#You have to make decisions and sometimes those decisions fucking suck. That doesn’t mean you can just avoid making them.

[randomtheidiot]

If you ignore five people in need of help because helping them involves an objectively lesser sacrifice that makes you uncomfortable, you’re not just an asshole, you’re a terrible fucking person and culpable for the deaths of five instead of just the one.

AITA for not flipping the lever?

I (??) saw a trolley on a path that diverged into two. On the path it was currently going, five people were tied to the track. If I flipped the lever, it would go to a track with one person tied to it.

I didn't flip it because I didn't want to be associated with the murders at all. So, AITA?

[kmt123whatsthetea]

Fred Weasley NSFW alphabet

Kinktober 2023

I am so late to Kinktober. I kept procrastinating and getting side tracked. I am in the process of finishing a George Weasley NSFW alphabet but my laptop has decided that it doesn’t want to turn back on, so for anyone interested it might be a little backlogged.

TW: Fred is a dirty devil and I won't hide it, mean-dom Fred, brief somnophilia? (no touching but sexual activity next to a sleeping person), allusions to a piss kink, oral (giving and receiving, there’s O for you), overstimulation, mentions of praise and degrading, a smidge of jealous Fred,

A = Aftercare (What they’re like after sex)

Although Fred can sometimes be a meanie (in a teasing way), he will always hold you after sex. He’ll get everything you ask for and stroke your hair until you fall asleep. Even at times when he's too tired to even move, he’ll cater to you first.

B = Body Part (Their favourite body part of theirs and also their partners)

He couldn't possibly decide what he likes more: your pretty pussy that sucks him in so perfectly or those gorgeous tits that bounce when he goes harder. If he had to pick, he’d probably go with neither and choose your lips. Not because of how kissabe they are but because of how perfect they look wrapped around his cock.

On himself, he likes his forearms (bare with me on this). He likes how his veins look when he’s gripping something, whether it's his old club from his time as a beater in Hogwarts or your hips. He also knows how good he looks when he rolls his shirt up to his elbows. He knows he looks good because of how turned on you get from it.

C = Cum (Anything to do with cum, basically)

Where do I start? This man loves to either cum in you or on you. He adores cumming inside you and pushing it back inside when it leaks out, but he also loves it when it stains your tits. Another thing he loves is seeing it drip down your chin after you’ve sucked him off. He teases you and calls you his messy little whore.

D = Dirty Secret (Pretty self-explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

He has a dirty fantasy about fucking you at The Burrow during a family get together. Just the thought of you trying to keep quiet while he rearranges your insides. He can imagine how worried you'd be about waking everyone else while he buries himself so deep inside of you.

E = Experience (How experienced are they? Do they know what they’re doing?)

Oh, he knows what he's doing and he knows he does it well. He won’t even try to hide how much action he got at Hogwarts (after he reached 16). But when he met you, you were everything he needed and more. The only one for him. He now uses all his experience to make you see stars.

F = Favourite Position (This goes without saying)

Fred (being the kinky guy that he is) absolutely loves any position that lets him know that he's the one in charge. If he’s in a tender mood, he will absolutely do missionary and keep his head close to yours as he presses soft kisses to your face.

G = Goofy (Are they more serious in the moment? Are they humourous? etc.)

Surprisingly, sex is one of the only times when this jokester is serious. He won't be deadly serious, but he's too focused on the moment to crack any jokes or make you giggle. Why would he make you giggle when he could make you scream? ;)

H = Hair (How well-groomed are they? Does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

He has never really been the grooming sort. His hair is a mop of ginger, the carpet will match. He does groom and trim it occasionally but he’ll never go out of his way to be completely shaven. If you like no hair for him, he won’t exactly rush to shave it all. He likes to have the final word about his down-there hair, the same way he believes you should with yours. If you have hair or you don’t, he won't care since it's your decision.

I = Intimacy (How are they during the moment? The romantic aspect.)

It depends entirely on his day. If he's had a good day at work, he can be very romantic and loving in the moment. He will take care of you and hold you and he goes slow and steady. If his day has been stressful, you are going to have a face full of mattress and your insides rearranged.

J = Jack off (Masturbation Headcanon)

This man can't keep his hands off of himself. He would masturbate at least 2 times a day. He's not addicted to it, he just uses the excuse of it being a great stress reliever. He won’t stop once you enter his life and his bed. In fact, having you around makes it 10 times better. He loves to jerk off before you get home, he loves the thought of being caught by you. He really loves to jerk off next to you while you sleep, holding back his moans and grunts as he watches your face. Such an innocent look, not for long ;)

K = Kink (One or more of their kinks)

How much time have you got?

Bondage, Daddy kink, Public stuff (touching, teasing, sex, anything at all), Sex toys, Power play/ Dom & Sub (dom Fred is here to stay), Roleplay (is it a kink? No. Am I adding it? yes) Voyeurism, Threesome (just because George joins, doesnt make it incest), Spanking, Innocent kink (pair that with the Daddy kink and you wont be walking straight for a week), edging, orgasm denial.

L = Location (Favourite places to do the do)

Since he loves public sex so much, he won't hesitate to pull you into small alleyways that lead out of Diagon Alley. He won't even hesitate to slip inside of you if you are serving a customer (if you happen to work at the shop). He does like having his way with you in bed or in the shower but he finds public places the most exciting.

M = Motivation (What turns them on, gets them going)

You. anything you do or anything you wear has him popping a boner. Before you, he had some flings that would get him hard. He always assures you that out of all of his past girlfriends, you make him harder than they did and quicker than they could (isn't he a sweetheart?)

N = No (Something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

Bodily fluids (he won't mind giving you the odd golden shower if it's something that you’re into), sharing: he won't mind sharing you with George but anyone else is a no-no, I feel like he’d also be against being a sub (if you can convince him enough, then he’ll give in)

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

He loves either, because he can control both. If you have his cock in your mouth, he will have an iron grip on your hair. He will move your head for you and train you to be his pretty little cock warmer. If you’re crying and gagging because you can't take it, he knows just what to say to keep himself nestled deep in your throat.

If he’s between your legs with his mouth on your clit, he will be controlling every little thing. Every little twitch of your walls, every little hip movement, it's all because of him and that dirty mouth of his. He will control everything about your orgasm too. You’re close and need to cum? Well you better hope that Fred is in a good mood or else you’ll be edged into next week.

P = Pace (Are they fast and rough? Slow and sensual? etc.)

It depends on his day and his mood. If he’s missed you all day, then he’ll do something romantic for you before taking you to the bedroom. He’ll be slow and gentle and give you so many kisses and tell you just how much he loves you while he’s holding you tight against his body.

If his day was stressful and the customers were assholes, then he needs your pretty little cunt as a stress reliever. He won’t even get undressed, he just bends you over the nearest surface and fucks you like a man gone mad. And if this happens, then any clothing covering your cunt is being ripped off, no hesitation. But he’ll always buy you new clothes to say sorry.

Q = Quickie (Their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

He loves a quickie, just the same as he loves a fuck-athon (a fuck marathon). Sometimes this man just can't wait to get you home before ravishing you. Cue a quickie in an alleyway. Quickies only really happen before work. He just needs you so much before a long shift.

R = Risk (Are they game to experiment? Do they take risks? etc.)

Risky as hell. He’ll fuck you at The Burrow at family functions. Bill and Fleur's wedding? He was fucking your brains out back at the house (fucking like rabbits is all too fitting at The Burrow). I’ll say it again, he loves public sex. He's a risky bitch and a frisky bitch. He is happy to experiment with anything you want to try. New sex position? Done. New toys? Already brought. You being in charge? Keep asking and maybe.

S = Stamina (How many rounds can they go for? How long do they last?)

He is like a rabbit. He can last all night and all morning and still have the energy for work. If you can't last as long, he will sometimes keep going because he loves to hear you whimper and sob from being too sensitive. If he knows that you can't handle it, then he’ll put his stamina on hold and tend to you, he can carry on with his hand while you sleep.

T = Toys (Do they own toys? Do they use them? On a partner or themselves?)

He’s got a whole chest full of toys. He even goes out of his way to buy new sex toys from muggle shops. He doesn't use them on himself that much, maybe the odd fleshlight or cock ring, he mainly buys them for you. He takes ‘the more, the merrier’ to a new level. He’ll have you stuffed full of toys because he loves seeing just how much you can take.

U = Unfair (How much they like to tease)

The king of tease. He’s very dominant and loves reminding you of the simple fact that you can't cum without his permission. And for that very reason, he’ll tease you and edge you until you admit it. Sometimes, he’ll tease you in the morning and leave you wet and needy until he finishes work. He even comes upstairs to the flat to check on you (or so he tells you, its to make sure you haven't touched yourself without permission)

V = Volume (How loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

He’s not loud, but he does moan and groan. How can he not? Your tight pussy just feels so heavily wrapped around his cock. The only thing you really hear from him are either praises of how pretty you look and how you’re such a good girl or teasing, degrading remarks such as what a little slut you are and how you’re his perfect fuck toy.

W = Wild Card (A random headcanon for the character)

Everytime he catches you and George together (after they agreed to share you), he can't help but get a little jealous. Sure he loves seeing you getting dicked down, but he does worry that you’ll prefer his (identical twin) to him. That's why he loves hearing you say that you’re his, because he sort of thrives from that small remark. It's not only an ego boost and makes him rock solid, but it also eases those red flags in his mind.

X = X-ray (Let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

He’s got a bit of thickness but he’s longer than he is thick. When he’s hard, he is about 7-8 inches. He’s not very veiny, and he has a few freckles on his shaft. He does have a small mole at the base of his cock but it only becomes visible if he completely shaves his pubic hair.

Y = Yearning (How high is their sex drive?)

How high? Through the roof. This horny devil needs to either fuck or masturbate at least once a day (but he’ll insist that it still isnt enough). If he needs you, he will have you. Sometimes, he’s like a dog in heat (except this lasts 24/7, 365 days a year)

Z = Zzz (How quickly they fall asleep afterward)

Although he comes across as a bit of a meanie, he will always carry you into the bathroom and get you cleaned up. He makes you a nice hot cup of tea and cuddles you in bed until you fall asleep. Only after you’ve fallen asleep, will he then sleep. You come first in everything, even sleeping first.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Unexpected 42

Warnings: non/dubcon, pregnancy, pegging, Lloyd being the worst, post partum, csection, suicidial ideation, and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging.

The baby sleeps in her bassinet. Peaceful. You don’t know the last time you ever felt that. The last time you slept soundly. When you manage to drift off, it’s painful and heavy, and you wake up feeling worse as you face the reality you can’t escape.

Dottie’s flighty tones waft up from the first floor. You can’t make out her words, you don’t care enough to try, but you know by Andy’s deep responses and the subsequent click of the door that she’s sending him off. Good. You can’t face him, not after you ran out covered in bile.

You prop up several pillows behind you and recline against them. You just lay there, staring at the joint of ceiling and wall. You don’t watch anything, you don’t use your phone to scroll, you can’t even listen to music. They’re all just a reminder of what you don’t have and what you’re stuck in. Other people have lives and meaning, you are just an udder to be milked.

Dottie raps on the door but as usual, doesn’t await your permittance. She inches open the door and lets out a long sigh. She disapproves. Of you. She should direct that at her son. You don’t say as much. You tried to before and she was too cowardly to hear you. Must be where he gets it from.

“Andy packed up your leftovers,” she informs you, “such a sweetheart that one.”

“You can have them,” you roll onto your side and cross your arms, “I said, I’m not hungry.”

“You need to eat, hon–”

“For her or for me? I’m not stupid. The only reason you care is because the baby needs to suck on me like a goddamn juice box. You don’t care how I feel.”

“I know exactly how you feel, dearie, I carried a child too, I fed them, I spent those months with just me and them–”

“Whatever. I don’t fucking want to hear what you went through. It’s not the same.”

“You can’t go on like this. You won’t survive.”

“What do you care?” You snarl. “Because I don’t. I don’t care. Put her on formula and let me die.”

Silence. You hear her near the bassinet and feel her shadow looming near the bed. You almost regret your words. Almost. It would solve a lot of issues if you weren’t here. 

You wouldn’t feel like this. That baby wouldn’t have to feel the flagrant resent radiating off of you at every moment. Dottie wouldn’t have to pretend. And Lloyd, whenever he returns, wouldn’t have to throw you out. You’d do him a favour, quite generously, and free him yourself.

“I’ll take Luna for the night. You get some sleep,” the wheel of bassinet unlocks and rolls softly over the hardwood, “I’ll bring up the pump. I sterilised it earlier. You can use that if you feel… uncomfortable.”

“Fine,” you hiss, “get away from me.”

🍑

You wouldn’t know it if you didn’t see the date stamped at the bottom corner of the television screen. You sit, blankly, watching the scroll of text across the bottom, doing the math in your head. Another week. The living room is quiet but for the tempoed cadence of the newscaster.

You’re consumed in the indifference of your existence. You barely say a word. You barely feel. You take the baby when she fusses or when she’s handed to her, you relieve the pressure in your chest, and give her back. You sit around, sometimes you lay flat on your back, and other times you find yourself standing in doorways, feeling lost.

That day feels different. Dottie, like a hummingbird, is always moving, but she is in a storm of anxiety, edging on anticipation. She’s brought you a measured cup of coffee and a bowl of oatmeal with milk. You’re not very hungry but you drink the coffee first, eating the oatmeal only at her prompt.

She takes the empty dishes after she hands you the baby again. You let her nurse and Dottie comes back to burp her and put her down. The baby, for all your dissonance, is quiet and calm.

You end up on your side, head on a throw pillow, as the news comes to an end and a home show comes on, giving tips on how to reuse old plant potters and repairs bookshelves. You close your eyes as deja vu sweeps over you. Those days you worked nights but found yourself sleepless in the AM, you would put on some channel or another, let the dullness ease you to sleep.

You drift into the memories and feel the tinge beneath your eyelids. When you open your eyes, you expect to be back in the duplex, you expect Colin to walk in and complain about his job, as you get up to make your coffee and make him dinner. You expect to be who you were before all this.

But you’re not.

“Why don’t you have a shower, sweet?” Dottie appears.

You squint as the sunlight streams yellow between the curtains. It’s around noon, you can tell by the height and hue of the day. You nod and let her help you up. The idea doesn’t sound good until she has you under the faucet, the warmth easing your muscles and washing away the days of sweat and negligence.

