#don’t actually look into what they’re about

[mostly-imagines]

Careless Accidents

jason todd x fem!reader

aka you get hurt and jason’s pissed

warnings: reader’s wrist is accidentally sprained from being grabbed to hard

You could hear scuttling from somewhere else in the garden, an estate more than sizable enough than the game afoot.

You were under the distinct impression though that the bats and birds are playing with you similar to how they would a child. Slower, weaker, and less experienced than the big kids. You weren't complaining though. Because, frankly, it was stressful. They tend to operate more like they’re in a warzone than a game, you felt like you were about to be sniped out at any second.

Rightfully so, apparently, seeing how silently Stephanie had crept up on you.

“Hey,” Stephanie hissed, ignoring the way you jumped. “We’re doing alright for ourselves,” she said smugly. 

“Yeah,” you’d nodded, like you agreed with her more than you probably did. 

“Okay listen, I think the flag—” what flag? “—is by the fountain so, I think because there’s three of us and two of them, we should bait-and-switch.”

“We’re on teams?” you asked, no longer completely sure you know what you’re playing. 

“We are now!” she smiled, starting to run. “I’ll bait!”

She stopped briefly in her tracks and turned back to you hissing, “Don’t trust Cass,” before scurrying away.

Rather than sit around and wait there for…something?...to happen, you jumped up darting in the opposite direction with little to no indication whether this is a good move.

What you didn’t see is Cass rapidly approaching from your rear. 

What you also didn’t see was Dick crouched down in a row of shrubbery, which gave him the perfect opportunity to snatch your arm up and yank you down with him. You’d mewled a bit as your wrist made contact harshly with the grass, immediately buckling under you.

Cass was keen to your pain immediately, slowing her sprint to a stroll as she observed you.

“Are you okay?” she signs.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m good.” 

The response was instinctual and you didn’t actually have time to register whether or not you were okay by the time you gave it. 

You pushed up on your elbows, trying to figure out whether Dick is even on your team, but the way the others approached had you halting consideration. They’re savvy to the situation at a speed in which you can only attribute to their vigilantism, looking at you with concern. 

“You good?” Tim asked, approaching languidly.

“That looked like it hurt,” Cass commented, crouching down next to you to see your wrist better.

Dick shook his head, “No, she’s okay.” He turned to you, prodding, “You’re okay.”

“Yeah, I’m, um…” you winced, looking at your wrist. “It hurts a little.”

Cass examined it closely, tilting it gently to the side. “It might be sprained.”

Dick paled. 

“No.”

Tim pointed a thumb back towards the manor, “We can get it wrapped upstairs.”

“No.”

You were only then able to clock the barely contained grin on Stephanie’s face, begging to break.  

“Ooooh. He’s gonna kill you.”

Cass had then kindly offered to take you inside and wrap it up for you, which you accepted, unexpecting of the plus-one of Dick trailing behind you like a guilty puppy all the while.

“You know I didn’t mean to grab you that hard right? I—” 

Cass laughs quietly as she wraps the bandage around your wrist, amused by Dick’s now-third explanation/apology for the incident. 

“I know, Dick,” you say, trying to appease him. 

“I’m sorry,” he tells you genuinely, but you can tell there’s more there that he isn’t verbalizing.

You nod, “I know, Dick. It’s okay. It was just an accident.”

Cass pins the wrapping in place securely and with a smile, signs to you that she’s all done. 

You rotate your arm a bit, testing your movement under the wrap. As Cass leaves with the first aid kit, Dick remains sat at your side, leg thumping up and down.

He takes a deep breath, “What if…what if you avoid him until it heals?”

“Dick.”

He takes your uninjured hand in his with urgency in his eyes, 

He looks down at your jointed hands before loosening his already mild grip significantly.

“Are you going to tell him?” he asks, looking like he’s bracing for bad news.

You shake your head sympathetically, “No. I can’t guarantee you that he won’t find out, but I won’t tell him.”

Dick takes a deep breath, looking at the ground with intense focus. “Okay. Okay.” He stands, “I need to go.”

You watch in amused bewilderment as he staggers out the door, looking around frantically. 

Within the next few minutes, he creates and enacts his plan A. He walks into the living room, sitting down next to a very disinterested Tim, eyes forward and serious.

“I’ll give you two grand right now if you tell him it was you.”

Tim barks out, “Absolutely not.” He looks at his brother, still laughing. “No fucking way.”

Dick breaks the serious facade immediately, looking at him. “Five.”

A deadpan from Tim. 

“You don’t have five thousand dollars.”

Dick throws his head back, back thudding against the couch. “Dude, please! He’ll kill me!”

Tim scoffs, “He’d kill me!”

Dick huffs, “No, it’s different for me! Do you have any idea how many times he told me not to do that?” 

“Well then it sounds like you fucked up,” Tim sneers.

“Oh my God.”

He takes off again, combing through different rooms in the house with hope of finding a quick but effective hiding place for, say, the next twenty years?

He bursts through the study, unwittingly interrupting Bruce and Alfred having a discussion over tea.

The latter sits up with a tense brow, “Master Dick?”

The former turns around in his seat, “What’s the matter?”

Dick struggles for a second before confessing, “I accidentally sprained someone's wrist.” 

Bruce scans his face slowly, nodding. “Alright…you’ll have to take responsibility for their patrol duties—”

Dick cuts him off with a sharp breath, “Said person doesn’t have any patrol duties to be affected...”

Bruce processes for a moment before shaking his head.

“I can’t help you.”

Dick’s panic takes over again, prompting him to continue his scurry through the room, towards the other door.

Alfred interrupts his process with a very logical argument, “You don’t think running away will make this worse, Master Dick?”

“I—I don’t know!” Dick whines, stopping in his tracks. “I don’t know what to do!”

Bruce purses his lips, gesturing, “Dick, when you make a mistake…you have to submit to the consequences, you know that.”

Dick gapes, “This is not a normal consequence!”

Meanwhile, you’ve busied yourself with fiddling with the knick knacks and mementos lining the shelves of Jason’s childhood bedroom. 

You’re admiring a picture of him and Alfred from when he was young as the door creaks open behind you. 

“Sweetheart?” Your boyfriend calls out, head barely poked in through the crack.

“Hey, Jay,” you smile, setting the picture frame back on the shelf.

He enters fully, covered in motor oil and grease, and smiles his sweet, easy smile when he sees you. 

Moving onto the next trinket on the shelf, you pick up a stuffed animal placed intentionally at the front. Your gaze finds the mirror, watching his reflection as he pulls the stained shirt off his back. 

You smile to yourself, noticing the way his back muscles flex as he adjusts. “How’s the bike?”

“Better than it was this morning,” he sighs. “Where’ve you been?”

He turns around to look at you, taking easy steps towards you. 

You return the toy elephant to its place, moving to face him. “Uh, we were outside, playing…at least three separate games at once.”

The second you’re in proximity, your hands join like it’s second nature. 

He nods, all too familiar with the family’s unique methods of gamefair.

“Did th—” He looks down at your intertwined hands, brow furrowing as soon as he spots the bandage wrapped around your wrist. “What happened?”

You glance down, shrugging. “Overexerted myself playing tag.”

He looks at you skeptically, but says nothing about it.

He turns your hand over gently, asking, “Is it sprained?”

You nod, relaxed. “Yeah. Cass said it’s mild.”

“Does it still hurt?”

“No,” you say, sweeping his hair back with your other hand. “Barely hurt then.”

He nods, but he doesn’t look satisfied with the conversation.

Regardless, he turns away again, shuffling through a drawer for a clean shirt. 

“You, uh, you wanna stay for dinner tonight?” he asks, pulling his arms through, his head following. 

“Yeah,” you say gaily. “Alfred said he’s making his ‘special spaghetti’, apparently it’s a household favorite?”

He wavers, halfway to between decisions. “Yeah…”

He huffs quietly, turning back to face you fully. “Can I see it?”

You nod, happy to ease his mind. 

You start to unwrap the bandaging, him doing half the work for you. The work is done silently until your wrist is exposed, revealing your bruised skin.

You both see it at the same time—the hand-shaped bruise wrapped around your wrist.

You’re both quiet for a second—him putting pieces together and you waiting for the shoe to drop.

He takes off suddenly, clearly having come to a likely very accurate conclusion about what had happened.

“Fucking idiot—”

You try for his hand but he’s out of reach before you can grab it.

“I’ll be right back,” he grumbles behind him.

“Jason—” you sigh, “At least help me wrap it back up first.”

He hesitates, halfway to the door, ultimately returning to you in defeat. He takes your forearm gently, scanning it over again before beginning to wrap it.

You watch his face closely, noting the clear vexation. “It was just an accident,” you tell him. 

He scoffs, “It better have been.”

You drop your shoulders and lull your head to the side. “Jason. I’m not made of glass, you can’t expect other people to act like it.”

“I don’t. I expect him to mind his own strength, and if he can’t do that, he needs to keep his fucking hands to himself.”

You sigh, “Just don’t do anything harsh. Please. I think he’s worried you’re gonna punch him.”

“He should be,” he says shortly. He finishes off the wrapping, pinning it in place firmly. 

You grab onto his forearm before he can pull away, “You’re not going to. Right?”

He doesn’t answer so you try to make his gaze meet yours, “Right?”

His eyes roll, “Yeah, fine.”

You smile, holding his face. “I love you.”

He huffs as though he’s inconvenienced, but confesses the obvious truth nonetheless. “I love you.”

He looks you in the eye, face serious. “You promise me it doesn’t hurt?”

“I promise,” you nod, brushing your fingers against his palm.

“Dick!”

The angry voice bellows through the tall halls of the manor, heavy footsteps thudding.

He stomps into the living room, Tim, Cass, and Stephanie watching the entryway with wide eyes. 

“Where is he?”

Unwitting shoulders shrug and heads shake. Truthfully, at that. Dick, smartly, did not tell anyone where he was hiding. 

Jason scans the trios faces, looking for any sign of apprehension.

He clocks the grin shamelessly plastered across his sister's face quickly. “Stephanie?”

“I don’t know,” she says honestly. “But let me know when you find him, I wanna see—”

But Jason’s moving onto the next room before she can get the last words out.

He enters the dining room, looking right to left before finding his target, halfway to stuffing himself behind the fine china cabinet in the corner.

There’s a brief, tense moment in between where the pair realize what they’re seeing and when Dick sets off in a sprint towards the kitchen, Jason quick on his tail. 

“Really? Really?” Jason shouts. 

“It was an accident! It was a fucking—” 

He narrowly dodges a swipe from Jason, then ducking before a ladle could make contact with his head.

“Are you stupid? Are you the dumbest motherf—”

Dick rounds the kitchen island as fast as possible, Jason testing him on the other side.

Dick takes a breath, “Dude, it’s fine now, it’s not that big of a—”

Jason recoils, “‘It’s not a big deal’? Come here. Let me sprain your wrist, asshole!”

He circles the counter quicker than the elder boy can think to move away and lunges at him. 

Dick throws his hands up in front of him, “Wait, wait, wait! Truce! Truce! Truce?”

