#and i actually posted this at a reasonable hour!

[hellodarling1357]

More Than A Moment: Part 1 - Cassian x Reader (AU!)

What? A post? A whole new fic? After months of broken promises (rip me)?

I sporadically got the inspo to write today and this idea just flowed on out and all but wrote itself!

Is this a stand alone? A multi-part (I hope so)?

Who knows!

Either way, I hope you enjoy 🥰

Summary: After a drunken night between friends, just friends, nothing more, Y/N and Cassian’s lives end up changing forever. But maybe not in the way they had originally expected.

Word Count: 1.5k

“Cassian!” You shout through the door, one fist pounding on the wooden frame as the other, hidden away in your coat pocket, held tightly to what had felt like a lifeline since you had raced to the store just over an hour ago.

“Cassian! I swear to god if you don’t open the door right now…” You took a step back as your fist met the air, the words dying in your throat as a girl with sleep mussed hair, wearing nothing but an oversized t-shirt that you knew belonged to Cassian, stared back at you with a look of distaste.

“What?” The girl asked, stifling a yawn as her eyes blatantly looked you up and down, a smirk spreading across her lips as she took in your frazzled appearance. “We’re a little busy here, so…”

You blinked at her before pushing past and making your way inside the small apartment, ignoring the girl’s protest as you beelined for Cassian’s room, stopping momentarily as the door opened before you could reach it.

“Y/N. Hey,” the man in question was straightening out a tight black t-shirt, having clearly put on the closest items of clothing he could reach. “I didn’t expect to see you today, especially not at 8 am on a Sunday morning…”

“We need to talk.”

“Okay, alright. Could this not have waited until a more reasonable time?”

“Cass, please…”

Clearly picking up on the slight plea in your voice, he nodded, a slight furrow to his brow as he studied you a moment longer before turning to the girl who remained bristling by the front door.

“Hey,” he started, beckoning the girl towards him, you cringed as you took a seat on the couch, not wanting to be a part of the scene that was about to unfold. “So last night was fun, yeah? But I think there’s a few things I need to deal with here so we should probably wrap this up for now?”

“Oh? So you want me to leave?” You rolled your eyes as she clung to him, battering her lashes in hopes of changing his mind as he led her back into his room to help her collect her things, not missing the daggers she sent your way when Cassian’s back was turned.

“It’s not that I want you to leave… But I’ll call you. Soon, alright?”

“You better.”

Barely managing to conceal your scoff you busied yourself with your phone as she pulled him down into a lingering kiss.

“Alright, well get home safe and thanks again for last night…” Cassian trailed off and your attention flickered over in disbelief as he clearly tried to scramble for the poor girl’s name.

“Rebecca. My name’s Rebecca.” Her icy tone was a stark contrast as she moved out of his grasp.

“Of course, I know your name. How could I forget? I was just deciding whether I wanted to start calling you babe or baby.”

You didn’t attempt to hide the disgust at your friend as he shot the girl a charming smile that had her swooning as she said her goodbyes - all iciness melting into a flirtatiously shy smile as she stared up at him from under heavy lashes.

“You really can be a pig sometimes, you do realise that?” You said without looking up from your phone once Cassian had shut the door behind the girl.

“What?” He asked, voice laced in indignation as he slumped onto the couch beside you.

“Oh I dunno, do I call you babe or baby? Of course I remember your name, random-girl-I’ll-never-actually-call.” You lowered your voice into a mockery of his own before being met with a pillow to your face as Cassian got up and headed towards the bathroom.

“Hey, I just got rid of a perfectly nice girl for you. No need for the disrespect. What’s so important anyway? You know I love to see you and all that, but usually not at this time.” He leant against the bathroom door, toothbrush sticking out of his mouth as he stared at you waiting for an answer.

Right.

You had almost forgotten that you were here for a reason other than witnessing one of your closest friends be a complete dick to a girl he’d spent the previous night with.

“Oh… Um yeah it’s all good. Get dressed or whatever then we can chat.”

Cassian stared at you for a moment longer before shrugging and returning to the bathroom. You slumped back as soon as you were out of sight, squashing the pillow Cassian had previously whacked you with against your face as your thoughts raced through your head. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

By the time Cassian was ready, you had had enough time to work yourself into a somewhat frantic state as you paced back and forth, trying to figure out how to even bring up the reason why you had almost knocked down his door on a seemingly normal Sunday.

“Jesus, what’s up with you this morning?” Your head whipped around to face Cassian, freezing mid-pace to stare at him like a deer in headlights. When the only reply you could muster was the very unsubtle opening and closing of your mouth, Cassian let out a sigh as he reached for his shoes. “Well, seeing that you appear to have a whole heap of pent up energy, we’re walking to the cafe down the street. Your shout for waking me up and prematurely ending what was sure to be a very satisfying Sunday morning.”

You scrunched your nose but nodded all the same as you silently headed towards the door, missing the concerned look on Cassian’s face as his eyes trailed your retreating figure before he jumped up to follow you out.

——

The ten minute walk was silent except for the slight crunch of autumn leaves under foot as the pair of you narrowly avoided the early risers who were jogging past along the footpath and manoeuvred around the copious stream of families with young children enjoying the crisp morning air; your heart rate soared as you tried to control your breathing

Cassian managed to score a secluded table tucked away by the window, thanking the waiter for the menus and water as you stared past him in a daze, your mind reeled of how to approach telling him what had happened, what had resulted from…

A large hand waving in front of your face had you blinking in surprise.

“Y/N?”

“Yep. Hi.”

Cassian gave you another quizzical look but was halted from saying anything else as the waiter returned, asking about coffee and food orders.

“Just a long black for me, thanks.”

You could hear your heartbeat and wouldn’t be surprised if everyone around you could as well.

“Y/N?” Cassian gave you a soft kick under the table, pulling your attention to the waiter who was looking at you expectantly.

“Oh, um… Just a latte. Thank you,” Shit. Could you even have coffee now? “Wait. I mean, no. Just a tea. Peppermint, please. If you have it. Sorry.” Your voice trailed after the waiter as he nodded and walked off with a shake of his head. So far, this was not going well.

“Alright, what has gotten into you?” The immediate retort of ‘um you?’ was held back by a bite of your tongue. “You better not be here confessing your love for me. I mean we spoke about this, right? It was just a one off, drunken night between two friends who both happen to be very attractive.”

Some of the tension left your shoulders as you offered a small smile in appreciation of Cassian’s attempt to lighten the mood.

“You’re not actually in love with me are you?” You rolled your eyes at the slight panic in his expression, deciding not to take it as an insult. “I mean, I love you, but, you know, as a friend. Because we’re friends. We’re all friends; me, you, Rhys, Az, Feyre, Mor…”

“Cassian,” you let the smile grow a bit as he prattled on. “I’m not in love with you.”

“Oh, thank god. No offence.” He offered you a guilty looking smile which softened as he nodded in encouragement for you to continue.

“But I did want to talk about that night…” You trailed off, trying to gauge Cassian’s response as he quirked his head to the side and furrowed his brows in confusion. Well, here it goes. Taking in a deep breath, you reached into your pocked and placed the pregnancy test on the table.

“Cass, I’m pregnant.”

----------

I have so many ideas for this and how I want to continue it but would love to hear your thoughts!!

[norikuna]

So fun how you write Geto, I would love any fic or headcanon post for him? If you take requests?

i'm answering this two months late i'm so sorry 😭 but yess <3 i love him, please have some random, nonsensical headcanons for boyfriend!geto

if you leave food around him, it's gonna be gone. you once brought home a specialty cake, placed it in the fridge, and it somehow went mysteriously missing. geto even has the audacity to look you in the eye and say 'damn, who ate that thing?" while there's still vanilla buttercream crumbs over his mouth

once got so hammered he sang the sailor moon opening during karaoke and vehemently denied it the next day

any time you text him 'pick me up' he's always got some attitude about how he's not your uber, but still shows up in like ten minutes because yes he really does love you

loves staying up late, but will be so confused by you waking up early. you sent him a good morning text at 7am, and he replied at 7:01 with a 'never text me this early again. good night.'

on those rare occasions that he drinks, he gets annoyingly giggly and affectionate. once drunkenly declared 'i have the prettiest girlfriend in the whole world' and immediately planked out on the pavement.

actually falls asleep really easy. always claims he's just resting his eyes but he's dozing off in two minutes tops. you've learnt to just throw a blanket over him at this point.

geto becomes a sad victorian child when he's sick or injured, 'please take me out to the gardens one more time' 'my love, i fear this is the end of me.' (its just a mild cold)

he'll grab things from high shelves for you, but at a price. he'll always hold it out of reach and asks 'what do we say?' or 'whats the magic word?' until you pay him sufficient thanks and compliments

randomly breaks into the bit i fear. you've seen geto whip out a cockney british accent for no reason at all sometimes, "oi, what's all this then?"

when you first started dating, he claimed he wasn't whipped for you, but he has 100% waiting outside a store for you despite the fact that you were taking ages. gojo once quipped 'damn you're just her little errand boy now, huh?' and geto chased him around with a stick for an hour

[beloveds-embrace]

idk if this counts as a request or an ask, but i wanted to share this snippet that’s based off a real thing that happened to me literally today——

reader thinks her shitty fridge has finally died on her and puts in a maintenance order for it to be replaced before she realizes that no, it’s not dead, it just got unplugged somehow. she plugs it back in and forgets all about the work order.

until two days later, when she comes back from getting the mail to find two large men standing in the doorway of her apartment asking if anyone’s home, and she dashes forward to tell them that yes, this is her apartment and yes, she did put the order in—but the problem has already been fixed and there wasn’t a way to cancel the order, she swears!

and she’s standing there, suddenly all too aware of the shorts and tank she picked to go out in because dammit the shittier building is hot, trying not to blush because now she has the attention of this absolute bear of a man and what she swears is a supermodel.

so now these men have come all the way up here for no reason, the supermodel is grinning, and the bear is telling her that it’s all right, ma’am, no worries, they’re just glad there’s not a problem anymore.

i only realized what this situation sounded like hours fucking later💀 i couldn’t even look them in the eyes the whole time they were there, i was half trying to keep them from actually going into the apartment i was so embarrassed

you don’t have to do anything with this but i’m too scared to post this myself and thought you might find it amusing lol. i love your stuff!!

