#Bad Habits series

[angelsanarchy]

Bad Habits: Clay Roach x Y/N Series - PRT 1

Tagged: @not-properly-human @dudeimsocool @chainsawgvtsfvck @s0ulfulll @kristennero-wallacewellsver @mommymilkers0526 @8klil @liquidsmoothdomme

Clay kicked back on the couch as Benny broke up the weed. He knew they would need to re-up soon. Days where they fucked off at home always meant they would burn through an entire bag just to stay out of it. Today was no different.

Y/n walked up the broken sidewalk to her mother's old house carrying as many bags of groceries as she could muster. Since moving into the city, she made sure to drive back and visit at least a few times a week to ensure both her mother and her brother we taken care of. She noticed his car in the driveway and let out a sigh. He was supposed to be at work but clearly blew it off.

She put her key in the door and gave it a strong thrust with her shoulder knowing how the door would stick when the weather started to get cold. When the door popped open, both Benny and his friend Clay jumped almost completely off the couch.

"Jesus fuck Y/n! You scared the shit out of me." Benny complained. He was sitting on the couch, rolling a joint and watching Cops.

"You're supposed to be at work." Y/n she said without much care as she tried to fix the stick in the door.

"We're on a lunch break." Benny scoffed. Y/n rolled her eyes as she stepped over work boots that sat by the door. Clay got up from the couch and put his arms out.

"Here, let me help." Clay offered with a smirk and Y/n ignored him.

"How about you get your shoes out of the way instead. This isn't your house." Y/n scolded pushing past him.

"It's more like a second home. I probably sleep here more than at my place if I'm being honest." Clay laughed.

"Fun..." She started unpacking the bags and Clay leaned against the kitchen counter.

"I hear you've got a nice place in the city now that you're a big shot lawyer." Clay carried himself with such a swagger around most people but Y/n never bought into it. As someone who grew up watching her brother and his goofy friend Clay, she saw through the bravado to the guy who insisted on only drinking specific juice because of the red dye in most kid drinks.

"I have an apartment in the city that I work my ass off for, yes but I'm not a big shot lawyer. I take a lot of small criminal cases from idiots like you two who get caught up with possession charges." Y/n continued to put the groceries away and Clay held the milk out to her.

"Good to know." Clay nodded. She looked over at him curiously.

"You staying out of trouble?" She asked already knowing the answer. If there was one thing that could always find Clay, it was trouble.

"You know me." He shrugged.

"Yeah I do, that's why I asked." She tossed the plastic bags under the kitchen sink.

"You should give me your number in case I ever find myself in need of a good lawyer." Clay smirked.

"Not a chance." She snatched the milk and put it in the fridge.

"Come on Y/n, we don't have to keep dancing around this. We're grown now." Clay leaned against the counter top making Y/n chuckle.

"Yes we are, some of us more than others but I'm not looking to date one of my little brothers cronies." Y/n teased.

"Who said anything about dating? I was just hoping for some fooling around...maybe a little-" Clay scooted closer to her and she laughed out loud in his face.

"Clay, be so fucking for real. You think I would actually sleep with you?" She snorted a laugh. Clay pulled back and sighed.

"Don't act like we haven't fucked before, Y/n." Clay lowered his voice as Y/n grabbed his arm to pull him away from the doorway so Benny didn't overhear him.

"If you'll remember correctly, I was 17 and incredibly high half the time I was awake." She gritted through her teeth. Clay licked his lips.

"Which means we both have had time to gain a lot more experience...we should probably test it out sometime. I can do pretty incredible things with my mouth." Clay stepped into her space and she shook her head.

"Yeah like run it. Look, it's time you got over your little crush. It's starting to get sad." She put her hand on his chest and he chuckled.

"You know what they say, you never get over your first." He winked at her and she gave him a shove.

"You're the actual worst. Stay out of trouble and stop eating all the food in this damn house!" She laughed pushing past him towards the door.

"GET YOUR ASS BACK TO WORK BENNY!" She shouted as she slammed the front door. Benny threw up his middle finger after she was already gone and Clay sat back down on the couch next to him.

"Dude you've got to stop trying to bone my sister. She's so fucking far out of your league, she's playing internationally." Benny held the joint out to him.

"Nah she's got a soft spot for me. Just wait, you'll be calling me your brother by the end of the year while she's calling me daddy." Clay took a hit of the joint and Benny shoved him roughly.

"Fucking sick." Benny complained. Clay laughed out loud thinking about fucking Y/n. She was in fact his first but he knew he wasn't hers. He didn't care though. She's always been attractive but the appeal that Clay held for her was more than that. Since she got out of the neighborhood, she carried herself like she had some how become better than this life, better than where she came from but Clay knew who she was.

