fit inside. Because all these crazy people have something in common together — a favourite activity. Eating.

Her mind was a complete disaster. A waste of time yet it feels hard to stop counting. Yujin sat there alone in a singular white chair in a white gown with the hair strands covering the black under bags, staring into the untouched tray of food.

If you turn to look around the reception you could see everyone eating. Yujin did that a few times and went back to staring and sitting in the chair. She couldn’t move out of the seat until breakfast was finished. The nurses monitor her at all costs in these matters.

They saw nothing from the girl. Her fingers didn’t acknowledge the forks, spoons, the jelly in the cup even. Yujin did not even accept the water bottle.

After a couple of hours Haechan was released from taking his medication. The ward was a bit too quiet until the spoken devil came out of the room a little later than everyone else.

His cheeks were flushed as he walked back into the ward, he was looking for Yujin. Instantly his head was fixated on the girl. Like an important piece you could not get enough out of. His eyes scan the room trying to locate her. As he walked in Yujin was seen in the chair looking so alone. She was minding her business and minding her food, Haechan didn’t like that. He can’t help but to be nosy.

The patient wasn’t eating at all. She was just cutting up the food with the plastic fork and knife. Haechan came over immediately noticing her staring at it with disgust almost. She pushed the tray away when she had enough of it.

When the young patient thought the day couldn’t get any worse, Haechan had to come and bother her. She looked twice as unhappy now.

“Why are you back again? Don’t you have better things to do. Like… escape this hell hole?” Yujin trails annoyed as if there wasn’t anything else to say. It’s clear she wants to get out of here.

The boy was mostly interested by her reaction to the ward food. He would like to disagree with this though. The ward food was amazing if he had to admit it’s a lot better than his mother’s cooking.

Couldn’t help but become even more nosey. Haechan set his body down on the chair in front and took her food tray without a singular thought as if this was his food. He starts to dig in happily smirking. The medication that he takes extends extreme food hunger levels. So when food reaches his stomach he’s the happiest. Especially tasty food. He gives Yujin an unamused look in response to her question.

“Do you think I’m crazy enough to escape from here? The police would arrest me and bring me back here again.” He replied and gave her a glance wondering why she would even think of escaping.

Yujin scoffs by his response. Seems like Haechan was right and he knows escaping wouldn’t really do him any good when police can easily find him. She didn’t know what to respond with except to throw a minor insult at the boy. “Well you do seem crazy enough to commit it.”

But of course when you try to insult Haechan’s inflated ego it starts to sound more like a compliment than a criticism.

Haechan’s eyes light up and he smiles brightly when she mentions his craziness. He leans back on the bed and stretches out. He crosses one leg over the other and then rests one arm behind his head. He lets out a chuckle while showing of a relaxing posture.

“Oh come on, you seem to underestimate me. I’ve committed far worse things than escape. I’m not that naive.” Haechan taunted and teased her in a slightly playful way to get a reaction out of her. He knows how annoying it must be when someone turns an insult into a joke.

“Oh yeah? You want a medal or something?” Yujin said in a low monotone tone of voice that proved she is uninterested and full of sarcasm leaking out of that empty hollow mouth.

It boil’s her blood when Haechan seems so unbothered. As if he has zero fucking worries in that small head of his.

He doesn’t seem to be affected by her sarcasm. In fact, he seems to enjoy her sarcasm. He grins at her response and then gives her a small wink. “Oh yes a medal sounds nice, I will gladly accept it.” Haechan jokingly remarks back amused completely by the fact that a medal was there to congratulate him in the question. He gets closer to Yujin and looks down at her while still seated on his bed. He whispers to her “You’re not as tough as you think you are.”

“Back off will you?” She trails and puts some space between them with the chairs creating a space between the both patients. God he really doesn’t understand privacy nor space. “What are you in here for? Stalking?” Yujin throws a little mockingly but it was a genuine question too.

