#I'm late by almost half an hour. Rats!

[reneethegreatandpowerful]

Day 4: Imitation

I like Uther, but can never seem to draw him in a serious context.

[thesweetestofdreams]

hey gorgeous! I was thinking abt a reader who is a bit of a gym rat and her and James become friends in the gym and every day after the gym he tells rem and siri abt this girl and then one day they all meet somewhere (maybe like grocers i dont know) and the other boys fall in love and then next time they are at the gym James asks her to go on a date with all of them in hogsmeade or something cute like that and they all start going out!!!! Obviously just ignore if that sounded horrific, love you!!💞💞

poly!marauders x reader

A/N: OMg thank you so so much for your request!! I can’t tell you how excited it made me and you’re so incredibly kind! I really hope you enjoy and I hope I did your idea justice. Also let me know if you’d want a part two. I have some ideas!

You poke your head around the corner, eyes searching until you find him. A brick wall of a human, well more like a Greek god. You wave when James’ eyes meet yours in the mirror. He drops his weights and you try not to look at his arms, his hands. 

"You're going lighter," you tease instead, gesturing to his abandoned weights. 

"And you're late." He smiles at you.

"Ugh, I know." Little does he know you were obsessing over every part of your outfit and fussing with your hair. You were down bad, but you knew you couldn't be blamed entirely. You'd seen the looks of other girls, and guys, in the gym whenever James was around, yet somehow you seemed to have garnered his attention.

It all started when he saved you from an unsavory man at the bench press. You'd asked him to spot you, but apparently, he had taken that as more of an invitation than it was. He'd followed you around the gym the entire time, ranting on and on about aspects of himself that he thought made him attractive. After a half-hour of cold shoulder, he still didn't back off. He kept trying to put his hand on your waist, persistently asking for your phone number. 

"Take a hint dude," James said, pulling the man's hand off your waist. He tried to brush James off saying something about how you wanted him there. James made eye contact with you and the look you gave was all he needed. "Seriously man, shove off." Finally, after a particularly withering look from James, the man backed off cursing you for being a tease. 

"Thanks," you said, a hand pressed to your lips, clearly shaken. The whole thing made him incredibly angry. He watched your gaze follow the man across the gym, nervous.

"I'm at the weights if you want to join." The rest was history. Since then James made the gym a safe place for friendly competition and you wouldn't trade it for the world. Even if you did dream of the idea of having something more. 

James had been pretty transparent from the beginning about his relationship. The way he talked about them you felt like you practically knew his boyfriends. He talked about the two almost every chance he got. The way he lit up each time you asked about them, you could tell he loved them. 

"Oh don't let me forget I have something for you," he said from his station at the treadmill next to you. "I was telling Remus about that book you were telling me about, and he said he had one you might like." 

The idea of him talking about you in his home to his boyfriend made your head swim. "You were talking about me?" you half laugh half puff. 

"Of course," he said looking at you like it was the silliest question in the world. "I talk about them when I'm with you." 

By the end of it you were both sweaty messes, but you still let him hang an arm on your shoulder as you left. 

That night James is cooking dinner, and he can’t get his mind off of you. “I'm telling you guys. She's borderline angelic. I mean how can anyone look that good after a workout for real?” 

“I’ve seen you after a good workout Jamesie,” Sirius says, eyes salacious across the kitchen island. 

Pointedly ignoring him, James continues, “She’s just so nice, the sweetest really. I wish you guys could meet her.” He strains noodles over the sink, the steam clouding his glasses. 

“I’m sure she’s lovely, and probably twice as gorgeous as you described, but Remus and I do not do gyms, dear.” 

“You could always invite her for dinner,” Remus says, stirring sauce on the stove. 

“Oh yeah, come on over to my flat and meet my boyfriends even though we never really see each other outside the gym and I could totally be a murderer for all you know.”

“But you’re not a murderer,” Sirius laughs. 

“And how is she supposed to know that?” James pours the pasta into the sauce as Remus stirs.

“If you’re too shy to ask, that’s fine love,” Remus says, knowing exactly what he’s doing. 

You think the grocery stockers are out to get you. Your favorite granola is always on the highest shelf and this time it’s pushed back ungodly far. You're about to climb the shelves when you hear someone behind you. 

“I can help,” the man says. Of course he has to be drop dead gorgeous with honey brown hair and a worn sweater. 

“Thanks,” you say, trying not to fumble over yourself. 

“Oi Moony, they had your ice cream,” you hear from down the aisle, and to your surprise, you know that voice. 

“James?” you call peering over the shoulder of the man trying to hand you your granola. When you see the dark haired man next to James the pieces start to fall into place. There’s James next to what has to be Sirius and the man in front of you must be…

“Remus, I see you’ve met y/n,” James says walking to the two of you. “He must be putting the moves on you. He would just let us struggle.” James winks at you. Remus, on the other hand, is still reeling from your smile. It was like watching the way he feels when he sees James and Sirius played out right on your pretty features. 

Your almost star struck. It feels like meeting celebrities the way James talks about them. “It’s nice to meet you,” you say, smiling wide, hugging the granola to your chest. “James talks about you all the time.” It’s a funny feeling to have faces to add to all the stories you’ve heard before. 

“Funny, we could say the same thing,” Sirius says, giving James a look you don’t quite understand. 

“Sirius was starting to get jealous,” Remus jokes. 

“Yeah, of James,” Sirius says, winking at you. His flirtatious persona falters for a second when you laugh. He’s caught by the sound, and once it's over he already wants to hear it again. James was right, you're magic. “Who’d have thought we’d find an angel in the cereal aisle of all places.”

“Or the gym.” James smiles. 

They’re flirting with you. It feels nice you have to admit, but it’s starting to make your cheeks burn and your head spin.

“It’s been so lovely to meet you,” you say to them both, “but sadly I have to run.” It’s almost like they deflate. 

“I’ll see you tomorrow?” James asks, expectant. 

“Of course,” you smile, “don’t be late, it’s leg day.” He gives a dramatic groan, but you see his smile never falter. 

As you leave you hear James say, “I told you.” 

James is all smiles the next day, well he’s usually pretty smiley, but he seems particularly bright today. You got there early just to tease him but his expression winds you. 

“How are you?” James always asks like he truly wants to know. 

You set your shoulders, hands on your hips, “ready to crush you.” He answers with a hearty laugh and you fall into the same comfortable routine you’re used to. First is warm up squats. 

“Remus and Sirius were quite taken with you.” You try to stamp down the butterflies in your stomach. It’s not really working. 

“Me? You’re the ones who could be models.” You hope your flustering comes across closer to being winded. You notice James has stopped and now he’s just standing at your side. “Flattery doesn’t get you out of squats James,” you say pointing a finger to the ground.

“Actually I wanted to ask you something,” he says, he looks shy for once, a hand pulling at the back of his neck. You feel your stomach swoop, but you’re not trying to get your hopes up. 

“Of course,” you say, feeling somewhat like a deer in headlights. 

“Well, we were wondering… I mean I’ve been meaning to ask you for a while now, but now they’re really on me. Anyways,” his gaze meets yours, “would you like to go out sometime… with us?” 

“Like a date?” you ask wide-eyed.

“Yeah,” he smiles, “Only if you’d want to though.” You’ve never seen him actually look nervous before. It’s endearing really, charming even.

“Yes,” you say, you’re practically bouncing on your feet, newly energized. “I’d really like that.” 

James smiles wide, it’s a smile he wears with his whole face, crinkling eyes and dimpled cheeks. Just like that James is critiquing your form and things are back to normal, but really they probably just changed forever. 

Hogsmeade is bustling with Autumn. Leaves flood the sides of the streets from where they flutter off stray branches. It’s like a scene from the movies except you’re in it and the scene is yours. You could be floating for all you know. 

Sirius is just as charming as James said. The four of you come upon a wishing well, and Sirius declares that you have to toss it over your shoulder for the wish to come true. After four successful tosses he looks at you conspiratorially. “What’d you wish for?” He smiles at you with a tilt of his head like he thinks he could guess, and you feel a blush burning your cheeks. 

“She can’t tell you, Pads, it won’t come true,” Remus says, shaking his head as he falls into step behind you. Remus asks you about the book he recommended. Bashful, you confess you haven’t finished. He feigns shock but it’s short lived. 

“That’s okay, no spoilers then, for now.” He points a finger in warning. “I can’t make any promises for next time.” Next time, you really like the sound of next time. 

As the night marches forward and the weather grows colder you find yourselves in the three broomsticks, steaming butterbeer warming you from the inside out. Talking to them is borderline dizzying. You’ve never had such undivided attention. Remus listens to everything you say like he’s taking notes, and Sirius like he’s drinking you in, hanging off of everything you say. He has a sharpness to his eyes that would be intense if he wasn’t practically melting into James. James smiles like he has everything in the world.

[blondwhxrewrites]

Mattheo Riddle fluff???? reader having a nightmare and having to LITERALLY travel across the entire castle to get to his dorm, which involved the Weasley twins accidentally scaring her, she saw a rat (which she’s terrified of), lost her teddy, almost got caught by Filch and to end it off. She’s on her period, could it be a Hufflepuff reader though??

-strawberry

Mattheo answering the door:

"and...and then I saw a rat—" You sniffed, pawing at your eyes. With your lips wobbling, a fresh onslaught of tears streamed down your puffy, tear stained, cheeks. "And I lost Mr. Snuffles!" You wailed.

Mattheo rubbed circles on your back, cooing at you gently as he wiped away your tears with his free hand. "shh it's okay princess let's get you to sleep okay, okay? It's really late and you need your beauty sleep"

Hesitantly, you nodded your head. Mattheo adjusted you, laying you down on his bed and pulling the covers over you. He caressed your face, looking down at you with a gentle smile that made your heart skip a beat. "Now I'm going to go find Mr. Snuffles and come right back, okay? I'll only be gone for a few minutes—a half an hour at most."

You nodded, staring up at him with the most prettiest set of eyes Mattheo had ever seen. "Be quick please Matty?" You pleaded, grabbing his hand quickly as it pulled away from you. You pouted, squeezing his hand. "Please.."

"I'll be quick, princess"

You let go of his hand snuggling into his bed and yawning. You watched him leave the room. The familiar sound of a dobermann paws hitting the floor as he no doubt turned to go stalking around the castle for Mr.Snuffles unnoticed.

[imaginesmai]

Safe place - Ruhn Danaan

I've been re-reading hosab so I can enjoy the third one and I'm extremly frustrated at the lack of Ruhn fics, so here is my own. It's shitty, it's late and it's not proof-read.

Plot: the autumn king tries to hurt you with his words and actions, but Ruhn is always there to help you up.

You had known it would be hard.

You had known, for a while, that the dreadful day would come, that you would finally face the source of your anxiety and doubts, and that it would be hard.

But it had left you completely broken, as useless as he had described you. Standing outside the Autumn's King's villa, you didn't bother taking cover from the rain nor caring about the looks that granted you. You were too busy replaying the words over and over again in your head, remembering the sting on your cheek from his slap. You knew it would be hard, but meeting your mate's father had exceeded any expectation.

You had been summoned that morning with a brief letter, mentioning that the king wanted to meet you formally. Too busy worrying about what he would say or think, you hadn't noticed the reason behind the sudden decision — Ruhn was away with his Aux for the day, and wouldn't be back until night time. That left Declan and Flynn out of the equation, the only friends you had in that place.

So, when you had been hastily dragged out of his office like trash, when his hateful speech had broken through the walls, no one had said anything.

You choked on the next sob, not knowing what to do. Your shared apartment was more than an hour away walking, and it was pouring. Calling Bryce would be a terrible idea, since she didn't need another excuse to blow that place to pieces, and Hunt shared her feelings. You could always call a cab, but you were certain that none would answer.

