#because I’ve been disappointed in it for years

[devixncy]

Hey! I’ve got a heavy hurt/comfort request here that is pretty angsty, so if it’s too much please just ignore this.

Anyway if you’re comfortable could I request a Thanos x reader (no games AU) where is read of the recruiter finding him in the bridge, the reader does? Maybe they were good friends before his career fell apart.

I just wanted to hug him so bad when he was telling his backstory to Minsu 😭 and I can in fic form

a/n: i wrote this one so fast. ty for this request (hopefully i did it justice)

✧ pairing: choi su-bong (thanos) x reader

✧ summary: you come face to face with your best friend on the bridge instead of the recruiter

✧ content: heavy themes (suicidal ideation, thanos at the bridge as mentioned in squid game), angst, no games AU, swearing, some comfort at the end bc that's how i roll

✧ word count: 2.3k

‘Your call has been forwarded to voicemail. The person you’re trying to reach is not available. At the tone, please record your mess-’

Your thumb hit the end call button, letting out a sigh of frustration. You weren’t sure why you kept trying, maybe it was because you always held out hope and your heart didn’t want to give up. At this point, your name had probably flashed across what used to be your best friend's screen hundreds of times–only to never receive a response. 

Su-bong’s radio silence worried you to no end. The two of you had been inseparable once, from pre-teens all the way into early adulthood. He was your best friend, your partner in crime. You helped each other through heartbreak, you consoled him when no one else understood what he was going through at home. You had shared countless late night talks, discussing quite literally anything you could think of because there were no secrets between you. Unfortunately, you hadn’t realized how much of a crush you had developed on him until it was too late.

When he began his rapping career, you were nothing but supportive. He was following his dream, wanting to make a name for himself under the alias ‘Thanos’. You always reposted his music on social media to help promote it, and always went to his shows once he began performing at small venues and clubs. As always, rising to fame didn’t come without consequences. It started with small, miniscule things that you brushed off as nothing at first. He started to take longer to answer your texts; what used to take seconds would now take him almost a full day until he was basically ghosting you. He began to “forget” to tell you when his shows were scheduled, disappointing you to no end because you wanted to be there for him.

Then, there was the night he showed up at your apartment, stumbling and pupils blown so wide you almost couldn’t see the blue of his eyes anymore. He was high out of his mind, coming to your door to beg for money so that he could pay back some of whatever debt he had accumulated. Your heart broke when you had to kick him out without sparing anything, as you had very little money to spare yourself. He was erratic and loud, and you couldn’t have him in your apartment that late in the state he was in. You had cried that night, seeing what was happening to your best friend.

After that night, you hadn’t heard from Su-bong again. Your desperate attempts to contact him were futile, you never received a response. It left you angry and defeated, wondering what you had done wrong. You missed him dearly, and it had been almost a full year since you’d spoken. 

A pebble went scattering across the concrete as you kicked it, lost in thought while you walked. It was getting late, the sun disappearing behind the horizon as the stars began to brighten the dark sky. You shoved your hands in your pockets, a shiver running down your spine as the cold air nipped at you. You wandered aimlessly, having no real destination–yet it was another reminder of Su-bong. Walks to clear your minds was something you both did together often, and now it was just you. He used to boast about how he would protect you and that no one would bother you if you were with him, not that anybody ever did. 

Something wet landing on the tip of your nose broke you out of your thoughts yet again, causing you to tilt your head up and look into the sky. The light patter of rain began to hit your face, starting as a sprinkle and gradually turning into a steady rainfall. Great. You grumbled, knowing you still had a while to walk and no umbrella. Pulling up your hood, your feet carried you in the direction of your apartment. Eventually, you began to approach the bridge that you had crossed not too long ago, signaling you weren’t very far now. A sigh of relief began to escape your lips, no longer wanting to be out in this weather as you were already soaked. However, whatever air you had in your lungs was immediately sucked out, leaving you frozen in shock. A figure was standing eerily still by the rails of the side of the bridge, their grip on the steel bar tight. 

You had no idea what to do in this situation. Your heart sped up, thumping against your rib cage. Your eyes diverted from the figure to the unforgiving river below, the dark water angry as rain beat down against it. Its currents roared, jagged rocks lurking beneath the churning surface. Your stomach twisted, hoping this wasn’t what you thought it was. Taking a deep breath, you began to move slowly and silently. You knew the person couldn’t hear you and you hoped they wouldn’t see you from their peripheral vision even though they had their hood up. Creeping closer, you almost had a heart attack as they suddenly hopped up onto the rail, swinging their legs around so that they were sitting facing the water. Moving quicker now, you were merely feet away.

Deep breaths. You had to act quickly. The glow of the city in the distance seemed dampened by the rain, and time seemingly slowed down. You took another slow step forward, not too fast or eager. The figure’s hands clenched tightly against the railing, knuckles turning white. Their breath came in shuddering bursts, visible in the coldness of the night. 

“You don’t want this.” Your gentle voice carried through the wind. 

They flinched at the sound of your voice, but didn’t turn around. 

“I know it feels like there’s nothing left. I know it feels hopeless, like the weight of the world is crushing you,” you continued. “But I promise this is not the way. Not like this. There is someone out there who cares about you, who would be devastated if you made this choice.”

They shivered. Whether it was from your words or from the chill in the air, you weren’t sure. You took another small step forward.

“Please,” you whispered. “You’re not alone. Please come down and let me help you.” 

For a moment, time paused. The silence was loud, and all you could hear was your heartbeat in your ears. 

And then–slowly, cautiously–they turned.

And you felt as if somebody had punched you in the gut, all of the air sucked out of your lungs in an instant. The weight of a million tons felt as if it were crushing your body. The world blurred at its edges, sounds turning distant as if everything was underwater.

Su-bong, your Su-bong, was staring back at you. His cheeks were tear-streaked, noticeable even in the pouring rain. His eyes were distant, hollow–though you could clearly see the blue in his irises, meaning he wasn’t high at the moment. He showed no emotion in his face, something you weren’t used to seeing. 

“Su-bong…” You whispered, and it came out strangled, like somebody was squeezing your lungs. You stood there with your arm slightly outstretched, lips parted in shock. He stared back at you, unmoving, no words coming out of his mouth. The tremors began, your fingers shaking uncontrollably as the weight of the truth settled in like ice. Your best friend, the person you loved the most, was about to kill himself. 

“You shouldn’t be here, (Y/N).” His voice was strained, raw, like he had been screaming. It was devoid of emotion, but his eyes told a different story. There was conflict flickering in them, maybe uncertainty, you couldn’t tell. 

