#im the only one. and i should be the only one because getting someone else to do so is 1. not possible 2. shameful.

[sibylsleaves]

good morning sibyl … prompt: sleepy buddie 😴🤩

omg yay....this is the one i kinda started last night because i was excited!! also im sorry hima...i broke the rules right off the bat because this is slightly over 1k 😔😔 plz forgive me....

---

It’s late when they make it back. Christopher’s been passed out since they crossed the state line. Eddie’s absolutely exhausted, a little delirious from eleven and a half hours in the car but so, so happy as the little house on Bedford Drive comes into view. He gets Chris awake enough to shuffle inside and get into bed, and then drags their bags inside, leaving them in the front hall. Everything else can wait.

Tomorrow they’re going to head straight to Buck’s in the morning to surprise him—Eddie promised Chris it would be the first thing they did when they got back to LA. He’s already checked with Bobby to make sure he’s not on shift.

He’d been too scared to tell Buck that they were coming home. Terrified that Chris would change his mind, or that his parents would try to stop them, or that something would happen to snatch it all away from him again. It hadn’t feel real, hadn’t felt permanent, until he walked up the front steps.

Now, easing down the familiar creaky hallway and pushing open the bedroom door, Eddie lets out the breath he’s been holding since the day Chris left.

The sight that greets him on the other side of the door steals that breath right back. 

There’s someone lying in his bed. Eddie knows it’s Buck before he can even understand how he knows it’s Buck. As if he could recognize him from just the outline of his sleeping body in the dark.

In the wake of his initial surprise, Eddie is filled with something he can only call peace. He’s home. They’re home. And somehow, it makes sense that Buck should be here, asleep in Eddie’s bed like he belongs there.

Moving quietly, Eddie sheds his pants and exchanges his road-worn henley for a fresh t-shirt. Then he moves to the other side of the bed and climbs in beside Buck. 

“‘’ddie?” comes the sleep-roughened rumble of Buck’s voice. 

“Hey,” Eddie says softly in the dark. “I didn’t mean to wake you.”

“S’okay. ’m glad. You’re here,” he says, or maybe it’s I’m glad you’re here.

“I’m glad you’re here, too,” Eddie says, settling onto the pillow next to him. Under the blankets, Buck moves, rolling toward him, tucking all that bulk against Eddie. Eddie wraps an arm around him, letting himself, in this quiet, unguarded moment, live in the spaces of Buck’s body, in the warm certainty that no matter how far he goes, Buck will always be his home.

He breathes in, letting all the tension of the last few weeks dissipate, and presses his cheek into the hollow of Buck’s throat. Sleep is creeping up on him, waiting to pull him under.

Buck lets out a little hum, almost a moan, and turns his face toward Eddie’s. 

It’s as natural as anything to meet him there, lips nudging together in a kiss that’s sweet and soft until it isn’t. Until Buck grabs the back of Eddie’s head, angling his face to kiss him deeper, until Eddie opens his mouth to greedily drink every sigh and whimper from Buck’s mouth, until he presses Buck down against the sleep-warm sheets and kisses him and kisses him and kisses him.

But sleep is still lapping at his edges, and soon the near frantic need slows into something languid and undemanding.

Buck sighs his name, sounding half a step from sleep himself, and they settle again, tangled together.

“I’m gonna tell you everything in the morning,” Eddie promises. Means it, too, when he says everything—everything that went down in El Paso with his parents, with Chris, everything he’s been keeping back from Buck because he couldn’t bear to tell him with eight hundred miles still between them. “But tonight I just—I’m home. We’re home. And I love you. That’s the most important part.”

“I love you, too,” Buck says, as easy as anything. Like it’s something he’s said a hundred times before. And maybe—maybe it really is that easy.

Buck hums again and between one breath and the next Eddie feels him drop back off. 

He follows soon after.

When Eddie wakes, he’s alone. It takes him a full minute to even remember where he is—not in Texas anymore thank god— and an additional few seconds to remember that Buck was in his bed last night.

That’s also about when he hears the sound of the kitchen door closing just a little too hard.

He’s out of bed so quickly he’s almost dizzy, stumbling across the hall and into the kitchen where he finds Buck.

Buck who is not, as Eddie might have thought, shuffling around in his pajamas trying to get the coffee going for them. Instead he’s standing fully dressed, shoes on, with a duffle bag slung over his shoulder.

Eddie leans against the doorway. “Were you seriously gonna try to sneak out?”

