#but then he gets too drunk and forgets it

[kay-jaye]

when it finally happens, crowley freezes where he’s standing in the bookshop. he’s between shelves, fingers lingering over the spines of books like he’d been running his hand along the leather. he hadn’t. crowley can’t bring himself to touch anything in here, sit on any of the furniture, move a single item out of its place. it’s stupid, he’s afraid to burn himself without the angel here. stupid.

there was no bell chime of the door opening. only a shift in the air, like warmth returning to the limbs after falling asleep, and suddenly there’s an angel standing where no angel should be, just inside the entrance.

they find each other immediately. the angel looks surprised but not by much, and very, very tired. he shoulders bated relief and fear, while managing to look determined still. crowley doesn’t know what he looks like. drunk maybe.

“i’m back,” aziraphale finally says, breathes, really.

crowley says fuck somewhere in his mind, but what comes out is “i can see that.”

you’re bound to experience déjà vu when you’ve been alive as long as he has. crowley sees this playing out somewhere nicer with an apology dance and champagne over dinner. but that would’ve been months ago, and he knows better.

the angel knows better, too. that’s how crowley justifies it.

“forget something?”

that breaks aziraphale’s shaky resolve down into something shameful, and crowley is equally ashamed at the painful satisfaction it gives him. “crowley—” the angel tries.

“no, that’s not it.” crowley’s aware of the ice-cold wave that washes through the room and how it’s probably his own doing. “i’m pretty sure you knew you were leaving that behind.”

there’s a pause, and then aziraphale says, “i didn’t think you’d be here.”

crowley lets out an unimpressed noise. they’ve known each other for too long. “lying never looks right on you angels.”

the silence that follows is awkward and angry. the longer they stand there, unmoving with miles of space fitting in the feet between them, the more it begins to feel like an act. the scowl on crowley’s face starts to edge off, and he’s afraid of whatever real expression will be there when the mask drops.

aziraphale refuses to move or say or do anything. crowley thinks maybe this place is neither of theirs anymore. maybe aziraphale needs permission to be here. maybe crowley will burn if he stays.

but maybe there’s nothing left they can give each other.

crowley is bitter, but he’s also done.

“do whatever you need, aziraphale. i was just leaving.”

he should’ve waited for the angel to come to his senses and move out of the doorway, grab whatever book, paper, or trinket he missed so badly in heaven that he had to come back down here for. but crowley can do it. he can walk past him and hold it together and get in the bentley and go to sleep for a couple years like he should’ve months ago. crowley starts for the door.

closure is for humans who have expiration dates and ducks to get in rows.

he’s almost in the clear, so close to the angel that he can feel the nervous energy radiating, and crowley already knows he’ll be dreaming of that cologne for the next decade. he thinks briefly that there will be some magnetic force that kicks in and things will be like they were supposed to.

then the angel moves, reflexively, and a hand to crowley’s chest stops him in his tracks. the pressure is minimal, but it still knocks all of the air out of his lungs.

crowley barely gets a good look at the angel before arms are wrapping around him. it only takes a moment, and then, like warmth waking up the limbs again, he’s hugging back without another thought.

it’s nothing like the kiss—rushed, desperate, final. it’s wrong and it’s right. it’s over and not.

aziraphale says something into his shoulder, but crowley won’t let go to pull away because he doesn’t want to hear. to know if this is goodbye. the angel just continues, and crowley realizes he’s singing softly. out of tune and out of breath.

something about nightingales.

it both fills and breaks his heart.

“i would’ve followed you anywhere,” crowley whispers, “just not there.”

aziraphale nods, quiet, and eventually slides his hands away. crowley lets him. the angel looks him in the eyes, as if the sunglasses aren’t even there, and then without sparing a single glance at anything else in the room, the angel leaves.

[wheels-of-despair]

There's No i In Sickness Pairing: Eddie Munson x You Summary: Evil Woman's been sick for a week, but she's finally well enough to reunite with Eddie! Contains: Hug deprivation, a happy reunion, sunshine, fluff. Words: 800ish

"Hello?"

"Dungeon Master, this is Evil Woman, do you copy?"

"Copy, Evil Woman, what's your status, over?" You can hear the smile in his voice over the phone, and you have one to match.

"Evil Woman and Little Drummer Boy have been cleared for contact, and the General's orders are to 'get outside and soak up some dang sunshine', over."

"For real?" he asks, forgetting your little game.

"For real," you confirm.

"On my way!"

Click.

Evil Woman and Little Drummer Boy have been cooped up for a week with some gross seasonal virus, and a nightly phone call with the Dungeon Master wasn't even close to being enough.

But you're free! Your fever is gone and your congestion is on the way out and you're ready to get out of this house and make up for a week's worth of hug deprivation with your Eddie.

You step outside into the perfect spring day, squinting at the brightness of the sun you haven't seen in nearly a week. The rays begin to warm you almost immediately. God, that's wonderful. You sit on the porch and lean your head back, closing your eyes while you soak up the sun and wait for Eddie.

The familiar roar of his van disrupts the silence of the neighborhood in record time. You open your eyes with a grin, seeing him fly around the corner. You're surprised he didn't go up on two wheels. You stand when the van skids to a stop in your driveway, rushing forward, ready for that hug that'll surely fix everything.

Eddie comes bounding around the side of the van, and you barely have time to brace yourself before your bodies collide. You stagger backward, laughing together, trying to catch your balance.

However, the slight incline of your yard works against you, and you both topple over and land in the grass with a yelp.

"You okay?" Eddie asks, looking down on you with his face full of concern and framed by his wild hair. The pictures all over your room don't do him justice. He's so beautiful, you could burst.

"I am now," you smile, reaching up to cup his cheek.

He nuzzles into your touch, closing his eyes briefly. And then he grins wickedly and attacks, kissing his way down your jaw and your neck and back up the other side.

"I! Missed! You! So! Fucking! Much!" he says between kisses. He's melted you. All you can do is lie there in the grass and laugh. You feel drunk. Drunk on love and kisses and Eddie. When he's had his fill, he rolls off of you. You move to your side so you can look at him.

"I missed you too," you whisper.

Looking at him isn't enough. You need to hold him. He seems to have the same idea, because you both inch closer at the same time, wrapping limbs around each other and pulling yourselves closer.

Lying here with him is like a sigh of relief.

There's nothing else. There's you, and there's Eddie, and the faint smell of smoke and his cheap cologne and sweet clover and earth and fresh air. What more could a person need?

"We gotta make out more."

"Oh yeah?" you chuckle into his chest.

"Yup. This week sucked a fat one. From now on, there's no i in sickness."

"How are you gonna take the i out of sickness?" you laugh.

"Your germs are my germs," he explains. "You don't get sick. I don't get sick. WE get sick."

"Eddie, you do not wanna be around me when I'm coughing and hacking and blowing brain matter out of my nose," you chuckle.

"I do, though," he says, nuzzling his nose against your temple. "I want all of you, all the time."

You pull back and lift a hand to feel his forehead.

"You must've--"

"I did not get The Plague," he argues with a roll of his eyes, batting your hand away. "I'm not sick. I just love you and I missed you and I don't wanna ever have to survive a whole damn week without you again."

He loves you so much, he genuinely wants to share germs. You should probably be grossed out by that, but...

"Dammit, Eddie," you sniffle, wiping away a tear. "I just got this stupid nose to where I can breathe out of it again, and you make me cry? Not cool!"

Eddie laughs and pulls you to him again, hugging you tightly there on the warm ground on this perfect spring day.

"What are you guys doing?"

You turn to see a disgruntled Gareth wrapped up in a comforter, glowering on the edge of the porch. Your mom must've finally forced him out of bed. You chuckle and turn back to Eddie, nuzzling your cheek into his chest. He pulls you closer. You sigh happily.

"Playing croquet," you answer.

"Having sex," Eddie says at the same time.

Your bodies shake together in silent laughter.

[railingsofsorrow]

I was thinking about jj being at home while reader is out partying. and then she calls him, really really drunk so he's concerned and goes pick her up.

love your writing! ❤️

midnight swim

[jj maybank x reader]

summary: the one where you drink too much and decide to have a midnight swim but your boyfriend stops you.

pairing: jj maybank x reader

w.c: 1.1K

warnings/content: alcohol consumption; language; stupid drunk decisions; argument with parents (mentioned); suggestive content (you blink you miss it).

[requested]

A/N: HELLOO this was fun to write hope you like it :)

navi

masterpost

outer banks masterlist

request me something

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“Wanna go home.” You mumbled into the phone, walking outside of the loud house to have a moment of peace. Maybe your social battery is over. You didn't know what exactly cut your mood off from the party but you wanted to put on your pajamas and lay in your boyfriends' chest for the whole (rest) of the night.

“Mhm.”

“Dude, did you just kill me?!”

Pope's laughs echoed through the line, followed by JJ's trying to stifle a chuckle but he was very unsuccessful, earning a punch on his arm provided by his best friend.

“Baby? Sorry. The guys were being loud and— You still there?”

You hummed, eyes slightly unfocused staring at the enormous pool of whoever Kook's house you were. You were barely remembering your own name to be honest. You don't like drinking without your friends but you made the terrible choice to drown in booze to forget about the fight with your parents and here you are. Wallowing in self pity. And alcohol. A lot of it, it seemed.

“Baby?”

Rubbing your eyes with a sigh, you replied with a soft hi and there's some shuffling in the background.

“How's the party? Eat any fancy finger food yet? Or is it just champagne?”

“Fuck off.” You couldn't help your chuckle. Your feet somehow carry you out of the porch and into the pool area. Everything felt hot.

