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vyzz-undercover · 5 months ago
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the voices have made this happen
[cato/f!ambassador]
(1) (2) (3) (4) (5)
(5,900ish words) (OUUGHHHHH)
CONTENT WARNINGS:
•slight dubcon
•hints of size kink [obligatory]
•vaginal fingering
•oral [f receiving]
•mild possessive behaviour
•the consequences of ignoring important medical devices
•mentions of (hypothetical) torture
•tumblrs recurringly cancerous formatting
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im back on my bullshit after having to do overnights so as payment to the dark gods of whoring and degeneracy i humbly offer this taglist of sweet darling who've indulged my insanity: @the-raven-lady, @gallifreyianrosearkytiorsusan, @bispecsual, @lemon-russ, @kit-williams, @passionofthesith, @egrets-not-regrets, @moodymisty, @sinistermojo, @justeverythingnothingelse, @pluvio-tea, @thevoidscreams, @beckyninja, @yestheantichrist!!! if you wanna be tagged (or not) in the next let me know!!! also it may take me longer to do a part four to this namely because ive got more wageslaving ahead of me soon but alas i'll definitely have rowboat girlyman catch em. also maybe give cato some top. myehehehehe,,, AND THANK YOU FOR READING AS USUAL ILY ALL!!! :3
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Cato is just about leaving.
After having spent the better part of an hour discussing the predicted destruction pathway of a hive-fleet on the system's rim with his Father; it sends his balls into his throat when you nearly run into him in the chamber's huge archway.
It only takes a fraction of a second to catalogue your presence.
You're wearing the same utilitarian blue robe as you had been last week again.
Last week, when he'd been pounding you insensible on a lounge in the library—Cato promptly quashes the insidious memory, smothering down any sort of reaction. But there is a change in comparison to the dizzying reminder: there's a new addition to the reoccurring outfit.
You've brought a navy, high-collared turtleneck into the mix, layered below your lapels.
So, the efforts of his mouth hadn't gone unheeded, then.
Throne, if he's not smug, he's got no bloody clue what he is.
Cato steps aside and turns to allow you entrance first before his exit.
"Commander Sicarius," you lilt with a soft voice and a small downward tip of your chin, all while holding his gaze.
He's transfixed periodically at the honeyed sort of warmth in your eyes.
Despite himself, he lingers and greets you with a slow, "Lady Ambassador."
The left side of his mouth twitches upward in a half-aborted smirk that he quickly tries to mask as a stern, frown-nod combination.
You break the staring match and Cato's confident he's salvaged his slip-up without detection.
Or not—because oh, fuck—if he doesn't feel the burning focus of a Primarch's eyes boring a hole into the side of his head like a brand.
It only lasts an instant, but the second is an eternity to him.
Of course, you're oblivious to this subtle exchange—and promptly trot past him to his Father's vast desk.
"My Lord Primarch," you say with a curt little bow; and then Guilliman's attention is solely on you, his favourite little pet project. "I read the data-drives you instructed from the preceding article logging. I've arranged them back to the most recent mark counts."
You're looking for an empty spot to lay them on his table, but with all the meticulously arranged stacks, it's none too easy to find one.
"Perfect," the Primarch breaths, "Just on the side there is fine, don't worry."
Obligingly, you lay them atop a small mountain of paperwork.
"Do you need anything else of me, my Lord?" You chirp brightly, the tone of your voice so very painfully sweet—Cato is nearly overwhelmed fighting a pitched battle against the urge to run over, pick you up and shake you around suddenly.
Guilliman chuckles, waving one massive hand about vaguely, "You've done more than enough for me today, why don't we leave it at that for now, hm? Go on."
"Of course; thank you, and have a good evening, my Lord," You say, bow once more, and turn on your heel from the Primarch, and—and smile at Cato as you walk back towards the exit. That's—that's the first time you've smiled at him. His twin hearts lurch, slamming forward against the inside of his fused chest cavity. It's perfect abominable. You rotten temptress, he's—he's going to rectify that audacity later. Or now, if you're... possibly heading the same direction he is. Which is whatever direction you're going, purely by chance.
It's merely coincidence, he swears.
He's certainly not planning on hounding after you like a dog tailing a bitch in heat.
He's certainly not going to drag you into a side room the second he's sure no-one with a credible opinion's around.
He's certainly not going to indulge in anything heretical, like bending you bare over his knee for daring to taunt him.
Cato makes as if to fall in step behind you as you pass the threshold before him, but is quickly halted by his Father's curt, "I do not believe you have been dismissed, Cato."
He's never been subjected to such sinking dread quite so nonchalantly.
"Approach."
Cato complies stuffily, sparing a glance at your figure disappearing down the corridor before acquiescing. He's practically dragging his ceramite boots across the intricate rugs as he nears the Primarch's seated but colossal form.
Guilliman isn't looking at him, having had returned to notating a miscellaneous form.
The scritch-scratch of his gene-sire's preferred, yet archaic method of manually writing on the parchment is like someone grating a plate with a fork to his ears right now.
"You've gotten over your petty grievances regarding the Ambassador at last, I take it?" Guilliman asks, without looking up.
It is not Cato's duty to like or dislike. Nor is it to be biased without reason—his opinions are to be intellectual, not emotional. His duty is to assess, analyse and provide feedback, so that his Primarch can take it into account when making rulings and decisions.
Cato swallows around the proverbial hunk of drywall lodged in his throat and answers, "She has proven herself... useful, yes, sire."
Guilliman finally meets his eyes but says nothing for a short while. There's dark bags under his Primarch's eyes, and the deep, stern crease permanently between his dark blonde brows is a slight bit harsher, but the only thing Cato can parse out of the expression's intent is a vague sense of knowing. Because, insofar, he's thought himself quite adept at reading his Primarch; and rather well versed in deciphering the intricacies of his moods.
And right now, he feels like he's being read like an open manuscript.
The daunting prospect Cato's caught sinks it's teeth in his gullet. It's impossible, he's not left any room for suspicion, he's covered his tracks—there's no logical reason why he should be getting raked with such a look.
His gene-sire isn't a psyker nor omniscient, just impossibly intelligent—and so absurdly good at the mathematics of plotting and planning that it only appears superficially as if he is all-seeing. He can't possibly know what Cato has been doing—or rather, who he's been doing.
"It's about time," his Father hums abruptly, suddenly disinterested. "Now you're dismissed."
Cato nods, turns on his boot heel, and nigh bolts marches out the room. His proverbial tail definitely not between his legs.
The hall outside Guilliman's apartments is a central domed area that functions as a meeting area, where people go to one of six looming hallways. It's the bottom of a series of levels; and above, three echelons encircled by arcades and balustrades, framed on the exterior by engaged columns.
But the structure itself is immense and ancient, even by Imperial standards. One of the few still-original, unaltered parts of the great Gloriana-class warship's innards. It is doused in long swathes of red carpet and great standards of Magcraggian note, alongside glorious, heroic frescoes depicting Legiones Astartes in their thousands, crusading across the heavens with the Emperor their head.
Cato keeps his head down as he passes them, uneasy with guilt. Feeling as if their lenses are following him—intent on venturing into the lower layers to brood.
Several Astartes are hovering about amongst the personnel and serfs. The baselines look up at him in awe, and his Brothers nod in respect, but he pays them all no mind.
The furthest corridor beckons him, and so he goes; down the complex system of broad walks with high, barrel vault ceilings, mazing through the vessel's higher clearance reaches like arteries through a body.
Cato is seething, and self-admittedly itching to take a howler of a swing at the next thing that speaks to him.
He cuts down the southern channel and sees one of his subordinate Victrix Guard lingering in the middle of a groin vault intersection.
The younger Astartes is about to continue straight, yet he pauses.
Brother Marcellus meets Cato's eyes for a second, clearly notes his Commander's absolutely stinking mood from a hundred meters off; nods, swallows, takes a step backward—and changes direction to go left rather than pass him.
Cato's too pissed to even linger on the strangeness of the action.
Still, he doesn't rightly blame him.
Cato strides on, back straight, chin up—the red shawl pinned beneath his pauldrons swirling behind him.
His thoughts are eating at him the whole while.
He's sure his Primarch is just trying to innocently divine his sudden change of mind regarding you. There's no way his Father's aware of why. And yet, guilt is a big black wolf nipping at his ankles, making him hasten; and unease clouds about his heart. He's mortified, for lack of a better word.
The full implications of the situation are too enormous to be faced all at once; so he picks the smallest, most banal facet he can think of.
That being, you.
You, who he'll never see again if his Primarch finds out.
You, who's practically damned him without knowing it.
You, who he's now valiantly trying not to imagine in a hundred different circumstances where he gets away with it all. Each one more heretical than the last—it's like it was before he'd managed a hand on you: his body giving in to suffocating delusions, sleepless in his cot; lapping at whatever scant, lust-soaked morsels his mind offers up.
One of his favourites remains you scantily clad beneath a moonlit night sky, on the parapet of his ancestral fortress on the coastal edge of Perusia.
He likes to fantasise you like it there.
He suspects you would.
He knows just about all there is to know about you on paper, and wonders if you know much of Talassar. Or if you've read about Castra Tanagra. He assumes Guilliman would share the tale of that famed old battle with you as a part of your readings.
Each impossible reverie is a new shiny nail in his coffin, or dreadnaut—it depends where and how he dies, and if there's anything scrape up of him when he eventually goes down in a blaze of glory and duty, and honour.
If his Primarch catches him, there's going to be none of that.
He'll be struck from living record, like Titus had been. Cato would be lucky to get a little plaque in the deepest pits of the Fortress of Hera. Reduced to a whispered memory of his achievements passed solemnly between Captains, followed up with words of disappointment. Of waste. Until his memory dies with them and his deeds fade into obscurity, lost to any new brothers.
The fate that awaits you would somehow be worse. Cato was always going to die in war, as was his right—but you—you were not fashioned for such things. Yes, Guilliman enjoys you, but that fact won't save you. Just like it won't save Cato for all his usefulness. You'd be tried as a heretic, as a source of corruption upon the Legiones, and you'd be made to suffer; because torture ever comes before execution. You're so very soft weak in so very many ways. Your life lived in a gilded cage, without pain nor discomfort that extends further than grating professional grievances—he doesn't want to imagine the sound of you screaming, but he does.
He cannot stand the thought.
The sudden urge to barricade you in his chambers for permanent safe keeping is all-consuming.
It's suddenly all he can think about.
He has to find you.
The amount of serfs passing and parting to allow his passage thin out to nothing.
Even from the sterile confines of one of the many winding hallways, Cato abruptly swears he can hear the echoed rush of sandals—your sandals—reverberating off the floor.
He hadn't notice you following behind immediately because, damn it, he's spiralling thinking.
He chances a confrontation, and rounds about-face.
You stand there in the middle of the empty hallway like you've got a bolter aimed at you, frozen.
"Come here," he says, clipped.
You do not.
"Come here."
Again, no compliance.
"Do you pride yourself on being a idiot?" His voice is scathing now, taking a heavy step into your space and being met by you staying stock stiff, still. "Do you have any idea what that stunt of yours earlier might incur?"
"What?" You blink, finally animating. "I didn't do anything—"
"You know what you did," he hisses, accusatory. "You're hollow between the ears, but you're not blind."
Lips pursing tightly in mental deliberation, you make a fey noise of annoyance as a little frown graces your features, apparently not deigning to offer a comment back.
"Do you not understand that... this," he gesticulates between you both and his voice falls to a whisper. "This... is not common allowance?"
"It's not?"
Are you being intentionally dense at this point, or is it just second nature?
Cato raises a hand to knead the crease between his brows, "No."
"That explains a lot, actually," you say, seemingly without any real comprehension on the gravity of the matter. "I couldn't find any notes or references on it."
He's genuinely stunned, "Is that what you were doing when—"
"When I was rudely interrupted," you cut in, the comment is nigh a spat insult.
Cato isn't sure what to say to that sudden display of spine, and grumbles.
He surmises the optimal action is complete disregard.
Therefore, he has no problem turning on the heel of his sabatons and starting his pace on again.
"So... this isn't normal by Astartes standards?"
He's taken aback at your abrupt want for conversation after all that. Namely because it's atypical. You never attempted small talk with him. You never do anything but scurry off when he's accosted you for you flagrant overstepping—wait.
He feels as if the paradigm between you both has shifted again since the last time for some reason. More than last time, actually. More than you just simply having the audacity to backtalk him.
It's like some symptom of a deeper sickness rising to the surface.
It makes him unreasonably curious suspicious.
He wants to see just how much ground you'll give, so he plays along and answers, "Not as far as I am aware, no."
You hum, and immediately are at it again, posturing, "Surely you have heard of cases of it happening?"
"I have not," Cato says, and you hum in consideration.
You're satisfied at that information for a brief while, but then he remembers you cannot shut your mouth for more than five minutes, and purses his lips. He's already tiring of your incessant questioning.
"But you'd done it before?"
And that's just great.
You've expertly found an exposed nerve.
More kindling on the bonfire of him having an aneurysm before the cycle's end.
Cato can feel the hint of pressure behind his eyes as he begins increasing his walking speed. "I don't think that is a relevant question."
You haste to stay in step, "It definitely is."
"You ought to learn a civil fucking tongue when you're addressing me, woman," he bites out, nose crinkling into a sneer.
Unperturbed by his short-tempered comment, another thoughtful little 'hmm' slips out of you.
"So, to conclude... you were as inexperienced as I was at the start, and all those gloating insults back then were just projection?" You suddenly blurt out at rather impressive speed, like a politician possessed—before finishing with, "Sorry, 'all those gloating insults back then were just projection,' Commander Sicarius."
Cato grits his teeth and feels his eye twitch.
He stops, turns to look over his pauldron, and stares bloody murder.
He can't even imagine the idiocy in your brain that gave you the imprimatur to say that aloud.
But Throne, the sly little glint in your pretty eyes suddenly has his face thudding with heat.
Then you smile at him for the second time ever.
Cato bites back the urge to ogle you dumbly, and actually feels himself thicken in his body-glove in real time, because oh, fuck—his hind brain practically pelts him across the jaw with the mental pict of that sweet mouth lathing up the side of his cock.
Mentally unseated for a moment, his brows furrow; and he quickly turns away, applying himself entirely to the task of trudging down the stagings.
The silence is a breath of fresh air.
Even if he can still hear your laboured breathing a few steps back him from him. You're straining to keep up with his pace, and it's an excellent punishment for you. His heavy sabatons clank-clank-clank on the steel decking, and your little shoes practically pitter-patter in contrast. It's a syncopated rhythm that he's absentmindedly trying to match—and when he lingers for a step he manages to even the beat out.
He hangs a left, and scales the wide stairs to the open intersection platform above two at a time; trying not to snort amusedly at the little groan you let out as you hurry up them behind him, heaving.
Cato realises abruptly that you're actually, really, seriously following him—and pretending you're not.
He makes a right at the top and then waits for you to fall in step.
And, pointedly, he then turns and doubles back around.
You stand there stupefied for a moment, before grumbling softly and continuing down the thoroughfare without him.
If his observation skills hold any weight, he heads straight into the nearest open room and waits for you to follow.
He doesn't activate the locking mechanism on the other side on purpose when he strides in, and lets the sliding door close behind him.
This particular room is forgettable in its ubiquitousness, though unusual. He has no idea of it's actual intended purpose. It's fitted with screens and database terminals as if it's for debriefing purposes, but he has no real way of confirming. What he can catalogue is that there's wraparound surfaces littered with candles. A few strips of harsh lighting and scant furniture—a tallish counter and a few long benches. They're thankfully Astartes sized.
Which means he can sit down and pray for you to walk right into the metaphorical snare he's just laid.
Not a minute later, the door's sliding mechanism triggers and you scurry through—only to promptly go stiff.
You stare at him like a rat he's just found by lifting a crate.
The mechanism shuts automatically behind you and it apparently spooks you enough to jump a little.
"You're disgustingly predictable," he harrumphs, unimpressed.
