#anon if it wasn't clear already go fuck yourself in the worst way you can think of

[kkarmiic]

mirage anon here! naming myself how quaint today has been kinda shitty so could I get some good ol Mirage comfort after a really, really bad day? I'm talking the worst day possible-- outfit ruined, bad hair day, just EVERYTHING going wrong?? thank you if you end up doing this <33

# ‘TOMORROW - MIRAGE X GN!READER COMFORT

🫐 ‘CONTENT AND WARNINGS

\\ synopsis: everything that can go wrong, goes wrong, mirage is there to help

+* genre: fluff/comfort

‘# warnings: eye pulling, self doubt, he calls you love

// authors note: hey mirage anon! I’m sorry to hear about your shitty day, I understand how those feels, I hope this helps at least a little.

Your day had been downright awful, down to every single detail. From the moment you opened your eyes, everything was already horrific. You had seemingly slept in a weird position that night, evident by the dull ache in your shoulder and neck.

To make matters worse, you were already twenty minutes behind schedule, you had slept through your alarm. Fuck. Stomping over to your mirror, rolling your shoulder in a feeble attempt for the pain to disappear, you realized how obvious your dark circles were and how your hair stuck out in directions you didn't even know were possible.

Of course, you tried to push it aside, telling yourself it could be fixed with a little concealer and styling. That, however, did so little to help with your situation. The concealer had run out the day prior and your hair would just not lay how you wanted it.

Just your luck.

Tonight was supposed to be your date with Mirage, it was quaint, sure, he was going to make you a homecooked meal and you two were planning on watching the stars, but still, what would he think of you if he saw you like this?

It was only early days in your relationship, about a month in, and you weren't prepared for his perception of you to change, for him to see you as lazy, or a slob.

You were far too stressed out for ten in the morning, pulling your eyes down and just... Staring. Staring at yourself in the mirror, criticizing your appearance.

You know what they say, when things are at their lowest they can only go up.

Wrong. You were on a Ferris wheel, locked into your seat with no way of escaping, on a constant round of low, and high and low and high, with seemingly no end. It was exhausting, and you just wanted to get off.

So there you were, wearing your favourite outfit, hoping it would lift your spirits a little, and hopefully distract Mirage, at least a small amount. And it did, only for a mere moment though, you were halfway to Mirage's when the rain began pouring down, and this happened to be the one day where you didn't bring your umbrella, too focused on being late, and the way you looked, to even worry about checking the weather forecast.

Hands trembling as you walked, you reached for your phone in your pocket, before realising, that wasn't there either.

Panic. That was the only word to describe what you felt at that moment, pure panic. Had you dropped it somewhere? Maybe on the way to his? You were too late to turn back now, someone probably would've picked it up by now, and maybe it was already stolen. Maybe-

You left it on your bedside table, next to your umbrella.

Nonetheless, you kept walking, and you couldn't tell what was rain and what was tears after a certain point. They were so perfectly blended, heart aching as you walked.

Mirage, no, Elliot, you reminded yourself, always looked so perfect, with his neatly formed curls, and clear skin, you'd never seen him with one blemish, or eyebags like you, or with his hair askew. What would he think of you?

You had half a mind to turn back now, go home, and text him, faking that you were sick. But he'd probably turn up at your door instead, that was the kind of man he is, a gentleman.

Elliot couldn't worry about you, it wouldn't be fair to put him through that, and that's how you ended up on his doorstep, even despite all your worries. Placing three tentative knocks before it was quickly swung open, it seemed like he'd been waiting for you.

However, his smile quickly faded to a frown, of concern or disappointment, you couldn't tell.

"You're going to get s- uh- soa-" He paused, readjusting, instead of correcting his sentence, he ushered you in, he knew you knew him well enough to understand what he meant.

"Are you okay?!" He asked, shutting and locking the door behind you, hand placed gently on your bicep, feeling the soaked fabric of your shirt.

You wanted to tell him no, about how awful your day was, about how everything seemed to be going wrong, about how the whole world was against you, but you didn't. "Yeah... Just forgot my umbrella." You muttered, offering him a shrug of your shoulders, but that didn't seem to convince him, not one bit.

"How about you go upstairs? Get a hoodie and some sweats. You left some here last time. Or you could get changed into mind. I- Uhm- I don't... I don't mind." He took a shuddery breath, covering the pink tint on his cheeks.

"Anyways! I'll have a warm drink down here when you're done, okay?" He offered a soft smile towards you, already beginning to make your drink of choice.

When you returned downstairs, your drink was sat in your usual seat, the smell of food wafting from the oven making your mouth water.

"Want to talk?" He asked, cocking his head, waiting on your answer, and when you didn't respond he continued. "I can see something's buggin' ya. If you need to talk I'm always in your corner."

The compassion he was showing you was too much, he was too nice, and that was too much. You cried for the second time today, choking on your sobs as you tried to tell him about how shitty your day was, but nothing was coming out.

Mirage's eyes widened in shock, rushing round to your side before taking the seat next to you, a firm hand resting on your back, rubbing slow circles. "Take your time, love." He was ever so patient with you, you could never ask for more.

"I've just- I've just had the worst day today." You choked, covering your face with your hands. "I woke up and I obviously slept in a funny position, my whole body hurts." You began recounting your day. "I even left my fucking phone at home, like an idiot!"