Your knees nearly gave out as he turned back around, seemingly having his mind made up whether you were there or not. Panic set in, adrenaline coursing through your veins like fire as you lurched forward, although stopping yourself before you made a dumb decision.

“Su-bong, please! Please don’t do this, don’t you dare,” You cried, your breaths coming in short gasps as desperation clawed at you. Logic went out the window, your mouth was moving faster than your brain. “I love you, please don’t do this. I need you here.” 

He didn’t say anything. But mere seconds later, his shoulders began to shake violently. You began to hear sobs escape from the man in front of you, tearing your heart into a million pieces. And after a long, excruciating moment that seemed to stretch on forever, he slowly turned back around. Your hand, although violently trembling, was outstretched towards him. “Please come down.” You tried once more, barely audible over the unrelenting rain. Your eyes betrayed you, his outline blurring as they were swimming with tears that wouldn’t stop coming. 

But you felt his touch, his hand hesitantly grabbing yours. Slowly, but surely he swung his legs back around until he was facing you instead of the water below. As soon as he was facing you, you yanked him towards you with all of the strength you had left. His body collided with yours, and like something awakened in him, he threw his arms around you. His grip was tight, crushing–but you paid no mind, your arms finding their way around his back and clutching onto the fabric of his hoodie so tight he might fly away if you let go. He sobbed, his head dropping onto your shoulder. His knees buckled and you followed suit, lowering the two of you onto the ground. 

“I’m so sorry, (Y/N), god I’m so fucking sorry,” He cried. You didn’t respond, you couldn’t find words. Your chest was heaving, emotions all over the place. You just rocked him gently, quiet hiccups coming out of your mouth as you tried to grapple with reality. “I thought your life, and everyone else's, would be better off without me in it. I’m so sorry, I-I wasn’t thinking, I’m just such a fuck up-”

You cut him off, leaning back so that you could grab his face. “Do NOT say that to me, ever! You are one of the most important pieces of my life, you always have been and that has never changed. My life got better the day you came into it. Even if you feel like you have nothing else, you have me. You always have,” You took a deep breath as he rested his forehead against yours, shame written all over his face. “I love you so much, whether you know it or not. But the point is, I will always be here for you. Through the good and the bad.” 

Su-bong closed his eyes, tears still running down his face. The rain chilled the both of you to the bone, soaking through every inch of your clothing. You wiped his tears, holding him close. 

“I want to get out of here. Please, let’s go anywhere but here.” He finally whispered. You nodded, not saying a word as you slowly helped him to his feet. You kept an arm wrapped around his waist, helping him keep upright as you walked as he was unsteady on his feet. He was exhausted–emotionally, physically, and mentally. 

No words were exchanged as you brought him into your apartment. You led him into your small bathroom, sitting him on the edge of your bathtub. Grabbing multiple towels, you stood in front of him between his legs. His trembling hands didn’t go unnoticed by you, your chest aching as you looked at him. He looked distant, but was watching you. You offered him a small smile, one that was filled with warmth and familiarity. With gentle hands, you began to towel dry his soaking wet hair, bringing back some of the vibrant purple as it no longer stuck to his forehead. You had him strip out of his wet clothes, bringing him some spare of his that had been left at your apartment from long ago. Making sure he was dry and comfortable was your number one priority at the moment. 

“You’re still soaking wet.” He murmured as you were hanging the towels up to dry, making you pause. You turned, frowning as that was the first thing he’d said in a while. 

“No, you’re not worrying about me right now.” You said sternly, dropping your hands to your sides. He grabbed one of your hands, pulling you towards him. You stopped in between his legs and he wrapped his arms around your waist, burying his face into your stomach. Your hand instinctively came up to his hair, running through it like you had done many times before. After a couple of moments, he lifted his head, chin now resting on your stomach as he looked up at you. 

“Thank you,” He said softly, vulnerability shining in his eyes. “For everything. I owe you my life. I promise that I’m going to get help. I don’t want to feel like this anymore.” He whispered as you cupped his cheek. 

“I’ll be with you every step of the way, my love. Anything you need, I’m here. You’ll always have a home here.” You replied sincerely, your heart hurting for the man in front of you. 

“I know. I don’t know why I didn’t come home sooner.” He whispered, and the back of your eyes stung.

You went to bed that night with hope for the future, holding Su-bong close and him holding onto you all night like a lifeline. You didn’t know what exactly he had gone through in the time you were apart, but none of that mattered now. All you wanted was to protect him from his demons, and you so badly hoped that he would let you in. It would take time, but there was nothing more you wanted than to help him heal. 

[chelseaknoo]

hey girl i love ur writing 🩷🩷

i'd love to request a modern marshall with a younger rapper like doechii or megan thee stallion?? you can do whatever i just love that dynamic! ok!

love you, keep doing amazing and i hope you had a happy holidays! 🥰

Eminem x young rapper!reader

Note:Thanks! My holiday was semi-decent. My family barely spent any time with me and my sister, which was disappointing. On top of that, the internet was SO slow, I could hardly get any writing done.I also did Secret Santa for the first time. I gave a girl some Victoria’s Secret perfume and lotion, and in return, I got Crayola markers… She said she picked them for me because I like art.First time doing Secret Santa—and definitely the last!

Since you were young, rap has always been your passion. It wasn’t just the rhythm or the flow; it was the raw emotion and power behind the words that drew you in. You grew up listening to Eminem, idolizing his honesty and unfiltered style. While others may have looked up to artists like Nicki Minaj, you felt a deeper connection to Marshall’s music, his story, and the way he could use words to paint a picture so vividly.

At just nine years old, you found yourself on Dance Moms, juggling dance routines with a fire for something more. Despite the pressure of the spotlight and the competitive environment, you always felt like something was missing. It wasn’t until you were older, that the pull of rap grew too strong to ignore, pushing you to make music of your own. The stage lights of Dance Moms had been your introduction to performing, but the microphone and the verses? That’s where you truly belonged.

-

You sat in your small apartment, anxiously tapping your fingers against the edge of the coffee table. The email confirming Shady Records had received your demo had been sitting in your inbox for weeks. You had poured your soul into that song—a raw blend of your personal struggles, triumphs, and a beat that you prayed would catch someone’s attention.

Then it happened.

Your phone buzzed one evening, breaking your thoughts. You glanced at the screen and froze. The caller ID simply read: "Shady Records."

“Hello?” you answered cautiously, trying to keep the nervous tremor out of your voice.

