#I woke up this New Year’s Day with this image in my brain so I had to inflict it upon the rest of u

[look-at-the-stars-tonight]

I don’t care what the plot of the community movie is as long as it starts with a shot of Troy and Abed cuddled together in bed and sleepily singing “Troy and Abed in the morning” as they wake up

[cutielando]

threat | m.v.

synopsis: in which your secret relationship is under threat

my masterlist

Secret relationships were fun.

Sneaking out behind people’s backs, stealing glances at each other when you thought nobody was watching.

But they stopped being fun once management got involved.

Max had a very public life, and a very dangerous job to begin with. He needed to be careful with a lot of things, and that oftentimes included his image. He didn’t care about any of it, he was content with people not knowing about your relationship in order to protect your privacy and have something that was only for himself.

He was okay with it, you were okay with it, everybody was happy.

Except for Red Bull Racing.

They didn’t like the idea of their number 1 driver being seen as unapproachable because he is always without a partner, and since you two didn’t want to showcase the relationship on their terms, they figured out another way to go.

PR relationship with a model.

You couldn’t say that you were surprised. Red Bull was notorious for being willing to do whatever it takes to be on the top, no matter in what field. But you didn’t expect Max to go along with it, certainly.

“We need to talk” he had announced after he came home from a meeting with Red Bull.

You raised your eyebrow, his tone doing little to soothe the worries pitting in your stomach.

“About what?”

“Us” his response made your breath hitch in your throat.

“What about us?” a million thoughts were running through your head, one more sinister than the other.

He sighed, scratching his neck.

“I don’t want to beat around the bush, so I’m just gonna say it. The team doesn’t think that hiding our relationship is beneficial for my reputation, so they are giving us two choices. We either go public in the next few days or they’re gonna hire a model to be my fake girlfriend” to say that the news had come like a punch would be the understatement of the year.

You knew from the very beginning that Red Bull was very vocal and opinionated over your relationship with Max and how it should evolve, but you never thought they would stoop down so low and come up with something like this just because you wouldn’t play by their rules.

“What did you tell them?” you asked, part of you afraid of what the answer would be.

He was silent for a moment, which spoke more about the situation than his words would.

“I told them that I didn’t like being given an ultimatum and that I’m gonna think about it” hearing him brought tears to your eyes.

You didn’t know what you should have expected. Of course he would end up agreeing, you were stupid to think that he would stand up for your relationship and live a secret life forever. You should have known better from the very start.

Who were you even kidding?

“I see” you said, after being silent for a good minute upon hearing him.

“I obviously don’t want to date someone else, regardless if it’s fake or real. But we need to talk about this. You know how the team is, they’re going to make the decision for me and we both know what that decision is going to look like” he said, slowly approaching the bed and sitting down next to you.

You nodded, staring at the folded hands in your lap.

Your brain was struggling to make a decision, struggling to weigh in all the factors that it was supposed to consider.

Were you ready to go public with your relationship? Did you really have what it takes to be Max’s girlfriend? How would his fans react when they found out he was dating someone as ordinary as you? How would it affect his reputation and relationship with the team? Was it even worth the risk?

“I can see the wheels turning in that pretty head of yours. Wanna tell me what you’re thinking so hard about?” his voice woke you up from your little trance, his joking tone doing little to soothe your worries.

You looked at him, analyzing the features of his face. He was too good for you, you knew that. But damn you and your selfishness, you weren’t about to let him go.

“I don’t want to be the reason you tarnish your relationship with the team. I love you too much to be that person. The decision is up to you” you figured that letting him decide would be your best bet, it was his reputation on the line after all.

“I don’t want you to feel like I’m pressuring you into going public. We’ll do whatever makes you comfortable. I just wanted you to know what the team is planning to do, but I’m not going to let them ruin us” he reassured you, taking your hand in his.

You closed your eyes and savored the feeling of his skin on yours, his touch familiar and safe. Nobody had ever made you feel like Max does, not even close to it. He brought a sense of comfort in your life that nobody else ever could, he knew you better than you knew yourself.

You had to take a risk if you wanted to be with him.

No matter how hard it would be.

“I want to go public, believe me, I do. But what are your fans going to say? You see what they do with the other girlfriends, they look for the tiniest reason to just tear them to shreds” you said, worry laced with apprehension in your voice.

Max shook his head and scooted closer to you on the bed, wrapping his arms around you in a comforting hug.

“My fans are the last thing that you should be worried about. If they don’t agree with our relationship, then they aren’t my real fans. All that matters is that we’re happy and in love, nobody else has a say in this” he reassured you, running his hand up and down your back as he spoke.

You listened and then ultimately nodded, knowing that he was right and you were freaking out over nothing.

As long as you had Max, you would be fine.

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[versethetic]

NOT PERFECT. JUST LOYAL.

i like to keep things real here so i tend to share my slight struggles with loa so that others who’ve gone through the same thing don’t beat themselves up over it.

but i’ve actually only fully understood what it means to live in imagination for a little while now;, and then put it to good use just a couple weeks ago.

despite knowing about the law for over a year…💀

OVER. A. YEAR…💀💀💀

even then, i got so caught up in making the images in my head perfect, or making sure i’m “saying the right affirmations" which obviously didn't help my case

i love reading loa posts because they make me feel nice and inspired and just remind me of my power but i somehow equated that as me overconsuming info and then i would spiral within my own head.

i would barely think of my desires as mine and when i did for only a day or two, i’d then turn around and believe that i wasn’t doing enough, that i need to affirm more or visualize for an hour and walk through every step of my day in my new perfect life or else it wouldn't manifest.

loyal according to merriam webster is "unswerving in allegiance"

all the way up until a couple weeks ago, i was not loyal to the idea that my imagination is all i need. i was not loyal to the idea that the 3d means absolutely nothing in terms of “getting” what you want, because there was nothing for me to get. now, i have become loyal to already having my perfect life.

i am that bitch. i am the prettiest princess. i am the smartest in school. i am the most famous. but i didn't need to have the perfect mindset with loa to realize it.

do you see where i’m going with this?

IMAGINATION IS ALL YOU NEED

granted, i had my days after this realization where i still struggled with techniques or accepting my new life as mine, but now i know that if i don’t identify with these things, it has not a single setback on my manifestations.

no matter what i was feeling, i told myself “i have it, my life is perfect, i am calm, i have it in imagination, the old senses are dead to me, i know what’s in my mind is the real truth”

when loa blogs say that you know you have it, it’s not some cheap trick they spew out because everyone else is saying it. if you imagine what you want, it’s officially set in stone. what you think comes to life.

the 3d is the afterimage, the product of a movie you directed, wrote, produced and starred in. you just need to stick with this fact through thick and thin, sleet or snow.

YOU are what the 3d answers to.

YOU are what the mirror reflects.

YOU decide how simple things are for you.

if you woke up and the old senses in front of your human eyes still show something you don’t like, are you gonna take that as a fact?

when you know and are loyal to the fact that your godly brain is showing you that devoted sp you have? that grand big mansion you live in? that whole new life you’re dwelling in?

NO. you’re not. think of you and you're 4d as BFFs who'll never separate, who tell each other everything and have those bff necklaces and go everywhere and do everything with each other. or imagine you're a ceo and your 4d is a loyal secretary who never asks questions and simply obeys whatever you tell it to do, because it trusts YOU. it works for YOU. however you wanna see it, you and your 4d are locked in 🔐🤞, okay? it is not separate from you, it does not seek guidance or information from anywhere other than YOU.

IT IS YOU.

and it took me a long time to see that.

it might be hard at first and the acceptance might not always be there. but i am making a conscious effort to at LEAST continuously tell myself that my imagination is all that matters. to at LEAST believe that what i want is already mine, and that’s the LEAST you can do as well.

your journey does not have to be perfect. your mindset does not have to be perfect. your feelings do not have to be perfect. mine definitely weren't. you just need to be loyal to your imagination.

[updatingranboo]

ranboo tweet... uh

["This was such a good joke and I am appalled by the fact that it has not gone absolutely bonkers viral. I mean is comedy dead? I just dont understand how a regular human being can read the word "Greans" (A combination of green and jeans) followed by an image of, well, green jeans, and not absolutely evacuate themselves in laughter.

I believe this has something to do with the fact that comedy as we know it is dying. It has become too mainstream in todays media and that is the main problem. Gone are the days where silly little guys in their silly little hop hats are able to go "knock knock" and absolutely change the world. Nowadays you have to have so many things that go into a joke for it to remotely even be funny, setup, punchline the whole ordeal. Whatever happened to just a simple Practicality joke? Whatever happened to just being able to slap someone and be the headlining act?

The world is so full of so called "comedians" these days it makes me sick. All these people do is spend hours writing and practicing their act in order to try and sway an audience to have a good time listening to their words. For SHAME! Comedy used to be just two people on a stage just slapping eachother and going "knock knock" for twenty hours. Whatever happened to the good ol days where people just laughed at whatever someone said because their brain hadnt fully developed?

This is why I believe that I am going to start performing my comedy acts to a bunch of babies. An absolute hoard of newborns. I will make my jokes to them and they will laugh for they truly understand what humor should be. I will go to a hospital in that little room they have where it is very easy to switch said babies and cause a bit of a ruckus, but instead of doing that (very funny joke) I will simply perform for them and relish in their cheers and guffaws.

It is sad that one has to turn to performing to just babies in order for the world to understand the complexity of ones said humor, but alas if its what I must do its what I must do. Maybe one day we will revert back to absolute comedy anarchy, where the chicken has not yet crossed the road, but until then I will continue to strive and push forward in this dark age of comedy.

Maybe a complete reset of what we find funny is in order, maybe we have lost what humor once was for us. We obviously have considering my VERY FUNNY TWEET does not have a bazillion likes and has not spun off at least 30 million movie deals. (Please note that this joke is satire, and Ranboo stands in solidarity with the SAG-AFTRA strikes. Support actors and writers. -A message from Ranboo)

I spent time and effort making this tweet, I saw the green jeans in front of my eyes (which are very squishy) and my neurons fired and made this absolute gem of a joke. I was excited to share it with the world, I tweeted it nearly right after I saw it, excited to see what new adventures this tweet could bring me. I went to bed all cozy smiling like a child on christmas eve night, excited for the morning. When I woke I turned to check my phone instantly, my eyes racing to see the like total. What would it be? 500k? A million? I was surprised that my dms hadnt blown up with a personal message from every billionaire going "let me give you all of my money I can never make anything as good as your "Greans" tweet" but It must have been a glitch.

I was appalled to see that my tweet had only 30K??? 30K for the pinnacle of all of human achievement? A slap in the face of innovation is what it felt like. Like when that thomas edison guy ate a stolen lightbulb or something idk what he did really but I remember the person who made that lightbulb which he ate probably felt really sad and I felt really sad so I felt a deep connection with that person.

I quickly fell into a great depression, this is what all of my life had lead up to: one sad tweet. I didnt see the outside for years because of this tweet. I thought to myself "why would they do this?", "Isnt humanity supposed to be kind, supportive, and have a sense of humor when it comes to differently colored jean jokes?" (dcjj as I call them), and "Man I should probably have a burger" (I did) (very yummy) but as I ate my burger all I could taste were my TEARS as I chomped into it from the top down. It felt like I couldnt do anything right. Until thats when it hit me.

Im not the problem, EVERYONE ELSE IS! My humor isnt "bad" or "unfunny" or "makes me want to find a microwave and cause it to malfunction so I either become the hulk or die" (Please do not try this. -Another Ranboo message) It has to be that simply I am so far ahead in the world when it comes to comedy that my time has simply just not yet come! My jokes will be funny to a different generation, which will be frowned upon at first but I will quickly be welcomed with open arms, and told that I am an innovator, a true scholar of all that is funny.