There was a moment's silence before he moved his body to be facing yours, pulling your stool closer to his, and grasping your hands. "Darling. You're not an idiot. We all have bad days and that's fine. Sometimes you need a few days, to recover or... For it to just pass." He rested his forehead against yours, pressing a gentle kiss to the tip of your nose.

"No matter what, I'm right by your side. Tomorrow will be better. Swear on it."

POSTED BY: APOLLO

[drowninginredink]

Hi, it's the anon who headcanons the Chosen as higher needs autistic.

I just wanted to say that I'mactually thankful you educated me on your schizoprenic experience, because I didn't know any of that was even a thing! I'll take that with me going forward.

You're welcome! If you want proper schizo education, let's do it! Actually, a note first, because I'm going to be using the terms psychotic and schizophrenic a lot and you should know the difference. Psychosis is a symptom. It is basically just disconnect from reality, generally meaning delusions and often, but not always, hallucinations. Psychosis can happen because of pregnancy, medical conditions, other mental illnesses, or drugs (both legal/prescribed and illegal). Schizophrenia is chronic psychosis that cannot be attributed to any other cause. All schizophrenics are psychotic; not all psychotics are schizophrenic.

1. I know I already said it in the original post, but do not call 911 on someone in a mental health crisis. I will not share the details of what happens to psychotic people (and let's be clear here; it's almost always Black psychotic people) in police custody. And the "good" scenario is them ending up hospitalized, which really isn't much better. I work in nursing, but I will never, ever work in psychiatric nursing because the way psychotics get treated in psych hospitals? I could not see that every day. I could not be part of that system. And there's no way I'd have any leverage to change that system. Psychotics get forcibly medicated, restrained, treated like weirdos and pariahs by the other patients... And then thrown right back out. Why are there a bunch of homeless schizophrenics? Well obviously it's pretty damn impossible to hold a job when in active psychosis, but also, how are you supposed to keep getting your meds or get any lasting therapy when after you get out of the hospital, you're going right back to living on the streets?

2. If someone says stuff that seems delusional, do not fact check them (unless they explicitly ask you to). It will not work. It will just distress them and make them double down. The correct approach is to very slowly nudge them out of it until they realize for themselves what was a delusion, but that's not your job. That's for their therapist to do. Don't encourage them either, though. If you can change the subject, that's the best approach.

3. There's this image that all psychotics need to be medicated, because obviously therapy wouldn't work because they're completely irrational. Medication actually doesn't help 25% of schizophrenics, and therapy is generally way more effective. The problem with that being that you know who else thinks of psychosis as a "just throw drugs at it" issue? Lots and lots of psych professionals. And a whole bunch also just don't know what to do with us. Or they don't want to deal with us, because it's hard. As someone in the medical field Therapy is super useful, though. The standard approach is CBT for psychosis (which personally I had a terrible time with. DBT ended up being my magic bullet). Fun fact: my old psychiatrist is currently doing a study on controlling voice hearing yourself. Basically, you can stop hearing voices by telling them to shut up and fuck off. I'm unconventional as far as schizophrenia symptoms go, so I never really had much voice hearing, but I did for a brief period of time and that's how I got it to go away. Learning how to reality check yourself is the most effective way to deal with psychosis.

3. a. Back on meds, for me personally, anti psychotics did help with my dissociation, but did nothing for my hallucinations and delusions. I'm not on them anymore. We found that an ADHD med actually worked really well for my dissociation, interestingly enough. Anti psychotics also have awful side effects. Schizophrenia is not fun, but the worst thing I've ever experienced wasn't schizophrenia at all. It was akathisia, which is a side effect of anti psychotics. It's restlessness to the absolute maximum. You can't concentrate, you can't think, you can't sit still, you can't sleep. Your heart feels like it's burning a hole in your chest. It is hell.

4. Schizophrenia is actually neurodevelopmental. Our brains look different than other brains. I know personally, I have always had delusional thought processes. It's just that as a kid, I was fixating on, say, the fact that I just could not leave this party right now or that for some reason it was a huge deal that the teacher didn't call on me. So no one thought it was delusions. But now that I've been overtly delusional? The thought process is exactly the same. It's like you're wearing blinders. The world flattens out to 2D and you just can't see the truth. And then when you do realize it, you feel like an absolute idiot for letting it go on for so long. That's true now, and it was true when I was freaking out about dance recitals as a kid.

5. Let's talk about the absolute worst psychotic symptom you've never heard of: disorganized thinking. It's what it sounds like. It's like your brain and thoughts are a deck of cards that are constantly being shuffled. You lose your train of thought. You forget what it is you're doing. I know when my disorganized thinking was a lot worse (those ADHD meds have also helped a ton with that, thank God) I would just get trapped scrolling my phone because I couldn't keep a train of thought for long enough to decide to do something else. Or rather, I'd decide to do something, and then forget about it before I could, over and over. For people who aren't me, it will also manifest as disorganized speech, where you know what you're saying in your head but complete gibberish comes out of your mouth instead. A thing people do not talk about enough is how much schizophrenia absolutely destroys your ability to think. Between disorganized thinking and dissociation (and God, my dissociation is terrible... And this is with it medicated down to levels where I can actually function) sometimes my brain is just absolutely useless to me.