“Hi, this is Paul Rosenberg from Shady Records. Is this [Y/N]?”

Your breath hitched. *Paul Rosenberg? THE Paul Rosenberg?* “Y-yeah, this is me.”

“We’ve been listening to your demo, and we’re impressed. Eminem’s heard it too, and he’d like to meet you in the studio tomorrow. Are you available?”

You barely registered the rest of the conversation after the mention of *Eminem*. The Eminem. Not only had he listened to your song, but he wanted to meet you. You somehow managed to give a coherent answer before the call ended.

The next morning, you stood outside the studio, dressed in your best casual-but-professional outfit. A fitted pair of jeans and a cropped hoodie that hugged your curves, paired with sleek sneakers. You weren’t going to show up looking like you hadn’t put thought into it, but you also wanted to be comfortable.

When you walked inside, the receptionist directed you to Studio A. You hesitated outside the door, your nerves threatening to get the best of you.

"Deep breath," you muttered to yourself, before pushing it open.

The room smelled faintly of coffee and leather. Behind the soundboard stood none other than Marshall Mathers himself, headphones around his neck, scribbling into a notebook. He glanced up at the sound of the door.

“Hey,” he said, his voice smooth but with a touch of curiosity. “You must be [Y/N].”

You nodded, stepping inside and closing the door behind you. “That’s me. Uh… hi.”

He smirked at your nervousness, but his eyes lingered on you for a moment longer than you expected. “I’ve been listening to your track. It’s dope.”

“Really?” you asked, your voice breaking slightly with disbelief.

“Yeah,” he said, leaning against the console. “Your flow’s clean, your wordplay’s sharp, and you’ve got this… edge to you. It’s rare for someone to come in with that kind of energy.”

“Thank you,” you replied, the words feeling inadequate for how much that compliment meant coming from *him*.

Marshall tilted his head slightly, studying you. “You’re young, right? Twenty-four?”

“Yeah.”

“And you’ve got this kind of sound already?” He shook his head with a chuckle. “Shit, I was still finding my footing at your age.”

You smiled nervously, shifting your weight from one foot to the other. His eyes flicked downward for a brief second, lingering on your figure before darting back up to meet your gaze.

“So,” he said, clearing his throat, “what got you into this? Dance Moms, right? Paul told me.”

You laughed, a little embarrassed. “Yeah, that’s me. I was on it for two seasons. But even then, I knew I wanted to rap. Dancing was fun, but music… music was everything.”

“That’s dope,” he said again, leaning forward, his forearms resting on his thighs. “I can tell you’ve been through some shit, though. You write like someone who’s seen some life.”

“Guess that’s one way to put it,” you replied softly.

Marshall nodded, his expression softening. “That’s good. People connect to the real shit.”

As the conversation continued, you noticed how he seemed to pay close attention to everything you said. He asked questions about your process, your influences, your upbringing. But there was also a subtle, lingering tension in the air. His gaze would occasionally flick to your lips or your figure before he’d quickly refocus on the conversation.

“So,” he said finally, leaning back in his chair, “you ready to spit some verses in the booth? I want to see what you’re like in action.”

“Now?” you asked, slightly surprised.

“Hell yeah,” he replied, flashing you a quick grin. “No better time.”

You stepped into the booth, your heart pounding. As the beat from your demo began to play, you took a deep breath and let the words flow. It was a familiar feeling—like stepping into a zone where nothing else mattered. When you finished, you glanced through the glass to see Marshall staring at you, an impressed grin spreading across his face.

“Damn,” he said through the intercom. “That was fire.”

You stepped out of the booth, your cheeks warm from the praise. “Thanks.”

He stood as you approached, towering slightly over you. His expression was serious, but his eyes held a flicker of something else. “You’re good,” he said, his voice low. “Like… really good.”

“Coming from you, that means everything,” you said, your voice almost a whisper.

He smirked, his gaze sweeping over you again. “I’ve got a feeling we’re gonna be seeing a lot of each other, [Y/N].”

And just like that, your journey with Shady Records—and Marshall Mathers—began.

-

Working on your debut album under Shady Records was everything you had dreamed of—and more. The long hours in the studio, the back-and-forth about beats and lyrics, and the energy of being surrounded by some of the best in the game—it was exhausting but electrifying. And then there was Marshall.

From the moment you stepped into the studio, you felt his eyes on you. Not just in the way a mentor watches over a rising artist, but in a way that made your skin heat under his gaze. At first, you brushed it off. You weren’t blind; you knew the photoshoots you had been doing for the album’s visuals weren’t exactly *modest*. But then you started noticing it more. The way his gaze would linger, the way his jaw would tighten slightly before he forced himself to look away, the way he suddenly got a little quieter whenever you walked into the room after a shoot.

Today was no different.

You were in the middle of a shoot for the album cover, the dimly lit set giving off a sultry, moody vibe. Your outfit? A black leather bodysuit that clung to every inch of your body, cut low in the front to show off just enough cleavage without being *too* much. The sides were laced up, showing off hints of skin along your waist and hips, leading down to thigh-high leather boots with a sharp heel. Your hair was styled to perfection, and your makeup was bold—smoky eyes, glossy lips, the works.

Marshall had been in the studio all day, working on mixes, but the second he walked onto the set, you *felt* it. The shift in the air.

You were mid-pose, one knee bent slightly, hands resting on your hips when you caught sight of him standing just outside the lights. He had his hoodie up, arms crossed over his chest, but his eyes—his sharp, blue eyes—were locked on you. And not in a *casual observation* way.

You smirked to yourself. *Busted.*

The photographer called out another pose, and you turned, arching your back just a little, pushing out your hips. A subtle move, but one that had an *effect*.

From the corner of your eye, you saw Marshall shift, clearing his throat and rubbing the back of his neck. You bit back a grin.

After the shoot wrapped, you grabbed a robe and walked over to where he stood, pretending like you hadn’t noticed his lingering stares all day.

“You good, Em?” you asked, sipping from your water bottle.

“Huh?” He blinked, snapping out of whatever trance he had been in.

You raised an eyebrow. “You’ve been real quiet over there.”

He scoffed, shoving his hands into his hoodie pockets. “Nah, I’m just… watchin’. The shoot. You’re really leanin’ into the image, huh?”

You tilted your head. “You mean *sexy*? Yeah, I am. You don’t like it?”

He hesitated, his jaw tightening again. “Didn’t say that.”

You smirked. “Uh-huh. You sure? ‘Cause you looked like you were about to combust over there.”

That earned you a *look*. “Man, shut up,” he muttered, shaking his head, but there was the slightest twitch at the corner of his mouth, like he was fighting back a grin.

