#I should be allowed to write what i fucking want to write

[nanamiscocksleeve]

May I request a situation where Kento suddenly turns corrupt in a way that he loses all respect and simply wants to sexually take advantage of fem!reader? Just fucking her rough like a rag doll. Whether it be a curse or aphrodisiac (that can be up to your amazing imagination) But of course, there’s consent and miss reader has a ball with it.

Ohhhh! This is what I needed to break back into writing JJK. But I feel like there's defiinitely some work out there where Kento rough fucks his s/o thanks to a curse or aphrodisiac and I was struggling to write something that felt fresh. This might be a little softer than what was asked because while I'm ok with writing degradation, I think Kento would struggle quite a bit with this.

I hope I've done this justice!

Warnings: MDNI, degradation, derogatory name calling, CNC, objectification, dacryphilia, free use, rough sex, S&M

Use Me

It's a quiet evening as your husband brings you a warm cup of coffee, pressing a kiss to you head as he sits next to you. He stretches and lets out a breath, relishing the peace, and puts an arm around you, drawing you closer for comfort. You sip quietly and appear lost in thought. Ever observant, Kento quirks an eyebrow at you.

"Something on your mind?" To his surprise, your eyes flick up to his over the coffee cup and a blush starts to dust over your cheeks and nose. "What's with that face?" Kento smiles, flattered at the sight and puts a hand on your wrist to lower the coffee cup. Your lips twist into an embarrassed smile and you shake your head, looking away.

"It's nothing I was just thinking about something." You sip and put the mug down on the table. Kento notices the way you hold yourself, the slight tension in your shoulders and the way your eyes look like you want to divulge a secret but were unsure if you should do so. The hand on your wrist slides and he lays his large, warm, hand over yours.

"What is it sweetheart?" He brushes away some stray strands of hair from your face. You bite your lip doubtfully, then decide to spill the beans. "Kento, there's something I want us to...try." You say in a strange tone, like you're still weighing the cons. Kento nods, encouraging you to go on.

"It's...related to sex."

This catches his interest. "Oh?"

"Yeah. It might not be something you're into."

"Try me." He reassuringly pulls you against him, allowing you a grateful moment of privacy as you hide your face in his neck. You clear your throat and continue.

"I want you to take advantage of me. Sexually."

"Am I not already doing that?" Kento jokes but you shake your head, your hair tickling his skin.

"I mean...I want to be used. Objectified. Degraded. Made to feel like I'm just a toy for your entertainment." You pause and he feels you take in a deep breath before continuing. "I basically want you to reduce me to being holes that you use for your pleasure and nothing more."

Kento's heart pounds in his chest as you word your request. "You want me to use you like that?"

"Yeah. And like, I don't want you to be gentle either. I want you to be rough. Like leave bite marks all over me. Don't have sex with me. Fuck me. Roughly. Hard." The blood in his veins grows hot and he pets your hair.

"Are you sure?"

"It's something I always wanted to try. Not that I don't like how it is now. But. I didn't know how to ask." You feel his lips nuzzle your ear and his hands reassuringly stroke your back.

"Sweetheart you know I'm willing to try a lot of things. But I never want to compromise your safety or well-being. I can be rough if you want. But you need to tell me if it's too much. I can't stand the thought of doing something that'll hurt you."

"You won't hurt me. And we have our safe word. I promise to use it." There's a moment of silence as Kento imagines how this would go. You're his favorite person in the whole world, whom he loves and respects. But at the same time, this idea has him incredibly aroused, the thought of using you to his will and forcing you to submit to debauched acts that he's never allowed himself to think about.

He presses another soft kiss to your forehead.

"If it'll make you happy then all right."

--------

You whimper as Kento bites your lower lip hard enough to draw blood, wiping away the blotch with his thumb. He's unrecognizable to you. You've only seen him like before for a specific scenario; when he's hunting down a curse. It sends a skitter of fear through you but also brings forth a strong rush of arousal that makes your cunt clench in need.

"Now remember slut, you're mine to be used. And I'm only letting you rest after I've fucked and filled you to my satisfaction. And if I hear you complaining, know that I have better uses for that mouth. Now on your knees."

You kneel, keeping your eyes trained on the floor, feeling your heart pounding at what was about to happen. Kento roughly yanks your head up by your hair. "Open."

You part your lips then gasp as he shoves his cock without warning, sliding the hard flesh down your throat. You try to relax your muscles, choking in relief as he comes up then repeats the action. You're on the verge of gagging before he gives you reprieve. Saliva drips from your mouth as he gathers your hair and pushes back in, holding you firmly in place until your nose hits his pubes before thursting forcefully, grunting at the slickness of your wet, willing mouth.

You feel your breathless from the effort of keeping him in your mouth, feeling him nearly touching the entrance to your throat, tears streaming from your eyes as you struggle to accomodate all of him. When he finally pulls out you take in a thankful breath of air, spluttering from the freedom.

"Pathetic. Can't even deepthroat cock. What good are you?" His hands wrap around your throat just hard enough to give you that dizzying light-headed feeling as your brain is deprived of air before letting go. He pauses, watching you writhe on the floor to catch your breath. Once it steadies, he commands you.

"Crawl."

Turned on and feeling debased, you get on your hands and knees and start crawling on the floor, your ass jiggling with each movement that you make. You hear footsteps then squeal as Kento's hand slaps the soft flesh. You freeze as the sting ripples through you before Kento jerks your head back by your hair.

"I didn't say to stop crawling. Stupid whore. Who said you can stop just because you felt a little pain?" He brings his hand down repeatedly as you pathetically begin to crawl again, sniffing as you go.

"Crying when you know this all you're good for? Stop acting like you're above this." He leaves your ass smarting, red and pulsing from his abuse. His calloused hands grab your fleshy cheeks and spread them apart and he chuckles darkly. "Don't tell me you're turned on."

You whimper as you feel him insert a finger into your moist hole, probing forcefully before withdrawing. "Just when I thought you could sink no lower. You really are nothing but a basic piece of meat just hoping a cock will fill you and make you feel like you have a purpose."

His finger withdraws and he pulls you up abruptly, his hands harshly squeezing your breasts, pinching your nipples aggressively and earning a keening noise from you, your whole body feeling a sensitive blob. He twists and pulls, and you squirm in his grasp, causing him to growl and grip your chin, his fingers digging into your skin.

