#I don’t know the right way to do this don’t judge me

[myownconsultant]

As someone who gave my “parents” a “second chance” and moved back in with them again & again, don’t do it, if you can. I only did it because it was a quick decision, I had no real support system. I was on the verge of tears, panic attacks, and I couldn’t find shelter or anywhere else that would take me in in a short amount of time. But there’s plenty of reasons of why this is so hard to permanently cut ties in the first place, and I’m not going to get into all that..but if you’ve never had to deal with these types of parents you would never understand, and if you’re not gonna help the person get out of the situation safely & actually support them fully, and not demonize them, then you have no say, no right to judge, and should be minding your business. Yes, I’ve realized we all have that choice to make, and sometimes you may need to trust strangers, but that’s not easy either, let’s all try to give each other grace no matter what peoples situation is. The last I want to feel is a burden, so it was easier to decline offers, (most are working w/ your family / parents so you gotta be careful) ofc I didn’t/don’t want to rely on abusive/toxic people anymore. And if you’ve had parents like mine, you would know that you can’t even talk to them about any problem or about moving out without them trying to sabotage it or getting angry, pretending to help, only to go back to putting your life in danger again. Then if you’ve ever gone no contact or tried to cut them off, they will get revenge on you, in my case they thought it was justified. 🤷🏻‍♀️ So yes it’s really that easy and your life will be a walk in the park after, anything but that..This sh*t is hell and I pray we all find a way to cope and move forward.

[hoshifighting]

LYLAAAAAAAAA OMG ILYSM EAT ABD SKEEP AND DRINK WELL!!!

if you don't mind a req, Jihoon (or svt reaction) when he finds how good it feels to use a shower spray against the hoohaa

clit stimulation using shower spray w woozi <33

WARNINGS: situationship!woozi, bath sex, using shower head to masturbate, dirty talk, mentions of body fluids (cum)

it always started like this with jihoon—blurred lines that somehow felt crystal clear when you were with him. like, you knew what it was, but did you really? dude would pass by your place at 10 p.m. like, “you eat yet? i got chicken katsu.” then, five hours later, he’s snoring on your couch, legs tangled with yours, an arm slung over your stomach like he lived there. and yeah, maybe he didn’t outright say things, but actions...oh, he was fluent.

tonight wasn’t any different. except it was.

you were mid-rant to your group chat about some guy hitting on you at the café when jihoon’s name popped up. jihoon: "should i bring dumplings or ramen? heading over." like. no question if you wanted him over; just straight vibes of "you good? i’m on my way."

fast-forward, and somehow, you ended up here—in the shower, your body pressed up against the tiles while jihoon held your leg like he was tuning a guitar. the steam made everything feel hazy, as he rinsed the soapy bubbles from your body.

the shower spray hit your inner thigh, the pressure tracing lazy lines up to places he wasn’t even aiming for. “lift a little,” he mumbled, voice low like the water could hear him. his hand slid behind your knee, steadying you like it wasn’t a big deal, but when that stream hit right at your clit. your breath stuttered, sharp enough to make his brows knit together.

“what?” he asked, head tilting like a curious cat. the fucker.

you shook your head, mortified.

his lips twitched, like he didn’t fully buy it, but he adjusted the angle anyway, aiming higher. too high. a broken moan fell out of your mouth, and your hand flew to his shoulder, digging in like it could stop time. it didn’t.

jihoon froze, the stream still very much pressing where it shouldn’t. “wait.” his tone was careful, but the corners of his mouth betrayed him. “does that—does it feel good?”

you groaned, smacking your forehead against his collarbone. “don’t.”

“i’m not judging!” he insisted, but the joy in his voice was hella obvious. “just—wait. do you do this by yourself? like, on purpose?”

“oh my god, stop talking.” you could feel your face burning, like the steam was actively conspiring against you.

jihoon chuckled under his breath, this low, knowing sound that made your embarrassment worse. “okay, okay. no answer needed.” he adjusted the spray, the water softening into a gentler stream, but he didn’t let go of your leg. didn’t pull away either.

the shower went silent for a beat, save for the soft patter of water hitting tiles. you thought that was it—mortification over, donezo. until jihoon, of course, had to ruin it.

