#i don’t like taking the mail at fucking all for several reasons but now i gotta deal with one of the mail people

[lilgynt]

my label printer is down for like the second time this week and i hope i can just swap it out again bc other wise i might have to deal with the IT guy and i don’t know what mood he’s in with me and now IM pissed bc everytime i have a tech issue i worry about him helping me bc he made shit weird to no fault of my own!!!!!!!!!!

[mugiwara-lucy]

Now some may be wondering why I’ve been so gung ho on Early Voting/Mail In Voting? The reason is because as we’ve seen in the last couple of weeks Trump and his cult are going to no doubt try and steal the election as evidenced by them trying by to make Nebraska a “winner take all state”, having Georgia do hand ballots, keeping Kamala’s name off the ballots in Montana (while miraculously leaving on RFK Jr’s 🙄) and trying to pass that “Save Act nonsense” along with Trump shit talking our troops that vote overseas.

All of what I mentioned is ACTUAL election interference. Thankfully all of them except the Georgia hand ballot thing have been shoved to the side although even that is being contested next week so hopefully that gets scrapped too. The reason this is actual election interference is because counting hand ballots by hand is no doubt mentally exhausting but you’re bound to make an error (and you can believe MAGA will make an “error” 😒) and you’d know this if you’ve ever done inventory at work, you’d know this. The Save Act screws married women since youzmd have to have the same name you were born with and making Nebraska a “winner take all” state would have NO DOUBT been an unfair advantage for Trump and as for leaving off Kamala’s name in Montana, there is NO excuse for that. Funny how the party of “law and order” is involved with all this untrustworthy nonsense. 🥴

But yeah sorry to segue in all that, I just wanted to let you know the shit MAGA is putting on is and how we can best combat them and I feel mail in ballots and early voting is a GREAT counter to that! Also I feel it worth noting that Trump said if he gets in office, he’s putting Elon Musk in charge of the government and both say they will do away with both mail in ballots and early voting. Gee I wonder why 😒

But yeah anyways, here are the Early Voting Dates:

And here’s your link to request a mail in ballot! Though please keep in mind when you get your mail in ballot, like I say, make sure to deposit it AT the USPS office! That way you can avoid MAGA mail fuckery! Here’s the link to sign up!

And well if you just wanna be old fashioned like me, here are the dates which list the deadlines and when it’s the last day to sign up to vote on November 5th as well as the link to register to vote itself.

Guys we’ve done so well and because of our hard work; Kamala has a lead in Arizona, Michigan, Nevada, Pennsylvania, North Carolina and Wisconsin. (Which is why MAGA is even more unhinged with their fuckery eye roll) but we can NOT stop here. We can NOT afford to take our feet off the breaks UNTIL Kamala wins and is in the White House. And even then this is NOT the end of Project 2025/Agenda 47/180 Transition Plan (new name same shit), it will only be delayed.

In short, PLEASE PLEASE VOTE in ANY way you can. Either Mail In (with the tip I shared), Early or ACTUAL IN DAY VOTING of November 5th!

If we fail and we get Trump….we can DEFINITELY say goodbye to voting since don’t forget two months ago he said and I quote “you won’t ever have to worry about voting again. It’ll all be fixed.” We all know what that means when he says “fixed”.

And we also enjoyed several events like Pride Month this year. With all his talk about “Christianity and going after Anti-Christians”, if he gets in, this could legitimately have been our LAST pride month.

And like I’ve always said if he gets in, he’s not leaving until he croaks and if that happens we get someone like JD Vance or Elon Musk as president.

I’m sure I don’t have to explain how HORRIFIC that would be. And keep in mind, our economy STILL hasn’t fully recovered from how bad Trump fucked us over even FOUR YEARS LATER.

So in short let’s NOT blow this. Thank You 🙏

[livums]

Why I haven’t written in several months

Im being dramatic—it’s been like 3.

Hello writeblr buds, I miss u and I hope the past few months have been as kind and restful as possible 🥰 I realized it’s been some time since I’ve written anything (or written anything about writing anything) and for some reason it’s of some importance to me that it doesn’t look like I vanished or lost interest/commitment to the space.

I’m trying to quit my fuck ass job :/

I have a whole lot of feelings about the job + the field itself and why I think my time in it is drawing to a close, but I probably won’t take the time to write about it here, unprompted. What’s much more exciting for me is, I think, my goal itself.

I realized in like November that I’m doing that thing again—waiting for my life to start. It started when I received an art book Kickstarter reward in the mail and held a very pretty holographic print in my hands up to the light in my bedroom. My bedroom walls were bare, and had been for the past year and some change, when I moved into this unit. I hadn’t felt comfortable decorating knowing I’d be moving out in “only two years”. I caught myself waiting for permanent stability again. Oops! My bad.

I spent hours decorating my walls with all the prints I’d accumulated over the past several years and I felt…. A way. I started using stickers in my journal.

What was I waiting for? What the fuck was wrong with me?

I’ve known I wanted to center art and creativity in my life for as long as I can remember. I’m not going to blame my parents or whatever, but I was told over and over again not to throw myself into pursuing art as a career. It’s not financially viable. ��You’ll never make a red cent.” I’d never told them at all that I wanted to do art for a living. I convinced myself for a long time that I didn’t. Lol.

Before I graduated from college in 2020, I faced a decision. I could go to art school, I thought. I could get an MFA. I held an art school catalog in my hand that is requested in the mail. I’d carried it everywhere for months.

I went to grad school instead. Not that I’m bitching about getting into such a prestigious program in my field, but it always felt like the ultimate compromise. It’s something I could tell my parents about and have them be proud of me, while hopefully I could devote time to art on the side. It’s what I’d been doing for the past four years—compromising. I had a professor or three notice, even. Lol.

I moved to a new city in 2020, alone. I was turbo depressed. One day, I spent hours watching animated student films on youtube and bawling my eyes out. Before I had graduated from college, I’d faced a decision and chosen wrong. I asked myself over and over—What do you do if you chose wrong?

Grad school was a nightmare, and I’d rather die than go back, but I don’t even necessarily regret going, I think. I think it was important for me to be in this profession, at least for a time. Maybe this is just me coping, lol, but going to grad school inspired much of what I ventured to write in 2022 and 2023.

Anyways, when I recently held that holographic print up to my bare landlord-white walls, I realized that if I waited any longer to let myself live my life how I wanted, then I was an idiot. In kinder words. I have no excuse not to. I’m giving myself massive grace by believing truly that the past seven years were not a waste of time, but I can’t lie to myself that I’m satisfied with the way my life is right now.

The point is-- I’ve slowed down writing recently because my focus has shifted to art. I’m DEFINITELY not done writing. Not at all! I just realized that if I want to achieve my goal of making enough consistent money off of art to leave my job, I’ll have to start treating art like a second job. Between devoting time to my fuck ass job, to art as a living, and to writing seriously, I’m in kind of a pick-any-two situation. Before, it was fuck ass job and writing seriously. I want to eventually be focused on art and writing as the pillars of my livelihood—that’s my ultimate dream. And we all know that writing is the longest game of creative and financial delayed gratification ever, lol.

I haven’t really talked about this that much on my other socials, lol, but for whatever reason I woke up this morning and felt like I wanted to give an explanation for my sparse writeblr presence. As I hopefully get to scale back to part-time clinician in the future, I hope to get back into some of my stories and start re-breaking old bones into something new and revitalized.

AN EE WAYS, if you’ve read all that, thank you. Mutuals, if u want my discord, feel free to pm me! I’m not disappearing (I will be on tumblr just as much as I have been, which is to say, daily), but I’m much easier to reach by other means. I’ll be (and have been) posting much more on my art blog @lurrkingly as well! If you’d like to um. Witness Me, I’m most Witnessable there or on my art Twitter (also @lurrkingly). (I also have a spicy art Twitter linked to the main one, which I hope to probably be. Siphoning off of for income one day soon. Praying etc.)

I have a game plan, my partner is an excellent support (I think they like playing manager, LOL), and I think, I really think, that I can do it! 🥰🥰🥰

Ok bye MWAH! I like you guys and I’ll never leave! 🎉 💜

[dolciume]

okay so the reason i was upset w friends bc is bc i was rly rly rly rly insane person stressed and i told my friend eve everything abt the situation at work that i had a childs life in my hands 5 a week and i’m just a first year new para 😬 basically i was assigned to a very very very dangerous suicidal 14 year old child and i got so insane in an e-mail to 4 people that they took me off the case 😬 on friday i emailed my middle boss, my head boss, the child’s care manager, and the other para assigned to the job. i said i will not ever take this child for 10 days by myself. they wanted us to do a 2 week (10 day) rotation of just this child for 6 hours no break at all. like just me and her all week. they wanted me and 2 other adults to do this rotation schedule. in my email i was so fucking crazy and unprofessional but i wasn’t mean i just said like I CANT DO 10 DAYS IN A FUCKING ROW as calmly as i could 4 times. i also told the truth: i do not eat or sleep well anymore and i come to work with my hands shaking and sweating every single day. 5 days a week and on the weekend i agonize about going in work on monday. this child is very ill and i cannot take her case. i am cutting myself really really severely. i am drinking and doing drugs severely. i cannot live like this. i cannot care for myself none the less a suicidal child who i sincerely believe could die any day now. i believed for some time that it was God’s penance, and while i still believe that i MUST escape it.. i must be free… :,(

but even though i DID GET TRANSFERRED OFF HER CASE!!! i’ve still been crying since i know the issue is not resolved… she is still an abused child

i don’t think things will get better… i have no one to lean on or support me… i really wish i was dead

[flatstarcarcosa]

i need to put a hot take here because otherwise it will rot my brain in a bad way but like.

i’m genuinely. i’m tired of fucking hearing posts about people and anxiety. (not personal vent posts, i’m talking ~*~raising awareness~*~ type shit) i’m tired of it because i’m tired of people acting like mild anxiety and more severe anxiety disorders are the end all be all of mental illness and i’m tired of able bodied people ~*~*with anxiety~*~* dominating online disability spaces, coopting language and spaces that aren’t fucking for them, and then being ableist about the people that made the spaces to begin with.

i say this as someone with anxiety issues.

i also say this as someone with physical disabilities and deeper mental health issues that go beyond “phone calls make me nervous.”

phone calls DO make me nervous, checking the mail makes me nervous. i’m in a loop right now where the thought of opening discord or steam, for some reason, is making me have mild panic attacks.

i am not saying anxiety disorders cannot be disruptive, and i’m not saying they’re not their own ball of wax.

i am saying that i don’t give a fuck about your anxiety disorders if you turn around and sling ableist bullshit at other people while talking over them and trying to prop yourself up as some sort of disability advocate in online spaces.

you have an anxiety disorder but are you normal about people with “gross” physical disabilities? you have an anxiety disorder you never shut up about, but do you get uncomfortable when your friend with immune disorders is venting about having skin issues or digestive issues?

you have an anxiety disorder but do you harass physically disabled people when they say “you’re able bodied and this space is not for you?” you have an anxiety disorder but do you tell people with obsessive thoughts and delusions that they’re “scary” and make cruel jokes about it?

you have an anxiety disorder but are you really an ally?

[mytransparenttown]

Warning: Not ready for publication

03052022   This is the first time that I have gotten back to my notes. I have hidden the formatting so it looks like one long stream of consciousness. I took everything from my twitter comments. I'm going to use it in a thesis eventually. It will take an enormous amount of work.  

I don't mind getting lost. Would you like to get lost with me?  They "write themselves" In the United States, a Presidential Commission is a special task force ordained by the President to complete a specific, special investigation or research. They are often quasi-judicial in nature; that is, they include public or in-camera hearings.  how do you bounce a network?  I'm fixing grub. How do you reset a computer with no text files.  Reality check. The Warren Report did not write itself.   Sheryl Jennings @SherijenningsUn · 2h I remember reading the Warren Report and how it must have been so easy to pull all of that together and just put it on Audible.  We are trying to replace misspent optic nerve with real optic fiber cable.  A hearse for Marnie has dropped people. She got my report and why are people still messing with her.  The first digital human went offline. I had one chance to see her picture. She looks very real and she is very tough.  Some people so so fortunate that they are in virtual remote South Sudan. My computer remains in Togo  These screens are one of my deep dives. I don't get green screens of death anymore. Bixby Vision and Surface Fold are real.  stop code is not a company. It is memory management. I didn't have to use my phones and other computers to bring this up this time. My phone didn't drain the memory. Earning 7% cash back on Microsoft Card!!!  Heads up to my real friends on here. Getting vaccinated is called the "jab". I'm 4 Economists behind and 2 Wall Street Journals behind. They didn't teach us that the OSI is battle ready for no reason. We are lucky to use it to talk right now.  working between shouts. looking at rebreathers in a totally different light. these tweets will be lost. I'm looking at court case "cat" and "brook"  Get out of my stream. I want to help other people feel good. I have another report to do.  I'm almost in tears at what I'm seeing.  I'm almost in tears at what I'm seeing.  Venmo is worse that Gitmo  Minting NFT is grinding in our bones. I'll be back at it today.  I'm just used to a different Oval Office.  Who are the new Navy Chaplains?  Why are the neighbors bank records sitting in the living room!!! Jesus Christ! These people don't even read their own mail  These Birch Steele Grannies are so dangerous that my money is sitting in Google and Microsoft and literally floats from my savings into these other accounts. WAKE UP AND GET A FUCKING CLUE  these people are paying foreign bank fees!!! How will they pay for this $345 tv after I'm gone. It comes out of my savings.  I noticed several people's property and bank record littered about the house. I did report this before making plans to move.  If I legally change my last name then I'll let you know.  A daughter who flies in to help a grandma and grandpa 4 times on one summer is going to be gone when this grandma and grandpa are on their own.  People who lost life alert for misuse are totally out of emergency calls  If you are locking for a county where you WON A COURT CASE then you don't know that you weren't even allowed at the "styled court case" that was held at 9:00PM. Lose with grace and dignity.  people who are supposedly on social security shouldn't need to HELP actual disabled people who are so burdened with them that they can't do their part time jobs.  I understand that times are hard. However, those of us who are veterans and me a disabled person (who could not join the air force TRANSLATORS because of my back) are not sitting here waiting to support "grandmas and grandpas"! END OF STORY  if you have a smaller problem then call the police like I do.  whitelotus is a romance scam but if it is a guy pretending to be a woman, wtf do you expect  back channeling is 6 years old. wtf  the catts family bank robbers moms and dads club are all over the news. i do not need to hear about it  Concussions in athletes are extremely common. In fact, about 3.8 million concussions occur each year in the U.S. from sports-related injuries. The Center for Disease Control estimates that 5-10% of athletes will experience a concussion in any given sports season.  to me hearing the name sheryl crow doesn't reflect on sheryl crow.  All I had said was that I had never gotten a head injury at a concert.  yes, my room vibrates at all times  One G is the force of Earth's gravity -- it is this force that determines how much we weigh. At 5 Gs, a driver experiences a force equal to five times his weight. For instance, during a 5-G turn, there are 60 to 70 pounds of force pulling his head to the side.May 10, 2001  THEIR BRAINS ARE STEWED  sound torture is a violation of the United Nations Charter. There is no band that wants to sell music that way and you can be guaranteed that anyone obsessed enough to do it isn't going to cause a fucking romance scam. I DON'T LISTEN TO MUSIC  I am waiting for 100% neural silence so obviously there those who will never return to brain health.  would it be cool if the "cool" people all had to be treated for mild anthrax dose again. I am so not out making friends or dates the hospital  I stopped seeing a gerentologist before I died.  Can you imagine a doctor who connects to your cell phone on twitter to an urgent care and calls into medication that I didn't ask for!!! This leech is unbarable.  I never know when that savings deposit is going to transfer but there will always be someone claiming to be my relative when it does. 3 flights worth of freeloading "sisters"  unfortunate visitors. extremely unfortunate.  I'm hearing the kids working at fast food and seeing signs on the restaurants that people are trying to trick them with their change.  someone still covered my account with swastikas. now more and more people are locked off of twitter and I have an account that I CAN'T CLOSE BUT WON'T LET ME IN.  what is up with all of the military stuff. this is the type of hexes that I've seen. I just tell them, convert the hexadecimal if you can't figure out a spell.  The person who holds the deed to the property owns the property.  If your copy of Microsoft Excel Word has the owners name grayed out then you ARE NOT THE OWNER. I PAY GOOD MONEY FOR MICROSOFT  that fake twitter sidebar is a good indication that you are on MY account. To whom it may concern, you have less that two days to breath on your own  airgaps are a problem.'  I just found this one. This is in relation to somewhere in Nevada. I have to check my paperwork.

