#i did not!! need!! a new!! hyperfixation!!!!

[beatleswings]

Autistic Carmen headcanons

Since it’s Autism Acceptance Month, thought I share this. So I headcanon Carmen is autistic but didn't go into much so now, I finally thought up some autistic Carmen headcanons! I might update this if I think up more of them.

Carmen was diagnosed at 18, just around the time she was starting out in her modeling career.

Growing up, as kind and friendly she's always been, Carmen struggled to fit in and connect with her peers. She remembers having to hide some of her behaviors such as easily crying or her interests especially anything deemed "childish" like dolls just so she'd be seen as "cool" and "mature". In hindsight, Carmen realized that she was masking some of her autistic traits to appear more "neurotypical"/accepted. The only friends she had growing up were Valeria (red dress girl from Don's contender slideshow) who she met when she moved to Madrid, making her the first real friend she had and who is her best friend to this day. And later Natalia (orange dress girl) and Yazmín (purple dress girl). Like Carmen, Valeria, Natalia and Yazmín are all neurodivergent; ADHD, dyslexia and AuDHD, respectively.

Carmen has always struggled with changes. When she was 8 years old, she and her family moved from Talavera de la Reina, her birthplace to Madrid, her current hometown and that same year, she started a new school. This still happens when it comes to her routines and schedules.

When she was chosen as a ring girl for the WVBA, Carmen still had a lot to learn and adapt in that environment since it's not much the fashion environment that she's used to and there were times where she would do the same routine she does when she does fashion shows and shoots.

Once she learned she was autistic, she was relieved to have found the answer she needed. Carmen had always known she was different from everyone around her but didn't know why. Prior to being diagnosed, Carmen begin to question if she may be autistic or neurodivergent in general. This was brought up to her by her friend Yazmín and even her modeling agent, who was concerned but was happy for Carmen when she learned of her diagnosis (her modeling agent is very supportive and understanding). 

Carmen's parents were just as glad as she was. They always knew Carmen may have had something and would be concerned despite being told by others that "she's fine, she's just a weird kid" or say something worse, which they did NOT like and they would be quick to defend her. They are sorry for not understanding before or having her checked out before but Carmen understands and knows they are good parents.

Her special interests are fashion especially vintage fashion, makeup, jewelry, flowers (especially roses) and dolls.

Her interest in fashion started from when she would dress up her dolls or switch their outfits. She would later begin making custom outfits for her dolls and for herself, the latter until she was 12. Some of those outfits would inspire the outfits she would design later on in her fashion designing career. Even looking back, Carmen would notice in her childhood photos and in family home movies that she loved dressing up.

She loves going to thrift stores and buying and trying out vintage outfits.

She hyperfixates on anything pink, which is her favorite color and the color she has a very strong affinity for so of course anything she owns is pink. The same with roses, dresses with polka dots (I mean why else did the wear that clownish, see-through dress?) or anything with patterns that are easy on the eyes for her, hairstyles and anything cute like plushies. Oh and when it's close to Valentine's Day? She would be at the Valentine's section at any store because the colors and decorations and even purchase Valentine items for Don and herself.

Carmen often has daydreams, mostly to do with fashion and modeling and whatever her current interest/fixation is. Don also fits her constant daydreams as well.

Due to Carmen's mother being a hairdresser, Carmen would get hair ideas from her for her dolls and later, for herself, which is another example of her hairstyle fixation.

She has her same foods: for breakfast, sweet corn flakes with banana and strawberries and whole milk (and she can tell the difference so it has to be whole).

Her safe foods are anything sweet like chocolate preferably milk chocolate and chocolate with peanut butter, strawberry ice cream (this partly due to her pink fixation), any pastry especially donuts and muffins.

She has foods she prefers and served a certain way; prefers warm mashed potatoes, smooth peanut butter and when she has spaghetti, she likes it served separate instead of mixed.

She dislikes bread with seeds and nuts due to texture. She also dislikes chunky peanut butter and chocolate with nuts for this reason. The same applies to juice with pulp.

She prefers soft, silky, stretchy and loose-fitting clothing. Super tight clothing makes her squirm, sweat profusely and nauseous.

She also prefers wearing soft and comfortable shoes, heels and boots. Also applies with chokers, she prefers loose fitting, soft and lace.

She always cuts off tags because it's sensory hell for her.

She enjoys her modeling and fashion career, in fact, she found solace in it—the textures, colors, and combinations of clothing became a way for her to express emotions and express herself.

Even though she enjoys her modeling and fashion career, Carmen still experiences sensory overload. At fashion shows and as a ring girl at the WVBA, it's due to the flashing lights, blaring music, and the crowded environments. While at first she's okay with it or more like, tries to mask, but after a while, it could become too overwhelming for her.

She also had to mask her discomfort in modeling tight and stiff clothing and certain fabric and seams that caused her sensory issues. Same when she would model turtlenecks. All those issues from her early days of modeling would eventually lead her to get a diagnosis especially when her agent expressed concern.

Carmen is prone to meltdowns not just from being overwhelmed or over sensory stuff but also if she's trying to remember or understand something or when she's annoyed.

Carmen uses noise-canceling headphones when she hears loud noises, to soothe herself and yes, her noise-cancelling headphones are pink!

Carmen also takes quiet breaks which is usually her reading fashion and gardening magazines before she continues with what she has to do or after a day of modeling.

She would start wearing sensory bracelets and fidget rings to be at ease when she's on the catwalk, as a ring girl and just in general. It helps soothe her.

Some of her stims are tucking a strand of her hair behind her ear, hair twirling, hand clasping, hand waving and humming. Listening to the same song over and over again is another stim of hers and helps soothe her. She is also prone to getting songs stuck in her head.

Carmen has difficulty interpreting and responding to social cues. She tends to not understand sarcasm unless it’s someone she knows, she laughs at moments that aren't that funny (ex: one person jokes and everyone except her laugh and when that person is just talking, she laughs), and she smirks or smiles when she tries to hold her laugh in when she remembers something funny and when she is infodumping, she tends to forget to notice reactions from people and doesn't see if they're bored, annoyed and uninterested.

Carmen has hyper-empathy; she tends to feel emotional towards and over-attachment to people, places, animals, objects, or things; when she sees the boxers especially Don lose, it hits her hard. Same when she sees a model stumble and while everyone laughs or points, she feels bad for the model. And she can’t watch movies or shows where bad things happen to the characters especially animals.

She was scared to come out as autistic to Don or him finding out that she is. This was out of fear of thinking Don would look at her differently, make fun of her or think she's not pretty for him. She had to deal with that with some people including two exes of hers ("you're too pretty to be autistic", "why do you like childish things" or the tedious "but you don't look autistic"). One day when Carmen was dealing with sensory overload at the WVBA, that's when Don knew she was neurodivergent and he helped calm her down. He also then tells her he is also neurodivergent (ADHD) and he understands what Carmen goes through. Both of them being neurodivergent, bisexual and hopeless romantics who share an interest in makeup, fashion and dancing is what brought them closer.

