#and it's scary to leave when the good is good and the bad is...

[sunny-knight]

What Kind Of Monster Was He?

A @forgettable-au fan (colored) animatic

MINOR BLOOD WARNING!

*Was he the kind to do too much, or not enough?

…OK, SO WHAT HAD HAPPENED WAS-

I had planned to finish this into a full fledged animation, but a lot of the parts I did end up finishing just didnt live up to what I imagined…I waited for more motivation to happen, but it just didnt so HERES THE COLORED ANIMATIC CAUSE IM REALLLY HAPPY WITH WHAT I HAVE and ive sat on posting this for like a 2 weeks 😭 which is an eternity in my time

Im gonna post the unfinished “finished” part on my side account @o-sunny-day though! and probably have people yell at me cause it actually isnt that bad AND IT TOTALLY ISNT I just… art. You get it. ENOUGH YAPPING! ITS TIME TO YAP!

except not yet, MORE BACKGROUND INFO HUCDHUC- but its background info on explaining the lore…

The explaining is much less expansive than in Dear My Dear just because I didnt work on it long enough to think every bit of it through. This is just a clean, nicer looking, and colored version of the very first storyboard.

I usually think about and put more effort into the little stuff while making the FINISHED bits since ive had so much more time to think about that in all the preppin n sketching.

BUT I liked the explaining format I did for Dear My Dear so im sticking with it!

The main idea for this was to do a study of Wingdings’ character from what we’ve been given, mainly focusing in on the expectations he puts on himself because holy shit the lyrics for this works so stupidly well it makes me mad LOOK AT THIS???

its ridiculous. i love it. I didnt know Jack Stauber helped write Forgettable AU???? woww!!! ANYWHO thats the gist of it, not much context is needed past that. Onto the sillies!!!! (per usual excuse the shitty quality of the pngs idk why Tumblr does that-)

Did you know love? Will you rest in peace?

Wingdings and Sans holding hands as kids, before turning to a casket like appearance for adult WD. The flowers hes holding are pretty important too, Marigolds to represent grief, Lilys, new life, and Forget Me Nots for this lovely little line I found when looking up good flowers to use-

“a promise to always remember” ….stop that.

That actually also has a double meaning in this case too. 1, ofc the forgetting of Wingdings. But ALSO Wingdings forgetting something himself. Forgetting who he is. Almost like a Zuko ATLA situation.

Did you have a family?

Who knows where theyre parents are, but this is HAPPY TIME and we’re gonna assume they were so awesome and very kind but had to leave or went to a farm in the sky for whatever reason.

The colors here I had a lot of fun with. Their parents had warm colors but the boys have cold, still with warm accents. Its said they more or less raised each other being very independent as shown in the second part with them running out the door by themselves.

How was the view from the shelf? Did you ever believe in yourself?

Before, we started with the beginnings. The good things, the only thing Wingdings cares to even recall. Now we’re seeing his life really start to turn upside down- making first contact with The Player :D

He’s hesitant to reach out, but is intrigued, before getting a rushing revelation of his reality and how it isnt “real”

Rather than feeling crushing existential dread, he more feels pressured to be BETTER, to figure a solution, to do something. Thats what white represents here

WHAT KIND OF MILK WERE YOU?

We then switch to more examples of how Wingdings is taking this pressure (not well) The soft tones of yellow that were shown before, turn to way brighter, intensifying that feeling that he should be fine, he should be happy, drowning in success of being the Royal Scientist.

But he just desperately wants to just go back to a time of nice coldness.

The warm vs cold tones in this I had so much fun with, coldness is supposed to represent hostility usually, while warm is nice and happy. (same with Black and white. Scary, relieving,) But these points often contradict each other, its hard to tell what you’re feeling vs what you’re supposed to be feeling. Just like Wingdings!

WHAT KIND OF LIFE DID YOU LIVE THROUGH?

The white lab coats, the expectations, theyre on all of them. But Wingdings has essentially become his expectations.

He questions what life he wants to live, one being himself and alone (speaking in wingdings) or not himself and with company (speaking in a “normal” font) Still, he frames it in past tense as he believes theres no going back now, based on what he knows.

“One of the last happy moments they had together” stop that. (i cant find a link to when that was said but I know it was once, about them taking a photo together….)

DID YOUR LIFE RUN RICH WITH CALCIUM?

Calcium….bonesss :3 Hehehehdhehfhehehheheheh still dont know why he has holes in his hands so we’re movin on

DID THEY LAUGH AT YOU OR DID YOU LAUGH AT THEM?

Compared to the childhood Wingdings remembered, heres the sadder, bleaker, more realistic version. He always thought they were laughing at him but… maybe they werent.

DAIRY BELOVED. YOUR DAYS ARE GONE,

It doesnt matter now though. Because in the NOW, Wingdings has become consumed by his expectations of himself, seeing this has the “only option” to do the only thing that he feels will give his life meaning and purpose, establishing connection with THE PLAYER

But the grocery list goes on…

And yet life continues on without him, and his room is transformed into a more livable space now that someone is…living in it. Always hurts so much making the differences between Wingdings and Papyrus’ room. It feels like making something out of the man Wingdings COULD HAVE been. Because honestly thats just what Papyrus is,

Thank you to my bestie @fruitytrip for helping me with all of my art in general but especially the storyboarding on this :3 <3

[angelsberrymilk]

I had never thought about shipping Soldier Boy and Sam, and now they won't leave my mind 👁️👄👁️

I need more of them!!!

soldier boy is mean and crazy, especially after being held captive for like 40 years and so when he finally escapes he realises everything changed and ppl have forgotten him as a hero. and it seems like the only person who genuinely cares abt him is this bright eyed guy who's freakishly tall and has princess hair, Sam, he said his name was.

the thing is, soldier boy's name is Ben, not freaking dean, and who's Dean anyway??? but that doesn't matter when Sam is there looking after him and is like, so glad he found him and hugs him so tight, and soldier boy misses the physical contact, misses human affection.

don't get me wrong now, soldier boy is a bad man, he's really shitty and everyone would be safer if he died, but luckily Sammy is there to distract him from committing crimes, or at least some of them.

Sammy knows that's not his brother, but that's a version of his brother, he wears his face and sounds like him, and he likes greasy burgers and shitty diner food, as it happens, so there's similarities after all. Sammy doesn't care that the more he looks into this guy, the more scary, and fucked up shit he finds abt him, this version of Dean is NOT good, he's a total maniac. but the only reason he's like this is because he doesn't have sam in this universe, doesn't have Bobby or Castiel or even Baby.

Soldier Boy drags Sammy with him whenever they go and Sammy follows, he listens to Sam trying to explain he's from another universe and that in the other universe they're brothers, and all soldier boy says is, "I'm not your brother," Sammy is a bit confused but keeps going and tells him abt monsters they hunt, demons, angels and soldier boy listens, and all he takes away from that speech is that Sammy is definitely on something, and soldier boy WANTS some from what he's having.

Sam also quickly realises that in this universe, people have superpowers, so gets cornered once at a gas stop by someone who can turn their skin into burning lava, and Sammy quickly realises he's vulnerable here, he doesn't know the first thing to fight off these people, it's a scary world, but then soldier boy shows up, and he's furious, blasts that person away and goes to town on them, he's animalistic, sadistic and brutal, with every hit, with every crunch and every rip, Sammy flinches, blood and fire flying everywhere.

and when soldier boy is done he has a wild look on his face, he's satisfied with his work, so he drags a shaking Sammy back in the car and Sammy just starts crying, he doesn't make any noises either and the man doesn't even know what to do, so he does the first thing he can think off and hugs him tight, and as soon as he wraps his inhumanly strong arms around Sammy, Sammy starts to sob. and soldier boy thinks of how to calm him down, so he thinks of westerns he's watched where the main lead would comfort the girl after she gets kidnapped or hurt, so he does just that, rocks them a little, runs his hands down Sammy's back and stroked his hair, shushing and cooing at him, that nobody will hurt him, not if soldiers there, not if deans there.