You stepped a little closer, tilting your head up at him. “I get it, though. You’re used to being surrounded by dudes. You probably haven’t been around this much ass in a while.”

He huffed out a laugh, running a hand over his face. “Yo, stop.”

“Stop what?” you teased, nudging him lightly with your elbow.

Marshall glanced down at you, his eyes flicking briefly to the way your robe was still slightly open, giving just a peek of the bodysuit underneath. You caught the way his Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed.

“Man, whatever,” he muttered, shaking his head before turning toward the exit. “Go put some damn clothes on before we gotta fight.”

You laughed, calling after him, “Why? Afraid you’ll get distracted?”

He didn’t turn around, but you swore you saw his shoulders shake with silent laughter as he disappeared down the hall.

-

The day your debut album dropped, everything changed.

The moment it hit streaming platforms, social media exploded. Fans were dissecting every lyric, every beat, and every track. Your name was trending worldwide within hours. Critics raved about your wordplay, your delivery, and the *fire* you brought to every song. And, of course, having Eminem feature on two tracks didn’t hurt. Those songs? Instant classics. The kind of records people played on repeat, trying to memorize every bar.

You knew the album was going to do well, but *this*? This was beyond anything you had ever imagined.

You were sitting in the studio lounge, scrolling through your phone, trying to keep up with the thousands of notifications flooding in. Every time you refreshed Twitter, there were more posts.

“[Y/N] just dropped the best debut album of the decade. This girl is NOT playing!”

“Eminem and [Y/N] on a track together? Yeah, hip-hop won today.”

“She’s got bars, presence, and a whole lot of ASS. No wonder Em was looking at her like that in the behind-the-scenes footage.”

You choked on your drink at that last tweet. *Damn, people really don’t miss anything, huh?*

As if on cue, the studio door opened, and Marshall walked in, his hoodie pulled up, but you could still see the smirk tugging at his lips. “Saw the numbers yet?”

You grinned, holding up your phone. “Oh, you mean how my album is number one everywhere? Yeah, I *might* have noticed.”

He chuckled, plopping down onto the couch across from you. “Told you.”

You rolled your eyes. “Yeah, yeah, I know. ‘You got this. You’re dope. People are gonna love it.’” You mimicked his voice with a smirk.

He smirked right back. “Damn, I sound sexy as hell.”

You snorted. “Sure, let’s go with that.”

There was a moment of silence, just the two of you sitting there, letting it all sink in. You had worked your ass off for this, and now it was happening.

Marshall leaned back, watching you with an unreadable expression. “You proud of yourself?”

You met his gaze, suddenly serious. “Yeah… yeah, I am.”

He nodded slowly, a small smile forming. “Good. You should be.”

A beat passed before he stretched his arms over his head and smirked. “Just don’t let this go to your head. I don’t need you startin’ to act all Hollywood on me.”

You rolled your eyes. “Please. I could have a billion streams, and I’d still talk shit to you.”

His grin widened. “That’s what I like to hear.”

-

### **A Celebration to Remember**

Marshall wasn’t usually the type to throw parties—not really. He never cared for industry events or massive gatherings, but tonight was different.

Tonight was about *you*.

Your debut album was a massive success, and he knew how hard you had worked on it. So, despite his usual reservations, he decided to celebrate properly—with an exclusive party at one of his favorite low-key venues. Nothing crazy, just the Shady Records team, a few producers, and a couple of close friends. It was intimate, comfortable, and filled with the people who had been there for every late-night session, every rewrite, and every breakthrough moment.

You walked in wearing a fitted, short red dress that hugged every curve just right, paired with sleek heels that added to your height. Your makeup was flawless, your hair cascading down your shoulders effortlessly. You weren’t about to downplay your success—you had worked for this, and you were going to *look* the part.

The second you stepped into the venue, you felt eyes on you. More specifically, *his* eyes.

Marshall was already there, standing near the bar with a drink in hand, deep in conversation with Paul and a couple of producers. But the second he saw you, his words slowed, and his blue eyes dragged over your figure, taking in every detail before snapping back to your face.

You smirked. *Busted—again.*

“Damn,” Royce muttered from beside him, nudging Marshall with a grin. “She cleanin’ up nice, huh?”

Marshall rolled his eyes but didn’t deny it. He just took a sip of his drink and muttered, “She always looks like that.”

Royce laughed. “Man, shut up.”

The party itself was smooth. Drinks were poured, music blasted through the speakers, and everyone was in high spirits. You spent the night bouncing between conversations, laughing with the crew, and soaking in every moment. Marshall? He was his usual self—watching from the sidelines, engaging when needed, but mostly keeping a low profile.

But that didn’t stop the lingering looks.

Every time you caught him staring, he’d look away a second too late. Every time you passed by him, you swore his eyes dipped to your curves before snapping back up. It was subtle, but it was *there*.

And you weren’t going to let it slide.

-

Toward the end of the night, the crowd thinned out. Most people had already left, leaving only a few stragglers and, of course, *him*.

You found him sitting on one of the leather couches in the lounge area, nursing a drink, scrolling through his phone. You took the opportunity and slid into the seat next to him, close enough that your knees brushed.

“Tired already, old man?” you teased.

Marshall huffed out a laugh, shaking his head. “First of all, fuck you. Second, I ain’t tired. Just chillin’.”

You smirked, tilting your head. “Uh-huh. Sure.”

His eyes flicked to you, and for a moment, he just *looked* at you. Like he was trying to figure something out. You leaned in slightly, resting your arm on the back of the couch.

“You know,” you mused, “I’ve been noticing something lately.”

He raised a brow. “Oh yeah? What’s that?”

You licked your lips before saying, “You stare at me a lot.”

Marshall froze for a split second. It was brief—so brief that if you weren’t paying attention, you would’ve missed it. But you *were* paying attention.

He scoffed, playing it off. “Man, you full of yourself.”

You grinned. “Am I?”

“Yes.” He took a slow sip of his drink, but you could see the way he shifted slightly in his seat.

You leaned in a little more, your voice dropping just enough to make it *dangerous*. “So, you’re saying you *haven’t* been looking at me?”

Marshall exhaled through his nose, setting his drink down. “I’m sayin’—” He paused, then shook his head. “Look, don’t start.”

You bit your lip to hide your smile. “Start what?”

He gave you a *look*. “You know what.”

You laughed softly, letting a moment of silence stretch between you before saying, “You’re kinda fun to mess with.”