Buck jumps at the sound of his voice and then immediately goes rigid, his head angled down like a dog waiting to be scolded for bad behavior. “Eddie.”

“Well?” Eddie asks.

“I—” Buck chokes out, his shoulders stiffening, his hand clenched around the strap of his duffle bag. “I’m sorry.”

“For sneaking out?”

Buck nods, face red and bright. “For—all of it. For being in your house when you were—when you were gone. For sleeping in your bed. For—for last night.”

“You’re sorry for last night?” Eddie echoes. “Buck, you kissed me.”

Buck flinches. “I didn’t—I thought I was dreaming.”

“What?”

“When you woke me up last night I—I thought I was still dreaming,” Buck says. “That’s why I kissed you. And then I woke up this morning and you were really there and that meant I’d really, actually kissed you, and I—”

“Freaked out and decided to sneak out of the house before I woke up?” Eddie suggests.

Buck nods miserably. 

“And at any point in this freak out did it occur to you that the fact that you really, actually kissed me means that I really, actually kissed you back?”

“I—oh.”

“Yeah, oh,” Eddie repeats, unable to stop the smile from spreading over his face.

“You wanted it,” Buck says slowly. “You…”

“Want it,” Eddie corrects, crossing the space between them and taking Buck’s face in his heads. “Really, actually.”

Buck drops the duffel bag on the ground. Eddie kisses him, as sweet and slow as he’d kissed him last night. Buck makes a noise that sounds like wanting and kisses him back, holding onto Eddie’s arms, thumbs digging into the soft parts of his wrists. 

“This is real, Buck,” Eddie murmurs between lush, indulgent kisses. “I’m really here. I’m really home. And I really love you.”

“I love you, too,” Buck says, and it’s so different from the way he said it last night. In the light of morning, the words are tremulous and precious, but still easy, so easy.

Eddie smiles, and before he can kiss him again, Buck pulls back. 

“And…you don’t think it’s weird?” he asks anxiously. “That I was, uh—living here?”

“Well, that explains the duffle bag,” Eddie says mildly. His hand finds Buck’s shoulder, his gaze finding Buck’s. “Buck, everything has felt wrong since the second Christopher walked out that door with my parents. Last night was the first time in my life that everything, finally, felt right.”

“Oh,” Buck says, eyes pink and wet. “That’s—me, too. That’s why I thought it had to be a dream.”

Eddie kisses him again and this time—this time the kiss turns from soft to molten. Eddie had been too exhausted last night to even think about anything more but now—now he’s definitely thinking about it. And judging by the noises Buck’s making and the way his hips hitch against Eddie’s, he’s thinking about it, too.

“You know,” Eddie says breezily, walking them backward out of the kitchen and back toward the bedroom. “We had a pretty long drive yesterday. Chris’ll probably be asleep for the next few hours. Maybe in the meantime, we can see if I can make some of your other dreams come true.”

ficlet february prompts

[girl-lostconnection]

Concept of a concept time:

Reader who goes through the whole relationship with Ghoap or the whole 141 believing that they would always come second place, because of course Simon would burn the world down if Soap was taken out of it. Of course, Price would do everything and anything to save Simon. Of course, Simon would turn into monster if it meant keeping his family safe, keeping his TaskForce safe.

Of course, Kyle would go mad with grief if he was to lose Johnny. Of course, Kyle would become a shell of himself if he lost Price.

Of course they would all shatter without each other alive and well. It was obvious. It was a fact.

Reader who sees it and places themselves on the outside of it, because these men were already something before they came along. These men were already tight knit and close to each other.

These men were already family when Reader got dropped into their laps. It’s only natural they don’t really slot fully. There’s just no more space.

Reader who takes every bit and crumb of an affection they are given. Reader who gives away everything. All of them. Every kiss and confession, every hug, every bit of love and care they have. They give it all, because yeah, maybe they will never be a part of these 4. But they can be near and maybe…maybe that’s enough?

Reader, who dies. Not instead of Soap, not instead of anyone. They just don’t come back from the job one day, their foot locker was supposed to be shipped out to the family. But there is no family.

So 141 takes it. Who, if not them, right?

Reader, who dies and haunts the narrative from that point on. Reader who leaves a hole the size of a person and no one can fill it. It’s impossible.

Reader, whose warmth was seeping through them all for so long, the absence of it feels like a whiplash. The absence of it feels in their bones and it’s cold-cold-cold now. Their hearth dies and there is nothing to do about it but keep going.

Soldiers die every day, this one shouldn’t have been special. But they were.