A flush rises to your face as you scowl, "You're disgustingly predictable," you shoot back, echoing his words.
Of course, that audacity of yours leads to a short stalemate.
He huffs out a sigh as he concedes out of sheer frustration and says, "Three-seven-five-eight-eight-two-nine-one."
You blink dumbly at him, "...what?"
"It's my locking code," he growls, and Throne, you must be acting stupid just to grate him; because there's no way your brain is so smooth as to not connect the dots. "It's for the door, moron."
A soft 'ohh' leaves you as you turn and step aside to the key pad fixed into the frame.
"Three-seven-five-eight-eight-two-nine-one," he's agonisingly forced to say once again.
"Three-nine-five-eight-eight-two-seven-one..." you mumble to yourself.
Cato hears an angry beep and suddenly wants to smash his head into a wall repeatedly.
Grinding his molars, he snarls, "Three-seven-five-eight-eight-two-nine-one," and then adds, "If I have to repeat that one more time, I'm going to throw you out of the nearest airlock."
And it seems the threat of violence works wonders, because you don't bungle the input this time.
Cato sighs, exasperated, and leans back against the lip of the table behind the bench.
He ought to start carrying around a correctional stun rod. Just for whenever you annoy him. If it's good enough for a Neophyte to suffer, it's good enough for you, he supposes.
Or it'll send you into a seizing fit.
He's not to sure of the maximum voltage a baseline can take without their singular, puny little heart giving out.
One disciplinary option scratched out, then.
But he can think of many, many more to make a model Ambassador out of you. The wonders of carefully applied violence are plentiful. A little roughing up never hurts, or at least, not for long. And fuck, do you need some lessons on proper manners. He could have you smacked into shape like a show pony in no time—even if it'd be more like teaching a grox to trot lateral movements. Then again, he also believes if he stuck a frag far enough up a Carnifex's ass, he could probably get it to play Regicide.
And then pointedly, he starts thinking about your ass.
Cato is so utterly lost on the tangent of hypotheticals that he's flabbergasted when a small mouth lands on his own.
He hadn't even been paying attention.
He hadn't even noticed you'd neared.
It feels like the breath has been knocked out him at the sheer unexpectedness of it.
The kiss is hasty, your eyes scrunched shut and cheeks flushed, scowling with focus.
All the while, his mind reels because Throne, the contact of his lips to yours doesn't really feel particularly profound aside from how soft your skin is—but the intention of it is the real reward.
Cato's genuinely infuriated when you pull away.
You blink owlishly at him, giving him a cautious look like you're trying to gauge his reaction.
There are a thousand things he wants to ask, to say, but the foremost among them is but one.
"Again," he huffs, lessening the distance between you just enough to invite you back.
And he thinks that perhaps he’s abusing his station over you, but when you tentatively find a hold on his gorget to steady yourself to give him another kiss—those thoughts are all but erased from his mind. It's a curious weight off his shoulders to have you initiate and to show you want him in return, especially since it's as new to you as it is for him.
Nonetheless, he can't even imagine finding a reason to stop you, so he starts blindly mouthing; trying to coordinate around the fact he's so much larger than you.
The angle is difficult, but he's willing to follow your lead. Your body is even more fragile when he's in full armour. The risk of actually hurting you is realer than ever, but he can't help the desire to wrap an gauntlet around your waist and pull you closer to him. Thankfully, you let him when he urges you to, trembling hands flitting across his chestplate like you're unsure of what, exactly, you should be holding—and he catches the tiny line between your brows smoothing out as you risk a peek. Only for you to yelp, nervously wrenching yourself back in flustered surprise upon meeting his unwavering stare.
It's as if you expected something else.
He senses he's made a mistake of some kind.
Then he remembers from the motion-picts he's not supposed to keep glaring at you when kissing.
Regardless, he studies your face, memorising the lingering want still clearly there like his life depends on it.
He pulls you in and kisses you again, just because he can, this time brief and chaste. And then he goes for a third, fourth—fifth, each time slightly longer, until finally he rears back; and when he does you push up on your toes just a little, trying to chase him, but lose the nerve; although to Cato the reason for your faltering is, frankly, irrelevant. Because just like him, you lack the practical capacity to really know what next step you should take. Still, you look down at his armour, as if there's a latch to pull that magically undoes all his wargear.
He knows he's not going to get himself out of his armour in any reasonable way or amount of time.
There's no way he's getting the satisfaction of having you on him right now—but he still wants to keep you near.
He thinks he hears you ask for something, but he's too distracted to catch it in time.
"What?" Cato scowls, "What do you want now?"
It's clear you've been struck by your own embarrassment, strung up somewhere between shy and wanton, "I.. uh..."
"Spit it out," he rumbles.
You wince, hesitant as you mumble, "You, uh... i-in me."
Cato's brain skids to a halt. And it's the gall of that request alone that has him sweeping you up off the ground and spinning you around to sit in his lap.
It's obvious you're overwhelmed at being held to the formidably larger size of himself in full-plate. But as usual, you're yet to actively complain. Using his vambrace as a leg-bar to scoop under your thighs, he folds you in his grasp—your knees pressed to your chest as you're tucked back against his pauldron and chestplate.
The angle forces the hems of your robe aside, and he can see the underside curve of your ass; along with the plump mound of your vulva under the white of your small-clothes.
Cato's suddenly offended by their existence. You didn't wear any last time, so why now? The irritation of there being one more thing between you and him is enough justification to yank at them, tearing them loose—before throwing them aside.
You grumble sourly, which he chooses to ignore.
The palm of his gauntlet smooths across your hip, and you make a small huff as you shiver, goose-bumps suddenly covering your exposed flesh.
Cato lets the pads graze closer and closer to your sex, content to watch you impatiently glare at his armoured fingers from between the gap of your thighs.
With little preamble, he's stuffing his middle in. You're already so wet it's practically a cake-walk. Your cunt swallows down each articulating segment of his armoured finger down to the knuckle. The fact he's going to have to personally scrub your slick out from between the joints, instead of a lowly serf, is infinitely worth the shrill whine he receives as tribute.
"Would that my wargear had a zipper," he breathes, and fuck, he grins behind the obscurity of his gorget at the mournful mewl that remark earns. "I'd have you on your knees sucking for all the cunted trouble you've caused me."
You're making a warp-awful attempt at keeping yourself together, high-strung as you evidently are. Little more than a minute of him pumping his finger in and out of you has you red-faced and panting. All it takes to get those heavy breaths of yours to change into proper whines is his large thumb-pad adjusting to rest on your clit, applying pressure. You jerk, reflexively trying to buck into every motion. Fighting and failing to withhold the stuffy little moans escaping you—trying to stave off the inevitable by scrambling at the thigh plating of his power armour with one hand and tugging at his couter with the other.
Some part of Cato wants to stop solely out of spite for you being so grating earlier, or some other stupid mercurial justification of his; but instead, he simply continues, letting you squirm on his fingers.
And squirm you do.
It's clear to him the tide of it all is becoming too much for you to resist. Your sandal'd feet kick out where he's got your legs secured, joining in on the struggling as it begins anew when his thumb starts circling. It's a good sign, so he adds his pointer into you to bolster the stretch, curling in; before letting his fingers fan out inside you, stretching rather than stabbing. Your hips try to stutter forward in time with the quick thrusting of his digits, broken whimpers resonating off the room's walls. He promptly stuffs down to the knuckle and curls them again—and you all but bleat his surname as you're dragged into a fast and apparently exhausting orgasm. Just knowing he's you got you beat has his erection ache where it's trapped under the suiting and plating of his navel.
Cato can't feel you clenching through all the layers separating his skin from yours, but he knows from experience that you're seizing in fits internally—tight little cunt trying to milk a load out of an Astartes cock that should've been stuffed in you.
Just to allow himself one last bit of smugness, he scissors his fingers; giving a final swirl for good measure.
The shivered sob is worth every possible future disciplinary action he'll receive.
He pulls his gauntlet away slowly, and the wet shlick of it leaving you is almost amusingly alike pulling a blade from sinew. It's a degenerate comparison, he knows, but it's true.
Nonetheless, he splays out his hand and swallows dryly, eyeing the sticky, clear liquid webbing out and thinning between each ridge of his gauntlet'd digits.
Suddenly focused entirely on the fluid on his fingers, he pulls his vambrace barring under your knees up away. Now limp, and without the support, you slide off his lap and onto the floor in a slow slump.
"Nn-ngh," You groan weakly, face-down, legs still juddering a little.
Seeing as you're preoccupied, Cato doesn't even dignify the concept of hesitation, and promptly jams his fingers in his mouth—lathing the aftermath of your orgasm from them. And Throne, the taste of your hormones make him groan. He's absolutely stunned, unsure of how to act. He's so fucking stupid, why didn't he do this earlier? He's practically drugged by the omophagic aftereffect—getting off on your second hand bliss. Some sort of fey feedback loop in his brain catalysing his next decision solely on instinct.
He clambers to the floor and gets to his knees guards, securing a mitt on your bared thigh to roll you onto your back.
Apparently boneless with afterglow, you're easy to manhandle.
You barely have the strength to do much more than crane your head up at him and whine as he arranges your thighs apart, settling on his front between them with a warp-awful clank; before lifting your legs up to rest onto either lip of his gorget.
You try to scud back on your ass suddenly, but are quickly halted when he holds you fast by the hip.
He raises a confused brow.
"I-Isn't—" you start, still gathering the scraps of your brain together so soon post-orgasm, "Isn't y-your saliva acid?"
Cato suddenly wants to cuff you on the ear, "Who the hell told you that?"
"M-Master Calgar," you mumble.
Oh, of course, the gossiping hen.
He's going to have words with the Lord Defender of Greater Ultramar the next time they meet—words like 'for fuck sakes, stop scaring the woman he's trying to eat out with talk of Betcher's gland, Marneus,' come to mind, but then Cato realises that doesn't sound like he's not fucking you, so he quickly settles on: 'stop dignifying the Ambassador's hundred-and-one insane questions.'
"Not Ultramarines," Cato manages not to snarl, "It's a vestigial organ in most of us."
Your voice is shaky as you parrot, "Most of us?"
"Yes," He grunts, and promptly buries his face in your cunt.
The disproportion in size is painfully apparent when he realises his whole damned tongue is able to drag a stripe up the entire splay of you with minimal effort.
The pitched gasp he wins out of you is pure sin, and he's on the brink of swooning; but then you're running your trap again.
"Please, d-don't tell me you're one that can spit acid—" you manage to warble, seemingly still stuck on the topic.
Cato sighs as he's forced to pull away from your vulva, "I think you're forgetting I had my tongue on your tonsils in the library."
"Th-that's different," you stammer. "That's not as sensitive."
A long, unimpressed deadpan paints itself on his face.
"So," he starts with a bated hiss, "And let me be perfectly clear in this—you believe your vagina is more susceptible to burns than your mouth?"
Your face transforms into a strange mix of embarrassed and angry.
"I didn't say that—"
"Yes, you did," Cato grumbles.
"Did not," you huff.
"You—you just fucking did," he snaps, frustrated enough that he can feel one of the veins at his temple bulge. "The implication is obvious, you insufferable little whore."
You snort, but stay silent.
The argument appears, for all intents and purposes, to be finished.
"Did not," you say abruptly once more, pouting.
Cato's eyes roll back in his skull as he grits his teeth.
"Throne of Terra, if you don't drop the subject, acid in your cunt will be the least of your worries," he all but snarls, and that apparently quietens you enough that he can get back to lapping at you—the flat of his tongue running over your clit and earning a jolt.
He wraps his lips around the pink little nub and sucks. And that's all it apparently takes to make up for his amateur career in the practice.
You siphon down a sharp breath and let out a garbled cry, hips canting forward into his mouth—to which he obligingly stuffs his tongue into your slick entrance.
There's a satisfaction well beyond simple pleasure that swamps him at the way your thighs shake either side of his head. His own breath is hot about him, stuffy and dizzying; and the skin pressed against his cheeks is warm and smooth.
You're panting when he goes back to lapping over your clit, perching yourself up on a bent elbow and reaching out a hand.
Your fingers card through the messed brown hair atop his head. And he stiffens without realising—but he realises something: like this, the touch is ecstasy—pure, golden ecstasy. Every bit of higher thought in his head evaporates when you stroke him again.
A long, rumbling subvocal moan tears from him.
The infrasound vibration makes you buck weakly into his mouth again, teary eyed afore him as he adjusts his grip on you and crawls closer.
He's suddenly acutely aware that in this new, much more prone position, he's able to grind his body armour into his groin guard pressed on the floor. And as soon as the action bears results—namely a scorching burr of pleasure racing up his spine—he's deadset on rutting against the ground like a slavering beast.
He's frotting himself at a pace so rabid it'd be cruel to subject your cunt to. It's brutal, and the harsh scraping sound of plasteel on steel only further proves that. It's just frantic lust—he's desperate.
It's complete insanity how close to finishing he is so quickly.
Not as close as you, though.
He can feel how your legs jump with each pass of his tongue; and then you're unraveling in front of his very eyes.
"I-I can't—I can't, S-Sicarius, I-I—" You ramble, dazed, trying to get away as he works you right through it, sobbing and oversensitive while he's rutting himself closer and closer to his own end.
It all comes to a head when your fingers dig into his hair, tugging—and his brain is overrun with static. A drawn out groan scathes from his maw as any sense of rhythm scatters like light through a prism. For a fraction of a second, the pleasure is serene.
Then it's abject agony, he feels—he feels like Roboute Guilliman himself has just taken a running start and kicked him in the balls.
"F-Fuck–ing—gh—" he chokes, vision swimming, straining against the tide of the torment. His back arches up, and he curls inward on himself; white-hot pain clocking his nervous system into overdrive. Every muscle in his abdomen is doused in acid. He's tolerated being shot, stabbed, burnt without so much as blinking—but this is an entirely new and entirely different sort of wound. It's like he's pissing promethium. It's—it's the catheter, he realises. He'd forgotten about the bloody catheter jammed up his cock.
Through the searing ordeal, he manages to force his armour's facilities to finally abide his impulses and dose him with a pain dampener.
And then everything's fine.
He opens eyes he wasn't aware he'd closed and finds your face has suddenly gotten far closer to his.
"S-Sicarius?" You stammer, and there's an honest panic in your voice. "Sicarius, p-please, please—a-are you okay?"
He realises he's on his back, and you're sitting beside him, half draped on his chestplate, frantically trying to figure out what's wrong with him to no avail.
You've leaned in so close he can feel your rushed breathing.
"I'm fine," Cato groans, and you sputter out a sigh.
"I-I don't know what happened, I-I—" you're still wildly confused and raving, and he inhales deeply; only to be greeted by the sour animal stink of fear practically dripping from you.
Cato rolls his tongue around inside his mouth and cringes knowingly at the foaming side-effect of the chem he'd self-administered, the acrid taste mixed with your slick is certainly not an ideal cocktail.
The sincerity of concern behind your reaction is baffling. He's not made of glass, for fuck sakes—and he's a bit pissy about the fact you'd actually fallen victim to the idea of him suffering some grievous injury so easily. But he supposes where there's a will of baseline overreaction, there's a way.
"You're acting like a child, woman. Pull yourself together," he sighs hoarsely, hoping the comment jars you out of your hysteria—or at the very least scares you off.
It does exactly neither, and you sidle in closer and rest your cheek on his jaw.
It’s an action so overwhelmingly horribly affectionate that it would’ve been a crime to not press into it with a lean of his head. Or, at least, that's the half-assed justification he tells himself.
Because he's loving enduring your attention, not seeking it; and therefore only humouring you when he lifts a hand and settles the wide splay of it on your flank as a comfort.
He shouldn't be, but he is.
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sparklecarehospital · 2 months ago
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can you tell us anything about Star's Rats? :3
Star's Rats is a backstory comic I have been developing about the rat twins' youth.
