#im actually seriously debating this now

[raddestrose]

I feel a shift in the air… its time to rewatch Voltron

[thedoodlebuggo]

someone needs to sedate me. im currently shuffling around fourteen malevolent animatic ideas on top of the currently ongoing one and a possible comic (series, question mark?)

[wish-i-were-heather]

can i just say im absolutely fucking terrified for the election its not even funny

[steampoweredskeleton]

.

Ignore

[letmesleepy]

I sigh wistfully looking at my phone and when you peek over you see I'm looking at old book classics

[textmel8r]

[ DRABBLE ] 𝐎𝐅𝐅𝐈𝐂𝐄 𝐇𝐎𝐔𝐑𝐒 ! ( ninth installment ) in which you are forced to plan a corporate event with your office enemy .

୨୧˚ part; one. two. three. four. five. six. seven. eight. nine. ten. eleven.

୨୧˚ incl; kento nanami

୨୧˚ cw; profanity , alcohol consumption , inebriation , sexual harassment , violence , vomit

୨୧˚ an; i love nami kempo (dis shit like 4k werdssss) ALSO i’ve been getting comments that my tag list isn’t working for me dumb someone help me pls tell me what im doing wrong

୨୧˚ join my discord server ! we share headcanons, fanfic recs, color roles, and more drooling emoji

“Why am I here?” Nanami thinks out loud, glaring pointedly around the unlit dive bar. It’s unglamorous, walls garbed in eclectic music paraphernalia, references that go right past him. Flurries of reds and yellows and oranges in the decor cut brightly, shining through the dim atmosphere. Seriously, would it kill them to switch a light on? It bustles with life; university kids, Nanami is subjected to think based on the… unique fashion sense present in the room. Street wear, torn jeans, crop tops way too short to be considered shirts anymore. He cringes, feeling entirely too dated to be hanging amongst this kind of crowd. His leg bounces restlessly under the ledge of the bar, and he turns to look at you. “Why are we here?”

You’re smiling—actually smiling—flagging down the bartender. “You knew we were coming to a bar,” you cut yourself short, holding up a single finger to him whilst you relayed your order to the older gentleman behind the bar. A rum and coke, you asked politely before glancing toward Nanami. It took a moment for him to realize what that look meant. 

“I’ll have scotch, neat. Thanks.”

“As I was saying,” you steal back his attention, “I made it clear we were coming to a bar. What’s the problem?”

There was a hint of an attitude catching at your words, and Nanami felt his brow twitch in frustration. “You failed to tell me that we’d be in…” He grimaces, peeking back over his shoulder to the sea of youthful patrons slinging over nearly every stool and booth. “ . . . Mixed company.” God awful pop music fizzles through the speakers, twisting and crackling with pops of static; fuel to the billowing flames of Nanami’s overstimulation. “I was expecting something a bit more sophisticated.”

“I can tell,” you’re laughing as you give him a once over, and he gets a shiver of Deja Vu from the coffee shop where you pulled the same exact move. You tweeze at the expensive cotton button down, plucking the bunched fabric of a sleeve at the crease of his elbow. “Thought we said no more fancy clothes?”

Tonight he threw together a plain white shirt and a pair of slim fit khaki pants; the quintessential dad outfit, sure, but fancy? Nanami didn’t think so. “I’m dressed down.”

“Nixing the suit jacket and tie didn’t do much. You still look stiff, man.” Two glasses are brought over, one placed before either of you respectively. Nanami stares down into the glass, a foggy, brown abyss. His alcohol looks watered down and piss cheap. “You stick out, it’s kind of embarrassing.”

“Oh please, you’re too kind.” Nanami rolls his eyes, hunching over the bar and downing a swig from the scotch. Yeah, It was definitely watered down. Fuck this place. 

Your hand slaps his back. “So dramatic. I was kidding Nanami, you look fine.” A cheeky laugh reaches his ears before you tack on, “very handsome.” 

Now he knows you’re messing with him. 

You grin into your cup. “Stop sulking. It’s not so bad here.” Nanami would beg to differ. A debate that isn’t worth having because frankly, it’s a Saturday night and he doesn’t have nearly enough energy to draft a list of all the cons that this joint has to offer. “We got booze,” you raise your glass. “Booze makes everything better.”

His forehead wrinkles. “That’s a horrible mindset to have, Y/n.”

Your boisterous laugh outweighs the ambient chatter, and you take a hearty gulp. Nanami follows suit, albeit a bit awkwardly, tipping more spirits down his throat. You look surprisingly comfortable, slinking against the bar counter with a hazy smile that welcomes strangers in. This time, you weren’t wearing a flowery dress; instead, a low cut shirt and jeans, both equal parts dark and tight. The neckline plummeted deep, exposing slivers of your bra cups and entirely too much cleavage. By God, was his self restraint something to write home about. 

It was easy to fall into comfortable conversation. All in all, Nanami enjoys talking to you now, even if once upon a time the thought of engaging with you evoked such dread that he’d outwardly avoid your presence around the office. Passing along orders specifically meant for you to other colleagues and entrusting them to deliver the message, lengthening the conveyor belt of relation simply because you got him in a tizzy. Back then, all Nanami could see when he looked at you was that cowardly girl in the bathroom with smeared lipstick and a trembling pout. How shameful, he thinks, that it took him this long to see past that terrible first impression. 

“So there I was, balancing ten cups of coffee, shaking like a little bitch,” you laughed as you shared an anecdote from an internship in your university years. Nanami listened intently, head propped up on his fist as he watched your theatrics. Your cheeks flushed with the evidence of alcohol, eyes lidded, smile wobbly. Nanami was feeling the edge of his buzz coming on too, an amazing revelation considering the diluted alcohol this place served. “And I’m walking up ten flights of stairs–”

“Ten flights?” He gawks, feeling looser and matching you with melodrama. “What, did your office not have an elevator?”

You laughed. “It was out of order.”

“Your luck astounds me.”

You flip him off playfully. “I finally get to the last stair and my heel catches on the floor and I eat total shit in front of the entire room!” Nanami can’t stop his own tittering, cupping a palm over his grin. “Spilled the coffee everywhere, twisted my ankle, too. I probably laid in that puddle for ten minutes.”

“That’s why you don’t wear high heels anymore?”

There’s a grimace on your face when you nod, topping off the rest of your glass. “Mm.”

Nanami swaps his own story, of a time when he was in his third year of college and his work laptop got stolen. “I think I cried,” and you guffawed at his misery. “I’m serious, I really think I cried. Alone, on the floor of my dormitory. It was finals week, and I had written my dissertation on that laptop.”

“So what did you do?”

“I pulled an all-nighter in the library on campus and rewrote my entire thesis.” Merely remembering that chaotically stressful night had Nanami huffing a sigh of anguish and dragging an exasperated hand down his face. 

The bartender slides you another drink. Gosh, he was lagging behind. “I would’ve dropped out.” You spoke over the rim of the glass.

“Trust me, I was really close.” Nanami’s eyes narrow, gaging the swell of your throat as you knock back a few swigs. “How many have you had?” 

“A few.” Your answer was blunt, and from that Nanami could gather that his question had rendered you the slightest bit irritated. He understood why; you were a grown woman, who was he to regulate how many rounds you decide to have? But even with this understanding, the man couldn’t shake his concern. “More than you, old timer. Keep up.”

He shakes his head, scratching at his cheek. “This is my last for the night.” Any more, and Nanami would wake up the next morning nauseous with a pounding headache. He took precautions to avoid breaching his limits, he really disliked that hungover feeling. 

You gawk at the declaration. “How lame.” Then you hiccup.

“You can call me lame now, but which one of us will wake up tomorrow not in pain?”

You wave a hand through the air, brushing off his very astute observation. “Hush, that’s for future me to deal with. Present me doesn’t have a care in the world.”

You’re immature, but it’s amusing, so he doesn’t offer any rebuttals. The way you are so insistent on living in the moment is fascinating, almost inspiring even. Nanami feels as though he’s ever crushed by the impending future, always so concerned with what the next day, next week, next month, next year brings. He thinks ahead to a fault, and because of that, forgets to enjoy the little things. But you always stop and smell the roses. It’s admirable. 

“Bartender!” You wag a finger in the air, slamming down your empty glass. Fiending for yet another drink. 

Okay, maybe your ability to live in the now is to a fault as well. Nanami holds a hand up, signaling the barkeep to halt. “Sorry,” he apologizes politely, “she’s all good for now, thanks.” Ain’t that the truth. Your face looked tacky with sweat, pupils scarily dilated. Your words come out dimly slurred, and your gestures uncoordinated. As your business associate, he feels obligated to intervene at this point.