Jason drops his shoulders, leveling his older brother with a look. “You can’t call a truce if you’re the only one who did anything wrong.”

“I…” It doesn’t take him long to piece together that his defense makes no sense, so he resorts to his last option. 

“Please?” Dick asks, nothing short of imploring. 

Jason relents—slightly—upon hearing his brother's tone, but still finds it in him to shove him, though not nearly as hard as he’d been planning to. 

“I told you a hundred fucking times not to grab her so hard—” 

Dick nods heavily, waving a hand. “I know, I know—”

“Clearly you fucking don’t!” Jason shouts. He huffs, running a hand over his face. “You sprained her wrist. You’ve been doing this vigilante shit for fifteen years, how do you still not fucking know how to control your own strength?”

Dick grimaces, “I do! I do, I just screwed up, I’m sorry!”

“Don’t—” Jason narrowly holds back a scowl, “Did you apologize to her?”

 “Yeah, of course I did!”

For a split second, Jason looks ready to keep arguing before purposefully dropping the anger from his body. 

The resulting relief almost drowns Dick.

It only lasts a moment though, before Jason looks at him again, sneering, “Idiot,” before pushing him once more. 

“Jason.”

Your voice has Jason dropping all turbulence in an instant. He and Dick both whip their heads towards the door, equally unexpecting of the interruption. 

You tilt your head at your boyfriend with a knowing but disappointed stare.

He looks back at you like a kid caught with his hand in the cookie jar, lips parted.

“I didn’t hit him.”

⭐️ your options are: (1) reblog fics or (2) be a little bitch ⭐️

[mellotunekitty]

hey so how do you think the bat boys would deal with them messaging s/o or coming into their apartment late at night to come to bed and the boys are like “I can’t sleep. Can we talk?” and s/o messages back or says after sort of wake up “I can sleep” and they fall back asleep 😂. When s/o does properly wake up hours later, s/o pulls their man in for morning cuddle, but then their mind starts working and they ask seriously, “… did you want to talk about something last night or was I dreaming it?” Or for messaging, s/o remembers and gives their boyfriend a call and is happy to be talking to them and they ask the same question over the phone “I thought I dreamt it, but I just noticed you message me and I sent that back… I was exhausted and in a deep sleep. Did you still want to talk?”? Basically s/o isn’t very good to interact with or function when they’re tired 😂? (It’s all good people staying up all night for their love of their life, but what about a s/o who’s never able too?. They fall asleep in bed and then are woken up by their boyfriend sneaking in. They frequently pass out after their boyfriend sneaks into their bed. S/o Hair a mess. “What?… oh… zzzz” would be how the boys identity probably stayed a secret for the longest time. Wouldn’t even notice the blurry mask and spandex suits in their tired state).

omg yes, as a sleepy person, i LOVE this idea!!!

----------

Batboys x Sleepy gn!reader

Bruce Wayne

Being home late meant low chances of having an actual conversation with you. He needed help setting up the gala for tomorrow and you guys were supposed to plan it tonight

“My love, wake up for a minute. We have to set the plans, remember.” 

You sat up for a moment, sitting next to him in bed to help him. Unfortunately, that didn’t last long seeing as you almost immediately fell asleep on his shoulder. 

He just sighed and put his laptop away, figuring you guys could plan it later or just use what you had. 

It was a bit funny though, seeing you so out of it trying to stay awake and focus on the plans. 

“And I think we should serve lemonade with the… darling? Are you listening?” “Hm? Yeah…” 

Dick Grayson 

He usually came home to you sleeping after patrol, so he figured he’d have to wake you up if he wanted to discuss tomorrow's date plans.

“Babe? Hey, wake up, I gotta talk to you…” 

It works…for a few seconds. You woke up, but mumbled something incoherent before falling back asleep. 

Dick just chuckled and shrugged it off, figuring he could just talk to you in the morning. The date wasn’t until later anyway, and sleeping beside you seemed more appealing at the moment.

“It’s okay… I’ll talk to you tomorrow. Sweet dreams, sweetheart.” 

Jason Todd

Poor Jason couldn’t sleep at all. He tried everything from warm drinks to meditation, but nothing seemed to work. So, he called you. 

“Hey, y/n? Yeah, uhm… can I come over?” 

He got a half mumbled ‘yeah’ before heading over. Of course when he did, you were tucked in, all cute and sleepy. 

Jay slipped in next to you, snuggling against you and had the easiest time falling asleep. However, in the morning, you looked shocked, not remembering him coming in. 

“...when did you even get here?!” 

Tim Drake

It was always a 50/50 with Tim. Either he slept anytime, anywhere, or he couldn’t sleep at all. Tonight, he couldn’t sleep. So, he called you. 

“Hey, baby, I can’t sleep. Can we just uhh… talk for a while?” 

He got all warm and gushy when he heard your muffled little ‘yes’ from under your blankets. 

But he quickly realized you weren’t the best person to talk to when you were tired. You couldn’t hold a conversation at all and eventually, he found out that you sleep talk. It was a pleasant surprise to him.

“What are you saying now, hm?” “The banana… lost my hat.” “Oh, yeah, I bet.” 

Damian Wayne

The second you opened your eyes when he walked into the room as Robin, he thought he had completely blown his cover. Apparently, he didn’t. 

“Go back to bed… you don’t see anything.” 

He was shocked it actually worked, but he shouldn’t have been too surprised. He knew you’d take any and every opportunity to sleep. 

Damian hastily got out of his Robin suit and got into pajamas, sliding into bed next to you. It was a bit of a funny thought to him, the fact that you didn’t even question Robin being in your room… right? 

“I had a weird dream last night.” “About?” “I dreamt that Robin was in my room.”  

[maybanksbaby]

summary: oh, poor drew has to lose his big biceps while filming queer. and oh, poor drew, is victim of his girlfriend's teasing :(

warnings: none, pretty light and fluffy 👌

⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪

You’re lounging on the couch, scrolling idly through your phone, when the sound of a key turning in the lock catches your attention. Glancing up, you see Drew walk through the door, looking a bit slimmer but still smiling in that warm way that lights up his whole face. He came home only for a few days, and you still couldn't get over the fact that they didn't gave you a small copy of your boyfriend, it was actually Drew. Even if you were there in his whole process of weight losing, it felt weird.

You missed those pretty big things so much it was painful.

He’s wearing a loose T-shirt and faded jeans, his hair tousled from a long day on set, and something about him seems softer around the edges—almost like he’s let his guard down after weeks of intense filming.

You sit up, an exaggerated frown on your face. “Oh, no way.” Your tone is teasing, but you can’t resist it as you give him a once-over. “What happened to those big, strong biceps of yours, Starkey? Am I seeing things, or did you trade them in for some noodles?”

Drew raises an eyebrow, pausing mid-step as he gives you a look of mock offense. “Noodles? Seriously?”

You grin and shrug, crossing your arms. “I don’t know, babe. They’re looking a little… deflated.” You stretch out an arm, giving his bicep a playful poke as he comes closer. “Am I supposed to start lifting the groceries now?”

Drew lets out a chuckle and drops his bag on the floor before plopping down on the couch next to you. “I’ll have you know that my ‘noodle arms’ still work just fine,” he says, feigning indignation as he flexes, the bicep muscle tightening under his sleeve even if it’s smaller than you’re used to. “Had to lose some weight for Queer, remember? Luca didn’t want me looking like some action hero on this.”

You put on a look of exaggerated sympathy, patting his shoulder. “Aww, poor noodle-armed Drew. Must be so hard, not being the Hulk for once.”

He scoffs, but you can see the grin tugging at the corners of his mouth. “You’re really not gonna let this go, are you?”

“Oh, no way,” you tease, leaning in and poking his arm again. “If you lose even one more ounce of muscle, I’m buying out the protein aisle and bringing it to set.” You pretend to squeeze his arm, making a show of struggling as if it’s the weakest thing in the world. “Seriously, who’s gonna protect me now? Or open all the jars?”

Drew smirks, eyes twinkling with amusement. “Is that right?” he murmurs, leaning closer, his tone a playful challenge.

In one quick motion, he wraps an arm around your waist and effortlessly pulls you onto his lap, his fingers tightening around your hips as you let out a small squeal of surprise, laughing. “See? Noodles or not, I think I can still handle you just fine,” he says, a smug grin on his face as he holds you close.

You try to keep a straight face but can’t help the smile that’s tugging at your lips. “Hmm,” you say, tilting your head as if contemplating. “Maybe you’ve still got a little strength left in you. But I’m gonna keep a close watch. Just in case.”

Drew raises an eyebrow, feigning exasperation. “Oh, great. A personal bicep inspector. Exactly what I needed.”

You laugh, brushing a stray lock of hair from his face. “Someone has to make sure you stay up to code, Starkey. You’re still my big, strong boyfriend, right? Don’t want anyone thinking I’m dating some scrawny little noodle boy.”

He lets out a laugh, his arm still firmly around you as his hand traces slow, comforting circles along your back. “Would it make you feel better if I promised to go back to the gym as soon as filming’s done? Maybe even lift double just to prove I’m still ‘your big, strong boyfriend’?”

“Maybe,” you say, narrowing your eyes with a smile. “But in the meantime, don’t be surprised if I start calling you ‘spaghetti arms.’”

Drew groans, dramatically rolling his eyes, but he’s laughing too, unable to keep a straight face. “Fine, fine, make fun of me all you want. Just remember who’s still carrying you around all day if he has to.” With that, he shifts his grip and effortlessly hoists you up, standing and cradling you against his chest as he walks toward the kitchen.

You burst out laughing, arms looping around his neck. “Oh, okay, maybe there’s still a little muscle left!” you say, gasping between giggles as he gently sets you down on the counter, his hands resting on either side of you.

“Exactly,” he says, leaning in close, his face just inches from yours, his voice softer now, teasing but affectionate. “No matter what, you’re still stuck with me.”

Your laughter fades as you look up at him, a warm smile spreading across your face. “Good,” you whisper, fingers gently brushing his cheek. “Because I wouldn’t want anyone else, noodle arms and all.”

Drew’s expression softens, his gaze lingering on yours as he cups your face, leaning in to press a tender kiss to your lips. His hand trails down to your shoulder, pulling you closer until you’re wrapped up in his embrace, your laughter replaced by a comfortable, warm silence.

As he pulls back, his forehead resting against yours, he chuckles, fingers idly tracing your arm. “I’ll get my biceps back,” he promises, his voice barely a whisper. “But for now, I guess you’ll just have to deal with ‘scrawny’ me.”

You grin, sliding your hands up his chest. “I’ll manage,” you say softly. “But just know I’m keeping an eye on those biceps. And maybe—just maybe—I’ll even give you a few compliments along the way.”

Drew laughs, kissing you again, and for a moment, it’s just the two of you, wrapped up in each other’s warmth, with no need for words. Because no matter how many muscles he has—or doesn’t—you know there’s nowhere else you’d rather be than right here, with him.

[hello-sweetheart]

You know that trope where Person A thinks Person B is just being nice but they’re actually flirting. What about the opposite? Person A misreading their behavior and being the only one falling impossibly in love.