I have a lot of ideas for it and the format in which it'll be depicted, I'm just not entirely sure WHEN it'll happen. Originally I had plans to make it into a Tumblr comic like the ask blogs, but since I intend on moving both of those off of Tumblr eventually I've decided that I'm going to host it elsewhere (undecided if it'll be on the main site or its own site. Everything is still very up in the air). The biggest reason I feel like this is necessary is because their backstory has a lot of Extremely sensitive subjects that might make reading without proper content warnings a bit hazardous
This comic is gonna be REALLY dark. I know it's probably not easy to see that based off of the drawings I've shared already but 😭😭😭 it's not gonna be easy to stomach sometimes, their backstory is kinda fucked up
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poetrysmackdown · 1 year ago
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some informal thoughts
hello! hope the holiday season has been kind to all of you. and i hope all my jewish followers had a lovely hanukkah! anyways, since i said a few months ago that i’d pick poetry smackdown back up sometime around this time of year, i thought i should make a post. the gist of it is that i’m still quite busy, i have a break that’s about three weeks shorter than I was planning on, and i don’t currently have the mental bandwidth required to read, contemplate, and sort through poem submissions in a way that does justice to them, even if i were to recruit some friends to help out. since running a tournament format requires at least five weeks of continued engagement once it’s underway, and since i’m not at capacity to offer that right now due to the change in my schedule, i’m gonna have to bow out for now. sad bc i was looking forward to it!
my hope is that i’ll have some more time over the summer to hunker down with it, in which case you’ll be hearing from me. it’ll frankly depend on the kind of job i land in for the summer, but i find that my unemployed spirit can typically keep me doing stupid shit regardless of workload...to a point. i don’t want to make any promises because i don’t want to get anyone’s hopes up just to let them down again LOL. i do admit the amount of exposure the first tournament got has made me feel like more of a perfectionist this time around, doubly because i don’t feel that i’m very suited to being a public online presence (even a relatively quite small one)—i’m bad enough at responding to emails for my own real life responsibilities, let alone tumblr asks for the silly responsibilities i invent for myself lol. that’s not to say i no longer want to do it, or i don’t enjoy it, or even that i don’t feel capable of making a really interesting bracket—just that if i am working to put something new together, and if people are taking the time to submit poems they care about, then i don’t want to half-ass it.
my second admission is something like this. I made the original bracket as a celebration of poetry and our relationships to it. yes it was silly and competitive, and the poems were very tumblr, but still, celebration was the intention—I wanted to have conversations about poetry. I stand by the bracket format as a fun and valuable way to foster conversations about poetry, but truthfully, the poems i’m wanting to have conversations about right now—the poems that we should be talking about right now—are ones that i'm not comfortable putting in a bracket. I reblogged The Baffler’s Poems from Palestine collection on here earlier, and Najwan Darwish’s “Who Remembers The Armenians?”, which I still often find repeating through my head when I'm traveling from one place to another, walking home or riding the bus. I came across this beautiful thread recently where people have been translating Dr. Refaat Alareer’s “If I Must Die” into their own languages (this just makes my translator's heart sing!!!!!!). @havingapoemwithyou has been posting some great poems from and for Palestine as well—check out their tag here.
There's always more to add, and I'll be posting more on here as I come across it, but that's what I feel anyone should be focusing on right now when it comes to poetry. i think poetry can be an escape but it should never be a distraction. does that make sense? i wouldn't be against doing a one-off poll here or there, but it feels weird to be making a tournament for poetry right now, or anytime soon. i feel like what free time i have right now is still best utilized helping my friends with organizing in the real world. and god, a bit off-topic but while I'm talking, fuck poetry foundation—I have so much respect for all the poets keeping up the boycott, because while i think it's a simple decision, it's not always an easy one (Aurielle Lucier discussed that here).
anyways, if you read all of this, thank you for your time!! I could go on and on, but really this was just meant to be a message telling y'all that there won't be another tournament for a while lol. even so i'll be trying to use this small silly platform as best i can until palestine is free because that's the absolute least i can do.
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lycankeyy · 4 months ago
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Okay here's the whole thing I filled out with boyf in-character enjoy his one total braincell if he's lucky. I'm putting zero effort into formatting this bc tumblr is glitchy on my phone blank template is here
(cw: sexual humor. also a bunch of intentional typos and gratuitous swearing)
-
1. Okay, first question: what’s your name, age, and gender?
- they call me boyfriend im 19 and i sap the gender out of the music
2. How would you describe yourself, personality-wise?
- fuckkk man idk. im p chill i think ig im pretty cool. pretty swag pretty gamer
3. What’s a typical day like for you?
- welll I wake up at like. 11 usually at earliest and I hang out w one of my partners sometimes I watch movies w em or work on music. not a lot going on usually
4. How do you wind down at the end of the day? Do you even wind down?
- most of the time i literally just wait until i crash out sometimes gf and peeks gotta drag me to bed lol
5. What is your earliest memory?
- UHHHHH oh god uhhh. I think. When I was like five we went to a festival or smth and we went on one of those twirly things and I made my dad spin the thing so hard I threw up LMAO
6. What is/was your relationship with your parents?
- i mean p good i think but we dont rly tlak anymore thats mostly my fault tho
7. What do you do when you’re bored?
- succumb to the madness mostly
8. Do you regret anything you’ve done?
- i mean not like currently
9. Do you dress to be functional or fashionable?
- bro i wear the same exact fucking outfit every day to be honest with you lol. It's not like I'm fuckin going anywhere
10. Who are your best friends? How did you meet them?
- DUUUDE assuming my partners don't count gotta shout out my man darnell we've been workin on a collab ep recently it goes hard as fuckkkkk. we met back in the stupid therapy program back in middle school he introduced me to pico n nene
11. Have any siblings? If so, what is your relationship?
- yea got a big sister and a lil bro. they're both sweet but kinda clueless tbh. technically got other stuff goin on too but im kinda worried that ill get like the government on my ass if i talk abt it
12. What is your job? Is it tiring or difficult?
- closest thinf ive got to a job is music ig and nah. really wouldn't rather be doing anything else even if it payed more tbh. when I get burnt out I wanna die but thafs not a big deal lmao
13. When you’re going through a rough time, do you seek help or consolation from others?
- on a scale of liek paper cut to nearly died how rough are we talking
14. How easy is it for others to gain your trust?
- ive been told im pretty trusting but i feel like any person whos meant to hurt me was pretty upfront abt it so ┐(´∀`)┌
15. What is your sexuality, if you don’t mind me asking?
- all the time all the time
16. Do you have a significant other? What are they like?
- "a" singular. lol. lmao even. bros asking if I got one singular partner lmao try two bitch and thyere the best most important people in the world
17. Have you ever lost a loved one?
- not like perminently
18. How often do you act on impulse? Does it ever backfire?
- lsiten if i do it all the time then like statisicly it only backfires like 40% of the time okay
19. Do you believe in ghosts?
- I believe in everyone bro
20. How about aliens?
- aliens are hisyorically very mean to me but ig i can just then believe that they can be better people. or aliens
21. What traits do you value the most in others?
- uhhh probably like being just nice ig? idk i think it can take a lot more effort than people think to be considerate and stuff I appreciate when people are nice even if they have a reason not to be
22. Do you dream often? What are your dreams like?
- i used to not to but somethings happened and now I get them all the time. don't really want to talk about it they're mostly just weird
23. Are you a light or heavy sleeper? Do you sleep in?
- my partners say im such a heavy sleeper that one time i slept through gf falling off the bed in the middle of the night but I was asleep so I can't cofnirm
24. Okay, this is a bit personal, but… Have you ever (uh) “done the do”?
- dude like u wouldn't believe
25. Do you have any pets?
- nah but I think it would be cool to have a guinea pig they seem chill and I appreciate their vibes
26. Ever been drunk before? How often do you drink?
- i try not to toooooooo much but i think i have a hard time telling when too much is too much. dont tell my parents
27. Are you respectful to authority figures?
- they only have as much authority as you give them. manipulate a landlord today
28. What kinds of movies do you like you watch?
- https://youtu.be/HgjyQ0_coJo?si=L5Bzhey5cxaoNpWU
29. Do you have any guilty pleasures?
- ██████ █████ █ ███████ ████ ███ ████ ███████ ███ ████ ████████████ ██ ███ ███ ████ ██ one time nene found it in my dresser and I almost DIED wait was this question not about sex stuff
30. What would you say is the happiest memory of your life?
- ohh thats hard uhh. happiest is hard to qualify i think. I think I'm happiest whenever I think abt waking up next to my partners
31. How about your worst memory?
- thats a good question
32. What did you aspire to be when you were young? Did that dream change as you grew up?
- i didn't think I'd be fuckign anythang
33. How far would you be willing to go to get what you want?
- u gotta quantify what I want here tbh. is it like a chocolate bar or one billion dollars. cuz id kill someone for a billion dollars. honestly i might also kill someone for a chocolate bar but like not as badly
34. What is sure to ruin your day?
- idk nearly dying again probably
35. Do you have any nervous habits?
- uhhh sometimes i mess with my hair and when i get rly upset i pull at it til it hurts. i used to scratch my face a lot when i was upset too but it freaks ppl out so i try not to if i can help it
36. Play video games often?
- i tryyyyy but i get distracted so fast i play a game and im like oh shit this reminds me of another thing i was gonna play n then i go play that and then I never FINISH ANYTHIGN
37. What kind of things do you laugh at?
- https://youtu.be/47EOSLWu-EI?si=kuzPv2Vndl91Oj3C
38. Favorite genre of music?
- BROOOO ok gonna be basic as shit and say breakcore. also a huge fan of speedcore and drill & bass but breakcore is my home. i wishhh it wasn't called this but my favorite like subgenre of breakcore is probs lolicore not for any fuckin weird reason but just bc the way the vocals are usually mixed scratches my brain sooooooo fuking good. listen to various types of ads by loli in early 20s and youll get it. i fucking love experimental breakcore my favorite album rossz csillag alatt született mixes breakcore+dr&b w classical and it's sooooo fucking good it's SO good i need to learn more fuckin instrument plug ins so I can make shit like that. in general i just love music that feels like it's fuckin drilling it's way into youre brain and rewiring it i want the music to fuckin labotomize me fr
39. What do you think your spirit animal would be if you had one?
- idk maybe a rat i like rats. dude imagine if i was a rat like ritz we could have cheese together. we can do that anyway but it would be more awesome
40. Have an accent of any kind?
- yea autism
41. Chess or checkers?
- checkers i have no idea how to play chess but it sounds convoluted as fuk
42. Do you feel sentimentality toward a particular object?
- i love my laptop even if I get a new computer and this thing breaks completely im keeping this laptop ily laptop
43. Are you generally pretty secretive, or are you an open book?
- im like accidentally secretive i dont even try like wtf do you mean im supposed to talk about shit
44. What are you most embarrassed about?
- i feel like this was addressed in the nene thing
45. What are your deepest fears?
- have you ever seen that fuckin brony stuff where people get teleported to pony world as horses gf is obsessed with that kinda thing but that's TERRIFYING if i woke up as a horse id fuckin die of a heart attack
46. How desperate would you have to be to lie to, steal from, injure, or murder another person? Do you do any of those things regularly?
- i like the implication that i would admit to murdering ppl on a regular basis
47. Do you have any scars? How did you get them?
- it's so fucked up i got this scar on my face and it's so bad bc I don't even scar that easy like i get into fights my entire life but i only got one scar just bc some weeb tried to kill me. like ok
48. Say someone has mistreated you in some form. Would you immediately lose your temper, hold a grudge, or simply let it go?
- you wouldnt believe my epic power to do all of those simaltaneusly
49. How do you deal with physical and mental pain?
- max volume noise nothing can hurt me if the Loud
50. What is your ideal place to live?
- never thought abt it tbh ig anywhere with my partners
51. What was your childhood like?
- just 18 years of stupid therapy programs and stupid special ed classes and ppl telling me how to think and how to act and like I was 4 years old forever i don't careeee
52. What is your favorite kind of weather?
- i think snow is pretty
53. How important to you is friendship? What about romance?
- i think they're both pretty great but idk i feel like urself should be most important bc idk shit happens and ppl leave so if you dont like yourself youre just gonna be stuck with some miserable loser who doesnt have any friends as ur only company
54. Have any disabilities, weaknesses, or allergies?
- i feel like in a hypothetical situation i would be pretty weak to godzilla
55. What’s your favorite thing to eat?
- SPICY FOOOOOOOD my spice tolerance fucks hard i will drink hot sauce. right now holdbon
56. Do you have kids? If not, do you picture yourself ever having them?
- could you fucking imagine.
57. How well can you sing?
- idk but i like it
58. Are you particularly confident? Does your confidence level change if less people are around?
- if nobody got me i know i got me
59. Do you like shopping?
- delivery apps were invented for a reason
60. How do you interact with strangers?
- tbh i usually just tune out anyone that's not talking to me LMAO
61. Have you ever been betrayed by someone you loved?
- not like perminently
62. If you could change anything about yourself, what would it be?
- don't like this question
63. If you could meet anyone from the past or future, who would it be?
- fuckkkkk my gf isn't home rn can I pick her
64. If a genie granted you three wishes, what would they be?
- money bigass house and then I wouldn't use the last one so we could just vibe forver
65. Do you like attention?
- ask pico
66. Are you glad I’ve run out of questions to ask?
- ig bc im puttin off chores ily though
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dapandapod · 8 months ago
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How I would kiss you
Hello there! Remember this drabble? yes it's from 2022, yes it got finished in 2024! Formatting is a pain on tumblr and i'm tired, but here is soem of the good stuff, pulled out from the fic itself! :))) Read the entire thing on Ao3 here! Please enjoy!
After an hour or so, Jaskier gives up, and is in the middle of changing into his sleeping clothes when Geralt returns. He startles when the door opens, standing shirtless and feeling strangely vulnerable when Geralt locks eyes with him.
They stand there just for a beat too long, Jaskier with his arms still in the tunic he was taking off, Geralt's eyes dipping just the once to roam over his chest. Nothing he's not seen before but this feels different.
"Did you win?" he asks, Geralt finally stepping properly into the room and turning to his own bed and his own pack.
"Two out of three. That last woman had a mean deck."
Jaskier will not pretend to understand the language of Gwent, so he nods and rummages for his sleeping tunic. A soft, worn out thing, a tunic that once was light blue now so faded it looks a soft gray.
When his night time routine is done, Jaskier sits down on his bed and watches Geralt. It's almost tradition, waiting for the other to be properly done before tucking in.
It also gives Jaskier a wonderful view of that wonderful witcher body, dimples on his lower backs, muscles on his shoulders rippling under the skin as he slowly puts his sleep wear on. Very...slowly.
Geralt throws a look over his shoulder, catching Jaskier staring. Normally he would wink, but now all he does is blush and look away.
Fuck.
They talk a little about their traveling plans, about rumors of a nest of foglets two days away. As soon as their laundry is done, they will be on their way. Meaning, there will hopefully be a rare chance to sleep in, despite cruel witcher habits, and as soon as
Jaskier mentions it teasingly, Geralt gives him a fond smile.
This is not good.
They settle into their respective beds, Jaskier's heart aching in his chest. He lies staring up at the ceiling, an echo of yesterday, but without the tent and without the rain.
"You came back early today," Geralt says on the other side of the dark room. "Were they no good?"
Jaskier sucks on his lower lip. Now that Geralt has mentioned it, it’s even harder to stop, desperately wanting it to be Geralt sucking on it instead.
"Not bad. Just..... eager."
Neither says anything for a long moment, and Jaskier belatedly realizes something. Maybe Geralt was slow redressing on purpose. Maybe... maybe he isn't the only one thinking about this so much it hurts.
Before he can talk himself out of it, Jaskier does what he does best. He blurts out what's on his mind.
"I think you were right."
The darknes is quiet, somehow more quiet than before he opened his fucking idiot mouth.
"I'm always right," Geralt mutters, making Jaskier huff out a nervous laugh. "What about?"
Well.
Here we are.
"I think you have me figured out. I would want you to kiss me like that."
