#I might delete or hide this later but I just needed to put these thoughts somewhere

[tinyclowndancer]

I'm dealing with a lot of conflicting feelings at the moment due to the nature of our relationship and the abusive shit I had to endure, but I really need to take this out of my chest in a relatively safe space: my mother died yesterday and I hate every. single. thing. about it. Happening just around six months after my grandma's passing, which I still haven't finished processing yet, and I had to put it on a pause to help her daughter this time. Having to step into the role of The Caregiver™ one more time even though I promised myself to never go through this again because of how much it destroyed my mental health. How her health issues caused her so much pain to the point of incapacitating her just like dementia did to my grandma and how it reactivated my triggers from 12 years of caregiving. How much she neglected herself in different aspects of her life for years acting like just doing checkups and taking (lots of) meds were enough and blamed me for her issues. How she still found ways to antagonize me in front of the staff from three hospitals. How she wanted to be in control even in a critical state and lied to me about her condition while opting for being discharged against medical advice. How, less than a week later, she finally accepted proper treatment and surgery not because she understood she would eventually die at home and needed intensive care, but because she had already given up on making any effort for a proper recovery. Maybe she wanted to be with the mother because I have no doubts she was deeply affected by losing her, maybe the guilt of being partially responsible for her passing was too much to bear, maybe she was so just fucking tired of being sick. Maybe it was a bit of everything.

She never really woke up from the surgery (Dec 26) to at least be informed it was successful and she was potentially healed. On the other hand, she died not knowing they also found a more advanced cirrhosis and a tumor, which we still don't know if it was malignant. Despite the preop care, her lungs failed as sedatives wore off so she had to be intubated but had a cardiac arrest during the procedure. It was reverted and her body accepted well the blood transfusions and hemodialysis in the following days until a hospital-acquired infection got her this week. She stopped responding to the drugs on Wednesday, when they allowed me to stay in the ICU the entire day, but we couldn't say our goodbyes and sorrys because she was still sedated. Yesterday I got a call from the hospital communicating she got another cardiac arrest which couldn't be reverted this time.

And it hurts, because I still wanted her to live and recover and rethink her priorities and maybe, just maybe, realize her enemy in the past 3 decades wasn't me, but this fucking part of herself that didn't even allow her to accept she needed help to process her wounds to live a better life and have a healthier relationship with her own family. I've been talking to her friends/acquaintances because the funeral is today and I want to allow them to see her for the last time (in a better condition I hope thanks to the makeup), but it also hurts to see they had no idea. I already suspected of it but it's also hard to confirm she had this romanticized idea of a family and it was this idea she had in mind when she talked about us to other people. How she wished to see my grandma reacting to her even though she was already in the last stage of dementia. The daughter she wanted me to be/convinced herself she had. There was so much need for control and to project her expectations and frustrations onto me that she never really knew who the daughter she supposedly loved so much was. I'm going to be okay. I have to. But I'm just a little, you know, terrified, because I didn't have enough time to prepare and all of a sudden there's a lot of bureaucracy to deal with and many problems with the apartment she didn't want to spend money on and now it's like everything is falling apart at the same time. The abuse is over, but it shouldn't be like this. She shouldn't end up like the way she looked in her last hours. She didn't deserve that. It's so fucked up.

[foone]

Look if there's one thing, just one thing, that I wish everyone understood about archiving, it's this:

We can always decide later that we don't need something we archived.

Like, if we archive a website that's full of THE WORST STUFF, like it turns out it's borderline illegal bot-made spam art, we can delete it. Gone.

We can also chose not to curate. You can make a list of the 100 Best Fanfic and just quietly not link to or mention the 20,000 RPFs of bigoted youtubers eating each other. No problem!

We can also make things not publicly available. This happens surprisingly often: like, sometimes there'll be a YouTube channel of alt-right bigotry that gets taken down by YouTube, but someone gives a copy to the internet archive, and they don't make it publicly available. Because it might be useful for researchers, and eventually historians, it's kept. But putting it online for everyone to see? That's just be propaganda for their bigotry. So it's hidden, for now. You can ask to see it, but you need a reason.

And we can say all these things, we can chose to delete it later, we can not curate it, we can hide it from public view... But we only have these options BECAUSE we archived it.

If we didn't archive it, we have no options. It is gone. I'm focusing on the negative here, but think about the positive side:

What if it turns out something we thought was junk turns out to be amazing new art?

What if something we thought of as pointless and not worth curating turns out to be influential?

What if something turns out to be of vital historical importance, the key that is used to solve a great mystery, the Rosetta stone for an era?

All of those things are great... If we archived it when we could.

Because this is an asymmetric problem:

If we archived it and it turns out it's not useful, we can delete.

If we didn't archive it and it turns out it is useful, OOPS!

You can't unlose something that's been lost. It's gone. This is a one way trip, it's already fallen off the cliff. Your only hope is that you're wrong about it being lost, and there is actually still a copy somewhere. If it's truly lost, your only option is to build a time machine.

And this has happened! There are things lost, so many of them that we know of, and many more we don't know of. There are BOOKS OF THE BIBLE referenced in the canon that simply do not exist anymore. Like, Paul says to go read his letter to the Laodiceans, and what did that letter say? We don't know. It's gone.

The most celebrated playwright in the English tradition has plays that are just gone. You want to perform or watch Love's Labours Won? TOO FUCKING BAD.

Want to watch Lon Cheyney's London After Midnight, a mystery-horror silent film from 1927? TOO BAD. The MGM vault burnt down in 1965 and the last known copy went up in smoke.

If something still exists, if it still is kept somewhere, there is always an opportunity to decide if it's worthy of being remembered. It can still be recognized for its merits, for its impact, for its importance, or just what it says about the time and culture and people who made it, and what they believed and thought and did. It can still be a useful part of history, even if we decide it's a horrible thing, a bigoted mess, a terrible piece of art. We have the opportunity to do all that.

If it's lost... We are out of options. All we can do is research it from how it affected other things. There's a lot of great books and plays and films and shows that we only know of because other contemporary sources talked about them so much. We're trying to figure out what it was and what it did, from tracing the shadow it cast on the rest of culture.

This is why archivists get anxious whenever people say "this thing is bad and should not be preserved". Because, yeah, maybe they're right. Maybe we'll look back and decide "yeah, that is worthless and we shouldn't waste the hard drive or warehouse space on it".

But if they're wrong, and we listen to them, and don't archive... We don't get a second chance at this. And archivists have been bitten too many times by talk of "we don't need copies, the original studio has the masters!" (it burnt down), or "this isn't worth preserving, it's just some damn silly fad" (the fad turned out to be the first steps of a cultural revolution), or "this media is degenerate/illegal/immoral" (it turns out those saying that were bigots and history doesn't agree with their assessment).

So we archive what we can. We can always decide later if it doesn't need preserving. And being a responsible archivist often means preserving things but not making them publicly available, or being selective in what you archive (I back up a lot of old computer hard drives. Often they have personal photos and emails and banking information! That doesn't get saved).

But it's not really a good idea to be making quality or moral judgements of what you archive. Because maybe you're right, maybe a decade or two later you'll decide this didn't need to be saved. And you'll have the freedom to make that choice. But if you didn't archive it, and decide a decade later you were wrong... It's just gone now. You failed.

Because at the end of the day I'd rather look at an archive and see it includes 10,000 things I think are worthless trash, than look at an archive of on the "best things" and know that there are some things that simply cannot be included. Maybe they were better, but can't be considered as one of the best... Because they're just gone. No one has read them, no one has been able to read them.

We have a long history of losing things. The least we can do going forward is to try and avoid losing more. And leave it up to history to decide if what we saved was worth it.

My dream is for a future where critics can look at stuff made in the present and go "all of this was shit. Useless, badly made, bigoted, horrible. Don't waste your time on it!"

Because that's infinitely better than the future where all they can do is go "we don't know of this was any good... It was probably important? We just don't know. It's gone. And it's never coming back"

[9mysterybook6]

hey guys

This is the first gacha rant About a person in tumblr

the most important thing I must mention: please do not harass Or bullying whoever is mentioned in this post

I'm just making this announcement for everyone's safety and not to make a drama.

@rhyliethelovelycaterfly

She did something very bad with prometheus2007 and her friends

Rhylie did emotional damage to prometheus2007

Rhylie behavior makes me feel sick and disgusted.

((It all started: August 26th,

prome stumble upon her friends post asking Rhylie to leave her alone. she opened the comments and saw Rhyliewas able to comment there. prome put two comments down, One generally, telling Pami that the best thing to do might be to block Rhylie [she did not know rhylie other than the fact that she was Pami's friend] and a reply to Pami that said it might be best to leave her alone/give her some space. she logged off, thought nothing of it.

When prome would log on an hour later, she didnt expect to be pulled head first into their drama.

Not only did prome get dms from both of them, Rhylie would spam like and reblog her posts [prome dont mind that just thought it was weird] and send prome mutiple asks asking her why prome would tell Pami to block her.

So prome was texting them both back and forth.))

(What prome got from both sides was Rhylie was very controlling and guilt trippy. Pami didnt know what to do with it. She wasnt even going to cut Rhylie off it was just a friendship break at first.)

As you read (Rhylie was very controlling and guilt trippy.) Rhylie was using guilt against them and trying to appear innocent And blame them.

Secondly, prome just suggest to blocked Rhylie In order to take time away from each other AND NOT blocked Rhylie for Forever.

I mean if you have a disagreement with a friend it is better to give them their space and time. But Rhylie did not give her friend their space, but rather continued to cling to them.

((But the more prome and her talked about it the more Pami saw that she needed to get the hell away from Rhylie. and so after a few days pami blocked her.

prome blocked her too. About a week later prome unblocked her and had another conversation because Rhylie would keep making posts about prome and Pami.

Pami wanted prome to ask her to stop and prome said okay.))

when prome spoke to Rhylie This was their conversation.

Rhylie insisted she was dying if Pami NOT unblocked her

this is regarding Rhylie using an external link to view pami's posts even though pami has her blocked and wants her gone

Rhylie actions was wrong and toxic

This is because if your friends blocked you.

You shouldn't say you're dying so you friends unblocked you.

Rhylie does this thing where she asks people to convince others to unblock her heres an example

Rhylie not hide her lies and guilt tripping very well, one of her many red flags is she refuses to leave people be.

Rhylie Like gum stuck in your hair refuses to let go no matter what kind of shampoo you use.

Not only that Rhylie also did apologize faked& falsely. (that's an older one)

Rhylie deletes them or unpins them often BUT like she never stopped

Instead of admitting her mistakes Rhylie makes excuses and lies About her actions

As you can see, Rhylie always plays the victim card.

its been 2 and a half months and Rhylie still lies about prome and makes hate posts.

Rhylie projects things.

It seems that Rhylie is also like a parrot, repeating bad words directed at her to others.

prome called her manipulative, she calls her that.

prome call her reliant , she calls her that.

But there is a word that prome DID NOT SAY but another person or other people

Someone idk who called Rhylie a groomer, shes calling prome a groomer and a creep.

She grabbed "SS proof" that prome said prome was manipulative and that prome called her a dumb cunt which that is not prome.

We don't need a genius to know that her evidence is fake.

another person who I will not name for privacy reasons tried to hep prome with this, making posts about it. But four weeks after this started, prome got really mentally tired. Rhylie threanted to someone else that they were gonna call the police, and prome couldnt do it anymore and closed her old account.

As you can see Rhylie Threaten HER victims to control them

How does anyone know thats going to happen?

Sometimes we don't see red flags About someone until it's too late.

Rhylie is still making posts about prome lying about prome to this day

I refuse to stay silent on this subject.

makes prome feel like she have to always be super duper nice to everyone on tumblr or else theyre gonna believe rhyle and think she a groomer

And let me remind you, I know prome and SHE The most wonderful and creative person you will meet here.

prome get so scared that people are gonna take what rhylie says as the truth.

its not the truth, it never was and it never will be.

prome really really wanted to help rhylie too, not just pami. prome wish no harm on rhylie and she hope rhylie can find the help she needs to grow and mature.

but I dont think theres any helping her rn bevause she cannot help herself.

its a shame.

rhylie just a 21 year old person on tumblr who wont leave people the hell alone.

prome asked her to stop several people have and rhylie wont.

"rhylie continued to haras and Sending inappropriate pictures to prometheus2007" clarify this means hate art BECAUSE THAT COULD BE TAKEN ANOTHER WAY

I spoke with Rhylie to Leave prometheus2007 alone In one post Talking about them

But of course the coward deleted my comments and her comments

And after talking She was mentioning my name on her blog.

And this was my reaction and comment.

ME(My biggest mistake was talking to you leave me alone)

And that was Rhylie answered

Rhylie(Okay I'll leave you alone IF you blocked prometheus2007)

And another comment

And when I told her This is unnecessary drama. Why do you insist on this?

Rhylie answered (Because I hope Drama becomes reality)

Rhylie hopes the drama will be a big event and make people hate the people mentioned in the drama.

Frankly, I feel disgusted and angry at her actions.

If Rhylie is innocent as she claim

Rhylie had to stop the drama and forget about it.

But no Rhylie still posts about it.

Here is one of her previous posts. But she erased it

Rhylie literally want to makes everyone hate prometheus2007 and others Even though they are the victims here.

Even though she is 20 years old, she acts childishly and immaturely.

And the worst part Rhylie lies about her dying.

Rhylie put pressure on someone, She makes them feel like her life is going to die because of them.

Rhylie acts innocent and makes others feel guilty for something that is not their fault but hers.

Although I refused to talk to Rhylie, she still mentioned my name in her blog.

Rhylie even sent me an invitation to Angelic KittyGod community And although I refused Rhylie kept sending the invitation community

I told her to leave me alone but she still mentions me in her blog.

I made this post NOT for drama or TO hate on Rhylie

I want to warn everyone about Rhylie.

But this warning to her followers and friends Be careful with her.

If you feel uncomfortable with Rhylie behavior towards you or Rhylie does something that makes you uncomfortable

blocked Rhylie immediately For your safety

Because in my opinion Rhylie is an untrustworthy person.

Even if her work is good art doesn't mean she's a good person.

And be careful when you talk to her.

First red flags

-Rhylie will keep stalking you Even if you blocked her

She will try to make you feel guilty and that you did something wrong While the truth is you do nothing.

Rhylie will spread lies about you and her.

-And if you ask Rhylie to stop this, she does not listen and continues to spread lies And mentioned your name in her blog Even though you told Rhylie to stop putting their name on her blog.

my final message to all of you

It is better for you to forget about her

Rhylie is not worth your time or mention.

Do not talk to Rhylie or go to her page, Rhylie does not deserve this effort or your attention

And my message to Rhylie If you are reading this It is in your best interest and everyone's interest that you admit the truth and your mistakes.

But I know you, you will do the opposite You will reply to this post of mine and you will say that I am also a liar

go ahead Rhylie:

Make your gacha character crying or angry Whatever your reaction, you are the loser in this case.

You just prove my words about you

AND you don't dare on prometheus2007 OR pami OR Someone else

The only person to blame is yourself.

Frankly, I won't be surprised if you threat me or haras me Because no matter what you say, you will remain guilty.

I don't want people to hear your lies again.

You are the one who did this and you have to take responsibility for your actions.