Enjoying the playing hard to get. Haechan has always been attracted to push and pull games. In fact he really much loves putting people in uncomfortable situations. He loves to lie for fun — he loves to confuse people and see a slight fear and disbelief in their eyes. Or discomfort on the eyebrows.

As he whispers in Yujin’s ear he puts his hand on her knee to make her more agitated. He leans in closer and whispers to her. He grins at her teasingly and looks Yujin up and down. He responds to her in such a childish question by saying. “Bingo!” Haechan lets out a playful laugh and pats Yujin’s knee.

Her fingers push off his hand as if he were a mere instinct to be squished between the sole of her shoes. “You can’t be serious?”

Haechan’s eyes widen as Yujin shoved his hand away. He chuckles at her reaction, clearly he likes getting a rise out of her. “I refuse to share my secrets. You have to earn that privilege.”

What a narcissist, Yujin thought in her head.

Footsteps stop in front of the table, a white cloak with the name tag on the side catches their attention.

“Hong Yujin time for your weigh in.” The doctor announces with a short smile given to the young girl. Standing up from the chair she didn’t bother to look back at Haechan, who was very much disappointed by the conversation ending so soon.

Seeing her walk away from behind made the future even more brighter and exciting for Haechan. She was his only sole of entertainment here.

But as for the young girl she was dreading the scale. Arriving at the doctors office there was only one thing on Yujin’s mind and that was early morning — when she had to eat something otherwise a tube was in order for her.

An ultimatum which had cons on each side wasn’t a very good ultimatum. But a much better idea than getting tubed out.

Yujin took a deep breath before stepping on the scale. Trying to suck in every inch of her stomach in wasn’t going to help.

The doctor looks down at the number.

One was happy. One was completely devastated.

Getting off the scale felt harder when you are knowing what number you stand on. Yujin feels a complete spiral waiting by the door.

Something gained, something earned…

“Congratulations Yujin. You gained a pound. If you keep up this work you can earn going back home permanently.” Writing down on the notepad and to add on the files. Yujin didn’t respond and looked around the room. “You may go back to your room. Keep up the good work.”

So discarding of the mental wellbeing. Yujin walked out instantly when dismissed and ran to the room closing it shut tight.

To the girl a pound was a lot. To her a pound meant the world crashing. Or to her a pound meant dying. It’s extreme right?

Filled up with guilt, Yujin did next what was needed. The ward was pretty secure on keeping Yujin from doing anything extreme. Exercise was forbidden. But that doesn’t stop Yujin from time to time doing press ups or sit ups in middle of the night.

Furthermore Yujin needed a quick release. She felt sick to her stomach from finding out that the weight changed. It’s like she can feel the entire fat in her body growing. How could a singular bread make you gain so much?

There was regret on her mind which made her nauseated. The girl kneels down to a plant and instead she did what was necessary for a relief — to take back what she gained.

Just as she did that. Stirring up on the plant pot. The door opens revealing a nurse doing round checks. A scream halters and a rush to stop the thin girl from throwing up her entire stomach out. Two nurses has to come in to do some restraining.

“Grab her! We can’t let her do that!”

Watching Yujin fight back and scream — cry even when she was midway throwing up every little food in that stomach could hold.

The other ward patients were curious and some laughed seeing Yujin try to vomit when this place had zero to none privacy. Haechan stood by the doorframe peeking in with a wide smirk. It wasn’t a pretty sight of the girl. Nonetheless the patients were all not going to forget that she tried to vomit in a ward heavily restricted like this.

“I didn’t think she had the balls to do that.” Haechan giggles a bit impressed with the situation. She’s already proving to be an interesting character to the boy.

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[scuderia-hamilton]

top 5 Lewis looks of all time??

okay, anon first of all why would you do this me?? this was the hardest half hour of my life omg. i did not manage to pick only five, but no one is allowed to blame me for that, okay??

Wales Bonner 2024 Show

i wholeheartedly believe that this is his best look ever, nothing can top this. he looks so gorgeous i tear up every time i look at him. iconic.