"Stop acting like you want to escape." He firmly spanks your pussy and your body jolts from the surprise, a cry leaving you. "You crave this. Want this. Because deep down, you know there's nothing more you want than to be a glorified fucktoy. That's all. You're a vessel to hold my cum, if I decide you're worthy enough to receive it."

He pushes one of your breasts up to his mouth and suckles roughly and you can feel the edges of his teeth skimming along the sensitive peaks. Kento releases it and does the same for the other, and just when your senses start to calm down, he sinks his teeth into the nipple, just hard enough for you make a noise of pain. He smirks.

"Oh. So you do have a limit." He bites the other nipple with similar force and you let out a broken sob. "Tsk. You're not very good at being a fucktoy are you?"

He shoves you to the bed and you fall on the soft mattress. You hear the clink of chains and see him securing handcuffs around your ankles before securing the free ends to the bedposts, angling your legs so that they're spread apart wide. Your wet pussy is exposed to his feral eyes and he licks his lips at the sight of the glistening membranes. He flicks your clit cruelly, enjoying the way you twitch and struggle.

"Oh you're dumb aren't you? Haven't you learned what happens when you try to avoid me?" He spanks your clit again, and your eyes roll back into your head as you try to separate the confusing blur of pain and pleasure that shoots through you body.

"Why is it that the more pain I give you, the wetter your dumb whore cunt gets?" The resounding echo of his palm on your wet folds gets louder with each slap until your clit is swollen and red from the repeated blows.

"Look at that. You actually want more after all that." Before you can process what's happening, Kento shifts on the bed and plunges his hard cock into your pussy. The stretch makes you sob because you weren't quite ready for him, the push slightly painful, but as you adjust to him, the feeling fades. His movements are harsh and selfish, swiftly bottoming out each time and hitting your cervix, setting a brutal pace that has you feeling like you might black out.

You let out a shocked squeak as his thumb starts to manhandle your clit, brushing over it in savage strokes that bring you dangerously close to the edge. Strings of incoherent noises spill from your lips, sounding more and more animalistic as your brain turns off all rational thought and begins to fill with need. You just wanted to orgasm, then have the satisfaction of Kento's seed filling your wet channel, to feel him soften inside you before the next round....

You let a quivering wail as your orgasm hits and Kento huffs in satisfaction as he feels your walls clenching him as you cum. Your feet thrash against their restraints as the ripple of orgasmic pleasure rocks your body. "You can't help it can you? Being a cumslut?"

His hips start to pick up pace and slam into you as he chases his orgasm, his breathing becoming ragged, hands digging into your skin hard enough to leave bruises as he uses your hole to satisfy the raging, primal need that's fuelling his actions. His movements become sloppy and the edges of his vision start to blur.

"Here it comes. Your reward. Try not to spend it all in once place." With a final thrust, thick ropes of cum start to fill your insides and he shudders with the satisfaction. A moment passes before he pulls out of you, leaking his seed as he withdraws. You lay spent and exhausted on the bed.

Kento finally breaks character and crouches over you. "You didn't use your safe word."

"I didn't need to."

[aboutcustardcreams]

Until next time

Agathario x reader

The scene in the forest where Agatha delivered the baby is living in my head rent free and I just couldn't resist the urge to write an os about it. Rewrite, actually. It's my first Agatha's fic, so I'm pretty excited. Hope you guys like it <3

warning: angst, a touch of fluff

The baby’s soft cries echoed in the forest, as a reminder that a life has just begun, tender and innocent. Agatha was perched by a tree, only wrapped in a light and crumbled vest. Her cloak dropped somewhere a few feet away. The sweat and the pressure at her lower abdomen finally subsided, making her feel like she could breathe properly again. There was blood between her legs, staining her inner thighs, flooding and then drying out to her knees. Everything kind of hurt, her eyes were heavy, but her senses stayed alert. 

“Move,” the Green Witch muttered in a placid order. 

You looked into her eyes, slowly shaking your head, as you stood in front of Agatha, shielding her and the baby, “No.”

The witch felt a wave of relief wash over her when she heard your simple, yet categorical answer. She was in no condition to fight against Rio on this, despite the fire in her eyes and the weak magic already tingling her digits. 

Rio sighed, “we aren’t doing this. You promised–”

“I know what I did,” you interjected, closing your hands into fists, “But I changed my mind. I am allowed to change my mind,” you pointed out, voice thick with emotion. You couldn’t bring yourself to say goodbye to a child you didn’t even hold in your arms yet. “I-I can’t let you take him,” turning around, your eyes focused on the baby’s tiny head peeking out of the little blanket Agatha wrapped him in. “I mean, he’s innocent. It can’t be his time…”

“My loves–” 

“Just let him live,” Agatha interjected, her voice both exhausted and desperate. She never felt so scared before, “Please, don’t take him from me.” 

When he clasped his tiny hands in her long wavy hair, her lips brushed against his head, “I love you,” she smiled, rocking him ever so gently, “I love you so much.”

Your heart melted at the sight before your eyes. Rio felt a slight indecision tugging at her chest. She never thought the first time she would hold her son would be to carry him in the afterlife. It felt cruel. It was cruel. But he was sick, he could feel his disease, hovering like a shadow around him. 

“I’m not giving up. Not yet,” you insisted. 

“You talk as if I didn’t wish for him to live,” Rio retorted in disbelief. 

“Oh, spare us, Rio!” Agatha snapped. “You’re the Green Witch, it’s not like you’ve got no power at your disposal. And yet you’re choosing the easy way.”

Rio couldn’t believe her ears. “The easy way you say? Are you nuts? He is my son too, Agatha!”

You frowned at their bickering. Last thing you wanted was to indulge in this fight. This moment was supposed to bring joy to your lives. A child was born, your child for fuck’s sake. Why couldn’t you three be happy about it? Why couldn’t you cherish the moment? He was sick, but you could still try to save him. Work together to make it possible. You, Agatha and Rio weren’t common witches after all, and if there was someone able to find a loophole, it would be you. 

“Then start acting more like a mother,” Agatha retorted, voice dropping in a whisper. 

“It’s not my fault I’ve got responsibilities, Agatha. I never asked to be like this,” Rio’s voice wavered a bit, her heart thumping in her chest with painful insistence. 

“My loves, please we shouldn’t–”

The sound of Agatha’s mocking laughter prevented you from finishing off that sentence. “What about the responsibilities towards our son? He should come first.” 

“Our son is sick, and in order for him to live, many will have to die. It will cause absolute chaos.”

