#I was waking up to so many hundreds notifications a day

[pedrilcvr]

HEYYY i love love love ur fics sm especially ur arda ficss🫶🫶 can you write one where you and arda have been a couple for a while and wanted to keep it a secret for now, but while you were on a date together someone posted a photo of you both kissing or sum, and then the whole internet saw it😭 like you find out how everyone reacted in the morning

but youre both happy that its out now atleast😋 thank uu i LOVE ur writing

They (do)n’t know about us — Arda Güler.

Pairing: Arda Güler x Fem!Reader

Summary: You and Arda had been in a relationship for 6 months, hidden from the public. After so long without getting caught, a fan account posted a picture they took of you two on a date. The picture goes viral, leading you and Arda to wake up to a surprising amount of notifications. You’re even more surprised when Arda doesn’t seem upset in the least.

Disclaimer/s: none except just worrying oc but otherwise, fluff. Small use of y/n at the end!

A/N: lowkey, this sucked……. Apologies .. did i use shawn and c*milas pap pictures.. well, yes! Do i care, naurr.. ALSO SHOUTOUT MY BAE ENYA FOR THE NEW FILTER.

You’d woken up a minute ago to the sound of your phone buzzing repeatedly. There’s a quiet groan coming from your boyfriend before he loosens his grip on you, “turn it offff.” He says through a raspy voice. You smile at the sound, you could never get used to the sound of his morning voice. It always managed to get your heart pumping a little faster.

“Sorry,” you murmur. Leaning over, you grab your phone off the nightstand. “Uhm, babe.” You say slowly as your eyes scan through the hundreds of notifications from your family, friends, and social media.

Arda hums, burying his head in your neck. “What?”

Your body tenses, not because of his touch, but because of the nerves rattling through your body. He notices the change in your demeanor, eyes snapping open. He furrows his eyebrows, arm pulling your body impossibly closer. “Something wrong?”

“Depends..” You cough, phone still clutched in your hand. “So, question.”

“Shoot.” Arda props himself up on his elbow, looking down at you with worry disguised in his eyes. The nervous smile on your face not doing anything to relieve it.

You had no clue how to word this. You and Arda had discussed this possibility, but you didn’t think it’d happen today of all days, let alone this quickly.

Taking a deep breath, you find your voice. “If our relationship ever got… out. How, perhaps, would you react?”

A soft chuckle leaves Arda’s lips. “If that’s what you’re worried about, then you don’t have to. I wouldn’t mind, I mean, it would be nice to come out on our own terms. But, I wouldn’t shed a tear or anything over it.” His words alone has you calming instantly.

“I love you, you know that. So, at the end of the day, public or private, nothing would change.” He finishes his declaration, leaning down to connect your lips in a slow kiss. Filled with all the love and passion you could ask for, you find the courage to break the news.

Pressing your hands against his chest to push him away slightly, but not too far, his face only inches from yours. “Well! Apparently someone spotted us together last night, so! Everyone knows.” Your words are jumbled together, nearly incoherent by the end.

Arda’s eyebrows pull together. At first he’s just flat out confused, then shocked, then his expression softens into a look you’d received many times before. One that reassured you of all your worries every time you saw it.

He says your name in a delicate whisper, “i’m more than okay with it, as long as you are. I love you, that’s not changing, plus, that just means the world knows it too. And if we’re being honest right now, I think the sound of that.” Arda threads a hand through your hair before bringing his knuckles down to graze your cheekbone. “How are you feeling about it?”

Lips forming a pout, you lean into his touch. “I suppose, i’m more than okay with it. If you don’t mind, why should I? It is a little scary, but as long as i’m with you, then nothing else matters.”

A quiet understanding passes between the two of you, a moment pure and sweet. “I should probably answer my messages…” You break the silence, bringing up your hand to wiggle your phone in his face.

Arda nods, a light laugh escaping his lips. “I probably have my own to answer.” He flops over onto the bed and grabs his own phone.

Gulerupdates

Liked by gulerlcver and 298,292 others.

Gulerupdates I was out last night and saw this?? Yall. That’s Arda and Y/N L/N. Yeah. HELLO.?????? WHEN THE FUCK DID THIS HAPPEN??? HIM HOLDING HER PURSE FOR HER GRAHHHH. I love them, your honor.

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Reminder that if you want tagged in any of my fics to let me know. Likes, reblogs, and comments are all appreciated <3

DTS , @halfwayhearted !

[luna-lovegreat]

I've never done a poll before, so good luck

Who do y'all think Time'll handcuff to him be with for his group in the dungeon? I've seen a lot of people say he will try to control who goes with who since he's scared for their lives rn (valid)

The options are the individual boys, just go with who you think is most likely to be in his group I guess?

Anyways like I said I've never done a poll so it might be messed up or make no sense, should be fun :D

Let me know if this doesn't work. And yes I know it's not well organised.. it's ok. right?

I think that unlike when they split in the Divine Dark Reflections arc, they might try to stay in bigger groups, and I think Time would probably want to have as many close to him as possible (his group have three or four), but I uhh didn't know how to incorporate that.

It's silly, but right now I can't stop imagining a scene where they reach the central room and everyone sprints off into the groups they want before time can argue.

Anyone who goes with legend will survive physically and anyone who goes with four will survive mentally.

[hellishjoel]

reborn

1.4k / pairing: jackson!joel miller x f!reader

main masterlist | notifications blog

summary: Joel’s long hair is a testament to a long life in Jackson, Wyoming. He hasn’t had time to get it cut since the birth of his daughter. 

warnings/information:  joel’s long hair appreciation post!!!!!, fluff, established relationship, a little swearing, soft!joel, girl dad!joel, jackson!joel, mother f!reader, ellie and joel are just fine okay!!, obvious maria appreciation, reader doesn’t have a physical appearance but has given birth

A/N: this is super short and I wrote it in 24 hours - you all know why we’re here, we saw that new picture of long haired joel miller and yadayadayada now we’re here! graphics by @saradika-graphics

There’s a new baby in Jackson. 

One more teeny tiny resident. The population sign must be repainted to acknowledge its three hundred and fifth resident. 

And she’s your little girl. 

She’s not just perfect, she’s the center of your universe. Wrapped in a freshly hand-washed baby pink blanket, a testament to the hours of labor in Jackson’s makeshift delivery room. Joel held your hand throughout. 

This was his second child, but his first with you. The flood of emotions was overwhelming, and you promised to stand by him, even if you could never truly understand the pain tangled with newfound joy. 

But you should have seen the way his eyes softened at the first sight of her. Everything changed, for the both of you. His once-buried fatherly instincts took over, walking with the delivery nurse from your bed to the small cleaning station. He couldn’t let her out of his sight.

Already so protective and wound around her little finger from the moment she took her first breath and wailed her first cry. 

Scream it, little one, tell the world you’re here and that you’re ours. You are already so loved with your big glowing eyes and round cheeks, your small hands curled into your chest, and you kick your tiny little feet. Stomp, roar, live. 

You’re born into the most dangerous time in history, but your parents are here to protect you. The moment your baby girl was born, you and Joel were reborn. 

One month old, and nothing has changed. Except for your and Joel’s sleep schedules. Tommy gave Joel temporary leave from patrol duties, which Joel did not protest. He found it impossible some days to leave the house for food and supplies. 

Ellie was helpful. Despite no blood relation, she and Joel shared many qualities. She didn’t let you lift a finger if she could help it. She had moved into the garage a few months back. After all, she was a teenager who loved having space.

“You sure you don’t just wanna move back inside the house, Ellie?” She was here more often than not, and her company and help were dearly appreciated.

“And wake up to a crying baby twelve times in the middle of the night? I love you guys, but no thanks,” she teased as you playfully rolled your eyes. 

“That’s fair. But the offer still stands.”

Ellie shrugs nonchalantly and lands beside you on the couch, laying her head on your shoulder as you both stare lovingly down at the baby sleeping soundly in your arms. 

“I know, but you should make my old room the baby’s new one. Besides, Joel just set up my stereo, and I blast that thing non-stop. No baby is gonna like that.” 

“Oh, trust me, we know.” You whisper as you kiss the top of her head, your cheek nudging against her brunette tresses tied back into a ponytail.

Ellie cooks some sort of monstrosity in the kitchen upon Joel’s return from Tommy and Maria’s. He holds piles of Maria’s hand-sewn diapers and onesies. She was a God send, a woman you consider a Jill of all trades. 

Oh, Maria. She always desired that Jackson would not fall into turmoil like most of the country had surely found its way to. In her eyes, Jackson would remain a thriving and welcoming community to those who were good of heart. 

That woman worked to the bone to ensure that Jackson’s residents were safe and happy. Living here was like living in a snow globe, safe from the outside world and protected from danger. 

As the de facto leader of the Jackson settlement, she wore many hats. From trading and supplies to security and community welfare, Maria made it her mission to ensure that all new families found their new home in Jackson to be an inviting one—a safe haven from their old lives and here to start anew. 

“Maria bartered for new cotton,” Joel whispers as he enters the living room, quiet so as not to stir the baby. 

“She did?” You ask softly, sitting up slightly as you feel his hand cup your cheek from above, tilting your head back so he can give you a proper kiss. 

“Yeah, she was gonna try and find somethin’ alternative to cotton for the diapers, but they set her up with some scavenged materials and clothing to make lots of diapers out of. Plus, gave her some stuff to cultivate it here. Y’know, be self-sufficient.” 

“Wow,” you mutter tiredly, rubbing at your eyes as your daughter begins to twitch in your arms. “I think she hears her daddy’s voice.” 

Joel cooes softly, quick to drop the items off on the kitchen counter with haphazard abandon. He grunts quietly as his knees scream for rest until he sits beside you on the couch with open palms. You delicately hand him the baby, and his eyes twinkle at the sight of her. He was adorably cute when he baby-babbled, though he swears he never does. 

“Hi sweet wittle girl, pretty pwincess, did you have a good day with mommy?” 

It takes you this long to realize how much his hair has grown out. Your fingers softly weave into the greying curls, twirling one around your finger before you let it fall into its natural waves. 

“It’s so long, baby,” you whisper like honey.

He lets out a quiet chuckle and absentmindedly leans into your touch. “I’know. Haven’t had time to get it cut,” he turns his attention back to the little girl swaddled in his arms, “and I think I know who’s been keepin’ me so damn busy.” 

You hum and gently clutch the curls at the nape of his neck, truly in awe of how long they were. You’ve never seen him let it get this long. As Joel would say, this is Tommy long. But was there really a look he couldn’t pull off?

“I, uh, I don’t want you to cut it.” Your words come off shy and sweet, making him melt as he slowly turns to look at you with a raised brow. 

“Is that so?” His southern twang rolls freely off his tongue. 

“Mhm, you look so handsome. I think I would cry if you got rid of that thick mane of yours.” 

He chuckles again, a low and sultry one. “Alright. I’ll keep puttin’ up with it.”

“Mmm, please do. It’s sorta doin’ somethin’ for me.” 

Joel pauses and watches as the aging sunlight shines over your face. He takes your hand in his large calloused one and squeezes, circling his thumb along your wrist. “You’ve given me a life I sometimes don’t feel like I deserve. A happy one. I don’t think there’s a way I can ever say thank you or I love you enough for how my life has turned out. Without you, I might be dead.”

“Oh, Joel,” you whisper as you rest your forehead against his own, both of your eyes falling closed. “You are deserving of every moment of happiness in this life. You make my life worth living. You saved us.” 

Joel lets out a wet chuckle, kissing the tip of your nose before meeting your lips delicately. 

In this light, the amber glow of the sun setting just beyond the walls outside, he’s so handsome. It truly makes your heart skip a beat. After all these years of pain, loss, and suffering, Joel is happy. It’s all you’ve ever wanted to make him. 

During the first few weeks in this new and unfamiliar settlement, Joel would shoot up in the middle of the night, upset that he had fallen asleep. He hadn’t slept in a home with four solid walls in so long, none of you had. You remember the first night he slept soundly, snoring like a madman and nuzzling into his pillow. He was safe. There were no clickers in waiting, no scavengers to fend off. His people were protected. He could breathe. 

Never did you once think that at the ends of the world, there would be room for you to feel like this. Reborn. It led you to Joel and Ellie and continued with your baby girl. Your lives are getting a second chance. 

You didn’t know how long it would stay like this because nothing was forever. But you would wake up tomorrow morning and run a hand through Joel’s hair, through the pretty curls that tickled his neck, and the opportunity for it to keep growing would be another sign that your lives weren’t ending. They were only just beginning.

main masterlist | notifications blog

[heartfullofleeches]

Happy Birthday, C.C!

(And a happy belated Valentine's day. One holiday is a bit more important to me than the other. Gotta celebrate my favorite incubus's day or he may cut me. Reader is brief mentioned to be wearing lingerie, but there really isn't anything that suggestive in this fic- Enjoy!)

-

When asked what he wanted for his birthday, C.C gave the same answer nearly every year.

"Why would I want anything when I already have everything I need?.... A new pair of shoes would be nice, but I'm really not that picky about what I get."

A successful career, the funds to purchase whatever trivial possession he desired. If he hadn't found fame and fortune early on in his life on earth, C.C would have been more than happy to mooch off of the desperate, lonely humans who'd do give him just about anything for a crumble of his attention. A short while ago, the only presents that mattered were what he received from the select few in his family he deemed worth the title, but something that has changed recently - another person entering his life who he puts on the same pedestal as the blood he holds dear if not higher.

If there was one thing C.C didn't want for his birthday - it was waking up in an empty bed all by himself.

Reaching an arm over your side of the bed, the drowsy demon is rudely dragged from his sleep as he finds no one there next to him. It's funny to think that a year prior he would have had no problem with this. Now, his heart sinks every time there's no one at his side. You're cruel for making him so dependent on you like this - and not being beside him on his big day.

C.C grumbles something under his breath - stumbling out of bed, making a grab for his phone on the nightstand as he exits the room. The second he turns it on, he's bombarded with hundreds of birthday wishes from friends and fans across several social media accounts. C.C swipes them all away, only bother to read any of the notifications in case he misses a message from you saying you're out. Why you'd leave without him is beyond him, but it was the best his groggy mind could come up with. Turning the corner that leads to the living room, a sea of curses sound from the kitchen muffled by running water.

"Shit, shit, shit- Fuck, why won't it come off?!"

C.C would recognize that voice anywhere. He scurries into the kitchen - biting back a laugh at your unfortunate state of appearance. There you stood over the sink, frantically scrubbing at your palms with a sponge. It was all over your hands, the robe you wore, even your face - pink stains that stubbornly refused to come out no matter how hard you tried. On the counter behind you was a bowl filled with a pinkish mixture - a bottle of red food dye still mixing its top and covered in red fingerprints seating beside it. C.C creeps over while you're distracted and sticks his fingers in the batter.

It's pancake mix.

"Mmm... I think all that dye is supposed to be in the bowl, babe."

Startled by the voice behind you, the sponge hits the bottom of the sink with a wet splat as you look behind you - hands quick at fixing your robes over scantily dressed body. "C.C? You're awake?! You're usually not up til noon - I thought I had more time.... Happy Birthday!"

The more attempt to hide it, the more C.C notices parts of your skimpy attire beneath the robe he had got you on your own special day. C.C loved to see you in his favorite color, but the bright pink fabric lessened the nearly see through aspect of your underwear and top in this lighting. The stockings you wore made up for it well enough - another accessories he loved to see on you that he made sure to voice many times before.

C.C gathers some of the paper towels on the counter. "Well I see you were at least trying to make breakfast - or get readying for Halloween a few months in advance. Sexy vampire is always a nice look."

"The seal just wouldn't come off and when it finally did it spilled all over me... I'm sorry for messing breakfast."