You get out and your chest aches. You cup your full tits and see your silhouette in the steamy mirror. You reach forward to wipe away the glaze. You see your body, the scar, the stretch marks, the loose skin, the weight still clinging. You want to puke at the sight of yourself.

You cover yourself with a towel and come out. You go to the guest room where you’ve built your nest. Dottie comes to the doorway as you dry yourself off shamelessly. You can’t change it. You can’t undo it.

“Is she hungry?” You ask.

“She’s still asleep.”

“Mm.”

“You hurtin’?” She asks.

You nod. “I’ll pump.”

“Good,” she enters the room and goes to the closet. She pulls out a purplish pink dress with short sleeves and a bit of ruffle around the elastic cuffs and neckline. Not much to it, light and figureless. 

You watch clueless as she lays it out with a pair of panties and a clean nursing bra. You shake your head as you cross your arms around the towel, holding it against your chest as it drapes over your stomach.

“You’ll want to wear something nice for lunch,” she says.

“Lunch?” You scowl.

“Mhmm, a day out of the house, away from the baby, it’ll be nice, won’t it?” She drawls as she turns to you, “Andy will be here soon.”

“Andy?”

“Yep, I told you, hon. Maybe you didn’t hear me, you’ve been a touch distracted,” she touches your shoulder gently, “a mom like you, how can’t you be? Doing so much, giving so much, you deserve a bit of time to get a little, huh?”

You shake your head and give her a frantic look, then glance at the dress.

“Can I wear something else?” You ask, “to hold all this in?”

She seems to sigh in relief. You’re certain she expected an argument but you don’t have that energy. You just do what you’re told, what you have to do. If she wants you out of the house, you’ll gladly leave this prison. 

“If you like,” she puts her hand on her hip, “but will you try this on? You don’t like it and we’ll go with your choice. It’s hot out, dear,  you don’t want to over do it.”

You sniff and shrug, “fine. Whatever.”

And that’s just how it is. You don’t feel much one way or the other. Dress or no dress. It doesn’t matter to you, but the more you let the idea sink in, the more eager you are to get away. Even if Andy will be there.

[celestie0]

🪷 girl fuck these people I'm really sorry you're getting so many messages bitching about no smut in ch10. Like who even cares? Does a story or chapter have no value if the characters aren't going at it like rabbits and fucking and sucking on each other?

At this point if you're so disappointed about no hanky panky just go read one of those pornhwas where the characters start screwing at the drop of a hat.

I would've loved that chapter with smut or without smut idgaf it doesn't even matter to me (and the same is for most of your readers too, I'm sure of it). We've all stuck around with your work for so long, and we have faith in your direction as well as your decisions regarding the pace of the plot. It's never that serious, especially not to the stage that bozos feel the need to weep in a writer's asks and swamp them with negative messages. Go jack off or play dj with your hello kitty and go to sleep like the rest of us.

Again, no matter what you do with your work it's entirely your choice. Ofc we as readers can have our own takes and how or why we interact with the work can vary, but it shouldn't reach this stage. I've seen this same story of bullying and pestering authors on tumblr too many times with other authors whose work I enjoy, and many have left their blogs because the harassment made them lose interest in writing and sharing their pieces. It's fucking heartbreaking. Pornhub dot com is right there for y'all to be doing entirely too much in the asks of these writers who are already overwhelmed and write and share all this FOR FREE. If you have so many qualms about it pick up that bic and get to writing bitch!

I'm sorry babe take care! We love you🫂

AHHH LILYPAD ANON I APPRECIATE U SM THIS MEANS THE WORLD TO ME 😭😭 you’re always so kind to me i sobs

yeahh sigh :( i was just a bit upset that ppl were already finding fault w a chapter i haven’t even released yet just bc it doesn’t have smut in it 😭😭 like i obviously know by now that i can’t make everyone happy, but it’s not right to subtly pressure me into a certain direction for my story (ik this is a normal thing authors/writers have to deal with, i am just a weakling unfortunately 💀💀 my therapist wld agree)

i know it’s not most of my readers though :”) everyone is so sweet n kind n patient, i just don’t understand the some few that think that just bc they tell me they’re disappointed there’s no smut, that i’m somehow gonna go back to my 80pg dissertation of a chapter n make it 100pgs just to add some for them 😅…like no. what it DOES make me feel is icky n sad

frankly it’s really uncomfortable to make an author feel bad that there’s no explicit sexual content in a story 😅 your horny brainrot is showing. like, i AM def planning to write smut in kickoff, there will be multiple smut scenes to come. but even if i suddenly chose not to include them anymore, that’s my right to do so.

and yes, if they want smut, they can write it themselves. why do i need to be the one to write it for you? i don’t owe anyone anything.

i totally agree w you. honestly, i feel bad sometimes setting these boundaries, but you’re SO RIGHT in that SO many authors leave their platforms bc of hateful asks/pressuring comments etc, i’ve seen it time n time again. bc it’s true that it DOES get to people, especially when creating art is already a very stressful thing. i don’t have to passively tolerate rude strangers on the internet just because i’m trying to protect n pursue my passion

thanks sm for trusting my direction :”) and YES absolutely!! i love it when my readers disagree w character actions or emotions, bc characters have flaws n i’m intentional about those flaws, so it’s exciting to see opinions my readers have, even if they’re in disagreement, because it’s interactive w my work. not that i expect anyone to interact ever. i understand that i post on my own accord, so readers can choose whether to interact on their accord as well.

but something about pressuring me into writing explicit sexual content into a story that i’d like to think is a lot more than just smut, is really disheartening.

- ellie 🐸

[holocene-sims]

next // previous

august 25, 2021 8:00 p.m. the black pearl

[grant] well, i know it doesn’t fix the existential angst and you shouldn’t ever feel like it needs to go away instantly, but i guarantee you will be a good dad.

[grant] any kids you have will feel loved. they’ll be set up for the future no matter how everyone’s lives play out. i know you’ll do your best, and i know soobin will, too. you guys have worked so hard to have such a long and healthy and sincere relationship.

[grant] and the fact that you’re worried about any of this means you’re going to do a good job. shitty parents and shitty partners don’t ask if what they’re doing or about to do is wrong.

[grant] everyone is going to make mistakes sometimes but it’s about getting most of it right, and i believe you will. soobin doesn’t hold it over your head that for a while, your fear made you a little controlling. you improved and she forgave you. you’re smart, you’ll adapt, and most of all, you should know you’re loyal. at the end of the day, a parent who puts their kids first and never turns their back on them is the best parent in the world in my eyes.

[grant] mistakes can be forgiven if you put your kids first and treat them like a human being who matters.

[henry] thank you. i appreciate it. that means a lot coming from you.

[grant] and i understand your main fear in the first place. i've thought about it many times. i never worried about myself dying but others dying. elizabeth, uh...yeah. those big family losses seriously will ruin you forever in one way or another. the way you lost your father only makes it worse. it does strip away any feeling of invincibility you have.

[henry] you can say that again.

[henry] i'm glad someone understands.

[grant] you can never really know, i guess, what’s going to happen to you or to anyone you know, and it’s not helpful to say it’ll be fine because we all know crazy and terrible things happen. it's unfortunately mathematically true. but trust me, i'll kill you if you die!

[henry] you’ll kill me if i die? haha.

[henry] thanks for making me laugh, too.

[grant] yep. i will re-kill your ghost.

[henry] i'll kill you if you die.

[grant] thank you, buddy! you’re a real one.

[henry] dude, ugh, i googled life insurance policies a month ago. ew, adulthood.

[grant] life insurance is a good thing to have, though.

[henry] it is, it is. even if my hypothetical kids just buy a fucking pool with the money.

[grant] i mean, if it benefits them, right?

[henry] let me add a note to the policy saying you can either get an in-ground pool put in or free college tuition–one or the other.

[grant] does that include getting a sick ass waterfall feature installed on the pool or no?

[henry] by the way–

[henry] disclaimer that this is just an idea, not concrete at all, but soobin and i briefly mentioned moving back to korea as a way to make sure our kids have a good life.

[grant] wow, really? it is worth thinking about! it is rational. most of your family is here and all of soobin’s family does live here, and you do have to consider what’s best for you and your family, current and future. before i did move back home, when i was with you know who, i thought about this, too, if we ever had kids that maybe we could or should move back to michigan so they'd have my whole family around.

[grant] and just so it’s on the record, you have my full support in any decision here.

[grant] are you interested in moving back?

[henry] i don’t know. i haven’t lived here since i was five years old. i've only visited, and then came back for one year to do the military service because i was wary of giving up my citizenship. but i almost did because truly, i did not want to go into the army. that shit sucked.

[grant] what does soobin think?

[henry] well, it was her idea. i'm very whatever about wherever i live. i feel no strong pull one way or another at the moment. but it’s different for her.

[henry] she lived here much longer than me. she cares much more and has a preference. i mean, she spent pretty much her entire life here except since college and during the school semesters between sixth and twelfth grades because her parents sent her to a fancy private school there.

[henry] i will say, soobin’s main point isn’t wrong, and it's the one you brought up. most of our family is here. it’s like you and michigan. that’s where your folks are. and that support is invaluable when you have kids, both for their social development and for financial reasons. plus, my mom actually wants to move back. she never talks about it, but i know she does.

[grant] i get that, too.

[henry] like i said, she’s just never been the same since my dad died. which i don't fault her for. she does her best to be happy, you know, but i think she feels very alone, even more now that i don’t live on the upper peninsula anymore. she was with him forever. they were soulmates. and her life drastically changed after he died.

[henry] this has been the first time she's had a job since, god, the 1980s. she loves being an art teacher for school kids, but that's a huge change in addition to the sudden loneliness.

[henry] and on the loneliness side, she has your family and they've been close for a long time.

[grant] she was literally over at my aunt bridie's house the other day making shampoo with her.

[henry] yeah, so she sees them pretty often and she also has her book club and some other friends, but she knows way more people here. seoul's where all her family and friends are.

[henry] i want my mom to be happy, you know? it’s my job as her son, and i'm the only child she ever had. she doesn’t need me to look after her every day, not really, but i want to and she deserves that. and truth be told, a part of me believes that if she comes back, i would feel not very good about being away from her.

[henry] i think that if i encourage her to come back or talk to her about it and she does go through with it, that would sway me more to soobin’s side. again, i want my mom to be happy, and i'm also scared of losing her. it doesn’t matter if it’s sudden or slow. i don’t want to lose her, and especially not if i feel like i've spent my whole adult life away from her, not prioritizing what time is left with her.

[henry] not to be morbid, but she’s almost 60. at some point you do ask yourself how much longer you have left with your older family members around. life is unfortunately very short.

[grant] of course. that’s totally understandable. she's a great mother, and you wouldn't want to miss out on that. and i'm sure you don’t want your kids to not have their grandma present in their lives.

[henry] but then i have to start over with my job and maybe i lose contact with my friends if i leave. i do have friends here–sorry, they weren’t able to come hang out this time, maybe next time–but my real two best friends are in michigan. it’s you and ben. i don't let anyone else get that close to me except for soobin because to me, my best friend slots are full. i don't want anyone else. no one else is worth it.

[henry] and i always said you’d be my kids’ godfather. i don’t want them to miss out on knowing you the way they should.

[grant] there’s facetime! and i'd come visit. and i'm so goddamn annoying, i will be texting you about everything i think about in the world for the rest of our lives. you're not going to lose me.

[henry] i try my best to believe i won't lose you.

[grant] also, don’t stress out too much about this yet. you do not have to make any of these decisions now, and when you do need to, the right answers will come to you.

[grant] and listen, one last thing and then i'll shut up. i don’t know how, i don’t know why–i don’t think there is an answer to this–but the people we lose are still with us, even if only in spirit. i am famously a skeptic, but i felt something this year that changed my mind. i know you miss your dad but he’s still with you. somehow he’ll see your kids grow up, and he’ll be there guiding you to make the right decisions.

[grant] your dad loved you, like, beyond what words can express. he loved your mom just as much. he would never willingly leave you. if there's something after this mortal existence, he's still with you.

[grant] oh, and we should probably eat this pizza before it's frigid.

[henry] fuck, i forgot about it. thanks for reminding me. yeah, let's demolish this pizza, and then i'll take you to that cool arcade i told you about. we'll make up for the awful arcade experience at your cousin's bachelor party.

[m4ndysk4nkovich]

i hate how shallow a lot of the fandom think’s debbie gallagher is. i hate it so much.

like, if there’s one thing that i always keep in mind while really consuming any media, it’s that you have to try to see character’s from different perspectives and understand their complexity. and debbie gallagher is so fucking complex, yet so simple.

every single problem she has in her teenage/adult life can be traced back to one thing: her parents.

this girl was written so beautifully and so tragically at the same time and some misogynistic assholes who don’t bother to read into anything decide to insult her writing, then other people who don’t give a shit agree, and suddenly she get’s a reputation for the stupidest shit.

it’s like- yeah, she did some dumb shit as a teenager. but y’know who else did? lip. and ian, and carl, and although we didn’t see it i can guarantee you fiona, too.

and i get it, kinda. i mean what she did with the whole atm cards thing in season 10 sucked. and i made a whole post about matty and julia, but out of EVERY SINGLE THING that EVERY SINGLE CHARACTER has done, you deem debbie’s actions the worst?? not frank’s, monica’s, terry’s, sammi’s, hell, even lip and fiona have done some fucked up shit that many people choose to ignore (i’ll get into that sometime).

and no, i can’t defend everything she’s done. but you know what else i can’t defend? LITERALLY ANY OF THE OTHER CHARACTERS IN THE SHOW’S ACTIONS. she isn’t the only one who’s done fucked up shit, yet she’s one of the only one’s who’s actually criticized, and most of the people who criticize her are, dare i say, cisgender men.

also, she’s not a shitty mom. i mean, by shameless standards at least. i’m tired of those gallavich stans saying that debbie would run off with heidi and leave franny in ian and mickey’s care because anyone who say’s that clearly never watched 11x08. there’s an entire scene that proves that debbie would NEVER DO THAT but y’all choose to ignore that because yet again, people ignore her entire plot. they only focus on fanon.

newsflash! debbie took care of franny mostly by herself (every bit of help she got was offered), and she stuck by her even when times were tough. she considered leaving franny ONCE but immediately regretted it. y’know why? because she was fucking 15. her brain wasn’t fully developed and she wasn’t capable of making completely logical decisions. she didn’t leave fiona to raise franny so stop fucking acting like she did because fiona and franny barely have any scenes together. and debbie didn’t want fiona near franny/fiona to ride in the ambulance which is like totally reasonable??? i mean, yeah, fiona was right, having a baby at 15 isn’t a great decision, but it’s debbie’s decision. fiona said she wouldn’t help her at all then proceeds to try to help like no wonder debbie doesn’t want fiona’s help, she’s fucking scared! she’s still a kid herself. i have such mixed feelings about debbie and fiona in season 6 but i think they’re both pretty valid in that season.

also, debbie’s whole thing is that she sticks by people. and yeah, she says some weird twisted things on impulse at times but she loves her family. that’s like- the whole point of debbie in season 11.

anyway that was my weird rant about debbie

[eldritchamy]

Just finished the second season of Legacies and everything about it is so different from TVD/Originals.