The king wanted you out in the streets like a rat, and he would make it happen.

So you hugged yourself, ignored the bruises that were already forming on your forearm and lowered your head. Exiting the fairy territory was the worst part. Not only they didn't do anything about his king behavior, but made sure to force you to step out the sidewalk.

An attractive, tall woman spat at your feet as you walked by her side.

Your eyes full of tears and your heart in a knot, you didn't notice the shadows or the stares until Ruhn stopped in front of you, head to chest. Looking up, your lips trembled once more when you noticed the look on his face. The absolute murder on his beautiful blue eyes. They instantly noticed the angry cut made by his father's ring, the way you cradled your arm.

"It isn't worthy" you hiccupped, tired and devastated. "He isn't"

"You are" he growled back, the street almost covered in his angry, restless shadows. "You are my fucking mate and he has no right to even look at you"

"I just wanna go home"

You had been in that situation before — someone making a comment or a move about the obvious truth, that he was the prince and you were the half-human. That it was not supposed to be, because his fate was to be with someone better, more powerful, more talented. Not a half-human barista who barely managed to finish her studies and pay off her loans.

Each and every single time, Ruhn had gotten himself into trouble because of it. So many times, actually, that you had long ago stopped believing what they said. But it was different, because that time, it came from someone with the capacity of making it happen. Of keeping you away from Ruhn and taking the only light in your life away. Only thinking about it made your breath speed up.

"Flynn will take you home" Ruhn stared behind your shoulder, as if he could see his target.

"Ruhn, please. I just want to... Forget about it" you tried again, sneaking a hand forward until you could grab his. It was shaking from rage.

"And I want to talk to him. Just like he has talked to you" he snarled, not looking at you though holding your hand. "He thinks - he believes he can do this, he has always done it. But there are lines"

"There are lines for you too. Let's just -"

"Have you seen yourself, Y/N?" Rhun interrupted you. "Don't think I can't guess what he has said. He has touched you. He has kicked out of my home, because this is mine too. He has no right. None"

"He will do it again, if you give him a reason" you waited a few seconds in silence before squeezing his hand, looking at him through the pouring rain. "Ruhn"

His eyes finally dropped back to you, and he ran his tongue across his lip piercing. He knew what he needed, what he wanted. To scream back at his father so the whole Lunathion heard how worthy you were of him, how he was the one who had to keep up with you.

Ruhn wanted to finally act on his father, that had caused him so much harm, that had rejected his sister like a stray puppy. He wanted to kill him for even daring to summon you, knowing he wasn't around and your kind heart wouldn't recline.

He was tempted to do so, his eyes moving back and forth from your eyes to the scratch on your cheek. Even if he could imagine what had happened there, he had lived through enough to know it had been worse.

The only thing that kept him from breaking down his father's door and every bone was the urge of taking you away from that place. He hadn't thought about an umbrella or a car. After receiving Bryce call that you weren't home and having Declan track your phone, he had only one worry in mind - your safety.

And he had to ensure that first.

So he brushed off his soaked jacket and put it over your shoulders and head, big enough to cover you partially from the rain.

Without sharing another word, Ruhn draped his arm around your shoulders and tucked you into his chest, pressing a kiss to your forehead. He felt more than saw you trembling, enclosing your body around him like a perfect mold.

Yeah, he would kill his father for this. Just not tonight.

"How did you know?" you asked softly, while he scared away the few curious eyes that still looked at you with just one glare.

"I always know when you need me" he squeezed your shoulders, wishing it was different. "I'll always come"

"I hate him" you admitted, knowing the feeling was shared. "I hate what he said and did, but I hate more than he only cares about us because he wants to use you. I despise him"

There were few people you hated. That girl in fourth grade who cut your hair as you were trying to grow it longer. The cat of your neighbors, who snarled at you and tried to scratch you every time you saw her. People who started wars, maybe. But you were a kind-hearted person, and that had made Ruhn fall in love with you. Tired from all the hate and pain, you had been his salvation in a world where he was losing his soul.

What pained him the most was that, if it wasn't for his father's hidden intentions behind his dislike for your relationship, you wouldn't even hate him. You would shrug the hurt and sadness away, and keep going.

His father loathed that you were his mate, that he had a normal, healthy relationship with no political power. He wasted no occasion to throw him women and men that would be a great alliance to his family – and still, all Ruhn could do was search for your face in the crowd.

So different from each other, he could barely resist the urge of turning around and burning the whole place down. But he kept hugging you silently, gathering the strength to leave that place without turning back.

"Whatever he said, whatever came out if his poisoned mouth, was a lie. He can try and change us, but he won't" Ruhn felt the need to remind you, no matter how many times he had said it. "I love you, I've loved you since the first coffee and long after my body goes cold"

"I love you too, Ruhn"

“Couch and movie?”

Ruhn had planned a party, as he always did, for when he came back that night. But not even Declan and Flynn would argue with him, knowing he needed to stay with you just as much as you needed you. You nodded against his chest and he let you both be consumed by shadows and darkness.

He tugged you forward until you were nested against his side, and started walking. The shadows covered you from the worst part of the rain as you walked in silence, tucked together.

No matter how much his father hurt you, how much he used Ruhn, there was something he could never change – that you were his home.

Want to read more? Check out my side blog @imaginesmaimasterlists, where I keep all the masterlists! Feedback is always appreciated

[ursa9909]

Sammy Knows AU

(I'm running on like two hours of sleep so this might be hopping a bit in every direction lol)

Headcanon that towards the middle to end of the second season (if half the season they're on the ship give or take) we have a scene where like Yas or Ben is about to get eaten when Sammy goes full cowgirl and starts rangling the dino on its back, ropes over it's maw to keep it from eating her friends, etc...and it's successful, until the boat gets hit by the approaching storm.

Then we see the big metal cargo containers and dinos start falling into the ocean, the last shot with the five camp fam is them rushing towards her, but it's to late. A cargo container does a glancing blow on Sammy and the dino knocking them and the rest can do nothing but watch as dino and Sammy take a plunge and don't come up. Yas and/or Ben almost caught her, traumatizing them even more their seam of six now down two.

The rest of the shenanigans happens and like with the ending of the first season we get Brooklynn, only this time she's out at night backlit by moonlight when a soggy figure emerges from the water. Her only words, "Do you remember?"

There's a something in her hand, it's the same devices to disrupt the chips that were once used to make dinosaurs fight, only this time it was to keep a mind from remembering. A safeguard. Brooklynn would complete her mission no matter what (just like her conviction with keeping the laptop away from Dr.Wu)

Sammy looks at her, looking more like a drowned rat than anything else. Her head is killing her, and it's like the poisoning all over again, the pain behind her eyes, the fogginess in her head accompanied by a killer headache, like her nerves were set aflame.

She looks at the unwelcomed ghost come to life again, she agreed to this, knows that Brooklynn is doing what she thinks is right and Sammy would help a friend in need, especially one that she considers family. But the others were far away, she saw them as they scrambled for a life boat before Sammy went under.

Ben was right to be suspicious of her, even if she and Brooklynn were doing this for them.

Sammy sighs heavily, lets her memories clash with one another; she wonders what permanent damage has been done to her brain, wonders if she'd ever remember anything in the correct order without feeling like she put one piece in front of another at the wrong time.

"Yes"

[disneyanddisneyships]

Alaponi "transactional fucking" stage but everytime they were done al would just dip

Like- "oh well! Now that we're done, *dresses up* I need to go meet with someone at the colony!"

Like no cuddle. Bro just dipped.

Cause deers dont mate for life

:)

Warnings: a bit of smut in the beginning ig? Foul language... some angst... alastor probably being ooc..

Aponi moaned as she felt alastor spill into her. Her face was flushed and her hair was messy.

This was transactional. In return for a room at the hotel, Aponi had to practically be the radio demons fuck toy every October.... the only negative thing was that Aponi was in love with him.... but he wasn't in love with her.....

As alastor pulled out he sat upright on the bed putting his clothes back on almost immediately.

He did it every time. He never stayed over. No aftercare, no closeness. Just gone.

"You could stay if you'd ljke," Aponi muttered... hoping that just this once he'd give her a chance and she wouldn't have to wait another year before he considered her existence again.

"I'm afraid I cannot!" Alastor piped up as he took his microphone in his hand and draped his coat over his arm. "I have important business to get to. Goodbye!" He exclaimed, slamming the door on his way out.

Aponi sighed and stood up, using the bathroom and re-brushing her teeth.

She had a performance to get to in about an hour and Val would kill her if she was late.

So, getting dressed in some performanxe clothes and a long coat, she did her hair and grabbed her purse, walking out of the room.

Down in the lobby alastor was speaking with husk. Clearly they were important matters.

However alastor shut his mouth when he saw her and this made Aponi feel REALLY uneasy.

Until Angel piped up.

"Ohhhh sexy mama! You goin ta Val's?" He asked from his place on the couch.

"Yeah. Mal is supposed to drive me but.... she's not here so I'll probably just walk," Aponi replied as she grabbed an apple.

"Alright. Oh, hey you know that new bartender guy?" Angel spoke.

"Uhhh.... yeah," Aponi replied as she leaned over the couch and at her apple.

"Rumor has it he's got a fat ol crush on a certain butterfly demon~" Angel teased.

Aponi didn't see it, but Alastor stiffened up.

"Oh please. No one at that club gives a rats ass about the other... except for the dancers... speaking of that, did you talk to Jen about her twisted ankle? She and I are supposed to perform next week," Aponi stated.

Angel just shook his head.

"Alright well... I should get going," Aponi stated as she threw her half eaten apple away... Val would probably make her puke it up later anyway.

"I could always take you, dear!" Alastor piped up from the bar area.

Aponi looked at him, insecurity on her features.

".. I'm good... thanks though," she muttered.

She hated pretending like what they were doing wasn't happening.... but she was probably a fool to believe an overlord could actually fall in love with someone like her.

"Alrighr well. Bye Angie, bye Husk!" She called out as she left the room.

............

Aponi walked into the club, 5 minutes early, thank Satan.

Now she realized why she didn't walk. The amount of catcallers she had was unbelievable.

As she walked through the club and backstage into the changing rooms, she didn't notice the bartender staring at her with a smile that practically screamed he was in love with her.

[randomvarious]

Today's compilation:

Hed Kandi: Disco Kandi 2000 House / Garage House / Nu-Disco

Good God, what a terrific pair of discs here from the ever-consistent dance comp label Hed Kandi. With this first ever installment in their Disco Kandi series, the UK outfit supplies a steady stream of ephemeral house bangers from the late 90s and 2000, with a lot of the selections sounding contemporary, but also managing to channel an invigorating old-school disco spirit too. And many of these glitz-glammy, high-quality productions also collectively continue to progress from the sonic tradition that first started in famed New York DJ Larry Levan's Paradise Garage nightclub in the late 70s, where he nurtured a more vocally soulful and R&B-rooted house sound into the late 80s that would come to be known simply as 'garage.' And after the Paradise Garage's closure, that garage sound would find popularity at a club in New Jersey called Zanzibar too, where Tony Humphries would continue to spin it.

Now, despite a few of these tracks having somewhat remarkably high YouTube play counts, all of them were and still are definitely underground; that is, except for one. And this particular tune that I'm referring to wasn't just mainstream, but it really managed to lace the hell out of a lot of US contemporary hit radio stations back in the late 90s, even though it only ended up peaking at #52 on the Billboard Hot 100, overall. Basically, if you tuned into your local pop or more dance-oriented station on anything close to a regular basis back then, there's almost no way that you could've avoided one-off supertrio Stars on 54's cover of Gordon Lightfoot's 1970 soft folk-rock classic, "If You Could Read My Mind," which saw Amber, Jocelyn Enriquez, and Ultra Naté teaming up to record a song for the soundtrack to the disco period flick, 54. Really classic radio gold right there that a lot of people probably haven't thought about in a long while.