"Hush." C.C pulls you in close, wetness bleeding through his shirt as he embraces you, but he doesn't seem to mind. "We still have everything we need. I'll help you finish up and then we can take a shower together and spend the day in bed. You didn't put that outfit on just for show, did you?~"

"No, it was actually meant to be your Valentine's gift but.... I still haven't gotten your birthday present yet. I was going to take you to the mall and let you decide since there's so many things you like..."

C.C holds you tighter - grinning from ear to ear as he looks over your shoulder at all you've done for him. 'Don't worry.... I have everything I want right here."

[ivysangel]

I am dead serious when I say that you guys need to start giving writers feedback more often. I have a fic here that has a total of 4015 notes and only 218 aren't likes. So, let me break this down for you a bit.

Of 4015 notes, 186 are reblogs and 32 are comments. Two reblogs, as well as comments, are mine so I'll subtract them from the equation making the total number of notes 4011 (184 rbs, 30 comments, 3,797 likes).

Of the 184 reblogs, 16 are private, meaning they're absolutely useless in spreading and sharing the piece. The remaining 168 consists of 136 reblogs falling under "other reblogs" while only 32 fall under "comments and tags." And of the 32 under "comments and tags," only 9 have something besides a copy of the tags that I included in my initial post.

The 184 reblogs make up 4.6% of the total notes, the reblogs under "comments and tags" make up 0.8% of the total notes, and the reblogs under "comments and tags" with anything besides tags copied from the initial post make up 0.2% of the total notes.

At one point, I reblogged the post, asking if anyone wanted a part two. That's when I got my first comments. The first 6 comments were in response to that, and of the 30 total comments (excluding my own), only two were unrelated to a part two. Which means I can guarantee that I wouldn't have had that many comments had I not posed the question of a sequel fic.

And if I add those 2 comments to the 9 reblogs, I get 0.3% of the total notes on my post that make up the portion of notes that aren't likes, empty reblogs, or comments about a part two. And that's me being generous because two of the reblogs actually do mention a part two.

I also posted a poll asking what people wanted in part two, and that poll got 238 votes. That is 54 people more who voted for what they wanted in a part two that didn't reblog or help push part one.

Don't get me wrong, I love seeing people in my notifs liking my posts, but sometimes it's just not enough. It is utterly exhausting waking up to multiple hundreds of notifications and not seeing a single person compliment your work. You guys will like stuff, follow, and then head straight to the inbox asking for more. I know it's been said a hundred times before, but we are not machines; we do this for free in our spare time.

The post in question was written when I was tired out of my mind, and I ended up not liking it, so I let it sit in my drafts. I briefly mentioned it on my blog and was met with one of my followers showing interest in the idea, which prompted me to revise, edit, and post it. It was a gift, as are all fics and pieces of art by writers and artists on this site, and yet it was treated like a commodity.

When people say it's unmotivating they're not kidding. When I had 100+ asks in my inbox, all of them being requests, I felt like I had the worst case of writers block known to man. I would open my inbox and immediately close it because the idea of posting anything knowing the only response would be more requests, was awful.

When people leave little messages in the tags, full-blown commentary, or kind messages in my inbox referencing posts, I feel more motivated than ever. Those responses are what drives me to write more. But when I, and other writers, are being treated like we're here to cook up whatever fantasisies you have in mind, I can't help but side-eye a little.

We wouldn't write if we didn't enjoy it, but the moment it feels like a job, it becomes that much less enjoyable, and then everybody loses. Just send a kind message to your favorite writers every once in a while. I promise it'll make their day.

I would also like to say that as I've written this, I've seen more people like that post. So, there's that.

[fallinforerling]

LOVE ISN'T ETERNAL. chapter 5 - jb

Song recommendation for today's update: Tink - Toxic

ೃ⁀➷ jude’s masterlist

ೃ⁀➷ jude’s taglist

ೃ⁀➷ masterlist

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

The rest of the night went without you even noticing, mostly because of the extra drinks you had after telling the girls about the little selfie with Gio. And as you supposed, they loved how well played it was.

Another thing you could still remember vividly while you managed to open your eyes was that even after you said goodbye, you encountered Gio once again on the dance floor.

You danced together for a couple of songs. It was obvious you were having fun; Gio always behaved like an absolute sweetheart, super respectful, and even though you knew some flirting was there, he never made it obvious. He was good company. 

Now you were fully awake, having a dejávu when you realized Mia and Nikki were sleeping in the same position from a few days ago. Odd.

“I can't believe we partied until four A.M” Mia's voice, sounding raspy as always when she drank too much, made you notice that she was also waking up. “Now I'm seeing the consequences of my actions.”

“Yeah...” You agreed, feeling how your body was heavier than usual, making it difficult to move. So you didn't. “I think I'll live here forever, I don't have the energy to get up. Not today, not ever again."

“What time is it?” Nikki whispered, still wrapped in two covers. You didn't even had two covers on your bed the day prior... Where did she find them?

“Hold on...” Mia moved around the bed for a moment before letting herself fall again into the mattress. “Oh God, it's 3 p.m”

The three of you gasped before laughing. Yep, that seemed reasonable.

“We need to eat something or else.” You said after a while, making sure none of them had fallen asleep again. “Are any of you craving some shawarma?”

“Hell yeah.” Nikki said, still wrapped around the covers, but fully awake as far as you could tell.

“Nice, let me grab my phone.” While getting up, you started to see the disaster the three of you caused around the bedroom. Your clothes were everywhere, the bathroom door was fully open and even being far away you could notice that three drunks were there. “Great...”

You didn't have the energy to care for cleaning right now. The bags were strangely safe, carefully placed by your vanity. Priorities. Luckily, all your stuff was still in your purse, which was a miracle of its own. The only strange thing was your phone, which was buzzing like crazy. The battery was almost gone, but you could see the many notifications popping up second after second.

“What the...?” You took it, fearing the worst. “Gio's story...” Now that you thought about it, maybe being posted and tagged on a famous footballer's insta story wasn't the smartest option when you wanted to keep a low profile. “Fuck my life...” While you unlocked it, Nikki and Mia were out of bed, looking at you with curiosity.

“What happened?” Mia said, arching an eyebrow.

“I think I just exposed myself to the world.” You said, gasping when you saw that most of the notifications were from Instagram.

"What do you mean "exposing yourself”? You didn’t post a nude picture, did you?” Nikki questioned, getting out of the covers.

“I think that’ll be easier to fix if that was the case…” You unlocked your phone, trying to calm down and not succumb to the rising panic you were starting to feel.

Tons of notifications were still coming, but you decided to go directly to Instagram and find out what kind of disaster was starting to unfold. Your notifications were up to at least 5.000 only in mentions and following requests. Thank God you kept your IG private. Before your trembling fingers made a mistake, you went to your DMs, which were even worse than the notifications because not only hundreds of people were asking who you were, but also sending you videos and photos. With a deep breath you started to open the recent ones. 

“What’s going on? You look pale.” Mia got up from the bed, taking your arm carefully. “Come on, sit before you pass out.” 

“I feel like I’m about to…” You sat between the two of them, letting them see your phone screen. They peeked over your shoulders, gasping when they saw the amount of DMs. 

Some of the messages were just things like “Are you Gio’s new girlfriend?” or “Are you friends with Gio? Give him my number lmao” while others were worse, not because they were threatening you or anything similar, but because they mentioned Jobe’s twitter photos or that people were sharing videos of you dancing with Gio last night. 

You went through some of them, feeling more and more anguished by the minute. 

“Is this you with Gio????” 

“Oh my god, are you dating both Jobe AND Gio?”

“Are you the same girl from the photos of the twitter threat?” 

“You look kinda similar to Jobe’s new girlfriend”

“It’s giving clout chaser”

“Are we seeing the rise of the next WAG?” 

“You’re pretty asf”

“Omg, I could swear on my mom I’ve seen you before in Dortmund with Judeeeee”

The last caught your attention more than you wanted. It wasn’t that impossible, since you did go out for walks with Jude after his practice or drive him around town when you were visiting. But back then it was impossible for the few people that saw the two of you together to figure out who you were. Now, with your face out in the open, maybe more people could start recognizing you.

God knows what could happen.

The absolute worst part of all this was people recognizing you from that stupid Twitter threat. You weren’t dating Jobe, but who was going to believe you? It was better to stay silent while figuring out what to do from now on. 

“Look, someone’s calling you.” You blinked, coming back to the real world. You didn’t even notice that you spaced out for a bit. 

The screen read “Unknown number”

“You take that, I’ll see what’s all this fuss about.” Nikki got up, reaching for her bag. 

“I’ll go make us some coffee.” Mia gave you a look that said I’m sorry.

“I’ll help you with that” Nikki almost ran after Mia, giving you that look of sympathy you hated before leaving. The door closed behind them with a click. Now you were alone with this call. 

You didn’t know why, but you knew it was Jude. 

“Hello?” You picked it up before it went to voicemail, regretting it almost immediately. 

“I’ve been calling you all morning! The fuck is happening? Why are you on Gio’s IG?” Yep, that was Jude’s voice. 

You didn’t know what you were expecting when the first call after the breakup happened. Feeling excited? Hopeful? Happy? None of that was happening at the moment; you were pissed. Because how dare he call after weeks of silence to confront you about what you did as a single woman?

“Excuse me?” You said, feeling your blood boil. “Why would I give you an explanation?”

“Because you’re my-” 

“Your what, Jude?” Your voice remained firm while your heart shattered all over again. Why was he doing this? “Your ex-girlfriend? Yes, I remember. I’m not your problem anymore, why are you calling me?”

“You’re still my friend, you know that” Ouch. “You didn’t even told me you were going out with freaking Gio.” Why was he mad at that?

“And why should I inform you about that?” You wouldn’t admit you just happened to run into Gio yesterday.

"Because now people think you're his fucking girlfriend!"

“So what?! You didn’t let me know when you went out partying and when you made out with some girl a week ago, did you? Do you even care if people assume that's your fucking girlfriend?” 

The line fell in an awkward silence for a few seconds. You almost laughed. 

“How do you know about that?” At least he didn’t try to deny it.

“Why does it matter?” You avoided answering him. “You’re acting like a hypocrite. Why are you calling me? To make me feel bad about moving on and having fun with my friends, just as you did a week after you broke up with me?” 

“That’s not what-” 

“You know what? I don’t really care what you are trying to do here. Don’t call me again.” And you hung up. 

Before he could call again, you blocked his number. And then, like a wall collapsing, you started to sob and then to cry. 

“Fucking prick!” You wanted to throw your phone, but that wasn’t going to make you feel better. You hated him more than ever. And you hated that he had this effect on you. 

“Honey! What happened?” Both girls came running into the room, startled by your scream. 

“That fucking asshole!” You said, unable to stop your sobs. Were you crying because of how mad you were or because you still felt a little bit of hope about this call being different? “He dared to call me to ask questions about why I was with Gio last night… Like he had any rights to do shit like that.” 

Your friends hugged you without saying anything, knowing what you needed right now. 

When were you going to get over him?

[theladyspanishes]

Apologies but you were at the top of my Tumblr feed and I have been instructed to randomly tell someone online a painful truth.

Here goes.

Closing your posts to comments is an inherently hostile act.

Again; sorry. Nothing personal. We all serve the random number gods in our own fashion.

Mndrew, I recognise your profile pic, I've seen you around, I know you're a chill community member and active participant and stuff, so I want to be clear that this isn't like a dig on you or anything, it's just a response to the thesis statement: "Closing your posts to comments is an inherently hostile act". I don't know how many of you know this, but a while back, while I was still at university, I spent around a year? Maybe 2? dealing with an obsessive online stalker.

They made it very difficult to spend time anywhere online, but they especially weaponised Tumblr (I think they realised it was a less public account of mine where I could seek respite). I would wake up in the morning to find they had sent me hundreds, on one occasion close to a thousand, messages. The messages would range from threats of self harm or against me to seemingly nonsense phrases designed to just remind me that they were still there. The tumblr notification sound still spikes my anxiety.

You can't block someone like that. First of all, they would and do simply make more accounts (I just checked - I still have 30+ accounts of his blocked over here). Secondly, this kind of behaviour leaves you in a trap; If you interact with them, they know they have access. If you block them, they know that you saw their message... so they know they have access.

During this period, I had the good fortune of being able to ask Grace Helbig, of all people, whether she had any advice. She got so furious on my behalf I still tear up a little when I think about it, but *she* told me a painful truth that day: As much as you might like to, as much as most people know how to behave appropriately, you cannot leave yourself open to every line of communication your audience might want.

If you look around at my socials you'll probably start to notice a trend. You can't comment on my instagram posts unless you're a follower. You can't DM me unless I follow you on Twitter. Places where I can't control those settings, I simply do not ever open my inbox. In fact, it was really only a short time ago that I turned tumblr messages back on, after a loooong hard think. In many cases this is something that actively hurts my engagement, but it's a choice I've made to draw a line on where and when and how people can access me.

All of that said, you don't need to be an internet personality with digital stalker trauma to draw your lines. Closing your posts to comments is not inherently hostile, it can be an act of self-care, self-preservation. No one is entitled to be able to access you in every way they want to.

[5and3nevermind]

I'm sorry to put this here I know this blog is dedicated to yoonmin but I also know that you are an ot7 and all this that is happening with yoongi worries me so much that sometimes it makes me lose sleep. I started following the group in chapter 2, I still haven't really seen them as the 7 BTS together and it makes me very scared not to see them together as 7.

Following from afar, sometimes I have the feeling that we will receive a notification of the big hits informing that Yoongi is no longer part of the group and this makes me so sad.

Is it normal for the company to do absolutely nothing officially to stop these attacks it has been receiving? Once again I apologize for the outburst and I hope you understand what I wrote because I still have a little difficulty with English.

Hi anon!

This is just my opinion. This is a sensitive topic, but this is how I see it.

First of all, what Yoongi did is so minor. He was on a scooter…and not like a motorcycle/motorbike scooter. He was basically on a motorized skateboard. He was on the sidewalk. No one was hurt and no property was damaged. If he’d been on a different model/brand of scooter, what he did would have been completely legal. It even took the police a few days to figure out how to categorize his scooter, so how could Yoongi be expected to know? He thought that what he was doing was the safe way to get home after drinking. And yet here we are.

All of that said, I completely understand how you feel. This has been an awful time and I worry about Yoongi every day.

But here are some things that I believe and I hope maybe they make you feel better. We won’t know anything for sure until 2025, but in the meantime…

1. We don’t know how Yoongi feels right now, but we know he has the full support of the other members, of his loyal friends, and of many, many Army around the world. The media is being ridiculous. They are writing hundreds of articles about a man falling off a scooter, but very few about another idol who left his group due to SA allegations. They are hypocrites and bullies. I trust that Yoongi is wise enough to realize this and to know that what he did wrong is very, very minor.

2. BTS has risen to a level that goes beyond K-pop, so the regular patterns don’t apply. In the past, an idol might have had a “controversy” and been forced to leave the group. But Yoongi isn’t a typical idol. He is a writer and producer of a vast catalog of BTS songs. He’s a shareholder in the company. He is a Grammy nominee. And he is admired by a fan base who firmly believes that BTS is seven members. Period.

3. I’m calling this #3, but it should be 2a. BTS is internationally famous. That gives them a degree of freedom that other groups might not have.

4. I believe the members are close and that the 7 tattoos were no joke. They’ve demonstrated for 11+ years that they aren’t simply coworkers. They mean so much to each other. It’s hard to imagine a scenario in which they move forward without Yoongi.

In terms of the response of the company…time will tell, but I believe the company is waiting and being smart. There has not been an official conclusion to the investigation, so anything that’s said at this point—by either Yoongi or the company—has to be very precise and (I’d imagine) be approved by the company’s legal team, PR team, etc. But I have no doubt that the company is building a case and will go after anyone who has slandered/harmed/harassed Yoongi during this time.