2. Monaco Grand Prix 2022

his best paddock outfit so far imo. it’s simple, yet elegant and fits the vibe. the oversized, see through shirt, the monochrome. i love everything about this.

3. WSJ Photoshoot 2021

i simply cannot and will not move on from this photoshoot. excuse me?? that is SIR Lewis Hamilton right there.

4. Japanese Grand Prix 2023

his best paddock outfit last year, i don’t take criticism. it’s simple, stylish, he looks so illegally good. THE ARMS. THE HAIR. i rest my case.

5. Sports Illustrated Miami GP Event 2023

THE ARMS (again). the face card was face carding. absolute perfection.

some honourable mentions:

6. Las Vegas Grand Prix 2023

everything about this look left me speechless. i was sat, i am still sat. he ate and left no crumbs.

7. Paris Fashion Week 2022

he looks like a literal prince here, like some kind of royalty. so simple, yet gorgeous. i love his simple, monochromatic looks. bonus point if it’s sleeveless and/or see through.

idk where the last two are from, but i simply had to include them. (if anyone knows, please, tell me). these are my personal favourites for reasons i can't really explain.

7. The 55th Anniversary of Mercedes-AMG Celebration Video

everything about this look makes me go feral, someone needs to conduct a psychological study about the effect these pictures have on me.

8. here, a psychological study isn’t enough, lock me in a psych ward. i am on my knees, gnawing at the bars of my enclosure.

[emilieautumnarchives]

Emilie Autumn for Bubblegum Sl-t Zine

Original Link (Archive Post from Author) Last access 3/31/24 Originally Posted: Summer 2010

...I interviewed Emilie Autumn a few times in the mid-00s, although only once for Bubblegum Sl💛t. I think the photo of Emilie and me (seen on the left of the first slide) was taken after an interview for Alternative Magazine. Every time I saw Emilie, her gigs grew a bit grander and more bonkers. Consider that her entry point to the era’s music scene was a violin-and-vocal concept album - which concerned Shakespeare and mental ill health, and arrived accompanied by a semi-autobiographical novel, fusing psych ward memoirs with a Victorian fantasy world – and you get some sense of just how bonkers things got. By the time this was printed in 2010, her shows were bringing cabaret vibes and musical theatre production values to rock venues. Accompanied by the ‘Bloody Crumpets’ (a troupe of burlesque belles posing as asylum inmates), and an elaborate array of handcrafted props and costumes, she was greeted at every show by hordes of adoring ‘plague rats’ in bloomers and stripey stockings. Something I always found both inspiring and a little intimidating was just how hands-on Emilie was with every aspect of her ambitious shows. Right down to handmaking merch, she oversaw every last damn detail of her immersive fantasy world, putting in frighteningly long hours to make it happen. This was a big a theme of this very wordy interview.

Interview and scans below the cut.

Transcription note: this interview is long and EA's comments are interspersed throughout, so I've put her words in bold.

Wayward Woman

Released from her old record contract, our favourite asylum inmate Emilie Autumn has lately let her creativity run. And run. And run.

18 hour day corporate workaholics would be put to shame by the drive that Emilie Autumn exhibits in her many artistic endeavors. With each successive, increasingly grand tour I've witnessed (for which Emilie handles the design and production of lavish stage sets and costumes, the creation handmade merch and the choreography of dance routines and comedy set-pieces with her sidekicks 'The Bloody Crumpets', not to mention violin, harpsichord and vocal duties) I've felt, with crowing certainty, that superhuman powers are the only explanation for her quite extraordinary ability to maintain both the quality and vast quantity of her output. Speaking to the insomniac artist herself shortly after her Spring 2010 tour of Europe and Australia however, I've forced to entertain the more improbable, and frankly frightening notion, that her stamina is actually that of a mere mortal, as she recounts woefully how a throat infection forced her to cancel two shows on this most recent outing. The singer can't claim she wasn't warned; management -- characterized in popular music mythology as the business bods cracking the whip on the backs of their poor, cash-cow artist -- apparently made efforts to talk her out of undertaking such a lengthy tour before she had embarked up it, but inevitably such a suggestion was never given any serious consideration by a women who describes the experience of taking a few days off as "torturous".