And so I wait for that day. I wait for the day that people look back on my Greans tweet and realize, that without a doubt that it is the funniest thing that they have ever seen. The problem is not with my joke, the problem is with the world, and thats what makes humanity beautiful, is that it evolves, it changes, it doesnt stick to its mindset that a tweet that has the word "Greans" followed by a pair of green jeans doesnt get a BAZILLION LIKES! I wait for that day, and for those of you who are with me, I hope you wait patiently as well. Stay strong."]

[toomuchracket]

home for christmas (d word matty x reader fluff)

another christmas75 fic! pre-dating, but only just. it'll make sense when you read it lmfao. also i love this pic of matty literally god bless jack antonoff. enjoy <3

practically jamming his knuckle into his eye in an effort to wake himself up, matty slowly drags his suitcase out of the lift. he brightens up a bit when he sees you in the lobby - well, sees your tiny face, looking as sleepy as his own, poking out between the fabric of your beanie and hoodie and floor-length puffer jacket. as he gets closer to you, his heart skips when you smile sweetly at him, and it's all he can do to stop his legs copying it.

he manages to keep his cool, though, plopping down on the sofa next to you and matching your smile. “morning. you feeling a bit chilly, darling?”

“ha ha,” you roll your eyes, deadpan, and matty giggles. “you haven't been anywhere without central heating yet. s'fucking freezing outside.”

“why were you out?”

you lean forward to lift a takeout drinks holder matty hadn't noticed on the coffee table. “to get these.”

“oh. thanks,” matty takes his cup from you, slightly crestfallen. “i thought we were going to go on the coffee run together, though?”

shrugging, your face contorts into a bashful smile that wipes every other thought out of matty's head. “didn't want you to get cold. and i figured you'd be tired after the show last night, so not making you wait for coffee was a good idea. oh, also,” you rifle through your jacket pocket and procure two sugar packets. “there you go.”

“thank you, darling,” matty squeezes your hand as he takes the sugar. “god, you really are freezing. i almost feel bad that you went out in the cold to get this.”

“almost?!” you roll your eyes again, but the smile - that fucking smile, the one that's had matty wrapped around your finger since the day you met - doesn't leave your cold face. “i'm waking you up to come with me next time, for that. you almost feel bad. christ.”

“do it,” matty smirks. “i think i'd be much more agreeable if i woke up to your face, actually.”

he isn’t lying. ever since he had that dream about falling asleep spooning you last month, waking up to a bed without you in it has been dreadful. mornings like these where you're the first person he sees are lovely, of course, but matty thinks he won't truly be happy in the morning unless he wakes up to your face burrowed into his chest and his lips on your head.

judging by the way your eyes and smile both widen almost imperceptibly - he notices, though, of course he does - matty thinks you might actually want that too. and, frankly, he's glad he's sitting down: that realisation would've swiped the legs from under him, otherwise.

your snark back at him is also suggestive of your mutual (!!!) crush. “well, in that case… i might have to request two keys for your hotel rooms on the uk leg. are you agreeable to that?”

fuck me, matty thinks; whether that's an exclamation or a request, he isn't sure. both, probably. he takes a sip of his coffee, then clears his throat and prays his voice doesn't wobble and give him away. “quite.”

“well, we'll see how long that lasts,” you giggle, and matty wishes he could bottle the sound. “given that i've been thinking about taking up running in the new year, and i'll force you to come with me.”

matty snorts. “you won't.”

“too fucking right i will, matty. if i'm doing it, you - as my designated coffee run companion - are too.”

“no, i mean you won't take up running, darling.”

you frown. adorably. “why not?”

“it's just so not you,” matty giggles. “why'd you even want to do it?”

your upper lip snags as you shrug. “just feel like i'm not doing enough cardio at the minute.”

“right,” matty does his best to keep his voice and face neutral despite his stupid fucking horny brain firing off images of you and him doing a different sort of cardio. get it together, healy, you arsehole. “i don't think running's the way to go for you, though, babe.”

“probably,” you ponder. “maybe swimming, instead, then.”

great. now he's thinking about you in a swimsuit, hair soaked and slicked back, water dripping down your body as you exit the pool like a fucking bond girl and make your way over to him and-

christ, what is going on with him today? he needs a distraction. something. anything. aha. “wait a minute. are you drinking an iced coffee?”

“mhmm,” you take a long drink of said coffee, as nonchalantly as matty’s ever seen you.

“but… darling, it's december,” matty splutters. “you can't just have a normal latte?”

“nah. s'too hot.”

“eh?”

you shuffle round to face him, leaning on your arm. “you know how you aren't meant to put freezing hands under hot water to warm them up? it's too shocking to the skin or whatever?”

matty squints. “yeeeeees?”

“well, that. if your drink’s too hot and you're too cold, it's too shocking to your insides.”

“i've genuinely never heard anyone say that before.”

“s'pose i'm one of a kind, then,” you grin.

in a tone far too soft for the conversation, matty replies. “yeah, you are, darling.”

“you're too sweet,” you beam, putting down your coffee and holding a hand out to him.

matty takes it eagerly, eyes widening when his skin makes contact with yours. “and you're like actual ice! jesus, babe,” he reaches for the other hand, holding them both tightly in his own to warm them up. “thank god i'm here.”

you laugh loudly, collapsing into a full fit of the giggles when matty overexaggeratedly blows on your hands to make them even warmer; when the giggles fade into soft hums, you look at him with such tenderness that he almost has to look away. “m'gonna miss hanging out with you every day, you know.”

the words are like a flaming arrow to matty’s heart - the reminder you're going separate ways (albeit temporarily) is piercing, but the revelation of your affection towards him sets every nerve ending in his body alight with joy. “me too, darling. and i can't believe we're not getting on the same flight home today, either. m'gutted. you're the only person who doesn't stress me out on planes.”

you turn your intertwined hands over so you can gently rub the back of matty's with your thumb. “i know. but it just made sense for me not to fly into london - saves me getting an extra train back to my mum's, or driving. speaking of, when are you going up north?”

“christmas eve. driving back down to mine on the 27th.”

“i'm heading back to my flat that day, too,” you nod thoughtfully, then your face brightens. “d'you want to do a coffee run on the 28th, then? i'll get the train up to you. and i'll bring your christmas present.”

the relief that washes over matty's body upon confirming when he'll next see you is so strong it's almost embarrassing. he nods enthusiastically. “as long as you don't mean an actual run, then yeah.”

“thought we'd decided running wasn't for me?”

“oh, that's right. well, in that case,” matty grins. “see you on the 28th, then.”

“fab. and then… you're going to g's at new year, yeah?”

matty nods. “and you're NOT! traitor.”

“oh, shut up. i can't let the girls down, i haven't seen them in months,” you roll your eyes. “but i'll pop down for a bit after i've been out, definitely,” your face turns serious, and you look down at the tiled floor. “um, matty, can i ask you a question? you don't have to tell me, but… i want to ask. just to, like, make sure we're sort of on the same page.”

matty shuffles in his seat to look at you properly, a cocktail of curiosity and apprehension mixing itself in his stomach. “of course, darling. you ok?”

“yeah! i'm fine, i just,” you sigh, and tentatively meet his gaze. “i was wondering if you're taking anyone to the new year's party.”

oh. 

you're asking him if he likes you. like, like likes you.

this is good. no, actually - this is great. possibly even… perfect. because, obviously, he does. he really, really does.

fuck.

matty opens his mouth to talk, but you continue babbling nervously. “i'm sorry if that was out of line, and you don't have to answer at all, like i said, i just wanted to make sure i wasn't misreading the situation but if i am then i'm so sorry and we can just forg-”

“no, no, it's alright, darling, really,” matty says, squeezing your hand. “no lines crossed, no pages jumped, no misreading. i'm not taking anyone to the party, no. just me and a bottle - well, three - of wine.”

you exhale, cheeks lifting into a relieved smile. “ok. good. thank you.”

“s'no problem, darling. and, just to clarify,” matty smiles in return. “are you bringing anybody with you?”

you shake your head. “just me. won't even have any wine. i'll have cigs, though.”

matty giggles, fighting the urge to kick his legs back and forth when you join in too. “well, looks like we'll just have to hang about with each other, then, yeah? can't have a drink and not smoke, no chance.”

you wink. his body feels like it's taking a screenshot. “see you there, then, healy.”

[oliver-quick-ens-my-pulse]

Emotions sequel to Lust

Sebastian Sallow x f!Reader

Summary - Anon request for "I will give you my soul and both kidneys for more Sebastian smut 🥲🙏🏻 The day he calls me a “good girl”, I can die peacefully 😂"

Word Count - 1,736

Warnings - 18 + smut, characters aged up, dark!Sebastian, angst, slightly non-consenual consent scenario

A/N - I can die peacefully 😂" okay i messed myself up writing this one 🔥🔥

Sebastian felt the guilt and anger building up now that he felt sober, there were battling it out in his gut. He felt guilty about his intentions behind the potion, but at the same time he still felt angry that that was what it took. Angry at himself for not being more forward and angry at you for the same.

Your legs were relaxed around him as he layed on top of you, you forced him to look at you, "What is it Sebastian?" Your voice was soft and tired.

He sucked in his bottom lip and had a hard time making eye contact, "The potion. I - I crafted it for you and got too wasted and drank it myself."

In your post-sex brain it took you a few moments to process what it was he had just said. You felt the wind get knocked out of you and you felt completely betrayed. You let him make you vulnerable and it was all basically a lie.

You sat up quickly, shoving him off of you and clutching the bed sheets to your chest, not caring that his cum was getting all over it.

"No, Y/N, wait," he grabbed your first as you attempted to get away, but he tugged you to keep you in place.

"I still - I still wanted this. I know you did too. Merlin, you come here every day and it's all I can do not to ravish you. You walk across town like that every morning for me." You could see the arousal returning to his face. He was all pupils and flushed cheeks.

You tore your arm from his grip and stood up with tears dampening your eyes, "Then why didn't you ever? Why use some stupid position, trying to take advantage like that? I am a person Sebastian. In case you haven't noticed I'm the only one you've had for a long time."

Your voice was bitter as you left the room to scavenge for a new set of clothing and clean up the mess that you were. You couldn't decide if you were mad, hurt, scared, or all of the above. The saddest part was it's not like you couldn't have guesses the whole thing was a setup on his part. And you just stupidly fell right for it.

You collected yourself in a hurry and rushed out back to where you lodged with Sirona. You didn't want to think about Sebastian or be near him or talk about any of it.

You woke up the next morning after having spent a long day battling with yourself over what had happened. At this point you honestly hoped things would shift back to the normal they had been, where he's just busy drinking and leaving you alone. If you were being honest, that probably started the second that you left and he wouldn't even remember what happened.

So, you decided to approach the day like normal. You did take a second look at the reflection of yourself in your mirror before stepping out though. He is still a man, not an animal, he had seen other women in his life in sleeping clothes and not acted like it was anything to blush at.

Fortunately, or unfortunately depending on who asked, Sebastian had layed in his bed for the rest of the day without a drop of alcohol. He felt like he was losing his mind because he couldn't stop thinking about you. He felt like a 13 year old boy again, rubbing one out every hour as images of you flashed through his mind. But the images were certainly not as innocent as they used to be.

You seemed so upset with him, but you weren't complaining at all as he dragged you around the house, tearing through your clothes and ravaging your body. You weren't the innocent player you thought yourself to be and he refused to accept it.