I would definitely say I’m overall enjoying it, and I like the characters (especially Hope, and the Saltzman twins), but it feels like it’s playing to an entirely different genre than the previous shows.

Where TVD was definitely playing to a teen vampire drama kind of audience, and The Originals thankfully went a bit more on drama and plot for an older audience, Legacies almost feels like it’s going for comedy vibes at times, and it’s REALLY jarring as a backdrop for how serious it seems like it thinks it’s being sometimes. It covers serious topics at times, but it just completely undercuts that with a lack of tonal sincerity compared to its predecessor.

Legacies plays out almost like a Buffyverse crackfic. It’s quite LITERALLY a monster of the week with season arcs, and plays to Buffyish archetypes (even calling the core cast the “super squad” as the stand in for “the scoobies”) but with such a GOOFY tone to much of it that it kind of undermines what made The Originals so good (and TVD at least a MEMORABLE hot mess).

One thing that actually bothers me is the HIDEOUSLY overused dramatic slow walk edits. It’s in every single episode, sometimes multiple times, and it just feels like they’re trying to EMPHASIZE drama to make up for the fact that, compared to the much better writing of The Originals, there really isn’t much.

A lot of the scenes where a lot of students are all in one place are really ham handed bullying allegories clearly written by adults who were never on the receiving end of it at that age. Just sloppy generic “every single teen will laugh at every mean thing said about someone else” scenes that feel horribly insincere and out of touch. The best example of teen bullying so far was probably the viciously catty relationship between Penelope and Lizzy, but then Penelope left at the end of season 1. Alyssa feels like she’s intended to fill that void, but Penelope’s history with and feelings for Josie made her a more compelling character with better connections to the story imo.

Also all of the hero talk is just way over the top. It’s like the characters KNOW they’re in a story, where TVD and TO just told a story instead. A lot of the decisions made in the scripting and editing of Legacies really feel like they undercut what made the previous shows (especially Originals) so good.

The stakes don’t necessarily feel high or low, they just feel weird. The stakes in TVD were pretty reliably “Katherine Piece is doing something that fucks up other people’s lives” or “ancient super-vampire Klaus Mikaelson is trying to undo the curse that stops him from also being a werewolf, and doesn’t care who he kills to get what he wants” and that fed into the vibe of “this story is about a girl who gets in over her head when she’s thrown into a world of vampires and supernatural bullshit.” The stakes in The Originals were almost always “Klaus made some enemies over his long life of impulsive anger and amoral backstabbing schemes, and now those enemies have the upperhand and threatened his family” and that fed into the vibe of TO being ABOUT the Mikaelson family and their long history of crimes and betrayals while ferociously protecting each other.

The stakes in Legacies so far are that there’s a pit of hell goo (like a shitty Hellmouth) that erases you from the world and everyone’s memory. There was literally an episode where Hope and Lizzy get sucked into an 80s video game themed magic prison with a minotaur who could have killed them. With actual 8-bit style editing effects as a stand-in for the usual generic aftereffects magic. The THREAT level is theoretically high, but it’s such an off the wall plot choice compared to the curses and backstabbing vampire/werewolf/witch drama in The Originals. And it just leaves Legacies feeling GOOFY in a way that doesn’t scratch the same itch. Which means the serious topics they TRY to cover in the show (grief, self harm, depression, self esteem, bullying) don’t FEEL serious because the tone can’t shift enough to match what they’re going for.

I’m still enjoying it, because I like the world and some of the characters (*COUGH* HOPEMIKAELSON), but it doesn’t have that same gut punching tear jerking drama that had me in tears every other episode like The Originals did.  Of the three, The Originals was the one I was LEAST looking forward to, but halfway through Legacies, I’m already looking back on it as easily my favorite of the three. Originals knocked my heart on its ass dozens of times. That hard hitting season length drama was just so much more impactful from a storytelling perspective than dramatic slow mo shots of the super squad living in a world of CW’s Buffy fanfiction and acting like they know they’re in a story. Almost half the lines of dialogue feel like they were focused grouped to adults who were trying to guess what fanfic-writing tumblr teens wanted to hear. Some of the lines feel snappy, ish, but none of them feel sincere. They feel more like beating the audience over the head with their own performative checklist of allyship. Almost feels like they were trying to say “we agree Joss Whedon is a huge asshole, but we want nothing more than to write just like him.”

The end result is a show that can hit (maybe even exceed) the goofy levels of Buffy, but misses the mark on the serious notes that let Buffy get away with being such a powerhouse in the cultural memory. It rivals Buffy’s camp, but not Buffy’s depth or sincerity. You don’t get the Season 6 allegory for depression from a show that treats every other episode like the “everyone becomes their Halloween costume” plot.

It shouldn’t have tried to be Buffy. It should have tried to be The Originals aimed at the age bracket of The Vampire Diaries. It would have been a much better show if it had gone that route.

I’m still enjoying it, but coming right off the heels of The Originals, I’m largely disappointed by how much better it could have been if it kept that same writing style and tone.

But at least there’s gay stuff.

Hope should definitely kiss girls.

[immbosmit]

Rock Bottom Pt.I

I guess you will say I am at my lowest moment. The more and more I am alone I realize that all people around me make me feel more alone than I can feel when I am by myself. They all make me feel like I am the only person in the world, utterly alone, deeply sad and a waste of breathe.How is that possible, I thought I was doing good, I thought that I was being nice and making sure people felt appreciated. Hurt people hurt people and you always better remember that misery loves company. Those types of people suck you in so deep until you isolate yourself to become the unanimity of loneliness. I am so hopeless sometimes I get hurt and then get over it and think everything is back to normal like it never happened. Well it happened and it hurt. I am just not going to pretend that it doesn’t hurt anymore. I am stuck in this constant loop of shit days filled with bad decisions. I can’t keep living my life in a loop but I have and then cry about it. The people that hurt you sadly it’s time to move on. But my fucking attachment issues fuck it up.It’s true, time to let them all go. If I want to ever feel some type of peace or happiness I can’t keep getting sucked back into these continued loops not even from HIM. It’s time to let go and choose something better for myself. The god honest truth is I don’t know how or even where to begin but I do know it’s creating life experiences on my own without them. I don’t even know if I should say goodbye or just walk away. Do you have to communicate if your friendship ends? I mean obviously for a relationship but is it like common knowledge to break up with a friend ? I just need something else because this is not it. I can’t hurt anymore, I can’t allow myself to feel numb anymore, I can’t keep these people around me. I wan’t to feel appreciated and loved and I know it’s a damn busy world but if I can make time for you I expect you to make time for me. If clueless was a person I am sure it would be me. I think that today was my last straw. Now I want to be utterly alone to leave room for something new, something more. The life I am living just can’t be this for tge rest of my life I refuse. The change is required and I need to really be committed to changing and stop falling back into old habits because I am at fault for allowing them to continue to hurt me in more ways than one. I can’t even simply be heard but I guess that is what I get for thinking anything more than. OH FUCKING WELL !!!!!

[thenugking]

23-28 for Eiryn?

23. What are 2-3 songs that your Tav would relate to?

Into the Unknown from Frozen. I’ve been waiting so long for a character I can make Into the Unknown music videos in my head for and I wasn’t expecting it to be Eiryn, but a few hours into playing her she informs me she was actually an adventurer before getting badly injured and recovering in the Druid Grove and falling in love with Kagha and being persuaded to stay in this place where she is very safe and totally happy she swears and in the healthiest of relationships for sure. Sometimes a tadpole is just what you need to let you break free of insecurity and toxic relationships ig.

Trees - The Oh Hellos. This one just happened to come on via shuffle when I was planning out Eiryn/Karlach conversations the other day and it’s so very them. Again, Eiryn’s self-esteem has been ground into the dirt at the start of the game and she believes she’s just gonna get hurt again if she goes out Adventuring. And then she does it, and all the joy and excitement comes rushing back. Karlach ofc isn’t in exactly the same situation, but I think she’d vibe with the song too. And they know their relationship is gonna end in tragedy, but that doesn’t mean they’re not going to have a wonderful time together before that.

Something Wild - Lindsey Stirling and Andrew McMahon. This one I assigned as an Eiryn Song while making her. It’s now Less Accurate than I thought it would be, because I thought Eiryn was gonna happily go back home to the druid grove at the end of the game, but no she fucking hates that place and doesn’t actually have anywhere she really considers Home. Home is her party now I guess, she’s here for them forever.

24. What first impression does your Tav give off to strangers?

Sweet, and kind of a pushover. And a druid, ofc, because she’s living all those druid stereotypes of being unable to shut up about the wonders of nature for more than five minutes and wearing brown and green Only. So all in all, a fairly accurate impression (although she’s becoming Less of a pushover.)

25. How does your Tav feel about what others think of them?

She wants approval, but even before the start of the game, she’s approaching boiling point on “Can everyone else please stop telling me who I’m supposed to be and how to live my life?” I think as the game goes on, she still wants to be liked, but is less willing to change to get that. Yeah, it’s anxiety inducing when Astarion or Lae’zel or Minthara goes “why the fuck would you be nice to someone you dumb shit?” but the answer is to be aggressively nice and patient with them until they do like her, rather than make the terrible decisions they want her to make.

26. Does your Tav have a treasured item with them? If yes, what is it and why is it special? If no, how do they feel about item sentimentality in general?

Not really, I think she picks up leaves and acorns and things a lot and carries them round for a short while, but she’s a druid; she accepts that the pretty things are gonna wither away and die and make way for new pretty things. She’s not against item sentimentality, but feels hanging onto any Object too hard can be dangerous.

27. How does your Tav feel about giving and receiving orders?

She considers herself much more of a follower than a leader. But someone’s gotta lead the party and what’s she supposed to do?? Leave that to the angry githyanki kid or the smug wizard??? Wizards suck, Eiryn’s not doing that. She’s just… temporarily leading the party and making sure they’re on the right track because she sort of knows the area.

(That said, when Halsin, her boss of several years joins, her self-esteem fucking plummets. She’s much more likely to defer to him, until Karlach points out what she’s doing and how it’s bad for her, and Eiryn finally asks him to leave.)

28. How well does your Tav function under pressure?

Again, better than she thought she did! Living in the grove, she was doing badly under the pressure of Being Around Kagha, which led to, “Well obviously she’s right and I can’t function in the outside world if this is what I’m like here.” Actually it turns out that fighting Mindflayers and murder cultists is a lot less pressure than telling your abusive ex to chill the fuck out for once.

[hillbillyoracle]

Fuck Goals, Fuck Vision Boards

Task Management for Planning Averse

AKA Even People with Zero Direction in Life Deserve Nice Things

So if you don’t already follow Dana K. White on YouTube, you should. She’s the author of the blog A Slob Comes Clean and several books. What I’m going to talk about below is heavily inspired by her work which is why I wanted to cite her upfront but also seriously go check her videos out if you’re trying to declutter and get organized. 

Right now I’m mostly using her videos and it’s genuinely the only decluttering method that has ever worked for me. And one of the reasons it works for me where others haven’t is that it is a system that doesn’t rely on feelings or valuation. 

I realized that as I’ve gotten better at task management in my life - though lord knows the move has made that more complicated - I realized that not using feelings or judgement based questions is what really helped me. I also realized that I had 100% completely given up on goals. I had neglected to set goals for a couple years now and weirdly I got more productive, not less. What gives? 

Step 0: Give Up on Goals and the Fantasy Self

What I realized is that goals were really just a product of what a lot of decluttering folks call my “fantasy self”. My fantasy self woke up at 5am and did little work out videos but trying to leap to become that fantasy self fucking sucked. It was not enjoyable once the novelty wore off and it largely didn’t present enough benefit to justify doing it. 

Which meant I would stop and then I would feel bad about myself and I’d pick up bad habits to cope with the feeling and then I was worse off than before. 

So when I stopped setting goals, I stopped declining at least because there wasn’t that rebound effect where I self soothed using way too much ice cream and binge watching whatever I could find. I hit a baseline that wasn’t amazing but the stability was helpful. Only when I gave up on the fantasy life did my actual life get better.

Capitalism loves the fantasy self. People spend so much money to try to become their fantasy self and often don’t even benefit that much from it. Then the guilt of seeing that stuff around can lead folks to by more stuff to cope with the guilt. The only people winning are the companies who you buy from. 

Also, folks with executive dysfunction have a very hard time picturing what done looks like. So trying to picture your “ideal day” is low key a nightmare experience for someone like me. Mission Statements can be real intimidating when you’re not totally sure what those words will mean for the decisions you make. Vision boards...I’m sorry I know some folks love them but I really do not enjoy them. They’re a sensory overload of an experience to me from the crafting to taking them in. I’ve never made a vision board that really did much for me. 

I’ve also recently learned about The Four Tendencies by Gretchen Rubin and I am definitely a Rebel. So too much pressure internal or external and I will find the quickest exit possible. Rebels are a small but sizeable portion of folks according to the authors research. Which means there are likely other people out there who also find goals to be way too much fucking pressure. 

This is all to say - fuck goals. But you’ve still got a life to live so how do you move the needle in the positive direction? 

Step 1: Initial Brain Dump

People would always tell me to brain dump but never really explained how. They were like “Yeah just get all this stuff in your head out on paper” and I’m like...I don’t even know what’s in my head unless I go looking for it. 

So I offer you two questions and two methods of gathering answers. 

When trying to brain dump, ask yourself: 

What do I spend a lot of time thinking about? 

What are the specific tasks associated with these subjects? 

If you can’t think of next specific tasks associated with those subjects, it does necessarily mean you need to strike it off you list, it’ll just be a little tougher to know where it fits. 