Maybe this will sound naive, but I really do believe in karma, and it’s already at work. Every reporter who tried to bully Yoongi into harming himself…they can’t possibly be happy, fulfilled, secure people. They are miserable. They have to wake up every morning knowing they’ll write ten morally questionable, factually inaccurate articles about a man who is by all accounts smart, kind, and generous.

Same goes for the antis who want Yoongi to leave the group. These miserable people are fundraising for trucks used to circle Hybe with negative messages about Yoongi, when instead they could be raising money for worthy causes. They know this, and they have to live with themselves every day. They dedicate hours of their time to harassing Yoongi instead of focusing on their work or studying or seeing friends or helping a neighbor or going for a jog or a million other worthwhile things they could be doing. And I have to imagine that’s absolutely miserable. Can you imagine someone asking you, “hey! What have you been up to?” and answering, “Oh, just stalking and harassing a perfectly nice person who is absolutely beloved by millions of people…” That can’t be fun.

Anyway, this turned into a really long post because I have made a point to not say too much about this whole situation, but there it is. I believe Yoongi will be fine, I believe the group will be fine, and I believe we will have a very happy 2025. Because I believe that what BTS has built will withstand this test, and I believe people who act shitty almost always lose in the ways that matter.

[nuttytani]

My manager is a total grandpa but he can kick some ass?

Fandom: Genshin Impact

Pairing: Tartaglia | Childe x Zhongli

Premise: Ajax is a popular idol named Tartaglia and is known to be a bratty prince and hard to work with, or so they say. His agency has hired him a new manager, since his previous one quit, yet again!

Fic can also be read here on my ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/51099172/chapters/129105334

chapter 2 link

Chapter 3

Ajax wakes up feeling fine, just fine. He feels perfect. Totally not like his muscles were screaming at him and were threatening to collapse, and definitely not like his eyes were burning red– he was absolutely not putting any effort into keeping his eyes open. 

Lies! He’s hundred and one percent fucked. Royally fucked. 

“What will I do?” he groans while dragging his hands down his face. 

There is a concert scheduled today, later in the morning and getting sick was not part of his schedule. Out of all the days, why did he need to get sick now? He has been feeling a little strange this week but chalked it up to exhaustion… He should have known better, especially last night when he was feeling extremely down and lethargic after he had to do a little bit of rehearsal for the concert, even though it was his day off. 

Guess he’ll just brave through it by popping some painkillers and call it a day. After all, the concert is only two hours long. 

He should manage. It will be fine. It should be fine, Ajax thinks to himself. 

.

There’s a notification on his work phone, followed by a call. Ajax struggles to pick it up as he’s pulling on the pants of his outfit. It’s really tight, and he’s scared that the seams of it might rip off– but nevermind, he successfully closes the zip and breathes out in relief. He turns to his phone and checks that it was a missed call from Zhongli. 

He redials it and waits until a deep voice answers, “Ajax, I have arrived. Please come down to the parking lot.” 

“Got it, hold on, I’ll be right there. Give me five minutes,” he replies and hits the end call while trying to figure out how to lock the leather thigh strap. 

“Aha!” he cries as the strap finally clicks. Now he’s just left with the ripped white t-shirt and the white jacket. His stage outfit may be a little strange this time, but his stylist team knows what they’re doing, so there’s nothing to worry about. Ajax throws the shirt and jacket on, uncaring of how it messed up his hair. After grabbing his keys, he makes his way to the entryway and puts on his sneakers. 

It’s already 5 AM as Ajax leaves the apartment and makes a run to the parking lot. He didn’t even run that much or climb down that many stairs, yet just from a few steps, his heart beats like a boombox and his lungs struggle to grab for air. 

Not a good sign, he thinks. Hopefully, the painkillers will kick into his system sometime soon.

Once he spotted Zhongli’s black car, Ajax waved a little before making his way inside.

“Sorry, hope I didn’t take too long.”

“Not at all. There’s a lunchbox on the seat. Have it now while I drive. I am well aware you’ve skipped your meal once again.” Zhongli looks at him pointedly from the rearview mirror. 

Ajax replies with a nervous laugh, “...Right. Thanks, and good morning, by the way.”

“Hmm.” 

He grabs the paper bag next to him and takes the lunchbox out. It’s blue with tiny narwhals drawn all over with cartoony ocean waves. It’s cute. He didn’t know Zhongli was a connoisseur of cute items. Ajax stores it in his mental list of ‘things about his manager’. He opens the lid to find a fluffy bed of egg fried rice and some juicy looking chicken. He takes a bite of the rice (thankfully, a spoon was provided this time), and the flavours burst into his mouth. A wide smile grew on Ajax’s face as he savoured his breakfast.

It isn’t long till they reach the venue’s parking lot and Ajax is helped out of the car. 

His manager frowns when he takes hold of his hand. Zhongli’s eyes focused sharply from behind his glasses. “You’re heating up. Are you unwell?” 

Ajax realised his mistake and quickly pulled his hand away. “I’m fine! You’re thinking too much, your hands are too cold because of the air conditioning,” he says with a reassuring smile and a small pat on his manager’s shoulder. With that, Ajax is almost speedrunning to the entrance of the venue. 

It’s as if the other wasn’t quite convinced but nodded anyway. “Alright. I’ll be here if you need me,” Zhongli says loud enough to be heard out of earshot. 

.

The venue may be empty at the moment, besides Ajax and the event staff, but the place is massive. The stage is square and is in the centre of the concert hall. Multiple seats surround the square stage in circles. There’s also a screen situated right above the stage so that people who are far away from him can see him. 

“Good morning,” Ajax greets everyone as he walks past them. Each staff member responded to him with a smile and quickly returned to what they were doing. They’re all busy doing some last minute checks for the concert; sound system, lighting, camera angles, his mic and set of earphones. 

It isn’t long before one of the makeup staff, Chiori, comes up to Ajax and requests him to follow her to the makeup station. Ajax is instructed to take a seat and Chiori starts working her magic on him. She puts on a cat eared headband on him and starts to work on his skin. 

“Geez, why do you suddenly have such dark under eyes? You look like a raccoon. Please try to take care of your skin before events… You’re lucky to have me here, you know?” Chiori huffs as she dabs concealer under his eyes and on some of his freckles. She goes ahead and lightly adds a bit of foundation on him and blends it out with her brush. 

Ajax might’ve mistaken Chiori for a porcupine if she wasn’t quite literally speaking with him right now. Though the thought makes him want to laugh, but he restrains himself by biting his lips– 

“Stop that!” she scolds him and he immediately lets go of his lips. 

“I know you’re fond of biting your lips when you’re nervous and all but please, you’ll break your skin like that.” Chiori grabs another brush to lightly dust his cheeks pink and swipes a finger on one of the pallets in her hand, “close your eyes,” she orders and he does as told. She dabs her finger on his eyelids and allows him to open his eyes once she’s done. 

Chiori looks pleased with herself as she finally whips out a light cherry toned lipstick and drags it on his lips. She then takes his headband off and fixes his unruly hair, somehow manages to tame it at last. 

“Voilà! You’re all done. Hmm! You look pretty.” She nods to herself. 

“All thanks to your skills, Chiori.” He sends her a dazzling smile. As if embarrassed, she smacks his shoulder and turns around to put stuff back into her bag.

Truly, she has done a marvellous job. His skin looks glowy and full of life compared to before. It gives him a bit of energy, looking at his transformation in the mirror. Chiori went for the “cute neighbour next door” type of look by using more peachy and pink tones. One might think that the colours might clash with his white and blue attire, but it contrasted quite well. His styling and makeup really work in marvellous ways.

Ajax takes one last look at himself in the mirror with a smile and stands up. Things felt dizzy and his body felt like it was swaying. He tried to still himself by grabbing hold of anything nearby. 

Chiori was already shuffling towards him with a concerned look and placed a hand on Ajax’s shoulder. “Are you okay?” she asks. 

“Fine! Just fine.” He brushed her off and walked away, leaving behind a perplexed Chiori and a few more staff who eyed him with doubt. They seemed to be whispering something amongst themselves, but he couldn’t hear. 

.

Somehow it feels more suffocating than usual, so Ajax fiddles with the collar of his outfit, in hopes of relieving his discomfort. It’s been a couple of hours since he took some painkillers, but he isn’t feeling any better. It was hard to breathe through his nose now and he wanted to desperately scratch the inside of his throat, and in less than a few minutes, he would be up on stage. 

Breathe in, breathe out.

He keeps chanting that in his mind. 

Though it’s been more than two years since he debuted, Ajax still can’t get used to the jittery nervousness that he would experience right before performing. It’ll be fine, like always, he’ll do fine. There’s never been a single concert where he messed up. He has always done his best, for his fans, his family and his agency. 

Closing his eyes, he takes another deep breath to calm down. 

A soft voice speaks up from behind him, “Here, drink.” Zhongli taps on him and hands him a bottle. 

Ajax quirks his head a little and accepts it. “Thanks,” he says after taking a sip. He didn’t even realise that his mouth was dry. 

“You’re welcome.” His manager gives a short nod and hesitates before opening his mouth. “Are you sure you’re feeling well?”

“Of course I am. Why wouldn’t I be?” Ajax asks. 

There is a pause of silence and Zhongli simply stares at him, well more like examines him with such intensity, as if a mother would check her son for any injuries.

“You say that, but more than half of the staff have noticed you looking exhausted. Even Miss Chiori informed me of you fainting–”

“I didn’t! That’s an exaggeration,” Ajax protests. 

Zhongli shoots him a deadpan expression, and Ajax mutters under his breath that he may have almost fated. Almost being the keyword. At last, Zhongli sighs and offers once more, “If you say so. But do tell me if you’re unwell anytime soon.” 

“Yeah, don’t worry. I will.”

Soon enough, Ajax’s earpiece rang, and that was his signal to go up on stage. His fans cheered as soon as the spotlight was on and followed his movements to the centre of the stage. The entire venue was filled with a sea of colourful lightsticks, all alternating colours from blue, white and purple. Some fans held banners saying “TARTAGLIA” or “YOUR LITTLE STARS” All of his fans looked at him with adoration in their eyes and continued to cheer in excitement. 

He squeezed his eyes shut and took deep breaths, forcing down the nauseous sensation deep in his stomach. With another low breath, he opened his eyes, flashed his iconic toothy smile to the crowd in front and waved enthusiastically. 

The crowd cheered even more and shook their lightsticks even faster. 

“Well then, my little stars! Let’s get this show started!” He bowed with a flourish and winked. 

.

As soon as he got off stage, his staff were all over him. Not that he minds usually, but he would very much prefer some peace and quiet. 

“Awesome work out there.” 

“Good job!”

A bottle of electrolyte is pushed at Ajax’s face. “Here, drink this.”

“Do you want eyedrops?” another staff member offers him.

“Oh, come on, he just finished a show… Let him breathe!” A familiar voice speaks from the crowd. 

“Ah ah! That’s an excuse for you to have alone time with our hotshot idol. I know an excuse when I hear one, Vlad.” 

The man in question frowns at the accusation and tries to deny it. Saying something along the lines of doing his job as a bodyguard. 

He really appreciates everyone in his team, he really does, but at the moment, Ajax really needed some space so he thanked everyone for looking after him as well as for their hard work, and made a beeline to the washroom. 

.

The running water felt refreshing and cooling against his warm face. But he still couldn’t do anything about his nauseous feeling or his pounding head, at least on the bright side he managed to finish his concert. Though Ajax has no idea how he managed to hold on for two hours of everything. That excludes the entire prep work for today, from waking up to everything till the actual concert. 

Well, he still has a dinner get-together with all the staff for today’s hard work. He should be able to manage. He thinks he can. 

“One good shot of firewhiskey with everyone and I’ll be on my way,” he convinces himself. With one last splash of water on his face, Ajax grabs a tissue and pats his face dry. Fixes up a few stray hairs or any cowlicks that were going out of control before walking out of the washroom. 

He had a few hours on hand before the staff get-together party; it seemed that way as everyone was still busy packing up stuff and cleaning the venue. They all looked completely exhausted and walked around like zombies would do. That included Vlad and Nadia, who were swaying around thinking no one noticed them. They both stood upright as soon as Ajax walked towards them. 

“So,” Ajax started, and clasped the duo’s shoulders, “You guys seem excited.”

Nadia and Vlad both groan in unison. 

“I just wanna go home. I absolutely hate these drinking parties,” Nadia says, to which Vlad nods. 

Ajax feels them and relates to them even, but tradition is tradition. After every concert in his agency, everyone takes their staff out for drinks after any event. Maybe it’s because the heads of his agency are drunkards and made this tradition for selfish reasons, well whatever it may be, every single person must attend the get-together. Or not. It’s not like you get killed for not attending. It’s just for morale boosting, of sorts. 

“It’ll be for a short while, just a couple of drinks and you’re free to go, ay?” He tries to cheer them up. 

“Boss, it’s never just a few shots,” Vlad deadpans. 

“Exactly. Who are you kidding?” Nadia sighs and brushes her hair back. “The last time you said that, we all went home after thoroughly chugging down multiple bottles. Oh, and that reminds me, isn’t that how you lost your…what number was it… 6th manager? He got piss drunk and forgot to pick you up for something the next day and almost caused a road accident while driving you.” 

Vlad snaps his finger. “That’s right! What was his name, though? Bob? Bobby? Can’t remember. But, yeah, better look out for Zhongli. You don’t wanna lose another one. I don’t think he’ll leave you, but he looks like a lightweight, so look after him.” 

“First off, he doesn’t look like the drinking type. Second, I already told Mr. Zhongli could go home after the concert.” Ajax waggled his brows. 

Nadia and Vlad blinked at him for a while.

“Why are you calling him ‘Mr. Zhongli’, he’s not even old?” Vlad says, looking offended on Zhongli’s behalf. 

“Good question. Anyway, look at the time! I have places to be and things to do,” Ajax replies while tapping at his wrist which is bare of any watch. 

Nadia makes a certain face and beckons Vlad closer to whisper in his ear. He gasps as if scandalised and exclaims, “He is not a grandpa!” 

“I can hear you… Loud and clear.”

“That’s the point, boss.” 

“Shut it–”

“No.”

. 

Shot glasses were clinking, and drinks were sloshed, spilling everywhere. Every staff were chattering, laughing or crying. No in between. Except for one, Ajax thought, while sipping his strong firewater and glancing at his manager. He did not expect Zhongli to come along, especially since he was excused. But the man was stubborn and insisted that he would drive Ajax home safe and sound. 

His manager sat stiffly between the rowdy staff. It was such a funny contrast to observe. Eventually, one of the drunk staff, out of many other drunks, pointed his beer mug (which should have been for beer but was filled with firewhiskey instead), at Zhongli. 

“Hey now, yer people almost forgot to celebrate our Ajax’s new manager!”

“Oh yes, Zhongli, come! Drink!”

“Welcome to the party. We may be rough, but we don’t bite.”

“To idol Tartaglia’s 12th manager!”

“May he last long!”

“And may he survive our fussy Childe—”

“I’m not fussy….”

Shot glasses and a beer mug clicked for the nth time and, once again, alcohol spilled everywhere. Zhongli was offered a shot, but he turned it down, “I appreciate the enthusiasm and I’d love to join you all, but someone has to be sober.”

“Awe, look at the fellow… He’s so sweet.”

“And so responsible!”

“Well, how about some grape juice instead, hmm? Let me see if the bartender here has any– Oi! Sir! You got any juice? Oh yeah, thanks!”