Not 'to be’ kissed like that. He wants Geralt to kiss him like that.
He can hear nothing but the hammering in his chest, the blood whooshing in his ear, and he realizes he is holding his breath.
"Told you so," Geralt says, and he really doesn't make this easy for Jaskier, does he?
Bastard.
".....Would you?" Jaskier says quietly, feeling every insecure inch of his heart bared.
There is another silence, and then there is movement on the other side, and Jaskier holds his breath again. Rustling of the blanket, footsteps so quiet, Jaskier is afraid he is imagining it. Then the bed dips as Geralt sits down.
Jaskier can't see much, just the dark outline against an even darker room, but Geralt surely can read the longing on his face, hear his strained breathing, his hoping heart.
"You want me to? Now?" Geralt whispers, and Jaskier nods eagerly.
Hot hands grab his, slowly guiding them upwards. The bed dips again, jostling Jaskier, and suddenly he is straddled, thighs on both sides of his, holding him in place.
"You sure?" Geralt whispers, leaning over him, fingers sliding over Jaskier's palm as he pins them over his head.
"Only if you want it too," Jaskier dares, sensing Geralt slowly leaning over him.
"I keep thinking about it," Geralt murmurs, his breath hitting Jaskier's face. "Just like this."
His grip tightens around Jaskier's wrists, thighs tensing as their weight shifts. Geralt is leaning over him on his elbow, holding him in place.
"Last chance, bard," Geralt warns him, and Jaskier full body shivers.
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thefroggypond · 1 year ago
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woe. peter vi thoughts be upon ye
he’s a lil silly guy i love him a lot
should i format this better? yeah. am i going to? absolutely not
these are very rushed and rambly because i’m doing them instead of getting ready for work
i’m a member of the “peter vi has bad back/joint problems” club. just bc it makes sense?? and i have bad knees and a bad elbow so he’s like me fr :3 i also feel like he has migraines. he’s just not having a good time he’s like the embodiment of “fuck it we ball”
autism + adhd combo. (just like me fr) he likes fidget toys bc they help him focus and also totally has a collection of plushies. just because. he’s not really ashamed of having ‘childish’ interests because they make him happy and that’s really all that matters to him. to go along with this he gets overwhelmed & overstimulated pretty easy. just because my guy has a tendency to overwork and forgets to eat & sleep at normal times. he’s just a. guy
idk if this has been made a thing but! i think about his mask a whole lot. like yeah sure it’s for Hiding Face purposes in my mind but also. i think his eyesight is pretty bad, and thanks to some fun science shit the mask helps him see better. it also somehow helps with headaches and all that. i don’t know how or why it just Does
he’s normally a very. chill and happy guy. like if he gets stressed or upset most people that don’t know him too well don’t see that. if you’ve known him for as long as some people have, you can tell.
he will Absolutely defend people when they need him to though. i have this random hc that the walters all have some knowledge of self defense.
he’s a pretty scrawny guy but strong enough that he can lift heavy stuff, but also can absolutely bowl someone under the table. he doesn’t like fighting but. he so will if he has to. this came from him beating people up in some of my oc’s lore :3 he will Attack if you hurt his family. he so will
obviously he’s So Smart. but also is such a Dumbass at the same time. he’s just silly. does scientific miracles but can’t remember his phone number
bro sleeptalks. not in a cryptic “we’re all gonna die” way but in the silly “did i just wheat??” kind of way. he just Says Shit in his sleep and has no recollection of it
but yeah i think i’ve rambled for long enough. so i hope you liked these?? idk. my first time sharing hcs to tumblr :3 i promise my thoughts aren’t always this disorganized
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lovenliterature · 2 years ago
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The Good Witch Thoughts
When I first heard the album I remember thinking there aren’t enough sad songs on here and then I entered a depressive spiral and HA I WAS WRONG (Sidenote i hate tumblr formatting)
1 - The Good Witch
Like the vibe 
“Still upset but I now I’m twenty-two” - I'm a sucker for an age lyric - especially the parallel with You Signed Up For This (“I am twenty and probably upset right now”) and the fact that it’s the titular song again
“Still bitter” - Reference to Details (love of my life <3), Reference to I’m Trying (Not Friends)
“The calm before the storm comes rushing through” - Harmony v pretty (around 30 secs) 
“Still King’s Cross and pullin’ heartbreak out of hats”- Love the reference to King’s Cross, her London references makes it feel so grounded and especially again it being a place in London I travel through it makes it feel like a new album and a specific album to me (still King’s Cross for a tiny little while longer). Also relating to Elvis song (“last train on the Northern line”) always moving through London, experiences anchored in London geography. Also love the ramping up of the music here
“Still argue like my mother and suppress stuff like my dad” - The pace on this line really shows the suppressing stuff lol
“Am I better yet?” - Change from You Signed Up For This “I know I’ll get better/I’m just not better yet" Questioning it now like I know I’ve changed but is it better? Am I at the point I want to be??
Instrumental outro and talking hurts my heart a bit? Very 3 am fucked up in a club
Fave lyric: “Still miss you, but I know now it’ll pass/Found some other muses, I give ‘em all my best”
2 - Coming of Age
Oohhh very Club vibe
“Couldn’t erase you like a tattoo on my waistline” - Really like this, tattoo is LESS permanent than your mark, really hits
Really vibey chorus
“I let you butcher my big heart” - So graphic and so ?? Beautiful 
Ngl this is all slapping so far
Fave lyric: “Baby I am the Iliad of course you couldn’t read me” (!!!!)
3 -  Watch
Oh no is this one gonna hurt
“Nobody actually happy and healthy/has ever felt so desperate to prove it” - OOF
Yep I was right hurts my heart but a bop
“You’re being a superstar and all I got are victim cards” - This reads like being on the other side of Sk8r Boi by Avril Lavigne
“For a girl who’s a remix of me” - So interesting because a remix isn’t necessarily *better* it’s just *different*, like it mixes up all the components into something he likes more but it isn’t objectively more appealing and that’s such a refreshing take
Fave lyric: “I don’t think I wanna get better" - YSUFT reference, love the thread of getting better
4 - Body Better
A BOP
And really hurts
I am a sucker for happy sounding songs with fucked up lyrics
Music is so personal for me and this one is such a reclamation even though it’s so sad
“obedient blue eyes” - This line is AMAZING. The pauses. The lyricism. The casualness. *chefs kiss*
Such a good single choice bc it’s such an easy listen but so brutal so captures heartbreak and bops and also u wanna listen over and over
“Tell me just one more lie” - Come on just use your shitty lies to save my dignity this once instead of ripping it to shreds
Fave lyric: “When you touched it were you sorry like you weren’t at the time”, “The worst way to love somebody is to watch them love somebody else and it work out” or “Do you love her/when you’re twisting up all her sheets do you suffer”
5 - Want You Back
Oh no
Pretty humming
“The darling of your passenger side” - ooof such a beautiful gentle encapsulation of such a classic theme
The piano in the chorus might make me cry
Oh god this is so raw and such a strong heartbreak song
“I must go out with a stranger and kiss him to get stronger” - oh god that feels like every experience of trying to get over someone and I just can’t do it and ow. It's the epitome of get under someone to get over someone but at the same time you don’t want to because you want them back and you should want to be fine alone but you just c a n ‘ t
I can tell this is gonna be a strong fave
Fave lyric: - “What was cheap to you, to me, was all I had”, “But baby, when you touch her, I bet she doesn’t flinch” or “So you gotta be coward and I salvaged a little self-respect" - This hurts so bad like if it was your friend you’d be screaming VALUE YOURSELF MORE but because it’s you, you just want back what you had
6 - The Band and I
“Came a boy and left a man” - love love it
So specific but also just feels like every friendship group I’ve ever had
It feels like laughing til you cry and your stomach hurts and being up at 3am dancing and deep chats and crying together and every little thing
“Haven’t thought of home twice” - feels like a hectic Cambridge time or any second and third week somewhere new when you’ve started to settle and everything is new and fun and you’re flying and you don’t wanna lose it
Fave lyric: “I'm twenty-one and I feel evergreen” - The way she sings this is so wistful, or “It was falling in love/in a gas station/by the pickup trucks” - Love the juxtaposition, love in the weirdest and most unexpected places
7 - You're Just a Boy (and I'm Kinda the Man)
“You’re kind of awful but you’re not awful on purpose” - Ugh you suck but you’re not even aware so it’s better and worse because how can I blame you but also how can you not know??
“I’m on a one way trip to take over the world/you could’ve come but your head’s in the sand” - Usually head in the sand is to avoid something shitty so it’s interesting to have it like this, like you’re so determined to ignore flaws that you miss all the joy
“But you pushed me out quicker than it took me to put my jeans on” - Oof that hit and feels like such shame but suddenly you’re like no if you’re not feeling like you’re the luckiest damn person then I’m gonna keep on going and you’ll see what you lost 
Fave lyric: “I take in clowns like a one-woman circus” or “Goodbye from the bigger man" - Reference to I’m Trying (Not Friends)
8 - Lost the Breakup
“Didn’t say it in those words but I know how your tone works” - Like okay yeah you can hide behind what you said but we both know what you meant
Another bop
Validating
The whole chorus damn
The repression and everything
"Right now I might be a mess" - accepting being fucked up and broken
This, Coming of Age and You’re Just A Boy (And I’m Kinda The Man) have been such a u know I’m gonna be fine and ur heartbreak will come when u see me thrive 
Such a vibe and such knowledge of ur worth
I love the dancing up but it’s such a revenge fantasy of mine like esp mid transition it was such a it gonna see me and not recognise me and want me and I’m not gonna care because I moved on and grew for me and I’m mine and you can’t have me
Fave lyric: “So, I'm feeling and I'm dealing/With the heart you broke/While you do press-ups and repress us/And take off her clothes, oh” - Okay yeah you pretend u don’t care and get over me with someone else, I’ll be here actually processing it and actually getting ready to move on
9 - Wendy
Oooh not what I expected
I’m such a damn sucker for literary refs (this, wonderland, cardigan, the classical references in Coming Of Age and History of Man)
“You’re evasive on the phone til you’re sorry on the floor” - oh holy FUCK 
“We could live off of magic and maybes” - that’s so pretty
Like the second chorus changing to add “So I'll lock the window and turn on the AC/You'll throw your rocks and you'll scream that you hate me/But it gets old being forever twenty” - YES like being forever young for a man is not worth it
“What about my wings” - The way she sings this is *chefs kiss*
“It’s a life I could have, I know“ - but I am worth MORE and I know it YES
“If I’m not careful I’ll wake up and we’ll be married” - We’ll be married and I’ll be terrified and it’s so easy to be caught up in you
big fave ugh
Fave lyric: “Behind every lost boy is always a wendy” or “what about my wings? What about Wendy?”
10 - Run
“I’ve heard some things that I will leave unrepeated" - ooooh
Oh my god the chorus is beautiful and Such a bop I want to dance to it in a club
I love that it’s just like fuck it no this is not gonna go well
Like it’s very if it’s a bad sign the get out but also even if it’s a good sign get out lol
Fave
Fave lyric: “Run as fast as you can/take a quick sharp turn at the sight of a man”
11 - Two Weeks Ago
Such a heartbreaker
“I wish we kissed when we first wanted” - We wasted so much time worrying about fucking things up and guess what they’re fucked anyway
Smart last single bc too deep for early single but something to hold onto
“A friend drove me/’cause you couldn’t do” - such a beautiful painting of the devastation of a breakup when you’re both broken, feels like good enough if it were mutual
“God I loved you babe did I tell you that?” - So sad second guessing yourself. also the harmonies here Kill me
Fave lyric: “I wish when we went to the beach that day/We’d taken more pictures/I’d been more brave" - I wish I had something tangible to hold onto but instead all I have are my faulty memories and I’ll be second guessing them for the rest of my life
“That last kiss/I didn’t look at you/but I wish I did” - If I’d known it was the last one I would’ve savoured it but I thought I had more to come but also some part of me must have known or I would’ve looked at you
12 - BSC
Not hearing a lot of lyrics on first listen ngl
“It wrecked my organs so pour the gin” - love it like you’ve already broken my heart so why not break the rest of me
Okay now I’m catching the lyrics I love them
Especially just full on committing to the image of being crazy and the lyrics and writing out ooooooh
Also all the swearing and just saying fuck this
Fave lyric: “Mister ‘I don’t want a label’/You made me little miss unstable” - Okay so you don’t want to be called something you’re not but nor do I and YOU did this to me. Obvious Mr Perfectly Fine link but also gives me illicit affairs vibe (Don't call me "kid," don't call me "baby"/Look at this idiotic fool that you made me”)
13 - Therapy
Oh my GOD this is so funny and so good
Such a bop
“Oh Lord I’m going back to therapy” - Ooooof. Feels like okay you fucked me up but at least I’m self-aware - when are you gonna go to therapy bro? But also oh GOD I thought I’d changed but now you’re gone I’m exactly how I was
„Broke me like a curse“ - ooh like the subversion of breaking a curse here, like breaking a curse is usually a good thing and he’ll probably try to spin it like that but there’s no spin that can make that true
Fave lyric: “So, how come you’re taking me from your arms/back to therapy?”
14 - There It Goes
“I'm back in London, I'm running down Columbia Road” - Again, love the specific locations, feels so grounded and concrete
Ngl so far I feel like we’re missing some longer ones so I’m happy about this one being longer and I like the sad ish bop
“I made it to September” - oh man that feels like a real okay fine I’ve made it to the next year lets go again. But also like yeah fuck I reached this milestone I didn’t like I would and now this date is passed I don’t feel so broken
Fuck me I really like that this whole album is heartbreak but catharsis. Like want you back, this and watch are all sad but all elements of something 
“I’m young but I am aging” - I love that so much. Like yeah I’m young but I am getting older, I’m changing and growing and I’ll look back at this one day and laugh, I’m gonna make the most of being young but I’m not gonna be terrified of losing my youth
“I felt so far from the cliffs” - Like u know what people can love me and be proud of me and want to show me off
“The way I loved you, I will not be embarrassed of that/I should’ve just known when to quit” - YES!! Don’t be ashamed of loving someone but you can be sad for not calling it quits soon enough 
Also I love the way she sings it
Fave lyric: “The love we had was covered in snow” - Like Love Him I Don’t (“comin’ up roses/kickin’ up snow”), “The love we had was eatin’ me whole” - I had to rip myself away from that or “The loss is yours” - It feels so final and so confident
15 - History of Man
Oh the opening lines they’re haunting and beautiful also I love songs that reference Jericho 
“Tale as old as honey” - Sweet and ancient
“I tried to rewrite it but I can’t” - She keeps saying she’s the writer but some things you just can’t change
“You walked out, oh/without sweating” - It wasn’t even fucking hard for you to leave, to run away from us, to leave me in the dust and rubble
“I’ve seen it in the poems, in the sands” - In the sands of time, in the poems of the ancients, this isn’t new, this will all happen again
The storytelling and the distance?? Love it
“I would’ve made him weaker too” - Redemption and vindication (I beg u Maisie write a song referencing Medea). The way she sings it is so pretty!
It’s so unspecific but so resonant
“Women’s hearts are lethal weapons/Did you hold mine and feel threatened?” - Were you scared of what me loving you meant? Were you scared of opening your heart and being vulnerable?
"Hear my lyrics taste my venom" - this is such a thesis statement for the album
Beautiful album closer and think it will be a fave
Fave lyric: “Men start wars yet Troy hates Helen/womens’ hearts are lethal weapons”
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verycharismaticdragon · 5 months ago
Text
Hey what if I did, like, a lets play of On Air Island but! an interactive one where we collectively choose the next option (via a poll) would anyone play with me
Um yeah to expound on that thought
What's On Air Island?
On Air Island is a game I'm currently brainrotting about.