That's probably enough for now? I could keep going for hours, but I think that's a lot of really good information. Truly give me an inch and I'll run a mile

[everyhowlmarksthedead]

HANK ‘TRANQ’ LOZA x READER ⨟ PROMPT

Anon asked: could you write a fic/imagine of your promptlist (the new one) angst #21 and #22 with hank loza💖

21. “Please, talk to me”.

22. “You’re hurting me”.

Word Count: 1.3k

Author comments: This work wasn't re-edited, so I'm sorry if you find grammar mistakes! I hope you all enjoy. Gif credits: @angels-reyes.

Tag list: @starrynite7114 ​ @chibsytelford ​ @dazzledamazon ​ @mara-mpou ​ @sammskellington ​ @gemini0410 ​ @1-800-imagines ​ @briana-mishell24 ​@sassymox @whyisgmora @aquamento @sadeyesgf @viviansafizada @samcrobae @jade770 @witchy-wish @rebel-without-cause-x @xx--day-dreamer--xx @spiced-reads @tita127 @ifoundmyhappythought @enamouravecleslivresetlechocolat @angelxshiba  ✨ (if you wanna be tagged, send me a message!)

💬 : i think i have strength enough to have a beer

Long day. Bad week. Worst month. Finally, you have four days off from the hospital. You're driving on the way to Tranq's house, when your phone dings, lightning the screen. He replies to your last message telling you that he's at the club, and that you can come if you want. Actually, no. You don't want. You just want to lie down on the sofa, with him holding you and filling your face with a bunch of kisses. Stopping by a side of the road, you take the phone with a heavy sight dying in your lips.

💬 : okay

He just read it, but there's no answer back. Sometimes, you hate him. It's supposed he promised to spend the night together, but now seems like another Mayans party is more important than your mental health. He's not your boyfriend, not officially at least, but everybody knows that you're hanging out; even so, you can't reproach him for nothing because of that. You have to settle for being around him for a while.

The yard is full of Mayans from other charters, looking like a big meeting and a celebration. Parking your car before reaching it, you step out covering your mouth with a hand to drown a yawn. You're dressed with the white uniform of the hospital and a leather jacket. Your hair tied in a braid is a little mess and there are two slight eye bags over your cheeks. Yes, you look like shit, and Angel has to highlight it as soon as he sees you.

“Damn, mami”. He hugs you tightly, leaving a kiss on your temple. “Hey, Coco! Bring a beer to our nurse!”

“Thanks”. You just say, letting the oldest Reyes lead you inside the clubhouse.

But your steps stop dead when you find Tranq sitting in a couch with one of Vicki's girl on his lap and her waist being surrounded by the man. They're laughing with other members crew, sharing some drinks and old stories. Angel doesn't give credit either. Letting yourself go from his grip, you turn over your sneakers going out of there. No words. Just some tears running down your face, while you go downstairs to the yard.

“(Y/N)! Wait”.

You don't turn at the characteristic hoarse voice of the man, continuing your way to the black car parked outside.

“Hey, hey, wait! Where are you going?”

Tranq stops you, holding your forearm to make you face him, clicking the tongue loudly when he finds out you're actually crying.

“It's just a fr—”.

“I don' care, Hank. You don' owe me any explanation”.

“No? Then, why are you crying? Why don't you stay? Please… talk to me”.

“'Cause I came for you, but you're already busy”.

“She's my friend”.

“So am I”.

“The fuck are you talking about?”

“I don' sit on my friends lap and I don' let them touch me as you do. That's ‘the fuck’ I'm talking about”.

Tranq has both eyebrows raised up, crossing his arms against his stomach, because he knows you haven't finished talking.

“I'm… tired. It's been a bad month, and you promised me that…”

You think you're sounding so stupid that you don't continue de sentence, rubbing your face with both hands and cleaning the tears. Then, you have a deep breath.

“I'm sorry, Hank. I'm just… going home. Enjoy the party”. You just said licking your lower lip.

“Lemme' grab my things and I'll follow you”.

“I wanna be alone”.

“Why?”

“'Cause you're hurting me right now”.

He just nods with pursed lips, realizing he fucked up things for not giving you the place and the respect you deserve. Under his constant look, you step in your car to turn it on, and drive away from the clubhouse.

Your flat is empty, assuming that your two house-mates are having a party somewhere around Santa Madre. So it's kinda good have some time alone, crying without no one asking you what happened. You take a warm shower until the tips of your fingers wrinkle. After that, you lie down on your big bed hugging a pillow, without having a dinner. The little hunger you have, you lost a while ago. You're trying to figure out why he acted like this. Why he didn't keep his promise. And why he was holding a Vicki's girl, being or not being friends. But, who are you to asking for anything?

The cry appears again, more bitter than before, trying to keep yourself awake waiting for him to come, even if you told him to not doing it. Having the little hope that he would to do it anyway. But you end up falling asleep alone.

When you open your eyes, feeling somewhat rested, instinctively your left hand travels to your phone. Unlocking it you check on the notifications, but there are no calls, or messages from him. Maybe it means that you broke up last night, in case you were having a relationship. A knot grows inside your chest, leaving down the phone to rest your face on the pillow spitting a sad sigh. Some minutes after you decide to get up from bed, walking barefoot through the main hallway towards the kitchen, stopping your legs when you see Hank sitting at the table with a mug of coffee supported against his lips, having a sip.