Kyle who takes their personal things before someone else can come and toss them out, sleeping with their T-shirts and hoodies. Part of him dies with Reader. Part of him is getting buried with them. He’s sitting at their funeral until Price leads him away.

Simon who takes their photos and books, hiding them, keeping them safe. He needs to have it, because memory is traitorous and one day he might not be able to put a face to the name and he’s terrified of it to the point of feeling sick.

Soap who takes mementoes — keychains and magnets from all of the deployments, he takes every knick knack they found in the foot locker and Reader’s room, he stores them next to his. There are new keychains on every set of his keys. He’s fumbling with them every time he feels like there’s knot in his throat and he can’t speak.

Price gets the notebooks. Just a few of those were in a footlocker, filled with scribbles and meal plans and random quotes and games Reader played with Kyle during boring briefings. But it feels like them. It smells like them. Reader never wrote a consistent diary, too little time and too much going on, but they notated the places and times and that Soap coughs like a sick Victorian child and that Kyle has the most perfect beauty marks on his thighs and that Price sneezes like dad and that Simon sleeps with lamp on.

It is everything there was of them. Everything there’s left of their love and John isn’t sure he’d be able to part with it. It isn’t fair that it happened like that. It isn’t fair that he feels like destroying his whole office when he reads the “im not sure i fit in. on the bright side I reckon if something was to happen to me, no one would mourn too long. they have each other, I should be happy it is like that. I should be grateful” because it’s not fair-not fair-not fair-not fair.

John doesn’t show these diaries to anyone. John guards them like his most prized possession, reading it over and over because you, silly perfect thing, why haven’t you said anything. Why haven’t they noticed anything.

John doesn’t show it to anyone because he’s not sure if they won’t crumble under the notion. He’s not sure they won’t shatter when the rest find out that Reader died thinking they weren’t part of the family.

John sobs so hard, bile rises to his throat, world swimming in his eyes and it hurts, and he’s so fucking angry and it’s so unfair. Because it’s not true, because of course you were part of them, of course you matter, of course they mourn.

Because you die never finding out how much you were loved. Because there’s nothing he can do.

And it’s not fair.

[alaia777]

IM SO SORRY I FORGOT TO SPECIFY IF I WANTED FLUFF OR ANGST😓😓 I want fluff😋

I requested rin (bllk) for "you really have no clue how to talk to women, huh?" OR "we should just run away."

i hope you like it! :’)

you’ve been dating rin for almost two years now, but you’ve known him for much longer—ever since kindergarten, when you told him football was stupid, and he immediately shot back that you were stupid. one “fight” later, your teacher forced you to spend recess together for a week, and somehow, you’ve been stuck with each other ever since.

so by now, it’s routine—annoying him, getting on his nerves, and watching him act like your presence is a burden when you both know he wouldn’t have it any other way.

you were the one who made the first move, mostly because you had a slight suspicion he liked you. you’d had feelings for him for a while, and the more you noticed the little things, the more convinced you became.

and when you finally told him, he had the straightest face ever—completely unreadable. except for his red ears. and the way his throat bobbed when he swallowed.

…yeah. you were right.

the only thing he told you after that was a simple “same,” and the rest is history.

it might not look like it to anyone else, but to you, rin is the sweetest guy. sure, he has a hard time verbalizing his feelings, but you know he cares. it’s in the small things—like when he picks up your favorite beverage from the coffee shop, paired with whatever pastry obsession you’re into that week. or when he sets aside time every week to watch rom-coms with you, even if there’s a football match on tv.

and then, there are the little gifts. he never calls them sentimental, but you know better. every time he comes back from a city he was playing in, there’s always something small he picked up for you—sometimes a keychain from a place you both visited together, or a notebook from a city you’d talked about visiting but never had the chance to. each one of them has a connection to a memory between the two of you, something only the two of you would understand, and that’s what makes them so special.

but verbalizing it? he’s just not the best at it. rin’s pretty cutthroat with everyone, and even though he used to be like that with you when you were just friends, now that you’re more than that, he doesn’t want to risk it. he keeps his words to himself, always cautious.

so, when you’re getting ready for your date with him, it catches you off guard when he says:

“that is a dress.”

“yes. it is,” you reply, still not quite understanding his reaction.

“you’re wearing it.”

“yes, i am.”

you’ve worn dresses around him before, so his reaction is a bit confusing. “rin, what’s going on?”

“nothing,” he says quickly, avoiding eye contact, though you can tell he’s trying to say more.