Who she really was.

Strip away the law degree, the fancy boots and makeup and she was still the girl who could hold her alcohol better than anyone in a 50 mile radius but never her smoke. The girl who made excuses to her friends about not being able to hangout because she had to watch her younger brother when really she was just playing video games and making mixed drinks for us. The girl who took Clay's virginity on HER prom night instead of fucking her date at the hotel party she left to come home. That's the girl that intrigued him. The only girl to ever get Clay even remotely close to feeling what he assumed was love.

[somewhereincairparavel]

i have ALWAYS promptly looked forward to jason grace's povs in the hoo books to the point where'd I'd flip the pages till I find the words "JASON" and would count the amount of povs he has in the whole book before I even finished reading, so I feel excited knowing that I'll get to his povs soon. there, I said it.

[chrisbangz]

channie of the day (8/∞) GDA Backstage Interview ✦ 190106

[buggee22]

[almondpiglet]

finally out of that god damn artblock, its time for serizawaaaaaaa

[dbnightingale24]

Breadcrumbs….

As if Lights hasn’t blessed us enough this quarantine season, Dead End dropped tonight!!! https://open.spotify.com/album/4Nk1fUKLZVjWZGovOCGbaw?si=B2E8Ak84SBSE0tH6xM6goA

[wienners]

emh clips from my rewatch that made me stop and screen record because i was losing my fucking mind either laughing or just acting crazy

[rpgmaking]

some more time skip pauling

[northernember]

HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO THE BESTEST BOY,

CAL!!!!

Im so sad I wasnt able to finish the piece I was drawing for this day, alas I was fighting for my life

so have this old drawing I never uploaded of the birthday boy

[angelsanarchy]

Bad Habits: Clay Roach x Y/N Series - PRT 3

Tagged: @not-properly-human @dudeimsocool @chainsawgvtsfvck @s0ulfulll @kristennero-wallacewellsver @mommymilkers0526 @8klil @liquidsmoothdomme @bonesgirl11 @blackdollette @blacksoul-27 @starry-eyed-wild-child @hisemoslut @startseeingstars @hellcat34love @tvgirlsbluehair @luzclarita57 @drazenka

Clay sat on the couch, watching TV and smoking a joint when the front door opened. Y/n looked surprised to see him.

"Hey where's Benny?" She asked sitting her keys on the table.

"Happy to see you too." Clay smirked. She rolled her eyes.

"Benny!" She called out trying to by-pass Clay altogether.

"He's passed out in the back. Worked a double and could only hang for half a joint." Clay took a pull of the joint and Y/n shook her head.

"Then why are you still here?" She asked confused.

"I was hoping to see you obviously." He said it teasingly but he really was hoping to see her so he could set the record straight. When she goes to walk back towards the door he sits up.

"I'm not gay, you know." She stops at the door when he speaks up.

"What that asshole pig said...I wouldn't do that. I'm not some crack head. I do it recreationally. I'm not some fucking addict who sucks dick for a high." Clay clarified and Y/n pinched the bridge of her nose.

"You don't have to justify yourself to me." She says sounding exhausted.

"I just wanted you to know it was bullshit." Clay repeated.

"Clay, whatever drugs you do is your own business as long as Benny isn't on them, I don't care." Y/n's words strike Clay.

"Yeah I don't think you have to worry about Benny dabbling into heroin." Clay chuckled.

"I don't see the humor in that..I mean you understand that heroin is like...deadly right? This isn't some 80's drug free PSA bullshit. Heroin can actually kill you." Y/n spoke to Clay like he was a child and he hated it. She was a few years older than him but she didn't have to make him feel stupid.

"Y/n it's not that big of a deal. I don't do it often enough to put myself in any real danger-"

"And if someone sells you bad shit? Then what? You just lay there and die. There's no way to un-shoot yourself up Clay." Y/n sounded genuinely concerned.

"Kinda sounds like you care about me and my well being." Clay smiled and she groaned.

"Can you be serious for like two seconds please?" Y/n looked at him with a face that made Clay feel bad. He didn't usually give a shit what people thought about him but Y/n was different.

"Benny is afraid of needles. He's not going to do heroin. You don't have to worry about that." Clay sat back and gave her the seriousness she asked for.

"Besides, he couldn't handle it and he knows that." Clay added.

"Clay I don't think people are supposed to handle heroin." Y/n narrowed her eyes.

"Well mom we're a little late for that." Clay snorted.

"God you're a pain in the ass." She sighed.

"I can be if you let me..." He licked his lips. Y/n rolled her eyes at him.

"In your dreams Clay." Y/n spat.

"Usually you're bent over the couch but I suppose I can switch it up." Clay teased and Y/n made a noise of disgust.