And then just as you're finished reminiscing on whatever fond memories you might hold that are associated with that particular song, quite possibly the most impressive track of all within this two-disc set ends up directly following it: the Matthew Roberts and Richard Fite remix of Eclipse's "Makes Me Love You." This one has a big, sun-shining pool party vibe to it, as it combines lustrous disco strings, funkily plucked guitar, a fuzzy-thick corrugated bassline, and piano keys, all while employing a lovely filter technique, which is that really popular thing that house musicians got to doing around this time period, in which certain elements sound distant and submerged, and as they continuously loop, keep sounding closer and clearer, until they satisfyingly breach the surface and hit their glorious peak. And that's maybe my favorite type of house music in the whole world 😊.

So, a really enjoyable way to spend over two and a half hours here, with a hefty dose of  super sleek house tunes, a lot of which are on a nu-disco and garage tip. And it was collected by the always seemingly on point Hed Kandi label too, which has never steered me wrong before!

Highlights:

CD1:

Cunnie Williams - "A World Celebration (Mousse T's Party Lick)" Lovestation - "Teardrops (Joey Negro 12" mix)" Bini + Martini -" Happiness (B+M's new re-edit)" Paul Johnson - "Get Get Down (Dancefloor dub)" Fire Island - "There but for the Grace of God (Joey Negro mix)" Soulsearcher - "Can't Get Enough (vocal club mix)" Stars on 54 - "If You Could Read My Mind (original club mix)" Eclipse - "Makes Me Love You (Morning Star mix)" Darryl Pandy meets Nerio's Dubwork - "Sunshine & Happiness (Nerio's Dubwork mix)" Glaubitz & Roc - "Sunshine Day (extended mix)" Jaydee vs. Bo Horne - "Spank (Exit EEE's alternative mix)"

CD2:

The Lab Rats presents The Experiment feat. Lisa Millett - "Music Is My Way of Life (Lab Rats Main Experiment)" Choo Choo Project - "Hazin' & Phazin' (Lab Rat's Funkin' With Choo Choo)" Sun Kids feat. Chance - "Rescue Me (Bini + Martini 999 Funk mix)" Phunkie Souls - "The Music (Richard F "Defected" re-edit)" Z-Factor - "Make a Move on Me (extended 12" mix)" Michael Moog - "That Sound (Full Intention mix)" Novy vs. Eniac - "Superstar (Full Intention mix)" Duke - "So in Love With You (Full Intention mix)"

[unloneliest]

okay I want to know what lemon rat is but I am scared to look it up

to set the stage for you re how unreliable my memory of lemon rat information is, i learned about bondage rat and lemon rat secondhand during one of the most insane weeks of my life. dan howell came out within 24 hours of me getting on an airplane to visit rowan and aries (with whom i had been sharing an intense year and a half dan and phil fixation—we were completely unsurprised by 99% of what he shared in that video including some very detailed things and not for boundary crossing reasons but bc we were just so fucking on the wavelength he was on and had been since late 2017. like destiel week mass hysteria was more widespread but nothing compares to what we experienced in summer 2019).

ANYWAYS we learned about lemon rat while at a stoned gay little picnic in a park with other not on tumblr friends; one was reading a book that talked abt both the bondage rat from the post i tagged about lemon rat on & lemon rat. similar concept i think to the jacket but lemon rat had his first sexual encounter while exposed to lemon scent and afterwards at the very least ejaculated more ?? while in sexual encounters that included lemon scent ?? i'm fuzzy on the details but same principle they gave rats fetishes it probably won't kill you to look it up!! i would love to know if i have any of those details right but almost certainly will not be researching on my own.

[lesp1een]

17 or 20 for bret and shawn??? whichever you prefer

Hi! I'm really late to this one since I just started writing again after a bad writing block but here you go!

Angst writing prompts, number 20:

"You look like hell"

Content warnings: Mentions of addiction and body image issues

It was so very hard to get rid of the stench. 

He tried to open up his windows, letting in the breeze of that cold winter night to wash away every proof of his miserable habits out of the room. 

He had never experienced such a freezing winter before. It was cold enough to seep into his bones and leave him burning. And yet it felt almost refreshing, to feel the pain on his skin as he brought himself out in the balcony, hands moving by themselves into his jeans pockets to reach out for the almost empty pack of cigarettes and a lighter.

He bought those cigs when the sun was starting to disappear behind the harsh silhouettes of those buildings only places like New York City could manage to build so tall, they looked like they could break into the sky, and by the pitch black night the pack was almost empty. 

He was lucky that hotel was old enough not to have fire alarms installed, and by the look of it, many people had spent their stay smoking cigarettes to turn the once white wallpaper into a sickly yellow. 

It was nauseating. The smell, it was all over his clothes, the smoke so thick it covered his room in a sickening stenching haze. 

He was living in it; that fucking haze he couldn't get rid of, no matter how much he tried to scrub his shirts and pants with soap and water until the color was washing off of them, no matter how much he brushed his teeth, so hard it hurt, so rough it made his gums bleed. 

His teeth were rotting. 

Not that he could see it, but he felt it. Everytime he looked into the mirror, examining every single one of them, he didn't seem to find anything wrong. They were alright, maybe a little yellow, nothing a dentist appointment couldn't fix. 

Yet he felt it. Aggressively gritting and obsessively licking every tooth, he knew he was rotting. 

One time he was kissing this woman in a club. He wouldn't usually remember a lot of it, because kissing a woman in a club implied that he was drunk off his ass and maybe on something else too, but that night was still vivid in his mind, taking a place in his memory so high it almost shared a seat with the time he learned on the news that John Lennon was killed, which was pretty traumatizing, and the first kiss he shared with Bret Hart, which was even more traumatizing. 

This one, it was more miserable than anything else. He and this girl were having this sloppy, drunk makeout session, and it was going alright, maybe he could even shoot his shot at her and bring her to his hotel room. 

"Your breath is terrible" were the only words that left her mouth after that, looking at him and giggling like it was no big deal. It was a big fucking deal to him, and he was sure no man after a kiss would like to be graced with nothing else than another, more heated kiss. 

After that night, he sometimes still checked if it was true or not that his breath was bad. He couldn't tell, at the same time he didn't kiss anybody on the mouth after that to prove it wrong. 

Shawn only smoke Newports. The taste of fresh menthol would delude his own body that he wasn't poisoning himself. Unless he was out of them, at that point no beggar was more miserable than him, looking out on the ground for a half smoked cigarette.  

Out of the ring everybody knew he was a loser, and that snorting cocaine and smoking flavoured cigarettes instead of cutting heroin only made you a posher junkie, but still a junkie. 

New York never slept. At night it was more chaotic than ever, with her glowing lights and the invasive sound of the still busy road. It was during nighttime that the people more similar to him were around. They left their house at the same hour the rats came up from the sewers to invade the streets.

His friends were those kinds of rats, just like him, and he was sure they had already found a place to party and bang some women. Razor was shocked when Shawn refused to join them for that evening.

"Are you okay, man? You seem kinda pale, chico…" 

Shawn wasn't sure whether he really looked that sick, but he sure felt like it. He told the man he felt like he was catching a fever, that it was nothing he couldn't fix with some paracetamol and two hours of sleep. Razor was dismissed with a reassuring pat on the shoulder and told to have fun before Shawn could close the door behind his back and spend the rest of the evening not doing any of the things he told him he would do. 

There was something strange going on with his body. Everytime he tried checking for his temperature it was alright, yet he was always freezing cold, having to ask every hotel staff for extra blankets to be able to sleep without shivering like a little dog. 

He was somatizing his own misery so much even his body was trying to tell him to go fuck himself, that it would make him suffer for it, for he was unable to escape its fate of being bound to him. 

Just like all the people he tried to hook up with during the past, they all had some sly way to get rid of him without him even realizing it until they were gone. His body was doing the same, and Shawn was left to wonder if death would come to fuck him and leave him cold the same way his men did. 

It was freezing cold and he was still outside, his body betraying him by reaching into that pack of cigarettes until it was empty. A sudden rush of panic surged through him as he felt nothing under his touch, and suddenly, he was out in the streets, making his way along the sidewalks only to find some place to go buy a pack. 

He wouldn't smoke them, he promised himself, he only wanted to make sure he had some. That was all a bunch of bullshit, having to go out in the cold for a smoke, selling his ass and pawning all of his expensive watches for a pound of cocaine. 

Everybody there knew he was an addict, they loved to use his name to feel better about themselves, because they would never end up like that. They loved to bring up how much of a mess he was in every argument as much as Shawn hated to even let himself remember about it. 

He wouldn't usually give a damn about what everybody said behind his back, at least he knew he had his friends. They were the only people he could trust because they were just like him. He could recall all the times he and Razor were getting high on cocaine in some shitty club's bathroom, he could remember all the times Razor saved his ass from overdosing. 

"You almost died, man… You almost died. Fuck, don't scare me like that again, don't do it again." Razor was almost screaming in tears, and he had never seen him cry before. To reduce a man so strong like him to tears was Shawn, softly held in his friend's arms on the floor of a dirty bathroom stall, in the most miserable impression of Michelangelo's Pieta. 

He should have been grateful Razor was with him, yet as his pale skin regained its original color, the only thing he wished for was that he never cried for him again. 

He was scared of losing them, yet he couldn't stop doing stupid shit like going down the street in the middle of the night, walking around a district he didn't know, only to feed his own destruction. 

He eventually found an open drug store, and bought a pack of cigarettes before heading back to the hotel.

By the time he was in the building, shaking in his boots at how cold it was outside, he had already smoked two of them. 

He was sure the place was empty, because everybody had the habit of going out partying every night during their tour stops. It was an eerie feeling, to hear only his own steps echoing through the hall. 

He was sure he was alone until he was not. He hopped into the elevator, and as soon as the doors were closing, he saw the glass doors of the entryway open.

"Thanks." 

Shawn stopped the elevator from closing with his foot only to let Bret in.

"It's fucking cold outside"

After he was given no response, the man glanced in Shawn's direction with a confused frown. There was a moment of silence broken by the static sound of the elevator, during which the two of them simply stood next to each other. 

"Yeah, I'm not used to it." Shawn's voice came out deeper and rougher than usual, and he cleared his throat as he was not used to speaking, which would be untruthful. 

Shawn spoke, even too much, as somebody like Bret would say, so to hear him so avoidant of conversation was concerning. 

"Are you not?" 

"I live in fucking Texas, dude." 

"Right…" 

Bret almost sounded hurt by his passive aggressive responses, as if they liked each other. As if they were friends.

It was even more unnerving to see his scrutinizing gaze upon himself like he was trying to read his thoughts. He made sure to visualize a big middle finger for him to see before the silence was broken again. 

"You look like hell, Shawn." 

Bret's serious tone held the same amount of emotion as those pre-recorded speeches coming from automated phone lines. It was impossible to understand whether he was concerned or straight up insulting. 

He had a condescending aura about him, like he was the grown up and Shawn was only a spoiled child to shake his head upon. 

"Whatever. Go fuck yourself, man." His own growing frustration was alleviated by the sound of the elevator reaching their floor, and as soon as the doors opened, he dashed out of there as if he was escaping a potential threat. 

It wasn't like he was chickening out. He wasn't a coward, and above all that, he wasn't scared of Bret. 