Two big men ready to do whatever maintenance/housework you need…

But only in fics because trust that I would be just as embarrassed if it happened to me 💔💔 you should totally right this tho i’d be at the forefront woth a bucket of popcorn to enjoy 🫶🏻😩

[caseuoiseau]

Please allow me to jump in with a 4th point, because I learned a lot of different fiber arts and craft stuff as a kid, and when you're a kid you tend not to care as much about your lumpy first project because every first thing you've ever done to date has been lumpy, and you tend to lack a general idea of what failure is and focus on the "Yey-I-did-it!"

But the first craft I tried as an adult was spinning, which had the triple threat horrors of being:

a) ...thoroughly unlike any other fiber craft I had ever done, despite being integral to each one (sewing, knitting, crochet--all require fiber to be spun before anything else can be done).

b) ...the first skill I had to pay my own hard-earned, fresh-out-of-college pennies to learn, and

c) ...another one of those things like playing guitar where everyone else before me had decided that the difficult part to be managed by your dominant hand was actually the complete opposite of what I thought.

So my one or two private lessons didn't amount to anything remotely usable, until a few years later when some big-name blogger started posting her spinning. And I got pissed off because I took one look at it and I thought to myself "That's barely better than mine was, and she's getting all these accolades from her followers??? I bet I could spin yarn like that with my shitty wooden-toy-wheel spindle." And man oh man didni sit down and spin.

Now, I didn't start writing this story to tell you that Spite Will Fuel You To Perfection, so don't get ahead of me. Because my fiber had been compacted over the years and I was over-twisting it and I didn't technically understand that "single ply" doesn't actually work with handspun, and I wound up making some pretty wretched curly rope. Totally unusable. But it was the age of LJ, and I nevertheless showed my craft friends my awful attempt so they could have a good laugh at it, and that's where I got the actual best advice I've received as an adult learning a craft.

My friends who spin simply told me to save it. Hold on to that yarn-that's-barely-yarn, put it in a drawer somewhere and just...check in on it from time to time. Because every time you spin, you get a little bit better at it, and it really, really helps soothe your mind to take a look at that first project when you think you haven't improved.

And my next yarn--arguably a bulky two-ply from some high-micron Shetland, still iloverspun and the texture of rope, but definitely more yarnlike. The next was a very uneven two-ply made by plying merino pencil roving back on itself. Overspun in places, but much more reasonable as handspun--if I'd told someone it was supposed to look like that with a sufficiently confident tone, they would have bought it. That was the first handspum that actually became something:

A little tea cozy that I had to alter pretty spectacularly, since I had only spun about 90 yards out of the 50g I had.

And so it goes, each project getting a little bit better than the last, and noticeably better than the first. I either threw out that yarn or I have it packed away in the attic somewhere, but I used to bring that out at the end of my first night of the drop spindle basics class I used to teach. This is what I made first. These are the next three skeins I made. And here's my most recent.

It's a hell of a way to get people to think more fondly about the kitchen twine they think they've been fighting with for the last two hours.

So, to end with the advice I used to give my first-time knitting class: this isn't like being at work. You aren't expected to be an expert in something you learned 5 minutes ago. You have my permission to suck at this.

I hope all new fiber artists know that the "slightly misshapen" object they made that they're stressed about not looking good:

1. Happens to every fiber artist always, you're too zoomed in to its every detail because you're the one who made it and most people would think it looks normal, or at least much less misshapen than you do, stand 20ft away from it and look at it and then see how you feel (true about all art tbh)

2. Gets better and more uniform each time you do anything

and the *very most important*:

3. Can be made Significantly Less Misshapen by just grabbing the fabric and stretching it in a few directions

I keep helping new fiber artists who are like "but my thing looks so bad :(((" by like, taking their object and stretching it sideways and horizontal, and handing it back, and they're like "????? Magic?????" bc it looks perfect.

Trust the process. Trust the stretchy process

[loverboysturn]

˖ . ݁𝜗𝜚. ݁₊ popular!matt and smart!reader have their first tutoring session !!

got carried away but i love these two sm :( so excited to share more of them!!! asks & requests are always open.

these two are from the same universe as popular!chris & cinderella!reader. you can find all writings here.

06.58am.

you had pulled into the parking lot of the lake, your tyres crunching against the gravel beneath you. the morning air was frozen cold, and the sun was just starting to rise, causing a golden-orange glow across the sky.

you were shocked to see matt’s car already parked, surprised he’d actually turned up before 7am. even more surprising, he’d taken your usual parking spot, the one you always claimed when you arrived. typical.

you’d swapped numbers and texted him last night, arranging with him to meet at the local riverside coffee shop. it was always quiet at this hour, and you liked the view of the water, always making sure to take a photo of the sunrise to post on your instagram story.

as you look over to the group of benches placed outside the coffee shop, your gaze lands on matt, he was wearing his letterman jacket, the one with your college’s logo stitched into the back and his surname in bold above it. he was sitting on the bench to the side, coincidentally, the one you always sat on.

you shut off the engine, and gather up all your things, hoping to get this first session with him over and done with.

when you reach him, he looks up from his phone, locking it and placing it face down before giving you one of his infamous smirks. “ah, thought for a moment you were gonna be late pretty girl,” he teases, “you’re cuttin’ it fine.”

you roll your eyes, ignoring the nickname, knowing it was probably something he said to every girl, although for some reason, it made your stomach flip, but you instantly and quite easily pushed that feeling aside.

“well, i’m surprised you’re even here.” you say, sitting yourself down on the opposite side of the bench, placing a maths textbook down between you both.

“i told you, i’m not gonna let you down.” he says, shifting slightly to make room for your stuff on the table, “so, let’s get to work. shall we?”

“what do you want to learn first?” you ask, placing your elbows on the table, leaning your chin in your hand. “what does the matt sturniolo want to learn everything about?”

he leans forward, eyes scanning the papers you had brought with you. “i dunno, maybe somethin’ easy.” he laughs, “or equations, i’m really shit at equations.”

you can’t help but let out a small giggle, shaking your head as you open the textbook, finding the section you needed on equations.

you begin explaining the first set of problems on the page, making sure to break them down, keeping it as simple and precise as possible and as much as you had expected him to not take this seriously, matt was surprisingly observant, writing down little notes here and there as you went over each step.

“any questions?” you ask him after a few minutes.

he hesitates, then goes on to ask you, “did you really think i wasn’t going to show up today?”

you raise an eyebrow, part of you did truly expect that he was going to bail, but part of you deep down, is glad he didn’t. “honestly? i did, a little.” you admit, “but i’m glad you’re here. you’re a lot smarter than you think.”

he smiles at your answer, before it slowly turns into a smirk. “any questions for me?” he asks you, mimicking your previous question to him.

“is it true that you hooked up with one of the cheerleaders who’s boyfriend is the captain of football team we’re playing on friday?” you mimic his smirk, throwing him completely off guard, playing him at his own game.

“correct.” he chuckles, admitting it. “alright, back to equations.”

for the next forty five minutes, you worked through all kinds of maths problems, and matt started to really catch on. he began to understand things easily, solving the harder math problems with more confidence as the minutes ticked by.

he stops for a moment, looking over at you, when suddenly he pushes his jacket off his shoulders and throws it over yours. “here,” he says quietly, “you’re shivering”

you glance up at him, unsure whether to be surprised or annoyed at him chucking his jacket on you. “it’s not that cold.”

“do you know how many girls would love to be in your position?” he jokes, “wearing the matt sturniolo’s jacket.”

you huff, admitting defeat as you slip the jacket on properly, the fabric swallowing you completely but the sudden warmth and scent of his cologne takes over you. “and i’m sure there’s probably been quite a few who have worn it, probably with nothing else on underneath.”

“you really think i’d let just anyone wear this? c’mon pretty girl, told you there’d be something in this for you.”

“there is something in it for me, you promised you’d make the football team stop being mean to my best friend.” you reply, narrowing your eyes, “you have to keep your side of the deal.”