“Morning”. He just says, sounding a little nervous, putting the drink over the wood.

“How did you get in?” You ask with a fine thread of voice, noticing how much your throat hurts speaking.

“Patricia was leaving when I came”. The man gets up from his chair, doubting between getting closer or not. “Are you ok?”

You just shrug your shoulders in silence.

“I'm sorry about last night, I swear to God”.

“It doesn't matter, Tranq. She's your friend”. Even if it sounds like a passive and aggressive comment, it's not intentionally.

“And you're mi reina. You were right. There are some things I mustn't do 'cause I owe you a respect”.

“You don' owe me nothing, Tranq. It's your friend, that's all”.

“Yeah, but at the end of the night, she just wanted to ‘make it up to me’ because I was fucked up by you”.

Your heart jumps hearing those words, quickly creating a movie in your head of what happened, letting your head falls down to your chest. You're about to cry again when he wraps your body between his arms, kissing your head.

“I did nothing”. He's quick to say. “I went home when you left… Uh, well… I actually sat for an hour at your door, waiting you to call me, at least to tell me that I was being an asshole. I didn' want to bother you, so I just went home”.

You surround his back with both arms, resting your cheek on his chest, tightly and closer. You feel stupid, so he does.

“Listen… I was thinking about packing some things and spend these four days at LA”. Pulling himself away, Tranq cups your face in his huge hands. “Just you and me, riding the coast. What you say�� Would you like?”

You nod with your lips pursed in a blissful smile.

“Or we can go to Chihuahua. You're always saying you would like to visit it”. Suddenly he sound excited about traveling together for the first time, after six months together.

“Chihuahua”. You say then starting to laugh, after clearing your throat.

“Ok. Pack your things while I prepare you some breakfast”.

Leaning forward, he presses his lips on yours, placing his hands on the back of your head to push you a little closer.

“I love you, okay? Only you, mi reina”.

[chokemedaddyclown]

Funhouse

Pennywise x Reader | Smut Request

Anon Request: Yooo I want Pennywise to furiously dry hump me in a secluded off tent at a carnival, with my legs spread wide as I feel his thick tentacle dick viscously rub against my clit through his clown costume. Could you do a one shot about that? Great blog btw I’m in love!

A/N: So, I tried to make this kinda nasty. I definitely have a kink for tentacle dick Penny now.

The Derry carnival was always your favorite. It was a shame that it was only in town once a year. Tonight was the last night, and you were determined to take in every bit of the atmosphere as you could to hold you over until it came around again. You had already sampled all various foods from vendors, even going on a few rides and getting yourself completely lost in the mirror-house more than a few times. The friends that you had come with had all left out over an hour ago, having had enough of it for the year.

If it was up to you, it'd last all year, but that was just a passing thought. It was getting close to shutting down and only a few people remained around the vicinity as you walked around the place, catching in the last few sights of the bright lights and taking in the cool night air, making the billowy dress that you were wearing flow in the cool autumn air.

As you walked through each of the concessions, some of them already closed, you noticed a tent near the outskirts of the place that you hadn't seen here yet, and you had seen literally everything. Being the ever curious person that you are, headed straight for it. It wasn't a newer looking tent like the rest of them, it was a bit dilapidated to say the least, with a few dimly burning lights inside of it.

You stepped through the flaps of it, trying to keep yourself from sneezing with how dusty they seemed to be as if it was some sort of ancient structure that hadn't been touched in years. You examined the inside of the place, and there were a few stray pictures, a small work desk that had a few items spread across it, and.. Why was everything so damn dusty?

You looked up, eyeing the few pictures that were on the wall. A lot of them pictured a clown, and a man that you could on assume was the clown. They both seemed to have the same sharpened front teeth. One photo showcased what look like a carriage with a huge mural on the side.

"Pennywise The Dancing Clown," you whispered out loud as you read the photo.

You noticed that the carriage had a strong resemblance to the tent that you were standing in now. It was definitely weird to say the least, but you assumed that maybe this was meant to be a small museum of sorts. Perhaps this was a person that had something to do with starting the first carnival in Derry?

Once you had seen just about everything, you started to leave, but before you could, all of the already dim lights in the place burned out at once, leaving you in the complete darkness.

"Shit," you said, having to resort to feeling your way out.

Your hands found the small work desk that you were just looking at, your hands dragged their way across the wood of the table, gathering up plenty of the dust as they did so, until your hands landed in something wet. It was thick to the touch, and you shuddered, letting out a small noise of disgust as you tried to flick whatever it was off of your hands before wiping it down your dress.

"I don't even wanna know," you groaned, still slowly making your way around, trying to find the tent opening.

"You're going the wrong way, y'know," a friendly, but menacing voice called from the darkness.

This made you gasp, your body freezing up instantly as you stood there. You hadn't seen anyone in here when you came in before, nor did anyone speak to you before this. Was it a prank, was it part of the show here?

"Who's that?" You called back, squinting your eyes in the darkness.

Suddenly, you could see a small, yellowing light appear from what looked like a pair of white-gloved hands and it illuminated a large, white face of a clown with a red-tipped nose and two red stripes that went from his red lips up to his eyes. You were more confused than ever as you took a step back from the clown in front of you.

He looked familiar.

"I'm Pennywise The Dancing Clown," the clown said in a cheerful, cracking tone as it's head twitched, making a few unseen bells jingle.