A hand slaps his down. Your hand. “Hey what gives?” You’re upset with him. “Just because you’re done doesn’t mean I am.”

“You’re three sips away from throwing up on yourself,” Nanami deadpans, unphased by your drunken outburst. Unbeknownst to the two of you, another patron had taken up the stool opposite of you. To be expected; the bar was decently crowded, that being said neither of you paid much mind to the man. He was younger than Nanami for sure, his hair unkempt and shaggy, swept back by sweat and something that looked like grease. He was smiling, probably on some brand of dope that Nanami was unfamiliar with. The stranger interrupts, leaning over with his elbow planted on the countertop. 

“You her father or some shit?” He speaks without any warning, catching both you and Nanami’s attention. 

Father? Nanami internally grimaces, jaw tightening. Just how old does he think I am? Trying not to be offended by the inquiry, he corrects the man. “Just a concerned friend, that’s all.” You have yet to speak, still a tad caught off guard by the unexpected company. 

The stranger’s grin widens, reaching shit-eating status. “Then hop the fuck off her case, man.” He shoots a pair of lidded, droopy eyes toward you, eyebrows jumping in a manner that is entirely too suggestive for Nanami’s liking. “If the lady wants another drink, then let her have another drink.”

Nanami feels the awkward tension thicken the air between this interaction. For all the shit you talked about getting hit on in bars, he would have never expected you to act so timid when put in a position like this. Nanami fully expected you to side with the latter party, to order another round of vodka-whatever and then leave with your newfound knight in shining armor. What actually happened: “No, er, my friend might be right actually,” followed by an incredibly strained chuckle. Your shoulders stiffen, Nanami can practically feel the way you harden up beside him. “I should probably take it easy.”

The man feigns grief. “Aw, c’mon. You seemed so eager before. Let me buy you another?”

“She just said—”

“I was talking to her, not you.”

Nanami was utterly shocked by the sheer gall this young man possessed. Was he trying to intimidate him? It was painfully ineffective. “I don’t want one,” you said with a little more oomph this time, fiercely hanging on the urge to defend Nanami. It made him feel strangely prideful. 

The stranger’s smile never retreated, but something sinister glinted in the ocean of his dark eyes. He gave a sniff, brushing the point of his nose with the pad of his thumb before hurling yet another unwanted flirtation your way. “Baby, hey, what’s one more drink? I saw you from across the room, I’ve been dyin’ to chat you up.” Under the table, his hand slips into your personal space. Nanami sees it unfold in his peripherals; the pallor hand slithering over your lap, grabbing a handful of your denim-clad thigh. You yelped in surprise, wincing. Nanami saw it all.  

He was not a violent man. In fact, he could count the number of times he’s thrown a punch in his life on one hand. Physical fights were pointless, a waste of time and energy because Nanami wholeheartedly believed that altercations were best settled with words. But the moment your nervous squeak found his ears, Nanami couldn’t control the urge to beat this guy’s face in. So that’s what he did; sliding out of his seat to round you and pull the stranger off his stool by the collar of his faux leather jacket. The material felt cheap and mingy, not something Nanami would ever be caught dead wearing. Without so much as a second thought, Nanami sends a heavy fist barreling into the meat of his cheek. One good, solid punch, and the sinewy gentleman was tumbling to the ground, walking the thin line between consciousness. “Shit…” Nanami breathes, chest heaving with barely concealed rage, knuckles throbbing to the beat of his racing heart. The bar went dead, too many pairs of eyes locked onto him to count, but the only ones he could care about were yours. 

You looked at Nanami with such astonishment, with your eyes pried wide as dinner plates and your mouth ajar. He was ready for you to yell at him, to curse him for embarrassing you in a pub you frequented, but nothing came. Well, almost nothing. 

“Security!” The bartender hollered thick and deep, slapping a damp rag onto the counter with a wet plap. 

“Shit!” Nanami repeated, cuffing a hand around the thinnest part of your wrist, tugging you into his side as you both raced toward the exit. “Let’s go.”

You’re gurgling and grumbling, latching onto the material of his shirt as little bouts of complaining bubbled past your lips. “Not so fast!” and “Oh God, my stomach” and “I don’t feel good.” Nanami had been reduced to your crutch at this point; he bore the entirety of your weight without batting an eye because your own legs were too wobbly to do it yourself. 

“I know,” he murmured, maneuvering through the crowd. “Hold it together, we’re almost there.”

The first step outside felt like entering Heaven. Nanami basked in the cleanliness of the chilly night air, gulping down a big breath of fresh oxygen that hadn’t been tainted by marijuana smoke. But suddenly, you’re detaching yourself from his hip and he’s bewildered by your sudden need for proximity. “Y/n—”

He turns to face you, only to be met with the crown of your head. Doubled over at the waist, hands on the lower fraction of your thighs, you vomit onto the dewy pavement… and his shoes. Nanami’s cursing once more, drawing closer despite how much you obviously don’t want him to. “Alright,” he coos in exasperation, gathering your hair into a bundle and holding it away from the splash zone. “It’s alright, get it out.”

“You’re… Did I just puke on y-your feet?” Your voice is croaky, something of a mixture of embarrassment and illness. You can’t even look at him. 

“Stand up,” Nanami tells you. He’s unbending you, straightening your body upright with a hand pressing your back in from his bowed shape. “Can you look at me?”

You pout, childlike. “No.” You’re looking at his shoes, the toes slick with remnants of your stomach acid. 

“They’re just shoes, I have a million pairs.” His head cocks to a tilt. “Would you look at me, please?”

You’re sighing, but looking up to him nonetheless. Gazing up with big, glossy eyes and wet lashes that clumped together through tears. Eyeliner diluted and cradling your undereyes in a dark embrace. You wipe your mouth with the back of a palm, smearing shimmery gloss out of the confines of your lip line. It’s all so nauseatingly familiar, this pitiful display. Nanami decides he hates seeing you like this. 

“I’m sorry,” you chirp. 

“Don’t apologize.” 

“I’ll pay for them.”

Nanami puts a hand on your shoulder when he notices the slant in your posture. “Cut it out, that’s entirely unnecessary.” He looks around the parking lot, full of vehicles. They catch the glint from the yellowish street lamps. “Did you drive here?” He thinks it’s unlikely, seeing as you let yourself fall under such intoxication. You weren’t so irresponsible; if you drove here, you would’ve made sure you’d be able to drive home too, like he did. 

You’re shaking your head. “Caught a train.”

Nanami nods, pleased. “Good. That’s good.” With all the grace and gentleness in the world, the man loops your limp arm back around his nape, securing you against his oblique with a sturdy arm snaked around your waist. Everything is ginger, lest he upset your stomach again. “Are you good to walk?”

“Yeah, I think I’m alright.”

“Then let me take you to my car.”

That pulls a frown from you. “You don’t need—need to drive me there, Nana’. The station—” Hiccup “It’s just down the road.”

The blonde glowers. “You can barely stand on your own, public transportation is out of the question.” Like Hell he’s going to let an obviously inebriated, attractive young woman such as yourself ride the subway alone. Please, don’t make him laugh. “I’m driving you home.”

“It’s out of your way.”

“I don’t care.”

It’s a slow race, but Nanami eventually hauls you to his car parked at the entrance of the lot. A midnight shade Maserati; he doesn’t miss the way you gawk at his luxurious ride. “If I had a car like this, I’d never leave it.” He laughs. You smack his bicep. “I’m not kidding, I’d sleep in this thing. She’s gorgeous.”

“She says thank you,” he huffs his response. Nanami leans you up against the side of his car, pinning you between its door and his thigh while he opens the passenger door. “Watch your head.” His hand curls around the roof’s ledge, a makeshift cushion to protect your skull as you duck into the car seat. Immediately, you’re slumping back into the comfortable leather interior, moaning out quiet mewls of exhaustion. 

“Yeah, I’d definitely sleep in here.”

“Keep those eyes open.” The door swings shut, and Nanami makes haste when rounding the rear of his car to the driver’s side. He had barely toed the line of sobriety anyways, but knocking a stranger on his ass was definitely more than enough to woosh any semblance of haziness from his veins. Nanami wouldn’t think about driving—wouldn’t think about putting you or anyone else on the road in danger—if he felt even the slightest bit impaired by the scotch. Behind the wheel, the man leans across the center console to grab your seat’s safety belt, carefully dragging it over your chest and clipping it into the buckle. “I need your address first, then you can knock out.”

“My address…” You ponder, lips pursed and eyes blinking at a snail’s pace. Sleepiness prevails, and you fall in and out of slumber, head lolling and cheek mashed up against your shoulder. 