Marshall sighed, shaking his head with a smirk. “Yeah, I *bet* I am.”

Another pause. His eyes flicked to your legs, just for a second, before he looked back up.

You tilted your head, deciding to push just a little more. “You scared or something?”

He chuckled, rubbing his jaw. “Ain’t *nobody* scared.”

“Then why are you acting all cautious?”

Marshall sighed, leaning back. “Because.”

“Because *what*?”

He exhaled, looking at you for a long moment before finally admitting, “Because there’s an age gap, and I ain’t tryna be that dude.”

You raised a brow. “*That* dude?”

“You know what I mean.”

You smirked, letting your fingers trail along the rim of your glass. “So, it’s not that you *don’t* want to…”

He didn’t say anything.

And that silence? That *pause*? That was an answer in itself.

You leaned in just a little more, lowering your voice. “Marshall.”

He swallowed, his eyes flicking to your lips before forcing himself to look back into your eyes.

“Hmm?”

You smiled. “Relax. I’m not gonna jump on you.”

That made him chuckle. “Good. ‘Cause I’d like to make it outta this party alive.”

You grinned. “Fair enough.”

For now, you let the conversation settle, leaning back into the couch. But the tension? The chemistry? That wasn’t going anywhere.

And you both knew it.

-

The night had been long, and after the party, everyone had dispersed—leaving just you and Marshall in the quiet of your hotel suite. The music, the chatter, the laughter were all behind you now, and the silence between you two felt strangely intimate.

You hadn’t expected things to turn this way. Marshall had always been careful—keeping his distance, always professional. But now, in the privacy of this room, you could feel the weight of the tension between you.

The soft glow of the city lights filtered through the window, casting a faint light across the room. Marshall had changed into a plain black tee and sweatpants, looking more relaxed than he had all night. You, on the other hand, had opted for something more comfortable too: a silk robe over your slip dress. You knew it wasn’t much, but it felt right for the moment.

You sat on the edge of the bed, looking out at the skyline. Your thoughts raced—too many questions, too many unspoken things hanging in the air. Marshall was leaning against the dresser, sipping from his drink, his eyes occasionally flicking over to you when he thought you weren’t looking.

“Didn’t think you’d still be here,” you said, breaking the silence.

He chuckled, leaning back slightly, his gaze never leaving you. “Well, I’m not just gonna leave you alone after a night like that, am I?”

You shrugged, turning your gaze toward him. “I guess not.”

The air between you thickened, and even though the conversation was casual, you both knew there was more beneath the surface.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity of silence, Marshall took a step toward you. “So… you good?”

You nodded, but there was a slight tremor in your voice when you spoke. “Yeah. I’m good.”

He took another step, his eyes not leaving yours, his lips curling into that familiar, yet soft, smile. “You sure about that?”

You hesitated, your pulse quickening as his proximity increased. Something about the way he was looking at you made your heart race, and you could tell that he felt it too.

Before you could respond, Marshall reached for his drink, his hand brushing against yours. His touch was brief, but it left a spark. “You know, I’m not usually the type to be all... forward. But with you?” He paused, taking another sip, his eyes scanning your face. “I’m startin’ to wonder if I’ve been too careful.”

You swallowed, your throat suddenly dry. The way he said it made it clear that he wasn’t talking about being cautious professionally. It was more personal than that.

“You think so?” you asked softly, leaning back on your hands.

Marshall’s gaze never wavered. “Yeah. I mean, I’m just sayin’, you’ve been on my mind all night, and it’s hard not to notice the way you—” He stopped mid-sentence, as if weighing the consequences of saying too much.

You smiled to yourself, leaning in slightly. “What, Marshall?”

He set his drink down on the bedside table, his fingers brushing the edge of your robe, his expression suddenly serious. “You know I don’t want to mess this up. But every time I look at you…”

You felt your breath catch in your throat as his words trailed off, his hand now resting lightly on your knee. The tension between you two was palpable, both of you clearly holding back, but neither of you willing to walk away.

“I get it,” you whispered, your voice low and soft, “but I’m not going anywhere.”

Marshall’s eyes softened, his hand moving from your knee to your thigh, slowly, almost as if testing the waters. He looked at you for a moment longer, as if trying to read you, before finally taking the plunge.

His lips brushed against yours, hesitant at first, almost as if he was waiting for you to pull away. But when you didn’t, he deepened the kiss, pulling you closer until there was no space between you two.

You responded instantly, your hands moving to his chest, feeling the strong muscles beneath the fabric of his shirt. Every inch of his body against yours sent a wave of warmth through you, and before you knew it, your hands were tangled in his hair, tugging him closer.

Marshall groaned softly, his hands now firmly on your hips, guiding you backward onto the bed as he hovered over you. The air between you two crackled with something undeniable.

“I’ve wanted this for a while,” he whispered, his lips brushing against your ear. “But I didn’t want to make things weird.”

You looked up at him, your chest rising and falling with every breath. “You didn’t, Marshall. You didn’t.”

And that was all the reassurance he needed.

As the night stretched on, the only sounds in the room were the soft whispers and the quiet sighs as you and Marshall gave into the moment. The world outside ceased to exist as everything you both had been holding back fell away.

The room felt like it was closing in, the atmosphere thick with the weight of everything unspoken between you and Marshall. His hand rested on your waist, firm but gentle, as he hovered over you, lips moving with purpose but not urgency. There was a sense of exploration, of unraveling something long held back. He paused, just inches from your face, as if waiting for a signal—an indication that this was what you both wanted.

“Are you sure about this?” Marshall’s voice was low, almost a growl, the words barely a whisper in the quiet room.

You could feel the raw vulnerability in his tone, like a man who’d spent so long protecting himself from getting hurt. But this—*you*—this felt different. You could see it in his eyes. He wasn’t just looking at you anymore; he was *seeing* you.

“I’m sure,” you whispered back, lifting your hand to gently stroke his jaw. His stubble scratched your palm lightly, the sensation sending a thrill through you.

Marshall let out a breath, and in one swift motion, his lips were on yours again, harder this time, more desperate as if he couldn’t hold back any longer. He moved, shifting his weight and pressing closer, feeling the warmth of his body against yours. You wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him deeper into the kiss, matching his urgency.

His hands explored your body, hesitant at first, but as your touch urged him on, his fingers moved with more confidence. He traced the outline of your dress, his thumbs slipping under the fabric, sending shivers down your spine. The way he touched you felt different—like he was both careful and eager, wanting to savor each moment.