Carmen still masks especially around new people or in new environments because she knows how neurotypicals can be. With Don, her friends, her family and people she trusts and when she’s alone, she feels at ease to unmask, stim and be herself. And they accept her for who she is.

Carmen would become open about her autism and advocate for autistic/neurodivergent inclusion in fashion. With her fashion design, she designs sensory friendly clothing. Oh and NO tags!

[zorange13]

—he’s such a loser, wtf? pjs (part 2)

pairing. geek! park jay x afab poc popular! reader

content. acquaintances to lovers, jay is lowkey a loser but not, ft. popular athletes! hyung line, jay’s an asshole like fr, allusions to The Duff by Kody Keplinger (little me loved that book, i’ve read it twice. i still love it idc. don’t talk to me abt the movie tho…sigh), photographer geek! jay, journalism major! psych minor! reader, arson jokes, playfully questioning friend’s sexuality, making out

word count: 30,974 (5,383 in this part) part 1 here! ao3 ver.

synopsis: jay’s been hiding behind his cool, distant demeanor, never letting anyone get too close. when he crosses paths with you, a popular cheerleader, your unlikely connection sparks a series of misunderstandings, awkward encounters, and him trying—and failing—to navigate feelings he’s not used to confronting. With a secret mission to keep his distance while helping her, jay finds himself caught between his own stubbornness and the surprising depth of his feelings.

after well into writing this i realized that a lot of jay’s behaviors display signs of autism spectrum disorder. this was not intentional but if this does offend or put anyone off in any way PLEASE let me know!! (symptoms/signs such as: must follow certain routines, seeming blunt or rude without intention, taking things literally—as in—does not understand figures of speech or sarcasm, prefers to be alone, hyperfixations,) again, not intentional but i didn’t want to put this out without making it clear that i’m not ignorant to what i’m producing. i literally didn’t put this together until my close friend (who is autistic) told me that these were signs. she said this did not offend her, but obviously she doesn't speak for all! this isn't to offend anyone, if this does then please tell me. my dm's are always open for any reason!

The next few days had been pretty lonely. The group chat you shared with the boys had been active but you never responded or interacted. But in the event that one of them needed to speak with you, you definitely replied. It wasn’t like they did anything to you. 

Jay hadn’t stopped trying to get a hold of you, calling you a few times a day. Texting you. But he gave you space at the end of the day and that was really all you wanted. 

Your mom had told you to check the mail as she had just sent a care package for you. With glee, you went right to the university post office and checked your godforsaken P.O. box. As you opened it, you saw two slips. Which made you furrow your brows in confusion but maybe mom just couldn’t fit everything into one box.

You mindlessly got your boxes and headed to your dorm. As you kicked off your shoes and placed the boxes on your desk, you grabbed a pair of scissors to open the boxes.

Your heart warmed as you saw your mom’s mail: soap, framed pictures from home wrapped in bubble wrap, perfumes, shirts that you mentioned you forgot at home and some new ones, then finally a brand new journal with floral prints on it. 

You grabbed the pictures with a smile and set them on your desk with a smile. Missing your troublemaking siblings a lot more than you’d like to admit. You made a mental note to give them a call later.

But then your attention turned to what could’ve been more to the other box. You opened it with glee, only for that to be replaced with sadness and frustration.

As you pulled the second object from the box, your fingers tightened around it, but the excitement quickly turned to confusion and a simmering frustration. It wasn’t a journal, though it looked like something you might have appreciated if it were from anyone else.

It was a sleek, well-made leather portfolio with a silver clasp, the kind you’d expect a professional to carry. You turned it over in your hands, a sinking feeling in your chest. There was a small embossed emblem on the back—a symbol you didn’t recognize immediately.

Your stomach dropped as you read the letter that was tucked neatly inside, almost as if it were designed to hide the truth you didn't want to face.

The letter was from Jay, written in his familiar handwriting.

“Hey, I know this isn’t something you’d ever ask for, and I don’t expect anything from you. But I wanted to give you something that might be helpful. I used my dad’s connections, and I pulled a few strings. It’s an internship offer at Hybe Publishing, a place that handles journalism and creative writing, stuff I know you’ve mentioned wanting to do. They were looking for someone with your profile, and I thought you might be interested. It’s paid, out-of-state so they’re willing to give you housing, and there’s food allowance.”

“I hope you find it useful. It’s not just a favor. I know you’re capable of amazing things, and I just want to help you get there.”

“I also know I’ve made some mistakes, but I’m here, and I’m trying to do better. No matter what happens, I want you to succeed. Don’t let me—or anyone—hold you back.”

“Take care,

 Jongseong.”

You could feel your heart in your throat as you read the letter again. It was a mix of sincerity, guilt, and distance all at once. You’d been trying to move on, to escape the emotional baggage tied to him, but this—this felt like another string pulling you right back into his orbit. You didn’t want to care. You didn’t want to be grateful for this internship offer, not from him. Not after everything. But a part of you was undeniably touched by his effort. You sighed and closed your eyes, trying to ignore the wave of conflicting feelings that hit you.

The internship could be a great opportunity, but the circumstances surrounding it made it feel...tainted.

You placed the portfolio on your desk, feeling the weight of it, both physically and emotionally. You had a choice now—take the opportunity and maybe let Jay back in, or turn it down, and risk cutting ties with a potential future you could’ve had.

Your heart was heavy, but there was only one thing to do.

—

Jay was in his study, tip tapping away at his laptop. Trying to fill the void of his seemingly never-ending guilt by doing his history essay. But his mind kept drifting to you. The look on your face when you stopped you, the look of disgust when he spoke to you, the fire in your eyes when you finally pulled yourself together. Building up a wall that he’s never seen, but only one that someone would do when they’ve been hurt.

He also hadn’t spoken to the guys that much either since what happened the other night. The narcissistic, petty part of him feeling like they were to blame for the demise of what was blossoming between you two.

If only they hadn’t even brought it up, then I wouldn’t have said that. Then I’d probably be the reason she went to sleep happy that night.

He just needed someone to blame. 

This was the longest he’s gone without speaking to them within the two decades that they’ve been friends. But this was Jay’s problem; his pride, all of his life, has been the epicenter of all of his problems in his life. 

He hated crying because he didn’t want to give anyone the satisfaction of knowing they upset him.

When his mom told him to wash the dishes as he was enroute to washing them, he turned right back around because now I’m not doing them just because you told me to.

He hated admitting he was wrong when it really mattered, because he hated looking stupid. 

And now, it was happening all over again—this time with you.