Nanami carps, unappreciative of your inability to stay awake long enough for this much needed conversation. “Hey,” he bleats, patting the top of your thigh. “Come on, Y/n. I need to know where you live.”

You whine, rolling your eyes at his persistence. “The city.”

“You live in the city.” Nanami deadpans at the useless information you’ve just spared. 

“Mm.” And then you’re drifting back to sleep. 

Nanami pinches high on the bridge of his nose with a thumb and forefinger, over the permanent divets where his glasses have drilled into his skin. The contortment of his fingers sends another spike of pain over his bruising knuckles. “Wake up and give me a proper address.” He supposes his heated seats aren’t doing much to stave off your tiredness, so he presses his knuckle into the off button. You whine. 

“I don’t remember, okay?”

That’s how you ended up at Nanami’s home, tucked under his lavish sheets in his bed that’s entirely too big for one person. Your outfit had been neatly folded and piled upon his dresser, exchanged for one of his tee shirts and a pair of sweatpants that were cinched at the waist. He helped you into his clothes—with your undivided consent, of course. A completely clinical and respectful process; Nanami looked elsewhere, acting as a handle for you to hold onto as you stepped into the oversized pants he held open for you. They were far too wide, falling off your hips, so he took the time to tie a precious, little bow with the drawstrings. 

“Comfy?” He asks upon his return to the bedroom, holding a glass of tap water in one hand, a bottle of pills rattling in the other. You’re exactly where he left you; swimming in his bedsheets, the comforter hoisted up to your chest. Nanami sets the water down on the bedside table, then takes a seat on the edge of his mattress, working the bottle open. 

“I’ve never been more comfortable,” you sigh blissfully, taking a deep inhale. “Your blankets smell good.”

The blonde can’t help his chuckle. “I’ll give you the name of the laundry detergent I use tomorrow.” With deft fingers, he plucks two small tablets, light pain medication, and sets the pair on the table next to your water glass. 

“Promise?” Your tongue pokes out from between your teeth, playful. He chides an airy yes, snapping the tylenol bottle shut. Then, your smile fades; you’re averting your eyes, fixing them somewhere over to the blank canvas of Nanami’s gray, bedroom wall. “Hey, um…” He watched the side of your face, watches the flex of your jawline and the tension in your neck. “Did I—I didn’t really throw up on you, right?”

You rub at your temple, like you’re trying to find the memory but it’s just out of reach. “No,” he replies instantly, steadily, like it’s not a complete lie. Like his bile-ridden shoes aren’t sitting outside on his front door step, waiting to be cleaned. “You don’t remember?”

“It’s fuzzy,” you grumble, frustrated with yourself. “I had too much.”

Normal circumstances permitted, Nanami would’ve totally took this opportunity to have his I told you so moment. But you already looked�� upset, maybe a little bit sick still, so he bit his tongue for you. “Some drunk imbecile interrupted us. We shared words, and then he got sick on us.” He was pleased with himself, his story must’ve been believable with the way you nodded along. 

“And then you punched him, right?”

His face drops. “That’s what you remember?”

Your shrug. “I don’t think I’ll ever forget it, Nanami. Not for my entire life.”

“Kento.” You hum, confused, so he reiterates, “I mean, call me Kento. I just clothed you, I’d say we’re close enough.” It’s true, you guys were getting more and more comfortable together by the day. Even outside of work and the management project, Nanami and you share text conversations more frequently than he would’ve ever imagined. And these little hangouts—granted, only two have been executed thus far—have been the most fun he’s had in ages. More fun than he’d ever hope to have with his ‘friendly’ business colleagues. You’re his friend. 

You, Y/n L/n, are his friend. What a strange fucking twist of events, it nearly gives Nanami whiplash. 

“Ken… To…” You speak each syllable slowly, peeking up at him through your eyelashes. He nods, grinning easily. Happy. “Kento, Kento, Ken—”

“Okay, okay enough.” He rises, arms raised as he gives a hearty stretch to his back. “It’s bedtime. Over there,” Nanami points at a door, “is the bathroom if you need it. You’ve got water here, and make sure you take the medicine in the mornings. You’re going to have a terrible migraine.”

“Wait, where are you gonna go?”

“I’ll take the couch for tonight.”

“Kento…” You whine, and he really wished you wouldn’t do that. “C’mere. There’s room.”

You’re patting the expansive open space beside you, peeling back the heavy blankets. It’s an enticing offer, to slip in beside you and feed off your body heat. To hold you to him and— Stop, what are you thinking? Stupid. “I think it’s best we don’t. Sorry.” And then he’s fleeing to the door because the way in which he worded that made the depths of his soul curl with cringe. Nanami bids you a polite sleep well before leaving you to the darkness, though he has enough sense left to keep the door cracked just in case you should yell for him in the night. 

likes and reblogs are appreciated !

tags . • @justbelljust @amnmich @ti-mame @silkija @maddietries @vyntagei @ebrysteria @aesukuni @lololooolleonnaaa @nanamiswife22 @r0ckst4rjk @mizzfizz @saiki-enthusiast @taelattecookie @enchantingkitty @kindadolly @reinam00n @hqtoge @syamamas @numblytemporary @xxravenxstarxx-blog @bloomedintome @guacam011y @jameinfrau @luvvmae @kazisupreme @nowhoremones @https-tank @venjrnjrbhrr19 @ya9amicide @darkstarlight82 @archivefortoji @alczam02 @kaiparkerwifes @kenz1eluvs @iaminyourfloors @queeen-goldfish @beautifulloverwitch @nxuriah @invisible-mori @hexrts-anatomy @katharinasdiaryy @moonlightazriel @mermaidian02 @squishies0102 @saintkaylaa @vi-ola666 @alettertonana @seeyapizzazz @jtoddlover

[missfertileandferal]

lowkey super anxious to post this but im missing you guys so much <3

i plan on a solid return soon! i just wanted to get off my chest whats been going on:

Earlier this year, I dealt with an awful situation of my kinky stuff leaking into real life. My insane coworkers found my content and as I was serving on the clock, proceeded to show my customers and all the staff. then i was fired. Im traumatized to say the least but I over came it.

Come mid summer, I planned so step back for a little bit to move apartments no more than a couple weeks. What happened was both my job (i worked with close family friends so stressful) and a really bad situation with a companion found about my kink stuff. i never expected or was prepared for the humiliation, deception, and pain that would come from my fetish journey

My last job was such a loss. I had been blessed with a cute job as a medical office assistant without any credentials (i wasnt doing anything out of my capabilities of course) it was so peaceful and perfect compared to the drama of my last gig plus working with familiar people felt just like home honestly. Then I got covid. I was out for 2 weeks, at the same time i was moving into my new place. I tried calling them back to let them know I was cleared and ready to get back to work. I received a humiliating text. I was dismissed. That turned into a crippling anxiety of them confessing to my family what I do in my past time

The following week I was met with more disappointment. Ive said this before but I dont have many people in my corner. It used to suck to admit but I stand with pride now knowing those who are around me love me 100% regardless what I do or dont do.

One of my dearest dearest friends, who I had previously communicated what I do (not to a full extent they always respected it) called me very dramatically only a week before I planned to see them (they live across the country and we ALWAYS visit each other when in our cities) It still doesnt feel real tbh, the call only last 40 seconds. I was informed that “I was going on the wrong path” and could no longer be associated with. That’s alls that happened. 8 years down the drain

I was informed by outside sources that my hometown opps had gotten hold of my content (who my ex friend still associate with but I despise bc they’ve always been obsessed with me but in a bad way) and they had confronted him about being my friend. he pussied out and cut me off. they also mass reported my last instagram account😡🤬

I had to take some time back to seriously debate if these loses were worth it. I was swallowed with so much anxiety knowing that an uncomfortable amount of people in my zip code knew what ive been up to. its already complicated being into this and while at the same time not being in a plus size body. thats another conversation tho

That debate has turned into me accepting these events as the universe weeding out people/things that no longer serve me. This has shown peoples true colors, if I am not to be associated with because of my sexual freedom, body acceptance, and undoing of fat phobia then PLEASE LEAVE ME ALONE.

Im recovering ❤️‍🩹 but my heart and hedonism can’t be helped. i love being a kinky lil gut slut. its helped me grow in so many ways from acceptance to living an esoteric dreamy life. i love all the hot girls and guys that i see on my timeline. they hype me up and vise versa. i love this little corner of the internet. my fellow freaks keep me going. i’ve been so on and off online but every time i come back to the sweetest words and support. thank you guys for your patience and consideration

my anxiety is to the roof as im typing. its crazy that these privacy problems havent been within the actual community. funny. if your still reading this I love you extra. ill be streaming on ig on my comeback day!

new ig acc @missfertileandferal💘

[bunnyshideawayy]

a rumored bastard and a proven, disinherited, legally illegitimate recognized bastard are not the same.