You gasped when his lips moved down your neck, his breath warm against your skin. “Damn, you don’t know how long I’ve been thinking about this,” he murmured against your skin, his hands inching higher, brushing the straps of your dress off your shoulders.

You shivered at the way he spoke, feeling every word as if they were meant for you. “Then stop thinking,” you said, your voice breathless. “And start acting.”

Marshall chuckled softly, a dark edge to his amusement. “You sure you can handle me?”

You met his eyes, a playful smirk tugging at your lips. “I’ve been handling you all night.”

With a sharp intake of breath, Marshall moved in, kissing you with a renewed intensity. You could feel the pulse of desire in every movement, every soft caress. His hand slid down your body, reaching for the hem of your dress and pulling it up slowly. The fabric felt almost like a barrier between you two, and you couldn’t help but feel a growing sense of urgency.

You tangled your hands in his shirt, pulling it over his head, feeling the hard lines of his muscles under your fingertips. Marshall’s lips left yours for a moment, just long enough to catch his breath. He looked down at you, eyes flicking between your eyes and your lips, as if debating something internally.

"Is this… too much?" he asked, his voice rough.

You reached up, cupping his face with your hands, forcing him to look at you. “No. It’s not too much. It’s exactly what I want.”

There was a flicker of uncertainty in his eyes, but it was quickly replaced with something else—something deeper, more raw. “You don’t know what you’re getting yourself into,” he warned softly, his lips brushing against your ear.

You smiled, a playful glint in your eyes. “I think I do.”

Marshall didn’t waste any more time. His lips found yours again, more demanding now, and you responded in kind, meeting his intensity. The world outside the hotel room ceased to exist as the two of you lost yourselves in the moment.

His hands roamed freely now, lifting your body against his, and you could feel the heat radiating between you both. He moved with purpose, a mixture of tenderness and passion in every touch. The barrier between you—your clothes—vanished with a few swift movements, and soon, it was just the two of you, skin against skin.

As the night stretched on, time seemed to lose its meaning. Everything faded into the background except for the feeling of Marshall’s body against yours, the warmth of his breath, the soft whispers between kisses. Each touch was a promise, each kiss a question, and neither of you seemed ready to stop finding the answers.

This wasn’t just about the music, about the fame, about everything else that had brought you here. This was something deeper, something more real than either of you had expected.

But for now, all that mattered was the moment. And in this moment, you were exactly where you wanted to be.

-

The fluorescent lights of the recording studio cast a warm glow on everything, but it felt different now that you and Marshall were officially together. There was a new energy in the air, something between you two that hadn’t been there before. The work was still the same—people moving around, adjusting equipment, going over tracks—but it was harder to focus when Marshall was right next to you, his presence magnetic in a way you hadn’t expected.

You were sitting on the couch in the corner of the studio, legs crossed, working on some lyrics for the next track. Marshall was sitting across from you, his fingers absentmindedly tapping on the surface of a nearby desk, eyes glued to his phone. Despite the steady pace of the workday, the space between you two felt full of unspoken things—things that went beyond the music.

"How’s the writing going?" he asked, glancing over at you from behind his phone, a small smirk tugging at his lips.

You looked up from your notebook, feeling a flush on your cheeks from the way his eyes lingered on you. "It’s good. Just working through some ideas," you replied, trying to keep your focus. But you could feel his gaze on you, the weight of it, and it made your heart race.

"You sure?" He tilted his head, as if he could sense the distraction. "You seem a little... off."

You smiled, biting your lip. “Maybe I’m just distracted by you.”

Marshall’s eyes darkened for a split second, a spark of amusement flashing across his face. “Oh, really? Me?”

“Yeah,” you said, leaning back into the couch, trying to act casual even though every fiber of your being was aware of the way he was looking at you. “You’re kind of hard to ignore these days.”

His smirk grew, and he stood up, moving toward you with that same cocky yet confident stride that always made your stomach flutter. "I’m hard to ignore, huh?" His voice was low, almost teasing as he stood in front of you, looking down at you with that familiar intensity.

You looked up at him, heart thumping in your chest. “You’re *definitely* hard to ignore.”

Marshall’s lips curled into a smile, but this time, there was something different about it—a softness that hadn’t been there before. He bent down slightly, just enough to be closer to you, his face hovering inches from yours. “You know what else is hard to ignore?” he whispered.

Your breath caught in your throat as his lips brushed against your ear. “What’s that?” you breathed, your voice barely above a whisper.

He didn’t answer right away. Instead, he let his lips hover by your ear for just a second longer before pulling back and looking you straight in the eyes. “This.”

He leaned down again, this time kissing you gently, almost like he was testing the waters. It wasn’t hurried or aggressive—it was slow, deliberate, as if he wanted to savor the moment. When you kissed him back, your hands instinctively reached for his shirt, tugging him closer, the electricity between you two undeniable.

You pulled away slightly, trying to regain some composure. “We’re at the studio, Marshall,” you murmured, your voice a little breathless.

He chuckled, a deep, throaty sound. “Yeah, I know. But who says we can’t have a little fun in between sessions?”

You raised an eyebrow at him, a playful grin creeping onto your face. “Isn’t that a little unprofessional?”

Marshall gave you that signature smirk of his, leaning back just enough to look down at you. “Maybe. But I’m not exactly known for being the most professional guy, am I?”

You laughed softly, knowing that was true. His rebellious streak was one of the things that made him... *him*. And somehow, it made you even more drawn to him.

Just then, someone from the team walked by the room, momentarily breaking the tension. Marshall straightened up, giving you a wink before walking over to the mixing board to check in with the sound engineer.

You watched him, still trying to shake the warmth his kiss had left on your lips. You were officially dating Marshall, and yet, the chemistry between you two was so palpable it was hard to believe it wasn’t some kind of dream.

As Marshall worked on a few adjustments to the track, you stayed on the couch, jotting down some more lyrics. Every now and then, you’d catch him glancing over at you, a look of something deeper than admiration on his face.

You could feel it now, the shift from business partners to something far more personal. And despite all the layers of fame, the industry, and the people in your lives, it felt like this—right here—was the most real thing either of you had.

"Ready to lay down your verse?" Marshall asked, his voice suddenly breaking your train of thought as he returned to you, his hand reaching out for your notebook.

You nodded, standing up and moving toward the booth. As you stepped into the soundproof room, Marshall followed, his presence close behind you.

“Let’s make some magic, huh?”

You grinned at him, feeling more confident than ever. “Let’s do it.”

And as the beat dropped and you stepped up to the mic, you knew that this was just the beginning—both for your music and for your relationship with Marshall.