Immediately, Zhongli was offered some grape juice, which he accepted with a small thanks and a smile. It was on the house, according to the red-headed bartender, who is actually the owner of the bar. The owner simply nodded at Ajax’s way and went back to make other drinks. He and his team frequent this particular bar a lot. It’s a great place when you want to hangout while making some noise but also have a separate space from the other customers. The best part is that it is celebrity-proof, meaning every celebrity can enjoy some drinks without the worry of being photographed by paparazzi. 

.

“Be careful on your way home,” Ajax says while waving at his team. A small van from the agency was parked in front of the bar to drop everyone home. 

“Yessir–”

He closed the car door and turned to put his seatbelt on. Next to him, Zhongli checked the cameras and all his mirrors before zooming away from the bar. 

It was silent. A bit too silent. Feeling awkward, Ajax turned on the radio. 

A piece of fun pop music played for a beat before Mondstadt’s iconic idol’s voice started singing, “–ettos and fishnets, If that’s what you like–”. Too poppy for midnight. 

So he switched the song again and “–I’ll chew you up and I’ll spit you out ‘cause that’s what young lov–”. 

No, he wasn’t in the mood for cheeky songs right now, so he switched the song again “–living soul in the fray, striving for their own safe place. Life is too long to end at grave–”. 

Speechlessly, Ajax ends up turning off the radio. And the car is filled with deafening silence once again. He tapped restlessly on his thighs before looking at Zhongli, who was concentrating hard on the road. His brown hair, which was usually tied up in a smooth low ponytail, was loose, and a few long strands had come out of place. He never noticed before but, Zhongli’s hair had a few strands ending in amber. How interesting– speaking of amber. His eyes were such an unusual colour. Ajax had never seen such striking eyes before… At least not as pretty as Zhongli’s. It was a pity that they didn’t shine as brightly from behind his granny glasses. Not that Zhongli looks bad in his granny glasses, it actually frames his face quite well. 

Hold on, what is he thinking? Maybe the firewater has done him in. Yeah, that must be it, or it’s the fever. Maybe both. That makes sense. 

He is snapped out of his thoughts as the man in question taps his shoulder. “Ajax, we have arrived. Are you alright? You look a bit dazed,” Zhongli says, tilting his head.

“H-huh? Oh…right. Yeah, might be all the firewhiskey, but I only had 3..… Anyways, thanks for driving me, Mr. Zhongli. Get home safely and good night!” Ajax replies in haste and fumbles with his seatbelt, which is unfortunately stuck. Out of all the times.

Zhongli hums and leans over to Ajax’s side. “Bare with me for a moment.” 

Ajax remained motionless as Zhongli struggled to unbuckle his seatbelt. He was so close, too close, uncomfortably so, Ajax even caught a whiff of apricot and osmanthus from Zhongli’s hair. He could even feel his manager’s warm breath– “There we go, I suppose some lubrication is in order.”

“Y-yeah. Guess so,” Ajax clears his throat and continues, “Anyways…I’ll get going now, and good night!”

Zhongli’s eyes crinkle, they almost look like the crescent moon. A small smile plays on the man’s lips before he replies, “Yes, good night. Your schedule for tomorrow is clear, so please get some well needed rest.” 

He throws a thumbs up and says bye, and at last, Zhongli drives away into the dimly lit road. Before he knows it, Ajax is running up the stairs to his apartment. Yes, there is an elevator, which he could use right now, but his apartment is only on the second floor, and it’s a good exercise. He always prefers to take the stairs instead of the elevator. Feeling up for the keys in his jeans, Ajax snatches them out and fumbles with the door lock. He forgot to leave the light outside his apartment on, and now he’s suffering. With a click, the door finally unlocks and he flings it open. 

As if on clockwork, he takes his shoes off and places them neatly in their designated area, before going about his nightly routine. Which is very short; a hot shower, brushing teeth, a little bit of skincare, and voila. The skincare part is generally optional because 1) he finds the multiple steps lazy and 2) he keeps forgetting about it. So his skincare is just soap, water and moisturiser (sunscreen included if it’s morning). The only reason Ajax had remembered to follow through with his skincare is because of Chiori scolding him for looking like a raccoon. Wait, did Chiori indirectly call him trash? That can’t be right, he thinks to himself while getting cozied up in his bed. 

Nah, she probably just meant my undereyes.

With that, he closes his eyes and lets sleep take over his body.

.

Ajax wakes up to the annoying sound of his phone. It’s been ringing so loudly for a while. He flings his hand out of his warm blanket and feels for his phone to turn the alarm off. But it wasn’t working. After many failed tries, he finally grabs his phone and brings it up to his face. 

Oh. Rosaline was calling him, and he didn’t even know for how long.

“Hell–”

“I’ve been calling you for the past half an hour. What have you been up to?” Rosaline’s loud voice almost makes a drill through his eardrums. 

“Sleeping. Which you have disturbed. Today’s my day off,” he retorts back sharply, although softened by his groggy morning voice. 

“Hmph. Anyways, don’t go check your social media today and lay low.”

He remains silent for a few seconds. “Why?”

Rosaline replies, “The usual, anti fans. So don’t do anything stupid. You know the drill. I knew something was wrong when things were so quiet recently.”

That wasn’t new news. Sadly. He has been an easy target for the anti fans recently. He isn’t even sure why Rosaline keeps warning him every time the hate comments rise up, but he appreciates it nevertheless. “Welcome to the entertainment industry. When is it ever quiet?” 

“Touché.”

.

xoxo . @somethingfizz

Isn’t it funny that Tarta*lia’s fans paid so much for his concert tickets, only for him to dance like a chicken. Like hello ??? Put in some effort ??? Your fans paid for you to perform ?? At least do the bare minimum. Dude looked like he woke up from sleep and thought we wouldn’t notice. 

| koutaro . @linzcrowd 

Replying to @somethingfizz 

passed by the venue. sucker sounded like a malfunctioning roomba. bet my roomba can sing better tho. actually, columbina is so much better than tarta*lia. her latest single wasn’t bad. at least better than chicken man. 

| #1 barbara’s biggest fan . @albert_heart_barbara 

Replying to @linzcrowd

why y’all censoring names while hating don’t be a coward and say the full name :))) bitches. this is why yall anti fans suck. 

| xoxo . @somethingfizz

Replying to @albert_heart_barbara 

Obviously so that his agency doesn’t sue us. Use your braincells. 

—

stawberry n cupcakes . @naruchyann 

trashtaglia fans logic: maybe if i share pro trashtaglia posts then they wont hate him anymore. 

NO!!!! It makes us hate him even MORE. lol. 

—

TARTAGLIA IS FLOP . @anti-tartar

Ajax Turov, you’re so ugly, not even makeup can help you. It looks so cakey, not even flies would wanna hover over you. Idk who decided to make you the face of your agency. If you have even a smidge of shame, get fucking lost from the ent industry and kys <3 thanks in advance. 

| taru chan <3 . @ceo_of_tartaglia

Replying to @anti-tartar

stop talking and look into the mirror first, you waste of air. 

| TARTAGLIA IS FLOP . @anti-tartar

Replying to @ceo_of_tartaglia

Boohoo :(( hurt your feelings? I’m only telling the truth. It’s even confirmed that he fucked his way up. No wonder he has 0 skills. Nepo baby. 

| 100% married to tartaglia . @bbylinx 

Replying to @anti-tartar 

Aweee :((( why don’t you look into the mirror first before talking? At least he’s making big money unlike you. You’re just a poor, unfortunate and jealous soul. 

—

Help me . @ imackhtually 

We should let Tartaglia fans have their own planet 

| tommy . @ freshavacadoo 

Replying to @ imackhtually

and then nuke it, along with the carrot man 

| kayden biased . @ idkbroinsertsmth

Replying to @ freshavacadoo

lol that’s right. then we can observe it 

are you interested in getting notified of my fic updates? well i have a taglist if that interests you!

[theinkbunny]

guys my bf is the cutest thing

and I don’t mean this in a “haha my bf is the best” he’s not. He tries but he ain’t perfect and I love that

I sometimes will go to sleep, and wake up to him having sent hundreds of cute animals , stuffies or pictures of say two really cute snakes with “us <3” at the bottom of it.

he sometimes gets upset when people don’t listen, so I often ask him to tell me about what his day was like/what the new theme was and where it was from. I swear the way he lights up about it makes me so happy and I don’t know why

He even made an entire board of stuff he knows I like. I cannot tell you how many times I get my notifs flooded with [100+ pins added to board!] from him spam saving Kirby or cute dresses for me

it’s been like three days and as of now [2023, Feb 17] it has over 900 pins on it. god dammit why does he make me so happy always

he literally only refers to me as “love” “darling” or “sweetiepop” , and on rare occasions “inky”

like, even randomly ranting about the new show he likes, or a mascot he adores it makes me so happy because it shows he’s actually comfortable talking to me about anything. He picks out necklaces and flowers for me when I’m offline , and has put hundreds of pictures to me of cute snakes and stuff

*violent sobbing* I just— I just love him so much

((This is Gonna be updated a lot-)

[thmgau]

CHAPTER 4 - A GIRL NAMED NATALIE [wattpad link]

---

The next morning, Leslie awoke in their own apartment. This was normal, considering they fell asleep in their apartment. What wasn’t normal was the necklace, which they seemed to have forgotten to take off.

“Oh! Silly me!” it chuckled. “Guess I’ll take this off now.”

Leslie attempted to take the necklace off. It did not budge. It tried everything it could think of: using scissors, burning it, yanking it.. but it still didn’t come off.

“That’s strange.” they mumbled to themself. If the necklace didn’t come off for Leslie, chances are it didn’t come off for any of their friends either. One glance at their phone would confirm that. They had over 50 notifications from the night before.

Cherry: this stupid necklace wont come off :/ Nora: wdym it wont come off Cherry: it won’t come off what more do i need to say Kalani: mine isnt coming off either 🤼‍♂️ Juniper: same Juniper: wonder if it has to do with that magic book we found yesterday Cherry: i swear if we get cursed by these things im gonna be so mad Cherry: im trying to get a bachelors degree i dont have time for curses

Leslie yawned, turning their phone off. “Oh, well. Might as well get ready for the day.”

It entered the living room, flipping on the TV as it started preparing breakfast. They usually liked to listen to the news while waking up, so typically their TV was always set on the news.

As Leslie was whisking the eggs (it was making an omelette), the news reporter on the TV started speaking.

“Good morning, Cincinnati! Today we have a peculiar story for you: the disappearance of many citizens. Over the past two days, a few hundred people have gone missing. Investigators have been looking into it, but they haven’t found anything yet.”

Missing people? This piqued Leslie’s interests. They poured the whisked eggs onto the pan as they looked at the TV.

“& it’s not just people, too. Bananas from the local supermarkets have also been reported as stolen. Some people have reported that they’ve seen a couple of the missing people with the bananas, but nobody can be too sure if they’re related or not.”

Bananas being stolen? Now this was just getting confusing to Leslie.

But then it thought back to the day before. Leslie & its friends had gone to that new banana restaurant for breakfast. The restaurant HAD to be related to the banana thefts... probably. Maybe it was all a coincidence, but nonetheless, Leslie was determined to figure it out.

They had to get to class first, though. They were a college student, after all.

-

Leslie walked into the seminar room approximately 15 minutes early. They thought 9 AM was way too early for a class to start, but it’s not like Leslie had any control of that.

Despite only being 15 minutes early, Leslie was one of only two people there. Another girl (who just so happened to sit next to Leslie) was there too. From what Leslie’s overheard from attendance, this girl’s name was Natalie. Leslie & Natalie usually didn’t talk much, for they were too entranced by whatever they were doing in class. They were both in the school play, though, but that’s really the only time they had interacted outside of class.

“Hey.” Natalie said, reaching for her bag. “Oh, uh.. hi!” Leslie waved. “Cool necklace.” “Thanks! I, uh.. got it from a friend.” “Neat.. Do they come in purple?” “Uh... I don’t know. I’d.. have to ask.” “I see.”

Natalie took a book out of her bag & placed it on her desk. Leslie got a look at it. It was the exact same book that they found yesterday.

“Nice scythes, by the way. They look badass.” Natalie grinned.

“You.. saw that?” Leslie asked. “Uh, of course I did. Why else would I have your book?” “Why were you even at an abandoned Pizza Hut in the first place?” “To smoke weed.” “Ok, fair.”

“Anyways,” Natalie continued. “Let’s cut to the chase. I want to be in your magical girl group.” “Oh, uh..” Leslie mumbled. “Don’t magical girl groups usually fight evil?” “As if it’s not painstakingly obvious you all are new to this. Of course you haven’t fought anything yet.” “Ok, well, um.. once you have a prophetic dream that gives you a necklace like ours, you can join-”

Natalie rolled her eyes. “Well, if that’s how you wanna be, then so be it.” she huffed, crossing her arms. “If you won’t let me be a hero, then I have no choice but to become a villain.” “I don’t think that’s your only choice-“ “PREPARE for your downfall- what’s your name?” “Oh! Uh.. Leslie!” “Thanks. Anyways..”

Natalie cleared her throat.

“PREPARE for your downfall, Leslie!” “Alright. Whatever you say.” Leslie chuckled.

-

It was around 4 PM, & everyone was done with their classes for the day. The group decided to get some lunch at the mall. It was just your average run-of-the-mill concession food. Nothing worth getting into detail about. They all sat at one of the open tables & started chowing down.

“Damn, I haven’t had mall food in a loooong time!” “When’s the last time we got this, anyhow?” “Uh.. two weeks ago.” “Two weeks is a long time!” “Not really, but ok.”

“Anyways,” Leslie spoke, taking a bite out of a burger. “Did you guys see the news this morning?” “No, I was busy sleeping in.” “Ah.. well, apparently a lot of people have been going missing lately.” “Huh. Weird.” “You know what’s even weirder? Bananas are being stolen from stores as well.” “Bananas?” “Yeah!” “What could one person need with so many bananas?” “One can only wonder. But I have a theory!” “Oh? Do go on.” “I believe that this is all related to that banana restaurant that opened up recently!” “The.. one we went to yesterday?” “Yup!”

The group kind of looked at each other.

“What makes you think that?” “C’mon, don’t tell me you don’t see the correlation! BANANAS are going missing? That Pim guy obviously spent all his budget on painting the walls, he’s gotta get ingredients somehow!” “Ok, that does sound a little reasonable.” “Yea, so that’s why I’m gonna break into the restaurant later to get some evidence.” “You’re gonna WHAT?!”

Leslie took another bite out of its burger. “You heard me. I’m breaking into that restaurant!” “You can’t break into a restaurant! You can barely muster the courage to kill a bug!” “Well, that’s different. Bugs are living creatures. Restaurants are not.” “The Mystery Flesh Pit would say otherwise.” “I don’t think you know what the Mystery Flesh Pit is, Juni.” “I’ll be fine! Don’t you worry! We still have that.. magic thingy anyway, so-” “THE BOOK!” Nora slammed her hands on the table. “We left the book at the abandoned Pizza Hut!” “I knew we forgot something!” “Well, let’s go back &-”

“Looking for something?”

The group turned around. Natalie was standing there, book in hand.

“Oh.. hey, Natalie!” Leslie chuckled nervously. “Hey.” “You know her?” “She’s in a few of my classes. Also she spied on us yesterday at the abandoned Pizza Hut.” “..& you didn’t think to TELL US THAT UNTIL NOW?” “I wasn’t SPYING on you! I was just there to get high!” “Like.. on weed?” “Yeah, what else would I be getting high on?”

The group shrugged.

“Whatever. That’s beside the point. Here’s the deal: you let me join your magical girl group & I give you the book back.”

Leslie groaned. “I already told you. If you have a prophetic dream about a shadow creature that gives you a necklace, then you can join.” “As if they give out prophetic dreams to anybody.” “Isn’t that the point of prophetic dreams?” “No???” “I’ve only gotten 1 prophetic dream in my lifetime, so I assume it’s not just for anyone.” “You’re getting off-topic. Am I joining the group or not?” “We don’t even know who you are!”

