#idk seeing that reblog notification was just like what the fuck to me

[smengart]

I cannot believe I have to write a post about this in regards to my Utena art, but an account on here called @/familyromantic just reblogged fanart I made of Miki and Kozue as ship art, and they are specifically a blog dedicated to incestuous ships and proshipping.

Of ALL of the art you could reblog of this topic, you choose to reblog non-ship art I made of two CHILDREN who have a deeply troubled and traumatizing relationship with incest in the context of their story, and tag my art as a ship on your blog.

Just to say this explicitly - any proshippers/incest shippers/sexual assault romanticizers/whatever: DO NOT REBLOG MY ART. Especially do not reblog my Utena art. I have already blocked this account so hopefully they won't be able to reblog any more of my Utena pieces, but I felt the need to make this post to establish firmly how I feel about this subject matter. Utena is a very triggering show that includes these topics, and that is unavoidable - what I won't tolerate is anyone who romanticizes and sexualizes these topics to engage with my fanart of the series.

[toytulini]

i know tumblr hates taking good ideas from its current userbase rn but just a thought: if someone reblogs a post from you with an addition, and mentions you in that addition, perhaps that could be collapsed into a single notification?

[greenorangevioletgrass]

give me a minute (2/2) | chef luca

pairing: chef luca x ex-wife!reader word count: 6.6k warnings: established former relationship, discussions of separation and divorce, discussions of moving on, luca and reader has a son, brief mention of blood and minor injury, smut 18+ (fingering, oral (f receiving), unprotected sex, size kink? idk luca's big, dirty talk, creampie) notes: it's finally here! thank you everyone for your patience, i am a slow writer by nature and life gets in the way, but i finally got around to finish it! happy reading, and do comment, reblog, and send me asks to tell me what you think <;3 ✨follow @ficsbygreenorangevioletgrass and turn on the notifications to get alerted for my latest fics ✨

<<< read part 1 here >>>

06.13 PM

Your apartment has never felt so claustrophobic after that little moment you shared with Luca. You try to stay busy in the next hour —tidying up Alfie’s room even after he made it up, checking your email four times, even doing the laundry, for fuck’s sake— as Luca keeps to himself in the kitchen area. Whether Alfie is obliviously enjoying his screen time or purposely ignoring the weird tension between his parents, you’re not entirely sure. Right now, you’re just grateful that he’s not saying anything at the moment.

The boy simply creeps up to the kitchen counter with a shy eagerness about him. “How long ‘til dinner, Dad?”

“3 more minutes, Chef,” Luca answers, focused on the task at hand, so poker-faced that it makes his son giggle.

“I’m not a chef, you’re a chef!”

“Well, where I work, we call everyone in the kitchen ‘chef.’ Out of respect.”

Alfie climbs onto the dining bench in interest, peering up to watch his father set the dish on the plates meticulously. Luca doesn’t miss how the boy deeply inhales the delicious smell in the air.

“Smells yummy.”

“Thank you,” Luca replies, his excitement seems muted although his heart is soaring. He looks up to find Alfie staring at the plate, chin propped up on his little fist. You’ve always said that he looks just like his dad, but in that moment, Luca only sees you. Alfie has the way your mouth tugs ever so slightly into a smile, the way your eyes shine in childlike wonder. In quiet thoughtfulness.

No Michelin star, earned or retained, would ever amount to this.

“Can you go get your mum and tell her dinner’s ready, please?” He softly asks Alfie, as if not wanting to disrupt this peaceful silence. “Thank you, Chef.”

“Yes, chef.” The six-year-old salutes him and pads over to your home office, which doubles as the guest bedroom. The door is open, and he sees you reorganizing the linen closet with your back to him. He hugs you from behind, startling you.

“Oh!” You put your hand on his head, stroking him lightly. “Hey, bub.”

“Daddy told me to come get you and say dinner’s ready.”

“Gotcha. Thank you.” You half-expect him to run off like he usually does, but he lingers, his arms still wrapped around you. “What’s up, bubbie?”

“Nothing.” He buries his face against your side. “Love you, Mommy.”

“I love you too, bubbie.” This makes you smile, pleasantly surprised at this seemingly random admission.

“Love Daddy too, but don’t tell him that,” he whispers as he looks up at you, putting his forefinger in front of his mouth.

“Why not?”

“Sometimes he gets sad when I say that,” he murmurs. “He doesn’t tell me, but I know it.”

Oh. His playful exterior sometimes makes you forget just how emotionally sensitive he is. And it breaks your heart that he can see through the complicated adult emotions with his childlike eyes. 

“Alfie…” you level with him and pull him closer, “Your dad loves you very very much, and I’m sure he’d be happy to hear you say that. He’s just sad because… he’s been away, and he misses you a lot.”

“He should come home, then.”

It’s so simple, the way Alfie puts it. His Dad comes home and reunites with him and you, and his puzzle would piece together perfectly again. And you all live happily ever after. The end.

The truth, of course, is not so simple. But maybe, just for tonight… Maybe you and Luca can sacrifice a few of your own puzzle pieces. For your baby boy.

So you get back on your feet and guide your son out of the room. “Come on, bub. Let’s see what Daddy cooked for us, hm?”

When you and Alfie turn the corner into the kitchen-living area, Luca is wiping the side of the plate neatly. He smiles at you somewhat nervously, like he’s not sure what to do with himself, so you throw him the figurative olive branch.

“Smells amazing,” you compliment him as you and Alfie take your seats. “What are we having, Chef?”

Luca’s eyes light up and your heart stops. You stopped calling him ‘Chef’ long ago, when the moniker became synonymous with workaholism and neglect. But there’s no venom in the way you say it tonight. Call him sentimental, but it reminds him of the early summer days in the tiny apartment you first shared in Chicago.

Of blueberry pies and barely there bumps.

He has to remind himself that this whole ‘happy family’ shtick is just a charade now, it’s all for Alfie, it doesn’t mean anything for the two of us, but he can’t help but miss this.

And little does he know, so do you.

“Well, buckle up, you guys, because we are having…” He carries the plates over and serves it to you and Alfie with a flourish, “Baked sweet potato wedges with Mediterranean dip, and our pièce-de-résistance… Alfie’s Nuggies.”

It looks nothing short of beautiful, with the wedges fanned out like autumn leaves underneath a colorful burst of cherry tomatoes, cucumbers, olives, and feta cheese. The chicken nuggets are rich golden brown against the brilliant white plate. The splatters of sauce (is that Tahini?) is a hint of thoughtful chaos on the dish.

Your six-year-old let out a little noise of awe and amazement next to you, but no sound escapes you—not for the longest time.

“This is…” you look up at Luca as if he would have the word you’re looking for.

But his blue eyes just look a lot like I love you.

“Thank you,” you ultimately say, with absolutely no pretense whatsoever.

And if he does hear an ‘I love you’ hidden somewhere in there… he hopes he’s not imagining things.

*** 

08:37 PM

If you could travel just a few hours back in time and tell yourself that you would spend the whole day stuck at home in a nasty storm with your son and his father that you’re divorcing—and that you’d be okay with it, you would’ve probably scheduled yourself an MRI scan because clearly something is wrong.

But the night is winding down. Luca is tucking Alfie into bed for the first time in months. You are washing dishes in the quiet accompaniment of steady rain and running water, and everything feels just right.

“He’s out like a light,” Luca informs you quietly as he reemerges from Alfie’s bedroom and stops right by the kitchen counter. “Need a hand?”

“Nah, I’m just about done,” you casually wave him off. “You want anything to drink?”

“Uh… what do you got?”

“Scotch, gin…” you pause, not wanting him to get the wrong idea. The sink tap squeaks a little as you shut it off. “...wine.”

His heart skips. Don’t overthink it, he reminds himself. “Red or white?”

“Take your pick,” you shrug nonchalantly. 

Luca reaches up to see the bottles of wine you have in store, and you try not to pay too much attention as his shirt rides up around the waist—or the sleeve, showing off the remnants of Alfie’s crayon work over his inks… you’re just two co-parents hanging out. It’s normal, right?

“What about the Malbec?” he eventually chooses, taking out the bottle.

He’s always loved Malbec—this particular brand of Malbec you brought him when he first invited you for dinner on your third date.

Don’t overthink it, you remind yourself. “Yeah, sure.”

You pick up two wine glasses and set them down on the dining table, shuffling into the corner bench. Luca settles into the other bench, directly against the kitchen counter, pouring the wine onto both glasses.

“How many bedtime stories did Alfie manage to get out of you?” you pipe up, swirling the purplish liquid around.

“Just one…” he sips on his wine thoughtfully. “Although he made me read it three times.”

You smile, bemused. “Which one was it?”

“‘The Bear Who Did.’”

“Ah, yeah. He’s been into that one lately,” you muse. “But… for what it’s worth, I’m glad he asked you to tuck him in tonight.”

The two of you exchange a soft look. A ceasefire. A truce, at least when it comes to your son. Because you really do want Luca to have a good relationship with Alfie.

“Me too.”

“And I’m sorry you had to… make do with spending the day with Alfie here.”

He shakes his head softly. “Nah, don’t be. I had a good time. It’s nice to just hang out… at home.”

At home, the words echo in your head.

With you, they echo in his, loud and unsaid.

“So, uh… how have you been?”

“Ah, you know how it is. Work is kicking my ass—my current client’s only two blocks away, but the house is a total fixer-upper, and Alfie’s… Alfie.” You don’t want to backtalk your own son, although you both know how trying he can be sometimes. “But it’s all good. My mom helps out with Alfie, and Jess insists that I go out and live a little every now and again.”

“And do you? Live a little?”

“I mean, within reason. I can’t go clubbing ‘til 4am anymore. I think I’m getting old…” you stretch your arms, feeling that soreness just from your daily activities.

Luca grins, raising his glass. “I hear you. I don’t even really go out anymore.”

“Seriously?” 

“Mm-hm.”

You make an incredulous face. It would make sense for you not to go out much, with Alfie and everything. But he was alone, abroad… “Why, though?”

He just shrugs lightly. “I’m working. Whenever I’m off, I mostly just… eat or sleep.”

“I somehow find that hard to believe.” You take a dubious sip. You both know how much Luca enjoys grabbing a cheeky pint. He’s British; it’s in his blood, goddammit.

“Oh come on…”

“You don’t even go out drinking or whatever? Meet people?”

His gaze flashes towards you almost playfully. “Do you?”

Your face falls, not expecting to be caught so off-guard with such an innocent question. And upon seeing that, his face falls. Shit. And with that, the air between you shifts so dramatically.

Stupidly, you still try to save the conversation. “Of course my friends and I go out—”

“You know that’s not what I meant.” His voice darkens, his blue eyes piercing through you. 

This conversation is a long time coming. It’s a natural progression of your relationship—or the lack thereof. You separate, you get divorced, and eventually you move on. Two years is a more than acceptable time to start dating again. And still, you phrase out your next words very carefully.

“I’ve been on dates here and there…”

Luca sucks in a slow, calculated breath. “Does Alfie know?”

You shake your head. “It’s nothing serious so far.”

He’s not sure what’s worse, the fact that it’s nothing serious, or that you’re holding out for something serious in the future.

“Look, we both know this is happening sooner or later…”

“I know,” he quickly recovers—or as much as he can recover. He just stares down the stem of his glass.  “It just… It’s a lot to take in, that’s all.”

“I understand.” The wine feels like gravel down your throat, and the words coming out of your mouth feel like throwing up a boulder.

“Because I do miss you.”

Your eyes immediately dart over to his, as if you’re not sure you heard it right. “Luca…”

“I miss you everyday. I miss us. I miss everything we used to have.”

Your heart catches—no, stops altogether at his admission. “Luca, we can’t do this anymo—”

He swallows thickly, his jaw setting as he braces himself. “I’ve been thinking about it everyday—the whole time I’m away, and frankly, I’m kicking myself over not telling you this sooner.”

“That’s probably just the homesickness talking.” You turn away. This can’t be possible. This can’t be happening. What the fuck?! “It got you reminiscing about the good old days. Give it time, you’ll come around.” You try to maintain a neutral, distant, cold approach to this, although the crack in your voice betrays you.

“No. That’s not it.”

“Then what the fuck is it?”

Your words cut through the quiet apartment like a flash bang. Luca stops dead in his tracks in his shock, and honestly, so do you. Awful silence hushes over the room, and both of you are almost too afraid to break it. Neither of you even dare to move.

After what seems like forever, Luca moves first. A tear escapes his eye, and he wipes it away with his knuckle hurriedly. “Noma should’ve been a dream. And it is, in a way. I guess.” He stares blankly ahead, his life in Copenhagen replaying in his head like it’s on fast-forward, and the playback seems to just highlight how lonely he is there. “But that doesn’t change the fact that I’m utterly miserable there. I get up and go to work and I just feel empty. Because what’s the point? You and Alfie are way over here, being a family while I’m… doing what?” He wants to tear his hair out, because this is everything he’s dreamed of, and yet he is living the stuff of nightmares. “It makes no fucking sense.”