"Oh," you gave a sigh, "Like the pictures. You work here?"

"Nooo," he answered in a sing-song tone.

His eyes began to narrow as if he couldn't focus on any sort of communication. He only stared at you from beneath a prominant brow with piercing blue eyes, and drool gathering on a plump bottom lip.

"Uhh, yeah," you squinted at him. You had this uneasy feeling in your chest as he seemed to stare right through you. You side-stepped, intent on finding the exit. "Well, I'm gonna go, sorry for disturbing you."

"Don't go," a more guttural tone escaped him.

Before you could even begin to find the exit, he was directly in front of you now. How did he even do that? He completely towered over your small frame, even in this complete darkness, that was apparent. One of the small lights in the back of the room began to shed dim light on the back corner of the room again, making it a little more distinguishable to see the place now and to see him. Whatever and whoever he was, was in complete clown attire. Full makeup and a Victorian era-esque silver costume, complete with red trimmings and ruffles.

But that wasn't the focus of your attention for very long. Those piercing blue eyes had turned into a haunting golden color and they were.. glowing? You blinked your eyes hard a few times, trying to make your eyes focus on what you were actually seeing. This all had to be a dream, it just had to be. There was no way there was an almost 7 foot clown standing in front of you with glowing, gold eyes and.. Fangs?!

Your lips parted as you breathed out, watching the clown narrow his eyes at you as he opened his mouth to reveal a row of sharpened fangs in his mouth that were now wet and sloppy with his drool.

"What the fuck," you whispered, backing up as you watched him close the distance between the two of you, a primal growl escaping his throat.

"What's wrong, (Y/N), not having fun with ol' Pennywise?" He growled again, his lips turning upward into a sinister smile.

You could feel your heart race in your chest as your backside his the wooden table again. You breathed heavily as he closed in on you. You were scared, but you felt something else, too. Something that was entirely wrong and immoral as you gazed up as this thing that was clearly not a human-being. You felt an attraction. You bit down into your lip, hoping it'd just get whatever it wanted to do to you out of the way.

He lowered his face to yours, those glowing eyes getting brighter. He opened his mouth wider to only stop midway as his eyes snapped back down to yours as the two of you locked into a fierce staring competition. His eyes narrowed again as he studied you, he seemed to be confused with your demeanor. It was clear that he was very much used to people being in nothing but a sheer panic when they were near him, and rightfully so.

His gloved-hand reached out to wrap around your throat, causing you to yelp as he pushed you back against the table, lowering his head to sniff at you, a few stray drops of cold drool plopping onto your skin made it well up instantly with goosebumps. He growled again as he jerked his head back, putting his face right into yours as you were pulled up onto the table.

You dress rode up further onto your hips, exposing you almost completely. You felt his body and the silky feel of his costume force between your legs as he leaned into you, still staring at you intently.

"You're not afraid" he growled, his lip curling up into that wicked smile again as he gazed at you. He tightened his grip on your throat as he took a breath. "But I can sense something else.."

Truthfully, you weren't afraid now. Especially when he was pressing himself so tightly against your body that your legs were spread wide for him to lean himself against you. You were still trying to decide if it was the best or worst day to not to wear panties with this dress. He was pressed so roughly against you that, whatever was beneath his suit was pressing hard against your sex and every movement sent a jolt of arousal straight to your clit and it made a small moan escape your lips.

You were a complete fucking mess.

"Please," you whined. At this point, you didn't know if you were whining for him to let you go, or if you were whining because you didn't want him to let you go.

He chuckled, pressing his head right up against yours as his tongue slithered from between his lips, dragging it up along your face to leave a trail of saliva in it's wake.

"Desperate and disgusting little human.. I can smell the arousal on you.. I know that you don't want to leave, I know what you crave," he purred in a gravelly tone. "Isn't that right?"

You couldn't speak, you could only look up at him through your lashes, your breathing becoming needy and desperate as you felt the first, shallow roll of his hips against you, making your breath hitch as you felt him hardening under his costume.

"Isn't that right?!" He spat, demanding that you answer his question.

You nodded quickly. "Y-yes."

He growled, snapping his teeth in approval, shaking his head as he slung drool onto your face again, rolling his hips into you again. "Then say IT. Say it for me. Say it for Pennywise. You want to live, don't you? SAY IT."

"I- I am a disgusting human," you croaked out.

If he couldn't bring the fear out of you, he damn sure seemed intent on humiliating you. Which, oddly enough, was also a turn on.

Nothing about you was fearful anymore, in fact, you were almost ashamed at how utterly turned on you were at this point. You could feel just how wet you had become and you already knew that you were leaking onto his costume. You could still feel his length hardening beneath his costume, and it felt huge.

"Good girl," he cooed, thrusting his hips against you a little harder this time.

You moaned, feeling his cock hit your clit again front beneath the suit. It felt as if it was moving beneath the surface, as if it was growing, pulsating, even. It was fairly obvious that that wasn't a human, nor was this a human-like cock, either. God, this whole thing was disgusting, and you knew it was disgusting, but you couldn't help it nor did you care. Here you were getting off inside of an old dank tent to some sort of monster that was set on killing you five minutes ago, and even that turned you on.

It was all wrong on so many levels, but you had never been so fucking turned on in your entire life.