Clumsy in Love Part 3

Adiel had already gone to bed by the time he heard frantic knocking at his door. He stumbled through his apartment hazy with sleep, a hand stretched out to guide him through the dark until he reached his living room. The lights were blinding to his eyes.

“Adiel?” Came the muffled voice through the through the door. “Can…can I come in please?”

Dread washed over him quick and ugly, churning his stomach as his shaking hands unlatched the locks. Had something happen? Was Eddie hurt? Or—

He hesitated to unlock the last latch. Was Eddie drunk? No, he shook his head. Eddie doesn’t… he doesn’t drink, not like that. He doesn’t get…like that. Not like his ex.

“Adiel?” It was softer now, and he finally opened the door.

“Eddie?”

His voice was still rough from his abrupt wakening, but he looked over quickly checking for anything really. When he couldn’t find anything, his shoulders finally loosened.

“Hey,” Eddie smiled a little crooked and forced, “I’m sorry for waking you.”

“It’s cool. Come inside, are you okay? It’s,” a brief glance at his digital watch, “it’s two in the morning, Eddie.”

They shuffled inside and Adiel locked the door behind him. Guiding Eddie to the kitchen as he flicked on a couple more lights.

“I know, I know. I’ve just been,” he gestured vaguely and his rings caught the warm tones of the lights, “driving around. For a while. Uh, my heads just been a mess today and I…”

“And?”

Adiel encouraged him softly.

Eddie, always so unapologetically himself and taking up space in any room he’s in, looks unsure. He looks away, eyes a bit hooded from exhaustion, he thinks. Sadness, maybe.

He has to guide Eddie’s hand away from where he’s begun to wear down his thumb nail again. A habit that he sure Eddie’s picked up from him.

“And, I wanted to see you.”

His heart might actually sore inside him.

“Well,” he offers a cheeky grin and spins on his toes until he’s facing him again, “you have me.”

“Yeah, I have you.” The words carry weight to them. Adiel’s cheeks flush with warmth.

“You do. Come, let’s go put you bed. You don’t have to say anything until you’re ready.”

Having Eddie is his bed always feels like the world to him. It’s one of the only moments when his mind is able to still, thoughts silent. All his worries are gone when he has Eddie in his arms.

It not just when they’re being intimate (‘canoodling’, he says because he likes to make Ed groan), it’s about having him in his space and still feeling safe. Safer, even. And it’s unlike anything he’s been able to feel in his past relationships.

Safe. Being open and vulnerable and still falling asleep next to someone. Eddie coming here at night, because he feels safe enough to be vulnerable, too.

Adiel always falls too fast and too hard, but he just feels so much. Too much. And they only had a couple months together now, but he can feel himself falling. Not there yet. But he could, soon. It’s as if he’s bracing for the impact of it all.

“You’re still awake.”

“I need to tell you something. I can’t sleep until I do.”

Adiel hums.

“Earlier today, or, yesterday I guess. I was at Steve’s house and… he kissed me.”

The night is so silent, even in the city.

“Did, did you want to kiss him?”

“He kissed me. He surprised me and…I didn’t kiss him back. I wouldn’t do that to you, Adiel.”

He gathers Eddie in his arms, his chest against Eddie’s back, and burrows deep into the nape of his neck.

“I know, baby. I’m sorry that he kissed you.”

“He’s my friend. An unlikely one, but one of the best that I have. I don’t want to lose that. I can’t. I, I owe him my life.”

“No.”

“I do. I’m only here because of—“

“I know what he did for you and I’m so grateful you’re still here, Eddie. I don’t want to imagine a world with you. But if he’s as good as a friend as you’ve said he is, then he wouldn’t want you to feel like you owe him anything.”

“You’re right. I don’t mean it that way. Just that… he’s important to me. And I don’t want to let it go.”

“Give him time then, and space. He’ll need it right now and you’ll have to respect his boundaries.” Like he didn’t respect ours. He nuzzles deeper and breathes in his scent it’s thick with sandalwood.

“I feel like it’s my fault that he feels this way.”

“Can’t make anyone feel anything they don’t want to.”

“When did you get so wise?” He laughs.

“Hush, baby. We both need some sleep.”

“You’re the best among men, Adiel. Goo’night.”

“Night, Ed.”

He’s burning with jealousy, but he can keep it tucked away. Steve means something to him. And that’s what he’s afraid of right now.

He tightens his arms around Eddie, being selfish with his warmth.

I just found you, he kisses his shoulder, I can’t lose you.

———

Something changes after that night. It’s not noticeable right away, his friends don’t notice, but Adiel does. He notices everything about Eddie, even the finer details.

He doesn’t mention Steve anymore, at least not to him. And Adiel doesn’t know if this is a good thing or not.

He didn’t notice how much Eddie talked about Steve until he stopped.

He has these moments in between their kisses and conversations where he… gets lost, for a lack of a better word. His eyes carry this far away look and Adiel know he’s not here with him.

He kisses him back to him until his eyes are alight again and smiling enough to show off his one crooked canine.

When will his kisses stop being enough? Will Eddie simply float away from him, like a cherished red balloon escaping the grasp of a small child, only able to watch it go.

He tries to hold onto him tighter. His hand interlocked with his, squeezing and rubbing his thumb on Eddie’s knuckles just to make sure he doesn’t float away.

He doesn’t want to hold too tight that he suffocates him, but he can’t help it.

I can’t lose you, I…

There are many things he loves about Eddie that he can list off, but the one this that makes him different is how he doesn’t care about Adiel’s strangeness.

His timid demeanor that he never grew out of. His constant need to be reassured. His laugh, more of giggle that gets him strange looks. His restless fingers and chewed, painted nails down to a stump.

All things he’s been called effeminate for.

Targeted, pushed aside, excluded…

Eddie takes all these traits and kisses them one by one. Nurturing them. Loving them. Seeking them.

Eddie makes him feel like man, instead of questioning his masculinity. He’s even painted his nails for him and didn’t bat an eye when he asked for baby purple instead of the assumed black.

“Baby, do you mean lavender?”

“Oh my god, shut up! If it’s called baby pink why can’t it be called baby purple. Stop laughing!”

Eddie makes him feel like it’s all okay. That he’s okay.

And everything, everything will be okay, too.

Until it wasn’t.

———

Eddie didn’t stop making him feel loved or cared for, but it felt different than from before that night. Today has feeling to it. Like the end.

He keeps stalling against the inevitable.

“Adiel—“

“Let’s watch movie? You can sleep here again and I’ll make breakfast for dinner,” because Eddie doesn’t like savory foods after dark, “I have a couple new tapes to choose from—“

“Baby.”

Baby purple.

No, no, no. His hands are shaking again.

“You know, don’t you? That it’s the end for us?Adiel, I wish we could’ve been different,” He holds his shaking hands and Adiel focuses on them instead of meeting his eyes. It’s been a long time coming, doesn’t mean he feels prepared.

“Have you been… seeing him?” It’s the first time since that night that they’ve talked about Steve. His hands are squeezed tight.

“No! God, I would never go behind your back. I haven’t talked to him since then, I promise. I’ve been giving him space, trying to let him come around on his own time, but…”

“But you miss him.”

His world is falling apart.

“Have you been in love with him this whole time? That day in the music store, did you like him then too?”

“No. Maybe? I, I really don’t know. I don’t think I ever saw him that way. I didn’t even consider it a possibility until he—“

“Yeah, until he fucking kissed you!” He pulls his hands away and doesn’t miss the fact that Eddie didn’t try to hold onto them.

“Until he kissed me.”

Why must it hurt this much?

It always hurts so much.

His body is shaking but he avoids any attempts of Eddie trying to comfort him. Can’t bear the way he looks at him scared and careful like he’s trying to calm a wild animal.

Everything was perfect.

They could’ve been perfect,

If it hadn’t been for one fucking kiss from some guy that can’t stay out of people’s relationships.

“He’s stealing you away and you’re letting him!”

“He’s not stealing me, Adiel! You can’t steal people away like that, they have to be willing to go.”

“Willing to leave me?”

“I’m sorry.”

“I love you, Eddie.” It’s a dirty trick to say it here and now, but it doesn’t make it any less true. Adiel needs to say it. Needs Eddie to know.

Some sick part of him enjoys the hurt look that crosses Eddie’s face, but it’s not close to feeling vindicated.

“I fucking love you, Ed.” He whispers it this time.

“I… I loved you, Adiel. Wish I could’ve loved you longer.”

“It’s been months since he kissed you. He might not even like you that way anymore.” Might not love you the way I can. “I don’t understand, how can you throw away everything for a maybe?”

“It wouldn’t be fair for any of us if I stayed. I know I’ve been absent minded, know that you could tell that I didn’t have my all in us anymore. You deserve someone who doesn’t make feel that way. Adiel. I don’t have any right to ask, but can you you try to understand—“

“Then don’t ask! You shouldn’t! I don’t want to hear about what you think that I deserve. Just, just leave. Please.”

“…Will you be okay?”

“No, but I’ll have to be. Go, Eddie, I’m not yours to worry over anymore.”

He doesn’t know how long he stays on the kitchen floor. His head hurts, his heart feels empty. His nose won’t stop running no matter how many times he wipes away the snot with his sleeve.

He must look like a mess. Look unattractive.

Adiel feels unattractive.

He didn’t even notice the sound of someone unlocking the door and step in until familiar arms are around him. He’s engulfed immediately in warmth and the scent of coconut. Vanilla.

A humorless laugh escapes him, Eddie must have called her.

“I love him, Tiff. There’s something wrong with me.”

“Oh babe, no. No. Nothing is wrong with you.” She rocks him in her arms, tucking him into her neck. Her signature afro puffs tickle his nose. The same hairstyle she’s kept since they were kids.

“Just haven’t met the one right?”

“You’ll find them, babe. You still have us. You still have me. Now and until the next life.”

“‘Til the next life, Tiff.” A pinky promise as old as time.

He curls further into her and not for the first time he wishes that they were straight. That they could feel that way about each other.

Life would have been so much easier.

They would have had much less heartbreaks, and maybe, he wouldn’t have been so broken.

Part 2 < 💛 > Part 4

[literaryvein-reblogs]

Writing Notes: Sex Scenes

It takes skill to write an immersive & emotional sex scene. Consider the following tips.

Is the sex scene even necessary?

Ask yourself this question.

GENRE

Sex scenes may depend on genre. Example:

If you're writing a romance novel, sex scenes are almost always mandatory. But if you're writing in another genre, like mystery or speculative fiction, you may not need to add sex at all.

Sex sells in Hollywood, but literature is more nuanced than film.

You don't need to include sex in your novel just to grab your reader's attention.

NATURAL FLOW

Characterization, pacing, and plotting should do the heavy lifting.

In fact, adding gratuitous sex to your novel may actually slow the pace, cheapen the story, destroy your characterization, and insult the reader.

Before adding sex to a story, always figure out if the move is something that your characters would actually make, or if it’s something that you’re forcing.

MOVING FORWARD

A follow-up question to ask is if this sex scene moves the story forward.

Sometimes, you can simply imply that sex happened without retelling the entire scene: It’s not always necessary to share every intimate detail with your readers, especially if it drags the pacing to a halt.