You said to him that he should have made a move and just been up front from the start, so that's what he was going to do. He was going to unleash his deepest, darkest desires on you.

He slept restlessly that night with his new plan in mind unable to focus on anything else. He had never craved someone in the way he craved you and after having had a taste with you, he was ruined without you.

He knew Sirona always let you stay at her home she kept here and it wasn't hard to find. It was always possible to find out someone's business here if you wanted to.

He rose early in the morning, probably way earlier than he'd been awake in months if not years. He knew you always came to him just before the sun started coming up so that it would be light by the time you did make it.

Everything in Feldcroft was spread out and people liked their space. Sebastian's home was located on a reasonable little plot of land that offered privacy with the wild shrubbery and trees taking root wherever they pleased.

He decided that he would wait for you in a private spot at the front of the property. He had taken to cleaning himself up and putting on simple thin night clothes just so nobody found him wandering around indecent if they were snooping.

An old oak with a thick base was where he waited for you, it was just private enough for his dirty thoughts.

You were sleepy walking up to the familiar scene before you and that's how you got taken off guard. A hand came down over your mouth and you had no time to react before being carried off with someone pressed against your backside.

You felt the rough bark of the tree as Sebstian pressed you up against it, rubbing himself against your backside and talking low into your ear, "I told you you were begging for it coming over like that. This is what you wanted from me right?"

He bunched up the skirt of your gown and wasted no time dipping his hand between your thighs causing you to cry out in surprise.

"I see you didn't change anything. There's still nothing beneath here but a needy cunt," he used his fingers to spread your lips and your vagina open, betraying you with wetness, "see? You're much too empty, there's a leak we have to do something about."

He pulled his hand back to spit on it before not-so-delicately applying pressure to your clit. His other hand had remained clamped to your mouth so you hadn't had the chance to say a word, but he whispered to you as he removed it, "You're going to be a good girl for me and be quiet right? You don't need everyone to know you're letting the town disgrace fuck you."

Your breathing was heavy as he removed his hand you drew blood from your lip biting it and trying to stay quiet. He let you rest for just a moment while he used both hands to pull the dress over your head discarded it on the ground.

You whimpered when he continued his assault on your sensitive spot, being unable to deny how good it felt and how turned on you were. He placed kisses on the soft skin of your neck before he took a good look at your full exposed figure.

He inhaled sharply, "Fuck, everything about you is perfect. And you're all mine out here, so exposed and engulfed in the pleasure of it."

You felt a bit ashamed at how close you were to the brink of an orgasm, but couldn't stop yourself from begging quietly, "Sebsatian, please don't stop. Please - "

He sunk his teeth into your shoulder and everything felt like it was too much; the rough bark on the tree, the pleasurable pain of his bite, the white hot feeling bubbling over form his rough finger tips.

Sebastian pulled you into his body, away from the tree as he clamped a hand over your mouth to cover your cries of ecstasy. You fell apart on him whether you wanted to or not, eyes squeezed shut tightly while he holds you close enough to force you to feel his solid cock.

"That's right, just like that. So quick for me today, you understand the urgency since the sun's about to come up right? You can't let anyone see you like this."

He let go of you and you stumbled forward, catching yourself on the tree to find steady ground. Sebastian wasted no time pulling his pants down to start stroking his swollen cock, wrapping a hand around his balls and squeezing them.

"Would you prefer to my balls slapping against your ass with every thrust or do you want to look at me while I ruin you."

You sheepishly turned around to meet the wet sounds of him jerking off. His cock was red and swollen and you couldn't keep your eyes off of it every time he pulled towards himself and the head peaked out of his foreskin.

He approached you and squeeze your backside, indicating for you to jump so he could pick you up and fit impale you between himself and the tree.

You wrapped your legs around him and he kept his eyes glued to your face the whole time he rubbed himself across your entrance. He entered you slowly at first, shuddering at the sensation of how good you felt.

"I love you, Y/N," his words were low and husky before he crashed his lips into yours with desperation and started fucking you at a much more aggressive pace.

You could feel him stretching you out and his pelvis was bumping against your still sensitive clit with every buck of his hips. Your arms were wrapped around his neck and you met his lips, tongue, and teeth mirroring his intense desire.

"F-fuck, Y/N,"

"Cum for me Sebastian, please," you whined, "finish making me yours,"

"I - I'm close - just for you. You're such a good girl, such a good little hole," with that he finished inside of you, fucking you until he couldn't catch his breath.

He rested his cheek against your shoulder as he continued to hold you up against him.

"That's what you wanted right? I told you I couldn't stand it anymore. So I took you."

[beesmygod]

today is webcomics day. i am bea and i make "A Ghost Story" - part 1: pre-gaming

webcomic day is a yearly celebration of the art form concocted by the screentones podcast team as a way for people to see how the sausage gets made. my webcomic "a ghost story" has been running for over 10 years, and yet i still don't think i can say i am good at making a webcomic. regardless, the comic is getting made because otherwise i become very, very sick in the head. today i would like to share with you the process of making a page of "A Ghost Story" from start to finish. either this demystifies the process or will make you think im so cool and strong for doing this 2x a week. instead of reblogging this one post until it gets very long, i will be posting individual updates that i will then compile and post on my personal website. block the tags now if you HATE comics and want them to EXPLODE.

if you have any questions, even things like "what the fuck are you even talking about" feel free to ask. i want to feel confident in what i make again and i think sometimes interrogation from an outside source is really

---

that said, let's get started. wait just kidding i want a cup of coffee first, hold on.

ok now im ready. i have a big glass of water. i have coffee. i have a headset for the parts of work that don't involve typing words. i can't type words and listen to some streamer babble in my ear at the same time, so it has to be instrumental music or nothing. i just took my meds so they should kick in after about 30 mins. i woke up late today, which is weird and annoying. but maybe i can work late instead.

first off, i need to know where i'm going beyond this one page. if i dont know where im going with something, then i usually create something that sucks that i have to deal with later. hold on my internet died, i have to reset the router. ok, anyway.

what's rattling around in my brain is that not only do i have to deal with maxine's current predicament, i am also dealing with multiple plot elements i need to wrap back around to from the previous chapter. luckily, im about to put maxine down for a nap, which means i can get back to those other elements:

i need to finish the exposition from the three ankou characters for this story arc establishing their motivations as the oppositional force in the story. the "villain" is not these three specifically, but their boss. they need to have a loose understanding of what's going on in order to communicate this to the audience. god this started turning into a huge ass paragraph so i'll just keep it short there.

we've jumped back to before jack's horrible day from the first chapter of this storyline so we have to make our way back toward that and then lapping it, which means wrapping up his various open threads like:

feeding victoria and learning something new about her

finding out alice is a very exceptional employee who is getting many awards

watching valdo call lily while interrupting her during something personal to ask her for help with maxine's situation.

jack meeting with valdo and lily the day after they first met so jack can just tell them straight up that lily has 4 sisters she doesnt know about.

help that girl with her poltergeist problem. remember that. i've had jokes for this rattling in my head for like 4 years. im going insane.

and also the fucking tilberi!!! that has a point its going somewhere!!! there's a larger menace here!!!

other things to set up the climax of this storyline. sexual tensions, hints at larger emotional problems not immediately evident to the reader

lots of moving parts. and i feel like im moving in slow motion to get to them. i can see them all weaving together in my head, its the process of putting that onto paper that's proving difficult.

ok that took an hour starting and stopping. -_- let me write the next part as i keep brainstorming on how to approach this page. taking a "rubber duck" approach to this might help. heres an image from the last page i worked on (i have a 5 page buffer rn so the site does not match the finished pages) to get us semi-situated.

also because images will help people understand what skill level we're working with here. i need to be able to communicate an idea to the audience; if the art also looks good on top of that, then that's just an added bonus. but the ability to communicate my ideas is sometimes hampered by my lack of artistic skill or comics language ineptitude. like those speech bubbles kind of fucking suck but at a certain point you have to just hit print on what you're working on in order to keep your already glacial pace.

webcomics is a tightrope act where you're also spinning 4 plates at once. the trick is to keep the audience from realizing how many actually fall or how wobbly they all are. the act sucks but technically its not a failure.

[ghostfaceaddams]

ibold | chapter one

summary: The five survivors of the 2022 Woodsboro massacre are now in New York City moving on with their lives or trying to at least.

warnings: cussing and a moment of violence in a flashback, that's all, I think.

word count: 3,060.

a/n: This is my baby so I hope everyone likes it! Feel free to pick an actress as Cairo or just have your own image of her in your mind or pretend you're Cairo; whatever makes the reading experience better for you guys.

series masterlist | next part

She was the most beautiful human being Cairo had ever seen in all of her eighteen-and-a-half years of being alive on earth. Living in New York City, you see a shit ton of people every day and that is literal. Hypothetically, you see a million people in a year; at stores, on walks, as extras in a tv show or movie, etc.

Out of all of those people, no one even compared to the raven-haired girl across the room. She was short, but Cairo could always spot her no matter the crowd. Most people teased her for her height, but Cairo genuinely found it endearing. Her smile was brighter than quasars, constantly leaving Cairo on her knees and rendering her useless. She had dimples accenting her marble, smooth cheeks. It was such a funny thing to Cairo, that dimples were biologically considered imperfections, but non-scientists find them alluring. All of the freckles kissing across her face were the stars in Cairo’s galaxy, the girl being Cairo’s revolving world. She had a unique voice that wasn’t like anyone else’s. There was a rasp to the edge of her words; sometimes the rasp was thickly coated, like when she woke up in the morning or was running out of breath or got excited. It could be deep, but not Sophia Bush deep. No matter what, it was always soft and pleasant sounding. A lot of people agreed with Cairo that listening to the other girl’s voice was calming, a remedy for anxiety even. Her eyes were big but not the repugnant kind. They were a deep brown that could light up and yet still remain mysterious. Her eyes were her most innocent feature and the ones that got her everything she wanted. She wasn’t just hot though. No. Her brain could remember the entire dialogue to The Babadook and graduated at the top of her class. She was very perceptive in a mostly subtle way. Snark was a fabulous hobby of hers and her heart was the most golden heart that ever shone. Selflessness and loyalty were the foundations of her persona, of who she was; what made her her. Everyone tripped over themselves at her natural, graceful beauty. Half of them were privy enough to see what she was about on the inside and fall head over heels for her. Cairo was definitely the latter. So was Chad. Cairo couldn’t blame him for falling for her childhood best friend. It’d be concerning if he didn’t. That didn’t mean it didn’t hurt any less to watch him give heart eyes to the girl she was in love with. ‘She could never be yours anyways. You know that.’ Falling in love with your best friend was the worst form of emotional pain imaginable.

Cairo despised the media and pop culture that romanticized the trope, especially the ones with a happy ending. Happy endings were overrated and unrealistic, especially when it came to “unrequited love.” It either ends up being requited, or they find someone else. That wasn’t always the case though. For eighteen years, Tara had only ever looked at Cairo with platonic respect and adoration.

Ever since she was a teen, Cairo tried to find someone else to crush on and hoped for someone to want her. The last part never happened until this year. She was still out of luck in the crushing department. At the end of the day though, as much as Cairo felt like she was suffocating, she was happy for Chad and Tara. They were both her friends that she cared about and loved deeply. She’d never risk their happiness for her own, especially when it wasn’t likely to lead to happiness for her. Cairo winced as she sipped the awful beer in the red solo cup. It didn’t matter how hard she tried with alcohol; it just didn’t fancy her like it did the others. “Hey, Roe.” Cairo didn’t need to look up to know that it was Quinn who was standing beside her. Quinn was the only one who ever called her that, her own personal nickname for Cairo.