“so... you want me to keep going?”

your gaze flickered to him, catching the way his eyes softened regardless the sneer tugging at his lips. you bit your lip, heart pounding louder than the water. and then, quietly, like you were confessing to a crime, you mumbled, “mhmm.”

his grip on your leg tightened just a fraction, his smirk deepening. “okay,” he whispered, so gentle it made your chest ache. “just relax, yeah?”

his hand tightened around your thigh like he was steadying himself, except you knew it was for you. the spray hadn’t moved yet, still teasing the edge of your inner thigh, the warm water trailing in lazy streaks down your skin. jihoon adjusted his grip slightly, his thumb grazing the back of your knee.

“you good?” his voice was soft, almost too soft, and when you peeked up at him, his eyes weren’t mocking anymore. he looked focused. calm. it made your chest twist in ways you weren’t ready to deal with.

you nodded, swallowing hard. “yeah.”

“okay.” he glanced down, adjusting the showerhead with his free hand, the click of the spray setting sounding far too loud in the intimate quiet of the bathroom. then, like he’d done it a thousand times before, he tilted the stream closer, the water landing in a direct line that made your toes curl.

“jihoon—” your voice cracked, half his name, half a choke, and your body jolted on reflex. the spray circled over your clit, not quite a flick but not soft either, the pressure just shy of overwhelming.

he paused instantly, pulling the water back. “too much?”

“no, no,” you rushed, your hand gripping his shoulder like it was your lifeline. “just—fuck, i wasn’t ready.”

his lips curved into the faintest smirk, a tiny dimple ghosting one cheek. “should’ve said something. i could’ve warned you.”

you grumbled, heat blooming up your neck, he was already moving again, guiding the water in slow circles. it was gentle at first, the warmth rolling over you, but as he shifted his wrist, tilting the angle just slightly, the stream narrowed, honing in on that one spot.

your hips bucked forward, a strangled whine slipping from your throat, and jihoon chuckled low under his breath. “there it is,” he murmured, almost like he was talking to himself. “feels good, hmm?”

you wanted to snap at him, to tell him to stop talking like he wasn’t wrecking you in the middle of your own bathroom, but the words dissolved into a needy moan as he flicked the stream upward, the water hitting just right. your fingers dug into his arm, and you swore your knees might give out.

“careful,” he said, his tone shifting to something softer, his hand sliding to cup your hip as his forearm holds the back of your knee now, grounding you. “don’t go falling on me now.”

“easy for you to say,” you bit out, your voice trembling, but he only hummed in response.

he switched the spray again, this time narrowing it even more, and when he angled it just below your clit, letting the water ripple against you in a teasing rhythm, your head tipped back against the tile. “holy fuck,” you choked, legs trembling.

jihoon’s smirk widened, but his grip didn’t falter. “yeah?” he asked. “you like that, hmm?”

your only response was a broken whimper, and his hand flexed against your hip like he was fighting the urge to pull you closer. “relax,” he murmured, his voice steady even as his own breath hitched slightly. “just let it happen. i got you.”

you did relax, maybe too much, because the next moment, your leg wobbled, your body sliding just enough to make you panic. but jihoon moved instantly, catching you before you could even process it, his arm locking around your waist while he adjusted the spray back to that perfect rhythm.

“gotcha,” he said, and there was something in his voice—pride, maybe, or just satisfaction at the way you melted into him. “thought you were gonna make me work for it.”

you glared weakly at him, your cheeks burning, but it only made him laugh, the sound soft and familiar, grounding you even as your body threatened to unravel.

“don’t worry,” he added, his voice dipping as the spray circled again, the pressure building making your vision blur. “i’m not stopping ‘til you’re begging me to.”

jihoon adjusted the spray again, sharper now, the stream jolting directly onto your clit. it wasn’t gentle, wasn’t soft. the sound that ripped from your throat wasn’t human, and your body arched against the tile, your back curving like a bowstring pulled too tight. your neck stretched, your breasts lifting as your lungs fought for air, and he didn’t move.

he just watched. studied, really. his eyes darted between yours, flicking from one to the other, then down to your parted lips, swollen and trembling. but then, as if he couldn’t resist, his gaze fell lower, trailing the path of your shivering belly, your chest rising and falling in frantic bursts.

his grip on your waist tightened, keeping you steady as your legs buckled again. the way you shook wasn’t subtle—your entire body was trembling, your muscles pulled taut under his hands. but jihoon didn’t stop. he tilted the stream slightly, letting the water flick at just the right angle again, and the sound that escaped you was downright obscene, echoing off the walls of the bathroom.