“So be it. All I care about is my son.” Her icy blue eyes sparkling dangerously as she said those words with force and a bit of selfishness. 

You considered Rio’s words; a bunch of conflicted emotions passed through you. Rio wouldn’t say those things if she knew there was another way out of this. But maybe if she couldn’t find it, you could, if only you were granted more time to figure it out. 

“If you take him, I’ll hate you forever,” she insisted rather calmly now. 

“Agatha…”

Color drained from your face at those words. You knew she didn’t mean that. She couldn’t. When a muffled sound slipped from Rio’s lips, a mixture between a choked sob and a scoff, you drew closer to her, your hands immediately finding her cheeks. You weren’t supposed to pick sides. You were a family, and it should stay like that. 

“She doesn’t mean it,” you said both softly and firmly, thumbs brushing against her cheekbones. She rolled her eyes and you took a firmer grip on her face, so that she would focus on your eyes, “Rio, listen to me, she doesn’t–”

“I do.” Agatha deadpanned, cutting you off.  

You hissed, “Quiet, Agatha.” 

Rio let out a quiet humorless chuckle, when the other witch grumbled something under her breath. 

“We are just scared, my love. We want this child to live, we need him to, do you understand that?” 

When your voice croaked slightly, her hands tangled in your hair and pulled you closer to her, “I know, baby. I know,” she cooed, getting lost in those wet lashes of yours.

You swallowed thickly, “I don’t want to say goodbye.” 

She leaned in and brushed her lips right under your eye, her magic immediately mingling with yours. Your eyelids fluttered close and you let out a faint mewl. 

“I can only offer time,” she said, once she pulled away, so that she could meet both yours and Agatha’s eyes.

You arched an eyebrow confusedly, “what does it mean?”

“How much time?” Asked Agatha. 

She shrugged, as if she didn’t know or she couldn’t really say. Her behavior only served the purpose of making you more nervous. Crossing your arms over your chest, you knew that you’d have to use this time to master your own powers. To make sure that whenever Rio intended on collecting your son’s soul, you’d be ready to fight. Not her of course, but the process of Death itself. You were a necromancer witch, whose powers were completely opposite to Rio’s. While her job was to keep order between life and death, your powers could easily break that balance if you wanted to. Meaning that you could resurrect life forms.

“You know I’ll still try when the time comes, don’t you?”

Rio looked at you and despite your words, she smiled, “I know, love. Thought I’d hate you if you decided to interfere, but honestly, I hope you win.” 

It was your turn to crack a smile in her direction. “It’s not a competition, Rio. All I want is to keep our child alive.” 

She hummed, without voicing her concerns out loud, not wanting to add more to yours and Agatha’s shoulders, “You two will make a good job.”

You and Agatha exchanged a confused look, “you sound like you’re leaving us behind,” she trailed off. 

When Rio averted her eyes, lips pressed in a thin line, you were sure you felt your heart shatter. 

“No, she’s not-” you looked at Agatha, hoping to have got it all wrong. But when you spotted tears welling up in her eyes, you realized the truth. 

“Rio, please, don’t do this–”

“I must. I can’t be seen around him,” her tone was sad, yet you could still feel the love filling each word. You kept shaking your head in denial. “Might be difficult to believe but there are women above me I respond to.” 

“The Fates have no power if you don’t do your part,” Agatha pointed out, hoping to be right.

Rio smacked her lips in return. “It’s not that simple. Atropos, the eldest of the three, could give me a really hard time if I disobey.” 

You clenched your jaw at her words. The thought of handing your son’s life in the hands of those crones made absolutely no sense to you. They shouldn’t be entitled to take the life of an innocent just like that. You were a necromancer witch, meaning that you could change things. For a long time you buried that part of yourself within you, because of the things you’ve been told all your life. Interfering with the natural order of the things was wrong; your power was an abomination, but at that moment, all those warnings sounded like bullshit. 

Rio sensed your distress, her fingers brushed yours, “I’ll keep him hidden for as long as I can.” 

Then she turned to Agatha and pointed at the baby in the silent, almost timid request to approach him. She still had to see him properly after all. Agatha nodded and moved the child so that he would face her, tucking a bit of the blanket underneath his chin to better expose his tiny face. 

Rio brushed a strand of Agatha’s hair first, “you did amazing, my love,” she praised her, causing a light brush on the witch’s cheeks. She couldn’t quite believe she, you three created such a beautiful baby boy from scratch. 

“Hi” she cooed, now focusing on the newborn. You leaned against the tree, the same tree Agatha was perched by, and looked from above the sweet interaction going on. Rio’s fingertips grazed over his tiny, perfect nose. “I can’t promise you a life devoid of challenges and pain, but I confide in your mothers to always make sure you’re happy and loved,” she lifted her eyes to meet yours and Agatha’s. A watery smile tugged at her lips, “And trust me, you’re so so loved already, little one.” 

You wiped the corners of your eyes and so did Agatha. 

“We should name him Nicholas,” she said after a moment of contemplation.  

Knowing the meaning of the name, you felt like you couldn’t agree more on it, “Nicholas Scratch,” you added, “cause we made him from scratch.” 

Rio turned towards you, while her fingers played with the baby’s tender little hands. “That’s perfect, my love. Isn’t it, Agatha?”

Agatha swallowed thickly, already mourning the loss of Rio, despite her being still there. She nodded, and then she tangled a hand in Rio’s hair, pulling her closer to her face. For a moment she only leaned against her forehead, inhaling her sweet scent of flowers. Then the Green Witch took the initiative and placed her lips on top of hers, savoring with extreme gentleness, the plumpiness of Agatha’s. You ran a hand in Agatha’s hair, fingers stroking her scalp to let her feel your presence too, while your eyes darted on Rio. When Agatha let out a choked sob in Rio’s mouth, overwhelmed by everything that had just happened in such a short time, the other hushed her softly, “it’s going to be okay.”

Neither you nor Agatha were sure about it, but you had no other choice than to believe her. 

“Take care of your moms, Nicky,” she later added, placing one last kiss on his forehead and then on Agatha’s. 

Once she stood up again, she focused her attention on you. In an ideal world, you’d be her enemy, because of the powers you possessed. And yet, against all the odds, you became her lover, one of the most important persons in her life. 