It makes even less sense to you. You can’t even begin to process this tangled mess in your head. “Luca… we are almost officially divorced. You’re telling me this now? When everything is—”

“I thought I was doing what was best for you. I thought I should just… let you cut your losses and—”

“The best for me? How the fuck did you think giving up was the best way forward for me?” The thought of it burns your eyes with angry tears. They melt, and you don’t do a thing to stop it from running down your face. “You didn’t think to fight for us while you still could?”

Luca’s heart aches to see that. He is dying to reach out and wipe them away, but he can’t. His voice is quiet and small and almost childlike. “I tried. You were just so… sure about the divorce. You had it all figured out. And I… I thought you had no room for me anymore.”

“I had to keep it together. I had to figure it out—for Alfie’s sake. For mine.” You stare at your little potted sunflower on the windowsill. “I don’t see the point in being vulnerable with you anymore when you’re already set on leaving.”

The words have run out. The whirlwind of emotions has passed. What he feels and what he wants is now very clear.

“I shouldn’t have left.”

“Maybe you shouldn’t have.” You wished he didn’t. Everyday for the last two years. And everyday you set yourself up for disappointment because, the truth of the matter is, he did leave. So you stop wishing. “Because I don’t know how to come back from this. I really don’t.”

Nothing that comes out of your mouth is unexpected. But it doesn’t hurt any less to hear it from the horse’s mouth. “It’s just… seeing you guys today… We were a family again. And I would do anything for us to be a family again. Please.”

You sigh heavily. “What else is there to do, Luca…?”

“We can, I don’t know, figure something out, go to couples counseling—”

You groan in frustration, Jesus Christ not this again, wanting to tear your hair out when— CRASH! You accidentally knock over your wine glass and it shatters as it hits the floor. “Shit…”

“Mommy?” Alfie calls you from inside his room, sleepy but alert.

The two of you freeze just before you can move out of your seat. Afraid the slightest of noises would rattle your son.

“Yes, bubbie?” you try to sound bright and normal. Maybe if you can convince him that everything’s fine, he won’t come running in panic. 

“What was that?”

“I just knocked over a glass, kiddo, everything’s okay. Go back to sleep.”

You and Luca wait a few seconds with bated breath. One, two, three… ten seconds go by, and there’s no movement in the bedroom.

The coast is clear.

You scramble down to pick up the shards of glass. The spilled wine looks like blood in the dim light of the room. It’s a painful reminder of the broken pieces of your former life, the casualties. He quickly follows suit, as if struggling to put it all back together. The irony is not lost on either of you, you’re sure of that.

“It’s fine, Luca. I got it, I—” a sharp piece of glass accidentally cuts your palm as you pick it up in hurry. “Fuck!”

“You okay?” He takes your hand as quick as lightning, wanting to inspect the wound, but you snatch it away.

“I’m fine.” You get up on your feet, teetering over to the sink, away from the crime scene, careful not to step on any piece of glass.

Yet he still follows you, walking over to where you’re standing now. “Come on. Let me just take a look.” He reaches out to your wrist, running little circles with his thumb to ease your grasp.

“It’s not a big deal…” you let him look anyway, you figure it’s easier to just let him do his thing than to argue your way out of it. 

His calluses are brittle against your palm, but he handles you with the gentlest touch. The wound is not too big or too deep, but the sight of blood marring your palm makes his heart drop. There’s no visible piece stuck to it, that’s a good sign, he thinks. He rips off some paper towel and wets it on the sink, and softly dab at the gash, cleaning the wound and wiping the blood off.

You grit your teeth, not wanting to show any sign of pain although it stings. “It’s just a little cut…” your tone bears less and less conviction, as if you have no energy left to argue with him on such a small matter.

There’s a very particular way his eyebrows arch when he’s deep in thought. The left one always sits slightly higher than the right. Blue eyes fixed on the object of his focus. A minute gesture behind the chaos in his head. “You need a Band-Aid,” he points out. 

“It’s in the—”

Luca is already opening the drawer next to the stove, taking out a packet of a Star Wars-themed Band-Aid. He still remembers where everything is, and you can’t tell whether the ache in your chest is a good or bad thing.

He puts the Band-Aid on your cut, then takes your hand close to kiss it better, like he used to do.

“Um.” You freeze in your tracks, taken aback. And it seems he’s just as equally as taken aback by his own action. He is flushed with embarrassment, and you feel your face growing hot as well.

He’s the first to break the awkward silence, quiet and tentative. “I’ll clean up the mess. You just hang tight.”

It seems so mundane, sweeping broken glass and cleaning the floor. His body registers it as a simple muscle memory—he must’ve cleaned up messes on this very spot a million times. But his heart is heavy with the burden of your history, and all the pain that comes with your separation. He might not be able to put the pieces back together, but maybe he can clean up the mess and make it nice again for you.

And all the while, you’re stuck to the kitchen counter, watching him so effortlessly reacquainted with his former home. It’s as if he never left. For a confusing moment, it feels like home again. How did you manage without this view, this presence for so long?

Luca puts away the debris in the trash, hidden away in another kitchen drawer next to you, and hovers in front of you, as if wanting to reach out and touch you… but too afraid you’ll push him away.

“Does it still hurt?”

You can’t tear your eyes off of his. The little cut on your hand is but a dull ache now, but the insides of your chest feels like it’s been mangled beyond repair. You burst into tears, sobs ripping through the seams.

His arms wrap around you, keeping your tattered pieces together. Your face is buried in his chest, surrounded by soft cotton and earthy perfume, and your first thought is you can’t remember the last time you were in his arms like this. You rake your mind through all the memories, all the times you hugged each other hello and goodbye and all the times in between, and you can’t remember the last time you stopped, why would you stop—

“My love…” Luca’s voice soothes you, so quietly murmured against your forehead with a soft kiss, yet rings so clear in your ears. He cups your face with both hands, wiping the tears away with his thumbs. “It’s okay... I got you.”

The palm of his hand grazes your lips, and you kiss it the way he kisses your Band-Aid earlier. You have no energy left to fight whatever is going on inside you. You don’t understand the nagging urge to be away from him, when being close to him feels this good. You miss his touch and his voice and his face, and you’re so overwhelmed with longing that you close the distance between your lips and his.

Luca gasps when you kiss him—and it feels like the first breath he’s drawn in two years. Your lips are just as he remembers, just as warm and inviting and familiar, and he relishes coming home to them tonight. He didn’t think he would be so lucky ever again, but now you’re here, kissing life back into him again.

Against your better judgment, you stumble into the bedroom, careful to make as little sound as possible as you tread down the hallway. Still tangled in each other. Refusing to let go even for a second. His five o’clock shadow scratches your skin, following the trail of his lips down your neck.

You push him into bed and climb on top of him without a single thought. You need him close, closer than the past two years, closer than now, and your clothes feel like they’re in the way. Of his hands, of his mouth, of his warmth…

You tear your dress off and throw it away, and he stops in his tracks. He has every part of you memorized, every curve and every ridge, every notch of your stretch marks, every inch of your C-section scar from Alfie’s birth… and yet he’s looking at you for the first time all over again.

“Beautiful…” it escapes his mouth just like that, and you kiss him senseless in return. You worry that if you stop, the moment will pass and this whole thing turns out to be just an illusion.

Or worse, a mistake.

You tug his t-shirt over his head, trying not to linger on his broad chest too long. He gets the idea—he is dying to say something, but doesn’t—and just unclasps your bra in response. He keeps his mouth busy by kissing and licking and sucking your newly exposed breasts.

It’s not that you haven’t been touched like this in a while; it’s just that you haven’t been touched by him like this for so long.. “Luca…”

He never thought he’d hear that again. His name in a wanton sigh, uttered by the lost love of his life. He’s not one to waste his chance. “It’s okay. I got you, my love. I got you.”

Because for the first time in a long time, it’s true. He’s got you. He’s got your body underneath him, your nipple in his mouth, your sweet sex in his hand.

God.

You’re so soft, so warm, so wet against his fingers. The little stuttered moan you let out sounds absolutely heavenly. He remembers exactly the last time he was here.

Christmas Eve, two years ago. 

Things had been tense long before that, but Luca was home and able to spend some time with his wife and kid at last. You didn’t seem all that chuffed having him around—whether he was here or not brought out that “neutral look of displeasure” from you these days— but at least you didn’t pull away when he rested his head on your shoulder as the three of you watched Jurassic Park (Alfie’s all-time favorite). Didn’t roll your eyes and turn away when he kissed you and wished you happy Christmas before bed.

And he wanted so desperately for you to openly want him again.

So he tentatively deepened the kiss and reiterated his love for you in every inch of your body that he could get his hands on. Trying to convince you that he was still here. Trying to convince himself that with every orgasm he pried out of you, that you still wanted him there.

But you just… laid there and watched. Hands locked in on the sheets, not even touching him. Motionless as he went through the motions of his thrusts. Numb as he touched and kissed and fucked you the way you used to like. He was fighting a losing battle. He might as well have been making love to a ghost. 

“Luca…” Your breathless voice snaps him out of his own intrusive thoughts, more clear and alive and real than any memory of you posing no desire for him.

“I— yeah, sorry. I just…” he shakes off his own thoughts.

“Hurry up, come on…” you needily thrust yourself into his hand.

“You sure?”

No, and neither does he. But at this point, you’re much too stubborn about your decision in the divorce and much too prideful to admit that you want him back and maybe just a tad too eager to make a mistake with him.

So you nod your head yes, and with a searing kiss, he fingerfucks you the way you needed him to. 

“Oh, God… fuck…” you sigh under the undoing of his fingers. It’s like he never forgot how to work your body. His fingers play a pattern on your clit that makes you sing. And when one slides into you, crooking and curling against your silky heat…

“Luca, I— now.”

He unlatches his mouth from your nipple almost begrudgingly, as if too sweet to part with you. “Not yet, baby. We can’t…”

“What, why?”

“Because…” he nips at the smooth flesh of your chest thoughtfully. How can he explain it to you in a way that makes sense? “I want…” to take as much time with you as possible, he adds another finger inside you deliciously slow. “I need…” to feel you in every way first, he chants in his head as he kisses you through your orgasm.

Your resolve is slipping, but the craving is as ravenous as ever. You try to squirm in protest anyway. “But…”

“Please.” His lips press against your forehead, eyes squeezed shut. “I got you, okay?”

His blue eyes meet yours, as familiar as the sky you’ve walked under your whole life. As sure as day. And before you realize it, you find yourself nodding along.

Watching him slither further down your body. Mouth paving the way between the valleys of your breasts, up the diamond-hard tops of your nipples.

Down your torso.

Between your nether lips.

You don’t remember the last time you did this either. Memories of attempts to rekindle the romance flash before your eyes. The nights that he climbed into bed late at night after work, still smelling like chocolate or mint or whatever ingredient he was working with that day. Waking you up with the parting of your legs and hushed kisses saying, “Missed you so much, baby…”

“Right there. Yes…” you pant as he laps you up where you’re dripping, catching every drop and coaxing more at the same time.

His eyes close, and he swallows back a needy groan. “Come for me, baby.”

The words shoot right into your core, and you’re suddenly overcome with the waves of pleasure running through you, grinding your hips into his mouth shamelessly. Has he always been so greedy in the way he ate you out?

Your head is spinning with need and you hope the broken words you string up are comprehensible enough for him. “Luca, come on, I can’t—”

“No, please—” he seems to understand just fine, but still he shakes his head and buries his face deeper into you.

“Luca…”

“Wait, just let me—”

So insistent. So stubborn. So… needy. You grasp a fistful of hair on the back of his head. Both heaving, you breathe out,

“Please.” 

The word stops him in his tracks. But it’s not so much the word as it is the gravity that comes with it. Whatever the two of you are doing, whatever you’re feeling is beyond words at this point.

It’s just you and him and this need.

And as much as he wants—needs— to satisfy his hunger, there’s just no way of stopping you anymore. Truth be told, he’s not even sure why he’s been stalling you in the first place. Not when you’re so eager to tug his clothes off and touch him absolutely everywhere. To stroke him, and taste him…

“No, baby.” He stops you just before you slither down his body, settling you back on the bed and caging you underneath him.

You throw him a look, indignant. If he’s gonna hold it off some more, you swear to God—

“No, I…” he kisses you hard, hoping you’ll get that he wants you too. More than anything. And that he’ll give you what you want. Hell, he would give you anything if he could come back to this again for the rest of his life. “Just trust me, okay?”

You marvel at the sight before you. So tall and broad and sturdy. With dark blond locks tousled in passion and eyes lidded from lust and longing, and it makes your heart stop because… there it is.