Enough means enough

Don't trust or believe Rhylie.

Don't bother with her, Forget about her

We are rational people.

We all agree that the drama is not essential.

Just have to be careful of this Rhylie.

[imababblekat]

Bayverse TmnT X Trans-man Reader; HC's

Anon Request," I don't know if you do TMNT Bayverse boys with a trans-man!reader so if you don't, I'm sorry and feel free to delete this ask: How would the boys react when their S/O discovers in the middle of their relationship that they don't feel like a girl anymore and realizes that they prefer to be called a man but is scared to tell them for fear of the turtles hating them and break up with them. S/O is scared that they're going to call them a freak and a weirdo for it; even though at times they forget that they're dating a mutant turtle."

◉Story Notes: trans male reader, very brief mention of terf(just the word), s/o referred to as they before coming out to turt bf, he/him with (s/o) is the turt's now bf for clarification, hurt with comfort

~xXx~

Leonardo:

He senses from the gecko that something is different about his s/o, it’s an energy thing is what he tells them later on

Leo won’t bring up this strange feeling he has about his s/o till he starts noticing how they started acting almost distant with him

Like they’re hiding something and it concerns him more than anything, because what if it’s something serious? Like they’re secretly in danger?

Leo will sit them down with their favorite drink, somewhere private and let them know that he’s concerned for them, and while they have absolutely every right to not say anything to him, he just wants them to know he hopes they’re okay and that they can trust him

His s/o confessing that they’re trans, was not at all what he thought was going on, but he’s so incredibly happy they felt they could come out to him

However, Leo does feel kind of sad that his s/o had been worried this whole time because of him(s/o) being a transman might effect their relationship

When he(s/o) explains this to Leo, said turtle is quick to reassure him(s/o), stating he’d love him(s/o) no matter how he(d/o) identified, because if anyone knew that there was more to the world than the physical, it’s definitely Leonardo

Raphael:

His s/o’s stiffened return to his hug is what tips Raph off that something is going on

Did he do something wrong? Oh god, he hopes you’re not becoming repulsed by him

After a few more instance of his s/o acting strange, Raph pretty much puts his foot down and ask what’s going on

His s/o is thrown for a loop when he ask if he did something wrong, or if there’s something wrong with him, and it almost makes them laugh

They’re quick to explain, albeit scared, that no, nothing is wrong with Raph, and that in fact, they’re worried that he’ll think something is wrong with them

Poor lover boy is so confused till they confess how they feel like a man more than a girl, and Raph just kind of sits there like. . .ok??

His s/o is still his s/o, and he’ll love him(s/o) regardless of how he(s/o) identifies, so why would he(s/o) be worried what he thinks?

It’s not that he finds his s/o coming out as a transman is bad or anything, he just doesn’t see the big deal till he(s/o) goes on to explain to the large turtle that the reason he(s/o) was so scared to say anything is because of how terribly the trans community has been treated

Raph gets quickly understands then, and even though his s/o being trans doesn’t make a big difference to him, he of all the turtle brothers knows what it’s like to be treated horribly just because you don’t quote on quote fit in

He’ll reassure his boyfriend that coming out doesn’t change anything for him, Raphael still loves him(s/o) wholeheartedly, if anything's changed it’s that he added terfs to his list of “People I’d Punch On Site”

Donatello:

Donnie is so perceptive about things, especially concerning his s/o

He’s the fastest to notice a change in them and ponders if he should outright ask his s/o if everything's okay, or wait for them to come to him

Donnie will test the waters with his s/o responses to any forward actions he takes before deciding this is a matter of them needing to want to come to him, in which case he’ll spend so much time making them comfortable with non-verbal gestures to feel they can confide in him

It takes a while, but Donnie is a patient turtle; if he can spend a week plus on a single project, he can wait an eternity for his love

Eventually they do come to him, in the middle of the night while he’s typing away at his laptop, and his s/o feels their heart flutter when Donnie is fast to stop his work just for them

It helps encourage them in confessing that they no longer feel like a girl, but a man instead, which is terrifying to tell Donnie

Why? Because the man is a literally scientific genius if not prodigy, and bigots love to use science to demean the trans community

So imagine how surprised his s/o is when he simply smiles and gently reminds his s/o that he’s(s/o) dating a mutant ninja turtle

Donnie gets his s/o to laugh the anxiety away by jokingly stating that the most normal part of their relationship is his s/o coming out as trans

Seriously though, he like his brothers love his s/o no matter what, and he’ll spend the rest of the night showing his s/o why being trans is actually scientifically plausible so that if anyone tries to say something to him(s/o), well he’s got his genius partner to back him(s/o) up

Michelangelo:

Mikey is by far the quickest to find out his s/o is trans; his welcoming personality makes it easy for his s/o to make up their mind on telling him

Ofcourse that doesn’t mean it’s still all that easy, it’s a very serious topic and Mikey tends to be anything but serious

Except for when he picks up on his s/o’s sudden odd behavior around him

He’s so good at letting them know how worried he is, and it nearly breaks their heart that he was so concerned for them

When they do confess that they’re a trans man, a stiff silence fills the room as Mikey stares that them, thinking. . .

It’s got his s/o quickly regretting saying anything, dreading the moment their sunshine would ultimately break up with him(s/o), when Mikey dumbly comments

“So like. . .the robots?”

He's(s/o) left sputtering, on one hand he(s/o) wants to laugh at the pun on the other he(s/o) wants to slap Mikey on the arm

Mikey laughs for them both, quickly pulling his s/o in for a hug and a big smooch, feeling over the moon for being the one his s/o chose to come out to, knowing how big of a moment this is for him(s/o)

His s/o is still a little peeved at his joke, but can’t help to smile because he(s/o) can always count on Mikey to help wash away any fears he(s/o) may have

Not to mention, but Mikey is also the biggest hype man for his transman s/o, if anyone can make someone feel themselves in the best of ways, it’s definitely Mikey and he’s 100% going to make sure his s/o loves being him(s/o) self

~xXx~

[reidsbookclub]

Yours Truly Spencer Reid x fem! reader WC: 2555  fluff pure fluff tw: mentions of Gideon's death

AN: ending is a bit rushed but when I copy & pasted here I accidentally deleted it and couldn’t recall everything I wrote 😩

It’s been three months living with the knowledge that Gideon is no longer there. His conversation with Rossi was haunting him in the middle of the night. “I know I’m not being very rational,” he had told Rossi, “but I think about him all the time. And I knew he was always out there, now it just feels empty.” Rossi’s words still echoed in his mind. “Maybe you’ll find something else to fill the empty space.” He couldn’t even begin to imagine finding anything that would fill the void of now knowing that his mentor would no longer be just a call away. He needed to find a way to feel close to him, so he put pen to paper and did what he knew best: he started writing Gideon letters with the intent of them being addressed to fire. He put pen to paper and tried to connect it to the cloudy thoughts of his brain. After a couple of hours he fell asleep with the warmth of the fireplace enclosing him in a hug. 

Not even in his wildest dreams did he ever thing that letter would get read and replied to. 

It had been three months since her godfather Jason had passed away, three months of losing the only father figure she had had. If she didn’t know any better she could’ve sworn that he was still around, his presence felt throughout the small cabin she was inherited.  Stephen, Jason’s son, had delivered a letter stating such. The simple letter in the testament read, “Y/N, just know that a very good friend of mine holds a key to this cabin, he might drop by if he feels the need to feel close to me, or just an escape from the darkness of this world. Be kind to him, Dr. Reid needs some warmth, kindness and love in his life.”  

Days later she found a piece of paper on the floor of the cabin. She really needed to seal the mail slot on the door and install a mailbox.  But she couldn’t help but let out a gasp on who sent it, the Dr. Reid in her godfather's letter. 

Dear Gideon,  It’s been three months since you’ve passed and I can’t help but ask why I never reached out to you when you left the BAU. 

Oh. So he’s a coworker. She wondered if he helped found the BAU alongside Rossi and her godfather, suddenly wondering if Dr. Reid had many stories about her godfather’s younger days.  Silencing her thoughts, she continued reading. 

You know how I’m a specialist at overthinking everything and I just can’t help but wonder if I still have a place in the BAU now that you’ve gone. 

Who is this Dr. Reid? 

Gideon I’m becoming a mastermind at vanishing into the deep thoughts of my brain in the middle of the night. Midnights have now become my afternoons. I miss the talks we used to have. If I’m being honest I’m finding it so hard to find my place with the team now that I can’t just hide in your office. Can you believe Morgan invited me out to the club? Me. 

Club? Was Dr. Reid not an old guy like her godfather or was Morgan just being nice and inviting a mentor out to drinks?  Curiosity getting the best of her, she continued reading the letter, hoping to get more answers on who Dr. Reid really is. 

You always used to say my first degree was running away into the deep thoughts of my mind but I think I have added a fourth Ph.D to my resume and that’s being my own worst enemy. 

Multiple Phds? She couldn’t even finish school. Who was this guy? 

You know how hard it is to admit it to myself but I miss you Gideon. Sometimes I still talk to you when I feel like screaming at the sky, angry that you left me with nothing but a letter, just like everyone else that had ever left me did, but I can't be angry at you.  -SSA Agent Reid…. Yes I know, Gideon. I need to make people respect me. So I guess I’m signing off as, SSA Doctor Spencer Reid. 

He wouldn’t need to make people respect him if he wasn’t young? Would he? Not being able to get her mind off the mysterious Dr. Reid, she decided to write him a letter.

Coming back from a demanding case always felt like a relief and the worst thing in the world at the same time. Relief for finally being home and the worst thing because once you’re home, warm in bed, your mind starts reliving every little thing you could’ve done differently. This night would be different. Spencer was greeted at the door by his Russian Blue cat named Atticus and a tea-stained letter on his mailbox. 

Dr. Spencer Reid, I must admit that receiving a letter addressed to my godfather was surprising, I fully apologize for opening and reading your letter, I assumed you meant for no one to read it. Have you ever been to my godfather Jason’s cabin? If you have, then you must know that there is a small town that is 15 miles away. I went there earlier today and down the block from the main road there is a small antique shop. I stopped and entered, always curious about the stories that old items have, who owned them? Were they special to them or just small trinkets, why did the owner sell them? All these questions. No answers. Anyways, there was a box filled with old drawings and photographs. 25 cents each and I couldn't help but buy some because they all reminded me of you.  You must think I'm insane for saying that something reminded me of you when we have never met, so please don’t profile that too much, anyways, these photographs had me imagining things. It's crazy. Heck, I don’t even know anything about you. Yes, I could look it up but where's the fun in that? Is it crazy that I can’t help myself and imagine who you are? That I cannot help but think of all of these little scenarios making a film about your life. I’ve been rambling too much about nonsense so take care Dr. Reid.   - Hope you stay safe  Y/N

Reid read and re-read the surprise letter. Atticus on his lap sleeping. Goddaughter, why couldn't he recall Gideon ever mentioning a goddaughter. Who was she? Based on the letter she rambled…a lot and got excited about the most random things. Reid let out a soft giggle startling Atticus. “I think…I think I want to write another letter, Atticus. She seems fun to talk to, don't you think?” 

Silence. That is all she heard for three long weeks cursing herself for responding to his letter the way that she did.  He must’ve thought she was nothing but a foolish petulant child with her dreaming and fantasizing about different worlds and what ifs. Just as she was wondering if she should write another letter apologizing she heard the unmistakable sound of papers being thrown into the mail slot. “Thank you!” she shouted through the door to the mailman. One coffee-stained envelope standing out over the spam ads she got.

Dear Y/N, I must admit writing a letter to you seems a bit strange so please bear with me if I seem   awkward,  I promise I am working on it. Shit I spilled some coffee on the paper, hopefully its not that noticeable. Who am I kidding of course it will be noticeable. Well I am hoping you like coffee smells. Ms. Y/N I hope that the letter I sent you did not cause you any more grief, and please feel free to…how did you put it? “ramble much about nonsense” to me at any time. I thought it was cute. Well now I am thankful you cannot see the blush I have because Derek is sure making fun of me at the moment. I’m sorry that it seems like forever since you last replied to me but the case we had was taking a toll on me and I couldn’t seem to taint your sunshineness with the darkness of the case. I just wanted to let you know that the way you make time disappear everytime i re-read your letter brings me calmness, and brings me hope that maybe someday we could become friends. Please always continue telling me about the little what if scenarios that help you make my life seem more interesting than it is. I find it adorably cute that you do these things. Now I can’t help but wonder if you will think I am just a boring old man that sits in the corner of a dark room– I promise I am not. Anyways, a little about myself I have a cat named Atticus, I enjoy stimulating my brain by learning new things which is how I got three Phds. You can always find me with coffee and a good book and—fucking hell I sound boring as fuck and you give off the impression of being this magnetic carefree beautiful person.   Great, now I am overthinking everything I have said so far – everyone knows that afterall i am a specialist at doing so.  Thats all for now  Sincerely, Spencer Reid. 

She couldn’t help but giggle. All throughout the letter Spencer sounded just like the type of person that she would love to get to know further. Someone that in another life would be considered a tortured poet, living amongst the rest of them in the peacefulness of the lakes, someone that would be rubbing elbows with Wordsworth and Austen. As she re-read the letter she was trying to ignore the blush that spread across her cheeks at Spencer using the word cute in reference to her. One thing was certain that she would be holding on to her pen-pal because for some reason he made her feel a way no other person was able to do. 

It had been two months since the initial letter that started this newfound friendship Spencer found himself in. The only thing that has kept him going were the weekly letters that Y/N has been sending him. They’re weekly letters always bringing a smile to his face and giving him the necessary “push” in between cases. This new letter brought an even bigger smile to his face and the sudden urge to finally drive up to that cabin and meet the person that has been holding his mind captive all day. 

Dear Spencer,  How is Atticus doing? I know you were planning on adopting a kitten to keep Atticus company while you are away. May I suggest a cute little white cat? Or a ginger cat? Maybe one named  Arlo or Agatha or something old  literature sounding. How have you been? Are the headaches gone? Today I went down to the small village that is close by and there is this new coffee place and I couldn’t help but think about how much you would like it. Would you be interested in ever meeting me there? Keeping this one short and sweet because i did kinda sorta just ask you out and anxiety is at an all time high  - Y/N

There was one thing that Spencer learned that night and that was that for the first time in years he allowed himself to hope that maybe just maybe the person he was falling for was falling right alongside him. 

Girls night. Oh how she missed her friends ever since moving into the cabin. It had taken a lot of convincing but she had finally managed to get her friends up for the weekend. In the middle of drinks she started gushing about Spencer and their friendship. She was telling her friends about the cute pen-pal she had and how she had taken the leap to ask him out. “Ha. What a loser do you really think that and FBI agent will take the time to come and meet someone as boring as you?” Her so-called best friend Lindsey had said, her words ringing in her ear drink after drink. How could she be so foolish thinking that a guy as smart as Spencer would ever confess his love to her. It had been a cold reminder that she was not the exception, that after years of this happening she had not learned her lesson that fairy tale endings did not happen to girls like her. So, for the first time in the two months they had been communicating instead of answering his letter she burned it, eventually leaving him at the coffee house waiting, glued to his chair instead of meeting her for the first time. The following week the first of many daily letters arrived in which he kept asking her why. 