Rhaenyra’s sons are rumored bastards, i know the show has a lot of team green stans feeling bold but just as in the books, they are never legally considered bastards in the show either. they are speculated to be via their physical features and Laenor’s apparent sexuality, but since Laenor and the KING (btw Westeros is a absolute monarchy, meaning the king IS law) both claim all three boys as legitimate heirs, unless someone demands a medieval dna test, those kids are legally Laenor’s true sons.

this is apparently a very hard concept to understand for some, hell even Alicent in the show says something like “we can all tell” which fair point, but that is not proof enough. looks, accusations, and rumor are not the same as actual proof of adultery or bastardy.

someone i was having a “discussion” with used Joffrey as an example to point out a flaw in my logic, but ultimately proved my point. Joffrey was a rumored bastard. Ned himself had no more proof than Alicent does, just hair color and a hunch, so Joffrey was never legally disinherited from the line of succession. I hate to defend either of these men but King Robert never publicly disowned him and called him bastard, which is why Joffrey ascended to the Iron Throne. now the rumors did hurt, and caused huge political issues leading to the War of 5 Kings, which is exactly why Alicent and Team Green is so insistent that Rhaenyra’s children are illegitimate, they know they cannot legally or physically prove her children are bastards, especially when Laenor and the King are claiming them are true born, but they can spread the rumor and call into question Rhaenyra’s honesty and morality. think episode 8 when team green takes their chance with Vaemond to attempt a coup of sorts for the Driftmark Throne, why would the succession of Driftmark need to be settled if Rhaenyra’s sons are true born? why would Alicent / Otto need to make this decision in place of the sick king and mia lord of tides who both had already been stating Luke would inherit for years. it’s all apart of the scheme to tarnish Rhaenyra’s reputation as Vaemond has no other proof either, and promptly loses his head (both metaphorically and literally) by calling the recognized heir to the throne a whore and her children bastards with no proof in front of the whole court.

it is a political scheme on both sides, Alicent cannot prove anything, and Rhaenyra cannot disprove the rumors no matter how many times they are claimed as true born sons. Rhaenyra has to live in the comfort the law gives her, as legally her sons are seen as legitimate, and thus legally they are protected. and from an unbiased pov with both in universe and historical references, those kids might be bastards in actually but not legally.

Rhaenyra goes through hell to keep her children legally protected, not only for their sake but for hers because should the truth come out both her and Laenor would be seriously punished, i wouldn’t go as far as executed but that would depend on if Viserys was old and bed ridden or dead. which is why im making this incredibly long post repeating myself in every point. you can argue all day about Rhaenyra’s children and their parentage but i am making this to make it clear that her children are not *legally* bastards by Westeros law. in order for Jace, Luke, and Joffrey to be illegitimate bastards Laenor, Rhaenyra, Harwin, and/or Viserys would have to publicly acknowledge them as such and disinherit them. no, Laenor and Viserys dying do not magically make Rhaenyra’s children legal bastards either. they would, again, need to be claimed and proven as such and disinherited.

and at the end of it all, true or not true, the rumors made a lasting impact on the story. so much so this fandom is still debating this topic, and frankly i am dreading the season 2 release when all the bad takes and bad faith arguments start up again.

anyway other famous rumored bastards are in Targ history are:

Maegor

Daeron II

[reidmania]

matilda | spencer reid

summary; when the topic of kids come up between you and spencer, you admit you are scared of being a mother & having your own family with spencer because of generational trauma and your childhood.

warnings; hurt x comfort, fears of being a mother, mummy issues, daddy issues, mentions of child abuse, slight bpd reference (not even a noticeable one) , fears of passing on trauma, both open up about fears, spencer talks about the schizophrenia gene, fem reader, established relationships, angst and a fuck ton of comfort

an; ME ME ME ME ME ME !! so based off matilda by harry styles just so u know if it wasn’t obvious!! to be honest this didn’t do the justice for me i wanted it to but i think bc my fear is so far implemented that comforting myself w a fictional character doesnt even work.

Maybe it was too soon.

A year long relationship. A year of spending every other day possible by one another’s side. A year of sweet nothings, giggly mornings, and soft kisses on the way out when leaving for work. A year of hand holding and three squeezes as silent I love you’s.

Maybe it was too soon to have the conversation about your future together. Too soon to talk about marriage, buying a home, settling down, having kids — even if it was just future planning. It’s not like either of you were planning on having kids now, or getting married right now, or buying a home now. Its not like it was ‘Im ready for more right now’ conversation. It was just a ‘Do you see more for us’ conversation yet it seemed to hold the same looming cloud over your head.

It was brought up when JJ came in with her newborn henry, you were there just visiting Spencer while he had some spare time. You weren’t expecting to be there for an extra hour, holding the newborn in your arms cooing at his every little movement, Spencer by your side, hand on your knee as he looked down on the sweet baby.

Then, you were asked if you wanted kids and you froze. You didn’t have time to even think about answering before Emily was saying how much of a great mother you would be. How you were just naturally good with kids. You laughed and brushed it off as Spencer smiled and squeezed your knee gently.

You handed baby Henry back to JJ moments later.

“Do you.. Not want kids?” Spencer asked later. It was after dinner, the rain outside was pattering against the window, loud enough to be heard over the sound of the tv which was playing a random documentary Spencer had put on. The question caught you off guard. It wasn’t that you hadn’t talked about kids with Spencer, just not seriously.

You turned your head to look at him, you knew this was probably a necessary conversation to have. You knew it was probably time to be honest yet that left a heavy weight on your chest and an overwhelming sense of nausea to your stomach — like the idea of having kids did.

“I don’t know.” You answered, honestly. It wasn’t that you didn’t want to have kids, you adored them, being around them, watching their wide eyes and curious faces when they got to that perfect toddler age when they were so curious about the world. You adored kids. It was that you didn’t think you could be a mother. Not a good one anyways.

Spencer’s face twisted into something, he shuffled a little on the couch, hands coming to rest on the back of it, behind your head as he sat up a little straighter. He didn’t answer, seemingly lost in thought, or a mental debate with himself. You could basically see the mental argument through his eyes and your chest fell.

“Do you?”

“Yes.” He answered instantly. You wanted to cry, you could actually feel the burning sensation in your nose because it felt like you were disappointing him. Normally — from your experience, people who wanted kids, longed for them, it wasn’t something they could pass off as fine without having. It was apart of their future lives.

“Oh.” It left your lips as your head dipped down slightly, wetting your lips as your mouth went dry. Your chest tightened with the crushing pressures of expectation and disappointment. His hand moved from the couch to tuck gently under your chin, lifting your head back to meet his eyes.

He looked at you like he was searching for something, and whatever it was he was looking for he seemed to find. “Is there a specific reason you don’t know?” He asked, voice gentle and steady, as if he knew.

“I don’t know” You answered again, it was unhelpful but the real answer seemed too heavy on your tongue to leave your lips. He tilted his head a little, his thumb gently running over your chin. “Okay. Thats okay.” He said, seemingly understanding your spiral of thought — or so you thought until he spoke again.

“Is— Is it me? Us?” He asked, as if you were doubting having kids with him, or a future with him. It was such a silly doubt you wanted to laugh because there was no way in the world, that was the last reason you would doubt your course of motherhood. Honestly, him being by your side made the thought a little lighter on your mind — not light enough.

You shook your head, “No, it’s not— Its nothing like that.. It’s just.. Me?” It came out as a question, a doubt more than you intended it too.

His eyebrows furrowed, hand moving from your chin to gently cup your jaw. “Do you want to tell me about that?” He asked softly, as if letting you know it was okay if you didn’t. That this conversation was entirely up to you and what you were comfortable with saying.

A huff left your lips as your head tilted to lean into his touch. “Have- Have you heard that saying? That the abused becomes the abuser, or hurt people, hurt people, or a household that once had an angry man will always have an angry man?” You rambled off the common sayings that only further installed the doubt that swarmed your mind and had since you were a teenager.

His features softened as he realised your point and what direction this conversation was heading towards, his thumb brushed over the soft skin of your cheek. “Mhm, a lot of abusers were also abused or experienced trauma in their childhood.” He nodded. Your frown deepened because you knew what he said was true.

“What if I become like them?” Your voice was quiet and barely above the whisper as the daunting fear left your lips, your eyes peered up at his. He didn’t need to ask who you were talking about, your parents.

He shook his head instantly, “You aren’t them.” He answered. You knew deep down he was right, but even looking in the mirror and seeing the features you shared with your parents made your stomach twist and chest carry a little heavier if you stared too long. When you noticed similar behavioural traits your mind would fog with self depreciation because of your hatred for them.