Everyone else called the brunette girl by her full name - or Cai - and teachers called her by her last name - Miss Reed - or Cairo. She really hated her name sometimes. Well, most of the time if she was being honest. “Hey, Quinn.” The ginger got to work with grabbing two red solo cups and picking up one of the glass bottles of alcohol. Cairo bit her lip and scanned the packed room for any sign of her roommate or their other two friends. Cairo turned back to Quinn to shout over the music, “Where’s Anika?” Quinn was grinning when she spoke, her eyes glittering intoxicatingly. “She’s trying to help Ethan score a date.” “Key word trying.” Cairo teased earning a chuckle from the other girl. “Mindy is having fun watching, and I am getting drinks for myself and that cute boy waiting for me.” Cairo turned to follow the direction Quinn had pointed to with her eyes. The boy looked to be the same height as Quinn with curly hair & a stubble that made him seem like a fuckboy, but his boyish smile and awkward wave was contradicting. The brunette nodded her head. She took a step closer to the ginger and leaned in close so she could be heard. “I think I’m going to leave, maybe check on Sam on the way back.” Before the friend group had rallied together and ventured off to this party, the Carpenter sisters had gotten into it...again.

The arguing between the two sisters was becoming more and more frequent as time was going on. Everyone was on edge, wanting to say something to ease the tension but not knowing what to do or knowing if it was their place to even do or say anything. The twins and Cairo worried more than anyone, having grown up with the two sisters. Tara used to listen to Cairo and the others when they had something to say. Especially Cairo. Nowadays, Tara only ever listened to herself and only did what sounded pleasing to her. Guess Chad sounded especially pleasing to the girl. Cairo was really trying not to think about that though. About any of it really. “What? Come on, you said you were going to try!” Quinn lightly smacked the back of her hand against Cairo’s bicep. The brunette chuckled halfheartedly and raised her eyebrows. “And I did, now I’m leaving.” Cairo knew that if she didn’t move her ass at that very second, Quinn was going to showcase a frown and beg Cairo to stay “for herself and not me.”

(It was true, Quinn was doing this all to help Cairo take her mind off of the girl she couldn’t have. But it was becoming too much for Cairo.) Quinn was already in the midst of tilting her head to the side and parting those talented lips. But Cairo was quicker. She was quicker than anyone at everything, except for telling Tara her feelings. Which was precisely why she was in this predicament. “I’ll see you later, Quinn.” Quinn sighed but let Cairo give her a hug and turn to head out the door. It wasn’t until she was down the sidewalk and turning into the quad on campus that Cairo finally felt like she could breathe. She dunked her head down and placed her hands on her hips. She couldn’t stop seeing Tara with Chad.

Or with Amber. She had thought that watching Tara kiss or hold hands with Amber was painful, to watch Tara’s eyes light up whenever she saw or talked about Amber, having to encourage Tara to make a move and smile for her, she thought all of that hurt.

But this…this was so much worse. Cairo almost wished she was back in high school, watching the two girls parade around. Walking in on Chad and Tara, that had been worst of all.

It was her own fault, she should’ve knocked a second time and waited for an okay. But she could tell something was wrong with Tara and she had to get to the bottom of it before she permanently lost her mind. There were too many days spent canceled and nights spent on read. It wasn’t like Tara, not even when she was with Amber. She had left the apartment, bolting down the stairs and struggling to hold the bile in before making it outside. There wasn’t any shame in her body as she wiped her mouth with her sleeve and stood up. They lived in New York City, some girl puking on the sidewalk was the least weird thing citizens saw. Cairo went back to the dorm that night crying. Anika was staying at Mindy’s dorm, which was only down the hallway, so she didn’t have to worry about being bombarded with questions.

She spent the rest of the evening into later afternoon, hibernating under her covers with her earbuds in and curtains drawn. She was in the shower, changing out of her clothes from the night before finally, when Anika made it back. They spoke briefly through the curtain and then Anika was gone, off to hang out more with her girlfriend and their friends.

So, Cairo just dressed in whatever she found and got back into bed with a trashcan nearby. Having to pretend for another month like she didn’t know they were together was utter torture for Cairo.

Every time she was around Chad she felt nauseated, and she couldn’t look at Tara without her throat starting to hurt from suppressing sobs. At parties, she got blackout drunk so that she didn’t have to remember them being touchy with one another. She stopped texting Tara as much and didn’t ask to hang out anymore. For two months, Cairo had been smiling in the presence of the couple and drinking herself to sleep. She was getting tired of the drinking if she was honest. Being hungover and heartbroken was the most horrific combo.

The past few days she had been lying in bed with her hood blocking her from the rest of the world and earbuds drilled in. She hated how much of a baby she was about this whole thing. Hell, this felt worse than all of the stabs she received last year.

(Or the single one she received at eight years old.) Or worse than the betrayal of her older sister who she had idolized. “Tara will never be yours, Cairo.” “She doesn’t have to be, as long as she isn’t yours.” Then she headbutted Amber, sending the girl staggering backwards. There were three gunshots that sang Cairo to sleep.

When she woke up, Sidney was there. She didn’t see Tara until the next day. Since then, she hadn’t seen Tara a whole lot. She figured that the young Carpenter girl blamed her for the Ghostface attacks or wished that she hadn’t made it out alive.

Or maybe she cared more about Chad than Cairo. She wasn’t really sure. All Cairo was ever sure of anymore was that she missed her cousin Sidney. Sidney had wanted to adopt Cairo after being orphaned, but authorities thought it was best for her to stay with a closer relative, her father. He had no problem signing his rights over to Kirby three years later when she finally turned 21 years old.

For reasons that didn’t make sense, he didn’t want to give Cairo over to Sidney. Cairo thinks he just reached his limit and saw Kirby as the closest scapegoat. “You still want me?” “Of course I do. I might have adopted you, but you’ll always be my little sister, and I’ll always take care of you. Okay?” Cairo blew out a raspberry and started walking in the direction of the Carpenter-Quinn household.

It took two knocks in two intervals for Sam to open the door.

Cairo stood on the other side, twirling her earbuds around; to the left and to the right, raveling the cord around her finger and unraveling it. She immediately dropped her hand, holding her earbuds with both hands, when the door opened. Cairo grinned mischievously and cocked her head to the side. “Hello, Cute Boy.” Said man chuckled softly and smiled charmingly at the shorter girl. Cairo kept on smiling as the man turned back to Sam, who looked rather uncomfortable at the whole situation. “I’ll call you later.” The stranger said. Sam nodded her head and lifted her tense lips up. “Okay.” “Okay.” The man said, still smiling dreamily at Sam. Cairo had to duck her head down and scratch her cheek as the man walked by so he wouldn’t see her cheesing. She watched him walk down the stairs, turning back to look at Sam at the top step before continuing.

She raised her dusty brown eyebrows at Sam with the same antagonizing grin in place. “Cute Boy from across the hall, huh?” Sam scoffed and rolled her eyes. Her reluctant smile contradicted her previous actions.

All Cairo could do was laugh. “Get in.” Sam nudged her head behind her. Cairo did as she was told, plopping herself down on the couch. Sam gave the brunette a reprimanding look, but it didn’t succeed its message.

The younger girl had her hands clasped behind her head and was smiling gorgeously. It was the smile that made her gray-brown eyes sparkle and had Sam wishing for a different life for the girl. Sam smiled and crossed her arms in that sisterly manner of hers. “What are you doing here, Cairo?” The brunette shrugged nonchalantly. But her downcast eyes and moving feet said she was uncomfortable. “Just came to check on you.” When she flicked her gaze up, she saw Sam looking to the side and nodding her head. She released her bottom lip and ran a hand through her inky black hair as she descended on the couch.

The older girl smacked Cairo’s shoes prompting her to raise her feet. She promptly set them back down on Sam’s lap afterwards. Sam cupped the top of the girl’s bottom legs and turned to look at her.

Cairo no longer had her hands behind her head but clasped carefully on her stomach. She was looking at Sam like she was the older sister or the mom, patiently waiting for the girl to speak and waiting to catch Sam if need be. “She’s not dealing with this, Cairo.” The gray-brown eyed girl sighed empathetically, her head nodding along. “Does she talk to you about it?” Sam asked. Cairo glanced down at her lap and shifted. “She doesn’t talk much to me anymore.” It wasn’t like Tara had just dropped Cairo.

They stilled texted a lot and there were frequent phone calls. But ever since the attacks in Woodsboro last year, Tara had been keeping her distance from Cairo. When they did talk or see each other, it was as if everything was the same as it had been before. Ever since Chad and Tara had finally come forward with their relationship (even though it was painfully obvious to everyone), Tara had been more talkative and social with Cairo. The brunette couldn’t help but feel like maybe Chad had said something to prompt the change. He was a nice guy, very protective and loyal to those closest to him, goofy and definitely attractive. Cairo loved Chad. It just made everything hurt so much more. Cairo lifted her gaze from her twitchy fingers to gauge the older girl.

She was looking off into the distance, watching memories and worst-case scenarios on the blank tv screen. Sam looked miserable. That tended to happen when you worried about your little sister’s trauma. “What about you?” Sam stitched her eyebrows together and frowned at the younger girl. Cairo took that as a prompt to elaborate further. “How are you doing with…dealing about this? How’s therapy going?” Sam heaved a heavy sigh that left Cairo’s heart twisting uncomfortably. “I think I need to find a new therapist. This guy pushed me to open up the other night then wanted to assign me to someone else. Pretty sure he has a foot fetish too.” Sam added the last part thoughtfully. “Sounds like a douche. I say dump his ass before he dumps you. But don’t dump Cute Boy.” Cairo grinned like a cheshire cat. Sam rolled her eyes fondly, pushing the brunette’s legs off of her.

Cairo squeaked as she tilted to the side, almost falling off the couch and onto the floor. She watched as Sam got up, heading into the dining room to clean up. That’s when Cairo noticed the two wine glasses and two empty plates. (Cairo tried not to worry about the wine glasses. It was just wine…right? It was drugs and beer that were Sam’s vices, not wine. Christina was the one whose vice was alcohol in general. That woman would drink anything she could get her hands on. Anything that fuzzed her thoughts and shattered her inhibitions was welcomed to her digestive system.) There weren’t any candles or dimly lit lights on in the apartment, so it didn’t seem like they were going for an intimate night. Which made sense, because Sam didn’t know if Tara would be coming back or not.

It didn’t take a genius to piece together that no one knew about Cute Boy because Sam didn’t want to set Tara off in any way. Still, Cairo felt bad for interrupting their date night. “His name is Danny, and we aren’t dating.” Sam said lightly from the kitchen. Cairo shrugged as she picked up a weird looking piece of chicken to sniff. “Could’ve fooled me.” There wasn’t any noise except for the clinking of cutlery and spray of water. Cairo hoisted herself up onto the counter in the kitchen and cupped the edge. “I’m not going to tell anyone that I saw him here, I won’t even mention him at all. Now, tell me about how long this has been going on and who initiated it.” Sam couldn’t help but blush as Cairo smiled and wiggled her eyebrows suggestively. Cairo laughed softly at the flustered woman and playfully kicked her calf. When a minute passed by with no answer, Cairo raised her eyebrows expectantly.

Sam playfully scoffed and shook her head before begrudgingly starting.

