#( ill be fine. just adulting is hard lol )

[earthbreadandtendrils]

Kinda a vent/update post so under read more

( I mean it might not be a vent but I'm not sure. Just in case )

This Halloween is disappointment for me this year. I couldn't do the Halloween event like i wanted due to work and other things. I'm also working tonight. Bleh.

So after work I'll answer some trick or treat ask memes, then I'm just gonna vibe, suck back candy and stream CotL tonight on twitch.

I'll make up for it at a later date.

[girlleon]

PRETTY WHEN YOU CRY

bestie!leon kennedy x reader

warnings: 18+, dubcon lol, mental health issues for both leon and reader… he’s a pervert and again ooc but that’s the fun of things. dacryphillia and he’s a little mean and sleazy.

tumblr removes fics with nsfw tags from the tag. ergo i’ve flagged the content at the beginning. you’re also responsible for your own media consumption, so if this bugs you, don’t read it.

Leon sat there on the edge of the bed with you, rubbing your back as you hid your face in your hands. “I just feel like I’m going in circles.” You tell him, lifting your head out of your hands to rest your chin on them. “I mean, I don’t feel like I’m ever gonna get better.”

He can sympathize, he really can, especially when he was in boot camp post Raccoon City and laid awake at night because he had nightmares otherwise.

He rubs your back in circles on autopilot, trying not to get bored or indulge in an impulsive thought that tells you to shut the fuck up and quit fucking crying, maybe open your blinds once or twice a day and you wouldn’t feel so bad. Eat a fucking vegetable or two while you’re at it.

You, believing the best in him, don’t really notice. “I just—“ and your voice breaks, face warming all the way to your neck as you hide your face in your hands again and kick yourself internally for crying in front of him.

You hate crying in front of everyone, your face gets splotchy and you can’t breathe through your nose. When it’s Leon, though, your best friend, it’s a little worse because you’d bet he looks cute when he cries, him and his stupid Botticelli angel face.

And, oh, that’s not really the right move.

He doesn’t remember when watching someone cry would be enough to get him off, except for an adult video he watched had a girl get fucked so good he could watch tears leak out of her eyes, openly sobbing when she squirted because that faceless phallus hit the right spot inside her.

Or when his ex-girlfriend was on her fourth orgasm of the night and she cried just a little while his face was between her legs.

He needed a stress reliever that day, it was a tough time; and he’s never really had to think while going down on someone.

Leon shifts a little and prays to a God he doesn’t believe in that he’s not seriously getting bricked up by you crying. Nope, it’s not going down, shit, he hopes you don’t notice.

You stifle sobs into your palms for a good thirty minutes, face and ears hot enough to power a fucking house. You take a break to wipe your eyes with your sleeve, sniffling wetly before you reach over to blow your nose. “‘M sorry,” You tell him, voice wobbling before you blow your nose and toss the used tissue away.

“It’s fine.” Leon tells you, his voice just a little strained. He wraps an arm around you and pulls you into his lap and prays you don’t notice that he’s bricked up just from you crying. God, Leon, that’s so fucked up. At least those girls—nameless pornstar and ex-girlfriend—were enjoying it, you’re crying because you’re sad and mentally ill.

Again, fucked up.

You cry a little harder when he’s being so kind to comfort you, hiding your face in his shoulder as you sniffle and keep the sobbing to a minimum. When your tears come to an end, that’s when you notice that he’s fully hard beneath you. You lift your head up after a pause, wiping one eye as you look at Leon. “Leon… are you…?”

He can’t quite hide a grimace. “I’m—um, I’m really—I’m not—“ And when he catches sight of your red face and tear-streaked cheeks, he nearly groans, his throat suddenly dry. That’s when he flips you onto your back.

You land in the pillows with a soft grunt, giving him a bewildered look. “What are you doing?” You ask him in a little voice, sniffling and wiping your runny nose.

“Do you ever stop feeling sorry for yourself?” He asks you, one hand planting in the pillow beside your head, the other untucking his shirt.

Your stomach turns and he can visibly see his words hit the mark. “What?” You ask him, eyes close to brimming with tears again.

“Jesus,” Leon swears, undoing his belt buckle one handed cause he’s had enough practice. “You wanna know what I think? I think you like wallowing, I think you like having people consoling you.” His belt comes undone with a rattle, his button and fly next.

You stare at him with your mouth agape before a couple tears slip out. He takes the chance to push up your shirt and lets out a groan when he sees the cute black bra you’re wearing, hands wandering up to squeeze handfuls of your tits.

You yelp, back arching of your own accord—he’s glad that worked, you told him enough of what you liked when venting about your ex-boyfriends not being able to find the clit or eat pussy right.

He’s never had that problem, obviously.

A slightly mean smile crawls across his face before he leans down to lick a tear track up. “Poor, unloved little thing.” He coos, sticking his hands down the front of your sweatpants to find you damp.

Leon rubs circles on your clit to see you grind your teeth and twitch, one of his hands still on your tit as you try not to react further. “You just sit here in your depression cave and feel bad for yourself, huh? Do you even open up your curtains to get some sun? The sun’s real nice, a natural antidote to depression.”

Humiliation and an orgasm lick up your spine a few seconds after he’s done talking, body locking up as your hands fist in the sheets. He tuts at you and sticks his used finger in your mouth, kneeling between your spread legs as he pulls down your sweatpants with the other hand.

Aw, you left a cute little wet spot on your panties, just for him.

You lift up your hips when he tells you to, he throws the flimsy garments on the floor where they land with a soft slap. “C’mon, I know how make you feel better.” He tells you, one hand cupping your knee to put one over his shoulder as he finally pulls down his jeans and boxers to mid-thigh.

Leon sinks in with a stifled groan, then wraps your other leg around his waist, turning his head and kissing your knee once he’s balls-deep.

Your chest heaves and he kisses your collarbone—poor thing, it must be a little much for you, he’s not even moving.

You scrabble at him when he finally does move, nails catching on his shirt before you manage to tug him closer. Each short, staccato thrust makes the bed rock and punches little squeaks from you.

Your door’s open, but he doesn’t feel like closing it, so he puts a hand over your mouth as he covers your body with his, hips grinding to hear you whimper against his palm. “I know, I know, baby.” he tells you, lips ghosting over your cheek before he licks up more salty tears that overflow. “I’ve got you. You’re all empty inside, I’ll fill you up.”

But not before you come, Leon’s a gentleman like that. He loops his arm beneath you and pulls you into his thrusts, you grow a little louder beneath his palm. He shifts so his pubic bone can grind a little harder against your clit and your thigh twitches before you sob against his palm, brows furrowing as you lurch up, more tears squeezing out.

He fucks you through it before pulling out and painting your tummy white, collapsing by your side and panting softly. You sniffle loudly and Leon feels a little bad, rolling over when you do and spooning you from behind, his release staining your sheets as you cry quietly.

He holds you through it, kissing your shoulder and the nape of your neck before hiding his face in your hair. “I’m sorry.” He mumbles after a long silence, “I was out of line.”

You shake your head and stay silent, wiping your eyes as you two cuddle in silence.

[eoieopda]

tidal.

but vernon has a point to make, so that’s precisely what he does: “i don’t need a sales pitch. you will never — ever — have to convince me to fuck you.” 

pairing: vernon x afab!reader type: one-shot (fluff n’ smut) au: est. relationship wc: 4.8k rating: 18+ a/n: i didn’t plan this whatsoever, but i felt so weirdly compelled to write it that i avoided eye-contact with all of my wips, and now… here we are, lol. cw: pov switch, reader is afab + on their period, gender identity + pronouns aren’t designated, blood mention (obvi), unprotected p in v penetration (ill-advised!!), wee bit of dry-humping (ig?), a lil massage, pet names (baby, sweetheart), self-indulgent ref to a favorite docu of mine, and lastly — vernon (yes, this is a warning 🧍🏻) 🔞 MINORS WHO INTERACT WITH ME AND/OR MY CONTENT WILL BE BLOCKED, WHETHER OR NOT THE CONTENT IS NSFW. I’M AN ADULT WRITING EXCLUSIVELY FOR OTHER ADULTS.

Vernon isn’t blind. 

He can see you out of the corner of his eye, laying flat on your back, several unexplained centimeters away from his side. With the duvet clenched in your fists, you stare intently up at the ceiling, like you’re waiting for it to move — or trying to move it yourself, telekinetically. You keep your bottom lip pinched between your teeth, as if you expect it to make a run for it.

So, yes, Vernon can see you. 

He just can’t figure out what’s wrong with you.

For a few minutes, he attempts to pay attention to the documentary lighting up the screen on the wall ahead. You were the one that picked it — some wild tale about mother-daughter recluses in New York — and he finds it hard to give a shit about it without your usual commentary. Your hot takes are his favorite part of any movie night, after all.

He’ll be the first to admit that he’s never been good at keeping his eyes off you. Try as he might, he can’t glue his gaze to the television; each glance in your direction sticks longer than the one before it, testing the waters. Minutes slip away just like this until he completely caves, turns his head fully, and stares at you outright. 

You still don’t seem to notice.

His brow scrunches up as he watches you, caught in the middle between concerned, confused, and amused by how absolutely ridiculous you look right now. When he speaks, he tries to sound stern, like he isn’t fighting the urge to laugh.

“Baby?”

“Hmm?” is all he gets in response. 

You don’t even look his way. If anything, you tense harder now that his attention is on you. 

None of it makes sense. Not the weird gap you’ve left between your body and his, your total refusal to look him in the eye, or the fact that there wasn’t an argument to precipitate any of this distance. It’s a symptom with no apparent cause, and it’s totally baffling. Brain-breaking, even.