“fuck, jihoon—” your voice cracked on his name, and the way his lips twitched into a barely-there smirk made you want to scream for an entirely different reason.

“yes?” he asked, his tone smooth, but his breath wasn’t. it was uneven, shaky, like he was feeling this just as much as you were. “i can feel it—you’re so close.”

he was right. too right. the pressure built and built, your thighs clenching around nothing as your core tightened, heat pooling low in your belly and spilling over. the water, the angle, his goddamn voice—it was all too much.

“hoon, i—fuck, i’m—” the words dissolved into a scream as your orgasm tore through you. your hips jerked forward, your body trembling uncontrollably as the spray kept hitting that same devastating spot. your moans were loud, messy, your breath hitching in sobs as your climax rolled on.

jihoon didn’t move, his hand firm on your waist, keeping you upright as your legs gave out completely. he looked mesmerized, his jaw tight, his eyes flickering between your face and your trembling pussy. “fuck,” he whispered like he didn’t mean for you to hear it.

but the spray didn’t let up. even as you sagged against him, your hands clutching his arms for dear life, the water kept its merciless rhythm, and your overstimulated nerves lit up like fireworks. “jihoon,” you whimpered. “s-stop—too much, it’s—”

he blinked out of his trance, his fingers brushing your hip in silent reassurance before he turned the showerhead aside, finally giving you mercy. the sudden absence of stimulation left you gasping.

jihoon’s gaze dropped, and when he saw it—saw the string of your cum clinging to your folds before dripping down to the tile—his breath hitched. it was wet, but wasn’t water; it couldn’t have been. it was too viscous, too familiar. the memory of your taste, sweet and unique flickered in his mind, and he swallowed hard.

[p0orbaby]

I have a possible blurb request for mary earps please??

r still lives in england and mary’s over with psg. mary comes back from paris for international duty and finally gets to see r again.

maybe mary surprises r by coming back a day early and comes home to see r in mary’s psg shirt

-

The flat is too quiet, but you’ve learned to live with that. Mary’s voice used to echo through the place—she’s not exactly subtle when she’s home—but with her in Paris, it’s been quieter. Not lonely, exactly. Just… quieter.

Now, the only noise comes from the hum of the kettle and the faint tinny sound of some reality TV rerun you’ve half-watched four times already. You’re standing in the kitchen, her oversized PSG shirt hanging off you, half-distracted as you wait for the water to boil. It’s the away kit—black and gold—soft from too many washes. She left it behind, and you’ve convinced yourself she wouldn’t mind.

The kettle clicks off. You pour the water over a tea bag, take a sip too soon, and immediately regret your life choices.

It’s fine. It’s all fine. You’ve survived this long-distance thing so far, even if it’s been weeks since you’ve had so much as a proper hug. Mary texts, she calls, she sends voice notes when she’s bored on team buses, but it’s not the same. You keep busy—work, friends, this new phase of your life where you apparently cosplay as a PSG superfan when no one’s looking.

Then there’s a sound. A faint jingle of keys.

You freeze.

No one else has keys.

“Don’t freak out,” comes a voice from the door. Familiar. Dry. A little smug.

Your tea sloshes onto the counter as you whip around, heart hammering.

Mary’s standing there, suitcase at her feet, coat hanging off one shoulder like she’s just walked out of a bloody rom-com. Except this is your kitchen, and rom-com Mary probably wouldn’t be grinning so much at the sight of you in her shirt.

“You’re back,” you say, because your brain is apparently still catching up.

“Early,” she clarifies, stepping inside. She looks far too pleased with herself, green eyes glittering as she takes you in. “Nice shirt, by the way”

You look down like you’ve forgotten what you’re wearing. “Oh, this old thing? Found it lying around”

“Hmm. Looks better on you, honestly.” She sets her suitcase aside and crosses the room in two strides, pulling you into her arms before you can think of a reply.

The hug is as good as you remembered. Maybe better. Her warmth seeps into you, and you breathe in the familiar scent of her—something clean, fresh, with an undertone of cheap hotel shampoo.

“God, I missed you,” she mutters against your hair.

“You didn’t tell me you were coming back early”

“Yeah, well.” She pulls back just enough to look at you, hands still on your waist. “I thought a surprise might be fun. Looks like I was right”

You laugh softly, looping your arms around her neck. “You were right. For a change”

She tilts her head, grinning. “This time? How often am I wrong?”