“Don’t be sad…”

You nibbled on your inner cheek so hard you drew blood. With your arms crossed over your chest, you struggled to spill a single word because you didn’t trust your voice at the moment. Your entire body was shaking on the inside. Agatha never saw you look so fragile before. It felt like a stab in her chest to witness her family fall apart like that. 

“You’re asking too much of me,” you kept your eyes down, focusing on the tip of your boots. 

“Nena, look at me,” Rio tried to meet your eyes, but you purposefully kept it down, shaking it stubbornly and hopelessly. She smiled, feigning hurt in her tone as she continued, “You wouldn’t let me go without a proper kiss now, would you?” 

Despite your best efforts, you let out a small watery chuckle at her playful teasing, “I hate that you’re doing this.”

“It’s for Nicky…” She said simply. 

Agatha buried her face in the baby’s naked shoulder, finding comfort in his pure and unique scent. 

“And I am sorry,” when you finally met her eyes, Rio cupped your cheeks, “so sorry you don’t get to be his mother. It’s your right to be.”

But Rio’s lips curled into a reassuring smile, despite her sadness. “Don’t be. I’ll get my turn eventually…  and for now, I’ll be his–”

“Please, don’t say shadow,” you muttered, and that elicited a small chuckle out of the Green Witch. If you turned around you’d see Agatha’s lips stretch into a smile too. 

“Guardian, then.”

You hummed and licked your lips, tasting the saltiness of your own tears in your mouth. 

“Now come here, I waited enough–” 

The witch pulled you closer with ease. Your body crashed into hers but it was okay because she was ready to hold you. 

Agatha could see Rio’s face as she hugged you. She spotted a single tear slip down her eye and her stomach lurched. When you two pulled away, Rio took a few steps back, pulling the green cloak over her head. She lingered a few seconds to memorize the scene before her. You dropped on your knees and landed next to Agatha. Her head immediately lolled on your shoulder, and you turned yours to place your lips in her hair. 

Rio waved softly, then blew a kiss to each of you, “Nos vemos, mis amores.” 

You and Agatha nodded quietly, watching the Green Witch disappear before your eyes. Agatha let out a silent sob when she did; your arms immediately wrapped around her and the baby in a protective embrace. 

“We will be fine, Aggs.” 

When Agatha met your gaze, eyes full of hope and vulnerability, you took a mental vow to protect her and Nicky whatever the cost. 

“Yeah,” she echoed with a smile you immediately reciprocated. She closed her eyes when you leaned in to brush your lips against her still clammy forehead. 

When the baby started crying again, you two pulled away and focused your attention on Nicky. He looked rather pale for your liking, a little warm too. You knew what he needed and so did Agatha. You placed a tender kiss on his cheek, Agatha’s lips curling into a soft smile, while you did. Then you stood, hands on your hips, eyes roaming around your surroundings like a predator looking for its prey. You didn’t want to do this, but you were just a mother trying to keep your son alive. 

When Agatha attempted to get up, you interjected, “stay here for now. Let me do the rest.”

Her expression shifted from confusion to worry, “You shouldn’t be doing this alone.”

“Agatha,” you merely rolled your eyes at that, “You just had our baby, I think it’s not the end of the world if you sit this one out,” your voice laced with a hint of playfulness despite the things you had to do. It’s not that you never killed before, cause you did. Not in cold blood though. You forced yourself into believing that it wouldn’t be much different. Once a wise person told you, a witch must do anything in her power to survive and there’s no shame in that. You were looking at her now, as her attention remained fixed on you. 

“Be careful,” it was supposed to sound like an order, but the softness in her eyes betrayed her. 

You chuckled lightly, “I always am,” you concluded, pulling the cloak up over your head. 

[lacesoflove]

NOW SHOWING: HURTIN’ DEEPLY

₊˚❀.ೃ࿔

Rating: angst + mild nsfw

Warning: will be taken down for a rewrite to become of a fully fledged series ‼️ mentions of negative mental health, insecurity and substance abuse. also Y/N and Hamzah don’t even talk directly to each other in this lmfao. Brief mentions of religion and Catholic school

A/N: couldn’t think of a title of this but i thought of the song Not You Too from Drake a lot when writing this so that’s the title now 😭

YOUR LIFE HAD ITS WAYS OF SPITING YOU.

You couldn’t entirely fault the universe or God (if you still believed in one anyway), even if you tried your hardest to. Whilst the traps had been set like a predetermined force of nature, you had allowed yourself to fall into them like the hapless fool you had kept proving yourself to be.

And once again, even as you fought against yourself and your fates, you found yourself in another entanglement, this time taking the form of a crowded house party in downtown Toronto with all those people and all their Pinterest-chic outfits and all the loud obnoxious 2010s top 100 hits. You were one replay of Hotel Room Service away from killing yourself, and with the depression blooming in your body, you weren’t quite sure how serious you were with that notion.

In a dull attempt to soothe the irritation, you took a final swig from the red cup nursing your vodka Red Bull. It had quickly deteriorated in taste, going from ‘I’m going to have the best evening of my life!’ to mulling over every life choice you had ever made, with one of said choices being across the room.

His body leaned over hers, and even through his thick mop of curls (the same curls you had remembered tenderly running your hands through in the morning, as the blinds filtered the sun through, casting a warm glow against his honey-browned skin), you could see the puppy dog gaze he held for her as his hands ran up and down against her slim back. She should have been you, and this wasn’t supposed to be the new normal. And suddenly, all at once, you had a void where you should have had a heart.

You placed the disappointingly empty cup on top of the sound system (you had remembered him mentioning he wanted to get one; at the time he didn’t have the funds to— I guess he did now) and decided that the new all-consuming task of the evening would be locating your friend Aisha. Truthfully speaking, you knew where she was—fucking some podcast bro, names of her former exes spilling out from her mouth in place of his—the sad part was that the dude was probably too coked out to notice. It didn’t really matter that you knew that if you walked to the guest bathroom to the right of the front door, you’d find her in a position that went against the very religious ideals that your Catholic girl’s high school had imparted on both of you; what mattered was that it would distract you, maybe even better than the vodka did.

Unfortunately, getting to Aisha meant going past him, and going past him was the new equivalent of death. You’d much rather live, so you decided to head to the kitchen.

It was dim and empty, besides one boy in the corner, his face illuminated by his phone screen. You ignored him and headed to the six-pack of drinks on the counter. You opened a can and downed it fully. It tasted like summers forever ago and peaches. You decided to go for another one.