[chevroletdean]

sibling!reader dealing with demon!dean headcanons (req.) ── ✮⋆˙

Pairing: None, just platonic Winchester!Reader (fem) and her brothers Genre: Angst, fluff To note/warnings: Hurt/comfort, grief (temporary character death, as in Sam and Reader think Dean died), canon level violence A/N: A great way to start the year is definitely getting a cool request by @midnight--raine! Tysm, dear, your praise means a lot to me <3 and I 100% agree, Demon!Dean is terrifying. Still my favorite arc ever, because I’m a sucker for the nitty, gritty, dark and scary, but yes. Credit & links: dividers ──〃★ request here

Sam’s heart breaks twice that day. For one, there is the crushing grief that comes with watching the life disappear from his brother’s eyes. Then the realization: How could he possibly tell his sister what happened? Dean’s death is tearing him apart, and he knows it will absolutely destroy her.

There’s no easy way to deliver the news. But, alas, he’s spending a good amount of time sitting alone in the Impala, Dean’s lifeless body in the backseat. The ride back to the bunker was the hardest ever, the silence nearly driving him insane. Sam is thinking back and forth on what to say, what to do.

He knows waltzing in, carrying the corpse is not an option. If anything, Sam doesn’t want her to see Dean like that at all. Though he figures she’ll probably want to see for herself.

She probably already knows something bad happened the second Sam enters the bunker. Of course she does, her brothers have trained her to stay alert 24/7, to look at her surroundings with a keen eye — Dean would be so proud of her people reading skill right now. Sam’s by himself and his expression… he’s devastated, though he tries to keep it together for her sake. It can only mean one thing.

It feels wrong right away. She can tell. It’s obvious when he doesn’t answer her questions. “Where’s Dean?” Silence. It speaks volumes. “It’s not funny, this is a dumb prank.” Sam still can’t bring himself to speak up.

She runs past him, straight outside to look for Dean, even when Sam tries to stop her.

Sam’s glad he thought of draping a jacket over Dean’s body before talking to his sister. She shouldn’t have to see her brother so lifeless, after all. This view alone, even just through the car window, is enough to traumatize her.

What happened isn’t his fault, but Sam still apologizes over and over again. He can just stand there and feel guilty while he’s holding her shaky form.

It’s not their first rodeo with death and while it doesn’t make it any less sad, her tears convince Sam even more that he has to fix this, somehow.

That night she can’t sleep. Nothing can console her, not even Sam. Though she is grateful to have him at her side.

It’s the same for Sam, honestly. With both of them restless, they dig through the library, they try to find anything to bring Dean back.

In the end, she’ll probably fall asleep right at the desk, her eyes heavy and sore from crying and reading. It’s not a peaceful slumber by all means, it’s more like her brain and body just shut down.

Sam carries her to her room, but the second he tucks her into bed and wants to leave again, she wakes and sobs again.

She’s terrified to spend the night alone, nightmares haunting her. If it were for her, she’d be up and in the library again, but Sam manages to make her agree to a compromise: She will try and get some rest and he will stay with her.

None of them get another wink of sleep that night, she’s staining Sam’s shirt with tears while he’s busy brushing his fingers through her hair.

The next couple of days are rough. The bunker feels like a graveyard, Dean’s presence is definitely missing.

She finds herself wanting to prank her brother like every morning — she’d always exchange his shampoo bottle with the ketchup bottle, shed secretly put a Celine Dion cassette in the Impala. Now, there’s no point for any of that.

Instinctively she grabs onto any piece of Dean she still has. She takes one of his shirts to wear, his scent still lingering in the fabric. She doesn’t touch the piece of pie in the fridge, which she’d usually steal, but she wants to keep it there, preserve it, just in case Dean will magically return.

When Dean’s body disappears, it’s like losing him all over again at first. He’s suddenly gone, again, and panic sets in. And it feels even more permanent. However, it’s also a glimmer of hope, right? He has to be somewhere, so is he alive after all?

Sam’s more reluctant to get his hopes up high. He’s dealt with heavy losses before. Seeing his sister motivated to find Dean is a double-edged sword. It’s the first time since Dean’s death that he sees her eyes sparkle again. But he’s also scared she’ll break down even more when this turns out to be another tragedy.

It’s because of that very reason that Sam’s working on this without telling his sister. He hates keeping secrets from her, he hates lying to her, but he can’t bring himself to feed into her delusions only for her to end up even more hurt. So, when he’s able to track Dean down, he’s not telling anyone.

It bites him in the ass. While Sam’s out trying to find Dean, Dean’s already on the way to find her.

She looks like she’s seen a ghost, honestly. Wide eyes staring at him and filled with tears. Suddenly all her hunting skills are out the window. She doesn’t care to throw holy water at him, she doesn’t think of nicking him with silver. Demons, skinwalkers, none of it exists to her in that moment. All she can think about is her big brother being back.

She jumps right into his arms, scolding him, whining and sniffling and hugging him with a death grip.

Dean’s quiet, eerily so, but that’s not enough to make her suspect anything just yet. Maybe he’s tired, maybe she’s confused, it’s so much all at once. She refuses to let go of him, afraid he’ll slip away again, so she drags him to the kitchen and happily presents the piece of pie to him.

Dean doesn’t even touch it. Hell, he’s not even looking at it.

She quickly texts Sam, letting him know Dean’s back at the bunker. Then, when she looks up from her phone again and sees Dean not eating, she’s starting to get doubtful.

Dean not digging into pie? Is he sick or something? “You okay?”

There’s a grin on Dean’s lips that doesn’t quite reach his eyes and it feels off. It feels dangerous. “Never felt better.”

The wheels are turning in her head and her blood runs cold. She didn’t do any of the routine checks. Why didn’t she do any of the routine checks? Sam and Dean have taught her better, but she was so caught up in the moment and…

Her phone buzzes and Sam’s reply is simple. ‘That is not Dean.’ Her eyes widen. ‘Demon. Get away.’

The three or four seconds she spent looking at her phone are what almost gets her killed. It’s plenty of time for Dean to grab the kitchen knife and aim it at his sister instead of the pie.

She manages to dodge, somehow, although Dean makes it sound like he just enjoys playing with his prey. As his eyes turn jet-black, she knows she’s in trouble.

“I’ll give you a headstart, sis,” he hums and even his voice sounds so twisted, so wrong.

“Headstart?,” she echoes. “Dean, please, you don’t wanna—”

“Ten… Nine…”

He absolutely wants to. Sam’s right, this isn’t Dean. Not their Dean.

She bolts out of the kitchen as fast as she can. The bunker is big, but the problem remains that they all know it inside and out — where can she possibly hide? Should she lock herself in the dungeon? Should she ditch the place altogether?

“Six… Five…”

Panicked, she just makes a run for it, not knowing where to quite yet, but knowing it had to be away. As far away as possible. She scrambles to find a weapon, anything to fend off a demon, though she hates the thought of fighting against Dean. Not only would she not stand a chance against her brother, she could never bring herself to harming him or his vessel.

“Ready or not here I come.”

She’s definitely not ready. He could’ve given her a minute, an hour, a freakin’ year, nothing could prepare her for such a chase.

Stupidly, she decides to hide in Dean’s room. It’s far from the safest option, but it’s where her feet have carried her. She can’t really think of any room in the bunker that could protect her from the demonic version of her brother, but here at least, she’s surrounded by happy memories, right?

She’s holding her breath, clutching Ruby’s knife in her trembling hand.

It’s only through a trick that she’s able to survive. Of course, Dean finds her, but she’s fast and able to (a) distract him long enough to make preparations and (b) then lure him to the dungeons.

Dean’s not dumb, he knows there’s a devil’s trap. But he didn’t know there were two of them. She’s haphazardly drawn one he didn’t see until he is standing in it.

Bless all the times she has cursed in the past. She has complained to Sam so often whenever he had forced her to practice drawing pentagrams. She’ll make sure to thank him for it later.

Speaking of the devil, Sam returns just a bit later. He must’ve broken several traffic laws racing back to the bunker, but between that and his sister’s safety, she obviously came first.

He thought she’d be pissed at him for lying to her, but she has a priority too right now: Turning Dean into a human again.