You can hear your boyfriends' deep chuckle before he teased you some more, attempting to rile you up. JJ was aware that when you called him at a party was either because you wanted to leave or you just got tired of being socially active and the excuse of being on the phone was good to keep people away temporarily. He wanted to know which was the option now.

“So?”

“'s boring. I wanna— Ouch.” Your laugh was loud but you didn't had a filter with the alcohol in your system so you didn't think much of it or that it wasn't so funny to stumble and fall flat on your ass.

“What?” JJ seemed to notice your lack of sobriety through your continuous giggles. “Where are you right now?” He prompted, eyeing the van's keys on the bowl beside him but not moving to grasp it quite yet. You were a big girl, you could handle yourself; you told him that once when you called him drunk and he showed up to take you home because he was worried. You were pissed. He'd never do it again unless he felt the need to. He didn't want to be possessive in any way.

“Wish I was with you.” He couldn't see your pout but he knew it was there. “Listen... We should go for a midnight swim—is it midnight yet?” You laughed, crawling towards the edge of the pool. The water looked so clean and it was so hot, you just wanted a quick swim.

“It's 1am, baby.”

“Perfect.”

The blond's lips quirked up slightly. “You sure you good? Not doing anything stupid, right?”

“You said it yourself stupid things have good outcomes all the time.” You retorted, taking off your sandals. “Ah, shit. I didn't brought a bikini.”

“Why would you need a bikini?” JJ yawned, resting back comfortably against John B's beaten-up couch. “Was it a pool party? I can't remember you telling me—”

“Not a pool party but they have a pool.” You clarify, blinking down at your outfit. “Baby, I gotta get off my dress, I don't wanna make it wet.”

The way he sat up so quickly that Pope, who was thrown on the loveseat gave him a look of confusion.

“Why do you wanna— Where are you?”

You sighed impatiently. “Told you we should have a midnight swim! I'm by the pool—”

“Okay, yeah, no.” JJ grabbed the car keys and practically sprint out the door. So much for not doing anything stupid. “Baby, can you do me a favour?”

Your face scrunched up and you shook your head. “No. 'm gonna wait for you in the pool—”

“No, you're not. You're gonna get your pretty little feet away from whatever pool you're nearby and you're gonna wait for me, got it?”

“But the midnight swim...” you slurred out, throwing your head back with a groan. “C'mon, stars ar' out and—”

“We'll have a swim when I get there but only if you wait for me, 'kay?” JJ tried a different tactic, a bit desperate for you to get the hell away from the pool while being drunk. “Where are you at again?” He knew some of your friends but he didn't know exactly whose house you were at.

“Stacy's.” You replied, dumping your feet in the pool and dangling them from one side to the other. You were sitting at the edge, the party inside echoing all of the excitement from strangers and the few (three?) people you barely knew.

The Twinkie was on before JJ even shut the door.

“Baby?”

He said carefully, praying you hadn't jumped in the pool in the meanwhile. You let out a low hum in response.

“Your dress' still on, right, princess.”

“Why? You wanna take it off?” She chuckled, leaning back to rest against her elbows. “Still on. 'm waiting f'you like you asked.”

“Good girl.” He turned on the street and now it was only ten minutes away by car. He'd make it in five. “Hey. Are you dizzy or feeling lightheaded? Are you sitting down?”

“Okay, doctor Maybank. You're doing a full checkup or something—Hey!” You exclaimed in indignation when a splash went off and you got soaked. Someone had jumped on the pool. A group of girls that were shrieking like little kids. You stumbled away from the pool, your eyes a little more focused now as you walked towards the backdoor, pushing between people to reach the exit and leave that fucking party. God why did you even came?

“Babe, you good? I'm here.”

“Yeah,” you mumbled, watching the beat up van park in front of Stacy's house. “I see you.”

JJ stepped out of the vehicle to greet you. You met him halfway, a pout on yours lips when he asked why on earth were you wet. “Did you get into the pool—”

“No! Some stupid girls jumped in it and I was sitting close!” You whined and JJ's concern turned into amusement really quickly. “Stupid, fucking—”

“Alright, alright.” He wrapped an arm around your shoulders to bring you closer, running a hand across your back and pressing his lips against your forehead. Your sigh was muffled when you buried your face in his shirt. “Let's get you in some nice comfy and dry clothes, yeah? You good with that?”

“You promised a swim.”

He kissed your pout away until it became a smile you were trying to break into a frown but was unable to.

“Sobriety first then we'll swim and surf and do whatever you want, baby.”

Just definitely not tonight.

[sleepymccoy]

So I've seen a few seasons of supernatural in my life. Got to season 5 then trialled off and have seen a fair bit of the rest but not consistently and def not to the end. Haven't watched any in years and years, too

Anyway, I say this to highlight how bizarre it is that I had a lovely destiel dream last night

It'd make a killer fic I think, so enjoy this synopsis

Premise very much like that ep where Dean forgets his life and works in an office dressed like a lil fruit

^ that ep

Anyway the idea is that Dean forgets his life but is otherwise the same. But without the hunting stuff he's semi deadbeat working in a bar and hooking up with random women. Also Sam wasn't part of his childhood I guess, the dream didn't explain why Dean wouldn't know Sam but whatever

Castiel and Sam keep coming into the world to try and get Dean to perform a series of actions he needs to perform in order to be released from the spell. They're kinda bizarre tho and Dean doesn't recognise these guys so it's a challenge. Like, eat this daisy and have a tequila chaser. Sleep in a bed with bay leaves stuffed underneath. Stand in one spot for a minute while the sigil to release you gets engaged. That kind of thing

Dean has like feelings for them, but doesn't know them. He trusts Sam completely and they click but he's kind of weirded out by how comfortable he is with the stranger. And Cas, he wants to protect and fuck Cas in a way that's so overwhelming he can't handle it

Anyway, this is a longish post so click through for the blow by blow

Sam manages to talk him into having the flower and drink by doing it himself and pretending it's a fun way to drink. Dean takes part and is totally unimpressed but has a laugh about it

Cas slips in next with the intention of watching Dean hook up with someone and sneaking bay leaves under the bed before they get down and dirty. Because Cas can fly out the window if he needs to escape quick they figure he's the better choice for that gig. But as soon as Dean sees him it goes sideways because Dean has an immediately unavoidable crush on the raggedy middle aged dude in a Columbo coat

But this Dean didn't have the same loyalty to his father in youth cos there was no hunting to help make sense of the abuse he suffered. So he's not as caught up in his internalised (and externalised) homophobia and maybe even hooked up with a guy or two at school

It's still not normal for him and he's a bit surprised, but it takes him one beer and some disconcerting staring to get over it, and then he approaches

Cas is Unprepared™ for a full flirt from Dean and is very quickly taken in by it. It's fun and cheerful and Dean keeps swapping their drinks and stealing chips and leaning his hand on Cas' thigh when he whispers a joke to him. Cas is just dizzy and swimming in it and doesn't know what to do. He's totally lost track of what's going on

Eventually he excuses himself to go to the bathroom and checks in with Sam, who's had an hour of watching them flirt outrageously and is thoroughly bemused, amused, and has his eyes on the goal. "Get him into bed and put the damned leaves in place!"

So Cas goes back and Dean's paid the tab and is offering to drive and Cas just like you're drunk absolutely not. They make out against the door of Dean's beat up Ford Focus and Cas knows he's not gonna come back from this

He's loved Dead a long time, and there's something painful in the kiss and feeling the immorality of it. But there's something so wonderful too. And if it's got to happen, and Sam says it's got to happen so he can outsource that decision, he can take it as far as it needs to go. Save Dean, then apologise and skedaddle

At least he's got Sam's permission, so Sam can argue his side in his absence until Dean forgives him

It doesn't take long for Dean to kiss Cas into forgetting to feel guilty, tho. Then Dean starts talking about how Cas feels different to anyone else he's ever touched before and he doesn't understand why but he wants him so damned bad.

The Dean pulls back and offers to go slow. Pick you up for breakfast, go on a few dates before what's next

And Cas wants that so bad, he wants to be special, his skin aches for it. But he needs access to Dean's bed so he spearheads getting them into a motel together for the night, feeling slightly cheap and awful about it, but Dean's smile is unparalleled and the awful slides away every time he looks at him

They fuck a bit. Cas' guilt about it all isn't his focus, as soon as Dean's hand is on his dick he's only in the moment. I think Cas keeps it to mutual blow jobs, tho, he wants to save anything more for a Dean who knows him. He lies there's thinking about that afterwards and remembers that the Dean who knows him doesn't want him like this, this is some confused fucked up neuron thing.

Anyway after a bit of post coital bliss Dean gets up to piss and Cas shoves bay leaves under the mattress. Cas then insists on laying together a bit longer, they make out sloppy and Dean is very sweet and Cas loves him and eventually Dean dozes off. Tick off the second ritual

I reckon the last one ends up easy enough. While Dean sleeps Cas holds him and hums while Sam awkwardly and without looking directly at them carves the sigil in the floor. When Dean wakes up Cas makes a big deal about how pretty he is in the light and stay right there so I can take a photo of you

So Dean's striking a stupid sexy pose when the spell fades. And he realises everything that's happened and the significance of it all

Also Sam's in the room now and that's just a bit fucking awkward

Cas just leaves, cos he doesn't know what else to do. He texts Dean an apology. Dean doesn't respond for like three days which is just hellish but eventually he texts back saying come over and talk.