“i will,” he says, holding his pinky out. “promise.”

a small smile tugs at your lips. a pinky promise seeming ridiculous, but something about it secretly makes your heart skip a beat. maybe it’s how seriously he’s taking all this. your loop your finger around his and give it a half hearted tug before pushing his hand away lightly.

“i’m holding you to that pinky promise.” you reply, before adding. “i take pinky promises seriously.”

you stand up, starting to pack your things up when matt stands too, offering a helping hand when his hand brushes against yours and for a split second, it feels… electric. you pull back quickly, mentally scolding yourself, you mustn’t let yourself get distracted by his charm.

you have always told yourself that falling in love with anyone would only bring a distraction to your studies, and you’re far too focused on your goals to let anything nor anyone throw you off track. this is just tutoring, nothing more, and you’re not about to let a boy like matt complicate things by calling you nicknames, and giving you that same smooth talk you know he uses on every girl.

you glance down at his jacket still draped over your shoulders, and you quickly shrug it off. holding it out to him, “here,” you half smile, “thanks, i’ll be sure to remember mine next time.”

he takes the jacket back without a word, before he starts walking backwards to his car, still facing you with that infamous smirk smacked on his face again, “same time, next week?”

“yep, same time next week.”

“here again? before classes start?”

“yes matt, here again. 7am.” you say, tone steady.

“i’ll be there pretty girl, 6.59.” he laughs, chucking his keys into the air before catching them.

you watch him finally turn away and get into his car, driving off. as his car disappears, you get into yours and rest your head on the steering wheel, a heavy sigh escaping your lips.

and little do you know, this tutoring thing is only the start of something you never saw coming.

[fuck-customers]

Fuckery with phones: An ongoing series

-The phone ringing then IMMEDIATELY stopping before it can even finish its first ring tone. There's usually no caller ID and when there is it just says 'ringing'. So, not a caller ID. There's no number that shows up either. This is a daily occurrence.

-One day I checked the Voice MailBox to come back to NINETY-NINE BLANK VOICEMAILS all in a few seconds of length over the course of 2 hours. What in the actual fuck. How do you fuck up that badly. It stopped at 99 cause it filled the VMbox up and wouldn't accept anymore otherwise I'm sure it would have went on.

-The shop cell phone, used only for calling coworkers, used in function what would be a Walkie-Talkie but we don't have those, being bombarded with 'Spam Likely' calls 2 certain days. Only the shop cell phone, not the main landlines. Also, it's clearly not a customer who may have had that number, because all the calls show up as Spam Likely and all come from different phone numbers. The phone doesn't automatically just not ring when it is a spam like most newer phones do, thou when I go back to work I'm gonna mess with it to see if it's some sort of setting I can turn on. Pray for me that it is.

-Someone spoofing the children's hospital caller ID and it ended up being a scam caller about some bullshit.

-A robo call that purposely waits and does the confused 'hello?' thing after hearing a voice, waiting in silence then me confused says 'hello?' cause it sounds like no one's there. Then the robo says it's confused hello, I say hello again then it does it's robo speel. One time I asked it if it was a robo and it said 'while my voice may sound robotic-' I immediately hung up. But it keeps calling and I can't block calls with either landline the shop has so I'm stuck wasting my time with robo calls.

Also I can't hang up after I don't hear a response cause for some stupid reason customers don't pay attention when I say 'Good *time greeting* *business name*' then they go 'huh?' cause they weren't paying attention or ask what the business name is even thou I LITERALLY JUST SAID IT. Fuckin pay attention my god you made the call why are you surprised when I say the business name you're calling?

Anyway feel free to add your own stories, I know (hope) some other people out there have had their fair share of phone fuckery too.

Posted by admin Rodney

[pharma-tard]

So nobody knows if those text messages are actually legit and even if they are it's literally just thought crime at this point?

Also really brings in a question why you or anyone sat on these for what two or three years as everybody keeps saying so was it really about outing a dangerous person or more likely a vendetta considering other people you claim have allegations against that you didn't expose or what your play in all this is.

There are actual dangerous and creepy men running rampant but you choose this and to do so on the day you did for a reason but tumblr ppl like yourself are retarded and dont need much to bark up a tree.

Do better.

I'll break this down bit by bit

>So nobody knows if those text messages are actually legit

I confirmed they were real when I got them, there's no reason for me to post what I saw for that bc it drags multiple other parties in purely to convince like three people. I've been extremely diplomatic with this drop because it's real, and I think the fact he deleted immediately speaks for itself.

>even if they are it's literally just thought crime at this point?

This is literally the same logic as "no you don't understand, she only looks 10, she's 9000 in the lore". Yeah, it's a "thought crime" -- it's not acceptable to think children or dogs are sexually attractive, and it's even less acceptable to indulge those fantasies. This is not revolutionary thinking.

>Also really brings in a question why you or anyone sat on these for what two or three years

I got the screenshots at like 5 AM Saturday (Serbian time) and gave myself until Sunday to have the post ready. That's about 36 hours.

>so was it really about outing a dangerous person or more likely a vendetta considering other people you claim have allegations against that you didn't expose or what your play in all this is.

This is so stupid and I have to break this down into chunks

Yes, it's about outing a dangerous person. I don't see why "Pharma doesn't like people who want to fuck kids and dogs" is such a hard thing to believe.

I never had anything against him before I found this shit out, in fact I don't think I ever even talked to him the entire leadup to this. I'm extremely loud and annoying about people I hate, and the worst I do is start fights and talk shit. Like come on, you're writing fanfiction at this point.

All I've posted is that I have allegations in my inbox about other people, I didn't say which people, and the purpose of doing that is to encourage people who've actually got evidence to come forward. Would you rather I just post a bunch of "he said this", "he did that", anons with nothing backing them up? Use your head here.

>There are actual dangerous and creepy men running rampant

Yeah and we just got rid of one of them. Again, send me evidence and I'll do the same shit to whoever tf it is you're thinking of.

>tumblr ppl like yourself are retarded and dont need much to bark up a tree.

Very unfortunate choice to use a dog metaphor here is all I'll say to that.

[darthmelyanna]

Oh, time for me to share the good news about university extension services! This is my new favorite search trick for anything textile-related. I add “university extension” to whatever I’m searching for.

In December I made myself a winter coat. For reasons passing understanding, I decided to do this with traditional tailoring methods, which meant 1) a lot of hand sewing, and 2) no fusible interfacing (the stuff that gives body and often more longevity to fabric). I am a very experienced seamstress. People pay me to do this kind of stuff. But using non-fusible interfacing on a project of this scale was new to me. I actually bought a whole book on jacket/coat construction but there were a lot of times when this otherwise excellent book (Claire Schaeffer’s Couture Tailoring) just did not have the answers I was looking for. Sewing blogs weren’t helping me much either because most people use fusible these days.

But then in the depths of Google I stumbled across a PDF scan of an old sewing pamphlet from a university extension service. University extension services are amazing sources of information on crafts and gardening and cooking and who knows what else. I think they started as a way for agriculture schools to serve the farming communities around them. They also developed programs to teach people things like how to safely can the food they were growing and how to sew a tailored jacket.

Some of them are still incredibly active on the sewing side of things. The University of Kentucky in particular has a very active group of volunteers who receive free training from experts in exchange for hours of service contributed to their communities. And that brings us to the PDF I stumbled across.

I had thought that a lot of sewing knowledge kind of went away with my grandmothers’ generations. Their daughters didn’t learn to sew, or if they did, they didn’t do it as much as my grandmothers did because they were working outside jobs along with raising families. You just don’t get to advanced techniques if you’re not sewing a lot. Books tend to focus on basic techniques because beginners are always a bigger market than advanced. A lot of bloggers did the same. You come across a lot of forum posts of people looking for techniques that existed but nobody knows how they were actually done.

But it turns out that there is an absolute treasure trove of information that was published by university extension services in the 1960s and 70s. Some of those extensions have been scanning and uploading them. The University of Kentucky and University of New Mexico were the ones I found most helpful during my coat-making madness. Absolutely everything I tried from an extension publication worked. I have a beautiful coat now, and an incredible search technique.

I hate knowing how to sew. I hate that knowing how to sew compels me to fix my own clothes when their shoddy construction destroys them cuz I don't wanna spend another fuckin thirty dollars to replace it when I have $1 of thread. Mending is the worst and it's 90% of the sewing I do these days.

[osakanone]

Are you a fan of hard science fiction?

tl;dr:

This is a very complicated question, and it depends on what the author considers technology, science or culture.

long version:

Super, super depends honestly and the deciding factor is usually the author's own self-awareness.

A lot of hard SF spends months perfecting its technical research and then for whatever reason has writing that has done zero research in humanities or social studies and is just someone repeating the bits of world history they like not realizing the irony.

I like hard SF when it uses the machine to tell a story, otherwise its not playing to its strengths. Clarke got this. Morgan less so.

This also depends on how you define it: Do you mean hard SF as in its all technically plausable or Hard SF, where how the technology matters to the story?

These mean very different things!

Likewise, there's also then the question of most hard SF not understanding science well enough to understand what post-science [...]

eg, the idea that science is more than just the sum of research, and that how we do peer-review analysis needs to be seriously changed because of the replication crisis, and how we store and educate science needs to change due to the knowledge and expertise collapse crisis, or the fundamental change of how knowledge and information and abstraction functions with respect to reality itself, etc, etc, none of which hard SF acknowledges at all whatsoever which is the least realistic thing about it

[...]

is or where engineering is going next so they're just repackaging speculative fiction's methodology from 40 years ago without actually doing the leg-work beyond "what the next doohicky is", instead of seriously asking how science itself is going to change.