It’s definitely not an easy task. More specifically, it’s downright nauseating to witness the purification process. Dean’s clearly suffering, the pain must be agonizing, but they are able to heal him.

Dean’s back, and he’s human again and it’s all she could’ve ever asked for.

Now, for Dean? Shit, he won’t be able to look into the mirror for a very long time. He always sees himself as the family’s protector. His siblings are his world and to think he attacked his baby sister? It’s killing him.

He feels so guilty he’s not able to look her in the eyes, let alone talk to her or touch her.

Which is why when she hugs him, clinging to his form sobbing, he thinks he doesn’t deserve that kind of trust. His greatest fear is that she’s now scared of him. She’d have every right to be, he attacked her with a damn knife.

“It wasn’t you. It was your body, but not your mind. I mean, that thing comes up with all sorts of dumb things, but not that kind of dumb.”

He can’t help but chuckle at that, of course she’s already back to sibling banter. How she manages to pretend like nothing happened is beyond him.

The events stick with him for a very long time, they never fully disappear from his conscience. He wishes he could wipe the memory of your panicked eyes from his brain, but that image will still haunt him in his grave.

Something has changed though. His shampoo is shampoo and his cassettes are his cassettes. There’s always pie in the fridge and she’s not playing any pranks on him anymore.

It makes him feel even worse. Especially when she explains to him that she’d rather be nice to her pain-in-the-ass brother and have him alive than be mean and have him dead.

“You know one thing doesn’t have anything to do with the other, right?”

It almost sounds like she’s blaming herself. As if Dean’s death was her punishment for bickering 24/7. It’s not right, if anyone should be feeling guilty, it’s him. And he does. God, he does.

It’s very obvious that she’s more afraid of losing him again than she is of the monster he’s become.

He’s set out on playing double the amount of pranks on her then, in hopes of getting some normalcy back. Of reminding his little sister that he’s still here, he’ll always be there. He’ll always be her pain-in-the-ass brother that’ll look out for her and keep her safe and play pranks on her.

When one morning he finds his toothbrush in a jar of pickles, bristles soaked in the vinegar-y liquid, it’s a small victory. Her post-it note with a smug smiley drawn on it is a step in the right direction.

Dean Winchester Taglist (Put a green heart 💚 in the comments to be added to the Dean x Reader taglist): @ladysparkles78 @ariasong11 @winchester-whiskey @whormotional @spacecowgirl126

@zepskies @calibootsgirl @hot-and-confused @spookyfunhottub @berryblues46

@midnight--raine @emmy21842 @whichwitchwanda @foxyjwls007 @lyarr24

@whump-loverz @cassieriddle713 @ilovedeanwinchester4

Sam Winchester Taglist (Put a book emoji 📚 in the comments to be added to the Sam x Reader taglist): @s7nburn @whump-loverz

Please note: Ageless blogs will only be tagged in fluff and angst posts!

[anniebeckcalla]

𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘱𝘪𝘤𝘵𝘶𝘳𝘦𝘴; ・'°☆

╰┈➤ at the cinema with nct dream:

non-idol au. wc:N/A. tw: slight skinship, fluff, the usual

calla's note: trying out a new style, don't mind me !! also, this drabble might not be accurate to life.

𝘩𝘢𝘦𝘤𝘩𝘢𝘯

as usual, the cinema is an opportunity for affection. as discreetly as possible, while pretending to yawn, he stretches his arm and places it around your shoulders. you choose peace and allow him to keep you close during the film session…it's no use fighting against haechan when he wants to cuddle.

𝘫𝘦𝘯𝘰

jeno chose a scary/violent film (to show how brave he is)...of course, when the film starts, he notices what a bad idea it was. you feel how scared he is next to you and slip your hand in his silently. you grimace quietly when he squeezes your hand (almost right out of its socket) and try to hold back your laughter when you look across at him and see his eyes screwed shut. jeno knows he'll never hear the end of this when the film is over.

𝘫𝘢𝘦𝘮𝘪𝘯

you and jaemin came to the cinema to have a good time, and you intend to fulfill your wish. jaemin manages to sneak in a ton load of snacks that you devour before the adverts have finished, and when the film starts, you can't stop laughing at the smallest things that the characters say and do. it goes without saying that you left with all the film merchandise that the cinema has to offer at the counter, and you're going to be quoting the film for weeks afterward.

𝘮𝘢𝘳𝘬

you and mark go to watch a musical film. mark’s not afraid to hold back from singing along to all the songs (how did he know them before watching the film?) and he asks you to write them down so that he can play a few of them on his guitar later on. thanks to his easygoing nature, you become encouraged to sing along as well, whether you get the lyrics wrong or not. like most musicals, this one is emotional, and towards the end, mark's crying, quietly dabbing his face with a tissue so that he doesn't disturb the other film watchers.

𝘳𝘦𝘯𝘫𝘶𝘯

being the artistic prowess that he is, renjun chooses a beautiful film for you two to watch. as you gaze on, mesmerised by the beautiful filmmaking quality, renjun slips his hand into yours, your fingers interlocked for what feels like a blissful eternity. you rest your head on renjun's shoulder, and he smiles to himself, grateful that he's alive in the same timeframe as you.

𝘫𝘪𝘴𝘶𝘯𝘨

jisung is shy, so he's very awkward during the film session. he keeps staring at you rather than the screen, and when you catch him looking, he stares into his snacks, cheeks scarlet with coyness. When you lean over to whisper something to him, he drops his popcorn bag and sends the kernels rolling all down the row. he's ready to leave the country by now, but you guide him through his shyness. “we'll leave the minute the credits start rolling, don't worry,” you reassure him. jisung nods, glad to be with someone who won't laugh at him.

𝘤𝘩𝘦𝘯��𝘦

you and chenle choose a boring film to watch (“it had good reviews!”) and so the film date turns into an opportunity to talk to each other while eating popcorn. chenle likes to hear you talk. he loves the sound of your voice, and so he is hooked onto your every word. the other members of the audience don't feel the same way, though, and you both end up receiving dirty looks from everyone in the row behind you. when chenle realises, he takes your hand. “let's go,” he says, “this film wasn't even that good anyway.” you can always spend time together at home, anyway, far from the despising stares and boring cinematography.

masterlist

taglist ♡: @cigsaftersuh @jenoleeaesthetic @pl4netx1a @herjaemin @jeonghansshitester

[scintillyyy]

do you have recs for janet drake fics, where her characterisation isnt evil abuser cold etc

ooooh this is actually a kind of tall order because the problem is that most fics that still try to be better parent janet drake still usually fall into the trap of "she was a cold business shark! she just loved tim despite it" even though the drakes are shown as a family who 1) generally like spending time together with their son when they're home 2) are shown to be a very huggy and tactile family & janet's main character trait for the little she appears is being a bit emotional and worried about her son because we still live in a world that tries to refrigerator-mother any woman who isn't perfect at parenting and often when writing a woman who's a "good/fierce/badass" role model for her son you see this tendency towards she has to want to step on men with her heels and kill them with her eyeliner and has to be feared and scary because it's hashtag feminist rather than her being the one to teach him things like kindness and empathy. it's like an exaggerated version of a sitcom trope where since the dad of course has to be a dundering buffoon, she has to be the one with the brains. however! outside of my two big janet fics which i know having loving and warm janet bc that's how i write her i have trawled through the janet drake & tim drake tag excluding bad parents jack and janet drake leaving me with like 200odd works that are still like 80% bad parents jack and janet drake to find at least a few gems:

every good gold digger by roseandgold137 - is on the good end of the janet drake parentinf spectrum

and if you’re just as hopeless, i wish you well by magnoliclies - does have a colder, more ruthless type janet but one who clearly loves her son & makes sense within the backstory given that's not evil high societal old money socialite

initial of creation, and / the exponent of earth by silvernaut - more tim and janet's grave but is a coming out fic where he tells her he's gay and robin and doesn't assume she'd be a homophobe about it all

dino nuggets and sprite by hyyyperfixated - has an overall kind and caring janet

time slipped through my fingers by oddny - again more tim + janet's grave but also presumes a positive relationship between the two

the circus by zahri - it helps that z and i have almost the same conceptualization of janet + the drakes but i do always love her take on affectionate but fails a bit janet

bones of a dinosaur, bones of a city by zahri - same reasons as above

shut eye by audreycritter - while this version of the janet-tim mother-child dyad is definitely a bit different from how i perceive it, this is still a good and sympathetic version of janet from a while back when there was definitely nothing but slander going on for her and is a very empathetic look at a reason she could have have struggles + does really well within the confines of the fic's premise

my thanks to ms. monroe by loosingletters - the premise is that jack is way worse than he probably was in canon has the fanon bristol next door neighbors to the waynes upbringing for tim, but manages to capture what janet would do

[bunnis-monsters]

Discord Drama below the cut. This is kind of me just making it clear that I want to be left alone.