How could you ever love someone so similar to them, even if it was yourself?

“But what if I become like them. I feel like it’s wrong— and unfair for me to bring children into this world.. not when they could be so much like me.. Or like my parents.” You spoke, the earnest truth, no matter how much it hurt to say aloud.

His head further tilted and his heart ached at your words and the knowledge of your doubts, the way you viewed yourself as a second of your parents when from what he had heard you were so different. You were gentle and sweet, you had your moments like everyone did, but you weren’t them.

“I think any kid would be lucky to be like you. You’re gentle, caring, nurturing and dedicated. You show empathy to everyone— even those who don’t deserve it. Those are good traits for a child to develop” He spoke, listing off the numerous good things about you. It made your heart ache.

“But what about everything else? What if i pass.. My issues onto my children? Thats unfair. It would just be mean” You ushered out, mind swirling with doubts that kept you awake at night.

“Your parents endured a lot in their childhood, I know you know that. Their parents weren’t kind to them and your parents weren’t kind to you-You don’t have to feel bad about that, because it was unfair, and wrong of them to treat you that way regardless of the way they were treated in their childhood. The difference is you recognise that, you recognise what happened was wrong and the way you were treated was wrong. You’re putting in the effort to heal and to be better. You aren’t your parents, whether you decide you want to have kids or not. You aren’t them.”

His words weighed on your mind as you tried to process everything you were saying. It wasn’t the first time you had spoken to Spencer about your trauma or your childhood. You had been open with him about the abuse you endured, as well as the similar abuse your parents had both endured by their own parents. You told him about the guilt you held, how you for some reason felt bad for your parents.

It was a common theme in your mind, that maybe if your parents had met someone in their younger years who gave them a hug and and reminded them the world wasn’t as cruel as their parents made it seem — maybe your life would have turned out differently. Maybe your parents would’ve been good. Maybe your mother would have been nurturing and sweet, your father kind and humorous.

You were blessed in the way you had those people around you, the ones who reminded you that life wasn’t all it seemed to be in the house you grew up in. It wasn’t covering bruises with stolen makeup, or constant yelling and arguments after your father had drank too much, it wasn’t the dismissive and uncaring nature of your mother after a bad day — which seemed to have been everyday.

You were blessed in the way you got out when you had the chance. You went to therapy, you made something of yourself. You surrounded yourself with good hard working people, and you had met the most amazing man.

And yet you felt guilty that you had been able to do this, and your parents hadn’t. You wondered if the curse of natural unhappiness was passed down generation to generation, and would end your kids in a similar position. You wondered if you would become the same shameful and dismissive as your mother, or the same cruel and unkind as your father.

“It’s just, so scary.” You breathed out, because it was. “I don’t want to put someone else through what I had went through. I don’t want to ruin any chance they had at being good by being a child of mine.” You mumbled out, the best words you could find to describe your current state of mind.

He nodded understandingly, listening to every word and filling in every empty space your mind didn’t let you. He sat up a little straighter as he kept his gaze soft on yours. “Have I told you about my fear of passing the schizophrenia gene down to my future children?” He asked.

You shook your head. He hummed. “It was really bad a few years ago. I thought kids would be completely off the table for me, because the idea of bringing a kid into a world who may have to suffer a disease like that seemed so… unfair” He used the word you had repeated.

You understood what he meant, you really did. It seemed so wrong to do that to someone who had no choice over the life they were being brought into, no idea’s of the struggles they would face.

You listened carefully to his words, “How do you.. stop being scared of that?” You asked, because clearly his mind had changed since then. You couldn’t seem to get the fear out of your mind. It was constant eating away at your brain.

He paused for a moment, eyes staying on yours. He let out a soft breath, “You don’t. Thats not something that goes away, because it’s a valid fear to have, all the things you are scared of you are right to be scared of.. But it only further proves you care.” He said gently, “I think it’s less about stopping the fear and instead accepting it.” He said.

Your brain didn’t quite compute his words, his thumb danced gently over your skin. He took note of your lack of understanding what he meant. “Accepting that it is possible that we may pass things down to our children, whether its diseases or behaviours — The only thing we can do about that is be there for them when they need to learn how to cope with it, loving them regardless. You are so capable of love, and care. I see it in you everyday. You embody it.” He breathed out.

You curled gently into his side, your face coming to bury itself in the fabric of his shirt. His hand moved to rest on your upper back, rubbing soft circles over the skin there. You craved the comfort of his touch as your mind processed the comfort of his words. He was happy to provide it.

“I think I should talk about this in therapy” You mumbled out. He let out a soft chuckle, you felt the vibrations from it in his chest, making your lips curve into a slight smile. He nodded.

“I think if kids are something you want and the only thing stopping you is this fear then its something you should talk about in therapy. I know your parent’s took a lot from you, but I don’t think you should let them take your chance of building a family that will show you the unconditional love and care you deserve.”

And you did, the next time you went to therapy you brought up the topic of fearing passing down intergenerational trauma, and you spoke about every doubt on your mind. Later you came home and told Spencer about it.

He held you in his arms and kissed all over your face, expressing how proud he was and how much he loved you.

[appleofmyii]

im showing her some love, she been giving me sex

now playing- 'hurt feelings'- mac miller

Clarisse La Rue x y/n

this fic was inspired by @asvterias ' mixed signals'

WARNING: this fic has no sex or 18+ content at all, just making out. I just used those lyrics because i thought it was fitting.

A/N: we are SO back

you and Clarisse have been dating for a few months now. These past few months have been very hard for you. You know Clarisse has a hard time expressing her emotions and being affectionate, but your heart cant help but crave more. The months you've been with Clarisse has been filled with passionate make outs and other intimate things, not once has she said I love you, not once have you guys just sat and talked to each other. It wasn't like this back when you guys where just friends. You guys used to hangout with each other all the time. But now things are different, you cant help but feel like she's only using you for your body. You miss the old Clarisse. you miss your old relationship

you were in Clarisse's bed, straddling her as always. Its always the same routine, you'd go to her cabin, you'd make out with her, she'd give you hickeys, you'd go back to your cabin before her siblings arrived, and then do it all again. You want things to be different this time. you pulled away from the kiss " Clarisse?" She looked at you with a confused face "why'd you stop?" You sighed "because i want to talk." She raised her eyebrow "talk? you want to talk? you stopped kissing me because you want to.....talk?" "well....yes?" now your giving her an confused look, does she not know how relationships work? " why?" "because we're girlfriends and that's what girlfriends do?" you complained. "but cant we just talk later?" she huffed. "we never get to talk! all we ever do is kiss!" you yelled slightly. "I'm not seeing the issue?" she seemed quite annoyed with your attitude. "and that's the problem!" you got off of Clarisse, slowly making your way do the door. "where are you going?" she whined. "I'm leaving!" She tried to protest, but you were already out the door. you were tired of being used. You were tired of this relationship.

a few days had past since then. You and Clarisse still haven't talked about the incident, you refuse to say anything to her unless she comes up to you. the silence is killing the both of you, but your trying to make a point, and Clarisse is genuinely confused. Finally, after what seems like forever, she comes up to you "we need to talk. now." the stern look on her face and the seriousness of her voice told you that this was not up for debate. "what do you want Clarisse?" you tried to look as mad as possible, but you were happy she's finally trying to figure out why you were upset. "what is going on? first you walk out on me, and now your avoiding me? are we going to break up? i don't want to break up." tears start welling up in her eyes, but she blinks them away. " what's going on is that you don't really love me and your only using me for my body." Clarisse looked at you with complete shock "is that what you think?" there was hurt in her voice, but you wanted to keep going, "yes. all you do is kiss me and touch me, we never go on dates, we never talk, we never do anything that isn't physical, i need more then that, i want to talk to you, i want to go on dates with you, i want to be an actual couple with you, don't just hook up all the time." you finally looked into her eyes, trying to read her facial expression, but her face was just blank. " I'm sorry.......I'm sorry I've been such a bad girlfriend to you, its just hard to be affectionate, I never had that, I didn't even know what love felt like until i met you, I just didn't want to fuck it up, i thought that if i kept things physical only, it would keep you happy, i love you....i really do, im sorry i ever made you think anything different." You've never seen her this emotional before, it made your heart swell, "you love me?' you look up at her, you both are completely vulnerable in this moment, its the first time you've opened up to each other, "i do" she smiles at you.