Frowning, Vernon scoots himself across the bed to get closer to you. 

You don’t reciprocate. 

He tugs gently at the hem of your sweatshirt in a silent plea for your attention and receives radio silence in response; unless he counts the way you swallow thickly.

Which, for the record, he does not.

This close, Vernon can feel the anxious energy pulsing out of your tensed-up body in waves, so he leans away and props himself up on his elbow. Desperate to know what broke you and how to fix it, he mutters, “What is happening right now?”

Ope. 

It comes out harsher than it was supposed to, reading more like annoyance than worry, so he immediately clears his throat. Gently and with a brush of his knuckles against your hip bone, he tries again: “Are you okay? Did I do something to make you mad at me?”

A fly on the wall might get the wrong impression and think he stroked you with a live wire instead.

“Oh, my god. No!” You sputter with a jolt, shifting gears quickly from vaguely on-edge to horrified. You shake your head so frantically that Vernon fears you’ll detach it. “No, you haven’t done anything. I’m fine, I just —”

He interjects with a laugh, “— I don’t necessarily believe that —”

Visibly cringing with every muscle in your body, you cover your face with your hands. Not long after you take a deep breath does a meek voice slip out through your fingers, sounding beyond embarrassed.

“I’m so incomprehensibly horny right now that I can’t even look at you.”

For a second, it’s dead silent because he can’t quite process how much of a weirdo you are, or how completely and hopelessly enamored he is with you. But then the dam breaks. His laugh comes out so forcefully that you pull your hands away from your face, eyes wide.

“Is that so?” He smirks, nodding his head towards the television. “Grey Gardens really gets your motor running, huh?”

Absolutely aghast, you swat at his bicep. Then, you sling your arm over your eyes and groan, “I got my period. It has turned me into a sex-crazed monster, I fear.”

Vernon nods in understanding, even though you can’t see it, and hums, “Ahh.”

And he leaves it at that, only because you seem to have more that you want to say. Something you want to ask, maybe, or a reason you may want to give for not jumping his bones at the first opportunity. He’s down, he thinks without hesitation, so long as you are.

But you don’t say anything.

Maybe you aren’t actually down after all, and that’s why you won’t look at him. Shit, are you embarrassed? Should I say something? Silence falls overtop like a weighted blanket, smothering the two idiots who can’t tell whose turn it is to talk. 

Do you or do you not want this right now?

You mumble something that he can’t catch, so he nudges your side gently with his knuckles to encourage you. Just as nervous, you repeat yourself without looking at him, “Period sex is supposed to help with cramps, I think.”

He thinks he’s read the exact same article you have. More than that, he wishes you’d look over at him and see for yourself how completely unbothered he is by this concept.

“If you think about it, it’s kind of like a natural lubricant,” you add in a voice that’s even smaller than before.

Your shyness really might kill him, so he reaches over to grab your hand and gently pull your arm away from your eyes. It’s the first time you’ve looked at him since you laid down — since you put your self-imposed no-contact order in place — and he feels his stupid heart swell.

For what it’s worth, he feels his dick twitch, too.

You open your mouth to speak again, likely to continue your unnecessary campaigning; Vernon is having none of it. He tugs your wrist just enough to tilt you inward, then he kisses you hard enough to shut you up. A tiny whimper slips out of your lips when he pulls away, and it almost makes him regret his decision to do so. 

But Vernon has a point to make, so that’s precisely what he does: “I don’t need a sales pitch. You will never — ever —  have to convince me to fuck you.” 

Your eyes crinkle at the corners, like this is somehow news to you. It shouldn’t be. He’s told you a thousand times in as many different ways how thoroughly crazy you drive him just by existing so closely to him, but maybe you didn’t take him seriously then.

To emphasize his point, he slips his hand under the hem of your sweatshirt and finds your bare waist with the pad of his thumb. It spirals slowly against your warm skin, making both of you dizzy. Then, sick of the distance, Vernon dips his head down to press a kiss to your temple. 

“Like, ever,” he murmurs, lips following the curve of your jaw. 

Soft, slow kisses trail behind him as he travels down to your lips. Your head tilts further backwards with every single one, providing him with more and more access. 

He states it matter-of-factly because, to him, it is. “I’m down so bad for you that it might be terminal.”

“Oh?” 

You try to laugh but turn to putty when his palm rests fully on the curve of your waist and pulls you flush against him. The surprised gasp you let loose confirms his suspicion: You can feel how serious he is, affirmation throbbing against your abdomen in time with his heartbeat. 

Vernon smirks to himself, relishing your reaction, and bypasses your mouth entirely. A moan escapes from you, soft like an exhale, as his lips move slowly down the length of your neck. Every so often — just to feel you shiver — he flicks the tip of his tongue along the delicate skin he finds there.

“It might be messy…” 

The rest of your needless warning gets lost in a dreamy sigh as he suckles at the spot where your neck meets your shoulder. Shifting even closer, your desperate fingers reach out and cling to his t-shirt.

Vernon licks a stripe over the galaxy blooming on your skin. He hums, hand traveling upwards from your waist, “Don’t care about a mess.”

And he means it. 

Mindful of any soreness, he smooths his hand over your left breast and massages it tenderly, swearing to himself that he’ll throw the whole fucking mattress out if that’s what it comes down to. For you, he’ll race across town on foot to buy another one, and — fuck it — if the store is closed, he might just break in.

You’re growing impatient; your fingers let go of his shirt and tangle themselves in his hair.

“So needy,” he chuckles low in his chest, teasing. “You know, I think you’re lying. I think it is this bat-shit insane documentary that’s driving you wild, and you’re too embarrassed to admit it.”

“Stop,” you whine, dragging out the vowel sound. 

You don’t, though; you throw your left leg over his right thigh and shimmy forward until your cunt grazes his dick. Involuntarily, he groans at the warmth radiating off your core. Every part of you drives him just the slightest bit insane. You seem to know it, he thinks as he watches your pupils dilate in real time.

But he can play games, too, so he rolls his hips forward and grinds against you. He pushes you further, “Don’t get me wrong, baby. I’m not kink-shaming you —”

“Hansol Vernon Chwe!”

Oh, shit. Government name?

“— I’m just a little surprised, I guess.” He sighs with a shrug. “Think you know somebody…”

Your impatience is scribbled all across your scrunched up face. It seeps into your voice when you crash back against the pillows and huff, “Can you please stop fucking with me and start fucking me?”

“Sex-crazed monster, huh?” Leaning over, Vernon punctuates his question with a quick press of his lips to yours.

You whimper, “I’m so serious. I might explode.”

“Then go take care of whatever you need to take care of.” He kisses you again, smiling so fondly that his eyes may even be twinkling. “And I’ll go get a towel.”

You wait until Vernon clears the threshold before launching yourself out of bed at breakneck speed. Stumbling all the while, you race off to the adjoining bathroom and shut the door forcefully behind you. When it clatters against the frame, you finally admit to yourself that you might be a little bit eager.

Maybe.

Opting to keep your baggy, bleach-stained sweatshirt on, you wiggle out of your shorts and — what he refers to as — your crisis diaper. The high-waisted, frumpy, beige panties are utilized exclusively during your period, and to your surprise, they’ve remained spotless. It’s only ever the pretty and expensive pairs that wind up as collateral damage, isn’t it?

As they pool around your ankles, you can’t help but think that Vernon’s nickname for them is pretty spot on. That’s partly why you figured he might need to be talked into this. Unsated arousal aside, you feel as far from sexy as you can possibly get.

You shake your head to clear your thoughts, kick what you’ve discarded into a pile near the hamper, and let your sweatshirt shift down to cover as much of your ass as it’s capable of managing. You grab a square of toilet paper; then, you go to work excavating the wad of cotton that separates you from everything you want in this life. 

It is within the realm of possibility that you’re a little bit eager and a little bit dramatic. 

Perhaps.

After discarding the evidence in the small trash can under the sink, you wash your hands as if you’re about to step into an operating theater and not the bedroom you spend half your life in. When you finally feel sterile, you lift your head and catch your reflection in the mirror. Instantly, you make eye contact with the painful, hormonal pimple on your chin — the one you’ve been waging a retinoid war against for days.

“Bitch,” you mutter, like calling it names will be the one thing that finally gets it to shrink. Of course, your plan doesn’t work, but you feel a little less powerless. That’s good enough, you think. At least, as good as it’s going to get.

Now half-naked and certifiably unobstructed, you tiptoe back to your bedroom much more carefully than you left it. Vernon enters from the opposite doorway at the same time, jumping slightly the second he notices you. You ignore his frightened eyes and glance down at the crisp, white towel he’s clutching.

You open your mouth to suggest anything otherwise, but he beats you to it. His eyebrows shoot up his forehead as his mouth widens outwards, a self-aware rectangle. Otherwise expressionless, he lets go of an atonal, “Aaaaaaah”, that tells you he’s caught on.

He says nothing else before turning around and walking back the way he came. You have to bite down on your lips to keep from cackling.

That one’s mine, you think, still as infatuated as you were at the start. I chose that one.

While he’s gone, you try not to move, not to breathe too heavily. Vernon said he didn’t care about a mess, but when he said it, he was speaking theoretically with his hand on your tit. It wouldn’t be the first time he’d spoken recklessly with your body melting under his touch.

As far as you know, he hasn’t had any experience with this mess in practice. He could wind up finding you about as sexy as you currently feel — to wit: not at all. So, erring on the side of caution, you turn yourself into a statue and wait for the boy and his towel to find you again.