Don't get stuck in modesty mode

When you write sex scenes, it’s gonna get raw.

There are arms, legs, emotions, sweat, and nipples.

If that made you squirm, you’re not ready.

Come back after you’ve eaten some nachos, downed a beer, and thrown modesty out of the way.

This is the one time when you can’t think about who’s going to read your book.

Usually, editors recommend that you always visualize your reader when telling your story. However, no one wants to think about their mom (i.e. your average reader) when they’re documenting lurid sex.

Instead of thinking about your reader, think about the characters and what you’re seeing. Your job is to write down what you see the characters do.

If it’s clear to you, it will be clear to your reader.

Remember that you’re on this step because you believe this sex scene is integral to your story’s plot. So, if it makes sense for the characters, don’t allow your sense of embarrassment to weaken the story.

Use a lot of detail

Here is your daily dose of “show, don’t tell.”

Instead of saying that the characters had sex, describe exactly what’s going on. Look at each moment as a still photograph and describe what you see.

And don’t forget about the emotional exchange between your characters:

Record every bead of sweat.

Make mention of every moan.

How one may adjust their position for the other.

Describe the feeling behind every glance.

The pressure of each kiss.

The movement of light and shadow on their skin.

Employ restraint

After writing the sex scene, you may realize that there’s no need to include every single detail. This goes back to pacing.

If you spend a few pages, or even a chapter, detailing the entire sexual escapade, your storytelling can suffer.

The hot and heavy sex scene can become a grind to read.

Plus, slowing your pace may make it difficult to speed back up again.

Another reason to truncate your sex scene could be your audience.

If you’re writing for young adults (ages 12-18) or new adults (ages 18-30), the topic of sex scenes can get a little awkward.

Yes, some teenagers have sex, but does your average teenager need to read a full-on sex scene for it to have the intended impact? No.

Sometimes, restraint is necessary and even preferred in order to tell the best story to your reader.

See from your characters' eyes

Do not to visualize your mom while writing. Here’s a tip: Jump into one of the character’s heads and see it from their perspective.

Even if you’re writing your story from third-person omniscient, it’s essential that you stick with one perspective in the sex scene.

This cuts down on confusion (for your reader), helps with characterization, and provides for a more captivating reading experience.

The reader needs to be a part of the scene, not some awkward observer in the corner of the room (that’s your job).

Here’s how you do it: Assign an imaginary camera to one character so that the reader can see exactly what this character sees.

Writing a sex scene requires that you move in very closely to your characters. You’ve got to be all up in their space to tell it with breathless emotion.

If you switch characters, you’ll lose intimacy, so stick to one.

Make it tense

Tension is an important part of sex, and so it is with writing sex scenes.

In an effort to make them integral to your plot, your sex scenes should be tight with tension, but how do you do that?

Figure out what’s at stake for your characters. The reader needs to know what’s at risk for the characters before, during, and after sex (broken heart, broken promises, etc.).

Show the conflict within the character’s mind (perhaps one character is torn between wanting to have sex and wanting to leave).

Create conflict with another character (perhaps one of the characters is engaged to someone else).

Figure out what happens after the moment of glory

They had sex. Now what?

Don't end your chapter with a sex scene unless the next chapter starts with the repercussions of sex.

Otherwise, if you don’t tie the sex scene into the rest of the story, you’ll miss an important character development opportunity.

The reader needs to know what happens in the story immediately after the characters have sex as a result of them having sex:

Do they fall asleep together in love?

Do they wake up in the morning together in disgust?

Does one character leave?

How does the other, now-abandoned character feel?

Sex is a huge deal.

It should prompt the characters to make new choices that they may not have otherwise made.

If sex doesn’t change your characters, it doesn’t belong in your story.

Write it all at once

When writing a sex scene, don’t break your narrative to get a taco—Wait, why are you eating?

Sex demands your full attention (at least, good sex does).

And, just like with sex, you don’t want to break in the middle to do something else. After all, you wouldn’t stop in the middle of the act to eat a taco, would you? Don’t do it when writing a sex scene.

The ebb and flow, push and pull, rise and fall of sex are best written as one, flowing narrative. If you stop, it’s hard to capture that same moment.

After writing the scene, take a break. Then re-read.

Does it make you feel tingly? Then you’re doing something right.

When it’s time to edit/rewrite, only do so when you have the time to relive the scene from beginning to end.

Source ⚜ More: Writing Notes & References ⚜ Word List: For Sex Scenes

[tuulikki]

They’re not the reason Trump won. But they did demonstrate that there is a sizeable demographic of people who look like progressives, but actually don’t care in the slightest about human rights, climate change, minorities, women, genocides, or anything else. For some reason they want to talk as if they care, so one could get the mistaken impression they care, but they’re into individualism, not politics.

So all we’ve learned is that these people don’t want any political change and that they prefer the system as it is. If this election didn’t make them vote, then we can ignore any priorities or ideas they express in future. Everything they allegedly care about was on the table and they still didn’t care enough to speak up, so there’s no reason to believe they actually care.

They chose not to matter. And we have to take that seriously as a genuine expression of who these people are: irrelevant by choice.

It’s kinda sad to see people throw themselves under the bus, but we see that all the time—that’s what most Republicans do. They’re the same kind of people.

"I don't want to see anyone blaming abstaining voters for this!"

Of course you don't. The entire idea of abstaining was that you could pretend this didn't involve you. Not getting blamed was more important to you than doing any kind of damage control, more important than protecting any of the people you said you wanted to protect. And in this moment, I don't really care what you want. Of course, this isn't entirely your fault. Of course other people made this worse. But if you're going to pretend you had nothing to do with this, forgive me if I ignore you.

[fvsm4x]

𝐑𝐞𝐠𝐫𝐞𝐭 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟐

synopsis. Pregnancy, usually a positive outcome of love between two partners that love each other deeply. But Pregnancy resulting from someone using you for their own pleasure is far from a positive outcome

+ warning/content. bully Gojo Satoru x female reader - reader is pregnant - mentions of abortion - mature themes/MDNI - usual warnings - suguru and reader are siblings - gojo is a fuckboy - angst angst angst:))

+ word count. 4.9k

a/n. Been a while since i‘ve updated this series…

<-previous - series mlist - next->

As your mother and father stormed out of your room, they slammed the door with a force that rattled the walls, leaving you alone with your brother in the suffocating silence that followed. The finality of that door slamming shut felt like an ominous punctuation—a statement that there was no turning back.

You stood frozen, your heart pounding so loudly that it drowned out the echo of their footsteps retreating down the hall. A knot tightened in your throat as the weight of their words crashed over you, a tidal wave of shame and dread. You forced yourself to take deep, steady breaths, trying desperately to hold back the tears that threatened to spill over. The last thing you wanted was for your brother to see you like this—vulnerable, broken, on the verge of falling apart.

Is that it? you wondered, panic clawing at your insides. Is this really it? Am I actually getting kicked out? The thought left you feeling hollow, like everything you had ever counted on had been stripped away in a single, merciless instant.

Your mind raced, leaping to thoughts of your future—or what little was left of it. Everything you’d worked for, everything you’d dreamed of, felt like it was slipping through your fingers, unraveling faster than you could piece it back together. You could see the edges of your life falling away. Your education, your home, the support you once took for granted. All of it was disappearing, leaving only the stark reality of an uncertain path ahead.

You clenched your hands, digging your nails into your palms to anchor yourself, trying to stave off the wave of despair building inside you. It felt like your world was caving in, each piece of your carefully planned life crumbling in a way that seemed beyond repair.

Your brother shifted beside you, breaking the silence as he cleared his throat, his face etched with worry. He reached out a tentative hand, hovering as if unsure whether to comfort you or respect the fragile space you’d created between yourself and your emotions.

Your brother’s hand finally found your shoulder, his touch gentle but grounding. His silence spoke louder than words, and for a moment, it was all you could rely on. Even though he didn’t know what to say, his presence gave you something solid to hold onto in the midst of the chaos unraveling inside you.

“You don’t have to leave,” he said softly, his voice barely above a whisper. “They’re just… angry. They’ll come around. Maybe if we just talk to them tomorrow, things will calm down.”

You shook your head, the harsh reality already settling into place. “No, Suguru.. you heard them. They were serious. They want me gone.”

He looked down, his brows knitted together in frustration. “But where will you go? You can’t just… be out there by yourself.” The helplessness in his voice mirrored your own fear, but even he didn’t have a solution.

You glanced around your room—the bed you’d grown up in, the books you’d loved and underlined, the photos on the wall capturing fragments of happier moments, times when things were simpler, manageable. Each item felt like a piece of the life you were about to lose, like a museum of memories that would soon be locked away from you forever.

The silence between you and your brother grew heavy, and as much as you wanted to break it, words failed you. What could you say? That you’d made a mistake? That you hadn’t meant for any of this to happen? (You hadn‘t) But they all sounded hollow, too small to carry the weight of what you were facing.

Finally, your brother spoke, his voice determined. “You don’t have to do this alone. We’ll figure something out. You can live at my apartment—until you have a plan, at least. I don‘t really use it, so don‘t worry. I’ll help you. Whatever you need, I’ll be here.”

His words offered a sliver of hope, but even as you nodded, uncertainty lingered. You knew your brother meant well, but deep down, you both understood how complicated it would be for him to go against your parents’ wishes. They’d raised him with the same expectations, the same rules—and while his heart was with you, his loyalty was torn.

But still, the idea of having somewhere to go, even if only temporarily, softened the blow just enough for you to breathe.

“Thank you,” you murmured, your voice barely audible, but your gratitude was genuine. You reached for him, wrapping your arms around him tightly. The hug was the only comfort you had at that moment, the only thing anchoring you against the overwhelming feeling of loss and uncertainty.

After a long silence, he pulled back slightly, his face determined. “Go pack a few things. Whatever you need tonight. We’ll get out of here quietly. I’ll take care of the rest.”

-

Gojo leaned back in his chair, the squeak of the metal legs against the floor barely audible over the low murmur of his classmates. He absentmindedly tapped a pen against his notebook, the rhythmic click-click of it matching the unease simmering in his chest. His gaze drifted out the classroom window, where the afternoon sun cast long shadows on the pavement. It had been weeks since he’d last seen you, and that last encounter in the classroom felt like it had happened yesterday, every moment still vividly etched in his mind.

He recalled the way the quiet hum of the school’s empty corridors amplified every sound—the soft, breathy gasps you made, the rush of your breathing as he pressed you against the cool surface of the wall. It was intoxicating, each detail replaying in his head like a film on repeat. But oddly enough, it pained him that he hadn’t seen you since then.

At first, he shrugged it off, convincing himself that you were just playing hard-to-get or perhaps needed some space after everything that had happened. After all, it wasn’t uncommon for someone to need time to collect themselves after an encounter with him— he had that effect on people. But as the days turned into weeks, that initial dismissal turned into a dull, nagging worry that gnawed at him.

Gojo tried to push the thoughts aside, telling himself that you’d show up eventually, that it was just a phase. But your absence had created an odd emptiness in his daily routine, a persistent itch he couldn’t quite scratch. He was used to you being there, your presence a strange but comforting constant, and now that comfort was replaced with a gnawing curiosity.