“it fits you,” he adds, almost reluctantly, before quickly looking away, clearly not used to expressing compliments.

when you finally understood what was going on, you couldn’t stop the laugh that slipped out. “you really have no clue how to talk to women, huh?” you said, trying to stifle your giggles, but the more you tried, the more it looked like he wanted to disappear into the floor.

“that movie we were watching the other day, the girl said women like to be complimented by their boyfriends. i thought..” he trailed off, his gaze darting away. “i thought you might want that too.”

you raised an eyebrow, leaning back with a smirk. “oh, so now you’re using rom-coms for relationship advice, huh?”

he scowled, clearly irritated, but there was no mistaking the faint blush creeping up his neck. “shut up. don’t make this a big deal.”

you laughed again, unable to resist. “too late, rinnie. you’ve already made it a thing.”

rin let out a long sigh, clearly trying to hide his discomfort. “can we just go already?” he grumbled, glancing at you quickly before looking away.

you raised an eyebrow, suppressing a smirk. “what’s the matter, rin? never complimented someone before?”

he scowled, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. “i don’t do that.”

“right, you’re too cool for that.” you teased, arms crossed.

“i’m not, just, it’s stupid, okay?” rin muttered, still avoiding eye contact.

“so what was that about rom-coms then?” you pressed, enjoying his flustered state.

“i don’t need your sarcasm right now,” he shot back, clearly embarrassed but not willing to admit it.

you chuckled, stepping closer to him. “fine, let’s just go, rinnie. but you know, maybe you should try complimenting me more often. you’re not so bad at it.”

rin grumbled under his breath but you could see the faintest twitch at the corner of his lips, just enough to know he wasn’t really as annoyed as he was letting on.

“let’s go,” he repeated, his tone still blunt, but you could tell he was less annoyed than before.

you grinned, following him out, because even if he wouldn’t say it out loud, you knew he cared.

[fxymi]

face down, i’m arrestin’ this bitch

cw: mdni(18+), mild degradation(?) michael’s just mean, infidelity, implied toxic relationship, doggystyle, multiple orgasms, ex bf! michael kaiser

ex bf!michael kaiser who is completely okay with leaving you full of tears and no explanation because “you’re not his problem anymore”

ex bf!michael kaiser who is more focused than ever on football and becoming better, without his whiny little girlfriend weighing him down

ex bf!michael kaiser who’s scrolling through instagram and decides to check up on your months after your break up, only to find that you’re with someone else now

ex bf!michael kaiser who thinks your new boyfriend is a complete loser and should die. hes not even jealous, he just feels disrespected that you’d move on in general, especially with that

ex bf!michael kaiser who shows up at your doorstep with no remorse and flowers. he’s giving you that same charming smile that somehow never falters. he ignores your protests and confusion and simply says, “i don’t think it’s fair that you’re replacing me with that shit excuse of a man. let me remind you what he’s trying to compete with.”

ex bf!michael kaiser who has your back arched, hands gripping the edge of your mattress and knees pressing deep into your sheets while he’s pounding your pretty pussy.

ex bf!michael kaiser who is so mean to you, spanking your ass and grabbing the flush of your hips. his breath his hot on the sensitive skin of your neck as he leans down. “look at you, fuckin’ slut, aren’t you schatz? letting me fuck you like this even after everything, even though you have a ‘boyfriend’ now.” his voice, in true michael kaiser fashion, has no remorse or sympathy. you manage out a weak whine.

“can’t respond while im stretching you out, can you?” he snickers.

ex bf!michael kaiser who’s cock just feels so good buried in your ass that you quite literally forget that he’s a horribly evil man and that you have a boyfriend now. you’re practically clawing at the sheets and your back is sore from how hard it’s been arching.

ex bf!michael kaiser who fucks the cum back into you. he doesn’t bother wiping your tears before he flips you over so he can get a better look at your flushed cheeks, trembling like and watery eyes. this is exactly how things should be. you crying stupid because of how good he’s making you feel. you’re not even thinking about your new man. ugh, even calling him that makes michael’s ego hurt and his stomach lurch. well he has to feel better and you have to pay the price for ever thinking you could replace him.

ex bf!michael kaiser who makes you cum multiple times that night. you’ve lost track of how many times you’ve cried or how many positions he’s slapped and folded you into. your brain is wrought and severed with heat and each one of your limbs feels like straight putty.

ex bf!michael kaiser who makes sure to send your new boyfriend a picture of you asleep in your disheveled state.