Sometimes I’m able to sit down and answer these questions all in one go. And sometimes it’s much easier to keep a running list in my phone and when I realize I’ve been thinking a lot about something I add it to the list. Then later I can sit down and come up with specific tasks or process it in step 2. 

Step 2: Task Punnett 

In step 2 I look at my list and ask myself two questions:

Do I already spend time doing this? 

Will I face a negative result if I don’t do this? 

This gives four categories a list item can be sorted into. 

Yes/Yes

The goal here is to prevent burnout so you don’t stop spending time doing these. Common ones are cooking, cleaning, or seeing friends. So it’s important to look at each of these and make sure they’re as easy and enjoyable as possible. 

It also helps to know what your minimum is for each so that if you’re burning out you can scale back to your minimum effective dose is that allows you to avoid the material harm but give you a break - like getting take out or having freezer meals on hand, knowing what the most important cleaning tasks are and only doing those, and at least sending texts or voice memos to friends to connect.

Yes/No

The goal here is to protect this time as much as possible. It’s what tends to go when Yes/Yes and No/Yes tasks start to get out of hand. That will look different for different people but it almost always involves capping Yes/Yes and No/Yes time and not allowing yourself to go over. As you might have guess most hobbies go here. 

Some people will need other people to help encourage them to keep doing it. Some people will need flexibility so it feels like they’re truly choosing it. Some people will need to refresh their memory that these kinds of activities are just as necessary as other types of tasks. 

Guilt and shame is a big one that keeps people from having many things going in this box but it can also be a lack of self knowledge too. We’re not exactly encouraged to explore what we truly deeply love. Mental illness can also make this box tricky as anhedonia can make everything feel bleh. 

In all of these cases, I really suggest making some sort of reflective practice something you try to keep in this box so you can notice what triggers guilt, what sparks joy, and what just isn’t working after a while. Doesn’t have to be journaling in the traditional sense. I used to turn on my computer cam and just talk but now that I need more audio privacy, this has been really helping me.  

No/Yes

I fucking hate this box in all honesty. It’s the one that drains me and makes me feel like shit to look at this list but also I feel the most badass when I actually complete something off of it. 

The goal with this box is to figure out what’s blocking you from this being a Yes/Yes. Basically finish the sentence “I don’t really want to do this because...” and you’re on your way. Most barriers can be dealt with. I used to not believe this but I promise it’s true. 

This is where having a therapist, good friend, or community where you can bounce ideas off of can really make all the difference. A reflection practice can also really help get a different perspective too.  Sometimes the barriers loom so large in our mind that adaptation seems ridiculous or impossible. Take advantage of different perspectives. 

Automation, delegation, and congregation (body double or a group) are incredibly useful tools here. Don’t do more here than you need to. 

What’s key in the second question for this section is that this is something you have the power to impact the outcome of. If you don’t have the power to change the outcome or you’ve done all you can, then the task is bracing, mitigating, and accepting, not dealing with the topic/task head on. 

No/No

There are 2 main things I find in this category - shit I agreed to because I felt obligated and someday maybe projects. For shit I agreed to, the only remedy is to just get out of it, to bail in the most graceful way possible. I also try to prevent stuff from winding up here to begin with (no more event planning for me for a while). 

For someday maybe projects, I like to keep a space - usually Notion - where I can collect my thoughts on it, projects, and pain a picture of what it would take to make it a Yes/No task someday in the future - always keeping in mind what I could do with the materials and time I have available right now. I’ve picked a quite a few of my No/No tasks this way and made them things I do regularly because I left myself those breadcrumbs for later. 

Step 3: Prioritizing without Feelings

So now you have your tasks organized into these buckets and know what to keep in mind with each. So...what do you do with them? 

A lot of people will tell you to prioritize and do the hardest first while your willpower is strong but I say fuck that my willpower is never strong so we’re going to do easiest first to build up some confidence. 

No/No - For obligations that no longer serve me, I bail. For someday maybe projects, I write up some quick notes in my little system in Notion.

Yes/No - gather and prep materials, block out time, ask someone to do it with you or find a group if needed

Yes/Yes - gather and prep materials, if burning out, switch to minimum viable

No/Yes - figure out the barriers, automate, delegate, congregate, list next steps

Stuck Tasks - Too much to go into here but this video is helpful.

Sometimes I bounce around a bit - dealing with a Yes/Yes task will suddenly give me the guts to deal with a stuck task, getting out of a No/No obligation will make a No/Yes task look easier. So I don’t limit myself to this. But when I’m having trouble I go back to the list and just trust. 

If I have avoided doing a No/Yes task for anywhere from several days to several weeks - it’s official a stuck task and I bounce it there while I work through other No/Yes tasks to deal with later. 

Sometimes time pressures will dictate that things need to be handled before others - that’s fine. But usually a crunch will either show you that you will not in fact face a negative consequence after all or give you a motivation boost to carry you through some of the difficult tasks. 

Step 4: Doing it again

So when do you do it again? 

I do my brain dumps on Sundays and sort them into area of life lists so I can work on them by theme or focus but honestly whenever. When I was really in the throws of some bad mood shit I’d only do it every few weeks or so. Any amount of doing this generally had lead to a better life though. 

What about stuff I’m not thinking a lot about? 

That usually means either you’ve got such a good system for it that it’s running on autopilot so why mess with success, the possible reward is not appealing enough, or the possible consequences don’t freak you out enough. 

This isn’t really a system I use for creating like...a good life by a neurotypical standard. It’s what I use to manage the stress, concern, and daydreams I’m having right now, to get things off of my plate and grow my confidence. 

So will this mean everything gets managed? No. But it does mean the stuff most likely to keep you up at night does. Which is a huge fucking boon. 

Conclusion

There’s some more intricacies in this too like moving No/No projects to Yes/No and No/Yes projects to Yes/Yes - it’s not the same strategies in my experience - but this is already running long. 

Hope this helps someone else out too! 

[rpstartersinc]

* 𝐁𝐑𝐀𝐒𝐒𝐈𝐂:  𝐒𝐄𝐀𝐒𝐎𝐍  𝟏.

feel free to change pronouns / wording!

“ fuck the middle class! ”

“ fuck scented candles. ”

“ we’re not victims. ”

“ you’re glimpsing! look properly. ”

“ if the cops turn up, you haven’t seen us. ”

“ lie to the police? that’s purgery that is. ”

“ we bonded over ganja and hip hop. ”

“ if that wasn’t bad enough, i’m going bald and all. ”

“ the fuck have you brought a pigeon for? ”

“ put the chloroform away. ”

“ you must have the wrong man. ”

“ i don’t have that kind of money, man. ”

“ i’m pouring my heart out, you’re on a dating app. ”

“ have you tried it? it’s unbelievable. ”

“ i don’t know why i trust these morons. ”

“ every fucker wants something. ”

“ who gives a shit where anyone sticks their dick anymore. ”

“ dicks are gonna go in soft, warm holes, end of. ”

“ now we’re living! ”

“ he was aiming to miss. ”

“ chill out, panickin’ skywalker. ”

“ if you’re looking for someone to blame you can piss off and blame yourself. ”

“ i’m sorry, i shouldn’t have shouted. ”

“ i’ve got a duran duran cd. ”

“ aren’t you scared? being out here on your own at night. ”

“ your pony’s a cunt. ”

“ he’s not a man to make an enemy of. ”

“ sometimes it’s only later when you look back you realize when the turning point came, the moment in your life when everything changed. ”

“ it’s morning glory, doesn’t mean anything. ”

“ it’s like fort knox in there, bolted doors, cctv. ”

“ do that again, i fucking dare you, do it again. ”

“ it’s just hit me hard, that’s all man, you know just the thought that one minute you can be there, full of life, next minute you’re fucking gone. “

“ you can’t think of a bloody thing, can you? ”

“ i trust you’ve brought forth my… magical ‘erbs? ”

“ the state’s trying to silence me, but my powers are too strong. their systems and restraints will never shackle my spirits. ”

“ that’s a common misconception, ninety percent of sewage waste is actually water. ”

“ let’s hear your brilliant plan, genius. ”

“ i’ll be good cop, you be bad cop. ”

“ and you’re sure they were following you? ”

“ i defy any man, yourself included sunshine, to resist under those sort of circumstances. ”

“ she might’ve had a bit of work done, but… she’s in cracking shape, actually. ”

“ cometh the hour, cometh the man. ”

“ oh my god we’re gonna dieeee! ”

“ no sign of anyone. ”

“ it’s having a kid. it makes you more vulnerable. ”

“ you’re an internet sensation. ”

“ i don’t have a bucket list, i have a suck it list. a smoke it list, a drink it list. snort it list. ”

“ you’ve never fought a man like me before. ”

“ it’s because you use big words. ”

“ i’ve got a thing for big boys. the chunkier the better. ”

“ well if you tell yourself puke is a possibility, you might puke. you’ve gotta tell yourself you won’t puke. ”

“ let all the tension go and allow yourself to be held. ”

“ i’ve made a decision and i’ve not thought about the consequences. ”

“ are you high? ”

“ i prefer it alfresco. ”

“ i’ve just really seen your knob there. ”

“ you’re like a bloody stalker, man. ”

“ i’m addicted to women’s knees. ”

“ i was thinking… i need help. you need help, to talk about our thoughts and maybe we could be like, you know, therapy for each other. like a two man counselling group. ”

“ it’s a hospital, they don’t do advanced bookings you bellend. ”

“ whatever you’ve heard, you need to unhear. ”

“ you, are the shit on my shoe. an irritation, unpleasant, has to be dealt with. you can’t go around with shit on your shoe, it ruins the overall effect. try scraping it off but a bit always lingers in the cracks. so, in the end, inevitable, no way ‘round it, you have to remove the shoe - and deal with the shit properly. ”

“ stop googling shit like that man, someone checks your phone you’re gonna be in some trouble, aren’t you? ”

“ are you pretending to cry? ”

“ i just wish i’d never told you now. ”

“ how do you fancy being my girlfriend? just for the day. ”

“ anything is possible, it’s about the choices you make. ”

“ come out, i can see you. ”

“ put the ornamental sword down, let’s have a proper chat like grown ups. ”

“ will you mind your bloody language? ”

“ the heart’s a fickle beast. ”

“ you ask for a day, i give you a day and you introduce him to a world of petty crime. ”

“ i felt like being someone else for the day. ”

“ i paid you to piss him off, not make his fucking year. ”

“ that’s how cows always look. ”

“ you haven’t started smoking, have you? ”

“ police! get your fucking hands up! ”

“ don’t sneak up on me dickhead. ”

“ we all decided never to give you class a’s ever again, for as long as we all shall live. ”

“ you’re pathologically inclined to ruin everyone’s night. ”

“ you’re a buzz-ruiner and you ruin drugs for people. ”

“ there are things, right? feelings that i have buried. ”

“ you never know when it’s gonna be too late. ”

“ i am terrified of what it would be like to not be with you. ”

“ jesus! what are you doing creeping around on the floor? you scared the shit out of me! ”

“ if you go, i’m coming. ”

“ i’m a lover, not a fighter. ”

“ next thing you know i just, i had not choice so i had to run him over. ”

“ what do you mean you ran him over? ”

“ i’m sorry that i wasn’t having the time to go to fucking… what’s it called where you learn all the shit? school - to learn to be a smartass! ”

“ it’s the perfect crime, it’s so fucking stupid no one would think anyone would be daft enough to try. ”

“ you’re acting like a fucking amateur. ”

“ i’m appealing to his common sense. ”

“ you see that? that was like some proper you’ve been framed shit. ”

“ you’re making me cringe. ”

“ i never imagined how low you’d sink. but then again, how could you not? ”

“ the last thing you’re gonna see is my face, me, grinning, as you beg to take those words back. ”

“ is that a real policeman? ”

“ do you wanna leave here alive tonight, you? ”

“ shut up! stop making words, dude! ”

“ don’t come in. ”

“ i must’ve done something fucking terrible in a previous life. ”

“ you’re going to have a lovely long sleep, and when you wake up, you’re going to feel wonderfully refreshed and unable to remember anything from the last twenty four hours. ”

“ spontaneous theft. christ, it’s been ages since i’ve done one of them. ”

“ you know the bloody rules, ask me no questions, i’ll tell you no lies. ”

“ you will always remember the moment before you become dickless. ”

“ i have been badly betrayed. ”

“ he said he was gonna cut my dick off! ”

“ did you bring my car back? because if you brought it back thanks a million, i’ll give you a free embalming next time you need it. ”

“ i’ve always enjoyed theatre, i like dance and literature, and um… cock. ”

“ faced with this, i’m really scared, man. ”

“ i feel like a little lad who needs his mum. ”

“ you realize this is crazy don’t you? ”

“ i think i could make you really happy. ”

“ everything would be amazing… thirty four percent of the time. ”

“ i’m thinking dead, it’s fucking freaking me out! ”

“ being dead put a lot of things in perspective for me. ”

“ so tell me, how does it feel to be dead? ”

[miekasa]

bad romance

+ pairing: levi ackerman x reader

+ genres and warnings: friends with benefits au, friends to lovers au (well i guess that’s open for interpretation lmao), modern au—college au?, explicit smut, mentioned/implied virginity

+ summary: friends with benefits with your best friend since middle school is probably a bad idea. friends with benefits with your best friend since middle school who you’ve also been in love with for the past seven years—all for the purpose of her gaining ‘experience’ so she’s not nervous to do it with some other guy she has a crush on—is probably a really bad idea. levi ackerman is not known to make great decisions.

+ word count: 3.5k

+ notes: truth be told, i don’t even know if i like this; i took this from an outline/draft of a series i’d planned but know i’ll never complete. it’s kind of unedited too heh, also if you’re a minor pls do not interact 

Levi doesn’t think anything of it when he finds you on his doorstep on a rainy Saturday evening. It’s very much like you to show up unannounced and attempt to drag him into whatever activity you want to do that day. He’s fairly certain that Hange picked that up from you. Someone should tell her that it doesn’t work so well unless it’s you tugging on his arm sleeve and interrupting his otherwise peaceful evening. 

So, for a while, everything is normal. You make fun of him for his use of, admittedly overpriced, organic butter when he toasts you a bagel; he makes jabs at you shuffling around his apartment like a semi-wet chihuahua, and all is right with the world.