It was his pride that kept him from even admitting he was doing things for you—he didn’t want you to see his affectionate side. He didn’t want to look weak, like he cared.

He was too prideful to apologize to you for the first infraction and that only worsened and festered into a worse situation.

So as he stood up to stretch, groaning as his limbs stretched. His butt ached after sitting in the same chair for two hours. 

Mid-stretch he heard his doorbell ring, which caught him off guard. He hadn’t been expecting any guests but he still went down to open the door.

He skipped down the skips, jumping down when he reached the last two. Then opened the door without looking through the peephole. 

 And there you were.

Standing on his doorstep, clutching something tightly to your chest—the box he mailed to you. Your eyes met his, and for a second, neither of you said anything. Jay’s heart jumped into his throat. He half-expected you to be wearing the same anger you wore the last time he saw you, but you didn’t. You just looked…tired. Tired and hurt.

Two emotions he knew too well.

You held out the box toward him, your arms stiff, like the whole idea of being here repulsed you. “I didn’t ask for this,” you said flatly. Your voice was calm, but Jay could hear the crack underneath it—the exhaustion. The sadness. He swallowed thickly, words jamming up in his throat. You shoved the box lightly into his chest, forcing him to grab it.  

“I don’t need a handout to make myself feel better, Jay. I needed respect. And you made it real clear how little you thought of me.” 

You didn’t even wait for him to respond—you turned around, your hair whipping over your shoulder as you walked back down his driveway, head held high. Jay stood frozen in the doorway, still holding the box, feeling every inch of shame burn under his skin.

For once in his life, he didn’t care if he looked stupid.

“Wait,” he called out hoarsely. You stopped walking and turned around to look at him with a sigh. Jay stepped down from the porch, clutching the box against his hip. “I don’t think little of you,” He put the box down on a small table next to him. “I think the world of you, actually.” He edged closer to you, the heat from his chest radiating onto your skin. 

“I respect you, a lot more than you think.” He reached up slowly, carefully. Now the heat from his hand resting on the top of your head, then running it slowly down your curls. He gently pulled at the end of a strand, letting it spring back into place. “I just want you to give me a chance to show you just how much.”

You stared at him, blinking slowly, your heart warring with your mind. Every instinct told you to push him away—to protect yourself, to keep that wall firmly in place. But Jay’s hand in your hair was so careful. So gentle. Like he was afraid you’d shatter if he touched you wrong.

And for once, his voice wasn’t clipped or cold. It was low, raw, almost pleading.

“I don’t know if I can trust you again,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper.

“I know,” he said immediately. “I wouldn’t trust me either.” His thumb brushed over the curve of your cheekbone, tentative. “But I’m gonna earn it. Even if you never speak to me again after tonight—I’m still gonna try. You deserve that. You deserve better than what I gave you. I just need one thing from you.”

You looked up at him, really looked at him—the mess of his hair, the dark circles under his eyes, the way his mouth was set like he was trying to keep it together. Jay, who usually acted like the world needed to catch up to him, was standing there...waiting. For you.

You tilted your head to the side, waiting for him to give you a proposition.

“Just…come inside,” he whispered that last part. A look of desperation in his eyes, pleading. “Please, just come inside. I’ll cook for you, we can watch all the stupid Disney movies you like, a-and you can ask me questions. A million questions and I’ll answer every last one. And I can make you laugh,” He locks your gaze as he rests his hands on your cheeks. “And if you hate me after everything, then I promise on everything I love, I will leave you alone.”

His hands were warm against your cheeks, cradling you like you were something fragile—something precious. His thumbs brushed along your skin, grounding you.

You swallowed thickly, it was so easy to say no—to turn around and walk away. But he was almost hypnotic. His musky, yet sweet cologne. The way he touched and held you like you were fragile and easily broken—which at this moment, you were. The way he spoke to you, like he needed you.

Even with that, it was so dangerous—so easy to say yes. 

And you did. “Fine,” you sigh shakily, “One night,”

Jay let out a breath of a laugh, like you’d just given him oxygen after he’d been drowning. “One night,” he repeated, like a prayer.

He pulled back just enough to scoop the box off the table and then he reached for your hand—tentative, giving you space to pull away if you wanted. You didn’t. Your fingers curled into his automatically, and he closed his eyes for a moment, as if savoring it.

He led you inside—into the warmth of his house, into something uncertain but maybe, just maybe, something still worth saving.

—

The sound of the oven door closing echoed softly through the house as Jay carefully set the temperature and then washed his hands at the sink. His mind was a whirl of thoughts—half of them still about you, but the other half wondering if the food would actually turn out decent.

He wiped his hands on a towel, trying to calm his racing heart. When he turned around, he saw you sitting on the couch, your posture stiff but your eyes tracing the room. He couldn’t blame you for being distant. He wasn’t exactly the picture of trustworthiness.

As he stepped into the living room, he caught the way you looked at the space—familiar, like you were trying to gauge how much of it was still his. So much had changed between the two of you, and it seemed like it was more than just the argument.

You didn’t say anything when he sat down beside you, but Jay could feel the tension in the air. He didn’t push, just letting the silence fill the room.

Finally, after what felt like a lifetime, he spoke softly. “Feel like talking?”

You gave a slight shrug, the barest hint of a frown tugging at your lips, but you didn’t pull away when he subtly edged closer, facing you. His heart skipped a beat, just for a second.

“I’ll do the talking then.” He chuckled, a little nervous but trying to keep things light. “So, um, I can’t cook for shit. Like, it’s honestly embarrassing. But if you want to help me out in the kitchen after this, I’ll…I’ll consider it an investment in our future.”

You suppressed a smile, looking down at the cushion. “Our future…” You smiled, feeling a bit of fluttering in your chest. “I seriously doubt you can’t cook though. It smells good.”

He leaned his elbow against the back of the couch, smiling a bit as he looked into your eyes. The warm lighting only made your golden skin gleam. “I just follow cookbooks, but I was a bit nervous cooking just now so I’m afraid I might’ve messed up. But if all else fails, pizza?”

You smile, “I actually don’t like pizza.” 

His jaw dropped, but in interest. “Really?”

You shook your head shyly, with pursed lips. “Mm-mm, I’ve had it too much. I just feel like all of the pizzas I’ve had just blend together after a while and they all taste the same.”

He laughs, adjusting his glasses, “I just think that’s…sacrilegious. I mean, I can’t imagine a world without pizza.”

You laughed softly, feeling the tension between you both starting to ease just a little. It was a tiny moment, but it was enough to remind you that the Jay you once knew was still somewhere beneath the mess of misunderstandings and pride.

“If you know great places then I’m down for conversion. I will say I’m not easy to please, though.” You shrug.

“Are you a picky eater?” He scooted closer to you, his knee bumping your hip.

You shook your head, “Nah, but I’m just very choosy with the food I eat.”