However, he must not let anything slip out of him. He was aware of the way his gaze softened, he could feel his own weakening body. 

Bret didn't like him, that was for sure. He always made it clear, it didn't matter how much he tried to be nice or hold a conversation whenever they were alone. 

He saw him as a threat, only because Shawn was younger and slowly making his way to the top. Shawn was too arrogant for him, too cocky, too libertine, too carefree to stand for his respectable values. 

So carefree Shawn was, as he obsessively stared at his own reflection in the full body mirror, hard enough to feel those pale eyes piercing through him with disappointment.

To say he looked like hell was an overstatement. He didn't look that bad, didn't he? 

The sudden need to smoke guided him out on the balcony again, reaching for his pack of cigarettes to unwrap it from the plastic and open it. 

Looking out, the only other room with the lights on was two balconies far from him. It almost seemed like he and Bret were the only ones populating that place, and suddenly he wondered if Bret always came back to his room so soon. He couldn't know, usually at that time he would be in the club with his kliq. 

Sometimes he liked to imagine the lives of the people living inside those lit windows. Perhaps a lot of them were having sex, or watching tv, or reading a book. He was sure more than half of that district was having sex at that moment. Bret wasn't having sex for sure. The man was married, and he was surely loyal to his wife, which was rare for people such as them who traveled all the time, because he didn't show any interest in any woman. 

He didn't have time to fully register how weird it was to think about his co-workers sex life, for his attention was caught by the reflection of Bret in the open window and he saw him come out on his balcony too, only some feet away from him. 

They didn't share any glance to know about each other's presence, and it was so dumb of him to think of that as something close to intimate, by the way they lit their cigarettes at the same time.

The fresh menthol sunk into his throat at each draw and he was silent, his eyes glued on the sky in front of him to avoid any chance of the other thinking he cared about him being there too. 

Shawn didn't even know Bret smoked, but that was only one of the many things Shawn didn't know about him. 

It was true that he avoided the man, yet he felt the sudden need to not be alone, sitting in his room all night in utter silence like a loser. His friends were out partying and having fun and he was there, having a depressive episode and craving some kind of interaction with someone he didn't have anything to share with but mutual dislike. 

"You smoke?" He made sure to raise his voice to let the other hear, but his words were completely ignored by Bret, who simply stood there, far from him, looking out with his arms crossed on the banister.

A rush of irritation surged through his body at the scenario of the man ignoring him on purpose, until he saw him pull out a tape player attached to his pyjama pants and remove his earphones.

"Are you talking to me?" His voice was loud and clear, and Shawn was relieved. He hated it so much that he was relieved. It made it clear how lonely he was, it showed Bret how weak and pathetic he was to seek his attention. 

"No, why?" 

"Nothing. I thought I heard something."

An usual awkward silence came after that, the wind bringing to Shawn's nose the familiar smell of weed. 

"Is that a joint?" 

"Yeah."

"What?"

"I said I smoke it to sleep!" Bret raised his voice, turning his whole body towards Shawn as if it would help to hear him better. 

"What?!" At that point Shawn was only fucking with him, finding that situation so funny he mocked the other by leaning over the balcony and grabbing the iron rail with his hands, screaming like they were talking from miles away just like Bret did. 

Doing that, his half smoked cigarette slipped from his fingers, falling down on the ground and disappearing in the distance. "Motherfucker!" He tried to catch it without any success, looking down with horror as if he had just witnessed the fall of a person.

That made Bret laugh apparently, he heard him as he raised his head towards him and somehow saw in the distance that stupid smile. 

"What are you laughing at? I spent thirteen dollars on those motherfuckers!" 

"You're so fucking dumb, goddammit." And he laughed again, louder, something that was unusual coming from Bret and was probably only happening because he was high off his ass. It didn't really matter why it was, because Shawn found himself smiling at him after telling him to shut his mouth. 

"By the way, didn't mama teach you that sharing is caring?" 

Shawn didn't expect for Bret to actually invite him in his room to smoke weed together until he found himself sitting on a bed that was not his own, sharing the fattest joint he ever smoked in his whole life with Bret Hart. That was without a doubt a strange outcoming for that night, to laugh at some stupid story the other man was telling him. 

The tv was on the MTV channel, showing some random late night R Rated cartoon, and besides the little lamp on the nightstand, it was the only source of lighting in the room.

Bret told him this story he didn't understand anything about because he was too high and Shawn laughed only because Bret was laughing too.

"So there was this time… I was in a foreign country, hanging out in this club and shit… and I told the guy that was with me to go tell a girl I thought she was hot  because I didn't speak their language-" Shawn took a hit from the joint before passing it to Bret, with his head rested on his own arm, and he listened. 

"Later I found out that he told her that I was his, that he already put his eyes on me and stuff like that… I was like man that was kinda flattering but I don't swing that way…" 

"He was sure into you" His slurred answer was followed by a weaker laugh than the other, as he tried to mask his own discomfort at those last words behind the excuse of tiredness. Of course Bret wasn't a homosexual, it had been years since their first and only kiss. They were drunk and didn't know better, and Marty had probably put something else in their drinks too. 

Not that it was a good kiss. As a matter of fact it was sloppy and disgusting and they both regretted it when they sobered up, but that didn't take away from the fact that there was a time when Shawn was sure he was in love with Bret Hart. 

Because he was beautiful and talented and he was everything Shawn aspired to be. 

Shawn still thought that Bret was good-looking, but he never really did anything about it except from acknowledging that Bret never really liked him and that he was, in fact, married to a woman.

All those thoughts were cut off when the topic of the conversation changed and they continued to endlessly talk about everything and nothing at all, until Shawn was so thirsty he emptied half a water bottle.

He had just finished telling Bret about that time Diesel saved him from being arrested, and he was watching the man roll another joint with half lidded eyes. He felt cotton in his mouth and his head was spinning a bit, and he was now so close to the other he laid with his head on the pillow next to his body. Bret was sitting with his head on the bedpost, so to be able to see his face, Shawn had to look up. 

He lit up the joint and passed it to the blonde to take a hit. 

"Speaking of Diesel, why aren't you out with him and the others tonight?" 

It took some time for Shawn to answer, only because everything was going so well and he didn't want to spoil the mood. Bret didn't need to know about his misery and how messed up he was in the head. He laid there smoking in silence for a good minute, his eyes glued on the ceiling.

"I don't know… I've been feeling like shit lately and I wanted to be alone." 

Bret took the joint from his fingers, and Shawn looked up at him only to meet his reddened brown eyes staring back from above. 

He was laying there, on Bret's bed, getting looked at, and perhaps he was too high to really register things the way they were but he was sure there was something close to intimacy in that gaze. 

Perhaps too much intimacy. 

"So you came into my room to smoke weed…" The irony of it all made both of them smile at each other, and Shawn shook his head, rolling his eyes up on the white ceiling again, for it was easier to speak deeper words without feeling those eyes on his. 

"I didn't want to be alone alone, I just didn't want to go to a club. Lately they've been going to strip clubs only because they're horny and looking for some chick to bang and honestly… I don't wanna bang any chick."

"That's news." 

"Oh, fuck you. Besides that, last time I hit on a girl she told me my breath stank and laughed at me and…" It was indeed childish to fuss over stupid stuff like that. But he was high on weed and every slight change of humor affected him worse than it should, so he felt tears in his eyes that could easily be mistaken for irritation from the smoke that filled the room. "... As you said, I look like hell."

That was probably the deepest conversation he ever had with Bret, and after a moment of silence, he heard him sigh deeply. 

"Shawn… I meant that you looked like you were about to cry. I don't think you look ugly or that your breath stinks, you just look sad." 

Shawn was miserable, he was a loser, he was pathetic, but he never thought of himself as sad. 

Sad was a new word to him to describe himself with, and somehow it was a better word. It implied that maybe that was all a temporary thing, and he was sad, but if he was sad, he could be happy too. 

He breathed deeply until that heaviness in his chest dissipated, so he would be able to talk without bursting into tears like a kid. 

Like a child he felt. A child who busts his knee and cries, a child who desperately cries into his mother's arms. And she comforts him, she tells him it's gonna get better soon. She tells him the pain is temporary, and that his knee will heal. 

She will kiss the pain away. 

By the time he opened his eyes again, they were dry of any tears. 

"So you don't think that my breath stinks?" 

He was able to joke about it, only to earn a little slap on his head and chuckle about it. 

"You're a child." 

"No, seriously… Does my breath smell bad?" 

"How the fuck would I know?" Bret shrugged as if it was nothing important, leaving Shawn wondering if he left him disgusted as much as that girl was, when they kissed each other. 

He would have told him. Shawn was sure he would have told him, if he had a bad breath. Bret never missed the opportunity to remind him how impossible it would be for Shawn to even try to reach his level. 

He never smelt bad, he never had that stench morbidly attached to his core, as a matter of fact Bret was a stable man. With a nice breath and a family waiting for him at home. His fingers were not turning yellow, and his teeth weren't rotting.

Such a good example of a man reduced to being compared to a messy thing like him. To have to work with him everyday, to see Shawn reach his same heights of success, to stand next to him everyday, next to a man who represented everything a role model like him should condemn. 

No wonder why Bret didn't like him all that much. It was strange enough to even see him smoke weed knowing how much shit they got for that from their boss. 

"Come and smell it then." Shawn teased. He smoked that joint until there was nothing left but the filter, and passed it to Bret to throw it away.

"I'm not smelling your breath." 

"Why not?" 

"Because that's fucking disgusting" 

"Oh, come on, you're a pussy!" 

Shawn elbowed him in the guts with enough force to initiate a slightly painful play fighting, which resulted in Shawn trying to breath in his face and Bret pushing him away with his hand on his face. 

"I'm gonna beat your ass for real if you don't stop!" He had him in a chokehold, his eyes so dark he could see his own face staring back. As it usually happened between them, things escalated quickly. No matter how high he was, Bret was still Bret, and Shawn could feel the thin thread of his patience rapidly break down by the growing strength he used to hold him away, like he was ready to put to use some of his old man's teachings.

His reaction was to roughly pull himself out of his grip and back away from Bret like he was avoiding the incoming bite of an angry dog. "C'mon, I was fucking with you."

"Yeah, don't do it again." They were in front of each other now, Shawn busy massaging his own aching jaw as they stared at each other in bewilderment. Bret was pissed off, he sure was for a little, but his gaze slowly softened as he calmed down, and they both laughed. Hearing Bret laugh did some things to him, and even though they were good, the tension in the room did not dissipate, and the relaxation of moments before had disappeared by the time Shawn had put his hands on him. 

He had tried all night to not think about it. About him and the way he was still so breathtakingly beautiful in his eyes. He had never seen him that relaxed, let alone speak and smile that much to him. 

Bret seldom smiled when he was around him. He made it very clear when he didn't like someone, even if he was always trying to be nice or hold pointless conversations. 

Maybe it was better off like that. To be treated like nothing but a co-worker, not even one he would share a beer with. 

Because, as he was sitting in front of him, he couldn't think about anything but those lips. Smiling, and pointing right at him. No matter how bad their first kiss was, he was still attracted to him to the point it was dangerous, because he knew Bret could tell. He could tell by the way he slowly let himself closer to him, only to feel the ghost of his warmth. It was pointless to turn his gaze away from him, and so they remained staring at each other in silence. He knew Bret could tell, for there was no wonder in his eyes, as he let go a sigh of resignation. 

"No, Shawn…" It almost sounded like yielding, the way he spoke softly, not even trying to repel Shawn from making his way up to sit on his legs. 

He was surrendering himself to him, and Shawn could tell what his desires were by the slight opening of his lips. So he swore on those lips, so close he could almost taste them as he spoke.