Until it’s not. Because half-way into whatever stand-up comedy Netflix special you’d persuaded him into watching with you, Levi’s had enough of your nervous ticking. He doesn’t know if you think that he wouldn’t notice, but he does. And he knows it’s not the result of you still being wet or cold from the rain, seeing as you’ve long since dried off and warmed up. 

You’re focused on the show (ironically, focused to a point of distraction), you’ve been twiddling your fingers since it started, and you’ve been fidgety since you stepped foot into his house. Quite frankly, he finds it insulting that you think he wouldn’t know something’s up by now.

So, he bends his knee, turns his body towards yours, lifts his elbow to rest atop the edge of the soft, and presses his cheek into his palm: “Alright, spit it out.”

“Huh?—What do you mean?” You look at him with wide, startled eyes. He looks back at you with unamused, expecting ones.

You crack a nervous smile, attempting to laugh off his command as incredulous, but instead, your voice comes out in what sounds like a pathetic attempt to cover up a lie—probably because it is, “What? Can’t I spend sometime with my favorite, surly psychology student?”

Levi scoffs at your batting eyelashes. The look he throws you seems to do the trick as you drop your facade with a sigh and shift yourself to face him on the couch too, your bent knees almost touching.

“Alright, fine, you got me,” you sigh, hands resting in your lap, “You, um... you know how you said you’d help me with, like, uh... sex and stuff?”

Levi raises an eyebrow. Of course he does. He watches as your eyes dart around the room waiting for his response. It’s cute as heck, and if the topic of conversation at hand weren’t about to get so compromising, he’d have probably teased you about it.

“Yeah, why?”

“Well… okay, so, you remember Jean, right? The guy I told you about?”

Levi hums. Yeah, he remembers Jean, but only because you can’t seem to shutup about him, not because he’s particularly memorable otherwise. He seems to be kind of a prick and a huge idiot, if you asked Levi; but, that’s kind of his default impression of most people. 

“Jean and I hung out yesterday, and it was normal, you know? We just talked and ordered food and watched a movie,” you rub your palms along the fabric of your yoga pants—another nervous tick he’s been observing, “I don’t know if it was a date or not, because he didn’t say it was, and I don’t want to assume, but Marco keeps saying it was, and that Jean wants to actually ask me out.”

Levi blinks. “And?”

“And if he does ask me out—or even if he just… I don’t know, wants to try something the next time we hang out, I don’t want to look like a complete idiot!”

He refrains from letting a noticeable grimace take over his features; and washes away the unsettling feeling in his stomach with a nonchalant comment, “I doubt he’ll try anything on your first date.”

“But what if it’s not a date! People hang out just to hook up all the time.”

“I thought you wanted to date him?” Levi questions, but his it comes out as more of a deadpan statement.

“I do,” you answer, your response a little delayed and drawn out, “But, I wouldn’t mind just sleeping with him, either.”

“Bold statement from someone who’s never slept with anyone before.”

“Have I told you today that you’re an asshole?” you roll your eyes at him, “Come on, Levi, you know what it’s like to just want someone, but not want them, don’t you? You’ve had one night stands before.”

That’s true, Levi knows it, but it’s different. He wasn’t actively seeking advice from his friends about how to pursue and potentially please his one night stands because none of that mattered—well, the pleasing part, probably, but not the pursuit, or the feelings that came with it. Besides, Levi hasn’t felt the desire for any of that in a long time.

“That’s not the same,” he responds, trying to dismiss the muddy feelings crawling up his throat, “Look, if your Jean guy gets horny when you’re hanging out, just make out with him—make him jizz his pants or something.”

“That’s terrible advice,” you frown, “Plus, he’s probably done that with a million other girls.”

“Probably. Sex tends to repeat a few basic actions here and there.”

“For a psychology student, you sure are a terrible makeshift therapist, do you know that?”

“That’s not even the kind of psychology I study, never mind that I never asked to be your therapist.”

Levi takes great amusement in your huffing and the frustrated pout settling into your features, though he does his best to not let his own smile shine through. It’s probably futile; you can probably see through his facade, anyways.

“I just don’t want to bore him, Levi.”

Any trace of his smile vanishes as those words leave your mouth. Levi doesn’t retain much about this Jean guy you keep going on about, and he doesn’t care to in all honesty—but maybe if he did, he could understand why you’re so hellbent on pleasing the kid.

Levi doesn’t like it, not one single bit. His own feelings for you aside, he doesn’t like how Jean has managed to worm his way into your head and make you think that he’s deserving of any kind of affection from you, whether it be platonic, romantic, or sexual. Because he isn’t; Levi might not know him, but he knows that much. 

Still, he sympathizes with you. He understands the pressure of navigating dating and hookup culture, especially in a university setting; never mind the additional expectations set on you as a girl. It’s shitty, all of it; the stupid feelings, the sense of uncertainty, the dumb-ass college pricks. You shouldn’t have to deal with any of that. 

“You won’t,” is Levi’s simpler response, “Just don’t crush his dick in the process.”

“I wouldn’t do that, fuck you.”

“I’m just saying, you’ve never been the most coordinated person in the world,” he taunts, “If that’s what you came here today to ask me to help you with, it’s fine.”

“Really?—I mean, okay, I know we said that’s okay, and stuff, but I didn’t know if—well I don’t know what’s on the table or not? I do want to do that with you, but I also wanted to know if we could do… more? But I didn’t want to ask for too much and make you uncomfortable! Do we need a lesson-plan of sorts, because I can make—”

“You’re doing it.”

“Doing what?”

“Stalling,” Levi tells you, “You know, how when you get all nervous and ramble, then run out of breath or things to say, then get super quiet, and let the conversation die and be awkward again.”

You throw daggers his way with your eyes, and Levi has the audacity to smirk. “Forgive me, it’s not every day I ask my best friend if I can suck his dick for practice.”

“You can,” Levi replies, a little too nonchalant for the situation at hand, “If you want. I don’t mind. As for a lesson plan, that’s weird as shit, so don’t do that.”

“Really? I can?” you question again, an ironic child-like glimmer of joy in your eyes.

Levi chuckles lowly at your enthusiasm—your appreciation is so genuine, he finds it nothing short of adorable. And oddly enough, he’s a little turned on by it, too.

“Yeah,” he nods his head shallowly, “You can.”

You still have that gleam in your eyes, but Levi can feel the hesitation creeping up on you, and offers his guidance before he loses you to a shell of yourself. He shifts over to you just a bit, loosely holding your right wrist in his grip; holding eye-contact, he carefully pulls you up to stand in front of him.

“You can start,” he says, slowly tugging on your wrist, “By getting on your knees and taking off my pants.”

By the time he’s finished speaking, you’re already kneeling in front of him, and the sight is already enough to have Levi semi-hard in his pants; an almost embarrassed flush washing over his body as he comes to terms with the fact that he’s thought about this visual more times than he cares to ever admit.

You fumble with the zipper of his jeans, pulling them, along with his boxers to pool around his ankles. Your actions are careful and calculated, but you seem comfortable—maybe not with your skills, but with Levi.

His eyes stay glued on you, when you finally hold his length with a single hand, the other resting hot on his thigh. He leans over again, this time to rest a comforting hand on the back of your neck, eager to wash away any remains of your nervous resolve.

“Start slow,” he instructs, feeling your thumb swipe along the head, “Just move your hand up and down a bit, like—ah, yeah, like that.”

You seem follow his words carefully, focusing on the way his dick jerks in your hand. Levi observes you carefully and mentally notes that while he’d have liked it, not making out with you before this was probably the right call—he’d probably have creamed his jeans before this could have begun.

“You can grip it harder,” he tells you. You listen, applying slightly more pressure to your grasp; and it makes Levi groan, short, but strangled, above you.

“Okay?” you question, the genuine concern in your voice enough to make Levi’s gaze soften.

“Yeah, that’s—you’re doing good,” he says, rubbing his thumb against the nape of your neck habitually, “Twist your hand a little when you go up, you can—fuck, okay, yeah, that, like that.”

You snap your head up to look at him when he lets a moan slip through; nothing but pure enthusiasm and satisfaction dancing in your eyes. Levi grits his teeth when you do it again, your thumb sliding over the tip when you reach the top of his dick, and, Christ, you’ve got to stop looking at him like that.

You work your way into a steady rhythm, letting Levi’s moans guide your movements. You feel him harden to full length under your touch; and when he does, you move your hand faster, twisting your wrist around the length and squeezing just a pinch harder at the tip, without instruction.

He watches through lidded eyes, using his thumb to press lightly into the back of your neck. You move your free hand from his thighs, eager to add it to the mix, but Levi freezes.

“Nuh uh,” he shakes his head.

It prompts you to stop your actions, tilt your head and look up at him, and Levi doesn’t think he’s ever seen something so sinful. Your complete focus on him, neck craned obediently, eyes twinkling under your lashes; your position makes him want to kiss you or choke you or something in between.

“What—did I do something wrong?” you ask with wide and innocent eyes that make Levi feel bad for worrying you, yet send an erotic pulse throughout his body.

“Not at all,” he reassures you, fingers treading into the hair at your nape.

He’s setting himself up for failure, and he knows it, too—because, really, who agrees to teach a friend how to suck dick? Having you on your knees in front him, crane into his touch, and keen to all his desires, does nothing to mask the painful fire in the pit of his stomach.

It’s stupid to be this hungry, this possessive over you when he knows you come to him in hopes to learning how to please another man. But one, precious thought is enough to cloud over all of that, enough to put that sadistic smirk back on his face.

“You said you wanted to give me a blowjob, right?” he questions, pulling his bottom lip between his teeth at the shallow nod of your head, “Okay. Open your mouth for me, yeah?”

He barely pushes the tip past your lips when your head dips forward, tongue peeking out to lick the very top. Levi sucks in sharp air between his teeth, relaxing into the couch when your head bobs further, enclosing the tip of his dick in your mouth.

“Fuck,” he groans, voice hoarse when his hardened cock rests against the velvet wet of your tongue, “That’s it—just keep going, like that.”

He watches intensely as your head bobs onto him. It’s hot and wet and so much more than he’d imagined it would be; and he’s not too shy to admit he’s imagined this with you. He moves his hand to brush away the flyaways of your hair, smoothing them back and tangling his fingers at the back of your head. He carefully guides your movements.

It’s slow and steady, and normally, it’d take him a while to cum like this, but with the visual of having you on your knees for him, Levi can feel a faint warmth of his orgasm already beginning to bubble inside of him.

“This is okay, right?” you pull back, a thin line of spit trailing from your mouth.

“Yes, yes,” he answers immediately, unaware of his tightening grasp on your hair.

With a shy smile, you continue, taking more of him this time and carefully gauging his reactions. You move your head further down, testing your own limits, until you feel like you’re choking. You pull back again, with an embarrassed cough.

“Don’t push yourself,” he says softly, rubbing soothing circles into your neck with his fingers, “Guys can’t actually tell the difference between a regular blowjob and being deep throated, no need to choke yourself.”

“Wait, really?” you ask, resting you bum against your heels.

“You seem so surprised.”

“That’s just so… disappointing,” you crinkle your nose, “Men and porn make deep-throating seem like the end all be all of giving head.”

Levi chuckles in genuine amusement, “Well, it’s not, trust me. If any guy insists on being deep-throated just to cum, he’s a fucking liar. He’s getting off on the submission, not the actual feeling.”

“The submission?”

“Getting someone to be willing to listen to them, telling them what to do, how to please them,” he shrugs, “Makes you feel like you’re in control.”

“And that… that works?”

“Yeah,” Levi says, “But, judging by the tone of your voice, and how willing you were to suck my dick three seconds ago, I’d say the idea of being dominant doesn’t really appeal to you.”

You scrunch your nose again, “Does it appeal to you?”

Levi pauses, thinking over his answer, before giving you a simple, “Yeah. Most of the time.”

“Oh,” you hum, “I… I don’t think I’d like that.  I think I’d rather be told what to do, seeing as I don’t really know what I’m doing, anyways.”

“Ironic, considering you’ve never once listened anything I tell you do.”

“I was listening when you told me how to suck your dick,” you correct him, “You seemed to enjoy that.”

Levi pauses with a raised eyebrow. You don’t seem to back down, that matter-of-fact smirk on your face still mocking him. He leans over slowly, using his right hand to guide your head closer to him, and uses his left hand to grab your jaw between his fingers.

“You can be such a fucking brat, you know that,” he all but whispers, pursing your lips together in his hold, “Since you like listening to me so much, then shut up, and we can finish what you started.”

You blink, staring at him with a wide-eyed expression. He’s right that under any other circumstance you’d probably run your mouth off about him telling you what to do. But something about the way he knows what he wants and tells how he wants it makes you listen without an argument.

You nod, slowly wrapping your lips around the tip again, and bobbing along his length. Levi’s breath hitches when you hollow your cheeks slightly, a rough hand pressing down on the back of your neck.

“You’re really—god, okay, you’re good at this, you know,” Levi praises you, letting his right hand resume its position at the back of your neck.

If you had any doubts before about being submissive, the look on Levi’s face seemed to have wiped them away. Watching him throw his head back, his fingers gripping at your nape, his cock in your mouth—pleasing him seemed to be enough to please you, too.

“I wanna make you cum, Levi,” you voice your thoughts, letting a hand lazily jerk him off in the mean time, “Tell me what I have to do to make you cum.”

“If you keep going, I’ll cum,” he answers too quickly, a groan slipping through his words, “Trust me.”

“Come on, Levi,” you push, rolling your thumb over the slit of his dick. It makes him inhale sharply; you’re getting a little too good at that; at all of this. “Can—I mean, do you wanna cum in my mouth?”

“Shit, shit. Don’t say shit like that,” he curses, blunt nails raking and scraping at your scalp, “You don’t have to—I can just—”

“I want you to,” you tell him earnestly, “Please?”

Fuck, he was pretty fucking certain he’d told you to stop saying shit like that. Levi bites the inside of his cheek, paces himself; uses both of his hands to hold your head gently, while you use yours to wrap around his cock.

He grunts with a shake, and rolls his hips up, pushing himself further into your mouth, but not so much as to hurt you. It’s soon after that hot strophes of cum wet your tongue, and Levi lets you lazily jerk him off until you’ve milked his orgasm.

The room is silent save for his low moans and the squeaking of his thighs against the leather couch. When he’s finished, he slouches back, looking at you through hooded eyes, sweaty and panting, when you close your mouth and swallow.