Its tempting to think that technology is the active human interface with the material world, but I would argue for all intents and purposes there is no material world beyond what humans experience either directly or indirectly and the reason we would want to preserve that non-experience without exploiting it is because some day we'd like to experience it to gain revelations both scientific and cultural.

The idea that science is automatically synonymous with technology is a frankly rediculous one because it refuses to recognize that one does not automatically become the other just as tomes of knowledge do not become useful effectve contexturalized understandings within your mind the moment you exchange money for them.

At for example, is in a way a sort of technology but its a cultural technology yet I never hear of hard SF exploring this angle. Instead, its the fetishization of how you can use tungsten orbs and catching nets to devise the most efficient cooling system possible or how fast your imaginary drive can go because you studied pusher plates and nuclear propulsion on wikipedia once and felt a tingle in your hind brain about it. We're all fundamentally excited children when we see big numbers, but but numbers alone don't make a compelling story I think.

As an example, I genuinely don't think of The Expanse has hard SF and it has nothing to do with its warp drive but instead its total lack of understanding that the fundamental ways in which society functions would drastically change in such a time.

Humans who act like we do today even fifty years in the future are the "guys painted green with deelyboppers" of science fiction of today and nobody outside of study seems to notice this.

If an author can't imagine a fundamentally very different social system but an go on for hours about how optomagnetic holographic storage and nano-vacuum tubes with switching speeds in the terrahertz range are wonderful I think the author just wants to talk about cool things they like indulgantly and not really even do science fiction.

That's particularly difficult for me becuase I'm someone who often does exactly that! I am a VERY self-indulgant writer!

In conclusion I'd say its less I'm either a fan or not a fan of hard SF (I do love using technology to tell a story which is what hard SF does) but the fact "hard" SF is held in higher esteem than "soft" SF speaks to an emotional insecurity in the audience that they should want to forgo the humanities and uninform themselves of the human condition as if they are above it in some way which I frankly find rather ghastly.

I think science fiction's most important lesson is not to do the torture nexus again and I think without the humanities that becomes rather difficult.

Sorry if this is a bit of a funny answer.

I appreciate the question, and thank-you for your time.

[max1461]

I think something is wrong with me that they don't understand yet. To be honest. Or something is wrong that they do understand but it's causing problems that they don't understand. This post is seeking advice from anyone who can provide it.

Uh @transgenderer tagging you because you've had good thoughts on these things. Let me know if you would like me to stop tagging you in personal matters. Also @cadaversconsumer because I think it's you who was interested in my brain? Feel free to just marvel at my bad brain.

Ok, so, there is context to my current brain problems that I haven't fully explained. But it requires(?) some backstory. Basically, upon the advent of the pandemic in 2020, I got very depressed and anxious for life reasons. For about three years I was in a very weird, poor mental state. Bad OCD, very depressed, very anxious. Not able to leave the house or work due to how bad the OCD was. During this time I kind of... hunkered down, tried to put everything out of my mind, and just focus on getting through each day. Even listening to music was too emotionally overwhelming, and would trigger an anxiety/OCD fit. All I could do was try to eat, try to sleep, and think "somehow, this will get better eventually". Oh, and post. I was posting constantly (often nonsense, this is the origin of my shitposts), that's when my blog got popular. Posting was the only thing external to my mind that I could think about without sort of freaking out.

Although this was brought on by life events, it was all so intense that I can't discount a neurological component. I felt... like my brain was constantly full of electricity, that I was constantly hyper-activated in some deep way. Like even deeper than fight-or-flight. Well, as I said, like I was full of electricity. At the worst of it, I would pace around and do OCD compulsions (various movements and stuff) for 8-12 hours a day; I would only stop when I got so tired I fell asleep, sleep for 2 or 3 hours, I would start doing the OCD compulsions again in my dreams and wake up already doing them. Then go for another 8-12 hour stint and fall asleep again. Sometimes I would get it under control for half an hour or something, which I would use for eating. When it was less bad, it was more like 4-6 hours dispersed throughout the day, and I was still hyper anxious even when it wasn't actively happening. This lasted from early 2020 through the end of 2022, about 3 years.

Right, during this time of never leaving the house or doing anything, I kind of felt like I forgot how to... be a person. My mind was so wrapped up in "surviving" that I uh just, yeah, forgot how to be a person. I remember when I made my grad school attempt (which did not go well), at the end of 2022 when things were starting to clear up, I still felt so fatigued that I would lay in made for hours TOTALLY MOTIONLESS, I mean, still like a corpse. Even the idea of moving my arms a little felt exhausting. It took me another roughly two years to slowly start to feel like a person again.

After all this happened, my memories of uh, anything other than the weird life I had been living were very faint. I could hardly recall what life was like before. I knew all the factual stuff but it felt like a dream. I often found myself, in 2023 and 2024, straining to remember. And I do mean straining, it was like I was exerting myself to uh, push a faint memory into my vision again. It worked, and I started to remember what life was like before, but the more I did it the more exertion it took, until I was literally straining my whole body and squeezing in order to remember pre-pandemic memories. I would often get this feeling of pressure behind my eyes, that had actually started to hurt. At a certain point, maybe mid 2024, it had started to actively make my eyes tired. I made a post about it on here. It had given me eye strain, and even passively remembering these things (which would now happen, because I had sufficiently jogged my memory) would give me pain between/behind my eyes and generally feel kind of weird. The memories became harder to "look directly at" in my mind, even when I wasn't straining, because they would just give me automatic eye pain. I figured "I should stop straining like that, the memories will still be there, but this is kinda hurting me".

One way or another, I then found myself at the dentist. Uh. The whole deal is I was super anxious, and for reasons I won't go into, almost reflexively started straining in the manner described above. This is when they were giving me the anesthetic. I tried to stop straining, but it's like I couldn't, something was numb and I was stuck in the "pressure behind eyes" mode. Then I felt a... pop? A very gentle pop, and, hey, that's how I ended up in my current state. Mind running, uh, hyper emotionally, like all my memories are playing out vividly all the time and I can't stop them, but I also can't look straight at them. And my friends and so on from pre-pandemic don't feel like real people, it feels like their mental "profile pictures" have been deleted from my mind, and all this shit I've been posting about.

Oh! And for a few days after the dentist, I had these huge, HUGE dark circles under my eyes, like fucking purple. For almost a week.

Anyway, I was diagnosed with temporal lobe epilepsy and trigeminal nerve damage (cause parts of my face are numb), and that's where I am today. But forgive me if I think maybe something else is going on? I've explained all this shit to doctors and parents but they kind of dismiss it; I think it's kind of important though.

Uh, I guess the main piece of advice I'm curious if anyone can give me is: what type of doctor would I go to to look into the eye shit? It really feels like the eye shit is central. Mental experiences were already coupled to weird eye shit before my bad dentist trip. Uh. Nobody takes me seriously but I think the eye shit is central. But also just uh... anyone heard of anything like this before? Anyone have a reference point I can turn to?

[groovy-rat-man]

Random baseless punch out wii headcanon time!!

I KEEP TRYING TO SAVE THIS TO DRAFTS BUT IT KEEPS POSTING INSTEAD BUT FUCK IT WE BALL (i might add more stuff or change things but this is what I've got so far)

Doc Louis

Hes not the step dad he's the dad who stepped up

Hes got a tshirt that says that and every time he wears it in public mac dies a little inside

Hes also got pictures of him and mac together in his wallet that he likes showing off to people

Im gonna take this time and tell you about this crackship I like. Idk why but doc louis/gabby jay is just very cute to me and i wanted to share that with you

Little Mac

Everyone makes him transmasc, everyone makes him autistic, everyone makes him selectively mute and I just so happen to be part of everyone soooo...