“Woah—” the boy from across the kitchen exclaimed. Suddenly, you realized how sad you must have looked, armed with one and a half empty cans of alcohol and a face riddled with anxiety.

“Sorry, I didn't mean to look like an alcoholic,” you said, with a nervous chuckle, setting the cans down.

“Nah, it’s chill,” he said. He cocked his head, and his eyebrows knit together—you were familiar to him in a way he wasn’t entirely sure how. You could say the same.

“What’s your name?” he asked; it was a bit pointed but not exactly mean.

“Y/N,” you responded, and you saw him still looking at you in confusion. The bells remained unrung. “My nickname is Dovie or Dove, though.”

As if exclaiming bingo, his brown eyes widened as if he could suddenly place you to someone, and you were hoping it was not him.

He snapped and pointed his fingers at you before asking the ill-fated question, “Do you know Hamzah?”

In an idyllic world where you were the heroine, free with your own tongue, you would have slyly remarked how you wished you didn’t know him—unfortunately, you were not. What you were instead was a girl permeated by suffering and immense heartbreak—so instead, you settled your response with, “Yeah, I do—well did, anyway,” followed up with a quick “do you?”

“Well yeah, I’m Martin; his friend. Me and him do YouTube together,” he replied.

Suddenly, you could place the boy’s face onto the YouTube thumbnails that would occasionally pop up on your YouTube feed, which you’d often have to ‘pre s not interested’ on. Aisha always pestered you to block the channel, but you could never bring yourself to do it.

You were unsure what to say, really; part of you wanted to pry and ask him everything about what Hamzah thought of you, said about you; instead, you settled on asking about Aisha.

“Um, so anyway, have you seen a blonde chick?” In totally seamless (at least that’s what you told yourself) fashion, you managed to get the conversation away from him.

“Unfortunately not,” Martin said with a head shake. “The only blonde here I know is my girlfriend, Mandy.”

You noticed how a small smile crept up when he said the word girlfriend. It was cute in a way that reminded you of how sick you were with your loneliness. You wondered if your loneliness radiated off of you, like a contagion.

“Ah, well, I’m sure I’ll find her,” you whispered under your breath.

Through the open archway of the kitchen, you could see him from the other end of the living room, seating on the couch, smiling and chuckling with the same girl, who was standing, from earlier. His hands inched up her legs, her smooth, buttery legs. Legs that you never had and weren’t yours. You had remembered when he done the same thing to you when you were still together. The way he tantalised you with the idea of public sex as he fiddled with the lace of your underwear, turning the small bow on the front in between his fingers as he pressed soft kisses on your inner thighs in front of a room of intoxicated people. You remembered him leading you from the main leading room and throwing you against the bed. You giggled. He smiled. You had remembered the feeling of total completeness as he entered you. You don’t think you’ve ever been fucked with such purpose and love since then. You wondered if he made love to the girl the same way. Snapping out of your trance, you supposed this was the part of the evening where you finally decided to go collect Aisha and you’d both go home together, and she’d quarrel with you about how you should’ve “gotten your man back,” and you would’ve retorted with some lie about how you’d moved on. But the universe always found a way to ruin you in a new way, and Aisha sent you a text about how she had gone home safely. You didn’t even bother to open the message in full, only reading the first few parts of it on your notification screen.

AISHA: Hey bb <3 going w a guy! Text me when you get back and how your…

When you stared up from your phone, Martin was staring at you, concerned. “Everything okay?”

“Yeah, no, my friend just went home—with some douchebag, I’m sure. I should leave too.”

“Do you need someone to walk you back home or at least out of the building?” Martin asked, his voice laced with concern.

“I can manage; I’m a big girl, after all.” That elicited a nervous but gentle chuckle from both of you. You gave him a small wave of goodbye before you set to leave, but you were disrupted by his voice again.

��Hey, um—Y/N?” he asked.

“Yeah,” you responded.

“He’s sorry,” he said.

“What?” You turned around, confused.

“He’s sorry,” he repeated.

“All he ever tells me about you is that he’s sorry,” Martin explained.

You weren’t exactly sure what to do with that information, but it felt like there was a lump in your throat, and as long as you were in this—no, his—apartment, you would suffocate in your own misery. All you could do was nod before leaving the kitchen.

As you left, you passed through the crowded living room. Sometime during your being in the kitchen, the living room had become somewhat of a small-scale mosh pit. You bumped into multiple bodies on your way out; it didn’t really bother you—you just wanted out—until you bumped into him. His brown eyes locked with yours.

And in the following moments, you realised two fundamentally devastating truths at once.

You were still in love with him, and seeing his face this close might make you fall in love all over again. And secondly, he hated you with every fibre of his being. You saw this in the way his eyes crinkled with disgust, the way in which his smile faltered ever so slightly, and in the way he distanced himself. The last part you weren’t actually sure of; the girl he was with earlier seemed to have taken him away. In that case, he wasn’t protesting, and either way, he didn’t seem to want to get any closer to you.

As he disappeared as quickly as he bumped into you, you took that as your final cue to leave.

You made it to the street and hailed a taxi. It smelled rich and perfumed with the faint hint of food. Part of you thought of what you were going to eat when you got home; another part of you ruminate over the girl’s legs, how Hamzah was so enamoured with them. How thin they were. You decided to get to bed hungry—it’s not like you were that hungry, right?

You opened iMessages and shot a text to Aisha.

YOU: Text me in the morning; also, next time maybe don’t invite me to my ex’s place for a party, then leave me at said party.

You frowned. Too hostile. You added a couple heart emoticons at the end before shutting your phone and dropping it into your brown leather bag and as much as you wanted to let your head rest against the window and let the vibrations of the car lull you into a light sleep - you were disturbed by a text.

HAMAZAH (Blocked Contact): We need to talk.