Jay’s eyes flitted to the side before looking back at you, “So you’re a picky eater?”

“...Basically.”

Jay laughed under his breath, the sound low and boyish, and it made your heart do a little skip before you could stop it.

“You could’ve just said that,” he teased, nudging your leg lightly with his knee again.

You rolled your eyes, fighting a smile. “I don’t like the word ‘picky.’ It sounds... bratty.”

He tilted his head thoughtfully, giving you that familiar, lopsided smile. “Nah. I think it just means you know what you want.” His voice was softer now, more serious. “Nothing wrong with that.”

The two of you fell into a brief silence, comfortable this time. Jay’s hand brushed yours as he reached for the glass of water on the coffee table, and you didn’t pull away. It felt like something had shifted between you, even if only a little. He could feel the warmth of your proximity, and though your trust was still fragile, you weren’t pulling away entirely.

“I have a feeling you’re not just here for food, though,” he said after a beat, his voice softer now. “Do you wanna talk?”

You met his gaze again, this time your eyes a little softer. There was something about the way he looked at you now—like he really was ready to listen. That slight openness, the unspoken understanding hanging in the air.

You nodded slowly, setting your hands in your lap. “Yeah, I guess…there’s a lot on my mind.” You hesitated for a moment, then added, “I don’t know where to start, though.”

Jay leaned forward slightly, his posture open and encouraging. “Take your time. I’m not going anywhere.”

The sincerity in his voice made you take a breath. You still weren’t sure what you wanted to say, but it felt...different. The way he was treating this moment. The way he was treating you. Maybe it was worth it, after all. Maybe.

The oven beeped from the kitchen, and Jay quickly jumped up, eager to distract himself from the heavy silence. “Aha, saved by the bell,” he muttered under his breath, trying to make light of the moment. He motioned for you to stay where you were. “I’ll grab the food, then we can talk.”

—

Jay is usually very particular and prefers to eat at the table, but tonight he set the plates right there on the coffee table, like he didn’t want to be too far from you. It felt almost domestic—your plates side by side, your knees brushing under the low table as you shifted to sit cross-legged. Jay set down a bowl of pasta and some garlic bread, both a little clumsy looking, but still warm and comforting.

He sat down beside you again, closer this time, the couch dipping slightly under his weight.

“I figured it’d be easier to eat here,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly. “You know...so you don’t run away from me again.” His smile was a little self-deprecating, but there was real hope behind it too.

You picked up your fork, glancing at him with a small smile. “You’re not that easy to get rid of.”

Jay chuckled under his breath. “Not when it comes to you.”

There was that beat of silence again—this time heavier, sweeter, filled with things neither of you dared say just yet. And even though the food was right in front of you, warm and waiting, neither of you moved to take the first bite.

Jay picked up his fork first, twirling it around the pasta halfheartedly before sneaking a glance at you. “You know,” he said casually, “you don’t have to be nice about it. If it sucks, you can just tell me.”

You laughed under your breath, finally taking a bite. To your surprise, it wasn’t bad at all—simple, but good.

“I’m serious. I’m a big boy. I can handle the truth,” he teased.

You swallowed and tilted your head, pretending to think. “Hmm…edible. Not life-changing, but edible.”

He clutched his chest dramatically. “Edible? That’s it? You wound me.”

You laughed again, real this time, and Jay’s shoulders relaxed. It was small, but he could tell—you were starting to trust him again, if only a little.

After a few more bites, the playful atmosphere dimmed into something quieter again, like both of you knew there was more to say. You set your fork down, wiping your hands on a napkin.

“I just…” you started, tracing a small pattern on your napkin with your finger. “I guess I didn’t realize how much it would hurt. Hearing you say those things about me. Like I was just…something to joke about.”

Jay put his fork down too, his brows furrowing as he leaned in closer.

“I was stupid,” he said quietly. “I didn’t mean any of it. I was trying to—I don’t even know. Look cool? Save face?” He shook his head, disgusted with himself. “It was the dumbest thing I could’ve done. Especially when you…you meant more to me than any of them.”

Your heart ached a little at the admission, but you kept your expression guarded. “But those are your best friends. But still, why not just say that?”

Jay looked down at his hands, flexing them nervously. “Because I’m an idiot who didn’t think he deserved you,” he admitted. “And somewhere deep down, I figured if I pushed you away first, it wouldn’t hurt so bad when you realized it too.” He sighed, “And yeah they’ve been my friends for a very long time but…I’ve never really felt like this before.”

You swallowed hard, your fingers tightening slightly around your napkin.

There it was. The truth, raw and real.

And somehow, hearing it didn’t make the pain worse—it made it a little easier to breathe.

You nudged your knee against his, just barely. “What does that mean?” you muttered, but your voice was soft, teasing.

He looked up introspectively, “I’ve never really liked anyone before. At least not since I was pretty young so that doesn’t count. But it’s just…all of my friends—I love them. They’ve been there for me in spite of my stubborn ways and I don’t know who I’d be without them, truly. They humble me, support me, and everything else. But in case you haven’t noticed…they have their fun.” He looked at you with a bit of a smile. 

You nod with a laugh, “They do, for sure. Love them though!” You hold out your hands in defense.

Jay nods, “Yeah, of course. But I think because I’m obviously with them all the time and some people assume that I’m like them in that way. And really, a part of me has always wanted something more. I don’t just want to fuck people and that be my life. I know I can have that, but I’d rather not have that with just anybody.”

You blinked, caught a little off guard by how candid he was being. Jay was usually careful with his words—measured, sarcastic when he was nervous—but here he was, laying it all out there, raw and unfiltered.

Your voice softened without you meaning it to. “You want something real.”

Jay nodded, the movement slow, almost hesitant. His knee brushed yours again, and this time it stayed there, the small point of contact grounding you both.

“Yeah,” he said, voice rough. “I want someone who knows me. Someone I don’t have to perform for. Someone who actually sees me...and doesn’t run.”

You stayed quiet for a moment, letting the weight of his words settle between you. Your heart tugged painfully in your chest because you understood more than you cared to admit.

Jay leaned forward a little more, his hands loosely clasped in front of him. “I was scared you were gonna realize how much of a mess I am,” he said, almost in a whisper. “So I tried to ruin it first. Before you could.”

There was a lump forming in your throat now, but you pushed through it, blinking rapidly.

“You didn’t have to be perfect, Jay,” you said quietly. “You just had to be honest.”

He exhaled a shaky breath, nodding, his glasses slipping a little down his nose. His hair was a mess, his shoulders were tense, but he looked at you like you were the only person in the world.

“I’m trying now,” he said simply. “Even if it’s too late.”

You fiddled with your napkin for another beat, heart pounding in your ears, before you finally whispered, “It’s not too late.”

His head snapped up at that, eyes wide, and you watched the tiniest crack of hope break across his face.