The genre is stated as horror/thriller but even if you're not a fan of these genres id say still check it out because im not a fan either and Yet
This is perhaps because the game has a strong mystery element and encourages multiple replays/going back to try out different options (theres a really comfortable to use mechanic for that too!) so theres this drive to uncover more of the story. Which is why I'm still playing despite having finished all 40 endings already (yes, thats forty endings)
Quick plot blurb: the plot follows the cast and crew of a survival show called 'Never Stop Watching!' set up on a remote island. The show's unique setting is that every cast member streams their experience, and the winner is determined by the number of donations they receive on their stream. However, the island is not as simple as it appears, and soon enough the rankings will be the least of the cast's problems! (Que horror/thriller elements)
Why interactive Let's Play?
The thing I found the most refreshing about OAI is that you, the player, do not play as the protagonist, but rather as one of the viewers on the protagonist's stream. When the absence of 'i would not fucking say/do that' experience hits lol. Because of such setting, aside from the main cast, the presence of Observers - the fellow viewers - is strongly felt throughout the story as well. EzraHanse girlies in the chat you will always be famous. And... sometimes other Observers have completely different ideas about what's good for blorbo from your streams!
Then, since I run a poll aggregator blog and see like hundreds of polls a day, the vision of in-game choices and tumblr polls overlapped in my brain...
...and I thought, hey, wouldn't it be extremely atmospheric and true to in-game experience to have a bunch of people chipping in to determine the advice and tasks the protagonist receives from his viewers? Thus, the idea of doing an interactive lets play was born.
What are the pros of participating in the Let's Play, instead of just playing the game?
Well, first of all, this is absolutely my dastardly plan to make y'all play the game, make no mistake!
That said, if you aren't sure you are interested in playing it, you can experience the story in bite-sized chunks (i just vidded the prologue up to the first choice, and its less than 2 minutes!) on a semi-daily basis, with a little dopamine hit of clickin' the button at the end <3
Another thing is that making 'a donation' - ie, a choice in game - requires in-game currency. There are various ways to farm currency and there are almost always cheaper choices available, however! Since I already played and replayed multiple times, I have many choices unlocked, and it'll be easy for me to farm for the remaining ones. Especially now that I got all the endings and the desire to find the best one no longer plagues me so. So - you can experience the game while avoiding the grind!
And, ofc, as I've mentioned before, having many viewers/Observers would be very true to the atmosphere of the game. Ideally, I would hope for some discussion in the comments too, to parallel the in-game chat! This is also why I hope people who already played the game will participate too 👉👈 The more Observers we have the better, right? ;3
What if I don't vibe with watching videos / miss something / etc?
I'm planning to have a transcript available for each video, and something like a story-so-far post that you can check out to get up to date at any point. I also figure I'll be adjusting the format along the way, if we can get this party started at all, so feel free to suggest improvements to me at any time!
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queenofthyme · 6 months ago
Note
Okay this is kinda funny to me but I actually just finished binging your fic (did a descendants marathon, started mid D3, got genuinely interested in RoR, read the rest with bleary eyes and bated breath into what is now 4 am) and. I. I kid you not I was internally lamenting the lack of spicy scenes because you wrote the teasing incredibly well and. Well. I wasn't going to say anything bc ppl are completely within their right to not write something BUT then I saw your post and now that I know(1/?
(cont) and now that I know that not only is it maybe an option but that you'd be willing to write it let me just say. On my knees pleading. I was craving some MalxEviexUma content and you wrote it *so incredibly well* and it was such a delight to read. I appreciate you taking the cheating seriously and I really like how you handled the variety of queer revelations happening in this fic. Genuinely it is because of authors who write characters so well like this that I feel less isolated in my experiences
(cont) especially since things revolving around my identity and sexuality have been pretty present the past few months, and it's almost relieving and somewhat cathartic to get to read characters experiencing similar situations and getting to be accepted and also get together with their beloveds. And also have gay (dragon/tentacle/) sex lol. I like how you took your time with each of the characters to make their conclusions feel natural and anything but rushed, and I really love what a good grasp (3/?
(cont) you have of their voices. I could hear each of them (especially Uma) distinctly in my head the whole time, and could visualize their faces and movements so well because of how you wrote them. Character voices are hard, so many kudos to you!!! You really did a good job staying true to them! Also, somewhat but also not surprisingly, I was not having an easy time finding content for the three of them (or even a few of them) and sometimes when you're low on fics the ones you find aren't the most polished, but yk you take what you find or you make it yourself! But!!! That is not the case here! You wrote a beautiful and enjoyable and fucking sexy fic that exactly hit the spot for me and was a thrill all the way through. You do not know how many times I had to keep myself from jumping ahead or reading to fast to enjoy it because I was so excited. Also the only reason I'm not commenting is bc I don't have an ao3 account set up for this blog yet so I'm bothering you in asks instead!
I would like to be very detailed in my appreciation of how you wrote each character but I seriously need to sleep and I'm probably taking up to much space, so let me know if I can come back and rant to you about your fic in your ask box or if you would prefer me waiting till I can comment on the fic itself :3Thank you SO SO SO SO MUCH for writing such a scrumptious fanfic and for sharing it with the rest of us! /Grins/ Have a delightful rest of your week!
(final. Sorry it got split up! Tumblr was being an ass and giving me a word limit so I switched for Easter so I didn't have to verify w every ask and it fuckin dropped both problems lmao)
This is how you leave a comment, folks. If it's not 4 asks in my inbox when I wake up I don't want it.*
People like @gayafsowhat who leave comments and asks like this are the backbone of the fanfic community. These asks have sat in my inbox for a like a week because there's literally no way to adequately express my gratitude so I'll just say simply: thank you. ❤️
Also authors, if you are hesitating about writing for a smaller fandom or rare pair, fucking do it. Yes, I get more kudos on my drarry fics, but the enthusiasm and support you get from people when you write for pairings with less content is equally fulfilling (if not more - see giant comment above holy shit!??!?).
*This is obviously a joke. For the record, I gratefully accept and apppreciate comments in any format. ❤️
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kyluxtrashpit · 1 year ago
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So I’m having another… let’s call it an internet crisis. A thing that typically happens when I have Big Problems I can’t do fuck all about which means now it’s time to get Really Upset about problems that are comparatively small but do affect my daily routine (sorry again for no cut, I still can’t remember how to do it on mobile and I fucking hate hate hate the desktop post editor as much as someone can hate a piece of code)
It’s… getting harder to use tumblr. This isn’t about the sidebar, I don’t actually hate the sidebar cause we used to have a sidebar on the other side and I’ve missed it every since it left, but it’s about other things. A lot of things, but I won’t get into them all right now. For me, the new post editor is just. Really fucking difficult to use. If you’re just doing an unformatted, unplanned ramble (like this) or a little shitpost, it’s fine, especially if you’re on mobile (somehow the shitty mobile editor is now less shitty than the desktop editor, how tf did that happen), but if you’ve got multiple paragraphs and literally any formatting is needed? Well, you’re fucked, quite frankly, it is the most dense and convoluted post editor I’ve seen in like roughly 2 decades spent online. I’ve never seen anything more counterintuitive and difficult to use
And I’m sitting here with all these twitter posts I want to move. Some are little and would be easy. Others are a lot longer and more complicated and would shove me into that formatting hell I despise so much (and given how much feedback and unanswered asks to wip I’ve sent with no improvements, I’ve given up hope of it ever being made better). Like god I really, really want to save those posts but is it even worth it to do it here? But where else would I do it?
And the secondary layer too is… there’s no fucking posts here. No engagement on posts either most of the time. 90% of my posts come from my archive cause the kylux and Kylo (plus a few others I check less regularly) tags have very few daily posts and there’s hardly anything on my dash anymore. My original posts maybe get 10 notes on average, and these posts are ones that sometimes got near triple digit rts alone on twitter. Just seems there’s exceptionally few people here to enjoy them
And I’m still on twitter. It’s slowly dwindling but it’s still slightly more active than here. I’m on pillowfort and bsky too and they are truly dead (unless you’re a furry, good on the furries for populating every site in existence). There’s just. Nothing anymore. Maybe my fandoms are just dead but it feels like the meme about passing around the same $20 among friends cause capitalism is destroying us except with posts and likes
Idk. I feel like I don’t have an online home anymore. 90% of my socializing is online and 100% of my creativity is expressed through fandom and. I don’t know where to do that anymore. I have friends I chat with on discord and I love them but it’s… it’s not the same as a whole community, you know? And now that our homes are falling apart with every sign pointing towards imminent foreclosure like. What do I do. I know I’ve been through site losses before but. It feels different. Something new and shiny always came along before the end. I fear that’s not coming and we’ll all just be lost
Idk. I don’t have a conclusion. Twitter is doomed. I hate how the new owners are running on tumblr and I’m still posting here more out of a desperate desire to remember what community felt like than any real actual want to do so. The new sites have nothing going on. Idk. I feel lost. And maybe it’s the 15 other problems I have going on right now and hormones and shit but. I just don’t know what to do and I’m scared of what the future looks like for online communities and how alone I’ll be if I lost them (even though in reality I already have lost them aside from a small handful of people)
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deliciouskeys · 2 years ago
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pick five numbers (dealer's choice) to do for the boys
I don’t know if I’m ready for this level of autonomy. From the choose violence ask meme
12- the unpopular character that you actually like and why more people should like them
Jonah Vogelbaum heh! It’s not that I like or want people to like him. But I sometimes want to read about wth was going through his mind in the 80s and 90s lol. Did he ever consider any parallels between his actual kids at home and the Vought project he was raising in the lab? At what point did he realize that he may have irrevocably fucked up HL’s psyche? I’m also curious about his hypothetical interactions with Edgar and Stillwell.
20- part of canon you found tedious or boring
Boring: stuff they take from the comics to make comics fans happy not because it propels the story forward. s3 was a big offender with the pointless Little Nina storyline, the Legend just kind of… being a Hollywood producer stereotype, and a relatively pointless Jamie the Hamster cameo.
Tedious to deal with in fic logistics so I don’t: V24-induced terminal illness
22- your favorite part of canon that everyone else ignores
Not ignored per se, but I feel like it’s never fully put to use (including myself in this): all of HL’s weird super senses resulting in a very different life experience. Writers will allude to it, but it’s a fount of untapped potential.
23- ship you’ve unwillingly unexpectedly come around to
I have never read x reader before this fandom, but the HL x reader short fic format game is really strong on tumblr, often good and entertaining characterization for HL, interesting hypothetical situations, and pretty fun, without the constraints of fitting together with another canon character. I do see the appeal.
Honorable mention: It’s not that I was unwilling, but I would never have thought I’d read Homie fic and not die of LOL. But it’s not an intrinsically bad pairing.
24- topic that brings up the most rancid discourse
This one’s easy. When someone, often but not always under the age of 20, has just finished the show and astutely noticed that Homelander is a villain, has done bad things, is a misogynist, is racist, is a nazi … anywhere along that spectrum they choose to settle. And then tag with #homelander because they don’t understand how tumblr works lol
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puffin-smoke · 8 months ago
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call me Puffin C Smoke the way I have answers
1 - I think she'd ignore it. She doesn't really believe in soulmates. The idea that there's "Someone destined to be with you" just annoys her. She doesn't believe it would be that easy, and she doesn't want it to be that easy either. She wants to work for it, and truly feel like she deserves it. Fate can take a hike.
2 - This kind of dark turquoise blue? It's her vibe. Indisputably. sorry it kind fucks up the formatting TUMBLR YOU ASS
Tumblr media
3 - One moment she'll be listening to ABBA, the next it'll be heavy metal. Her spotify wrapped is a clusterfuck
4 - Well I'm sure Duarte would react very maturely and calmly, and take a moment to breath and form a plan-
No. She sees this and sees red. She runs over to where Chester is sitting, grabs the stranger by the back of their shirt and drags them all the way across the park. She tosses them to the ground.
"Go home. Don't let me see you pull that shit again."
She watches the stranger, hopefully, walk away. Once they're out of sight, only then do they breath, and consider what she just did. Probably not the most mature response, but somehow still the best one.
She walks back over to Chester, stands there for a second, mildly out of breath and unsure of what to say. "Sorry about that. Anyway. " She shrugs and sits down next to him. "So, uh, what's new in plants?"
5 - She doesn't believe in any particular gods, but it stands to reason in her mind that there has to be a few. She kind of hope that ghosts aren't real because once she dies she just wants to be done, she's tired dude-
6 - Gift giving and quality time. It's her way of showing she cares, even if she can't find the words to say it.
7 - jesus christ this got dark real fast, Probably her father? She has no good nor bad memories of him, so she's got nothing to hold onto. He's her perfect candidate.
8 - Oddly I think option 1. Being a part of the army has helped her so much, it's given her an opportunity to be more open with her emotions and actually reflect on who she used to be without just falling into a spiral of shame and regret. She's made so many good memories and met so many amazing people.
She doesn't want to lose that. She's scared of who she might be without the bugs. So she'll choose to leave. And hold those memories close to her heart, forevermore.
Well call me Scott Smajor cause I have questions (pls get that refrence-)
1) Y'know those universes where a red string connects soulmates (platonic or romantic) by their wrists? Yeah your Bug's in that universe, what do they do? (Do they follow the string? Cut it? Wait for their soulmate to find them? WHAT HAPPENS BRO)
2) Describe your Bug as a colour (specific shades people) ((this has probably been asked before, sorry))
3) Modern! AU
What's your bugs music taste like?
4) Scenario! (tw: creep)
The Bugs were at the park, some were playing in the actual park bit, some were simply enjoying the sun but Chez was sat on the grass. He had a jacket underneath him and a notebook in his hands, he was taking notes on the flowers he could see around him. He seemed happy...until a stranger came and sat down right beside him
Stranger: Well hello there, what you doing over here all on your own darling?
Chester tried to politely tell the stranger that he was simply looking at the plants which he didn't think required a companion, this made the person laugh
Stranger: Oh come on, you can't seriously be that interested in a bunch of plants. Why don't you come with me? I'm sure we could get up to something a lot more interesting than looking at some grass
Chester kept trying to politely tell the stranger that he wasn't interested in whatever they were offering but the stranger wouldn't take no for an answer, they kept talking and shuffling closer to Chez. Then they put their arm around his shoulders causing him to tense up...but he wasn't doing anything to get rid of them. He was so good at helping others get rid of creeps yet for some reason he froze up whenever he was being pestered
What does your bug do?
5) What kind of spiritual creatures does your bug believe in? (Gods, spirits, ghosts, angels, etc)
6) What's your bugs way of showing love/affection?
7) Your Bug is being forced to forget one person from their life, entirely, they won't remember a single things about them. Who do they forget?
8) (sort of similair to 7)
Your Bug has a choice
Option 1. Abandon all the Bugs, they will never see any of them again but they will remember everything from their time together (the Bugs will also remember them but a traitor who left them for no reason)
Option 2. Forget everybody they knew before the Bugs, everybody in their life before they met the Boys & Bugs just gone from their memory (everyone from their past will also forget them, as if Bug never existed to them)
Which do they choose?
Tags -
@rozeliyawashereyall @willowve01 @asmrbrainrot @kaiamtt @iistxrmyskyii @insignificant-anarchy @stxph-artist @aspenm00n @keyaartz @fangsshadow @rustycopper4use @piffany666 @dreamyshape @idontevenknow7878 @lunaritychuwolf @littlesiren79 @castbracelet240 @strayharmony943 @proxdragon @tiefling-chaos @threeweekinsomnia @recated @wilderrorcard @diamondzoey @fennaboysenberry @lunnats @lightdragon789 @pinkcocopuff-aqualoid @itsargyle @astralbulldragon13 @ccstiles @puffin-smoke
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natalieironside · 3 years ago
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Hey Natalie, I was wondering if you had any guides you used for self publishing? I've written like..... 2 and a half kissing books and I'm considering publishing them for fun and profit 😳 if not nbd, I am proficient in google, I just have trouble figuring out how much of that grind mentality is actually important.
I'm mostly blundering my way through this myself, but I'll give it a shot.
No matter what anybody tells you: Once you've written the book and cleaned it up for publication, the hard part's over. My sales as a self-pub author of extremely niche fiction are already way higher than I expected, and none of the work I've put into marketing has been half as much time or effort as actually creating the thang dings.