Then there was Suguru, your brother, whose steady presence at school made everything feel even stranger. He carried on with his day as though nothing had changed, greeting Gojo with his usual casual indifference, yet he never mentioned you. Gojo found himself watching Suguru more closely than he intended, searching for any hint or sign that might explain your absence. He could feel the itch of curiosity clawing at him, but part of him resisted asking outright. He didn’t want to seem like he cared too much, but every time he spotted Suguru without you, that curiosity intensified.

Had something happened to you? Did you get sick? Or had you simply decided to avoid him? The thought was uncomfortably unsettling, and he brushed it aside, frustrated with himself for even considering it.

It was frustrating. Gojo couldn’t quite understand why you were occupying so much of his mind. At first, he tried to blame it on Suguru—your brother was a constant reminder of you, after all—but he’d grown accustomed to that long ago. It wasn’t like him to fixate on anyone, especially someone who usually melted into the background. And yet, here he was, replaying that last encounter in his mind, scanning hallways, and lingering just a bit longer outside your classes, hoping to catch a glimpse of you.

He could chalk it up to boredom, a simple distraction to stave off the monotony of his day-to-day life. But deep down, he knew that there was something more than that. The thrill of teasing you, the way your face would scrunch up in irritation when he pushed you down in the hallways—it was strangely addictive. You had become his little victim, a source of amusement that made the slow days feel bearable. Now that you were gone, it left a void he couldn’t fill.

He hated admitting it, but he missed picking on you. The thought made his jaw clench, and a twisted grin crept across his face. Maybe he’d overestimated his hold over you, convinced that you would always be there for him to mess with. Or perhaps this was some kind of game you were playing, deliberately making him feel your absence, and it annoyed him even more.

Days continued to pass without a sign of you, and then, one morning, Suguru didn’t show up to school. Gojo was caught off guard by the emptiness in the usual spots where he’d see his friend. Normally, Suguru was as dependable as clockwork, always showing up right on time, effortlessly composed and ready to move through the day. Gojo couldn’t help but feel a strange twist in his stomach, wondering if something had happened. Maybe Suguru’s absence was tied to yours?

When Suguru finally returned the next day, he looked…off. His usually neat hair was slightly disheveled, his clothes a bit rumpled. There was an exhausted heaviness in his steps, and dark shadows under his eyes made him look as though he hadn’t slept all night. Gojo’s eyes followed him as he trudged through the school halls, quieter than usual, avoiding small talk and slipping into his seat without so much as a glance at anyone.

It was unlike Suguru to be this way. He barely looked up during the lunch break, barely mumbled a response when someone tried to talk to him. And Gojo could feel the unspoken weight hanging over him like a shadow—an air of tension, of something strained and unresolved. It made Gojo’s curiosity burn even stronger, a gnawing need to know what had happened.

But when Gojo finally approached him, Suguru only glanced up, his gaze tired and distant, and muttered a soft, “Not today, Satoru.” There was a finality in his tone, a closed-off energy that Gojo hadn’t seen before. It was clear that Suguru was carrying something heavy, something he wasn’t ready—or willing—to share.

And somehow, that only made his thoughts drift back to you. The emptiness left by your absence grew sharper, more pointed, and with it came a sinking feeling that whatever was happening with Suguru…was connected to you.

Gojo scoffed, shaking his head at himself as he tried to push thoughts of you aside. Why was he even letting you get to him? It wasn’t like him to dwell on anyone, let alone someone who’d gone MIA after a single hookup. He had more important things to think about—better distractions to keep himself entertained. Besides, if you were going to play hard-to-get or whatever this was, then that was on you.

With a lazy smirk, he glanced around the classroom, letting his gaze settle on a few familiar faces. Plenty of girls would kill for his attention— he didn’t need to waste any more time thinking about you. He’d spent weeks hoping for some sign of you, but maybe it was time he reminded himself of how easy it was to move on.

After class, he slipped out of the room, his stride slow and confident as he scanned the hallways. Within minutes, he found what he was looking for—an upperclassman lingering by her locker, eyeing him with a coy smile. He’d seen her around before, noticed the way her gaze lingered whenever he passed by.

Perfect.

With a quick sweep of his hair, he put on that easy charm, the one that always drew people in, and walked over, leaning casually against the lockers beside her. “Hey,” he said, his voice low and smooth. “Long day?”

The girl blinked, caught off guard for a second before her lips curled into a smile. “Not anymore,” she replied, a blush creeping up her cheeks.

Gojo grinned, already shifting into the familiar rhythm of flirting that he knew so well. Within moments, they were leaning close, sharing secretive whispers and low laughs, her hand resting on his arm as she hung onto every word he said. He had a way of making them feel special, as if they were the only person in the world. He knew exactly what to say, how to let his gaze linger just long enough to make them squirm.

As he let the conversation drift into something more suggestive, he found himself glancing around, almost instinctively, half-expecting to catch a glimpse of you walking by. He mentally cursed himself for it, forcing himself to focus on the girl in front of him, but there was still that nagging sense of dissatisfaction. Even though he had her wrapped around his finger, it didn’t feel quite the same. She was willing, easy, and there was no thrill, no challenge. It felt…hollow.

For a moment, he wondered if this was just another way to forget you, a way to scratch an itch that wasn’t going away as easily as he’d hoped. The idea bothered him, and he dismissed it as quickly as it came. You didn’t matter—he was Gojo Satoru. He had girls practically throwing themselves at him every day. There was no reason he should be hung up on you.

-

The apartment was quiet—too quiet. Days slipped by in a gray monotony as you tried to settle into a space that felt as foreign as a stranger’s closet. There was nothing in the room that felt like you, just the sparse furniture your brother had left behind: a sagging couch with sunken cushions, a bed pushed awkwardly against the wall, and a handful of mismatched kitchen items. There were no family photos, no cozy blankets, not even a single potted plant to add life to the place. It was a hollow shell, his empty, seldom-used apartment, and now it was yours—a place to hide, but far from a home.

When you first came here, you thought you might be able to reach out, maybe even find comfort in a friend’s familiar voice. But the silence on the other end of the line grew heavier with each unanswered message. Some of your texts were left unread, others were marked “seen” and ignored. You’d started to convince yourself that somehow, they knew. They had to know about your mistake, your situation, and it was easier for them to turn away than to get involved. You could almost imagine their silent judgment, the whispers they might share when you weren’t around.

You felt backed into a corner, as if the world had abandoned you just when you needed it most. The shame felt insurmountable, an invisible wall that stopped you from trying again, that convinced you this loneliness was what you deserved.

You could barely feel it —the life inside you, growing silently, quietly, but undeniably there. Sometimes, you’d catch yourself resting a hand on your stomach without even realizing, feeling for something that wasn’t quite there yet, but knowing soon it would be. A thousand questions swirled in your mind. What kind of life would this child have? Would they hate you for the world you brought them into, for the choices you’d made that they would have to live with? The thought was like a chill running through your veins, paralyzing and real in a way nothing else was.

Then, late at night, as the hours stretched out, other thoughts would creep in—thoughts you tried to push away, but that stubbornly returned. Abortion. You felt the word like a weight in your chest, a tightness that you couldn’t swallow, but that was always there. In the dead silence of the apartment, you sometimes let yourself entertain the thought, if only for a moment, thinking how much easier it might be to turn away from this path. But then the guilt would wash over you, sinking deeper with every beat of your heart. It was a decision you couldn’t bring yourself to make, no matter how overwhelming everything felt.

You weren’t even sure you could hold your own life together, let alone bring another one into it. You hated feeling so trapped, as though every choice led to pain, no matter what you did. The idea of being a mother, of taking on this monumental responsibility, filled you with a dread that was hard to admit. It was as if each new day only added to a burden you were too afraid to carry yet too scared to set down. The future felt murky and shadowed, a looming unknown that swallowed up every glimmer of hope.

Sometimes, you’d find yourself standing by the window, gazing down at the quiet, dimly lit street below, lost in thoughts of an alternate life. What would it feel like to walk away from all this weight, to leave the fear and uncertainty behind? You let yourself imagine it—a life where you were free again, unburdened. But even as the fantasy flickered in your mind, there was a small, stubborn part of you that held on, that whispered maybe. Maybe you could carry this through. Maybe, despite everything, you could find a way to make this work.

To keep yourself grounded, you tried to build a routine. Every morning, you’d scroll through endless job listings, though each one felt like a reminder of the uncertainty surrounding you. Most positions didn’t seem right or possible for you now, but you kept looking. It was something to hold onto, some kind of structure when everything else felt like it was slipping through your fingers. You even organized the sparse kitchen, setting up the cabinets with a kind of precise care, as if putting things in order on the outside could bring some calm to the chaos inside.

One evening, as you sat cross-legged on the couch, the hum of distant traffic barely filled the silence. You stared at your phone screen, absentmindedly picking at a loose thread on the couch cushion. Loneliness settled over you, thick and heavy, amplified by the silence that had become so familiar. It was almost stifling, forcing you to confront thoughts you’d tried hard to avoid.

You missed your family, even if things between you had become strained. You missed the comforting predictability of home, the familiar sounds, the routine. Here, each day felt hollow and directionless, like floating in a fog with no sense of where you were headed. Sometimes, you’d sit there waiting, hoping for something to change, some sign that things would be okay, but the realization that it was entirely up to you weighed heavily.

A knock at the door jolted you out of your thoughts, sharp and unexpected in the stillness. Your heart gave a nervous jump as you hesitated, then forced yourself to cross the room. The apartment was usually so quiet, every sound amplified in the emptiness, and this interruption felt almost intrusive. Taking a breath to steady yourself, you opened the door to see the mailman standing there, holding a small, official-looking envelope in his hand.

“Here you go. Have a nice day,” he said with a nod, handing it over before turning to leave.

You mumbled a thank-you, barely audible, closing the door slowly as you stared down at the envelope. The stiff paper, the way your name was printed in impersonal black ink—it all radiated a sense of cold formality that sent a wave of dread curling in your stomach. You tore it open with shaking hands, telling yourself it was probably just another notice, a formality from the school.

But as your eyes scanned the letter, a sickening realization washed over you. It wasn’t just a reminder or a request for information. It was a notification—a final, official statement that you’d been dropped from school because of unpaid tuition. Your parents had stopped covering your fees without any warning, leaving the balance unpaid. And because you hadn’t attended in weeks, the school had processed it as a withdrawal.

You read the words again, trying to make sense of them, as if they would change on a second pass. But they stayed the same, cold and unyielding, spelling out a reality you hadn’t prepared for. The letter offered no alternatives, no appeal. Either you somehow paid the balance yourself, or you would be permanently removed from the roster.

A numb disbelief settled over you as you sank onto the couch, clutching the letter tightly. They’d actually done it. They’d cut you off without a word, leaving you adrift, stripped of the one place you’d thought you could depend on. A mix of anger and hurt bubbled up inside you, but the betrayal was what stung the most.