“Your loss.” Natalie said, walking away.

The group looked at each other.

“Should we go try to snatch the book from her?” “Count me out. I want to finish my fries.” “Well, count me in!”

Juniper, Kalani, & Nora hopped out of their seats. “Let’s get ‘er!” Juniper announced as the three of them started rushing after her.

Cherry sighed, looking at Leslie. “Hey, Les?” “Ya?” Leslie replied, mouth full of burger. “You think I could help you break into that restaurant? I don’t trust that banana guy myself, honestly. Plus, you don’t have a car.”

Leslie’s face lit up. “Of course!” “Then let’s do this thing.”

[jdgo51]

How the Root of Insecurity Is Tied to Your Identity

Today's inspiration comes from:

Killing Comparison

by Nona Jones

""I leaped out of bed when the alarm signaled it was time to wake up and hit the pavement. Ten minutes later, I was outside pressing “start running” on my fitness app and putting in my earbuds to listen to a worship music playlist. I was excited to run because the cool, crisp mornings between winter and spring are my favorite time of year.

I made it home just in time to give my seven-and ten-year-old sons sweaty hugs and my husband a sweaty kiss before they left for the day. Then I started my post-run routine of showering, stretching, making a pot of tea, and having some quiet time with the Lord. I was looking forward to my Bible study time because the cancelation of many of my speaking engagements allowed me to study for the fun of it without the pressure of preparing to give a message.

The Holy Spirit had led me to take an interest in the life of Jonathan, King Saul’s son. A lot was written about his father, and even more was written about his best friend, David, but I had never looked closely at Jonathan.

I started reading in 1 Samuel 14, which tells the story of how Jonathan waged an attack on a Philistine outpost with only his young armor-bearer by his side. As Jonathan made his way to Mikmash to fight two dozen Philistines by himself, his father, the king, rested comfortably under a pomegranate tree in Gibeah with six hundred soldiers. The juxtaposition of the two scenes was striking.

When Jonathan and his young armor-bearer reached the outpost, they saw that the Philistines were positioned on a cliff. This put Jonathan and his armor-bearer at a strategic disadvantage because it robbed them of the element of surprise. The climb to the Philistines’ position would also use precious energy they needed for the battle.

Nevertheless, Jonathan turned to his armor-bearer and said,

Come, let’s go over to the outpost of those uncircumcised men. Perhaps the Lord will act in our behalf. Nothing can hinder the Lord from saving, whether by many or by few. — 1 Samuel 14:6

I repeated that last line to myself: “Nothing can hinder the Lord from saving, whether by many or by few.” Something about it resonated. When the Lord is for us, we can be outnumbered but are never unprotected.

Insecurity Exposed

I read a couple more chapters and then decided it was time to start my day. I quickly checked my Facebook page to respond to comments and messages and then did the same on Instagram. Although I normally go straight to my Instagram notifications, that day I caught a glimpse of my newsfeed first. And that’s when the downward emotional spiral started.

After scrolling for what felt like an eternity, I counted no fewer than eight friends posting the exciting news that they were joining an amazing roster of speakers for a major women’s conference that was going virtual because of the pandemic. Since I don’t follow many people on social media, it seemed like the only thing in my newsfeed was an avalanche of exciting announcements about speaking at the Full Blossom Conference.

“Why wasn’t I invited to speak?” I asked aloud. “It’s like Susie asked everyone we mutually know except me.”

With each new post, I felt what can only be described as the stab of an emotional ice pick to the heart. My mind was clouded with hurt, so I stopped scrolling, closed Instagram, and looked out my living room window into a beautiful day. The skies were blue and filled with fluffy white clouds. Birds bounded from limb to limb on the tree just outside my window. But the beauty outside couldn’t overcome the ugliness churning inside me.

An old, familiar hurt resurfaced inside — the hurt of being unwanted.

I’ve had a full speaking schedule for years, despite never once advertising myself as a speaker or asking to speak at events. And I receive more speaking invitations for business and church conferences than I can accept. I’ve been invited to speak on multiple continents and keynoted major conferences across the United States and abroad. Yet, somehow, not being invited to speak at this conference bothered me.

Comparison makes what never mattered before the thing that matters most.

I’d heard of Full Blossom before and had never desired to speak at it, but after I saw many of the people in my ministry circle invited to speak there, my exclusion catalyzed a self-worth inquisition.

Comparison makes what never mattered before the thing that matters most.

As I sat down at my desk and opened my laptop, I felt a magnetic pull back to Instagram. I had back-to-back video conferences every thirty minutes for the next seven hours, so I set my phone down and logged on for the first meeting. Within ten minutes, I had discreetly unlocked my phone, opened Instagram, and continued the scroll. An irresistible and poisonous thread tugged on my heart and distracted me from work.

I went to Susie’s profile and saw post after post of her gushing about each speaker: how incredible they were and how perfect the conference would be because of them. My chest tightened, and a lump grew in my throat as I watched a video of her enthusiastically naming several of my friends as speakers. Although she spoke about them, my heart heard her speaking to me: Nona, I know who you are. I’ve seen what you do. And you’re not good enough. You’re not what I’m looking for. You’re just average.

I had not only constructed the full-blown, play-by-play narrative for why Susie hadn’t invited me but also decided I needed to unfollow everyone she had invited to speak. My heart felt like it would shatter if I saw one more friend’s post about the awesome conference I wasn’t invited to speak at. I didn’t want to wade through endless reminders that they were speaking at the conference and I wasn’t.

“Why did she pick everyone around me but not me?” I asked aloud again. The more I thought about it, the more my hurt turned to anger. But in my anger, I heard the Holy Spirit ask a different question: “Why does it matter?”

“Why does it matter?” I responded incredulously. “Because everyone who’s anyone will be speaking there. And I’m not. This will be the largest online women’s ministry gathering of the year, and I will be absent.”

“So you think you matter only because of the speaking invitations you receive?” the Holy Spirit asked.

“No,” I said. “I know I matter to You. I just... I just...” I stammered as the weight of the truth settled on me.

“Go ahead,” the Holy Spirit prompted, “say it.”

“I just want to matter to them too,” I whispered, tears forming in the corners of my eyes.

“I know, Nona. You want to matter to them because you’re insecure,” the Holy Spirit said matter-of-factly.

“Insecure?” I responded with disbelief. “I’m not insecure! Far from it. I know who I am in You. I preach about it regularly. Besides, I have everything I could ever want and more than I could ever have imagined. I’m definitely not insecure!”

The Root of Insecurity

With love and conviction, the Holy Spirit said, “Nona, you think people are insecure if they don’t like how they look or don’t like what they have or don’t like what they do. Those are expressions of insecurity, but they’re not the root of insecurity. The root of insecurity is when your identity is built on an insecure foundation.”

As I considered what the Holy Spirit said, I felt defensive. “My identity is secured to You, Lord. I know what the Word says about who I am, and I believe it. How can You say I’m insecure?”

“Yes, you know what my Word says, and you also believe it,” affirmed the Holy Spirit. “But knowledge and belief are not the same as faith. As long as you know my Word in your head and believe it in your heart but don’t practice it daily, your identity will continue to be secured to the affirmation of others. You have built your identity on people’s approval. People show their approval with likes on social media, but I demonstrated my approval through love on the cross. I approved of you before you were formed in your mother’s womb. And my approval is unchanging.”

The truth in these words hit me like a Mack truck. So much of my life had been spent trying to win people’s approval, and maybe yours has too.

The approval of others is never permanent, and it often depends on variables that are beyond our control. People use things such as height, weight, wealth, popularity, theology, position, or political affiliation as “approval filters” to determine whether we’re good enough for them. Yet God approved of us before there was anything to approve of. God created us on purpose, with purpose.

The Holy Spirit said, “Nona, the reason you’re hurt by not being invited to speak at that conference is because you measure your worth based on how much people approve of you compared to others. When you aren’t secured to the stable foundation of who I say you are, you drift with the shifting currents of others’ opinions about you. When you drift from Me, you have to secure your identity to people’s opinions to stay afloat. Your insecurity didn’t start this morning. You’ve been insecure most of your life.”

I sat in silence with my eyes closed, reflecting on what the Holy Spirit had said. Before I knew it, my eyes were brimming with tears. The Holy Spirit was right — as always.

Somewhere along the line, I had surrendered my purpose for performative applause. God had valued me before I even had the ability to perform my way into his love. Though God determined I was worth dying for at my worst (Romans 5:8), I made the mistake of conflating my eternal, intrinsic value with likes, follows, shares, and speaking invitations. And the craziest part of it all is that no one knew. Not even me. It happened subtly, over time.

With every larger platform I stepped onto, my heart had slowly detached from the secure foundation of God’s approval and attached itself to the insecure foundation of other people’s approval, creating insecurity.

“Lord, You’re right,” I said. “You say in your Word that people honor You with their lips but their hearts are far from You. I now understand what You mean. I have honored You with my lips, but I’m not honoring You with my life. Lord, I need Your help. Please deliver me from insecurity.”

“Nona, what you’re asking will require more than you expect, but if you trust Me and obey Me, I will help you get to freedom. You must no longer look to others for approval; you must look only to Me.”

“Lord, I’m ready,” I said.

“No, you’re not. But that’s what My grace is for.”

Just as Jonathan was outnumbered against the Philistines, we can feel overwhelmed by seeming to never measure up. But the same divine grace that enabled His victory is the same grace that enables our victory over insecurity too."'

Adapted with permission from Killing Comparison by Nona Jones, copyright Nona Jones. Shared with permission from biblegateway.com.

[theficblog]

CATS, BRUSHES AND YOU

TEN LEE

Prologue: How far will things go with this random guy you met online? It might not always be as simple.

Genre: Fluff + Social Media AU

Wordcount: 1,808

Warnings: Mild language

It wasn't too long ago since you started stalking this one account, banana_brushes. All their feed ever had to offer was art, which was probably their own, and cats, which you assumed were also theirs. You were sure you had seen a hundred other profiles updating with the same thing, but this just felt different from day one.

You still consider yourself very lucky though, the astonishment on your face was very real the day the same user slid into your DMs. No, you never interacted with any of their posts so there was no chance of getting caught, all you ever did was simply view. 

"Hey there, I hope I'm not being annoying but would you let me know what medium did you use for the watery thing effect in your last post?" You thought it was a genuine query, which it was, making you leave an immediate reply.

"Thanks, I run an art account too, though."

It was from that very moment you started talking with this random guy online. In a week or more the talks matured from arts and cats to somewhat general ones, you see, how any two strangers would get to know each other.

The two of you now held deep conversations, as time passed. Even though it was only via typing on a social media platform. Maybe it was due to the fact that you knew things would always stay anonymous. There was an absolute zero possibility of seeing or meeting him in the flesh, your real identities would never be revealed, thus blessing you with the freedom to not hold back any opinions, or to spit out whatever the fuck your heart wanted you. You knew you could always block him or report him if things ever went south. To you, it was so much better than having to interact with real-life people. Yeah, call it living in a fake world or whatever, but at least this was something that made you feel at ease.

Your conversations with banana_brushes still continued as smoothly as a rom-com movie, and it was not until this fine evening that you started to see him in a different light.

Your attention was diverted to your notifications as soon as you came home from a trashy day of work, it was him again, and you didn't know for what reason in the heavens, it made you smile.

"Since I've never seen you, I drew what I think you would look like."

He captioned a picture with another one of his works, which he made keeping you in mind, making your lips curve themselves again. Just pondering over the thought that a person did put in some sort of effort while thinking of you was beyond precious, provided the fact that he was not "real". You never saw him, let alone meet him in the flesh. The art piece was phenomenal, as expected. He really knew his brushes. It was not like he traced an angel onto the canvas, it was what anyone would label as "ordinary" but maybe that was what made you resonate with it in a flash of a second.

"Hmm, well full marks for the effort, and that's actually quite pretty! thanks." You replied back without wasting a minute.

"And, I kind of think I look better than that." You teased him, and the text was sent along with a tongue-out winking emoji. 

"Oh! I would have no clue." He was still typing as you glued your eyeballs to the screen. "The only thing I have ever seen is your art."

With a raised eyebrow, you ran your fingers across your keypad. There was no way you were going to let this sassy stranger win. 

"The only thing I have ever seen is your cats". With this, you dropped your phone onto the bed. This was one of the many perks of talking to people online, disconnecting at any time you felt like.

-

The next morning was nothing special. The same cycle of waking up, getting ready, and leaving for work. There were times you really sat and pondered something interesting happening in your life, at least for once as you sipped on your coffee. Life was no better than the stagnant lake waters. 

The last time you remember having an adrenaline rush was probably the night before your job interview. It has been two years since then.

-

"No way in fucking hell!" You cursed under your breath, making sure you blinked a dozen times and pinching yourself. 

You took quick steps towards the table, grabbing the canvas in your hands. It was the same that the Instagram guy sent you last night. What on earth was it doing here at your office? Did he manage to track your address down? What if he were a creep? Oh, how could you ever be so stupid to forget the dark side of this alluring internet?

It also seemed like your morning wish had come true, for the adrenaline hormone kicked it, along with this strange feeling in your gut.

"Excuse me?" You heard a voice from behind, you turned back out of reflex, with a pale face and mouth hanging open.

The man looked at you with an uncomfortable stare, pointing to the article you held in your hands. "Ummm, that?" He questioned. Did it by any chance belong to him? For the sake of God, let it be his.

"Ten?" You asked in disbelief.

"You know me?" He inquired back, with a change of tone.

Of course, you knew him. Even though this was the first face-to-face interaction you both had had in the last two years, you were well aware of his presence.

"If I'm not wrong, you are Y/N? I think I've seen you at the cafeteria a few times, you're a part of the-"

"Wait, you have cats?" You cut his unnecessary words off.

He was taken aback, how did you come to know about his precious babies? Before he could comprehend, you thew another question on his way. "And since when do you draw?"  This guy was not understanding a thing, his face showed that he could not make out, as though you spoke Greek. 

There was no time to waste. You hurriedly rummaged through your tote bag, pulling out your phone. 

"User banana underscore brushes?" You flashed your Instagram screen right before his eyes, which kept on getting wider and wider.

"User i know my underscore brushes?"  He took a long breath, nodding his head. "That was you?" He reciprocated the same reactions you displayed about a minute ago.

"Now you know embarrassing things about me! Hold on you also know my life problems?! Please don't tell the boss I called him a dick the other day!" He blurted out in a single breath, eyes wandering from left to right at the speed of light, palming his face out of embarrassment.

But it was not only you that had this advantage, texts had always been mutual.

"Only if you don't tell him that it was me who changed the PPT link to that of Dora the Explorer last week, and also just ignore all the bitching I've ever done about this place." You declared, resting your hands on your hips. 

"What the fuck? That was you!?" He burst into a shrill laugh.

"Huh?" You exclaimed.

"I mean that was super fun, also, I won't tell anyone. Deal?" His offer only made sense.

"Deal!" You raised your hand up, earning a high-five from him.

Before you could go back and continue with your otherwise boring day, ten interrupted. "Y/N!" 

"You're good at drawing and stuff." This came out of nowhere, why was he trying to make it awkward?

"Thanks, you've told me that before, and so are you!" You shined a tooth-wide smile as you turned back again, signalling your leave.

"Do you have any pets?" He asked abruptly, as though he had been caught with a gun near a corpse.

"I already told you that I did not." You laughed awkwardly again.

"Then let's go get some coffee." Ten offered. 

"Right now?" This was not a confirmation from your side but a denial. You stood there as you looked at him with a confused face again. 

Confusion has reigned supreme in this scenario throughout.