He looked almost boyish like that—caught somewhere between disbelief and wonder.

You shifted a little closer on the couch without thinking, your knees brushing again, your hand still twisted in the napkin. Jay didn’t move, didn’t even breathe for a second, like he was afraid the moment would shatter if he so much as blinked.

Slowly, carefully, he reached out and placed his hand over yours, covering the napkin too, his palm warm and slightly trembling.

“You mean it?” he asked, voice low and earnest.

You nodded, a small, shaky smile playing at your lips. “I mean it.”

For a moment, neither of you said anything. The distance between you grew smaller, like the pull of gravity itself was stitching the space closed. His thumb brushed against your knuckles, featherlight, as if memorizing the feeling.

And when you tilted your head just slightly—an almost imperceptible invitation—Jay leaned in too, slow and tentative, like he was giving you every chance to pull away.

You didn’t.

Your forehead brushed his first, a soft, clumsy touch that made you both let out breathy laughs. And then, gently, his nose bumped yours, and the world fell into a suspended hush.

His lips brushed yours—barely, barely there—more a question than a kiss.

And when you didn’t pull back, when you leaned in just a little more, the kiss deepened by the barest fraction. Sweet. Careful. Like he was afraid to break you.

Like he was afraid to break this.

He was a little weary of crossing any further boundaries with you. Jay just wanted to be close to you and this was the first time he had felt butterflies in a very long time. So, he just wanted to be careful with you. 

Jay rested his hand on the nape of your neck, gently guiding your lips closer to his—only deepening it. The warm ambience and distant songs from High School Musical 2 only made this funny and sort of endearing. Hearing “Everyday” while he was doing his best to show you what he could mean to you had made him smile into the kiss.

You, on the other hand, were a little cautious as well. But you yearned to cross boundaries, and a part of you knew that he’d let you. You leaned up on your knees to shift onto his lap without breaking the kiss. To which he instantly complied, hands hovering over your figure as you settled onto his lap. You grabbed them and placed them on your hips as your lips danced across each other’s. 

But as much as he loved this feeling, he hated the fact that his glasses kept bumping your face. He quickly moved back, looking you in the eye as he took his glasses off and tossed them to the other side of the couch. Then kissed you with fervor, his hands finally pulling you closer, fingertips skimming the fabric of your shirt, feeling the heat radiating between you both. The kiss was no longer just tentative—it was hungry, urgent, but still delicate, like you both needed this as much as you needed air. Jay’s hands slid from your waist to your back, pulling you even closer, as if afraid the moment might slip away if he didn’t anchor you to him.

You responded, lips parting slightly as your hands roamed up to his neck, fingers tangling in his hair, tugging him deeper into the kiss. There was a quiet desperation in the way you kissed him, as if you'd been waiting for this moment forever, yet had never truly realized it until now.

The sound of the movie, still playing in the background, felt miles away. The air between you was thick with everything you hadn’t said yet, with all the things you hadn’t dared to feel. But at that moment, none of that mattered. It was just you and Jay. And this.

He slowly lowered you down onto the couch, the tension in your back simmering as your back hit the plush material. He hovered over you, careful not to crush you with his weight. His affection left your lips and traveled to your cheek, then your jaw, then finally fell to your neck. Swirling his tongue along the sensitive area and sucking gently. This eliciting a gasp from you, your hands caught in his hair. 

The heat between you both only intensified as his lips moved over your skin, each kiss sending a jolt of electricity through your body. You could feel his breath hot against your neck, the weight of his body hovering over you, but still, he was cautious—attentive to every little movement you made. His hands, though still uncertain, were exploring more boldly now, tracing the outline of your body as if memorizing every inch of you.

You arched your back slightly, pressing yourself closer to him, eager to feel more of him, to close that last inch of space that still remained between you. His lips left your neck and found yours again, this time with a fervor that matched the rhythm of your heart. He was all warmth, all hands, and you were lost in the sensation of him.

His hands slid under the fabric of your shirt, fingertips skimming the softness of your skin, and you gasped at the feeling. The sensations were overwhelming in the best way, and you couldn't help but want more, just a little more. The urgency, the heat, the way he kissed you like he'd been starving for it—it was intoxicating.

He pulled back slightly, eyes dark with desire, breath shaky. “I think we should stop.”

His forehead rested on yours as you smiled, stroking his cheek with your fingers. “I think so, too.”

His eyes softened at your touch, and for a moment, everything around you seemed to pause. The room, the air, the buzzing of the movie still playing in the background—it all faded away as you both shared that quiet, intimate moment. His chest rose and fell with shallow breaths, still so close, his hands resting on the curve of your waist, but not pulling you any further.

He nodded urgently, pulling you up with him. “Yeah, yeah of course.” You both sat up with smiles, but he playfully yanked you close to him by the leg. Resting it by the outside of his hip, locking him between the couch and you. “Do you still hate me?”

You let out a small laugh, the tension between you two melting into something much lighter. His playful tug had pulled you into his space, your leg draped over his, and for the first time in a while, everything felt easy. You met his gaze, eyes softening as you considered his question. “Hate you?” You shook your head, a teasing smile tugging at the corners of your lips. “I don’t hate you.”

Jay raised an eyebrow, a smirk creeping onto his face. “Oh really?” He leaned in, his voice dropping into a playful whisper. “Then what would you call all those times you wanted to strangle me?”

You snorted, swatting at his arm as you shifted slightly, feeling his warmth next to you. “Definitely not hate. More like... intense dislike.” You grinned, enjoying the lighthearted banter that felt so familiar, so right.

His laughter filled the space between you, the sound genuine and unguarded. “I’ll take that. I deserve it, though,” he said with a shrug, his fingers brushing against your skin lightly as he adjusted his position. “But I’m glad. Glad you don’t hate me.”

You smiled softly, a small, almost shy laugh escaping you. “Yeah...glad, too.” Your fingers traced a pattern across his chest, the easy rhythm of the moment making your heart settle. “But I’m still mad at you, just so you know.”

Jay’s eyes widened in mock horror. “What? I can’t be perfect?”

You snorted again. “No one’s perfect.”

“True.” He nodded sagely, then nudged you playfully. “So, can I redeem myself?”

You met his gaze again, eyes locking for a brief moment. The playful energy between you both was undeniable, but beneath it, there was something deeper that had shifted. You nodded, letting out a quiet sigh. “You’ve already started.”

Jay’s smile softened, his fingers brushing your cheek in a tender, almost reverent way. “Good. I’m not going anywhere. Not if you’ll have me.”

For a beat, you both just looked at each other, the playful teasing giving way to something a little more real, a little more fragile, but also more promising than either of you had expected. And maybe that was enough for now. The rest, the future—everything else could come in time.

And for tonight, you were okay with that.

You got a 94 on that project.