₊˚❀.ೃ࿔*:･

Sincerely, Mackie

[vaperarmand]

you uhhh... wanna rec some more zamasian fics? absolutely floored by the one that just updated, this is something i didn't know i needed and now that i have it, i desperately need more

absolutely i do >:)

my body is to taste like you testing your fate by sweettartheart

It's all scenes. We have no form without the viewer. We have no cause but to fill this place with wonder. (Or: Eric demands a new scriptwriter.)

i've recced this one a lot AND I'LL DO IT AGAIN❗️it's everything to me and it's complete at last. it's so hot and funny and unique and beyond being an insane rpf text it's also, like, just really clever. people who can write like this i bow at their feet. the creativity is insane.

oh, my clumsy voice by englishsummerrain

“Well,” Eric says. He taps a finger against the corner of Assad’s mouth, smiling. “What would Armand do?”

real ones will remember the night that my life was changed forever when i was like haha what if i went into the ship tag for these guys on ao3. and i read this. and it literally rewired my brain chemistry. literally haven't moved on from it as you all know. zamasian rpf history starts and ends with this work.

wishful thinking by englishsummerrain

It’s not even like it would be incriminating if Assad was caught — he’s an amateur director, he’s just doing his job.

i mean read everything kels has ever written like ever but i also am a huge fan of this one. hey girls did you know that uhmmmm i love a narrative within a narrative. assad writes dm threesome smut and it's so good

1991 by duri

Assad finds himself in NYC, 1991 and there's only one thing on his mind.

first and foremost i am a fan of assad wanting to fuck that old man. second and foremost i am a fan of assad being kind of freaky obsessed with that man which is really what's allowed to shine here. also i get the desire to time travel to intentionally forge a creative partnership between these guys who should have been the. idk who to name drop here. of the experimental theater world. plus it's now a series with dramaaaaaaa

cutting teeth by cannibalenthusiast

Assad hates the feeling of prop fangs in his mouth. Eric helps, until he doesn't.

sorry for reccing one of my own fics but i was wearing fake fangs at a party last night and i was thinking about this the whole time. now i know how assad felt

next i would recommend just plowing through all 59 works and feeling crazy but free. and then writing more so we can someday reach the triple digits 💪

[chaifootsteps]

even just on a writing level Viv addressing Stol1tz shippers about the pacing from that tweet is so funny because

maybe some of them want stol1tz to hook up and be stripped of all personality like Fizz/Ozzie already, but the problem to me is not that Stol1tz is slowburn

my problem is that it's toxic and poorly written

when the show started I thought the more questionable power dynamic elements were just part of the Hell setting and we were supposed to look at them just being business partners with benefits

then we'd get to see them catching feelings and it would be a more 'messy' queer slowburn relationship done well (not discounting how icky the full moon deal is, just talking from a perspective of what I thought they were going for)

but that never happened. Stolas abruptly fell in love and Blitzo just as abruptly started pining. no one grew or changed or anything satisfying because all we're getting on that front if Blitzo not being allowed to explain why he's mad and Stolas continually acting like he gets what the problem is only to develop amnesia 5 minutes later and blame Blitzo for the fact there's nothing going on in his bird brain except Broadway tunes that drown out his ability to do any self-reflection like you'd expect a real character to do

also so tired of hearing 'we're only halfway through!' as though the remaining two seasons will fix the problem of the plot being so incompetently handled it feels like the show is both going nowhere and wasting all its drama by resolving what should be a paced development way too fast

For real. Characters can form a slow-burn relationship or fall to the ground slamming mouths in the space of a single episode and what matters is how you tell the story of that relationship. Viv's proven time and time and time again that given 10 years to tell a story, she'd still find a way to fuck it up.

[avastyetwats]

“ Oh that’ll be M checking up on you. You should get that. “

Flint froze for a second, wondering if he'd heard those words correctly. He lowered his glass down and turned to look at Charles with a raised brow, then dropped his gaze to the watch on his wrist. Fuckin' Q. Couldn't change the look of it? Really? The shape was slightly different, but that was about it. Flint sighed to himself, hating that he'd been made, yet not all that surprised considering this was Charles Vane and, quite honestly, part of him expected to be made. But not necessarily because of the fucking watch. "No, it seems they aren't. I'll be sure to write a lengthy review about it." Flint responded with a smirk, seemingly just as calm about it as Charles was. Why would he be anything else? He didn't want to cause a scene, but it was then that he realized something... the watches may be similar in design, but it seemed they were different when it came to the capabilities. Because if Charles knew he was an Agent, and knew the watch as created by Q, then why shake his hand? It had to mean that he didn't know about it's new feature.

"Except it did succeed in doing what it was supposed to do," he hummed, pulling out his phone. "Ah, yep. That was M giving me confirmation, let's see... Charles Edward Vane, thirty three years old, right handed, though very much capable of using both I hear," Flint added with a grin, practically complimenting him. "Blood type B positive," He looked at him. "As am I. How nice, hm?" He looked back down at his phone. "and... hmm, ah, last known location, Nassau. The Velvet Pearl, to be exact." He closed his phone, then, deciding to stop there and at Charles's question, Flint's expression turned serious. "Kill you? No. Though, I'm sure some back at MI6 would love that, but no. And not just because I've actually enjoyed our conversation," He was honest about that. "But rather, I'm here for answers. So why don't you allow me to escort you elsewhere rather than having the place stormed, thus ruining the auction? And quite possibly, Rackham's life."

Charles was actually having a bit of fun. He would have loved to spend time counting those freckles too. Just because this man was here to kill him, didn’t mean they couldn’t have fun first, right? At least that was the rationale when he looked at the redhead in the suit. He didn’t know what was truth and what was lie, but after being so isolated he frankly didn’t care.

He smirked when he put some blame on him. He couldn’t help it if he’d pulled him away from his women and of course the auction which he definitely was not here for. He was about to tell him what he’d like, but he heard that all too familiar beep. So he finished off his drink, licking his lips. “ Oh that’ll be M checking up on you. You should get that. “ He said calmly, which just made him seem all the more dangerous, slowly turning his head. He lifted his own whatcha clad wrist. “ Seems they aren’t too smart about sending the exact same style of watch to agents in the field. “ He tapped his own watch briefly, reaching over to take one of the abandoned martinis, taking a sip, his eyes never leaving his then. Fuck, he had pretty eyes. “ Are you here to kill me, Mr. Flint? “

[cococowboah]

Patreon removed a story of mine as a character in it suffered from SA instigated by her father.

Now, Patreon can do whatever it wants, that's their platform. But they specifically asked me to remove that part of the story if I wanted it to stay up.

I'm pissed, not because "oh no, I can't make money on it," no. Nobody was reading SPURRED, it wasn't an active project, and I'm not currently making money on ANY of my projects anyway. I don't care about that.

What I'm pissed about is how this might affect my future works if I ever do begin making a living from my work through Patreon. I'm not going to just change my characters stories because they deal with uncomfortable topics like SA. I'm an SA survivor, I write characters who are SA survivors. I'm not going to censor myself or my projects because a corporation says I need to if I want to benefit from their platform.