"Fuck off." She yelled as she shut the door behind herself. Clay laughed. One day, he'd get her to give him a real chance. For now, he was fine planting little seeds.

[boneskullravenriver]

If RR gets a live action, and Cassius doesn't look like an oiled up, curly haired ancient greek statue, I don't want him. If he doesn't look so pretty it hurts to look at him, I don't want him.

If he doesn't look like the same man Darrow continuously has homoerotic thoughts about, I don't want him.

[todayisafridaynight]

i have specific ways of drawing men nude and i forget those ways sometimes

[fics-not-tragedies]

Bad Habits: Prologue

prologue - one - two - three - four - five - six - seven - eight - nine - ten - eleven - twelve - thirteen - fourteen - fiveteen - ...

I promised this one to @andyrubei and here we are 😅 At first it was supposed to be something else, but along the way it kinda... ekhem, developed and it is what it is now. New parts coming Saturdays and Wednesdays.

Words: 1690; Warnings: lots of Italian pet names, perhaps some drinking; Summary: You catch the eye of a stranger across the club and things begin to unfold;

Readers tag list:

@marytvirgin; @penwieldingdreamer

Prologue: “The Stranger Across the Room”

The night was alive, a living, breathing entity fueled by thundering basslines and flickering strobe lights. The music wasn’t just heard—it was felt, pounding through your chest and rippling through the soles of your feet. The club was a chaotic symphony of sensations, each one more intense than the last. A sea of bodies moved as one, swaying, grinding, and twisting in time with the hypnotic rhythm. The air hung heavy with the mingled scents of sweat and alcohol, the sharp tang of spilled liquor mingling with the sweet haze of perfume and cologne. It was intoxicating, this heady mix of sensory overload and reckless abandon, a place where names didn’t matter and the world outside seemed to dissolve into nothingness. 

It was the kind of place where people came to forget, to blur the edges of their lives until nothing was left but the moment. For some, it was about the hunt, the thrill of locking eyes with a stranger and knowing, without words, how the night would end. For others, it was about losing themselves in the crowd, letting the music and the lights drown out whatever weight they carried. For you, it was a little of both—but mostly, it was about escape. You had no intention of staying long. This wasn’t your scene, not really. 

Tonight wasn’t about anyone else. The men leaning casually against the bar, their eyes scanning the crowd like predators seeking prey, didn’t hold your interest. Neither did the women spinning in glittering outfits on the dance floor, their laughter rising above the music as they reveled in the freedom of the night. It wasn’t about them. It was about you—about finding a brief reprieve from the relentless pressure of the world outside. You had spent weeks buried under the weight of it all, the endless cycle of work, stress, and obligations chipping away at your resolve. But here, under the dizzying glow of the club lights, it was different. 

The problems that had clung to you like shadows didn’t follow you through the door. The small, nagging insecurities that whispered doubts in your ear were drowned out by the music, their voices swallowed by the bassline. You let the rhythm take over, closing your eyes and feeling the beat pulse through you like a second heartbeat. It was electric, a current that flowed through your veins, loosening the tension that had settled in your shoulders and the tightness in your chest. For a few precious hours, you could breathe again. 

You weren’t looking for anything more than release. A one-night escape. The kind of freedom that didn’t come with strings or complications. No expectations. No lingering glances in the morning or awkward goodbyes. Just the fleeting rush of losing yourself in the moment, of letting go without the burden of consequences or tomorrow’s regrets. 

That was the plan. At least, that’s what you told yourself as you stepped further into the thrumming chaos of the club, the music swallowing you whole.

He appeared out of nowhere, a sudden presence that sliced through the haze of flashing lights and the deafening pulse of music. One moment, you were swaying in rhythm with the crowd, anonymous and unseen, and the next, his eyes were on you. They locked with yours across the dance floor, piercing and unwavering, magnetic in their intensity. There was something in his gaze that demanded attention, something dark and alluring that sent a jolt through your chest, quickening your pulse. It wasn’t just a casual glance, not the kind you could shrug off and forget. It lingered, heavy and deliberate, as if he was daring you to look away first. 

For a moment, everything else seemed to fade—the music, the crush of bodies, the heat and chaos of the club. It all blurred into the background, leaving only him. The sharp edges of his jawline caught the flickering strobe lights, casting shadows that made his features seem more angular, almost predatory. His eyes stayed locked on yours, unblinking, unyielding. There was a quiet confidence in the way he carried himself, the kind that spoke of someone who was used to getting what he wanted. It wasn’t just confidence—it was something more. Something that bordered on arrogance, as if he already knew you’d come to him. 