You use your fingers to collect any remaining cum from his softening cock, and hum contented as you put your fingers in your mouth. Levi locks eyes with you again, cheeks flushed as you pull your digits out of your mouth, and he has to grip at his own thigh to gain the self-control to not get hard again.

You’re going to be the fucking death of him some day.

He shakes his head when you move backwards with a cute smile and pulls his boxers up, then his pants as best his can, not bothering to zip them up. When he’s done, you stand to your feet then straddle him on the couch, laughing lowly at his post-orgasm haze.

He doesn’t think twice about the way your hands clasp at the back of his neck, or the way his find their way to rest on your hips. You grab ahold of his jaw with both hands, holding his face in place. He thinks you’re going to lean in, but you don’t; just stay like that, your eyes roaming his glassy eyes.

“Are you gonna kiss me or just stare at me all day?” he questions, lips pulled into a knowing grin.

“Can I?” your question makes him frown in confusion, “Dunno, I heard some guys don’t like that after getting head.”

“Bunch a fuckin pussies,” he grumbles, leaning forward to close the gap between your mouths. He can feel you smile into it, and mimics your grin when you begin to press short, repeated kisses against his lips.

“You’re the best, you know that?”

He laughs when you continue to press quick kisses on his lips. “You’re not so bad yourself.”

You kiss him on the cheek, wet and dramatic. “Love you, Levi.”

Your face is right in front of his, but he averts his gaze, a different kind go warmth spreading throughout his chest when you flash a smile at him. He lets you kiss him again, longer this time, but still slow and sweet. He likes the feeling of you resting against him, affection lingering on your tongue when you kiss him.

It’s dangerous, but he likes the way you spark a fire in him. Sweet or sinful, it makes him feel boneless, wanted, loved.

Levi leans forward, rubbing his hands up your sides, and captures your lips in another languid kiss before pulling away to peck the corner of your mouth. “Love you, too.”

And he means it of course, but if Levi thought he had it bad before, he’s in deep shit now.

[pippytmi]

16 + 4 + 2 (werewolf supercorp?)

It is not uncommon for Kara to wake up in a puddle of blood.

At this point she is immune to the shock that comes with it, really. She has adapted; knows all the best tricks to get stains out of her clothes, knows all the best laundromats that don’t ask any questions. Heck, she even has Alex’s ex-girlfriend on speed dial, just in case there is a freak chance the blood Kara wakes up in might be human (it has not happened yet, knock on wood).

But there are other parts that still take some getting used to. Like, for example, the loss of memory that comes with every night of the full moon. Because yeah, she understands why she wakes up in a pool of blood. What she doesn’t understand is why this time around she wakes up in a pool of her own blood, and in so much pain that it hurts to open her eyes.

“Ow,” Kara whispers to herself, twisting onto her side with a groan. Her clothes are gone—no surprise—but even as she is laying down on the cold, rocky forest floor, the only thing she can focus on is how much her head hurts. She’s dealt with branch scratches, sore legs and arms, the occasional plethora of bug bites, but never a headache. Her one comfort is that at least she has made it into the backyard of Sam’s cabin. It takes a considerable amount of strength to push herself up off the ground; walking is going to be much harder than anticipated.

If Alex saw her now, she'd—well first she would hit Kara over the head and yell at her about being dumb, but afterwards she would snicker. And probably hit her over the head again for good measure.

“Oh my God—!”

Okay, it’s official. Kara is now dead. Even if the stranger gawking at her is not the one who kills her, Alex definitely will.

And it’s that thought that makes Kara drop right back down on the floor, knocking the wind right out of her lungs, and she groans into the dirt pitifully.

“Oh, fuck,” the stranger whispers, almost as if to herself, scrambling to come to Kara’s side. “Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck fuck this shit. Fuck!” Said stranger belatedly claps a hand over her mouth, green eyes widening in horror. “Holy shit, are you alive?”

Kara pitifully rests her cheek against the ground and tries not to look too offended. “Uh, kind of,” she replies. (So this must not be Sam’s cabin, then.) “Sorry. Am I in your yard? It is a very nice yard. Five stars.”

“No, it’s not my—I’m house-sitting,” the woman explains, though she is giving Kara a look that says really? That’s what you want to focus on right now?

“Well, it’s still a nice place,” Kara says, because she is polite and small talk is always a good thing to fall back on when you’re naked on a pile of dead leaves. “Wait, I don’t suppose you’re house-sitting for Sam, are you? Sam Arias, super tall, has a daughter who is freakishly good at checkers?”

Stranger-who-swears-like-a-sailor frowns. “How do you know Sam?” she asks suspiciously.

“She dated my sister. It was a whole—it’s a thing,” Kara says. “You know?”

“Wait. Are you Kara? Are you Alex’s sister?”

“Yes! So you do know!” Kara would grin if her face were capable of any emotion besides mind-shattering pain. “Then you must be Sam’s friend…uh, bear with me…Lena? Or Jess?”

“Lena,” says the woman, still notably wary, so Kara makes the decision to wiggle until she can prop herself up her elbows and look less, well, like a corpse.

“Hey, got it in one!” Kara says as cheerfully as she can muster. “Well, it’s nice to meet you. And can I just—uh, say—that you don’t have to worry. I won’t die here or anything. I know you would obviously be the number one suspect for murder and it wouldn’t be nice of me to put you through that.”

“…right. Never mind that you would be dead, or anything.” Lena begins to shakily unbutton her coat like a woman possessed, as if her doubt has morphed entirely into concern now that she has confirmation the freak naked in Sam’s backyard is not an entire stranger. “Here, this is long enough to cover you. Do you—do you need help getting up?”

“No, no, I’ve got it, thank you,” Kara insists, and gradually, she manages; she shifts sideways and then tentatively onto her butt, and accepts the coat when it’s all but thrown at her face. There is blood mixed in with the leaves and general guck beneath her, and she winces at the sight. “I’ll come back and clean this later,” she’s quick to add, and Lena frowns in response.

“Are you serious? Forget cleaning, you need—stitches, at the very least. I can take you to the hospital if—”

“Oh no, you don’t have to do that!” Kara blurts out, and with the adrenaline from that burst of energy she’s able to scramble to her feet. She is shaky, unsteady, but she manages to stay upright at least and she’ll count that as a win. “Shoot. I’m sorry for yelling. I just—no hospitals. I can’t do hospitals.” She has never had to form an excuse for this, and her mouth can’t quite wrap around the right words.

But Lena—green eyes wide and unsure, skin pale in the early morning light—nods, like she understands. “Okay,” she says. “No hospitals.”

“Thanks,” Kara mumbles, wrapping the coat tightly around herself. There are startling black spots in her vision and her head still feels like it was used as a piñata; she wonders what the heck her next move should be now. If Sam needs someone to house-sit, she must be out of the city. And if Sam is out of the city, Kara can’t exactly waltz into Sam’s house to wash all the blood off her body (and then call up Alex from the couch while stealing whatever ice cream Ruby picked). Sam lets her do that, sure, but that’s Sam. It would be pretty rude to do that when Lena is right here.

“Do you…” And Lena pauses, nose scrunching up as if something has just occurred to her. “I can give you a ride somewhere else, if you’d like. Back to your house?”

“No, that’s okay,” Kara hurries to decline, because how can she really explain that she lives in an apartment, and that if little old Mrs. Jensen saw her coming up covered in blood she’d finally succumb to her third heart attack? “Can I just use Sam’s phone to call my sister? Then I’ll come right back out here, I promise.”

“Why would you come back out here again?” Underneath her coat, Lena is wearing plaid pajama pants that are rolled at the ankle (Sam’s, most likely), and a tank top that is extremely fitted. Very, very well fitted. Like, you-can-tell-it’s-frigidly-cold-outside-kind-of-fitted.

Kara coughs and tries not to let on how her train of thought has twisted. “Because…I’m a stranger?” she tries. “I don’t want to make you uncomfortable.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. Remember, if you die I’m going to be the first one they question,” Lena says, tilting her head expectantly in the direction of Sam’s cabin. “Come inside, warm up. Call your sister.” All things considered, she is far more concerned than Kara expected her to be—as if, somehow, ridding herself of the weirdo walking around bloody and probably concussed isn’t the very first thing on Lena’s mind.

So Kara doesn’t look a gift horse in the mouth; she accepts the offer. It’s a small comfort that if she really does get murdered by a total stranger, it won’t be while cold and naked.

Lena goes right into Sam’s room the instant they go inside, already gathering a million outfits for Kara to pick through. “The shower is fickle, but it does have hot water,” she says, adding a towel to the pile in Kara’s arms when she re-emerges. “You just have to—”

“Hit the wall twice, and give it a few seconds,” Kara finishes. “Yeah, Sam reminds me every time.”

“So you…visit Sam often, do you?”

“Uh.” And suddenly, despite the long, cold night she’s had, the air indoors feels a bit warmer than is comfortable. “Only sometimes.” Once a month, Kara thinks, and Lena crosses her arms and just stares.

Really stares, dragging those sharp green eyes up and down Kara’s whole body. Squints at the scratches on her face, scrunches her nose at the way Kara awkwardly shifts from side to side. Finally Lena speaks, and it’s only to say, “It’s you, isn’t it?”

“...come again?”

“It’s you. Sam told me she’s been helping out a friend with a—furry predicament—”

If it were possible to choke on air, Kara would be dead right now. “Did she really call it furry? But she’s also—!” She has to pause, now, because she feels an urge to clarify, “Wait. Are we talking about the same thing right now?”

Lena narrows her eyes slightly. “You mean talking about how you’re a werewolf?”

“Oh!” Head lighter, Kara sucks in a laugh that makes her ribs feel like they are splintering open. “Then yes. That’s good, I didn’t want you to think I was a—anyway. I didn’t think Sam told anyone.”

“Sam and I have been friends for a long time,” Lena says slowly. A beat. “She actually ate my hamster once.”

Kara winces. “Recently?”

“No! Back in the fifth grade,” Lena frowns, like she might’ve added dumbass at the end of the sentence. “I’m a grown woman. I don’t own hamsters.”

“What? Come on, having pets isn’t just a kid thing,” Kara says. “I used to have a cat, but he…”

“Oh my God, you ate him?”

Kara’s jaw drops. “What—no! He turned out to already have an owner, so she took him back. He just liked to wander into my apartment.” She hugs the clothing pile tighter to her chest, and tries her hardest to scowl. “I’m responsible, okay? Most of the time. I’m not dangerous.”

“Except to deer, or rabbits, or whatever else you killed last night?” Lena quirks an eyebrow, but surprisingly not in a manner that’s judge-y. Just…curious.

“Right,” Kara says defeatedly, and her head throbs enough that her grip on Sam’s clothes begins to falter. “Sorry. I wasn't trying to be defensive or anything.”

“That's alright.” And stranger still, Lena reaches out to gently touch the side of Kara’s head. “So does the same thing happen to you?”

“Huh?” The proximity has scrambled Kara’s brain momentarily, and she finds herself unthinkingly holding her breath.

“Do you also black out,” Lena clarifies. “Like Sam does, every time she shifts.”

“Oh. Yeah, I’m pretty sure it’s—a universal wolf thing,” Kara says.

Lena hums, and her hand retracts. “And are you a serial killer in wolf form?”

“Uh, I hope not? I’m pretty sure all this is…” Kara gestures over her body with one hand, still hugging the pile of clothes with the other. “Not human.”

“Okay.” Lena casually walks away, but pauses to throw over her shoulder, “I’ll help you clean up your head once you’re out of the shower. I’ve helped Sam a hundred times.”

“Are you—do you have some kind of healing magic, or—”

“Close. I’m an ER nurse,” Lena says amusedly, and when she smiles a dimple emerges on one cheek. “All the witches I know have fled the city, so I’m afraid you’re stuck with me.”

“You joke, but Alex dated this witch once, and she hexed my sister to spill her first sip of coffee every time she went to take a drink for three weeks straight after they broke up,” Kara says, and Lena again scrunches her nose in that quizzical way.

“Seriously? Witches are real too?”

“Duh,” Kara says lightly. “What, you thought it stopped at werewolves? Please. I’m pretty sure the neighbor two doors down is a gorgon.”

“Well, it would explain her fondness of statues,” Lena says, strangely nonplussed. “I’ve never asked, but I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised at this point. How do you take your coffee?” As she asks, Lena deposits a few fingers of whiskey into a mug, and at Kara’s questioning look says, “Sorry, we’re all out of painkillers. This is as good as you’re going to get.”

“Maybe I’ll do better if it’s straight,” Kara says, unable to hide her grimace, while Lena shrugs a shoulder as if to say it’s your funeral.

So after Kara showers, she sits on the couch and sips gross whiskey out of a chipped mug that reads World’s Best Mom in bright pink letters. Lena has turned on the TV to the local news station—clearly she has stayed with Sam before—and a man on screen is recounting a tale of how he hit a giant wolf strolling too close to his farm with a baseball bat.

“If I had my shotgun I would’ve killed the fucker,” he swears, red in the face, and above her Lena gives a little scoff.

“What a dick,” Lena says, her hand steadily stitching up the wound on Kara’s scalp, and her voice has a hint of an accent; it’s really cute, actually, and Kara doesn’t even mind that the next poke of the needle is sharper than the others.

It is the strangest morning Kara has ever had. Drinking whiskey before eight in the morning, with a kind stranger who she’s barely met but is suturing her skin together, who smells faintly of lavender soap and strong black coffee.

“—National City is not safe when wolves are wandering close to homes—”

The scent of rich hot chocolate bubbling on the stove is beginning to fill the room, the ancient pipes are rumbling throughout the walls, and Lena’s fingers are soft against her head. Kara closes her eyes and decides that she will wait a little longer before she calls Alex to pick her up.

[thefanficmonster]

Corpse’s Girl

Corpse Husband x Reader (Female)

Warnings: Bullying, Swearing, Derogatory Terms

Genre: Angst, Fluff

Summary: Y/N’s life as a regular college student is forever stripped away from her when her relationship with the famous YouTuber Corpse Husband is accidentally revealed during an online class of hers. How will she cope with the sudden spotlight and the unwanted attention, some of which crosses into bullying?