[catindabag]

TBOSAS CRACK! TAKE: ✨AMNESIAC!CORYO SNOW✨

It’s that time of the year where my favorite buddies from the other side of the ocean text me nonstop about their weirdest TBOSAS/THG prompts. Lol. One of them even gave me a call yesterday to make a short crack!AU about our poor cabbage boy (Coryo Snow) accidentally getting ✨amnesia✨ after the Arena Explosion Incident (which is honestly an interesting idea to write and read).

However, because of that, my crack!fueled brain is currently stuck on the mental image of seeing an amnesiac Coryo Snow trying to navigate his old/new life in the Capitol without remembering anything, even the Dark Days and the Hunger Games. He might even become Himbo!Coryo or Soft!Coryo for all we know. Well, let’s just say that his original personality was deliberately thrown out and erased forever when he finally woke up in the Hospital.

But seriously, think about it. If Coryo had amnesia after the explosion, he wouldn’t be able to get Sejanus out of the Arena or save Lucy Gray from the snakey snakes because of his memory loss. He wouldn’t even be of use to Dr. Gaul, which will affect the future of the Hunger Games.

And honestly, I believe that the games would eventually die out in this AU because amnesiac Coryo is not fit to do anything “that” complex. So say goodbye to Snow’s political dreams and ambitions.

Lol. Coryo’s new hobbies will be cooking, gardening, and sewing whether he likes it or not because Tigris is now the head of the family.

Moreover, even if Lucy Gray won and Sejanus was still alive by this point, Highbottom can’t just send an amnesiac Coryo to District 12 because our cabbage boy technically didn’t cheat in this AU.

So hypothetically speaking, let’s say that Coryo won the Plinth Prize. He still wouldn’t be accepted in the University because of his current condition. So what’s his next step?

Option 1: Work in the fashion industry with Tigris in order to pay rent.

Option 2: Marry Sejanus Plinth and his money.

Option 3: Become the best gardener in all of Panem.

Option 4: Sue Highbottom and Dr. Gaul for the Arena Explosion and end the Hunger Games.

Option 5: Marry Plinth, end the Hunger Games, and live a vapid wealthy lifestyle while sipping tea with Festus, Felix, Clemmie, and Lizzie.

Either way, Sejanus is happy that amnesiac Coryo genuinely likes him now.😂

They be like:

Sejanus: Coryo, I’m so glad that you’re alive!

Coryo: Um- who are you again?

Sejanus: I’m your friend!

Coryo: My friend?

Sejanus: Since childhood.

Coryo: You’re my childhood friend?

Sejanus: And more~.😘

Coryo: What do you mean-

Sejanus: We’re together~.😍

Coryo: Together?!

Sejanus: That’s right, my love!

Coryo: My love?!

Sejanus: Yup! I’m your husband-

Tigris: Sejanus Plinth, what are you doing?

Sejanus: Tigris, hi-

Tigris: Are you bothering my poor baby cousin again?!

Sejanus: It’s not what it looks like! I swear-

Tigris: Get away from my poor baby cousin, Plinth!

Sejanus: Coryo’s mine now!

Tigris: He’s mine first!

Sejanus: He said yes!

Tigris: I never gave you my blessing!

Sejanus: Take my money!

Tigris: I’m calling the Peacekeepers!

Coryo: Ugh. My head hurts.😞

[clickityclackity]

Bloody Hyacinths (A Greek Mythology Retelling)

COPY PASTING FROM MY MAIN ACCOUNT AS THIS IS MY NEW WRITING BLOGGGG

just a little something i wrote after reading the Trials of Apollo.Apollo and Hyacinthus own my heart 🥺🥺

i really hope uncle rick brings hyacinthus into the story at some point in a future book cos he’s been mentioned so many times(/ω＼)

The meadow stretched out in front of us_, _adorned by purple flowers. I had created the flowers so lovingly, as I desired them to be a reflection of his beautiful eyes. Such a deed should have been child’s play for the great Apollo, but when I looked into those purple orbs, the turbulence of colored sea that pulled me in, it seemed to me that nothing could compare to the accentuated color of his irises. It had been a while since we got off my sun chariot, and my horses were on their way down the sky without me. In literal terms, the sun was beginning to set, wrapping the meadow in its dim colors. I didn’t stand there as the sun god that day, I was fulfilling my duties as a lover. Of cherishing the most wonderful mortal I’d ever met.

I glanced at him with expectant eyes. I hadn’t felt such need for validation in a couple centuries to say the least. His skin wore a dark, honey color and his sturdy figure turned to face me as I said, “My dear Hyacinthus, accept this gift as an expression of my great love and admiration for you. This island is now yours. When you lie down and let these flowers engulf you, you’ll know what a simple gaze of yours does to me.’’

_ _

I woke up with a start, for the fifth time the past hour. I’d seen the visions at least a thousand times before, my heart getting heavier each time the scene flashed before my eyes. Ever since my father, Zeus, turned me into a mortal, my sorrows aggrandized. My tears streamed down my cheek in patterns down my blistered skin like water moving down a crevasse. The pain had been agonizing enough when I was a god, but my puny mortal self had a pathetic response to heartbreak—heartbreak a several thousand years old.

The mortal world is cruel. Fear and danger roamed around every corner like wind spirits on Calypso’s island. With my immortality snatched away, the fear of death was so dreadful; it sent shivers down my fragile body. I could feel the dark, caustic mist approaching me insidiously, behind which is the face of the infamous Thanatos, Death himself, prepared to pull me into the ‘void’. Millennias lived in glory, all shattered within seconds. Surely no one could have imagined the great Apollo crumbling under the weight of mortality like this, not even Thanatos, or Zeus, or Apollo himself.

Not even my lovely Hyacinthus, whose life had so cruelly been taken away by my carelessness. I winced as the image appeared in my brain once again, my discus flying like Zeus’ lightning, Zephyros’ wind bending its course towards Hyacinths’s mass of blonde hair, him turning his head just in time for the discus to leave an ugly gash across his forehead. At least that’s what it looked like to me, until he started pouring out of the wound. I remember letting out a scream as he fell, his weight cushioned by the bed of flowers. You’d think my priority would be saving him. It should’ve. But I was too absorbed by my anger towards Zephyros, while his life slipped away- in the arms of the god of healing, who did nothing to save him.

I spent centuries blaming Zephyros. But deep down I knew it was my arrogance that was at fault. At some point I faced the truth and the blow was strong enough to break an Olympian. Its definitely strong enough to kill a mortal…

_ _

His head was cradled in my arms, his luscious hair a gold and red mélange. The red was all over my hands, how a murderer’s hand should look. ‘tha thymámai,’ I whispered persistently into his ears until his fair lashes veiled his purple orbs,  and his body went limp against mine. ‘I’ll remember. I’ll remember what it was like to love you.’ I would have done anything to save him, and you bet I could have, being a mighty Olympian. However, it was too late. Divinity meant so little at that moment. I wondered if he thought he was just another mortal in my life, who would wither anyway. That was the bitter truth. He was always destined to die anyway. But I, I was Apollo of the twelve Olympians. I had to carry on, without him. I had to carry on knowing the fact that I was the one responsible for his fall. It occurred to me, perhaps death isn’t as bad as it seems.

_ _

When I watched his face through teary eyes, death was the last thing I worried about. Such a punishment would give him justice, anyway. Or it could allow me to be with him, to love him once again. My vision was blurry but somehow his face was crystal clear. My tears only seemed to make his wonderful skin sparkle. And his eyes…their purple irises so intense, they seemed to radiate a fiery light.  The light I had so longed to see. The light I yearned for thousands of years after. I would do anything to save the purple fire that light up my life although I was the one to shut it down completely.

His face began to dissolve as these thoughts clouded my head. I reached out a quivery hand, and just like that, he was gone completely.

The meadow stretched out in front of me. i stood alone, my heart aware of his absence and aching. I stared at the island smothered in purple bulbous flowers, at least ten shades lighter with their heads low. Conceivably mourning. And right there in the middle was a cluster of dark colored....hyacinths. Yes, that’s what i’ll call them. He lay there on the purple hyacinths as they soaked his blood and grew into red and magenta flowers. Gradually more of the bloody hyacinths would grow and acclimatize among the shades of purple, forever reminding me of that day. 

‘tha thymámai.’

I woke up with a jolt again but it  had stopped having an effect on me after the sixth time. I was drained of energy although i lay asleep the whole time. But i couldn’t sit up either.

The visions were gone and i was miserable. I noticed that i was holding onto something tightly- _very _tightly as my hand was numb and my nails bloody. As my vision focused, I realized it was a hyacinth- insidiously soaking the blood from my palm. I let out a sob. All my despair came rushing out through endless streams of tears. I felt like I could go on forever- but my abject body would be unable to comply. So i cried until I had no tears left. And my mind just thought of the one thought that hadn’t occurred to me in years. it was possible to die from heartbreak and perhaps-

Perhaps death isn’t as bad as it seems.

[lyrenminth]

When we were together

Summary: You and Joe split and meet years after, he realized he fucked up and is mad/sad to see how happy you are without him and starting to regret he left you walk away. 

Warning: I mean Joe is a selfish prick is we look it objetively haha Grammar mistakes.

"I can't do this anymore, I'm sorry" you said, your fists tight, your stomach clenched in a tight knot. Many sleepless nights brought you here. You didn't know if you would regret one day, but today it was a decision taken consciously. "Are you serious?" Joe's inexpressive face hurt a little bit. He always has this pretty face and pinky lips you dreamed your children would have one day. "I'm breaking up with you, Joe" you stated, not making eye contact. After eight years together it was so uncommon for a WAG to leave this late, but since there was no ring and no signed papers leaving was easier.

“Why?" He raised his voice "Why are you leaving me?" You closed your eyes, trying not to cry. "Because it is better that way. We don't spend  many time together anyway, you are busy and I'm busy. That's it"

"That's it? It's what you have to say?" he frowned "And we spend time together"

"No, we don't and I don't want to discuss it" you contradict him. You had discussions about this topic all the time.

"Well, I want to. You can't leave me, we have been together eight years"

 "And that's enough for me" you said harshly, Joe expression was a hurt one, like you just slapped him. "Sorry, I didn't mean to be rude" you sighed, tired and wanting to be as far away from him as possible. You told you closest friends and your family in advance about your decision. You friends weren't so convinced since you had stability with Joe, but your parents were more understanding about the matter. You didn't know why love vanished from you. Maybe it was the routine or how lonely you felt during the season, but one day you woke up and saw Joe as a roommate rather than a boyfriend. And his house started to feel foreign, and his presence wasn't wonderful anymore. And you thought the feeling would be temporary because everyone loved Joe, and you should too. He gave you many things other men could never, but it wasn't enough. You tried to loved him again, going to dates, dressing cute but in general the experience felt so bad. And the blame drown you. How could you think even for a moment to leave a man like him? Handsome, athletic, rich, popular and down-to-earth. "If you leave him, you are going to regret it deeply" a friend told you "You are not gonna find someone like him elsewhere" Maybe you don't, maybe you would regret it for life. But crying every night wasn't your long term option. You couldn’t live like this forever. You weren't attracted to him anymore, a sour and true feeling. And if you brain were smarter, you would have stayed and enjoy the expensive lifestyle, but since your heart was slowly dying you decide to leave."If it is what you truly want, then what can I do?" He said sadly. He wasn’t even fighting for this  "But let not make a mess about it, it wouldn’t be good for my image"

You don't. People didn't realize Joe was single after a couple of months later during a interview when he denied to have girlfriend. 