You don’t answer, just kiss her instead. It’s been too long, and judging by the way she immediately tightens her grip on you, she feels the same.

When you finally pull away, you’re both a little breathless.

“So,” she says, voice lighter now, “are you going to keep that shirt on, or do I get my wardrobe back?”

You raise an eyebrow. “What makes you think I’m giving it back?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” she says, her grin turning cheeky as she leans in, voice dropping just enough to make your heart stutter. “I might have a few ideas to convince you”

Your tea goes cold on the counter, but you don’t really care.

[creamflix]

Hello!

For the Christmas event, may I request Takuma + ribbons (naughty)

I love to read all your stuff ❤️ Thank you very much for your hard work!

you’ve received a gift! ⋆˚𝜗𝜚˚⋆ want your own gift? ・:〃➜ click here! 

TAKUMA’s logic, as weird as it might sound, was simple: if he could catch your attention with something as ridiculous as a ribbon choker, why not lean all the way in?

he’d spent a solid twenty minutes in front of the mirror, adjusting the silky red bow he’d tied around his neck. he tilted his head this way and that, smirking at his reflection like the self-proclaimed genius he was.

"this’ll do the trick," he muttered, satisfied, before striding out like a man on a mission.

the second your eyes land on him, he knows he’s got you. your gaze dips to his neck, widening slightly before narrowing with a mix of curiosity and something... hungrier. you’re not even subtle about it, and honestly? he loves that for him.

“what’s this?” you ask, raising an eyebrow, but your voice is already laced with amusement.

“what? you don’t like my little christmas touch?” he tugs at the ribbon playfully, a coy smile dancing on his lips. “figured it was festive. don’t tell me you’re judging me.”

you’re not judging. far from it, actually.

but the sight of him standing there, head tilted just enough to expose the column of his neck adorned with that ridiculous yet undeniably alluring ribbon, has you reeling.

“you’re ridiculous,” you murmur, stepping closer, your fingers brushing lightly against the bow.

“ridiculously hot?” he quips, grinning like he’s already won.

you roll your eyes, but there’s no denying the heat pooling in your stomach as your fingers trail along the soft fabric, tugging it just slightly. his breath catches, and you glance up to find his expression faltering, cocky confidence replaced by something more eager, more vulnerable.

“you did this on purpose,” you accuse, your voice softer now.

“maybe.” his smirk wavers, a nervous laugh slipping out as your lips brush against his neck. “i mean, festive spirit and all, right? thought — ah!”

your mouth latches onto the spot just above the bow, sucking hard enough to make him gasp. his hands instinctively grip your waist, and his knees threaten to buckle when your teeth graze his skin.

“this,” you murmur against his neck, lips ghosting over the blooming mark, “is what you wanted, isn’t it?”

“uh-huh,” he breathes, voice shaky, all pretense of wit gone. “mission accomplished, right?”

you don’t reply, too busy marking him up like he’s the last candycane in the house. his fingers flex against you, his breath coming in short, needy bursts as you move to another spot, determined to leave a trail of bruises in your wake.

by the time you’re done, takuma’s a mess.

his face is flushed, his lips parted, and his neck is littered with dark marks peeking out from under the ribbon.

“guess i’ll need to invest in a turtleneck,” he says, voice rough but teasing, as he tugs you closer.

“unless you want everyone to know exactly what you did to me.”

you smirk, brushing your thumb over one of the darker marks. “oh, they’ll know. no turtleneck is hiding that.”

he groans, burying his face in your shoulder. “why do i feel like this backfired on me?”

“because it did,” you whisper, pressing a kiss to his temple. “but it was worth it, wasn’t it?”

he laughs, muffled against your skin. “absolutely.”

produced by creamflix on tumblr. all rights reserved. do not copy, steal, modify, repost — support your writers by liking and reblogging. ♡

[oddaesthetin]

simping over him — lee jooyeon

fluff

—

jooyeon sits next to you on the couch, all long legs and that dumb grin that makes your brain short-circuit. you don’t know what’s worse—the fact that he’s wearing that particular hoodie you like on him or the way his neck is just there.

like, WHO gave him permission? his hair is still damp from the shower. he looks wrecked, judging by his toned down loudness. three days of nonstop performing would do that to anyone, but here he is, lounging like it’s no big deal.