"I wasn't allowed to speak," she elaborated on the horrors of her enforced spell of rest and relaxation. "I wasn't even allowed to whisper, so I had to write things down to communicate. As somebody who talks a lot--as you can tell--it was definitely torturous!"

Yes, I can definitely tell you that, amongst a great deal of many other talents, Emilie Autumn can really talk. Figuring out that much in the four previous interview I've got to admit that, while the kind of intense and frank debate and confessions she offers in volumes are a refreshing pleasure over any media-trained soundbite, I approach this latest encounter with as much dread as anticipation; dread that is for the figure that will appear on my phone bill when the receiver eventually goes down and Emilie and Chicago. And on this occasion there's more to talk about than ever before.

See, even within the biography of an artist who is prolific by nature the past few months can be considered a fully of activity. The tour aside, there's been the double dis re-release of Emilie's breath-through album 'Opheliac', while the publication of her long-awaited book 'The Asylum of Wayward Victorian Girls' requires epic discourse by itself. So more -- much more -- of the book later. Firstly, Emilie explains, the starting point for seeing this succession of projects come to fruition was opting to break away from former German-based label Trisol.

"Once all the house clearing went down I found, to my surprise, when the door opened I had a good amount of options," she recalls, swiftly skipping to the part where, having weight these up, she found and offer from New York's The End records the most attractive.

By signing on the dotted line she joined an oddball, distinctly arty roster, which also includes Mindless Self Indulgence, Dir En Gray and Dirty Little Rabbits, and celebrated seeing her music gain a release in her native Unite States at long last. Although "frustrated" by the prior limbo period, when her work languished on record stores' prices import shelves, she has to conceded that there's little evidence to suggest hefty taxes impeded the spread of the 'plague' (as she is wont to refer to the rise of her so-described 'violindustrial', with fans readily wearing the label 'plague rats').

"I was amazed to see the fanbase I have [here] when I first toured the US," she says. "The Plague rats are here, they're everywhere, and it's insane that this thing has spread almost without radio, without videos and without a label until now."

The fresh pressing of 'Opheliac' has also been granted a second release in Europe, where by contrast Emilie has enjoyed strong support from the alternative music media ever since the album was initially issued in 2006. Critics might assume a second coming so soon a little premature but, even without the addition of a wealth of bonus material, a record that can honestly by called a 'grower' -- rewarding revisits by revealing new depths to it's complex sonics and storyline -- makes a good case for being deserving of a second look. For Emilie herself "the 'Opheliac' record is still the most important thing" - the silver lining to the breakdown which followed her separation from musical collaborator turned lover Billy Corgan, traced to the eureka moment at which she began charting comparisons between her own increasingly troubled life and the misadventures of Shakespeare's archetypal 'difficult woman.'

"I think a couple times in your life, if you're lucky, you just get it right," Emilie reflects of the work now. "It's like creating the perfect quote that people will say 500 years later, because it still rings true. When I sing those songs onstage, or listen to that record it still strikes me that there's not a single thing I would change."

Such a definitive statement from the artist herself does rather invite the suggestion that the bonus disc can do little to enhance the piece; only encourage plague rats to pick up the second copy.

"The first disc is completely a concept album, where every sound is a puzzle piece within a big plan and everything relies on everything else around it," Emilie affirms. "So that second disc is like 'here's the mixbox' -- it's a complete jumble of things, like the inside of my head. But it is all very relevant to the suicidal theme of the album."