03052022  This is the first time that I have gotten back to my notes. I have hidden the formatting so it looks like one long stream of consciousness. I took everything from my twitter comments. I'm going to use it in a thesis eventually. It will take an enormous amount of work.

[mental-health-advice]

Update

Manor suicide and overdose warning

I keep falling lower and lower, in a especially deep moment I looked up whether my current and previous anti depressants could kill me in overdose.

I think that was a bad idea as I now live with the knowledge that if I am in that severe low I could take them all at once fully aware of the effects

I still know I wont ever function in the real world, a conflict with my grandmother proved that today once again. So it got extremely tempting because, well, if I cant function I might as well avoid causing any more issues for my family long term yk . Plus for myself too.

If my grandparents die I might need to go back to my abuser and deal with her. The only thing that would prevent me there is not wanting one of my siblings to find my body. But if they weren't home and only our mother would be,,,

...

Is it bad or evil of me that if I die, be it sui, an accident or health/natural cause, I'd want my mother to be the one to find me? After everything she put me through and the amount of abuse i faced from here that she still won't acknowledge-

Ik I wouldnt be able to see her reaction, see the look on her face. But imagining it gives me some sort of closure and a part of me wishes for that to be reality. She never deserved to become a mother, she's an abuser just like hers was. So the knowledge I have full control over taking her oldest (me) away, this time forever, is extremely dangerous to me.

She claims to put her kids about all else, yet abused her kid.

I remember her threatening to kill me, me in a panic texting my friends as I genuinely thought I'd die that day. Months later it came up - she gaslight me over it, her ex who used to live with us backed her up even tho he was in the room.

I had to scroll back months of chat history to find it to know I didn't make it up.

God I desperately want her to actually fucking realize what she did wrong instead of playing victim.

My only reason to stay alive are 3 or 4 of my 6 siblings, a couple of friends who all live abroad and cant come help me. Idk what to do anymore -☆ (anon)

Hey there,

Doing research on your current and past anti-depressants wasn’t really the best idea but I’d be lying if I said I hadn’t done it myself so I am sure others have too at one time or another so feel don’t be too hard on yourself.

Before you feel really low and really think about taking them all in a way to try and commit suicide, could you maybe separate the meds and put them in different hiding places. And so then when you feel those urges and really want to take them all, you actively have to try and find and get them all which may help you to get some clarity in your mind and really think if you want to go through with it or not.

Unfortunately, I, or anyone, really can’t stop you from taking your own life, but remember of those siblings you don’t want to hurt or your good friends who live abroad. Actually one thing I do with my friends who live abroad is sending letters back and forth with them in the mail or parcels of things (even if it’s something small), it can be so exciting to get something in the mail from someone from a whole different country so maybe this is something you could try if you haven’t already!

In regards to if you do die and  wanting for your Mum to find you, I don’t think that this makes you bad or evil. Whilst I do not know what abuse you may have endured by your Mum, I’m sure everyone at some stage has thought about this and who they would like to find them.

I think though that if your Mum was to find you that she would be in shock and very sad. No matter what kind of relationship (good or bad) you have had with someone, it’s never nice to find someone dead and not being able to do anything about it. It can be quite scary and really confronting and although your reasoning behind this may sound rational right now, I can guarantee that no one deserves to find someone who has died whether it was via suicide, an accident or other natural causes. I am not in any way tyring to make you feel bad or guilty about this and wanting your Mum to find your body, but it is something to think about and keep in mind.

In regards to not feeling as though you can function in the real world, aren’t you functioning somewhat already? I am not saying that it’s easy, but you have already come so far so perhaps instead of looking too far in the future you can instead just try to take things day by day? Just a thought.

I really hope that this has helped a bit and please do let us know if we can help to support you in any other way!

I’m thinking of you and hope that you are going OK!

Take care,

Lauren

[morlock-holmes]

So, it has become increasingly frustrating to me to watch people talk about whether “cancel culture” exists or doesn’t or if it’s left-wing or right-wing because apparently we’ve all, by some kind of silent mutual handshake, agreed that under no circumstances will we talk about what’s actually, obviously happening.

First of all, I hate the term “Cancel culture” because this whole thing is as much about technology and the law as it is some cultural thing.

The issue at hand is that, after several decades in which we became increasingly anonymous to each other, modern social media has made it easier both to dig up dirt on people and to gather up a group of people demanding that someone be punished.

Now, mob culture has always been a part of, just as one example, American culture. Back in the day, it wasn’t that unusual of for someone to see a black man holding hands with a white woman, go out and grab a mob of people who agreed that this was unacceptable, and cancel the race-mixers by beating the shit out of them.

Thankfully, this kind of mob behavior is, while not unheard of, at least a lot less common now.

What is common is for people to get a virtual mob together to demand various concessions and apologies from you, from your friends and supporters, and, perhaps most crucially, from your employers.

So, people have two anxieties about virtual mobs:

How do I avoid having a virtual mob come after me?

What happens if a virtual mob comes after me?

Let’s address the second question first. For some reason we’ve all agreed to pretend that what happens after that is totally the same for everybody, which is one of the most infuriating part of all the takes out there, but it seems to me that it depends heavily on what your employment situation is.

You might be a tenured professor; in this case, you have a stressful time, awards are rescinded, you are asked to step down as chair of this and that, but you have strong protections against being fired so you keep on professing to the extent you are able;

You might be an entertainer on a platform like youtube, and your main source of income is patreon. In this case you hope like hell that you have enough loyal viewers who will ignore the mob. You might try to retain viewers by talking about your experience being cancelled; you might just keep making the same content and ignore the controversy in your own content. You either keep enough viewers and are hard-headed enough to deal with the hate mail or you don’t and aren’t;

You’re either an entertainer in old media or a CEO or administration type, someone like a JK Rowling or a Dave Chapelle or a Sam Adams, and you have enough direct connections and a track record of making money that platforms or companies still hire you because you’ll probably make more money for them then you’ll cost them.

You are a proletarian wage earner who sells their labor for a wage, in which case you eat shit and go fuck yourself, as you are easily replaceable by your current employer and every prospective employer sees that you are radioactive the first time they google you and decide to go with another prospect who has the same skills without the baggage.

For some reason we’ve decided to pretend that all these cases are the same.

I happen to know someone in that last category. I’m not going to say he was “cancelled” because he was accused of serious misconduct by a woman he had worked with.

I’ll try to leave out the details to protect all of us, but essentially, she posted to twitter saying that he had been mentally abusive, keeping her in a svengali-like hold and sabotaging her career to keep her in his power, culminating in sexual misconduct.

I don’t happen to believe her; I’ve known my friend for two decades and have not personally witnessed him behave this way, her timeline of events doesn’t match my hazy memories, and I believe he can disprove her timeline of events and narrative about his effect on her career through email records of his correspondences with her and her potential employers, and she has apparently continued to attempt to contact him in the time since.

What happened after she posted to twitter was that industry websites reported on it (With little to no investigation or attempt to talk with him) at which point all his freelance work completely dried up. Colleagues privately told him that they believed his side and then publicly called for accountability from him, apparently because they thought the mob would come for them if they didn’t, and at least one person tried to keep him on after but eventually said, “Keeping you on is really messing with this project, and it’s not fair to the other people working on this”.

Since then he has struggled to find steady work, even outside his field, and while he doesn’t know for sure he strongly suggests that this is because they google his name and the accusations come up.

So... What should he do? I and many others have suggested both defamation lawsuits and search engine optimization stuff to which he responds, “How can I afford that?”

Good question.

I get very emotional when I discuss this stuff with my left-wing friends who assure me that there’s not really a problem, that it’s just Dave Chapelle grousing on Netflix, and when I ask them what he could have done to avoid this, the answer is, “...Well, false rape accusations are very rare.” and the same kind of helpless acknowledgement that lawyers and PR flacks are actually pretty expensive.

Complicating the discussion is the fact that Twitter mobs aren’t rational. My friend was accused of very serious misconduct that people ought to take quite seriously. Lindsey Ellis recently whipped up a Twitter mob by saying that Raya and The Last Dragon was too similar to Avatar: The Last Airbender and that apparently caused enough trouble and unease for her to make a video about it.

Which leads me back to the first question: How does one avoid a twitter mob?

One thing about previous kinds of mobs, the kind that they had 200 years ago, is that they largely had to be in close proximity to you in order to mess with you. I guess it must have happened that a 1700 letter writing campaign started in France caused trouble for an Italian, but that was probably mostly limited to extremely famous people, and not, say, random wagon drivers.

Today, it’s easy to step into a cultural battle that you had no idea even existed. Did you offhandedly call Taiwan a “Country” or flash and “A-OK” sign at the wrong guy on the street? Oops here comes the mob for you!

Two people have tried to talk me down, to explain that modern left-wing culture isn’t really so bad, that if you’re just careful enough with what you say and do, you’ll avoid all those landmines and you won’t get an angry mob coming after you. Both have then let slip that they’ve stepped on bigger landmines with bigger consequences then I ever have. One of them is my friend who was drummed out of his career.

So, the thing is, I think there’s a conversation to be had about whether left-wing culture right now is too concerned with purity of speech and behavior (My opinion is yes) but at the same time I think that in some ways that’s a distraction; you’re just as likely to piss off somebody by mildly criticizing Donald Trump, or the Chinese government, or some KPOP artist.

The solution a lot of people have focused on is improving culture; we need to make it so that mobs only come after people who have really gone off the rails, but not people who just say something mildly critical about Disney movies.

One of the problems with this is that you have limited effect over other cultures. The American left can become less censorious, but that doesn’t help you if you cross the Trumpists or the Chinese government.

When presented with that argument, people then indulge in these fantasies about creating a kind of cultural hegemony, of becoming so powerful and influential that no opposing subculture can influence them anymore.

I don’t think this is likely to work.

It seems to me that the problem lies in the other direction, the economic one; one of social media mob culture’s main effects is to exile people from the job market, and thus from money, and thus from reliable access to goods and services. The less social media mob culture can do this, the less dangerous it becomes.

I think the solution will have to be in the realm of better worker protections, better social safety nets, or both.

[ghostbustermelanieking]

cracks

Sasha feels the moment the change happens. Something electric in the air, wire going taut. Something she hasn't felt properly in three years. She has nightmares that night, the worst she's had in a long time, the kind that have you shooting up screaming in bed, and when she wakes up, she just knows, somehow. That hasn't happened in a long time. 

She finds a tape on her kitchen table. A new one. The last one. She doesn't even need to listen to it to know it's the last one. And she has a voice-mail on her phone from Annabelle Cane. 

She calls Tim first, right then, at one a.m., and he picks up. She knew he would. She knows he felt the change, too. "We have to go," she says. "Right now. We've got to go back. Something's happened."

---

Tim knows this trip and he knows what lies on the other end of it. He made the reverse of this trip over a year ago: tired and quivering in the passenger seat of Sasha's car, unable to stop staring at her, explosion still echoing in his ears. It's been a long time since then, but it's still hard to shake the memories. He remembers it all well enough.

"Something's changed," he says, in the silence of the car. 

Sasha's fingers are tapping frantically against the wheel. "You feel it, too, don't you?" 

Tim winces. It's like a weight returned, like he's gotten a burden off of his back in the time since he woke up here, and now it's… now it's back. "Of course I feel it," he says. "I thought I'd never feel it again. I… I thought we were safe here!"

"I didn't think it was over," says Sasha, hushed. "All this time. I-I knew there had to be a reason we ended up here, i-instead of somewhere else… o-or nowhere at all…"

"I thought we left it all behind," says Tim. His voice comes out choked; his hands are jammed together in his lap. "I thought it was over, I thought we were safe, I-I thought we could… I thought we could move on…"

"Did you really?" Sasha says. "After all this time, a-after you came through alone, without Jon… did you think we'd never see any of this again?"

"We're in a different fucking world," Tim says, strangled. "I thought that'd be enough."

Tim stopped listening to the tapes a long time ago. Tim couldn't bear to hear it, the mess left behind; he didn't want to think about it, wasn't supposed to think about it, it's gone, it's over, he's done. That's what dying is. He doesn't want to sit and listen to Jon and Martin and the others suffering and slipping away and becoming strangers. It's too hard. Sasha lets him know, every now and then, that they're still doing okay, or whatever resembles that back there. That they're still alive—that Jon and Martin are together, which is strange to hear, but Tim is glad for them, he is. (He's missed them. Waking up here, alive somehow, with the Fears gone, and his Sasha alive, and some version of Danny alive and all right… since then, since everything, he's genuinely started to miss them. Miss the way things were before everything went wrong. Miss when they all used to be friends. He misses his friends.)

"Hey." Sasha covers his hand with hers. "If this is too much for you, we don't have to… I mean, I can take you back. I don't want to… pull you back in if you don't want it." 

Tim chews at his lower lip, stares down at his hands. It's tempting, to say the word. To go home and be out of this for good. 

He can't do it, though. If things are really changing, if the things that touched their world could possibly touch this one, do what it did there here… 

"No," he says. "N-no, if… if what you said is true, then I… then we…" 

"We have to check," Sasha says, hushed. Her hands clutching at the wheel. "We have to. We do. If there's any chance…"

"Any chance," Tim repeats. "Yeah. Let's do it." He squeezes her hand, tells himself it will all go all right. Ahead, there are signs for Oxford on the road. 

---

There is a house on Hill Top Road, looming and dark and just a little bit wrong. Tim and Sasha know this house, know it well. They woke up in the house, in the basement, several years ago—Sasha alone, Tim with Sasha waiting for him. Both of them tangled in a mess of recorder tape. 

There are people in the basement now. Sasha leads them through the dark, cobwebby halls, down to the bottom, and Tim can immediately see the two human-like shapes in the dark of the room, lying huddled on the floor.

He halfway hopes it isn't them. Doesn't like seeing how still the shapes are. But Sasha shines her torch on their faces and this confirms it. Tim sucks his breath in sharp through his teeth. 

Jon and Martin lie there, tangled in a fierce embrace (arms coiled around the other's necks, legs tangled, foreheads together), both of them tangled in the tape, both of them covered in blood. There is a knife in Jon's side, dust and tear tracks and more blood on their still faces. They aren't moving, their eyes shut. 

Sasha swears, loudly. "Jon? Martin?" she says, nearly shouting, and neither of them answer. Neither of them stir. Sasha stumbles a few steps back and mutters, "S-she didn't say… no one who's come through has been…" 

Tim isn't breathing. Can't take his eyes off their stone-still bodies. Can't stop wondering if this is it, if they've finally all died like he always thought they would. He'd thought Jon would die with him, when he pressed the button on the detonator, felt something like sick relief push through when Sasha had told him he hadn't. 

"I-I'm going to call an ambulance," says Sasha, pulling out her phone and going for the stairs. 

Tim goes to his knees, beside the entangled forms on the floor, and reaches for Jon and Martin, to take their pulses. He can't get to their wrists—the tape is tangled too thickly, and the grip the two of them have on each other is too strong, anyways. Dead or alive, they aren't letting go. So Tim reaches for their necks instead, fumbles to find the pulse point under their jaws. He's mumbling something under his breath, something nonsensical—maybe an apology, maybe a plea. He feels like he hasn't taken a breath in many long minutes—can't stop thinking that if this is it, if they died after everything, after he and Sasha somehow managed to live… 

It doesn't matter. Tim presses two fingers to Jon's neck, and then Martin's, and he finds what he is looking for: two heartbeats, pulsing weakly, but as steady as anything. They're alive. 

[nevermindirah]

Yitzhak!

is a character! who Gregadiah What-Is-Math Rucka gave us almost no information about!

I've gone through Tales Through Time #6: The Bear and #1: My Mother's Axe with several magnifying glasses and done a lot of googling and taken my copy of the Tanakh off my shelf for the first time since (well, since the last time I needed to read Torah for TOG reasons, which I think was Booker Passover headcanons) and here's the best I can come up with.