[evnovaa]

Blame Part 2 | Chris Sturniolo

“Where were you at when I needed you?”

Genre : angst

Warnings : swearing

a/n: it’s been months but here it is (ps. new fic snippet coming later🙊)

· · ────── ꒰ঌ·✦·໒꒱ ────── · ·

Chris POV

It’s been hours since Chris has heard from Y/n, he’s panicking. That’s putting it lightly.

He’s dealing with a lot, his girlfriend is ignoring him and he kissed his ex girlfriend, well she kissed him. He’s been telling himself for hours that what happened between him and Lola has nothing to do with him. She came onto him and he was just a victim of his circumstances, he has zero fault in any of this actually.

That’s when he said fuck it and booked an Uber to his girlfriend’s apartment, he couldn’t bare to sit in this regret and guilt, he’ll be able to make things right, she will forgive him and everything will return back to normal right?

“Christopher?” The Uber driver says as he arrives outside their apartment.

“Yeah that’s me” Chris says as he gets into the uber and tries to get as comfortable as his conscience will allow him, all he knows is that he’s fucked.

The drive is long and painful, he is dreading the look on Y/n’s face, he feels himself getting emotional as he thinks about how he just broke almost 3 years of trust, over what? A meaningless kiss?

It was totally meaningless, right, yeah totally pointless, it meant nothing to him, he just keeps finding himself thinking about how Lola looked at him

Flashback

“Chris do you still want to be with me? I can’t tell and I need to know I can’t keep sneaking around to meet you.” Lola says pleading with the boy.

End of flashback

He’s been more than happy with Y/n, Lola meant nothing, she means nothing if he’s lost his everything.

He recognizes the area and anxiety consumes him, he’s usually with Y/n on the way back to her apartment to sit in each others essence for hours on end and in love with each other, but now it’s different

He’s here because, if we are being honest, he cheated, he lied and he was ignorant and selfish.

“Uh, you can stop here thank you.” Chris says to the uber driver stopping outside the apartment building.

Chris is anxious and extremely sad, he’s disappointed in himself and how he even let his relationship with Lola get so personal, yes she was his ex, but that part of him was reserved for the love of his life.

Then it finally hit him like a ton of bricks. Is he still in love with Lola? The way she kissed him felt so natural, a little too natural. He melted into her like they became one, but it’s too shameful of a thought. Chris doesn’t entertain it.

He’s lost in thought but he’s now outside Y/n’s apartment and he hasn’t knocked yet, he hasn’t yet figured out how he’s going to fix all of this. He has to fix it. And he will.

He decides to take his phone out and text her so she knows he’s here

Chris : Baby I’m outside, please open the door.

Chris : I know I’ve been terrible today I just need to see you. Please.

Y/n POV

Y/n has been home for hours, but since she got into her apartment she’s felt hollow. Empty.

She found her way to her couch and crashed, her body was too tired from all the crying and all the screaming she had done to release some of the hurt and pain.

Her phone buzzes and she ignores it. Buzz.

A second notification came in and she decided to get up from her sleep, still gaining her awareness, she takes her phone and reads:

Chris⭐️ : Baby I’m outside, please open the door.

Chris⭐️ : I know I’ve been terrible today I just need to see you. Please.

Her heart dropping to her ass is an understatement, it dropped to the lowest part of hell that not even the devil himself resides in.

She debates herself on what shes opening herself up to, is it worth it? Does it even matter what he has to say? He lied to her and he didn’t have the balls to tell her about what he’s doing, and who he’s doing it with? Did something happen that she doesn’t know of?

Her body goes against everything she’s thinking and she approaches the door and opens it.

She sees the love of her life, he looks exhausted, drained and most of all like he is carrying a load of weight and he’s just waiting to let go of it

What has she gotten herself into by opening the door?

“Baby..” Chris says to Y/n with a sense of guilt and shame in his voice.

He moves towards her, she takes a step back looking at him as if he had the most terrifying entity behind him, but here’s the thing, he’s the terrifying entity.

“We need to talk, and I need you to be honest with me Christopher.” Y/n says as she allows him in and shuts the door closed.

“Listen to me baby I know, I’ve been a dick to you today but I just wanted to make sure you were okay, you sounded…I don’t know, just stressed out on the phone when you called.” he says this to her as if she doesn’t know he met up with Lola behind her back and lied to her face about it

“Yeah, about that, were you with Lola? And I don’t wanna hear shit out your mouth if you finna stand here and lie to my face.” She’s angry, she’s hurt and she feels the most vulnerable she has ever felt in front of him right now.

“I- I need you to hear me out first”

“hear what out Christopher!?” She says yelling to him not allowing him to continue further.

“I know you are mad but I need you to listen to me, please let me explain.”

“Lola wanted to meet up with me, it’s been a while since I last saw her and I figured it was time I saw her, she was such a big part of my life before I met you. She helped me become the man I am today, because of her I am able to be the Boyfriend I am to you today.” He says this not knowing it made shit worse and so much just clicked in Y/n’s head as he said he is the boyfriend he is today because of Lola.

“Do you love her?”

“What?” Chris’s face drops, he has no idea why she would ask that as he just explained the platonic nature of his relationship with Lola.

“Do you love the bitch or not Christopher, I am asking you a question. Either you answer it honestly or you get the fuck out of my face.”

As she says this she has tears running down her face, the anger on her face is very apparent to the man infront of her.

“I- no, Y/n? What? I love you and only you, I don’t need Lola, I need you, I need you alone.” The desperation in his voice was gutting Y/n, she wanted to hold him and tell him it’s okay she’s not mad at him, but in reality she couldn’t stand to even breathe the same air as him.

As Y/n is looking at Chris, she notices a smudge of make up on his upper lip, she became hot, angry, furious, whatever words could explain the absolute wrath that was filling her up

“You’re a fucking liar and you are full of shit, what the fuck is that on your face? Did you fuck her? Why the fuck do you have make up on your face Christopher!!!” She says yelling and she stood in his face and she got louder and louder as each word slipped out her mouth.

Chris knew he was fucked before but now it’s worse. He had no idea he had traces of Lola on him, hell, he would have hoped his dumbass brothers told him.

“Baby it’s not what you think”

“Fuck do you mean it’s not what I think?? So you did fuck her? WHAT. HAPPENED.”

“No, NO! That didn’t happen she came onto me, she was trying to get me to admit that I want her, Y/n I need you to understand that I don’t want her. I want you baby, you’re my world. She doesn’t amount to you. She never could and never will, please don’t do this” he was asking a lot from her, hoping she would understand despite her looking like she was seconds away from biting his head off.