So Cas does. Dean's sorry too, Sam has talked him into recognising that he really got the ball rolling and Cas was a bit cornered. And Cas, desperate to not have Dean feel guilty, talks about his feelings in this vague and uncertain way. But ultimately says he glad he had a chance, even in a false world. Nice to have the memories

And Dean's just like. Okay. So you didn't hate it? And I didn't hate it. And now that there's no crazy spell to work through, do you want to take it slow?

What? Cas says

Breakfast date?

Cas is useless at taking it slow. He goes on this breakfast date and does his ridiculous I love humanity because I loved you first speech and Dean's like fuck man this is intense to hear over eggs and shit coffee! But yeah I'm sitting on some feeling that've kicked passed loyalty into devotion and I also kinda want to suck your dick again so shut up and let me come to terms with being gay a bit slower, fucking hell. You're beautiful, give me a kiss

They figure it out

[nottivagos]

OKAY HEAR ME OUT on these two possible ideas:

1) all part of nerd!reader's plot to absolutely tease / overstim jock!carlos. i...uh.. haven't full thought out this one but imagine her planning it. she knows his schedule and so she decides to put on a show, just to see how he reacts. but she didn't realize how much she would enjoy it and she ends up forgetting about carlos. so when he walks in, imagine his reaction seeing her be a mess, thinking about him. Definitely an ego boost.

2) nerd!reader is fantasizing about carlos after she gets jealous. how it all happen was that carlos invited her to a party to, you know, let loose. it's not always just studying. she declines. but as time goes on, she feels like going. not because of carlos, just to live a little. but when she arrives, everyone is absolutely wasted. guys hitting on her, people trying to dance with her. then, she sees carlos with a gorgeous girl, and the girl is super close to him, obviously flirting and carlos is just soaking up the fun and attention, enjoying the party. so, nerd!reader goes back to her dorm and is frustrated, jealous... and ends up thinking about how much she wants his attention, which ends up with her touching herself. carlos, however, noticed when she arrived and left the party so he went after her. but when he sees her moaning his name and so lost in pleasure, he just stands there, with a smirk and his hand stroking himself.

- yapping bun anon 🐇

Welcome to Notti's "Not So Innocent" Notebook where I write some filth to make your Saturday a little bit better <3 || 18+ mdni pls and ty

an: BUN ANON STRIKES AGAIN!!! i picked the second one because, ah, it is perfection. jock!carlos, oh the man you are. it was also an excuse to listen to artemas for a while so i'm happy both ways :)

You shouldn’t have gone to that party.

Carlos had practically made you go. Apparently you were being too stuck-up and needed to ‘let go’. His claims were utter bullshit, you thought. You didn’t need to ‘let go’ like he practically did every night.

So, at first you stubbornly refused like you usually did. You had to study, which was commonly your excuse for everything Carlos tried to initiate, to which he replied with an annoyed sigh and an angry mutter, followed by him rubbing a hand over his face and leaving the dorm out of irritation.

A long period of silence followed. Carlos started going out more often with his douchebag friends to train or socialise, which you didn’t care less for though. He could do whatever the fuck he wanted just so he didn’t distract you from your studies.

But there was always that nagging voice playing in the back of your mind. The urge to go, not for Carlos, but for yourself. This opportunity was like gold dust to a student like yourself, something very rare to be offered by a jock themselves, and the desire to ‘live a little’ hung heavy in your mind and physically.

A little dorm party wouldn’t hurt, surely?

Oh, how you were wrong. For a start, everyone was already nearly blackout drunk. The eyes of hungry jocks burnt into your skin as you rubbed your bare upper arm nervously. You’d never ‘dressed up’ like this before, so the eyes made you gulp anxiously as you tried to merge into the background. Sweat clung to the humid atmosphere as pounding bass blared through your ears as you tried to navigate the crowds.

It didn’t help that you wanted to find Carlos. Despite coming to the party on your own accord, there was a lowly lit flame of yearning burning in your stomach. You wanted Carlos, even if it was one little drunken moment with him.

Barging through the dancing crowds, whilst fuelled with adrenaline to find Carlos was what drove you through the party. You had to fight grabbing hands trying to get you to dance along, but however, the few sips of some strongly made cocktail you snuck on the way through was just adding to your surge of confidence.

That all shattered when you saw him with her. He was casually resting his arm against the wall as she giggled, brushing her palm playfully against his chest. She was gorgeous than you, in many more ways, as she moved to press herself against Carlos’s front, a mischievous glint glowing in her eyes.

 Her words fanned against his lips in ways you didn’t want to, the slurred murmurs made your body tense with jealousy, her nose now dangerously grazing Carlos’s as he just revelled in the drunken attention, smirking at her comments made you want to explode in fury.

The anger and bitter jealousy overwhelmed your senses as you stormed out of the party and made your way back to your shared dorm with Carlos. You couldn’t believe it. So much for literally having the audacity to ask you to come to the party just to have another woman flirt with him instead.

The desire for Carlos’s attention was overpowering as your body burnt in a fury of irritation. You’d gone out of your way to try and make an effort for Carlos to see, for that confidence to crumble and dissipate when his lips even dared to touch that bitch’s glossy, plump ones.

An agitated slam of your door was followed by you storming over to your bed, before you slumped into it, allowing the springs of your mattress to elevate you back slightly. Stirring in your anger at your situation, the desire to have Carlos’s all to yourself caused a pool of fire to begin to burn furiously in your belly.

Your hands absentmindedly followed, fingertips grazing the soft flesh underneath your shirt ever so subtly. The unmonitored movements and motions burnt your skin, the overwhelming thought of Carlos’s fingers actually being the ones trailing down your smooth stomach instead of your own to your clothed cunt made your body dangerously hungry for more.

The touches were becoming more torturous as your fantasies mixed with the growing pleasure coiling inside of you ever so tighter and intenser. They travelled down lower, coming to toy with the hem of your skirt, pushing it up your thighs, before ghosting over the wet spot on your clothed pussy. 

Gasping at the sensation, your fingertips trailed back upwards to the top of your panties, hooking at the elastic before you wiggled them down your bare legs to your ankles awkwardly. They then gradually made their way back up to your now bare pussy sensually, feeling the initial wetness coating your desperate folds.

Imagining Carlos’s fingers spreading your wetness across your yearning folds was intoxicating as you did it. Biting your lip, you teased your fingertips at the opening of your hole, feeling it hungrily try to grab at them as you pulled out.

“Carlos,” your breathy voice called out as you dipped two fingers into your weeping pussy. The feeling was electric as you started to slowly pump them in and out of you, feeling your walls desperately try to suck you in as you did so. 

A pathetic whine followed as your cheeks burnt a hot crimson, biting your bottom lip hard as you began to imagine Carlos’s fingers stretching out your hole so easily, and the way his thick accent would drawl and purr as you moaned embarrassingly at the size difference and the way he murmured swift nothings into your ear ever so smoothly.

If anything, the thoughts made you even crazier for him. You were drunk on your fantasies as your fingers found a relentless rhythm, which made you allow your now more passionate moans to ring around your dorm. You wanted Carlos— no, you needed him to touch you. 

Fuck that bitch he was talking to at the party, you craved for him to be your own. The way his lips would feel on your skin, the way the bites would be so intoxicating, the way you’d rake your fingertips through his beautiful brown hair as you both made out so passionately, the way his cock would feel inside of you for the first time, to the way your name would fall from his lips like a prayer were enough to get you entranced in your vivid dreams.

“Carlos, please,” you begged pathetically as your eyes fully closed shut, thrusting your fingers deeper into your slick cunt. “Please, Carlos, fuck me,” your begged moans became increasingly louder as your breath had began to hitch, the coil inside the bottom of your belly tightening with every inch added as you fucked yourself.

Whilst you were too caught up in your own erotica, you didn’t even suspect Carlos’s looming presence in the room. In fact, you didn’t even know that he’d gone after you when he’d seen you at the party leaving in rage, guilty for hurting your feelings with the drunk little flirt session he was having with that girl.

What he wasn’t expecting to see was you panting his name ever so desperately loud as frantic fingers pounded into your tight cunt. His brown doe eyes darkened with lust as you were too engrossed in the overwhelming pleasure of your ongoing fantasy and the crazy feeling that your fingers felt inside of you as they curled to find the spot that made you squeal.

“Carlos, fuck— You feel so good—” you staggered a strangled moan as your toes started to curl when your fingers had finally found the spot that made you see stars. 

Carlos knew it was wrong to ogle at you pleasuring yourself at the thought of him but your moans and whines of his name were like a siren’s song to his ears, drawing him in to your lust. 

His cock was already painfully hard when his hands moved ever so fast to the zipper of his jeans. Carlos then pushed his jeans down to his ankles with desperation, his boxers following immediately afterwards as he let his erection spring free against his clothed torso. 

At this point, you were dripping onto the bed sheets below you, hips jerking slightly upwards to create more stimulation and friction. Your thumb found your clit, rubbing against the sensitive ball of nerves also, whilst your eyes squeezed shut. You could sense your inevitable climax, as your cheeks burnt all whilst your chest rose erratically with each breath and pant you took.

Carlos groaned lowly in response to the sight he was witnessing, as he started to spread the pre-cum leaking from his angry, red tip with his thumb. He smirked as you let out another few breathy gasps, before he began to pump his shaft almost immediately after.

Your fingers began to pound even more erratically as you felt your high coming. A pierced moan escaped your lips as you screamed, “Carlos!” as the high you desperately craved finally hit you like a wave.

Your body spasmed slightly with pleasure as your cunt clenched around your fingers, soaking them with your dripping essence rushed out of your pussy like a waterfall. The smirk on Carlos’s face grew as you rode out your high. He continued to stroke himself, half-lidded eyes glued to your flushed state as your eyes slowly fluttered open after you removed your wet fingers from your slick hole.