So, I don't really know what to do now. Pieces of Him is also going to deal with SA. I can't even consider putting it on Patreon now knowing I'm going to get a notice that I need to change pivotal moments of a character's backstory for the sake of a corporation wanting to maintain a squeaky clean image.

And before anyone asks, no, the story did not explicitly detail the SA itself. Insinuation was as far as I went. I wanted the reader to feel uncomfortable without feeling offended. I wanted the reader to feel uncomfortable because it's an uncomfortable fucking topic and it shouldn't be skirted around. If someone didn't like it they didn't need to read it.

I'm so sick of how censored the internet is getting. It's NOT for the sake of protecting SA survivors who may be triggered by certain details of a story. This is about making the internet nice and clean and proper for advertisers and investors. It's not about you. It's not about me. It's about money and it always will be.

If it were about protecting survivors, then they would acknowledge that engaging with media that explicitly deals with those subjects and characters overcoming the trauma surrounding SA can be cathartic for survivors if they choose to do so.

Again if you are uncomfortable with something then do. not. read. it. There is a detailed warning at the beginning of the story. It is the responsibility of the reader to gauge what they're okay with and not okay with. Not mine.

I just wanna take a moment to thank platforms like AO3, our literal final bastion for freedom of speech and creativity. SPURRED isn't a fan project so it doesn't really belong on AO3 but I'm thankful that we have one place on the internet where I know my work is never going to be removed or requested to be changed for any reason whatsoever. It's the one place where I can write without the anxiety of a corporate overlord looking over my shoulder and saying "Nope! Don't like this! Change it!"

Rant over, to sum it up, fuck censorship and, does anyone know of any good Patreon alternatives? I definitely can't use them for future projects knowing what I know now. It's only a matter of time before a guidelines update gets Pieces of Him axed for "Promoting Homosexuality and Infidelity" as well as Paul's past as an SA survivor.

[damiel-of-real]

that fucking flower i hate

[lupins-hehim-pussy]

I wanna know ur Fontaine msq criticisms 👁️👁️👂I’m all ears

I'm not sure if you wanted me to talk about this secretly or publicly but! Here I go!

The TLDR: Fontaine MSQ aestheticised prison, poverty, child abuse, the justice system/court and didn't properly address any of it.

More:

Focalors/Furina has way too much of a sympathetic angle for a dictator who's lets people drown with her inaction.

Neuvillette feels Bad for sentencing some people to death/prison, but that's it. He's one of the most powerful people in Fontaine. If he felt like there are systemic injustices, I.E sending an abused Child to prison, he should be the first person to DO something about it, not just cry and be sad so the audience can be like aw, that's complex character writing isn't it? No it's not! And guilt doesn't absolve you!!!!!!! (These are stuff we deal with in OTCOJ read my fic now /j)

Meropide has children in it, both Sentenced there (Wriothesley) and BORN THERE (Lanoire), and this is just a quirk of the place. Not only that, Meropide accepts prisoners of all genders and crimes. There are abusers and abuse victims in one place. Do you know how bad that is? How much potential for crimes to happen in a place like that— oh wait, Meropide isn't under Fontaine's jurisdiction. If you are assaulted as an inmate it literally means nothing to the court.

Wriothesley had no qualifications when he took over. Depending on how long he lived on the streets, how old he was when he killed his parents, how old he was when he was first taken in by the orphanage, etc, the man might never have more than 4–5 years of formal education. Sigewinne probably had to teach him how to write reports. And do Meropide's spreadsheets. Edit because I forgot to elaborate on this one: This isn't a point brought up anywhere, which is bad, because when poverty and incarceration robs you of a proper education (and the rights to vote in many places too, too, by the way), it reduces your prospects for jobs, reduces many people's ability to get a home etc etc. Wriothesley was just, narratively, Given his position.

Meropide is an industrialized prison, and they portray this as a good thing. Prisoners are paid in coupons for their labour, and this is also portrayed as a good thing.

The One-Meal-A-Day reform was something Paimon gushed about being so great of a perk, that people might want to go to jail for food (could be interesting and reflective of systemic poverty if MHY had brains, but they don't, so I was just Pissed because essentially all Paimon wanted to say was "Prison isn't so bad, but still don't go to prison guys! Prison labour is really hard!"). By the way, in most real-world prisons they are obligated to feed you three meals a day. Because that's how much food a human needs. MHY went with one meal just so they can say "if you want to eat more, you have to work." And then the welfare meal is a goddamn gacha. So imagine you're a starving child who's too weak to work in the fucking robot assembly line, and you wander up for your first meal in 24 hours, only to luck in with a shit one. I'd kill myself.

They wrote Wriothesley, who's a victim of the system, into a guy who's say shit like "I'm the Duke I can do whatever I want" for a cool moment where he choke-slams an inmate (I know he was a bad guy. But also, in copaganda when cops are violent/disregarding protocols, they are always only portrayed to do that against bad guys, so what does our critical thinking tells us about this one?) They wrote Wriothesley, who was an inmate of a prison so bad, so notorious that it is the literal boogeyman of Fontaine, that has a legal (???) fighting pit, with an administrator who abuses his position to be unreasonable, to willingly stay in the place and become an Administrator who would choke-slam an inmate while saying a cool line about how he has the power to do whatever he wants. They wrote him, the guy who had to be fed on the streets by melusines, to think one-meal-a-day was a good enough reform (while he spends god-knows how much on his boat). This wasn't a victim-turns-into-abuser narrative either, they want all this to be seen as positive character growth.

And then, the final kicker is, they gloss over his entire abuse. You can only read about these shit in his profile, which most people don't because they don't Have Him or doesn't care to unlock it/read it online, and they jammed his entire backstory into a flaccid info-dump at the end of his character story quest. This man isn't Allowed to feel abused and neglected and show any reaction to it within the narrative of Fontaine itself, because if they actually Gave Weight to what happened to him, they'd have to confront THE FUCKING JUSTICE SYSTEM they had NO PLANS on criticising. I don't think they ever explicitly said the fucking Crime-Theatre nonsense was Bad either.

I could go on, but this is already so long. But yeah, I hope this gave you an idea.