He took out his phone with the Kuromi phone grip out of his back pocket, his fingers were running like crazy, and there were visible beads of sweat on his forehead. You thought he had just offered you coffee.

You too started to do the same, smartphones turned out to be lifesavers in awkward situations. 

The first thing you noticed was the unseen messages from Ten yesterday, you must have ignored them last night until it turned out they were not meant to be ignored.

Ten, on the other hand, buried his face in his palms, not having the courage to face you, he was too late, by now you had read it all.

"You what?" You questioned in disbelief. "Yo-you have a crush on me?"

He was ready with an explanation even before you finished. "I think it's a bit more than that now that I know who you are, Y/N." He expressed, his tone sincere, looking at you directly and making eye contact with you.

He shook his head. "I'm sorry Y/N I did not want to let you know like this, who confesses like this-"

He talked a lot, and you were cutting him off, a lot.

You took steps closer, inches away from his body, holding him by the shoulders, trying to lean closer.

"Are-are you going to kiss me now?" He stammered. 

"May I?" You asked.

Ten nodded before shutting his eyes. You did the same and brought yourself closer, his awkward hands held you by the waist. The touch was sweet, creating a tingling sensation in your body. No, this was not your first kiss, but it sure felt special.

It felt like the blow on a wound, comforting. It felt like a scratch on the neck, satisfying, and it felt like a glass of wine, soothing. 

You caressed his pink lips with your thumb as you pulled back. 

"Does this mean you like me back?" He asked with curious eyes and now you could clearly appreciate his cat-like features. Soft, yet sharp.

"I think it means that most of the time, so yeah." You said.

"Makes sense." Ten giggled, his sassy self seemed to have melted away with one kiss.

"Also" he continued "That painting stands nowhere in front of you, you're way prettier." He remarked with a subtle smile.

"No no please this doesn't suit you!" You hit his hand playfully before the laughter erupted between you two once again.

Finally, in the midst of a boring life, a bright spot.

LET ME KNOW YOUR VIEWS + ALSO SEE : MASTERLIST

PLEASE REFRAIN FROM PLAGIARIZING ,TRANSLATING, OR POSTING OUTSIDE THIS PLATFORM.  

[wellhellotragic]

The Placeholder (2/2)

Summary: Emma is not the girl that boys date. She’s the girl that he sleeps with but never tells his friends about. She’s the girl that he’ll cuddle with and then ghost. She’s the fun one who he goes out with but not the one he goes home with. She’s the one that fixes him so he can be with someone else. She’s the placeholder, the one who works for now but won’t ever be his forever.

A/N: This fic is based on a TikTok video that was just heartbreaking, where the creator always came in second. If you want to watch the video, you can find it here, but this story can be read without watching it.

It’s three months later when she runs into Robin in the street, turning her entire world upside down. Killian is engaged.

 There’s a bottle of rum at the back of the cabinet above the refrigerator. She finds it while looking for her favorite mug, completely certain and irrationally irate that Killian took it with him when he left. Because that’s what she does. People leave and unable to deal with the pain of being left behind, she looks for reasons to hate them instead.

 It’s his favorite bottle. The expensive bottle that he bought when he started his firm. The one he was saving for a special occasion, so it was hidden away out of sight.

 She’s angry, and turnabout feels fairplay. She’s two tumblers in when her anger turns to grief, and she decides to make her first Tiktok video. It takes her a second to figure it out, especially in her slightly drunken state, but once she does, she catches sight of herself on the screen. Tears fall, and before she knows it, she’s spilling out all of her pain.

 I am not the girl that boys date.

  I am the girl that is pretty enough to sleep with but not pretty enough to brag about to his friends. 

  I am the girl that he will cuddle with on the weekends and then not message throughout the week. 

  I am the girl who is fun to go out with and dance with and have a drink with but not to take to breakfast the next day. 

  I am the girl that will show him that he can be loved and deserves to be loved before he finds somebody better. 

  I am not the girl that boys date. I am the placeholder until they find someone better.

 She goes to sleep after, waking late the next morning to multiple alerts on her phone. 40,000 people have liked a video she barely remembers making. She’s about to delete it, mortified that she let herself be so bare in her rum fueled state, but then she sees them. Duets of her video, hundreds of women putting their own spin on her words, making aesthetic videos to her voice and it hits her. 

 Emma Swan may be alone, but she isn’t alone in the world. She isn’t the only one feeling so unlovable, so she leaves the video up, hoping that it helps other women to realize that they aren’t alone as well.

 By the end of the week, her video has almost 4 million likes amongst whoever knows how many views. She loses track of all of the comments and stitches, finally just turning off her notifications, overwhelmed by the comradery. Sure, there are some snarky and misogynist comments, but they become drowned by the words of encouragement, letting her know that she's loved and that her time is coming.

 They don’t know her though, don’t know that she’s irrevocably broken.

 She dives back into her work, trying to ignore the lingering sting in her heart. She also ignores the ribbing that she takes when one of the paralegals comes across her video sharing it with the whole firm. 

 It takes another two months for the jokes to die down. 

 There’s a new junior partner that joins them, and against all odds, she and Emma become fast friends. Well, friends isn’t exactly the right word for it. They’re the yin and yang of the law firm, and together they have an undefeated court record. And she’s the closest thing that Emma Swan has to a confidant.

 It’s on a Saturday, four months after her original post that Elsa first brings it up, letting her know that she saw the video. Emma chalks it up to a lack of sleep and stress which had caused her to have an emotional breakdown one night, trying to laugh it off. But Elsa isn’t so easily dissuaded and she won’t let it go.

 Instead, she tells Emma that the video is part of the reason she chose to work at that firm. She could see something in her vulnerability that drew her in, because who else could be trusted to fight for children than someone who knows what it was like to feel forsaken.

 Emma tries to brush her off, but she forges on, asking Emma if she’s seen the replies to her video, thrusting her phone in her face. There are so many stitches that she knows she’ll never find the time to watch them all, but Elsa is relentless and shows her a few that are the most commented on. 

 Some are like the one she’s already seen, women mouthing words of encouragement, and some are women crying and nodding along, pointing at her video as if to punctuate the end of each statement. But it’s the last one Elsa goes to show her that has her gasping for air. The one Elsa says is the most heart wrenching.

 Blue eyes stare back from the screen, and she’s so mesmerized by the sight of him, that she doesn’t even read the words flashing across the screen. It’s too much.

 She leaves work, feigning a headache.

 When she gets back to her still empty apartment, she feels like igniting the world to flames. Wine bottles fly across the room, she screams into pillows. The world around her is burning in her rage.

 He broke her and used her for views.

 Emma Swan is a glutton for punishment though, and as her anger boils over, she opens her phone, looking for his video so she can block him, or leave him a hateful comment. She wants him to know what he’s done to her. Wants the world to know.

 But her resentment dies on her tongue as she gets back to his video, and sees the anguish in his face. She’d missed it before, the bags under his eyes. The way his hair is mussed in every direction from him running his hands through it, something he absentmindedly did when he was stressed. The way the sparkle was gone.

 She hits play, letting it all sync in this time, letting her eyes scan the words that appeared next to her own.

   I am not the guy that dates. Not anymore. 

  I’m the guy that fell in love and wanted to be able to sing it from the rooftops, but she wasn’t mine.

  I’m the guy that obsessively carried his phone everywhere with him just so he wouldn’t miss a message from her, and still kept checking his phone once she was gone, because he felt phantom vibrations all week, and now he spend each weekend alone on the couch wondering what if. 

  I’m the guy that went to our diner every Sunday morning for a month hoping to run into her getting breakfast, and then went home sulking, drinking when she never showed.

  I am the guy that was shown that he could still be loved and deserved to be loved before he ruined it all, because he was terrified of losing her when she was the only one that ever mattered.

  I am not the guy that dates girls. I am the heartbreak when the story ends.

 She would be mad at all of the comments if she didn’t already know how in pain he already was. There were lines of women, drooling over him, reaching out hoping to each be the one that fixed him. She’s already done that though, and what has it gotten her?

 She is about to exit out of the app when she notices that there is one comment that he’s replied to. Someone asks for a storytime, and against her better judgment, she clicks on it. It’s just him, sitting on what she assumes is a stool as he leans against a counter. 

 He is in her favorite shirt, one she’d bought him for good luck during a major design pitch that she told him brought out his eyes.

   So, uh, a few of you have asked for a storytime. I’m afraid many of you might find yourselves disappointed as it isn’t much of a tale. My whole life, I felt like an outsider, and tried as hard as I might, there was never a place for me that felt like I belonged. Until I met a woman who changed my whole life.

 Emma has to pause the video, grabbing a glass of the only unsmashed wine bottle to help her stomach whatever he is going to wax poetic about Milah. She’s only met the woman a handful of times, and she’s nice enough, but all Emma can think about is the fact that she stole Killian, and in her mind, she’ll forever be the villain. 

 A glass and a half of merlot later, she pulls his video back up and hits play.

   She was the last thing I ever expected, having resigned myself to a lonely life. But she blew in, and before I knew it, she had consumed my soul, and everything I was was hers. She made me believe in myself again, told me that I was worth something. But before her, everything I’d ever touched had turned to ashes, and I was terrified to tell her how I felt, because I knew that eventually I’d ruin everything. So instead, like the coward I am, I threw myself into the arms of another, hoping to drown out the longing in my heart that screamed for her. But in doing so, I lost her anyway.

  I briefly let myself believe that I could move on and be happy in the relationship I was in. I gave myself to it completely, or I tried to. I even proposed thinking that if I just took that step, I’d forget the woman that haunted the very recesses of my mind, taking up residence in my dreams. 

  But then I came across the video that mine was stitched with, and I knew that I would never have with my fiance what I had with her, that she was the love of my life, and without her, there was no point in pretending with someone else. So I ended my engagement and made that video. 

  I suppose a part of me hopes that maybe she will see it, that she will know that I realize how much I’ve mucked everything up. But perhaps most of all, I want her to know how sorry I am for the pain I’ve caused her, and even if she never forgives me, I just need her to know that even though she often felt like nothing, to me she was everything.

 He gives the screen a small sad smile before standing and leaning towards the camera, and the video cuts off.

 She sits in stunned silence, not quite sure how to process what she’s just seen. It’s been months since he dueted her video and he’s made zero effort to reach out to her beyond the stitch, so she’s left to wonder about his authenticity. Killian has never been a man to do things by half measures, and if he really wanted her, he would have found her already. 

 She blocks him and deletes the app.

 It’s three days later when there’s a knock on her door. 

 It’s a man in a tailored suit delivering a small manilla envelope, insistent that she sign for it. He doesn’t give any indication what he’s there for as he slides the package into her hands, just nods toward the item she’s clutching and tells her that once she opens it, she’ll understand.

 Her name is written in the center of the package, along with her address in unfamiliar handwriting. There’s no return address, and she’s hesitant to open it, having heard horror stories at work.

 Eventually curiosity wins out, but not stupidity as she dons a pair of latex cleaning gloves just in case there is danger lurking inside.

 What she finds takes the air straight from her lungs, leaving with a gasp on her lips and a single tear shed onto the page. She has a brother, by blood, and he wants to meet her. He only recently discovered that she even exists or he would have sought her out sooner, but he understands that it may be too much for her right now. He gives her his name, number, and address, writing that his door is always open to her.

 It’s too much and not enough all at the same time. She’s been alone for nearly her entire life, and the idea of there being someone out there in the world, someone who looks like her, maybe has some of the same mannerisms, well it’s simply terrifying. What if she can’t measure up to his expectations, or what if he doesn’t measure up to hers. Life has taught her over and over that she’s not the type of person who gets a happy ending.

 But she caves. It takes weeks before she can summon the courage to send him a text, not quite ready to hear his voice. Texting is safe, she can step away, she can change her number even, if needed. They start with little things, like their jobs, interests, music tastes. It’s all superficial, and if she didn’t know better she might think that he was just as nervous as her.

 He’s a cop with the Boston PD. In time, she learns about his wife, a school teacher who actually teaches not far from where she lives, and he convinces her to meet him for lunch in a diner not far away as he puts it. He has no way of knowing that it’s a diner she frequented once upon a time, that it holds memories she can’t bear.

 And in true form, Emma cancels at the last minute telling him she has a work emergency. He’s persistent though, and won’t give up on her now. He tells her that family doesn’t give up on eachother, and she wonders where he got that idea from because their parents surely didn’t share the same mentality when they gave her away.

 It’s David’s birthday, and he’s having a get together at his house. A casual affair and he asks her to drop by, telling her that it won’t be awkward. She debates going, right up until the minute that she finds herself on his stoop, her hand a hair's width away from knocking. She can’t quite bring herself to do it, but she isn’t walking away yet either, which for Emma is progress she supposes.

 She isn’t sure how long she’s been standing there when a hand on her shoulder makes her jump, shaking her head to clear the thoughts running circles. The face on the other side of the arm holding onto her is shockingly familiar and she’s confused until he explains that Mary Margaret is Roland’s teacher and then Emma remembers the Nolan name from the trial depositions. She’d actually interviewed her maybe-kinda-sorta-sister-in-law and learned how she took a special interest in watching over them after the boy’s mother passed away.

 It’s almost a cosmic joke how small the world is, and how intent the universe is on littering her life with small reminders of ‘him.’ 

 Meeting David isn’t as awkward as she expected it to be. He introduces her to everyone as his sister, like it’s just a simple fact that she belongs and her heart nearly explodes at how unreasonably right it all feels. Emma actually knows a few of the officers at the party, having worked with them on some of her cases. She chats with guests as David mingles, looking so happy every time they lock eyes, as if her being there somehow means the whole world to him. And maybe it does if the way his wife gives her knowing glances. 

 She even speaks to Robin for a bit, catching up on all of the progress he’s made since she won his case for him. She doesn’t question him about Killian, and he has the good sense not to bring the man up either.

 The weeks turn to months, and Emma finds herself standing back on David’s stoop, knocking this time only because her hands are full of presents for her family. A word that still leaves her shocked sometimes as she says it outloud. She doesn’t normally wait at the door anymore, Mary Margaret having been insistent that she just walk in, because again, they’re family now.

 There’s something strange in the way with which she’s melded into this family unit. With how David knows exactly what she needs, like he’s always known her. Like he’s somehow been there for the more intimate moments of her life and understands why she is the way she is.

 It’s a smaller gathering this time. Just the misfits as David puts it, the family he’s adopted along the way, having spent too much time alone in this life as well. She’s learned a little about her birth parents, not enough for her to forgive them by any means, but maybe enough to understand them, because to the ugly duckling turned swan, forgiveness and understanding have never been synonymous.

 David’s father left when he was young, almost too young to remember him, and at the time, he had no idea that his mother was pregnant. With no formal education above high school, and no job, she knew that she couldn’t take care of two children, so she gave Emma up, hoping for a better life for her. Ruth passed years before, having taken her secret to her grave.

 In fact, it isn’t until that night, on a cold and snowy Christmas Eve that Emma learns how David even found out about her. The night is winding down and everyone is leaving, even Robin with a sleeping Roland resting in his arms. He says his goodbyes, but asks Emma to follow him outside for a moment. She obliges, and it’s there that the lifeboat she’s carefully been tiptoeing across nearly capsizes. 

 He shouldn’t be telling her this, he swore that he wouldn’t, but he thinks it’s stupid how headstrong they’re both being, and from someone who would give anything for even a few more minutes with his wife, he can’t stand the idea of them wasting what they have. With that, he hands her a folded piece of paper that’s been hiding away in his pocket all night.

 She waits until she gets home to read it, and then waits some more. It’s Christmas Morning, and she’s supposed to be heading back to her brother’s house to unwrap presents and drink ungodly amounts of cocoa, but instead, she’s curled up on her floor reading Robin’s chickscratch for the fifth time. 