Your mind raced, thoughts colliding in a frantic spiral. What would you do now? Leaving school meant giving up on so many things—dreams you’d quietly held onto, plans that seemed so certain not long ago. It was like everything you’d worked toward, every late night studying and early morning hustle, had been erased in an instant. This wasn’t just a setback— it felt like a wall you’d crashed into with no way around.

Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes, but you swallowed them back, forcing yourself to press your lips into a hard line. There was no one you could turn to for help, no one who could wave a magic wand and fix this.

You sat there on the couch, feeling the weight of the letter in your hand like a stone, its meaning sinking in deeper and deeper. The room seemed even colder, emptier, as if the walls themselves were closing in on you. Every step you’d taken had been building toward something, and now that path was gone, wiped away in the span of a single letter.

No matter what mistakes you’d made, you’d never expected your own family to cut you off 𝐬𝐨 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐩𝐥𝐞𝐭𝐞𝐥𝐲. You wanted to scream, to call them, to make them hear you and see what they’d done—but that door felt closed too, like an argument already lost. The bitter realization settled in— of course they weren’t going to reach out- they weren’t going to help. Afterall, they were the ones that kicked you out in the first place.

You glanced down at your phone, your fingers hovering over the screen as you debated sending another message to one of your friends. Maybe you could explain everything, maybe they’d understand, maybe they’d reach back and give you a lifeline. But a familiar fear held you back. The weight of your situation, your mistake, felt too heavy to burden anyone else with, and every time you imagined reaching out, a voice in the back of your mind reminded you that they hadn’t been there for you before. Why would they be there now?

The silence in the apartment grew louder, pressing in on you until it was almost unbearable. Desperate for a distraction, you got up and wandered aimlessly through the small space, moving things around on the counter, straightening the already-neat cupboards, just doing anything to keep your hands busy. But the distraction was short-lived, and the reality of your situation crept back in.

The future felt terrifyingly empty, an open void where all your plans used to be. The only clear thing was that you had no other choice now but to figure this out on your own. Slowly, a stubborn resolve began to build beneath the panic. You were here, alone, but that didn’t mean you had to stay stuck. Maybe, somehow, you could make this work. You could find a job, save up, find a way to get back into school. It felt like an impossible task, but it was the only path left.

With a deep breath, you grabbed your laptop and opened up a job-search site, scrolling through the endless list of options. Most were dead ends—part-time retail or night shifts that didn’t even pay enough to cover the rent suguru is payinh. But you forced yourself to keep looking, moving through page after page, searching for anything that might be a start, a way forward.

The hours slipped by, the weight of the decision settling over you like a cold blanket, but you kept scrolling, kept hoping that something would spark the possibility of change.

After what felt like hours scrolling through listings and filling out applications, your eyes grew tired, the screen blurring in front of you. You needed air, space to breathe, to feel something other than the weight pressing down on your chest. With a sigh, you closed your laptop, abandoning it on the couch, and made your way over to the small balcony just off the living room.

Stepping outside, you were greeted by the crisp night air, a chill that wrapped around you, cutting through the dullness. The street below was quiet, dim streetlights casting long shadows across the empty pavement. Leaning against the railing, you closed your eyes and took a deep breath, letting the cold settle into your skin, grounding you, if only for a moment. The city felt vast from here, stretching out endlessly, full of people going about their lives, yet here you were, feeling like the only one left adrift.

As you opened your eyes, you gazed out over the neighborhood, the distant hum of cars a low, steady comfort. For a fleeting moment, you felt a strange sense of freedom, as if up here on this balcony, the problems inside couldn’t quite reach you. It was quiet, peaceful even, the world below carrying on, oblivious to your struggles.

You’d imagined such a different future, one where you’d be surrounded by friends, pursuing your passions, finding yourself. But now? It all felt like a distant memory, something that had happened to someone else entirely.

The sky above was cloudy, with only a few stars managing to peek through. You stared up, trying to find some kind of sign, something to remind you that you weren’t entirely alone, that maybe there was still a chance for things to change.

You stayed there a while, letting the cold numb the tension in your body, staring into the distance, thinking about what you’d do next. The thought of reaching out for help gnawed at you, yet you couldn’t bring yourself to take that step. Maybe it was pride, or maybe it was just the fear of rejection. Either way, you knew that whatever came next would be up to you.

Your gaze drifted downward, tracing the shapes of the buildings, the shadows cast by streetlights, when a familiar flash of white caught your eye. Your heart clenched involuntarily. Gojo.

He was strolling down the sidewalk, his stride as arrogant and carefree as ever, his laughter echoing faintly up toward you. His arm was draped around the shoulders of a girl who leaned into him, her face turned up toward him with a bright smile, entirely captivated. They looked close, intimate, like they were the only two people in the world. Watching them, a dull ache pulsed in your chest, stirring a cocktail of emotions you didn’t want to face.

You gripped the railing tighter, your knuckles whitening. Memories clawed their way up, memories of him—of his smirk, his mocking words, the way he’d cornered you like he had every right. Gojo had always been cruel, but he wielded his charm like a weapon, drawing people in only to watch them squirm when he showed his true colors. He had treated you the same way, toying with you, using you, and then discarding you without a second thought.

The girl beside him had no idea, you thought bitterly. She was seeing the Gojo who played his part so well, the smooth talker, the charmer, the boy who seemed like he could do no wrong. But you knew better. You knew what lay beneath that mask, the callousness he could hide behind his easy smiles. And now, there he was, laughing without a care, completely untouched by everything he’d done to you, while you were left to piece yourself back together.

A cold, bitter anger welled up inside you, mingling with the helplessness you tried so hard to ignore. He had stolen something from you—something you could never get back. He is the reason you got kicked out and have a hard life now.

And yet here he was, walking down the street as if nothing had happened, as if you didn’t exist, a careless reminder of how easily he’d been able to walk away from the pain he’d caused.

🏷️ @watyousayin @zukowantshishonourback @wiqxx @jhutchlover67 @xxemmarldxx @sadmonke @chilichopsticks @neptunieesworld @sodoney @nessielovesfood @polarbvnny @mwtsxri @mynahx3 @coffee-on-a-rainyautumn @reader69sviewpoint @emryb @starlightanyaaa @kiramdd @promiseofeywa @xuxieroll @tqd4455 @wateronlyhaha @stillpanicking @starrylibras @latorsgatorz @melancholysanatomy @cherryblossomly @littledemoness15 @thatsopanu @throwmethroughawindow @xkittiecatx @yihona-san06 @aikuoliverswife @mellow-mewow @r0ckst4rjk @virtuapicklequirkreader @heijihattorisgf @meoneee777 @ih8erika @haitanibros0007 @certainduckanchor @alisonyus @nothisispatrick300

[lovegalor333]

˖ ᡣ𐭩 ⊹ ࣪ ౨ৎ˚₊✧˚ · .

woman crush wednesday (paige x reader)

summary: paige is asked who her celebrity crush is on instagram live and you’re pleasantly surprised when she responds with your name

content warnings: none!

inspired by this request from @rizzlerbuckets 🌟

“You have to see this, Y/N.” Your best friend exclaimed as she joined you in your kitchen where you were making dinner for the both of you.

You glance up from the stove to see her phone in her hand outstretched in your direction. There’s a video playing and from what you can see, it’s a screen recording of an Instagram live. The are two girls in the frame and they look like they’re in a dorm room.

“What is this? Who are they?” You ask confused, turning your attention back to the steak you were frying in a pan.

“They’re basketball players, just watch.” She insists, pushing her phone closer to your face.

You turn your gaze to the video and do as your best friend says. You watch the girls on screen as they read through the comments they were getting. They would laugh every now and then and you found yourself entranced by the blonde and the way her eyes scrunched at the sides when she smiled.

Your best friend turns up the volume of her phone and watches you closely with raised brows.

“OK OK! This is a good question whos your celebrity crush?” The girl with the braids directs to her friend next to her.

The blonde girl ponders for all of three seconds, “This is easy.” She grins and you’re expecting the usual response of one of the many famous men that most girls pine over. Channing Tatum, Michael B Jordan, Harry Styles, Justin Bieber, Vinnie Hacker, Jude Bellingham and you’re not sure why your best friend wanted you to watch this so bad. Until you hear her answer and it’s none of the names you imagined, it’s not even a man. It’s you.

“She’s bad bad.” The blonde continues, “And she sings. What more could you ask for?”

“Damn OK, someones down bad.” Her friend teases, “Y/N, if you’re watching this, let my girl Paige here take you on a date.” You laugh because you imagined the girls never would have thought you’d actually watch this video but, little do they know, your best is chronically online and sees everything that’s posted about you. Of course, she picks and chooses what she shares with you but you’re secretly glad this video made it through her vetting process.

“How old is this girl?” You ask cautiously before making any further comments.

“I’ll Google!” Your best friend chimes, tapping away at her phone. “Twenty two.” She clarifies, the same age as you.

“And she’s still in college?” You ask.

“It says here she was injured for the majority of two seasons so she was eligible to redshirt. She goes to University of Connecticut.” Your best friend explains, probably reading through Wikipedia.

You and your best friend discuss Paige over dinner, scrolling through her various social media accounts. Now you knew her age, you had no problem voicing how you felt about her. “She’s hot.” You say as her most recent TikTok plays on a loop.

Not only was she blonde, which was historically your type, but she had the most beautiful blue eyes that could draw you in, even through a screen. She played basketball, so of course she was tall but the way she carried herself so confidently and purposeful had you in a chokehold. Her muscular body, that she had no problem showing off, had your heart rate spiking each time she flexed her biceps in videos that now flooded your For You Page.

“Well, you know where Connecticut isn’t far from? New York.” Your best friend says, “And where are we? NEW YORK!” She triumphs as if you hadn’t already been able to come to that conclusion yourself.

“I’m messaging her.” You announce, opening Instagram and searching for Paiges name.

“What are you going to say?”

“I don’t know, something flirty.” You reply, fingers hovering over your keyboard as you think.

“Picture of your mommy milkers?” Your best friend says and you laugh at her suggestion, “No! Not yet, anyway.”

You type out a message before deleting it and you finally land on,

heard you wanted to take me on a date?

Paige is quick to reply, you’ve barely put your phone down before it pings.

hahah you saw the live?

im embarrassed

dont be, im flattered

and wondering where you’re taking me

You cringe at your boldness but the send the message anyway. Paige was hot and she clearly thought you were too so what was the harm in having some fun?

are you busy right now?

wow, you don’t waste any time

not for the date darling, call me

Paige sends you her number and you press call, anxiously waiting for her to answer. When she does, her voice is smoky and sweet and your brows raise at her tone and you excuse yourself to your bedroom, leaving your best friend grinning from ear to ear like a kid in a candy store.

You and Paige chatted for longer than you realise and you find yourself giggling like a teenager at her words. It’s almost midnight when Paiges words become softer and slower, “It’s late. I should let you go.” You say not wanting to keep her up.

“Or you could stay on the phone and sing me to sleep.” She quips, earning another giggle from you.

“Let’s save that for another time. When I’m actually there and you can feel my breath on your neck.” You drawl.

You hear a sharp in take of breath, “Don’t play.” Paige says lowly.

“Goodnight Paige.” You giggle, satisfied with her flustered response.