Love.

As much as you shut it out and as much as you avoid it, love is permanently etched to his actions. Tattooed onto the smallest of things. In the way he kisses your temple softly, and the way he caresses your skin as he aligns himself against you, and the way he holds you as he pushes in…

“Luca…” you gasp sharply.

He stops halfway into you, his eyes searching your face with compassion. “You okay?”

You’re aching and craving the stretch of him all at once, but you wouldn’t have it any other way, so you ultimately nod your head. I’m okay. 

And he knows that deep down. He feels the same. Soothed and tormented by your very presence, although he can’t help but ask, “Do you want me to stop?” Please don’t ask me to stop…

You shake your head quickly. Neither of you would ever dream of it. You would take everything—the weight and the sting of it all— and he would leave everything behind just to have this again.

Your hips colliding again in a frenzy of a rhythm you haven’t played in so long—still remembering every beat like it’s your own pulse. Your walls gripping him like you wouldn’t let him go.

He shudders a little. “I’m gonna come if you keep doing that…”

“I don’t care,” you murmur into his neck with a kiss, “Come.”

“What…?” He can’t have heard that right… right?

“I want you to.”

“Jesus…” he breathes out. “I wanna make this last, baby—”

You shake your head again and wrap your legs around him almost demandingly. “I want you to come inside me and fill me the fuck up… want you dripping down my legs… please…”

“Fuck!” The images flash before his eyes faster than he can stop his hands from grabbing you by the hips, slamming himself into you. 

Nor can he stop himself from coming deep inside you.

There’s no way to describe the way he feels at that moment. The way tension peaks and snaps into release. How it brings you into your climax as well. Your lips must be swollen from the assault of your own teeth as you hold back the filthy noises coming out of you. You don’t mind the building ache in your thigh muscles, because as soon as that warmth fills you up, your body is overcome by waves of bliss.

“Fuck…” he flops back onto his side of the bed—the right side—and quickly gathers you in his chest. It’s an effortless little maneuver, making sense at last as you lay half on top of him.

Your hand finds his—more puzzle pieces coming together as he fills the spaces between your fingers. You bring it to your lips, pressing a kiss to his knuckles. Surprised to find the gold wedding band still adorning his ring finger.

***

9:56 PM

“Was that really your first time since we… you know?” Your murmured question rings loud in the absence of the rain. The storm has finally passed, but neither of you move—neither even dare to bring it up— afraid to ruin the moment. 

“It was.”

“Not even in a casual, ‘no strings attached’ kind of situation?”

“No.” He looks almost embarrassed to admit it, but there is no hesitation in his answer.

“Wow…” your heart sinks. Is it possible to feel good and bad at the same time?

Luca pauses for a moment. You can see the conflict brewing in his head. “Did you?”

You don’t have to answer. The sheer silence you take is an answer enough.

The confirmation feels like shit, but he tries to stay neutral. His thumb stills on the back of your hand. “Can I ask how many?”

“Gosh, does that even matter?” You sigh. There’s another argument coming—you can feel it.

“No, I just… I wanna know.”

“You don’t really wanna know.”

“Is it a lot?”

“I mean…”

“How many?” 

You take in a sharp breath. There’s no way out of this now. If the truth is what he wants, then the truth is what he shall get. “Twelve.”

He tenses up next to you. The whole world stops, and you can’t help but think, it’s over. There is no way this marriage is salvageable now. “What…?”

“I know that it’s a big number, and I know you might be upset—”

“That is a big number.” He doesn’t say anything about the latter part of her sentence, but it’s obvious that he’s upset, too. “I just… why?”

“I was trying to get over you.” It’s a pathetic answer, but that’s all it is to it. “I couldn’t sleep in this bed for months. I just couldn’t. Slept on the guest bed instead,” you motion at the next room, “and then one day, I couldn’t take it anymore. It’s like a switch flipped inside my brain, and I needed to—”

“What?”

“I needed to… overwrite the memories of you,” you admit feebly. “On this bed. On my body.”

Knife, meet heart. He’s not sure what answer he was expecting, but whatever it was, this hurts so much more. “And did it work?”

“Up to a point…” you pause, a sad smile in realization. “It’s funny. I keep getting bits and pieces of you somehow.”

“What do you mean?”

You close your eyes, your memories flashing, reminding you that every single time reminds you of Luca one way or another. “It’s… somebody’s perfume, or the timbre of their voice, or the way they hold my hand…”

“And you see me in them?” 

“Every single one.”

“Jesus…” Luca finds himself relieved and choked up at the same time. He doesn’t want you to ever get rid of your memories of him, but at the same time, it’s painful to hear that you tried anyway.

And you tried very hard.

“I’m sorry.”

He hums, and you realize… he hasn’t let go of your hand. Not once. Not even after your little confession. It makes the argument easier, knowing he’s there. It’ll be easier to part with him again after tonight, you hope, knowing you both did your best to understand. Why you needed to be apart. Why you did the things you did.

The armor has been shed, and the two of you are now naked, in every sense of the word.

Luca turns to look at you, studying your profile. He remembers the last time he was here.

He had just told you about Denmark. Stupid of him to feel excited, to tell you he’d just been offered his dream job, to ask you and Alfie to move someplace new with him, because it turned into a fight.

Worse than a fight; it was a death sentence.

You turned away and stared at the ceiling, and told him you couldn’t do this anymore.

And in some fucked up way, Luca feels as if he’d been brought back in time, and this is his one chance to make it right. So he asks you,

“Do you still love me?” 

You breathe out, heart clenching because in spite of yourself, “I do.”

“Do you want us to try again?”

“Luca…” you sigh heavily, “How would that even work? Alfie and I are here, and you have Noma–”

“No more Noma. I’m giving that up.” The answer is straightforward, and he surprises himself over how easily it rolls off of his tongue. How right.

“What? You wouldn’t…” Your face falls as you turn to him.

“I would. And I am,” he says firmly. “Look, I’ve thought about this for months now. I can’t do Noma anymore, I need to be home.” His gaze softens, and you feel the pattern running on the back of your hand again.

Slow and steady and certain.

The tear rolls off the corner of your eye and onto the pillow with the tiniest drop. “I wanted you to come home…”

“Then let me come home. Please?”

“I want to. I just…” you reach out and cup his face tentatively. “I just want to make sure that we’re not doing anything rash.”

His eyes light up. The only thing that matters is that you want him home, too. It takes him everything to let his logical part of the brain take control. “How about this, then?” Luca pauses thoughtfully. “We’ll take a minute. For me to sort out everything at Noma, find a replacement… and for us to figure out if this is really what we wanna do.

“If it starts to feel like a bad idea, maybe we should rethink it. But if it feels good… maybe we can give it another shot.

“And in the meantime, we’ll talk. We’ll FaceTime and… figure out what the hell to say to our lawyers.”

That makes you grimace. You were supposed to have another meeting with your divorce lawyers. Tomorrow is going to be awkward. But awkward beats saying goodbye to the man you’ve always loved, right? It’s a small price to pay.

“What do you say, baby?” He looks at you with all the hope that he has. “Just give me a minute to get everything sorted and then I’ll come home.”

You smile tearfully. “A minute is not enough… how about a month, hm?”

“Yeah, that makes more sense, actually.” He chuckles sheepishly. “A month. I can do that.”

“Good.” You sidle up to him and kiss him where his heart is. You’re willing to settle for having him just for the night, but you can’t wait until he comes home to you for good.

You hope he will.

[nxuvillette]

BEHIND THE SCENES — OLIVER AIKU

synopsis: you and oliver’s sex tape had gotten leaked onto twitter. your relationship comes to a halt, but once you reconnect, you recall what happened that night he filmed your sexual encounter with each other.

❥- pairings : oliver aiku x fem!reader

❥- note : thank you to @flseur for helping me with this idea !! i seriously couldn’t have done it without you <3. i hope you all enjoy !! reblogs are appreciated !!

content warnings : nsfw [17+], fem!reader, ageless + blank blogs dni, secret relationship, personal trainer!reader, some brief angst, non consensual video sharing (oliver did not share it !), mentions of food, use of pet names (baby , princess , good girl), consensual recording, unprotected sex, begging, praising, marking, breeding kink, creampie, brief choking.

The sun spread its golden rays into your bedroom through the beige curtains that blanketed your windows. It was your day off. You enjoyed nothing more than taking in an extra hour or two of sleep. It was your normal routine during the weekends, so you decided to roll over onto the other side of your bed and try and focus on sleeping. 

BUZZ!

Your phone would normally vibrate throughout the morning or even during the night. You had friends who would send you Instagram posts or even text you to ask about meeting for coffee on a certain day. It wasn’t unusual at all, so you didn’t really pay much attention to your cell phone. You were too drowned in sleep to even bat an eye.

BUZZ!

BUZZ!

BUZZ!

BUZZ!

Your sleepy eyes opened slightly at the sound of four consecutive notifications. You didn’t know who was messaging you at this early hour, but it was getting kind of annoying. Part of you wanted to put your phone on do not disturb, but the laziness of being in bed only sucked you back into the mattress you were resting on. It was probably nothing. Your friends were probably just blowing up your phone with posts or other random shit. It was never that important.

BUZZ!

BUZZ!

BUZZ!

An annoyed sigh left your lips. Who the hell was spamming you? You wondered if it was Isagi who had something stupid to say sometimes, but when you lifted your phone off the bedside table, you were surprised to see that it wasn’t him. There were multiple text messages coming from not just your close friends, but one of your clients, Oliver Aiku.

Your eyes scanned over the messages, furrowing your brows at the contents of them.

Kunigami: umm.. is this you??

Isagi: hey, y/n, idk if you’ve gone online buy something is out there and i really hope you’re alright.

Oliver: y/n

Oliver: y/n please pick the fuck up right now

Oliver: this is not the time to be ignoring me we need to talk asap.

Sae: wtf is going on??

Oliver: y/n please call me when you have the chance

Confusion covered your body at the concerns of your friends. Isagi’s message confused you the most, though, because what did he mean something happened online? You weren’t really big on social media like that. Sure, you had a few thousand followers on Twitter and Instagram, but by no means were you some kind of influencer or celebrity online. You preferred it that way. Having too much attention was overwhelming and you never liked the spotlight to begin with.

You swiped out of your messages and went onto Twitter. To your surprise, your notifications were blowing up and your small number of followers had jumped seemingly overnight. It made you even more confused now, because what happened? You didn’t post any tweets that could go viral, so what was all of this attention for? It wasn’t until you pressed a video you were tagged in that you realized what you were going viral for. 

Immediately, you recognized yourself. You were lying in the bed of your client, Oliver Aiku, and he was fucking the shit out of you. Everything about that night had rushed back into your brain at light speed. You remembered giving Oliver permission to record the sex you were having, but you never allowed him to post it. Neither of you wanted something like that to get out, and it was like a nightmare knowing that it was out and so many people had seen it. There was this pit in your gut that made you sick to your stomach. Did Oliver leak it? Did he show it or send it to someone else and they released it? You were pissed, hurt, but most of all, you felt embarrassed. Hundreds of people saw you at your most vulnerable and who knows what might happen to you now that this was public news. 

You left Twitter and searched for Oliver’s contact. It made sense why he was messaging you so much. He must have seen it way before you did. 

You pressed the call option and it began to ring, but after a few seconds, he picked up. “(Y/N)! Thank god..” he sounded panicked, which annoyed you. “I dunno how-“

“Oliver, what the fuck?! How did this happen?! Did you fucking leak it or send it to someone? Be honest with me, because I’m so fucking.. mortified right now.” you were very angry, more angry than you had ever been in your life. You knew what kind of man he was, so it wouldn’t have shocked you if he was the one to share your business.

He took a deep breath, trying to calm himself down before speaking to you again. He was well aware of how bad this looked. Things like this happen all of the time to women without their knowledge, and it’s a disgusting matter. He understood your feelings completely. “(Y/N).. I didn’t leak the tape, I promise. I would never ever share something like that with anyone else. Baby, you know I’m not that kind of guy..” he sounded upset, but also genuine at the same time. 

You shook your head, staring at the ceiling. You wanted to believe him, you really did, but all of this seemed way too sketchy. Oliver was always a ladies man and it was shocking enough that he wanted to have a relationship with you that wasn’t just professional, so maybe it was just too good to be true. “Then how did it get out? It doesn’t make sense, Oliver. I know you’re a good guy.. but how do I know you’re not lying to me right now?” you questioned, looking down at the floor.

Oliver sighed, knowing you had somewhat of a point. Given the circumstances, it made sense why you would accuse him of doing such a thing, but he genuinely liked you. He would never do that to anyone. “My manager was telling me that I should start moving shit off of my iCloud because people are hacking, so I must have forgotten to move it and someone more than likely hacked into it and posted it.” he said. “I promise, baby, I would never do that to you. I like you so much.. I couldn’t do that even if I wanted to.”