Dear Y/N, Did I do something wrong? Did you move on? Help me because in my mind I'm still at that coffee shop collecting dust wondering where you are, wondering why you didn’t show up. If you ever think you may have got it wrong and want to meet, I will be at that coffee shop every Friday at 7 waiting for my sunshine to show up.  Yours truly, Spencer 

Three weeks. It had been three long weeks since he had heard from her, so he decided to take the initiative and for the first time since Gideon’s death he used the key he had left him. The drive to the cabin was filled with anxious thoughts. Would she be happy to see him? Did she meet someone while they were writing letters? 

Walking into the cabin he could smell something baking and the unmistaken sound of laughter coming from the small kitchen, making his way around the cabin he caught a glimpse of her dancing around the kitchen, “wow you are even more beautiful than I ever thought.” he said catching her off guard. “Who the fuck are you and how did you get in here?” she yelled “Oh–i–right yeah i – Spen–Rei–Doctor” he let out a puff of air, “Hi, I’m Spencer Reid. Gideon actually gave me a key to this place.” he smiled softly as crimson crept across her face. “Oh, hi wh–a–what are you doing here?” “I was worried about you” he mumbled

“Oh” In any other situation awkward silence would have followed but not between them, instead fits of laughter happened. “I’m sorry I blew you off Spencer” taking a deep breath she continued, “its just… a friend reminded me that girls like me don’t get the cute guys” Taking a step close to her spencer began rubbing circles in her wrist with his thumb “Y/N whoever said that is not a friend. I fell for the personality that shined through the letters we exchanged, I couldn’t care less about what you looked like you were already perfect in my mind and now that I am seeing you I can confirm that you are the most beautiful girl I’ve ever met” They spend that whole weekend together, the days consisting of  baking, stargazing and teaching Y/N how to play chess and nights filled with cuddles, kissing and watching movies together.

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[stormyoceans]

i've been plagued by junpo for weeks and apparently my brain decided that i couldn't move on until i wrote down a possible confession between them soooooo. here it is i guess?

[based on this ten years later post thamepo breakup scenario. very messy, very rough, with no proofreading done because knowing myself i'd just delete everything otherwise. is half of it complete nonsense for someone who isn't in my brain? yes. is it ooc? most likely. still, i need to put this somewhere and let it go. also the funniest thing is that the actual confession of feelings is just a dialogue outline because i wanted to write them kissing. i need a mental health crisis intervention team in the room with me rn immediately]

———

“You like me.”

Po’s voice was soft but resolute, cutting through the low hum of the city. Rain had left a glistening sheen on the ground, and the air hung heavy and damp around them.

Jun’s smile froze on his face, a flash of horror striking his features like lightning, there and gone in the blink of an eye before he was able to catch himself and smooth his expression out into a mask of amused indifference. If Po didn't miss it, it was only because this time he was actually looking for it. He wondered how many other things he had failed to notice when it came to Jun.

"Did you go out for drinks with P'Fern again?" Jun asked. The corner of his mouth was tilted into a slight smirk, but the playfulness in his voice sounded strained in a way that didn't quite hide the underlying panic. "Come on," he said, taking his phone out from his back pocket and unlocking it with a quick sweep of his thumb, "I'll book a taxi to get you home."

Po recognized the evasion for what it really was: an outing. He could take what Jun was offering, pretend to be drunk, and ignore to have ever acknowledged Jun's feelings out loud. He was sure Jun would still be showing up in the morning with a cup of Po's favorite coffee like nothing had happened, but Po was tired of running, and he wasn't going to let Jun keep doing that either.

Po took a step forward and put a hand on top of Jun's phone, closing his fingers around it and brushing against Jun's own.

"You like me," Po repeated, the words hanging in the air like a challenge. "You have liked me for the past ten years."

Jun’s sharp eyes flickered with something Po couldn’t quite decipher, and for a moment he thought Jun might try to run away for real, but then Jun sighed, shoulder slumping. He slipped away from Po’s hold, sliding his phone back into his pocket and putting space between them by leaning against the wall.

“Was it Pepper?”

Po would have felt offended by Jun implying that he couldn’t have figured it out by himself, but after ten years of obliviousness, he guessed he probably deserved it. Jun wasn’t wrong either: Po did need someone else to clue him in. He just wasn’t sure how Jun would take it.

He hesitated, then answered truthfully. “Thame.”

He didn’t expect Jun to laugh.

“Makes sense,” Jun said, staring into the distance like he was talking to himself rather than Po. “He always liked to fight fair.”

None of this makes sense, Po thought. It’s not like he hadn’t believed Thame when he had told Po Jun liked him, he wouldn’t be standing there otherwise, but to have Jun not even fighting the claim just made the weight of it feel that much more real. A pang of sadness made his chest hurt.

“You're not even gonna try to deny it,” Po said, voice soft.

Jun met Po's gaze, his eyes dark and guarded. "What's the point? You clearly seem set on talking about it.” He buried his hands in the pockets of his jacket and crossed his legs at the ankles, giving off an air of disinterest. His tone sounded resigned, though, almost weary. “Say your piece, so we can be done with it and move on.”

“The other night…" Po started, his voice barely a whisper. “If you like me, why did you push me away? I don't understand.”

Po wanted to point out that if moving on had ever been an option, Jun would have done it ten years ago, but he swallowed down the words. He wanted answers, and antagonizing Jun wasn't going to bring him any.

He took a step forward. “The other night…" he started.

Despite trying his best to look indifferent, Jun's shoulders tensed up. He swallowed, and Po's eyes were drawn to the sharp movement of his Adam's apple. Po's fingers tingled with the need to reach out and touch. He could still feel the warmth of Jun's skin under them, could still remember the flush of it as Po had brushed Jun's hair away from his forehead. Jun had swallowed then too, his eyes blown wide and dark. In that moment, just for a moment, Po had been sure his feelings weren't one sided, but then Jun had left.

“If you like me, why did you push me away?" Po pressed. "I don’t understand.”

Jun clenched his jaw, avoiding Po's eyes again, and leaned forward to poke Po's cheek in that patronizing way he knew Po hated. "Don’t hurt your pretty brain about it," he said. "Just forget it ever happened.”

His words were cold, calculated, and Po was having none of it. Before Jun could hide his hand back into his pocket, Po grabbed his wrist.

“I never took you for a coward,” he said, his voice laced with a hint of disappointment.

Jun's eyes flashed with something akin to anger, and when he smirked, his smile had a cruel tint to it. “I just know when to cut my losses and you’re not a good investment.”

Po’s chest ached at his words, even though he knew Jun was just trying to hurt him, to create distance between them. His grip on Jun's wrist tightened. “So my feelings don’t matter at all?”

Jun yanked his wrist out of Po's hold. “What feelings?" he spit out. "You’re just confused because you broke up with Thame and we’ve spent a lot of time working together.”

"Ai'Jun!" Po snapped.

Po had always considered himself a patient person, someone calm and levelheaded, but somehow Jun had always been able to make his temper flare up. He took a deep breath, reining his emotions in. Whatever narrative Jun had crafted in his head, Po knew he had to make Jun understand it was wrong.

“Thame and I broke up two years ago," he explained. "Whatever was between us it’s been over for a long while.”

Jun scoffed. "Oh, please," he said. "If you two want to fool yourselves, be my guest, but I’m not an idiot.”

He just sounded so sure, so absolute, like he knew Po better than Po knew himself. Po could feel the blood rushing to his head, and before he could realize what he was doing he was towering over Jun, crowding him against the wall.

"You're not an idiot, no," Po hissed, "more like an arrogant asshole." Jun glared at him, but Po didn't allow him to talk, jabbing Jun's chest with a finger. "Who are you to tell other people how they feel?" Another jab. "To believe you know better than everyone and decide what’s best for all of us? We're not mindless pawns you can move however you like."

The accusation finally made Jun's carefully constructed mask crack. Jun's face twisted into something ugly, and he slammed both of his hands against Po's chest.

Po felt his breath leaving his lungs as he was sent staggering back, almost slipping on the wet concrete.

"No one seemed to complain about it when they got what they wanted, though," Jun shouted, his words echoing in the night. "Do you think Thame and I would still be friends if I didn’t pretend not to like you all those years ago? Do you think Pepper would have been able to leave us if I didn’t push for MARS to disband? None of that was what I wanted, but I did what had to be done."

Jun took a shaky breath, squeezing his eyes shut. His chest was heaving, and the hand he ran through his hair was trembling visibly. When he opened his eyes again, there was a strange resignation in them, like he was simply tired of fighting.

"And now you’re standing there and telling me that, what? You like me?" Jun asked. "Let’s pretend that’s true. You’re not so stupid as not to know that Thame is still in love with you."

Before he could catch himself, Po winched, and that was the wrong thing to do. Jun's smile was weary, and profoundly sad.

"You and I," Jun said, "that’s something none of us will be able to come back from. Sooner or later, we’re both going to regret it."

Po stared at him, his initial anger replaced by a sudden understanding.

"You are scared," Po said in disbelief.

Jun frowned. "Out of everything I said, that's what you get? You’re really hopeless."

Po stepped closer, invading Jun's personal space once again. "You're scared you will be just a chapter in someone else's story. You're scared you won't be, and that this might hurt your friend irrevocably." He reached out, gently cupping Jun’s face in his hands. "I understand why you took a step back all those years ago. I won't lie and say I would have picked you then. But that was then, and this is now."

He looked deep into Jun's eyes, his own filled with sincerity. "Thame knows he and I can only be friends now, and I need you to trust that he loves you enough to give you this chance, just like you gave it to him in the past. I need you to trust that I love you and that I want you and that I'm choosing you above anyone else. I can't go back in time and make you my first choice, but you're the choice I want to keep making every day from now on."

The words hung in the air, heavy with promise. Jun's eyes were searching Po's face, and Po allowed him to take his time. Po had said his piece, now all he could do was hope that Jun would find in him nothing but an unwavering honesty, and a deep and abiding affection to mirror Jun's own.

A lone dog barked somewhere in the distance. A startled shout echoed down the empty street. Jun grabbed the lapels of Po's shirt and pulled him in.

Po stumbled forward as Jun's mouth crashed against his, and his arms had to fly out and circle Jun's back to keep both of them upright. Jun's lips were relentless, chasing Po's without leaving him room for breath, as if he feared Po might disappear if Jun let him go for even a second. Po tried to match Jun's rhythm and felt dizzy with it, with the gnawing hunger that was being poured on him after years of desperate longing and unspoken desire. Without breaking the kiss, Po blindly moved them a couple of step back, until Jun hit the wall behind him with a huff of surprise. Po took the chance to catch his breath and find his bearing, then he wrapped one of his arms around Jun's waist and buried his other hand into Jun's hair, tilting his head just so. He licked into Jun's mouth, then quickly pulled back, teased him with short quick kisses until Jun dug his fingers into his shoulders and caught Po's lower lip between his teeth, biting down.

Po yelped, startling back and glaring at Jun. "Was this necessary?"

"You started it," Jun said with a satisfied smirk.

[kazuyumi1412]

So, I started up one of my writing sessions yesterday, and my mind couldn’t help but wander a bit. I figured that other writers (or any creatives for that matter) could benefit from a little advice, and a little reminder:

Save your older work.

Even if you’re new to your craft, or if you’ve been at it for years and years, don’t delete/get rid of your older work if you don’t have to.

When I started writing, I wrote anything and everything that came to mind. I let the ideas flow and put the pen to the page. But later on, when I looked back at it, I thought that it was bad. Cringy. Awful. And I deleted them entirely.

Sure, some of them were pretty dang bad. (Not every story’s going to be great.) But let me tell you, for some of those stories, I massively regret deleting them. Even if they were bad, cringy, and awful, they were still stories that I had written. Stories that had good concepts at their core, or neat ideas sprinkled throughout the tales.

I wish that I kept those stories, no matter how bad I thought they were at the time. Maybe those ideas just needed more polishing to really allow them to shine. Or maybe they could’ve been put to better use in a different story.

You might think that your old work is bad, and you might want to get rid of it entirely, but don’t. Look at your old work, and if there are things that you want to keep, or things that you want to change, take note of them. Maybe your ideas were better suited for something else, or maybe the concepts could be better executed with your current skill level.

We cringe at our old work because we may think it’s badly done. Maybe it was. But you may also be viewing it from a standpoint where you’re more skilled in your craft than you were when you first created your work. You can more easily see the flaws and imperfections that you couldn’t see before.

Look back at your old work and see how you’ve grown since then.

See what you did right. See what could’ve used some improvement.

Don’t throw out things entirely if you don’t have to. Even if you think they’re bad now, there could still be diamonds in the rough hiding in plain sight.

And give your past self some credit. They made an attempt. They did it the best way they knew how. And hey, you could learn a thing or two from them once in a while.

[nkn0va]

This your man? This the guy you want?

Alright, apparently I got two asks about this in the span of 10 minutes so clearly we need to talk about this.

Before I get into that though, the other Blazblue writer's old blog has since been deleted. I signed out to look for their writing and it is all gone. That old blog is in fact deleted.

First off, I never ever once said I wanted Trump in office again, please do not put words in my mouth. Those DMs have since been deleted now so I cannot provide screenshots (I never thought I'd need to, fml). I do remember though that admittedly my choice of wording was pretty much as poor as it could've been and made a rather poorly timed joke. Also there was a lot of things on my mind that I unfortunately was not able to articulate before I was blocked. However I was simply stating an objective fact that the economy was largely better under Trump's presidency than Biden.

This is a huge multi-faceted argument in and of itself that I don't have the time or patience to talk about, including the fact that covid really fucked things up, but that's really not an excuse for the state of the economy 4 or even 2 years later. Inflation hit an all-time high under Biden's presidency and prices are higher than they've ever been. The cost of living is only climbing higher and higher with no current signs of dropping anytime soon. The statistics do not lie, inflation was dramatically lower under Trump's presidency than it currently is under Biden's. Popular opinion when looking at both responses to inflation and the inflation itself point to the economy doing better under Trump's term.

If you really want you can read on the topic in more detail here

Now does that I mean I support him?

Not quite.

Look, I don't think I need to tell anyone old enough to vote that Trump isn't exactly a saint. I recognize that and support the notion that as a person he is not fit for presidency in many ways despite the good he did for the economy. People are not black and white, it is not a bad thing to admit the good qualities of a person even when they're still bad outside of their deeds. Mother Teresa is a prime example. Despite all the great things she's done she's been proven to have severely neglected and at times even abused and humiliated the people in her care all in the name of indoctrinating people into the Catholic church.

This is in no way to compare her and Trump, I merely bring her up to emphasize my point that bad people can still have good qualities and vice versa. Thinking that a person is pure good or pure evil is immature, childish, and is exactly what a lot of people in power want. To create drastic divides in the American people in order to further advance their own agendas, whether we agree with them or not.

Now who might I be voting for is the question?

Frankly, I still have no idea. I don't want to skip out on voting, both on principal and especially the fact that this will be my first election, but unfortunately ERB Lincoln's worst fears have come true. The president shall once more be who the public decides is the shiniest of two turds.

I am not a Trump supporter nor a Biden supporter, just someone that wants the best for this country. Alas, as long as these two fucking idiots are our candidates, we'll have to hang in there for another four years.