I might however be projecting myself onto him just a little bit but whatev

Him and Birdie are like brothers to me, not biologically but still <3

Pretty awkward around his fans, especially the ones who don't respect his personal space (looking at YOU, nameless women in super macho man's title defense intro😡)

Got called into the counselors office at his school a lot because he was always covered in bruises, every time he just showed them his latest match on his phone like "yeah don't worry everything cool at home I just get my ass kicked as my job"

Tries to be friendly with all his opponents, or at least decent with them

~~~~

Glass Joe

I read the first couple chapters of this fic and now it's just canon to me, he is a single girldad and there is nothing you can do to change that

Well I say "dad" but sometimes I like to make her transfemme just because I can so when I do that she's still a milf instead

Has always had fucked up bones and joints and health problems and stuff, boxing just made it CONSIDERABLY worse lol

Gabby Jay is like his uncle or something

Sleeps like 3 hours a night and hasn't drank water in like 10-20 years, this freak is living off of coffee, bread, wine, cigarettes, and NOTHING else

Tried to be blond, it didn't work on him

The only reason he haven't died in the ring is because god is punishing him for his hubris

His one win was when Nick Bruiser died in the ring due to a completely unrelated brain aneurism

Von Kaiser

Used to crossdress back in his younger years, he may not do it as much anymore but he still has his dresses

Actually enjoys his job as a boxing teacher! He likes instilling knowledge on the next generation

Complete neat freak, trys to suppress it as much as he can but it's always there in the back of his mind

Definitely has SOMETHING wrong with him but thinks that if he doesn't get it diagnosed then it's not really a problem

Probably has like prosthetics or metal implants in his joints or bones or something, idk why else he'd make the noises he does

Disco Kid

I like to think that he does drag in his free time, makes you wonder if him and VK ever talk about it

Can fully SPRINT in high heels, hell he could probably fight in them too if they'd let him

Always has at least a little bit of glitter on him, it's a curse

Boxing is more of a hobby for him than a career, he's just having fun with it

Always makes sure his friends are safe and having fun whenever they go out somewhere

King Hippo

Scares babies and small children on accident just by being around them and feels REALLY bad about it

The first time he met glass joes daughter he made her cry and still hasn't gotten over it

Whenever fans ask him for a signature he either writes it in the most beautiful handwriting you've ever seen or he just draws a lil hippo with a crown, which one you get depends on how he's feeling

Has a storage unit somewhere filled to the brim with all those shitty blenders that had to be recalled

He still tries to pawn them off on people, too, if he ever tries to get you a gift for like your birthday or something you just know it's one of those shitty blenders

Oh and the "king" in king hippo isn't a stage name, he is actual flesh and royalty. His subjects seem to think highly of him and he treats them well. He does a pretty good job running things too but to be fair his kingdom isn't all that big, just one tiny island that isn't on any maps.

He usually doesn't hold his title over people's heads, mostly he's just some guy

Fully CANNOT swim but he can hold his breath for ages and just sort of walks on the ocean floor (gee, almost like his namesake)

Knows what gender is, does not care for it

Likes to sketch and draw :)

~~~~

Piston Hondo

Possibly aromantic? I don't really know and I don't think he knows either.

God why don't I have any headcanons for him?? He's my fucking wife!!!!

Ok I KNOW I said he's my wife but i saw like one person make him and Bear Hugger queer platonic partners and im in love with that idea

I feel like of the two he's the one who was most concerned with putting labels on it and trying to figure out what exactly they were but eventually just decided that even if they're not in a romantic relationship they can still be soulmates and I think thats beautiful

Hes a sweet guy but he can be pretty awkward around people lol

EXCELLENT cook like you have NO IDEA

Bear Hugger

Does NOT know his own strength. He'll go to hug somebody and and break their ribs, he'll go to open a jar and shatter it into pieces. He's trying his best to be gentle but good god.

Also the gay kind of bear (the stage name was on purpose)

Can actually literally for real life talk to animals. No fucking clue how he does it, i guess it's just a Canadian thing

Lost his squirrel after losing in title defense and was DEVASTATED, but DONT WORRY the squirrel was fine

The "i like raw fish" line isn't about sushi, be just sticks his head in a river and comes out with a live salmon in his teeth

Great Tiger

Has at least one if not a plethora of cats (one of which is a British shorthair cause I feel like that's the kind of cat he'd like)

"I feed you, I home you, I give you all the treats and toys you could ask for, and what do you do? You scratch up my furniture and knock over all my nice cups! What do you have to say for yourself?"

"Mmmrrp?😺"

"Hmph, you're lucky you're cute..."

Magic is a difficult thing to control so sometimes when he sneezes he teleports, happesnt to the best of us

It took him weeks to fully resolidify after getting poofed my mac in title defense so for a while parts of his body were just vapor

If i ever draw him I'm gonna give him widdle kitty fangs, trust me

Still trying to work on his music career, the dumbass

Him and don like to gossip together like catty bitches

Don Flamenco

Carmen 100% tops him, I will not elaborate (at least not until I finish my fanfic)

#1 bi4bi couple ever

Whenever he drinks he literally does not shut up about her

"Me gusta mi esposa porque es suave y cálida y bonita y amable conmigo🥰🥰"

Sure, alright dude

I know it's HEAVILY implied that Carmen left him after he lost to mac the first time but I choose to think that he just lost all his self worth and was CONVINCED that she was gonna leave him

That... might actually be worse now that i think about it

But whatever, in the long run they get married and have twins and grow old together and it's great<3

She likes him better without his toupee, more room for kisses<3<3

"I'd kill someone for you, PLEASE ask me to kill someone for you..."

Hes tried on her lingerie more times than he's like to admit, it's gotten to the point where she just bought him his own. She wasn't upset about him stealing her clothes, she was upset because pink is NOT his color

Also I'm sorry that literally all of these are about him and Carmen, I didn't mean to do that