“Get the fuck out of my apartment.”

“Baby please don’t do this.”

“Are you hard of hearing? I said get the fuck out of my apartment.”

And in that moment he knew, he was to blame.

· · ────── ꒰ঌ·✦·໒꒱ ────── · · ·

A/n: well that had a good ending…sooooo do we end it here or part 3? Lmkkkkkkkkk🙈

[vamptizm]

I’ll say what I say every time— the people doubting Uconn that claim to be “fans”, are the same people that probably doubted them when they had eight players on the bench available to play and still claimed to be said “fan” when they went all the way to the final 4. they the same people that said caitlyn Clark would drop mad points in the first 2 quarters but then praised Nika when she held her to SIX! and these so-called fans are gonna be the ones that applaud them when they win the big east of course because they love to jump on and off of the bandwagon.. They’re the same people that praised iowa over uconn prior to the final 4 game. and unfortunately, the same people that say paige is a bust, paige just sent so much for his organization and has grown more then anyone could say. She’s deserving fk the #1 pick, bad game or not.

nobody can sit here and say they’re having a bad season because look at their record. Sure we’re not beating ranked teams right now, but we’re also not getting slaughtered by them.

people don’t realize you can be the best team, with good numbers and talent and still lose we saw that with USC and Iowa the other day.. but I saw no one hating on juju👀

I don’t think people realize minus page, aubrey, Kaitlyn and Azzi.. if who else is an upper classroom on that team that actually sees the court with heavy minutes? we are fairly young team.. a lot of these people I see on Twitter and especially Tumblr (which is so sad bc this is my comfy app) that claim to be Uconn fans are saying we’re not March ready.. think about last year when the only people that believed the girls could make it even in and pass the first round of March madness were the FANS and the girls..

I don’t think people realize that only a handful of them never played Tennessee and in the atmosphere of Tennessee fans, they literally said it before the game even started the only people that ever really played at Tennessee were Paige, aubrey and Azzi! like news flash they DIDNT play them last year..

I’m not just saying this because I’m a huge diehard fan. I’ve been a fan since I was little, but I’m just so tired of the people jumping on and off of the wagon just because we lost another game imagine how we felt last year lol 

clock it.

i think it’s valid to feel disappointed, discouraged and doubtful after witnessing games like these. most of these top ranked teams rn are so high up, because they barely played against ranked teams so far. i understand people’s reactions, but at the end of the day if you actually switch up and you HAVE been a fan since last season it’s like… we’ve all seen this film before. it’s nothing new, nothing surprising.

however just because things played out the way they did last season, doesn’t mean they will or SHOULD this season. everyone needs to get out of their head idk like i understand all sides but its like… have at least SOME faith.

[springsketches]

There was a miraculous ladybug video essay that I watched that discussed the grief of no longer loving a piece of media you once had, and how entertainment should never feel like a chore or disappointing/infuriating after you consume it. I think lots of people, myself included, fall into sunk cost when something you once loved no longer brings you any joy. Especially if that piece of media is universally beloved and/or unfinished. “I have strong feelings towards it so it must mean that I still love it or care!” But if you’re consistently angry or upset with a piece of media’s decisions, it’s okay to just leave, and it doesn’t necessarily mean that you care. Something that helped me finally leave was looking for people who had similar opinions to me. It helped me finally find the strength to realize, no, I’m not the only one who has these problems. Lots of fans were saying, if you don’t love it anymore, it’s okay to leave.

It’s hard to accept that you dislike something you once loved, and you’re allowed to grieve what could have been, but it’s okay to just leave. That doesn’t mean you’re “too sensitive” or “not intelligent enough to understand its maturity” like some people might say. It means that you know when to walk away and find happiness elsewhere. And you should. There’s bound to be something out there that will fill that void even if it isn’t the same.

[bxriles]

I gotta be honest, the ending of JJK isn’t doing it for me. It feels underwhelming. And before anyone freaks tf out and tells me that I “can’t read” or that I “didn’t understand the point of JJK” I can promise you that I did. I understand and I can read between the lines and make inferences. I can also promise you that I know just because the ending isn’t my cup of tea, does not mean that the ending is objectively bad. I get all of that.

And yet, I still think the execution was fumbled and I think that’s a bummer. In a desperate need to be *different* from the rest of Shonen manga, I think the last 10-15ish chapters have felt incredibly similar to the rest of the genre. At least, in my opinion they have.

Argue with the wall if this post pissed you off. I’m allowed to post my opinion on my blog.

[mermaidsbiann]

This is the only social media I have had since 13 without moving or deleting accounts

[lambentplume]

i wish i could be comfortable living here (once again you don’t have to expand all of that)

[hopecomesbacktolife]

when you’re reading a book that’s already mostly bad less than halfway through so you go to check the reviews on storygraph and see lots of “the first half was better but the second half of the book was a letdown” “second half of the book brought down the rating on this one” “was so disappointed with the latter half of the book”

[angrycanadiannerd]

You ever see an online artist that’s extremely popular and has the most gorgeous artwork of multiple fandoms but for some ungodly reason people are just so fucking weird about them?

Like the artist will post an artwork and suddenly a sea of people will act really weird about the artwork and start discourse over the artist’s interpretation of a character or a piece of media.

Why does it keep fucking happening??

[seilon]

genuinely it is so depressing to spend money drinking just to end up doing nothing interesting and just sitting around

[missanthropicprinciple]

Literally nothing going according to plan today, ok.

[a-hopeless-individual]

y’all playing project sekai when you’re about to start your period is a recipe for disaster especially if one of the ingredients is an inclination to bite things when angry because glass screens and human teeth do not mix very well and so I’m sure you can imagine the sudden dread that hit me and snapped me out of my blind rage when I heard a little “pop” upon failing to just bite the case and accidentally straight-up giving the screen the hydraulic press treatment with my pearly whites, leaving a hearty crack at the bottom that branches out across half of the screen like a banyan tree with a little circular portion at the site of the assault where the colors are all distorted

[digyoman]

thinking about earlier this year and even last year when i was so deeply hyperfixated on lloyd & he was all i could think about and yet i barely shared any of my thoughts on here. i kind of want to kick myself about it now actually because i know i had so many things to say and so much i wanted to do but i never made it happen. why was i a coward.

[twothirdsgenius]

the thing about growing up in a cult is that you can leave it but it will never leave you! :)

[headful-of-worms]

I really need to stop getting my hopes up and brainstorming/ building D&D characters for campaigns that aren’t finalized or don’t even exist