You didn’t reply for a few seconds. It did seem likely that his cloud could have gotten hacked, but still, it didn’t help that the video was now out there for the world to see. Many strangers saw your body and your voice. It made you feel dirty and it was such an uncomfortable feeling. Oliver probably didn’t fully understand how you felt, but you weren’t about to argue with him on that. 

“I want to take a break, Oliver.”

There was silence on the other end for a few moments. You could tell that Oliver wasn’t happy with it based on his reaction, but this was all too much for you. This could destroy your life and even career opportunities. “Right.. um, I understand, (Y/N).” he broke the silence. “I’m sorry again.. I was an idiot to not properly protect our privacy. I’m here if you need anything, always.”

After that, the phone suddenly hung up. He didn’t even give you any warning, but you knew it upset him. It wasn’t like either of you meant for this to happen, but it was a very serious matter. You didn’t want your family seeing that or someone you were good friends with. You needed time to clear your head and just be by yourself for a little while. Things like this don’t just pass overnight, so you wanted to disconnect for a bit.

TWO MONTHS LATER 

The aroma of coffee filled your nose as you sat in the cafe. Many people entered and exited with their orders and others sat down to use the wifi that the cafe offered to do work. 

You sat at one of the tables beside the window. A few small snowflakes danced onto the ground from the sky. It was quite a chilly day. The wind was like glass being cut against your skin and bundling up didn’t exactly help with the sheer cold. You were kind of nervous. It was the first time in two months that you had seen Oliver in person, and you both decided to meet up after not speaking with one another for a while. It was going to be awkward and you knew that, but you wanted to at least see him and talk.

You shifted around when you noticed Oliver stepping into the cafe. His eyes immediately lit up when he saw you sitting by yourself at the table. He looked the same as ever. His stubble was a bit shorter and he had that same haircut he usually had. 

The stool screeched when he pulled it out to sit across from you. You didn’t want this to feel weird or awkward, so you put on the bravest face you could find and smiled at him. “Hey.. long time no see, how are you?” you placed your hands around the coffee cup which was still warm. 

He took in your appearance and couldn’t help but grin as well at you. Oliver couldn’t lie, he missed you a lot. You were once his everything and to lose you made him feel like shit. He knew he fucked up back then and he wanted to make things better again between you two. “I’m doing okay, you? How have you been? I kind of missed you..” he said, reaching over to place his hand atop of yours.

His touch was like electricity on your skin. It had been so long since you felt him against you. Not seeing him for so long brought back so many reminders as to why you were into him in the first place. “I missed you too..” you replied. “I’ve just been managing lately. After everything, I took a break from social media and such. I was lucky enough to keep my job.”

Oliver felt a sting in his heart at the situation. He knew this was ten times worse for you than it was for him. He was mocked by a few of his teammates who didn’t know what the hell they were talking about, but he knew it was much more bad for you than it was for him. “I see.. I’m glad to see you, though. You look good.” he tried soothing you the best he could, even if it didn’t work as well. 

“Look, I.. I know that wasn’t entirely your fault for what happened. I shouldn’t have just thrown it all on you, but I’m over it.” you looked at him with seriousness all over your expression. “The video was taken down and I don’t want that to define me whatsoever, so I forgive you, Oliver.”

He seemed genuinely relieved to hear that you didn’t hate him. He thought you were going to knock him out and whoop the shit out of him for what happened. He truly didn’t mean for any of this to happen. He cared for you deeply and the last thing he wanted was for you to get hurt or hate him. “I appreciate that.. and again, I’m sorry. This was my fault for not being smart enough.” he said, squeezing your hand tightly. 

You smiled at him. “Trust me, it’s okay, you couldn’t have known this was going to happen. I promise..” you replied.

Both of you sat there for a few moments just taking in the atmosphere around you. It was all familiar to you. That’s what you liked the most about Oliver. He made you feel safe and you felt like you could genuinely be yourself around him. You missed him a lot. It took a lot in you to not reach out, but after some time, you figured you would patch things up with him. He was your client, after all. Being his personal trainer meant you’d see him more often and the last thing you wanted was for things to become awkward.

His thumb brushed against your palm, making eye contact with you at the same time. “I wanna take you out.. I don’t care if people see us together.” he lifted your hand to kiss it. 

Your cheeks felt hot at his proposal. Normally, you two kept things pretty private, but seeing that he didn’t care about it being public, it made you happy. “I’d love that..” you grinned, looking at him with a happy glint in your eyes.

While sitting there, you began to remember what had happened the night you and Oliver had hooked up. At that point, you two had been seeing each other for a month or two. It wasn’t out of the ordinary for you to come over to his place after having a workout, but that night was different. You could feel it when Oliver kept brushing his hands against yours, or the way he stood a little too close to your ass which led his aching cock to brush against it. It didn’t take long for you to end up on the bed inside his bedroom. 

Oliver’s lips touched against your skin. His teeth grazed against the sensitive spot just beneath your ear, licking and sucking to leave a mark that would be visible to anyone. His large hands were all over your body. He wasted zero time tearing off your leggings and pulling down your sports bra to reveal your pretty tits he had spent so much time eyeing. He was so gentle. He left a trail of wet kisses on the valley between your breasts and then down towards your navel. He thought your body was the prettiest thing he had ever seen. He spent so much time fantasizing about what he’d do if he was alone with you, and now that moment had come. He wasn’t going to let it slip through his fingers so easily.

A smirk appeared on his features when he saw the damp spot soaking through your panties. He hooked his fingers under the hem and pulled the fabric down from your thighs, exposing your pretty cunt. His cock hardened immediately when he saw how wet you were. Fuck, you really were perfect in every way possible. “Shiitt, all this for me, princess?” he chuckled, spreading your thighs apart to see your pretty hole.

You whimpered when you felt his breath fan over your pussy. You were practically throbbing over the fact that he was hovering over you. “Y-Yes..” you moaned. “Oliver, please.. I need you..” 

He was surprised to see that you were tugging at his shirt to bring him closer. Who was he to deny you of what you wanted? He then tossed off his shirt, throwing it somewhere into his bedroom. You shivered when you watched him pull down his shorts, revealing his cock that was leaking pre-cum around the tip. A happy trail went down from his stomach all the way to his pubes that were properly trimmed. You had seen him shirtless many times before, but seeing his dick made you even more turned on. 

The tip of his cock slid against your clit. You moaned softly at the contact it made with your body. You wanted him inside you so badly. You didn’t even have the desire to make him do foreplay. “Ready for me, baby..?” he looked down at you, positioning his cock at your entrance. 

You nodded, placing your hands on his broad shoulders. “Yes.. so ready..” you looked at him with desperate eyes. 

Oliver then pushed himself into you. A sharp gasp slipped through your lips at the sensation of his cock filling your cunt. The stretch was intense. You felt like you could hardly take him from how big he was. He was only halfway in and you already felt so full from just that. The burn felt too good. You couldn’t help but dig your fingernails into his shoulder blades. Oliver didn’t mind the pain, though. He was losing it right about now. You were so tight and the way your pussy hugged his cock was so perfect. He couldn’t help but groan at how much pleasure he was feeling. Where the hell had you been? 

Once given the go ahead to move, Oliver set himself at a rougher pace. He wanted to go slow, but he couldn’t keep fighting with himself. Any restraint he had early on was now diminishing with every rut of his hips. He was so lost within you. He couldn’t think of anything else. 

Your cries of pleasure were uncontrollable at that point. His cock was bullying your walls and reaching places inside you that made your body melt for him. It didn’t help that he had all the stamina in the world from being a pro athlete. He could probably go on for hours without feeling tired. “Oliver! God, yes! M-More! I need more!” you whined, making eye contact with him. 

He smirked at how needy you were for him. Oliver never imagined he’d have you underneath him like this. His cock stuffing your pussy, making you sob from how good it was. This was all a dream for him, and he was so thankful it had finally come true. “Yeah? More, baby? Fuck, I’ll give you more..” he then reached over to his bedside table, grabbing his cell phone that had been discarded for almost an hour now. “Wanna be on camera, princess..?”

Your head shook almost instantly at his request. You trusted Oliver more than anything. Plus, it was kind of thrilling to you that you would be filmed. It made you clench around him just a little tighter when the thought crossed your mind. “Yes..” you spat out.

Oliver then held his phone above you. He moved your legs so your knees were now nearly touching the bed you were lying on. It gave him the perfect view of everything. You were a bit stunned at first when the flash turned on, but none of that mattered to you. You were too lost in bliss to think about that. 

He began to play with your puffy clit, sending multiple waves of pleasure to wash over you. He thought you looked so fucking cute. He knew he made the right choice in finding you that day. You were everything Oliver Aiku ever wanted in a woman. “Like that..? Look at you.. bein’ such a good girl while I fuck you..” he grunted. “Fuck, baby, I’m gonna ruin you..”

Oliver tossed his phone aside, focusing solely on you once again. His pace picked up. It was so fast that you saw stars in your vision whenever he reached your g-spot. His balls smacked against your throbbing clit, creating some lewd noises that filled the room. Beads of sweat trickled down Oliver’s gorgeous body, leaving a nice shine to his skin and his muscles. He looked so hot above you. You wished you could snap a photo of him so you could remember that night forever.

The burning pit inside your stomach was only growing larger with every thrust. Oliver could feel your pussy slowly becoming tighter around him. He knew you were close. You had become so desperate for that release. It was clawing at you like an animal wanting to escape from its cage. “O-Oliver.. I’m close!” you moaned, closing your legs just a little so your knees were now against his waist.

He chuckled at the sound of that. He wanted to make you cum so hard that you couldn’t think straight for days. You were so pretty and perfect for him. “C’mon, princess, cum all over this dick..” he leaned down to capture your lips into a sloppy kiss. “Show me how much of a good girl you are..”

At that moment, you finally let go around him. Your pussy clamped around his cock and Oliver’s hips stuttered from the feeling. Your cum coated his cock nicely, making squelching noises accumulate from how wet you were. He couldn’t help but smile at how great you did. You were calling out his name like it was a prayer, and he loved nothing more than to hear that. You were addictive. He didn’t think he could find someone better than you in this life. 

Oliver’s hand found its way around your throat. You watched him with glassy eyes as he fucked you through your orgasm. Your body felt like it was on fire. Your thighs were shaking and you couldn’t even form proper sentences from how fucked out you were. “Where do you want me to cum, baby..?” he asked, squeezing your throat slightly to restrict your breathing for a brief moment.

“I-Inside..! Inside me, please..!” you managed to say with a whiny tone. 

You were so fucking dirty. He loved it.

Oliver clenched his teeth as he increased his thrusts once again. His cock was twitching inside of you and his balls started to feel tight from his release being so close. “Fuck.. ‘gonna cum so hard inside you..” he grunted. “Make this pussy all mine.. you’re all mine, got it? N-No one can fuck you this good.. or breed you as well as I can, baby. Shit.. say it, say you’re mine..”

You did exactly as he wanted, grinning in the process. “I’m y-yours..” you whimpered.

A groan rumbled in his throat as he finally reached his climax. His cum gushed into your pussy, filling your womb with white. There was this rush of warmth that spread across your abdomen when he came inside you. It was so good. It made you crave it more. 

Oliver panted, staring down at you to see if there were any signs of discomfort on your end, but he was relieved to see that there weren’t any. You seemed very drowsy and tired from his point of view, but regardless, you looked beautiful. He couldn’t get enough of your beauty. How could someone like you fall into his lap like that? You were too great for him. He knew he was going to cherish you. 

Oliver vowed to never let you go, no matter what.

© NXUVILLETTE ┆ all rights reserved, do not repost, translate, or claim as your own.

[versegm]

Coming out of my self-imposed tumblr ban cuz this is the third post I see along the lines of "man we gotta jump ship" so here are some other ways to be social/do fandom/ect. I'm not gonna call them "tumblr alternatives" because I won't lie to you these are gonna be very different experiences from tumblr. But if you use tumblr as a way to meet new people/post your thoughts/do fandom/keep up with folks, then maybe one of these is worth looking into.

COHOST

I don't use Cohost so idk if it's good or not, but all the people who use it tell me it's A Whole Lot Like Tumblr. Got pretty mixed reviews on this one, people seem to either love it or hate it, either way you could check it out it's free.

PILLOWFORT

My main bitch, so I can actually talk about it.

Pros:

Lots of cool privacy features

Porn is allowed

Website has been consistently getting updates and listening to the userbase

No ads because it's user-funded

Cons:

Being user-funded means the website is frequently struggling with money

NEOCITIES

This one isn't really a social media, it's a host for websites.

Pros:

You can do whatever the fuck you want here

Cons:

You have to code it all yourself

If you didn't immediately skip this rolling your eyes, here are some ressources to get a blog running with minimum efforts, and a cool zine to figure out what to put on your blog.