-

Copyright: © zorange13. 2024. All rights reserved. Do not repost, copy, or distribute without permission.

[afrofairysblog]

Guys I watched Sinners and It reminded me why I love movies!! 10/10 movie experience, my new hyperfixation, imma ride for this movie till this Day and THAT SCENE( iykyk), changed lives.

Like , I was out on a Friday night with my homegirls, we thought we were late and thought we had to sit in the front ( it was the 4th row and was actually pretty nice) and the theater and almost packed. It was worth paying in IMAX and I genuinely had a good time cause we stayed up talking about it even though I was supposed to be studying ( I did before a bit so hey I did what i had to do)

Also that one scene in the end not to give spoilers, one of the lady's sitting next to me ( I need to go watch more horror movies with black people as the audiece cause it elevates your experience EVERYTIME!!!!) She was like REPARATIONS!!!!

Overall, my mutual bestie, or anyone who's seen the movie , hit me up🙂‍↕️💅🏿

[vesuvian-meme]

I am so normal about the vampire elf. I am so normal about the vampire elf. I am so normal about the vampire elf. I am so normal about the vampire elf. I am so normal about the vampire elf. I am so normal about the vampire elf. I am so normal about the vampire elf. I am so normal about the vampire elf. I am so normal about the v

[angelicdudles]

Netflix needs to stop pandering specifically to me

[seventh-district]

Midnight Hour

With the warm haze of sleep fading from you, your brow furrows as your right hand presses lightly against his lower abdomen, your thumb sweeping up and down in a small attempt at a comforting motion. You quietly call for his attention, voice still thick with sleep.

“Star? Is everything okay?”

His typically silent breath suddenly hitches, and his head angles down to face you. Now that he’s turned toward the light, you catch the way his eyes shine, and the way the light reflects off of what you quickly realize are tear tracks, running down his cheeks.

You awake in the middle of the night to find your lover in tears.

Pairing: Astarion x Reader

Word Count: 3,139

Content Warnings: [crying (obviously)] [non-specific mentions of Astarion's past trauma] [this fic was written by someone who hasn't actually played the game and that might show in the details/the lack thereof]

Blinking your tired eyes open, you squint at the light of the crackling fire in front of you. Closing them again, you let out a soft sigh as you try to guess at the current time. Given that you woke on your own, you’re assuming it’s likely close to, but not quite, time for you to take over tonight’s watch shift.

Your group has fallen into a routine where you pair off into teams of two, and a different team keeps watch each night. Tonight’s turn belongs to you and Astarion, and he’s taken the first half of the shift as usual. You usually, ironically, sleep your best on the nights that he keeps watch, in spite of only getting half the amount of sleep as you do on the nights another team has the job.

You suppose you can credit the fact that, at the end of the day, Astarion is a creature of the night. Something about knowing he has the upper hand when it comes to any unwanted nighttime visitors your group may encounter is… reassuring. To you, as well as to the others in the group, loathe as some of them may be to admit it. That is, once they all felt confident in his promises to not make a surprise midnight snack of them, at least.

Tonight is a bit of an exception, though, and you’re not quite sure what woke you early this time. You typically sleep soundly until he gently coaxes you awake, nails combing through your hair, voice soft and apologetic in your ear. He’s always somewhat reluctant to wake you, but he does so nonetheless, having learned his lesson after the first time he made the executive decision to let you sleep the whole night through. His arguments of “You really looked like you could use the rest.” and “What’s one sleepless night? I can sleep when I’m dead.” didn’t hold much water in the face of the way he dragged ass through the entire next day.

In “the spirit of fairness” and “proving that he can stick to an agreement,” he never tried to take the whole shift by himself again. It definitely didn’t have anything to do with how guilty he felt when he heard the disappointment in your tone when you awoke that first morning and discovered he hadn’t stuck to the plan. Definitely.

Laying there in the quiet, you try and fail to pinpoint what feels different about tonight. You don’t hear any strange noises, nothing feels unusual, and blinking your eyes open again you raise your head a bit to look around the fire. The rest of the group are circled around the other sides of the heat source, sleeping soundly. You figure that you’re probably just getting used to this routine by now, and your body simply woke up around your usual shift change time on its own.

Still, that doesn’t explain the vague, unplaceable feeling that something is just… off.

You let out a sigh that turns into a yawn as you stretch and roll away from the fire onto your back. Letting your head roll further to the left, your eyes land on the familiar sight of your lover’s back as he sits in his usual position beside you, diligently watching your six.

He’s taken to placing his bedroll right next to yours, insisting that you lie between the fire and himself. You couldn’t really argue with his point that he can’t feel the cold anyways, so there’s no need for him to be the one next to the fire. Nor could you argue with the benefits of having him as a line of defense between you and whatever lurks beyond the reach of the firelight.

The feeling of security and protection that he provides you with is still relatively foreign to you, and a soft smile blooms on your face at the warm feeling it brings. Your smile then falls a bit as you remember the silent question you ask yourself on the regular, of whether or not you provide him with the same.

You roll the rest of the way to your left, and shuffle further toward him, closing what remains of the small gap he’d placed between the two of you. Lying halfway on your bedroll and halfway on his, you curl your body around his seated form, bringing your right arm up and gently placing a hand on the right side of his waist. He flinches slightly, and if this were earlier on in your relationship, you’d retract your hand. He’s long since informed you though that his reaction to unexpected touch is simply involuntary, and as long as it’s you, you’ve no need to pull away.

You recall the quiet, restrained desperation in his voice when he first explained it to you, all but begging you not to pull away. He can’t control the way his body reacts to touch, given that before you, he couldn’t recall the last time being touched meant anything other than pain. In spite of that though, he wants it. He wants you. That’s obvious in the way that he, without fail, immediately relaxes under your gentle touch once his mind and body process that it’s coming from you. The way he’s come to not only relax, but to lean into it. Lean into you.

You’d never push past his boundaries, never in a million years, but he’s made it quite clear after about a thousand of your quiet requests for consent at every minor touch, that he’s entirely welcoming of your non-sexual physical affections. Getting the man to verbally admit that he actually enjoys cuddling with you, without the truth being concealed beneath a heavy layer of playful banter and practiced, honeyed words didn’t come easy, but he came around to it in his own time.

So, you don’t pull back, instead following through with the motion and slowly snaking your arm around his waist. You press your front against his lower back and curl around to rest your left cheek atop his left thigh. You can’t help but notice that he doesn’t relax into you in the way he usually does, and your head turns to the right a bit, struggling to get a half-decent look at his face as you’re both turned away from the fire light.

He remains tense, still, and unresponsive to your movements, gaze seemingly locked dead ahead of him, staring out into the dark forest.

With the warm haze of sleep fading from you, your brow furrows as your right hand presses lightly against his lower abdomen, your thumb sweeping up and down in a small attempt at a comforting motion. You quietly call for his attention, voice still thick with sleep.