This topic shall no longer be talked about on this blog publicly. If you wanna discuss anything political stop hiding behind the anonymous feature and discuss this with me in DMs like a intelligent, civilized person. Any future asks regarding this topic will be promptly deleted.

[twistedwonderlandshenanigans]

December Drabbles

Prompt 3: Holiday Card Character: Cater ------------------------------------- "Ah Cater. It seems you've received mail from home. Given how much time you're on your phone, I can provide a tutorial on how to open an envelope if you need it." Riddle extended the card to him face down, his shit eating smile on his face. Cater tried to hide the discomfort he felt as the letter was handed to him, pretending to be jokingly annoyed instead. "Hardy har har, thank you housewarden but I think even I can figure that out." Cater rolled his eyes lightheartedly, plucking the envelope from Riddle's fingers. As soon as he turned, his face fell and he headed back up to his room, hands trembling a bit as he read over the address on the front. Once he got into his room he didn't hesitate to lock the door, even though Trey might come knocking later. He all but collapsed into his gaming chair as tears filled his eyes, anxiety coursing through him as he gently opened the card from his mother. The outside was nothing special, just something she had bought at a department store with a "3D" cut out of a Christmas tree on the front, red and white font reading "MERRY CHRISTMAS" in big bold letters across it. He ignored the thaumarks....the bribe, his mother put into the card to read what she had written. Hey sweetheart! I know you're reeeeeal busy with finals coming up and all but you know, your sisters and I, (and your father I guess), all really wanna see you for the holidays. So do all my fans! So I was thinking, you get your cute little ass home for the holidays and we can do a massive vlog together! It'll be like those unboxing videos you did when you were little! You can be our star again Cater! Love, The Best Mom Ever! P.S. I think you accidentally deleted my number or something? Make sure you text me, we don't need this archaic way of communicating now that we have phones sweetheart, don't ignore mum-mum! P.P.S. Add me back onto your close friends list on Magicam, some of my followers pried into it and figured it out, so do that to avoid the drama.

He sighed shakily and tossed the card onto his bed, burying his face in hands. If he went home for the holidays, he had to put up with all her bullshit in person. The vlogging, the forced smiles, the exaggerated expressions, the guilt tripping GOD THE GUILT TRIPPING....but if he stayed...ah, what sort of sad sap spends Christmas alone when he had a family he could be with. It could be his last one...he could lie for his fourth year, and then after that, move somewhere she could never contact him again.

What little consolation he drew from his thoughts didn't take away the pain though, as he pulled out his phone and unblocked her phone number, before tossing his phone aside with the card and sobbing as he curled up on his chair. All he wanted this year were happy holidays for...himself. Apparently it was too much to ask for.

[syoul]

SYOUL PROFILES

(the unserious but also equally as serious ver.) not proofread but this might get deleted later anyways lmfao

warnings: mentions of food, child neglect, manipulation, swearing. lmk if anything else.

ISEUL: cuddle bug first, idol and songwriter second. the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree; knows manipulation and performs it well. too soft for the liking of others however, and is often stuck between the conflicts of not being enough of a man. born to slay, forced to nay. another tale of time wasted at a company who wouldn’t even look his way for a mere minute lmfao. could’ve debuted on two separate occasions but the higher ups said “nope!” and well. here he is now. people pleaser #1; was born to puppet strings and will continue to be tied to them until he decides to cut them off, even if he thinks he already did. 

OLIVER: born to “Rawr XD”, forced to “Grrr Bark Bark Alpha male-core”. haunted by the wolf that lurks in his family’s past. protective to the point where he can be overbearing—depends highly on the situation—but would lay his life down for this little “family” they have going on. outcasted for most of his childhood and trainee days; school messed him up a lot. my bad. but fuck them, there’s no way any of that can reach him now. right? 

SEOJUN: tired #1. the stone pillar with no visible cracks until you knock a hand against it to find it hollow. the product of absent parents and being a witness to their favouritism for his older brother. despite that, the two of them are extremely close. simultaneously needs a lifetime supply of coffee and to be cut off from caffeine entirely. the glue of the group and is the main one to set his foot down. will not stand for any injustice and is a little too venomous when it comes to protecting his group; sometimes his defence turns into more of an attack, but what’s the difference when the group is the main topic? is sick and tired of the doubt and comparison, even more than seven. he’s just better at hiding it. 

MARS: the sanest one by technicality but doesn’t seem like it. someone who tries so hard to be loved and is constantly searching in all the wrong places. touch starved and really just needs a good hug and to be told he’s doing amazingly. the exuberant one who puts himself out there because he’ll do anything to have this group survive. sm 100% regrets letting him go; he was willing to do whatever they wanted of him if it meant his efforts were recognized even a little bit. it’s funny because he loves dancing and is damn good at it but the old management didn't want to classify him as a dancer so they wrote him for every position except for dancer. 

KJ: tired #2. punishes himself for a childhood he had no control over; nothing was his fault but in some ways, it was. literally a wet cat caught in the rain. looks nice enough to help out but might bite and hiss if you try to give him an umbrella. is overly cautious when it comes to being shown kindness; please don’t mind the side eyes and the calculating glare, he’s trying to accept it as such i swear. has like. has 2-3 close friends outside of the group and really doesn’t plan on making more unless you’re really persistent. doesn’t look all too threatening but you better watch out if you get him mad; that’s a whole territory no one has seen before. venom in his words is his main weapon and he’s damn good with it too. 

RYO: can do no wrong in everyone’s eyes. the nicest out of the entire group and also the most forgiving. the willing dog counterpart to oliver’s feral wolf like nature. people pleaser #2 and would show his belly without a second thought. stupidly trusting, but not naive. if that makes any sense. the second punisher. carries a guilt so deep, you’d have to remove his heart to get it out of his system. none of it was his fault; they told him otherwise. 

SEVEN: angsty babygirl coded. a pack of fireworks if they were shaped into a human; he’s not dangerous compared to dynamite when he blows, but it stings nonetheless. at least he’s pretty though. will play nice until you decide to stop. but like, his definition of playing nice when it comes to people he’s wary of is batting them around with his claws slightly out. or ig in this case, spikes out bc um he’s so hedgehog coded to me. or orange cat. both work. he’s just prickly. the second best facade next to seojun; his is just a little bit more crackable if you know where to push. 

[fiepige]

Heya thank you so much for your ask!

I'm guessing you're referring to the deleted scene where Gwen and Miguel talk about how Hobie quit/took time off:

Since it's a deleted scene it should be taken with a grain of salt but since nothing they say here actually contradicts anything that happens in the movie (and I find it fitting for Hobie's character to abandon the spider-society while still looking out for Gwen) then I personally headcanon that something similar at least happened prior to his introduction in the movie.

When you say he was inactive I guess you mean in the spider-society (English isn't my first language so please let me know if I misunderstand/misinterpret anything you said! I'm not trying to put words in your mouth I'm just trying to show how I understand what you're writing but please correct me if I'm wrong <3).But yeah, it would make sense that he was still somewhat part of the spider-society since he's still wearing their watch when he makes his entrance:

(Also did you know that Hobie is the ONLY spider-person that wears his watch upside down??? I didn't before I was getting screenshots for this post lol, here is a screenshot that better shows it compared to Gwen:)

(ALso he's NOT wearing any watch in his introduction scene:)

(Just a fun fact I wanted to share)

About the portals:You make a good point here! We never see the portal Hobie appears from when he enters:

"If anything, he's running in from some place else. And we never see if the portal he comes from is HQ issued, or one of his."This is really interesting, cause at one point I thought he'd just use the HQ portal, but if that's the case then why:

1. don't we see him enter?

2. Is he running like he came from somewhere else? Like you said the watches are pretty precise and put people close to where they need to be.

This made me think that maybe he used one of his own watches (since I think he'd already made some at this point). BUT if that's the case then again:

We should still see him enter right?

If he appeared nearby we should see the effect his watches have on their nearby surroundings like we see when Gwen uses hers:

Maybe he just didn't want the HQ to figure out that he'd made his own watches yet, or maybe LYLA would be able to track him if he used the HQ watch so he used his own one instead and either:

Used it to end up far away from the others as he knew they'd all be able to see the effect his watches have on their surroundings and since Miguel apparently has everyone under constant surveillance he'd be able to figure out that Hobie was planning something behind the scenes. When he got there he then put on his HQ watch (which he hadn't been wearing since LYLA haven't been able to track him, according to the deleted scene at least) to cover up the fact that he made his own.

He used his own watch but it's not as precise and that would also explain why he had to run to get to the others. (Though it seems pretty precise when Gwen is using hers later)

Maybe he was already in Pav's dimension. This might explain why Pav asks if Miles knows about Hobie? But then again why does Pav greet him like he didn't know he was there (and also why didn't Hobie join Pav and the others sooner if that was the case)? In a way it would make sense for Hobie to hide in Pav's dimension if he's hiding from the spider-society and LYLA as hinted at in the deleted scene (which might not be canon though!), so maybe he hid there without Pav even knowing? And then he maybe saw/sensed what was going on with the gang fighting The Spot?

Cause yeah how did Hobie know they needed his help at Alchemax?

As you said, Gwen seems happy/surprised to see Hobie.The deleted scene tells us that Hobie gave her a way to contact him, so maybe she did and she's just happy to see him and maybe suprised he arrived so soon after she reached out? (Though idk when she would have done that, but since we don't know what means Hobie gave her to contact him we also don't know what to look for, for all we know it could've been a small device that just sends some kind of signal to him?)I don't think HQ contacted him either. BUT, we actually see Jess and Gwen talk briefly for like 2 seconds when they're trying to break the barrier at Alchemax:

So I guess another explanation could be that Jess could tell that Gwen was lying here and thus asked Hobie to go help her out as she knew he was looking out for Gwen?

But if Hobie was hiding from HQ then how did they contact him? But that's also only if you consider the deleted scene as canon. (though I don't think Jess contacting Hobie is the case but I'm just writing every theory I can come up with in case anyone wants to maybe look deeper into it).

For the moment I personally headcanon that Hobie either got a message from Gwen somehow or, like I theorised earlier, he was already nearby and his spider-sense alerted him to what was going on.

But I'd LOVE to hear what you or anyone else thinks <3

Once again thank you so much for your ask, I hope I answered it properly. Please let me know if there's something I missed or got wrong! And feel free to message me about Hobie (or atsv in general) I love asks like these as they make for a lot of fun speculation!

Also thank you so much if you read all of my ramblings!

@the-cat-and-the-birdie

[theatrekidstatus]

Chapter 4: TW:too much rizz and s/h (fr)

Y/n pov: i wake up and I'm the first one I hide Greg and get changed into this

Not the book,candle,phone, "cute fit" "thanks" i turn around and see

"can-t sa-y th-e sa-me" god why did I try to be a smart mouth "can't say much can you" (a/n:bully rizz) "🙄" "no finger?" "🖕🏾" "nah I ment your ring finger" "smo-oth" "like your lips" "ok ca-lm do-wn" "shit my bad" "you're good" "aww there flirting" lin took a pic of us "what the fuck are you doing" "nothing" "can we get breakfast" "sure" "WAIT WHERE IS MY BONNET" jazzy yells "probably in Africa by now" nea says "for real" I add (bonnets are the real Ops)"oh there it is" "everyone get dressed we're getting food" "cool" everyone got dressed up and we went to Waffle House (a/n:shut up) Im getting waffle,bacon,grits, "y'all isn't that waiter kinda cute" jazzy ask

"ooooh jazzy's crushing" "🖕🏽" "hey that's mine thing" the waiter comes over "hello pretty ladies what might you be ordering" "can I get eggs and waffle" pippa asks "can I get bacon eggs and a waffle" nea asks "waffle,bacon,grits,please" jazzy looking at him like a dork "ma'am" "huh" "what would you like" "your number" she whispers "excuse me" "grits and bacon please" "ok "aww" "shut up" 25 minutes later "jazz call your boyfriend over" pip says "oh he's coming over" "ah shit" jazzy wipes food off her faces and puts lip stick back on "do I look ok" "👍🏾" "good" "are you pretty girls ready for the check" "yeah" "oh I think you need this" he puts the plate shit in the middle and gave jazzy a napkin we got to the car "jazzy there something right here" "wait do y'all that's why he gave me the napkin" "🤷🏽‍♀️" "ugh" she pulls it out and squeals "what happened" "he wrote his number on the napkin" "eee" we all squeal "omg he heard me" "damn" "shush y/n this a good thing jazz" nea said we make it back to the theatre "how was y'all food" Lin ask "good" "we all said "jazzy left with a new boyfriend" "I did that shit" "for real twin" "we got 5 hours till rehearsal so let's just chill - and no you can't go back to sleep" "ughhh" we said "wait I saw the cutest puppy on insta imma show y'all" "k" "cool" "sure" I get on my search thing and I see Lin posted it was me and ant "favorite couple" was the caption "🙄" I check the comments "she's so ugly" "he could do better" "ant I thought we were better than this" "she's so fugly" "man Ramos check my dm's you'll move on real quick" I throw my phone and run to the back I took my bag i was crying so hard "I check my bag I found my old blade I was gonna throw it away but it looked REAL helpful right about now I held it to my wrist I hear  long repetitive loud knocks" "y/n please you've been clean for so long please please please the comments aren't true your beautiful and I love you I'll delete the post and all the comments please" Lin cried through the door while trying to break the door "y/n please I love you" I hear it was ... ant he loves me I stand up and open the door Lin ran and hugged me "I love you don't ever scare me like that" I just start crying "let it out sh sh sh let it out come on" he picks me up "y/n are you ok" the girls ask "mhm" I Mutter "today has been a stressful day so everyone can leave and head to my apartment to check on y/n" at the apartment "wait did you want people over DONT LIE" "yeah I love them" "ok..." "I hear a knock at the door" "you're the only without a car yet you're here first and you brought gifts" "can I see her" "sure" "I look up it's ant" "hi do you want some chocolate?" "Hell yeah" he snickers "so you... love me" he looks down "I think so" "I think I LIKE you " "really" "yeah" "do we date now?" "Can we" "sure" he had a little smile "you smile is so cute" "thank you" "look how the table have turned I use to be the nervous one" "I'm not nervous" "what happened to the boy whit w rizz and confidence" he's right here" "wha-" im cut of by his lips on mine I just look at him "im sorry" and ran away Lin came in and I told him everything "I'll call him" "no lin please" "ok" everyone came over and I  said everything from the comments to ant "yn/n I'm sorry"  "it's ok it's been a hard day I kinda wanna eat and sleep" "oh of course" "I'm sorry" "DONT say sorry it's just boundaries" "let's go ya'll" "k" they all left "I made your favorite" "thank you chef Lin" I eat it and the food was really good I hop in bed and sleep my ass off.