In the midst of uncertainty and emotional turmoil, you and Clarisse finally broke through the barriers that had kept you apart. After days of painful silence and misunderstanding, your confrontation led to a heartfelt confession from Clarisse—one that laid bare her fears and insecurities, but also revealed the depth of her feelings for you. It was a pivotal moment where both of you acknowledged the need for more than just physical intimacy in your relationship. As Clarisse's words of apology and love washed over you, a new understanding blossomed between you, one built on honesty and vulnerability. In that shared moment of openness, you knew that despite the challenges, your bond with Clarisse had the potential to evolve into something deeper and more fulfilling than either of you had imagined.

⋆ ˚｡ ⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡ ⋆ the end ⋆ ˚｡ ⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡ ⋆

[moonferry]

welcome to a segment i like to call "are they/arent they" where i list a category & some stardew valley characters and debate whether or not they actually would be that thing. potentially nsfw text?

first up, non marriageable npcs and whether or not they are a dilf/milf:

marlon: obviously. there's no debate here.

the wizard: yes. no further comments.

linus: no. that is my best friend d right there i will not "go into his tent"

lewis: absolutely NOT. that man is greasy.

marnie: you know what? yeah. she is. in more of a "rich wine aunt you see at parties twice a year" way.

kent: do i even have to say anything? yes hes a dilf 100%. makes me think of that gg audio that's like "im a truth seeker, i seek the truth..."

jodi: yes but more in a "IM GOING TO MAKE HER MY GF" kind of way.

robin: .... seriously guys? do i need to answer this? (the answer is yes btw)

demetrius: no. but he'd be nice to sit and have a chat with, he can ramble about his experiments to me <3

pierre: honestly a strong maybe, but im gonna say no because his vibes are abhorrent.

caroline: yes. caroline was the first npc i became friends with so she's always a yes <3

george: no. don't even ask that.

evelyn: NO. that's my sweet granny im gonna make cookies with her.

sandy: i mean she has the potential but i don't think she's old enough to be considered a milf? it's a maybe but a definite yes in the future.

gus: hmm.. im gonna say maybe with high yes potential. i mean he can cook.

willy: i know this one is likely gonna get split 50/50 between you guys but it's a no from me. that's my uncle figure. he literally calls me his skipper and i go YEAAAH!!!

clint: ❌❌❌

gunther: yes. i just wish we could actually talk to him tho.

gil: hmmm.. it's possible. this is a maybe.

pam: no </3 love her but not like that

now, onto the marriage candidates and whether they are a top, bottom, or switch. here's the nsfw text. feel free to skip or read, it's up to you.

shane: dominant top. i just can't see him as submissive im sorry guys.

sam: submissive top. literally just wants to make it enjoyable for his partner, probably likes to be praised. u tell him good job? hes gone.

sebastian: power bottom. he knows what he wants and isn't afraid to let his partner know.

emily: trick question. she's asexual.

haley: dominant top. i don't really think i need to explain this.

penny: bottom. please treat her nicely or she'll cry.

harvey: SWITCH. he has potential for both, but i feel like he'd be more on the gentle side. maybe slightly more submissive depending on the situation. (#menwhowhimper)

maru: i feel like shes a tough one. on one hand i can see her as asexual, but on the other i think she'd be a switch. i think it fluctuates for her & she goes through periods of sex repulsion & hypersexuality.

leah: dominant switch, but i feel like she'd be more open to topping. muscular women .. ooogh.

elliott: another switch. he is literally open to anything & everything.

abigail: ooh another tough one. im honestly not sure possibly bottom? she'd also be open to top of you asked.

alex: *cracks knuckles* oooh you see those big muscles and personality and think "top" right? wrong. that man is a submissive bottom. he also has a tendency to allow himself to get overstimulated because he wants to "see what his body can handle"

[urhoneycombwitch]

U just haaaaad to go and make another eddie for me to be feral over didn’t you? I need to know everything about roommate eddie pls 🤲🏻

IM IN LOVE W HIM TOO. thank you for giving me the opportunity to speak on it bc I have an origin story for roommate!Eddie with nowhere to go… until now 😈 here’s my other blurb of him btw linking in case others wanna see!! 🫶

so in this nebulous roommates!au, I’m imagining you’re besties with Robin. Eddie is besties with Steve. and of course since Robin and Steve are Ultimate Besties (in every world. in every universe.) they plot to get their respective Others together somehow. like, you’re offbeat and fun and so is Eddie!! should work out great right?

wrong. u and Eddie just don’t hit it off. you think he’s too loud and brash and godforbid he gets more than one beer in him ‘cuz he’ll be pulling you to the dance floor or making his own and embarrassing the everloving shit out of you. and he thinks you need to loosen up and get out of your head, which he decides is his new job that he takes VERY seriously.

eventually Steve and Robin stop trying to force it and yours and Eddie’s relationship just turns into casual frenemies. (a la Harry Met Sally) like, ah yes, You Again. the best friend of my best friend’s best friend 😒 you’ll hang out casually at various house parties and bars but always with a buffer, otherwise you’ll be at each other’s necks with (mostly) playful arguments and hot debates.

and it seems CRAZY at first that you’re gonna live in the same space but holy shit rent is so expensive in the Big City where you all moved to and it mind as well be with someone you know. you’re really worried about the set up but Eddie turns out to be real responsible with monthly payments and has a general respect for shared spaces (his own room is a black hole and it baffles you that he manages to have so many successful one night stands in that hell pit but you’re never in there so who cares.) plus it helps to have a man around fr, to spook the landlord into doing his job 👹 and also to fix things! and to give you lifts to work! and share snack duty! you find a rhythm and it’s great.

the night that he falls for you tho? you’re at group karaoke 3-shots deep and pick a cheesy Beatles song just to piss him off. simpering over your shoulder while you croon into the microphone, giving him a one-man-show that you hope triggers an earworm and irritates for days to come 💖 but actually he’s gripping his beer for dear life on the nearby barstool getting hit with the sickening realization of being in love. like oh fuck, this is bad. I cannot be falling for my pal’s pal. whom I also live with. what a fucking mess.

the night you fall for him? a second date goes sideways and you have no one else to call but Eddie. he fully leaves the solo gig he was about to play because you sounded so upset over the phone (doesn’t tell u that, tho!) and he could be a total asshole about it when he picks you up on the street corner but he absolutely isn’t. chews out your date, tho, with a viciousness that both delights and scares you. makes you a proper meal at home and wraps a strong arm around you on the couch and watches your favorite romcom and laughs at all the parts you laugh at. and you’re pressed up all close, wheels spinning in ur brain, unknowingly going through the exact same thought process Eddie had about a month earlier. Oh No. He’s My Bestie. Whom I Live With. This Cannot Possibly End Well.

aaaaand that about brings us up to canon speed, thus far! you and Eddie date around and have sex in your shared apartment but NOT with each other and if sometimes you get off to the sounds he makes when he’s fucking someone else and if sometimes he gets off to the noises of you in the shower well … no one’s business 🙂‍↔️

like why are u even asking about something soooo personal. like Robin you don’t get it it’s not like that I just wanna be near him all the time. that’s normal and what friends do. no, Steve, you’re not listening, we look at each other’s nudes as buddies. sorry you don’t understand how friendships work 🙄

(Robin and Steve have to set up weekly debriefs to compare notes and make sure they’re not going fucking crazy)

[thesupernaturalhouse]

Chalrie louder: are you hurt!?

Vaggie: walking into the hotel after having an existential crisis, and looking like it

Chalrie grabbing vaggies shoulders: oh my heaven- vaggie!! Vaggie what happened!? Are you okay!?

Chalrie grumbling: Alastor was being very uncooperative and disappeared before I could yet anything out of him....

Chalrie louder: are you hurt!?

Vaggie:....yes.....wait- no.....sorry, start over? Maybe uh...breath? A little?

Charlie takes in a deep breath and lets it out: are you hurt....

Aka, does she have to kill somebody

Vaggie:....no, no im-im fine just.....need a very long nap....seriously I am exhausted

Chalrie: oh- oh of course!! Just sleep or? Do you wnat dinner? You came back really late

Vaggie:....did i??

Charlie:.....yeah, it's uh....7pm

Vaggie:....oh

Vaggie:....fuck

Charlie: haha, yeah really late, I was debating going out to look for you myself so I was trying to find Al and then went 'oh fuck that' and was about to leave and uh, you came in

Vaggie: yeah, sounds like something that'd happen here, tell me about it later I'm goign to bed

Charlie: oh- right yeah....yeah you aren't walking up those stairs

Vaggie: wha-

Charlie: just casually picks her up

Vaggie: Charlie!-

.

.

.

3 hours later

Charlie just staring at a sleeping vaggie: I've never had you pass out so fast

Pokes her with her tail softly: maybe I should let Al take you out again....at least then you wouldn't be getting up at 3am to do a gaurd route

Charlie poking stops:.....actually, no, nevermind, really bad idea

She did not need him trying to hurt vaggie. He might be 'representing' this hotel, but she wouldn't trust him with their lives.