"It's gonna be good this time. I swear it's gonna be better." 

[loverainline]

No home

The shop was rather quiet today. With the exception of the usual croaking and chirping of the other fellow animals, everything was silent.

Probably because there were no annoying customers present. These witches and wizards barging in with their children, yelling and cooing at the small animals in here. He preferred it this way, honestly! With no human in sight, it gave him the opportunity to relax and… relax some more.

As if on cue, the doorbell rang, and three witches dressed in long purple robes entered the shop. The one on the left was wearing a tall pointy hat and gestured at a cage near the window. Two tortoises were in it, their shell decorated with glittering jewels. “Look Martha! Aren't those absolutely beautiful? Maybe you could adopt one of them?��� She asked, looking at the blond witch to her right. “Yes, they are stunning. But I told you, I'm looking for a cat.“ “There are some over there!” said the third witch helpfully. All three women walked over to the cats, who were sitting in front of a shelf. They started meowing and purring, like this was some sort of competition.

He stayed where he was, at the top off the shelf, from where he had a great view off everything that was going on. It was not like someone would want to adopt him anyway. He was in this shop for too long now and had heard too many people call him hideous, before shooing him away, to not know better by now.

It did take the witch about half an hour, before she had picked one of the cats, paid and left the shop with her friends in tow. He was about to take a nap, before the doorbell rang again.

So much for an quiet and relaxing day…

This time a wizard came in on his own. Asking the owner, a talented old witch, questions about his double-ended newts. He spoke in such a quiet and calm voice that he was about to take a nap, after all, when the door was opened yet again.

The people who had entered the shop this time, were quite young. Two boys, one who had flaming red hair and the other with black hair and glasses. And then there was a young girl with brown hair, who was looking at the room with the owls nearby, excitedly. Clearly, she was planing on buying one.

Because the wizard with the calm voice was still engaged in a conversation with the witch, the kids took their time to inspect the cages all around them closely. He only paid half attention to them, but flicked his tail annoyed, however, when he heard the rats on the counter jumping again. They always did this, when kids entered the shop. Usually, young witches and wizards thought their weird dancing was funny and often ended up adopting one of them.

A few minutes went by, before the wizard left and the boy with the red hair walked up to the counter. “This is my rat.“ he said to the witch and explained to her, how his rat themed a bit ill as of late. He watched the rat, Scabbers as the boy had called it, intently. Something was strange about this rat, and it was not the fact, that it was sickly looking. But what was it?

Maybe it was the fact, that the boy described his rat as ordinary, and yet it was unusual old for one of its kind. Or maybe it were its eyes who themed to scan its surroundings with a look of terror that was different to the normal instinctual fear these animals typically showed. This expression themed different, almost human-like…

He etched closer to the edge of the shelf to get an even better look at the rat. Once he had seen a well-dressed witch turn into a cat in this shop. He knew of Animagi. And this Scabbers looked so much not like a rat, as the witch had not looked like a cat after her transformation. To the unsuspecting eye very hard to detect, but he could tell. Why was this wizard impersonating the pet of this boy? A cold feeling creeped into his bones. A dark, evil wizard, maybe?

Well, there was one easy way to force him to reveal himself, if he did not wish to end up as his dinner. With one quick motion he jumped from the shelf, hissing loudly, prepared to give Scabbers the fright of his life. His crooked legs sometimes made these kinds of jumps a bit more difficult than necessary and so instead of the counter he landed right on the boy's head. 

“Ugh!“ the redhead yelled startled. “No! Crookshangs, stop!“ yelled the witch immediately. The “rat” managed to escape and ran out of the shop into the busy streets of diagon alley. Hopefully he would stay far away from this kid and stop pretending to be a rat from now on, but given the fact that the rat was with the redhead's family for years already, he kind of doubted that. And the kid did not theme inclined to let him run away. “Scabbers!“ he yelled and ran after him, his dark haired friend following him close by. 

“Oh, I am so sorry! Here, he can have the potion for his rat for free! If he finds it…“ the Witch said to the girl, who had stayed behind. “Bad Crookshanks! Very bad!“ “I don't think he did it on purpose!“ the girl said, and he liked her already. “Pah! He always behaves badly, this Crookshanks! Been here since he was just a kitten but with a look and temper like that no one wants to adopt him.“ “Oh no! Poor Crookshanks!“ replied the girl. She themed to pity him but more so, her tone sounded gentle, as if she genuinely did not understand why no one wanted to adopt him. He liked her even more now and walked a bit closer to her to sniff her long brown hair. She smiled a started to stroke his head. “I would like to adopt him.“ she said. 

“What?!“ said the witch surprised and saying what he was thinking. A weird mixture of emotion filled him. A bit of hope, joy and gratitude, but also fear. Maybe the calm voice of the wizard had lulled him into a deep slumber after all, and this girl wasn't even real. Why would a dark wizard live as a rat for years anyway?

He was so lost in thoughts that he didn't registered the girl had paid for him until she picked him up and exited the shop with him in her arms. They were solid and warm, and her expression was even warmer while she looked at him lovingly. This was not a dream! And the confusing mixture of emotions made room for an intense happiness. He finally had a home!

[bunnyboo77]

Short Story ( Final Destination )

Warning (Blood, Hunting, Blood, Death and Gore)

The night was late and yet the sound of the city never ceased with the noise of life. All around cars honking, people yelling, and the little humming of neon signs filled the air. Claudia, who had just left, after working late at her job, fast paced down the street. Though there was noise there were no bodies around, which is strange as it always bumping into someone or being insulted. Cursing under her breath as she made her way down the tiled steps to the subway, she kept beating herself up to insist on staying late. Her decision was completely voluntary and though she couldn't bring herself to say no to Simon, his soft brown eyes and charming smile hypnotized her into doing whatever he wanted that included picking up his slack.

Clicking of black leather heels against the tiled hall echoed as she made her way to the platform. Stale smells of urine and cheap alcohol invaded her nose and made her stop to slightly vomit in her mouth. Such a disgusting place she thought but unfortunately there were no taxis around and quite frankly she was too annoyed to wait around for one to drive her way. Simon, who was her employer, asked her to stay late with him thinking she had finally won him over with her sweet gestures of coffee every morning and sweet buns or even the low number she wore to work one day was shattered the minute she stepped in his office. Before putting her hand on the doorknob faint sounds of voices could be heard from his office

“don't worry sweetheart I'll be home soon.”

“I promise I won't stay late I just have to finish something up here.”

“I love you.”

Those 3 little words are what broke Claudia, it wasn't just those words but his whole tone, the soft sweetness of his mellowed voice. “I'm an idiot”. Rushing back to her cubicle she grabbed her bag and coat and made her way to the lift before he could talk or see her. All the while the buttons made their way down the floors, she continues to think why she ever bend over backwards for a pathetic scumbag like Simon. She didn't even care if he came in the next day and asked why she left after agreeing to stay behind. Quite frankly she couldn't give a rat ass about a good excuse for him, she simply chalked it up to woman's problems.

As she made her way onto the platform the last train just had pulled out, groaning in frustration she then began stating “ shit, shit, shit” without thinking if there was anyone else around. Luckily that night the platform was eerily quiet, no body of both human nor rodents could be seen or heard. Claudia knew the trains ran all night, so it wasn't going to be her last, the only problem was the next one was in half an hour. Contemplating whether to walk home or simply stand out in the cold waiting by chance if a taxi would show up. At this stage of the night, she was willing to wait half an hour for a train, so she took a seat on one of the empty metal chairs against the wall. Though it appeared clean she was not all convinced so taking out one of her handy wet wipes she gave it a quick clean before parking her ass and waiting.

Resting her head in her hand she didn't know what came over her but a sudden heaviness in her eyes brought her into a short yet sweet sleep. Feeling head dripping down she was almost in a slumber when something unexpectedly woke her up. Boots, hard heavy boots could be heard echoing down the hall. Normally it wouldn't have bothered her but something about their pace unnerved her, slowly she started to hear them make their way down the hall and then out of nowhere they began to pace themselves quicker and then almost like in a Sprint-like motion. Turning your head to the only entrance to the platform (other than the guards emergency exit) she waited patiently as the boots got closer to the platform wanted to know what kind of person was in such a rush that they sounded like they were running on all fours.

Clutching her bag close to her chest, she took her nails into the leather as she could feel the pounding in her chest. Why was this sudden appearance of another person making her feel uneasy was it the fact that was late at night or was it the fact that she was all alone on a platform and her imagination began to play tricks on her, whatever it was its sparked her paranoia. Digging inside her bag she wanted to be prepared even if it was just her mind, she took out her pepper spray and was ready to act if it came down to it. Knowing it wasn't a long hallway darling she didn't have long she stood up an aimed her pepper spray but as the sound was about to reach the platform no body appeared.

Waiting for what seemed like hours she then began to pluck up the courage and peek around the corner. She took it step by step slowly as she predicted this body who owned these pair of boots was waiting around the corner and wanted to jump her at a surprise. Inhaling deeply, she peeked her head around the corner and surprisingly there was no body just the grimy-looking hallway with the above lights that were flickering on and off. Trying to rationalize the whole scene she chalked it up to her mind playing tricks on her as it had been a long day, and she was quite tired.

Just then a train approached the platform, and a great sigh of relief escaped her body as she was fondly about to head home. As the door was open Claudia Hastily made her way onto the train and took a seat away from the door. The raspy voice over the intercom announced the closing of the doors and with it the train took off. The train, though large, didn't seem to have another person as a passenger, quite odd she did not think much of it. Travelling for a few minutes the train then abruptly halted, throwing Claudia forward on her seat. As the train stopped the intercom turned back on instead of the high pitch full voice that was normally broadcast an almost animalistic sound took its place. It frightened Claudia so much that she stood up and made her way to the back of the train hoping to find someone or at least open the emergency door to get back to the platform.

About to leave her carriage, something made her turn around though she wished she never gave in to this inkling. The doors were seen through what she witnessed was delights to the top carriage turning off and with the darkness came a pair of white eyes. A feeling inside of her told her to get off the train to break the glass if she needed to but she had to get off the train. Panicking, she ran down the carriages, finding not a soul but instead the darkness continued to follow her and with the appearance of the white eye came with it the sound of the heavy boot she heard earlier on the platform. Not wanting to stay any longer she got to the last carriage and tried pulling on the emergency door trying with all her might it would not budge. As panic set into her chest, she turned around and saw that the eyes had stopped the carriage before hers. The eyes himself reminded her of jackdaws, those small little birds they felt as though they were studying every inch of her.

Taking her heel, she managed to break the glass but had cut herself in the process of unlocking the door she was about to jump onto the rail lines but turned back for one more look. The eyes they had vanished and the lights all around turned back on in the previous carriages. Feeling the train move she did not know if it was safe to return or to simply jump. Unfortunately, she did not have time to think before a figure jumped through the emergency door and pinned down Claudia.

The last thing she saw was the pair of white eyes staring back at her with the pale complexions of a creature with teeth small yet sharp plunging into her neck. The ripping of flash along with the accompanying of growls and animal covered up the ear pierced screams of Claudia.

The train stopped at the next platform and waiting for it were two people waiting patiently accompanied by plastic bags and a mop. The doors opened and with it presented a freshly coated masterpiece. Dark Crimson blood stained the walls of the carriage still oozing in heavy droplets, pieces of organs draped the railings hung like party banners all the way down. Walking out of the carriage the person who created this mess dragged with him the upper half of Claudia’s body, her face permanently scarred with fear, flesh and bone still visible from her ripped torso, so you dragged her along onto the vacant platform.