Anthony Ramos pov: I wake up i notice y/n is up she's not at my side I go to the bathroom and get ready I see y/n I saw "cute fit" "thanks" "can-t sa-y th-e sa-me"  "can't say much can you" "🙄" "no finger?" "🖕🏾" "nah I ment your ring finger" "smo-oth" "like your lips" "ok ca-lm do-wn" "shit my bad" "you're good" "aww there flirting" lin took a pic of us "what the fuck are you doing" "nothing" "can we get breakfast" "sure" "WAIT WHERE IS MY BONNET" jazzy yells "probably in Africa by now" nea says "for real" y/n added "oh there it is" "everyone get dressed we're getting food" "cool" everyone got dressed up and we went to Waffle House oak was talking bout his plan too ask pippa same with davved and nea "Ramos when are you gonna ask out middle" "WHO?" "y/n" he whispered "ohhh idk why'd you say middle" he just 🖕🏿 me "ohh" "yeah" "y'all are grown men and can't talk to your crush" Chris chimed in "I can't imagine not dating your crush" groff says as he touches Lins hand "yeah baby" "get a booth"

A little later

"how was y'all food" Lin ask "good" "we all said "jazzy left with a new boyfriend" "I did that shit" "for real twin" "we got 5 hours till rehearsal so let's just chill - and no you can't go back to sleep" "ughhh" we said "im so tired I tell the guys" "same" "for real" "yeah" I see y/n running away crying "what happened we ask the girls" "we don't know" i pick up her phone and read some strange comments i was nauseous i show them and Lin said "on no" we run after Lin he dose long repetitive loud knocks" "y/n please you've been clean for so long please please please the comments aren't true your beautiful and I love you I'll delete the post and all the comments please" Lin cried through the door while trying to break the door I was so upset I just yell "y/n please I love you" everyone looked at me and tears down my face as i didn't hear anything from her she and opened the door Lin ran and hugged her "I love you don't ever scare me like that" she just started crying "let it out sh sh sh let it out come on" he picked her up "y/n are you ok" the girls ask "mhm" she muttered Mutter "today has been a stressful day so everyone can leave and head to my apartment to check on y/n at the apartment" "you're the only without a car yet you're here first and you brought gifts" "can I see her" "sure"  "hi do you want some chocolate?" "Hell yeah" he snickers "so you... love me" i look down "I think so" "I think I LIKE you " "really" "yeah" "do we date now?" "Can we" "sure" he had a little smile "you smile is so cute" "thank you" "look how the table have turned I use to be the nervous one" "I'm not nervous" "what happened to the boy whit w rizz and confidence" he's right here" "wha-" im cut of by his lips on mine I just look at her "im sorry" and ran away

[fantomette22]

(Do not respond if it makes you uncomfy, reading is enough) I am late for the party but IMO it is really hypocritical when people say you can't ship ghrmria if traditionally mourning dolls were made for children and then turn around and ship mria with a woman who addresses her as her superior and is a victim of nasty experiments mria is covering up. Everyone only bothers with nuance instead of just letting people enjoy things when it is the ship they dislike.

Hello anon! Ah I know what post you read hehe (it resume really well the situation!) Thanks for the support as well ! Some people (one person in that case, can really be hypocrite yes).

I want to talk about this. I mean it's been a part of the harassment I got but you understand I don't wanna scream it out loud everything either. I don't wanna discuss some stuff publicly either so I will keep it to the essential. And well I hope I won't get bother bc of this again. (putting the rest undercut it's a big long sorry 😅)

Alright so I never actually show the ask in question I got. Only in dm to some mutuals & friends. Idk if I should share it publicly so if you want just ask me privately there's no problem I will show it. I got tons of other dumb things too but I won't share them publicly. I'm not playing that game. I'm not answering to hate with hate.

Basically, like you read before the person "ask me" more details on my view on their relationship if I think the Doll is a mourning doll (that parents made for their children) (see my essay/analysis I made a few months ago on the Doll. I will need to update it one day XD so this person might have read it). I mean yeah I think she's similar/have a similar purpose as a mourning doll but she's special. She's not your typically victorian child morning doll TM. Then, they wanted to know more about my different interprets, AUs etc

Love when people disagree bc they don’t like you but then agree with people they like who said the same thing as you… genuine evolution ? Hm…

For real I would love to talk about my many interpretations /stories about this 2 characters (with multiple interprets contradicting each others) but I want a genuine question from someone I know / someone I can put a name one. (even sending the ask on anon but telling in dm who is it is ok too! 👍)

Not someone hiding being anon and with vicious intend. Not someone who's stalking my blog (not a follower), previously (and after) fake approval of my ship content* and harassed me repetitiously for weeks if not months because I interact some times to times with someone they don't like.

*before that I got a "backhanded fake approval" over some drawings I did. Telling me "oh it's cute and all. You're doing it the right way" but then twisting it in a disgusting way with some awful sexist comments... trying to pass the fans of the pairing (and myself?) for bad people I guess? I did answer to it but call them out a bit too. It's on private now. I might have a link somewhere (because well I did spend some times writing cool ideas I want to keep for later)

At first I wasn't sure it was the same person (the fake approval, thoughts about the morning dolls and the harassing asks). But I had doubt so I never answer it. I'm glad I did because surprise ! IT WAS THE SAME PERSON all along ! (when I block ip address it was all deleted) Like wow harassing me, trolling me and trying to fake a genuine question before harassing me more? wow people are sure fascinating. (I really want do believe in you bud ! hope you become a better person !)

I took some precautions as well after all of this. That would be a shame to go private or disable anon ask for 1 bad behaved person. I hope it will be alright now and that I won't get bother anymore.

So about the other ship you mention... at first I was positive toward it but because of a few persons well I tend to be way neutral towards it now (and it's still the main thing in a minor AU of mine lol). Personally, I think, because of my view of Blood.borne world, the healing church, the research hall... that after the experiments began on her it doesn't really work/make sense for me anymore... But I won't go bother people who imagine/interpret a softer version just to be happy and have fun ! got for it guys!

But for real the wort ship experience I had so far was in Kingdom H/earts fandom XD (love this series too) imagined you follow smn cool (twi.tter) and they indirectly punch you? "oh I know the difference between who's a friend and not if you ship characters a&b or not" 💀 like wtf sure you prefer them being friends but don't insult people liking the paring ? specially when there's clues about it idk??

I feel it's more a problem of respecting other people (& their thoughts) than proving they're not canon/ accurate or not. it's not even analysis against facts it's just how I think your ideas (and you) sucks because it's my ideas are not the same.

It’s impossible to 100% agree with everyone about everything. But if it’s not hurting anyone/ dangerous ideas just minimum respect pls. That already hurt enough people throw history and still today (but well the internet..)

I would love to talk more about the characters I love really but all this is making me exhaust mentally. Even when people are nice and calm about it I'm still concerned smn is gonna understand things wrong and just decide to go bother instead of just ignoring it.

[amarantine-amirite]

Slightly Bewildered

It started when I cleaned up all the crap off my computer. Part of me worries that I have gotten rid of the wrong stuff. I brush it off as being ridiculous.

I had only just started to get over this when I heard my aunt say, "Hey, where's that voucher that's good for forty iTunes gift cards? I need it now."

The first thing that ran through my mind was, Uh oh. I messed up, didn't I? It then occurred to me that what's urgent is seldom important. You're better off to slow down and think about what you're doing if you can. "Does it have to be right now?" I asked.

"Yes it does, Mercedes"

I went over to the computer and looked at what it was. My aunt's boss emailed her. Somebody set fire to her car. The arsonist was never caught, and the boss got stuck with the bill for $1,500 from the fire department for responding to the call. She doesn't know where the $1,500 bill came from. The collections department told her to go to the city, but the city told her to go to collections. Nobody answered her questions.

What the boss asked my aunt to do was to buy up 1500 dollars worth of iTunes cards and pay the fire department for her.

When we receive an email giving us important news, we decide we'll deal with it later. But the longer you think about something, the more likely you will notice things that don't seem right. "Is your boss's spelling usually that bad?" I asked. I didn't get an answer.

It went beyond bad spelling. The more I looked at the request, the less reasonable it seemed. iTunes gift cards are only good for anything iTunes, they would be worth nothing to the fire department. I had good reason to suspect that this was a scam, and a very sophisticated one at that. Criminals know that we're likely to drop everything if our boss emails us with a high priority request, no matter how stupid it looks. We're even more likely to fall into the trap if they pretend to be your boss because, even if the recipient did suspect foul play, they might be too afraid to confront them. After all, if they are wrong, they're implying that there was something unprofessional about the boss's request.

"Please tell me you found the voucher" my aunt demanded.

I didn't. But that didn't stop me from saying, "I've connected the dots!"

My aunt strutted to the computer in a corporate manner. "'For Christ sakes, Mercedes," she began, "There are only two dots, you drew them right next to each other, and they don't mean anything."

"Yes, but I think that story about the $1,500 bill to put out the car fire was bogus." I said.

My aunt sat there on the chair in the kitchen with a confused look on her face. "It was?"

"Yep, it was bogus. Nobody other than Apple recognizes iTunes cards as money. So it doesn't matter that I accidentally deleted that thing, right?"

I thought I was out of the woods. Nope. "Yes, it does matter. What if it was important?"

"Then I wouldn't have deleted it in the first place." I still didn't understand why my aunt was upset.

"I want you to go to Staples and buy 40 iTunes gift cards," she demanded, "sometimes emergencies are emergencies, and we can't ignore them just because we're uncomfortable." Yes, I thought, and sometimes a clown statue is a murderer hiding in your house.

I went to Staples. I Saw office chairs and thought it would be funny to go-kart in them. I zoomed around until I Hit some old lady. "You damn kids need to be respectful of others around you," she chastised.

Her comments Snapped me back into reality. I came to Staples for something important. But what was it?

I forgot why I came to Staples.

I Walked around the store twice. A tall staff member with a weird haircut that tried to look like a slicked up version of Ed Sheeran's hairdo but failed so badly asked, "You need help finding anything?"

I noticed his name tag said Doug. "Have you ever walked into a room and forgot why you went there?"

Doug laughed. "Take your time," he responded.

I walked around the store a third time. At that point, I decided that whatever I had come to Staples for wasn't important, as I would've remembered if it was important. I picked up a couple of after-eights at the checkouts and left

I think this is the first time that forgetting something wound up working out well for us. A few weeks later, we discovered that I was correct in assuming that it was a scam. The email didn't come from her boss, it came from the boss's secretary. Ever since she came out as gay, the company stopped paying her. That means that she has been logging into the boss's email and scamming her subordinates to make ends meet.

Even still, my aunt was still mad at me for losing track of something. Shouldn't she be happy I stopped her from falling for a scam?

@oopsprompts

[pavlovianfuckery]

you're getting very sleep- oh wait. oh no

A/N: Re-uploading all my fics after having a slight mental breakdown and deleting everything, bone apple tea and all that anyway

AO3

The Master-masterlist

Fandom Masterlist

Summary: I have no excuses but I'm blaming this one on David Anders and his lovely speaking voice, I'm almost entirely innocent in all this, I promise

Pairing: Blaine DeBeers/F!Reader

Notes: hypnosis, piv sex and some oral, schrödinger's spiked drink, no use of y/n

Length: 7000~ words

You don't have a pavlovian response to the text alert on your phone, but it's a pretty close thing at this point. And to be honest, the butterflies that start swarming in your belly at the sound of the little 'ding' aren't exactly helping, either.

Had an interesting brain in the last shipment, you up for a test drive tonight?

You frown at the screen. That sounds less like a date and more like work. Could probably still be fun, though.

Is this your way of asking me to come over?

You pause after sending, then quickly tap out another text; Interesting how?

The minutes crawl by, and then the phone chimes again.

You'll see. 10. Wear something pretty.

"'Wear something pretty', huh?" Considering that he could probably charm the hide right off a crocodile if he tried a bit more effort would be nice, but despite that you still can't quite keep a smile away. For a minute you think about responding with something petty to tease him right back with. A few quick taps later, you quickly hit send.

You too

At least there's plenty of time to get ready.

⁂

Curled up on the corner of the couch you watch from across the room as he goes to pour himself a drink. You have to admit that while his idea of an invitation might have been somewhat lacking, he clearly puts that effort into other things. The deep blue shirt brings out the colour of his eyes and between the usual tight denim, rolled up sleeves and undone top buttons, he looks positively edible. Seeing the lines of his shoulder blades move under the thin fabric makes your mouth go a bit dry, completely derailing your train of thought. It's almost hard to believe that he's all yours, even if it's just for tonight.

"You want anything?" If the twitch at the corners of his mouth is anything to go by, your ogling has not gone unnoticed.

"Whatever you're having is fine." You shrug, mostly content to enjoy the view for a bit longer. "So, are you going to explain the 'interesting' part?"

"It's meant to be a surprise." You can tell by the gleam in his eye that this will probably be good, but you're still a bit hesitant.

"After the week I've had, I'm really not up for guessing games."

"That bad?" Despite the way he's not looking at you and busying himself with getting glasses out, it's almost sweet. Until recently you doubt he'd even ask. Even if plain and simple lust is what got you into this mess, this is exactly the kind of small thing that keeps you there. Those tiny cracks in the veneer that make you want to dig your nails into them and peel, to see more of what lies underneath. Not that you're naive enough to think there's a heart of gold hiding underneath the surface, but surface clearly isn't all there is, either.

"You have no idea. Not going to bore you with the details, though." You sigh, watching him get a bottle out. It looks exactly like the kind of expensive stuff that would be perfectly wasted on your half-dead palate. "I just need to not think for a while, so try to play nice?"

"You saying I don't usually?" He's teasing you again, eyebrows raised and his face a perfect mockery of innocence.

"No," Rolling your eyes at him you can't quite keep the fondness out of your voice, "I'm having trouble even imagining it, actually."

He's shaking his head, smiling as he unscrews the cap of the bottle.

"You know," he pours an even measure in each glass, glancing at you as he does, "I might have just the thing."

"The thing for what, exactly?"

"For when you don't want to think." Putting the cap back on the bottle and putting it down, he fishes a bottle out of his pocket. It's a tiny unassuming thing of tinted glass, and you can't see what's inside of it.

"What's that?" You frown, not sure where this is going.

"Just a little something to help you relax." His tone is airy as he holds it between his thumb and forefinger, giving it a little shake. "You trust me?" That's a question that really doesn't help you think less. It's not as if there's been a lack of opportunity for him to hurt you, hell, at times you've even asked him to. But him outright asking you to trust him is different. For a moment there's a blink-and-you-miss-it tension to his shoulders, then he shrugs and starts to put it away again. "You don't have to-"

"No, I do," You wet your lips, flicking your eyes between the bottle and his face. "I trust you." And it's not even a lie. You can only hope that he won't make you regret it as you watch him empty the bottle into one of the glasses, giving it a few quick swirls to mix it all together. Because he's seemingly always finding new ways to annoy you, he adds ice to yours before sauntering over and handing it to you with a little mock bow.

"Madam." He looks so pleased with himself that for a second you hesitate before accepting the offered glass. It almost has you rolling your eyes at him, because you know that he knows how you don't like ice in your drinks, but it doesn't feel worth getting hung up on. At least it doesn't look any different and as he sits down next to you, close enough to touch, you give it a cautious sniff. Doesn't smell any different either. As you take a small sip you can feel his eyes on you, but all you can taste is the same smooth burn you'd been expecting.

"So..." You roll the glass around between your hands, in no hurry to empty it. "You still haven't told me what's supposed to be so interesting about this brain you're on."

"You're really not letting that go, are you?"

"Nope, so you might as well tell me."

"Alright, but it's not as exciting as you probably think." He takes a sip of his drink, nodding his head. "Short version? There was a bit of a mix-up."

"And the less short version?"