“Goodnight Y/N.”

˖ ᡣ𐭩 ⊹ ࣪ ౨ৎ˚₊✧˚ · .

a/n: just a short one but this was actually really fun to write! hope u enjoy 💋 vinnie hacker mention because p is never escaping that 😭

[tsuutarr]

Hehe

Unleash Fox dilf! Jiu-jitsu please

Succubus anon💋💞

One foxy dilf coming up~

(Yandere! Fox hybrid (gumiho) doctor x reader)

In your quaint village, not much occurs. Days are peaceful, if not a little boring. But you can’t really complain, not when the people around you are so lovely.

Your village helps each other, resources are always shared, and people are always taken care of. Among all your villagers, one of them, Dr. Shin, is especially kind. Despite being a new addition to your village, he’s loved by all the villagers. He’s often busy, too, as the only doctor around.  The previous doctor had passed away after falling to her demise in the woods while looking for herbs. Your village was both saddened and worried about the previous doctor’s sudden death, unsure of how you all would survive without medical care. Contrary to your worries, however, Dr. Shin suddenly appeared one day and from that point onwards, he’s become a valuable member of your village. He’s extremely personable and kind, making sure to make time for you – it’s no wonder he’s so beloved and trustworthy.

“Hello, Dr. Shin,” you greet him during one of your appointments. His fox ears flicker, which makes him rather cute despite him being much older than you. He often reminds you of the injured fox you had helped a few years back, especially when his bronze-colored ears move around.

“Ah, hello,” he greets back, a smile on his face. He motions for you to take a seat on the hospital bed. “How are you feeling?”

“Better, I think,” you respond, sitting down. Your fingers tap idly against your knee as you sink into thought. “I don’t think I get nightmares anymore…” 

“Oh? Then that’s quite good, isn’t it?”

“I… yes, I suppose.” Nervously, your eyes flicker downwards. It’s true that your nightmares have subsided, but they’ve been replaced with rather… inappropriate dreams about your doctor. But it isn’t like you can tell him that, especially when your dreams are so… realistic – like they’ve actually happened.

When you look back up, you can’t help but gasp at how intense his gaze is. “What troubles you?” he inquires, making your cheeks heat up.

“I… uhm, well…”

“Yes?”

At his expectant looks, you squeak out, “I’ve been having dreams that aren’t nightmares, really. But they’re… very intense, for a lack of a better word.”

Dr. Shin looks intrigued, leaning forward slightly. “Would you care to elaborate?” You shake your head, giving him a weak smile. “Ah, it’s nothing, really…”

“My dear,” Dr. Shin says, kindly, “I’m quite worried about you. Please, tell me.”

It’s too embarrassing to tell him – you just can’t. But the way he looks at you, his eyes glowing faintly… you can’t help but say, “I’m having sexual dreams,” despite your will. Gasping, you clamp your mouth shut.

“Oh?” he smiles, teeth glinting underneath the light. “I see, that’s quite normal.” Leaning back in his chair, he lets out a small hum. “But I suppose that it’s much more frequent and intense in your case, hm?”

You feel like you’re going to combust from embarrassment.

“Let’s see if I can assist you.” Dr. Shin pulls out his notebook and pen, ready to take a few notes. “Who is often present in these dreams of yours?”

You gulp, looking at him with wide eyes. He looks back at you, eyes glinting, leading you to say, “You.” Your mouth clamps shut – why did you say that?!

Regardless of your inner plight, Dr. Shin looks pleased, his smile getting wider. “Very good.” He notes a few things in his notebook, before snapping it shut and putting it away. The room dims as his eyes glow brighter, his grin toothy. “Don’t fret, my dear. There is quite an easy cure to your plight.” He approaches with soft – almost ghostly –  steps, before reaching out and tilting your chin. Nine tails – didn’t he only have one? – flicker out behind him as a chill runs through your body. “All you must do is stay by my side.”

After all, as the source of all your nightmares and dreams, he’s the only one who can cure you, too.

[suzukiblu]

Day four of “obligatory sugar baby Kon” behind the cut. tw: implications of past grooming/abuse and the inherent problems in someone who was in that situation trying to flirt with someone actually age-appropriate. prev: (( chrono || non-chrono ))

“Sidewalk,” he says, quick and abrupt. “Uh–please. Just . . . can we land somewhere?” 

He needs to think straight, and he needs to take a step back, and he needs to–compartmentalize, and focus. 

Kon’s talking like–Kon’s acting like– 

Robin’s met a lot of people who feel like they need to sell themselves in one way or another, and a lot of kids who don’t act quite like–who aren’t– 

He doesn’t exactly like to think it, but right now Kon’s reminding him of some of the abuse and trafficking victims he’s met; the call girls and rent boys and just . . . 

Just the kids who act like somebody gave them a script, instead of like they figured out what they wanted to say for themselves. 

“Um–yeah, sure,” Kon says, just barely frowning, which is probably because Tim is having a very hard time acting okay about Kon talking to him like an escort chatting up a client or–

He really cannot act okay about that, no. 

It makes him think about Cadmus taking advantage of Kon’s time and life for barely anything more than room and board and wonder just what Kon was doing in Hawaii and just what kind of girls he’s dated, and–

He really, really cannot act okay about this at all. 

Kon shifts his grip on him and then flies them down to the mouth of an alley that opens out onto a sidewalk–again, terrible Gotham survival instincts, but Tim really doesn’t have the bandwidth to get into that right now–and lets Tim down onto the concrete and gravel. Tim takes a step back from him and clears his throat, trying not to be–not to seem–

Robin knows how to talk to escorts and prostitutes and victims and people who think they’re a product in just about every possible situation. Because obviously he does, and of course he does. There is just–there’s not a situation in which a Robin wouldn’t know how to do that. That’s just not a thing. 

But Tim Drake doesn’t know how to talk to Kon-El in this situation. 

“Thanks,” he tries awkwardly, and Kon shifts his weight and looks like he’s about to hunch his shoulders, but instead visibly redirects to stand up straighter; links his hands together behind his back. It pushes his chest out a little, and the way he’s standing is–

The way Kon’s standing is a display, even now. 

It always is, isn’t it. 

Tim thinks about the stupid teen-magazine poses, and thinks maybe he wasn’t actually prepared enough for the kind of relationship that involves paying for literally everything in the life of someone who views themselves as . . . whatever, exactly, Kon views himself as. 

Tim didn’t actually realize Kon viewed himself as anything but a superhero, and didn’t really follow through the logic of what somebody who thinks their entire purpose in life is to be useful might . . . assume here, maybe.

“Did I do something wrong?” Kon asks, looking uncomfortable. Tim tries to figure out how to say yes but I’m ninety-nine percent sure it was actually someone ELSE doing something wrong and you not knowing that said something WAS wrong in a way that won’t sound patronizing or too heavy or make Kon get defensive or just ditch him or–“I, uh–I just haven’t really done it before–with a guy, I mean–so I just . . . well, you can give me some tips, right? I’m not, like–I’m up for anything, y’know?” 

Tim hates this conversation.

[notmeowse]

dragon age thoughts because i’m losing my mind. i need to know if i’m delusional about this because there’s a certain thing that FEELS like a retcon but i’m starting to wonder if i’ve misread the series entirely.

VEILGUARD ENDING spoilers under the cut, please don’t look if you haven’t finished the game.

Does the veil staying intact (forever onward apparently) being treated as a good thing feel like a retcon to anyone else?

Solas made it very clear in the previous game that the ones who suffered most from the Veil going up are not just the elves, but the spirits. They’re essentially trapped in the Fade and they don’t understand why, and the desire to exist in the physical world is what often transforms them into demons. It’s a huge part of the overarching plot in this series, and each game has humanized (for lack of a better term) spirits more and more, characterizing them more and more like actual people. We have it with Justice in Awakening, then Anders/Justice, then Cole’s human manifestation, and now Spite/Lucanis living in harmony.

Prior to release, I had thought we were moving in the direction of Rook having to be convinced Solas was right about the Veil needing to come down, but that they’d be the one to find another solution. When we found out about what Solas and Mythal did to the titans and a solution to help them was immediately suggested by the team, I thought that would be the direction we went. Ultimately leading to the end of the blights AND the veil. But it never went anywhere.

At the end of the day, the story really is just about everyone… moving on and keeping things the way they are even though the way things are freaking sucks? Sure, absolutely none of the things that suck about Thedas get covered in this game, but I did not think this was what these games were about, it just feels like the retcon of a huge, huge plot arc. Did I just misunderstand it? Am I losing my mind here?

[barbiexgirl]

Anorexia is the patriarchy’s perfect way to make you lobotomize yourself.

It puts the blame on you, you’re weak for letting the standards break you and you’re doing it to yourself. No one forced you to starve right? Those beauty standards are coming back for a reason. If this is your first run with eating disorders let me tell you you’re just as lifeless as a woman who went through lobotomy. I wasn’t able to study, I lost all my friends and I wasn’t able to enjoy a single thing in life. I was full of rage and hatred towards the world and myself but nothing else.

I struggled my whole life, thanks to my mom I got the “Eastern European special” growing up. I developed anorexia when I was 11.

“I wish you had your dad’s blond hair and blue eyes like your sister. You should dye your hair. You look better than your other sister tho, she just looks too much like her dad. (She has a different dad.)”

“Your sister is so much taller than you.”

“I was only 45kgs when I was pregnant with you.”

“YOU BETTER EAT SOMETHING, WHAT ARE PEOPLE GOING TO SAY ABOUT ME IF YOU DIE YOU STUPID BITCH???”

Girlie even kept the receipts, and showed me that she really was that thin. She ate less than what a toddler needs her whole life, she wrecked her hormones and her body by the time she was 45 and let me tell you she didn’t stay beautiful. This “slavic doll” trend is disgusting and it actually ages you rapidly. Kids who follow this new pro ana content are obliviously just as troubled as I was but god you really don’t want to grow up with these standards. Not like patriarchy spares you but a mom like this is just an added bonus on the mental illness lottery. We did the same thing with kpop idols but they’re abused as well to look like that. Funny how the inspiration always comes from countries like South Korea or Eastern Europe where patriarchy is absolutely thriving.

It’s all fun and games until your hair is falling out in chunks or you’re still doing this at 25. Your body just doesn’t take it as easy at it used to. When I recovered this time stomach acid burnt my throat and my vocal cords when I started eating, I wasn’t able to talk for days.

Back when I was still in my teens I never understood why older women just “get ugly as time goes on” and I promised myself that I’d “never let myself go.” Now that I’ve been recovered for a few months again I see that they’re not getting ugly, they were never ugly. They just know something you don’t. That you are so much more than your beauty, “beauty” that’s not even real. It’s all photoshop and botox and plastic surgery. Your body’s main job is to keep you alive to be able to ACTUALLY LIVE YOUR LIFE. To eat healthy food, to have fun with your friends, to study, to be a smart woman who knows herself to the core and doesn’t let stupid ideas break her.