 It was Killian. 

 He sought out a private investigator to look into Emma’s past, because as Robin put it, even though he screwed up and couldn’t be there for her anymore, he didn’t want her to be alone. That Killian wants to give her the world, he just doesn’t think he has a place in it anymore. 

 Robin also includes an address.

 She doesn’t go. 

 Instead she self sabotages and orders her usual from Mr. Wong’s around the corner and eats until the pain in her overcrowded stomach is stronger than the pain in her heart. She watches movies and yells at the scream about how they are all lies. That people don’t really make these grand romantic gestures. And she drinks wine until the fog overtakes her muddled mind.

 It’s David that finally puts her in her place having let himself in after days of not hearing from her, worry etched into his face until he sees her wallowing. They argue, yelling about this and that. She’s mad that he never told her about Killian and the private eye, and he tells her to grow up and stop playing the victim. That neither of them can change their pasts, but they can change their futures.

 She tries to kick him out and tell him that they are finished, barely more than strangers, but he tells her he isn’t giving up. That siblings fight and she needs to get used to it because it’s not going to be that last time that they disagree. He does take his exit though, knowing she needs time to process, but he leaves her with a final thought, picking the now crumpled note up off the coffee table, handing it back to her.

  He’s all she has left in this world, but he doesn’t have to be.

 His profile is gone from the app. She’s searched every combination she could think of but the videos that were stitched are gone now. She never should have blocked him.

 It’s seven pm on New Year’s Eve when she makes the decision to find him, not wanting to start another year without him. Not if he’ll have her anyway. She doesn’t even take time to throw a bag together, too aware that she only has five hours until midnight, and the drive to New York takes four in normal traffic. 

 The world is absolutely against her in the most tragic way possible. She gets a flat tire just outside of Hartford and her sweater is nearly ruined by the time she gets it changed. The traffic is horrendous and somewhere near Eastchester she gives up, parking her car in a random grocery store parking lot before running to a subway station. 

 She’s out of breath, nearly doubling over with a pain in her side, but she’s made it with four minutes to spare. With four minutes to gather enough courage to grab him by his shirt and kiss him into next year.

 She scans the piece of paper, making sure she really does have the right address before knocking, knowing it’s late and not wanting to disturb his neighbor by accident. But she’s in the right place, and with the minute hand on her watch now reminding her that she only has three minutes left, she pounds on the door, hoping he can hear it above the chaos of the city. 

 The door swings open, and she’s crestfallen with a short stocky forty something man opens the door, nearly growling at her as he does. She has the right apartment, but she’s about a week too late and now someone new lives in the apartment. 

 It’s late, and she should just get a hotel room in the city, but she can’t stay. Doesn’t want to. She just needs to get home, back to her own bed in Boston. Or to cry in a hot shower until the water runs cold. She’ll take either at this point, but she doesn’t want to be here, in a strange city mourning the what ifs.

 What if she had gone when Robin first gave her his address? What if she had replied to his video when she first saw it? What if she has just stopped being such a coward and told him how she felt before he ever had the chance to meet Milah?

 But now she’ll never know.

 Getting back to her car isn’t nearly as difficult. Everyone is still busy enjoying the festivities near Times Square and the train is nearly empty. The drive back is just as uneventful, although somehow every single radio station seems to be mocking her life choices with their song selections. 

 With Boston approaching in her windshield, she lets the tears finally fall, feeling safer in the embrace of the known. This is her city, her home, and she’s missed it tonight. Or maybe she misses what it used to be. So she lets herself grieve the ambiguous loss.

 The city is still lively as she drives down Boylston, people nearly falling over themselves in the street as she tries not to hit them. It’s stupid how accurate her brother was. She is alone, and he is all that she has left in this world. And it’s all her own fault for putting up her walls.

 It doesn’t help her wallowing that all of the street parking is taken in front of her building and it’s about twenty minutes of aimless driving before she caves and parks her car in her work parking garage, taking yet another grimmy subway train home as she avoids men with loose lips from too much liquor on her street.

 She’s almost there, ready to just crawl into the abyss, but there’s a man sitting on the curb blocking the front door, and she can’t quite make him out through the haze of tears that have reformed. She’s not completely able to discern if he looks threatening or if he’s just drunk enough to let her pass by unscathed. Taking in the way he’s slumped over with his head tucked into his arms against his legs, she assumes it’s the latter and tries to quietly walk past, sniffing into her sweater sleeve as she goes, alerting him to her presence.

 His voice is shaky and her name is a question on his lips. She feels betrayed, because there’s simply no way she’s hearing the voice she thinks she is. Her mind must be playing tricks. It’s almost five in the morning and she hasn’t slept. That’s it. A hallucination.

 Except it’s not. Somehow he’s there, looking as weary as she feels. They should talk, but it’s late, or early depending on how she looks at it, and she’s too exhausted to do anything but grab his hand and drag him upstairs and into her bed. 

 They don’t speak. He just reads her silent cues, and like he never left, he knows exactly what she needs without her having to ask for it. And what she needs right now is to just feel him, so he removes his jeans and crawls under the covers, scooping her up and holding on for dear life. 

 They’ll talk about it tomorrow, and the next day and the next, because she’s never letting him leave her again.

 In the end, she’s not the placeholder until he finds someone better. And he’s not the heartbreak when the story ends. 

 No.

 They’re the sudden turn of a blank page, an empty slate with nothing but promise.

[ventihonklightice]

period pains || sapnap

Sapnap x fem!reader

Word count: 1.5k words

Summary: Sapnap, being the amazing, super, terrific boyfriend he is, went to buy y/n tampons. needless to say, she got plenty.

Moving in with Sapnap and Dream was exciting. It got to the point where Y/n was at their house almost everyday, so it was an easy acclimation. At first, Y/n was nervous about how living with her boyfriend’s best friend would work, but it was surprisingly more manageable than she thought. She wasn’t nervous about walking around Dream anymore, though her cheeks would glow a particular shade of red after late night rendezvous with Sapnap that he pretended to not hear. Little did she know, he spared her the mockery by privately doing so to Sapnap.

Currently though on a somewhat cloudy Florida day, her boyfriend was out with said best friend and roommate before the Texan received a text.

y/n <3

do you love me

He put down his drink at the sight of the notification popping up on his phone, quirking a brow at his girlfriend’s words while his friend proceeded to eat his meal.

sappy pandas

??

of course I do

where’s this coming from?

Sapnap was slightly concerned, knowing Y/n to be more reserved when asking for his affirmation of love.

y/n <3

since you love me

can you pretty pretty pretty pls

get me tampons

and stuff

I am suffering

He chuckled at the multiple text bubbles that appeared on his screen, causing Dream to divert his attention from his food to his friend’s phone.

sappy pandas

oh shit

I’m sorry :((

We’ll be back in 30 or 40 minutes <3

Y/N groaned, not being able to take the pain any longer and just wanting cuddles with her boyfriend, though regardless, she appreciated his actions.

y/n <3

omg thank you

thank you

I love you so much

Sapnap smiled widely, quickly moving his fingers to text a reply. “Y/n?” Dream asked, taking yet another bite. Sapnap just nodded his head, focused on his girl.

sappy pandas

yeah yeah love you too baby

“Can we stop by Walgreens or something on the way back? She needs stuff,” he spoke to Dream who was currently scarfing down the rest of the food. He nodded his head, still chewing.

“Also, can we order her food?” Sapnap asked shyly. Dream chuckled at the comment, “oh so now I’m both your AND her sugar daddy? I’m going broke because of you two.”

Sapnap blushed, feeling bad about making the blond pay even though he almost always insisted. “I-I’ll pay for it dude, it’s not a big deal.”

Dream shook his head, taking a sip of his soda, “no. Never. I literally asked you to come here, I’m not making you pay for shit.”

The waitress came back, taking the plates and asking if we’d like a check, with the boys instead asking for a menu.

Half an our later, the pair was going across the street of the restaurant and to the drugstore. “What does she need anyways?” Dream asked, following Sapnap’s footsteps.

“Tampons and stuff,” he almost whispered, uncomfortable with the words and also not wanting others to hear him mutter them. “Oh,” Dream answered shortly as they made a bee line to the ‘feminine hygiene’ aisle. Needless to say, the men were overwhelmed.

“Why are there so many?” Sapnap asked as his eyes scanned over various pink and purple packages. “Text her and ask her exactly what she needs,” Dream suggested, eyes also scanning the products before him.

It had been five minutes and Y/N had yet to respond. Sapnap groaned, “what do I do?” His friend shrugged before a very dumb idea crossed his mind. “Just like, get a bunch.”

Sapnap looked at his friend and blinked before speaking “that’s a great idea.” They went to go grab a shopping cart before they began to fill it with various types of cotton.

“No, Sapnap that’s underwear,” Dream spoke as he saw his friend grab diaper like underwear, “it’s for bladder problems or something.”

Sapnap quickly put it back before looking at tampax, “okay but these are definitely tampons.” He grabbed those, along with several other brands and sizes. He moved onto pads, doing the exact same thing.

“This looks... fine,” Sapnap spoke as he examined the sheer amount of cotton recently thrown into the cart. He pushed the cart until reaching the candy aisle. He wanted to buy her some in hopes of making her feel better. So, he took various chocolates alongside her favorite candy and went to go grab pain relievers before approaching the register.

The cashier looked between the cart and the two men scurrying to put the period products onto the counter, forcing a muffled laugh out of Dream. “Find everything okay?” She muttered, scanning the items that Sapnap began to place on the counter, a line forming behind them.

“Uh y-yes thank you,” Sapnap stuttered, placing the candy down last.

“That’s gonna be $198.46,” she expressed as Sapnap fumbled with his debit card, Dream already carrying most of the bags. The two men hurriedly left the store.

“That was so embarrassing. There was a line and everything, oh my god those people must think I’m crazy,” Sapnap muttered, rubbing his hands over his face.

“This-This is definitely a little overboard,” Dream spoke as he slammed the trunk closed.

“It’s fine. This is fine. I don’t want her to like, not have the stuff she needs. I’d feel awful,” Sapnap spoke as he opened the passenger seat door. “Whatever you say pandas.”

~

Never receiving a text from Y/N, Sapnap assumed that she had been asleep. Dream helped him carry the various bags of tampons and food into the house, but thought it’d be best to let his friend carry them to his girlfriend.

So, Sapnap did so, just very loudly. He stumbled into the bedroom, his eyes landing on his girlfriend. Through the ruffling of the bags and his loud footsteps she began to stir about. “Sapnap?” She mumbled tiredly, his form looking like a blob in her sleepy daze.

“Shit, I didn’t mean to wake you up,” he whispered, gently placing down the bags by his bed before leaning over to kiss her forehead.

“Did you go to the store?” She asked, her eyes opening more and more. He scratched his neck as he looked at the bags, “yeah. I just- I just didn’t know what you needed so...”

His voice trailed off as he bent down to grab the bags, “I kind of bought a lot.” Y/N sat up slowly examining the bags with wide eyes, a hand covering her mouth to stifle her laughs.

“Baby,” she giggled, moving to get up to go towards the bags before Sapnap stopped her. “Stay put, I’ll bring the bags to you m’lady,” he spoke with a posh British accent on his last word. Y/n smiled and watched as he grabbed the bags and tossed them by her legs, finally settling onto the bed next to her.

“This is so much,” she muttered going through bag after bag, “you are so sweet.”

Sapnap turned red at her words, watching her go through them to find what she needed, “w-we could donate them or something?”

Y/n let out a scoff, stopping her movements to look at him, “literally the sweetest man. How’d I get this lucky?”

“Yeah I’m literally perfect,” Sapnap spoke sarcastically, leaning his head on her shoulder. Y/n giggled once more, finding the bag that had the reciept and pulling out the long pice of paper. Her eyes went wide as she looked at the total, “two hundred dollars!”

Sapnap snatched up the receipt before she could examine it further, “don’t worry about it.”

Y/n shook her head proceeding to dig through the bags, “and you got me candy? And medicine?”

Her eyes began to tear up as she threw her arms around Sapnap, startling him. “It was nothing,” he muttered softly, wrapping his arms around her torso gently.

“You’re the first guy that’s ever done this for me. Actually care and shit,” she sniffled, her words muffled in his chest. Sapnap’s eyes softened and he carded his fingers through her hair, “well it’s cause I love you and I think you deserve the world. And if making a Walgreens go tampon bankrupt does that, then I’m okay with it.”

Y/n chuckled at his words, pulling away to wipe tears off her face. “I love you too,” she expressed with a slightly exhausted tone. A soft smile appeared on the Texan’s features,

“D-Do you want me to run a bath or something? Or we got you food. It’s in the kitchen and I’ll grab it if you want,” he explained as he laid back onto the beg, dragging Y/n with him softly.

“Can we just lay here for a minute?” Y/n asked, snuggling further into his chest.

“Whatever you want, baby,” he mumbled, kissing the top of her head. He continued to run his fingers through her hair, eventually hearing light and steady snores from the girl on his chest. He couldn’t imagine being anywhere else.

[cinnamonest]

Since people actually liked it here's the continuation of the modern Xiao camgirl!darling post I cut from the original, as promised, most if it's under a cut. Here’s the original post. I didn’t think people would actually like the camgirl concept so I thought I was rambling too much and cut this part out lol but here it is now!

Tws: derogatory language/female slurs, mentions of reader being a cheater, reader is promiscuous, murder, incel-y mentality (our modern boy would be a 4chan user, look me in the eye and tell me I'm wrong) and mentions of upsetting realistic things, this one's darker than the first part. If you're bothered by other modern stuff for being too realistic best avoid this too probably, involuntary pornography ---------- Coming up on one year since you gained your most loyal subscriber, you get a rather... Unsettling request. He has something he would like this month, in fact, he adds a few hundred to the regular amount (he's been saving up just for this) and asks for just the answer to one simple question. What's your name?

Your real name, he clarifies. He doesn't need a last name, nothing like that. It would just... Make him feel closer to you. He avoids using the term "anniversary," even though that's what comes to mind. He also doesn't tell you that he already knows, that this is just a test of your honesty. For someone who's so cautious, you would think you would think to give a fake name whenever you go to coffee shops for them to yell out, or change it on the packages you get. You hesitate. And it would be easy to give him a fake one, yet, you don't really think about it too much, you kinda think about that as an afterthought, what you should have done, but your very real name is typed out and sent before you really process it, and you feel a sort of unease, but it's already sent. No big deal. He can't do much with just your first name, right? If your name is common, you feel pretty safe, but even if it's a rarer one, surely there are other people with it, right? He's happy though. Kinda surprised, really, that you didn't lie to him. Maybe you trust him?