This wasn’t the first time you’d caught someone staring in a place like this. Clubs were hunting grounds, after all, full of strangers searching for connection, distraction, or something more fleeting. But there was something different about him. His gaze wasn’t just an invitation; it was a challenge. And for a brief, electric moment, you were frozen under its weight. 

You forced yourself to look away, turning your attention back to the bar. The cool glass of your drink pressed against your palm was a welcome distraction, grounding you in the present. You took a long sip, letting the alcohol burn its way down your throat, trying to steady the fluttering in your chest. But the feeling didn’t fade. You could still feel his eyes on you, the weight of his attention pressing against your skin like a physical touch. 

It wasn’t just your imagination. There was a pull, an undeniable gravity that made it impossible to ignore him. The air around you seemed to shift, charged with an energy you couldn’t quite explain. Even as you stared into your glass, willing yourself to focus on anything else, your body betrayed you. The hairs on the back of your neck stood on end, your senses attuned to the subtle shift of movement behind you. 

And then, he was there.

He moved with an easy confidence, slipping through the crowd like he belonged there, like the chaos bent around him instead of the other way around. Suddenly, he was beside you, close enough that you could feel the faint brush of his presence against your arm, close enough that the sharp scent of musk and cologne reached you. It was intoxicating, the kind of scent that lingered in your mind long after it was gone. 

“Mind if I join you, bella?” His voice was low and smooth, the kind of tone that could cut through even the loudest music and still make itself heard. It wasn’t a question as much as it was a statement, his words carrying the same quiet command as his gaze. 

And despite yourself, you found it impossible to say no. 

You turned toward him, the name Santino slipping effortlessly from his lips as he extended his hand. His presence felt larger up close, the air around him charged with something you couldn’t quite define. His smile was subtle, a hint of something teasing at the edges, but his eyes—those dark, penetrating eyes—remained steady, locked on yours like they could see past your defenses. 

“Santino,” he said again, as if his name were a secret he was letting you in on. “And you are?”

For a moment, you hesitated, caught off guard by his confidence. There was something about him that made the usual exchange of names feel like more than just a formality. Your name left your lips before you could stop yourself, your voice quieter than you intended. His smile widened just slightly, as though he’d been waiting for you to speak.

“It suits you, bella” he said smoothly, his gaze never breaking from yours. 

The noise of the club, the beat of the music, even the press of bodies around you—all of it faded as his presence took up every inch of your awareness. It was unnerving, this pull he seemed to have, like an invisible thread tethered you to him. Yet, you couldn’t deny the thrill that came with it, the way your pulse quickened as he leaned in just slightly closer.

“You looked like you could use a drink, bella” he said, signaling to the bartender without waiting for your answer. “Something strong, maybe? Or sweet?”

You glanced at your half-empty glass, suddenly unsure whether you wanted another drink—or whether you wanted him to stay. There was an intensity about Santino, the way he moved and spoke with deliberate care, that made you feel like every action was calculated. It should have set off alarm bells, but instead, it intrigued you. 

“Sweet,” you replied, your voice steadier this time. 

Santino smirked, like he approved of your choice, and turned back to the bartender. You took the moment to study him more closely. His features were sharp, almost too perfect, like they’d been carved with precision. His dark hair was tousled just enough to seem effortless, though you suspected it wasn’t. He was the kind of man who turned heads without trying, someone who knew the power he held in a room like this. 

When the drink arrived, he slid it across the bar toward you. “To good company, bella” he said, raising his own glass—where he’d gotten it, you weren’t sure. 

You clinked your glass against his, the sound drowned out by the pounding music, and took a sip. The drink was sweeter than you expected, the flavor lingering on your tongue. Santino watched you with a quiet intensity, his expression unreadable but his attention unwavering. 

“So,” he began, his tone conversational, though there was an edge to it. “What brings someone like you here tonight? Looking for a distraction?” 

The question caught you off guard, but his delivery was so smooth, so natural, that you found yourself answering before you even had time to think. “Something like that.”

Santino nodded, as though he understood more than you were saying. “A good distraction can work wonders,” he said, his voice dropping just slightly. “If it’s the right kind, that is.”

There was something about the way he said it, the way his words seemed to linger in the air between you, that sent a shiver down your spine. You didn’t know what to make of him, of the way he seemed to command your attention so effortlessly. And yet, a part of you didn’t want to leave, even as the rational side of your mind told you this was dangerous ground.

[fellhellion]

can persona fans ever be normal about fat people. will persona fans ever be normal about fat people. can persona the series ever be normal about fat characters.

[onyourstageleft]

I'm going to be a certified library professional in a few short weeks, I have a solid understanding of the need to read broadly and should have a strong personal commitment to doing so, but more often than not, I end up reading fanfic for the one relatively obscure YA universe that has engrained itself into my very being rather than reading literally anything else and I don't know how to feel about it