“you good?” he asks, glancing at you from where he’s propped up against the couch. he’s tired, you can see it in the way his shoulders sag a little and how his usual energy is dialed down to a lazy grin. but there’s still something mischievous in his tone, like he knows you’re one heartbeat away from blowing up.

he’s right, by the way.

you’re trying to focus on literally anything else—the pile of laundry you’ve been ignoring, the weird stain on the carpet, the meaning of life—but no, your brain’s like jooyeon’s neck, jooyeon’s neck, jooyeon’s—

you shift uncomfortably, trying to focus on the TV instead of, well, him. the way his hoodie hangs loose around his collarbones is driving you insane. you’ve been doing so well all weekend, keeping your thoughts appropriate, but now? now, the universe has you cornered.

“could you please get your neck away from me?” you blurt out, crossing your arms and leaning as far away as the couch allows. “i’ve fought so hard to remove that image of your neck i saw from pinterest on my mind, and i don’t think i can go through that again.”

jooyeon blinks at you, caught off guard. he freezes. did you just say you’ve been thinking about his neck?

suddenly, the fatigue that had been weighing him down for days? gone. vanished. wiped from existence. he feels alive.

his eyebrows shoot up, and for a second, you think he didn’t hear you. then, he bursts out laughing, the kind of laugh that makes his voice high-pitched, shoulders shake and his eyes crinkle, and okay, now this is worse.

“my neck?” he wheezes, clutching his stomach like you’ve just delivered the punchline of the century.

“yes, your neck!” you glare at him, but it’s hard to stay mad when he’s laughing like that. “someone posted that stupid picture of yours looking all worked up with your head thrown back and your veins showing— and oh my god, describing it is so weird but now i can’t look at you without thinking about it. so move. away.”

instead of moving away, he leans in closer, his face way too close to yours. “you’re saying you’re obsessed with my neck?”

“jooyeon, i swear to god—”

“no, no, go on,” he says, grinning like the menace he is. “tell me more about how my neck haunts your dreams.”

he’s losing it inside—but the way you’re burying your face in your hands makes his chest feel lighter, like he could run another concert right now, fueled entirely by your flustered energy.

“this is why i don’t tell you things,” you mumble, voice muffled.

“but you did,” he teases, poking your arm. “and now i’m never gonna let you forget it.”

you peek at him through your fingers, narrowing your eyes. “you’re insufferable.”

“and you’re obsessed with my neck.”

“oh my god, shut up.”

he laughs again, softer this time, and when you finally pull your hands away from your face, he’s looking at you with that stupidly fond expression that makes your chest feel all warm and weird.

“don’t worry,” he says, tilting his head with a smirk that should be illegal. “my neck’s all yours. if you want, you can even mark it up.”

your brain short-circuits so hard you can barely process his words. he tries stifling a laugh after he see you pause and your jaw literally drop. this’ll be worth it, he thought.

“what—who says that?!” you choke, smacking his shoulder like it’ll erase the memory.

he shrugs, all casual, like his insides aren’t doing somersaults. “i’m just saying, if you’re this obsessed, we might as well make it official.”

you grab a pillow and smack him square in the face. he yelps, laughing as he tries to shield himself, but you’re relentless, fueled by sheer embarrassment and the need to wipe that smirk off his stupidly handsome face.

“ow—hey! violence?!” he yelps, laughing as he tries to shield himself. his cheeks hurt from smiling, and his heart’s doing that weird thing again, the one it always does around you.

when you finally stop, breathless and red-faced, he leans back on the couch, watching you with the kind of quiet confidence that makes your stomach flip.

“you know,” he says, voice soft and teasing, “you’re kind of cute when you’re flustered.”

you groan, flopping back against the couch and covering your face again. and your boyfriend?

he just grins like an idiot, feeling more energized than he has in days.

you can have his neck.

you already have the rest of him, anyway.

—

© oddaesthetin 2024

[fishing-lesbian-catgirl]

So I have chronic nosebleed problem…

(spoiling bc it’s really gross to even talk about and most people don’t like talking about blood) (no pictures or anything like that though just text) (only typing this because it was a weird fucking experience and I need to tell someone or I’m going to go insane) (⚠️‼️I warned you‼️⚠️)

And today I got the worst nosebleed probably in my entire life since I started getting them like 14 years ago. The blood was dripping really fucking fast to the point that there was almost no space in between each drop. I’m not on blood thinners or anything but for a bit there I was worried that it might never end. After a few minutes of this, letting it drip into the sink, morbid curiosity got the best of me. I plugged the bottom of the sink and let the blood pile up at the bottom without running water or anything, I wanted to get a visual for just how much blood I was losing.