Mind hazy, you blinked up at the ceiling for a brief moment. Your chest heaved as you tried to gain some kind of composure, upon looking down your eyes widened at Carlos lurking in the walkway, just naturally jerking himself off.

“Carlos?!” you squeaked out in embarrassment. “What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” you asked whilst frantically looking for the sheets to cover yourself up with.

“I think I should be the one asking you that question,” he gritted out, continuing to wank off himself as you stared at him with wide eyes. “Do you know how fucking worked up I am right now?” he asked, his words had a bite to them, “me estás matando aquí, cariño,” he muttered, shaking his head as his hardened cock twitched angrily.

“Carlos,” you began to explain, “I didn’t mean to I—”

“Shut up,” he hissed, pumping ever so furiously before he also rode out his release with a groan, the cum spilling from his penis that coated his fingers with ropes of white.

He then grabbed a tissue from the tissue box on the desk before cleaning his release off of his hand. After, he looked at you, who was looking embarrassed and bashful from what you’d done, before he walked over to your bed, crawling on top of you as you stayed underneath the covers.

“Who knew the nerd had a secret lust for me, huh?” He whispered ever so thickly against your lips, the words causing his hot breath to fan across them. “Next time you do this,” he mumbled, nose coming to graze against your own, “I’m going to be the one inside of you making you scream out my name. Got that?”

like jock!carlos? fancy sending me an ask in my inbox so you can be included in my notebook! - notti <3

[jd-loves-fiction]

Gallagher, jing yuan and welt with a teenage brainrotted reader. I need them to stop me from using all those silly words or i'll go skibidi 😔

🌑Holy shit what chaos, what the hell did I just write 😭💀

✦ 𝐖𝐞𝐥𝐭 ✦

This poor man

He's too good for his own good really

Doesn't understand a lick of what you're saying but is so supportive still 😭

Like yes honey, skibidi rizz or smth 😅

After getting over his confusion, he's innocently asking you what it all means bless this man

Very good listener, genuinely pays attention to what you're saying

And he's saying it back to you at the most random of times

I love him but it's so cringe oh my goood 😭

Might just make you stop talking like that, at least around him, so he'll forget about it and stop saying those things

✦ 𝐉𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐘𝐮𝐚𝐧 ✦

Menace

Somehow already knows about it but acts clueless just to tease you

Asks what it means and proceeds to use it incorrectly just to see you cringe

Please tell him to stop or else he wont until he's had his fun

Which might never happen since this could keep him endlessly entertained

Before you know it, he's getting Yanqing in on it too, though he's a bit confused about it overall

He's get you to stop talking like that from how annoying he is, making you forbide those words from being used in your presence at all or you might just lose your mind💀

✦ 𝐆𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐚𝐠𝐡𝐞𝐫 ✦

Nonchalant final boss

The guy's a bartender, I'm not sure he'd care much

Definitely has heard weirder shit from his patrons

Kinda just nods along when you start yapping , doesn't completely understand what you're saying but doesn't care that much

Only really has a problem with if you're around the bar a lot, confusing his patrons - they start thinking they got so drunk they're hallucinating and that's bad for business

So he gently asks you to tone it down on company time😅

Otherwise he could care less honestly, slay ✨

[importantstudentbusinessspy-blog]

Crushing On The Nerdy Guy At Work 2.0

Masterlist

Previous Chapter

Pairing: Tim Drake x Reader

Synopsis: You finally got your wish and spent the night with the adorably awkward tech genius. Too bad he thinks you used him and no longer trusts you because of it. Even worse, you two still work together.

Tags: NSFW, characters are in their twenties, coworkers to lovers, oposites attract, nerd/popular, she fell first, virgin hero, first time, one-sided pining (reader has a massive crush on Tim), Angst, betrayal, protective Tim, batfam, love confessions, drunk confessions,

TW: stalking (by an oc) - Tim handles it.

After clocking out, Tim met Jason at a bar. The two planned to grab dinner before patrol.

The place was loud, busy, and packed with people out for happy hour, but Tim wasn't worried, especially when the waitress placed his burger in front of him.

Munching on a fry, Jason leaned back against his booth and gave a soft whistle. "Damn, look at that one."

Tim glanced up and did a double take.

You sat with some of your coworkers at a booth nearby, engaged in an animated conversation.

Tim began to regret suggesting a place so close to work, but he was starving after having forgotten to eat lunch again, so he sent Jason the location without thinking twice.

The same outfit you wore to work - a preppy skirt, knee-high boots, and a white cardigan - made you look soft and feminine among the suits and jackets at the establishment. His eyes lingered on you as you were deep in conversation with Rose and another team member. The same two who were gossiping about yourself and Tim the other day when he found out you'd kissed him on a dare.

Perfectly manicured hands wrapped around a martini glass as you raised it to your red lips. You looked like you belonged on the cover of the fashion magazine. He's seen you read so often... "Vague" or something.

Rose clocked him first. She mouthed something to you that made you pause. Then you turned and locked eyes with him across the room.

Tim tore his gaze away. "She’s my coworker." he told Jason

Jason smirked, popping another french fry into his mouth. "Your coworker just looked at you like you were dessert."

"No she didn't-"

You cleared your throat behind him, making both of the men turn around to face you. At some point, you had made your way over to the booth.

The man sitting next to Tim leaned back in his seat, watching you with amusement.

Ignoring him, you spoke. "Hey, Tim…"

"Hey," Tim gave you a tight-lipped smile, before gesturing to his companion. "Um, this is my brother, Jason. Jason, Y/N."

"Hey, Y/N…" Jason gave you a long once-over. You would have noticed if you weren’t so laser-focused on your co-worker.

"Hi," you waved to Jason mindlessly, still looking at Tim. "So…" Trying to look nonchalant, you flipped your hair in a signature move that usually garnered you mouthwatering looks. "How was your day?"

Damn it! What was it about him that made you act so... childish?

Tim's answer was stiff, guarded. "Busy."

You hated that he still thought you’d betrayed him. It wasn't fair, and he didn't even give you the chance to explain how you truly felt! You fidgeted with the hem of your skirt. "Do you… maybe want to get coffee sometime?"

Rose and Violet, who have slowly made their way over to you with their belongings in hand, were now giving you funny sideways glances.

Oh, please, you thought, like they’ve never been down bad before.

Tim’s perpetually analytical blue eyes studied yours behind smudged lenses of his glasses. "My schedule’s tight."

Wow. He really didn't wanna talk to you.

Disappointed, you huffedan half-hearted, "Forget it." Before retreating.

Behind you, Rose not-so-subtly slipped Jason a note, mouthing the words "Call me" before turning to Tim. "Genius boy, I don't know what you're going through but hurry up and snap out of it. Steven, from Legal, asked her out today." Her tone was at the same time playful yet serious. Without further information, she turned and followed you out.

After you girls left, Jason turned to his little brother, grinning. "You’re the dumbest man I’ve ever met."

Tim scowled through a mouthful of burger. He muffled out a, "What?"

Jason gestured toward your retreating figure. "She’s a goddamn ten, Timmy, foaming at the mouth through her chanel lipstick for you."

Tim didn't want to correct his brother that the lipstic he's usually seen you wear was called "Dior." Instead, he said, "You don’t know what your-"

"Timmy," Jason shook his head. "She was practically kneeling at your feet ready to give you head right here and now-"

"Jason!" Tim looked around nervously, hoping no one heard his brother. "She only kissed me because of a dare."

Jason’s eyebrows shot up. "Wait, shit. I didn't know that! So you got moves!" He clapped Tim on the shoulder.

"I dont 'got anything'". Tim shrugged, not feeling nearly as smug as someone in his position typically would. "But, we… yeah. I dont know."

"Oh, scored?"

"Jay-" Tim rubbed the bridge of his nose. Sometimes, his brother could be so vulgar.

Jason immediately smacked Tim upside the head. "So?"

Tim glared, rubbing his temple. "So nothing! It wasn’t real. I told you, it was just a dumb game for her.”

"Oh god, this is so fucking high school." Jason snorted. “Let me get this straight. She was dared to kiss you. Not to spend the night, right?"

"... as far as we know."

"Not to look at you like you the way she just did. Like you hung the fucking moon, right?"

Tim swallowed hard, taking another bite of his burger. "I... I guess."

Jason shook his head, bringing his beer to his lips. "You're so stupid..."

As he went on, Tim considered the facts.

It had only been a few days since he learned about the dare that led to your night together. It was easier to be mad at you, but really, he was mad at himself.

You were gorgeous, constantly surrounded by friends and admirers, while he was a loner. A nerd who preferred the company of gadgets and puzzles to that of real people (save for his family).

The nerd only got the prom queen in movies. Tim hated that he had let himself be fooled. He had just been a joke to you. That was it.

Damian’s fist collided with his face before Tim had the chance to react. The punch was sharp, sending the third Robin reeling back before he regained his balance. "Ow!"

"Oh, I’m sorry," his younger brother drawled, feigning concern. "I was under the impression we were sparring."

Tim wiped at the blood seeping from his lip. "We are, brat."

"One of us is," Damian muttered. "Stand ready, Drake."

"Can’t. I have to be at the office in ten minutes," Tim grumbled, stepping off the mat and wiping his sweat off with his shirt. In the window his saw his reflection. He needed to stop forgetting his meals. His stomach was beginning to look flat, save for muscle - it didn't look healthy. Then his eyes landed on his reflections mouth, stained in blood. "And now I have a flashy new injury to explain to everyone who asks."