When he comes back, he plants a drive-by kiss on your unsuspecting mouth before skirting right around you. With shocking finesse, he grabs the corners of the — thankfully — black towel, which unfurls in the seconds before he flicks it upwards. It lands perfectly in the center of the bed, flat without needing to be fussed with.

“Wow,” he mutters to himself, taking in his clean work with raised eyebrows.

The impressed look is still on his face when he turns around, but you don’t have time to comment on his feat because he laughs as soon as he sees you.

“Kinda look like Donald Duck with the whole top-on, bottom-off situation.”

I chose this one?

You pout with an indignant gasp, crossing your arms over your chest. “I’m not wearing a sailor hat, so…. bad analogy. Rude, even.”

“I’m sorry,” he murmurs as he snakes his arms around your waist and pulls you in close. You stumble a little on your way into him; the jury’s still out about whether it’s his hushed tone or the sudden movement that trips you up.

Between his thumb and index finger, he gently captures your chin. You follow along with his unspoken direction, tilt your face up to meet his. This close, you can see your own reflection in his pupils, black dilating against the warmest shade of brown you’ve ever seen.

Vernon takes a moment of silence as he takes in your features, and he studies them so intently that his eyebrows crinkle on their own. He sighs, sounding so completely serious. “You might get prettier every time I look at you.”

It’s unclear if you’re melting, or gushing; and if it’s the latter, you can’t say which biological process is at fault. Thankfully, the hand at the small of your back keeps your weak knees from buckling when his lips brush over yours.

“Even if you’re dressed like Winnie the Pooh.” 

You feel him smirk even before you hear him laugh at his own joke. Then, you feel his hand slide down to cup your bare cheek, squeezing affectionately. You want to tell him that this analogy is still inaccurate because you’re not wearing a crop-top; but he gently instructs you to ditch the sweatshirt and get on the bed, and your body moves automatically. No questions asked.

Carefully, you crawl up onto the mattress, then you center yourself on the towel. Still on your knees, you tilt your head curiously and ask, “Where do you want me?”

“Anywhere,” he breezes, pulling his shirt off and tossing it onto the dresser nearby. He amends, “Everywhere. All the time, and then some.”

“Better be careful,” you tease. “Talking like that might have consequences. You may never be able to get rid of me.”

His joggers are the next to go. Your sanity follows shortly thereafter, hungry eyes lingering on the imprint of his cock underneath his boxer briefs. You have to clamp your mouth shut to keep from drooling.

Brown eyes sparkling, he steps closer to you, kicking his pants aside as he goes. “Be careful,” he echoes, not a hint of cockiness to be found — just softness. “Saying it like a threat doesn’t make me wish it’s not a promise.”

I choose this one.

Crossing all the way to you, Vernon reaches the bed and climbs up with significantly more grace than you did. The mattress dips under his weight as he kneels right in front of you, mirroring your posture and causing your stomach to flip with anticipation.

You can’t help yourself; you lick your lips and look up at him with half-lidded eyes. “Naked, please. Like, right now.”

“Damn, I gotta do this myself?” Incredulous, he holds his hands up while glancing pointedly down at his underwear, then back at you. 

You arch an eyebrow, unfazed. 

“Depends.” You shrug. “Do you want to keep them? Because I really will rip them off of you.”

He concedes quickly; he always does. Sighing, he shakes his head and tuts, “Sex-crazed monster,” before pushing his briefs down his thighs. His length hangs heavy between you, but you swear you can feel its perfect ache inside you already.

You have a one-track mind, so you don’t hesitate to reach out and wrap your hand around him. A groan crawls up from the bottom of your chest when you feel the weighted warmth of his cock in your palm. You don’t hold that back, either.

“Fuck,” he sighs, head tilting as far backwards as it’ll go. Unexpectedly, he laughs. He doesn’t catch the quizzical look you shoot him, though he explains himself anyway, “Your hands are so fucking cold, but it feels so good.”

Swiping your thumb over his tip, you spread the pre-cum you find there down his shaft and stroke him slowly. He grows harder with every gentle squeeze, every pass of your fist. 

“We’re learning a lot of new shit about each other today.” You lean forward to pepper kisses across his collarbones. The hum of your mouth against his skin when you talk makes his cock twitch in your hand. “You might have a temperature kink and a thing for Winnie the Pooh.”

He snorts, nowhere near serious, “Shut the fuck up.”

“Make me,” you counter smugly, and you do mean it.

Vernon tilts his head forward to stare back at you. You’re already turning into a puddle, but if the look he gives you says anything, it’s that your melting isn’t enough for him. His voice is low and velvet-lined when he responds, “How about I just make you cum instead?”

“That could work, yeah.” You shrug.

He runs the pads of his fingers down each side of your waist to your hips, then back again; and each time he does it, you shiver. Reflexively, your back arches, chest pressing against his.

At this, he smirks, “It could? Maybe?”

“We can workshop it.”

“Or,” Vernon so generously offers, “You can turn around and lay down on your stomach. You know, if that’s sufficient.”

It’s not until you whip around and flop down onto the towel that you realize you never responded with words. Oh well. You figure he gets the point, judging by the quiet laughter you hear as he settles with his knees on either side of your upper thighs.

You don’t know what his next move will be — you don’t care, either, as long as he moves in your direction — so you don’t anticipate his palms flattening against your bare back, applying perfect pressure with his thumbs while he rubs away the soreness at the very base of your torso.

“Oh, shit,” you moan, eyes fluttering shut as the heels of his hands work out the tension in your muscles. “Have you always been good at this?”

You feel his chest brush against your shoulder blades when he hovers over you. Against the nape of your neck, he murmurs, “Nope.”

He kisses down your spine, mouth trailing after his hands as they work their way back down your body.

“Lemme guess — you read an article? Studied up?”

You get a snicker, then an affirmative hum, then another kiss. This time, it’s at the curve of your spine, just above your ass. Seconds later, he’s kneading the doughy flesh of your cheeks until your whole fucking body tingles.

That’s when it hits you:

Under normal circumstances, Vernon would be face-first in your pussy by now. Devouring you in earnest, like he’s starving. He can’t do that now — and you don’t blame him — so he’s making up for what you both view as a loss.

God, you want him.

One hand disappears from you, but you don’t have to guess where it went. You can hear the barely-there hiss of breath through his teeth when he takes his cock in that hand; as well as the very faint shift of his palm while he pumps himself.

“You’re gonna have to navigate, baby. I dunno how sensitive you are like this, what’s too much — any of that, so you need to tell me how you want me to move.”

Suddenly dizzy over how badly you need him, all you can muster is a nod. Vernon must want a verbal acknowledgment, though, because he leans back over you with one hand bearing his weight beside your head.

He kisses your shoulder and urges you, “Please say so if you need to stop or switch it up. Don’t wanna hurt you, sweetheart.”

“I will,” you breathe. “But I can’t even articulate how much I need you inside of me right now, so please — pretty please — fuck me.”

The tip of his nose bumps your temple affectionately. Right beside your ear, he teases, “With a cherry on top?” And it vibrates down your whole goddamn spine.

“Vernon!” You whine, burying your face in the comforter. It’s muffled, but you warn him nonetheless, “Don’t make me come back there.”

“Aish. Calm down, sex monster.”

The instinct to twist around and glare at him over your shoulder is strong, but every feral urge you feel is stronger. So, when he tells you to spread yourself open for him and tilt your hips back, you do so without even a hint of complaining.

With the crown of his cock slipping through your folds, inching towards your entrance, you hear him curse under his breath. Suddenly self-conscious, you finally crane your neck to the side and glance back at him. 

“We don’t have to,” you whisper. “If it’s gross and you don’t want to anymore, I get it —”

He balks at your suggestion without letting so much as a beat pass. “None of that, sweetheart; no spiraling. I’m just trying to figure out the logistics of, like… how to survive how good this already feels.”

Struck dumb, all you can muster is a peep, “Oh?”

“Shit, yeah.” His response comes in a low groan. “Can you take a deep breath for me?”

It’s a good call on his part, a suggestion you’re glad to have taken, because the pressure of him entering you is intense enough to knock the wind out of you. Empty lungs likely would’ve led to your untimely demise.

You whimper, already overwhelmed with the combination of pain and pleasure; the best kind of ache. The little, breathy moans must freak him out, however, because his fingertips caress your waist as he checks in: “This okay?”

Your limp arm lifts off the mattress, which you’ve melted fully into, and you form a circle with your index finger and thumb to indicate that you’re okay. The light is bright fucking green; you’ve just maxed out your capacity for speech.

Vernon continues his slow thrust forward, giving you ample time to adjust to his size.

“Oh my god,” he grunts, “This is — shit, I can’t believe we haven’t done this before. If I knew how good you’d feel like this, I wouldn’t have waited around for you to ask me.”

That hits like a truck.

He was waiting on you. 

You spent months convincing yourself that he’d need to be convinced, and chickening out before you could raise the idea. Months, and months, and months, of craving him during your werewolf transformation; wasting away over a shitty assumption that Vernon is anything like the people you’ve been with before. 

Christ. 

His credit for putting up with you is long overdue.

Too tongue-tied to speak any of that out loud, you settle for a summary that you hope conveys the message: “I love you so fucking much.”

Mindful of how deep it will push him into your cunt, he leans down over you carefully. Weight balanced on his knees and forearms, he envelopes you in his body heat, trails kisses across your shoulder, and echoes your words back at you between each one.

“Is this too much?” He whispers, rolling his hips slowly.

You feel him everywhere, with every drag of his cock along your walls; and you can’t tell where that throbbing sensation is coming from, him or you. 

You shake your head and sigh, “‘s perfect. You’re perfect.”