FANLISTING

Ye Old internet way to find new peeps in your fandom. It's a list of fans. I'm listing thefanlisting.org here because it's the biggest hub of fanlistings out there, but there are plenty that aren't listed so if you've got a topic dear to your heart it might be worth googling up "[fandom/ship/character] fanlisting" and see what turns up.

Pros:

It's literally just adding your name to a list of fans. Low spoon effort.

Cons:

If you want to talk to any of the people on the fanlisting you have to actually manually contact them via email or website or whatever they provided for contact. High social anxiety effort.

Anyways that's all I got chief. You probably already heard of half of those and the other half might have made you go "hey wtf that's not at all what I use tumblr for why would I need these" and the answer is it's not my problem. I discovered these when looking for ways for me personally to do social media so if you do social media differently sorry I can't help ya. But hey maybe you'll discover something new who knows.

Preemptive answers to things I am sure will clog my notifications for years to come:

None of these are like tumblr! Look bestie this is like the fifth time people consider abandoning tumblr at this point you have to make your peace with the fact that there is no other website like this one.

The websites you mentioned are nearly empty there's no one in my community here! Bro if you want a website with lots of people you don't need me listing off where you can go you already know where people are going (aka: Bluesky) If you're so scared to be alone then invite your buddies to move there together so you can chat together idk. Be the change you want to be in the world.

I'm not gonna use these. Then you've got my blessing to not use these. I assure you you don't need to reblog this post just to tell me you won't use these. I don't care.

Anyways. Peace. Dunno how many people this is gonna be useful to, but if you wanted to branch out of the usual reddit/bluesky/twitter, hopefully this will help.

Bunch of pillowfort invite codes under the cut since I got a bunch. Sorry I got no cohost as I said I don't use that one.

[shotmrmiller]

i usually am a silent watcher , i.e. likes + reblogs ( + bombing my friend's messages w/ your shots ) but i just got thia thought and i have to spill it ! 😭

remember the post about ps!simon taking longer than usual and that's because he's watching mc's videos have been living in my head rent free , and i can't help but think about him receiving a notif about you starting a live , and in his hurry he accidentally ends up using his personal ( i.e. GHOST ) account!

due to your unresponsiveness to his messages , he kinda sticks to being quiet at the beginning, simply jacking his own cock off , but as he watches your lips part and your body bounces on the dildo , he can't help , kissing his teeth and typing with one hand in a flurry , his eyes slightly hooded and focused solely on you! hell , he isn't even looking at the keyboard!

GHOST : you're doing good as always

GHOST : fuck , my favourite girl , can't get off without you

GHOST DONATED $$$$

GHOST : i heard you last time , please moan my name again 💦

and these comments would've been lost within the chat unseen as per usual with his other account , others commenting the same things , who would care! but this time? the commenters ?

### : is that THE ghost ?

@@@ : fuck , even ghost is watching Y/N , that's the pussy power

*** : i guess even pornstars have their own favourite pornstars , fuck ghost chose well

the chat is going in an uproar , but the pretty horny you is too busy chasing her high , your eyebrows furrow, your glossed lips let out loud whines and breathy moans , and the noise of the donations coming through only makes you rub your own clit faster till you're seeing white and cumming all over the fake dick , whining lowly "hnghh, g-ghost, please..."

only when you're done twitching and twisting with that aftershock do you look at the screen and your mouth falls agape

cAN YOU IMAGINE!?!!

WHAT DOES GHOST DO AFTER HE ACCIDENTALLY DID THAT?? WHAT DOES MC DO!?!!;?;?! THE PEOPLE GOING MAD IN THE COMMENTS OF YOUR LIVE, IN THEIR OWN ACCOUNTS, SCREENSHOTS ARE CIRCULATING TWITTER , INSTA , TUMBLR , EVERY OTHER PLATFORM KNOWN TO MAN!?! DOES THE COMPANY TRY TO COVER UP THIS SCANDAL , OR do they use it as a way to recruit mc to simon , perhaps if he got his hands on her he might get back to performing like before ;) (he does. except he only performs with her now)

( i hope it wasn't too long? i usually just pitch a tiny idea and run , but i , uh , idk what came over me- plus , I don't use those sites so i have no idea how that works exactly and i hope they don't "announce" who joined the live like they do in IG , uhhh , okok , this is it , byyyee!! 😭✨✨✨ )

there's no hiding. he'll tell his manager that it really was an honest mistake, but you've been ignoring all of his emails and he's up to his forehead with pent-up sexual frustration. it works though :>

he's got your attention now.

there wouldn't be any recruiting because she doesn't wanna be seen by anyone. it's just her and her phone at home. people are scummy and no one will hold shit over her head. this is where he shows up at her house with sweaty palms and rosy cheeks (he's so desperate to get his hands on reader that his vision's blurring lmao)

[sunsetsandsunshine]

An issue I need to address:

TW: Drama, cussing…yk all that jazz. I apologize that this post is what you all are receiving from me today. But I need to talk about this before it get’s worse.

Okay, I just want to clarify that there should be no hate being sent towards @osctwordfan for this. Hate and hurtful comments will not and cannot fix what has been done. But that does not I am not angry about it. I am mad. I am livid. Only two people on this site has been able to make me this genuinely upset and it’s frustrating that making a PUBLIC POST is the only way to get this person’s attention. 

4 days ago, May 16th, @osctwordfan started following me. Which, I greatley appreciated because HELLO??? Who wouldn’t, right? A new follower is just an awesome feeling to have. So, I checked their blog to see what they liked and we shared SO many similar interests it was almost scary. And I followed back. 

If you know me for a while, you know my whole “Hi new mutual 💝” message I send to my new mutuals. Because 1: I love talking to people and 2: I just want others to feel like they’re welcome. (If you haven’t received one yet it’s either bc you’re a little older than me or idk how to send the message. BUT YOU WILL GET ONE TRUST 💞💓💘💖💝)

And you all know how you can SEE when someone is online? Well, they were online when I texted this. And I got no response. I just assumed it was nervousness or shyness so I didn’t really question it. Until a few minuetes later they reblogged my “You can always ask” fic. 

Which, woo-hoo I guess. But my message was still not answered. But I didn’t think it was THAT deep. 

The next day, May 17th, I noticed they were online. I sent a quick “Hi” again, awaiting a response. About 5 minutes later I was met with one, except it wasn’t the one I was expecting or hoping for. 

It was a request. For a fanfiction. Okay okay cool. Coolio. You…ignore my two messages of me just simply saying a quick “hello” and you don’t answer…instead you ask for a tickle fanfiction of some turtles? 

I get people are shy. I get that. I do. But me and one of my best friends were talking about it on Insta and it made no damn sense. Following, reblogging and requesting things from an individual that’s been trying to speak with you for the past few days and you not responding and then ASKING something of them is just…weird. 

Me and one of my best friend’s convo:

So, on May 18th I saw they were online again, and so I texted the following: 

Which I felt was fine. It was straight to the point. But where my anger really emegred was when I got notifications of my fics being reblogged by the same person. AGAIN. NOT EVEN 3 MINUTES LATER.

And then May 19th they liked another post of mine. Although it was a post that you would have to DIG DEEP FOR. Because I made it a year ago and only 4 people liked it (INCLUDING ME.). So you would have to LOOK LOOK to find it. 

Then yesterday, May 20th, was just my breaking point. I was chilling, having a nice evening, talking with my fellow mutuals, writing a fic (AND FINISHING WOO-HOO) until I get a notification. And guess what? It’s just another reblog by the same person. 

Did I get any responses of my pervious texts? Nope. Not at ALL. 

I am sick and hurt of being treated as if I’m just a computer that makes fanfictions.

I am a PERSON. A human being that for the past week has been trying to talk with you. And you at fucking 16 should understand that. 

You are one whole year older than me and you think you have the right to treat me this way. Who the absolute hell do you think you are? 

Because let me get this through your head: I live in an African and Jamaican  household, and one thing that we let each other know day in and day out is to never ever let someone make you feel like you’re less. 

So when you see this @osctwordfan I am hoping you have a good explanation regarding to last week. 

@ ing mutual’s in this because this is INSANE and I am LIVID rn: 

@itzsana-kiddingmenow @veryblushyswitch

@skyloladoodles @saturnzskyzz @backy-san

@creativecutie @savemeafruitjuice

@mythica0 @leosmasktails @someone1348 @vxlepop

@anxious-lee @charismakat

@sunny-117 @odder-outlet @jamiesgotchu @ziipzeepzop-eez

@danineedshelp @pocky-dragon

@my-l0v3r-v3rse @rice-cake-teen10

[irisintheafterglow]

More Than It Seams (Chapter 4)

summary: you're a hero costume tech working for one of the biggest fashion companies in quirk society, and the days until the most important fashion event of the year are dwindling fast. if you weren't stressed enough, a certain half-and-half hero keeps appearing with rips in his suit. (pro!todoroki x reader)

word count: 2.8k

cw/tags: swearing, mentions of needles, probably inaccurate fashion design vocabulary, strangers to lovers, no specified pronouns for reader, mentions of food/eating, mention of character death/disappearance, descriptions of wounds and blood, grief with happy ending

note: second to last chapter let's gooooo !!! in theory this could be considered the "last chapter," but don't you wanna know how the ball goes??? and maybe shoto and reader have their first kiss ;). thank you for all the support you've given this series!!

likes/reblogs/feedback are appreciated :)

New Voicemail Message [11:32 A.M]

“Hey! Just checking in; I just finished the whole flame side and I’m about to start the shading for the ice side. If you’re able, I’d love for you to come see it and maybe I can buy you lunch this time. No pressure, just let me know. Alright, bye!” 

New Voicemail Message [5:36 P.M] 

“Hi, hi, hi. I picked up Soba takeout for dinner if you’re free. I have both of our usuals, and I can drop them at your agency too if you’re busy. Oh, also, the lady behind the counter was so confused that it was me by myself; you should’ve seen her face. Anyway, just wanna make sure you’re doing okay. Bye!” 

New Voicemail Message [8:24 P.M] 

“Hey Shoto, it’s me, again. I’m sorry for spamming you with voicemails and shit. I just, honestly? I’m kinda worried, haha. I know it’s dumb. Like, I know you can handle yourself and everything, but part of me still wants to make sure you’re good, you know? Just, uh, let me know. If–when you’re home. I miss your stupid voice. Okay, bye.” 

New Voicemail Message [11:56 P.M] 

“Hey. I’m aware that I keep bothering you. If I did something to make you upset, I’m really sorry…I’m about to go to bed, but I’ll see you tomorrow? Obviously, you can’t see it, but uh, I’m sticking my thumb up, haha. Call me when you can, please.”

[2] Missed Calls: Big D(esigner)🧵👑💖 

New Messages: Big D(esigner)🧵👑💖 

12:00 A.M hey  12:00 A.M idk if you’re awake 12:00 A.M but if you are 12:01 A.M please check the news 

The incessant buzzing phone in your hand woke you from your position on the couch. You don’t remember falling asleep, but you assume you passed out after eating a late dinner, waiting for Shoto to call. His food was in the fridge, untouched, while yours was only half-eaten, plastic bowls and utensils messily scattered across your coffee table. The notifications at the top of your phone made your heart drop into your stomach, and you prayed that the thought hiding in the back of your mind wasn’t true. 

You stood as the TV clicked on, only for your legs to give out beneath you as the reporter detailed where he was last seen, what he was wearing, possible suspects, and the statement from his manager. There was no substance in the public statement, only reassurances that efforts are being made to find him. You shut down the TV after they got into the part of the statement that sounded like a fucking eulogy, talking about how he was a loyal friend, devoted hero, and embodiment of a good person. You didn’t need to be told that. You’d seen it firsthand for the past two weeks. Anger, confusion, worry, and grief came in waves, crashing against each other as you curled into yourself. Your eyes welled to alleviate the burn after staring at the screen, your forehead throbbing from the flashing reds and whites of the “BREAKING NEWS” title screen. Your lungs and throat felt empty, consciousness detached from the body. 

No sobs rang out in the darkness of your apartment that night, and it terrified you how silent you were. There was no crying, no convulsing, no thrown objects across the room to create dents in the walls. It was just…silence. You couldn’t tell if you’d slept or not, hours passing as you stared wide-eyed at the ceiling after dragging yourself back onto the couch. It was an effort to breathe, to force yourself to inhale and exhale like it was opening and closing your fists. 

As sunlight permeated through the lightly swinging shades, your phone alarm went off. You stared at it, the musical sound seeming to be coming from underwater. The notifications at the top of your phone once you finally turned it off were like reading in a dream, with letters blurring and rearranging until you didn’t know what the original message was. Hey, thinking about you, they said. We understand if you can’t make it in today, they promised. Hello, you were one of the people last seen with Todoroki Shoto. Our news outlet would like to interview you. Fingers gripping the phone so hard you wanted to snap it, you slammed it onto the coffee table. Flashes of white-hot rage took over your body, directed at no one in particular. You pulled a pillow into your chest, fighting back the impulse to scream, scream, scream until either your voice or your lungs give out. 