“You could have made this kill a lot cleaner than it had to be this is going to take all night to clean” stranger number one set as he groaned in annoyance in the aftermath.

“I didn't feel like snapping her neck I wanted the thrill of the hunt I wanted to feel her heart beat her panic her fear it makes the blood ever so sweeter” the white eyes man spoke swiping away the blood from around his lips.

“Stop bickering and let's get this over with. This time you saved some flash” stranger number two spoke.

“What can I say Big Brother always provides for his family.”

[jack-kellys]

for the fic title thing !!!!

“there are worse ways to stay alive” ORRRR

“my engine works perfect on empty (i guess i’ll drive)”

- @we-are-inevitable ✨

so im doing both bc why the fuck not

send me a fic title and i'll think up a fic!

GENUINELY my first thought for the first one is a santa clarita diet au LMAO?? i've never seen it though so technically im still original. but like jack and crutchie are roommates. jack either eats something that gets him sick or something insane like an nyc rat bites his ankle bc this is a comedy. jack starts acting... weirder, and crutchie picks up on it pretty fast bc they are 🤝. it's almost like jack has this concussive brain fog and it takes him a while to form sentences, he's talking a lot less, eating less, much more irritable. kinda of like crutchie is dealing with a moody, hungry teenager. but the night after when c's smoking on the first escape (medicinal....not medicinal... c’est la vie) jack comes out to join him and like.

"you ever get these weird, like. cravings for stuff you can't eat?"

"god yeah, i used to want to eat lava and playdough and shit like that all the–"

"like yeah, that stuff too but like...when you bite your hand and you keep biting it, you know, 'cause it's kind of squishy and like. food?"

"did. you... you did hit the joint i left out, right?"

"nah, i was just thinking, i guess.. or i've been thinking."

"fuck."

so it's Charlie's Terrible Horrible No-Good Very Bad time of trying to hide the fact that his best friend is now half-zombie, and especially how not to tell david jacobs, jack's boyfriend and c's longtime friend. i usually make charlie into the enigma but i think jack should be it, for fun. also i think it'd be funny if it took crutchie kinda longer to realize that what's wrong with jack is zombification specifically because honestly... jack is just like that LMAO??? he hates waking up in the morning, he's tired a lot, he has weird eating habits, makes weird noises, not a lot of perception on if he's being loud or not, zones out a lot. jack's basically halfway there already tbh. but he'd stopped creating, which is what initially tips c off.

the shenanigans of hiding it and then needing to find a cure before it's too late is just fun asf. also jack gets to literally lose his mind. haha. ha. ha. :)

now the SECOND title. lmao

~davey is pushing himself to hard againnn yeahhhhh!!!~

college au, davey has an exam coming up that he's going crazy about. hours on hours of studying, isolation, stressing, not eating as much...jack is really worried. he asks his friends what to do- some say to leave him be to get through it, some say to talk to him, and then albert dasilva says "why don't you just..kidnap him."

"what?"

"yeah, so he doesn't have access to any of his textbooks or notes or laptop, you just toss him in the car and drive."

"what is wrong with you," charlie says, but jack is nodding.

"no wait. say more rn."

so during the late night before the day before the test, it's like 3am when davey finally falls asleep at his desk, and then like. the cueing text is sent in the group chat from jack and all the besties scurry into action.

jack lifts davey into his arms, and their dorm door is opened for them silently by albert. race right next to him surgically places a sleepmask onto daveys face so the hall light doesnt wake him. romeo's holding the elevator open. mush and blink are holding the downstairs doors open. specs and crutchie drove daveys car (having stolen the keys earlier in the day of course) over, open the passenger door for davey, lower the seat, set a blanket over him, carefully close the door, and wish jack luck.

davey wakes up two hours of driving later to signs saying they're in south jersey of all fucking places. it's now the day before his test. and davey is livid.

"you kidnapped me."

"technically it was albert's idea"

"i don't see albert driving my damn car. turn around, jack, it's really not the time to be fucking funny right now."

"i'm a little insulted at you not thinking i know you well enough to do this. if i really thought you'd hate me for this, if i really thought it would- destroy your grade, or your college career, do you really think i'd be doing it?"

"maybe."

"no, sweetheart, jeez. you've studied for the past fifteen days- if you just relax, you'll make the grade, and there's no way you would've let yourself do that back on campus. so, i kidnapped you."

they spend the day together fucking around at the atlantic city boardwalk and dipping their feet into the ocean and watching the sunset before driving back. david gets a 90% on his test and maybe he wanted a 92% but he wouldn't trade grades for the world if it meant not getting kidnapped by his boyfriend and their friends. :)

[sympolite]

so i work for a massive corporate thrift store chain. it pays well enough - a lot better than doing art on commission did - but the worst part is how easily my job just bleeds into every spare second i have, even on days off.

every night before a workday, i set up my clothes for the next morning, prepare my lunch, and set my alarm so that, when i hit the hay at 11:30 at night, i wake up at 7:30 the next morning. eight hours of sleep. not as many as i might want to have, or as many as i need to feel healthy, but as many as i need to be functional for eight hours of work.

hopefully i don't have a bout of insomnia. i can't just move everything around so i get eight hours of sleep anyway - i have to take the L and run on, i'unno, four hours of sleep if I do. maybe i should take some meds so i don't waste the next four hours being awake.

it's now 7:30. it's enough time to wake up and eat breakfast. it's the same thing every day - cereal, toaster waffles, and some fruit. this is so i'm not having hunger pangs throughout the day, but more importantly, it's so i'm not late to take a shower.

i set my alarm for my shower. ten minutes, at most, so i'm not late to brush my teeth and dry off. i check the clock again while i'm brushing my teeth. it's almost time to get dressed for the day. i've got everything in its right place, so i don't have to spend precious moments of my life looking for something that might make me late.

i have to be mindful of my drive time. i'm always checking the clock and the traffic in front of me, making sure i'm not late.

so i get there at 10:00, fifteen minutes later. i'm right on time. that's two and a half hours of my day, just waking up, getting ready, and getting there.

i set a timer for my lunch at 2:00pm. by law, it has to be exactly 30 minutes. i never really get to enjoy lunch; i just eat it as quickly as i can so i can earn some time to sit around for fifteen minutes on my lunch. it's big enough to keep me going for four more hours.

it's 2:30. four more hours of work. i'm watching the clock, waiting for it to be 6:30pm, and then it's a fifteen minute drive back home. i budget out the last five hours of my day at 6:45pm. do i have time for errands? can i make myself a nice dinner or is it a microwave meal kind of night? are there any chores that need tending to? how long will this all take, so that i can be on time to pack my lunch, prep my clothes, and be ready for bed at 11:30pm all over again?

now, granted, i was making way less money doing furry art on commission, but i also didn't let some guy in a high-rise have a total dictatorship over every single second of my life. i could spend all day drawing if i wanted to, go out and have a night life, be in bed when the moon was in the west, and wake up when the sun was at its zenith in the sky. if i wanted to wake up to see the sun rise and the mourning doves call and take a day for errands, i could do that. my time belonged to me, and the clock ticked in vain to be regarded.

but now, that's not the case. my boss is watching the clock just as closely as i am.

my boss doesn't have to worry about being late, though; he's salaried in sums that could give every unhoused American a McMansion and a half. he doesn't have to keep track of how many hours he works to make enough money to pay for rent and groceries. he's not watching the clock for his own sake.

if i'm not watching the clock as intently as my boss is, i might be late to punch in. they keep a record of every punch i have. if i'm late enough times, i'm fired, because i'm not there operating the means of production for my boss. as a result, every second i have at and away from work is budgeted around making sure my boss doesn't fucking fire me because the time clock ratted me out.

my time belongs to my boss, and the clock is a cop.

every clock is a cop

[sinceileftyoublog]

Pitchfork Music Festival 2024: 6 Can’t-miss Non-headliner Sets

Jessica Pratt; Photo by Samuel Hess

BY JORDAN MAINZER

If you had told me in 2014 that a Grammy-friendly psych soul band, a producer who hasn't released an album in almost a decade, and, uh, Alanis Morissette were headlining Pitchfork Music Festival, my jaw would have dropped. Don't get me wrong: I was still surprised when I saw the lineup announcement. But overall, Pitchfork has been heading in a more populist, legacy-based, and pop-friendly direction for a while now, both as a publication and a summer festival. And while I'm just as excited as the next person to belt "Hand in My Pocket" and boogie to "I Know There's Gonna Be (Good Times)", the undercard has always been where it's at for me. Here are 6 non-headliner sets you simply cannot afford to miss.

Photo by Asia Harman

FRIDAY

Rosali, 2:45 P.M., Blue Stage

Indie rocker Rosali Middleman leads her band, Mowed Sound, into what will hopefully be a sunny, yet shady set on Pitchfork's most underrated stage, an effective host for sounds both quiet and loud. Rosali's most recent album Bite Down (Merge) occupies a middle territory. Songs like "Hills on Fire", "Slow Pain", and "Rewind" sport that quintessential Rosali "hard won ease" but not before subtle freak-outs threaten your bliss. It's perfect late afternoon music.

Photo courtesy of Big Beat Records

100 Gecs, 6:15 P.M., Green Stage

The hyperpop duo of Dylan Brady and Laura Les are a year and change removed from releasing their incredible sophomore album 10,000 gecs (Dog Show/Atlantic) and are still touring strong off of that record's combination of earnestness and absurdism. Since we last previewed them, they officially released (via XL) their remix of the Basement Jaxx classic "Where's Your Head At", debuted during a Boiler Room set last year. Who knows what tricks they might pull mere hours before the sun sets on the first day of Pitchfork?

SATURDAY

Photo courtesy of Press

Kara Jackson, 2:30 P.M., Green Stage

Since we last caught the Oak Park singer-songwriter, she's simply toured the hell out of her stellar debut album Why Does The Earth Give Us People To Love? (September) and released a studio version of the cover song she tends to open her sets with: Karen Dalton’s “Right, Wrong or Ready”. But Jackson's hometown afternoon set at the Green Stage will be more than a victory lap. Judging by recent Instagram stories from album collaborators KAINA and Sen Morimoto, this may be a full-band show, more faithful to the full arrangements of the album than the acoustic sets Jackson's been giving. Really, it should be like hearing the record anew.

Photo by Brandon McClain

Wednesday, 4:15 P.M., Green Stage

Simply put, the Asheville country-gazers' Rat Saw God (Dead Oceans) was one of the finest albums of last year, with its mix of Southern poetry and steel guitar freak-outs. Live, they only amp up the urgency, lead vocalist Karly Hartzman morphing on a dime from yodel to scream as guitarist MJ Lenderman, lap steel player Xandy Chelmis, bassist Ethan Baechtold, and drummer Alan Miller build songs from a twangy choogle to a pummeling finish. Watch Wednesday with a beer in hand and take in their darkly humorous tales of desperation--and perhaps an inspired cover or two.

SUNDAY

Photo by Renee Parkhurst

Jessica Pratt, 4:15 P.M., Green Stage

You'll hear that Here in the Pitch (Mexican Summer), singer-songwriter Jessica Pratt's long-awaited follow-up album to 2019's Quiet Signs, features a comparatively "expansive" sound. It's certainly true, the self-labeled perfectionist having taken three and a half years to make a less-than-30-minute album, one rife with echoing percussion and lush orchestration, featuring collaborators old and new. Watching the full-band performance of opening track "Life Is" from The Late Show with Stephen Colbert certainly has me excited to hear these songs come to life on a main Pitchfork stage. Ultimately, though, what mesmerizes me about Here in the Pitch, and Pratt in general, is how front and center she remains no matter how big the backing noise. Her wordless vocals curve around Al Carlson's baritone saxophone on "Better Hate". The all-encompassing quality of her singing matches the inherent eeriness of the organ and rippling drum machine on "Nowhere It Was". She even plays drums on "World on a String", her supposed take on teenage garage rock. A master of entities as concrete as wordplay and as abstract as vibes, she sings, "I want to be the sunlight of the century / I want to be a vestige of our senses free." May we all aspire to be that influential.