If you have the money, hire an editor. The Last Girl Scout was a self-edit (on account of I didn't and don't have the money), and while I am still very happy with it, it's nowhere near the book it could've been as a consequence--as many Goodreads reviewers will tell you.
I also recommend hiring a formatter. You can do your own formatting if you're like a nerd who knows about computers and stuff, but it's a lot of work and not everybody has that skill set. Also, like with editing, it is very very easy to overlook mistakes when it's your own work your dealing with. Here I'm gonna plug @kodyboye, who's formatted all the stuff I've sent to print and does excellent work (also fast as hell; iirc he had like 24-hour turnaround on the typescript of TLGS, which is a 600-page leviathan).
Once you've got your formatted files and cover art (which is a whole 'nother kettle of worms that I do not feel qualified to get into, I have An Associate who handles that for me), self-pub is as easy as hitting a button if you use Amazon KDP or as easy as hitting 3 or 4 more buttons if you use another service. Then you'll have a book and you'll be like "Wtf I'm an author."
(note on the above: Do not fuck w/ any service that asks you for money. Pay-to-play publishing services are 100% a scam; a publisher or publishing service asking an author to pay them is literally the same thing as your boss making you pay to come to work)
As for marketing: If you don't have the budget for paid promotions (which I don't and I'm assuming most ppl reading this don't), the best thing you can do is to Be A Person On The Internet. I'm lucky b/c I'd already developed a not-insignificant following from being a weird nerd Tumblr shitposter before I had to make a book happen, but you can speedrun that by just being generally active on your blog. In addition to whatever your regular blog content is, post samples of your work, talk about your creative process, be ready to talk about your books A Lot even on those days when it feels like nobody else is, and follow tags like #writeblr and #bookblr. (I'm also gonna tag in @thebibliosphere who is an A+ Tumblr follow and way better at this game than me)
I also very recommend joining a trade organization; I've been a member of the Horror Writers Association for a little over a year now and it's pretty great being automatically plugged into a network of other ppl in the industry.
And for broader-scope industry networking w/ people who are also very very invested in Writers Getting Paid For Their Work, I encourage (that is: beg) everybody who's even thinking about putting pen to paper to join the Freelance Journalists Union:
Hope this helps <3
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vicholas · 3 years ago
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This whole article is pretty laughable and badly written but also I feel it’s a pretty good example of something I’ve been thinking a lot about Wikipedia, which is that if you get well familiar with how things are done in there, the kind of language Wikipedia admins like, and how to try to decorate an irrelevant topic to make it look more notable than it is, they won’t delete your article and will be happy to keep it there.
Wikipedia admins and editors claim to be pretty strict about notability of topics and about having tight standards on what to deem notable and what not, but along with a lot of documented bias they have, they have a very pedant quality of appreciating more bullshit articles that try to polish a turd by making it look encyclopedic, over the kind of articles that can be more important but were written by someone less familiar with Wikipedia’s formatting and culture.
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Here in the Mako Mori Test article, you have a neat little section at the beginning talking about gender theory in film to make the article look serious and that it knows what’s talking about, talking about Judith Butler’s views that have nothing to do with this to make it seem there’s more historical precedent to your fucking Tumblr test than there actually is.
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You have a section in the article about criticisms towards the Bechdel Test being used as measure for Feminism In Movies, which the article uses to boost as proof the Mako Mori test is the cool hip new alternative despite that test not being mentioned in those criticisms sourced at all. But citing those criticisms makes the bullshit test seem more valid.
Bullshit “respectable” sources to make your turd article look important is easy when you know when to do it. The Mako Mori Test article has 30 sources listed, including academic books, all formatted neatly to make it look good and disguise that their main source is a fucking Tumblr post and most of those sources don’t talk about said test at all, most are about unrelated reviews of Pacific Rim, of the Bechdel Test, of feminism and movies, of feminism criticism of Disney movies. 
Of the 30 sources in the article, only 9 talk about the titular test:
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Of those: 2 are Tumblr posts, 3 others are other kinds of blogs, 1 is Aja Romano of all fucking people, 1 is a women's lifestyle magazine, 1 is an independent science fiction magazine, and 1 is Slate, arguably the most respectable and credible source from the whole list. And the Slate article is not about the test itself, it’s about the treatment of Mori in the second film and brings up the test related to the character’s impact and reactions to her treatment in both films. 
Bullshitting sources to make your topic seem more notable than it is gets easier as time goes as internet journalism relies more and more on reporting on whatever trend is popular in social media to be topical, and those sources are counted as reliable by Wikipedia. See the, fucking, Wikipedia article on "Dark Academia” which has Nytimes and The Guardian articles talking about the topic in its sources.
This whole following section of the article feels like it’s just there to have more sources at the end of the article (each source is just. a link to a site defining each of these concepts listed in relation to feminism analysis) lmao:
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I could continue dissecting the article but this post is so long already. Anyway I get frustrated with Wikipedia a lot, I wish the stupid ways Wikipedia works would be discussed more instead of being treated as this whole. flawless system. Wikipedia admins are humans, and often pretty dumbass and shallow ones.
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edensbuttercups · 3 years ago
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Eddie Munson x reader // I'm not leaving you (and you're not leaving me.)
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// Spoilers for Season 4 Vol. 2!! //
Summary: Eddie cut the rope and went back out the door of his trailer in the Upside Down, but as much as you'd really like to leave, you're not leaving him down there, and you're bringing him back with you, no matter what.
A/N: I haven't written in quite some time, and I've never written for the Stranger Things fandom, so please go easy on me. Now, did episode 9 absolutely wreck me? Yes. Am I ignoring it and changing it so that it doesn't stomp on my heart? Also yes, which made this fic come in creation. Hasn't been proofread by anyone other than my very tired eyes, and again, haven't written in a very long time, but comments are very much appreciated, as well as whoever wants to scream with me about Eddie, please let's be friends.
This is also terribly formatted, but Tumblr won't let me save it otherwise, so sorry about that!
Words: 5k
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“That’s not gonna hold!” “Let’s go, Let’s go!” You shuffled behind Dustin, pulling him up while glancing back, watching as the door kept shaking with each hit. “Go, go, go, Dustin, c’mon!” you yelled, urging him on. You watched as he climbed up, getting to the ceiling and moving to the other side, his yell loud as he fell on the other side, his body thumping loudly on the mattress before rushing away, giving you the space to land. You gripped the rope tightly, pulling yourself up as fast as you could, finally reaching the top and feeling the air whoosh around you, the sudden change in gravity making you dizzy, but not stopping you from standing up immediately, calling Eddie’s name in a hurry to get him out of there.
“Let’s go, Let’s go!”
You shuffled behind Dustin, pulling him up while glancing back, watching as the door kept shaking with each hit.
“Go, go, go, Dustin, c’mon!” you yelled, urging him on.
You watched as he climbed up, getting to the ceiling and moving to the other side, his yell loud as he fell on the other side, his body thumping loudly on the mattress before rushing away, giving you the space to land. You gripped the rope tightly, pulling yourself up as fast as you could, finally reaching the top and feeling the air whoosh around you, the sudden change in gravity making you dizzy, but not stopping you from standing up immediately, calling Eddie’s name in a hurry to get him out of there.
“We’re good, Eddie, let’s go! C’mon!”
He let go of the weapons, his hands wrapping around the rope just like yours and Dustin’s had, pulling himself up halfway before stopping.
The sound coming from the other side wasn’t letting up, the banging growing louder and louder, signalling that the door was nearing its breaking point.
“Eddie, you’re so close! Eddie! Let’s Go!”
Dustin was furiously jumping up and down, the stress of his friend not moving getting dragged into his limbs. Your arm flew to his arm, stopping him mid-jump.
“Eddie, don’t you dare!” you shouted, seeing his eyes widen in thought, glancing back towards the door and understanding what his thought process was.
“Eddie.”
Dustin’s voice warned him, growing weaker.
You watched while he moved away, grabbing the spear and taking a swing at the rope, slicing it where the two ends met.
“What are you doing? Eddie, no!”
The rope fell in Dustin’s hands, his panicked eyes not moving from the gate in the ceiling.
This was a stupid idea.
You weren’t supposed to deviate from the plan.
And this definitely was deviating from the plan.
Your feet moved before you could form a phrase, a word, anything, leaving Dustin to shout at Eddie in a vain attempt at convincing him to stop, to come back, to not go ahead with his little plan. And you wished with your whole heart that he would listen, just this once, but you knew Eddie enough to know that sometimes he was a big fucking idiot.
“Eddie, what are you doing?”
“I’m buying more time.”
You grabbed the closest chair and dragged it towards Dustin, letting out a frustrated shout when you glanced up and saw him gone.
“Dustin, let’s move the mattress, c’mon.”
“What are-“
“I’m going in. I’m not leaving him.”
You placed the chair down under the gate, cursing at yourself cause without mattress, this was gonna hurt like hell.
“You can stay here. I’ll grab him and take him back, I just need to find him and-"
“No, screw it, I’m coming along.”
“Dustin.” You warned, not knowing what to add, but knowing that if there was one thing that linked the three of you was that you all were stubborn, and you all cared for each other enough to risk your lives.
“Fine. But you stay out of sight, okay? Let’s go.”
You jumped up, grabbing the edge of the gate in hoped that it would break your fall, which it did only partly, slowing you down and flipping you over, only for you to fall to the side, landing harshly on something sharp.
“Fuck!” you yelled, reaching for your arm, feeling the burning feeling of a cut, along with something wet slowly making its way down your sleeve, painting it red.
“Are you okay?”
“Dustin, just… just wait! I’ll get the mattress for you. Don’t jump!”
He waited, and you wondered for a second if leaving him would be better, if sprinting for the door would be the right choice, but you shook those thoughts away, moving back towards the gate with your makeshift landing pad.
“Grab the weapons and throw them my way, then jump!”
Dustin threw everything as quickly as he could, the throws working well enough that each piece flew from his hand to yours, allowing him to jump the second he had passed you everything.
Time slowed down as you ran. You could hear Dustin behind you, and you could hear the sounds of battle ahead. You ran as fast as you could, your feet struggling to keep up but ultimately managing just fine, raising your voice into a battle cry as you ran, Dustin soon copying you as he followed.
“Come get me, you sons of bitches!” You shouted loudly, slowing down before the scene that was unfolding, with Eddie lying on the ground, spear held tightly in his hand while the demobats kept flailing around him.
The tears in your eyes started flowing freely as you held your own spear tightly, raising it overhead. Dustin’s voice rose and matched your own, your screams alerting the swarm and leading it towards you. It wasn’t ideal, but most of them weren’t attacking Eddie anymore.
You ran back, jumping ahead and dragging Dustin away from the new attack that was coming your way, taking some hits as you fell to the ground, but turning in time to strike a good few of them, shield held ahead.
Hit after hit, you went ahead, moving towards Eddie with each step, needing to know that he was okay.
There are too many.
Your thoughts kept being too loud as you went ahead, step after step.
“Dustin, get back inside! I’ll deal with them!”
You couldn’t hear his answer, but you hoped he heard you, you hoped that he’d turn and leave, be safe.
The sky roared above you, shrieks and screams filling the air as you moved, blood covering your arms and legs in too many places to count, but you kept moving, until one by one you could feel them, hear them, crashing down around you. A sound that would surely follow you, the sound of their bodies thumping to the ground, but all you cared about now was him. You could see him, lying on the ground, his head thrown back, his hair messy and cascading around him, almost like a crown.
“Eddie!” you screamed, urging your legs to keep going, to not give up on you, because how could you give up now? After all that has happened? How could you give up on that one person that could keep that smile on your face for hours.
There was something about the way his face turned to look at you, the way that there was all that blood, yet he still smiled.
Dustin wasn’t far behind you, his scream raw and panicked and frantic, but you ignored that, finally falling on your knees in front of him, moving him so that he was resting in your arms, your hand cupping his cheek in support. He looked at you, his smile still tender and soft, even as your tears rushed down your cheeks, your hands finding his body and applying pressure where needed.
He turns his gaze from you to behind you, smiling up at Dustin.
“Hey there, nerd.”
“Eddie! You should’ve... you shouldn’t have-“ his sobs stop him, his eyes still holding all that panic and fear as he studies his body, and you reach up to him, holding his hand before moving it back to Eddie’s torso, the pressure you’re applying somewhat helping with the wounds that decorate his body.
“I didn’t run away this time, right?”
He speaks to Dustin, his smile soft, but you can hear his hesitation nonetheless, as if the answer could ever be anything but what he wants, needs, to hear.
“No, no, no, you didn’t. You didn’t.” he confirms, looking down at his friend, his hands trembling as he kneels down next to you, gripping onto Eddies jacket.
You wish he had run away this time, because your mind is panicking at the thought of what will happen if someone doesn’t come to help soon, and maybe if he had followed you back through the gate before all this had happened, he wouldn’t be in your arms, but he’d be okay.
“Henderson?” you ask, breaking the conversation they were having while your mind was racing elsewhere.
“Yes?”
He’s too young for all of this. You were exhausted from all that was happening and you had been here for barely any of it, but him? This wasn’t fair on him. The way he spoke, lighting up at his passions, or when, like now, he was eager to help. He deserved the world, yet he faced the blood and pain that the Upside Down was bringing with bright eyes and a strong spirit.
“Go get someone, okay? I’ll get him to the gate, you just… find someone. Or something! We’ve got to stop the bleeding, and then we have to get him somewhere safe.”
He nodded quickly, looking back at the man you held so tenderly.
“Go, Dustin. We’ll be there. I promise.” Eddie spoke softly, knowing that the less he moved the more okay he could sound. He wasn’t okay, not really, but Henderson didn’t have to know that.
He nodded quickly, opening his mouth before letting it close again, knowing that you’d take care of him. You knew what to do, right?
Wrong.
You didn’t know what to do, not with nothing on hand to actually help, and all you could do was cry as you held him, your body rocking him slightly while you thought.
“Shh. Don’t cry, that’s not what I want to see before-“
“Don’t even say it. Don’t you dare. You aren’t.” your words were harsh, desperately trying to be strong, if only with your words.
He smiled, sitting up slightly, cursing under his breath at the feeling.
“My solo was great though, wasn’t it?” he asked proudly, one hand coming up in a sign of the horns gesture.
You laughed, wiping a few tears, nodding.
“Probably the best concert I’ve been to.”
“You been to many concerts?” he asked, eyebrows quirked, deep down knowing that no, you hadn’t been to that many.
“And any concert I’ll ever go to.” You added, still smiling.
You took another breath, feeling the fear slowly subside as the blood gushing out of his wounds did the same, the pressure helping more that you expected.
“What the hell happened to not being heroes, huh?” You didn’t want to cry again, so you held him tighter, his body on yours grounding you enough to allow you not to break down.
“I’ve been running away too much recently.”
“There’s no shame in running.”
He left a quiet laugh at your words, recognising them as his from the D&D night you had joined, marking the day where your relationship went from a-friend-of-a-friend to real friends, helping him out along with the others when he needed it the most.
He closed his eyes at the sting of his cuts, but didn’t stop the small chuckle that left his lips. He’d rather spend his last moments laughing in your arms; his smile was something he wanted you to remember, after all.
“You’re an idiot.” You spoke, your voice breaking slightly.
“I know.”
“If me and Dustin-“
“I know.” He repeated, raising his hand to your cheek, wiping a tear that had fallen.
You watched as his blood-stained hand wiped your tear, the two substances mixing into one.
“You know that song that Max keeps playing?” you questioned, pulling him up slightly, slowly assessing his wounds.
“Running Up That Hill? Of course I do. I mean, I might be a Metal head, but I also know other songs. Plus she's been playing it non-stop, so.”
“Eddie Munson listens to Kate Bush when no one’s looking, huh?” you joked, glancing in his eyes.
“Never said that, sweetheart. But it is a good song, I’ll give you that.” He smiled brightly; his eyelids heavy as he looked at you.