Y’all understand y’all can leave my discord without making a statement that shows you have no idea what you’re talking about?

People can solve their OWN issues out in DMs, but when they’ve made people uncomfortable more than once, that becomes another issue. That’s when people get banned.

I do not want to talk about this anymore, I’ve blocked everyone that could be involved besides the ones I can’t find in intros.

Not going to mention who I’m talking about because it really doesn’t matter. The individuals don’t matter, I don’t think they’re bad people but they were banned because I GOT SEVERAL COMPLAINTS! Some from my own mods who didn’t feel comfortable after a certain incident occurred.

Here’s me talking about this to one of the people. I even SPECIFICALLY said that their partner/friend was not welcome back. The person DID come back and I banned both of them afterwards.

Sharing these screenshots to show I explicitly told them why the other person was banned and that they WEREN’T welcome back regardless.

Yeah they can apologize to each other and that’s good, but that doesn’t erase the discomfort they caused by doing that shit IN MY SERVER!

I hope everyone involved does well but leaves me alone. Before I got that message in vent I didn’t mind y’all still following or messaging me, but now I’m uncomfortable. Please, leave me alone. I do not want anything to do with any of you. I don’t hate you, but I’m also deeply uncomfortable with this situation.

The 10th rule btw

Anyways anons are off because this part of the vent message feels vaguely threatening. Idk if that’s intentional but it genuinely freaks me out(this message is cropped to remove any names, they basically just talk about the situation.)

But yeah I’ll be taking the server link down for a while. If you didn’t mean anything threatening then sorry but getting this message at 3 am is quite scary considering the harassment I’ve faced before for banning people. I just want to be left alone. I don’t deserve to feel afraid for banning people from a discord server.

Please think before you send messages like this, and leave me alone. I do not like having to make posts like these because I don’t hate any of you! I genuinely would have just moved on with my life if you wouldn’t have sent this message! You could have left the server without making me feel afraid, intentionally or not.

I’m also not here to go “WAHHH they’re threatening little ole me!”. I’m just pointing out that message was unnecessary and can be easily misinterpreted as threatening, and because you decided to send that message I have to lock down my discord as a precaution. I would rather be safe than sorry, and I would prefer to think that people in my community would not try to hurt me because I banned them, but it’s already happened before. 🤷‍♀️

I understand not always agreeing with the way I handle things, but I do it for my own safety and peace of mind. You don’t have to like it, but in a world where I receive nasty asks, comments, threatening dms, and all kinds of harassment just for existing, this keeps me safe.

With all that said, I genuinely wish y’all the best. Just because you were banned from my discord doesn’t mean I hate your guts. It’s a discord server, with rules and people that sometimes don’t get along with each other. It happens.

Sometimes we find each other annoying or get uncomfortable with the way that others act and that’s fine, because people are different. Each server, community, etc is different and have different rules, jokes, and ways of talking that sometimes go over other’s heads.

But finding someone annoying or not meshing with them doesn’t mean you dislike them as a person. Just because you break some rules in a server and get banned doesn’t mean I all of a sudden hate you. It just means you got banned.

What makes it bad is when you keep coming back and bringing it up after I already expressed that I was uncomfortable. That’s what makes me not want to continue interacting with you and what leads to me blocking people.

I don’t want to interact with any of you any further, leave me be. I’ll take any further interaction as harassment.

You don’t need to apologize, I am not angry, I am just tired. I have expressed a boundary and we are all adults. Leave me be and I’ll leave you be.

I’m going back to sleep. I’m sick, cramping, and exhausted. Send me some nice asks if you’d like, I’d appreciate it

[karinamariee]

rafe x gf reader where she hangs out with Sarah and the pogues but doesn't tell rafe bc he will obv be mad and tell her no. Then he finds out and shows up to where they are and tries to fight jj and ends up bringing reader back w him and is really upset she lied bc all he ever wants is to keep her safe and he can't if he doesnt know where she is + he doesn't trust the pogues and she feels so bad for lying to him

listen.

pairing: toxic!rafe cameron x fem!reader

summary: rafe was sick and tired of y/n lying about where she was when he knew exactly.

warnings: none

authors note: guys, send in more requests!!🫶🏽 also, i decided to switch it up a little bit.

—————————————————————————

“you’re dating a fucking asshole,” said jj, “you know that right?”

sarah nodded. “like, why rafe of all people?”

why rafe of all people was an extremely good question. maybe because he fucked you good and loved you well.

“i love him,” you say.

jj was about to say something, but john b stopped him. “that’s a fair argument is what jj was going to say, y/n.” but you knew that jj had the hardest time trusting you. it makes sense. you broke up with jj to be with rafe, which jj is still confused and angry about.

“of fucking course it is,” said jj. “she’s the kooks princess. no one can touch her, say the truth to her, but here’s the truth, y/n, you’re just as fake as the next kook in line.”

“ahh jj!” sarah exclaimed. “i would much rather have the kooks princess than rafe cameron be here. i love you, y/n.”

you smiled and nodded. jj was right. you had broken his heart, you had loved him and then shoved it in his face when it was all over. you deserve whatever you got from jj which you’re sure there would be a lot more in the future.

“oh shit,” said pope, “speak of the devil.”

you turned around to see rafe marching toward you. your heart started racing a million miles per hour, not sure if you were ready for this confrontation or not. you knew you were fucked, you just didn’t wanna admit it yet.

“so here you are!” rafe yelled, making his way closer to you. he didn’t even look at anyone but you.

“i can’t be here,” said sarah. “no, no, no.”

“why you lying to me?” rafe asked once he made his way over to you. he grabbed your face. “answer the fucking question.”

“hey, hey,” said jj, “don’t fucking touch her.”

“she’s a woman, man,” said cleo.

rafe looked at jj, ignoring cleo. “what the fuck. shut the fuck up because i knock your fucking teeth out of your mouth.”

jj smirked. “please rafe, you wanna fucking go?”

“hey! hey, listen!” yelled pope. “if you wanna fuck each other up, be my guest, but just remember y/n is waiting to leave.”

rafe looked at you with something in his eyes. you didn’t know if it was hurt or regret, but something was in them that you’ve never seen before.

“come on, baby,” you said. “let go home.”

—————————————————————————

“i don’t trust either one of them, babe,” said rafe, holding your cheeks tightly. “i just want an honest girlfriend who wouldn’t lie to me.”

he let you go. “please, rafe, i’m fucking honestly with you.”

he laughed. you had to admit, you weee scared of him. the way he just would punch a wall when he was mad, or punched you when he blacked out. either way was scary, but you didn’t want another black eye.

you grabbed his arm slowly, wrapping it around your waist, pulling him in for a hug which he let you.

“i just want you, rafe, baby,” you said.

“but you’re still fucking around with those pogues,” he said, “you know i can’t trust them, not even sarah, and you know that hurts me, baby, it hurts so badly.”

you nod. “i promise to stay away from them.”

you promised to stay away from them because the next time you did, you would get worse than a black eye.