Like he knows it’ll unravel you, his large hand comes to rest over the back of yours. His fingers slip through the spaces between and squeeze you much more gently than the vice grip you hold on the bedding below you. He keeps holding you — just like this — through every movement.

The sensation of being this surrounded, this loved, this whole crashes over you like a wave and knocks you off balance.

“I’m so close,” you pant, voice as ragged as your breathing. There’s nothing that he isn’t already giving you with every deep, deliberate thrust into your heat; but you beg nonetheless, “Please, please, please —”

His speed doesn’t increase, but the intensity does. The smack of his hips colliding with your ass does, too, and you feel it reverberating in your bones. Buried as far inside of you as he can be, cock tip kissing your cervix with every high tide, length rolling across your g-spot with every low.

You cum so hard — so completely, invoking every single muscle you have — that you forget how to breathe. With a choked-out gasp, you squeeze your eyes shut and let your orgasm devastate you. 

“Fuck!”

Vernon gets caught up in the current, too, grinding desperately against you until he’s swept up in your wake. You feel him twitch inside you as his release floods, leaving you so lost in his warmth that you feel boneless underneath him.

His face winds up hidden in the crook of your neck, somewhere amidst the baby hairs that cling to the sheen of your sweat. You feel his lips fluttering against your skin when he laughs, “Oh…my god.”

“Mmphf.” You nod weakly in agreement. Beyond blissed, your body still tingles too much to move.

Slurring, you add, “‘s good. ‘s really…”

The rest of that thought dissolves into something between a moan and a yawn.

Just as tired, Vernon pats your ass cheek affectionately and mumbles, “Well said. No notes.”

You tilt your head far enough to free your face from the sheets. When you do, you find your boyfriend fighting a losing battle to keep his eyes open. In the rare seconds he can, he looks back at you in a daze that seems even more adoring than it does fuck-drunk.

“I think I need to hibernate now,” you announce. “Think you just fucked me so well that I need to take a sabbatical.”

He counter-offers, “Shower first, then sabbatical?”

You wiggle so that you can pull your joint hands to your mouth. You can’t kiss him properly while he’s laid out on top of you, but you can press your lips to the back of his hand and hope he feels how much of you that you pour into it.

“Okay, but, like…. who’s carrying who?”

[creampz]

⋆ ★ RULES.

#★vegasbaby. is my personal tag for all my work(s). sometimes i don’t update my mlists right away, but any time i post you’ll see things under that specific tag. (fics, hc's, etc..)

minors are to not interact with me or any of my works. must be 18+ or it's an immediate block. it would help a lot if you have some kind of age indicator! i’m not your parent so what you choose to consume despite ignoring my boundaries is up to you. i have mdni everywhere on my blog, but if i catch you lurking at all when you shouldn’t be, i will block you. this is an adult space.

i write requests on my own time and when i feel like it! currently, they’re open. thirsts like these take me quicker to write. please be patient because i try to answer everyone <3

i will say this again, but i do not write smut for minor characters. i will not age them up either. i will not write teen!character or teen! reader. it makes me uncomfy, please don’t ask / request that.

keep in mind, i’m only one person running this entire blog and it’s very hard to monitor constantly. if i don’t get to your ask(s), i apologize :’). i love talking to you guys!sometimes when im away ill run on queue

i write only for fem! reader (smut) — for angst, fluff i don’t mind writing in gender neutral.

please do not translate my works or feed them to any sites/platforms. screampied is my only tumblr & all works are mine. my ao3 is creampz and im gonna start cross posting my work there—whenever i have time eheh.

⋆ ★ BYF/DNI.

do not interact — minor, pro-isreal, kink-shamer, thinspo, racist / anything anti LGBTQ+, etc.

please refrain from stealing my themes, gifs / graphics. inspiration credit is totally fine by me as long as you ask! i’m fine if people want to use my graphic stuff as inspiration but please don’t entirely copy me.

this blog may write & interact w dark content time to time. i always tag properly in case you wanna filter that ( ex. #cw dacryphilia / #cw gunplay ) but nothing too supreme.

this is a safe goofy horny space! racism, unnecessary hate, and dumb tumblr beef will not be tolerated here. promise, i do not care. i’m just here to write and troll

reblogs + comments are wholeheartedly appreciated !!!

i don’t really answer anon hate. you’re gonna be talking to yourself and ignored. i’m not gonna be disrespected on my own blog. if i’m really bored, i’ll troll you with a meme.

don’t rant / vent to me in my inbox. i’m not a therapist and it could not only trigger me but my audience. asking for advice is fine i guess, but just heed my warning.

although my personality is a bit flirty, everything is entirely platonic! don’t take what i say serious lol, also i have dark humor so if you’re not with that, this isn’t the blog for you

don’t critique my writing unless you’re my beta reader. i didn’t ask and you’ll be blocked.

messages are only set for mutuals. if you have something you’d like to talk to me about, send me an ask and i’ll reply privately (or message you personally on my end)

don’t spam my inbox with asks. mutual or anon i will block you, it’s annoying & i promise i saw it the first time.

⋆ ★ WRITING.

before sending a thirst/req, please read the kinks im not comfortable with writing (scroll to see) — if you ask for a kink + trope, etc. i stated i won’t write, it’ll be deleted.

please keep your request/ask a few sentences short, not an entire essay. i’ll elaborate however i see fit. HOWEVER, i’ll make an exception if you have a fic idea you’d like to see me write. ex: “hi vegas! what do you think about … (specific au / character)” if it gets me motivated enough, chances are i’ll write it

info list of things i won’t write: stepcest & incest, pseudo-cest, scat, dub + noncon, pregnant s*x, kidnapping, peeing / piss kink, period s*x, somnophilia, ddlg, age regression, fisting, yandere, race play, vore, vomit, feet kinks, sacrilege (ex. priest! character), high school au's (teacher x student is a hard no: only exception—professor / college aus) free use, g4ngbangs, gl0ryholes, etc. (if i get asked asking for any of these kinks / tropes i will delete them.)

no, i don’t write for mahito.

again because this is a frequent question lol, i do not write smut for underage characters (megumi, yuuji, yuuta, maki, etc) please don’t ask me to age them up either !!

yes, i write for the women in jjk.

don’t request me something you’ve already asked another writer. it puts me in a weird position & don’t ask me to recreate something another writer wrote.

when describing reader, they’ll always be short or depicted as smaller than the characters i’m describing. also, i try to be inclusive to all readers. never in my writing will i describe specifics such as (body type, eye color, hair color, skin tone) unless asked. you’re free to imagine your reader how you want! <3

i never use (y/n) in my fics. nothing against it but i just stick to petnames!

if you have any questions about a kink, a req, etc. just ask me !!

i’d like to end this off by saying please USE PROTECTION !!! fiction is not real life, so please wrap it up or dip. also, consent is key <3 kisses !!!

[flaneurpastel]

wanna write something about our favorite man but don't know what ? don't have any prompts ?

do not worry, im here.

im just a fellow reader, who enjoys a little too much angst and fluff with sad boys (simon im talking about you baby), so yeah i wanna read more, and the refresh button is now broken bcuz there isn't enough fics !!!! and pls free to tag me in your works, ill be glad to read it and everything <3 enough talking ;

AND it's not necessarily quality it's even cliché or seen and seen again, it's just what i would like to read cuz im a hopeless lover.

__________

PILLOWTALK !!! there is not enough of pillowalk scenarios here, not something long but like short and efficient pls pls pls pls

bonus if simon is slightly drunk, so he talks a little more, going so far as to voluntarily say stupid things to hear you laugh, or get a little kiss to make him shut up the nonsense cuz now he's being adorably silly, but hey, he loves it, so he'll do even more and maybe a make out session or idk maybe ... but drunk!simon needs to be studied fr

__________

MORE DOMESTIC THINGS TO DO TOGETHER! (and yes im screaming rn)

im thinking of when he calls reader from the bathroom to get help with his haircut. you know he can do it himself, he was doing fine before he met you. but something about having you so close to him, feeling your fairy fingers caressing his scalp, your bewitching smell. all these things make him absolutely need you. no need to explain more.

people, write domestic things, simon needs a little love and calm of a simple life. 😔

___________

something i saw with another character in another fandom a long time ago but it was so cute that i want, no

I NEED the same thing with simon.

when you need to go to the bathroom, or you're so sick that you have to spend hours and hours in it, simon always goes with you when you first move into your apartment together, to stay with you by the door. you always make small talk, and you're not even embarrassed anymore because it's become a normal thing in your relationship. but simon follows you everywhere, literally, because hey, you're the love of his life so why spend a minute away from you ?

___________

you and ghost had a fight when you came back from a mission that was dangerous for you. the team decides to go to a bar next to the base, to celebrate this mission that was still successful. and this, despite the obvious tensions between you two. the shots keep coming, the alcohol gets to your head, and the euphoria of the evening only enhances your beauty, which obviously attracts suitors to take you for the night. simon's reaction is up to you, jealous, angry, indifferent (but not too much)

so yeah, I need to see jealousy possessiveness hardness unconditional love (but not in a yandere way lol)

___________

your evening always ends in front of the TV together. to make an assessment of your day, to tell the last gossips, to take stock of the shopping at the supermarket to be done tomorrow whatever!

tonight it was the sound of the TV that won, you were both silent because very tired! but the caresses, your fingers intertwining, the glances in corner, and the shadow of a smile on the discovered face of simon were there more important than the broadcast program. it's innocent, loving, light, sweet, like a little game. it's like teenagers afraid to be discovered by adults. do you get the vibe ?

something cute, not necessarily nsfw, but AHHH im so in love with him why

____________

reader is annoyed with simon for x reasons (it's up to you), she starts to hit him on the chest, to insult him, the sobs mix with her anger and it becomes difficult to understand clearly what she reproaches to simon. this one, takes everything, says nothing, and makes everything to appear indifferent and impassive to his crisis of nerves, but in the bottom he is afraid and feels terribly guilty to have put his beloved in this state. accentuate on the difference of size and strength between the two, the blows inflicted to Simon are only vulgar small fags on the arm or the chest. how is he going to make it up to them ? is he going to try to calm reader down, or let them continue until they are exhausted?