***

You built a new life far away from anything football related. You stayed in contact with some of the girls, but always went out during the off-season and never talked about Joe or football in your presence. Sometimes you felt like an outcast but they truly enjoyed your company. You noticed Joe's popularity rise and you watched his commercials in public spaces. When you moved for a job opportunity in another country you got the news that he won his first Super Bowl ring and you were happy for him. You reminded him fondly. You bet he hated all the attention he was receiving, but it was the way it was. After his win, you didn't hear about him at all, until you went back to America, now as a married woman. You saw each other at a wedding from a friend in common. You genuinely thought Matt would never get married, so when you received the invitation you had to see it first hand. You saw Joe in the ceremony, he was dating a beautiful woman that you knew later was a model. You made eye contact across the crowd, it was just a second but you could tell he was surprised. Then his eyes focused on the person next to you, your husband. You felt a little guilty not knowing why. You made a life after him, not avoidable.

You enjoyed the wedding, chatting with old friends and catching up, meeting their partners and babies. A few of them didn't know you were married and you introduce them to your husband. When the party started, you dance together. Your hubby was a good dancer, and both enjoyed the party between laughs and alcohol. 

  ***

Joe hated it. He felt fucking sick. 

You were gorgeous as you always were, your blue dress flying around, your naked back he touched many times before. Your childish smile...How could you do so well without him? He was hurt, his ego was hurt. His pride didn't let him to approach you, but when he saw you leave to the gardens, his feet started moving. He wanted to see you again, touch you. See how much you have changed. Why do you married someone else and not him. Why do you moved on when he still had a little silly hope that got crushed when he saw that ring in your finger. Why he wasn't enough? Why, why, why. He loved you so much, and he failed in many ways. You were a simple woman, you never cared about money or luxury things, but the things you care for he couldn't give it to you. Against his pride, he had to admitted to himself that letting you go and letting your relationship sour and die was the only regret of his life. So when he saw you in that bench, staring at the night sky he felt sad. Hurting from memories. You always saw him as Joe Burrow, the guy from Athens, fan of Starts Wars and geeky stuff, the perfectionist and grumpy man. The insecure boy about his teeth and appearance. The anxious man who people has never seen on screen. You knew those sides of him. He loved you since college and those feelings punched him in the gut watching you there. 

He walked towards you in silence, when you looked up to him, you got startled. "Joe" your voice sounded strained, surprised. You looked older, your hair had its natural color. When he entered to the NFL you decided to dye it blonde, but always loved your brown hair. 

"Hello" he said, a little nervous.

"What are you doing here?" you stand up, looking around. You were alone.

"I want to talk to you"

"Oh, about...what" you asked, flat.

"I wanted to see how are you doing" he shrugged, his hands in his pockets. "Oh, I'm doing well" you said, looking at his blue eyes. The black suit made wonders on him. "I'm married know, I live in London, have you been? It's a nice city" you babble. He felt a sharp pain across his chest. "No, no, you know..." he started.

"You don't like long flights" you finished for him. A short silence between you. The tension rising.

"Can I sit? " He got closer and took a seat, you sat down a few inches apart rigid. "You are dating someone I suppose?" Joe nodded without hesitation. "Nothing serious she wanted help with her model career, I'm helping her until she gets a contract" he shrugged.

 "Oh, that's...well, good for her" he smiled a little bit, he was still staring, studying your face. He noticed a few white hairs too, but your eyes were kind as always. Your lips were red and plump as he remembers. 

 "I can't believe Matt got married" you said, looking the flowers in front of you. "Yeah, I have been wishing many things tonight" he replied as a joke.

"Like what?" He shrugged with nothing to say apparently. The true was he didn’t want to say it out loud.

 "Winning another Super Bowl?" You added. "Did you watch the game?" he asked, hopeful. It was a great moment in his career.

"No, I couldn't" you answer disappointed  him. You were beating him without knowing. Damn you were completely over him. And why you shouldn't? You were resilient, strong on your own. What a selfish piece of crap he was. When you broke up with him, he thought you were going to comeback to him after a couple of months, when that didn't happen he thought you needed time, and when that time become years he realized he fucked up. Of course, you were dating Joe Burrow the guy from Athens, not Joe Burrow the Superstar Quarterback. Because yes, you break up with him because he didn't pay attention to the relationship. Because he thought you were staying no matter what. He took you from granted and he lost you.

"Are you ok? You look tired" He hear you voice and went back to his senses. "Yeah, it has been a long day" 

"Well, I'm happy you are doing well, Joe" he looked you, your answer was genuine he could tell. You were smiling at him. “I hope you continue your career as healthy as you could be. I wish you the best, truly”

He stared at you long and hard. He felt a sting in his eyes and looked down. How could you be so kind after so many years? and why it seemed like another goodbye from you?

"Yeah, thank you" he coughed “I wish you well too. Can I asked you something?”

“Yes, go ahead”

“Are you happy with him?” he asked.

You blushed. "Yes, I am" He sighed feeling suddenly more older and tired than ever. "Glad to hear, you deserved it”

“You are going to find someone too, Joe” if you were trying to comfort him, it didn’t work. It was pretty much the opposite.

 “I need to come back. Take care" He stood up. He walked a couple of steps when he turned around and said:

"Just for the record, I also wish I had done things differently when we were together" 

[drgngutz]

Cybernetic Soulmate - I

BEN Drowned x Reader: Part 1

Soulmate AU – Implied Feminine Reader

Note: BEN is my favorite creepypasta, and lowkey I never see enough of him in the fandom. SO, I’m taking it upon myself to give this a try. Can’t promise it’ll be finished, but I’m having fun with it right now. If you’d rather read this on a website, ima post it on quotev and wattpad soon. Right now i’m vibin here. If you don’t like scary shit, this one might not be for u but we’ll see how it goes. Thanks for reading :) 

Description: Having the name Benjamin Lawman inscribed on your wrist until the age of 11, you had to live the rest of your life as one of the unlucky few who woke up one day with their soulmate mark crossed off. Devastated didn’t properly express the feeling of emptiness at the loss of connection between someone you had grown so close to. Ten long years have passed since then, but a new name has shown up just underneath the butchered one: BEN drowned. Soon enough you’ll figure out your old soulmate is now more demon than he is man. 

Masterlist

Benjamin Lawman 

BEN Drowned

The pads of your fingers swiped over the newly printed name on your wrist in absent-mindedness as you scrolled through page after page on the internet, causing subtle goosebumps to rise up on your skin as the bold letters brandished a light tingling with the friction. Old memories bumped around in your brain of producing the same feeling when the name you used to have was touched. 

It wasn’t feasible. It wasn’t something that had ever happened unless a soulmate had clinically died and been resuscitated within minutes. But over the span of ten years? Impossible. 

So why was this name here now? And why on earth was it different?

Returning to the old articles- the ones that you hadn’t looked at in years- yielded no results. 

‘Benjamin Lawman, aged 12, has been missing since around 6p.m. yesterday. Reports have mentioned he was wearing…”

‘It has been just over a month since the young boy, Benjamin Lawman, has gone missing. If you have seen anything in relation to his case…’

‘Benjamin Lawman declared deceased. “The search has gone on too long.” - Officer Hubris states…’

Hours and hours of looking at the same stupid newspaper clippings, public records, and news outlets was doing nothing besides digging up old memories that you didn’t want to relive. The times where Ben would talk to you, laugh with you, when you would play made up games with each other through the connection you both had created over a short time. He was always showing you his games on the console he had been gifted for his tenth birthday; you could still see the hazy image of a little boy with blonde hair swinging a sword at all kinds of different monsters, with Ben reciting each one of them as if he had memorized every detail of the game. You had talked to each other through the connection every day, and then he was just… gone. 

Exhausting your emotional and logical thinking, you ran your fingers through your hair before dragging your fingers down over your face to rid yourself of the stiffness. Glancing at the darkened letters on your wrist, you sighed in exasperation. Flopping the limb down onto your lap like a ragdoll, you traced the letters once more. It tingled again; that was the only grounding factor telling you that you weren’t dreaming all of this up. But, what kind of a name was BEN Drowned?

You swallowed thickly at the implication of both names showing up like that, how one replaced the other, and then opened up a new tab on your laptop. 

Immediately searching the name led you to a page on 4chan. Clicking on the site led to a very in depth and lengthy story, accompanied by multiple videos of a fucked up version of Ben’s favorite game, which took you about two whole hours to complete and understand. 

“...It already has proven to me that Ben can access my account/password and manipulate my computer, and like I said I have no idea to what extent it can do this, but know that it will do anything to break free. He is desperate. I’m going to do something, something rash that may not work. But, if it can keep everyone safe from him, I’m willing to try it. I’m going to make sure he stays in that fucking cartridge, so just forget about me, please…” 

It’s nearly dark out at this point, and your head is stuck spinning in place like a globe as you try to swallow the massive amount of information that you’ve been presented with. And still, none of it makes sense. But, really, did any of this? The newly branded name on your wrist certainly made no sense. Was it so odd that maybe there was something going on with this man, Jadusable, as well? And somehow it was all lining up together that this…thing shows up, and then its name shows up on your wrist just below where your old soulmate's name was crossed off, further implying that your soulmate was whatever BEN Drowned is. 

“Oh god. I need to go lay down.” 

Benjamin Lawman 

BEN Drowned

After the day that the name had appeared, you had been doing more research than you had ever bothered to do during your schooling. Each and every piece always led to the same two destinations; a declared dead little boy and a 4chan page that no longer had any active comments or replies from its author. 

You had since resorted to using the connection to try and make a breakthrough. 

The first time was difficult for you. Something that had laid dormant for so long felt… wrong. To try and open it again meant the possibility of connecting with someone who you’d assumed was gone forever. Now what? What if he answered? What if he didn’t answer? What if it wasn’t him?

It took a lot of thinking, and a lot more courage, to open up that connection again. 

Hands shaking, you clasped them together and closed your eyes, brows furrowing in concentration as you felt the familiar sensation flip like a switch in your brain. Clenching your teeth, you felt your eyes water beneath your eyelids as you let yourself fall away from your own consciousness for a moment, the familiarity nearly making you pull out of the sensation in discomfort. But, you pursued. You had never gotten this far, not after he disappeared. 

It was dark. That was the only way to explain it. Pitch black, with no source of light or sound to be observed. You dug a little deeper, trying to find the point of communication again… Only to be stopped. Confused, you tried to move forward again, only to be pushed back again. You tried over and over, poking and prodding at the connection, but to no avail. It was like something was specifically keeping you out; as if Ben didn’t want you to make a connection. 

You came back to your own consciousness with a start, eyes flashing open and feeling breathless as the connection dwindled and then faded away without your focus to keep it going. But, it was there. You had never been able to enter our connection like that before. Now, there was at least something.

It continued like this for the rest of the week; you trying to make a connection happen while something forced you away. But, you weren’t about to give up anytime soon. You were just as stubborn as Ben could be, pushing and pushing to no avail. You felt insane to be reaching out to somebody that was dead, somebody that wasn’t alive anymore, but you refused to give in. 

Then finally, it worked. 

You had gotten better at it the more you had practiced, gotten used to the familiar feeling that was at first melancholic; this time, you entered without bothering to close your eyes. Apparently, he had his guard down. 

A box shaped view, bordered in complete darkness. The light that peered in did nothing to illuminate the surrounding area; the light was coming from a window. Your window. You recognized it as the one in your living room that overlooked the couch opposite of the TV. And there you were, sitting straight, a focused look on your face as you stared at the wall, as you had done time and time again over the past few weeks. You watched yourself flick your eyes up to the TV in astonishment–

You were slammed out of the connection so hard that it sprouted a headache at the front of your forehead, and you flung your hand upwards in order to cater to the sudden feeling. Debilitated, you groaned tearfully before you could open your eyes again, blinking away the sting and glancing up at the TV. 