"Someone bought what was supposed to be street magician brain because they thought it'd make good blue brain material. Party tricks, that kind of thing." That makes sense, you suppose. "But turns out that same someone didn't bother reading the fine print."

"And...?" You're not entirely sure where he's going with this.

"You ever been hypnotized?"

Now that's a bit of a surprise, the words 'street magician' mostly bring to mind something like card tricks or perhaps pulling hankies out of orifices.

"Oh god," you can't quite suppress a giggle, "you're not going to try and make me quack like a duck or something, are you?"

"No, but..." he leans in a bit closer, lowering his voice a little bit, "what if all I had to do was snap my fingers,"he does exactly that for emphasis,"and I could make you do whatever I wanted?"

"You could always just ask." You shrug, taking another small sip of your drink. Is it just you, or is the room getting warmer? And you could have sworn that there was ice in this, but that must have been your imagination.

"Sure, but where's the fun in that?"

"You might be surprised," The thought certainly doesn't lack appeal, and even if it does feel a little silly, it could be fun. Besides, having someone else take the reins for a bit sounds exactly like what you need right now. "Alright, I'll play. So how does it work, exactly? You going make me look at a swinging pocketwatch or something like that?"

"That's a bit cliché, don't you think?" Shaking his head, he flashes you a quick grin, "No, I'm just going to tell you what's going to happen."

"And that's just going to work?"

"Oh, it will." There's not even a hint of doubt in his voice. "That little freebie I slipped into your drink? Doesn't just relax you, it makes you...suggestible." He gestures to the glass in your hand, "By the time you finish that, you won't be able to resist. Or move much."

"I guess we'll see," you quip, taking another swig from the glass. But you can already feel it, warmth slowly spreading through your limbs like syrup, and not just from the alcohol. With a body temperature that hasn't gone above room temperature in so long, you can't remember the last time you felt this hot.

"Looking a little flushed, there." He leans back and watches you squirm for a few seconds. "It's nice, isn't it? Almost like being alive. Makes you real sensitive, too." He drags the tip of a finger up the inside of your arm, and it's true. What the hell did he give you?

"Do you mind if I open a window?" You blink a few times trying to clear your head, but he's still touching you. Every brush of his skin against yours feels as if he's reaching deeper somehow, touching the nerves themselves. Every move of his fingertip on your heated skin shoots straight to your core, making it hard to think. "I need some air."

"Be my guest." You're sure that your legs weren't this wobbly just a few minutes ago and he clearly notices too, though he doesn't say anything as he takes the half-empty glass from you. Walking over to the door leading out to the balcony is much harder than it should have been, and the entire time you're overly aware of your own body. Just the feel of your clothes and the way your own thighs rub together has you biting your lip. "You good?" The reflection in the glass is a bit blurry, but the amused expression on his face is clear enough.

"Yeah, it's fine." When did you get so lightheaded? Cracking the door open an inch lets the evening air in and it does help, at least a little. Leaning your forehead against the cool glass, you take a few deep breaths. It's only a short distance back to the couch but right now you're not feeling too confident. You only make it a few steps before he stops you.

"You might feel better if you take your top off." That sounds like a good idea, actually. He's still smiling, making your stomach fill with butterflies as you pull the offending garment over your head. "Better?"

"I don't...know?" You frown. Why is it still so warm in here?

"Lose the skirt too." His hungry gaze almost feels like a physical weight on you as it glides over your breasts and stomach, drinking in every inch of exposed skin. "That'll help." Of course it will, it has to. The zipper doesn't want to cooperate but eventually you get it, and as the skirt slides off and falls to the floor, it actually does feel better. It's still a bit too warm and too much somehow, but at least it's bearable now. "Come here." He pats the empty seat next to him. As you go to take a step, your legs wobble again, making you hesitate. It would be so embarrassing if you tripped and fell.

"Are you...laughing at me?" You narrow your eyes at him.

"Not at all." Resting his chin in his hand you can't quite see but you strongly suspect that he's not being entirely truthful. Something is clearly very funny, because his eyes are crinkling at the corners. "You can crawl, if you want." It's still a bit embarrassing but at least it's better than tripping over your own feet, and being on your hands and knees for him feels correct in a way that you can't quite put a finger on. He looks so inviting sitting there, so rather than getting back up right away you crawl between his nonchalantly spread legs. As you rub your cheek against the inside of his denim-clad thigh it actually helps with the light-headedness, because right now it feels as if he's the only solid thing in the room. Then he's patting the seat next to him again. "You should sit."

"But this is nice." Everything feels so intense and as you slide a hand over his calf and up to his knee, you wonder what'd be like to touch him without anything in the way when you're feeling like this.

"You want to finish your drink, don't you?" Now that you think about it, you're actually really thirsty still, so you probably should. Clambering back onto the couch, your fingers are a bit sluggish as he hands you the glass again, but you pay it no mind. "Go on."

There's not that much left, but you only manage about half before your limbs get so heavy that you fumble and nearly drop it.

"What did you...?" You trail off, frowning again. This is his fault, isn't it? He did something.

"Told you it'd help you relax." And it's true, almost too much so. As he reaches over and pulls the nearly empty glass from your clumsy fingers, it's as if somebody has filled your limbs with warm sand. He gently taps the glass against your bottom lip. "Bottoms up, doll." You're not sure if it's on purpose or not but when he tilts the glass he does it a bit too steeply for you to keep up, making the last of the amber liquid drip down your chin and neck.

Then it doesn't seem terribly important anymore because he's chasing the spilled liquor with his mouth, tongue lapping at every stray droplet until you're shivering, weakly squeezing your legs together. Every little touch is overwhelming and as he licks and sucks at your neck, the scent of him nearly makes your mouth start to water. It's a hint of no doubt expensive cologne and whatever product he puts in his hair, all underlaid by what you suppose is just him and you probably shouldn't be associating it with words like 'comfort' or 'safe' but somehow despite yourself, you've started to do that anyway.

"Look how relaxed you are," his voice low and smooth in your ear, almost making you dizzy with want. Pulling away he gives your shoulder a little push. It makes you sway in your seat and as your head lolls back, he wraps a steadying hand around the back of your neck. "That's good. Feels good too, right?"

"Uh-huh." Words aren't usually this hard but everything feels soft and warm, like your brain has been coated in cotton. It's a bit like being underwater and while you can still move, everything seems to move at half speed. Then he's touching you again, tracing the lacy edges of your bra. Even through the thin fabric, everything is so magnified and so focused that when he scratches across one of your nipples with a blunt fingernail, it sends a little mewling sound tumbling from your mouth.

"You must be so damn sensitive," he murmurs as he does it again, "I'm barely even touching you." Every relentless back and forth of his fingers has little jolts of pleasure running through you until it feels like you could melt into the cushions and disappear. When he stops, the lack of it is almost painful. Not for long though because then he's dipping his head down, replacing his fingers with his mouth. If his just fingers felt good, the feel of his tongue and teeth as he sucks you through the saliva-dampened fabric is downright heavenly. Then he's pinching your other side, rolling the sensitive nub between his fingers and for a few fleeting seconds you think that if he keeps doing that maybe you might come without even needing anything else. But you don't want to, not yet, so soon and so empty. Somehow you're certain that it would break the spell you're under, and right now everything just feels so good.

"I wanna touch you," you whine, tugging at the edge of his shirt. Clearly you haven't thought this through because that makes him stop, which is the opposite of what you want.

"You can touch, if you want to." When did buttons become this difficult? It really shouldn't be this hard but your fingers aren't quite doing what you tell them to, making you all the more frustrated. "It's okay." When did his voice get that soft, like something you could reach out and touch? It makes you ache to rub up against it even though that makes absolutely no sense. And of course, he makes the buttons look so easy it's almost upsetting. But then he's grabbing your wrist, guiding your hands and pressing them to his bare chest. "Better?"

"A little." When he's this close it feels as if you could drown in his eyes but it's still not close enough and there's some primal part of your mind that wants to crawl under his skin, let him fucking eat you. Something must be funny again, or he wouldn't be smiling at you like that. "What?"

"Nothing." He shakes his head and it's very confusing, because you haven't done anything, have you? But then he's kissing you and it doesn't seem terribly important, anymore. With your mouth starting to turn as clumsy as the rest of you he doesn't push but takes his time, turning the kiss into something so slow and careful that it leaves you short of breath. You almost don't notice his hand moving across your back, fingers slipping under the band of the bra. But then you can feel his lips curve against yours in a grin as he gives the closure a quick little twist, and when it pops open you're almost a bit offended that he makes it look that easy. As he slides the straps down he presses a quick kiss to each shoulder, making your heart do a tiny somersault in your chest. With the bra finally discarded on the floor somewhere he hooks a finger in the elastic of your underwear, giving it a little tug. "Tell me you want me, doll."

"You know I do." For some reason those words are much easier to wrap your mouth around, so easy to get out without having to fight your own body. You're basically vibrating under his hands already, so he has to know. How can he not know?

"Tell me anyway."

"I want you," you breathe, painfully aware of how heavy your cunt feels, wetness starting to seep into your underwear. The words come in a rush you're not quite prepared for, almost falling over themselves. "Fuck, I want you more than anything."

Your hips lift almost on their own when he gives your underwear another tug and then they're slowly slipping down, down, down until he's crouched between your legs, pulling them the rest of the way off.

"You're so pretty," you sigh, gently petting his hair. How can everything about him look so damn touchable? Impossible man. You feel too warm and fuzzy to mind it when he laughs at you, content to just watch the way his mouth and throat move. It makes you want to put your fingers in his mouth. There's no real reason for it and you know that all you'd find in there are lies and teeth, but you want to anyway. Then he's laughing again, shaking his head and pulling on your hand and did you really say all of that out loud? You must have done because then he's rubbing the tips of your fingers over his lips, pressing a quick kiss to each one before slipping two of them into his mouth, holding them gently between his teeth. To him, it's clearly just another way of teasing you and it should feel much sillier than it does, but that doesn't keep your breath from speeding up. It's intimate even though you can't quite articulate why and then his tongue slides over your fingertips, mostly putting a stop to thinking altogether. Your heartbeat feels incredibly loud as you mindlessly trace the edges of his teeth, pressing down on his tongue. It feels like it's only a few short moments later that he's pulling your fingers back out, pressing one last kiss to your knuckles.

"Still with me? Looking a bit zoned out, there." For a few moments, the words bounce around inside your skull like the world's slowest game of pong and you can't quite respond.

"Yeah, I..." you blink rapidly a few times, but it doesn't really help. It feels as if your head is filled with sickly sweet fog that could start leaking out of your ears if you try too hard to think, and the words are shaky and halting as they stumble from your mouth. "You didn't have to."

"You wanted it, though." Then he's on his knees proper, hands gliding up your thighs at a snail's pace, keeping your legs apart even when you unconsciously try to squeeze them together again. He's so close to touching you where you need it, and it's as if he can see how badly you want him. Just his breath washing over you has you clenching around nothing. "Fuck, doll," he groans and then he's touching you, if you can call it that. It's barely the ghost of touch, so feather-light that it's more like torture when you know it'd be so easy for him to sink those gorgeous fingers into you, filling you up. "You need it, don't you?"

Then the tip of his tongue is slipping through your folds, dipping into you. It's too gentle, nowhere near enough and the way he's studiously avoiding your clit makes it obvious that he's doing it entirely on purpose. It makes you clumsily grab at the back of his neck in that way you know annoys him because at this point, you'll even take his teeth over more of this teasing. All it gets you is another huff of laughter, bright eyes boring into yours until you're pinned down like a bug on a board. When he finally brushes against your clit it's still just with the very tip of his tongue, too slow and too soft to do anything except frustrate you. Every muscle in your body is slowly turning to jelly and when you try to push him away, nothing is moving how it should.

"Please." It's small and strangled and almost blurring at the edges, only barely squeezing out past the whimper growing at the base of your throat. "It hurts." And it does, you're so empty and needy that you're swollen with it, it aches and every flick of his tongue is making it worse, not better. "Need you," the words keep sticking like velcro to your tongue, and it takes more effort than it should to get them out.

"What do you want, hm?" He rubs at you, watching your reaction as he idly spreads your wetness mixed with his saliva around. "You can have my fingers." Resting the tip of a finger at your entrance he just barely dips inside. It makes you twitch and shudder, your body trying to pull at him all on its own, but the feeling passes quickly, leaving a gaping kind of hunger in its place. "Can have my whole hand, if that's what you want." As you struggle for words he bites down on the inside of your thigh, a slow steady press of teeth intended to leave a bruise. That hurts too, but it gives you something else to focus on, makes it easier.

"Just need you," you grit out, breath coming in quick little gasps, "inside, please, please..."

"Yeah?" He presses a sloppy open-mouthed kiss to the bite, laving his tongue over the little divots left by his teeth, so close to breaking the skin. "You want my cock?"

"God, yes." Your nails scrabble weakly against the expensive leather of the couch. Some gibbering and altogether vicious part of your mind insists that him just fucking you isn't enough, he needs to get his cock out and hurt you with it, to leave you with marks so lasting and so deep that the only thing you'll ever be is his. It's thoroughly ugly in all its possessiveness, but you can't bring yourself to care. "Please."

For a second he looks at you with something that's almost like pity.

"You can't move, can you?" His tone is soft and sweet like molasses as he wraps a hand around your wrist, stroking it with his thumb. Before you can even try to answer he lifts it a few inches, then lets go, and you can't do anything except watch as your arm limply falls back down. "Oh, sweetheart," he breathes, eyes going half-lidded and dark," Oh, that's perfect, fuck."

Having to watch him undress without being able to touch him is its own kind of torture. Every movement from the way he shrugs off the undone shirt to how he peels the tight denim down is deliberate and just a hint too slow, making you wait for it. He's close enough that all you'd have to do is reach for him but your limbs just feel so heavy, as if any minute you're going to sink down all the way through the floor. He's half-hard already, tenting the fabric of his boxers and as he pulls them off too you can't quite hold back a frustrated little noise.

Then your mouth really does start to water because the way he touches himself is deliberate too, slow and teasing and just out of your reach. The temptation to get on your knees and wrap your lips around him is so strong that you're almost feverish with it, but even if you could move, how could you trust your own mouth right now? Every slide of his fingers draws the tension inside of you tighter until it drags the breath from your lungs in a desperate little whine.

It's not even words anymore, just noise. You can't even ask for what you want. Then he's stepping closer still, until he's just inches away, the tip of his cock flushed and wet and all but begging you to wrap your mouth around it. If you could just move-

"Shh, I know," he soothes, stroking your hair, "you don't need to talk, it's alright..." Despite the breathy edge to his voice the words are still so soft, and you can't quite understand why. Every little movement and slick sound has heat curling low in your belly and as he swipes his thumb over his slit and gathers the beading precome on his finger, you think you might actually cry. He's close enough that you can smell him and now he's just being mean, why can't he just-

Then his finger is pressing against your mouth, rubbing it over your lips until they glisten with it and now you know he's definitely just being mean on purpose because that has to be payback for something you've done. "You're so fucking pretty like this, come here." He grits out, cupping your jaw in his hand. "Open." His grip is gentle as he coaxes your slack mouth to open properly, not letting go and taking himself in hand until he's satisfied that it's wide enough. Hand cradling the back of your head, he doesn't fuck your mouth the way you expect him to. Instead he just barely slips between your lips and rubs his tip against your tongue with a low moan, not seeming to care that you can't really do anything. For a minute it's so close to being what you want, but it's not quite what you need. You'd thought that tasting him would make you feel better, but instead all it does is make the ache between your legs all the more urgent. It's not just the inside of your thighs that are getting slick with it, the luxurious leather under your ass is also starting to turn slippery, and if he doesn't take pity on you soon, sliding right off the couch could be a very real possibility. While getting fucked on the floor is starting to sound more tempting by the minute, you know that it'd probably be a lot less fun in practice. You wish that you could at least swallow properly because he's leaking into your mouth, twitching and messy and entirely too lovely. The little groans spilling from his lips have no business sounding as good as they do and you selfishly hope that he doesn't come like this and leaves you hanging.