______________

if reader's native language is not basic english, then I absolutely must see simon being in awe every time reader speaks their language. the admiration and love is in his eyes, whether he wears the balaclava or not, whether his eyes are painted black or not, everyone can see that he only has unconditional love which multiplies by ten (when it is already infinite) when he hears your beautiful voice saying words he doesn't understand.

bonus point if simon makes every effort to learn your language and communicate with you. if you listen carefully you will see simon whispering some words after you, while you are engaged in a conversation with someone.

_____________

you know what ? i would love to see a monologue from simon where he talks about reader (because someone asked if he had a partner) little anecdotes, his description of u (personality not physical so we want something inclusive!!!), but most of all HIS LOVE for us. cuz he's so in love, like the only time he talks surprisingly much is when he has to do a briefing of the missions, or when he talks about you, because you're such an amazing person and simon is so in love, and our baby has never received as much love and peace and serenity as he does with you, and does he really deserve it? to be with someone like you? to feel so good in your arms, to kiss you every time he meets your gaze, to lure him to show his colleagues, his friends, shit to the whole world love,

NO, AH, I don't have the words but the word love is now too weak to describe it all. in short you understand me.

[the-unlucky-thirteen]

The phenomenon of under- and misdiagnosing autism in girls and women as having Borderline Personality Disorder

For the first while, from before I even turned 18 years old, the Borderline Personality Disorder stamp was placed upon me by those who worked with minors with mental illness. Once I turned 18 they immediately held on to the diagnose as I went I to their young adult mental healthcare department.

What truly brought on the idea I could have autism is because the nurses in my late grandfather's elderly home were very convinced he was showing typical symptoms of autism.

So it seemed it ran in the family after all.I finally managed to get a real re-diagnose for autism (it was really hard to even bring it up.) But it seems to be more and more that some girls/women/afab get diagnosed with BPD even if it might not be right. Perhaps because they seem "stubborn" or "purposefully defiant" but sometimes it's just the abrasive and direct way of communicating, and asking for explanation that seems rebellious or difficult, which they shrug off as just BPD (if girl)

I missed out on so many things...but now we've gonna do therapy... Behaviour Activation Plan

I'm in the middle of it.... maybe I'll make some changes to the page idk. I'll try, my friends

I wish you all the best, and hope I'm not entirely forgotten. (Even if, that's fine lol I'm tired.) And I just feel so weird...

-Sierra

[bambaooo]

30.

I know for a fact no one is on here anymore, but doing this has been on the back of my mind for about a week or so.

But I just turned 30. My last almost 15 years of life have been recorded to some extent on here. From my 20s to now my 30s life has been fucking nuts. From going to feeling invincible, to feeling that like everyday is a new challenge of what im going to go through. I remember in like elementary school and middle school, i was like embarrassed of being on the younger end for my class. I would always lie and say that i was born in 93 instead of 94. Such a weird thing. and before i turned 21, i wasnt pressed on going downtown to the bars and clubs cause i know when my time came it would be fine. But gdamn, my 20s are gone. I cant help to reflect on the life ive lived. From college, to my first real job, first time living on my own money, relationships, covid, grad school, and to the last major things of buying a house and getting engaged. like what tf am I doing, in the back of my head im still that one kid that eats a shit ton, works out alot, and smokes hookah. But in reality im not that person anymore lol. i used to be very resistant on change but, i know its inevitable but it does still bums me out a bit. I think it bummed me out before because up until recently, ive been very deprived from my friends. I felt bad reaching out, and I felt like i was being a burden hitting them up. But like now, id rather reach out and see them rather than feel like im missing out. But ive seen more friends in the past few months than I feel like i have in the past few months combined. I know social connection is a big part of being healthy, but i didnt realize it was like that for me. But it makes sense, for almost almos the whole time i was in richmond, i was constantly around friends. but as a real adult that shit is kinda hard, gotta cross reference everyones schedules and shit. but like honestly its better than nothing, and i dont think i could do that shit for a extended amount of time lol. and life is just so fucking different know, fucking mortage and house stuff. and still trying to exercise regularly and be an adult.

i almost never want to plan anything for my birthday cause i dont like that feeling of being a burden or w/e. But it just happned to be that arvin moved back home and we got lunch the day before with matt. and that night we hung out at a hookah bar. Ive been so scared with the random health shit ive been dealing with but hookah actually calmed me down a lot for some reason. and Im trying really hard not to get back into the habit of smoking on a regular basis. after smoking for 10 years man, that shit would fuck me up. not the smoking, but feeling reliant on something. Shit addiction is fucking real. Im blessed to be able to pull myself away from shit like that, but i know in the back of my head i know that shit would feel so nice lol. Even when i was vaping, that shit didnt hit as good as a hookah lol.

but yeah life is different. getting settled in the house, gonna plan for a wedding of some sort in the near future, trying to get the house figured out. life is just fucking wild to me right now.

the 20s i definately learned a shit ton. I feel fucking old talking like that, but like its fucking true. the kids in their 20s now have like no idea how to live like we did. i hope i can get to a point where i can be good mentally and physically to live life a little bit of what i used to. I always hear that the 30s is like your 20s with more money, which makes me hella excited. but yeah, im 30 now, idk the next time ill be on here. ill probably come on here once in a while until it dies off forever. I lowkey want to go back into my shit and read some stuff, but i honestly cant bring myself to dig through that shit lol.

until the next.

[hazelcephalopod]

Alright here some of my thoughts for the beginning of Preacher season 3 -still insomnia posting.

What the hell is wrong with his Granma? Also this whole family sucks -except Jesses mom it seems.

Episode one- Jesse deals with things with violence and making questionably deals -worse than usual. Also. Half dead woman’s dark magic to bring back the dead.

Tulip backstory- it’s fucked up and sad! She just wanted to eat her cereal.

Cass is very done and tbh very fair at this point.

Protip. Don’t eat things a weird mean old witch gives you. Don’t do it. (No idea how that’s gonna pan out tbh but I’d wager on it being bad)

…or give them your spit. Don’t do it.

So. I don’t think the resurection spell really worked? She really was ready to go “fuck this asshole” until god sent her back. (Hilarious.)

…if she has to choose one of these men I’d advise on Cass tbh. (Based off the spoilers I have I believe it now gets even more love Trianguly and tbh I’m still on horses the ot3, the messiness makes it more fun)

Episode 2: Jesse tries to salvage things. Unfortunately he also makes very bad choices

Hey they sent him to school! Oh no this vice principle is the fucking worst. “She’s a junior” and your an adult man, with a wife. Stop it.

Oh it’s the soul extracter! For the family soul extraction business.

Don’t worry Tulip sure god will send you some horrifying visions. (Srsly he’s more interested in you then… seemingly anyone else looking for him)

“Who’s Jenny” -this is why they were leaving you Jesse! Truly paying no attention to them at all.

Tbh. My main feeling whenever the Grail or Star show up at this point is “these guys again really”? Yes I get it they are part of the plot as the antagonists and whatever but… do we hav to see this much of them? Doing whatever this is supposed to be? (Imagine if the Hare Krishna’s had managed to just take them out.)

Yes Jesse, Tulip is fine other than you are now captives of you’re frankly evil Gran’ma who doesn’t seem keen on letting anyone go

What the hell is happening with Cass and the smaller uncle? I’m not opposed I’m… I’m weirdly curious. (Later me- well. That’s not good. Avoid that uncle)

Yup and there’s the god visions coming back. (For all the sense they make)

I must admit from what I’ve seen of the uncles… Gran’ma just desperately trying to make Jesse her heir and legacy I get it. It’s not much but… we’ll I get it. Still evil.

I’m sorry it’s so funny that this show has a vampire and they are just like “wear covering clothes an carry and umbrella in broad daylight. That’s works!”

Oh right the fucking grail idiots are here. Also. You wait to shoot them right beside the swamp so you don’t have to carry them.

Lmao. Tulip has not gotten the memo about Jesse and Cass really breaking up hard.

Does the Grail teleport?! How the hell is Starr here?!

Welp. This is all going to shit.

Well Jesse is gone again. This time leaving the other two in an even worse situation! (Lol. Tulip and Gran’ma have foiled that in record time.)

Ill be the first to say people can change but they have to take the first step and demonstrate a willingness to do so and… so far there is not sign that’s gonna happen anytime soon with Jesse unless someone actually introduces a consequence he can’t easily overcome.

Great a weird clean murder dungeon.

[dufferpuffer]

so about Remus in a world where his friends survived and with him after end of the war... or in a world without war at all, have you some (or much) hc about Remus' mental health? love language (both sides)? sex preferences? etc

I love you man haha "How would remus fuck without the trauma" thats great lol

Hmm... I think the war would do a lot to change him/his friends, even if everyone survived. Both that and 'no war' are hard to say because... well, your experience of the world changes who you are more than anything, so it depends on the particular AU

I'll do 'if the war didn't happen' and 'if it did but they survived':

If the war didn't happen:

We have a Remus who is used to relying on others. His parents cared for him, Albus bent over backwards sticking his own neck out as a new Headmaster just to give him an education - and his friends move heaven and earth for him. Eagerly. That's been his experience of Lycanthropy: Having to hide, but constant encouragement. He doesn't know what its like for most werewolves out there, he hasn't met any. He is naturally more 'mature' and understands he is dangerous... but only has close-calls. He is reckless, unable to resist temptation.