He is a complete giga bitch to everyone except her

I like it when people interpret mac as being Hispanic because I feel like he'd try and start a conversation with don and he'd be like "Lo siento, no hablo inglés. (Lying)" and mac would just be like "¡Oh, está bien! Así que, como te decía..." and dons just like GOD FUCKING DAMNIT

~~~~

Aran Ryan

He used to be normal, but then they put him in a room. A rubber room. A rubber room with rats. The rats made him crazy.

Does not know Irish and refuses to learn because it reminds him of being in school and he fucking HATED being in school

Probably because of the adhd or whatever is going on with his brain

Will break somebody's nose if they make fun of his accent

I see folks giving him a ton of siblings and I really like that idea but I just gave him one cause I thought it'd be easier lol

I named his sister Sharan cause I thought it'd be funny, she's also fucking crazy but when they're around eachother they're too busy trying to reel the other one in to be crazy themselves so they sort of balance eachother out

Shes about 6-7 years younger than than him and even though he KNOWS she can stand up for herself he's still very protective of her

When he first started boxing professionally he would bring her with him to get her out of the house (even though she didn't like seeing him get hurt)

Used to read her stories to help her go to sleep and would stay with her to protect her from monsters

Has fistfought his dad and would do so again if he wasn't dead

Soda Popinski

Literally just this post

Him and his wife that I made up have been trying for a baby but haven't had any luck so far

Gained his sweet tooth after quitting drinking (ya know cause he used to be called vodka drunkinski, god I'm so fucking clever)

Is actually a gentle giant outside of the ring!

His wife started knitting him sweaters once she saw him go out into the snow nearly naked. He loves and cherishes them and wears them every chance he gets but he still goes outside without pants🫠

Has killed someone on accident

Bald Bull

I like to think that he's a pretty chill guy when he's not being hounded by the paparazzi but god damn they will not leave him alone

He was probably glad when mac became champ for all the reasons macho man hated it

I honestly don't know what else to say about him

Fuck it I'm giving him agoraphobia

Him and popinski are pals😊

Has killed someone on purpose

Super Macho Man

I'm gonna be real, in my first draft of this post i completely forgot he existed and if he was real and he knew that he would be thinking about it for WEEKS

His ass: NOT real

His tits: NOT real

Thinks he's talking Like The Youth when he says shit like dude and bogus all the time

Also he's like 50

Definitely has at least one kid that he pretends not to know about, dodges child support like it's bullets in the matrix

Idk what social media was like in 2009 cause I was 4 years old but I like to think that people bully him online

Tried to own the "release the bogus" thing but it was just suuuuuuper cringe

Sometimes I like to make him ftm, I think it's neat

Sometimes I also like to make him fluent in asl but I got that one from a fanfic

Mr. Sandman

Comfypilled cozymaxer (at least when he's not training and stuff)

I feel like he would not be able to play any of the punch out games if they existed in his universe

I really dont know what to put here either

I like to think that under that intimidating exterior hes a real sweetie but I also said that about popinski and bb so it feels like I'm just being stupid

Give him some chamomile tea. Now.

[kathlare]

fast times

Lando Norris x Amelie Dayman

Summary: In the middle of a busy day at the McLaren motorhome, Lando Norris stumbles upon Amelie Dayman’s latest music video release. What starts as a casual watch quickly turns into something else entirely as he realizes just how much has changed—and how much hasn’t.

Wordcount: 1.6 k

Warnings: kinda mature content

full masterlist // request over here!

February 25th, 2022 - Barcelona, Spain

liked by schecoperez, emiliamernes, and others

ameliedayman: fast times song/video are out now ❤️‍🔥

i’m always told how fast life goes and to make sure i really live it to the absolute fullest and appreciate the moment I’m presently in, cause we don’t get any rewrites- so i wrote this to remind myself of that and hopefully this song makes you feel that way too.

too many people to thank that help my silly little visions come to life!! so i put them in this scroll

go stream go watch go go go fast fast fast

View all 1,382 comments

madisonbeer: fast fast fast but why does time slow down when I’m staring at u? 🤨 → ameliedayman: @madisonbeer girl be so serious rn 😭

fan1: BLONDE AMELIE SUPREMACY IS BACKKK 🔥🔥🔥 → fan2: @fan1 we won but at what cost 😭 brunetties stay losing

fan3: "fast times" ?? nah cause i’ve been stuck on this post for 3 hours 😭

shawnmendes: this song is actually insane. proud of u always 🤍 → fan13: @shawnmendes SHAWN??? OH WE REALLY IN THE 2014 TIMELINE HUH

stelladayman: so this is what ur hair actually looks like huh?? wild. → ameliedayman: @stelladayman i KNOW u didn’t just expose me like that 😭

jackdayman: i’ve only ever known brunette amelie. who is this stranger. → ameliedayman: @jackdayman don’t be dramatic omg 😩

fan14: the fact that this is just the beginning of the wicked era… we’re so not ready 😭 → fan15: @fan14 nope. we’re DONE. i already feel overwhelmed 😵‍💫

fan9: SHES SO BLONDE. SHES SO HOT. SHES SO TALENTED. HOW DOES IT FEEL TO BE GOD’S FAVORITE???

fan5: brunettes just took a major L… but I’m lowkey okay with it 😩 → fan6: @fan5 she didn’t just go blonde, she returned home 🫡

fan7: nah cause she just casually changed her whole identity and dropped a BANGER?? 😭🔥 → fan8: @fan7 glinda era is gonna be dangerous i fear 😳

taylorswift: my pop princess era queen!!! this is a BANGER 👑🔥 → ameliedayman: @taylorswift ur the reason i write songs so. crying now.

florencepugh: the song? the video? the hair? the serve is too strong 😵‍💫 → ameliedayman: @florencepugh ur approval is all i ever needed 😭

-------------

The McLaren motorhome in Barcelona was buzzing with activity as the team prepared for another round of testing. Engineers were going over data, mechanics were discussing car setup, and drivers were in and out of briefings. Lando had just finished a long debrief with his engineers, his body still thrumming with adrenaline from his last stint in the car.

He leaned back in his chair, stretching his arms above his head before grabbing his phone. His group chat with Max and a few other friends had been popping off for the last ten minutes, all of them sending the same link over and over again.

Bro, have you seen this??? No fucking way she did that Holy shit, blonde suits her TOO much

Lando furrowed his brows, clicking on the link. It redirected him to YouTube. The thumbnail alone was enough to knock the air out of his lungs.

Amelie Dayman - "Fast Times" (Official Music Video)

He felt his stomach flip. This was her debut music video. He knew she had been working on her music for years, but he hadn’t actually paid attention to when her first song would drop.

And fuck. She looked stunning. Even in just the thumbnail, she looked unfairly good. Her big green eyes, her lips slightly parted, that undeniable presence she always had on screen. Lando swallowed and tapped play.

The video started with Amelie as a brunette—her hair just the way he remembered it, cascading over her shoulders, looking effortlessly beautiful. The opening shot was cinematic, her sitting in the driver's seat of a car, sunglasses perched on her nose. The song kicked in, upbeat and confident, her voice dripping with charm.

Lando barely registered the lyrics, too caught up in the visuals. And then—

Blonde.

His grip on the phone tightened as Amelie appeared again, but this time her hair was golden, flowing in loose waves, framing her face like she had stepped straight out of a dream. His jaw slackened, heart stuttering in his chest.

What the fuck.

She looked insane. Like, painfully, achingly beautiful. His brain short-circuited trying to process it.

Lando felt heat creep up his neck, his pulse pounding in his ears. He shifted uncomfortably in his chair, pressing his lips together as the music video continued. Every shot of her blonde, confident, untouchable—it did something to him.

His mouth felt dry. His palms were clammy against his phone.

She had always been beautiful—he knew that. He had been obsessed with her back when she was brunette, back when she was his. But this?

This was something else entirely.

She looked unreal. Ethereal. And so fucking hot.

Lando sucked in a sharp breath, shifting in his seat. His racing suit suddenly felt way too tight, the fabric pressing against his body in all the wrong ways. He had to blink a few times, drag a hand down his face to try and snap himself out of it.

But the video just kept going.

There was a scene where Amelie was leaning against a car, twirling a lollipop between her fingers, lips slightly pursed in a way that made his mind spiral. Another where she walked through a hallway, her hips swaying, her confidence radiating off the screen. And the final shot? She tilted her head, staring straight into the camera, lips curling into the smallest, cockiest smirk—like she knew exactly what she was doing to him.

—Fucking hell,— he muttered under his breath, adjusting himself in his seat.

This was bad.

Lando didn’t know how long he sat there, phone still in his hand, screen frozen on the last frame of the video. His heart was beating way too fast. His head was spinning. His lower stomach felt tight, hot, needy in a way that he really didn’t need right now.

He swallowed, clearing his throat, trying to will the feeling away. But it wasn’t going anywhere.

He needed to do something about it.

With one last glance around the motorhome, making sure no one was paying him any attention, he pushed himself up from his chair and made his way to his driver's room. His legs felt heavy, stiff, as he walked down the hallway. He barely registered the greetings from the team members he passed, only nodding in response before slipping inside and locking the door behind him.

His chest rose and fell in deep breaths as he leaned against the door for a second, squeezing his eyes shut.

This was insane. He shouldn’t be reacting like this.

Amelie wasn’t his anymore.

But fuck, she had to know what she was doing. She had to know how good she looked.

With a low groan, he pushed off the door and ran a hand through his hair, exhaling sharply.

Yeah. He was gonna need a few minutes.

[sceletaflores]

slippery when wet!

pairing: patrick zweig x fem!reader

summary: “so who fucks better?” he asks bluntly, a bead of sweat dripping down the column of his throat and into the neck of his tank. a shocked laugh bursts from your lips. “what?” you ask, crossing your arms over your chest. “who fucks better?” he repeats slowly, leaning down to meet your eye. “me or art? don’t fucking lie to me and tell me that prissy farmer boy makes you come harder than i do.”

—or: patrick puts you in your place three months later.

word count: 4.3k

contains: 18+ SMUT MDNI, swearing, p in v, fighting as foreplay, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it y’all!), rough sex, semi-public sex, oral sex (m!receiving), fingering...kinda (fem!receiving), very light spanking, choking, degradation, creampie, throat fucking, mean!reader my beloved, art donaldson is there in spirit, patrick is gay for art, porn with a little plot, no use of y/n.

author’s note: no one can stop me from writing rough sex patrick fics. it's all i think about 24/7, and you guys are no help but like i love it so it's fine. i'm here to serve you and this is clearly what you want so who am i to deny you that? thank you to the beautiful anon who requested this, i hope you don't mind that i changed it from a locker room scene to a bathroom scene but that was just calling to me hehe. okay bye! hope you love it! xoxo mwah.

psst! tftw series masterlist!

You’ve been on the court for at least an hour and a half, running drills and trying to sweat out all of your stress. You were the only one in the building, but it was always less busy during finals week. Most people were camped out in their dorms cramming for fifty question tests or four part lab practicals. 