"Next time, dodge." Damian shrugged, not hiding his amusement. "And I saw your calendar. You don’t start work until nine today."

Tim raised a brow. "...Did you hack my phone?"

"I’ve been practicing. Your lessons paid off." Damian looked proud of himself, tilting his head. "Speaking of, manicure at seven-thirty today? Really?"

Tim didn’t even blink. "Did you see that I’m also taking part in a pie-eating competition this Sunday?"

"Oh yeah." Damian snickered. Still not catching onto what Tim was hinting at.

"Hm, what about my Wonder Woman fanfic collection?" Tim trued again, leading him on.

"Hey, everyone’s into something." Damian shrugged. "At least it’s not some weird shit."

"You're a little slow today, kiddo." Tim tapped his head with his index finger, grinning. "That’s not my account you hacked."

Damian’s smirk faltered. "...What?"

Growing up with Batman, Tim had taken precautions long ago to redirect any hacking attempts to lead to the account of another Timothy Drake - a forty-year-old, blue collar father of two from Middletown, Ohio. No one in his family knew anything about his personal life - except Alfred. He trusted that man with everything.

"Anyway, I gotta go." Tim patted Damian’s shoulder. "Enjoy stalking a middle-aged man from Ohio."

"Damn it, Drake!" Damian growled. "Thats disgusting!"

"Hey, everyone’s into something." Tim echoed his brother’s earlier words before shutting the door behind him.

"No." Tim’s response was clipped as his leg began its usual anxious bounce. The the untied lace of his sneakers brushed against the floor of Commissioner Gordon’s office.

"Funny," Jim Gordon chuckled behind his coffee mug. "You seem to think that was a question. Let me make myself clear - it wasn’t. This is the bust of the decade! You’re doing the damn press conference."

"Commissioner - " Tim ran his hands through his hair, already feeling his nerves spike. "You don’t want - "

"What happened to your lip?" Gordon interrupted eyeing the fresh cut.

Tim self-consciously ran his finger over the cut from Damian. "I fell."

"Again?"

Tim wasn’t stupid. He was top of his class in the academy, and Gordon knew perfectly well he was capable of defending himself. Right now, Gordon was trying to change the subject. "Sir, you really don’t want me babbling into a mic in front of a crowd of journalists."

"Theres nothing i want more." Gordon smirked. "I find the idea to be well-deserved. You solved the riddle, son, you caught the Phantom. Gotham deserves to know who saved her. Better iron out that shirt and get a clean shave, because you’re going to be on camera tomorrow."

"But-" Tim swallowed, getting his points in order. "What if I mess up and disclose something I shouldn’t - confidential information!"

"That’s why we have a PR associate," Gordon said, raising a brow. "In fact, she should be waiting for you in the conference room right about now."

Oh no. As if he hadn’t been humiliated enough lately. Now you were going to watch him sweat through his clothes and trip over himself during press conferences? "I have my daily scrum in ten minutes." Was his final attempt.

"You’re excused." Gordon took another sip of his coffee. "Your scrum was with me anyway. And I already know your schedule."

Tim was out of arguments. "Yes, sir."

On the way to the conference room, he was stopped by Stanley, the department’s IT manager.

"Drake, can I borrow you for on-call?"

“Sorry, Stan, now’s a bad time.” Tim brushed past him, then paused. "And once again, I’m not IT."

"I know!" Stanley groaned. “But we’re swamped with tickets, and you’re the best with computers! Steven from Legal just downloaded a virus - it’s probably a quick fix."

Tim rolled his eyes. If he had a dime…

"Look," he began. "I have a meeting in five-"

Then he saw it. Tim narrowed his eyes to look over Stan's shoulder.

Steven from Legal was leaning against the wall of your cubicle, making major googly eyes at you.

You sat there, effortlessly put together as always. Plaid skirt hugging your waist, crisp white blouse tucked in neatly beneath a fitted blazer, knee-high boots that made your legs look unfairly long. And a damn bow in your hair. Delicate. Feminine. Perfect. Tim hated how it made his stomach twist.

Steven from legal reached up to tuck a stray strand of your hair behind your ear and you flinched at the sudden movement.

Tim clenched his teeth. He didn't like this. The young detective cleared his throat. "Yeah, I’ll help Steve."

Stan grinned. "Oh, thank you, man! You’re a godsend-"

Tim was already walking past him.

After begrudgingly fixing Steven from legal's computer, Tim arrived at his first media training session, dreading being on camera.

You entered a minute after he did, balancing your laptop in one hand and a coffee in the other.

"Good morning," you greeted in an unsure tone as you took your seat across from him.

Tim pushed up his glasses and folded his arms. "Morning."

You slid a neatly organized, color-coded packet across the table. "I prepared a media package for you over the weekend. It was approved by the Commissioner. It includes a script that should make it easy for you to answer most questions."

Tim skimmed through the pages, raising a brow at how meticulous it was. He thrived in chaos while you, he learned, thrived in order. A smirk threatened to break out when he saw you align your pen to your notebook. The smirk faltered when a thought came to mind. "Was the press conference your idea?"

"...what?" You blinked.

"The press conference." Tim gestured around the two of you. "Was this your way of getting me alone so that we could talk?"

Your expression changed into that of disbelief. You felt your teeth clench and nostrils flare as you huffed. "Press conferences are a routine procedure after any worthy development occurs in any government sector. No, I did not orchestrate a media frenzy to trap you into spending time with me, Tim. Were both doing our jobs."

Swallowing. Tim cast his gaze down, feeling like a bad student in trouble with a teacher. "Youre right. I'm sorry."

"Its fine." Luckily, you dropped the subject. "In the next few hours, we’ll go over wardrobe and behavior," you continued. "Keep your answers short and to the point. No rambling."

Tim scoffed. "I don’t ramble."

You arched a perfectly styled brow.

His jaw tightened. "…Fine."

He was in your world now. Public speaking was hard. Terrifying. But you had good tips and feedback, and he found himself growing less and less nervous with each question he practiced, having memorized your script helped out tremendously.

And you were all business - professional, not flirty like he was used to. It threw him off at first, but even through his bitterness, he found himself impressed.

You also kept to a strict schedule, so the days you two spent leading up to the conference you ate together - which resulted in him never skipping meals. He liked what he saw in the mirror. He was still lean and on the thinner side, but he'd bulked up a bit.

You, meanwhile, tried to stay professional, but Tim was making it hard.

His sleeves were always rolled up just enough to show the lean muscle of his forearms, veins visible when he typed, wrote, or did something with his hands. His posture had changed too - broader, more confident because of your lessons, less of the lanky boy you remembered.

He was still always adjusting his glasses - pushing them up his nose with his index finger - and you were way too aware of how that same finger gripped your wrists only a week ago. When he looked at you, even briefly mid-conversation, those gorgeous ocean eyes felt like a magnifying glass boring into your soul.

You cleared your throat. "Tim, remember to keep your hands still when speaking-"

"Yeah. Got it."

Short, clipped. But his voice was deep. He was just speaking, trying his best to work together, but his low rasp reminded you of the way he whispered, "Does that feel good?" In your ear a mere few nights ago.

And the worst part? He had a five o’clock shadow now. That jawline, a little rougher, made you ache to feel it against your skin.

Tim was already so goddamned irresistible to you. Close proximity tested your sanity, and you were afraid you were failing.

"Detective Drake, Tamara Lane from the Gotham Gazette." One of the journalists raised her mic to him. "Are the rumors true that you and your PR associate are dating?"

The room fell silent.

Tim froze.

You gripped your phone nervously behind the stage.

Tim blinked once. Then, with an arched brow, he leaned toward the mic. "Since when does the Gotham Gazette run a gossip column?"

The room burst with chuckles, tension easing. But you caught the way his jaw tightened. The way his fingers twitched at his sides.

"First of all," Tim continued, straightening, "I’m here to talk about the Phantom case and trial. If you have any questions about that, I’ll happily answer. But don’t waste everyone’s time with melodrama, please. No, we are not dating.” He finished, choosing not to chastize the journalists further.

"I'm afraid that's all the time we have today." The moderator spoke into her mic. "Thank you detective. The city owes you."

Tim shook his head. "Thank you, but the city owes me nothing. As one of Gothams citizens, I was doing my responsibility to the same streets I grew up in."

That got him a room full of claps. You were so proud. He handled it like a pro. Physical distance was a killer when all you wanted was to run over there and praise him for doing a good job.

"So y/n," An aggressive male journalist made a few steps towards you, invading your personal space. "That bite on Drake’s lip. That your doing?" He winked, backing you against a wall.

"I - " You felt yourself stumble, the tension knotting your stomach. "No, it's not. Can you please back up, Darren?"

This wasnt your first time meeting him. Darren was a tool back in college, when you were both in the journalism program. More than once that he'd attributed your success to your looks alone, with not so subtle implications that you had slept your way to the top.

You were hoping that leaving your previous big shot corporation and getting a job in public services would get him off your back. It didnt.

"Sure can, gorgeous." Darren smirked. "Just as soon as you tell me it was you who gave him that love bite - "

"That's close enough." Tim was there in an instant. His hand shot out, shoving Darren back effortlessly while pulling you behind him, his grip firm, but careful on your arm. You let out a sigh of relief, squeezing his hand in gratitude as the nosey journalist shrank back.

Tim turned to you, eyes searching for any sign of distress. "Are you alright?"

You nodded. "Yeah, thanks."

You were still clearly shaken. He eyed you for a moment, as if waiting for you to contradict yourself.

That's when a thought had occurred to him. You were a beautiful girl, never lacking male attention and always having your fair selection of admirers. But...