He ALWAYS struggles with that - but losing all his friends taught him how to go without, and convinced him he was better off without. But without a war he has never been without. He has only ever had hands patting him on the back - his parents, his teachers, his friends - saying "Go on, Moony - go for it! We'll back you up."

I don't think he would even really think of himself as a werewolf. He will fully believe in 'furry little problem' copium. Which in some ways is good! It's a more confident, adjusted, healthy Remus... ...but its a more reckless one.

If he wants to do a job, he will go for it - even if werewolf segregation ways disallow it. He can hide his Lycanthropy just fine, right? His full moons are AWESOME when his friends look after him. And they do - they spend a whole night every month as adults staying up till dawn just... making sure he doesn't kill anyone. Gets harder as you get older... If anything happens - James supports him, money-wise. If he meets someone and likes them... he has three whole wingmen.

He would be nervous about eventually telling his secret - that might be the hardest thing for him to do, he will hold off on it for as long as possible - but his friends accepted him, right?! He's never hurt anyone - he's basically safe. Tame. He's just normal! He can do all the things that he wants to do. Normal life, Normal love, Normal sex... just one night of being hairy. No big deal, right? ...Right?...

...The problem with not engaging with Lycanthropy, treating it a bit laissez-faire - is that he is never engaging with the realities of it. He is ignoring his illness in order to live a fantasy life. He is contagious, he is dangerous, he has limits - and there are unfortunately societal punishments for him and his loved ones he isn't taking into account. And neither will they. Do you think Sirius or James will give a shit about "it is a crime to knowingly hide a werewolf"...? They're already illegal animagi.

But they aren't kids anymore. James has a wife and a son. Sirius' family won't back him up. Who knows what Peter does - probably something normal. Astronomy. But Remus can't just 'be normal'. It's reckless to think that way. It is reckless to ignore your disability - especially when it can unfairly put other people in danger - their life, health or the law.

The moment something goes wrong he has a long way to fall. If he bites someone. If someone snitches on him to the Ministry. Does he know his spit is contagious in wounds, even as a human...? He can't go around kissing Harry's scraped knees better. He can't be laissez-faire with his full-moons living with a partner. He can't push himself when recovering just to keep up appearances of being normal, to keep a job, to keep up a lie.

If ANYTHING happens and if the law is involved... Albus Dumbledore isn't particularlly powerful. He won't be able to sit as Chief Warlock (chairman) AND ALSO defend Remus, so he will choose defense. (IF he is Cheif Warlock without the First War. that might have been a title awarded to him for his services. He might just be Mugwump, which is not relevant at all.) He might be able to avoid having anyone go to Azkaban - if Remus didn't bite/kill. But he can't stop the law coming down on him as a 'monster' that needs to be segregated. Remus has never been seen as a monster before. Only feared it.

His friends would stand by him - but it would damage them, too. If James/Sirius/Lily are aurors: they knowingly sheltered a werewolf. That could be a career ending accusation. If James a quidditch player and Lily a potioneer or whatever - the same. They stand by a werewolf. Werewolves are despised.

The guilt for Remus? Crushing. Holy shit. It would break him. ...A bit like how it went in canon. he blamed himself for James, Lily and Peter. 'If I wasn't a werewolf this wouldn't have happened.'

If there was a war, but they all survived:

The difference here - is that Remus has learned about Werewolves. He has not only been distant with his friends but has been living like werewolves are forced to - not like a princess with a sugar daddy. He knows how they are seen, how they are treated, how they are made to think about society... and how much be has to lose.

Seeing other people with his disability, from different backgrounds, dealing with it in different ways - it is good for him. It gives him a healthier 'fear' of his Full Moons, a deeper and more responsible understanding of how his body and affliction words. He isn't 'normal', he cannot be 'normal' - he is like them. The world fucking sucks and he has to be careful.

But he still has so much support. He just knows just how lucky he is. I think that would change him into a more responsible man. More like the man he was slowly becoming at the end of the books - but with less trauma. A whole support network and deep knowledge of what his disability is and means... I think he would actually fight for himself?!? He can't do it alone, but with known names and talents like the Potters, Sirius Black, Dumbledore - I think he would actually grow a fucking spine and try to change things for Werewolves... because he never wants to lose what he has. A voice against Greyback.

How would he fuck? Uh... he wouldn't dive into a relationship, knowing the dangers of it. 'Werewolves don't usually breed' - he would have learned this well as a spy. He wouldn't have any desire to prove how 'normal' he is to himself and others. He would probably write off a relationship, at least 'until things are better for werewolves'... but fail, just like with Tonks. He would be nervous, and cautious... but not a wreck. He will worry but he wont run. Like just an anxiety disorder rather than world-ending terror at the idea of getting his dick wet/ass eaten.

Probably how he was when he went back to Tonks while she was pregnant: needs reassurance, but is staying put where his love is.

[kingcunny]

I think rhaenyra and criston cole relationship is meant to be like lolita. Rhaenyra and Dolores are both victims of these men's fantasies, in the minds of Criston cole and Humbert, the girls are the seducers.

What do you think?

i know basically about lolita but i havent read it myself so i cant really make any comparisons between them. but i do think criston blames rhaenyra for *whatever* (depending on whos versions of events you believe) happened between them

ill admit this is kinda a hard question for me to answer. so much of my thoughts about rhaenyras sexual abuse is based on my own experiences, which i dont necessarily mind talking about, but im not sure if i should be trauma dumping on a fandom blog lol.

criston had become rhaenyras sworn protector when she was 7, (hes 23) she had an obvious crush on him, literally calling him her “white knight”. this is fine. kids do this. the problem is it seems criston indulges this crush. to the point that even alicent brings it up - “ser criston protects the princess from her enemies, but who protects the princess from ser criston?”.

(like sure devils advocate you could read this as alicent slutshaming rhaenyra or -as i do- as criston having an inappropriately close relationship with rhaenyra)

i imagine rhaenyra was very sexualized as a child, as girls often are. especially being a princess. “the realms delight” the constant mentioning of her beauty and marriage proposals. being groomed by her uncle*. one way to cope with this sexualization is to ‘own’ it. for rhaenyra to start acting out sexually herself.

(*devils advocate again, ‘daemon was just being a good uncle spoiling his neice!’ he eventually gets married to her making all his interactions with her as a child suspicious)

children exploring their sexuality is normal and healthy, the problem arises when there are adults around taking advantage of that curiosity. which is exactly what daemon and criston did.

rhaenyra wouldve been around 14 when that first *something* happened. (16 when something happens again between criston and rhaenyra, causing him to turn on her) my own belief being that daemon molested her and criston statutory rapes her. i think rhaenyra even initiated these things. no one involved thinks they did anything wrong. rhaenyra *wanted* this. but shes still a child, and doesnt understand the consequences of what shes asking for. but her *sworn protector* should have.

criston blames rhaenyra for ‘seducing’ him and ‘making’ him break his vows, and then resents her for rejecting him.

[chickalupe]

Feeling very down right now, just want to vent...

(Treating this like my old Livejournal since I don't really have anywhere else I can complain LMAO)

I've been out of work since August after completely running out of FMLA.

Between getting severe COVID in February and being out recovering for 6 weeks -- and then with Long COVID making the chronic fatigue and migraines I already had even worse -- I ended up missing so much work that I used all the time FMLA allowed before the year was even half over.

I'm living with my parents now and don't really have income except my savings; honestly most days I don't have the physical or mental spoons to even contemplate applying for even a part-time remote position yet. Thankfully I also have a retirement fund I am slowly cashing in, even if that also isn't really sustainable long-term. (But me losing my insurance will definitely be an issue soon when I run out of refills for my prescription meds...)

I'm aware that I've been pretty isolated since August; I've gotten maybe like two texts from former co-workers. I'm mostly asleep during the daytime and don't drive, so going out is hard. The person I consider my BFF is out of state and is busy with their own life. The only people I talk to most days are my Mom and Dad. (Admittedly, I am also pretty terrible about calling or texting people!) Tumblr has thus been the majority of my social interaction, for good or ill.

On top of all that, my birthday is this Friday and I always find myself depressed anyway this time of year. Like, it's probably half Seasonal Affective Disorder, and half a reminder that I'm a year older and having mixed feelings about where I am in life, IDK... But the current situation of *gestures vaguely at everything* isn't helping. So I am very blergh in general.

My parents and I had made vague plans a couple weeks ago that we could all go out for dinner on my actual birthday; nothing fancy, maybe the nearest sit-down Mexican restaurant. I was kinda looking forward to it. Mom just informed me that she is now unavailable after 5pm on my b-day itself since she offered to babysit kids for someone in their church that evening and night. We can't do it tomorrow night either, because Mom & Dad will be at a craft show from 4pm to 10pm.

And... it's fine, I guess. I'm disappointed but I'm an adult. I'm not gonna throw a tantrum or yell and cry or try to guilt her about it. She brought me flowers from the grocery store as a sort of peace offering and says we can still have cake or whatever. We'll probably do something on Saturday instead.

But EVERY YEAR, it's something. Last year, it was the cheesecake I asked for as a birthday cake getting dropped on the way into the house from the car; over half of it was smushed and then Dad stole the best remaining slice for himself. The two years before that, it was during the worst of the pandemic so I just had mediocre delivery food. I literally cannot remember the last birthday I really enjoyed in over a decade and half.