[doodlboy]

The lack of exclusively male reader fics in several fandoms is so depressing actually

[mars-ipan]

hey folks did you know i love super dangan ronpa 2

[ratatatastic]

"When you guys are playing and, like, we all got podcasts and there are big podcasts out there, you know, are going from series to series, and they're critiquing teams and what not—like, at the end, do you know who's chirping you? Do you pay attention to that shit? Do you know who's on your side? Do you know who's, you know, rooting against you? Do you guys pay attention to that kind-of stuff? I'm just curious." "Yeah, I think this might be the first podcast I've ever done—I'm not the biggest fan of podcasts to be honest. I think—I'm friends with that, you know, [Shane] O'Brien, and [Scottie] Upshall (2 out of the 3 cohosts of the Missin' Curfew podcast), I love those guys... so if they ask I would do it but... again they, I think—I think negativity flows through media so much that it just kind-of disgusts me and I want nothing to do with it to be honest. So I hate the negativity, I think it's crazy, I think negativity in media steers guys away from certain teams... it's like, 'Why do you want that?' right? So I don't know, I'm a huge fan of the positivity, finding the positives in players and not putting guys down especially in podcasts and stuff like that where it should be for the players, right? It should be a positive thing, something that we rally around. Especially as ex-players!" "Yeah! We're gonna pump your tires!" "That's it!" "Well, you still gotta be real though!" "No, I know!" "You know if you have a bad game—" "It's gotta be real! For sure!" "—You gotta be real! You can't fake out your audience either so it's still a business." "One hundred percent! One hundred percent, one hundred percent... and I get that but—Yeah, I mean, I saw all those Spittin' Chiclets guys all over Edmonton's bandwagon so..." "That really bothered you guys, eh? Like, I mean, you guys were paying attention to that. I mean, as evidence as well on what took place on the ice after the game... you guys weren't, like, fucking around, you were being serious, right? You guys—that really bothered you guys?" "Hundred percent." "What was it? Like, the most that bothered you about it? Just the fact that, 'Hey, you guys are rooting for them... why are you trying to celebrate with us?' I mean, was it—is it that simple?" "Exactly. Yeah, get the f—we won, get off... right? Get out of here. That's uh, yeah. I don't know, I don't want to be too controversial or anything like that. I'm a happy guy, I like everybody so... whatever." "They're all good dudes, man. Listen if they're into hockey and they're talking about hockey thats a positive one way or the other!" "Oh, they're growing the game! They're growing the game! Huge! And they're doing a great job and I've spoke with Biz [Paul Bissonnette] a few times and I know Whit [Ryan Whitney] (Cohosts of Spittin' Chiclets) and I've got no issues with any of 'em. Truly."

The Cam & Strick Podcast | 7.30.24 (x)

[feyd-meowtha]

Did someone say 90s Gay Club House music themed Clegan AU?

No? No one?

But I swear I heard something? 🤔

(it was me, I said it just then.... stay tuned)

[monstersinthecosmos]

i feel like slightly younger than marius mael is the best just for flavor reasons lol. reeaally curious to know what you think

I think I usually land on slightly younger but not like a baby. Like early 30s maybe. BUT I'LL TELL YOU SOME THOUGHTS OF WHY I LIKE EACH OR WHY EACH COULD WORK:

Under 30: First of all because of Jesse's chapter in QOTD--Maharet was turned around age 20 I think? And for Jesse, I'm sure there's that sort of uncanny thing where your mind fills in blanks and makes excuses, like, her "aunt" has been around her whole life so like gee golly I guess she just looks young for her age! Except that there's like the vampire uncanniness too, so whatever you judge as an age doesn't super matter. So like, Mael blending in as one of her guy friends in his early 20s would make sense. Jesse DOES also clock him as not being human, so again I think the uncanniness might not make her peg either of them as a certain age.

I do worry if this clashes with the idea that he could properly be a priest? Caesar said that it takes 20 years to train a priest, but A) A lot of what Caesar said is like anti-Keltoi propaganda and might not be accurate since the Druids famously never left anything in writing, so there's very little first hand information about them. B) MAYBE IT'S OKAY BECUASE IN VC-VERSE TESKHAMEN IS REAL AND MAEL WAS REALLY COMMUNING WITH HIM SO IF THERE WAS LIKE MAGIC AFOOT IN THE COMMUNITY MAYBE HE GOT FAST TRACKED OR RESPECTED AS BEING SPECIAL IDK. I can work with it and make excuses lol.

I LOVE the idea of him being like a young man because of how much madder that would make Marius, plus the way he likes to mentor young blonde men lol. But it might like hurt him even worse if the author of all his misfortunate is like SOME KID.

In his 30s: Personally I usually land here because I DO wonder how long it takes him to gain status in his community and become a priest (in his 30s is still fast tracking it but maybe feels more plausible LOL) and I enjoy the idea of he and Marius being sort of similar to each other. Like, Marius often gets used as the example of Turning an Older Guy and what it means for his temperament and the way it translates to his immortality. I like imagining Mael as around Marius's age for that reason, like I want to remove all his excuses why Mael is a young stupid kid or even an old salty jerk--it forces Marius to confront that Mael is ALSO someone who is chill and smart and has had enough life experience. BUT WHILE THERE'S A WINDOW WHERE THEY COULD BE SIMILAR IN AGE, OR MAEL COULD BE A TAD OLDER, I ALSO STILL ENJOY MARIUS BEING LIKE "HE'S YOUNGER THAN ME I HATE THIS!" BECAUSE HIS AGE AND SELF-PERCEIVED WISDOM & EXPERIENCE ARE IMPORTANT TO HIS IDENTITY AND HE FEELS BELITTED LOL.

In his 40s: Makes sense for the above reason! But I like to skew younger personally just for the Marius ageism dynamic lol. Also there's something about him being a foil to Marius where like, if they're very similar in other ways it can kind of emphasize how their atheism/religion contrasts each other and affects them as people.

Over 50: ALSO POSSIBLE and it's hilarious bc in the audiobook the narrator reads him like such a grouchy old man lmao. I could see this causing a lot of resentment because Marius likes to be the oldest and wisest in the room. I could see him also being younger because Marius insults him every chance he gets and I just think he would've told us that Mael is like an old hag if it were true lol. Anyway wondering how this effects Marius's barbarian kink and how he submits to men.

[fleurladari-a]

not me having like a 2 hour discussion with my aunt on whether or not horror and writing "evil" things is okay or not .

[tardis--dreams]

Me panicking because i have 9 missed calls and 5 emails talking about my absence and how "a colleague could take over for me" vs. Me knowing it's really not that important no matter how pushy a client is and that on top of it I'm underpaid and have way to much overtime so i shouldn't even care