But how much of that attention was actually wanted?

Right now, you looked extremely uncomfortable. If the women in his life were faced with such behavior, Tim pondered. If Barbara, Steph, or Cassie were backed into a corner by a man they'd take one clean punch to knock the guy's lights out.

But you weren't like his sisters. You were all smiles and sweetness. You were innocent... vulnerable.

The thought made something stir within him... his fists clenched at his sides as he turned to glare at the retreating journalist.

He and you addressed each other by name. This wasn't your first time meeting.

It took five minutes to bypass Darren's security and get root access to his computer - where Tim found a disturbing amount of pictures of you. Some were with your higher-ups, others with professors, TAs, all taken without your knowledge.

Tim cringed reading the notes Darren had attached to each one - sexualizing and objectifying you to justify your successes in life.

Tim made quick work of adding screenshits to a secure folder, which he sent anonymously to Dick's work email.

Tim’s phone chimed in under a minute. Dick’s name flashing on screen on the wayne family's private texting platform. "Timmy, You should be asleep on your night off."

Tim couldn't help but grin as he typed back. "How'd you know it was me?"

"Who else sends anonymous emails containing incriminating evidence At 3 in the morning?"

Tim glanced at his watch, confirming he's really been up that late.

"Touche" he wrote back.

"Whose this creep?"

"Some guy who's been harassing a-" he paused, before typing. "-friend at work."

"Jesus, christ there's so many files."

"Tell me about it. Need my help with anything?"

"Nah, I'll get a permit and look into it."

"Great,"

Before finishing up, Tim made sure to leave Darren a clear message his screen so that when he opened his laptop the next day, he'd be met with the words: "Journalism is not the same as stalking. Learn the difference, asshole." Capitalized on his desktop wallpaper.

5 Months Later

"Hey!" Tim picked up your call after the first ring.

You shivered outside the nightclub in nothing but your dress (that looked more like a nightgown as your roommate said) and puffy jacket. You were out with your roommate again, but a few glasses of wine told you it was a good idea to call him.

Holding the phone to your mouth, you spoke. "I have something to say to you, Tim Drake.”

His voice shook as he said. "... Okay?" As if he was laughing.

"Just... dont hang up." You took a deep breath. "I need you to hear this."

"Go ahead," you heard laughter on the other end of the call.

"I LIKE YOU. TIM DRAKE." You yelled into your phone. "I have liked you for a LONG time. Way before rose and the dare and the bar. And because I am an idiot, I screwed it up -"

"Where are you?"

"You promised you wouldn't interrupt!" You accused.

"I said no such thing, sweetheart. Where are you?" He insisted. "You're definitely drunk and shouldn't be alone right now."

"Im just fine, thankyouverymuch!" You slurred. "And I don't - *hiccup* - wanna be seen in the state im in right now... especially by you. Anyway, can you focus?"

You then proceeded to list every tiny thing you’ve noticed about him over the months of knowing him: "I like how you get so into work that you forget to eat, even though it drives me crazy."

"And I like that you’re so damn smart, but you can’t take a compliment to save your life." You snickered as you spoke.

"I like that you don’t realize how many people actually admire you.”

"…And I like that you kissed me back that night, even though you were surprised."

"Ahem," someone cleared their throat beside you.

You turned to look who it was, and your eyes landed on him. Your mouth dropped, and you blinked at him blankly. You were in disbelief. Had you manifested him out of thin air?

After placing his jacket around you, Tim crossed his arms, watching you intently as you fidgetted under his gaze as he waited for you to continue. His blue eyes crincled at the sides with barely suppressed laughter. They seemed to say, "You wanted to do this, so do it."

"I..." You took a deep breath, still not believing he was here. "... Okay, I’m just gonna say it."

Tim raised an eyebrow.

"That night we spent together? I wasn’t faking anything." You shifted, suddenly feeling very warm. "I mean, you were just... so good. Like, ridiculously good."

Tim blinked, pursing his lips and looking like he was trying hard not to laugh.

You continued in a rush, "And not just in a ‘this guy knows what he’s doing’ type of way, but in a ‘no one has ever made me feel like that’ way, and it’s been messing with my head because now every time I see you, I just-" You cut yourself off, mortified. Why are you saying all of this? Oh, right, the wine.

Tim stared at you. Processing. Then, very slowly, he smirked, taking a step closer. "… you haven’t stopped thinking about it, huh?"

Shivering, you made a strangled noise. "I-That’s not the point!"

"No, no, I think it is." His smirk grew, and he stepped closer still, pulling you into his arms. You welcomed the warmth of his body, feeling small in his big frame. He exhuded a sudden confidence you hadn't seen in him before when he said, "Go on, prom queen. Elaborate."

You groan, covering your face. "I hate you."

"Do you?"

"Whatever." You suddenly lost confidence, facing away from him. "That’s it. That’s all I wanted to say."

You turned to go step back, but Tim grabbed your waist, pulled you back toward him, and kissed you breathless. "I like you too, prom queen. Now I need you to answer an important question."

You gasped against his lips, feeling elated that he had basically confessed he liked you back. Your breath hitched when you said. "Anything."

He smiled down at you. "How many drinks did you have before you forgot I was your boyfriend?"

Your eyes fluttered open to soft kisses peppering your face.

"Morning." Tim rasped against your ear before nipping at it, making your skin rise along with your hitching breath.

There was a new bruise forming on his back, you ran your fingers over it but didn't ask any questions. He had his personal life and you had yours and you respected whatever he had to do to take out stress in his life.

"Morning-" your voice was soft and sleepy as Tim left a bite mark right on your pulse before licking over the mark he left. "How was patrol?"

"Nothing interesting. I missed you, though. And you definitely missed me." He emphasized the last words, his fingers reaching for your bare pussy under your nightgown.

"Nothing interesting?" You squeaked. You were so wet that his fingers glided over your slit with ease. That was good, interesting, in Tims case usually implied danger. You worried less on the nights that he came back home bored.

He tilted his head to the side as if considering something. "Well, actually, the end of the night was pretty entertaining. Thanks to you."

"Really?" You asked, grinning. "What happened?"

He took your breasts in his hands and softly rolled your nipples between his index and thumbs over your pastel pink nightgown. Sensitive, you let out a wimper, arching against the mattress and pushing your breasts into his hands. "Mhmm, maybe I shouldn’t say."

Each swipe of his finger over your responsive peaks sent a shiver down your body straight to your sex. Your head rolled back against the soft pillow, hair spralked all around you.

"Please tell me?" You begged, now starting to get nervous. Last night was girls' night. You knew Tim would be on patrol, so you met your girlfriends at the bar. Come to think of it... you don't really recall what happened.

He kissed down your body to the top of your inner thighs. Where you were ticklish. "Let's just say i got a cute phone call at four in the morning."

Gasping, you bolted up to a sitting position on the bed. "No!"

"Oh yes," at his place between your thighs, Tim met your gaze and let out a sinister, evil laugh. The vibration of his laughter made his tongue rub deliciously against your slit, making you moan and arch your back.

You fought to stay focused. "What did I say to you?"

"Idunno," he hummed, closing his eyes as his toungue mapping out your clit in small circles.

"Tim- ah-" your fingers grasped at his messy hair as the stimulation against your clit began to build up. Oh god, he'd gotten so good at that. Your breathing grew quicker as his tongue continued its assault. "Mhnnn, what did I say?" You whined.

Veiny hands squeezed your thighs before coming back up to push you back onto the bed. The material of your nightgown split at the front, baring and exposing your breasts to be tormented by his hands once more.

He continued toying with you for a long time. The delicious stimulation grew stronger and stronger until you weren't able to hold back anymore. Panting, you came all over his mouth, and he lapped at your spilling juices.

"Good girl," he cooed, running his hands over you.

"I-" you panted, kegs shaking as he gathered you in his arms. "Tim. P-please, how bad was it?"

"What do I get if I tell you," He asked with amusement while his thumb rose to tease your clit again.

Overstimukated, you squealed, wrapping your arms around his neck as he picked you up and carried you to the bathroom. "I'll... I'll kiss you?"

"Well, alright." He snickered while turning on the shower handle, letting the water fall over the both of you, still in your clothes. He lowered you to the ground, keeping his lips a breath apart from yours, and whispered. "You got so drunk you kinda forgot we were dating."

Your hads rose to cover your mouth as you shook your head in horror. "No,"

He nodded. "Im afraid so, prom queen. And you called me, screaming about how you had a crush on me-"

"Stop," your hands covered your eyes.

"-and how I rocked your world -"

"Oh god."

"-really, the 'best you've ever had'. Your words, not mine."

"I'm never touching alcohol again!" You moaned, gently baging your head against his chest.

Tim's hands came to cup your face, brushing your hair behind your ears. "I love you, prom queen."

You smiled back, shily. "I love you too."

Tim's grin only widened.

[decayleside-blog]

My Headcanons about

Jack Marston

(Post RDR1)

𐚁

Jack Marston spends years wandering with no real purpose. He drinks to forget, but it only makes the memories louder. Whiskey burns, but not as much as the ghosts in his head. He sees John in the bottom of every bottle, Abigail in the morning light that filters through the saloon window, Uncle in the ache in his bones. He drinks anyway.

𐚁

The West is dying, and he’s dying with it. Horses are slowly replaced by cars, dirt roads by pavement, outlaws by men in suits with pens that kill faster than bullets. The land that raised him has no place for him anymore.

𐚁

“You're John Marston's boy, ain'tcha?” He hears it in every town, every bar, every two-bit gambler who thinks they know his story. He stops correcting them. Maybe it’s easier that way. Maybe Jack Marston doesn’t exist anymore—maybe he never did.