You took a deep breath before speaking, looking up to the sky as it roared above you, the red colouring of it terrifying and beautiful at the same time.
“If I could, I’d make a deal with God.”
“And get him to swap our places?” he joked, a smile tugging at his lips.
“Yes. Yes, I would.”
His face fell at your words, his eyes widening for an instant, taking in what you said, hearing how serious you were.
“Never, and I say never, say that again. This is my mess. I’m a coward, I’m a freak, and the only thing I can be proud of is this. Not running away for once. And I’d never allow for you to get in harm’s way, especially if I could be instead of you.”
“Then you know how I feel. You’re not a coward, you’re not a freak. And God, do I wish you had run away this time.” Your hand found his cheek again, rising higher to comb through his hair, caressing him while you spoke. “You are an idiot though.”
The tears were back, both in yours and his eyes, along with a hushed laughter, and you could swear that something had changed for both of you, his breathing no longer as ragged as it was, a new found force fuelling him.
“Am I, now?”
“Deep down I think you’ve always been.”
His eyes were glued to yours as you spoke, following your every movement. He could feel his heart hammering in his chest, and he wondered if you could feel it too. He could’ve blamed it on the fight with the demobats, but deep down he knew that it was all because of how close you were to him.
After the night that he met you, his mind always found a way to bring his thoughts back to you. He remembered your smile when you walked in, trailing behind Dustin and searching the room for familiar faces, before setting on him. You always waved at him and the others when they eat, but never sat with them, not being part of the party and wanting to leave them between themselves, not sure if a girl was well accept, and always smiled when you crossed paths in the corridors. He found the courage, that night, hiding behind his role as the Dungeon Master, and spoke loudly to you, summoning all the confidence he could in a fake attempt to scare you away from his party, but secretly wondering what you would be like. You had always been kind to Henderson and he spoke about you often, and you always cut out time in your day to wave over at them or say hi when you crossed paths, uncaring of their ranking in the popularity scale at Hawkins High.
“Eddie?”
He hadn’t heard you call him the first two times, but now you sounded desperate, scared, and his eyes focused on yours once more, nodding when he saw your expression.
“I’m still here.”
“Well don’t you dare leave me, freak. We’ve got to go, okay? You’ll have to stand up.”
How could a word that had been spoken with so much hate for all of his life sound so sweet coming from you?
“I don’t know if I can, baby.”
“Just do it, Munson. I know you can.”
You slipped him out of his arms, rising to your feet and crouching down again to help him up, grabbing him under his arms, your faces close as you nodded your head, asking if it was okay to help him up. He got distracted for a moment, nodding while he glanced down at your lips, groaning when you took his signal immediately, lifting him up in one sharp pull.
“Shit! Shit, shit, shit!” he cursed, feeling with each single fiber of his being each shred of skin that had started to heal being ripped all over again. He could, however, also feel your hands wrapped firmly around him, and that almost made the pain feel worth it.
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry!” you cried back, scrunching your face as you pulled him towards you, taking each calculated step back to his trailer, feeling his body pressed to yours, most of his weight relying on your strength as you made your way back. You could feel your cheeks heat up at the closeness, making you curse under your breath. This wasn’t good timing for whatever feelings you were harbouring.
You turned your thoughts away from how goddamn close he was, switching them to preparing a plan on how to get him back through the gate, highly doubting that he’d have the strength to fling himself up the other side from that flimsy chair, so you needed some other sort of plan.
“How you holding up, Munson?”
“Never felt better.”
He spoke through gritted teeth, dragging his limbs as best he could, trying to calm his mind. He could feel himself get weaker again, but he could make it, right? Sure, his legs were barely moving, allowing himself to be dragged along by you, and he felt dizzy as hell, but he’d at least try. For you.
You knew that he was in pain, you could hear it in each breath, in each drag on his feet on the ground and in the way his hands twitched at each step, struggling to hide his pain.
“Talk to me.”
“What?”
“Talk. I need to hear that you’re awake.”
“Oh, honey, how could I sleep in such a moment?”
He was referring to you, how could he sleep when you were here holding him, but you interpreted it as “how could I sleep when the world is ending”. There was no way Eddie thought of you in that way, not when you hadn’t been in each other’s life for long enough, not when he was seeing you as the mess that you were in this situation.
“What was your plan? For after you graduated?”
“What?”
“After school?”
“You’re talking about school now?”
“I just need you awake! What do you want to talk about, smartass?”
“I… I don’t know! You!”
You were approaching his trailer, just a last little push and you’d be there, and then Dustin would be there, and maybe someone else, and everything would be fine.
“I just suggested talking about school!” you scoffed, playfully looking back at him, “And got immediately shot down.”
“No, no… I…” he quieted down, pretending to flinch from pain, rather than a sudden shyness that overtook him, “I want to talk about you.”
You looked back at him, feeling his hand snake in yours, holding it, his arm still tightly draped around you. You were so goddamn close. You could feel his breath on your cheek, and you were sure that had another lighting struck above you, he’d see how red your cheeks were.
“What about me?” you somehow muttered, moving your gaze to his trailer as you avoided a few pieces of debris that littered the floor.
“Anything about you. I just…” he groaned as his arm slipped, gripping on tightly as he felt himself lose his footing. “I just wonder about you, you know? You came into my life though Henderson and a D&D campaign, and then you just… you still hung around. You still stayed. And I just…”
Before he could finish, he looked ahead, spotting the open door and the mess that was his trailer.
And then he remembered. There was no rope, this time. Not that he could climb it anyway.
“Listen… you promise to take care of them, okay? Mike and Dustin? And tell them to take care of my little sheep, will you?”
“Eddie?”
“And you take care of yourself, okay? Be confident in who you are, and show everyone how brightly you shine, just like that D&D night, remember? You held your head high, even when I was being a dick.”
“Eddie, you’re-“
“You’re amazing.” He interrupted, “I wish we had fallen in each other’s paths sooner.”
You were inside now, the gate just a few feet away.
“Eddie, I’m not leaving you.”
“I’ll haul you up.” His arm slipped away from your shoulders, and you immediately felt the loss. You sighed, moving to grab his arm before he could move out of reach.
“You’re coming along. You’re coming up there with me.”
“Maybe it’s better if I just stay here?”
“Excuse me?”
“There’s no way a hospital will treat me. I’m a murderer. And how will you get us to the other side? I am struggling just to walk, let alone-“
“I'm not leaving you. I'll find a way. Now shut it and get your ass here, Eddie.”
“If this was a different scenario: hot.” He mouthed the last part, a smug smirk on his lips.
You felt your cheeks heat up once more, ignoring his comment as you moved back towards the gate, looking up and spotting Dustin rushing into the trailer, a makeshift first aid kit in hand.
Turning, you shouted back, signalling that you had indeed made it back.
“Dustin, I’ll make another rope, but you’ll have to gather more things to break the fall, okay?“
“Stop.” You felt his hand in yours again, turning to face him.
He still had a smile on his face, soft and kind, but his eyes held something else.
“You go. You’ve done enough. I’ll die a happy man.”
“Enough?”
“For me. You’ve showed me kindness. Hell, you even said I’m not a freak.”
His laughter was so sweet, like music. And you realised it now, just how broken he was. How his laughter and sarcasm and jokes hid all that he held inside. He didn’t feel worthy of the risk you were putting yourself through, he didn’t feel like the effort needed to get him out of Hawkins was justified for him. But in your eyes, he was worth it, one thousand times over.
In his mind, you were doing this out of kindness, guild, pity. He had his moment of glory, and he had selfishly spent these last moments with you, but now was time to let go, wasn’t it?
You sighed, moving past him and into his room. You could hear him call you, slowly beginning to follow you as you proceeded to make another rope with these other bedsheets. The mattress had already been moved back, and this was probably a stupid plan, to some extent, but it turned out that you were selfish, too. You weren't in the mood to hear him argue with you, and you would make him understand just how important he was for you once you made it out of here.
The final knot had been made, giving you some sort of grip for the climb.
“Hold this.” The rope flew from your hands to his, leaving him wide-eyed and confused. You pushed him back towards the living room, urging him to head back to Dustin before turning and grabbing the handcuffs you had been eyeing on the wall.
The rope was now in place, a nervous Dustin on one side, and a doe-eyed Munson on the other.
You moved closer, glancing up at Dustin and nodding quickly, seeing him near the stack of pillows and first aid items he had arranged.
“Eddie?”
He hummed in response, looking back at you.
“If you're gonna stay, may I at least have a goodbye kiss?”
He was dead. He had to be, right? He died all the way back there, with the demobats and all. Because not even in his wildest dreams had he allowed his mind to go here, with you standing so prettily in front of him, arms behind your back as you leaned forward, waiting for him.
“Anything for you, m’lady.” He joked, bowing down and moving closer, his hand finding yours and moving it up to his lips, kissing your knuckles one by one.
“You know, this is sweet as hell, Eds, but I meant a real kiss.”
He held his mouth open, pretending to be offended at your comment, but chuckled straight after.
“I… well, there’s blood everywhere. Not very attractive” he muttered, gesturing at his face. You inched closer, feeling his breath stutter as he watched you. You didn’t want to push him, but you needed his hands around you.
“Is this okay?” You asked, just to make sure.
“I’ve been dreaming about it, so yeah, it’s more than okay. Is it okay for you?”
You nodded, smiling at him before connecting your lips with his.
You didn’t know what you expected. You had fantasised about him kissing you before, no lie there. Once you had spotted him with his arm around Dustin and Mike, a big smile on his face, and all you could do was smile back at them, knowing they hadn’t even seen you, but wondering how it would feel to be part of the embrace. Another time, after the night that you joined the party, he drove you home along with the others, but kept you for last. It had been short, too short, but you had talked about your passions, and he had listened, smiling and joking whenever he could. He dropped you off at your house with a quick wave, but the look on his face that night made you crave more, and you wondered what it would be like to lean over and press your lips to his.
And here you were now, his lips softly pressed on yours, the smell of cigarettes and leather still lingering on him from before he came to the Upside Down. You pulled him in closer, enjoying this moment for just a second more before you put your plan into action.
In love and war everything was fair, right?
He tensed up when he heard the first click, glancing up at you with questioning eyes while you just beamed, pulling your hand up and clinking the other cuff to your wrist, linking you together.
“What-“
“Guess we’re in this together, huh?”
“Are… are these my handcuffs? Did you just handcuff us together?”
“Yes, you kinky man. Now help me climb.”
He blushed at your words, groaning when he felt you move towards Dustin, one of your hands raising over your heads.
“So how are we gonna do this?” you asked, facing him again.
It took a lot of effort, and a lot of cheering from Dustin, but you got through, crashing down onto each other once you passed the middle of the gate, your body thankfully landing under Eddie’s, so his wounds took minimal damage in the fall. Still, the sight that was above you was divine, his messy hair cascading around you along with the feeling of his arms on either side of you.
“Eddie!”
Dustin shouted gladly, moving to grab his friend and wrapping his arms around him, forgetting how you were still attached to the man and half-dragging you along with him, leaving you sprawled on the mattress with one hand in the air, waiting for their hug to finish.
“Dustie?”
“Yeah?”
With the corner of your eye, you saw Eddie’s lips twitch up at the sight of you lying there in such a comical position, but he chocked down the laughter, that feeling in his chest rising again and stopping him.
“We need a key for these.”
“They’re in the drawer near my… you know what, we’ll go.”
“Why-“
“There are some things that he shouldn’t see.” He whispered your way, throwing you a wink before standing up, a string of curses slipping out as he stood up. He hated the feeling of the blood drying and pulling on his skin, and he hated the places where the blood was still gushing out, because it hurt so fucking much. But, on the bright side, if these ever healed, he’d look metal as fuck.
You laughed, and it was that laugh that made him smitten that first day, and he hated it, because Eddie Munson doesn’t get mushy feelings, but here he was, bloody and broken and handcuffed to you, both emotionally and physically.
Dustin stayed behind, glancing at you with a knowing look, glad that two of his favorite people had formed a closer bond than what he had expected.
“So.” He started, not finishing.
“So?” you continued, smiling. You still felt giddy from the kiss, but you tried to ignore that for now. You didn’t know if it was something that would happen again, although you hoped it would, so you just waited and listened.
“I… what’s the plan?”
“Opening the handcuffs.”
He turned his head towards you, looking at you with his eyebrows raised. He truly truly hated your sense of humor sometimes, and right now he just felt the need to know where you stood, what the next steps were and when, if and where he could kiss you again.
“No way! Thanks, ma’am, never would’ve figured that out all alone!” his voice was filled with sarcasm, but his lips were perked up in a smug grin, enjoying your comments.
“No worries, pretty boy.” You winked, lifting your arm towards him when he found the key, thrown somewhere in the drawer next to condoms and magazines (that you weren’t going to question) and a few other, less important, items.
“We’ve got to take care of you. I’ll check your wounds and bandage them, but if we need, we might have to hit up a hospital and get you checked out.”
“Okay. Even though I’m wanted for murder?”
“I just want… need you alive, Munson. I’ll gladly fight any accusation they have about you while you’re resting and healing in a hospital bed.”
The room was dark, the faint light coming from the living room only gently painting yours and his features. He looked like an angel, his dark hair littered with golden hues as he stood there, and in a moment, you felt his arms wrapped around you, holding you in a tight embrace.
He hadn’t been afraid to die, until he had been. Until you had touched his cheek, and patted his hair, and kissed him. And then he had been afraid. He didn’t have much to lose before, but now he had hopes and dreams, all leading to you. You were the start and the end of everything he felt, and he didn’t want to lose now.
He had wondered if that kiss was a pity kiss, used only as a distraction to get you to follow him, but now that you stood there, with pure honesty and love dripping from your words, he knew that it wasn’t.
“Can I kiss you again?”
You looked up at him to see a big smile on his face, his puppy eyes as happy as could be, no matter the traces of tears that still lingered there.
“You never have to ask.”
His lips on yours were enough to make him forget about everything else. He’d have to figure out a way out of all of Hawkins wanting him in jail or dead, and figure out what else life held for him, but for now he was okay with holding you here, close to him, letting you hear how fast his heard was beating in his chest while he hummed lightly, fingers treading in your hair.
Hawkins could wait.
“Oh, guys, gross, c’mon! I was waiting for you in there, I thought Vecna had gotten to you again or something!” “Nope, Henderson, just some good lovin’” “Eddie, I swear to god-“
“Nope, Henderson, just some good lovin’”
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thefanficmonster · 4 years ago
Text
Corpse’s Girl
Corpse Husband x Reader (Female)
Warnings: Bullying, Swearing, Derogatory Terms
Genre: Angst, Fluff
Summary: Y/N’s life as a regular college student is forever stripped away from her when her relationship with the famous YouTuber Corpse Husband is accidentally revealed during an online class of hers. How will she cope with the sudden spotlight and the unwanted attention, some of which crosses into bullying?
Requested by my amazing Tumblr friend @itsminniekat 🥰 She’s been reading and liking my works since day one and I honestly couldn’t be more grateful. If you’re reading this, all I can say is thank you, darling. Thank you so much for sticking by my blog even when I posted some crappy fics. I’ll make sure this ain’t one of them. Love you with all my heart. ❤❤❤
P.S. - I named the mean character with my name so I hope no one who reads this has the same name. Wouldn’t want any of you feeling like the villain 😘
Who knew online class would be even more boring than being physically present for a lecture? Seriously, I find myself doing the weirdest of crap to entertain myself - like trying to balance a pen on the tip of my nose for example. I jot down some notes every now and then but that’s basically it. My mind can not fathom the concept on concentrating on whatever my professors are going on and on about. Well, full disclosure, I couldn’t concentrate even if I wanted to, especially with my boyfriend streaming in the other room.