......she probably shouldn't have told alastor about vaggie being an overlord in the first place now that she thinks about it.....yeah, that...that wasn't a good idea

In her defense, it was a slip of the tounge, and she thought he would've known....then again he was gone for 7 years, and was also an overlord kil......

Okay....yeah....really bad idea, she'd apologize later

Charlie: note to self; don't leave Alastor alone with Vaggie.....or drill the fear of true hell into him

Nonetheless, if he didn't hurt her this time, he probably wouldn't try anything....at least while she was around, he better not

Seriously.

She'd fucking maul him if he tried to hurt Vaggie

Part 6 | Part 7(finale and here!)

[snomoscribbles]

so there's an Aonunete fic ive been working on to the side for a little bit and I wanted it to be a one shot, but I got carried away and now Im debating if I should post it chapter by chapter? uuuuuuuugh. decisions. Its Human AU where the Sully's do move into a new town but Neteyam stayed behind with Mo'at to graduate highschool with his peers. So Ao'nung meets Lo'ak first and while they do butt heads, they actually become friends without the extra animosity of the avatar setting and because of exposure therapy since they're on the same basket ball team. But Neteyam finally showing up after the school years up for him and Ao'nung is scrambling when he realizes Lo'aks golden boy brother is 100% husband material and he's gotta do something about it. But Neteyam isnt taking him seriously because he's his younger brothers best friend which puts him in adopted brother mindset and he cant figure out if he's grateful for the extra time to get his shit together or frustrated as fuck that he cant get this beautiful bastard to notice him. Just kind of an interest check on if I should start posting it, or just go ahead and wait till its finished? current title is "Best Friends Brother"

[ritz-writes]

if i see "credit to the original artist <3" one more time i might actually lose it

im gonna say it again and im going to say it loud. this is the proper way to go about reposting art:

do you know the artist? if not, go find them. if you cant find them, dont repost it

you found the artist or already knew them? ask to repost with credit

they said no? dont repost it

they dont respond? dont repost it

they said yes? go for it with proper credit

they later ask for it to be taken down? take it down immediately

thats it. its that simple.

"but i want other ppl to see the art!" thats great. link the original post then. not a link on a repost, a link on a post that says "hey guys, this artist is rlly good u should check them out!" if you repost and then link to the og post, most ppl are just going to like the repost. they arent going to take the time to go to the link when they can already see the art

"but i found the art on pinterest!" pinterest is not an artist. it is a site notoriously known for having reposted art. its nice to use to make mood boards and get inspo, but its also almost impossible to find og artists thru posts half the time. if you want to find the artist, you do a reverse image search. if you dont know how to do that, then look it up

"they already gave me permission. why are they telling me to take it down now?" ppl are allowed to change their minds. it can be nice to have more ways for ppl to see ur art, but it can become disheartening when all the attention is on a post that isnt ur own. sometimes ppl are okay with it, and sometimes they arent. if they arent then you need to respect their wishes

artists are not machines. we are humans. we have feelings.

we make art for fun and it sucks a lot when that art we spend hours on is just copy and pasted onto some elses account.

dont repost art. and if you want to, follow the steps above. end of story. there are no loopholes or exceptions. if you want ppl to keep making art free to see, dont be rude. follow the steps and be respectful

i dont normally like ppl taking screenshots of my posts and putting them elsewhere, but im giving blanket permission for this one post. spread the word. put it where you want. tiktok, insta, reddit, etc etc. ive seen so many artists get so upset putting their art behind paywalls like patreon just to keep ppl from stealing it. and i know multiple who have stopped posting altogether and some that are debating stopping.

respect artists, guys. follow the steps. seriously

[papermatisse]

inquiring minds || B.BH

♔ pairing: professor!byun baekhyun x f!professor!reader

♔ genre: fluff

♔ word count: 2.7k

♔ warnings: none

♔ synopsis: the students of sm university have their attention on the popular history professor and his secretive lifestyle. student beomgyu finds a person who may hold the answers on everyone's minds.

♔ (a/n): happy birthday, @biaswreckingfics! can't believe this is my second year writing you a bday fanfic! im so happy to call you my friend! I tried making this a drabble to show my growth to you, but failed miserably. I hope you enjoy it nevertheless!

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Byun Baekhyun was an enigma.

A history professor with an impressive academic history to coincide with his doctorate. Young, handsome, intelligent. Though also a gifted professor, delving into each and every subject of his with such unadulterated enthusiasm of his own that his students couldn't help but feel just as invested themselves.

He was hyper, dashing across his lecture hall, hands raised in the air, so entirely devoted to his craft. His teachings were practically performances as he embodied the era he spoke of. He was a professor many would yearn to have, someone who was incapable of ever losing the attention of his students. He held to the firm belief of not taking life seriously, lest you not make it out alive, and he stood there as a triumphant example of what splendor life could offer if you merely enjoyed it.

All of these characteristics that had made him so utterly popular, yet the student body knew little to nothing about the man. Because although he was the human personification of a puppy with his bright eyed wonderment and neverending infectious joy, he was extremely reclusive. Everything about his life was kept to himself, to the point that there were more speculated rumors about the man than actual truths.

So far what was known of Baekhyun was his age, his degree, his dissertation, and his eternal battle with his cat. The man was an undeniable dog person, and often accepted late work from students if they even so much as sent him a blurry photo of a dog, let alone bring the actual dog into class for him to dote upon whilst he taught. He'd come into the lecture hall at times, a scratch or two on his arm from where his cat had bitten him, though the ongoing battle between his feline and himself was a series that many found themselves subscribing to with gusto.

There was no discernible moment in time that the tides seemed to shift, but the populous had unanimously and without debate began pestering the man for more information about his life.

It had begun as simple questions, merely asking what he'd eaten that day, what his cat looked like, even where he got his sweater from at some point. At times, he'd give a wry answer, barely even acknowledging whoever asked such a minuscule question in the first place. Occasionally he'd stay quiet, or perhaps even reflect the question back to the student in his usual comedic manner.

Though the questions soon escalated.

Do you have a social media?

"Do you not see enough of me at school already?"

Are you allergic to any foods?

"I don't trust anyone with that type of knowledge."

What's your mother's maiden name?

"Isn't that a security question?"

One day, one of those personal questions had garnered an intriguing response from the man.

"Are you dating anyone?"

A subtle smirk crossed his face for the briefest of moments, followed with an amused puff of air expelled from his nose as he remained where he sat, typing at his computer while his class wrapped up for the day. This insighted much enthusiasm from the masses, everyone gasping and talking over one another ecstatically at the newfound information.

"Mr. Byun, you never told us you were dating someone!"

"Who are they?"

"How long have you been together?"

"Enough, enough," Baekhyun waved off the curious undergrads, rolling his eyes with a smile. "I'm not dating anyone. Now go to your next class, I'm in office hours mode from this point on."

"Does that mean we can stay and ask more questions?"

"History related."

Although they had all vacated the classroom, the events hadn't left the minds of some students, one specifically being Choi Beomgyu, an English major who was on his way to his TA class. Professor Byun was someone he had grown to highly respect, with his kind and funny nature, willing to help his students no matter the assignment. Although the class was a requirement for him, Beomgyu found himself enjoying it far too much, to the extent that he was even deliberating minoring in history alone.

Though he knew Baekhyun was a rarity of a professor, and walking into his English class served as a reminder of that fact as he looked towards his English professor.

Professor (l/n) was the personification of the stereotypical English professor, or at least the ones commonly depicted in media. Oversized knitted cardigans with loose stitchings, hair tied back and away from her face in a messy and carefree manner, a tired scowl resting on her face as her eyes roved over endless stacks of papers, darkness lingering beneath her gaze as a consequence to her exhaustion.

Beomgyu sat beside her desk, waiting patiently for her to glance over at him, though by the looks of it, she was far too preoccupied with grading to even acknowledge his presence. Though he was used to this by now, often greeted by her well after he'd arrive. It also granted him some more time to stew over Professor Byun before he'd have to delve into grading.

Although it was expected, he hadn't really expected Baekhyun to actually be dating someone. It had him considering who could possibly handle someone like him. Was the man as energetic at home as he was in the classroom? Was it someone interested in history as well? Could it even be a professor at the university? Perhaps someone even in the humanities department like him?

"Professor (l/n)?" He spoke breaking the silence and causing her to shoot her head up in surprise, sighing upon just seeing her TA.

"Good morning, Beomgyu, how are you holding up today?"

"It's… Well into the afternoon." He laughed as she reached for her phone, humming in understanding at his words as she verified the time of day. "My day has been okay. I just had Professor Byun's class, so I'm kind of tired."