Photo by CJ Harvey

Mannequin Pussy, 5:15 P.M., Blue Stage

A new band member and new creative process help spur what may be Mannequin Pussy's best album to date. I Got Heaven (Epitaph), the follow-up LP to 2019's excellent Patience, was the band's first album with multi-instrumentalist Maxine Steen as a full-time member, and it was written in LA with prolific producer John Congleton instead of each band member writing separately at home. The result is a punk band as versatile as they've ever been, something that should stand out during their early evening Blue Stage set on the last day of Pitchfork. Sure, a pent-up crowd will want to yell, "Loud bark, deep bite!" back at Marisa Dabice, and the instantly quotable title track should yield cathartic live experiences till the end of time, whether or not you feel subsumed by Christian hypocrisy like the song's narrator does. But many of the highlights on I Got Heaven showcase the band's softer side. The bossa nova-esque guitars, sparkly synths, and brushed drums of "I Don't Know You" take their time to build up to enveloping shoegaze, while the Buffy the Vampire Slayer-inspired "Nothing Like" juxtaposes a shuffling drum beat with hazy, dreamy guitar akin to late 90s Smashing Pumpkins. And really, during Brat Girl Summer, what will be more anthemic than these words Dabice sings during the horny, slow-building "Split Me Open"? "I'm worried I want you with the power of a thousand suns burning as one."

[rumblelibrary]

I'm not sure if you have already done something like this before, and if you did, please let me know, I'd love to read it, BUT I was wondering if you could do a little thing, maybe with Sebastian Zöllner, where he is like totally behind on every fucking deadline, work is just piling up, he got into stress with his ex, the dishes are not done, he should go take out the trash, you know, everything is just piling up and he just cracks under the pressure, severely doubting his worth as a person. And his friend, the reader, gotta try their best to build him up again, telling him all the things they love about him, and it slowly turns into a love confession without them noticing.

Is this too elaborate, does that make sense for Seb? Idk. To me it does? Like he's always very...Seb around other people, but deep down I feel like he's always under this pressure to live up to his own and others expectations, wanting to be big and famous and perfect in a way.

I'm so sorry, brain go brrr.

Never Enough [Sebastian Zöllner x Reader]

Word Count: 4k Warnings: bad habits (heavy smoking and drinking), self deprecation, depression and some fluff in the end. A/N: I loved this prompt, I love to write Sebastian so thanks to you once more for giving me this opportunity

He should have probably realised something was wrong when the ashtray was vomiting cigarettes out from its dooming position beside the laptop.

He nervously used the left part of the one he just ended to scavenge some space and just pressed it along the others.

Or maybe when after another sip of the same cold coffee mixed with cheap gin he felt the walls of his stomach revolting and stirring against him, threatening a much bigger damage.

Or, again, when he felt like calling back Elke because he was so alone and he was hungry and tired, and she might hate him but he could pull some puppy eyes and maybe it would work. It usually did.

The truth was that he shouldn’t have taken up so many jobs, but the bank account was crying and he needed them, he needed the money.

But again: writing about the umpteenth girl- artist performing naked on a famous historic location?

Or do we have to talk about the way somebody splashed some colour here and there  on a canvas saying it is the catharsis of his young mind against the social construct?

Please, may God spare him from the man calling himself landscape artist because he takes pictures of naked girls on a field.

Charged up with this amount of nothingness, he could just write and delete, write and delete, words count going quickly up to 400 only to go back at 0 in a snap of his fingers over the buttons, because he couldn’t just tear them down. He had to give them some hope, a glimpse of potential he couldn’t see and he wasn’t even aware it existed. Each of them disgusted him, but he was specifically asked to be entertaining and not a killer with his words.

So he kept swiping up videos and photos of these artists, trying to find one thing, one holy grail to get attached to and finally write one good optimistic line in the middle of the words he had to pull up to keep a moderate tone.

He rubbed his temple running over his hairline, which by the way was perfectly fine, before his hand reached down and he touched his t-shirt pulling on the neckline to gather some air, he was wearing his pyjama still, white stained shirt on blue tartan pants. He raised up the shirt and bowed his head down giving in a long inhale from the inside and just cringed to himself.

He looked around as he couldn’t stand up, if he did then he will get only more distracted and these articles needed to be ready for tomorrow.

He noticed the spray against the mosquitos on the floor, those little bastards always hiding under his desk to bite his ankles, he picked it up and sprayed it over himself like it was perfume hoping to ignore the need of a shower for few more hours.

His eyes scanned the small studio flat he was living now: the dishes sticking out of the sink, the noisy fridge buzzing. The one table that was also his work desk filled with used mugs, stained plates covered in cigarettes and leftovers, empty packages of his favourite brand discarded everywhere: from the bathroom up to the couch and to the small bed he owned. Damn, if he run out of cigarette it will be hard to ignore how he also run out of food.

The space was dark and gloomy, some of his stuff still packed up, the fake pop art panting of him and Elke staring at him reminding him of his other loss.

He didn’t touch the bed in days, he just slept on the seat or on the couch.

His attention was attracted by his phone buzzing.

He sat up straight as it was her, it was Elke.

Did she sense his discomfort? 

“Elke” he picked up the call in a second.

“Wow, a quick answer, did you have your phone already in your hand or it happens just so late at night?”

Her sarcasm did’t go past him, but he just thought how long it was since he heard a human voice and not the recording of some idiot calling himself artist.

“No, I was thinking of you”

“Yes, sure, look I have sent you an email with the bills of the time you were here, the ones you have left to pay and it is only fair that you pay at least half of them”

“Sure” he just said it because he wanted to go past the point of money, he wanted her back. Maybe he could crush at her place, feel her hands through his hair, shower, sleep some good sleep and the articles will come around in few types “Elke, I was thinking we might…”

“I just called you for the bills”

“I know, but maybe we could have” his eyes darted at the top right of his laptop screen to see the time “a drink together?”

She huffed a laughter as he frowned lightly “I know you Seb, if it is money or sex what you’re looking for that door is closed and it has been for a long time”

“I know” he murmured as he let out a breathy sigh, a dooming sense of loneliness creeping over him like a giant spider ready to wrap him up and eat him “I just hoped…”

“Don’t hope Sebastian, you’re already an hopeless cause”

She hung up on him and he was left there, he kept that same pose with his phone against his ear. His eyes trailing once again over the empty page of his document on the screen, on the chaos surrounding him.

He nibbled on his bottom lip before running his tongue over the pained area.

He pushed the phone back down on the table with a tremble of his jaw and a shaky hand.

She was right.

What he did of his life anyway? He lost most of his occasions in life, he was now in his thirties and he concluded nothing of what he hoped to be, he failed in all the departments both as an artist and as a critic.

A jack of all trades is a master of none, and maybe only the first type of the famous quote could be applied to him.

He couldn’t even take the trash out or he couldn’t remember the last time he ate something that was vaguely resembling of fruits or vegetables. It is all good when you imagine yourself as a bohemian rooting against the world, when you convince yourself that’s only the proof you needed to know you are fighting well against a system of art that privileges banality and marketing over real artistic value and that, one day, all your struggles will be worth it.

Even Picasso was poor for a long time in Paris.

Damn, maybe to be in a situation like this in Paris would sound more romantic.

But the truth was: he never imagined to have to do it alone, that life would feel so overwhelming, that there wouldn’t be anything but extreme struggle, anger, loneliness and a terrible diet.

For a moment he wished to be a baby again, to be the bright boy he was and let mommy take care of his needs and his dirty shirt and empty stomach. He wished that maybe somebody noticed him before, that somebody saw his talent and helped him to pull it out instead of leaving him to do it on his own only to come late to every step.

And now it is too late, he is lost in the sea of terrible paid jobs and anguishing relationships, let’s not forget maybe he indeed had a receding hairline and he was doomed to get bold .

He squeezed his eyes as a soft sob took over his lip, hand running over his forehead as he pulled on his hair justifying his tears with some physical pain. He shook his head as he tried to gain back some composure, hand flung over to pick up his coffee mug and giving in a long gulp of the coffee, the same one he swore before to not touch again, only to almost choke on it, couching it out only to pick up the bottom hem of his shirt to clean his laptop screen.

He fucking hated to write on a computer, the old typewriters inspired him but that damn ink was too expensive now for his sore pockets.

He smirked to himself as he kept doing it, finding good excuses to call himself off any responsibility. But maybe Elke was right, well she surely was, she had two degrees, maybe he was really a lot cause. He frowned as he wiped slowly the screen with his already stained shirt, the wetness sticking then against his skin as soon as he let it go giving him another shiver.

He didn’t have even the strength to cry, he could only accept it was over.

The curse that he shouted out loud when he heard knocking at the door, smashing him out of his thought spiral, generated an immediate anger reaction from him.

“Fuck, shit, if it is the fucking neighbour, I swear I will kill her cat or that rat she has as cat, fucking hell”

He grumbled as he stood up moving across the table not caring about his state, he only wanted to crawl back into a ball and maybe nuzzle a bit somewhere.

When his death glare appeared after the door opened in a powerful swing his eyebrows lifted immediately finding you on the other side.

He blinked, one of those sleepy blinks where somebody closes his eyes and then opens them really wide to make sure it is not made up in their brain, that one.

His eyebrows furrowed as he stared at you 

“What the fuck are you doing here?”

“You should wash your mouth with holy water Sebastian” you said shaking your head raising your arms to show him some paper bags “I am bringing food and body shower”

He shook his head “Are you calling me stinky?”

“I am” You quickly replied moving past him into his place ignoring his groan.

He stood by the door slowly closing it, he was sure that old bitch was looking through her peephole, only then he stared at you try to make your way into the filthy kitchen. He was really embarrassed about his antics, but surely this time he exceeded some record.

“I am speechless Seb, I helped you with the moving and this place seems to have taken over you” you said as you knew he was in some rut when he kept such a long phone silence.

He was usually always texting, sending memes or one sentence texts.

You cared about him, deeply, you knew he was full of flaws and little quirks, but that’s what made him special. Nevertheless, you were worried about the state of the place, how it showed the way he let himself get dragged through the days. So he observed you, better to say, your back, the way you moved around opening the window to let fresh air inside, turning on a lamp to make some light that wasn’t just the blue one of the screen. Pulling out commodities and food from your magic bags like some sort of Mary Poppins of struggling writers. How you poured soap in the dirty load of dishes and pans, the way you marched securely to his desk to pick up that filthy mug and you frowned just sniffing at it.

“Is that poison?”

“Rat poison” he corrected you.

You shook your head as you cleaned a glass and filled it with water and among the groceries you pulled out a banana.

“Have this now, it will help” you said and he took the glass with one hand and the banana with the other like his brain was shut down.

He stared at you as you leaned your head slightly on side, he went through bad times after the break up but you had never seen him in such a helpless state.

He was chaotic but he always loved to keep up his appearance, to give that handsome and damned kind of vibe.

“Sebastian” you called him as his eyes spaced out and now where back on you “Are you alright?”

He observed you, he stared at your face like he was trying to recognise you, truth it was he kept pushing himself to say yes, say yes, say it is all good, make a joke, a remark, keep it up. You don’t need his burden, you don’t need to hate him like Elke and others do.

Just say yes.