In The Bear we meet someone who goes by the name Isaac Blue:

Read on for a lot of comic panel analysis and historical research and Jewish flailing!

So what do we know about this Isaac Blue person?

He's Lorge, he's got curly hair, he's basically a taller version of Joe as drawn by Leandro Fernández (ie an antisemitic stereotype why the fuck did they approve this character design?? and then why did they double down and copy-paste it to Yitzhak??):

He's got a mezuzah on the doorpost of his house in Alaska!

I screamed about the mezuzah way back in January in this post where I (very reasonably) assumed this character was Joe and spun myself a tale about how Booker is still Joe's brother so the mezuzah stays up even though Booker isn't welcome in that house for a century. Bottom line: the mezuzah is a tradition with origins in the commandment from Deuteronomy 6:9 to "write the words of G-d on the gates and doorposts of your house" and evolved over the course of the Rabbinic period into the modern mezuzah we see here.

I did unnecessary levels of google image search to glean absolutely no useful information about Yitzhak’s origins from this panel:

I've decided the variant cover of TTT 6 is Yitzhak because of a panel in My Mother’s Axe, shown here, and what's likely an unnecessarily deep reading of Exodus, discussed further down:

The person at the right of the bottom panel is wearing the same clothes as in the TTT 6 variant cover and has the same shoulder-length curly hair and hairy forearms.

Left to right, the people in this panel are Lykon (I'll never get used to him being white in the comics), Andy, Noriko (I think? why doesn't Andy mention her by name here?), and Yitzhak. Andy's robe has a stereotypically Greek design on the sleeve cuff, and I had to stop myself 10 minutes into a Wikipedia rabbit hole because Gregorforth doesn't think that deep about this shit. The solid clues as to timeline that we get in this panel are:

Andy's iron axe

the presence of Lykon, who Andy first met in 331 BCE

So all we know is that Yitzhak is an immortal, he was a contemporary of Lykon, and he's Jewish.

Isaac is the most common Anglicization of Yitzhak (which in turn is the most common Anglophone transliteration of יִצְחָק‎), and Greg always uses the (transliterated) Hebrew when he refers to this character. Yitzhak is the long-awaited child of Abraham and Sarah in Genesis, the child who G-d commanded Abraham to sacrifice but spared at the last minute. I see what you did there, Gregory.

Why Isaac Blue? This is where I pulled out my Tanakh. According to the New JPS translation, blue is the first of three colors of yarn listed in Exodus 35:6 among the gifts requested of the Israelites to construct the priestly garments for the Tabernacle and later the Temple. Then in Numbers 15:38 the Israelites are commanded to "make themselves fringes on the corners of their garments throughout the ages; let them attach a cord of blue to the fringe at each corner."

And now for sandbox timelines party! Gregadiah gave us ALMOST NOTHING to go on, so I'm gonna make my own fun.

I, like many modern Jews, think the stories in the Tanakh are foundational mythology that are valuable because of how they've shaped our people but that contain some fucked-up shit and either way aren't meant to be a record of historical facts. Modern scholarship generally agrees that the community we now call Jews emerged as a distinct group of Canaanites sometime in the late Bronze Age (cw this video's host says the Name of G-d aloud despite being a religious studies scholar who knows that is not a name anyone but the Temple priests are allowed to say). The first non-Biblical written record of the people Israel is from an Egyptian source c. 1200 BCE, and the Biblical kingdom of David and Solomon was probably an exaggeration of whatever really happened during the Bronze Age Collapse. We start getting into historical-fact territory a few centuries into the Iron Age:

588 BCE Solomon's Temple destroyed, Babylonian exile begins

538 BCE Cyrus of Persia allows Jews to return to Jerusalem

515 BCE Second Temple construction complete

332 BCE Alexander the Great At Something I Guess conquered Judea, beginning the Hellenistic period of Jewish history — 331 BCE Andy & Lykon find each other

167 BCE another jerkface Greek king desecrated the Temple and basically outlawed Judaism

164 BCE recapture of Jerusalem and Temple rededication during the Maccabean Revolt

70 CE destruction of the Second Temple by the Romans, beginning of the Rabbinic period of Jewish history that we're still in now

What if... and hear me out... what if immortals come in pairs, and the pairs are:

Andy & Quynh

Joe & Nicky

Booker & Nile

LYKON & YITZHAK

What if Yitzhak was a priest of the Second Temple? What if he and Lykon killed each other just like Joe and Nicky would in the same city around 1300 years later, but instead of enemies-to-lovers speedrun with an absurdly long happily-ever-after, when Lykon died permanently Yitzhak decided to separate from Andy and Noriko and become the hermit we later see in Alaska?

We don't know how old Yitzhak is compared to the others, only that he was a contemporary of Lykon at a time when Andy was using an Iron Age version of her mother's axe. Other plausible origins for him:

a Jew of the early Rabbinic period, maybe a child or grandchild of people who were still alive before the Second Temple was destroyed

a Judean of the Second Temple era under the Romans or Greeks or Persians, maybe a priest, maybe not

an exilee in Babylon, maybe of the generation who got to return, maybe of the generation who was exiled (he doesn't look like he was 50 at his first death but who knows, he could've been mortal for both)

an Israelite of the Kingdoms of Israel and Judah, maybe a priest of Solomon's Temple or again maybe not

an Israelite wandering in the desert with Moses

THEE Yitzhak, ben Avraham v'Sarah, our patriarch who was brought up for sacrifice and then spared, and then spared again, and then spared again, and again, and again...

or! he could also be a Canaanite or other Levantine who predates the people Israel, who at some point in his very long life chose to join our mixed multitude, who like Andromache before him (and like Avram and Sarai would in this case do after him) took a new name to reflect the magnitude of influence this people has had on him

Why do I keep saying Yitzhak might have been a priest? It's thanks to the one detail in the artwork I could plausibly connect to solid research without getting a PhD real quick. Take a look at the gorgeous detail on the opening of his robe in the TTT 6 cover. He's dressed in rags, holes and dirt everywhere, rough stitches probably from hasty repair work — except for the neck opening. Compare that to this description from Exodus 39:23 of the construction of the priestly garments for the Tabernacle: "The opening of the robe, in the middle of it, was like the opening of a coat of mail, with a binding around the opening, so that it would not tear."

The next verses describe the intricate designs for the hem of the priestly garment. Yitzhak's ragged garment looks like the hem was torn off entirely.

Am I overthinking this? Yes I am! You're welcome!

My friend and historical research hero @lady-writes​ is in a Discord server with Gregadiah and asked the man himself some questions about all this. He clearly thinks he's being sneaky?? No shit Yitzhak is Jewish, dude, I want DETAILS!

I will not be giving up my Jewish Booker headcanon, I've put too much thought into it by now, the internalized shame of antisemitism explains Booker's depression too well for me, and it just adds so much richness to Booker/Nile both being children of forced diasporas. Fortunately (for him, not me, bc I'd do it anyway!) Gregothy supports fan headcanons even when they're not in line with his own:

One last thing before I close like 100 research tabs and go back to writing historical fantasy and/or porn! I love that, despite that atrocious caricature of a face design, our canon Jew and our fanon Jew are both Lorge and Soft and Kind, flying the face of the antisemitic stereotype of Ashkenazi Jewish men as small and weak, but also not falling into the New Jew / Muscle Jew stereotype that Zionism created. (I am trying SO HARD not to talk about Israel/Palestine for once ughhhhhhhhhh) Anyway here's a (US-centric but very good) primer on both these stereotypes of Jewish masculinity. Is this why I'm forever projecting my transmasc diasporist feels onto Jewish Booker the service sub? 🤷🏻‍♂️

I’ll reblog a second version of this with full image descriptions so that there’s a version accessible for folks who need IDs as well as a version accessible for folks who get overwhelmed by walls of text.

[queensoybean0724]

Succession Chapter 1 (Karl Heisenberg/female reader) Resident Evil Village fic

Here is chapter one of my new fanfic!

Title: Succession

Characters: Karl Heisenberg, female reader, OCs

Rating: PG-13 for language and intense scenes (for now, this is a slow burn, but it will get very hot and spicy in later chapters)

Summary: You discover a long lost relative from Moldova that you didn’t know existed has died and you are his sole beneficiary.  You are on board a plane to collect your inheritance when your plane crashes in a village in Romania.

Author’s Notes: I do not own the characters from Resident Evil Village.  This is a work of fiction.  Anything remotely similar to anyone living or dead is purely coincidental.

Chapter 1

The music blasted from the car speakers as you drove down the main road towards the highway.  You had your phone plugged into your car stereo, your favorite Spotify playlist on shuffle.  Despite the A/C being on full blast, beads of sweat formed at your brow and rolled down your temple.  You adjusted the vents on either side of you, making sure the cold air directly hit your body.  The song that was playing had you tapping your fingers on the steering wheel, your head bopping to the beat.

The fridge at home was close to empty and it was beyond time for you to go grocery shopping.  The grocery list was secure in your purse and you were determined to stick to the items on the list and not make any frivolous purchases.  Money was tight and you only had so much money left before payday next week.

The song shut off suddenly followed by your ringtone.  Looking at the screen of your phone, UNKNOWN stared back at you. Probably a spam call, you thought to yourself, reaching to press the red Ignore button.  Unfortunately, your finger slid at the last minute and mistakenly tapped the Accept button. You watched as the call came through and the seconds ticked off.  FUCK!

“Hello?” you greeted with a hint of exasperation in your voice.

“Hello, am I speaking with Miss Y/N?” a heavily accented male voice responded.

“Yeah, this is she,” you muttered, rolling your eyes.  You tried your best to avoid these calls, ignoring them and letting them go straight to voicemail.  Very rarely was it followed with an actual message, which was more than fine with you.

“Miss Y/N, my name is Ron M. Dathermi.  I am a lawyer residing in Chisinau, Moldova in Eastern Europe…”

You raised your eyebrows at that.  Moldova?  Who the hell was calling you from Moldova?  Chalking it up to a scam, you were about to interrupt the man when he continued.

“...I wish I was calling under better circumstances, but I’m afraid I have some bad news.  Your great uncle, Serghei Popa, has passed away from a short illness and has named you his sole beneficiary…”

You couldn’t help the amused huff that came out of your mouth.  This must be some very elaborate scam.

“Umm...sorry, but I think you have the wrong person.  I don’t have family from Moldova and I have never heard of this man in my whole life.” You were about to hit the End button when Mr. Dathermi continued.

“Am I speaking with Y/N, born on (your birthday) to (your father and mother’s full names) and the granddaughter of (your grandfather and grandmother on both sides of your family)?”

Your eyes widened at that.  “Yeah, that’s me…” you answered.

“I know this may sound unusual, but Mr. Popa was the brother of your grandmother on your mother’s side.  He was given up for adoption at birth and taken in by a Moldovan family.  He did not have a spouse and had no children, and according to the genealogy report I have before me, your grandmother and your mother are both deceased.  Your mother was an only child, yes?  It appears to me that you are the last of his living relatives.”

You pulled off the road and into an empty parking lot.  The information you were being given was a lot to handle.  You didn’t have that large of a family.  You were an only child and raised by your parents and both sets of grandparents.  Both of your grandfathers had died before you turned 10.  Both grandmothers died within 5 years of each other and your father and mother died of illnesses, cancer and pneumonia respectively, in the last year.  Grief was a feeling that you knew better than anyone.  You kept to yourself mostly and you didn’t have any close friends or a significant other.

“Listen,” you began, “you are correct about all of your information, but how do I know this is not some kind of scam?”

The man on the other end of the phone cleared his throat and the sound of shuffling papers met your ears.  “I can imagine that this information is sudden and unusual.  What I will do is send a copy of his will and a copy of the genealogy papers to your address.  I encourage you to take this to your lawyer and have them look over the information.  The reason I am calling is because I need you to fly to Moldova, sign these papers, and accept the monetary inheritance that he has left you.”

Your jaw dropped as you looked down at your phone.  Fly to Moldova?  Is this true?  The only thing you knew about the country was that a foreign exchange student from high school was born and raised in Moldova.  That about sums up your knowledge of the country. This seemed incredibly asinine and ridiculous.  But the word that settled in your train of thought was “inheritance.” What inheritance?

“Mr...what was your name again?” you asked.

“Mr. Dathermi, but you can call me Ron,” the lawyer responded.

“Ron...umm, how much monetary inheritance are we talking about?”

More shuffling of papers was on the other side of the phone, Ron clicking his tongue as he looked through the information.  “He has left you 53,806,746 Moldovan Leu...which translates to $3,000,000 in American currency.”

“Are you fucking kidding me?!?!” you exclaimed before clamping your lips shut.  You heard Ron chuckle.  “I’m sorry, pardon my language. It’s just...wow...this sounds insane…”

“I can imagine it does,” Ron replied, “which is why I want to mail this information to you and have your attorney take a look at it so you know this is a legitimate will and testament.  If you would like, I can mail the information straight to your attorney if you are still leery.”

“No, no, that’s okay,” you said, shaking your head.  Your mind was whirling.  None of this sounded remotely true.  You felt as if you were dreaming.  This felt like something that only happened in books and fairy tales...a girl who had nothing and nobody suddenly inheriting millions of dollars from an unknown distant relative.  What are the odds of something like this happening in real life?  You gave Ron Dathermi your home address.

“Thank you very much, Miss Y/N.  I will send this as soon as possible.  I’ll also include my business card so your attorney can contact me and we can iron out the details.  Thank you very much, Y/N...I’ll be in touch.”

You thanked him as well and ended the call.  All alone in your car in the empty parking lot, you let out an excited squeal and started hopping up and down.

*

You adjusted the messenger bag that was slung across your shoulder as you heard the overhead speaker call for the boarding of your flight.  Taking a deep breath, you got in line, extended your ticket to the airport employee, and walked down the tarmac and into the plane.

Butterflies were fluttering in your stomach.  Your hands gripped your bag tightly as the flight attendant looked at your boarding pass and pointed down the aisle to where you were to be seated.  You had never flown before and your nerves were on alert.  Scenes from Final Destination flashed in your head as you walked down the aisle towards your seat.  Taking a deep breath and willing your body to relax, you located your seat next to the window and sat down, plopping your bag onto your lap.  

The small window was close to the wing of the plane and looking beyond that was a long expanse of grass that met a vast forest.  You were thankful that you had the window seat and your headphones so you could tune everything out and relax in your own little world.

Once the papers from Mr. Dathermi arrived a week prior, you immediately called the attorney that helped you with the probate and will from your parents’ deaths several months back.  He was more than happy to help, knowing that you were all alone in the world after your parents had passed.  Two days later, he called to inform you that all of the paperwork was, in fact, legitimate and that Mr. Serghei Popa was the brother of your grandmother.  He showed you the adoption papers, confirming that your great uncle had been put up for adoption and the family that took him in had relocated to Moldova when he was two years old.  He had remained in the country until his death.  Your attorney contacted Mr. Dathermi, who in turn secured a round trip plane ticket in order for you to come to Moldova to finalize the paperwork and collect the inheritance.

At the thought of the money you were about to acquire, another surge of excitement flowed through you.  Your parents hadn’t left you much after their death and you worked at a dead-end job that had no room for advancement and no possibility for raises.  All of these recent events sounded like something out of a fairy tale.

“This is your captain speaking,” the voice sounded from the speaker above your head, “we will be departing in the next ten minutes.  Please make sure your seatbelts are secured, your tray tables are up, and all electronics are off until we are at the appropriate cruising altitude.  I will inform everyone as soon as the coast is clear.  Thank you for flying with us and enjoy the ride.”

You fastened your seatbelt and laid your head back, closing your eyes and taking a deep breath.

“Don’t be nervous…” a voice sounded next to you.  You opened your eyes and looked over to see an older gentleman with wide rimmed glasses and a nice smile.

“Is it that obvious?” you asked, returning his smile.

“It’s pretty obvious,” he chuckled, “my name is Bruce Williams.  I’m the air marshal on board this flight.” You told him your name and shook his hand. “Just relax,” he assured, “we’ll be flying for the next 10 hours.  There are lots of movies and tv shows to watch on the screen in front of you, or you can listen to your music and read a book if you brought one.”

You patted your messenger bag.  “Yeah, I have a few books to choose from.  Thanks,” you smiled.