Stop trying.

The words were written in white, in a small text box at the bottom of the screen. You were only able to read it once before they disappeared as quickly as you had seen them. 

“What… What the fuck?” 

Benjamin Lawman 

BEN Drowned

He’s been watching her for a while now, observing, debating, keeping her annoying attempts at contacting him at bay; she was relentless in that particular field. 

Soulmates had always existed on this earth, apparently. And, although the fragmented memories of the soul he had ‘borrowed’ managed to save them from being imprisoned again via this aggravating connection, he wanted nothing to do with her. 

He was called many names; demon, ghost, vengeful spirit, poltergeist, cybernetic entity – Something born from a mixture of code and the aftermath of an abominable act – so they were not entirely wrong, but they were never right, either. Regardless, they were right about one thing. He had no room for care, or sympathy, or love. Not anymore. It was not programmed, not a part of his ideals. 

That was what he assumed, until the annoying little prick that he chose to resuscitate from that watery grave started to rekindle the connection he had before, when he was alive. The little bits of his host that still existed within him now crawled and zapped within the numbers, disagreeing with how he was treating the girl. He assumed this was some form of rebellion from the kid, and it was affecting them a lot worse than he understood. 

They weren’t supposed to feel the way he was toward this human, he wasn’t capable of having emotion at all. It wasn’t possible. And yet, here he was, watching her from the screen of the television that they had been trapped in ever since Ben’s last ditch effort at escape; it had worked, they were out of the cartridge, but they were missing pieces. That made the effort useless. 

Perhaps he should’ve chosen a better host for ascension. 

Benjamin Lawman 

BEN Drowned

WHAM!

You jolted awake at the loudness of the sound, feeling it reverberate through the ground and walls with the force of it. Sitting upright, you stayed still as a statue and listened closely, in the case that you had dreamt the sound. 

“Shit.” A voice whispered harshly against the silence, raspy and low. 

“We- We gotta make this quick. Hurry up,” Foot steps followed the higher pitched voice heading down the hallway. 

Swiftly, you ripped the covers off and dove for the closet, being as silent as possible as you settled below the hanging clothes and behind a hamper of dirty ones, trying to ease your breath and keep calm. Soon after, the two men barge into the bedroom and begin scouring your drawers. 

Addicts, you assumed. That was the likely situation, given your shitty location and even shittier apartment, they frequented the area and often ended up breaking into places that they figured were either abandoned or no one was home. A few of her neighbors had some close calls, while a few others were not so lucky. Flashes of ambulances and white sheets came to your mind, and you pushed them away, instead listening to the two of them argue in some kind of whacked-out dispute. 

“There’s no money, no jewelry; where the fuck is it all?” The first one started, slamming the drawer so loud the whole cabinet stuttered against the wall. 

“M-Maybe we got the wrong number,” The other replied, dumping something onto the floor, “is it the wrong apartment?” 

“If it is, we’re fucked. C’mon,” The two pairs of footsteps went further down the hall toward the kitchen, and you sighed gratefully. 

Hearing them rummage through the kitchen drawers now, you felt your heart beating in your veins as you slowly opened up the closet door and peered around. The room was empty, and you could hear them starting another argument about something else. Now was the time to move before they could come back and check the closet; there was no point in waiting like a sitting duck. 

Just as you were starting to silently make your way down the hallway and towards the front door, in the process realizing that they had burst the damn thing open in order to get inside, you heard the shuffle of footsteps in the kitchen begin to grow closer. Your blood ran cold, mind running wildly at the possibility of what would happen if they saw you. 

Wordlessly, you bolted to the living room, relying completely on instinct as you locked your eyes onto the black screen of the TV. You hesitated a second, debating if hiding somewhere would be a better option, but a quick glance around the room told you there wouldn’t be a place for you to do so. They were getting closer, the scuffing of their boots on the tile spurred you forward. 

“I am so fucking crazy for this…” You whispered, eyes flickering all over the screen as you gripped its edge in a vice. Fuck it.

“If you’re in there,” You took a deep breath, faltering out of fear, “I need help. Please, some men broke into my house and–” 

“Did you hear that?” You nearly stopped breathing from how close they were now. 

“Yeah, came from that room, there.” Hurried, heavy steps started toward the rooms entrance. 

“Shit.” You turned and gazed desperately at the screen, no response. 

“God damn you,” Frustrated, you began to scream and bang at its dark surface with your fists, “Fucking answer me!” 

“The hell’s wrong with you?” The two men had finally made it into the room, just staring at you as your slammed your fists repeatedly against the TV. One of them, a smaller, scruffy looking man, looked confused and concerned. The other, much taller and larger, looked pissed off. 

“What does that matter?” The bigger one began to advance, and right before he pushed you to the floor, you saw the screen light up. Hissing at the sting of the impact, you glanced behind the man towards the now lit-up screen.

Fine.

“Tell us where you’re keeping all of your shit. Now.” His harsh tone made you flinch, feeling spit hit your face as he loomed over you.

“I-I… I don’t have anything. I swear… I don’t have–” You stuttered, but couldn’t complete the sentence in time. 

SMACK!

The burning of your cheek registered before you realized what had happened, feeling tears fall down your face at the shock of the pain. You heard something clicking against itself, the harsh noise berating your ears and making you look back at him before freezing in place. 

“Don’t fucking lie to me. You’re hiding something, I know you are. Hand it over!” You’re left staring down the barrel of a hand gun as he shouts at you, and if you weren’t crying before, you definitely are now. 

“Hey… Hey Jim.” The soft voice of the other man interrupts the exchange, and the angry man, Jim, nearly blows a fuse. 

“Something’s wrong, man.” 

“What the hell are you on about now, Mike?” With a rage in his eyes, he turned around, the gun turned safely away from your face. Before he could say anything else, however, he stilled. 

You peered up at the screen, where they were both looking, as you trembled at the prospect of being shot. 

You shouldn’t have done that. 

“What the hell? This some kinda game?” 

You wish it was.

“Jim, lets go.” Mike practically begs his friend, inching towards the door. 

“There’s somebody else here. They’re probably watchin’ us, right now.” His voice trembles at the thought. 

“Don’t be such a pussy,” Jim spits, angry at the idea; “I’m talking to you too, creep! Come out and show yourself instead of hiding behind a fucking screen.” 

If you say so. 

There’s a moment where the screen goes dark, before another message pops up on screen. 

Close your eyes.

You obey the message without a word, clenching them as tight as you possibly can. Then, you hear the front door slam shut, despite it being broken off of it’s hinges before. 

“What the fuck was–” Jim’s words are cut off by his own strangled screams. Something drops to the ground with a clatter, shortly followed by Mike’s shrill screams that fade as he moves towards the front of the apartment. He begins to plead for something to open as something begins to snap and pop in the living room. You flinch at each noise, nearly sobbing as the man’s screams from in front of you are reduced to garbled grunts and groans, before he goes silent with one final crunch. 

Mike’s murmured ‘no, no, no’ can be heard from he hallway as he slams rhythmically against something over and over. The words are chased by his own screams that echo one final time before it’s swiftly cut short, only to be replaced by a deafening silence that leaves your heart beat thrumming in your ears. Ragged breaths help to filter out the lack of sound as you stay glued in place, not daring to open your eyes. 

A moment passes, then another; What feels like a few minutes go by before you hear anything else. 

“You can open them now.” Your eyes snap open at the almost robotic tone that instinctively feels familiar. 

A quick sweep around the room showed that there was nobody there; in fact, there was no sign that they had ever been there in the first place. The only thing that was different was the TV, which was still lit up, the same words that were spoken to you depicted in white letters in the textbox. 

You can open them now.

The screen dropped to black, and then lit up again. 

All done. You’re welcome. 

The screen went dark for the final time that night, and all that was left was the silence. 

Next Part

[acewithapaintbrush]

I did a thing

This is very fragmented and a little trippy and I don't know where and if I will take this anywhere but I blacked out and woke up to this so enjoy? I guess?

This is based on this post, an AU of my Pedro lives AU where Pedro doesn't find the Encanto on his own but Bruno has a vision pre-movie and sets out alone to find the man and bring him home. Or at least he tries to go alone

*************************************

The harbingers of the vision that will change everything have followed Bruno all day, painting the walls of his home 

(the little hole in the wall he has scurried away to like one of his rats because he is a coward because he is weak and he only calls it home because what else is there to keep him going what else can he call it that won't make him just give up just give in just end it all) 

a greenish tint because the hated color has pressed in on him on all sides, invading the corners of his gaze with its sickly glow. He's tried keeping it back, hasn't wanted to deal with the headache. Hasn't wanted to deal with the heartache of knowing but not acting. Of seeing something and instead of springing into action hiding away, pressing his forehead against the wall, knocking his fist against that same wall until the knuckles are bloody, until the urge to tell someone goes away. 

1-2-3-4-5

1-2-3-4-5

Come on, come on, you can't do anything anyway. No one wants you to do anything. All the times you have tried they have sent you away until you simply stayed away. This is what they have always wanted, this is what you always wanted, just peace and quiet and loneliness and fear and hopelessness. 

1-2-3-4-5

Once upon a time it was 1-2-3-4, but he can barely remember the last time he didn't need the 5. And one day it will be 1-2-3-4-5-6 and then 7 and then 8 and one day he will keep knocking and knocking and knocking until his hands are nothing but stumps, skin and bones scraped off and whittled to nothing and-

Bruno shakes his head, shakes the thoughts right out of his brain and presses a hand against his temple as if to block off a hole where they might creep back in. 

He doesn't have time for spiralling thoughts right now. He has to move. 

For the first time in years upon years he won't just watch, he will also act.

Because this vision is different. No amount of knocking will be enough to ignore this one. 

It starts easy enough. A group of men and women, young and old, walking through the undergrowth. They are carrying so much it seems like they have all of their worldly possessions with them. An escape maybe, but not like his mother has told them an escape should be. There is no fear or rush. No crying or agitated voices urging everyone to hurry up. They are just walking, one step in front of the other, chatting and sometimes even stopping to take a look around. 

Surely not an escape. Surely just people relocating, looking for a new home without any desperation. 

Why is his gift showing him this? This is clearly taking place outside of the Encanto, what does he care for foreigners who will just walk right by them, in and out of the story with no significance to the plot, with no role to play in the tragedy drama comedy musical that is their lives? 

But then a woman shifts to the right and behind her there is a man, very old, but still tall, still carrying his load with no signs of fatigue. He is chatting with a young boy, he is laughing, holding his face into the sun and-

The vision ends there but Bruno knows. Despite the short glimpse, he just knows! 

It's a lesser known side effect of his gift, the way he comes out of the vision with more than just the images on a slab of green glass but also with knowledge. 

How he sees someone being lowered into a grave and despite not seeing how it happens just knowing that it was an illness. 

How he sees nothing more than the image of a woman throwing her husband out of the house and just knowing that it's because of the seamstress. 

Or how he sees an old man and knows, despite everything telling him that it's impossible, despite the fact that the man should be is supposed to be dead. 

Bruno just knows that the man in the vision is his father. 

And he knows that if he doesn't act immediately, he will never see him again. The group will pass them by and never come this way again. They will settle down miles away, build up their lives anew and the man who is his father will die there of old age without ever spending one second thinking about the weird valley they passed by all those years ago. 

So Bruno finally acts. He packs a small bag, grabs his thickest ruana and makes sure his rats have enough food to last them a few days. He is doing all of this in a sort of weird trance. In his head he is screaming and panicking, but the  movements of his body are slow and methodical, his hands are steady and his footsteps are decisive and confident. They echo in the walls of Casita as he leaves his home for the first time in almost ten years. He pushes away a panel and steps into the night. If he leaves now, he will make it just in time to cut off the travelers in a few days. 