Another big source of anxiety right now -- we found out have 60 days to move since the leasing company is selling this house. So we have to find a new place, be packed and then move by January. Meanwhile home inspectors, realty agents and potential buyers are walking through while we're still living here, and it's super stressful. Words can't express how much I hate strangers being here any and all days of the week.

I guess I'm feeling a bit sorry for myself. I'm not trying to be whiny or woe-is-me, but my mental health right now is uhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh... Not Great (tm) 😅. I do try hard to be positive but it just takes so much energy and I'm stressed and a little numb.

Not really sure how to end this. I just really needed to put it all in writing as a journal-type situation so that I don't end up crying in real life LOL.

Current Mood: burnt-out 😑

Current Music: HGTV playing in the background

[lesbiangallagher]

my great aunt passed recently ;—-;

my great aunt passed away and she lived to be 99, with only 2 months away from her 100th bday. also side note the way most everyone in my family lives til their 100s lmao. i know two ladies who passed away at 101. honestly it’s incredible to me. my mom’s side of the family is extremely women-driven, like i cannot name all of the cousins my mom has but i sure do know they all went to the same all girls school lol slay queens we out here

but yeah my great aunt was the best tbh. she was always so incredibly kind to me even when my parents would drag me to spend 10 hours at my cousins’ house when i clearly did not want to be there and even when i was obviously weird and emo, she always said i was so beautiful and smart and if there was anyone who prayed, it was her. she always prayed for me, she would tell me lol i would hold hands with her as she told me stories about my mom when she was younger and it always humanized my mom in a way that i was like “omg my mom and i are extremely alike and idk what to do with that information but lash out more” but my great aunt was always so patient and listened to me too. she was just that person who loved everyone in a room, like kind of no matter what. my older cousin and i are the only two out gay people in this branch of the family and he’s feeling it. even my sister is feeling it too! and my sister is a tough nut to crack but she was always so endeared by her and she was, again, SO kind. in a room full of judgmental catholic ladies, my great aunt was always the nice catholic lady lol she would give everyone and i mean EVERYONE in the room a blessing before they left to go home. she would literally spend 1 hour giving everyone blessings as they leave and i still remember what she used to say because it was the same thing every time. i wrote it down in my notes and i will not share it because im crying as im typing this and i should take my corny ass home. yes im on my period again

and she would hold your hand while saying it and do the sign on the cross on you too. her hands were always very soft

damn i haven’t felt this hit by a a family member passing in a while. maybe it’s my period or the state of the world and maybe it’s this other unrelated awful piece of news that hit the community round my parts hard or overall just exhaustion from being mentally ill.

it’s hard not to wallow but i have to keep it moving. i recognize that i can still process many emotions at once and i know that i’m resilient, time and time again. i have a good support system that knows me and cares for me and i have to keep it moving. i help kids on a daily basis and they count on me to keep it moving. we out here y’all it’s that time of year where everything kind of turns into a blur for adults lol but i think we will make it out just fine…grieving can exist at the same time as being thankful and happy while i’m doing my thing…

oof yeah idk that turned into a lot but i’m glad i got the words out there. i felt them jumbling in my head all morning but i feel so much better now. might delete might not but whatever. i love you tumblr diary 🤍

[mothman-clarice]

Ok so I watched american psycho for the first time last night and I got a great idea for a cool crossover/thought experiment.

What if Patrick Bateman met Hannibal Lecter?

Quick note: I haven't read the book american psycho but I have done a little research about it. Also I'm aware that theres a lot of debate on whether or not patrick actually kills anybody since he is a very unreliable narrator. For the sake of this analysis we will assume all of his murders are real since I dont feel like opening up that complicated can of worms lol.

So first I'd like to do a little character analysis/compare and contrast with both of them cus I think these characters are very interesting to compare.

Let's see what they have in common first. They both are serial killers and cannibals who are lethally efficient and prolific. They are both very successful with Bateman being a millionaire wall street investor and hannibal being Lithuanian royalty and a successful psychiatrist. They are characterized as having some sort of mental illness/disorder, bateman obviously being a stereotypical psychopath plus possibly antisocial personality disorder and hannibal having several which I cant name off the top of my head. They are both known for having "high class" taste and deeply emerse themselves in fine culture.

Now let's talk about their differences...

While yes they both share one key character trait (being murderers) they are still vastly different in terms of personality and behavior. Let's start with their attitude/tendencies towards murder.

Hannibal may be a prolific vicious murderer but if you look closely enough you will see he actually has some form of moral compass. He never hurts children, only adults over the age of 20. He rarely if ever kills women (at least to my knowledge, I haven't read all the books or seen all the movies) which is very likely rooted in his chivalrous nature. He never kills out of the blue, he always has some reason for it, be it his victim making a rude remark or doing something hannibal finds reprehensible. No matter what, he always has some reasoning behind his killings. So while yes he is a vicious murderer, he does actually have a moral compass if you look hard enough.

And then there's Patrick Bateman.

Patrick's murderous behavior is completely different from hannibal. He is erratic and random, killing whoever just so happens to be closest whenever he gets the urge. He has compulsions to kill whereas hannibal pretty much has full self control and only kills of his own free will. Patrick never has any clear reasoning for his murders beyond very vague rationalizations which mostly boil down to "they are different from me" or they said something he perceived as a personal insult. Unlike hannibal, bateman has absolutely no moral compass since he completely lacks empathy. He despises anyone who is higher or lower class than him (especially the lower class), he despises women and views them as objects made for his sexual pleasure and nothing else. Women, especially sex workers, are actually his primary targets since he already views them as subhuman and knows he has great power over them physically and often financially. To him humans are tools he uses to achieve his desires. He completely lacks any emotion, even saying his only emotions are greed and disgust.

He is the purest example of the Id you could possibly think of. His brain is controlled by the most base primal instincts: hoard resources to preserve your own survival, fight and kill anyone you see as a threat or as different from you, and have sex as much as possible. His ultimate goal in life is to fit in with the rest of the white cishet male wall street yuppies, his "tribe" if you want to continue with the primitive themes.

In regards to emotion hannibal does very much feel. Yes his perception of emotion may be different from most people but he still absolutely has the capacity to feel sadness, love, joy, and more alongside anger and disgust. He may be violent but he is not devoid of empathy. We all know he falls deeply in love with clarice because he empathizes with her trauma and struggle. He recognizes her frustration with trying to get the male dominated world to notice her capability and strength. He marvels at her brilliance and adores her independence, he loves her, so so much.

What does bateman love? Well he certainly loves money and power. But does he feel that way about anything else? No. The closest thing he feels to love is lust, primal carnal desire. He hates women, he only values them for sex and nothing else. (Sorry to break the essay emerson but I just need to say this. Why didnt this guy just get a fleshlight? A sex doll? Like if you hate women so much but wanna fuck just get a fuckin toy dude, I'm sure they existed in the 1980s 🙄)

Another thing I noticed they differed with is their attitude towards wealth and media. Patrick is obviously obsessed with both. Media permeates every moment of his existence, constantly listening to music every chance he gets, "watching" movies (mostly just playing them as background noise), obsessing over p0rnography, and so much more. His attitude towards porn is especially interesting to me as he doesnt seem to consume it in the way people normally do. The first scene that comes to mind is the one where hes on a phone call with Evelyn while a porn video plays on his tv. He doesnt even look at the screen, he seemingly shows zero interest. Theres nothing near him in the scene that would suggest he was "enjoying" it (tissues, lotion, y'know..). Its like he just put it on as background noise just like he does with movies. He has similar behavior when he brings in the escorts and rambles about music while instructing them to perform for him, despite the fact he spends most of the beginning walking around his apartment not even looking at the women. It's like he has no idea how human sexuality works, he obviously doesnt feel horny given those two examples, it's like he just has sex and looks at porn because it gives him some kind of status or maybe it just gives him something to do. Maybe he does it purely because it seems like something a "normal human" would do.

As for his obsession with wealth, bateman seems to have a similar attitude. He hates going out with people to diners since we know he hates people in general. He seems to only go out with his fellow yuppies to feel like hes part of something. He pretends to get along with them and says anything they like to hear, putting on a character as if he was playing out a fantasy in his head. He expects people to be impressed with his wealth and feels deeply insulted when they're not. He sees wealth as a necessity, he constantly needs to be richer and more extravagant than everyone else. He is the ultimate personification of greed, a gluttonous, jealous dragon whose hoard is never big enough.

As for hannibal? Having been raised in royalty he naturally grew accustomed to lavish living and views it as his normal. He feels most comfortable having gourmet meals regularly, his day clearly planned out with plenty of activities to do, and generally a life full of savoring the finer things and enjoying many of the pleasures of noble life. Unlike patrick who's idea of lavish is hoarding expensive things he doesn't need and parading them around to inflate his ego, hannibal's idea of lavish living is playing piano, watching Shakespeare plays, reading classical literature, admiring fine art both old and new. He has no need for parading around his wealth because it doesnt matter to him.

You see what I mean? Bateman views wealth as a tool to gain status and be part of a community. Hannibal does not really perceive wealth since it has always been a part of his life, he doesnt want more wealth since riches alone dont give him pleasure. To hannibal wealth is simply the norm and something he pays no mind to, whereas patrick is utterly and completely addicted to it.

I feel like I've rambled long enough and pinned down their primary differences. I honestly had a lot of fun writing this! I find both characters incredibly fascinating and I thoroughly enjoyed dissecting them both side by side. I hope you all liked it too of course.