Within minutes, the plane had backed away from the tarmac, turned towards the long expanse of runway, and increased speed before leaving the ground and soaring up into the clouds.

*

The steady hum of the plane’s engines provided a relaxed soundtrack as you slept.  It was close to early morning, according to the clock on the tv screen, but your watch was still on your regular time zone.  It read early afternoon and that threw you through a loop.  You had heard that jet lag could be a bitch and you wondered how bad yours would be once you landed.  Bruce had passed you a pillow and blanket once you were ready to sleep and he assured you that your bag and belongings would be safe while you slept.

You were so thankful to be seated next to him.  Not only was he the air marshal, but he was a really cool person as well.  You two talked about movies and actually watched a couple of them on the tv screen in front of you.  Bruce was kind and nice to talk to.  The crinkle of crow’s feet around his eyes, his laugh, and his hair color mixed with hints of gray reminded you of your father...maybe that’s why you liked him so much.

You shifted in your seat and let out a soft yawn.  Stretching your arms above your head and arching your back, you wondered how much longer it would be until you touched down in Moldova.

“You weren’t asleep that long,” Bruce murmured.  You looked over to see a book in his hand and his glasses sitting on the bridge of his nose.

“I’m gonna go to the bathroom and then go back to sleep,” you replied, standing from your seat.  Bruce stood up and allowed you out into the aisle.  You made your way to the bathroom towards the back of the plane.  The cabin was dark with little lights dotting either side of the aisle on the floor. Soft lights were shining here and there from people reading, watching the tv screen, or messing with their phones while most of the passengers were asleep.

Once in the bathroom, you did your business, flushed the toilet, and began washing your hands.  The mirror in front of you showed a tired and weary version of yourself.  Some of your eye makeup was smudged.  You told yourself once  you returned back to your seat, you’d retrieve the makeup remover wipes in your bag and do away with the dirt and oil.

Just then the plane hit an air pocket and dropped several feet, throwing  you forward towards the sink and mirror.  You let out a shriek as the plane quieted and went still.  “God dammit,” you muttered, putting your hand over your heart, “that scared the shit out of me!”

Once out of the bathroom, you slammed the door shut and walked back to your seat.  You tapped Bruce on the shoulder and he moved aside.

You lifted the window shade and looked outside.  Natural light from the start of the day began to show.  The plane was amongst the clouds so it was fairly cloudy and hard to see.

“How much farther do we have?” you asked Bruce.  He shifted the book to his left hand and looked down at his wristwatch.  “We should be there in three hours.  I think we are flying over Romania right now…”

You nodded your head and thanked him, turning back to the window.  The clouds gave way momentarily and provided the opportunity to see the ground below.  Tall, snowy mountains came into view.  You smiled and marveled at their beauty, wondering what mountain range this was.  You cursed yourself for forgetting the basics from your World Geography class in high school.  Hell, all you knew about Romania was that it was the setting for Dracula and the real life territory that was once owned by Elizabeth Bathory, who allegedly killed upwards of 650 maidens and bathed in their blood.  You shook your head and smiled to yourself.  You really did enjoy some morbid and fucked up stories.

Your train of thought stopped short when a large and spacious castle came into view.  Your eyes widened and your jaw dropped.  It looked like something out of a Disney movie or from ancient castles that still sat throughout Europe.  The place looked like it stood on several acres of land and who knows how many square feet.  What a gorgeous and breathtaking place it was.  You wondered just what was inside a monstrosity like that and who was lucky enough to inhabit such a place.  Maybe there were castles in Moldova that you could explore and visit while you’re conducting your business.

The castle fell out of view and not far from it stood what looked like a village.  You were too high up to see any people or any traces of lights or torches.  You took everything in with total awe and appreciation.  It looked like a small and sleepy storybook town.

A sudden movement close to the village caught your attention.  You squinted your eyes and tried to look closer, pressing your forehead to the window.  What the fuck is that, you wondered.  It looked like a black tree, naked of leaves or any type of growth...and it was moving.  It looked to be swaying in the breeze, but the size of it looked way too sturdy for any kind of gust to move it with such fluidity.  As you focused on the tree, it appeared to be growing...getting closer to the plane.  Was the plane descending?  Were you getting closer to Moldova?

One of the branches of the tree slowly drifted to the ground before extending long and rigid, slinging itself up into the air like a bullwhip, hitting the wing of the plane.  The plane suddenly tilted as the slithering limb wrapped around the wing and broke it off.  You let out a loud scream as the plane turned on its side, Bruce falling against you, squishing you to the wall.  “WHAT THE FUCK??” Bruce screamed as yelps, shrieks, and screams echoed in the cabin of the plane.  Dozens of people were knocked from their seats, flight attendants falling into the aisle and rolling towards the cockpit.  The plane shook and quaked as it dropped several feet in a matter of seconds.

“OH MY GOD! OH MY GOD!” you screamed, grabbing hold of Bruce’s arm.  The air masks dropped from overhead and Bruce grabbed yours, making quick work of putting it over your face.  “HOLD ON TO IT! HOLD IT OVER YOUR MOUTH, Y/N!!” he commanded, reaching for his own mask.

“THE WING OF THE PLANE HAS BEEN DAMAGED!” the pilot yelled from over the speakers, “WE ARE LOSING ALTITUDE! BRACE FOR IMPACT!”  People screamed and panicked, holding on to whatever it was they could.  Panic surged through your body as your fingers dug into Bruce’s arm.  The plane shook as it fell.  Your stomach dropped and it felt as if you were seconds from impact.  You looked out the window one last time before the ground came into view and everything went black.

*

He leaned over the body on the metal table in the lab of his factory.  He fastened the bolts with a wrench and tested the strength of the metal against the rotting flesh.  A soft horn sounded in the distance along with the various turns of chains and clangs of steel against steel.  He wiped the sweat off his brow and walked to his desk, looking over the blueprints and sketches he had devised the previous day.

Despite the different array of sounds, nothing could mask the loud crash that sounded off in the distance.  He lifted his head, silently trying to figure out what the fuck made that noise.  Leaving the body laying on the table, he exited his lab and made his way down the stairs and to the factory doors.  

With a grunt, he slid the doors aside and looked off into the distance.  Black smoke billowed from an area that looked to be close to the village.  Other than the crows squawking and flapping their wings in retreat, everything was dead quiet.  He looked off to the right just in time to see the long, spindly limbs of mold retreating back towards the earth.  Karl Heisenberg’s face tightened in a disgusted grimace.

“Mother Miranda...what have you done?”

[queenshelby]

TELL ME LIES – PART TWO OF TWO

Pairing: Thomas Shelby x Virgin!Reader

Words: 2,885

Warning: Smut

Requested: No

***Ten Days Later***

Tommy was sitting in his office with Polly and Arthur, pondering about how you deceived him the way you did. Three days ago, he found out about your cousin and who you really were.

Was there truth to anything you had told him over the past few weeks, he wondered.

He wasn’t sure how he fell for this, fell for you the way he did. It was unlike him. He wasn’t easily deceived. But yet, you managed.

Polly saw the humour in it, Thomas Shelby falling for a woman who did nothing but lie to him.

‘That’s what happen when you think with your cock Thomas’ Polly chuckled, humoured by the situation.

Arthur had a chuckle himself, knowing about the way he looked at you every time he came into the office, interfering with Arthur’s duties just so that he could spend time with you.

But, neither him or Polly knew that he had actually slept with you and Tommy wasn’t going to volunteer this information.

‘So, do you want me to take care of this brother?’ Arthur asked as Tommy was looking at the papers in front of him, his mind thinking about what to do.

‘I think it should be me, woman to woman’ Polly suggested, but Tommy shook his head.

‘No, I will deal with this’ Tommy said, causing Polly to huff.

‘God help us’ she chuckled, knowing that Tommy wouldn’t be capable to harm you, the woman he was drawn to despite everything.

‘She had access to all of the business records for two weeks and her cousin knows nothing about them. Michael’s men in Atlanta are holding him and three of his men. They never received any of the information she had access to. Did you ever wonder why that is Pol?’ Tommy pondered.

‘Perhaps they are lying. It is a possibility’ Polly said.

‘After losing several teeth and several fingers? I don’t think so. Despite, her cousin gave her up pretty quickly. Apparently, he isn’t coping well with the physical pain’ Tommy said.

‘So, you will just fuck her and keep torturing her cousin? Is that your plan?’ Polly laughed, causing Arthur to grin sheepishly.

‘Just let me deal with this, eh’ Tommy said before asking Polly and Arthur to leave.

***The Telegram***

The following day, you received a telegram from Thomas in the mail asking you to meet him at the old steel factory on Bourke Street, Small Health, 11 o’clock in the evening.

Knowing that your cousin is being held by Michael Gray’s men in Atlanta, you wondered what this is about.

You had already paid for your failure to pass on any vital information you had received and had access to when working for Thomas Shelby. In addition, you had paid for giving away your cover.

Your body was covered in bruises, inflicted by your cousin’s men in Birmingham as a warning.

For this reason, seeing Thomas again would put you at great risk and, if your cousin and his men would have known that you had slept with him, they would probably have killed you there and then.

Tommy wasn’t a man you should have feelings for and you were forbidden to see him again. You felt guilty about where things have gone and, whilst you never liked your cousin and his family, most of whom were dead, you knew that you put your own mother and siblings at risk.

But, it wasn’t the Shelby family who put them into danger. It now was your cousin, having blackmailed you when you told him two weeks ago that you were done being his spy and you did no longer wish to partake in his war with the Peaky Blinders.

Would Tommy help you if you were to open up about all of this to him? Or was it to late and would seeing him get you killed?

You remembered your father’s words ‘where there is no risk there is no gain’. He was a man who followed his intuition and so you decided to follow yours and make your journey to Small Heath.

***The 11th Hour***

‘Good Evening Thomas’ you said shyly as you walked into the large factory building where Tommy was waiting for you, wearing an elegant suit. He was clearly armed and was accompanied by four of his men.

‘Did you come alone and unarmed as I have requested?’ Tommy asked and you nodded reluctantly.

‘Search her’ Tommy instructed and two of his men approached you. The older man, Arthur, took your coat, placing it over an old chair which was standing in the corner and the other man carefully searched you for any weapons.

‘All clean Tommy’ the young man said and Tommy nodded with approval before dismissing his men and offering you a seat on the well decorated table in the middle of the old steel factory building.

‘What is this? A date?’ you laughed as you noticed a choice of drinks and glasses on the table.

‘Whiskey or Gin?’ Tommy asked as he sat down across from you, ignoring your question.

‘Whiskey’ you said and Tommy poured you glass of whiskey each.

‘Who did this? My men were instructed not to hurt you’ Tommy asked as he took your hand and lifted your arm up slightly, observing your bruises.

‘My cousin’s men’ you said nervously.

‘Your cousin has men in Birmingham?’ Tommy asked surprised and you nodded nervously, knowing that you shouldn’t tell him.

‘Who are these men? Give me their names’ Tommy instructed and you shook your head, indicating that you wouldn’t reveal their identity to him.

Tommy sighed but knew why you couldn’t tell him.

‘I know about you and who you are. I know why you started working for me. But what I don’t know is why you didn’t pass any of the information you gathered from my office on to your cousin’ Tommy said.

‘Because I never wanted to take part in this stupid war, the killings, everything. I had no choice, Thomas. He blackmailed me, threatening to hurt my family if I don’t’ you said, small tears running down your face.

‘So the part you told me about your family was true, eh’ Tommy chuckled and you nodded slowly.

‘And this? The blackmailing and all…how do I know that this isn’t just one of your lies, eh?’ Tommy asked.

Just as Tommy asked this question, you stood up, tears streaming down your face as you started to remove your blouse, button by button.

Tommy looked at you, shocked and surprised at the same time as you opened your blouse all the way.

‘Does this look like a fucking lie to you?’ you asked, revealing the large bruises on your chest and stomach.

Tommy was speechless and got up from his chairs, walking over towards you before caressing your face.

‘My cousin’s men did this to me because I chose not to betray you. They said the next time I disobey they will do much worse’ you said quietly while Tommy wiped away your tears gently.

‘Why didn’t you just give him what he wanted?’ Tommy asked gently.

‘Because I met you and something inside me wants you much more than I fear my cousin. I am just worried about my family Thomas’ you explained.

‘Don’t be. They are under the protection of my men now and the men who did this to you, they will pay for it as soon as you give me their names’ Tommy said, his tone gentler than you had ever heard before.

‘I am sorry I lied to you Tommy’ you said and Tommy simply nodded before pressing his lips onto yours. You were surprised by his actions, but you didn’t dare to complain.

‘Give me the names, please’ Tommy then said as your lips drifted apart and you asked Tommy for a pen and piece of paper.

You wrote down their names one by one and Tommy immediately called in his men. Without words, Tommy handed the list to Arthur.

‘All of them Tom?’ Arthur asked.

‘All of them’ Tommy said, causing Arthur to nod and gather the others, ready to leave in order to track down the men who hurt you.

‘Arthur, don’t make it quick. Make them suffer, eh’ Tommy added just as Arthur was about to leave the factory building.

‘What is going to happen to them Tommy?’ you asked just after he gave you a gentle kiss on your forehead.

‘What do you think?’ Tommy chuckled, loving how naïve you could act at times. ‘No one fucking gets to do this to my woman, eh’ Tommy smirked.

‘Your woman?’ you chuckled, your hands resting on Tommy’s chest. ‘May I remind you that, the last time we’ve seen each other, you kicked me out of your office’ you then went on to say.

‘You lied to me Y/N. It was a big fucking lie and I was angry’ Tommy explained.

‘I am sorry. I really am Tommy’ you explained.

‘You are fucking 19. It’s been taking me some time to process this, let alone the other shit you were lying to me about. But, nonetheless, I am sorry for the way I reacted after we…you know…’ Tommy huffed, barely able to form a full sentence, feeling terrible about how you experienced your first time with him.

‘After we fucked?’ you laughed, being surprised by Tommy’s somewhat tame language and choice not to use a word for what you did. This was unlike him.

Tommy took in a sharp breath and nodded.

‘I should make it up to you. Your first time shouldn’t have been this way, being bent over the desk in my office’ Tommy huffed, feeling that you had missed out on an important experience. ‘In fact, your first time shouldn’t have been with me’ Tommy then went on to say quietly, his blue eyes gazing into yours.

‘It was fucking perfect Tommy’ you said before pressing your lips onto his for a passionate kiss.

‘My Bentley is outside. I could take you to my house and, it could be different this time’ Tommy suggested.

‘Hmm’ you said, taking a moment to think ‘I think I want you to take me right here Thomas’ you said seductively before throwing your blouse on to the ground.

Tommy couldn’t resist you and, quickly, got rid of his suit jacket and gun holster before pressing his lips onto yours again.

His hand explored your upper body and breasts gently but you didn’t want him to be gentle at all and pulled him close before whispering into his ear ‘fuck me Tommy, hard and fast, just the way you like it’ you whispered seductively. ‘I can take it Tommy’ you whispered, your hand running over his crotch, feeling him hardening beneath his pants.

Without bothering to get undressed or saying much else, Tommy swept the large table clean with one of his hands, the glasses and bottles shattering onto the ground.

You smirked. He was aching for you and couldn’t wait much longer. Neither could you.

With one swift movement, he spun you around and you let your body fall forward against the table in readiness for him to take you.

Tommy lifted up your skirt and pulled your panties down half way without losing much time.

‘Now hold still there and spread your legs’ he instructed and you reached behind you, spreading everything for him, not just your legs, knowing how much he enjoyed a good view.

It wasn’t long until you could feel his fingers trace through your wet mound and then disappear inside you quickly.

‘So fucking wet already’ Tommy chuckled before opening up his pants and lining himself up with your entrance.

You went to look over your shoulder when you felt the head of his long, thick cock rub between your spread mound and ass cheeks.

You bit your lip and waited as Tommy’s cock rubbed down to your folds, slipping into you easily.

‘Fuck’ Tommy groaned as he sank his cock into you from behind, pushing you against the large table roughly. He stretched you completely and, just like the first time you had sex with Tommy, you felt way too tight, crying a little as he fully buried himself inside you.

It felt sensational however and you suggestively pushed backwards against Tommy. He took notice and preceded to fuck you, pulling out and slamming himself back in hard.