He tightened his grip against your throat, still grinding himself against your sex, making you moan louder and louder with each thrust. He growled in unison with you, his mouth opening to reveal those sharpened fangs again as he lowered his head, biting down into your shoulder as it caused you to scream out in pain. Long, sharp claws wrapped themselves around your waist, digging in as this thing grinded and dry humped against your soaked cunt.

"That's right. Scream for me, pretty little human," he chuckled darkly, slamming his hips into yours. "Beg for me like a good little slut."

You gasped, feeling the pain radiating in your shoulder and your waist, but it only served as fuel for the pleasure that you also felt as this clown rubbed your pussy raw. You had completely soaked through at this point, but what real concern was that anyway?

"Please," you begged, obeying his orders. "Please, don't stop."

He bit down even harder into your shoulder this time, and you screamed again, the tears welling up in eyes as you felt his grip tighten on you again. This was it. You were sure he wasn't going to let you go. He was gonna kill you right here and there.

And the thought of that in itself sent you completely over the edge as you moaned out. One hand reached out to grab as his costume, pulling and ripping at it until you heard something tear off in your hand, and your other hand shot between the two of you as you pressed your fingers into your swollen clit, rubbing feverish circles around it to prolonge the powerful orgasm that washed over your entire body as Pennywise growled and drooled against your skin, still grinding himself against your body.

You breathed hard as your orgasm finally subsided. Pennywise pulled himself away from you, his mouth covered with a mix of saliva and your blood as he met you face-to-face again, his eyes still glowing a wicked golden color as he unhinged his jaw, revealing a whole mouth a throatful of teeth with three distinct lights in the center as he got closer to you. You gasped, closing your eyes to it as you turned your head away, preparing for him to finish you off then and there.

You wait for a few seconds, and a few seconds more. Nothing. Was he fucking with you?

You cracked open one of your eyes, half expecting to see him standing there, still ready to pounce as soon as you let your guard down, but there was no one. You opened them back up to see the room was empty, and all those dim lights from before were finally back on, illuminating the entrance of the tent.

You sighed, but it wasn't necessarily relief . Had you completely fucking lost it? What just happened?

You sat there for a moment, still in shock before you could even begin to move. There was no evidence. The bite marks were gone and all the blood you expected to see turned out to be nothing but red face paint that you had stuck your hand in earlier in the dark.

You gritted your teeth, mildy upset that this had been some sort of hallucination. You sighed again, lowering yourself off of the table. You were so lost in your own head that you hadn't even noticed until then, that you were gripping something extra tightly in your fist. You pulled your hand up to open it, revealing a small bell with red trim around it.

Your eyes widened as you looked at it.

That was on Pennywise's costume.

You looked around the room frantically as you backed out of it, clutching the small bell in your hands. A small smile escaping your lips as you exited the tent, stumbling out of it as you turned to get one last glance inside of it. It had gone pitch black inside of it again, and you could have sworn you saw a faint glow of golden eyes from inside.

You turned on your heel and began to run towards home.

This was one night at the carnival you'd never forget.

[janiedean]

In reponse to the other anon regarding Africans and black identity: the black Africans you know are coons or are putting up a front in the presence of white folks. Sorry not sorry, someone has to spread some truths.

anon, I just. I read this ask four hours ago. I’m staring at it now and I honestly cannot even imagine how to convey the disgust I’m feeling. like it’s making me sick just to look at it. idk. I honestly hope I never run into anyone like you irl. anyway.

you freaking fucking condescending asshole who has no idea what they’re talking about, I work with refugees. I’ve spent like one year talking regularly to people who risked their fucking life to get here in 75% of the cases (last year about 90%) including fucking underage kids, but obviously you don’t care about that, do you? three of the people I’m doing a theater lab with are living in a freaking refugee center, ALL OF THEM OUTSIDE ROME so in order to come to school they have to take one bus and one train every other morning. a lot of the people I worked with last year came from some small town one hour and a half out of the city and school started at 9 AM which meant they had to get up at like fucking six AM to get there. some of them were torture victims. some of them were abuse victims of every kind you can think of. most of them have to talk about that shit to lawyers in order to get a permit of stay or refugee status. but hey, that’s posing to you, is it?

some of these people can speak six fucking languages. *I*, as in the idiot who has to teach them stuff, can speak two currently, read one in a more or less average way and another one very badly. some of them have fucking degrees. and they come to some school where you teach basic italian for free. those people have a rich culture and they are fucking people who couldn’t give two fucks about my skin color or theirs differently from y’all apparently. what even should they have to pose for? what should they have to fake? living abroad? being separated from their families? having suffered more than you or I can even basically imagine? missing their homeland? jesus christ there was some guy a while ago, I was trying to teach people how to talk about the weather, I asked them about the weather in his country and he waxed poetical about how much he missed it and it’s amazing sun and the likes for five minutes, what the fuck do i tell him? you’re a poser because then you could just go back when obviously he needs to be here for other reasons? I just - posers. the fuck. they pose so they appear less privileged than they actually are? rich. THEY LIVE IN A COUNTRY THAT’S NOT THEIRS WHEN IN MOST OF THE CASES THEY DIDN’T EVEN CHOOSE TO BE AND COULDN’T THANKS TO THE DUBLIN TREATY IN AN HISTORICAL MOMENT WHEN XENOPHOBIA AND RACISM ARE AT THEIR HIGHEST AND THEY’RE POSERS? christ, I’m - I can’t even.