[dellamortethelesser]

discuss perfume i want to hear this

ghghgh. i was just griping because i had been reading through some fanfics where there was an inordinate focus on the perfume of a character. and i do get that it's a nice thing to throw in for saying "hey this guy smells good!" there is a limit to the immersion one can retain while doing so

basically the age-old adage of "less is more" goes a long way when dealing with how a character smells... keeping it broad (such as "floral" or "smoky") is a really good way to give a loose idea, but the second you do something like "floral and smoky and woody" okay, you've lost me. that's too much. it's conflicting.

you can also get specific! "strawberries" or "the rain", which are still pretty broad and immediately recognizable by most people. but i don't think that your average reader understands the olfactory palette of "sandalwood, patchouli, and oakmoss" <-- too specific. idk what some of this is and i certainly couldn't tell you how it smells in a vacuum.

that isn't to say there isn't nuance... "i recognized the smell of sandalwood from a candle my grandfather burned growing up" THAT'S a believable recall. but idk how much bloodhound your POV character has in them to be pulling distinct notes if they're not a perfumer.

(also in fanfic i will be judging on whether i not i think your scent palette matches the blorbo you've assigned it to but that's way more subjective). actually this whole response is subjective i just wanted to vent that it annoys me ALSDKJ.

there's a balance to be had, basically. i think if you introduce someone's perfume it should tell me something either about the POV character and how they respond, OR about the other character and why they would be wearing it ("subtle, and expensive, and could only be detected when they got close").

also as an aside: a lot of high fantasy settings like lotr/dragon age/whatever the fuck else probably don't have the technology for perfumes that aren't oils, so it's already going to stick close to the skin. so if im catching a waft halfway across the room that is either an interesting tidbit or the author was envisioning a can of axe body spray idk.

[wlwnarusaru]

hey! this is my first post here and i want to talk about naruto and his thoughts regarding sakuras confession.

we know that one of narutos biggest traits is understanding people if their feelings reflect his own.

why am i bringing this up? well, bc in a panel naruto was thinking about some specific sakura scenes, in which she was showing her feelings towards sasuke.

but what we didn't notice is that in those specific scenes, there were also some of narutos feelings involved.

☆

in the first panel, sakura was admitting that she only valued sasukes opinion and wanted to be close to him, because she has a crush on sasuke. since naruto was a child, he wanted to be friends with him, to be close to him, because he noticed that sasuke was lonely as well. in that scene, sakura also confessed that she wanted to be acknowledged by sasuke.

and narutos first thought was this.

"i feel like i finally understand why i like her."

naruto wanted sasukes acknowledgement, which he admitted it himself in their first fight at the valley of the end.

☆

the second scene is sakura hugging an injured sasuke after he woke up from a coma. sakura confirmed to sasuke that naruto was still alive and then she screamed after naruto, happy that sasuke was back.

im not entirely sure, but ive read somewhere that sasuke raising his hand is his way of hugging someone. either way, look how relieved naruto is <3 my cutie pie.

☆

the third panel shows a crying sakura after sasuke left the village. she searched for naruto and made him promise to bring sasuke back. naruto looked at her knowingly and said to her.

naruto understands people if his feelings reflect the others, he understood sakuras pain for sasuke because it reflected his own. it is pretty self-explanatory since naruto already saw sasuke as a friend and a part of his family. he was hurt when sasuke chose orochimaru over team 7.

yet he understood sakuras love for sasuke which it's classified as romantic since the start, meaning chapter 3.

☆

the fourth scene is sakura telling naruto she'll come with him after the failed mission of bringing sasuke back. when she left, jiraiya came to visit naruto and basically told him to stop acting foolish since sasuke already chose his path of revenge and how he should focus on his goal : becoming a hokage. here, naruto gets mad and confessed.

☆

the last scene shows a shocked sakura, mumbling sasukes name after not seeing him for years. when naruto heard her mumbling sasukes name, he rushed outside, letting his guard down.

and then they proceed to hold an intense eye contact, not looking anywhere else but at each other. when sasuke left, naruto was in so much pain and kept thinking how useless he was for not being able to bring him back.

☆

all these bottled up feelings make him snap and confess this.

he understood sakura lying to herself because he was also lying to himself about his feelings. he lied about liking sakura to push down his feelings for sasuke. later, he also admitted that even if the promise between the two didn't matter anymore, he would still try to bring sasuke back : for his sake.