‘Oh god yes Tommy’ you moaned loudly.

Tommy was slow at first, his big member struggling to get past your tight folds, but eventually he built up a rhythm, and you were soaking for him, creating a beautiful sound as he kept thrusting into you.

Tommy held onto your hips tightly and you felt his groin slap your buttcheeks as he fucked you, his own pants low around his ankles in his haste to get inside you.

‘You like it a bit rough, don't you?’ Tommy huffed as you were moaning loudly, screaming his name every time he bottomed out against your cervix.

‘Yes fuck’ you barely managed to let out and Tommy began to thrust harder, his hips banging into yours as your body was pushed more and more against the table.

Tommy’s hand found its way to your breasts where he yanked up your bra and began to play with your nipples.

‘Mmmm, that's it’ he murmured as your legs began to shake slightly. ‘Push back against my cock’ Tommy moaned as his shaft pistoned in and out of you and you complied, finding your own rhythm soon.

You felt raw, unable to move in any other direction but backwards against Tommy’s hard cock, your nails digging into the oak of the table above her head.

‘Oh god Tommy’ you moaned and, just as you were nearing your orgasm, Tommy pulled out of you, leaving you panting and weak at your knees.

But you had no time to catch your breath as he spun you around and lifted you up, your legs wrapping around his waist.

Before you knew it, Tommy pushing you back against the cold stone wall in between two of the steel welding machines.

You lost your panties somewhere in the process. They were now lying in the middle of the factory building.

Tommy then gripped your ass firmly and lowered you onto his cock, driving deep inside you at this angle.

With a loud growl, Tommy started to take you even harder than before. He was strong, and he slammed you against the wall, leaving scratches across your back. But you didn’t care and your legs were bouncing with each hard thrust.

Your feet dangled out at angles and your entrance was ripe and open for him, pounding you hard and fast as your body lifted and sank against him.

‘I am so fucking close Tommy’ you moaned, your arms wrapped around his neck as he thrusted into you over and over again, his hips hammering your hard with every stroke.

‘Oh my god yes’ you then moaned loudly as your orgasm washed over, your walls tightening around Tommy’s hard shaft while your legs were shaking uncontrollably.

‘Oh god Y/N, fuck’ Tommy moaned and you hoped that he would be able to pull out in time.

You felt every pump of his shaft inside you until, suddenly, he released his grip on you and lifted you off his cock.

‘On your knees Sweatheart’ he moaned and you complied quickly despite your shaky legs.

You opened your mouth suggestively as you watched him stroke his cock and it wasn’t long until, with one loud groan, he filled your mouth with his warm and sweet cum.

You wrapped your lips around it, trying to collect all of it before swallowing the lot with a big grin on your face.

‘Hmm’ you said suggestively as you licked your lips and watched Tommy trying to catch his breath, which is when you heard Arthur yell out.

‘Are you guys done fucking yet?’ he yelled and you quickly straightened yourself up, put your blouse back on while Tommy zipped up his pants.

Without any sense of shame, Tommy and Arthur sat down to talk but Arthur couldn’t help but look at you.

‘You still got some on your chin Love’ Arthur laughed, causing your cheeks to flush with embarrassment as Tommy handed you his handkerchief.

‘We couldn’t get one of the men’ Arthur then said to Tommy and Tommy instructed Arthur to go and find him before telling you that you would be coming back to his house for the night, just in case and for protection.

‘Protection? Is that all?’ you smirked.

‘If you are good, I might fuck you again too’ Tommy winked.

‘Well let’s go then. You can take me in your Bentley first if you like and then your bed’ you smirked.

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[jjkpls]

the wishlist (m) - 3

“You used it.”

> genre : smut, fluff

> pairing : jeon jungkook x reader (f)

> words : 4.2k

> content/warnings : back at it again w/ the bff2l; one sided love, lot of pining; sextoys talk and use; explicit language; masturbation (f); ambiguous infidelity; awkward oc; koo being cute but insufferable

previous - next

For about a week and a half, you simply ignore the outrageous box sitting in the centre of your living room.

If you omit to remember what’s inside, it’s just a nice-looking decoration, embellishing your messy coffee table. It’s perfectly fine sitting between the unopened mails and the takeout brochures. You see Jungkook glance at it each time he comes over but he has the decency to not mention it. You might have read a little disappointment but he didn’t share it with you, not wanting to bother you, as you rightfully assumed, and in any case, you’re just doing exactly what you said you would: not use it. 

Then comes a glorious day of resting from work for you, and miraculously it matches your two closest girl friends' schedules and they owe to come over, celebrate a belated Christmas with you. And as you’re quickly tidying up the place, the question of the box being way too present here is raised again. They will ask about it. One will surely open it before you even get to answer.

The box has to go. 

And in your room, hidden in your bedside table where you know no one will peak, it goes. 

When you wake up from the fantastic, long-awaited Christmas celebration, it’s with a terrible headache. Mary, the amateur singer, received a ridiculous karaoke mic and if karaoke is involved, so is alcohol. You didn’t know that but apparently, you can get a severe almost deadly hangover from rosé. Well. Starting this new year already learning new things, how great. 

One thing that’s unchanged for this new year, as it seems, is Jungkook's talent for psychic arts. He somehow knows you need a copious breakfast made with love and by him, and the curious hangover shot only his roommate has the secret recipe of, to cope with being alive this morning. 

“Hello, Sunshine.” Your face feels so bloated and tensed at the same time like it’s made of playdoh and some devilish kid came and punched at it then squished it hard with its chubby mean fingers.

Very unpleasant.

You know you have very little to do with a ray of sunshine at the moment. You're more alike a gremlin or something. Therefore, as a gremlin would, you groan an answer. You catch through the minuscule slits you now own for eyelids a grin from him. It’s not even vexing or upsetting. His lovely, lovely smile is always a blessing. It’s the only thing that makes you not want to head back to bed and just sleep until death ensues. The pretty, pretty thing. With the big bunny front teeth. He is the sunshine. 

“Had fun last night?” He asks, still grinning, once he’s served you and himself two good plates of pancakes. He’s sitting in front of you, in front of this delicious looking good, yet he’s ogling you with a strange insistence. When he starts eating because you take too long to formulate a response, he munches slowly, still staring, instead of stuffing his face and swallow down the whole thing like a starving man, like he usually does. 

“Yeah. They spoiled me.” You say, quietly. You’re confused. You feel uneasy like there’s something you’re not getting. You hate this feeling. Usually, this friendship is filled with inside jokes you can make up exclusively via telepathy. But here you’re missing something, it feels. Or you might just be confused by the headache and possibly somehow still a bit drunk. 

“Oh did they?” The beam is even wider. You frown, nod, decide that it’s too early and your brain too foggy to try and investigate a confusion that might just be the product of your imagination. 

It doesn’t click then. It doesn’t click the next three times he asks you again, with slightly different formulations if, really, you had fun last night. 

He departs an hour later because he has an appointment with a client, as always leaving some of himself for your guilty pleasure and the marking on your eyelids of that curious grin. That curious mischievous grin. With the crooked shape, the white teeth looking menacing like a wolve’s and the eyebrows arched in suggestion.

How come such an attractive look can be so anxiety-inducing? You’re too fidgety, too confused and concerned to focus on anything. Remnants of the conversation rolling back again and again, trying to make sense of things that probably do not necessitate further explaining. 

The whole ordeal made you so nervous, you end up after an hour of trying to go about your day and failing poorly, sitting on your sofa, lotus style, eyes closed and hands turned up to the universe (hoping It might offer you some clearance It would just drop off in your palms). The thing is meditating is hard. Making so your brain would shut the fuck up is hard as hell. And you suck at it. 

Spoiler alert, you don’t reach the state of inner peace and quiet you wished to find. Instead, you make enough silence for your noggins to be more performing and suddenly it hits. Your eyes grow ten times in size, you almost fall from your sit for the shock is violent.

The moron.

You or him, probably both. 

You

I did NOT use it.

You

I put it away because the girls were coming over but I DID NOT USE IT

He simply replies with a winking emoji and you hate him for it. 

You

Jeon Jungkook, ur a dick I said I wouldnt use it EVER and I won’t, have a nice day moron. 

And again, this time, you mean it. You’ve never said anything with this much conviction in these twenty-five years of living.

Why would you now? When you now have experienced what it felt to have him look at you thinking you’ve done it. It felt mortifying without even knowing why. In all the case scenarios you could have come up with, you’ve never imagined that one. You would use it, he would know about it somehow, he wouldn’t be disgusted (it wouldn’t make sense for him to be as he is the one who offered it to you but your brain and soft ego sometimes are annoying like that), he would be amused, maybe content, but he wouldn't make you feel mortified. 

Having him considering you in a sexual position should be... cool, shouldn’t it? If you really like him that much. Maybe you were confused all along and actually, you don’t, you mistook your own feelings. 

Just a quick check of a mental picture you have of him, the fond smile growing just from his pretty face with the pretty everything on it can’t be trusted because, for all you know, everyone smiles this way when they think about him. On the other hand, the swift blush invading your cheeks when you (by accident) linger on parts you really really like about him -like his thighs or the man titties he’s been growing lately- serve to remind you that yes, yes indeed you like him. 

But he’s an asshole.

No matter how much you thought about it (and you thought about it a lot even though you’re ashamed to admit it), you've never consider it to realize, you never and you still don’t believe anything non-platonic would ever happen with him. You’re just made to be friends. The best of friends but still just friends. 

Not even taking a step but simply dipping the tips of your toes in these unknown waters turns out to be terrifying and you're mad at him because he’s putting you in this situation where you feel awfully uneasy. 

It should all remain a very personal, very intimate fantasy: your attraction for him.

He cracked the wall for a second, it felt wrong and terrible but it’s done and over with now.

It’s only you and your thoughts. 

You don’t ever mention it, he doesn’t bring it back up. Soon the season of celebrations and wishes is behind you, the world starts rolling slowly, boringly so with its lots of little annoyances and distractions and you’re not even thinking about it anymore, neither is he. 

You’re stressed out. Work is being a bitch as it does. And because it sucks most of your time and patience, the only quick way to unwind you know comes to play. 

But the hassle is not worth it. Unfortunately this you always need to realize afterwards. After having searched the internet for good masturbatory content for half an hour, working yourself for two hours and then, there’s the safety wee and the freshening up before bed, to wake up the next morning feeling like shit because of course, you sacrificed hours of sleep for an unsatisfactory outcome.

It’s not worth it.

It hasn’t been for months. Even if you’re still more able to take care of yourself and pleasure yourself better than most if not all men you’ve ever been with, something is missing: a man (or maybe just a dick). 

You feel bored and empty (in both senses). Stuck because the more you need to unwind, the more you try, the less you feel better. 

It’s the snake biting its own tail. 

Until a certain pretty blue box, sleeping inside your bedside table, recalls itself to you. It feels like a century had passed since the box arrived in your life, it doesn’t seem as scary as it used to, as stressful. The fact that Jungkook hasn’t mentioned it, might even has himself forgotten about it, help immensely. 

And it is the very moment, you forget to remember about this promise you made to him and yourself, the promise that you would not use it. 

Right about now, not only stressed and annoyed by everything but also horny for no particular reason, this dildo with the box that matches your planner sounds ideal. 

And it is ideal.

Feels like exactly what you needed. The size is not ridiculously big, it’s fairly tiny actually but given you haven’t had sex in a while, it suffices to stretch you out just fine. It’s new and exciting. The texture feels really nice, smooth, slipping perfectly right between your walls. It’s rather long, slightly curved, filling you in deep and teasing the spot that you could never even dream of reaching with your short ass fingers. And in no time (and you actually regret that) you’re on cloud 9, it’s a thought of the Santa that brought this blessing of a gift in your life that sends you there. You feel satisfied, content, fulfilled from the tip of your hair to your toes, smiling like an idiot because damn, that was a good orgasm. 

Right this moment, you feel fine about using the present. About quickly having thought about him too because it’s not that much of a big deal. He won’t know about it. He doesn’t really seem to care about your sex life anymore (which is, ironically, a blessing). Therefore why should there be a problem? Why would there be?

Apparently, you’ve underestimated the crankiness of your attitude for the few weeks that passed before the phenomenal orgasm. 

Apparently, you had been the worst kind of truculent bitch there is, to a level you didn’t even know you could reach (also no one told you!), because when Jungkook meets up with you, maybe after the third or fourth times of having used your lovely new companion, he noticed something has changed. Instantly. 

“What’s going on?” He asks with a bright smile and excited shiny eyes as if he expects you to have great news to share. 

“Nothing special...” Tilting your head to the side, you drag the words out as you try to think about it for a second, wondering if there’s something that needs to be told.

“Really?” He sucks on his banana yoghurt with eyebrows frowned, staring at you as if he’s studying you. Once the thing is empty, he tosses it in a nearby bin, crosses his arms on his chest and glares. He looks like a detective about to interrogate you. He would look intimidating if it were not for his lips, sucked in to gather the last taste of his yoghurt. “You look awfully happy.”

“Do I?” It makes you smile, shrug your shoulders. It doesn’t hit just then. It should be fine. He can’t unravel something that you don’t even have knowledge of, can he? But Jungkook is a little weasel. He loves to know everything.

Especially when it’s about you. 

“You better not be seeing anyone-“ You should wonder where this is coming from, all of a sudden. Instead, you take offence, how dares he?

“What do you mean ‘I better’? I do what-“

“Without telling me? You better not.” He has that shit-eating grin, his signature brat's smile, because he knows you can’t reach over the table to smack him in the head without risking to tip over your drinks or dip your sleeve in soja sauce. 

“Anyway. Nothing's going on.” For a second, a staring contest takes place on this convenience store's terrace. You’re not sure why. He’s daring you for no reason. Until his mouth twitches, wanting to smile and it makes you laugh so he follows along. “Were you not supposed to tell me about your next appointment?” 

“Client Amy, yes!” It shouldn’t make you laugh to hear him name her like that as it’s been his trademark to mention his clients as if they were Pokémon trainers but it does.

You’ve always thought that it’s his very personal way of living this childhood fantasy of existing within the Pokémon universe. His life is full of potential trainers. Most of the time it’s just Client Enter the Name here but sometimes it’s Baker Jin -who’s not actually a baker but a salesman at his neighbourhood’s bakery-, there’s Dancer Hoseok, who’s the main dance partner of his best friend and Roommate Park Jimin. Sometimes he calls you Friend Y/N, it’s frustratingly funny. You hate that you spill at least a nose snort at each and every single one of his stupid jokes. His grin always grows ten times bigger, his eyes twinkle in a lovely way but you know that you are encouraging him. Encouraging him to be fucking annoying, like a little brother who’s just pushing unfunny jokes too far, just keep repeating them because he knows he can get a reaction. “She wants me to tattoo the dragon from Spirited Away on her arm-“

You gasp and he smiles even wider. 

“I know, right? And I was thinking- to give it flow, I would have it- like fly through cherry blossoms.” Attentively, you listen, squinting a bit when he gets technical to try and picture the project you have a hard time making up alone in your mind.

Imagination and creativity have always been his thing. He had you impregnated with it long ago because he is too passionate and too much of a sharer to allow you to keep away from all arts -because you can’t hold a pencil straight without panicking at the idea of having to draw something- which you would have gladly done if it weren't for him. He’s the gifted one. And his drawings, either on paper, screen or skin, have always been a subject of huge admiration for you. You’re a bit ashamed to admit it but you’ve never really touched to anything really artistic. You often don’t really get it. But his stuff does something to you -and not only because you adore him but actually impartially. There’s no finesse, no pertinency, no trait nor emotion you’ve acknowledged and connected to better than the ones he creates. “You know this scene where he’s struggling against the little paper thingies and he’s flying through them and they’re going everywhere, I was thinking that, replace them with cherry blossoms. And there would be little petals like everywhere around it. Sounds cool?”

“It sounds fantastic.” You say honestly. You’re impressed by every single one of his projects. Always surprised, somehow, by the pieces he ends up making. Sometimes scrolling through the Instagram page he uses as a book, where he publishes his most elaborated, most expensive pieces and while recognizing his touch, the delicacy in his traits, the peculiar curls of certain lines, the overall feel to them, there’s always this sort of paradoxical disbelief. How could this kid make these and at the same time, who else but him to have made these?