I can tell you that whenever we have cultural exchanges and when we had the end of the year school party people were happy to talk about things, to dance with also HORRIBLE WHITE PEOPLE (if it makes me less problematic I didn’t, even if they asked me to, but hey, it was posing! and I didn’t just bc I’m self-conscious about dancing but whatever) and to sing songs from their countries but hey it was all posing to make us feel better? what they should be faking? 

also, razza di stronzo/a senza un cazzo di concetto di cosa è il classismo o UN CAZZO DI NIENTE, BLACK IDENTITY MAYBE EXISTS JUST IN THE FUCKING US OF A. BLACK IDENTITY IS A CONCEPT THAT MAKES NO SENSE WHEN TALKING ABOUT AFRICA BECAUSE GUESS WHAT, AFRICA IS MADE UP BY A BUNCH OF DIFFERENT COUNTRIES WHICH ARE ALL WILDLY DIFFERENT FROM EACH OTHER. SOMEONE FROM GHANA DOES NOT HAVE THE SAME CULTURE AS SOMEONE FROM SENEGAL AS SOMEONE FROM MAURITANIA AS SOMEONE FROM LIBYA AS SOMEONE FROM MOROCCO AS SOMEONE FROM NIGERIA AND NONE OF THOSE COUNTRIES HAVE THE SAME CONCEPT OF BLACK IDENTITY AS THE US NOR THEIR *BLACK CULTURE* IS THE SAME AS AMERICAN BLACK CULTURE* AND IF YOU ONLY HAD A CLUE THAT THE WORLD DOESN’T STOP OUTSIDE THE BORDERS OF THE US MAYBE YOU’D MANAGE TO GRASP THAT. JESUS FUCKING CHRIST YOU’RE SO - SO - I DON’T EVEN KNOW WHAT WORDS I SHOULD USE BUT THEY’RE NOTHING GOOD.

newsflash to you: most of those people, as stated, cannot give two single fucks about skin color. I have classes from all ethnicities and nations and I’ve never seen anyone white (I also have russians or chinese/asians or EEs btw) give a fuck about sitting with someone black or asian or whatever the hell else and I’m fairly sure that even if they’re a lot less fucking privileged than you, me, most people living in a first world country WITHOUT BEING A REFUGEE AND THE LIES AND WHATNOT, they’re nowhere near as full of hate or pettiness or ignorance as you. or of whoever voted for trump since whenever he’s mentioned in class everyone goes like ‘ah yeah the dictator?’. well, someone’s ahead of half of the people who thought he and hillary were the same thing. idek. sure as fuck they have a better grasp of english grammar than half of the people I read making Informed Discourse on tumblr, and it’s not even their mother tongue 99% of the time. of course, there’s also assholes, but assholes are everywhere. my country, yours, theirs, whatever. doesn’t make them fucking posers.  

‘someone has to spread some truths’ okay. sure. I’d still like to know which ones they are but honestly, don’t even tell me because you honestly disgust me and I don’t want your racist ass around here. get. out. and just because you deserve it: maporcamiserialadra io la gente come te non la posso reggere, non la potevo reggere quando li avevo in classe alle elementari, non la posso reggere ora, mi fa letteralmente schifo e saichetedico ma mannaggia a li mortacci tua, e non posso manco dare il beneficio del dubbio ai tuoi cazzo di parenti perché uno/a che spara una cazzata del genere qualcuno ad essere così meschino, poraccio e insopportabile deve averglielo insegnato. va a farti fottere e fammi il piacere di levarti dal cazzo tipo adesso perché la gente come te è il motivo per cui il razzismo esiste e me fa veni da vomità, porcaputtanaeva. mi fai veramente ribrezzo. 

[olderjustneverwiser]

It Wasn't Getting Drunk I Loved, It Was Being With You (Rafael Barba)

Masterlist

Request for anon: im the one who requested either carisi or barba for the friends to lovers and i would love a drunk kissing one!!! that like maybe turns smutty when they get sober WUT. lololol 

A while back, @moresvuheadcanons was going through some hard stuff, and I promised I’d write her a little something about Rafael comforting a reader (I actually think I still have my handwritten notes for that fic somewhere). Since nothing I was trying to wrote for that was working, Caitlin, this one’s for you and I hope you enjoy it! 

Also, thanks to @am-i-right-counselor for her help!

This didn’t turn smutty, but I think i was able to make it gender neutral? I don’t think I added any pronouns.

When you first made your move from Vice to SVU, you weren’t quite sure how handling these types of cases would affect you. You were determined to never get too close to a case, though, and you were fine, for the most part. The cases were disgusting and disheartening, you dealt with the absolute worst kinds of perps, and witnessed things that made your stomach turn, but still you pushed through, case after case. However, after one particularly sickening case involving a neglected child and the Department of Child Services, you reached your breaking point.

After the trial, you found yourself at a bar, nursing a drink. The trial went well, considering; the DCS was going to undergo a revamping, but still, you felt as though justice had not been served. Keisha was still dead, and poor Bruno was in foster care. He was better off there than with his dead-beat mother, but you still felt for the kid. It made you sick.

Out of the corner of your eye you saw someone take the bar stool next to you. You turned your head to see that Barba had taken it, and was shimmying out of his suit jacket, “Looks like we had the same idea, detective.”