He’s currently playing Among Us with his usual gaming squad. Listening to his input during the discussions, I can always tell when he’s lying. I honestly find it hilarious that his friends can’t pick up when he’s bullshitting them. I sometimes wonder if he has brainwashed them. And that’s one of the main reasons we don’t play Among Us together - he can’t lie to me. Not only do I pick up on his con with ease, but he always says he feels bad when he lies to me which is just the sweetest thing. Also, I refuse to play cause I’m shy. His friends are all well-known content creators and I’m a literal nobody. Every now and then I find myself wondering why Corpse is even with me. He’s always quick to push those thoughts out of my head and make sure they don’t return on a long notice, but they do interrupt my peace from time to time.
“Y/N, do you know?“ The sound of my professor saying my name takes me out of my eavesdropping of Corpse’s stream.
I panic, but quickly improvise, “Sorry, my internet is slow, you cut out for a second. What was the question?” I feel my face heating up, making me glad we are allowed to keep our cameras off.
“Question number 15 on page 82 in your textbook. Do you know the answer to it?“ My professor repeats himself, his tone annoyed.
I look down at the page that’s already opened in front of me. I let out a sigh of relief, seeing that the question is rather easy.
“Yeah, um, it’s...“ Suddenly, Corpse’s laugh reaches my room loud and clear. There’s no doubt my mic picked up the noise, especially since the door to my room is open.
The color drains from my face as I hurry to say the answer and remute myself. My eyes are wide as I stare at my screen, hoping no one will acknowledge that very recognizable laugh.
“OMG Y/N, are you watching a Corpse Husband stream in class?” One of the bitches in my class, Vy, speaks up, “Not a very goody-two-shoe move on your part, dear.” 
I purposely unmute my mic to mumble a quick ‘Shut up, bitch’ that somehow manages to fly under my professor’s radar and the class continues. It’s the first time something like this has happened and I’m not sure if I handled it properly or not.
The class ends shortly after, allowing me a sigh of relief as I disconnect from the meeting. 
“Fucking finally.“ I mumble to myself, leaning back in my desk chair. Tilting my head backwards, I see Corpse standing in the doorframe. I grin, not only because his presence itself makes me ten times happier, but also because he’s upside down from my viewpoint. “Well, hello there! How long have you been spying on me?“
He struts over to me, leaning his face over mine, “Long enough.” His lips linger above mine without any actual contact before he pulls away, allowing me to sit up straight and proper in the chair. “You still have classes?”
I nod my head while disappointedly rolling my eyes, “Yeah. One more. Shouldn’t be too bad since it’s English Lit. You’re done streaming?”
“Yeah, I just have some other things to do. I haven’t done a narration video in a while, I miss making that type of content.“ He plops down on my bed, running a hand through his messy black curls.
“Weren’t you recording some lines a few days ago?“ I frown as I try to recall if what I’m referring to actually happened or my brain is too fried to decipher reality from my bootleg perception of it. Online class, man - messes with your head like sleeping pills - makes you disoriented and exhausted with barely doing anything other than trying to wrap your brain around a lecture or two.
He hums affirmatively, “It’s not a finished project and I don’t even know if I’ll use those or rerecord them. I’ll have to listen to them again before I make a final decision.“
I tilt his chin upwards with my pointer finger, a gesture he has told me he finds very endearing, “I’m sure they’re great and you just refuse to be satisfied. Everything you do is great.“
He smiles a small, shy smile, his fingers gently wrapping around my wrist, holding my hand in place, “You’re biased. You like me too much to tell me when I do some bullshit.”
I scoff, “You know that isn’t true. If someone’s gonna kick your butt in formation, it’s gonna be me.“ I give him a quick kiss on the forehead before pulling away from him, “Go on, now. I have a class to attend. You distract me enough while you’re in the other room, I can only imagine how hard it’d be for me to focus if you were right by my side.“
He smirks, bowing a little as he makes his way out of the room, “You flatter me.”
I playfully roll my eyes, getting my headset back on as I tap the last class for the day. We have an assignment due to the start of the class which we’ll have to present if the professor approved of it. We basically had to write a psychoanalysis of a character from any book of our choice. I chose Heathcliff from ‘Wuthering Heights’ which is one of my favorite books of all time. I’m proud of what I wrote and the way I wrote it, but I’ve always barely scraped by with a B in this class, a B+ if I’m lucky, so I’ve never gotten any major credit, even when I put my 110% in the assignments and projects.
Well, color me surprised when the professor calls on me first to read my work, complimenting it on its detailed and specific nature. I get my printed assignment out in front of me and unmute myself.
“I wrote a psychoanalysis on for Heathcliff, a character from Emily Bronte’s novel ‘Wuthering Heights’.“ Just after I say this line, Corpse’s voice booms throughout the whole apartment, no doubt being picked up by my mic. It doesn’t sound like he’s actually talking, he can’t be that loud. I put two and two together when I recognize the lines he’s saying - the ones he recorded a few days ago. They’re coming from his computer speakers. He probably didn’t check the volume before playing back the recording.
I mute myself as quickly as possible, but it’s too late. The voice dies down as Corpse probably turned down the speakers.
My professor, who is already done with this lecture, just annoyedly remarks, her words overdosed with sarcasm: “Read your assignment and you can go back to whatever it is you are watching.”
“Wow, Y/N! Again?! Are you one of those crazy obsessed fans or something? Is Corpse Husband all you watch?“ This bitch is really poking a stick at me, huh? The only crazy obsessed fan here is her, and my friends but they are allowed. Little do all of them know, I am obsessed but not simply over a YouTuber. I’m obsessed with my boyfriend who just happens to be a YouTuber.
“No commentary, please.“ The professor scolds her, “Go on, Y/N.“
I finish reading without any other disturbances. The professor compliments my essay again when I’m done, the small incident at the beginning forgotten already. Well, not by everyone. One of my friends shot me a quick text to joke about it which only earned an eye roll from me.
My friends don’t know that I’m dating Corpse either. As I said, they are simping HARD over him while I act the most indifferent on the subject. Whenever they ask my opinion on him I either say ‘he’s OK’ or just avoid answering completely. I know saying anything more enthusiastic than that would turn into a snowball rolling down a snowy hill - I’d just keep babbling about how nice, amazing, wonderful and a gift to this world Corpse is, inevitably revealing our relationship in the process.
I’m afraid of revealing my relationship with Corpse in front of these people. They are all run on jealousy and selfishness and I can only imagine how mean they’d be about it. I’m already not too fond of them, it would only be worse if any of my personal life was exposed.
When the class finally ends I remove my headset, putting my forehead down on the desk, barely missing the keyboard. I groan in frustration and anger at myself for not fighting back. I could’ve and should’ve said something - ANYTHING. But what? That’s a question I can’t find the answer to.
“Hey...“ Corpse’s hesitant voice comes from behind me, “You ok?“
I straighten my posture, turning to him with a smile. “Yeah, but these people suck.”
I get up from my chair as he approaches me, basically falling in his arms. The comfort I feel radiating off of him makes me relax, forget the past hour or so. He has always had this effect on me. Like my own personal kryptonite to my anger and anxiety.
“Did I get you in any trouble because of that?“ His voice shows clear concern and guilt. 
I wrap my arms around him tighter, burying my head in his chest. “No, don’t worry about it.“ 
And I really wasn’t in trouble. Not until now that the video is officially posted....
I can call these people dumb all I want but they sure put two and two together awfully fast. They recognized the lines they heard during class as the same ones from his new video that came out almost a week after the incident, aka two days ago. It’s safe to say I haven’t touched my phone or computer since.
“This is all my fault.“
Of all the horrible things I suspected would happen this has to be the worst - Corpse is blaming himself for it. I am prepared to take all the shit these people have to throw at me but seeing Corpse beating himself up over this is killing me. No amount of convincing can change his mind. Nothing I say helps.
“Please, stop doing this to yourself. Non of this is your fault, Corpse.“ I’ve repeated this sentence more than a thousand time these past forty eight hours, each time saying it more and more desperately.
“All of it is my fault, Y/N. I’m so sorry. I hate myself so much.“ Has been his reply single time.
 I can’t watch him be so mean to himself. It’s the most conflicting thing when the person you love most is torturing themselves. It’s easy if it’s someone else doing it, you just kick their ass. But what are you supposed to do when the person you want to protect is the same one you need to protect them from.
Corpse has shut himself away in his recording room these past few hours and though he clearly needs to be alone, he still left the door open just a crack cause he knows I’ll be worried sick otherwise.
While I’m alone in the living room, I’ve finally managed to brace myself and build enough courage to power up my laptop. Last time it was on it was going mad with notifications.
“It’s digital. Only digital. It can’t hurt you too badly if it can’t touch you, right?“ I mumble to myself, already frustrated despite not having yet seen all the horrors that await me.
And horrors there were. Everywhere. Twitter. Instagram. Facebook.
My grades. Some pictures of me no one has ever seen. My school files. People from my class tweeting Corpse to ‘expose’ me for the ‘slut’ or ‘bitch’ I really am. Corpse hasn’t touched social media either and I plan on making sure it stays that way. God only knows how much worse he’ll get if he sees these claims.
And then, like a notification sent straight from hell, an email from my professor.
Practical lectures on Friday. Be here at 9 AM. Don’t forget your mask and gloves.
Good thing I opened my laptop when I did. Friday is tomorrow and I need to prepare for this day. Not only do I need to hit the books but I need to toughen up a bit. I can’t go there looking like I feel - like a mess.
Alright, time to put the brave face on. No more wallowing in it, at least not until tomorrow afternoon.
I make a study plan and hop in the shower. I feel the need to apologize to my hair for washing it so roughly, basically yanking at my strands from frustration that has been suppressed for too long.
I get our of the boiling hot shower, red as a lobster, and change into some clean comfortable clothes and put my ass in study mode. I remove all the scary expectations of the morning to come from my mind and let the information the textbooks has to offer seep into my brain.
                                                            *  *  *
I’m about to head out and, despite my put-together composure, I am a wreck inside. I actually put effort into my appearance, I mean - I even styled my hair. A pretty façade to hide a ruin.
I saw my friends’ texts last night, all three of them ending their friendship with me because they felt betrayed. I haven’t yet decided how to feel about that. Doesn’t matter at the moment, there are more important matters at hand, aka surviving the next three hours.
My college is within ten minutes walking distance from our apartment. That ten minute walk has never been so stressful, not even during exam season. The air feels a little harder to breathe, the path a little shorter to walk. And my moment of reckoning a little too close.
I feel eyes on me the second I start walking through the park of our campus. Sure, I could just be paranoid, but the feeling is too real to be just my imagination in overdrive. I’m glad I have my hair down and a mask on so the redness of my cheeks and neck isn’t on display. That’s a sign of weakness right now.
We have two an hour and a half long classes between which we have a snack break that’s half an hour. I usually enjoy that period but I’m dreading it now. These assholes can only be so mean in the presence of a professor, but during lunch break they can increase that tenfold. 
“Well if it isn’t Corpse’s girl.“ I hear that a lot. The whispers are not so much whispers as intentionally loud enough for me to hear remarks. I’m not bothered by them, it’s the least they can do. If I let such a simple thing get to me, I’d be crumbling by the end of first period.
I hear some shuffling behind me and out of the corner of my eye I see, yeah you guessed it, THAT bitch. She’s standing as close to me as she can without violating Covid regulations. A mask is covering her face but the menacing look in her eyes tells me all I need to know about the interaction that’s about to go down.
“I’d ask how much he pays you for the hour.....“ her long nails tap the wooden desk, “but that’d be rude. I bet it’s tough being a maid. Do you just clean or are you a multipurpose lap dog? No offense, I’m genuinely curious.“
“Vy, would you be so kind as to give Y/N some room to breathe?“ The professor asks as he nonchalantly walks in.
Vy rolls her eyes, batting her eyelashes at me, “Talk to you later, sweetheart.” With a fake friendly wave she’s out of my hair, at least for now.
Remember what I said about these people not being as dumb as I pegged them to be? Yeah, scratch that. These fuckers actually tried getting away with taking pictures of me with flash in broad daylight. Like, HELLO! I have two functioning eyes and a brain, I’m onto you. Sadly, me having figured out their childish but hurtful methods of humiliating me doesn’t change much. They still posted the pics they took, using the most derogatory terms they could find in the English language, always making sure to tag Corpse and me both.
Needless to say, these were the longest three hours of my life.
                                                              *  *  *
Shutting the door to our apartment behind me causes relief of the highest levels. I feel like I’ve locked out all the bad shit I have had to deal with these past twenty four hours. 
I’m tired. I’m fucking exhausted. I feel like a discarded piece of paper. 
And it all starts crumbling. A wall is bound to start slowly falling apart after being hit over and over again, each time feeling the blows with a stronger intensity. 
I slide down the door sitting down on the floor and slowly taking my shoes off. I put my bag beside me and wrap my arms around my knees, hiding my head in the space between them and my chest.
One tear slides down my cheek.
Another follows.
And another, this time accompanied by a choked sob.
A pair of arms wraps around the ball that my body has been shaped into. One of his hands comes up to stroke my hair gently, feeding me the comfort I have been longing for since I left the apartment this morning.
“I saw it. All of it. All the shit they talk about you. All the names they call you. And I’ve never wanted to beat so many people up simultaneously.“ His words make me raise my head from its low position, giving him a knowing look. “I wish I could. I would, but that would land me in jail. Which doesn’t even sound so bad cause I don’t like going out. Only problem is you wouldn’t be with me. I wouldn’t want you to be there with me, don’t get me wrong, I’d never want you to end up in jail. I-...” I cut him off by pressing my lips to his. A quick kiss that says so much but mainly shows the immeasurable gratitude for his support.
Seeing those awful tweets and comments had the complete opposite effect on him. He no longer blames himself but the people who actually deserve the blame - all those jerks from my college.
I pull away, giving him a small smile. “I would never let you go to jail.” 
He smiles back at me, overjoyed that my mood is slowly being lifted, “Come on, I have a nice crowd that would like to meet you.”
I know exactly what he means. Felix, Sean, Rae, Dave, Sykkuno and the rest of his friends. The people I’ve been so shy and afraid to meet since day one. Being shy doesn’t really make sense now, seeing as how they know I exist and that I’m a part of Corpse’s life. 
What do I have to lose?
“Guys, this is my girlfriend, Y/N.“ Corpse’s black avatar runs around my cyan one in the Among Us lobby.
I can’t help but giggle when I unmute my mic, “Hi everyone! It’s so nice to finally meet you.“ They each introduce themselves, expressing how happy they are to be meeting me too.
It’s the first time in what feels like a while that I’m truly having fun. These people are wonderful, each so unique and lovely. They never brought up the scandal nor acted as though they knew about it. I know they did and I am beyond grateful that they never mentioned it or treated me any differently because of it. Also, Corpse was streaming the whole time. I had my phone on his stream, my eyes nervously scanning the chat every now and then. I couldn’t believe it. Corpse’s real fans were just as wonderful as his friends - they were nothing but supportive and happy to have met me.
Now, I can either choose to believe these people were being so nice to me out of sympathy or I can believe they really like me and appreciate me for who I am and not for what happened to me. 
I choose to believe the latter.
And while I’m still getting accustomed to this whole new spotlight, I know I’ll be able to handle it as long as I’m holding Corpse’s hand in the process. All I need is to have him beside me and I’m prepared to tackle anything.
“They love you.“ Corpse tells me once the stream is done and we’ve hopped out of the Discord call, “But I love you more.“
His arms wrap around my waist while mine instinctively find their way around his neck, “I love them, too. But they’re at the number 2 spot.”
He smirks at me, “I wonder who’s at number 1.”
I push up on my toes, putting my lips an inch away from his, “Hmm, I wonder...”
He doesn’t let me finish, silencing my teasing with a sweet, loving kiss.
@susceptible-but-siriusexual  @simonsbluee  @save-the-sky  @hacker-ghost  @bi-andready-tocry  @imtiredaffff  @jazzkaurtheglorious  @hereforbeebo  @fandomgirl17  @chrysanthykios  @maehemscorpyus  @loraleiix  @letsloveimagines  @annshit  @i-cant-choose-a-username-help  @enigmaticmaze  @divine-artemis  @waterlilypat
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