𐚁

He tells himself he doesn’t care. That he never cared. That revenge didn’t leave him hollow, that his father’s last words don’t echo in his head. Don’t make the same mistakes I did, son. Jack laughs about that sometimes.

𐚁

His mother’s grave is the only place he visits every year. Rain or shine, he sits there and talks to her. Sometimes he's drunk, sometimes he's sober, but he always asks if she’s disappointed in him.

𐚁

He never stays anywhere too long. Towns blur together, faces fade. He learns to keep his heart locked away—attachments are just another thing to lose.

𐚁

But then, something happens. Maybe it’s someone who doesn’t flinch at his name. Maybe it’s the way a horse still feels more like home than any house ever could. Maybe it’s just waking up one morning and realizing he’s still here, still breathing.

𐚁

Jack tries. He’s still bitter, still mean, still has blood on his hands. But he stops running. He lets himself have something—someone—worth staying for.

𐚁

Jack gets old. He wakes up one day and realizes he survived where none of them did. And maybe, just maybe, that means something.

𐚁

And so he writes. He writes it all—the fall of the Van der Linde gang, his father’s last ride, the blood, the dust, the ghosts that never quite let go. He calls it “Red Dead”.

𐚁

Maybe no one will read it. Maybe no one will care. But at least, for once, the story is told by someone who lived it.

Here's some angsty headcanons I wanted to make for quite some time :'

core and sunset dividers made by @deltamel !

→ Check 𐚁 mel's graphics for more!

[pullakori]

Cherik resurrection 2025

1. Left out in the cold

This was not how Charles had thought the night would go. He was supposed to be forgetting the stress from his thesis and the legal battle with his step father by drinking, flirting, making out and finding a comfortable bed of someone else’s to crash on. And he had been doing pretty good on that plan until ten minutes ago! But now, he was stuck outside of some fraternity building after 1 am on Halloween night.

As the cold started slowly to seep into his skin and bones, Charles found himself wishing that he had dressed as a sexy librarian like he had originally planned. At least he would be wearing more clothes than he currently was as a cupid. He cursed Raven in his head as he sat on the building stairs, trying to gather enough energy for the long walk home. 

At least he would get warmer as he started moving, he thought to himself, trying to pull the hem of the white toga lower, but not succeeding. He cursed Raven some more and then himself for letting her talk him into shortening the damn thing from the original length. It hadn’t been that long to begin with, but right now he would be grateful for every inch of extra cloth.

“Are you alright?” Charles didn’t know if it was because of his frustration or his slightly drunken state that he hadn’t noticed the stranger approaching. Felt his mind nor heard his steps. He turned to look up at the man with wide eyes and had to stop to take him in. He was tall and dressed in gothic clothing, with white shirt, deep maroon vest, dark trousers and a frilly white cravat. Instead of a jacket, he had a long maroon and black cape. Despite how covered the man was, the clothes left little for imagination, hugging and complementing his frame in the most delicious way. The man’s skin looked pale in the light of the street lamps and the sharpness of his cheekbones had been highlighted with some makeup. Maybe the unnatural paleness too, was a result of cosmetics.

His sharp eyes were staring intensely at Charles, his frown turning to a questioning rise of an eyebrow and suddenly Chalres realised that he had been staring for way too long.

“Ummm, yes, or no, I mean-” Charles forced himself to stop and think. Was he really going to bother this stranger with his unfortunate situation, even when there was not really anything he could even do about it? 

The stranger tilted his head to the side and a small smile was tugging his thin lips. Well, Charles thought, there was no harm with unburdening his heart a little.

“Well, in truth, I have been locked out.” Charles explained and nodded behind him towards the house. The stranger glanced at the door and then back to Charles.

“You live here?” He asked and Charles hurried to shake his head.

“No, I was here to party. I was thrown out.” He said and when the vampire gave him a suspicious look, he felt the need to defend himself. “Which was not my fault, just so you know.”

The man seemed amused by his answer.

“Oh, is that so?” He probed lightly, with some doubt in his voice. 

“Well, maybe slightly my fault.” Looking back, maybe his sultry behaviour in the party and slight drunken state might have compromised his judgement somewhat. But even then it had been a 10/90 situation. 20/80 at most! “But in my defence I didn’t know she had a boyfriend and she approached me. I learned that only after I had to dodge a drunken punch to the face.” It felt like he was making a court case for himself, but the stranger seemed to find amusement from his suffering.

“A trouble maker, I see” The vampire nodded with a small grin, before his look turned more curious. “Why are you still sitting here? You don’t seem so drunk that you can’t walk.” 

“I’m just gathering mental energy to start the long walk home.” He had just stopped banging the door few minutes ago and the sudden shift in the night’s plans had caused him the need to take a moment to gather himself.

“How long?” The stranger queried and Charles shrugged.

“Thirty to forty minutes.” He sighed. He wasn’t looking forward to it, but had made peace with it as the conversation had gone on.

The vampire looked alarmed by Charles’ answer, consern colouring his voice.

“That long? While wearing that?” Charles noticed how the vampire’s eyes lingered on his exposed skin and without thinking about it too much, he stretched his legs a bit and leaned back on the steps.

“Something wrong with my costume?” He asked, feigning ignorance and smirking inwardly as he saw the other man swallowing thickly, some colour appearing on his cheeks, but barely noticeable. So it was makeup, Charles thought to himself.

The man managed to pull himself together in quite admiring time, however. Though his eyes still crept to glance at Charles’ body every now and then.

“That is a long way to walk in this weather and it’s only going to get even colder. Almost freezing.” He cautioned Charles, 

“Really?” That dampened Charles’ mood somewhat. He supposed the alcohol in his body had been keeping him little warmer this far, but if the night was about to turn even colder, his journey home would be very unpleasant indeed.  “Well, I’ll keep warm by moving.” He sighed, finally standing up and stepping down from the stairs. No reason to keep avoiding the inevitable.

The stranger watched him with intense eyes, and if someone had told Charles that he truly was a vampire, he might have believed them.

“You don’t have anyone you could call to pick you up? There is a phone booth just around the corner.” The man nodded towards the direction where the phone most likely was, but Charles shook his head.

“No. Everyone I know is having fun at other parties, who knows where.” Even Hank had for once in his lifetime agreed to join Alex, Sean and Armando for a long night of festivities. Wasn’t that just Charles’ luck…

“Then how did you get here?” The vampire wondered.

“I had a ride.” Charles explained, and continued before the other man was able to actually voice the new question in his head. “And I planned on getting one back in the morning.” That had never been a problem before, Charles thought sourly.

But there was no point crying over the spilled milk.

“I better get going.” Charles decided, nodding to himself and turning to look at the stranger, who was looking unsure now. “Thank you for your concern. I will be fine though.” He thanked him and walked past him, beginning his long and chilly journey home.

“If you need a place to crash,” The man’s voice made Charles stop and turn around in shock. “I have an extra mattress and live less than 10 minutes from here.” The offer sounded sincere, but Charles still couldn’t believe what he had heard.

The vampire seemed to sense his hesitation, because he hurried to reassure him.

“No strings attached.” He said, holding his hands up. “I just don’t want to hear in the news tomorrow about how someone found a cupid frozen to death.” Under the unserious tone, there was actual concern of Charles’ well being. But just to make sure Charles wasn’t going to be killed tonight…

Charles moved two of his fingers to his temple for focus and as carefully as he could in his slightly drunken state, used his power to look into the vampire’s mind and his intentions. Reading thoughts under influence wasn’t dangerous, unlike trying to control someone, which was the reason Charles hadn’t tried to make someone let him in before.

He was almost thrown out by the mental shields that rose up to meet his probing, like metallic security doors. There was a moment of alarmed surprise in the vampire’s face, but then realization. The barriers lowered themselves and the stranger gestured at his head.

“Oh, right. Feel free to check.” The vampire said and Charles was a bit surprised by the ready acceptance of his mutation. But with the permission, he scanned the stranger’s, Erik Lehnsherr, intentions and found no ill will there, only concern, protectiveness and intrigue. 

Happy to know that he didn’t have to walk all the way home and that he could spend the rest of the night with this curious man, Charles lowered his hand and smiled at Erik.

“Sorry about that, I promise I didn’t dig too deep.” Charles assured, but Erik shook his head.

“Not at all. It’s good to know that you seem to possess some self-preservation instincts.” The cheeky answer made Charles’ jaw drop slightly. The nerve!

“You got an impression I didn’t?” He questioned, slightly offended, but mostly amused.

Erik shrugged, not looking apologetic in the slightest.

“Considering that you were stuck outside in that outfit because you were making out with someone else’s girlfriend. It crossed my mind.”

“I told you, I didn’t know!” Charles insisted, although some colour started to heat his cheeks. “And you are one to talk about outfits! You are the one wearing a bloody cape!” He accused, pointing at the said garment.

His attack against Erik’s fashion sense seemed to take the other man aback.

“What is wrong with capes?” He sounded almost offended, frowning as he took hold of the cape and lifted it up a bit with his right hand.

“What isn’t wrong with them? They make you look like a comic book supervillain for starters.” Charles pointed out and his arms crossed, but his tone was more joking again. And the same mirth was mirrored in Erik’s expression too.

“I rather enjoy having a cape. They give an outfit a slash of…” He paused and threw the cape, making it flare behind him. “drama.” Erik finished and Charles had to roll his eyes as he tried to hold in laughter.

“Here I thought you were all broody and mysterious, but I’m starting to realize you are actually just a dork.” He teased and was delighted when the man let out a full chested laugh.