My nose kept bleeding for over an hour, and it only started slowing down in the last 20 minutes or so. The entire bottom of the sink was a pool of blood deep enough that I could submerge my hand in it (my hands already had blood on em and I was going to clean everything and then wash em anyway, so I had to at least see how deep it was. Yes that is a weird and gross thing to do, but I was bored after sitting there letting my nose drip into a sink for over an hour, don’t judge me).

(Even more disgusting text below warning)‼️

And because blood isn’t really just a liquid it was a really weird texture, kind of like pudding that congeals and has that mass on the top when it cools, it was like a semisolid mass submerged in water. I could grab the mass and squish it through my fingers. It was so fucking weird idk if I’ve ever seen a liquid or semi-liquid with textures and properties like that. It was kind of cool, in a weird nasty way. I realized that’s probably not a thing most people get to or have to experience. The blood was kind of cold at that point, nearing room temperature.

It was really interesting getting to see just how much blood I lost from a nosebleed that bad. Normally I’m constantly trying to plug the bleeding, clean the sink, or fill the sink with a pool of water to drip into so it doesn’t make as much of a mess, or am in the shower, so even if I spend an hour bleeding into a sink I have no clue how much I’ve actually lost. I’ve heard people say that if you feel dizzy or weak after a nosebleed (or when they draw a small vial of blood for a blood test) that it’s mostly placebo making you feel that way, not the small loss of blood. But that was soooo much more than a vial for a blood test. I feel physically weak and woozy. I’m really dehydrated too. It’s neat to know it’s not just a placebo I was right all along.

[croissantsandblackcoffee]

brian quinn ⊹ i got a taste for men who are older

— wrote this with a heavy heart :( stacy patella watch out (can anyone tell i got impatient and jumped straight to the sex) (guys sorry i can’t write proper smut. virgin writer obsessed with sex here)

you open your mouth as if to say something the second you see your friends step away from you with a couple of guys — do they even know each other? — and it’s like they disappear, leaving you there by yourself.

you don’t like bars or clubs, you don’t like drinking, in the first place. why did you even bother coming all with your girl friends?

sitting there alone now, with your mocktail your friends ordered not even five minutes ago, you’re starting to feel self conscious. you don’t know anyone here, you don’t know what to do to pass the time until (and that’s if) one of your girl friends is grabbing you by your arm drunkenly and you have to take her and yourself back to your apartment.

you’re trying to lose yourself in your thoughts and focus on the music that’s playing, hoping time could pass faster, when you feel someone sit directly next to you — you turn your head to look at the person. surely they’re just drunk and they bumped into the nearest empty seat? but no, the man with the salt-and-pepper beard, baseball cap on his head, and ring on his left hand (which you take notice of almost immediately) looks as sober as a judge, and he’s looking right at you.

he asks you for your name, which you give to him, and he nods towards your drink. shyly, you tell him, “oh, i don’t drink — but my friend got it for me, so…”

by the way he simply nods, he must have figured out you got dumped by your friend group, so he sits a little closer to you, and before you know it, you two start up a conversation.

“oh, my gosh, oh, my gosh,” you repeatedly whispered under your breath as you bounced up and down on his cock. what was his name? anyway, you couldn’t remember anything that happened at the club, you just knew that the guy took you to his apartment at one point, and his cock was just too good to be true.

with him leaning against the couch, with you on top, basically jumping on him, he lifted his hands up to your tits, shamelessly playing and twisting with your nipples.he seemed to be mumbling praises, but you couldn’t hear him over your own whines and moans, and the wet sounds from his cock entering and exiting your wet pussy.

[eclipse-rosewood]

Rusty nodded and grabbed eclipse’s phone he turned to her rolling his eyes as she held back a a sob he was about to call her father when eclipse lifted her head.

“ you really think just because we’re royals that we don’t have our own struggles? That we just let things happen this way? That we want this? that all royals are selfish and greedy? You're not the ones who judge us and hate us for our lifestyle or upbringing it’s all the time and everywhere we don’t just sit around being served and catered to we can take care of ourselves just fine. I know for a fact royals can be generous my father is a prime example he helps homeless imps he build shelters and makes donations for food and supplies. I wasn’t born a Royal I was adopted after my parents where killed RIGHT IN FRONT OF ME! I was sold to an abusive megalomaniac mob boss as an attack hound after that I hated imps and shark demons for what happened to me! “

she took a deep breath trying to calm herself before continuing

“ I eventually realized not all imps and shark species are bad just the ones who make bad choices life throws anything and everything at you ….it’s up to YOU to make good choices and change seeing others for who they are not what they are.”