Also, good news! I'm finally starting my week long vacation from work so I'll have a lot more free time to post. So look forward to more activity from me in the future :)

[sergeantsporks]

Gilded Family; Chapter 33 - Part Two!

Auric finally gets to tell his story, nice. Glad that you found a place to work it in. Explains Dagger's actions nicely too.

"both of Dagger’s legs were set in thick plaster, and a myriad of bandages covered his body."

Ouch, poor Dagger! ....Poor Gilded Family too, I bet he's a real bear whenever he's ill/injured.

"“Okay, fine, I’m wrong about everything forever. Geeze.”"

I may have mentioned this before, but Sam continues to be delightfully snarky.

Caleb's not doing too well... Sorry buddy, but you gotta face up to your sins courtesy of your youngest son. It's okay, we all have skeletons in our closets.

"“No, I mean… the real version. Not the easy version. Phillip said you left him—is that true?"

Jason's really not letting him wiggle out of having to tell the truth, is he? Good for him. I think that being briefly separated from his family was good for him, he's matured a lot from the beginning of the story.

I appreciate that you are allowing Belos' side of the story to be told, even if not from Belos' mouth directly. It's easy to cast this whole conflict as a black and white battle of good versus evil, but one of TOH's big themes is that people are complicated! So the shades of gray interpretation holds true to the spirit of the show itself.

:( I do feel sorry for Caleb though, it's... not easy to get called out on the mistakes that you've made, especially by your own family.

Still, rational thought is not the teenage brains' strongpoint, lol. Add in hormones on top of that, and well...

Caleb's right. He was young, dumb and hopelessly in love with someone who his community would never allow him to love. He never could've foreseen the deprived depths his little brother would sink to in order to "get him back".

That being said, however upset and worried for Caleb's safety Philip was, nothing remotely justifies his actions once he did make it to The Demon Realm himself. I mean, man made his first Grimwalker as an adult. An aged adult at that! He doesn't have the grace of just being a kid to fall back on when he started making his biggest mistakes.

Would Caleb having taken Philip with him to The Demon Realm in the first place have changed anything? Whose to say...

Everyone in the Gilded Family owning up to their own individual responsibilities regarding Belos and how they helped him achieve his goals is a wonderfully heartwarming scene.

"“Are we going after him?” they breathed, “Are we finally taking the fight to him? Can I go this time?”"

XD Ah Venari, still as blood thirsty as ever. Never change my friend.

"Sam made a face. “Do we, though? Seems like it would be easier to just—”"

Still holding Petro hurting the twins against him, I see. Lol.

I like that Caleb is still insisting on NOT harming Petro though, man has the patience of a saint.

Sam's lengthy explanation regarding how in the hell does Phoenix's curse work was appreciated. Lol, and I can tell that you worked REALLY hard on finding a way to explain away all the differences and still have it make sense.

XD Viney has basically decided that she wants to be adopted by the Gilded Family, excellent.

"“Well, let’s just say, the few kindergarteners here seem a lot less feral than ours.”"

I, for one, thought that the kindergarteners were one of the highlights of For The Future, lol.

But yeah, agreed that Clara and Ram are awesome kids.

"But they’d gone through so much, and with no one there to help them."

Uh, Phoenix? Did no one mention Camila to you? Granted, seven kids is a lot for any one person to handle, especially seven traumatized kids... But Camila's mothering was beyond admirable given the circumstances.

But hey, at least he realizes that Hunter DOES fit in with his extended family now. Hip hip hooray!

"Well. Except Ghost, who didn’t even know Belos existed at all."

I fully expect that to change.

Phoenix doesn't know this Camila. How does he know he can trust her? What are her combative capabilities? Would she take a bullet for these kids?

Anyway, yeah, lol, the precedent canon set for "Belos Mud" did make it challenging, so I'm glad the explanations came across clearly, if split across several chapters. Sam, my beloved font of exposition.

Sam🤝Venari: currently wishing great amounts of violence on someone

[dspdick]

okay. apparently ranting on tumblr is the way to go so here i am. on a rant about my bitchass college life.

first of all. my classmates. GOD. the people in my group would be fine if the guy that i considered a potential friend didn’t stop talking to me after i rejected him at a party. he was genuinely interested in me as a person and my interests and then he had to go and ruin it by taking rejection like a little bitch. i would’ve been fine with it IF HE IMMEDIATELY AFTER DIDNT START TALKING WITH ANOTHER GIRL THAT I GET ALONG WITH. AND STOPPED ANY FORM OF CONTACT WITH ME. motherfucker i’ll hunt you down for sport if you ignore me for the year and a half i’m going to be in that class.

then there’s the bitch in my group. OH MY GOD. you’re TWENTY YEARS OLD. TWENTY ONE I DONT CARE. and yet you behave like an edgy sixteen year old that just got tumblr?? “ooooh i’m so edgy all i do is complain and bitch and give people dirty looks.” i’m surprised you have friends, let alone roommates that didn’t let the carbon monoxide leak when they spent the night out and you slept alone. i hope you know i fucking hate you and the way you monopolize people is elementary school shit. which you seem to think you’re in anyways?? kids like you shouldn’t be reading the shitty ass tiktok books you keep recommending because of how hard the main characters fuck.

and the rest of my group keeps ignoring me lol. none of them wait for me to finish packing my shit and none of them talk with me out of college. oh wait they do. to ask me about homework. EVEN IF I DONT KNOW SHIT BECAUSE I KEEP SKIPPING CLASS. PAY ATTENTION IN THE LECTURES INSTEAD OF PLAYING SUDOKU.

and these people are the ones i spend most of my time with. because among the 20-something other students in my goddamned degree (yes. there’s 20-something of us in an entire undergrad. we used to be in the 30s but people kept dropping out for reasons ill touch on later). there’s one that keeps throwing ALUMINIUM WRAP BALLED UP. AT EIGHTEEN YEARS OF AGE. i can’t stand that bitch GOD i hope she drops out too.

my degree is a completely different subject. first off we have eight subjects this semester. EIGHT. we have more than any other degree in this fuckass university, and the workload is frankly ridiculous. i hope my professors aren’t aware that their subject isn’t the only one in the world because if they know the shit we have to do for other subjects and they keep sending us all the shit they do im killing them all and then myself. what the fuck do you mean the business professor keeps making us work as much as in development biology? ITS WORTH HALF THE CREDITS.

and my degree supervisor certainly doesn’t help. maam what do you mean we “can’t afford to have compromises and extracurriculars outside of college work”? kill yourself oh my god i’m paying 500€ a month (with my scholarship included!) to get an education not worked to the ground. i spend over ten hours in college when we have labs because for some reason we can’t have them just after classes to let us go home early like EVERYONE ELSE IN A SCIENCE DEGREE.

the worst part is that the people who organize the mandatory stuff for all students ignore the existence of labs. listen. i’m cool with having to do volunteer stuff. but don’t make me do 50 hours like everyone else because they don’t spend as much time IN THIS UGLY ASS UNIVERSITY. also can we at least have more smoking-allowed points in campus if you’re going to keep exploiting us? i’d like to be able to cope unhealthily with everything else in my life like the adult i am please and thank you.

and this is as far as i’m going because it’s getting long. i’d be surprised if anyone read as far as this so if you did thank you please like comment n subscribe for more rage-fueled content

[thatsysfeelwhen]

ok??? lmao??? idk why its my fault that u were weird with my bf but whatever. ofc u wanna "defend" urself when u were clearly in the wrong.

sorry i didnt immediately forgive you, especially when ure a big part of my trauma over the years.

i was taking time to sort out my feelings but if you have to go all "fuck you" on me then it shows that i shouldnt have forgiven you anyways lmao.

glad this is sorted out

ure not entitled to forgivness when u did the same thing u got mad at luna and vice for doing. just because im not 4 years old doesnt mean i wouldnt still want to b asked for consent before u do that shit??

u know i have sexual trauma, i know u have sexual trauma too. thats why i assumed u wouldnt be petty ab being told ab my feelings on this, tho ig i was wrong.

and i didn't "guilt trip" u if ure convinced i did, im just not in the mood to fight or argue when ure in the wrong, so i said my opinion and if u cant handle it - that's ur fault. literally u have always done this. you always do this. every single time w/o fail. i bring smth up that i have an issue w, ure always pissed bcuz u dont wanna be in the wrong. and i know you didn't bring up anything ab me guilt tripping, but i know that someone probably did since they always do at some point.

u can say "fuck you" and block me and whatever, throw away years of hard work. just know im not gonna forgive u anymore. im not. this is it. this was your last chance. there wont be "i wonder when he'll come back" or "i wonder when we'll talk again." i wont be dming you a year or two from now, and if u try to reach out then im not gonna respond trying to be bestie-bestie with you.

yeah, i'll admit. i've done bad things in the past and i'm sorry i hurt you when i did. but you can never seem to show that same remorse when you've clearly done something wrong. you never wait for me to heal or come to terms with what you did, you always just blame me for feeling like shit when u did something wrong. yeah, when i confronted you, i used a lot of cursing. i was angry. it triggered my ptsd, i felt gross and dirty, and i was upset. im sorry that i've taken days to recover and i'm still not even fully recovered from the situation. however if this is how you want it to end, im fine w it. i can still be happy w/o your friendship.

i didnt want to end our friendship, because u were the only person who went thru all of that horrible shit with me. but, honestly im ok with it because half of the time u were apart of that horrible shit that happened to me.

hope u have a good day or whatever.

lol, get better soon bestie xoxo

stop playing the victim, youre almost a damn adult. you should know better, you selfish prick.

p.s. dont ever contact me again, ill ignore you with no hesitation. i see through your lies and abuse.