[alicedopey]

Curtis was very cute. Hatchet throwing is interesting, it helped her unwind about her first sexual experience and I guess imagining Ransom as the target was the best thing. I would love trying this activity. The scary movies on the other hand…no. I am terrified after watching those. Can’t sleep in the dark for weeks 🤣

But anyways Curtis was there and he did his best to get to know her. He is very sweet. I will ignore the fact he proclaimed himself her boyfriend. I am sensing a Crushed vibe here, Curtis rescuing reader from the bad boy when he is not necessarily a good man himself. Well let’s say he is less worse but it’s clear he is going to be possessive and clingy. I dread the moment he will learn about Ransom…and we all know it’s gonna be dramatic. I just hope he doesn’t blame her too much and that all his rage will go to Ransom.

Now about that little fucker. Of course, he wouldn’t let go. But yeah girl, you should not have erased this conversation. Since we all know he is gonna ruin your life, you’d better ruin his as well. So you send conversation screenshots to the agency and you leave him the worst review ever. Get him fired.

Anyways, good job. I am scared and excited !

To Those Who Wait 2

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as non/dubcon, virginity loss, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: You are tired of being the safe one so you decide to pay for some excitement.

Characters: escort!Ransom Drysdale, Curtis Everett

Note: yeah, I couldn't resist.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. Thanks to everyone who reads this one and thank you for all your energy.<3

Love you all like Tony loves himself. Take care. 💖

“Busy?” Vivica hums with doubt. “Again.” 

“Sorry, Vic, I just... can’t,” you roll your eyes at your reflection. No, the eye liner is too much. You think mascara’s fine. 

“What’s going on?” Her voice rises from your phone as it rests amid the mess of your bathroom counter. “Ever since your birthday, you’ve been kind of a bitch.” 

She isn’t wrong. You twist the wand of the mascara and pop it from the tube. You sigh. 

“I know, I’m sorry. Better reason for you all to go without me,” you say. “I don’t want to bring you down.” 

“Hm, fine,” she lets her disappointment through. “But you’re getting coffee with me soon. I’m worried.” 

You nod and brush through your lashes. “I’ll let you know what I’m free.” 

You sniff as she tuts noisily. “Fine, I’ll wait.” 

“Go, have fun,” you insist. “Text you later.” 

“Right, sure.” 

You tap the red button and the call ends. You slide the wand into place and twist the mascara shut. You fighting a losing battle here. You drop the tube and throw your head back, heaving out a breath. 

You don’t even know why you’re doing this. It’s a joke. A date? You’ll just be letting down one more person. You hate to waste Curtis’ time. Hence, why you haven’t told anyone about it. You don’t need them to know about another fuck up. 

The phone buzzes. You roll your eyes and press your fingerprint to the screen to unlock. You expect another long lecture typed out by Vivica, instead, it’s Curtis. Is he already here? No, you’re not ready. You bend to read his message. 

‘Hey, if you got em, wear sneakers or hiking boots.’ 

You squint. Huh? Is he taking you on a hike? Wow. Well, you suppose you deserve that kind of effort. Besides, you’re really not in the mood for a crowded restaurant where you have to pretend to know the appetizer sharing etiquette. 

‘I can dig some out’ you type back. 

You step back and sift through your sparse make up. You pick out a shade of lip gloss closest to your natural hue. Is it really necessary? Why are you even trying? You know how this ends. You pop your lips and snap the cap into place. 

Maybe he’s a murderer. Somehow, that doesn’t scare you. Even as the pieces seem to fall into place. He’s taking you out alone. Somewhere he’s kept a surprise, and he told you to bring sporty shoes. You expect you might be running from an axe in the woods soon enough. Not such a dire end considering. 

You shake off the absurd thought. You don’t want to look like you went overboard. Curtis has been so casual about all of this. Yeah, casual. Just put on something simple. 

The black jeans could easily be mistaken for nicer pants. The turtleneck isn’t too much either. Blue cotton with little white daisies. You’ll put a cardigan over it and pull on your hiking boots. Wow, a dream come true. A date in Sorel avant garde. 

Your nerves begin to go wild. You don’t know why. It’s not a real date, it’s a courtesy. He asked so you might as well just go. You grab your phone and wait on the couch, a youtube video babbling unheard from the television. 

Your phone vibrates. You sit up. It’s Curtis. 

‘Here. I think.’ 

‘I’ll come down’. You type back. 

You get up and hurry around. You grab your crossbody bag and your keys. You shoulder out the door and lock it behind you. Your phone buzzes once more. 

‘Right by the door.’ 

You come out and look around, searching the cars parked along the curb. Your attention is drawn back to the motorcycle between an SUV and Honda Accord. You approach Curtis as he hugs a second helmet under his arm. 

“Hope you don’t mind.” He offers the helmet. 

You take it as you process the full picture. The matte black tank, the leather saddle bags in the same shade as his jacket and gloves, the steel gray exhaust and thick tires. You nod. 

“Not at all.” 

“I shoulda warned you,” he says. 

“I’ve been on one before,” you assure him as you pull on the helmet and loop the strap under your chin. 

“Oh?” 

“I know, I don’t look like the type. I’m not.” You flip the visor down. 

“Ah, well, whoever he was, hope he didn’t spoil the ride completely,” he says, “get on.” 

He turns and straddles the bike, kick back the stand. You hesitate then reach for his arm. You climb up behind him and swing your leg over. You wince as you land on the seat. Ouch, you’re still a bit sore down there. 

“Gonna have to hang on tight,” he pats his side. 

“Sure, uh... right.” 

You hook your arms around him. This is an easy gag for a man. Get a woman nice and close under the fear she might become road kill. Slick. 

“You ready?” He rolls the bike towards the street. 

“Ready,” you assure him. 

He starts the motor and revs. He angles around and speeds off down the road. You pull yourself closer as the wind tunnels around you. The smell of leather fills your nose as you close your eyes. It’s not awful, is it? 

When you look again, you’re head towards the town line. You watch the trees grow thicker as he steers along the country roads. That paranoia rises again. It would be just your luck. Look what happened the other night. 

You lift your head and peek over his shoulder. He rides up to a farm and comes a halt. He plants his feet in the dirt and kills the engine. A thrum lingers in your muscles as the roar of the bike dulls your hearing. 

“We’re here,” he proclaims. 

You take his cue. You get off first and he parks the bike with a kick of the stand. You wiggle the helmet off and look up at the farmhouse and the barn further back. Your brows pinch together curiously. 

“It’s not that lame, I promise.” He takes your helmet and hangs it with his on the handle bar.  “Friend of mine owns the place. He let me have it for the night.” 

“Mhm, good friend.” 

“Yeah, he can be,” he removes the saddlebags from the back of the bike and waves you on. “That way, just around the back.” 

You nod and turn away. You stride up along the side of the house. It’s an old-fashioned place. Faded wood and peeling paint. You pause before you can pass it completely. You look back at him as he nearly runs into you. 

“Everything alright?” He asks. 

You look him in his stormy gray eyes, “you’re not going to kill me, right?” 

He snorts and his cheek dimples. “I can’t guarantee no blood but that’s far from the plan.” 

You frown. What a strange answer.

You shrug and turn back to your path. You come out around the back of the house, sown fields in the early stages of growth behind a large board painted with circles. A ply wood target. A picnic table across from it with a clutter over one half. You cross your arms as you near. 

“Hatchet throwing,” he puts the saddle bags on the table. “Thought it would be fun. Something a little less... crowded.” 

“Oh?” You tilt your head like a squawking crow. 

He lifts one of the axes and holds it up. “Good stress relief.” 

“Mm,” you reach for one, less confident in your grasp. 

He turns to the target and extends his arm towards it. “You wanna keep a light but sturdy grip,” he says. “You don’t want it to catch.” 

He bends his arm back and swings it ahead again, letting the hatchet fly with easy. You flinch as it thunks into the target, just off-center. Your lips slant. 

“You got a lot of experience?” 

“Well, I started with darts at the bar but didn’t like all the drunks. There’s a place you can pay to do this in town but it’s pricey and loud,” he says. “So... I put this together.” 

“Yeah, probably not worth the money.” The words hang in the air, a question whether you mean the activity or yourself. 

“Go ahead.” 

“Uh, oh,” push your bag behind you and look at the target. “I...” You raise your arm, try to line up your aim, then drop it down. “I can’t.” 

“You want a few tips?” 