Art politely declined your invite, too busy studying for his business final on Monday. So you rented a tennis machine and worked on your backhand that way. It was a nice distraction, emptying your head enough that all the anxiety of finals started to melt away as you slid into a steady rhythm with the machine.

The door bangs open with a loud creak behind you, bursting the little bubble of tranquility surrounding you. The back of your head burns with the unmistakable feeling of someone glaring at you.

You hear him before you see him, a loud call of your name followed by heavy footsteps quickly coming towards you. The sound of his voice immediately grates on your nerves, all angry and shouty. You choose to ignore it, focusing on hitting each new ball the machine spits out.

It may have been a couple months since you’ve seen Patrick, but you’d always recognize the familiar way his voice wraps around each syllable in your name.

Three months, to be exact. It’s been three months since your big fight over the phone with Patrick. You blocked his number right after you hung up, so you haven’t spoken to him in just as long. He never tried to reach out, never messaged you on AOL or Facebook. The petty fuck actually went out of his way to unfriend you on both, so you knew he wasn’t exactly torn up about your abrupt split. 

“Hey! I’m talking to you,” Patrick shouts over the loud humming, sounding closer to you than he was before. You pointedly keep ignoring him, eyes fixed stubbornly on the machine. “You deaf or something?” he mocks, stepping up so you can see him in your peripheral vision. You say nothing, swinging your racket harder with each hit.

Patrick scoffs, stomping over to the machine and slamming his hand over the stop button. It makes a loud beeping sound, before shutting off completely. “Jesus Christ, you’re such a fucking baby.” you groan, throwing your head back in annoyance. When you finally turn to glare at him, you’re shocked at the state he’s in.

Patrick’s dressed in a tank and the almost too short shorts he’d usually wear to a match, and he’s dripping sweat. Curly black hair plastered to his forehead with it, his cheeks red and blotchy like he’d been in the sun. You raise your brow, looking at him with a confused expression on your face. “Where the hell did you even come from? How did you know I was here?” 

He walks back over to you, hands balled into fists by his side. “I was at a tournament in Mountain View,” he explains, jerking his head in the vague direction he came from, ”it was so close I thought it’d be wrong of me to not stop by and check up on you.”

You laugh, nodding your head lightly. “Okay, so you flunked out of another tournament and hunted me down like a creepy stalker to what? Yell at me some more? Call me a cunt again?” you step closer, lightly swishing your racket through the air dismissively. “I’m not fucking interested in whatever it is you have to say Patrick, we’re over.”

He smirks but you can see the way his jaw clenches, ticking in anger. “But you’re interested in what Art has to say?”

There it is. You really should have known it would all come back to this eventually.

You sigh, casting your eyes to the ceiling in exasperation. “What’s your point?”

Patrick takes a step closer. “My point is that you’re not fucking stupid, and Art can’t lie to save his goddamn life. You knew exactly what he was doing.” His tone is accusatory, his brows pinched together hard enough to crease his skin. 

Your heart beat picks up in your chest, anger beginning to bubble up inside you. “I didn’t need Art’s help to realize that you’re an arrogant piece of shit and a gigantic waste of my time, you made it easy enough to pick up on all by yourself.”

Patrick laughs, loud and abrasive. “No, you just didn’t care.” he states darkly, shaking his head back and forth a few times. You can feel a few drops of sweat fling from his hair to land on the bare skin of your shoulders as he does. “You’re so easy that you’d spread your legs from him to stroke your own ego. You’re only playing into his whole kicked puppy charade to justify acting like a fucking whore, ‘Poor Art, he’s so sad and pathetic, I’ll let him fuck my slutty pussy to help his raise his self esteem!’.” He mocks, voice pitched up in an exaggerated impression of you.

Your grip tightens on the handle of your racket, knuckles turning white with it. You feel hot all over, anger simmering under your sweaty skin. “You’re seriously trying to lecture me about egos? This has nothing to do with Art! This is about you being a bratty little rich boy who’s never been told ‘no’ before so you can’t handle rejection. It’s fucking embarrassing.”

Patrick nostrils flare, brows pinching together in anger. “Art has nothing to do with this, really? You’re delusional if you actually think that he’s just this saint among men or some shit. He’s not, he’s a fucking snake.”

“Trust me, Art doesn’t have to be a saint to be better than you.” you sneer, voice sharp and unwavering. Your hands are shaking, blind rage racking through your body like thunder. “The only redeeming quality you’ll ever have is dangling between your legs so you better get used to this, because sooner or later everyone will leave you once they see past all your bullshit and realize that you’re nothing more than a worthless loser.”

Patrick’s jaw works furiously, his fists clenching and unclenching at his sides. You think something like hurt flashes through his eyes, but only for a second. It's gone just as fast, replaced by a mocking smirk that stretches over his lips slowly. He crosses his arms in front of him, shamelessly raking his eyes over your body. You can practically see the gears turning in his head. 

“So who fucks better?” he asks bluntly, a bead of sweat dripping down the column of his throat and into the neck of his tank.

A shocked laugh bursts from your lips before you can stop it. “What?” you ask, arms dropping to your sides limply. The completely one-eighty of his mood sends your head reeling. 

Patrick takes another step closer, invading your personal space. “Who fucks better?” he repeats slowly, leaning down to meet your eye. “Me or Art? Don’t fucking lie to me and tell me that prissy farmer boy makes you come harder than I do.”

You laugh again, shaking your head in disbelief. “God, everything is always a dick measuring contest with you. It’s so pathetic like, seriously–”

“Answer the question.” Patrick demands, cutting you off sharply. He’s practically looming over you now, so close that you can smell him. That natural, manly, musky scent he always has after a game that drives you fucking crazy. 

It reminds you of when he’d come back to your dorm fresh off a match, still in the same clothes and not showered. Pumped full of adrenaline and so pent up, needing something to take his energy out on. You were always that something. He’d fuck your mouth like he’d fuck your pussy, like it was just another hole for him drain his balls into. You’d be face down in his crotch for what seemed like hours, right where his smell was the strongest. Forced to breathe it in so deeply you’d feel high off it, your brain turned to mush every time.

Heat swirls deep in your stomach, you haven’t been this close to Patrick in what seems like forever. You kind of forgot how much he affects you, especially like this. The sex was always better when you’d fight before.

“You’re a child.”

“You still haven’t answered the question.”

You huff, narrowing your eyes at him. There’s a sort of crazed look on his face, his pupils blown out and dark. It makes you pause, it’s the look you’d get right before he’d pounce on you. You’ve seen it enough times to know that something is different about it. He looks needier, more hungry. 

It has some of your anger subsiding, twisted amusement swiftly taking its place. If Patrick wants to ambush you like this, after weeks of radio silence, you might as well use it as a chance to fuck with him.

You smirk, cocking your head to the side slightly. “Art,” you say slowly, taking a small step towards Patrick, “is a better fuck than you ever were.”

Patrick pouts like an honest to God child, sticking out his bottom lip in indignation. “I told you not to lie–”

“I’m not lying,” you say innocently, voice dropping down to a whisper as you lean in even closer. You can see the freckles sprinkled across his nose and cheeks, darker than usual thanks to all the sun he’s been getting. “Last night he ate me out for hours, made me squirt all over his fucking tongue.” 

For the first time since you’ve met him, Patrick Zweig is shocked into silence. His eyes darken, you can’t even see the green anymore, the solid black of his pupils swallowing it entirely. “Bullshit,” he says quietly, clipped and skeptical. His breath fans hotly over your lips, it makes your spine start to tingle.

You smile sweetly, giving a small shrug of your shoulders. “I’ll send you the video.”

Patrick physically reels back, blinking slowly with the realization of what you just said. His lips barely part in surprise, pink and enticing. You revel in it, smirking at him smugly. His eyes flit across your face like he’s trying to figure out if you’re lying or not. You stare back at him unrelenting, all the proof you need is sitting in the video gallery of your pink motorola razr. 

Patrick swallows hard, you watch the way his adam’s apple bobs with it. He shifts his lower body subtly, but you’re too close to not notice it. Your eyes immediately dart down, and you’re almost giddy at what you find. 

He’s hard, the fabric of his shorts stretched over the length of his dick obscenely. You can see the faint outline of the tip pressing against the seam, a wet patch seeping through the gray material around it.

“Oh my god, you’re actually getting off on this!” you laugh wickedly, eyes glued to the lewd tent of his dick. “You’re calling me a whore when you’re the one getting wet just thinking about your best friend's mouth on my pussy. That’s fucking pathetic even for you, Ricky.”

Patrick is silent, breathing heavily through his nose as he stares you down so intensely you can almost feel the heavy weight of his eyes as they bore into you. 

It happens in less than a second, Patrick closing the distance between you and taking your arm in his strong hand so he can force you in the direction of the showers. His grip is tight on your bicep, fingers meanly digging into your skin and forcing you to walk with him. You put up a fight, kicking and scratching but he’s stronger than you. Not letting your slaps to his chest or nails sinking into his arm deter him from dragging you across the court. 

“Let me go asshole!” you snap, trying in vain to yank your arm out of his grip while you stumble over your own feet. “You’re such a fucking psycho!” Patrick ignores you, bursting into the men's showers and marching you into the first stall. He drags you inside, whirling you around to shove your back against the door of it roughly. It knocks the wind out of you for a second, the lock digs into your back hard enough to hurt.

“Art doesn’t have any fucking idea how to deal with a bitch like you.” he grates, fisting a handful of your harshly. “He’s too soft. Too busy letting you lead him around by his dick to try putting you in your fucking place.”

The sting of your scalp only adds to the warmth pulsing in your pussy, sticky arousal dripping wet in your panties. You meet his eyes, all the fire and want swirling in them mirror your own. “Art has a bigger dick than you bitch.” You spit, standing on your tiptoes to lessen the distance of him tugging on your hair. It’s a low blow, immature and basic but you don’t care.

Patrick just hum noncommittally, roughly hooking his fingers into your cheeks and dragging you forward until the tip of your nose is touching his. “Then your throat is still nice and stretched out for me.”

He drops his hands to your shoulders, forcing you onto your knees. You hit the ground with a heavy thud, a dull ache blooms in your knees at the force of it. “Fuck,” you hiss, pulling back instinctively but the hard plastic of the shower door pressing onto the back of your head keeps you pinned in place. Your hands fly up to his legs to try and push him away.

Patrick grips your hair tight, tipping your face up to look at him. You have a perfect view of him pushing his shorts down, letting his hard dick slip out as the fabric stretches taught across his thick thighs. “Open your mouth,” he demands, yanking your head to the side meanly.