“Additionally…” Erik said as he got his breath back and brought his hand on top of the buckle that kept the cape on his shoulders. It came undone like it was magic, or by mutation, and with one smooth movement the other mutant wrapped it around Charles, surrounding him in sudden warmth that almost made him melt. “capes keep you warmer.” The last part was murmured so close to Charles’ ear that he could feel the warm breath tingling it.

He would have been lying, if he said that his legs didn’t go little weak from it.

But, too soon Erik stepped back and gestured at the road.

“Shall we?” He asked and with a nod from Charles, they started to walk towards Erik’s apartment. The cape was slightly uncomfortable, considering that Charles already had wings and quiver on his back, but it was a small price to pay for the warmness.

“So, should I call you Dracula or..?” Charles asked after a moment of silence.

“Don’t try to tell me you didn’t find my name in my mind when you were digging around there.” Erik glanced at Charles with a smile and a raised eyebrow, causing Charles to cough from getting called out like that. Though Erik’s non-judgemental attitude towards his telepathy was quite refreshing. 

“Sure, but it is more polite to ask about it aloud.” He said and offered his own hand. “I’m Charles Xavier, I study genetics and I have to say that you have a very groovy mutation yourself, my friend.” He started, leveling the playing field. Erik took Charles’ hand and gave it a firm but small shake.

“Erik Lehnsherr, engineering. And my mutation is magnetism.” He explained and immediately Charles’ mind was filled with dozens of questions he wanted to ask the other. But for now, he let Erik’s hand go and smiled even more broadly at the other.

“Well Erik, I feel like this is the start of something amazing, my friend.”

[moongothic]

You know I'll be first to point out if/when Crocodile does a little Luffyism, so let's take a moment to appreciate it when Luffy does a little Crocodile-ism;

Like Luffy may be a silly lil goofball, but as he's said many times himself, he's always serious (in combat). And so Fujitora laughing at Luffy right in his face, when they're in battle and Luffy is completely dead serious... Yeah, the way he takes it like an insult gives Crocodile

[the-meme-monarch]

i was telling my sibling about the Would Hannibal Eat Them poll mini essays i was doing and it became “people gotta lay off mr suzuki man. him and yamada are friends. they were acting. why would suzuki even be responsible for yamada’s paycheck when they’re coworkers. suzuki isn’t his boss. and again it was An Act” which devolved into “people Really hate goro when julie was the primary abuser in their relationship” and like man i Hate to be number 1 goro defender but like. like you honor he Did do that. but so did she. and then “bro i fucking hate policeman”

[thegreatyin]

monster and pain for the scoundrel?

(original ask game here!)

Monster: Is your OC monstrous in any way? Is there something that makes them monstrous? Are they aware of their own monstrosity? Do they accept it or reject it?

I mean. I suppose there is the obvious elephant in the room.

Most of the Scoundrel's bat HRT symptoms are currently... superficial at best. They have fangs, and they've already grown horns, but it doesn't really mean anything- their internal organs, reasoning, instincts, etc are all pretty much entirely human. This is routinely a problem for them. They hate it so much. They don't know what'll happen when they truly become more bat than person-

Ahem. Coughs. Anyway.

By-and-large, the Scoundrel is embracing her monstrosity with open and almost too eager arms. She is going "YES... HAHA... YES!!!!" through a window while wearing a sickos T-shirt. She is jumping up and down like a happy rabbit. She is vibrating at a rate of approximately five gazillion trillion bazillion happy bats per hour. She is extremely aware of it and she could literally not be more overjoyed about it.

This is what she wished for, after all. This is what's going to fix her.

...and if it doesn't, well. There's always East.

(There's another aspect of her that can arguably be counted as monstrous, but- well. Let's talk about it next question.)

-

Pain: What's the worst pain your OC has ever felt? Do they have a high pain tolerance?

To put it as succinctly as possible; The Scoundrel has violant eyes.

She did not always have violant eyes. In fact, for most of her life, they were just a normal shade of brown.

And then he happened to play through a certain Exceptional Story, and realized he couldn't stand to forget even a single moment of what he saw.

Things... escalated. Quickly. For some time, she had all but vanished from the Neath- and when she returned, she had a new drive, a new persona, and eyes nobody could stand to forget.

She did this to herself. Eagerly. Happily. And it hurt like nothing else in the world. Turned her blood a few shades shy of the funny neathbow color too, just for good measure.

This wasn't the thing that necessarily created her high pain tolerance, but damn if it wasn't close. Nowadays, the Scoundrel can shrug off almost any amount of pain if he really puts his mind to it. Even if she's usually too much of a stuck-up jerk to act like her high constitution score means anything on a daily basis.

[aidansplaguewind]

You're Ugly Too (2015)

[thedawningofthehour]

Joe Biden resigned as a candiate and I found out from a tumblr meme :(

Your fic makes me so happy in these times

Like I didn't want Biden to run for reelection but I hate this. The time for him to drop out was six months ago. Or he could have fucking resigned a year ago and let Harris run as the incumbent-for real, I half expected Joe to get reelected and then resign the second day, fuck off into the sunset with his dogs and cat and send us tiktoks of him sipping pina coladas on the beach. The only reason I can think of for him to be doing this is that he's about to do a bunch of shit that would tank his chances for reelection, like packing the Supreme Court or declaring a national ice cream day. Actually, no, we already have a national ice cream day, and it's...today, actually. Biden literally ended his reelection bid on National Ice Cream Day. Huh.

Anyway. I would definitely prefer for the first female president to be elected in, but clearly America isn't ready for a female president. 2016 showed us that the most qualified woman still can't beat the most unqualified man. And before you start yelling that Clinton wasn't the most qualified woman-she was practically president already. Bill Clinton's presidency is viewed very favorably, the 90s were great in the US. Hillary has always been the brains of their duo, Bill was the face-look at Hillary during any of her speeches, she is not a natural public speaker and is very uncomfortable up there. But she weathers it, she practices, and she fucking knows her stuff. In an alternate universe we're finishing up Hillary's second term. We have a liberal majority in the Supreme Court and still have RvW. RBG retired and lived the last few years of her life like the queen she was. Four people died of covid. Trump put out a book and spent some time touring conservative news outlets to whine about how oppressed he is, but he's returned to 'washed-out loser everyone ridicules' status. And we don't have that because liberals would rather sit on their hands and wait for a unicorn to come along than vote for an imperfect candidate.

"Well she's corrupt-" THEY'RE ALL CORRUPT. ANY POLITICIAN WHO MAKES IT THAT FAR IN AMERICAN POLITICS COULD HAVE ONLY GOTTEN THERE BY BEING CORRUPT. THE ONLY EXCEPTIONS ARE BERNIE AND AOC AND AOC WILL ABSOLUTELY BE SHOT WHEN SHE INEVITABLY RUNS FOR PRESIDENT. EVERYONE LEFT OF THEM HAS BEEN MURDERED BY THE CIA.

Like, for fuck's sake, yes Hillary was out for herself. She would have still ended up being a solid president, because she's fucking smart and knows that would serve her.

The whole thing with covid, it handed Trump every advantage. National crises are election gold for the incumbent, provided they don't completely fuck it. The only reason Bush won in 2004 (which was the only time a Republican won the popular vote in the last 30-some years, I might add) was because he was in office when 9/11 happened. Three years later, despite Bush still fucking up quite a bit in his response, he still benefited from being the guy who 'brought our country together' and people voted for him as an emotional response. The same would have happened in 2020. And Trump literally had it set up for him. Like, there were already plans in place to handle a pandemic, he had experts swarming in ready to take the reins and deal with this for him. Literally all he had to do was wear a mask and say "listen to my man Fauci, he knows what he's talking about." He would have gotten credit for dealing with covid. He would have gotten reelected. Even the most selfish, corrupt version of Clinton that exists in people's minds would have done that, because it would have been in her best interest.

He couldn't fucking do that. He couldn't shut his goddamn mouth, he couldn't stand to have it not be about him for five minutes. He couldn't wear a mask like a fucking adult. So many people died because he was acting like a literal toddler. And in doing so he destroyed his bid for reelection.

And now we're back here again.

I comfort myself with the knowledge that he's never won the popular vote. That he's killed much of his own base with covid. That he's old, that he has to die at some point. That the Antichrist prophecy explicitly states that the Antichrist will only be in power for three and a half years, that he'll fail at every attempt to wrestle power back. (you guys should look up the parallels from Trump to the Antichrist prophecy if you haven't already, like I'm not religious but it's actually really freaky how accurate it is) But I just...I can't do this again. I was so hoping he'd just be dead by now.

For everyone in the US who will be old enough/eligible to vote in November: for fuck's sake, VOTE. Check your state's registration laws, double and triple-check that you're registered. Vote. Vote blue. It doesn't fucking matter who the candidate is, if Trump gets back in you will never have the opportunity to vote again. People will die. And I will be fucking off to Canada or Europe. I know they got their own problems, but Jesus Christ.

And wherever you live-and this is the only time I will ever fucking say this-I would consider buying a gun if you feel comfortable doing that. I hate guns, I think the 'home defense' argument is fucking stupid, but this isn't a normal situation. No matter what the outcome of this election is, Trump's cult is going to get violent. They're cowards and will go for people they think aren't a threat. I'm not even advocating for shooting anyone, just make it look like you and your neighborhood aren't worth it. This shit's going to get a lot worse before it gets better, and we're at the point I legitimately wonder if it's ever going to get better.

[ayyponine]

Same venue. Same-ish crowd. Opposing seasons. Contrasting vibes.

[lilworms]

I have the giggles