Requested by my amazing Tumblr friend @itsminniekat 🥰 She’s been reading and liking my works since day one and I honestly couldn’t be more grateful. If you’re reading this, all I can say is thank you, darling. Thank you so much for sticking by my blog even when I posted some crappy fics. I’ll make sure this ain’t one of them. Love you with all my heart. ❤❤❤

P.S. - I named the mean character with my name so I hope no one who reads this has the same name. Wouldn’t want any of you feeling like the villain 😘

Who knew online class would be even more boring than being physically present for a lecture? Seriously, I find myself doing the weirdest of crap to entertain myself - like trying to balance a pen on the tip of my nose for example. I jot down some notes every now and then but that’s basically it. My mind can not fathom the concept on concentrating on whatever my professors are going on and on about. Well, full disclosure, I couldn’t concentrate even if I wanted to, especially with my boyfriend streaming in the other room.

He’s currently playing Among Us with his usual gaming squad. Listening to his input during the discussions, I can always tell when he’s lying. I honestly find it hilarious that his friends can’t pick up when he’s bullshitting them. I sometimes wonder if he has brainwashed them. And that’s one of the main reasons we don’t play Among Us together - he can’t lie to me. Not only do I pick up on his con with ease, but he always says he feels bad when he lies to me which is just the sweetest thing. Also, I refuse to play cause I’m shy. His friends are all well-known content creators and I’m a literal nobody. Every now and then I find myself wondering why Corpse is even with me. He’s always quick to push those thoughts out of my head and make sure they don’t return on a long notice, but they do interrupt my peace from time to time.

“Y/N, do you know?“ The sound of my professor saying my name takes me out of my eavesdropping of Corpse’s stream.

I panic, but quickly improvise, “Sorry, my internet is slow, you cut out for a second. What was the question?” I feel my face heating up, making me glad we are allowed to keep our cameras off.

“Question number 15 on page 82 in your textbook. Do you know the answer to it?“ My professor repeats himself, his tone annoyed.

I look down at the page that’s already opened in front of me. I let out a sigh of relief, seeing that the question is rather easy.

“Yeah, um, it’s...“ Suddenly, Corpse’s laugh reaches my room loud and clear. There’s no doubt my mic picked up the noise, especially since the door to my room is open.

The color drains from my face as I hurry to say the answer and remute myself. My eyes are wide as I stare at my screen, hoping no one will acknowledge that very recognizable laugh.

“OMG Y/N, are you watching a Corpse Husband stream in class?” One of the bitches in my class, Vy, speaks up, “Not a very goody-two-shoe move on your part, dear.” 

I purposely unmute my mic to mumble a quick ‘Shut up, bitch’ that somehow manages to fly under my professor’s radar and the class continues. It’s the first time something like this has happened and I’m not sure if I handled it properly or not.

The class ends shortly after, allowing me a sigh of relief as I disconnect from the meeting. 

“Fucking finally.“ I mumble to myself, leaning back in my desk chair. Tilting my head backwards, I see Corpse standing in the doorframe. I grin, not only because his presence itself makes me ten times happier, but also because he’s upside down from my viewpoint. “Well, hello there! How long have you been spying on me?“

He struts over to me, leaning his face over mine, “Long enough.” His lips linger above mine without any actual contact before he pulls away, allowing me to sit up straight and proper in the chair. “You still have classes?”

I nod my head while disappointedly rolling my eyes, “Yeah. One more. Shouldn’t be too bad since it’s English Lit. You’re done streaming?”

“Yeah, I just have some other things to do. I haven’t done a narration video in a while, I miss making that type of content.“ He plops down on my bed, running a hand through his messy black curls.

“Weren’t you recording some lines a few days ago?“ I frown as I try to recall if what I’m referring to actually happened or my brain is too fried to decipher reality from my bootleg perception of it. Online class, man - messes with your head like sleeping pills - makes you disoriented and exhausted with barely doing anything other than trying to wrap your brain around a lecture or two.

He hums affirmatively, “It’s not a finished project and I don’t even know if I’ll use those or rerecord them. I’ll have to listen to them again before I make a final decision.“

I tilt his chin upwards with my pointer finger, a gesture he has told me he finds very endearing, “I’m sure they’re great and you just refuse to be satisfied. Everything you do is great.“

He smiles a small, shy smile, his fingers gently wrapping around my wrist, holding my hand in place, “You’re biased. You like me too much to tell me when I do some bullshit.”

I scoff, “You know that isn’t true. If someone’s gonna kick your butt in formation, it’s gonna be me.“ I give him a quick kiss on the forehead before pulling away from him, “Go on, now. I have a class to attend. You distract me enough while you’re in the other room, I can only imagine how hard it’d be for me to focus if you were right by my side.“

He smirks, bowing a little as he makes his way out of the room, “You flatter me.”

I playfully roll my eyes, getting my headset back on as I tap the last class for the day. We have an assignment due to the start of the class which we’ll have to present if the professor approved of it. We basically had to write a psychoanalysis of a character from any book of our choice. I chose Heathcliff from ‘Wuthering Heights’ which is one of my favorite books of all time. I’m proud of what I wrote and the way I wrote it, but I’ve always barely scraped by with a B in this class, a B+ if I’m lucky, so I’ve never gotten any major credit, even when I put my 110% in the assignments and projects.

Well, color me surprised when the professor calls on me first to read my work, complimenting it on its detailed and specific nature. I get my printed assignment out in front of me and unmute myself.

“I wrote a psychoanalysis on for Heathcliff, a character from Emily Bronte’s novel ‘Wuthering Heights’.“ Just after I say this line, Corpse’s voice booms throughout the whole apartment, no doubt being picked up by my mic. It doesn’t sound like he’s actually talking, he can’t be that loud. I put two and two together when I recognize the lines he’s saying - the ones he recorded a few days ago. They’re coming from his computer speakers. He probably didn’t check the volume before playing back the recording.

I mute myself as quickly as possible, but it’s too late. The voice dies down as Corpse probably turned down the speakers.

My professor, who is already done with this lecture, just annoyedly remarks, her words overdosed with sarcasm: “Read your assignment and you can go back to whatever it is you are watching.”

“Wow, Y/N! Again?! Are you one of those crazy obsessed fans or something? Is Corpse Husband all you watch?“ This bitch is really poking a stick at me, huh? The only crazy obsessed fan here is her, and my friends but they are allowed. Little do all of them know, I am obsessed but not simply over a YouTuber. I’m obsessed with my boyfriend who just happens to be a YouTuber.

“No commentary, please.“ The professor scolds her, “Go on, Y/N.“

I finish reading without any other disturbances. The professor compliments my essay again when I’m done, the small incident at the beginning forgotten already. Well, not by everyone. One of my friends shot me a quick text to joke about it which only earned an eye roll from me.

My friends don’t know that I’m dating Corpse either. As I said, they are simping HARD over him while I act the most indifferent on the subject. Whenever they ask my opinion on him I either say ‘he’s OK’ or just avoid answering completely. I know saying anything more enthusiastic than that would turn into a snowball rolling down a snowy hill - I’d just keep babbling about how nice, amazing, wonderful and a gift to this world Corpse is, inevitably revealing our relationship in the process.

I’m afraid of revealing my relationship with Corpse in front of these people. They are all run on jealousy and selfishness and I can only imagine how mean they’d be about it. I’m already not too fond of them, it would only be worse if any of my personal life was exposed.

When the class finally ends I remove my headset, putting my forehead down on the desk, barely missing the keyboard. I groan in frustration and anger at myself for not fighting back. I could’ve and should’ve said something - ANYTHING. But what? That’s a question I can’t find the answer to.

“Hey...“ Corpse’s hesitant voice comes from behind me, “You ok?“

I straighten my posture, turning to him with a smile. “Yeah, but these people suck.”

I get up from my chair as he approaches me, basically falling in his arms. The comfort I feel radiating off of him makes me relax, forget the past hour or so. He has always had this effect on me. Like my own personal kryptonite to my anger and anxiety.

“Did I get you in any trouble because of that?“ His voice shows clear concern and guilt. 

I wrap my arms around him tighter, burying my head in his chest. “No, don’t worry about it.“ 

And I really wasn’t in trouble. Not until now that the video is officially posted....

I can call these people dumb all I want but they sure put two and two together awfully fast. They recognized the lines they heard during class as the same ones from his new video that came out almost a week after the incident, aka two days ago. It’s safe to say I haven’t touched my phone or computer since.

“This is all my fault.“

Of all the horrible things I suspected would happen this has to be the worst - Corpse is blaming himself for it. I am prepared to take all the shit these people have to throw at me but seeing Corpse beating himself up over this is killing me. No amount of convincing can change his mind. Nothing I say helps.

“Please, stop doing this to yourself. Non of this is your fault, Corpse.“ I’ve repeated this sentence more than a thousand time these past forty eight hours, each time saying it more and more desperately.

“All of it is my fault, Y/N. I’m so sorry. I hate myself so much.“ Has been his reply single time.

 I can’t watch him be so mean to himself. It’s the most conflicting thing when the person you love most is torturing themselves. It’s easy if it’s someone else doing it, you just kick their ass. But what are you supposed to do when the person you want to protect is the same one you need to protect them from.

Corpse has shut himself away in his recording room these past few hours and though he clearly needs to be alone, he still left the door open just a crack cause he knows I’ll be worried sick otherwise.

While I’m alone in the living room, I’ve finally managed to brace myself and build enough courage to power up my laptop. Last time it was on it was going mad with notifications.

“It’s digital. Only digital. It can’t hurt you too badly if it can’t touch you, right?“ I mumble to myself, already frustrated despite not having yet seen all the horrors that await me.

And horrors there were. Everywhere. Twitter. Instagram. Facebook.

My grades. Some pictures of me no one has ever seen. My school files. People from my class tweeting Corpse to ‘expose’ me for the ‘slut’ or ‘bitch’ I really am. Corpse hasn’t touched social media either and I plan on making sure it stays that way. God only knows how much worse he’ll get if he sees these claims.

And then, like a notification sent straight from hell, an email from my professor.

Practical lectures on Friday. Be here at 9 AM. Don’t forget your mask and gloves.

Good thing I opened my laptop when I did. Friday is tomorrow and I need to prepare for this day. Not only do I need to hit the books but I need to toughen up a bit. I can’t go there looking like I feel - like a mess.

Alright, time to put the brave face on. No more wallowing in it, at least not until tomorrow afternoon.

I make a study plan and hop in the shower. I feel the need to apologize to my hair for washing it so roughly, basically yanking at my strands from frustration that has been suppressed for too long.

I get our of the boiling hot shower, red as a lobster, and change into some clean comfortable clothes and put my ass in study mode. I remove all the scary expectations of the morning to come from my mind and let the information the textbooks has to offer seep into my brain.

                                                            *  *  *

I’m about to head out and, despite my put-together composure, I am a wreck inside. I actually put effort into my appearance, I mean - I even styled my hair. A pretty façade to hide a ruin.

I saw my friends’ texts last night, all three of them ending their friendship with me because they felt betrayed. I haven’t yet decided how to feel about that. Doesn’t matter at the moment, there are more important matters at hand, aka surviving the next three hours.

My college is within ten minutes walking distance from our apartment. That ten minute walk has never been so stressful, not even during exam season. The air feels a little harder to breathe, the path a little shorter to walk. And my moment of reckoning a little too close.

I feel eyes on me the second I start walking through the park of our campus. Sure, I could just be paranoid, but the feeling is too real to be just my imagination in overdrive. I’m glad I have my hair down and a mask on so the redness of my cheeks and neck isn’t on display. That’s a sign of weakness right now.

We have two an hour and a half long classes between which we have a snack break that’s half an hour. I usually enjoy that period but I’m dreading it now. These assholes can only be so mean in the presence of a professor, but during lunch break they can increase that tenfold. 

“Well if it isn’t Corpse’s girl.“ I hear that a lot. The whispers are not so much whispers as intentionally loud enough for me to hear remarks. I’m not bothered by them, it’s the least they can do. If I let such a simple thing get to me, I’d be crumbling by the end of first period.

I hear some shuffling behind me and out of the corner of my eye I see, yeah you guessed it, THAT bitch. She’s standing as close to me as she can without violating Covid regulations. A mask is covering her face but the menacing look in her eyes tells me all I need to know about the interaction that’s about to go down.

“I’d ask how much he pays you for the hour.....“ her long nails tap the wooden desk, “but that’d be rude. I bet it’s tough being a maid. Do you just clean or are you a multipurpose lap dog? No offense, I’m genuinely curious.“

“Vy, would you be so kind as to give Y/N some room to breathe?“ The professor asks as he nonchalantly walks in.

Vy rolls her eyes, batting her eyelashes at me, “Talk to you later, sweetheart.” With a fake friendly wave she’s out of my hair, at least for now.

Remember what I said about these people not being as dumb as I pegged them to be? Yeah, scratch that. These fuckers actually tried getting away with taking pictures of me with flash in broad daylight. Like, HELLO! I have two functioning eyes and a brain, I’m onto you. Sadly, me having figured out their childish but hurtful methods of humiliating me doesn’t change much. They still posted the pics they took, using the most derogatory terms they could find in the English language, always making sure to tag Corpse and me both.

Needless to say, these were the longest three hours of my life.

                                                              *  *  *

Shutting the door to our apartment behind me causes relief of the highest levels. I feel like I’ve locked out all the bad shit I have had to deal with these past twenty four hours. 

I’m tired. I’m fucking exhausted. I feel like a discarded piece of paper. 

And it all starts crumbling. A wall is bound to start slowly falling apart after being hit over and over again, each time feeling the blows with a stronger intensity. 

I slide down the door sitting down on the floor and slowly taking my shoes off. I put my bag beside me and wrap my arms around my knees, hiding my head in the space between them and my chest.

One tear slides down my cheek.

Another follows.

And another, this time accompanied by a choked sob.

A pair of arms wraps around the ball that my body has been shaped into. One of his hands comes up to stroke my hair gently, feeding me the comfort I have been longing for since I left the apartment this morning.

“I saw it. All of it. All the shit they talk about you. All the names they call you. And I’ve never wanted to beat so many people up simultaneously.“ His words make me raise my head from its low position, giving him a knowing look. “I wish I could. I would, but that would land me in jail. Which doesn’t even sound so bad cause I don’t like going out. Only problem is you wouldn’t be with me. I wouldn’t want you to be there with me, don’t get me wrong, I’d never want you to end up in jail. I-...” I cut him off by pressing my lips to his. A quick kiss that says so much but mainly shows the immeasurable gratitude for his support.

Seeing those awful tweets and comments had the complete opposite effect on him. He no longer blames himself but the people who actually deserve the blame - all those jerks from my college.