“Hey.” It was your roommate, and she held her cat in her arms like a newborn baby. Your empty eyes stared back at them. “I won’t ask if you’re doing okay because that’s a bullshit question. I just wanted to tell you that I’m here for you if you need anything. Just call me, yeah?” You barely nod your assent, and her gentle fingers brush away the tears that had broken through your resolve. “I know it’s hard, and I know you’re grieving,” she said as she rose from the crouch she took to be eye-level with you. She takes your hand, giving it a squeeze. “But I also know that you’re one of the strongest people I know. We both know it’s Friday, and we both know those assholes in the commission aren’t going to postpone the one event that brings them money.” She doesn’t say it, but you know what she means. You need to get up and finish your pieces. “Do your best, okay?” 

Just do your best. 

It’s what you repeated to yourself as you struggled from the couch to your bedroom, then to the bathroom, then finally out the door and through the gate in your office. Your other designer, the one who had told you to check the news, runs over from his station. Shaking your head decisively before he could speak, you brush past him with an understanding hand on his shoulder. Your aching throat didn’t have the voice to give one last round of encouragement to your staff, but they looked to you anyway as you took your spot at the front of the room. 

“Just do your best,” you said before turning to the embroidery thread shelves and picking out the most vibrant shades of blue and light purple you could find. The rest of the office worked with a fervor you’d never seen before, and you gave them a sad smile whenever they’d glance up to check on you. All the other heroes’ ball looks were finalized, ready to be handed off to their stylists who would do the final dressing and accessorizing. Seven mannequins lined up in front of a window: Cellophane’s intricately beaded suit, Momo’s sweeping velvet ball gown, Deku’s sleek three-piece, Red Riot’s fiery matching set, Pinky’s princess-like mermaid dress, and Bakugo’s sheer-paneled, explosive applique-covered denim jacket. 

Everyone’s looks were finished, except one. His tailored leather pants were complete as well as the simple white button-up, and the silver pocket chain rested around the headless neck of the mannequin. All that was left to do was finish the design covering the back of the coat, which you worked on tirelessly far past when your staff had left the building. It should have been a day of celebration with champagne, balloons, and cake to commemorate another successful Hero Ball; but, 11:30 and 5:00 passed with no trace of him, and you couldn’t find it in your mind to participate in festivities. Whispered goodbyes and “see you tomorrow” floated around you, and it took more energy than it should have to smile and nod. 

Time ran away from you again, and the coat was finished at midnight on the dot, embellished with small buckles, two rows of buttons, shoulder pads, pockets, and the stunning ice and flame embroidery on the back panel. It truly was the greatest piece you had imagined and created, your quirk allowing the thread to almost act like paint as you added subtle nuance to the two opposing cranes. The fire crane rose from the bottom corner of one of the front panels, forming a circle with the ice crane that descended from the shoulder pad of the opposite front panel. Draping the finished piece on the mannequin and attaching the pocket chain for good measure, you stepped back with your hands on your hips to admire your work. He was gonna love it, when he saw it. If he saw it, the pessimistic demon in your mind whispered. With a deep breath that you didn’t know you needed, you turned to pack your stuff and head home. 

And that’s when something large slammed into M’s office window. 

The thud startled you, the dull noise of something hitting the glass bouncing off the empty cavern of the room. Your fingers wrapped around a pair of scissors as you approached the half-open door, cautiously guiding it open and squinting at the distorted figure behind the dark glass. Your eyes widened when you realized the object was huge, the size of at least two very tall people. One hand tightly gripping the scissors, the other slowly slid into your pocket to call the police when you heard a voice call from the other side. 

“Needle! Needle…wait, what? Needle, uh, sprouting from…Needle sprouting from thumb? Jesus, Todoroki, who would ever say such a thing–” You threw the window open, sending it flying upward as you took in the people set precariously on the ledge. You recognized one as Deku, the number one hero who sometimes visited your office to implement support tech into his costume. His gloved hand grabbed the edge of the window, easing him and the person he was carrying into M’s office and collapsing onto the couch. Deku quickly stood, closing the window and scanning the surroundings for threats. Your hand unconsciously rose to brush the matted red hair from the other person’s face, and the oxygen left your lungs as you zeroed in on the scar barely visible around the blood splattered on the person’s left eye.

Shoto. 

His body was in tatters, with scrapes and cuts and punctures covering his body like some zombie Halloween. The white of his hair was covered in so much blood that his entire head was red. His suit had burnt off on his fire side, and his ice side was nearly blue from discoloration. Your body moved on its own when you took in the most significant wound, a large gash cutting diagonally across his abdomen. Mind empty except for the battered man on M’s couch, you shoved your hands into the fabric scraps box and brought them back to Deku, who pressed them against Shoto’s gash to stop the bleeding. Fingers pressed under his chin, you felt a faint heartbeat and could see his chest rising and falling in shallow breaths. He was dying, and you needed to do something to stop the blood loss. 

“I tried to get him to go to a hospital, but he said it wasn’t safe,” Deku said to you, eyes clouded with concern. “He was barely able to tell me your building’s address before he passed out. I trust his judgment, but I really need you to know that, if Todoroki doesn’t get stitches, he will die. Do you have some way of stitching this up?” The fabric in his hands was soaked a dark red and the realization of what Shoto wanted you to do hit you like a train. 

He wanted you to give him stitches. 

You’d never tried your quirk on any actual humans, only textiles. Your parents had suggested becoming a medic because of your quirk, but the idea of manipulating something to enter a human body was an idea that you couldn’t stomach. There were others with more efficient quirks who could do that, but none of them were with you now. An idea dawned on you, and you reminded yourself to applaud your planning skills later. 

“Deku?”

“Yeah?”

“I need the sutures from your toolbelt.” His eyes widened in understanding, and he frantically pushed aside objects in his belt to find the roll of medical-grade nylon you’d placed there as a part of upgrading his first-aid kit. “Sorry, I added…more items,” he muttered apologetically, finally handing you the unused spool and the box containing the sterilized needle. Like clockwork, you threaded the needle just as you had millions of times before. Averting your gaze as Shoto groaned in pain from Deku cleaning the wound with alcohol pads that you’d also put in his belt, your hand soon hovered over Shoto’s wound in preparation to close it. 

You squeezed your eyes shut, ignoring the image of the sewing machine and instead opting for a simple knot at select intervals. Fighting down the bile in your throat as the needle pinched Shoto’s skin together, you shakily guided the thread through the skin layers and tied it into a tight knot. You felt Deku’s eyes watch you in amazement as you worked, delicately patching Shoto back together as you had with his suit the first day he’d walked through your elevator doors. Slowly but steadily, you moved your hand and the thread across the wound, sewing it shut like you’d attached his trenchcoat panels. They were, by no means, medical-grade stitches, but you believed they got the job done as the color slowly returned to Shoto’s face. When you finished stitching the large wound, you helped Deku wrap the lower half of his chest and his arms with gauze. With more scraps of fabric, you gently scrubbed off the blood and dirt, combing through his tangled hair with wet fingers. 

“Thank you, Deku,” you said quietly to him as you threw used fabric scraps into a trash bag. “For bringing Shoto to me. I was really worried.” 

“Of course,” he replied, smiling warmly. “I only wish that I’d met Todoroki’s partner under different circumstances.”

“Partner? I mean, yeah, we’re business partners, but–”

“Oh, no. I’m so sorry, then. I, uh, meant romantically.” Your face began to burn from Deku’s assumption. “He just talked about you a lot, you know. How much he liked being around you, how you seemed to know exactly what he was thinking. He told me about all your soba dates and how he didn’t want them to be considered dates since he wants to take you somewhere much nicer when you’re done with all the ball stuff, but I still think they’re dates.” Holy shit, Deku was rambling. “I teased him about it since I don’t think he’s ever been in love before, but–” 

“Midoriya, I implore you to stop talking.” You both gasped, turning to look at a barely-conscious Shoto, who was trying to sit up from the couch. 

“Todoroki, you’re awake! Wait, no, no–you can’t sit up yet,” Deku stutters out as he rushes over to carefully push Shoto’s shoulders back down, moving the hair from his forehead as his head falls back against the armrest. You feel out of your body again as you kneel next to him, fingers brushing his cheek in relief. “I’ll uh, give you two some space,” Deku declares as he scrambles to pick up the trash bags and exit M’s office, leaving you alone with Shoto. 

His gentle eyes find yours. “Hey, pretty.”

“Hi, handsome,” you whisper, reciprocating the weak smile he gives you as he takes in your exhausted face. “What the hell were you thinking, coming here? You needed a hospital. It wasn’t safe risking your life to come here, Sho,” the shortened version of his name slips from your mouth before you could stop it, but the even softer look he gives you sends any regret or embarrassment running. “What would you have done if I wasn’t in the office?”

“I just knew you would be.” 

“That’s a terrible plan.” 

“But it worked out.”

“That it did.” You press your lips to his forehead and relish in the way his eyes shut in contentment. “I finished your coat.”

“You did?” 

“I did, but you can’t see it right now. If you lift a single finger off that couch, I’m going to reopen your stitches.” He lets out a pained laugh, wincing at the pain shooting across his chest. A thoughtful look crosses his face again, and you adore the way you could see him working things out in his mind. What those things are, you’d never know, but his pure intellect was enough to admire. 

“Do you still plan on attending the ball tomorrow?”

“Not if you’re still hurt.”

“In that case, I am no longer hurt.” He smirks at you, with an immature, boyish, attractive smile. “And I still haven’t…chosen a plus one.” 

You feel your heart cease racing in your chest. “Yeah? And who’s the lucky winner?” Your voice shakes slightly as you attempt to relieve the tension with a joke. 

He looks at you again with that expression that makes you want to kiss him. 

“It’s you. It’s always been you.” 

As you finally drift off to sleep slumped against the couch, your face close enough to his to feel him breathe, you know in your mind that it’d always been him, too.

[1] Missed Call - Midoriya Izuku

New Voicemail Message [2:04 A.M]

"Hi Yaomomo! Hope you're doing well. I need a favor..."

[asphalt-cocktail]

Lead Us To Temptation- Chapter 3

Chapter 3- Hell Hath No Fury

Summary: In the small town of Eden Ridge, you knew several things to be true: church happened every Sunday, the saloon served free lunch with the purchase of a drink on Thursdays, coal miners left work at 7PM sharp, and Bucky Barnes was a man sent from the depths of hell dangling the threat of temptation and sin right in front of your face. All you need to do is reach out and grab it.

Pairing: Outlaw!Bucky Barnes x Reader

Warnings: Fluff, Talks of crime, robbery, crime for hire, talks of violence and guns, kidnapping, talks of past smut, less religion than the previous chapters but its still there. Bucky is a criminal in this so idk what to tell you if you are shocked by the crime. There isn't any gore and nothing is described in graphic detail. Don't worry reader is a badass this is a love story with a happy ending.

Word Count: 2.9k

A/N: I just want to pop in and say how grateful I am for all of the lovely comments, reblogs, tags, and likes I have been getting over the last few weeks! You guys are the ones who keep me writing. I am not doing a tag list, but you can feel free to turn my notifications to get one every time I post a new chapter <3

Masterlist

Read me on AO3

Chapter 1 Chapter 2

Staying in Eden Ridge was probably the longest Bucky had managed to stay in a town and not do something to get run out or have another wanted poster with his face printed on it and slapped on every shop bulletin. 

It was making the boys antsy. They could only hold up so many stagecoaches carrying rich assholes on the outside of town before they got too bored. 

“When are we going to hit the bank Buck? We’ve been here so long the damn seasons have changed.” John’s voice had the uncanny ability of springing a sudden and painful migraine behind Bucky’s eyes anytime he spoke. 

Bucky pinched the bridge of his nose. John pissed him off. “We need to wait a bit before we hit the bank. The ticket seller at the train station mentioned something about a train coming in to transport coal from the mines and take it back east. I guess the coal company is sending some bonds with it because the owner made a deal with Union Pacific.” 

“So what, they’re taking the bonds to the train yard?” 

“I’m glad to see you’re using the brain in that big fucking head of yours John.” To be completely transparent, Bucky harbored a strong dislike for John. 

Their association was almost solely due to John being Steve’s cousin, and Steve’s endorsement was something Bucky didn’t have the heart to dispute. Steve saved his life on more than one occasion. They’d gone through the Civil War together, they experienced the death of both of their parents together. You couldn’t get much closer to a man than that.  

The other reason being was John’s uncanny knack for survival. Despite the dangers of their lifestyle, John seemed to evade death, Bucky reckoned it was because God sure as hell didn’t want him and well, the Devil probably didn’t either so they just left him to do his business in the land of the living until they decided what to do with him.