“Think I need them.” 

“Alright, no problem. It’s no biggy. Worst that happens, it lands in the dirt.” He comes close and lightly guides you by your shoulders, standing you perpendicular to the target. “Alright, bring it up.” 

You raise your arm and he helps you line up. He gets even closer and nudges your feet with his scuffed boots to get you in position. “That’s it, just like that.” 

You grip the axe tighter and your eyes widen. Those words hit you like the blade, slicing deep. The body on top of yours, his rasping cooes, and his cruel thrusts. You blink away the vision of Hugh and shudder. 

“Here,” Curtis touches your hand, “loosen up. Pull back. Yeah, you got it.” He steps back, “when you’re ready, let it fly.” 

He stands away from you and watches. You bite down and stare at the target. All your frustration and fear bubbles in your chest. You narrow your eyes and take a breath. You fling the hatchet without restraint. The thunk in the wood is deafening. 

Curtis whistles, “wow, good shot.” 

You turn straight to examine the board. Your shot is opposite of his, right on the line with the bullseye.  

“Lucky,” you say. 

“I dunno, you seem like a natural,” he crosses the ground and pulls out the hatches. “Wanna toss a few more? Build up an appetite?” 

“Uh, sure,” you agree. “It is kind of fun.” 

“I think so. Even more when you have company,” he approaches and offers the hatchet. “I packed a picnic so we won’t have to chew on seeds.” 

You glance at the sprouting fields. You laugh. It was a little fun. 

“Got one,” he spins the hatchet in his hand. “You go first. Since you won first round.” 

“What? No I didn’t.” 

“You were closer so... that’s a win. Champ.” 

“Alright, no need for the sarcasm,” you shake your head. 

“I’m a sore loser,” he winks. “So, take it easy on me and I might lighten up.” 

🎯

The rumble of the engine stays with you as you climb off the bike. Curtis cuts the engine and flips down the stand. He takes off his helmet as you descend back to earth. Literally. Somehow in those last three hours or so, he kept the world from invading your mind. 

“That was nice,” he says. “I think.” 

You hold the helmet in your hands, a good way to keep them still. You look down and crack a smile. He hangs his on the bike. 

“Another one huh?” He says and you pop your head up. “Got another smile.” 

You blush and shake your head, “I don’t know. I guess.” 

“You had fun?” He asks. 

“I did,” you contend and hand over the helmet. “Thanks. For everything.” 

“No, thank you.” He holds the helmet at his side and stares at you. The streetlights cast ominous shadows over him. He shifts so his sole scrapes the ground. “I hope maybe we can do it again.” 

“Er...” you’re struck by the suggestion. Again? Like a second date. That can’t be real. Not after everything. Oh bitter irony. “Sure, Curtis. I think next time I could let you win.” 

“Yeah, next time,” he rasps. He leans in and you realise what’s happening. He’s going to kiss you. Oh. 

“Ugh, oh,” you trip on nothing and hop up on the curb. “Oops, sorry, it’s so dark out here.”  

He recoils and clears his throat, “yeah, uh, you want me to walk you to the door?” 

“Uh, no, no,” you put your palms up. “I won’t take up any more of your time.” 

“Alright,” he says despondently. “Have a good night.” 

“Yeah, you too.” 

“I’ll text,” he mutters. 

“I’ll answer.” 

You spin and cringe at your building. You suck. You're a dork. Ew. Ew. Ew. 

You march up the walk and don’t stop until you’re inside. You blew it. So close but so far. Just like you expected. Well, then you can be that disappointed. 

You retreat to your apartment and slam your phone down. You won’t think about it. He has to drive home and he won’t text tonight anyway. You just hate a date. A date! 

Was it really real? After everything? You think so. 

You sink onto the couch. You hold your chin and pick your lip. Just another day and you’d be in la la land. This would be heaven. One more day and you may have let him kiss you. Before you were used up and tarnished. 

Ugh. Why couldn’t you have just let it happen? Because those things don’t happen to you. Romance isn’t for you. It’s for other people. And people lie. Even Curtis. Maybe he won’t text after all. 

You lean back and turn on the television in resignation. You put on an early 00s sitcom with a sadly departed main star. That’s how life is. When it’s good, it goes wrong, or it’s just over. When it’s bad, that’s when it seems eternal. 

You cross your legs then think better of that. Even with all the lube, there’s a lot of damage done. Nothing serious, just sensitive. It was your first time. You don’t imagine it gets better. 

Your phone buzzes at the end of episode two. You nearly jump off the sofa. Don’t be stupid. 

You get up, patiently, and get your phone. You sit down again before you unlock it. The message that comes up isn’t from Curtis. Or Vivica. Or Mila. Or Jerrod. 

It’s from WhatsApp. You only ever used that for... 

‘You lookin’ for another weekend fling?’ 

You stare at Hugh’s message. You deleted the conversation but you recognise the number. The two checkmarks turn green to show you’ve read the message. God dammit. 

You don’t answer. You can’t. You’re mortified. You crash back to earth with startling speed. You can’t undo that. Worse, you don’t think you’ll ever get past it. 

You clear all your apps and put your phone on do not disturb. 

You stretch out on the couch and focus on the TV. Not really. It just glares in your vision as you stare through it. As you can hear nothing but a distant whistle. You stay like that, fractured, until your consciousness slowly falls away. 

You’re back in the hotel room. Alone one minute then pinned to the bed. The ceilings tear open as Hugh fucks you. You’re gushing around him, the smell of blood fills the air with iron. You meld with the blankets, shrouded in them, then suddenly thunder roars through the space. 

Curtis rides in on his motorcycle. How? A hatchet flies and hit the headboard, glancing by your cheek. You look past Hugh’s writhing body, completely oblivious of the other’s man disgusted glares. 

“Slut.” 

The word wakes you. You jolt up and hold your head dizzily. The windows are glazed over with the soft tones of morning. You groan and turn your legs over the edge of the couch. 

You get up to make your coffee. The dark roast brew and the aroma eases your nerves. You grab you phone out of habit and sit down. You have another message. You put the phone down. 

You go back to the kitchen and fill a mug. You drink in silence. You take the cup into the bathroom and shower before you finish the dregs. As you sit to pee, you wince. It’s been a week. It’s still painful but you’re sure it’s all in your head. After all, your pride hurts worse than anything else. 

You rinse your cup, pick up your phone, and determine to delete the message. As the chat opens, you’re stopped by the image there. You nearly drop it. Instead, you lean on the counter is gasp. 

‘Thot I was ur 1st' the message reads beneath the photo of you and Curtis in the yellow cascade of the streetlight. 

The checkmark fills and three bubbles pop up. Fuck. The next text comes quickly. 

‘How would ur bf feel about u fucking strangers?’ 

‘Not my bf. Leave me alone.’ Your thumbs tap furiously and you hit send. 

He sends a laughing emoji and the dots appear again. ‘I got a discount. Just 4 u.’ 

‘No thx. Not interested’ 

‘Didn’t ask don’t care but think I know who would’ 

You huff and hang your head back. You don’t get it. Why is he doing this? He got his fee and you got what you paid for. 

‘No. Pls don’t message again.’ 

You bring down the menu and delete the conversation and block the sender. It isn’t until after that that you realise. He took that picture outside your building. He knows where you live. How? 

The police? Would they do anything? Would they believe you? You just deleted the evidence. 

He’s bluffing right. He just wanted more money. You’re not stupid. Come on. You are a wallet to him, nothing more. You’re not naive enough to think he enjoyed it any more than you did. It’s business to him. He did his job and he got a pretty penny. If you could get that much for a few hours, you’d be hustling too. 

It’s just a poor attempt at blackmail. A hail mary for any extra pay check. Too bad for him, you don’t have that type of money. You already splurge on regret. 

You’ll keep an eye over your shoulder but you really doubt it’s anything more than greed. He must have a dozen clients. Hm... that thought doesn't make feel you better. You don’t know that you’ll ever really feel good again. Did you ever before? 

📱

“I know it’s cliche but I told you, I’m not exactly the creative type,” you settle in at the table and look through the cafe window. 