“No” he said as his lips trembled and you watched his ironic mask fall right in front of you as he looked away hiding his tears, real tears, not the ones he can play out whenever he needs.

Just as quickly as you gave him the banana and the water you took them off his hands afraid he might hurt himself by dropping the glass in particular.

"Seb" you called his attention as he sobbed moving like a bird trying to hide his face against his own shoulder.

You took his now empty hands dragging him toward the couch and kicking off the pile of dirty clothes and discarded books on top of it to make him sit down with you.

"Talk to me"

He didn't, the man that was never out of words, even in the times he should have been, was now silent as a tombstone staring away from you as you gave a gentle squeeze to his hands. It pained you to see him in such a state.

So weak, so helpless like a lost child.

"I can't help you if you don't talk"

Sebastian shook his head still staring at the wall.

"You can't help me"

"Is it about writing? I can proof read you, it will be a moment"

He shook his head again making, hair bouncing from side to side.

"No, it is not important if I write or not"

You frowned at that comment.

"What the hell?" you just blurted out "Seb you're a talented writer, you're passionate, funny, witty, why shouldn't it be important?"

He looked up at you shaking his head "I can't write, I can't put together two sentences"

Your eyes travelled onto his side profile, truth to be told he looked worn out but he was still handsome like only Sebastian Zöllner could be. He had that chaotic charm, even with a wrinkled suit he was fearless, strong, poignant. You couldn't avoid him, he owned every place he stepped in and you could feel his gaze run through your bloodstream.

When he asks a question, he meant it, it was a test run into your bones and you loved every second of it.

His lips tightened as he diverted his gaze finally to you. You knew his relationship with Elke was important, he cared about others even if he didn't show it daily like most people do.

"Is it Elke?"

"No, she was just right"

"About what?"

He gulped, his throat dry as he pulled his bottom lip in his mouth grinding his teeth over it like playing something through that gesture.

"About me"

"Breakups are always shit, don't you even.."

"No Y/N" he interrupted you, he was serious, maybe his voice trembled but he wasn't lying or playing some role "I am really a lost cause, I mean look at his place"

His hand waved around the small flat like a drunk orchestra director.

"It is pure trash, I haven't finished unpacking, I didn't have food until you came, I am unable to look after myself, to look after the people that I care about. I worked so hard to be an artist and then I became a critic and now I am so knee deep into my own shit that I have more debts than entries, more failures than successes, more haters than friends"

He gulped down, the waterline of his eyes dangerously red and he sniffled up as he let out a little weak whisper "I just wish I could disappear"

"No"

It came out of you like a lighting bolt, it surged out of you before you could even elaborate. Like an order. A command.

"Seb, you're now in a rough patch of life, but you have always worked hard and well as a writer"

"I am a writer because I failed as an artist"

"You're a writer because you know of what you're talking about, because you're able to see the difference between marketing and passion, between hard work and laziness, because you respect that profession and it makes you the best critic"

"I just want to destroy them all because I am envious, Elke always said I am fuelled by my own envy”

"I have read pieces of yours only encouraging the rightful and bringing down the real frauds"

He shook his head as he was just fixating on the wrong, on the flaws, on the problems.

You huffed cupping his cheeks to force him to look at your eyes.

"Look at me" you said not admitting replies "you are talented in what you do, you are one of the best in your field and you're not on some big magazine only because they know they will have to put up with your shit: with the fact you always meet the people, you look at art pieces in presence, you touch them, you research the colours, you scrutinise everything to the bone"

He took your hands hating to be held like that but he squeezed them in his owns.

"And yes, you're allergic to ironing clothes and washing dishes is your personal nightmare, and yes, you give out many temper tantrums and have a terribly dark sense of humour, you are a failure at time and money management, you love filthy rich stuff and smoke like your life depends on it"

He stared at you, he listened quietly as you knew him from so long and many people, Elke included, wondered what you gained from helping him or just being around him that much. He often teased his ex about being jealous of you and she always said that it was like being jealous of a mortgage.

"So you agree?"

 "I agree to say you are flawed like all of us, that you are just the perfect balance to your writing, you're what you write. You're passionate, you give out the two hundred percent of what you can give, you are like this, you go all-in in everything you do, there's no compromise, no mid way, no foreseeable change of direction, you speed up into the darkness and don't look back. You are bold, you take risks, you let people hate you because you do not compromise with who is son of who or who is the director of what gallery, you judge people over their real qualities. Because you talk to them in their face, because you don't hide that yes, you want to be great, because you're handsome and charming and smart, nobody can outsmart you in your field, not even that idiot you hate that much"

"Golo Fucking Moser" he murmured

"Golo Fucking Moser" you repeated with a chuckle "you don't have anything to envy to him beside the bruises he probably has on his knees for bending down to anyone"

He chuckled at that comment.

"And also, you're more attractive, that pisses off Seb, it is unfair to the poor man”

He leaned his head on side as you wouldn't normally shower him in compliments, he had enough ego for that, but you had never seen him like this and you wished to never see him again in such a state.

"You find me attractive?"

"Well for sure you're an eye candy" you joked

"I mean it"

You rolled your eyes blushing a bit and huffing a chuckle "I do, alight? It is universal knowledge"

He looked at you as he still held your hands in his, his thumbs making soft shapes over the back of your hand.

"That I am attractive or that you find me attractive?"

You groaned looking away with an embarrassed giggle “okay, okay, I see you're back in yourself, let's eat now"

You moved to stand up but he didn't do the same remaining sat in his spot.

"Tell me"

"I pumped your self esteem enough, now let me go"

He chuckled softly, he never really thought you'd be interested. He usually shows off so many bad traits that he has to tone himself down and really try hard to attract someone. It is all an effort on his part to appear better or at least less quirky.

And then now look at you, appreciating even his shit show.

"Y/N" he murmured giving you a soft squeeze. You kept silent not daring now to meet his gaze. He bowed his head trying to reach for your eyes with his gaze and he looked up at you, a smile that wasn't provocative over his lips.

You pulled back yanking your wrists off his grip to move straight into the kitchen corner.

You begun pulling ut some fresh vegetables and bread, you also got some cheese knowing he loves it, wanting him to have a good dinner.

He followed you almost immediately and soon you found his arms grasping you once more in a hug, his chest pressed against your back, his forehead on your shoulder.

"Seb, you..."

"I know, I stink, just give me a moment" he said and you obliged him gently caressing his arms around you.

You hated to be in the friend zone, but you wouldn't be able to survive to lose him forever or to have him joke about it.

Now he was quiet, tender like a hurt pup.

"Thank you, you know you can count on me too, right? For anything” he said and you chuckled softly “I know, you’re my favourite avenger”

He nodded brushing his crisp beard against your cheek and after few minutes stuck in that hug he dropped a kiss on your neck "love you”

He pulled back giving you a smile as he picked the shower gel you left on the counter bringing it with himself to the bathroom with a soft hum.

You smiled a bit bitterly to yourself as you guessed it was meant in a friendly way, but today it was alright. You could endure it. Also that kiss, he always did it when he was drunk, at parties or in the taxi back home after a viewing. It was his cuddly way to say things without saying them, without rambling, and you appreciated that silent language. 

Maybe now he was drunk over his own feelings.

Just like you.

Tagged @cazzyimagines @lieutenantn @handmaiden-of-mischief @thesunflowersutra @zemomybeloved @fictionlandslanddreams @charistory @greeneyedblondie44 @apparrio @hb8301 @whatawildone @rhymerhymerhyme  @thehuiabird @lilith-blackrose @unbeatablecurlgirl @obsidianlaszlo @alindeluce @zemosimp05 @baronesszemo-blackwood @nocapesdahling @everythingbeginsineternity-blog @archangelproperty

[liskantope]

And exactly five years later (well, four days shy of five years, to be exact), I'm completing that 1000 more! In other words, this is my 2000th post.

Even though these past thousand posts have been spread over a longer period of time (first posted on Tumblr on January 1st, 2015; 1000th post was in late February 2019 after a little over four years), which is mainly a reflection of how my job since mid-2019 has involved a lot more teaching which translates into me working harder with fewer hours of free time, it honestly feels like the first thousand posts were somehow more substantial than these second thousand have been. In other words, I have the illusion that during my time on Tumblr up to five years ago, I had written well over half of what I've written now. If I think back to anything particularly memorable or important (at least to myself) that I've written, the kind of thing I feel inclined to revisit or link back to, almost all of it is pre-2019. Of course it could well be that my first thousand posts were on average longer or more effortpost-y than my second thousand: I haven't exactly compared the word counts to check.

Five years is a lot in internet years, and much has changed about my Tumblr experience since the time I wrote the OP. The set of people I regularly interact with here doesn't have a ton of overlap with that of February 2019, actually. The content ban that shook up Tumblr had already happened (quite recently) by the time of the OP, but I don't think all of the aftereffects were quite in place by then, particularly some of the overturn among those on my regular Tumblr radar, which it was only recently brought to my attention changed a lot as a result of the ban (which itself doesn't seem to have quite stuck in the long term, although meanwhile there's a perception that this is a dying website for other reasons).

I think my general relationship to Tumblr has changed since my 1000th post, from having by 2019 retained a vague sense of "I'm here because I kinda-sorta identify as a rat and rat-adj Tumblr is where I can most easily get a foothold in part of rat culture" (though not as strongly as, say, in 2015) to "I'm just here as myself and not aligned with any particular subculture of Tumblr and while there are many individuals I have a ton of beliefs in common with I'm not sure there's any well-defined subculture here whose ideologies I don't dissent from in some serious way". Most of this evolution has happened during the last year, in fact, so that now I feel like part of my personality here has to do with positioning myself staunchly against certain clumps of the ideological memes that are prevalent in most parts of Tumblr culture, from children's rights rhetoric to anti-recovery sentiment to many elements of gender identity stuff. While this has led to some unpleasant moments, I actually feel fairly comfortable letting myself be a sort of maverick voice in this way, a critic of certain parts of Tumblr culture from inside Tumblr, and as long as I continue to find time and energy I don't intend to shift away from that role.

Of course, if there weren't a number of aspects of Tumblr culture that I do feel very in tune with (the general nerdiness and vigorous spirit of creativity, being a place to openly describe mental/social processes and dysfunctions, an overall sense at least in my circles that most people are drama-averse and know how to converse and disagree like adults, the feeling of being a safe haven for 20- and 30-somethings who haven't settled down), I wouldn't care to stay on here. Well, the relationships with particular individuals I know through this "blue hellsite" and being a fan of a number of the blogs I follow on here is another thing that has kept me on and leaves me with no plans to leave as I start to work on my third thousand posts.

This is my 1000th post on Tumblr.

A lot of my posts have been only a paragraph or two but many have been longer, and I rarely reblog things without commenting. So 1000 of them would seem to add up to a pretty serious amount of writing. It certainly doesn’t feel like I’ve posted on any blog that many times – I’ve watched the total number increase month after month without ever feeling like there was a great deal of effort involved. This is probably because writing in a relaxed, off-the-cuff way comes quickly and fluidly to me, in stark opposition to when I make an effort to be polished. Also, I think most people find it a lot easier to write in response to another person’s essay or a conversation already being had, which Tumblr allows plenty of opportunity for.

And it feels strange, because here I’ve made 1000 posts and been on Tumblr for well over 4 years and I still catch myself thinking in the back of my mind that I’m a newbie here. I think a lot of that feeling comes from the idea that I stayed a complete outsider to online culture until more recently than most people here and am still somewhat of an outsider to certain large online subcultures compared to a lot of you. But in fact, I’ve now spent a significant portion of my life a bit more “properly online”, and I’m having fun and have no plans to disengage anytime in the near future.

Here’s to 1000 more!