“Fuck you,” you snarl, teeth bared in anger as you fight to stand up. Patrick’s strong hand on your shoulder keeps you down while the other starts to idly stroke his dick. He’s just as big as you remember, thick and hard only a few inches away from your face.

The tip all red and weepy when he pulls his foreskin back on each tug, a thick vein running up the side that you want to trace with your tongue.

“Don’t be like that, baby,” he coos softly, rubbing his leaking tip across your bottom lip a couple times, smearing his pre-come around your mouth like lip gloss. “We both know you love it.”

He’s so cocky, so sure of himself that you want to keep denying him. But he’s also right, you can feel your resolve slowly start to crack when he pushes the head between your parted lips. The familiar heady taste of him oozing onto your tongue has you sighing contently, jaw relaxing the tiniest bit almost like a reflex.

The second you give Patrick an inch and he’ll take a mile. 

“There we go,” he mutters sweetly, pulling back slightly and then thrusting forward until your nose is buried in the short curls at the base. 

Your whole body tenses, throat constricting over the length of his dick as your fist his shorts in your hands. As quickly as he thrust in, he pulls out, letting you sharply gasp for air before it’s back and pressing insistently on your tongue. You let him in, forcing your throat to relax as he slides forward to press his hips into your face.

“You’re such a fucking brat,” he bites out, thrusting down your throat roughly. “Pussy’s so greedy it jumped on the next dick that perked up around it.”

You could only whine around Patrick’s dick, mouth too full to do anything but try and work your tongue over the throbbing length of him.

Your throat burns, spit flowing down your chin messily along with his pre-come still steadily leaking from the hot tip of his dick.

His big hands have an iron grip on either side of your head, his balls slap against your chin as he thrusts over and over and over. The back of your skull throbs, knocking into the stall with each pump of his hips.

“Fuck,” he groans, dropping his forehead down to the stall with a small thunk. “You look so good like this,” he breathes, looking down at you through half-lidded eyes, “so fucking pretty with my dick down your throat to shut you up.”

Your pussy aches, so empty that you want to shove your hand down your shorts and stuff yourself full of your own fingers to dull the need. Your thighs glide together slickly, the wetness of your arousal soaking through your clothes.

It gets harder to breathe. Your choked off, spluttering gags start loudly echoing off the tile walls. Your hand slaps Patrick’s thigh a few times, he thrusts hard once more before he finally pulls back, smearing spit all over your tongue and out of your mouth.

“God, that was good baby.” he praises, slapping his dick against your right cheek lewdly. “As much as I want to pump this load down your throat,” he says casually, stroking his spit slick dick lazily, ”I want it in your pussy more.”

“I fucking hate you,” you growl weakly, voice absolutley wrecked. The tears sitting in your waterline blur your vision, you blink them away to see Patrick’s smug smile beaming down at you. 

“Then tell me to stop,” he shrugs, tilting his head to the side condescendingly. You glare up at him, but you don’t say anything. He snorts, brow raising in amusement. “Yeah, that’s what I thought.” 

He shoves his shorts the rest of the way down, stepping out of them and hauling you up to your feet. You’re still desperately trying to catch your breath, chest heaving as you cough and gasp.

Patrick rips your shirt over your head, flinging it over the stall along with his own. He turns you by your shoulder, pushing you against the wall as he yanks the shower handle to start the stream.

Water rains down around you, shockingly cold for a few seconds before it finally starts to warm up. Patrick makes quick work of your shorts and panties, yanking them down your legs and off your feet, tossing them in the corner of the stall with a wet thwack.

He kicks your feet further apart, one hand on your shoulder and the other lining his hard dick up with your tight hole, letting the leaking tip press into you with the smallest amount of pressure.

“I know you missed my dick, slut,” he says, bringing his hand down on your ass quickly, kneading the stinging skin roughly. “Art could be the best fuck in the world, he still can’t give it to you like I can.” He pops the head in, groaning quietly before he bullies his thick dick the rest of the way into you.

Your hole shakes around him. Patick is right. Patrick is always right, but you’d never tell him that. You wanted this. You missed this. The burn of Patrick’s dick forcing you open, stretching you so wide your toes curl. Him not giving you even a second to react before he’s pulling back and pounding into you brutally.

You cry out, eyes screwing shut at the sharp sting. You can tell through the haze of you brain that this won’t take long at all, the both of you already so worked up from Patrick fucking your throat. His right hand drops from your shoulder to your hip while his left slides up your torso, sliding along your skin to wrap around the column of your throat firmly. You keen loudly, throwing your head back to give him more room.

“I taught him how to use that fucking dick,” he goads into your ear, grip tightening on your throat. “Did he tell you about that? Huh?” He takes your earlobe between your teeth, biting hard enough to make you squeal into the wall.

The tile digs into your cheek, roughly scraping against your skin every time Patrick fucks back into you. 

You’re hovering over the edge, pussy throbbing with the burning need to come. Your clit pulses, swollen and sensitive but you can’t find the strength to drop your down hand between your thighs.

They’re too busy scrambling for any kind of purchase on the slippery wall of the shower, manicured nails scratching against the tile uselessly.

You gasp for air, fighting to speak up under the intense pressure of his hand, “I could tell,” you choke out, barely audible, “you both fuck like you have something to prove.”

“You think?” he sneers, thrusting harder, your ass stinging each time he slams his hips into you. “Maybe that’s because we do. Maybe that’s because we both like seeing you fucking fall apart like this, seeing you beg for it after you finally stop being a little pissy bitch.” 

Your breath hitches as his other hand drops from your hip, delving between your thighs to slide the calloused pads of his fingertips over your swollen clit.

You moan, thighs clenching together as he rubs fast circles over you. “You like that, don’t you? Being used like a fucking toy.” His hand squeezes just a bit tighter. “Say it. Tell me you love being our little slut.”

The words spill out of your mouth before you can stop them, a mix of desperation and raw honesty, “I love it,” you cry out as loud as you can, “I love being your slut.”

“God, you sound just like him,” Patrick chuckles into your ear, low and sinister. His hold on your throat tightens, cutting off your air entirely. You sputter, hand coming up to clutch his wrist like a vice. Your pulse thunders, hard enough that he can probably feel it against his palm. “Who do you think made him come harder?”

The image alone of Patrick and Art like that sends you flying to the edge. “Ah— Patrick! ” you moan, voice hoarse and strained, “Pat, I’m gonna— fuck—“

“Do it,” he goads, sliding his hand from your clit down to where your pussy is spread open on him. He pushes his thick index finger right up next to his pulsing dick, hooking it inside or you and stretching you that much wider. “Come on my fucking dick like the greedy whore you are.”

You let out a sharp cry as your forehead hits the wall, thighs shaking violently as Patrick’s hips become relentless. Your whole body tensing up as you come so hard your vision blacks out.

You think you’re screaming, but it’s hard to hear anything over the white noise buzzing in your ears. Patrick’s hips don’t stop, fucking your abused pussy into overstimulation as he chases his own orgasm.

His hand drops from your throat to dig into your hip to put more power behind his thrusts. You’re immediately gasping for air, taking in greedy lungfuls of it.

Patrick’s chest is plastered to your back, face buried in your neck as he rambles out more nonsensical obscenities. His dick pulses and twitches in your pussy, so close to filling you up.

An idea pierces through the fog of your brain, an idea so fucking filthy it has your pussy clenching weakly.

You think back to the first night Art fucked you, how he almost came all over Patrick’s pants just because they were his, just because you said his name. How worked up and hard Patrick got when you started talking about Art. 

“When he fucked me for the first time, I was wearing your sweats, the green ones,” your voice is scratchy and quiet, barely audible over the shower’s spray, “he noticed.”

“Fuck– fuck you,” he grates out, hips faltering ever so slightly. “God, gonna come,” his hold on your hip tightens, strong enough that it’ll be sure to bruise.

You keep talking, spurred on by his reaction. “He almost came right there, he wasn’t even inside me yet, just rubbed his dick all over them like he could fucking feel you.”

Patrick gives one final slam of his hips, burying himself as deep as he can in your pussy. His low groans and curses fill the room as he unloads into you, pumping you so full of his come that you can feel each hot splash of it painting the walls of your pussy. 

He slumps down against you, hips twitching as he works through the aftershocks. You can feel his breath puff over the shell of your ear. 

You and Patrick say nothing for a long few minutes, running water the only thing to keep the room from being completely silent. Patrick is still pressed to your back, his chest heaves against your shoulders. You think you’d collapse if his hands weren’t still on your hips, practically holding you up.

You’re the one to break the silence, voice low and wrecked, “Art lasts so much longer than that…”

Patrick snorts against your back. “Fuck you.” he says, biting your shoulder hard and pulling his dick out of you in one swift move. You gasp sharply as his come floods from your puffy, wrecked hole. Thick streams of it dripping down your thighs until the water washes it away to swirl down the drain. 

You turn on unsteady legs, hair plastered to your face with water. Patrick is right there, knees knocking against yours as he shifts the two of you closer to the spray. He looks like a marble statue, water dripping down the tip of his nose and between the hard planes of his abs.

He grins smugly down at you, “I’m staying at a hotel close to campus, unblock my number and I’ll send you my room number,” he wagers, hands sliding up and down the wet skin of your back. “I think you, Art, and I have something we need to work out.”

“Yeah,” you agree, nodding your head with a small grin. “I think we do”

tags are now in the comments! if you want to get tagged for any of my works just fill out this form!

[bisclavaret]

a day late to my 6 years on t anniversary ✨🏳️‍⚧️ a short comic about looking back

[egophiliac]

The cut they did with the latest chapter...Malleus was straight up a HORROR VILLAIN IN THE BEST AND MOST TERRIFYING WAY EVER.

"You're 'awake', aren't you, Shroud?" CHILLS LITERAL CHILLS

now, let's be fair to Malleus, he started out very politely! a dainty little knock on Idia's door. graciously allow a couple of minutes to give him a chance to realize that his rebellion is futile and all shall succumb in the end. then, when that doesn't work, a firmer but still unquestionably mannerly knock. then just straight-up haunting his shit

honestly, there was a surprising amount of Twst trying out just a little bit of horror movie in this one! like. you're having a nice cup of tea one minute and then it turns into Alice in Wonderland Does The Cube. everything's red for some reason. your friend's mom is actually a mass of giant shrieking arms rising from the depths to drown you in an ocean of chamomile. this is all a precursor to being hunted as the most dangerous game throughout a labyrinth by dopplegangers of your best friends. what's going on, Twst. are you okay.

[hinamie]

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