“Star? Is everything okay?”

His typically silent breath suddenly hitches, and his head angles down to face you. Now that he’s turned toward the light, you catch the way his eyes shine, and the way the light reflects off of what you quickly realize are tear tracks, running down his cheeks. He’s actively crying, tears dripping from his chin, and now with his head tilted down at you they take a different path, running down to converge and fall from the tip of his nose.

You nearly bolt upright in your shock, quickly unwrapping yourself from him and clambering around on all fours until you’re sat down in front of him, your hands gripping tightly to your upper thighs in worry. His wide-eyed gaze followed your every movement, and even now that you’re sat still in front of him, his eyes still dart around, frantically scanning you, for what, you don’t know.

“What- what’s going on?”

You keep your voice as quiet as you reasonably can in spite of your shock and concern, not eager to wake your companions and have everyone witness… whatever this is.

He doesn’t respond, looking just about as lost as you feel, shaking his head in silence as more tears fall. It’s one hell of a sight, and it suddenly hits you that this is the first time you’ve ever seen him cry.

Unsure of what to do and what even caused this, you resist the urge to wrap him in a hug, not wanting to overstep in this unfamiliar territory. Instead, you glance back over your shoulder and once again see and hear nothing of note before trying another question.

“Is there a threat? Did you see something that scared you, honey?”

He takes a long moment to answer, seeming unsure, before eventually settling on another shake of his head. His lack of confidence in his answer isn’t the most reassuring thing at the moment, but given that you aren’t detecting any danger either, you decide to believe that he really didn’t see any threat. At least, not here. Not right now, in the present moment, in front of him. He seems about halfway here and halfway gone, and if your growing suspicions are correct, he’s probably been sat here lost in the dark corners of his mind for a while now, given the state he’s in.

You catch movement to Astarion’s right side and watch as Karlach raises up from her prior position sprawled out face-down on her bedroll, propping herself up with her forearms beneath her. Her expression of concern is too aware and her eyes are too awake for her to have just now woken up, and you quickly gather that she’s probably been awake and laying there long enough to have heard your questions and Astarion’s lack of any verbal response. She doesn’t say anything though, and doesn’t move, just letting the situation unfold and keeping a watchful eye on the darkness behind you.

Relaxing slightly at the knowledge that someone else is awake and helping to keep watch now, your focus shifts back to Astarion, who’s gaze has moved to his lap, tears still falling fast. It’s almost unsettling, the way he cries. There’s no sound, no movement, his breathing is hardly even affected, nothing more than the occasional shaky breath to give away any sign of struggle at all. You don’t have to guess why it’s like this, given what he’s told you about his past. You’re sadly certain that he learned to cry like this ages ago. Silent and still, sat alone in the dark so no one would notice.

You don’t want to think about the sorts of punishments he’s endured as a result of showing such pain and emotion, but your mind pulls from what experiences he’s shared and offers up a few anyways, making you begin to feel sick.

Leaning down and trying to catch his gaze, you ask another question.

“Astarion, are you with me right now?”

He blinks, more tears spill, and his lips finally part as he responds to you with a strained whisper.

“I’m trying to be…”

You smile in spite of your current emotions and the general mood of the situation, doing your best to be something positive, something gentle, something safe for him to focus on.

“There you are…”

You say it to yourself as much as to him, relieved to finally hear his voice, as laced with pain as it sounds. You hold out your hand near where his lie balled into fists in his lap, offering him contact without forcing it on him.

“I want you to keep trying, okay? Do your best to come back into the present with me. You can take my hand, if you’d like?”

He stares down at your offered hand for a long moment before shakily unballing one of his fists. He hesitates, fingers trembling, before reaching out and placing his hand in yours. His skin is even colder than usual and slightly damp to the touch, and you couldn’t be less put off, or give less of a fuck about the messy state of him right now, or ever, if you’re being honest. You just want to help him, however you can.

You curl your warm fingers around his palm, wanting to pull him into a hug so badly but restraining yourself, letting him call the shots.

“You’re okay now, Star. You’re safe right now, here with me. We’re safe.”

He’s quiet for another long moment as he shuts his eyes tight, taking in your words. His other fist unfurls, and his body trembles almost imperceptibly.

“I… I’m sorry… I’m sorry…”

Your heart breaks.

“Honey, you have nothing to apologize for. Nothing at all, I promise you.”

He shakes his head in disagreement, his voice an insistent whisper.

“I shouldn’t be doing this.”

Your shoulders drop from where they’d been tensely held up, body slumping with a silent sigh as you watch him still try to hold this wall up between the two of you. You’d made it past a number of his walls already, but this one… this one you’ve yet to be granted access behind.

“It’s okay to cry, you know?”

Another shake of his head, this time with far more force behind it, almost vehement.

“No.”

You soften your voice, insisting.

“Yes. It is. You can cry now, Astarion. No one’s gonna hurt you. No one’s gonna judge you. I swear on my life, that’s the truth.”

His breaths become more labored, uneven and shaking.

“You aren’t his anymore. The old rules don’t apply. You can let it out, now. No one, and I mean no one, is going to punish you for it.”

His eyes pinch closed and his head shakes hard side to side, like he’s fighting his own mind, and his hand opens and closes like it wants to grab onto something. He then moves, wrapping his free hand around your arm and suddenly you’re being pulled toward him, desperately, insistently.

You follow the motion as he continues to tug at you, first leaning forward and propping yourself up with your other hand on the ground as he continues to pull you closer. You quickly gather what he wants as he lets go of your hand in favor of latching onto your other arm, pulling you upward, choking back tears all the while.

You raise up on your knees and his hands move once again to hook beneath your arms as you allow yourself to be pulled up onto his lap with physical strength you keep forgetting he possesses. Hooking your legs around his waist, you wrap your arms around his shoulders and pull him into you. His arms wrap tightly around your waist and he buries his face into the fabric of your shirt at the collar, muffling the soft sound of his crying which has now turned to full-blown sobs.

He’s still shockingly quiet in spite of it all, and you imagine it’s a mixture of being unable to let go of what’s ingrained into him, and not wanting to alert the entire camp to his current breakdown.

Your thumbs stroke up and down in place on his back, not wanting to let go of your hold on him but still wanting to give him some sort of comforting motion to focus on. Besides, you figure petting across the entire expanse of his scarred back might do the opposite of calming him down, so you refrain and keep your arms wrapped firmly around him. Turning your head down toward his, you whisper to him in between soft kisses to his temple.

“That’s it, love. Let it out.”

“You’re safe now, Astarion, I swear.”

“There’s nothing wrong with this.”

“I’m so proud of you.”

“You have every right to cry. No one ever should’ve taken that away from you.”