When he finally pulls away the rise and fall of his chest is a shuddering, uneven thing and he looks almost as tense and desperate as you feel. As he wipes your chin and as he cups your cheek, thumb tracing your cheekbone, you can't recall ever wanting him more."Just blink if you still want it, doll."

So you do, as slowly and as purposefully as you can, despite the thick fog swirling around in your mind, making it hard to think. It seems to get the message across because his face is a mixture of relief and desire, hot and sharp and focused entirely on you as he captures your mouth with his.

"Good," he sighs against your lips, "that's good." When he pushes you down you go so easy, as boneless as a puppet with its strings cut. It's a tight fit and not entirely comfortable when he tries to slot himself between your legs and in hindsight, the couch really isn't the best spot for it. He seems to agree, knocking a few of the cushions to the floor with an impatient little 'tsk' sound and giving your legs more room to spread. "There," he grunts, pressing close and covering your body with his, "that's better."

With his weight holding you down it does feel better and as he rubs his length over your aching center, even better still. Every slow roll of his hips has your traitorous heart pounding just a bit harder in your chest because he could have just turned you over and used you but instead he's taking his time, all but melting against you in a way that's bordering on tender. You're still not naive enough to fool yourself into thinking that this is something as stupid as love, but with the way he's looking at you, it makes it hard to believe that this arrangement between you is as clear-cut as it had been when it started. Then he's bowing his head, burying his face in the crook of your neck, breathing laboured as he sucks a bruise into the sensitive skin.

"You just keep that pretty little head of yours," his voice is shaky and fraying at the edges, "nice and empty for me." With the way he's caging you in with his arms, he's already the only thing you can think about right now but it's not like you'd tell him that, even if you could. Then he's reaching down, feeling you out and angling his hips just so, making thinking superfluous at best as he presses against your opening. He's not even inside of you yet but he's already trembling. "Fuck," he gasps, brows knitting into a small concentrated frown. "oh, you're so fucking ready for me, aren't you?"

For once he's not hiding and you can't look away, and as he finally slides into you, all you can do is breathe and let him. There are no masks, no walls, only the way his mouth goes slack and pupils dilate, breath coming out in stuttering little bursts. He takes his time with this too, easing into you so carefully, as if he's worried that you might break, despite knowing better than that. Having him buried inside like this, throbbing and lovely and pushing into the deepest parts of you, it's perhaps the most right you've felt all night. And that's when you realize that even though it's only a little, you can move.

"Oh fuck, sweetheart, you don't have to..." The words are staggered and a bit unsteady as he trails off, frown deepening and eyelids fluttering as you squeeze around him again and again. Once you start, you're not sure how to stop. Not when it's dragging the prettiest, almost obscene noises from his mouth as he rocks against you. It feels as if he's barely moving an inch, only just pulling back before thrusting back in, nudging and massaging at that sweet spot deep inside. If you could only touch yourself you'd be hurtling towards that precipice so soon, but you can't. Even if your arm wasn't hanging uselessly off the edge of the couch, there's no room. Instead, he's pressed in so close that every move has you rubbing against him. Compared to his fingers or his mouth it's too broad, too imprecise, but it doesn't matter because it's still enough. You can feel your climax slowly starting to build, a roiling, twisting, hungry thing that's already making your thighs start to quiver. There's no hurrying it along, there's only frantic little breaths and waiting for him to bring you there, a low keening sound trapped in your throat. That, and watching as he slowly falls apart. Because he does, control steadily eroding until he's tense and still and spewing profanities into your ear.

"You gotta fucking," his voice is rough and strained, chest heaving as he twitches inside of you," oh, you gotta stop that." You almost don't want to. He's beautiful like this, so tightly wound and on the verge of losing himself in you completely. With your own release looming just out of reach it's almost impossible to stop, but you do. It's like a tide retreating and if you could move, you'd be clinging to him right now, begging for it, but all you can do is breathe. "I'll take care of you, just let me," and then he's kissing you again, quick and sloppy and gorgeous, the words tickling your lips, "I will, just be still for me, just let me..." And then he's moving again, pushing himself deeper and fully bottoming out, forcing your legs apart until one of them limply slides off the couch, the plush rug tickling your foot as it dangles over the edge. It's not the most comfortable position to be in but he's not letting you fall and with the slight change in angle, there's more room now. He wastes no time taking advantage of it. It's still a tight fit as he slides a hand between your bodies, pressing down and rubbing exactly where you need him to the most. The pace is no longer something deep and slow, and you can tell he's trying to hold back, but you're not sure how long it's going to last. You know it won't be long for you though, between the way he fills you up so perfectly and rubbing slick little swipes in a merciless back-and-forth over your clit, your walls are already starting to flutter.

"Hold on for me, doll, I'm almost there, just a bit more..."The desperate edge to the words drags you even closer to your peak and his fingers are so insistent and so good that you can't, you can't. He looks almost pained as he chases it, driving into you at a pace that's nowhere near gentle or controlled anymore. "I want to be right fucking there with you," and that nearly does it, the way he chokes those words out, voice so breathless and lovely. You try to hold on, you do, but he's making it impossible. Then he's making a strangled noise and you're no longer going, you're gone, spasming around his cock until you're nearly pushing him out with the force of it. In the midst of the searing pleasure you're almost sorry but then he's making an absolutely filthy sound and you can feel it when he tips over the edge only seconds behind you, swelling and pulsing as he pushes himself against your grasping walls. After dragging it out for so long it's not quick, every drop of pleasure wrung from you until you're gasping and dizzy. Even as he's starting to come down, you're still convulsing around him until he's oversensitive and shuddering. But rather than pull away he leans into it. There's something almost cute about how the aftershocks of your release make him twitch and gasp and despite looking at least as spent as you feel, he still rolls his hips a few more times and rubs his softening cock against your weakly fluttering walls, making himself shiver with it.

When you finally go still he lets out a breathless little laugh.

"You done?" He smiles, resting his forehead against yours. You frown and blink slowly up at him because he doesn't do that, not really. The gesture is too intimate, too familiar, but there it is anyway. It makes you want to wrap your arms around him and for some reason, you can. It's jerky and clumsy but at least it's movement, so you'll take it. The smooth expanse of his back is almost warm as you run your hands over it, waiting for him to push you away.

"I..." your mouth feels as if it's coated in rust, dry and miserable, but at least it's working, sort of. Clearing your throat, you try again."Think so. Definitely." You're vaguely aware that there are tears stinging at the corners of your eyes. As you blink they fall and then your shoulders start tensing almost on their own.

"Hey," his voice is so hellishly soft again and he's pulling away, sitting back from you. It hurts, causing a few more tears to stubbornly fall. It's embarrassing and he shouldn't have to see that so you turn away, curling up on your side.

"Shit," he mutters under his breath. There's barely space for it but he squeezes in between you and the backrest of the couch anyway, plastering himself to your back. It's not exactly comfortable and you're not sure why he's doing it at all. As a small sob rattles your ribcage he wraps an arm around your waist, pressing a quick kiss to the back of your shoulder. "You okay?"

"I'm not sad, not really, it's fine." It's probably not very convincing and you wipe at your eyes with a little hiccup. "Fuck."

"You sure?" He rests his chin on your shoulder, tightening his grip just a fraction. That's not something you're used to either from him, but if he's offering you're not going to push him away.

"Just, that was...a lot." You shake your head, a wobbly little giggle bubbling in your throat. "What the fuck did you put in my drink?"

"Just water." He sounds so utterly pleased with himself when he says it, too. "Got you good, didn't I?"

"What...?" That doesn't sound right at all and you frown. "If you're lying to me right now-"

"You don't remember anything, do you?" His voice is almost giddy in your ear and before you can question what exactly you're supposed to remember, he snaps his fingers again, making you jump. It's hazy, coming back in fits and starts, and then-

⁂

"Deep breaths, just relax for me." All you can see is his eyes, drawing you in. "Just listen, you're going to..." And you want to listen, it feels so good to listen, letting his voice wash over and through you until everything else falls away, until all that exists is himhimhim-

"You're doing so well, doll." Every word slips and skids across your brain like honey in a hot skillet until it feels like they're coating the inside of your mouth, sweet and sticky.

"In a moment you're going to wake up..." And you still can't look away, his voice is so soft, wrapping around you and filling you up until your head is swimming with it. "You're not going to remember this until later, okay? Nod for me if you understand."

You're swaying in your seat, neck like rubber and you nod, you want so badly to do as he says, anything, just as long as he keeps talking-

⁂

"What the hell did you do?" Despite yourself, you tense up, heart tapping an uneven rhythm against your ribs.

"Nothing you didn't enjoy." He sounds almost unbearably flippant. One of these days, you're going to have and try to take him down a peg or two. "Mostly wanted to see if it'd even work."

"You better tell me, or I swear-" You don't really think he's done anything horrible, but you are curious enough that resorting to violence isn't entirely out of the question.

"Alright, keep your panties on. Or don't," he gives your shoulder a little nibble and you can feel him grin. "The general idea was that the more turned on you got, the less you'd be able to think or move." He shrugs, tightening his grip. "Also the drink thing, but that was just for fun."

"And there was nothing else?"

"Scouts honor." There's a pause, and then, "Would you have preferred it if I'd made you cluck like a chicken?"

"Anyone ever tell you that you're a bit of an asshole?" It comes out a bit sharper than intended, but it just runs off of him like water on a particularly smug duck.

"Oh yeah," he murmurs against the back of your neck, "there's this awfully pushy woman that keeps constantly reminding me."

"You really think I'm pushy?" You can't even bring yourself to be annoyed, not really. The fondness fizzing in your chest doesn't quite let you, not right now. "So this might be a silly question, but..." You bite your lip, running your fingers over his forearm," could we keep this one? It was a little interesting..."

⁂

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[sukirichi]

earned it [02]

Gojo Satoru is a firm believer that if you work hard for it then you shall earn it. But on the other side, he’s not unfamiliar with his own sins. He also believes that there is punishment due for his sins as he’s earned it.

cw. mentions of murder, suggestive content, unedited fic

notes. err, i’m only doing this on impulse. i would like to continue it, but i think part one stands enough for itself :> i might delete this if i don’t like it a few days later lollll

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Your infamous customer hadn’t arrived even as the restaurant closed. You watched close enough, fidgety in your movements and often bumping into other servers, all because your gaze kept darting back to the front door, awaiting his presence.

There’s no actual reason why you want to see him. Maybe it’s because he left an impression? The guy didn’t even budge after finding out someone had snuck into the kitchen to poison him, leaving you to wonder why anyone wanted to kill him. Not that it was any of your business, but you figured it was only common between powerful people who are equally greedy. Still, you’re unfocussed in your work, apologizing every now and then when your boss shook their head at you.

Thankfully, you managed to get back to your old pace. Thoughts of the white-haired tall man left the room at the same time everyone did, leaving only you and your boss in the locker room. You ended up working two shifts again on this weekend, your co-worker asking you to cover for them due to sudden family issues.

It’s tiring, that much is for sure, but you won’t complain when it’s more money down in your pocket. You’re dazzled, however, as you leave the locker room and see that your main chefs are still there.

Upon seeing you, they immediately usher you into a lone table, table 98 that remained untouched the whole night, a two lit candles illuminating the otherwise darkness of the isolated restaurant. Only this time, it’s occupied by him no less, his azure eyes flittering up to yours at the sound of your hesitant footsteps.

You’ve been looking for him the whole night, yet now that he’s in front of you, you don’t have any words to say. Instead, you bow down deep, the hands clasped in your lap shaking.

“S-Sir.”

“No need to be so nervous. I only wish to discuss something with you,” his laugh is so carefree, lighthearted as he gestures to the empty spot across him. “Take a seat,” Wordlessly, you foolow his orders and dash down to the seat, spine straight and head held high. There’s a hint of amusement in his small smile, but he doesn’t tease you, save for the lilting tone he held. “So you’re in sophomore year of university?”

“Yes, Sir. How’d you know?” You furrowed your brows, unsure of whether you’re supposed to expensive meal served in two.

Gosh, and this was on page three too, a single meal cost at least six months’ worth of rent.

“I pulled a string or two,” he lifts one shoulder lazily, waving his knife in the air. “And please, call me Satoru. Assuming we come to an understanding, things will go well for the both of us. You are in need of financial aid, yes?” You nod, utterly clueless in where this is leading, but Satoru’s already made up his mind long before he came here that he found no need in beating around the bush.

“Good. Then what do you say about being my sugar baby?”

“S-sugar baby?” you repeat the word first in confusion, then with distaste. He simply hums around the meat he’s eating, as if it’s a normal occurrence for him to inquire such things, and you scoff, crossing your arms on your chest.

You don’t care that this guy is your precious customer – he was just the same as everyone else.

“Is that the reason why you asked me to stay behind? Do you think you can just pay people to sleep with you? It may have worked on others, but not to me. I would rather keep my dignity than be with you,” you breathe hard after your rant, slapping your palms down on the table. The impact of it makes the table shake, his hand reflexively reaching to steady his wine glass. “As for what happened yesterday, you don’t have to thank me about it. I did what any right-minded person would.”

“And if I said I never wanted to be saved?” he asks, his tone still so calm that it further infuriates you. You stare at him, stunned and mouth gaping. “Sit down. I didn’t mean it that way.”

“Thank you for graciousness, Sir, but I really don’t—”

“Angel,” You freeze at the nickname. He chuckles with his forehead pressed to his clasped hands, “Do you really think I need to pay people to sleep with me? I could have anyone I want,” his voice falls an octave or two, the sonorous warning rumbling something…alien inside your body. You stand there, unable to move, and he easily sees through this as he hides a smirk behind his drink. “Sit down. I’m not done talking to you.”

You don’t know what snapped in you to actually follow, but his words weren’t just that. They were always laced with eased dominance, the words leaving his lips coming out as a command. No, it was more like a hypnotizing order, and you’re nothing but a puppet enslaved by it.

His smile only grows bigger, and you hate that he looks ridiculously handsome under the dim lights of the room. Life would’ve been much easier if this man had been ugly.

“As I was saying, this relationship should be casual, no strings attached. I’d prefer if you’re exclusive to me, and in return, I’ll cover all your school fees and everything else. As for the sex,” he cuts his eyes straight to yours, an intense burning heat in them. You squirm in your seat, a little intimidated, albeit excited, by this proposition too, though you’d rather die than let him know that, “I don’t need that from you. I just want someone to talk to.”

“You’re paying me to talk to you?”