"Makes sense." She responded, this intrinsic understanding tone laced in her voice as she returned to her grading pile, marking things as she read through them. "You can take a few more minutes to yourself."

"Do you know Professor Byun?" Beomgyu asked absentmindedly, not expecting much else other than a mere shrug or an uncommitted confirmation, though instead she nodded to him, not turning away from her work for even a moment. "Well, I mean, do you like… know him, know him. More than just a work colleague."

Another nod.

This stunned Beomgyu, not really expecting someone as cloistered as Professor (l/n) to have acquainted herself with someone as sociable and outgoing as Professor Byun. Though at the same time, it wasn't so far-fetched. The two are just a few doors away from each other, both housed under the humanities department. Perhaps she just tolerated him, because Professor (l/n) was not someone who accepted tomfoolery in class, rather strict when it came down to someone disturbing her class with laughter or audio from their phones. It didn't seem like they'd be necessarily close when taking their countenances into consideration.

"I'm assuming if I ask you questions about his life, you wouldn't really say much?"

"Not without his explicit permission, no." She confirmed with a huff, backing away to take another sip of her (likely cold) coffee.

"Do you need me to get you a refill from the backroom?"

Glancing down at her cup and then to her TA, she shook her head.

"It's fine. I'll get some in a few minutes." Beomgyu reached for one of the essay piles, pen in hand ready to grade alongside her, unaware of the curious gaze now directed towards him. "What's with the sudden intrigue in Professor Byun?"

"Not really sudden." Beomgyu chuckled, fiddling with his writing implement while recounting his time in the general history course. "My class has been pretty annoying lately with him, trying to get him to spill as much information about his personal life as we can, but he's really reserved. Surprisingly." This earned Beomgyu a snicker from his professor, encouraging him to continue. "Today, we almost got him to spill about a potential relationship of his. We asked if he was dating someone and he didn't outright deny it immediately like the other questions." Beomgyu reconsidered Baekhyun's reaction—definitely intriguing and definitely suspicious. It warranted Beomgyu's otherwise peculiar intrigue in the matter, he had insisted. The natural desire of people to sate their curios no matter what. "He denied it eventually though. Said he wasn't dating anyone."

"He's not." Professor (l/n) responded, causing Beomgyu to look at her with wide eyes. She went back to her papers though, seemingly no longer interested in the conversation, but ever the determined student, he persisted.

"You know a lot about his personal life?"

"As much as he's willing to tell."

How could Beomgyu concentrate on grading when the answers to everyone's questions reside in the stoic English professor before him? Such an unexpected source of information, yet also so obvious. Someone who keeps to herself, therefore someone who won't blab about Baekhyun to others. Someone close to him, physically so in the case of their similar departments. Quiet and somber, a guaranteed good listener. Attentive and keen, given her English background and analyzing capabilities. The more Beomgyu thought about it, the more fitting it all seemed.

"Since I can't ask about Professor Byun, could I ask about you?"

She glanced over at him, eyebrow raised momentarily, though shrugging nevertheless, casting her gaze back down to her papers.

Much like history class, he started with simple surface level questions, ice breakers to warm her up to his interrogation.

"When did you graduate?"

"Few years ago."

"What did you last eat?"

"A blueberry muffin."

"What do you do in your free time?"

"Read."

And again, much like Professor Byun's class, his questions gradually escalated.

"When was the last time you lied?"

"I don't remember."

"Was that a lie?"

"Probably not."

"Have you lied any time throughout our talk?"

"Not really."

Though it was one question that struck a chord in Beomgyu, causing him to narrow his eyes at his professor upon her answer.

"Are you a dog person or cat person?"

"Cat person." She answered immediately, shaking her head at the mere prospect of the former option. "Dogs are very active and loving, and it's just something I'm not necessarily comfortable with. So I have a cat back at home."

"What's this cat like?"

"Hmm… She loves me… That's the most I can say about that." She laughed to herself, and unbeknownst to her, her student sat there putting pieces together. Pieces he hadn't even considered to even go together in the first place.

"Do you have a social media?"

"Yes."

"Are you allergic to any foods?"

"Some."

"What's your mother's maiden name?"

"No comment."

Suddenly, with the similarly ambiguous answers swirling in his thoughts, his eyes strayed down to her hands, busy scribbling feedback into papers, still far too preoccupied with her grading to notice his suspicions.

"Are you dating someone?"

"No." The answer came smoothly, no hesitance or deliberation in her voice. And when she spoke her answer, he saw her hand twitch. Her hand tucked away in the long sleeves of her sweater. Beomgyu had to bite back a smile as his next words arose in his head.

"Are you married?" She paused writing, a sly smile of her own sprouting forth as she turned to face the young boy. Her eyes narrowed much like his own investigative gaze, but she nevertheless accepted his inquiry.

"So you've discovered the loophole." She stated, lifting her left hand and letting the sleeve slide down, revealing her fingers, one of which held a diamond ring, glistening under the fluorescent lights of the classroom. His jaw dropped, staring at her in disbelief as she laughed at his reaction. His eyes darted between her face to her ring, silenced at the sudden turn of events in their little game.

And the questions seemed endless at this point, buzzing in his head and begging to be asked. How long have you been married? Why are you hiding it? Who exactly are you hiding it with? But instead, his mind opted for two alternative questions.

"Your maiden name?"

"(l/n)."

"Your current legal surname?"

"Byun."

Beomgyu hadn't even a moment to stir in his unabashed shock, because as if on cue, the doors of the classroom burst open, and in marched Professor Byun in all of his enthusiastic glory, a coffee tray and a paper bag in hand as he smiled at the woman seated at her desk.

"Good afternoon, Mrs. Byun," Baekhyun placed the food items on the stack of papers she had been engrossed in, coercing an indifferent scowl from her while he unpacked the brown bag.

"That's Professor (l/n) to you." Beomgyu watched with bated breath as Baekhyun tongued the inside of his cheek cockily, leaning forward onto her desk in as suave a manner as he could muster.

"That's not what you were saying last night."

She stared at him for another second, her eye momentarily twitching in her futile attempts to keep to her somber expression, though eventually her facade slipped away from her, the English professor lowering her head in defeat as she laughed at his response.

"What's that even supposed to insinuate?" She asked between giggles, hand raising to cover her mouth. Baekhyun shrugged, spewing out his own chuckles alongside with her.

"I don't know, but it got you to laugh, so I consider it a win for me." He rested half his weight on the end of her desk, eyes trailing over to Beomgyu who still sat there with widened eyes darting between the two. "Good afternoon to you again, Mr. Choi."

"Professor Byun," he replied, voice strained and wary, the boy wholly unaware of what to make of the situation though also struggling in his attempt to not merely combust where he sat, whether it be from surprise or excitement.

Baekhyun glanced back at his wife, who was now taking sips from her new warm coffee.

"What's up with him?" He asked her, head nodding towards her now silent TA.

"He found out who you're married to."

"Ah, I thought he already knew." Baekhyun snickered, turning back to Beomgyu with an amused smile. "I thought I was secretive, but how could you not even tell your own TA you're married?"

"It never came up." She went back to grading papers, one hand holding her pen while the other held the pastry Baekhyun brought her.

"So newfound information. You must have many questions." At Baekhyun's inquiry, Beomgyu finally relinquished his restraint, the questions that were all but culminating in his head finally spilling forth like a flood. His words slurred together as he spoke in almost a rushed manner, as if to say everything on his mind before he forgot, though with how impactful of a discovery this was, he highly doubted he'd ever forget even the most minute of details of this very moment.

Baekhyun laughed at the boy's enthusiasm, barely even taking in any of his questions, though still trying to appease him as much as he could. For the first time since Beomgyu became his student, he finally had a first seat preview of Professor Byun's personal life of mundanity, and his uneventful day to day that consisted of work, grading, and spending time with his wife and cat. An ever domestic livelihood, but if the smiles on both of their faces as he discussed their daily routines were any indicator, it was a calming, fulfilling peace. A tranquility rarely ever attained, though one that's often strove for.

(y/n) flicked Baekhyun's arm with the tip of her pen, earning a whine from the man who retracted his arm from where he leant it in front of her.

"Get out, you're distracting my grading assistant."

"But I brought you sustenance." He nudged the bag which once held her midday snack as took another meaningful bite of her pastry, nodding at his words at the end of it all.

"I guess you could stay for a few minutes more."

"I brought you sustenance, and my love."

"That's not as important as the sustenance."

Though with that warm, fond smile on Baekhyun's face, and the way she paused her incessant grading to drink the coffee he brought her while responding to his commentary and jokes, it was obvious that the love was just as, if not more, important than the sustenance.