He grips you even tighter as you shower him with painfully unfamiliar affection and acceptance, comfort unlike anything he’s ever felt before in his horribly long life. His forehead presses against your right shoulder as his crying slows, trying to ground himself and catch his breath. You make a point of holding him securely against you, breathing slow and deep to give him an example to follow.

You catch movement in your periphery and glance over at Karlach as she quietly sits up and makes a series of silent lip movements and hand gestures that you don’t entirely grasp. You work them out to mean that she’s gonna take over watch for the rest of the night, and you can rest with Astarion. You send her a grateful look and mouth a “thank you,” to which she waves you off with what you think you read as a silent “don’t mention it” on her lips.

After a short while spent focused on slowing down his breath and bringing him fully out of his memories and back here with you, you whisper quiet words in his ear.

“Your work is done, Astarion. You can rest now.”

You mean it in both possible interpretations of the words, and he seems to understand that, his body finally relaxing against yours for the first time tonight.

“You wanna lie down with me, love?”

He seems like he almost nods, but stops himself, whispering back in an exhausted voice, scratchy and thick from crying.

“Someone has to keep watch.”

You hesitate to inform him that Karlach has already taken over that role for tonight, sure that he’d get no sleep at all if he knew she’d witnessed this. You know you’re gonna be awake watching over him for the rest of the night anyways, so instead, you offer a compromise.

“I can hold you and keep watch at the same time, love. Just… let me sit and you can lay against me.”

He gives the suggestion a moment of thought before nodding his head, reluctantly loosening his hold on you. You maneuver the both of you carefully so as to avoid allowing his tired eyes to catch sight of your obviously awake companion sitting behind him.

It isn’t much of a task considering his eyes are halfway closed already, his only remaining focus locked on you. You settle down at the head of his bedroll, guiding him to lie down and bringing his head to rest in the center of your lap.

Your hands take turns gently combing fingers through his white curls, and you feel his tense shoulders begin to relax at the feeling. You bring a thumb down and gently stroke over the lines creasing his brow, quietly encouraging him to release the tension he likely doesn’t realize he’s holding. You watch him pull in a deep, albeit still slightly unsteady breath, and you can practically feel the relief that washes over him when he exhales.

Words aren’t necessary between the two of you at this point, not in this moment, but you offer him a few anyways, hoping they’ll resonate in his tired mind as he slips into sleep.

“You’re safe here, Star. Rest easy.”

A/N: Like I said in the CWs, I haven't played the game for myself (yet!) so I only know what I've seen in the hours of (mostly Astarion-focused) scenes I've watched on YT. As a result, this might have read a bit funny if I've gotten certain details wrong. For instance- I have no idea how resting at the camp actually goes, whether or not someone keeps watch all night, etc. Also I'm not sure if Astarion even needs to actually sleep or if he meditates/falls into a trance and just calls it sleep, but for the sake of simplicity, (and me being clueless,) when I say he falls into sleep just assume he's doing whatever he'd normally do to rest. On a different note- this little fic was inspired by a combination of two things. The lovely art and additional commentary on this post, by @velnna , and also by me listening to Midnight Hour by Sierra Eagleson on loop for like, an hour, and daydreaming up this specific scene before proceeding to write it out. It is a beautiful song that is now the title and theme-song for this fic, and I encourage you to go give it a listen if you haven't heard it already. Header Image Source: x

[fail-eacan]

I decided to hop on the Hatsune Miku train, so without further ado I present to you:

Ithacan Miku!

[attapullman]

There's porn without plot and then there's the in-depth origin story of Bob Floyd discovering and developing his love of eating pussy.

[microwavetoaster-selfships]

Saw a post of someone saying pink is married to every color and it was a bunch of images of the color pink and how nicely it looks and compliments all the other colors and maybe that's why I have so many F/Os maybe I'm just the color pink

[circusfable]

Siffrin post loop recovery fic next >:) I’m thinking this one’ll be a multi chap fic bc I have soooooo many ideas

[shroomerr]

just finished rewatching kickass and kickass and hitgirl are my kids now. ive adopted them.

[photosyntheticspace]

*gently holding my brain in my hands* for the love of god can we please focus on more than one story idea at a time

[boundinparchment]

🤔🐌 🦖 for the ask game!

🤔 Are there any new characters you want to write about?

Depends on how 3.0 goes. I haven't felt much of anything for a lot of fictional characters (Sunday, I adore him, but I knew part of it would be fleeting because he was new for my brain).

🐌 What is one of your smallest writing goals?

Finishing Remnants. This thing was literally almost entirely written before I revamped it and I have everything just...needing to be assembled. It's small in comparison to tackling Rumors and Vertigo, where my plot is far lengthier and involved.

🦖 Are there any fandoms you wrote for in the past that you'd like to return to?

Some days, I consider writing for City of Love: Paris again. I even started a reader insert for it (based on the main character, who's a self-insert type anyway). The game left so much up in the air and it's an example of 'cool idea but terrible execution but it's Ub*soft, what should I have expected?' Same goes for Loki, for HP, for Hellsing. The thoughts are there but the motivation isn't. I don't think I ever could, really. In the same way that I wrote so much for Zhongli but don't anymore. It's not that I don't love the thing but that my love has taken a different shape, if that makes sense. Eventually, I'll be in that position with my current obsessions, too.

[matamisin]

*holds up Clay in my hands* this troll can and should hold so much trauma

[gregmarriage]

i feel like i’ve made tumblr user gregmarriage, my whole personality, but i honestly don’t know who the hell i am otherwise

[an-extrodinary-blog-for-el-topo]

Apart from Le Chevre obviously, who's your favourite? Faculty included 👀

(when was this sent like 2 days ago lol someone help me already)

(btw.)

(I forgot what to say lol btw my air conditioning is not working so I'm a bit nuts rn lol ha 😋)

Who told you I play favorites..I don't have favourites.. I like all the people I've met..

I mean..if I was forced I would go with Black Sheep but then again I can't because Black Sheep isn't Black Sheep anymore and Black Sheep is Carmen SanDiego now..

Then I could say Crackle, but Crackle's favourite is Black Sheep and Ehm..I don't like playing favourites.. didn't I already say that..

I don't play favorites with the faculty either..Though if I would have to pick it be Dr. Bellum.. most of the instructors don't really care about our needs and whatnot, just because we're adults doesn't mean we aren't teens..and from what I heard, teens have necessities.

Dr. Bellum did the same but at least she could relate to our pain in a way.. though I wonder how she knows what we go through everyday on the island and why..and she's very amusing outside of working hours for her..I could consider her telling Ms. Countess Cleo how some students should start dating amusing..?

Well ehm..that is it..I guess so.

👋

-p.s: Le Chèvre isn't my favourite either even with his role in my life, but that's mainly because I know him way more personally than others..so no, he's not either. :3