Rusty scoffs at her outburst kneeling down at her eye level

“ yer sob story ain’t gonna change nothin just shut yer trap not sure if ya got siblings but if ya do shut it for their sake, birdie over there has a kid and if he behaves she won’t get hurt.”

eclipse snarled glaring at him

“ I don’t care who you are…..threatening a child is cowardly! You are nothing but a manipulative coward!”

Rusty snarled and grabbed her from the back of the head grabbing a knife aiming for her mouth threatening to cut out her tongue but then grabbed a cloth tying it around her muzzle.

Eclipse was walking when she heard guitar and a southern voice she followed it , upon finding the source she froze .

“ he’s…he’s real? “

she backed away to avoid the dangerous assassin having heard of his legacy , suddenly she steps on a branch.

(( I get super detailed it’s striker she found btw ))

Striker was just idly strumming his guitar rythmically, occasionally mixing in lyrics as he tried to just run his thoughts out through music, kinda caught up in it, but upon hearing the telltale sound of a branch snapping under someone's foot, his tail rattled as he pulled his guitar aside and grabbed his revolver, quickly catching the Hellhound in his sights as he rose a brow, she certainly didn't look like anyone involved with any of his enemies.

He stood up from the bench while keeping his gun trained on her, still holding his guitar in his other hand "Mind telling me what yer doing sneaking about? Not many good reasons to be doing that." Striker noted, gesturing with his fire arm a bit, before he breathed out.

"Mind you, I won't hurt ya unless ya make me." He pointed out, a tired weight to his eyes. not wanting to pick a fight unless she meant harm.

[seeminglyseph]

If you want a lazy way to make two ingredient fudge or something. Condensed milk is your secret second ingredient that is actually like multiple ingredients in one babe. Just melt your chocolate chips or whatever and cook it and whip it in condensed milk. There’s a proper recipe for it, but condensed milk is the secret ingredient for desserts without a lot of effort or other stuff. And it’s fucking delicious. You might gotta learn the right way to temper chocolate so it doesn’t become a grainy nightmare but that’s just. How chocolate is. That’s how chocolate works. You gotta stir it and heat it special or it will betray you because chocolate is a temperamental bitch, but condensed milk is the saviour of all desserts.

Condensed milk also can make a great lazy bitch flan. Idk the right way to make a flan. But I do know a lazy bitch way to make a flan and it’s like. 1 can Sweetened condensed milk, 2 cups heavy cream, 5 eggs, 1 cup milk, 2 teaspoons vanilla, and and sugar to make caramel to line the like pan or whatever. You just put all the ingredients but the caramel in one bowl and mix it with your beater or put it in a blender and just like whip it real good until it’s like fucking fully agitated and mixed and maybe the cream and eggs are getting a little like of a mind to get like. Into their smoothness. But they can’t cause the liquid and egg yolks and shit are like a little too destabilizing.

And then you take like a roast pan and fill it with water and you take the like pan that has a caramel lining (and I forgot to mention when you’re lining the pan with the caramel that caramel is like the hottest shit in the world. This is a torture method. Don’t fucking touch this shit. Sugar is sticky and caramel is hot. It will burn and it won’t come off so it will take skin with it. Fucking. Be careful don’t fucking touch it. Don’t do this part if you’re a small or inexperienced person. Carmel’s not a fucking joke. It’s like necessary for this thing to taste right, I think the flan tastes too sweet without the caramel which sounds weird ‘cause it’s extra sugar and maybe I just burn the shit out of the Carmel and do it wrong but like, it adds a good flavour to me. But like. Hazardous to your flesh. Very hot. Be careful.

Anyway to cook the flan properly put the flan pan in a pan with water. Then preheat the oven to 350 degrees F or 175 degrees C (you should maybe do this before you mix shit but I forgot to write it down I didn’t know this was gonna be a recipe or whatever I’m fucking. Distracted. I think I got this from AllRecipes. It’s printed out in a binder right now. Don’t credit me.)