[psithurista]

Hey on the off chance you’re a fellow Australian seeing all our American mutuals in absolute despair today, you need to get really fucking serious right now about our own upcoming election. Historically we follow America into left- or right-swings. This time, we are already there. What happened in America shouldn’t be a shock to anyone who paid attention in Queensland. People in my home state voted for a racist, ultra-conservative Christian pro-life advocate whose only policy was putting traumatised ten year-old First Nations kids into adult prisons instead of the guy promising cheap public transport, free school lunches, and cost of living relief through reduced electricity bills and car registration fees.

You need to look at the Auspol news stories from today alone if you don’t think shit is already fucking dire.

Jing Lee was threatened and intimidated into voting with Joanna Howe’s frankly terrifying abortion amendments despite the prior commitments she’d made otherwise. Parliament is abandoning its responsibility to protect whistleblowers, including the one that revealed the unlawful and unethical debt collection practices in which the ATO was engaging. The government quietly made its response to the DSP inquiry today, and that response was “We don’t need to do anything because it’s been so long since this was raised.” This, following the Disability Royal Commission where over two hundred recommendations were made from the findings and not a single one was implemented.

And now the spineless little cunt who sold out every single one of his values the day he was elected Prime Minister announced the social media ban is going ahead. In order to enforce this, what this will almost certainly mean for you is you will, under legislation, be required to connect your ID against all of your internet use. If the implications of that when it comes to censorship, personal privacy, freedom of information, media and journalistic freedom, the ability to organise and the ability to protest, particularly when faced with the prospect of the reversal of women’s and LGBTQ+ peoples’ rights not to mention the everpresent Newscorp machine don’t scare the absolute living shit out of you, then they fucking should.

We are NOT America. All the posts you’ve seen today claiming third-party or independent voters are to blame for the second coming of Trump do NOT apply to us. We have a beautiful thing called preferential voting. This means that when you vote Green (the only major party working to protect abortion rights AND your freedom and privacy online, the only major party calling for the dissolution of AUKUS, the only major party calling for meaningful sanctions on Israel AND an overhaul of our disgusting asylum seeker policy (especially crucial after the IDF openly announced today they have no intention of allowing displaced Palestinians to return home), the only major party trying to wipe student debt and make uni free again, the only major party trying to protect and EXPAND Medicare, the only major party with a serious climate plan, and the only major party actively prioritising a reconciliation plan to treaty with First Nations people), your vote is not wasted even if you’re the only person in your electorate to do so.

If a single other Australian person is following this silly little blog, please please please realise that we WILL see a repeat of the American election here if we don’t start getting serious right now. I don’t know a single LNP voter who knows fuck about shit about policy and isn’t just voting based on however their family voted, and most of them are horrified when they actually hear what they’re voting for. Talk to your friends, family, co-workers about the policies Dutton and Albanese are proposing. Make a bunch of Volduttonmort memes and stick them up around your city. Just fucking do something.

I'm so scared guys I'm so scared

[watarfallar]

If I had a nickel for every time I posted an incorrect quotes dump, I'd have a lot of nickles!

BigB: What if I lied this whole time and I'm actually 18? Mumbo: BigB, stop trying to get drugs. BigB: Don't suppress my interests.

Lizzie: Oh, my God. Do you know what this is? Jimmy: It’s a book. There’s a lot of those in here, this is a library.

Tango: Don’t stay up all night, Ren. Last time you got this sleep-deprived, you tried to eat your own shirt.

Scar: Guys, there’s a monster under my bed and it’s really ugly. Gem, on the bottom bunk: Honestly, fuck you.

Etho: Gem has no idea I’m high. Gem: You’re high? Etho: Oh, I’m sorry. Etho, leaning over to Grian: Gem has no idea I’m high.

Martyn: Why don't we just call it, "M.C. Donald's?" Scar: Because it just sounds like a stupid rapper's name. Cleo: It'd just be like- "Eyo, it's ya boy, M.C. Donald!"

Scar: What did you guys get in your yearbook? Grian: 'Prettiest Smile' Joel: 'Nicest Personality' Ren: 'Most likely to start a bar fight' Cleo: 'Least likely to start a bar fight, but most likely to win one'

Impulse: I don't follow the rules. I follow dogs on social media.

Pearl: So I’m the only one around here who can clean up, huh? You can't even lift a finger? Tango: Do I get to pick the finger?

Jimmy, talking to Impulse: Well Impulse, whenever I’m about to do something, I think ‘would Gem do that?’ and if they would, I do not do that thing. Impulse: … Gem, from the distance: They’re not wrong though!

Pearl: If I can't cause tiny bits of chaos every day, I think my body will shut down.

BigB: Tango, what if there are monsters? Tango: Don’t worry, we’re top of the food chain. Much later… BigB, lying awake at night: I am the monster.

Pearl: If we don’t get out of this alive… If we’re both about to die… I love you, Gem! *Neither of them die* Gem: … Pearl: … Gem: So do you wanna talk about somethi- Pearl: No thank you.

Bdubs: Aww, what's your dog's name? Tango: Spartacus. Bdubs, yelling to Martyn: TRY SPARTACUS! Martyn, on the computer: DIDN'T WORK! Tango: Bdubs: What's your favorite number?

Scott: Don’t say a word. Impulse: Fergalicious. Scott: Impulse, I said no words. Impulse: Oh, I see how it works. Two weeks ago, we’re playing Scrabble, it’s not a word, now suddenly it is a word because it’s convenient for you.

Skizz, writing in their diary with a glitter gel pen: I'm losing my sense of humanity. Nothing matters. God is dead. There's blood on my hands.

Cleo: Who wants to make fifty bucks? Tango: How? Cleo: I need someone to take the fall. Tango: What did you do? Cleo: I can't tell you. Yes or no, no questions asked. Etho, from the other room: Oh my god. Cleo: ... Etho: OH MY GOD! Tango: Make it a hundred. Cleo: Deal.

Mumbo: So jellyshish- Grian, laughing: JELLYSHISH!? Mumbo: You know what I meant!

Cleo: We can't lose. Because we have this. *points to their chest* Skizz: We have heart? Cleo: Heart? No, me. I'm pointing at myself. I'm going to win this for us.

Etho: Do you even have a plan? Tango: This is the plan! I break you out, chaos, destruction, something something something, we win! Etho: Oh, of course, the old “something something something we win”. That’s a terrible plan!

Pearl: Why is it that I always lose things as soon as I need them? Grian: Actually, it's not that you lose things when you need them. You lose them a while before. It's just that you LOOK for things when you need them. Pearl: Okay yeah thanks Grian, that's great but WHERE'S THE FUCKING FIRST AID KIT?

Scar: And I’d love to be sorry for that, but we all know I’ve done much, much worse.

[big-royal-chicken]

Season 2 Leaks Rant

As I said, I’m not reblogging the leaks. And really, fuck the person involved uploading them.

I haven’t looked them up for myself, but I have been coming across posts vaguely detailing what they entail. There is one leak in particular I refuse to believe is true.

⚠️MORE UNDER THE CUT: PLEASE AVOID IF YOU WANT TO KEEP YOURSELF SPOILER FREE.⚠️

One of the major leaks is that apparently, there is going to be a “RadioRose” song.

Oh great! Something for my little RadioRose shipping heart to look forward to.

Except, supposedly, this is going to reveal that it’s actually Rosie that owns Alastor’s soul.

Excuse me, fucking what?

Yeah, apparently Rosie, one of the few characters that Alastor seemed genuinely close with is the actual owner of his soul.

Not only that, but it’s said the song seems to imply that they actually hate each other.

Which means that all of these moments?

Her excitement from seeing Alastor in over 7 years?

All of that was fake. They secretly hate each other. Rosie owns Alastor’s soul and Alastor despises her for it. Rosie sees Alastor as nothing but a “pet” too apparently.

I have a serious problem with this notion and I hope to Satan that it’s fake. This isn’t being upset that they hate each other and therefore they won’t get together romantically. That hasn’t stopped people from shipping Alastor with Lucifer and or Vox.

My issue is that I see RadioRose as a genuine friendship, that Rosie is someone Alastor genuinely cares about, and in turn- so does she to him.

Don’t get me wrong, they’re not angels- literally. They’re cannibal demons and they’re overlords. They own the souls of others, they are not good people. But despite that, I still like the idea of them genuinely caring for each other. I like the idea of them being two goofballs together despite having committed atrocities.

If these leaks are true, then this ruins that dynamic. And quite frankly, it ruins any incentive of me continuing to watch the show- because the only reason I’m into it is because of Alastor and Rosie’s relationship specifically.

Anyway, I’m hoping these are fake. I’m hoping Vivsie doesn’t ruin their friendship. Something she’s been showcasing long before the start of the show.

[revelboo]

Do more idk OP x reader, too, please!! 😭 like how tf ur stories so good, bro??

Gravity Pt 5

IDW Optimus Prime x Reader

• Watching you from the corner of his optics, he tries to understand why you’ve yet to get upset with him for keeping you against your will. Wonders if maybe you just genuinely don’t mind his company. It’s not enough to ease his guilt by any means, but he wants to pretend it’s true. Feeling like he should just ask, but worried about shattering the peace between you two. As awful of him as it is, he enjoys your company, having someone to talk to that doesn’t just see a Prime. They all see a symbol, not him. Even if it’s against your will, it’s nice to have someone just talk to him freely.

• Stretching, you’re aware of his optics on you. Always watching with that faint frown, like he just can’t stop worrying. You’re pretty sure you’re right. Big, boss bot seems to run on an exhausted sense of duty and pure worry. And his favorite source of anxiety seems to be you. It’s almost cute, making it hard to keep in mind that he’s your enemy, definitely not your friend. That you’re only playing nice. Arms stretched over your head, you spin, sliding a foot sideways. Amusing yourself by imagining music and dancing, because there’s no entertainment except what you find for yourself. And you’re so bored. As amusing as flustering Optimus is, you’d kill for a treadmill or something, anything, physical you can do, because whenever he leaves? You’re trapped on his desk or his berth with no way to climb down and nothing to do to amuse yourself.

• Are you dancing? Hesitating in his work, he watches you curiously as you spin again and notice him watching. “Guessing you don’t dance?” You ask, with a little, almost teasing smile and reach out to touch the back of his hand in passing. Shaking his head in answer, he offers you a servo and watches you lay a palm on it, playing at dancing with him. “Do you ever smile? A real smile?” The question takes him by surprise, because he wants to say of course. But, really? How long has it been since he’d genuinely smiled? Since he hasn’t been worrying over everything?

• “It’s been a while,” he admits, serious optics watching you waltz with his servo as your pretend partner. Indulging you, even if you’re sure he thinks this is silly, because it’s making you happy. Again, there’s that dangerous feeling of affection for the big guy. Taking care of you, worrying about you, asking you about your day without fail and actually listening? It’s a pity he’s a giant alien. You can’t even really resent him for trapping you against your will, because he’s apologized so many times and he’s so sincere about it. You understand why he’s reluctant to let any of the humans in the Ark go, that he just wants to protect his people. No, you can’t really hold it against him anymore, but you wish he would smile. Just once without the shadow of worry on his face. It’s not like you care about him, just that you need to know what a real smile looks like on him, because whatever worries he’s carrying around look like they’re too heavy even for his big shoulders.

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