You offered up a small smile, “Yeah, that was a tough case.”

“It was,” his face was solemn, “That’s why we drink. How about next round’s on me?”

From that night on, going to the bar after a hard case had become you and Barba’s ‘thing.’ It was always the same bar, The Grouse Room just a few blocks from the courthouse, and more often than not it was the same thing every time; you would share a plate of fries over a few drinks and talk. Neither of you ever got too drunk, it was just a nice way to let off steam. Over time, you and Barba became friends. 

Over the passing months, talk about the cases you worked turned into talk about your private lives. Barba had told you about his childhood, about how his father treated him and his mother. He told you about his time at Harvard and why he decided to become a prosecutor. You soon realized that you were getting to see a side of Rafael Barba that few people got to see. It was clear that you were becoming his closest friend on the squad, and part of you found solace in that.

In fact, it did not take long for you to develop feelings for the man. What had started out as blowing off steam after work turned into hanging out with a dear friend. While he was sassy and threatening in the courtroom, he was kind and softhearted with you. These conflicting personalities of his were alluring, and sexy as hell. You told yourself that nothing could come from these feelings, though. He was your ADA and you were his detective and who says he would ever feel the same, anyway?

 ‘Grouse Room? Meet at 9?’

You needed to see Barba. This was going to be a horrible, disturbing case. You already knew, when you arrived at the hospital with Carisi and met the victim. Such a young kid, sodomized with a hockey stick. A damn hockey stick. Thinking about it almost made you vomit. 

Barba sent a quick reply, saying that he’d be there. That made you feel a little better, but time seemed to drag until you were able to punch out for the day. You headed to the bar and waited for Rafael, and were already on your second drink when he arrived.

His eyes widened at the scowl on your face, “Tell me, how bad is it?”

“Thirteen year old. Sodomized with a hockey stick in the locker room.”

“I swear, they just seem to get worse,” he took his seat as he ordered his usual.

“I think one of the teammates did it,” you finished your drink in a gulp and promptly ordered another one.

“Don’t you think you should pace yourself?” Barba sounded worried, but you could not care less about your well-being at the moment.

“Nope. I need to forget about how horrible our world is for a while.”

You felt Barba’s hand on your leg and saw him smile, “Then let’s talk about something not horrible.”

It didn’t take long for you to get a nice buzz, and before long you were drunk. You didn’t know how long you and Barba had been at the bar, or how much you had to drink, but the room was spinning. You had been rambling for a while; you weren’t sure if you were even coherent or not, but Barba had just been sitting there, listening to you go on with a smile on his face.

“And, Barba, I just don’t understand why everybody is so mean! Why are people to awful to one another? To kids?”

“I don’t know. I wish I could tell you.”

You cocked your head and looked at him. God, he was handsome. You wanted to kiss him, and you thought that he might just be drunk enough to want to kiss you, too. If not, you could just blame the drinks.

“You’re not awful, ya know.”

“Thank you. You’re not too awful, yourself.”

It was now or never. You leaned your body towards him, you were still sitting on the bar stool to keep your balance. You stopped just a few inches from his face, waiting for him to stop you, to push you away. He didn’t; he just stared at you, his brows furrowed at your advance. Your hand found his tie and you closed the gap between you, crashing your lips into his.

Barba stiffened at your kiss, but quickly he relaxed into you, his large hands grabbing at your waist to pull you closer. Kissing him felt amazing, his lips were dominant, but soft and gentle. A perfect mix of him. Too soon he pulled away, and asked if you wanted to go home with him.

When you woke up the next morning, you knew two things; that you were in an unfamiliar apartment, and you had one of the worst hangovers you could remember. As you looked around the room, pieces of the night came back to you. Drinking way more than normal, kissing Barba. 

Fuck, Barba. Had you slept with him?

You looked down, seeing that your dress clothes were still on. That was a good sign, but still, you were embarrassed. How could you work with Barba again after last night? Your badge and gun weren’t on you, you couldn’t remember taking them off. The bed you were in was empty, but you didn’t get a chance to wonder where its owner was. Barba entered his room, coffee and aspirin in his hands.

“Hey, you,” he handed you the aspirin as he sat on the edge of the bed, “there’s some water in the night stand.”

You smiled as you took the medicine, and drank the entire glass of water.

“Don’t worry, we didn’t do anything. I just knew I had to get you out of there so you could sleep.”

That made you feel a little better, “I’m really sorry about kissing you.”

He frowned, “Why are you sorry?”

You were confused, “Um, because I kissed you? And we were drunk? I made a fool of myself.”

“Did you kiss me because you were drunk?”

“Well, it definitely gave me the confidence to,” you replied sheepishly.

He was staring at you, you couldn’t read the expression on his face. You desperately wanted to know what he was thinking. You didn’t have to wonder for long, though, “Did you think I went to the bar all those times just to drink? I went to be with you.”

You could practically feel your heart burst at his words. “Really?” you asked.

He nodded, and held one of your hands in his own. “I can drink at home. There’s nothing really special about that bar, except that we were there together. You’re something special, you know, not just another drinking buddy. I thought that was obvious.”

“Maybe you need to be a little more obvious, then,” you replied with a grin.

He flashed you his signature Rafael Barba smirk before he wrapped one of his hands around the back of your head and pulled you in for another perfect kiss.