Bucky was aware that his disdain for John might be uncalled for considering John’s role as the enforcer in their party. John was the one they sent out to take care of the more unsavory business transactions. However, these factors didn’t compensate for the fact that he was just plain weird and unpleasant to be around.

But Bucky was having such a lovely time playing house with you so, naturally he kept his plan to rob your father's train car transporting bonds to the Union Pacific rail yard. Management needed to cash them in and finalize the deal stating they were to use the Eden Coal & Iron as their main supply source. It was a deal that would make your father a very, very rich man. 

Robbing trains was as easy as stealing candy from a baby. An old, half balding, rich, man baby. Bucky could do it in his sleep. He didn’t feel bad about robbing your father. In fact he felt kind of good stealing from that rotten son of a bitch. 

Stealing these bonds would only be scraping the surface of the vast wealth your father accumulated by exploiting the hard working people of Eden Ridge. He was as crooked as crooked could be and there was no amount of praying or church going that would save his soul from the depths of hell once he died, god willing. 

If only you knew how your father treated the hard working miners who toiled in the depths of hell for him. He squeezed 15 grueling hours of labor from them 6 days a week, their backs bowed under the weight of his insatiable greed, all while their families languished in hunger. 

He wasn't the benevolent savior of Eden Ridge, rather, he resembled a vampire, voraciously draining the life force from the Earth and the good hearted denizens of the town you called home. Once he exhausted every able bodied man here, he’d slither away to prey upon the next unsuspecting community. 

Bucky’s plan was simple: wait a day or two several towns away to intercept the train and get to work. But he had to be careful If he got too reckless with his crimes, he’d have to leave. The question loomed in the back of his mind, when he had to leave would you come with? 

When he told you he was leaving to work a job you felt sick, “What do you mean leaving?” 

He cleared his throat and licked his lips, “I need to take the boys to deal with something for a few days. I promise I’ll be back by the end of the week. Two weeks tops.” He said hugging you tight, it pained him to see you worrying so much.

“But what if you don’t come back?” The question punched him in the chest and stole his breath. 

“Now don’t go talking like that.” He scolded you, “I’ll be back I promise.” You swallowed his words like a brick of lead. 

So for seven days you did the only thing you could do and waited. You sought comfort in Sam’s sister Sarah and her friend Natasha, spending most of your free time practicing needle work, reading, and chatting with the women. Sarah was a familiar and friendly face from the local church. Tragically widowed two winters prior, she was left with the responsibility of raising two boys on her own. To your knowledge, she had embraced her brother’s motley crew of friends, offering them sanctuary with open arms.

After your second meeting with Sarah she introduced you to Natasha, the local Madame. It took everything in your power to not turn your nose up at the idea of a woman engaging in sex for money. Your pious thoughts took a back seat when you remembered you were also engaging in sinful premarital acts with a man. 

Not sex though. No. 

Every time you thought today was the day Bucky shut it down. As much of a filthy bandit he was, he was still extremely respectful towards you. He always said he wanted to wait, the moment never felt right.

——

The moon hung low in the inky black sky as Bucky and his crew of bandits moved like vultures closing in on their prey. They moved silently, night as their accomplice- the thick fog veiling their actions, the rhythmic clatter of wheels masking the sounds of struggle. No witnesses meant no loose ends, and Bucky knew it well. 

It was quick. Efficient. 

Kill everyone on the train and then set it back on course so some poor sad sack could clean up the mess left behind. 

When Bucky’s eyes laid upon the bonds, your father’s exceptionally neat handwriting looping on the paper, he grinned like a snake. Peter could easily get a few hundred for the bonds. Having such a young boyish face always made him seem more trustworthy than the other members of the gang. 

To make up for leaving you worried half to death Bucky bought you a lovely hair pin. It was copper with a small decorative flower on the end of it. “If you think all it’s going to take is a pretty hair pin to forgive you, you’re wrong.” You lied through your teeth snatching it from his dirty hands and pinning it into your prayer veil, because of course Bucky returned just in time to take you to Sunday mass and have lunch with your family afterwards. 

Since midweek, your father had been in a downright rotten mood. He’d spent the last few days late at work and when you showed up to the office to bring him dinner he was yelling at his assistant every time without fail. 

“Tell them to double the guards! Put a damn Gatling on the top of the roof! Send the Pinkertons! I don’t care what you have to do, get that money to the train yard.” 

“But sir-“

“I said figure it out god damn it!” The way he slammed his hands on his desk made you jump. 

It wasn’t often your father lost his temper, but when he did it was frightening. 

At lunch your father glared daggers at Bucky while your mother preened over him. It was nice to see things hadn’t changed during his week away committing crime. 

“James, dear, you should work for the mining company!” Your mother kindly suggested, “My husband is always looking for strong young men such as yourself.” 

It took every fiber of his being to not scoff at the thought of selling his soul to the company, “I rather like the ranch work I’ve been doing for Miss Wilson, but thank you ma’am. If I have a change of heart you’ll be the first to know.” 

On the record Bucky was a ranch hand for Sam’s sister, sure he helped out here and there for the woman but he wasn't getting paid for it, your family didn’t need to know that. 

“We have some friends that are ranchers down in Texas, let us know if you ever venture down there and I’ll send a telegram to them for you.” Your mother was a bonafide socialite. She knew people of all walks of life and thrived on making connections for people, “Your horse is trained so well, they could use someone with your talent.” 

“Alpine?” Bucky grinned thinking of his beautiful white mare, she was almost as stubborn as you are, “I have to say she’s probably my second favorite girl.” 

Your father hated seeing Bucky around the house. He hated how Bucky was always a perfect gentleman whenever he came around. It didn’t matter, no daughter of his was going to marry some rough neck, dirty ranch hand if he had any say in it. 

There was something just plain not right with James Barnes and your father was going to get to the bottom of it. 

As it turns out, it took very little effort to find out the history of a career criminal. This was worse than if Bucky was actually a ranch hand, not only was he a criminal, but he robbed the damn train your father used to transport the bonds not once, but twice in the span of two weeks. 

He couldn’t believe he let a man who stole from him into the safety of their home. He couldn’t believe he let a criminal court his daughter (not that he even approved of the courtship). Bucky was probably sitting in his room at the inn laughing and counting the dollar bills that belonged to in his pocket. 

And the image of that pissed him off to no end. 

It pissed him off so much that he paid off a group of bounty hunters to finally deal rid him of the man once and for all. Bucky wasn’t going to come gracefully, but lucky for your father, Bounty hunters had loose morals and business practices much like he did. When he told Brock Rumlow "I don't care how you do it, just get rid of him!" your father didn't know he opened up a new, lawless realm of possibilities.

----

The late summer sun hung low in the sky as you quickened your pace home, the two men behind you following relentlessly, footsteps crunching on the dusty streets. You couldn’t make out their faces as they stayed just out of your line of sight but the feeling in your gut only harbored malevolence and fear. 

Your path meandered through town, twisting and turning to ensure they truly were following you.

Two turns left. Three turns right. Then a detour past the butcher.

Dread settled inside you and you quickened your pace, ragged breaths gasping as you neared the outskirts of town and broke into a full sprint as best you could, bunching your skirts in your arms so as to not trip. The buildings thinned, and the darkness deepened as you drew further and further from the bustling center of Eden. 

Further away from anyone who would hear you scream.

Rough hands grabbed you, forcing a bag over your head as you fought, kicking and screaming. Hissing and spitting like a feral cat. Their powerful builds quickly overpowered you, sitting on your legs as you thrashed trying to squirm away, clawing at the dirt and wedging it under your fingernails and covering your fine dress. Then they tied you, bound your arms and legs and threw you on the back of a horse like a sack of grain.

When the horse finally halted you were dragged off, stumbling and disoriented. The hood was yanked off and you were roughly pushed into a small, dark room. You turned finally able to make out the face of your captors who reeked of sweat and malice. He was tall and broad, skin tanned by the sun, with dark hair and eyes. He would have been handsome if this were any other circumstance.  

Your nostrils flared like an angry bull as you exhaled and spat at him in defiance while he manhandled your still fighting body, “Let go of me!” You shrieked, anger overpowering your feelings of fear. 

How dare they! How dare these filthy men put their hands on you and soil a perfectly good dress. How dare they throw you on a horse with a bag over your head and force you into this filthy damp room. Your rage bubbled over, you’d never felt this level of anger before. But the sheer callous disrespect of a lady pushed you over the edge. 

You should have been afraid, fearing for your life even. But the type of men who did this? Well they were cowards. Lower than the lowest cretin to walk the Earth. 

“Well look at you, now I know why Barnes has taken such an interest in you Missy.” The man in front of you grinned like a snake. His hand trailing your jaw, fingers lingering against your skin, “you’re a little firecracker ain’t you?” 

You turned your head to bite him, teeth snapping together as you snarled.  Ordinarily, you epitomized the quintessence of a respectable lady—devout and pious, a paragon of Catholic virtue. Yet, confronted with this dehumanizing treatment, a primal instinct awakened within. If they insisted on regarding you as a beast, then, in the eyes of the Almighty, you would unleash the ferocity of one. “Let me go.” You hissed, “You… you cretin!”    

The man shoved you roughly away, narrowly dodging your bite, “Easy there ma’am, we ain’t gonna hurt you.” For some reason you had a hard time believing him with the kidnapping, the pushing, the bag over your head, “We just need you to bring us out cash cow.” He said and slid over a wanted poster with an uncanny portrait of Bucky on it.

Oh

Now it all made sense. 

You took the poster and read the script:

WANTED CAPTURED DEAD OR ALIVE James “Bucky” Barnes  For multiple accounts of murder, theft, and fraudulent activities. Known leader of the Barnes Gang, responsible for numerous bank and train robberies across the Midwestern and Western United States. This is a dangerous individual who will not hesitate to murder.  Mid thirties, brown hair, scar on left arm. Last scene heading west towards the Eden Mountain range.  If spotted DO NOT APPROACH; contact local authorities.  Bounty of $5,000

Of course they’d take you as bait to lure a man with a $5,000 bounty and his gang of merry bandits out from hiding. Something told you that these men thought taking down Bucky would be easy. But you knew this would probably be the hardest $10k they were going to make. They’d probably die doing it! And silently you hoped they would.

A man’s head isn’t worth $5,000 because it’s easy work taking him down. It’s worth that much because he won’t hesitate to fucking kill you in the worst way possible. You didn’t know exactly what Bucky was capable of doing, but you couldn’t help the shiver that crept up your spine when your eyes landed on the big, bold DO NOT APPROACH, “I think for your sake, you should let me go.” 

Perhaps there was a touch of madness in relishing the thrill that such a perilous man inspired within you. Yet, it was the very specter of danger that ignited a fervent blaze deep in your core. To you, Bucky was a flame dancing provocatively over a pool of oil—intensely captivating and inherently volatile.

The dark haired man scoffed, “Your beau ain’t the big bad man everyone seems to think he is. Not when he’s got such an easy weakness to exploit.” 

It was true, Bucky was having the time of his life in Eden Ridge playing house with you. He was living in utter domestic bliss.   “If it’s money you want, my daddy will pay you.” You offered. You had to exhaust all your options and if these men were money hungry then your father would be more than happy to give them the $10k for your life. You didn’t know how much money he had exactly, but you knew it was a pretty penny. 

“Sweetheart, your daddy already paid us.” He mocked you. 

You blinked, brain barely able to comprehend the words he said to you. What a weird thing to say. 

Unbelievable even. 

You were going to have to dissect that at a later date when you were in a better position. 

[drdemonprince]

How do you use Tumblr? Other than answering questions... How often do you like posts? What about reblog? I'm coming from Twitter and I can't wrap my head around likes vs reblog. Only like two people follow me anyway, so I'm not really signal boosting differently with reblog. Idk I keep overthinking this website

my dog, welcome! dont think about any of this..just be chaotic with it.

post as often as you like. random thoughts, hyperfixated rants, photos of things youve been reading, hyper niche fetish content, whatever, and do it all mixed together. except for really high concept blogs where someone is playing a character or serving as a museum old posts, almost no one sticks to a narrow posting theme here. everybody mixes their most freakish niche or personal shit in with anything else they write or make or wanna share.

reblog hundreds of times a day if you want. thats normal. reblogs are the main way to interact and to show support. there is a post queue for anything you want to spread out.

use reblogs to add commentary too! reblogs with added comments / reactions is not rude on here the way quote tweets is. not understanding that last part got me in trouble on twitter ahaha. here we dont give a fuck. contribute to the ongoing conversation! people also write whatever the hell in the tags, for a kind of sotto voce commentary on the post

a like doesnt do anything but give the OP a notification. w replies, the OP will see the reply and so will anyone who chooses to check the notes but only a subset of people will do that. sometimes people have bizarre unrelated conversations and role plays in the notes. every feature gets used in a playful / annoying way on here on purpose so feel free to get creative with how you use it.

have fun out there!!!