Cute nose scrunches up. 

“I’ll send you my drawings when I’m done with them.”

“Cool.”

“Cool.” He is mimicking you. Same pose with the head nod and the leg cross. Same tone and same expression apart from the discreet light dancing in his eye. “So what’s up? You needed to talk to me about something yesterday, didn’t you?”

It takes a second for you to remember as the drastic change in your mood makes it seem the distressed text you sent him yesterday, right when you left work, was written a whole week ago. You don’t remember very well having felt so stressed and pissed off, pushed to your very limits by useless co-workers, that you felt the urgent need to rant about it all, vent your anger and frustration out to him. He was busy and didn’t answer right away. You got home, find the comfort of your sweater sitting on the warm heater and the glorious stand of your dildo and it all went away, bad mood, headache, grudges. 

Of course, it awakes a wave of shame within you. If you have been able to use it without feeling guilt nor embarrassment on your own, it’s something else to think about it in front of Jungkook. You’ve made sure not to think about this dildo in front of him ever. But here, it’s him recalling it to you without even knowing. 

Whatever, you can pretend that everything’s normal. With a barely natural cough, and the even more suspicious dismissive wave of the hand, you try to kill the conversation, “It was just my coworker getting on my nerves again, it’s whatever.”

Jungkook is watching you soundly. It’s nothing unusual for him. He’s the kind of persons that lean in when they listen to you, you never know how conscious they are of it but it’s like they really mean to make you feel important and heard. Therefore it shouldn’t worry you, he’s just doing his usual thing. 

It still makes you grow increasingly more nervous. 

It is factual that it is never “whatever”. The topic of your stupid dumb bitch of a coworker messing with you has always been a pressing subject you, every now and then, more often than you’d like, needed to ramble about to anyone willing to listen because she tended to make your life a pure living hell. The job sucks in itself but she made it a hundred times worse. And here you are, dismissing it. How suspicious. 

“When you texted me yesterday, I thought it was for something bad.” He starts, frowning and staring deep inside the empty cookie package sitting on the table. “Then I saw you earlier and I thought it was for something really good, because of your face.”

“What’s up with my face?” You try to play it cool. Play it nonchalant and oblivious. If you can’t see the aura of contentment he can visibly observe around you, surely you’ve seen the glow up your skin has encountered since you’ve started using this sex toy. Unexpected benefit of using it that wasn’t even listed on the box, the stress it’s relieved and the pleasure it’s given have just cleared your skin out. Unbelievable but true. And apparently, he noticed. 

“I don’t know. You look really... contented.”

“Contented?”

“Yeah...”

You shrug, looking down, at the crumbs on your side of the table, praying silently that the embarrassment you feel creeping up your face doesn’t show. “I’ve been used to you looking tired and all but you look-“ Like every single once of misery has been fucked out of your system. “Lately, you look... good.” The chosen adjective makes you tilt your head. For so many reasons, you didn’t expect to hear this one and for similar reasons, you don’t understand what he means. Without having you saying aloud anything, he gets your dubious grimace and chuckles, “Rejuvenated, actually.” Even worse.

To simplify in a few words, you used to look like an old decrepit hag and now that you’ve been thoroughly fucked -by yourself technically but still- you look rejuvenated. A word literally no one ever uses in real life.

You detest that he’s probably right. And now, embarrassment is not creeping but actually moving in, with all its stuff and luggage. Hopefully though, again, it doesn’t show on your stupid youthful face. “Are my compliments making you blush?”

Great. 

“You can’t make me blush, moron. And if you think those were compliments then-“ You give him big wide eyes of “well fuck” and of course he laughs at that. 

“Indeed, I can’t make you blush.” He has his serious, investigating type of expression again. You almost expect him to fetch a little notebook out of his pocket and start scribbling observations while asking you more questions. 

“What’s making you blush then?”

“I’m not blushing, it’s just hot.” His eyebrows jump in a rude disagreeing curve. You don’t get why. It can happen, to be hot outside, at the near end of Korea’s winter, while simultaneously having red and painful looking fingers on the verge of congelation desperately seeking warmth in your pockets. 

And maybe because it’s not the first time, he’s getting better at catching the signs, at drawing the lines in between the clues. Your caricatural post-orgasm happy face, your systematic defensiveness whenever the conversation is leading somehow to your sexuality, the blatant tell of shame on your cheeks when there’s nothing else ever that embarrass you in front of him. There’s only the common cause missing and quickly, ignoring completely your attempts at diverting the conversation on something else, a giant light bulb turns on on top of his head. It brings the light of understanding through his eyeballs who suddenly look extra bright. 

“You used it.” For a second, you consider packing up your things and just leave this fucking terrace along with the conversation. But you’re cold as fuck, the way home seems like too much torture to be going through alone.

Why are you like this?

Maybe there’s a vain hope that it will lead to some resolution. Some pleasant resolution. Maybe he won’t talk about it ever again if you just accept to have this conversation without showing the stubborn reluctance you’ve used each time. 

“Yes, I did. So what?” His grin is blinding. It’s one of the very very wide, very very bright ones. So wide it shows all his teeth and it doesn’t even look like the cute bunny smile anymore. It’s the predatory grin. It’s intimidating to solely focus on therefore you chose to pick the corner of his eyes and the top of his nose, all wrinkled up that have anything but intimidation to them. 

“You have no idea how happy that makes me.” You grimace. Indeed. You have no idea because you don’t even fucking understand. 

“You’re a weirdo.”

“I’m just happy you used my dildo.” You scoff and almost choke at both his phrasing and the way he so naturally says the word while you’re outside. There’s no one as dumb as you to sit outside with this weather but still, someone passing by could hear. 

Maybe there’s no deep further explanation to look for. Maybe it’s literally as simple as him getting you a present and him being happy that you found usefulness to it. Like most people. People are saddened sometimes pissed when they flop with presents. Maybe it’s that simple. 

“Don’t say it like that.” He cackles like a witch and you know, that once again he’s just messing with you, knowing exactly what to do or say to tickle your patience. 

“So I can gather it was good?” The worse of the nervous wave has passed. He asks quite nonchalantly. Perhaps it’s your ego wanting that but you hate the idea that you’d find yourself in a situation where he’s clearly more adult than you -even if on so many levels he is. If he can talk about it then you can. Try. You can try. 

“Hm. Was nice.” You kind of sound the way you do when as a teen your mom would ask you about your day and you just didn’t want to answer because of laziness, lack of interest, lack of willingness to share, but that will do. He nods, smiles with his lips tight, rather fondly. 

“How many times did you use it?”

Taking a deep breath, you mumble, shrugging faux casualness, “A few times.” More like a dozen times but he doesn’t need the details, does he? He nods again, still smiling, taking in your answer. 

“Cool.” And he’s satisfied. With the answer and the turns of events as it seems.

There you go, you did it.

You resolved the thing.

Now he can leave you alone with your fantasies and your -not his but your- dildo and there wouldn’t be any further occasion to bring it up. You might be a coward but it’s perfectly fine by you.

Sounds absolutely peachy.

If he chooses to play his part right.

A/N: oh myyy, we’re getting somewhere arn’t we? i really hope you enjoyed this part, let me know your thoughts, scream your frustration, i’m all ears (or eyes). next update will be a double one because the first part is quite short. hoping you’re excited. i wish you a beautiful sunday and a lovely week. take care, lots of lots love.

Tag list: @infernal-alpaca​ @kaepjjangiya​ @channiespup​ @jinsonaz​ @kpopfandomftw​ @ggukkieland​ (sorry love)

IF YOU WANT TO BE TAGGED FOR THE NEXT CHAPTER, PLEASE ASK IN THE COMMENT, THANK YOU :))

[allthefilmsiveseenforfree]

Dear Evan Hansen

You may have seen some ~online discourse~ about the film Dear Evan Hansen, an adaptation of the 2016 Broadway musical, and you might have wondered what all the hubbub is about. I mean, it’s a feel good story about a senior in high school, Evan Hansen (Ben Platt), who has some pretty severe anxiety and depression. While trying to fulfill an assignment from his therapist to write a letter to himself, his letter gets picked up by another student, Connor (Colton Ryan) - and later that day, Connor kills himself. Connor’s grieving parents and sister Zoe (Amy Adams, Danny Pino, and Kaitlyn Dever) are desperate to learn more from the boy they think was Connor’s best friend - after all, Connor’s suicide note was a letter addressed to “Dear Evan Hansen.” And, as you can imagine, Evan tells them about the unfortunate mistake and sits with them in their grief as they struggle to pick up the pieces of their lives. 

Just kidding! He lies to them, repeatedly, elaborately, expansively for months, constructing an entire false friendship with Connor that never happened, and ingratiating himself into the wealthy nuclear family he never had, in large part because he wants to get into Zoe’s pants! THIS IS THE PROTAGONIST OF THE STORY. Oh, and it’s a musical so there is a lot of singing and crying and singing WHILE crying and sometimes crying and not singing at all. But the #inspiration, you guys. 

Things I liked:

Pretty much everything but the story and Ben Platt’s performance. The supporting cast is stacked, and all of them do a great job at elevating material scraped directly out of a diaper worn by someone who just chewed their way through a copy of the DSM-5. 

A couple of the songs are damn catchy - “Waving Through a Window” and “You Will Be Found” are standouts for a reason - and here’s the thing, Platt sings them well. But as you’ll discover, there’s a lot more to a movie musical than just singing your part. 

Stephen Chbosky, the man behind every deep thought I and a lot of people in my generation had in 2006 after he wrote The Perks of Being a Wallflower, is a pretty good director. I particularly enjoyed the fanvid-type cuts in “Waving Through a Window” in conjunction with the lyrics, and his use of interstitial shots to flashbacks (and sometimes flashforwards!) is a neat little bit of shorthand that I thought was used sparingly enough to be effective. 

Amy Fucking Adams. She’s holding on so hard, so desperately to the idea of who her son could have been, rather than the reality of who he was, and she is full of such deep pain that is masked by an almost endless supply of patience with Evan and relentless positivity. All this made me want was Enchanted 2 even worse than I already did. 

Super into everything Zoe wears - the costuming department did a great job, and now all I want to do is live in mom jeans and baggy sweaters.

Did I Cry? I teared up a couple of times because I’m not a completely heartless bastard and when Amy Adams offered Evan Connor’s college money, my heart broke for the lie Evan had thrust upon her, and Julianne Moore’s song got me good, because she’s just a single mom to Evan who is doing her goddamn best. 

Things I hated more than the time I dropped a frozen gallon container of fruit cocktail on my pinkie toe in my parents’ garage and it turned black and I thought it was gonna fall off:

Ben Platt is 28 years old. He originated the role of Evan Hansen on Broadway, so in many respects it makes sense that he plays the role in the movie, except for the one kinda sorta important thing where he looks like a wizened old crone standing amongst a sea of children doing his best twitching, cringing Hunchback of Notre Dame impression. If you want someone to convincingly play 20 years their junior, hire Paul Rudd. Otherwise, please don’t ask me to believe that this supposed 18-year-old has crow’s feet. 

And that twitching nervous energy is a huge part of the black hole at the center of this film - he’s playing to the cheap seats and walking through the halls of his high school like a wet chihuahua. It’s an excruciating acting choice to watch - he doesn’t just have anxiety, he is on the verge of a nervous breakdown seemingly every second of every day. Like honestly, where is only-mentioned-never-seen Dr. Sherman, because this young man’s meds are NOT WORKING DR. SHERMAN. 

There’s such a lack of self-awareness on behalf of the writing, directing, and performance by Platt. There’s one song, “Sincerely, Me,” that offers the only glimpse of commentary about what Evan is doing, by pointing out the malicious ridiculousness of him writing a series of fake emails as proof of his and Connor’s friendship. 

Also what high schoolers email this much?? I know this was written in probably 2014 or so, but has a bitch never heard of a text? Even a DM? This whole plot is constructed around the premise that high schoolers are just constantly, constantly emailing each other. 

Everything - and I mean EV-ER-Y-THING - about Evan’s relationship with Zoe is so creepy and disturbing that with a soundtrack change, this could easily be a horror movie. He attempts to get her to like him by describing to her all the things her brother noticed about her - oh wait, I’m sorry, all the things HE noticed about her while he was skulking in the shadows following her around for years, watching every move she made, and it ends with him singing repeatedly “I LOVE YOU” because following a girl around and never having a conversation with her or knowing her at all is love, right? This was clearly written by the same people who chose “Every Breath You Take” as their wedding song because Sting is hot and they never actually listened to the damn words. 

And it gets about 10 billion times worse when Zoe goes to Evan’s house alone, takes him up to his room, and sings “I don’t need reasons to want you” and that was the moment I was that person I hate in a movie theater and I pulled out my phone to Google who wrote the music and lyrics to the musical (we were in the back row of the theater no one was behind me THIS WAS AN OUTRAGE EMERGENCY) and of motherfucking course it was written by Benj Pasek and Justin Paul, 2 men who heard about meeting an actual human woman from a friend one time but otherwise are unfamiliar with the concept. 

Lastly, enormous serial killer vibes from Evan sending unlabeled flash drives anonymously through the mail with no note in an attempt to right his wrongs. That’s not catharsis, that’s how the next installment in the Saw franchise starts, with Evan in a Billy the clown doll mask showing up on the screen and asking if you want to play a fucking game. 

Also, I know it’s not possible for the narrative to justify this in a way that could be satisfying based on Evan’s actions, but what is with this thing where single working-class mom Julianne Moore is turning down rich people’s money for Evan to go to college? Like, obviously we can’t have that happen in the movie but in real life, fuck your pride! Take those rich people’s money!

I also know how movies work but nothing annoys me more than a giant group of high schoolers all getting beeps and boops to indicate text notifications all at the same time because I don’t know a single person under the age of 55 who keeps their ringer on. That shit is on vibrate AT MOST, and I feel like that’s a millennial thing. 

The emotional climax of the film is obviously Evan’s WAY TOO LATE confession, but the idea that it’s prompted by Connor’s family suddenly getting a lot of internet hate is, frankly, laughable. If Sandy Hook taught me one thing, it is that no tragedy is immune from trolls who live only to cause other people devastating emotional pain on the internet. That shit starts day 1. Apparently no one involved in this production has ever been on Twitter?

Also it feels like there should have been a dog somewhere in this movie and there was no dog, so points off for that too. 

Perhaps Dear Evan Hansen isn’t nearly as deep as it aspires to be. Perhaps it’s a morality play, a simplistic message of “Don’t lie, kids, lying is bad!” Major studio movies wrap themselves up with a nice bow at the end so everyone can feel good about themselves and leave with a happy ending, but the moronic cruelty on display here makes that feat feel impossible. We’re left with Evan in an orchard, reading Connor’s favorite books and staring into the big blue sky with all the self-actualization he’s earned now as a lil treat. And if Evan Hansen looked like an actual 18-year-old, it would be a lot easier to extend more empathy to him and his not-fully-developed prefrontal cortex, but it’s a little harder with this fully-grown, weathered man who was old enough to remember seeing Liar Liar in theaters. 

Dear Evan Hansen, 

Get some actual help and a haircut and maybe you can grow up enough to have an actual healthy interaction with any other living person, ever.

Sincerely, 

Me

If you liked this review, please consider reblogging or subscribing to my Patreon! For as low as $1, you can access bonus content and movie reviews, or even request that I review any movie of your choice.

[hockeyboysimagines]

All good boys go to Heaven but bad boys bring Heaven to you

Chapter 6

Warnings: language, sex, a fist fight, (tw) stalking, lots of angst, and some fluff.

Sorry it’s taken so long. I’ve been trying to get Say it to me softly out, and now it’s finished so this will be updated more regularly. This is a very appropriate gif for this chapter. Stay tuned💕

“Chucky watch out!” Matt turned just as a puck cracked off the side of his helmet and sent him tumbling to the ice. He hadn’t been paying attention during practice, instead thinking all the ‘not sleeping’ he had done the night before. He could hear Noah and Johnny laughing as they skated over and helped him up. He deserved that one.

“Dude you gotta pay attention. What’s going on in there today space cadet?”

He wanted nothing more than to tell them. He was not only thinking about Hallie, but also about the mysterious flowers that had obviously rattled her. So he went with amended version of the truth.