Specifically, she cites her unlikely rendition of an age-old song Billie Holiday mad her own, declaring "'Gloomy Sunday', - that's like the original suicide song, it couldn't be more relevant." With her version sitting alongside a cover of The Smiths' 'Asleep,' a solo violin rendering of Bach, several original acoustic recordings and samples of the spoken word, performances Emilie has lately been giving in support of her book release, she's not wrong in her assertion that the second disc is a 'mixbox' either. Set in contrast to the main album's heavy, literary study of her own human condition this new component is also reflective of the trademark scatter-brained and impatient intellect she overwhelms with when she chatters mile a minute.

By far the greatest justification for revisiting 'Opheliac' now Emilie excitably gabs is the long-awaited arrival of its companion and sequel, the Asylum book, viewed by it's author as a sort of key to decoding the shorthand hints embedded in the other releases in her catalogue.

A back-burner project in the Trisol offices for more than 2 years, the book looked so sure to be lost to the world for a time that Emilie's reaction when it eventually when into production under guidance of The End was to "go into shock - I've almost been in denial that i was ever actually happening.," she gasps. "I'd got so into saying 'wait for it, it's going to be great!' and not having it materialize that it was a shock when the new printing company put it together. It was torture to keep touring a keep releasing knowing that, even if I have a great fanbase who like what I'm doing, they really had no idea of what they liked was about at the time, They didn't know the full extent of how serious it actually was, how much i actually means and real it is."

Referring to the titular 'Asylum' -- most basically defined as a location in [Emilie's] imagination and art, but nonetheless deeply rooted in historical documentation of the treatment of Victorian madwomen, and the harsh realities of Emilie's own experience of the modern mental health care system -- she tells "there's this thing of assuming it's a fantasy world when, actually, it's for real. That was very difficult," she sighs, "to go on touring, knowing that there were so many things I couldn't do onstage that I actually might have wanted to, but because they were references to things in the book they would never make sense without it."

As much a novel, information manual for those wanting to pick up tips on surviving a mental health ward or swarm of leeches and detailed history lesson as it is an autobiography, the book was a massive undertaking --particularly for an author possessed of the perfectionist tendencies Emilie is. To put in perspective the length of the sentence 'The Asylum..." served in post-production hell, journalists received sample pages from Trisol's PR department, in preparation for an apparently imminent publication, way back in 2008. In the months it took for a released date to pass many other active and breathing public figures saw fit to issue second volumes to their autobiographies. Hence it figures that the finished Asylum on bookstore shelves now is a substantial development of those early previews.

"The story was there but with every day there was another delay and so more painting and ore words would go in just so that the time wasn't completely wasted," confirms Emilie. "If I had to wait I had to make the most of that time and now you have something that wouldn't have been quite as awesome if it had come a day earlier. It's not like the 'Opheliac' record, where I wouldn't add a note or take a note away -- this is the story of my entire life, it goes on -- I could always add another scribble in another corner. 'Opheliac' is a time capsule and this is everything, it goes [from] the beginning to beyond the end... the ultimate ending is still just a massive cliff-hanger because we don't know how it ends!"

Candor and openness being defining traits of the Emilie I've come to know it's surprising to hear that the other "big, open question mark," the book implanted in her head was a wave of self doubt--

"Like, 'okay, you think you know how you're going to react if people read this stuff by do you really ?' And for a couple of days there was this silence, on our sounding board--you know, the internet," she translates. "Everything was really quiet for a couple of days as people were reading it and digesting it and when they came back there was a kind of collective 'holy fuck - we though we knew what was going on by now... maybe not.' There's an increased understanding of me and what I do now - the colours of everything are a bit brighter, because it means more. It's a relief," she announces. " I've said it now, everybody knows all of these things about me now, and if you still like who I am, knowing that this is the life I've lived and things I've done then you like who I really am. It's just a relief to finally tell someone who you really are... like you might have wanted to pretend to be the little queen, or tired to be the good girlfriend, and when you give that up... well, it turns out that pressure is a lot scarier than telling the truth and doing whet comes naturally."