“No,” he chuckles, “I’m saying you form a relationship with me in exchange of financial aid. You’d be similar to a lover, nothing less of a friend,” he stares at his drink so hard like he was having a debate with it. A few seconds later, he found his answer, the gleam in his eyes surreptitious as he says, “Someone I can trust.”

You huff. Surely it wasn’t easy as that. “Why me?”

“No reason,” he shrugged, “I just find you endearing, that is all,” You lean back on your seat, trying to process all this. The hesitance must be written all over your face because he adjusts his tie, sliding a white business card your way before sliding his chair back in. At least he’s well-mannered enough to do that. “You can take your time to think about it. There’s no need to rush.”

Somehow, seeing his figure retreat triggers something within you. You watch as silhouettes emerge from the darkness trail after him; must be his security team, serving as an additional note that what you so struggled to achieve was likely nothing for him.

Was it fear? Desperation? Shame?

You don’t know, you won’t ever really know, but you run up to him anyway, brave enough to tug at his sleeve. The guards surrounding him tense up at the contact, stepping away only when he raises a finger that spoke a thousand words.

“You-you’ll pay for everything?”

With his back turned to you, you failed to see that victorious grin he wore. “And everything more,” he reassured. He turns around to confirm your submission, but you’re quivering under his towering frame, poor hands clutched around the card so tightly he won’t be surprised if you break it. He chuckles, coaxing the worries out of you as he caresses your cheek, his breath evident of expensive liquor hitting your cheeks. “Relax, angel. It’s not like you’re selling your soul to the devil.”

Your pupils blow wide at the close proximity. If he was attractive before, it’s nothing compared to the clarity of his sharp, angular features that are softened by his playful smile. Oddly enough, his thumb caressing your cheeks is tender yet calloused.

There’s no telling when who put who under a spell, because you’re clutching helplessly at his suit jacket, whispering, “Am I not?”

You are, he wants to say, but you’re so innocent, so vulnerable – such an angel, he can’t help but hum in his head – that he doesn’t have the heart to let you know. He already knew things were bound to fall out of place one another, but until that hasn’t happened yet, he’ll have to keep you close. He’ll make you his.

“I’ll take good care of you,” he declares so confidently that you couldn’t even question his capability to do so you, and for a moment, just a moment, your knees weaken under his stare. “Now that, I can promise.”

Should you have pulled away then? When he leaned down to seal the contract with a kiss, should you have pulled away then? Or better yet, could you even pull away then?

You’ve been so alone your whole life that each moment with him is awakening, soul-crushing, mind-shattering and so damn weakening that you should’ve pulled away then. If anyone were to tell you you’d share your first kiss after work hours with a man whose name you don’t even know of, you’d tell them they were crazy, crazier if they claimed you would enjoy it.

But you did. Oh, you did, you were addicted to him – his taste, his scent, his touch, everything about him – that when he pulled away, taking away every last breath in your lung that formerly remained taint-free by him, you’re left wanting. Craving.

And he knows this. How could he not? Your eyes are hazy with lust, chest pressed against his firm ones that would soon be the same body you found home over and over again.  You’re not the only left intoxicated from this sudden agreement. Whatever you feel, he feels it twice as much after years of watching you from the sidelines, asking himself a million times over what it is about you that pulled him in so much in the first place.

The innocence? The dedication? The youthful naivety?

Gojo wants to laugh at himself. It was never any of those – he simply wanted to fool himself that maybe he’s worthy of this, of your love, of your purity. He’s selfish, manipulative, heartless, and he wants nothing more than someone like you to make him feel like he’s everything he’s not.

He steps forward to brush his nose against yours; breathing in the tiny gasps you reward him with. And he’s barely even touched you.

“I look forward to our next meeting,” he rasps, butterfly touches all the way down your back to hold you flush against him, letting you feel that he’s all muscle and hardness, while you’re the complete opposite, composed of softness and little ghosting kisses. Perhaps when he gives you by a name, he was right to call you –  “My Angel.”

The loud blaring of your alarm cuts through the silence of the room, its shrill sound piercing your ears. You groan, blindly patting the bedside table to swipe snooze. The spot next to you has been cold for a while now, but it’s normal for Satoru to leave early for work that you burrow yourself deeper in the covers. Five more minutes of sleep shouldn’t be so bad; it’s the weekend, anyway. You’ve got nothing else to do.

Waking up after that, on the other hand, now that is an impending task on itself.

You’re beyond sore, your inner thighs littered with handprints and your shoulder covered in love bites. “Jeez,” you mutter to yourself, stepping out of the bathroom. Tying your robe around you, you go out your shared bedroom, rubbing your eyes to get the sleep out.

It’s past noon already – Satoru really wore you out. And fuck, you could barely walk. You had to grip the counters just to sit on the stools, and even then, you’re wincing from the pain.

He should be doing paperwork in his office right now or something; he never really told you what to do. You don’t feel like asking either since he’s made it clear he prefers to keep his personal life, well…personal. But nevertheless, you swing your legs back and forth on the stool, texting him a quick I love you baby :)

Satoru doesn’t reply.

Usually, he’d respond in a few minutes, always supplied with a wink and an eggplant emoji. It was so him to act this way, that when those few minutes turned into a few hours and you’re met with radio silence, you can’t help but worry.

You try to brush it off, ignoring the deafening silence that rings all over his penthouse. He’s busy, he’s working, he’s got things to do – that’s all it is.

You convince yourself hard enough that you’ve cleaned the place until it’s sparkling, your reflection bouncing off the black marble floors. Every minute, though, your mind would race back to him. Not thinking about him proved to be a really daunting task because you think of him when you’re eating, reminiscing the way he’d always surprise you with a back hug, muttering morning angel all over your skin just to distract you from your meal. You think of him as you’re killing time with boring dramas; if he was here, he’d nudge your leg with his foot, pushing your shorts until it exposes your panties. He’d make sure you don’t get to focus at all, riling you up and kissing you hard that the show playing becomes nothing but background noise. You think of him, you dream of him, you remember him – and yet, you can’t feel him.

Nails bitten down to the skin, you scramble for your phone, swiping call over his contact. It doesn’t go through. Now that’s another odd thing; Satoru never fails to pick up your calls.

“He’s just busy,” you lie to yourself, telling the same thing over and over again even as night falls and you’re staring at the empty left side of the bed, hands smoothing over where the curve of his body would’ve been. “He’s just busy,” you say once more, giving into the exhaustion brought on by your worries. “He’ll come home soon. He always will.”

Except he didn’t.

And that was two weeks ago.

“Angel, I got you—” Satoru immediately clamps his shut, his footsteps muted as he walks closer to you. You’ve been dating for a few months now, and you’re still very wary of the nature of your relationship so you refuse to move in with him. He doesn’t mind, he respects your space and decisions, but now he’s starting to regret letting you have your way. You’re hunched over your swiveling chair, cheek pressed against the opened textbook and glasses perched on your hair. The lamp desk illuminates the dark circles lining your eyes, his heart breaking at the sight.

Thanks to his help, you’ve been able to spend more time focusing on your studies. It should be comforting, but Satoru’s heart aches as he thinks of what you’ve been like prior to meeting him.

How long have you stayed up all night just to pass your exams? How long have you cried yourself to sleep, unable to handle the burden placed by the world on your shoulders at such a young age? How long have you had to turn down friends’ invites to parties with a forced smile because you had to go to work? How many times have you stared at a failing mark, teeth clenched because you studied well for it; your exhaustion just got the best of you and muddled your brain?

Satoru places the beer and dinner he’s got you on his way back home on top of your one-man dining table, pressing a kiss at the top of your head. You look so beautiful this way – unaware, unknowing, and focused in nothing but the future ahead of you that you don’t bother yourself with his past.

Perhaps…it was comforting, after all.

He’d rather have you worry over your own studies than worry about him. Satoru can’t stomach the idea of you – his precious angel – being involved in his own shit, possibly get caught between the crossfire. It pains him to say it, but he doesn’t want you getting too close for comfort.

So he stays there by your side, simply because it would expel all ideas of you wanting to be beside him. He’ll be right where you’re safe, and the sigh that leaves your lips when he moves you to your bed, fitting in his long, lanky bed on your cramped mattress an immense struggle. As if feeling that you’re finally home, you snuggle closer to his chest, murmuring sweet nothings that tug at his heartstrings.

Satoru rubs circles at your back, staring so hard at the chipped paint on your wall that he’s sure he’s got it burned in his memory.

Now that he thinks about it, he should’ve been satisfied with that. He should’ve held back in his desire to have more of you. He should’ve just tucked you in and left, but he was never really in control of himself. Before he knew it, he’s pulled in by you too much, encouraging him to move in with you under the lie it’s easier to keep an eye on you.

Had he just left you earlier…would things have been different then?

He’s asked himself this question too many times. Satoru always came to one conclusion. He loved you way too much that it consumed him, and soon the love he held for you slowly burned you inch by inch. The only way to save you was to pull away – but he wasn’t ready for that yet, not now – but he’s too scared, too deep in love that he ignores the warning signals and holds you close instead, finding comfort in the warmth of your arms.

Fuck. Satoru downs his second drink, glaring at everyone beneath his shades. Geto snickers beside him, sending side eyes to his boss every now and then just to check. Of course, Satoru’s not actually going to pass out, he was no lightweight, but he’d been uneasy every since that pretentious gold envelope landed on his desk.

One of the downsides of being a mafia leader meant you had to mingle with other clan shit, including him of all people. There were always new leaders popping out of nowhere, Satoru quote unquoting, criminals be spawning like maniacs.

For fourteen years – fourteen fucking years – his clan had been in bad blood with the Zen’ins. They were pretty new in the illegal side of business, starting off as a powerful name in the trade industry before they got interested in oil. One thing led to another, the family began to realize they could have so much more if they turned a blind eye to a law or to, soon shifting into illegal weaponry trade, human trafficking, then drug manufacturing.

These bastards had the audacity to insult the Gojo Clan when Satoru’s family dropped by to strike a contract out of curiosity to their goods, only to be turned down because they’re ‘barbaric’ and ‘informal.’

Satoru still remembers that humiliating moment of being escorted out by bodyguards, but he held his head high, vowing to show that bastard Zen’in guy that the Gojo’s were one of the powerhouses for a reason. He doesn’t even know where the elderly guy got his confidence from. Mafia business was not the same as their former expertise, yet they acted all high and mighty with their rules and standard of being sophisticated even in a life or death situation.

Gojo doesn’t know whether he should be happy or sad that the old man died, his son taking over just as soon as his father perished. He would’ve celebrated with a whiskey or two, except the new clan leader was quite adamant in cleaning up their name to prove he would not create the same mistake his father did.

The new leader threw a large cruise party, inviting pretty much everyone they were chummy with, and Satoru has never felt more out of place. He recognized a face or two, but he couldn’t really give a fuck. He hated events like this – it was all about establishing power and face.

Satoru groaned under his breath, swiping at another flute as a waiter passed by. He felt the bubbles fizzle down his throat, the slight burning sensation somewhat easing his nerves.

He leans back at the wall and checks his watch for what seemed like the hundredth time that night. It’s been two fucking hours since they arrived, and the host still hadn’t arrived. If they planned on being ‘fashionably late’ Satoru won’t hesitate to slice someone’s neck tonight. He hates his time being wasted the most, and his eyes slid over to his friend’s still posture, looking like he just saw a ghost.

“Suguru,” he sighs through his mouth, “Don’t be so tense. This is a formal event – no blood will be shed tonight.” Suguru had a weird skill of being able to read Satoru’s thoughts that he raised his hands in surrender, silently promising that he’s not going to kill anyone.

“You’re not sure of that.”

“I won’t lose my composure, if that’s what you’re worried about,” he rolls his eyes, not looking back as he effortlessly places the empty glass back to another waiter. Satoru stands next to his friend, sucking his teeth out of boredom. Suguru, on the other hand, is tenser than ever, his eyes locked onto something in the middle of the crowd that began to cheer.

Faintly, somewhere at the back of his mind, Satoru hears someone whistle in signal. A few seconds later, the fireworks are lit and decorate the night sky, bursts of gold and beauty accompanying the entrance of the woman who’s so effortlessly caught everyone’s eye tonight.

Satoru is rooted to his spot, taking off his glasses the same time the crowd parts. Then, his breath is knocked away from his body, his heart pumping so hard he actually struggled to breathe.

Because you’re there, smiling and waving at the crowd as if it’s second nature to you. Seven years of being apart from one another and Satoru is still bewitched each time he lays his eyes on you. You’re the same…from your face down to the angelic feeling you always carried, but at the same time, you’re different. Gone was his precious angel who shied away from too much attention, his precious angel who would’ve never worn such a bodacious ring embedded on her left ring finger. Your smile is more charismatic, confident, and even fierce compared to the small, private ones you always shared with him – he almost couldn’t recognize you.

As if feeling someone’s eyes on you, you spot him leaning languidly against the walls, those lips you used to kiss turned downwards.

Seven years ago, you would’ve kissed him until he smiles again, singing to your pouty and clingy boyfriend who never voiced out the reason of his troubles. Seven years ago, he would’ve carried you and swung you around, showering you with affection as he reminds you how lucky he is to have you.

But this was no longer the past – that much is clear from when he left you without another word.

Still, you smile at him, an empty one that showed nothing but concealed anger. He was sure though, so fucking sure, that for a split second, he saw you light up. That may have been seven years ago, but you loved each other to the point of insanity – surely you still held some sort of fondness of him.

Satoru takes long, self-assured stride towards you, his gaze never leaving yours with his hands tucked into his pockets. There’s no telling what he’ll do, but in his mind, it’s clear.

You still love him, he still loves you. He’ll do something about it. It doesn’t matter what, he just will. That was until a young man closer to your age with blond hair and pierced earrings, narrow feline eyes lined with eyeliner hobbles beside you, his weight supported by a cane that Satoru stops in his movements.

He’d recognize that face anywhere.

The youngest and perhaps most mischievous leader of them all, Naoya Zen’in. Albeit not as hard-headed as his father in comparison with his rather laid-back and welcoming nature, Satoru knows a monster when he sees it. It takes one to know one, after all, and despite the heir being crippled from a former accident, his intelligence and power was not to be overlooked through his appearance and coy smiles.

In fact, he might even be more dangerous than his old man, this theory only proven when his arms snake around your waist. The matching rings gleam from under the light, and you press yourself closer to him to whisper in his ear, your attention very much still on Satoru.

Satoru’s entire body burns.

“Still there, Sir?” Suguru asks, gripping his boss’ bicep to hold him back. Smart of him, Satoru exhales through his nose, unable to stop his glare from darting to your husband’s.

He’s heard of you, of him, of how his most annoying rival had a phenomenal trophy wife who looked harmless at first look, but was actually the brains of most of his operations. Satoru forgets how to breathe normally because he’s heard of you, and the rumors he’s gotten wind of about Naoya’s trophy wife are nothing less of how dedicated and perfect the two of you are.

Slapping Suguru’s arm away from him, Satoru grits his teeth. “Get me a drink.”

His precious angel was gone. No, this woman that stood before him…you were an entirely different entity, something darker, something along the lines that were more like him.

What exactly happened the day he left you?

taglist: @ladywaifuuwrites​ @savantsoulfinder​ @my-reality-is-in-my-head​ tagging the ones who asked for part 2, please let me know if you’d like to be added or removed!