“I told you, I trust your judgment. And can’t go wrong with coffee,” Curtis says. 

“Guess not, but I’ve had some shitty coffee in my day.” 

His cheek dimples and he tilts his head in agreement, “me too. I’m not some coffee snob but some of the water they serve around town.” 

“You’re talking about Smokey’s, right? They serve ash-flavoured piss. Oh, sorry, I...” you give a sheepish smile. “I got carried away.” 

“You’re right though,” he snorts. 

“Ha, thanks. Mila disagrees. She keeps trying to convert me.” 

“Sounds like Jensen but with those acid energy drinks. I told him, he’s going to have a heart attack.” 

“Ew, those things are worse. It’s like someone made mountain dew worse.” 

He chuckles. That doesn’t happen often. “Wow, I should bring you in as backup. Then he might actually listen.” 

The barista comes with your drinks and you thank her. You ordered a tea latte, not your usual fare. Curtis eyes it as he cradles his cup of dark roast between his large hands. 

“I’m not much of a tea person but that looks interesting.” 

“London Fog. Just very foamy Earl Gray,” you explain. 

“Ah,” he nods thoughtfully. Your bag vibrates and you elbow it back on your hip. Not right now, Mila. “Not to be socially awkward but you like horror movies?” 

“I like them but they still scare me,” you say. 

“Really? Something actually scares you?” 

“What do you mean?” You scoff. 

He stares at you. “Do you really not know?” 

“Know... what?” 

“You’re terrifyingly hard to read,” he says. “You’re so lock and key that it’s hard to tell what you’re thinking. Easy to assume you want to scoop my guts out with a plastic spoon.” 

“I’m not much for slashers, I’m more into psychological scares,” you counter then catch yourself. You smile. “Sorry. I’m not... you know, I can be a bitch but I’m not really one.” 

“That isn’t what I meant.” 

“I know, I just don’t know how else to say... if I look at you like a rabid dog, I swear, I’m just thinking.” 

“Yeah, Jensen says I have RBF too.” 

“RBF?” You wonder. 

“Resting Bitch Face, although he started calling it Raging Curt Face.” 

You laugh. He does too. The last bit of ice melts away. 

“I’m on a roll today,” he says. “So I may as well ask, wanna come over and watch scary movies?” 

🍿

The mood is set. The curtains are drawn to darken the room and the television glows as the only source of light in the space. Not much of a beacon as the images on the screen remain in shadow as the grinding soundtrack drones from the speakers.

You sit on the couch, enthralled by the manic horror of the character’s shallow breaths. 

You jerk as something brushes over your shoulder. You quickly still yourself as you realise what it is. Curtis stretches his arm over your shoulders. 

“Scared yet?” He asks. 

You giggle, “only a little.” 

He stays close and you don’t push him away. It’s such a weird feeling. To have someone in your space but you don’t mind it. To be honest, it’s comforting. 

You stare at the screen as the tension builds. As a loud noise frightens you, you jolt and lean into Curtis. He curls his arm snug around you. Then the next startling twist comes and you turn your face into his shoulder. 

“You didn’t say you were a baby,” he teases. 

“Oh, hush,” you speak into his shirt. 

“Hey, it’s alright,” he grits and brings his hand up under your chin. “I’ll protect you from the boogeyman.” 

You glower up at him and he sighs, “don’t look at me like that.” 

“How can you tell how I’m looking at you?” 

“I can feel it,” his thumb rubs your chin and he leans closer. 

You swallow as he keeps coming. You don’t stop him. You’re stuck. Your body won’t answer the screaming in your head. He presses his lips to yours and you let out a soft noise. He presses his mouth against yours for a moment then pulls away. 

He’s quiet as you puff you, your heart racing. “Was that okay?” 

You cough, “uh, yeah... sorry, I... I’m surprised.” 

“Can I do it again?” He asks. 

You quiver and nod, “sure.” 

He kisses you again. This time his tongue traces the crease of your lips. You open to him, unsure what you’re supposed to do. He delves within as he cradles your head and squeezes you closer. 

A warmth creeps up your body. Cozy at first. Intoxicating either. But it keeps burning. Hotter and hotter as his hand slithers down your back. His groan triggers a tickle in your brain and nearly bite down.  

You touch Curtis’ chest and urge him away. He reluctantly parts and slackens his hold on you. You stand up without a word. 

“Everything alright?” He asks. 

“I need your bathroom. Sorry.” 

You hurry away, staggering through the dark, and close the bathroom door behind you. You flip the light on and stomp to the tub, sitting on the porcelain as you drop your head into your hands. What the fuck? What is wrong with you? 

That wasn’t bad. It was great. You were getting somewhere. You were having a normal experience. It’s like you just can’t let yourself win. 

You smack your cheek, then your other. You do it a few more times before you sit up straight. God! What a disaster. What a stupid woman you are. You can’t even blame anyone but yourself. You did this to yourself. 

You ran away from Curtis. You came in here to mope. And you hired Hugh. 

No, don’t-- that’s not relevant. You’re forgetting that. It didn’t happen. You’re trying to move on. You can move on. Curtis doesn’t have to be your penance; he can be your antidote. 

There’s a knock at the door. You stare at the wood. 

“Yeah?” 

“Are you okay?” Curtis asks. 

“Yep.” You call back. 

“I’m sorry if... if that was too much. If I went too fast,” he says. 

You huff and stand. You drag your feet to the door. You make yourself open it and face him. He turned the lights on. You ruined the night. 

“I think maybe I should just go. I’m sorry I spoiled the movie,” you say. He doesn’t move. 

“What? I paused it. It’s fine. We can finish it.” 

“No, Curtis, I’m just... I keep... aren’t you tired of me yet?” 

He shakes his head, “no, are you tired of me?” 

You clamp your lips and pop them in exasperation. “No.” That makes this harder. Because you aren’t tired of him. Because you do like him. 

“So why are you running away?” 

He grips the door frame. He’s a big man. He doesn’t have to let you leave but you know if you say you want to go, he will. For a moment, his size reminds you of another person. One who didn’t listen. One who didn’t hear your 'stop'. 

“This is really embarrassing but I’m just going to be honest otherwise you’ll just think I'm insane,” you throw your hands up. “I’ve never, uh, never... had... someone before. You know? Never been on any dates, er, until you.” 

He nods and his expression stays the same, “alright.” 

“So yeah...” 

He narrows his eyes, “is that it?” 

You stare at him. “Yeah, I guess that’s it.” 

“I don’t care about that. I care about us, you know? About right now. So then or whenever, it’s not important. But right now I can be patient. I can take it slow.” He drops his hand from the frame. “We can just watch the movie. That’s it.” 

You look down and slump, “I’m sorry.” 

“Don’t be,” he gently touches your arm. “I don’t want you to be sorry because you did nothing wrong. Thank you for telling me.” 

You don’t say anything else. You’re too mortified to muster more than a grumble. You reach for the light switch but he stands as a wall between you and escape. 

“One more thing though,” he says, “I’m not just someone. I'm your boyfriend.” 

You falter and clasp your hands in front of your stomach, “boyfriend?” 

He smiles, “I can wait for my girl. That’s half the fun, isn’t it?” 

He offers his hand and you consider it as your lips curve without a thought.  You accept the offer and latch onto his large hand.  

“Guess I’ll find out,” you say.” 

[voxiiferous]

Sunken Cost Relationship

Vox and Valentino have been together for almost 50 years, on and off. They had their issues when they got together, like any couple, growing pains and the like. People always say not to mix business and pleasure, but when your business is pleasure, that gets murky. For the first 15 years, things were good. They rarely fought, and certainly never anything an apology couldn’t fix. It felt like a dream in Hell, something Vox had never dared hope for.

The first time they break up, Vox honestly believes it’s the end. Fifteen years is a good run, longer than most people— sure it’s not that long when forever’s on the table, or even those happy marriages where people have been married almost all their lives, but this is Hell, that’s just unreasonable.

And for three weeks that holds out. And then because their businesses are so extricable, they have a meeting that ends with them making out on the desk. It’s easy enough to say that breaking up was a mistake. And maybe their relationship is a little more fraught after that, but they move past it. They’re the Overlord power couple, it’ll take more than that to break them up.