While she's in the mood to share, Emilie reveals the next stage in her grand plan.

"I'll tell you my secret," she relents, after a moments hesitation, reasoning. "I don't know if it's a secret, it's kind of obvious really. My plan, of why the book has to get so very much out there, is because we want to make a movie."

A nanosecond is spared for dramatic effect here before her enthusiasm spurs her on to laying out the blow-by-blow proposal, as though addressing her plague rats en masse.

"Here's what I need you to do," she instructs. "I need you to go buy me these 52 hundred copies of the Asylum book, because then we in the popularity contests--and that's how we get to the top of the bestsellers list. That's very simple, right? Because then, everyone knows, every single book that reaches the top of the bestseller chart is very quickly made into a movie. So if you want to see that movie you've got to help me and purchase that book!"

Emilie is right to think her plan is becoming 'obvious' at this stage. Always theatrical, her stage shows have now grown to a scale that their props are testing the limits of her one-woman workshop, and their stunts are insurance policies of venues only every intended to play host to the humble rock band. A theatre or screen production is the clear next step and, not one to restrict the creative outlets at her disposal, Emilie has not ruled out the former option.

"When we're hitting a new venue every night we have to wonder every night if we're going to be able to do the full show," she sighs. "It's 'are they going to let us to aerials here?', 'are we going to have to leave out the fire-eating because they won't let us do fire here?' It's becoming very clear that, at this level, there are limits to what you can do and the alternative to that is getting a theatre run where you're actually in the same place for 3 months. But there's a part of me that doesn't want tot do that because, however grueling life on the road is, there's that whole thing of the show coming to the people, which I love. SO I think maybe doing both is the ideal. Something I'm quite seriously working on," she impressed, before continuing, "is the possibility of being able to tour with my own venue. Circuses do it, so why can't I? It's a bigger production, and it's expensive, but if you know what you want there's always a way, and I've figured out what we need to do, which is embrace the fact that this isn't a rock show and begin putting it into a setting which reflects that."

Which reminds me, amongst Emilie's many interests is creating music, and between talking books, movies and big tops we've so far neglected to mention an additional iron in the fire, that is 'Opheliac's musical follow-up. Suddenly engaged on another new topic Emilie tells, "I'm about halfway through writing, but nothing has been recorded. It's still being added to because that's the next thing -- making sure that this album accurately represents my life right now. It ties in to the Asylum book, and 'Opheliac', which laid out 'this is the situation you're in,' so this next record is naturally saying 'okay, now what do you do about it?' So that's where it gets a bit more violent and bloody, because now it's about fighting."

Supporting Emilie's often re-iterated line that her seemingly disparate works are, truly, inter-connected and even inter-dependant, recent live shows have started to develop the theme of fighting. Most obviously performances on the Spring tour included a segment in which Emilie and her Bloody Crumpets tool up to become the Asylum Army, marching to a gruffly barked, yet uniquely feminine, drill chant.

"Now there' about 50% guys in the audiences," she notes. "And so when we ask there 'are you ready to fight like a girl?', and every one of them is screaming 'yes'... well, that's amazing. It's about taking that phrase -- that we've heard our whole lives a s derogatory thing, 'you fight like a girl', 'you throw a ball like a girl,' we're taking that and turning it on it's ass completely to make it like the greatest thing possible, knowing that actually, if a girl really has something to defend, there will be no chivalry, no rules, and she will use every tool possible.

For Emilie, these violent developments, as explored more graphically on the next album, represent "part tow of the adventure. It's still completely relevant, it has to be," she says. "When I put [the record] out it has to mean at least as much to me as 'Opheliac' did."

Here the perfectionist standards that her vast ambition demand surface once again, and she tells "I never want to do anything that doesn't have the same impact, on me that is. I want to get it right again. I can't fail, it's just not what I do. I would rather not put anything out. But that's not going to be a problem. I'm already working on the new record and we're gonna be just fine."