“We’ll actually.” He turned to Noah and leaned on his stick “Has Hallie ever mentioned like a bad boyfriend or anything?”

Noah looked at the ceiling and chewed on his lip for a moment before he shook his head “I don’t think so, not to me anyway. Why?”

He chose his words carefully, keeping his expression cool “Well I showed up at her place yesterday and made her have dinner with me, and while I was there she said she got flowers and she assumed they were from me. But I didn’t send her any, and she got all fucking weird about it.”

“Was there a card?”

He shook his head “No but she was definitely upset. I offered to stay but she said it was fine.”

Johnny rolled his eyes and gave him a shove “Of course you did.”

“I can ask Carly if you want. They tell eachother everything.”

“No it’s okay. I don’t wanna invade her privacy or anything. Just seemed weird to me.”

They went back to running drills but his mind was still elsewhere. The more he thought about it the more her behavior bothered him. She had seemed upset, anxious, and scared and the whole thing had rubbed him the wrong way. He didn’t want to get involved in her business but it was really bothering him.

*******

“Come on Hal we’re going to be late.” Carly complained as Hallie shoved her feet into her shoes. She locked the door behind her and dig around in her bag as they took the elevator and exited her building towards the parking lot.

As they walked through the parking lot, she was still digging for her keys when she felt Carly’s hand on her arm forcing her to stop.

“Hal?”

Hallie looked up and felt the blood feeeze in her veins. Rose petals littered her car, moving very gently in the breeze. She took a step backwards turning her head this way and that but the parking lot was empty. She turned slowly towards Carly who was looking at her alarmed.

She began to shake, eyes filling with tears. She thought when she came here this would be over, that she could finally be free and not live her life looking over her shoulder. But she was wrong.

“He found me.”

**********

“Hal? It’s me open the door.” Matt said knocking. He hadn’t heard from her all day, and was starting to get worried when Carly told him she was sick, but was them confused when she texted him and told him to come over. He heard her shuffle around on the other side of the door before she eased it open, big eyes peering at him through the crack.

“Are you okay?”

“I’m fine, come in. Hurry up.”

She yanked him inside and clicked the lock as she shut the door. He frowned at her.

“Are you okay?”

“I’m fine why?” She breezed past him to pick up her buzzing phone on the counter. As she read the message the color in her face drained.

“Something wrong?”

Hallie stuffed her phone in her pocket and shook her head not meeting his eye.

“No why?”

He shrugged “ you just got super weird when your phone went off that’s all.”

“No I didn’t.”

“You did but it’s none of my business.”

“Your right. It’s not.”

“Maybe I should just go.”

“No!” She grabbed his arm holding him in place “I-I mean sorry. I just had a long day is all. Stay please?” She looked uncomfortable asking him, but there was another emotion he couldn’t identify. Whatever it was, it was convincing.

“I got your mail by the way.” He said setting several white envelopes and a large Manila one down on the counter, and walking from the kitchen to the bathroom. He needed a shower, and went to rummage through the collection of clothing he had accumulated. He had hoped by pulling his shirt off and walking back past the kitchen he could entice Hallie to come shower with him but he found her standing with her back to him, looking at an article of mail in her hand. He could see her trembling from where he stood.

She had opened the large envelope first, noticing it had no return address, but felt bulky and heavy. She felt goosebumps bloom across her skin as a stack of photos slid out and she looked through them. There were dozens, her walking to work, out with friends, her and Matthew. Each photo got progressively closer and some had foul crude writing on them. Mattys face was crossed out on several of them and a few were ripped in half.

“Hallie?”

Matt was standing in the middle of the room, shirtless looking at her, concerned. She thought for a minute about hiding them but she knew that there would be no point. She held the photos out to him and he took them, frowning. His eyebrows furrowed as he shuffled through them.

“What-what is this?” He looked mad now, eyes burning. His knuckles were white as he gripped them ”Who took these?”

She took a deep breath “ His name is Ryan. I dated him for a few months before I moved here, to get away from him. He started stalking me, saying we were meant to be and he couldn’t live without me. I thought I got away from him but he found me. He left roses on my car this morning. And he texted me just now.”

“How long has this been going on?”

She looked down “A few days. That’s where the flowers came from the other day. And I got a weird phone call at my office last week. -“

“A few days? And your just telling me this now?”

“I’m sorry. I thought he would just go away. I was wrong.”

Yeah I’d say you were. We need to go to the police.”

“I already have. They can’t do anything about it. Besides he’s just trying to scare me.”

“ And what happens when that’s not enough for him anymore? What happens then? If you think this creep is going to be content to watch you forever, your wrong. He’s going to hurt you.”

“I know I’m-I’m sorry.”

“That’s it. I’m moving in here.”

“What?! No!”

“It’s not up for discussion. Till this guy goes away I’m staying here.”

She wanted to be annoyed, but in all honesty she was relieved. She felt safe with him in the apartment, and it felt good to get this off her chest.

“And what are we going to tell our friends?”

“Would it be so bad if they just knew about us? I mean really Hal. Your starting to make me feel like I’m just a good lay and that’s the only reason you keep me around.”

She looked hurt for a minute and her expression softened “Matty. I’m sorry.” She put a hand on his arm and rugged him closer “I never meant to make you feel that way. I’m just scared okay. Of this, of Ryan of everything. We will talk about this, but give me some time.”

He pursed his lips for a minute before he nodded.

“Okay. That’s fair.”

She squeezed his arm before wrapping her own around him, her head resting on his chest near his heart. He was so big and safe, any worry she had about Ryan out the window, as she stood listen to his heart beating through his shirt.

She had lived by herself for so long it was weird having a roommate. Especially one who walked around mostly shirtless and slept in her bed. She learned a lot about him in the following days. She learned how incredibly sweet he was, and how much he loved his mom and his sister. She learned he slept on the left side of the bed, that he never had a dog growing up, and that he was not the pest that everyone saw on the ice. She learned that he loved to dance, and they had spent much time slow dancing in her kitchen, and that he could talk about everything and anything late at night. His voice, which had annoyed the hell out of her just a few months ago, now soothed her every time she heard it. She liked seeing him smile at her across the table, or next to her while they brushed teeth, and his presence had become a comfort that she never knew she needed. She had fallen hard for Matthew Tkachuk, just like she knew she would.

One particular rainy Sunday morning she had woken up to his big rough hands barely brushing the bare skin of her back. She rolled over eyes still closed, lips immediately finding his in the dim light of her bedroom. He kissed her deeply, lips moving slowly, tongue pushing inside her mouth. There was already minimal clothing on, so it didn’t take long before he was pushing inside her. She let out a breath, eyes closing slowly. Each time was more enthralling than the last time. He moved slowly, lazily hot breath on her neck. She reached up, running her fingers through his hair. She could her the dull pounding of rain hitting her window, the thick grey clouds making the room dim. But she could see those eyes burning into her own, as he moved above her, curls falling into his eyes. He leaned down and kissed her heavily, as his pushes became faster until he let out a ragged breath as she tensed around him, her own high coming with his.

“Can we stay in bed all day and do that again?”

Before she could answer she heard her front door open and then close. Panic rose in her throat as Matt jumped off the bed, yanking a pair of gym shorts on and banged the bedroom door open. He couldn’t believe this creep was bold enough to come into her apartment in broad daylight, but he was going to kill him before he got the chance to ever do it again.

“Matty wait!” She whispered pulling a T-shirt over her head as she hurried out behind him. To her horror it was not Ryan in her kitchen, but Noah and Carly standing there with wide eyes and open mouths.

“What the hell?” Noah said, eyebrows raised so far up his forehead they were in danger of disappearing into his hairline.

Hallies face had bypassed Red and turned Maroon as she shrank down behind him under Carly’s glare.

“Are you two serious right now?” She asked hands on her hips, looking between them.

“How long has this been going on?” Noah asked. He too was frowning, arms crossed. He knew something was up, and they had become even more suspicious when Hallie started being magically busy the past few weeks, coupled with Matthew being notably absent and coming and going at all hours. They had never though thought in a million years they would find them shacked up together in Hallies apartment.

Matthew took a deep breath and turned to look at her before looking back at their friends “Since that weekend at the lake.”

Carly sucked in a loud breath, eyes huge. She sputtered for a few moments, words completely escaping her.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” She asked after a few moments. She looked hurt. Hallie had wanted to tell her so bad, but she didn’t want to say it out loud. She was so scared that she had even let him in, but now to tell everyone else? That was terrifying.

“Let’s talk about this another time yeah?” Noah said, giving Carly’s arm a gentle squeeze.

“No.” Matt said “Let’s talk about it now. We didn’t tell you guys because we didn’t really know what to say. I honestly still don’t know what this is.”

“But there’s something else too.” Hallie reached behind her to pick up the envelope full of photos and handed them to Carly. She looked alarmed as she pulled them out, face turning white.

“Hallie.” She whispered.

“What the fuck?” Noah said, grabbing a few photos from Carly’s hand, and looking at both of them clearly confused.

“Sit down.” Matt said, patting the counter and walking to the fridge to pull out the liquor “We’ll tell you everything.”

And they did. They started with the lake house and went from there. Hallie and Carly walked Noah and Matt through the details on what had happened with Ryan and how they had come to Calgary to get away from him. Noah was so angry about the stalking, and the fact that she had kept it from them, he gave her a very stern talking to.

“This creep could have hurt you. Both of you.” He said glaring at Carly as well “We can’t keep you safe if we don’t know what we’re trying to keep you safe from.”

“I know, and I’m sorry.” Carly said giving his hand a squeeze.

“Now that we’re all in the loop I think we can agree that you two can’t go places alone for right now.” Matt said rubbing his chin “It’s just the way it is. Until this guy goes away or does something to get arrested for it has to be this way. When we have away games you two have some kind of sleepover or something. Have Jay come too.”

Carly giggled “I don’t really see Jay taking down an intruder, but safety in numbers right.” They laughed and the mood seemed to change. They decided to order takeout, and Hallie realized how much better she felt not keeping secrets. To finally have her and Matt out there in the open felt good, and natural.

After Noah and Carly left, it was just them in her apartment. He was smiling at her, a smile she hadn’t seen before. He walked very slowly towards her, eyes burning into her own.

“Thank you.” He said coming to a stop in front of her, hands resting on her shoulders.

“For?”

“For telling our friends. I know it wasn’t easy, and I know you didn’t want to, and I know your not my girlfriend or anything but thank you.”

“You haven’t actually asked me to be your girlfriend.”

He shrugged “I’m not really in the market for a relationship right now so.”

She gaped at him till he burst out laughing and swept her up, carrying her down the hallway towards her bedroom.

“Come on. Let’s go do boyfriend girlfriend stuff.”

********

As news of their new relationship spread, Matthews performance on the ice skyrocketed. He was having a great season, exploding on the ice and making headlines every game. He was still a pest, and that would probably never change, but he found himself playing with a confidence he didn’t know he had.

Plus it was an added bonus to look up and see Hallie sitting in the stands, looking so damn good with his name across her back. She was a steady constant in his life, and he found that having a real relationship was better than any hookup.

After one particularly physical game, Hallie waited nervously in the hallways outside the dressing room. Noah exited followed by Johnny and came over dropping a kiss on Carly’s cheek and turning to Hallie with a smile. Johnny gave her a gentle bump on the shoulder and grinned when he saw her expression.

“He’ll be out in a second.”

She peeked our from behind Him, as the door banged open and Matt came through the doors of the locker room, wet curls falling around his face with a casual elegance, cheeks pink, tie loosened around his neck. His eyes searched around the room till they landed on her and he smiled.

That damn smile.

He accepted a few pats on the back from his teammates as he made his way over to her, and stopped a few feet in front of her. She looked him over not noticing any injuries or blood and he held his arms out wide.

“ I’m fine Hallie. “

She breathed an audible sigh of relief and fell gratefully into his arms. He was so big and warm and she closed her eyes and breathed him in.

Watching Him fight had been a confusing expression to say the least. She had seen videos of it on YouTube but watching it happen live was completely different than through the tv screen. It was horrible because he was her boyfriend and she didn’t want him to get hurt, but it was enthralling to watch him throw his 6”2 frame around with such confidence on the ice. She wasn’t sure if she wanted to kiss him or smack him and the whole experience had left her emotionally drained.

They made idle chatter as they made their way out of the SaddleDome and into the parking garage, making plans to get together with some other guys from the team the following evening.

Once they were buckled in the car he turned to find her already staring at him.

“What?”

Her eyes were squinted and her head was turned to the side and like a flash of lightning she had hopped from the passenger seat to the back. He wasted no time following her, as they hurriedly pulled at whatever clothing was necessary to come off. She tugged the zipper of his suit pants down, and hiked up her skirt. She was dressed for work, having come to the game right from there with no time to change. She motioned for him to sit but he shook his head and leaned her back against the backseat, coming in between her legs. She settled in, opening her legs. His eyes bugged as he watched her pull the skirt up to reveal she wasn’t wearing stocking, but black thigh highs, and no underwear.

“Hal.” He breathed as she pulled his suit pants down enough and guided him towards her entrance. Her eyes closed and she arched back against the seat at the sensation of him pushing inside of her. He pushed again, adrenaline pumping through him as he quickened his pace, pushing deeper with each thrust.

“Matty.” She breathed, pulling his face to hers so she could kiss him. She fisted his dress shirt in her hands, as she pushed her tongue inside his mouth kissing him sloppily. Her legs began to ache as his pushed became erratic, and she came, him following shortly after. They say breathing heavily for a few minutes before he pulled out of her and sat next to her, situating his suit pants and turning to her. She smiled tiredly at him, eyes closing as he ran his fingers through her hair.

“Take me home.”

********

Hallie felt a twinge of annoyance at the way the girl was so obviously flirting with him and he was doing nothing to stop her. After a long night and a lot of sex, Hallie was overly tired and hadn’t really been in the mood to go out at all. She only had because she promised Carly she would. Matthew had gone to the bar to get a drink and was immediately approached By some bimbo in a short skirt, and that was all it took to bring Hallies mood down even more than it already was.

“Relax Hal.” Carly warned. She could feel an angry heat creep up her neck as she watched him smile at the girl, way to friendly for a guy who had a ‘girlfriend.” She angrily slugged the rest of her drink before setting it down loudly on the table.

“I’m going to the bathroom.” She said stand up and storming towards the ladies room sign, glaring at the back of the girls head who was flirting with her boyfriend.

She burst through the door, startling several girls who were fixing their makeup and blinked away angry tears while she went pee. Who did he think he was? They finally tell their friends the truth and here he was laughing and smiling with some random girl in the bar.

When she exited the bathroom she felt a hand on her arm. She turned ready to chew Matt out, when she realized the hand wasn’t his. She froze. It felt like someone was pouring maple syrup over head, and it was trickling down her body suffocating her as she came face to face with Ryan.

“Hi Hallie. I’ve missed you.”

“Get away from me Ryan.”

“I’m sorry about the photos, it was the only way I knew to get a hold of you after you blocked my phone number.”

“And what about the flowers on my car? How did you find my apartment?”

“I just know that you really love pink roses.”

“How did you find my house?”

He took a step forward and backed her further into the corner. Carly had noticed the exchange from across the bar and stood suddenly knocking her stool back and startling Noah. Matt turned from the conversation he was having to look at her as she jumped over the stool.

“That’s Ryan.”

As Hallie tried to maneuver around Ryan he grabbed her arm.

“Hallie please talk to me.” As she tried to pull away there was a commotion and Ryan’s face went white, a look of terror flashing across it. She turned just in time for a fist to come flying over her shoulder and connect solidly with Ryan’s face.

“Matty no!” She tried to grab on to the back of his T-shirt as he surged forward, punching Ryan again. He was so much bigger than her and she struggled nearly falling forward, until Noah appeared and grabbed Matt around the middle hauling him backwards. Johnny was standing looking at the scene with his mouth open and Carly was attempting to help Noah pull Matt towards towards the entrance. Hallie bit back tears and gave Ryan once last glance before she followed her friends out of the bar.

She burst through the door of her apartment not checking to see if he was behind her or not. She was so angry at him for what he had done she didn’t even want to look at him.