They’re good in the 1990s, honestly. Sure Val breaks his screen for the first time, but it’s an accident. (And it is the first time, the second time it’s harder to defend, but he still does... and the third, and thr fourth). It’s all private, the only people who know that maybe something is amiss is Hellaina and some of Valentino’s employees. To the rest of Hell they’re just as united as they ever were.

Vox honestly can’t say when it changed, when the relationship started going ‘on-again off-again’, or when the off agains started getting longer, and more frequent. When it became a challenge to see who could post about Vox’s broken screen first. Probably just after it became public instead of private. A screaming match at dinner, a snippy comment at a party, forgotten dates, a missed anniversary. That one star of Val’s who looked at him like she was sorry (and that, try as he might, he’s never been able to forget).

Now, Vox brings flowers and apologies and holds onto the better times, like it’s a rough patch. Twenty-five years is a long time, but not when forever’s on the table.

[crushedsweets]

It makes me sooo sad when people make a cute/happy/familial/ship/fandomy creepypasta post and they feel the need to be like “but I get it’s totally unrealistic like it could never be canon like I know they’re actually heartless and would kill eachother but I just like when they’re happy ik it’s cringe stupid fanon though” YOU DESERVE TO MAKE A HAPPY OR SILLY OR CUTE POST WITHOUT REPRIMANDING YOURSELF FOR ENJOYING THE FICTIONAL CHARACTERS YOUVE PROBABLY LOVED SINCE CHILDHOOD!!!! YOU SHOULDNT HAVE TO DEFEND YOUR INTEREST IN LIGHTHEARTED FLUFFY CONTENT!!! IT IS A BEAUTIFUL THING TO CONSUME POSITIVE CONTENT!!! YOU DO NOT HAVE TO CONSUME HARDCORE EDGY CRUEL GRUESOME CONTENT IF ITS NOT YOUR PREFERENCE!!!! Please. We all want you to be happy. Whether you enjoy fandom-style content or dark serious horror.

[starry-bi-sky]

Danyal Al Ghul's missed potential - this kid is not gonna behave like his canon self if he's with the league of assassins until his late formative years, and my reasoning why

(feel free to take this all with a grain of salt this is just my thoughts on it, this is all mostly amusing to me and isn't trying to be negative towards anyone else)

similar to how i was talking about how danny growing up in crime alley would affect him, demon twin aus with danyal al ghul make me laugh a lot (affectionate) because... whose teaching danny to unlearn all the ecofascism he picked up from the league of assassins? whose teaching him to be kind? to be gentle? Not the LoA thats for certain.

(you could plausibly say Jazz but she's only 2 years older than Danny and do you really expect a fellow child to properly explain why X is wrong to another child and have it be 100% effective? i don't doubt it'd help to an extent, but not in the same way an adult explaining it would)

plus a ton of other things, like whose teaching him to value human life? not the LoA. Whose teaching him how to adjust to living with American society after he ends up with the Fentons when he's 8-9-10? Who teaches him that killing is wrong, whose enforcing that?

(not the Fentons if you're going the neglectful parent route, and Jazz can try but i really don't think Danny is going to listen to her, a stranger who isn't even part of his grandfather's league)

How do you teach a child to value human life when the greatest development window for that opportunity has closed and he's already formed his own opinions?

You're not gonna get a Danny whose exactly like his canon attitude if he's staying with the league during his formative years (0-8 years old). you're not. You could get someone LIKE it, potentially, or someone who has traces of it or is similar -- like danny's wit and jokes and sarcasm, and on some level his kindness. but you're not gonna have a carbon copy. Development doesn't work that way. "nature" can only do so much in the face of nurture.

If anything, it doesn't even have to be a major change -- in the league he cans till be kind, but it's probably going to manifest in a different way than what is considered normal. Tough love, for one. But there's gonna be something that affects him negatively. Why make him 'always good/kind' when you can make him a brat who develops into a kinder (if spikier than in canon) person?

TLDR: Danyal Al Ghul would not be like how he is in canon if he's with the league until his late formative years -- not without any lasting pr permanent impacts from the league at least. Missed potential to make him an absolute nightmare like damian was -- especially in his early years when he first arrived to the Fenton house.

(this doesn't apply to danyal al ghul aus where he's either given to the fentons as a baby/is reincarnated/etc. this is mostly aimed for danyal al ghul aus where he fakes his death at like, 7-10 and somehow ends up, personality-wise like his completely canon self by 14 without any differences.)

(and even then if he's five or four, or even three, he would still be traumatized and influenced by the league. he'll just have more time to adjust. the sooner he leaves the league the more likely he is to be like his canon self, but not like an exact copy)

(more under the cut)

Anyways what I'm saying is that there is prime missed Danyal al Ghul potential to make him an absolute NIGHTMARE to the Fentons however way he ends up with them, just like Damian was with the Waynes! Cuz why does Damian get all the fun? Danny got the same training and endoctrine as him! He is also an ex-assassin! Why is Danny the only one who is 'well adjusted and non-violent' hm? Hmm?

Why can't he also be mean, and stabby, and a total stuck-up in some way or another? Have fun with his characterization, its prime opportunity to play play-doh and clay with him! If he starts out as X how does he get the personality traits of Y, and thus become XY?

Like take this with a grain of salt if you will, but make him arrogant. Make him an asshole! Make him a bad person at first! Because he will be! He's the blood son of the batman and you mean to tell me that damian is the only one arrogant about it at first? Make him stabby and mean even at 14 when he's begun to chill out! Have fun with it! If he's with the Fentons at any point past the age of four or five then he's gonna be a nightmare to handle because he still remembers the league and his time there.

(and while it gives him more time to chill the hell out, his time at the league is still gonna leave an impact on him.)

also what im saying as well is have him and sam potentially get along like a house on FIRE. Again, Danny grew up under the views of an ecofascist cult and nobody to challenge those views to him until he got to amity park at whatever age in late formative years he was at. He could be about as intense or even MORE intense about environmental awareness/rights than Sam is!

(also him being supremely unimpressed with Sam's wealth. he gave up a palace in the mountains for this town. because that's funny to me - like let his past have more influence on him! it'll be fun!)

you could have a danny who doesn't kill but doesn't fully understand the value of human life because jazz is like two years older than him and isn't that good at explaining why people's lives are important. he won't kill but he's not morally opposed to it. there's very little chance he actually gets bullied at school because he nearly killed Dash the first time he tried anything.

Danny could have scars, physical ones, because its implied in multiple canon that training starts at toddling (my best bet is 3 at minimum and ~maybe~ 2 but only on the later side of 2. Good fucking luck getting any infant under 2 to do anything you ask, ESPECIALLY assassin training. They're gonna stick the weapon in their mouth sooner than they're gonna do katas. This is coming from a daycare teacher.)

there's more examples of how danny being at the league during his formative years would affect him, but those are just some of them. he could have a sword! An appreciation for weaponry and nature. Maybe he still speaks all shakespearan and formal, does he still make bodily threats to people? If Damian is still threatening people at 14 why can't danny?

[boxwinebaddie]

rip in honor of an anon who asked me to have ravenstan and jerseykyle write them something cute ( smh jk )

this never fails to be funny to me

[bijoumikhawal]

*sees a long post from an American comparing Cardassia to the USSR/China* *rolls eyes and keeps scrolling*

[savage-rhi]

*insert pink color here*

[solace-seekers]

screaming into the void <3

[musical-chick-13]

Thinking back to the one (1) time (okay one of two) I ever went to a club when I was like eighteen, and a young woman around my age was...idk trying to hit on me by negging? I think? I'm actually not sure, she could have just straight-up been insulting me.

Anyway, I ended up dancing for a bit with this person, and at the time I thought, "Hmm, that was weird," but ten-plus years removed from the situation, I'm starting to think maybe I should have pursued that further. There's a high chance I would have been miserable and uncomfortable, but at least it would have been. Something. However bad this theoretical thing could have been at the time, at least I wouldn't feel like THIS.