He doesn't know what he will do then, what he will do once he stands in front of his father, but if he thinks about that moment too hard he might yet still fall to his knees and not get back up again. 

The panel slips shut behind him and he thinks he hears it slide up and down a few more times than it should. It's probably the wind, but he likes to imagine that it's Casita, wishing him luck. 

"Godspeed my friend. Come back safe." 

Here is where he makes the first mistake of many on this journey to come: He doesn't immediately leave. He stops after about 20 feet and glances one last time back at Casita. 

The windows are dark, everyone still asleep. The sun won't be up for a few hours yet, but there is still a muted flicker in the upper most window. 

The candle. 

His mother. 

Bruno falters. Should he really do this alone? Bruno, the black sheep of the family? The weirdo? The bad omen? Shouldn't he wake his sisters and his mother and tell them what he saw, what they have to do? 

But will they even believe him, after all these years? And even if they did, will they trust him to know what he is doing? Won't waking them and explaining things just take too much time? They might miss the group. An opportunity of a lifetime, gone forever because Bruno once again couldn't put into words what he needed to say to convince his family. 

And isn't this the perfect opportunity to get their forgiveness? Bruno, coming home with the long lost father. Bruno, not a bad omen at all but their hero, like in those stories. Returning with the missing piece, reuniting lovers, making the family whole again. 

Maybe even saving the family? 

Bruno squares his thin shoulders and knocks against his head. Only four times, because four is when things were still kinda okay and they can be okay again. He'll make sure of it. 

"I'm gonna save the family." he whispers to himself. 

"Tio Bruno?" 

For ten years he has only seen Mirabel through cracks in the walls, quick glimpses stolen here and there when he was feeling especially lonely, when the longing for his family grew and grew and grew until he could scarcely breathe without choking on a sob. 

But even without those glimpses he would have recognized her immediately. She looks just like her mother and not just her looks. There is that same determined glint in her eyes, the same upturned chin when she decides she is going to be stubborn, the same crossed arms and tapping foot. She is shocked by this unexpected encounter, he can tell, but she has heard him and she can see his bag and the heavy ruana meant for traveling and she is a smart girl, has always been a smart girl. 

Things just got a lot more complicated. 

[popcorn-plots]

Febuwhump day 16: Came back wrong/Alt -- "I love you".

Title: Rescue

Words: 903

Summary: Stephen plays the bait in a mission to take out a group of rogue sorcerers. Wong intervenes and feelings are felt.

mmmmmmnot my favorite but it is what it is. also brain be stupid and made me not know how to write so I found the alt stuff

(@invye <3 u)

~~~

Stephen swallowed another groan as his captor punched him, yelling something unintelligible. It was a question, Stephen gathered from the way he was punched again. His face this time, warm blood leading down his face again. His nose was already broken, and had been broken for some time. The doctor side of him would have been more worried if he wasn’t completely confident that with a few well-placed healing spells, he’d be good as new. If he got out in time.

He knew where he was, of course, and so did a select few Master’s at Kamar-Taj, but they were biding their time. Stephen needed more information, and information he was getting, at the price of his well-being. Wong wasn’t happy with the plan, but Stephen convinced him to back down. Stephen would be a better target, known as the inexperienced Sorcerer Supreme, despite the years he spent honing his abilities in the Dark Dimension.

Wong let him go, but not without the strongest protection spell he knew that wouldn’t be detected and even then, all it could do was block the pain, which came with its own pros and cons. Right now, however, Stephen was grateful. His interrogator, practically a kid, used the limited amount of magic he had to toss Stephen into a cell. His hands were bound, ropes too tight and digging into his wrists. Under normal circumstances, Stephen probably would have passed out by now. If not from blood loss, then from the pain. But however nice the spell was, it would wear off soon and Stephen would have to face the music alone.

Unless… Stephen closed his eyes. Something far off sounded like a portal. But he wasn’t done yet, he just needed a few hours of sleep, some kind of nutrients, and he’d be able to glean another invaluable piece of information. The portal noise fizzed out. Stephen sighed, it was either an older Rogue with a stolen slingie, or he was hallucinating. His brain giving him false hope in a last ditch effort to save himself.

Stephen tried to get comfortable. If it was a hallucination, at least his dreams would be nice. He dreamed of nothing and everything at once and woke up to yelling.

Something about a boyfriend. He opened his eyes to a blurry image of Wong standing over him, anger and fear and something unrecognizable shining in his eyes.

Wong leaned down, whispered something Stephen didn’t understand. Mandarin, probably. Then he reverted back to English. “Get you out–” He was saying. A knife appeared and there was a pressure on his wrists and the ropes were gone.

“Come on, let’s get you–”

Stephen grabbed Wong’s wrist. “No–”

Wong could have pulled out of Stephen’s weak grip, but he stayed. He met Stephen’s eyes. “You’ve done enough. We need to get you back to-”

“No, please-” The voices and the yelling were getting louder. Stephen didn’t notice them at first, but they were definitely louder. Footsteps echoing in the hallway outside his prison. “Please, you need to leave. Is it just you?”

“No, but-”

“You need to leave. We can’t afford you being captured as well and they can’t know it’s all a ruse.” Stephen hissed.

Wong opened his mouth. “Go. Run. Please, for me….. I love you.”

Stephen pulled Wong into a kiss. It wasn’t ideal, he never wanted their first to go like this. It was short, chaste, but Wong’s lips were soft. They parted and Stephen pushed Wong away. “Go! I’ll be fine–”

The captors turned the corner. There was a blast of magic. Wong was staring at Stephen, his lips parted slightly. The last thing Stephen saw before a boot hit his head was Wong crumpling to the ground as a spell danced around his head.

~~~~

Wong woke with a groan. The first thing to assault his senses was the harsh lights and a throbbing in his head. Something was holding his hand. It was pleasantly warm, he could tell he was in Kamar-Taj by the sounds around him, the muffled sounds of training outside, the hushed voices of healers.

He opened his eyes, only to see Stephen sitting next to him. Wong couldn’t help but chuckle.

“What– Wong!” Stephen started.

Wong smiled. “Usually, I am at your bedside.”

Stephen cracked a smile, then winced. Wong’s brain finally registered the bandages covering Stephen’s bare torso, wrapped in such a way that suggested broken ribs.

“Yes, well. It’s a one time thing.”

Wong couldn’t help but laugh. Stephen let out a low chuckle, squeezing Wong’s hand.

“What even happened, anyways?”

“You… came to rescue me and they knocked you out. They took you away from me, used me as a punching bag for a few more hours before reinforcements showed up.” Stephen muttered, looking away. He didn’t want to remember Wong’s screams when he woke up, if only briefly, just to see the Rogues stabbing Stephen, repeatedly. At least the healing spells fixed the damage, and the wounds themselves weren’t that deep.

“Oh.”

Stephen nodded.

“You… you told me you loved me.”

“I….. I did.” Stephen admitted, almost embarrassed.

Wong tugged at Stephen's hand, then pushed himself up until he was in a position to pull Stephen on top of him. Stephen gasped when Wong pressed their lips together.

This time, the kiss was slow and sweet. When they parted, both were slightly out of breath. “I love you too.”

Ao3

[come-chaos]

I feel like I'm constantly unlocking new bits and pieces of self-awareness these days. This morning, I woke up early, and being low on serotonin as a result of both the time of the day and the time of the year, the sound of a leaf blower outside had me on the verge of panic the entire time I spent getting ready for work.

When I headed out and got on the commuter train, I found myself thinking obsessively about Farscape. As one does. But after a little while, I realised for the first time that my sudden state of hyperfixation was primarily dissociative. I wasn't just repeating my favourite character's name in my head for no reason. I was dissociated off my ass. My brain had chosen to cope with life by shifting me a metre backwards and sticking five-hundred images of fun fictional aliens between me and the terrifying unbearable leaf blower realm aka 'reality'.

So now 'dissociative hyperfixation' is a term that exists in my mental toolbox. Not all hyperfixation is dissociative, and not all dissociation features hyperfixation, but occasionally, the two are combined into their own thing.

[with-my-murder-flute]

Further adventures in TLT brainrot

(Like, hyuuge spoilers for Gideon the Ninth and Harrow the Ninth by Tamsyn Muir. Go read them, then report back here for indoctrination.)

I've got a theory about the missing days between GTN and HTN, why Harrow instructs her future self to use blood on the sword, and how Blood of Eden ties into everything.

Two puzzle pieces that have been rotating in my brain nonstop since last September:

We Suffer saying they had thought Wake's mission to the Ninth House was a failure, "Until the posthumous contact a year ago."

Pyrrha saying, "Why the hell did John let her bring the kid’s body? He must have known that Blood of Eden would go apeshit the moment they saw it."

So here's my theory:

Wake hitched a ride to Canaan House with Harrow and Gideon, in the sword Gideon put so much effort into smuggling there. (I also have a theory about Wake and Gideon before that, but that's its own post.) Much plot happens, and Gideon's soul ends up in Harrow's body.

Wake has, I would argue, strong thanergetic ties to Gideon's body. She was the thing Wake died for; her survival killed Wake. They fell together, Wake dying, Gideon living. So going by Revenant 101 from HtN, one of the most sensible things Wake would go back to is... Gideon.

So, what if Wake, in the sword, suddenly goes, oh look! Gideon's body is empty! And she possesses Gideon's body. Gideon "wakes up", which Harrow would absolutely 100% know is not her. But Wake-in-Gideon goes and finds some form of communications device (maybe that Cytherea brought, since she warned BoE that the lyctor trials had been announced), and contacts Blood of Eden.

Blood of Eden that lost her twenty years ago, being contacted by someone who is the spitting image of Commander Wake, and was convincing enough that Blood of Eden came to the First House with some kind of transport vehicle.

In the time between Wake making that call, and the shuttle arriving, Harrow took her steps to keep Gideon partitioned in her brain, but she also orders her future self: Wipe [the sword] down with your arterial blood nightly. Coat the blade in the ash which regrows. Do not cut flesh with the naked blade. Do not cut bone with the naked blade. Even this may not prove enough. Treat the sword as your promised death, and act according to the first guideline.

What that says to me is: Harrow (and maybe Ianthe or Judith) worked to yank Wake out of Gideon's body, and stuff her back into the sword. When they split up, Harrow took the sword, and offered it blood on a regular basis, the way Abigail would when calling a spirit. Or maybe "offered" isn't the right word--she might have been forcibly binding Wake's soul to the blade to keep it out of Gideon, which fed some of Wake's enormous fury towards her. (Along with like. Years of Gideon telling her dead mother all about Harrow being a giant bitch to her.)

And then, I feel like it's practically textual that Wake begins haunting Harrow, then makes her sleepwalk in her first night at the Mithraeum and drive the sword into Cytherea's body, so that Cytherea and Pyrrha can have their little trysts.

But meanwhile Blood of Eden showed up and grabbed the three non-lyctors and Gideon's incorruptible body. Not Cytherea's, which was presumably easy to find; just Gideon's.

Blood of Eden aren't experts on weirdo zombie wizard shit, and their new captives probably weren't eager to share information. What if they just thought: this body was Wake, Wake was somehow alive in this body, but she isn't now, and if they only woke her up, they might get their leader back when they desperately needed her.

(Some of them might also have known about Wake's pregnancy, and have interest in Gideon as herself, since she is related to some of them. Thus Pash's extreme repugnance towards sitting in a truck with Prince Kiriona)