[riachinko]

I feel like I'm having trouble putting this into words...

My recent SotD drawing broke containment on Twitter and I've had an influx of new followers and like half of them have "Proship DNI" in their name and like... look, I've never given myself that label but if someone with a "Proship DNI" can't tell by my content and reblogs that that label might apply to me, and they voluntarily follow me, then... like, are people who might fall under that label really that bad? You know? You interacted with me and my content but you don't want me to interact with you but you don't know that you don't want me to interact with you because I'm a normal fucking person who doesn't make purity politics my entire personality online.

I think what I mean is when you put a prejudiced label on someone, you're being a bit of a twat? And you're probably contradicting your own DNI more often than you think. And if you think DNIs of any kind mean or do anything you're being delusional.

I just hate seeing hateful people following me, and it's my opinion that if you're putting "proship" in a DNI, you're being hateful. Don't perceive me. I don't want to be in the middle of this weird fan culture war. I want to be able to enjoy getting notifications on my work again without having to do a fucking deepdive on peoples' profiles to see who I need to block idk

[toxicanonymity]

RULES & FAQs

THIS BLOG IS 18+ NO MINORS 🔞

WELCOME ABOARD! This blog has amazing readers which makes it a lot of fun. You can call me Tox or Toxy (she/her). I usually write smut. Sometimes I write darkfic. I dabble in horror. Please do not follow me if you're sensitive to the warnings on my masterlists, found in my bio. Check your content settings to make sure you can see everything. Heed warnings on fics. Last updated July 2024.

Basics

Tox/Toxy, she/her, millennial. English or Spanish.

WIPs are on hiatus. I'm kinda struggling but trying to do my best. Thank you for your patience.

Do not copy, translate, or reupload my work. Do not put it into AI or make bots of it. Ty for understanding.

Please do not follow me if you are averse to dark content including dubcon and noncon.

Q: Are Requests open?

A: No, but questions are welcome 🩷

Q: Will you write more every inch/left in Lincoln?

A: I would like to. More here. For Every Inch, there are two more parts planned.

Q: When is [fic] coming back? How many chapters?

A: IDK, sorry :( If I knew I'd tell you. In the future, I'm not planning to release things as I write, I'm gonna try to finish everything before posting. Problem is I have a lot of one shot fails / play as I go AUs. We'll see. I can tell you Every Inch has 6 total parts planned.

Q: Did you read my fic?

A: I wish I could read everyone's fics, but in addition to there being a lot of you, I'm a slow/bad reader. I'm also overdosed on pedro rn, but I still share fics on @toxicrecs. You are welcome to send a fic or tag me if you think the readers here would like it. When I read a fic, I also reblog it here on main. I am most likely to read shorter drabbles/fics.

Q: AO3?

A: Here, I've done a lot of catching up but still not everything is on there. If there's something specific you would like me to bring over let me know and I will.

Q: Tag list?

A: Please follow @toxicfics, use the person icon to turn on notifications, and use this trick for getting a tab on your dashboard just for your blog subscriptions so you can see what you missed.

Q: Are the fics always dark on this blog?

A: No.

Q: What is the brothel?

A: I HC my characters as living in a brothel which has its own crack sideblog @toxicbrothel.

Q: What are Joelkémons?

A: Reader-coined term for the Joel variants on this blog. Some are listed here: Joelkémon cards.

Q: Can we make your characters into bots?

A: No, please don't do this. It makes me feel bad and they don't even work. Every time, it puts me farther away from updating the fic. Please lmk if you ever see my work made into a bot, copied, etc. Please don't draw attention to it without speaking to me first 🙏🏼 I generally like to keep things quiet and not make a big deal out of it.

Q: Who's night walks!Joel? Who's thighs out?

A: Night Walks is an AU where Joel is your hot, older, creepy pothead neighbor. Night walks masterlist. Thighs out (another AU) is your boyfriend's hot slutty dad.

Q: What's a HOG? Who/what is GILF?

A: Hot Old Guy, from Silence can never be bought pt. 2 and 5. GILF is grandpa I'd Like to Fuck and may refer to the one from Pawn Shop (Joel in his 60s) @gilfjoel.

Q: Who is Dr. Rock?

A: Hot sex therapist who roleplays my characters. Dr. Rock is also the poster boy for avoiding discourse.

Q: Do you still write slashers?

A: Yes. I just wrote my first Thomas Hewitt in March 2024. Main/slashers masterlist.

Q: What other fics & blogs do you rec?

A: Please check out @toxicrecs

Q: How can I stay motivated to write without getting a lot of notes?

A: Please see these posts: here and here.

Q: Why did you unfollow me?

A: I could've lost (some or all) interest in your fandom. I may have forgotten why I followed you, especially if what you're posting has changed. Or I might be wanting to reduce the discourse I see.

✨Q: Am I blocked? Why can't I see your main blog from my account? / Did you soft block me?

⚠️ A: The most common reasons I block are for policing or judging what others post, kink shaming, or spreading harmful rumors. ⚠️

When it comes to rumors and shaming, silence is not a sign of guilt or agreement. It's confidence in the truth and desire to keep harmful takes off the dash. As a rule, I would ignore and block false accusations, rumors, or kink shamers instead of giving them a huge audience by responding or addressing it.

Harmful takes in the wild / targeted harassment: blocked. And if a post is bad enough--such as calling for targeted harassment of writers or trivializing a serious crime by casually accusing writers of it, I may block people for positively interacting with it. I don't want to be on your dash if you share those views, even if it's about something I don't write. On my blog, it's important for readers to be able to understand fiction can't be equated with real life. And who's to say I won't offend or traumatize you on a different topic one day? It's for your own good.

You can get blocked on anon too.

[sparrow-in-the-field]

I probably don't need to make this into a post, but I'm still going to. I'm gonna take a bit of a break from being on social media.

Sometimes when my life irl gets stressful (which it has lately), it manifests into me feeling bad online too (idk why). The only way I've figured out how to manage it is to step away when it gets bad like this (ngl, it's been...really bad this past week or so).

I'll still be writing/on ao3 because it keeps me sane lol, but I'm also trying to learn to manage my expectations on there too; it's gotten very quiet over there and I need to learn to be okay with that, because it's very much not in my control (and that's okay! It's just not what I'm used to).

I've started writing a new fic that I haven't talked about at all; it's pretty different, a light fantasy/magic au with some heavy themes. It's something I'm nervous to write, but I'm hoping that throwing myself into it will help with what I'm talking about above (a "fuck it we ball" kind of attitude, as the kids say).

Last thing: messaging people never makes me feel bad (it's the scrolling and posting that do), so I've enabled notifs for messages. If you message me directly, I'll still respond. I just won't be posting or reblogging for awhile I think (sometimes it only takes me like a week to feel better; sometimes longer. We'll see!).

[modawg]

@demigods-posts here! what is something that has happened with your blog that makes you feel really cool or happy? just questions i wish people would ask me lol. love your posts <3

HIIIIIIIIII !!!!! (^·^) also idk if you’ll see this unless i tag you so here’s me tagging you @demigods-posts

i can name a couple bc it’s so fun here

firstly: girl you LMAOOO swear i followed you first and i was like “yas eating” and i did NOT realise we became mutuals so everytime you’d reblog my stuff i’d be like “LETS FUCKING GOOOOO” bc it felt like a celeb was noticing me or smth (i still don’t know how to see if someone’s my mutual so if you are pls lmk LMAO id love to be besties i just barely know how this app works)

second: the actually most insane thing that’s happened was a fanfic written either based off of or connected to smth i had randomly written like 2 years ago (?) i was tagged in it and i was SHOCKEDDDD i love reading and writing (i’m an english major) and seeing that was insane

third: the messages i get are so great i’ve had a couple people reach out thanking me for things i’ve talked abt and had kinda blow up bc ppl at the time didn’t talk abt it as much or i’ve had someone send me some of their work asking for me to read it which makes me want to rip my skin off bc IM NOT COOL like thank you so much ofc i’ll read your stuff I LOVE YOU

fourth: ppl reblog my shit on instagram????? THAT was crazy i remember going on instagram after someone dm’d me asking if it was ok for them to repost my stuff and i was like “uhh fuck yeah??” so i went on there and went into a deep dive of like 20posts i never knew got reposted on there i felt like a celeb

and lastly: probably when literally anything gets any type of interaction i’m like shocked bc i don’t have notifications on for this app so anytime i come back on here a couple hours or days later some things randomly get thousands of notes and its jaw dropping to me everytime

[lollytea]

what (human) social media do you think the hexaquad uses/is on. Because personally I think Luz is weird and bi enough that she would use tumblr and completely commit to the goncharov bit

Luz absolutely uses tumblr as her primary socmed and she has an intimate relationship with the nature of its insanity. She's the one the others ask when they stumble across an utterly incomprehensible meme and Luz will be like "Okay so basically the origin of eeby deeby is--"

She has two blogs. One for art and one for reblogs/fandom/shitposting. She used to have a twitter but she deleted it some time during the Thanks to Them montage because she was dealing with too much bullshit to tolerate the cesspool. She has an Instagram that she uses exclusively for posting art.

Oh and ao3. How could I forget ao3?

I feel like Amity is completely uninterested in human social media. Out of all the kids, she's the only one who didn't really find a specific hobby/interest during her time in gravesfield. She's already got a pensta and she likes how it's tailored for witch society. She'd have no interest in Instagram or twitter or shit like that. BUT she would absolutely go apeshit once she discovers the Good Witch Azura fandom in the Human Realm. (Literally NOBODY back home even knew what those books were.) She doesn't understand the memes and shitposts or general culture but Amity would absolutely have a fandom specific tumblr. She mostly just reblogs from Luz. An ao3 too of course <3

Willow used pensta for general teen reasons like selfies and socializing with her friends before she came to Gravesfield but now that she's developed an interest in photography? Oh that girl's account is gonna get such a glo up. She'd have an Instagram too. She actually becomes pretty popular on both accounts. Not ✨️Influencer✨️ status but she's gained quite a following of humans and witches alike.

I like to imagine that she also has a Pinterest. Idk she strikes me as somebody who'd enjoy collecting aesthetic pics and making boards. For the same reason she also has a tumblr that's mostly aesthetic with the occasional feral little reblog like this thrown in

Gus is a tiktok kid!!! Gus is SUCH a tiktok kid!!! I could also see him having a YouTube channel where he posts deranged little vlogs (in this universe Gus13 does not exist or its after it happened and only adds more fuel to the fire.) A twitch too maybe?? I could see him streaming. Basically I just think Gus would be drawn to all the video-focused social media.

I think he'd have a twitter too where he tweets his insane little thoughts and it actually blows up in popularity because people think it's a parody account.

Also....he would read Wikipedia religiously and eventually get banned from making his own edits.

Ok ok ok ok I think it would be so funny if Hunter got his penstagram account back in ASIAS, got so excited about finally having a regular teen experience but after a year or so once he's become well acquainted with pensta culture he's like "Well. This sucks."

So basically

Back when Hunter got a scroll, he followed Willow and that was that. He never followed anyone else. He has never posted anything. He can't even be convinced to follow any more of his friends. Not even Gus. He has notifications on for when Willow posts. He pops in to like them and then he fucks off again. People have forgotten that Hunter even has an account.

But when it comes to human socmed OHHHHH....

I want to say he has a devianart. But I'm not sure because I'm pretty sure that devianart is a husk of its former self. So he probably just has a tumblr. Hunter has not yet learned that you can make seperate blogs for all your different interests so his blog is a cluttered mess of his whole autistic self Cosmic Frontier brainrot, wolves, anime, the occasional embroidery pics that Willow tags him in.

Also he would be on neopets.

BONUS CHARACTERS:

Camila is on Facebook and Instagram. Also after the events of the series she gradually begins to rediscover the Cosmic Frontier message boards she used to frequent back when Manny was still alive. They brought back memories of her grief for the longest time but she's beginning to once again embrace her love for the series. She's even reconnected with some old online friends <3

Vee would have all the Normal Human Teenage Girl Social Media. She mostly uses twitter, Instagram and Pinterest. She also stays active on Facebook just to like her mom's posts.

Mattholomule would use reddit. Don't disagree with me I'm right.

[i-am-just-a-skeleton]

wish you could turn off likes on specific posts like i don't give a shit please reblog my art or just fuck offf

maybe i should just set it so likes don't show up in the activity notifications. but i like seeing them for other posts :/

idk it just annoys me. what's the point. stupid shit gets way more attention that art people don't fucking care It Was good Art! is some of the best stuff i've done i thought but no one fucking caresss the stupid crayon doodles that took five minutes got more notes why do i even bother posting it