I pull away, giving him a small smile. “I would never let you go to jail.” 

He smiles back at me, overjoyed that my mood is slowly being lifted, “Come on, I have a nice crowd that would like to meet you.”

I know exactly what he means. Felix, Sean, Rae, Dave, Sykkuno and the rest of his friends. The people I’ve been so shy and afraid to meet since day one. Being shy doesn’t really make sense now, seeing as how they know I exist and that I’m a part of Corpse’s life. 

What do I have to lose?

“Guys, this is my girlfriend, Y/N.“ Corpse’s black avatar runs around my cyan one in the Among Us lobby.

I can’t help but giggle when I unmute my mic, “Hi everyone! It’s so nice to finally meet you.“ They each introduce themselves, expressing how happy they are to be meeting me too.

It’s the first time in what feels like a while that I’m truly having fun. These people are wonderful, each so unique and lovely. They never brought up the scandal nor acted as though they knew about it. I know they did and I am beyond grateful that they never mentioned it or treated me any differently because of it. Also, Corpse was streaming the whole time. I had my phone on his stream, my eyes nervously scanning the chat every now and then. I couldn’t believe it. Corpse’s real fans were just as wonderful as his friends - they were nothing but supportive and happy to have met me.

Now, I can either choose to believe these people were being so nice to me out of sympathy or I can believe they really like me and appreciate me for who I am and not for what happened to me. 

I choose to believe the latter.

And while I’m still getting accustomed to this whole new spotlight, I know I’ll be able to handle it as long as I’m holding Corpse’s hand in the process. All I need is to have him beside me and I’m prepared to tackle anything.

“They love you.“ Corpse tells me once the stream is done and we’ve hopped out of the Discord call, “But I love you more.“

His arms wrap around my waist while mine instinctively find their way around his neck, “I love them, too. But they’re at the number 2 spot.”

He smirks at me, “I wonder who’s at number 1.”

I push up on my toes, putting my lips an inch away from his, “Hmm, I wonder...”

He doesn’t let me finish, silencing my teasing with a sweet, loving kiss.

@susceptible-but-siriusexual  @simonsbluee  @save-the-sky  @hacker-ghost  @bi-andready-tocry  @imtiredaffff  @jazzkaurtheglorious  @hereforbeebo  @fandomgirl17  @chrysanthykios  @maehemscorpyus  @loraleiix  @letsloveimagines  @annshit  @i-cant-choose-a-username-help  @enigmaticmaze  @divine-artemis  @waterlilypat

[onecanonlife]

Tommy’s getting tired of people thinking he’s not real. Tubbo, meanwhile, hopes that this hallucination of his best friend will stay a while longer.

They work it out.

(word count: 1,563)

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

It only takes about another fifteen minutes for him to snap.

“What the fuck are you doing that for?” he demands, planting his feet and wheeling around and staring Tubbo dead in the face, because Tubbo’s been trailing along behind him like a fucking lost puppy or some shit since he got out, and he’s tired of it, tired of his best friend looking at him like that, with equal amounts of wonder and dread in his eyes, like he’s not fucking real at all.

Or should that be former best friend? He doesn’t fucking know. Apparently, it didn’t take all that long for Tubbo to replace him with Ranboo of all people. And get married. Apparently.

Tubbo blinks at him.

“I don’t think you’re real,” he says, and if Tommy’s anger hadn’t been boiling over before, it is now. He didn’t go to hell and back for people to tell him he’s not real. He didn’t stay in the same cell as Dream for a month for people to tell him he’s not real. He is so, so very real. The shock that shoots through his system, the bolt of all-consuming terror that overtakes his mind whenever anyone so much as bumps into him is proof enough of that. He is real, and who the fuck is anyone else to say that he’s not?

“Well guess what,” he says, “I fucking am, so deal with it or go away.”

He spent so long wishing to be by Tubbo’s side again. He didn’t think he’d get out to find this. Didn’t think he’d come out to be replaced. Didn’t think Tubbo would crouch along after him without saying anything at all, like he’s the one who died.

“You don’t need to be angry about it,” Tubbo replies, as if he’s the one being wronged here. “I’ve got it all figured out. See, I didn’t think you were dead at first, either. Sam told us and my brain went all weird and flat and in denial, because I knew it couldn’t be true, because you couldn’t be dead. But then it was a few days later and you still hadn’t come out, and it was true after all. So I can’t trust my brain, really, so this is probably my brain going into denial again. Wishful thinking.”

“You—” He cuts himself off, rage warring with confusion warring with he-doesn’t-fucking-know-what, because he’s been dead and locked in prison and he’s not even used to the sunlight yet, much less his own emotions. “I literally pinched you. I pinched you, and then you ran away and stood staring at me from that new—that new McDonald’s!”

“Tactile hallucinations aren’t impossible,” Tubbo informs him. “It’s probably because I’ve been thinking about you a lot.”

That draws him up short, just a little bit. “You have?” he asks. “I thought you got married.”

“I did,” Tubbo agrees. “It was a spur-of-the-moment sort of thing, really, so nobody got invited, but I was thinking about maybe having a bigger ceremony once you got out so you could be my best man, or something. I don’t really know how that works. ‘Cause it’s a platonic marriage, right, so I don’t know if you’re supposed to do it differently. But I wanted you to be there, and then it turned out that you wouldn’t ever, ever be.”

Well. Alright, so he wasn’t disregarded entirely, then. But still—

“And then,” Tubbo continues, “and then we adopted Michael, and I wanted you to be his godfather. You were supposed to be his godfather. Michael was going to love you. I thought you were gonna come back out and you were gonna meet Michael and everything was going to be alright. But then you didn’t.”

“Who the fuck is Michael,” he says flatly, even though his head is reeling because adopted—?

“He’s our son!” Tubbo says. “Mine and Ranboo’s! And you were gonna be the godfather. And it was going to be great, and we were gonna be a family, but then you died, and now Michael’s not even going to get to meet you. And you’re just, you’re just dead and I’m following you around because I don’t have anything better to do.”

There is—there is so much to unpack there, he doesn’t even know where to begin. Ranboo is—is the spouse, then, and he supposes he should have guessed that. The Michael issue isn’t too much clearer, since he doesn’t have a frame of reference for this—for this child? That Tubbo has adopted? What the hell? But it’s the last sentence that sends the anger flooding back, because what the fuck does he mean, he doesn’t have anything better to do?

“If that’s how you feel, then why don’t you—” he starts, but Tubbo cuts him off.

“I’m sort of pathetic, I guess,” he says. “‘Cause I’m following around a hallucination. I guess it’s because I know it’s the best I’m ever going to get. And you know, I’d rather have a you that’s not real than not have you at all, because this way, I get to see you and hear you. Even if you’re not here. So I need to enjoy it while I can, because I don’t know how long hallucinations last for, so I don’t know when you’ll go away again. And I don’t want you to go away. I don’t want you to be dead.”

All through this speech, Tubbo’s face remains distant, a little open, a little blank. But his eyes are welling up with tears, and as Tommy watches, they start spilling over his cheeks, uncommented upon.

And Tommy feels the rage drain out of him.

It was hell, where he was, in that terrible darkness, that void, being torn apart and shoved back together again. It was hell, coming back, everything too bright and too loud and too much, his body flinching and his heart racing at any movement, and a single touch is still enough to send him back there, to that moment, his vision fading and pain bursting like fireworks and Dream’s mask leaning over him, grinning.

It’s been hell, seeing how everything’s changed.

But Tubbo missed him. Really, really missed him. And maybe he’s replaced him a bit, and Tommy no longer has any idea how to feel about that, because it seems like Tubbo wasn’t trying to? That Tubbo still wanted him to be there, still intended him to be there? So he’s still a little pissed, maybe, and he still really, really wants people to stop being so weird, to stop reminding him at every juncture that he died, died and came back, but—

But Tubbo is crying.

“Tubbo,” he says, “I’m not a hallucination.”

“You are, though,” Tubbo says. “My mind’s playing tricks. You’re not—you’re not really—” He hiccups, and Tommy comes to a decision.

He extends a hand. It should be fine. It’s just Tubbo, and he’s choosing to do this. It should be fine. It’s going to be fine.

“C’mon, then,” he says. “Hold my hand, I’ll prove it. Maybe you could make up a pinch in your brain, but I bet you couldn’t make up this.”

Tubbo stares at his hand for a very, very long time.

“Don’t make this weird,” he says. “Tubbo, please, for the love of god, don’t make this weird. I really will go away, and you can just stay here and cry.”

Tubbo blinks, hard. And then, slowly, reaches out and takes his hand.

Tommy flinches, every nerve in his body lighting up, screaming at him to get away, and he can’t stop himself from gasping, from letting out a little whimper. But in the next moment, he’s fine, his heart rate already calming, and it’s just Tubbo’s hand in his, his grip loose and warm.

Tubbo’s eyebrows furrow. A minute passes before he speaks.

“This is a long time for a tactile hallucination to last,” he says.

Tommy rolls his eyes as hard as he possibly can, in order to express all of his exasperation.

“I’m not a fucking hallucination, alright?” he says. “Has married life made you an idiot or something?”

Tubbo looks up at him, then. He looks back, and tries to convey with his eyeballs his sheer displeasure at literally all of this.

“I’m holding your hand,” Tubbo says slowly. “You’re not disappearing, and I’m holding your hand.”

He tries to convey with his eyeballs that Tubbo should consider arriving at the point sometime soon.

“Oh my god,” Tubbo says. “You’re real. Tommy, you’re real.”

“Damn fucking right I’m real,” he says. And something like relief washes over him. It’s nice to hear those words, from someone else. And Tubbo just stands there and holds his hand and keeps crying, harder, if that’s even possible, and Tommy thinks that this is a scene that he should possibly put a stop to.

But he doesn’t. He stands there and holds Tubbo’s hand and lets Tubbo cry. Because nothing is alright. Nothing at all is alright. Everything sucks and everything’s different and he needs to kill Dream and the world kept on turning without him. But Tubbo is glad to have him back. Tubbo missed him. Tubbo still wants him.

If his eyes are wet, it’s just the rain. He glances up, and blinks against the sun.

Just the rain.

[yinses]

—toji fushiguro ft. fellatio rqst: thinking about trying to stuff toji’s fat cock down my throat. is it bad that i want him to be mean about it? rating: 18+

a/n: i made this waaaay longer than it needed to be. this is why thirsts take so long. 

when it comes to his actual dick, toji can truly be one sometimes. the man knows what he’s packing and is not ashamed of it. but at times it can be inconvenient for those who try to bite off more than they can chew. he’s a sinful attraction, drawing them in with his charming rugged look just dripping with the bad decisions. when the temperature heats up, he tries to feel them out, grinding close to let them decide if they’re willing and able. it’s his personal rule to start with a blowjob. it’s all about not giving his hopes up. think of it as a trial run baby. if i can’t fit it there then what hope do i have for that pretty cunt? 

typically this is where it goes downhill. they either try too hard or chicken out the moment his fat cock slaps against his stomach. he kind of prefers the later. at least they don’t get him all wet and eager, only to leave him high and dry. so when you saunter over bragging about your ability to take him all, he’s intrigued. skeptical but willing. but this toji is one too many weeks outside of his last lay to be the usual prince charming. he warns you. don’t give my hopes up, princess. i’d hate to take charge. he really would because he knows he can be overbearing on the cusp of an orgasm. he almost wants to jerk a quick one out; give you a better starting point without him already teetering a the peak of frustration. but then you’re begging. lips pursed to enunciate the sheen left from your tongue dragging across. add how could he not agree to that? toji doesn’t think when he cards his fingers through your hair as you settle between his thighs. it’s more of a comforting gesture he thinks as you palm his cock. then it slowly morphs into an anchor as you spit against the underside and run a strip up to the top with the flat if your tongue. you’re a pretty sight, he agreed. a fucking delight. but what about that promise? where was the person who that told him you could brush your nose against his waistline. boasting about how you could make him come from the contraction of your throat alone. it certainly didn’t look convincing with the way you were nibbling at the tip. maybe it’s the subtle chiding in his voice that kicks you into gear. no it is. he can see it latching onto the raise of your brow. there is a look of calculation in your eyes as you slowly fist his cock and fuck it through the tight grip. as if you can mold out the matrix of dimensions and alight then with the heat of your mouth. you look so damn confident and he can’t catch himself from his stomach clinching in anticipation when your lips pass the head. every breath out is a hot whispered promise as it sticky as the sloopy trail pebbling from the head.

 you’re just reaching the half way point when you gag. it’s more of a stuffed choke actually because he’s sure that’s the back of your throat he’s nudging. he’s certain it’s all over. it was a good try he goes to say and then you just hollow your cheeks.

the action doesn’t draw him any further but it’s overwhelming all the same. that hidden trick of your just might be your undoing.  just enough to wittle away at what little resolve had. the chord was already so thin, just teetering precariously on your weightless promise. you wouldn’t disappointment, right? of course not his consciences decides for him as his grip fashions your hair into reins. he’ll start off coaxing. just soft and encouraging enough to keep you from backing off even about inch. just breath through your nose. don’t worry about your mouth right not. that’s for me. he can already see the wetness prickling at the corner of your eyes, maybe a subconscious plea to relent, but then you just had to swallow and nod. did you know what you were doing to him? he takes an experiment roll of his hips, not even a finger tips length to introduce a little more. he feels the tension of your recoil before you do already there to brace your head. you don’t want to lose your progress right? you’re right there. you aren’t but he was determined to get something out of this gamble. 

there isn’t really room for you to widen your throat.  he’s already filling all the available space. but he wanted you to try for him. and you manage to give him another inch. he’s edging feral on desperation as he shifts his his seat, gyrating his hips to chase every bit of friction he can muster. frankly, he’s already convinced that he can come from your efforts alone. toji can feel the build up now as your eyes close and you double down. he could be a bigger jerk and stave it off, but he wants you to come back for more. take on a new milestone just to prove him wrong. 

in the end, he’s thighs are left to tremor in the aftershocks of his release as you pull away. there is a tacky string of his come still connecting the two of you, resisting even your harshest coughs as you regain control over your gag reflex. 

he expects you to berate him, curse him out for the rough treatment. but those trembling lips managed to curl into a semblance of a cocky grin. you grate out a told you so. as if the past few minutes had been a breeze. 

toji sucks in a sharp breath before pulls you onto his lap. yeah, he could come up with plenty of challenges to sate both mutual gratification.