Bake it for about an hour then like. Cool it a bit because it’s gonna be too hot too even touch, but also like, uh, clear some space in your fridge and maybe put down a potholder or one of those cool silicone ones that keep heat from damaging you counter or whatever. And put the flan in your fridge for either like 2 hours or overnight. I prefer the overnight technique it makes sure sure the flan is fully set.

Then you can put a plate over the pan and flip it and sorta wiggle it until it releases and you got yourself a nice dessert. 🍮

Technically this doesn’t sound like a lazy bitch dessert ‘cause it’s a lot, but mostly it’s just waiting. And caramel being a hot bitch that’s dangerous if you’re not careful.

[autistic-katara]

there r fics that make u insane (so amazingly good it’s removed ur sanity) and then there’s fics that make u insane (you need to fistfight the author for how they did a specific thing that caused u to rant for hours)

[catastrxblues]

—

[blackbatcass]

oh my god just saw a truly horrible post. save me competent corner of the dc fandom

[s0urte3th]

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

[stonechild]

x

[sharkieboi]

watching Face Off s6 cause they released some more seasons to stream and man I forgot how almost everything about s6 makes me so angry

edit: just realized I’m a fool I was taking about season 6 not season 8. fixed the tags I could but sorry the numbers moved around in my mind 💀💀💀

[coffee-at-annies]

Excellent essay about what it means to be required to perform social media for jobs and why it can be exhausting.

A couple quotes stood out to me (and I’m quoting them below) as someone who struggles with wanting to participate in fandom whole-heartedly and also feeling like I have to participate in specific ways or I’m doing it wrong.

“I, on the other hand, have never desired a life lived out loud. I wish to put my energies into spaces that reward the quieter contemplations I find comfort in.”

I’m not gonna lie, it’s nice to see number go up on posts and notifications in my activity tab. It can feel disheartening when number doesn’t go up and I put effort into something. It’s hard to be loud and to do it constantly.

Idk there’s an evil little voice in the back of my head that says if I was just doing xyz better I’d have more followers. It’s evil because while I like interacting on tumblr I don’t have it in me to shout or post in the way that gets hundreds of thousands of followers. I’m happy with a quiet group of mutuals and chatting with whoever is online during game days like we’re hanging out at the same sports bar. I struggle sometimes with wanting to be big when really I’m much happier being small. This isn’t even for a job like the article, it’s just for me, and I still have that voice saying you should do more.

…”another of “performed” online interactions, where I must sift through the messiness of my not-so-great-for-the-interwebs feelings, thoughts and behaviors, in favour of something re-constructed, wiped down, pristine. “Succeeding” on a social platform (i.e. mapping onto their growth pathways) requires a steady stream of performance: whether that is goofing off in a short video, shooting off pithy or incendiary missives, or offering a treadmill of How-Tos in exchange for coronation of various titles—professional, scholar, activist. Whether this self we present is a curated version of our IRL selves or a completely made up one is moot. The game is performance.”

This right here hits at the root of some of my messy feelings about blogging. It’s all a performance. That’s not bad since all self is a performance anyway. The question is who am I performing for and am I happy about it? I struggle sometimes with the guilt I feel if I’m not performing; if my queue runs out; if I skip a game; if I’m not here participating in the group sad. I take a lot of my negative feelings offline and go quiet for a reason. That feeling of needing to perform, especially after bad games, makes the bad feelings linger and doesn’t improve my life. The need to be creating content constantly can be stressful. Letting my blog go quiet is self care.

One of my boundaries is I don’t owe my followers my feelings and if I don’t want to blog about it I simply don’t. Of course sometimes people get testy if you’re not talking about the issue of the week. (Sometimes that person is my own guilt complex because brains suck). Idk. There’s parts of me that feel like I owe the performance. That if I’m not creating or reblogging content then why am I on here? That by following me, my followers are obliged to get some sort of behind the curtain inner thought process or I’m required to comment on every little scandal or tragedy that comes out of fandom or the news or whatever. That’s exhausting. It’s so exhausting.

Idk. Getting a little bit personal and a little bit venty but it feels like fandom has a “you must be this active or creative to get noticed” goalpost and I’ve never felt like I could hit it. Even when I felt like it was in reach it’s always been further away than I think it is. The older I get and the longer I’m in fandom(s), the more it feels like something that’s not worth trying for. I’ll keep my 10 notes and getting yelled at (positive) by 5 mutuals cause “ouch how could you” and I’ll leave the performance to someone else.

Worth a read.