You're not stupid, you know something is wrong, you're becoming paranoid. And you connect the weird feeling to him, bc he goes radio silence for several days leading up to finally taking you. This dude who used to respond to any messages you sent within 10 seconds suddenly... It's like he disappeared? He hasn't responded to anything you send him ever since you said your name. You send him messages saying you haven't heard from him in a while and you're worried... The way you word it makes it sound like you're worried about him, but you both know that's not what you really mean. You're hesitant and suspicious of every guy you meet. You buy pepper spray and start carrying some around, you nearly spray a poor guy who you thought was trailing you, turns out he just lives in your building. He makes note of it. He watched you buy it, and is quick to realize you always hold it in the same hand. That must be your dominant hand, that's an important mental note for the future, since you're more likely to try to attack him with that hand. He'll remember. He has a note in his phone with information like that. Height, weight, birthday, social security number, parents' names, school she graduated from. All in little bullet points. He adds dominant hand to the list. He's not worried at all really. Already watched you struggle to carry packages he could lift with one hand, your strength doesn't cross his mind as a threat. At first he just doesn't know what to say, and that's why he stops responding, he feels too awkward but... He starts to enjoy the weird feeling of power the whole situation is giving him. You're worried, you're constantly paranoid, and it's because of him. Now you finally understand the same feeling you inflict on him, how you consume his thoughts every waking moment of every day. It used to irritate him that you held so much power over him, while he meant nothing to you. Now, the tables have turned. You're forced to have him constantly in your mind, whether you like it or not, just like you are in his. It's giving you what you deserve. It gives him a feeling of significance. He matters, even if it's not in a good way. And he keeps telling himself that once he's all you have, he'll matter even more. He's smart enough to realize that if you're paranoid, you might have mentioned him by username to someone else, so to ensure he knows what to do from this point, he has to sneak into your apartment at night as you sleep. It's so unbearably tempting, you have no idea -- you're right there and so vulnerable. He has to hold himself back because he knows that if he so much as touched you, he couldn't hold back. But it's torture, standing there so close, watching your chest rise and fall as he fiddles with the phone. Even when he unlocks it with your thumb, he tries to hold the phone from an angle to do so, even if the skin of his hand grazes yours, it would be too much. You have a lot of contacts across your messages and a bunch of different apps. You have one guy in your online chat you've exchanged far more messages with than anyone else! Hundreds upon hundreds of messages, and huge paypal cash drops, who the hell is -- oh, wait, that's him. Nevermind. But, to his pleasant surprise, he's the only one of your... customers that you regularly talk to, the rest just have a few paypal notifications or clarifications on your policies, but no actual conversations like you have with him. Of course, that's literally part of your deal, he's literally paying for it, but it makes him happy nonetheless. But as he goes through your personal messages, he finds that you are... in no shortage of options. Like, holy shit. It was kind of expected. You *are* really pretty, that's how you have so many followers after all, but this is a lot. So many contacts named some variation of "DO NOT ANSWER!!!" or "creepy guy that forced me to give him my number at the club", etc etc. Plenty of unsaved numbers texting you to never get a response. You've ghosted enough dudes to make your place haunted. It's... kinda awful, really. It also kinda hurts his heart a bit more than he expected. You have so, so, so many options, even without the cam thing, he's more insignificant than he even realized. ...Well, for now, at least. He'll be significant to you soon enough. And then you seem to have a sort of "boyfriend of the month" deal going on, aside from that. Plenty of male-name contacts whose last exchange is a "don't talk to me again!" message from you, plenty of messages corresponding to the same time as those to your girl friends about how you can't find a good guy and every relationship ends badly. How unfortunate. See, it's because you choose bad guys. You probably go for dicks and not.... well, he can't exactly pull the "nice guys like me" mentality, he doesn't delude himself into thinking he is one. He's lucid enough to realize that most nice guys would not be sneaking into your house and standing over your sleeping body to stalk your phone as they make plans to kidnap you. He knows he would probably fall under the classification of a creepy guy. He's just too far gone to care. Still, he would be so much better to you, he tells himself, not a cheater or a player like you complain about. To say he resents those kinds of guys -- ones that can do the unthinkable and actually talk to girls, let alone successfully, only to be assholes, and yet girls like you still go for them -- is an understatement. You're basically just a slut, you probably ignore all the guys that would be nice to you, just like all those internet forums he reads talk about. Typical.

Well, those forums also make fun of guys like him who pay for girls like you, but he can't blame them. It *is* kinda pathetic. There is one dude you talk to, though, now. Current boyfriend of the month, from the looks of it. You have a little heart emoji next to the name. He knows it's kinda pathetic that something so simple and insignificant sets him off, but it does, makes him pout and grind his teeth and curl his other hand into a fist. It's so unfair. Some dude you barely know gets to fuck you, and you haven't even known him nearly as long as you've known him! He doubts this dude -- hell, any of your boyfriends -- has put in the same amount of money that he has into you. They fuck you practically for free. And that, unfortunately for you, only solidifies his decision. If you're fucking some dude for a month because they buy you dinner every now and then, if we're going by that scale, then you owe him quite a good deal of pussy. Any hesitancy or guilt he had about the whole thing is gone. And he's a little mad. Keeps grumbling to himself that you're just a loose whore, fucking so many people and putting yourself out there on the internet. He wonders if they even know about what you do. Probably not, you probably don't tell them. Yeah, that sounds like what you'd do. Really, you're kinda lucky that someone like him is so willing to commit to you, since you are a slut. You don't deserve it, but he loves you anyway. And you'll probably have the nerve to be ungrateful for it too. Sigh. On the bright side, by some miracle, it would appear that you have not told any real-life people about him, you haven't sent out any hey if I disappear you should probably look into this creep type of messages. But he can't afford to have you doing so in between now and when you move in with him, so, he decides he has to act within the next 24 hours. While he's here, though, he decides to do a quick sweep of your place. Makes note of what snacks and drinks you like, what brand of toothpaste and shampoo and the like you use, so he can buy some for you. Maybe you'll adjust better if you have some of your favorite things. And then, after days of silence, he sends you a message, says it's fine, his internet went out for a few days. He means it to reassure you, but somehow it makes you feel more uneasy. He has everything planned out, or so he thinks. But you deviate from your usual schedule. When you leave work or class, you don't go home, you go somewhere else, first. How strange. Maybe picking up groceries? He follows from a distance. No, looks like you're going out to eat...? Maybe you're meeting friends or family or -- no that's a guy. Fuck. You must have planned this just earlier today, since there were no messages on your phone. It makes a bitter feeling rise in his gut. He hates that he can't get close enough to listen to your conversation. Well, he hates the whole thing, sits there and seethes the whole time. Watches you through the windows in the parking lot, thankfully you chose to sit outside. Feels his eye twitch and his hand clench every time you smile and laugh. It takes way too long. The fact that you split the bill feels like a punch to the stomach too. Shouldn't you be used to taking guys' money? Oh, and what's this...? This guy isn't the picture on boyfriend-of-the-month's contact. Well, well, well. You really are a whore. See, it's a very good thing he's taking you off the market. You're probably a reckless heartbreaker too. He's doing all the other men of the world a favor by taking on such a burden as you. And it makes him feel far more justified in keeping you locked away, since he has every reason to believe, now, that you'd run off and fuck someone else if given the chance. Halfway through, the guy briefly gets up and runs to the bathroom or something. While he's gone, he sees your face fall a bit. And then he sees you look around. You turn your head from one side to the other. Your eyes scan the area. You shuffle uncomfortably and you bite your lip and your eyebrows furrow. You're scared. You feel like -- no, you know you're being watched and it scares you. That makes him a little happy, for some reason. He wouldn't be sure what to do if you went home with the guy, but thankfully you don't. No big deal, this was just a bump in the road, he still beats you back to your building and he still goes through with the original plan. Even better, now that it's even darker outside. If anything, now he's got extra aggression and testosterone in his blood, running over the events in his head and going through some... very forceful and violent fantasies. The message he sent had you uneasy, and it's also how you immediately know what's going on when it does finally happen. You keep telling yourself you're being unnecessarily paranoid, that it's nothing, maybe that guy actually got his life together or got a girlfriend or something. Things like... What you fear, don't happen in real life, that's stuff that only happens in movies and stuff. You keep calling it that or it in your head. That won't happen to you. It's not going to happen. The series of events that play out in your head, scenarios you try to push out of your mind. Sure, in the movies it always takes place in the stairwell, but that's fiction, so you go up the apartment stairwell as always. You're not gonna let a bunch of B-grade old films scare you. And it's always some dude standing and waiting, but that nice young boy that you've never seen before is just leaning against the wall, scrolling on his phone, he only glances up for a second as you pass by, he's not a threat, you're being paranoid. You flash a smile and a little wave as you walk by, he doesn't return either, just looks back down at his phone. See? This guy doesn't even care, you're being paranoid for nothing, you tell yourself. But as you make the turn to go up the next set of stairs you hear the click of a phone being put on the lockscreen, a few metallic footsteps ringing out in the open hall and echoing, coming up right behind you, but for that split second you expect a tap on the shoulder, maybe he has a question, it's not like movies, it's not like movies, you're not gonna get a cloth shoved over your face and--- Well, it's not exactly like the movies. You were prepared, but it all happens in one motion - one hand grabs the hand with the spray and twists it, making you drop it, the other wraps some material over your mouth. You were prepared enough that you don't gasp in surprise, you hold your breath and thrash, but it doesn't make any difference, you wiggle and writhe for a few moments but can't even begin to break free, eventually succumb to the lack of oxygen and take a deep breath. It takes a few seconds to settle in, it's not so immediate. You instinctively panic and thrash again, but he has a complete iron grip. The dizziness takes a second to set in. He huffs a bit in frustration and says stop moving, it's fine. It's definitely not, but it occurs to you that that's not something a kidnapper looking for any potential vulnerable girl says. It's a poor attempt at comfort. It's someone specifically looking for you. And if that wasn't enough, he says your name. Your very real name. Maybe it was a mistake to tell him after all. But the worst part of it all is that there's not a single doubt in your mind, even in your panic you have the realization, it's definitely him and this is literally exactly what you were afraid of. And it's the last thing that goes through your head. And once he's got you out cold he just takes a sigh of relief. He may have been very neutral faced to you, but in reality he was incredibly nervous. He hasn't exactly made or used chloroform before, our boy is operating on YouTube tutorials here. He's got adrenaline pumping through his veins and carries you with his arms trembling. He's on autopilot carrying you out, but his mind is also consumed by holy fuck I'm touching her she smells so nice she's so warm her face is so close I'm actually touching her-- you get the idea. He feels bad about taping your hands and feet together and putting you in the trunk of his car, kinda. It feels too much like what a really bad person would do to a girl they didn't care about, like he's a trafficker or a murderer or a criminal or something, but that's not true at all. Sure, he's still mad at you for being a whore and all that, but it feels improper, he just has no choice. It's late at night, but he can't risk getting pulled or being at a stoplight and someone seeing an unconscious girl in his backseat, so, trunk it is. But once he's home, to his tiny little downtown apartment (he'll probably be able to move into a better place soon, since he's not paying you tons of money anymore), he takes a quick check to make sure the coast is clear, and drags you out, up the stairs, all the way into his apartment, sets you down on the bed, where you'll be staying. He even washed the sheets and cleaned the place up a bit for your arrival. You probably would not like to see what this place looked like before the five trash bags worth of cleaning was done. He'll probably be more motivated in the future, though, since now he won't be so depressed all the time. And then the adrenaline of the fear of being seen is over, and that's when it sets in that this is real. It's very, very hard to hold back. You're real, in the flesh, he can reach out and touch you with his hands! It feels like a dream. And he realizes he can take this opportunity to do things he would be far, far too embarrassed to do when you're awake. He takes a few minutes to do just that, cautiously reaches out to poke your face, and then run a hand down your neck, your skin is so soft! Your hair smells so nice, he lays down beside you and runs his fingers over it. Puts hands on your body and just lays there in awe of the fact that you're real. He's pretty certain he's never actually touched a human female before now. Everything about you feels soft. Weirdly feminine, which is something very foreign and confusing to him. And he kinda uh... Loses it. Goes buckwild with just taking in every aspect of you. Again, since you're unconscious he can be gross and entirely shameless about it. Peels your clothes off and runs his hands and mouth over every inch of flesh, takes the tape off your lips and presses his tongue into your limp mouth until he's forced to let go to breathe, fingers you and tonguefucks you and sucks on your nipples and your neck. Lays pressed against you and just breathes in your scent. It takes every ounce of self control he has not to fuck you already. But he does jerk off a few times. That way he'll last longer, so it's a win-win. And then... you twitch. Tape goes back over your mouth. And then, you twitch again. And this time, you make a little "mm!" under the tape, you start trembling and he sees you try to pull your hands apart. You whimper. It sounds scared and distressed. He feels kinda bad, but it also makes him hard, and that outweighs any guilt by far. Besides, it's what you deserve after what you did earlier. You tortured him mentally, it's only fair. On the good side of things, you suppose, you don't have to worry about the usual fears one would have over such a situation - you're fairly certain he's not going to kill you, nor sell you. In fact, the bed you wake up on is pretty soft. You're naked and the tape is uncomfortable, but... At least he was considerate enough to give you a blanket. He does care about you, after all. First thing he says is asking if you're awake. Can you hear me? You hesitate a moment, and then you nod. He's a bit new to this whole abduction thing. He wants to make sure he didn't pull a muscle or something with the tape. So... Do you hurt anywhere? Does your head hurt? Oh, right, the tape. He's not stupid either. You have to promise you're not going to scream. In fact, he's angry enough about earlier that he gets a bit meaner than he originally told himself he'd be. If you scream, I'll make you regret it. Understand? You nod, so he takes it off, holding it close in preparation in case you were lying, but you don't actually answer him, you're silent again for a minute, then just ask a question of your own. You're that guy, right? He's silent for a few seconds, there's no need for any clarification. Finally just says yeah. You just breathe again. Silently. Finally you summon the courage to ask him what he wants with you. And why are you doing this to me? And his answer is fairly simple. What do you think? You don't say anything for a minute, and neither does he. He's not good with words, and you don't really have ones for this situation. It occurs to you that offering to pay him to let you go is probably not the solution. After all, this is the guy that's dumped unimaginable amounts of money onto you, you couldn't even come close to paying him back. You figure maybe, after he gets what he wants... well, you get the courage to ask.  Is there anything... that I can do o-or... anything that will make you... are you gonna let me go, after you....? And the answer is, again, simple, but the one you did not want to hear. No. He's a blunt boy, so he doesn't beat around the bush, but he doesn't torment you by keeping anything from you. In fact, he's already rehearsed this speech a few hundred times in his head. He just wanted to make sure he's very clear so there's no misunderstanding, and while he likes some discomfort in a vengeful sort of way, he doesn't want you to be too freaked out to where you have a panic attack. He says he's just going to... keep you here. He has the things you'll need. He got your purse with your keys, so he'll even run to your apartment after this to go get some of your stuff. You don't need to tell him which number, he adds, he already knows which apartment you're in. He needs you here, he says. And he makes sure to add that it's your fault. If you were never out there selling yourself in the first place, this never would have happened. If you're good, he can make things a bit better for you. But you need to go ahead and accept that you're going to be staying and that no amount of begging or offers is going to convince him to let you go. He can be nice to you, he promises. A better boyfriend than the others. You just have to be a good girlfriend -- you know, obedient and sweet and do what he says. Just like you always were when you talked to him. Just keep being sweet like that and doing the things he tells you to do. You would argue that the terms boyfriend and girlfriend are not appropriate descriptors of the sort of relationship he's creating, but you keep that thought to yourself. Instead, you ask, How long are you going to keep me here? Which is a dumb question, since he's pretty sure he already made that clear. Forever. -----

There's a double homicide in the area. Takes place on the same night, and the same diameter of knife is used, so police believe maybe the two incidents are connected. Especially because they do have something in common, one girl. She was romantically involved with both of them. The girl in question's apartment has been vacated, very suddenly, and the girl has disappeared without a trace, taking things with her from the looks of it, so police believe she may be responsible, but other than that, they have no leads. A few weeks later, a video circulates all over the internet. Some famous camgirl finally started making porn, apparently. Just one video, but the description (which was totally written by her, it has to be since it's written in first person right?) says something about how she decided to quit camming, so this video marks the end of her career. She got into a relationship, so she says in the description, so she has to quit. It's roleplay porn, apparently, she's doing a good job at the acting. All tied up and gagged and getting fucked by some big-dicked guy holding the camera. He's silent, but she's making a ton of noise, cums several times. Really good acting, the fear and desperation in her eyes looks so real. Talk about going out with a bang. It gets a lot of likes. Tons of comments about how sad people are she's quitting. And of course, a lot of comments say, what a lucky guy.