“Look I’m sorry okay?” He said leaning against the doorframe. The cut above his eyebrow had stopped bleeding and he was flexing his fingers, bruises beginning to bloom across his knuckles. “I just. When I saw that guy grab you like that, I don’t know. I just reacted” He looked at his hand and sighed “ it’s cuz I fucking love you okay?”

“You have to stop punching first and asking questions later. You almost punched me in the face!”

“I would never punch you in face Hal-“

“Your fist was two inches from hitting me.”

He looked at his feet embarrassed before she continued.

“And don’t think I didn’t see you flirting with that girl either!”

“What? What girl?”

“The bimbo at the bar who’s chest you couldn’t stop staring at! Thanks for making a complete idiot out of me in front of everyone!”

“This is never gonna change is it? Your never going to trust me.”

“Give me one good reason why I should?! You fill my head with air about wanting to have relationship with me then you flirt with some girl at the bar!”

They were standing ten feet apart, red faced and screaming at each other.

“I don’t need this.” He snapped grabbing his he let and leaving the room. She followed him.

“No you don’t need this and you clearly don’t need me either. Get out!”

“I am. And I won’t be coming back either.” He slammed the door behind him as she stood there, fists balled up at her sides. She listened to him walk angrily down the hallway until his footsteps could no longer be heard.

[sailorsero]

nothin’ else like this - nsfw

author: claire (@sailorsero​) ship: solo adult bakugou katsuki, dash of adult bakugou x gender neutral reader, side adult kaminari denki x adult shinsou hitoshi prompt/genre: birthday & food kink themed solo play wordcount: 2887 warnings: explicit sexual content, swearing, kink, food fetish/food kink/sploshing a/n: • written for the Bakugou’s Birthday Bash Collaboration - check out the masterlist to see everyone elses!) • shoutout to @foolishfortuna who is writing an amazing food fetish kiribaku that inspired me to write this kink • i do not give permission for this (or any of my writing) to be reposted, by anyone, on this or any other website. please don’t do it! • title from ‘birthday cake’ by rihanna

nothin’ else like this *** pinkyofficial • HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO THE BLASTIEST BOY IN THE GALAXY!!! @explosiongoddynamight LOVE YOU!!! 💥🧡🍹🎂😘 CAN’T WAIT TO SEE YOU AND GET TURNT WITH MAH BOYSSS!!! BAKUSQUAD BABY!!! 👬🧍‍♀️👬 GO TELL DYNAMIGHT HAPPT BIRTHDAY Y’ALL!!! #dynamight #pinky #birthdaybitch

its_cellophane: happt birthday @explosiongoddynamight pinkyofficial: @its_cellophane suddenly we’re a squad of 4 #cellowho theredriot: Look at us 🥺 can’t wait to celebrate together, love you guys!!! happy birthday bro @explosiongoddynamight ♥️ chargebolt: But can we get #birthdaybitch trending tho?? 🤔

Bakugou tutted, flicking through the photos Mina had posted to Instagram. One from last years Hero Gala, with Tweedle Dumb, Dumber and Dumbest crowded into his personal space - all smiles, suits and champagne flutes. A post-graduation selfie with the woman herself, where he felt so triumphant at moving onto the next stage of his quest to become #1, that he hadn’t even objected to the filter that gave them huge eyelashes and bear ears. A couple from their most recent meetups, candids from their school days (mostly taken without his knowledge, let alone permission; the only one that he was posing for featured a double middle finger that had set Iida off for a good fifteen minutes), one from a photoshoot his publicist had strong armed him into and his friends had christened ‘The Great Bakugou Thirst Trap of 2020’.

Bakugou did not consider himself a sentimental person, or someone who placed a great deal of importance on his own birthday; he hadn’t even made any fuss when you told him you were needed in Osaka for a mission that would take you away two days before he turned 24.

But he couldn’t help but go back to the first photo of the bunch, allowing himself a soft smile he would deny under oath.

His 17th birthday, his first birthday with - ugh - real friends. He remembered rolling his eyes when Racoon Eyes had given her blindingly pink phone to the waitress, yelling at Sparky and Tape Face when they’d shoved themselves into the same side of the booth as the rest of them, growling when Shitty Hair had told him to ‘say ‘cheese’, Bakubro!’.

They all looked so young, pre-undercuts and piercings and late teenage growth spurts. He’d have to remember the (very secret) happiness that night had brought him next time Kirishima annoyed him by stepping mud into his carpet or Kaminari pissed him off by opening his big fat mouth.

Bakugou was drawn from his thoughts by knocking on his office door. Knocking that started out strong for the first hit, dropping noticeably into something more tentative for the rest; probably once they remembered whose door they were knocking on. Kirishima had once told him that the interns drew straws on who had to ‘rattle the beast’s cage’ (interact with Bakugou). He’d know; that idiot had been rattling Bakugou’s cage 25/8 since their first year at Yuuei.

“Come in!”

The door opened far enough for an assistant who had already been by this morning with a sack of birthday cards mixed in with regular fan mail to poke their head through the gap.

“Mr Dynamight, Sir, there’s another delivery for you.”

Bakugou nodded, leaning back in his leather desk chair and stretching out his back. Damn paperwork day, and on his birthday. Fuck, was 24 the age your back started aching from sitting in a goddamn chair?!

The assistant continued as they approached the desk, despite the fact that Bakugou didn’t fucking ask.

“It’s a cake, from a lovely bakery downtown; a delivery person just dropped it off. Their cakes are exquisite, by all accounts.”

They stepped back from the desk once the baby blue box was securely placed down, a white satin ribbon wound expertly around it. An embossed logo Bakugou recognised shone under the overhead light.

The blonde’s quirk made short work of the ribbon, burning it idly with one hand so the rest could be severed with ease.

Bakugou flipped the lid of the box up, letting it fall fully open so he could inspect the contents. He blinked. He blinked again.

It was a cake. A strawberry shortcake, slathered with cream and fresh fruit, and perfectly placed in the centre was a chocolate disc with immaculately piped words.

♡ HAPPY BIRTHDAY DYNAMIGHT ♡

“It’s from your fanclub!”

He let his eyes drift back up to the assistant, who - from what Bakugou could infer from the overly positive, cheery tone he was using - clearly thought Bakugou was seconds away from blasting the expensive gateau across his office, and was trying to avert having to call the janitorial staff back up to this floor. He understood; unbridled, perhaps not-always-reasonable rage was kind of his brand, and the cleaners had already had to make a return journey today after Kaminari had set off several sprinklers making toast.

A cake. Yes, a cake. From his fanclub. A cake from his fanclub. That he was definitely going to eat and nothing else, nothing weird! A cake for him to eat. At home. In private. As soon as possible.

“That’s-” He cleared his throat and tried again. “That’s...great. It looks delicious...yes. Thanks. That’s all. You can...go.”

The assistant looked like they were struggling to process the combination of words that had just left Bakugou, but he was pleased when they decided to take this struggle on the road and left his office with a rushed “Yes, Mr Dynamight, Sir, thank you, you are welcome, good bye!” and the click of the office door.

Bakugou barely had time to drag his fingers through his hair, letting out a breath he had apparently been holding since he’d spoken, before the door opened again.

“Knock knock!” “You know he says it doesn’t count if you say it instead of doing it, especially if you’ve already open- Denki!”

Bakugou groaned as Kaminari shot across the room, peering into the still-open box on the desk. “Ooh, that looks amazing, bro! Can I have some?”

“Hey, Kats! Happy birthday, man!” Kirishima beamed at him before dropping his gaze to the cake Kaminari was currently eyefucking. Bakugou slid the box an inch or two closer to himself. He steadfastly ignored the other blonde’s question.

“Thanks, Ei. What’s Dunce Face doing here - world’s worst birthday present?”

Kirishima snorted, clapping Kaminari on the shoulder. “Ran into him a few blocks away on our patrols; figured we’d catch you now to say ‘happy birthday’ on the actual day instead of waiting for Saturday!”

Kaminari brought out what he probably considered the big guns; his finger guns, that he did for literally everything. “Happy birthday, Blasty! Speaking of your birthday, where did the cake come from? Sent with luuurve from Osaka? Although, that would be weird because you don’t even really like sweets and this won’t keep until Saturday when we get togeth-“

“It’s from my fanclub, Pikachu, and keep your staticky hands off my cake!” Bakugou flipped the lid back down, shielding the cake from view.

“Man, don’t be like that - there’s no way you’re gonna be able to eat all that by yourself!” Kaminari whined.

“Relax, Denks - you know Y/N has a cake ordered for Bakubro’s Belated Birthday Blowout!” Kirishima patted his back consolingly.

“I really wish you’d all stop calling it that. God, letting you guys have their number was a fucking mistake.”

Kaminari looked thoughtful; it was terrifying. “You know, I heard, one time, a hero got given a homemade cake by a fan, and when they took a bite of it, they realised they had a mouth full of the fan’s pubic hair!”

“Dude!” “What the everloving fuck, Dunce Face?!”

Kaminari just beamed, apparently proud of himself for making Bakugou question his life on the anniversary of his birth.

“Firstly, does this cake look fucking homemade to you? Secondly, where the fuck did you read that? ‘Disgusting Stories for Stupid Fucking Idiots Monthly’?”

Kaminari shrugged, nonplussed. “Sero told me.”

“Yes, then. Same thing, pretty much.”

Kirishima interrupted, looking thoughtful. “If you think Bakubro’s cake is full of pubes, why do you want to eat it?”

“Wouldn’t be the first time I’ve had a mouthful of pubes, bro! ‘Toshi’s more of an au naturel kind of guy…”

Bakugou saw Kirishima’s (painful looking) thinking face intensify, and intervened immediately. “Ei, do not pull at this thread. He-“ Bakugou punctuated with a harsh jab towards the electric hero. “- has told us several times that he’s had Mindfucker’s dirty feet in his mouth before, not to mention all the bodily fluids, and then there’s all the disgusting public places they’ve fucked, and-“

“Don’t kinkshame me, bruh!” Kaminari cut in, sounding lowkey offended, but Bakugou noted the look of pride from before hadn’t diminished, even a little bit.

Bakugou snorted. He constantly shamed Kaminari and his walking corpse of a boyfriend, but that was because they were shamelessly disgusting oversharing nymphomaniacs and someone had to do it. Preferably before one of them creamed their pants in a karaoke bar again. That was Shinkami shaming, not kinkshaming.

He definitely had no room to kinkshame people; not with the plans he had for this cake.

***

Bakugou slammed the door to his apartment shut with his hip and laid the bakery box down on the side table so he could make quick work of his boots and jacket.

God, that had to have been the longest taxi ride of his life. He couldn’t risk the subway with such a precious cargo, so he’d had to sit in the back of the cab next to the box (that he’d had to resist the urge to belt in) and sweat in silence.

Bakugou didn’t know where this kink had come from - maybe he’d watched too much Food Network in his formative years, or passing by the bakery with the amazing smell opposite his junior high school twice a day for three years before going home to jerk it had warped his sexuality; all he knew was, he was gonna fuck this cake.

It was a shame that you were miles and miles away and unavailable for a Facetime like no other; introducing you to his kink had been one of the best weekends of his life, and he was pretty sure - if he knows you as well as he thinks he does - you’d placed an order for two birthday cakes for his belated celebrations.

Maybe you’d got other stuff in mind, too - pie, custard, ice cream, syrups, chocolate, sushi, spaghetti, fruit…and now he was half-hard, still fully dressed and standing in the hallway.

Well, you weren’t here now, but it was his birthday, dammit! He would just have to play alone, and send you some photos afterwards.

Bakugou seized the box and made quick strides until he could place it down on his bedside table.

The comforter flew off of the bed, pooling into a lavish lump on the floor right before the pillows landed one by one on top. The undersheet was last, leaving the rubber sheet beneath exposed to one of the only two people who knew it was there in the first place.

The box made its final move to the middle of the protected mattress, where Bakugou tilted it just enough to be able to coax the cake free with help from gravity and without getting it all over his hands. Not yet…

Bakugou made short work of his clothes, kicking his pants and briefs off impatiently a second before climbing onto the bed and kneeling beside his prize.

Normally, he’d take his time, play around more, have more of a plan, but today, the anticipation had him on a knife edge already. It had been nearly four hours since he’d unwrapped this gift, and he was dying to play with it.

Bakugou leant his knees spread apart, sinking into a squat so he was as close as he could get to his treat.

He was fully hard now, and gave his cock a couple of quick pumps, letting his fist settle loosely from the base down as he took a deep breath and brought his leaking tip to the side of the cake.

His breath left him in a quick rush when the first contact was made; the cream was on the cooler side, and the smooth finish of the outside of the cake was everything he had been missing since he’d last indulged himself like this.

It took all the self control Bakugou had to only push the head in, then pause and take a breath, focusing intently on every sensation as he pushed in as slowly as was physically possible.

The afternoon of waiting felt like edging, so the sensation against his cock, inch by inch, was almost too much as it was not enough.

The sponge was almost as soft and velvety as the cream, but providing some texture and resistance that felt as delicious as the dessert looked.

Bakugou let out the first of many moans as he bottomed out, the air in the bedroom already beginning to smell like sugar and strawberries - just the right side of cloying, and he knew before long it would be so heady he’d be dizzy from it.

He pulled out almost as slowly as he went in, raising himself back up a little and bracing himself with his hands on the other side of the intact cake, leaving him looking over it on his hands and knees.

His reentry at a slightly higher point of the cake wasn’t quite as slow as the first breach, but he’s never been known for his patience.

Bakugou pulled in and out a couple of times, leaving a clear hole to fuck as he began to do just that, his hips begnining to thrust in a steady rhythm.

It didn’t take long for the squishy sounds coming from between his legs to turn into sloppy ones; the delicate cake was beginning to buckle already, the defined layers enveloping his cock becoming mushy around him.

Balancing his weight on one arm, he swiped his now-free hand across the top of the cake, coming away with as generous a handful of cream and strawberry slices as he could without threatening the structural integrity of the cake prematurely.

Bakugou raised his hand and smacked it right into the middle of his chest, before smearing it across his right pec, rubbing purposefully over his nipple as he did so. His hips sped up slightly without intention - or him noticing - as he alternated between smearing the food deeper into his flushed skin, and tugging on his nipple.

He could hear whimpering in his ears and it took a beat or two for Bakugou to realise they were coming from him. Fuck, it all just felt so good.

He blindly grabbed another small handful, this time coming away with some cake mixed into his spoils, before repeating the treatment on his left pec, but with a roughness borne of his increasing desperation.

“Fuck, fuck, shit, I-“ He hissed out a breath, pinching his nipple firmly as he felt the cake begin to collapse inwards, the squelch of the fucking he was giving it echoing in his ears.

A final scoop of the dessert onto his fingers went straight into his mouth, his plush, pink lips parting to accommodate three fingers; he was close.

Bakugou’s balance was starting to go as his orgasm approached, so he pulled his fingers free from his tongue and resumed his position, but beginning to sink lower into the mess he was fucking into his mattress protectors. From his angle, his balls began to slap what was left of the sides of the sinking cake, and the noise that created tore another moan from the blonde.

He could feel the sticky mess coating his crotch and inner thighs, closing his eyes as he lost himself in the feeling of indulging in the kink that turned him on like nothing else, wanting to savour something he knew was nearly over.

“Oh my fuck- ing, shit, oh, fuck-“

Bakugou’s hips were moving at a frantic pace now, chasing a release inside the cake while it still had an inside.

His orgasm had been teetering for a couple of minutes, then came all at once. A shout turned into a long, drawn out moan that was almost a cry, as he spilled his release in one, two, three bursts; biting his lip so hard, he’d discover later he’d drawn blood.

His arms gave out before he’d come back to himself, his lower half landing into the gooey puddle of expensive baking with a splat that would almost have been enough to get him half hard again if his soul hadn’t just shot out of his dick into a cake.

The blonde let out a deep, satisfied sigh, smiling dopily into the shiny, specialist bedsheet. Happy birthday to me, indeed.

Bakugou had only just had the energy to raise himself back onto his hands and knees when he had to find a little more to turn his head towards the door at the sound of it creaking open.

“Awh, did someone get you a birthday cake, babe?”

He nodded. You were back early.

You dropped your duffel on the floor, taking your first step towards the bed as you slid your shirt off with ease.

“Ooh, good - you saved some for me! I’m starving…”