[thrashkink-coven]

Shi there’s so many racists and white supremacists in the luciferian scene and it makes it so, so hard to be true to my path because i just can’t escape them and it makes me doubt if what i believe is right or just like. edgy racist white man bullshit. idk what to do im sorry for yelling in ur inbox

Unfortunately, this is a thing that cannot be escaped in most pagan communities. There are terrible people in every pagan space; white supremacists have heinously appropriated Norse paganism and their symbols, Greek deities have been used as mascots for misogynists, etc. etc. The thing about hateful people is that they're not very smart. Prejudice is a signifier of low intelligence, whether that be emotional or cognitive. They're not smart or creative enough to come up with their own symbols, so they appropriate the art of others.

This happens all the time in every crevice of our culture beyond spitituality. Conservatives, white supremacists and Nazis have always tried to infiltrate punk spaces, for example, because they enjoy the sound of the music but disregard the message. They're doing the exact same thing with Luciferianism. Lucifer is Liberation. To someone who does not understand what liberation is (because they do not accurately understand what oppression is), Lucifer is just an edgy bad boy who hates God. The "non-conformity" of true Luciferianism isn't inherently contrarian, nor is it actively pursued. My goal isn't to be different from the mainstream; I am different. My goal is to seek freedom from mental bondage. It's fun to cosplay as a Luciferian because the aesthetic is cool, but it is nothing more than an aesthetic for these people.

The "do as thou wilt" philosophy enables people to believe that hate is intrinsic and justified under the pursuit of free will, without understanding that racism and supremacy in themselves are conditioned forms of thought that only benefit the elite. People love to use gods and demons alike as justification for their deplorable behavior or beliefs. It usually comes from a fundamental misunderstanding of what these deities actually represent.

Western demonolatry and Luciferianism in general have always had a problematic history. It doesn't help that many of the most famous figures in these spaces are problematic people. The waters get all the more muddied when Satanism is considered. I have never personally identified with the idea of Anton LaVey's Satanism, the idea of Lucifer as a symbol of defiance against religion; in fact, I see my Luciferianism as a religion itself. I don't think pure instinct and desire should warp your perception of morality, and I am very theistic. My brand of Luciferianism is very different from what would be considered traditional. There's no rule book for Luciferianism. Your beliefs and path are your own, unlike any that anyone else has; calling yourself a Luciferian or a Lucifer devotee does not mean you believe the doctrine of other so-called Luciferians. It means you follow Lucifer.

So, my only solution so far has been to laugh and drown them out with positivity. When people spout off about how Lucifer hates gay people, thinks women are inferior, thinks one race of people is better than the rest, I just think they look goofy as hell. No, little buddy, you're just too embarrassed to say that on your own accord, so you pretend "Lucifer/Satan said so." You're the silliest clown at the circus. Lucifer and I are pointing and laughing at you. I'll enjoy the free entertainment and throw tomatoes at your garbage takes. Or I'll just block you and keep it pushing. The more we shun the behavior, the less of it we'll see, and maybe the community can actually turn a new leaf.

[xtinyslip]

“sister. half sister. she’s still family.” tara was the only topic or person that sam would be that argumentative about. “not everyone can and not everyone should have too. im just glad to have someone else that can.” there wasn’t a doubt in her mind that he couldn’t handle it either. perhaps that was one of the reasons she wanted to be this close with him. she knew whatever he found out, whatever he saw her do ; that he wouldn’t leave because he was SCARED of it. of her. “it’s secret. no one else can know. im going to use richie to get his father. i just haven’t decided how yet.” was she looking at him to hear his opinion? yes. “bailey not knowing richie is working with me is the element of surprise we need.” because bailey had too much of the upper hand right now or at least he thought he did. “dad!” no, she had not been expecting him to go there… hence, calling him by what he was. not something that she did often. “it’s not— we haven’t. he doesn’t get me like that.” @springbandit

"Feelings aren't facts." He refuted, not allowing her to have the upper hand if he could find a way around it. Especially once so seemingly grounded in truth. Things either are or they are not, emotions and halfways didn't measure up. "It's not baggage. It's just...bigger risk, bigger reward. Not everybody can handle it, but you? I know you can." He listened carefully to her plan with Richie, finding almost an endearance to the similarity of its nature to that of his own plan. "Is that so? Well, I suppose I should meet him then, hmm? Make it believable." He went quiet for a moment, mulling things over before speaking out again. "Don't sleep with him. You're worth more than that."

@xtinyslip

[erinwantstowrite]

crazy how people will see bruce not wanting to kill because he knows he wouldn't stop and eventually would get out of control because he's severely mentally ill and they think "wow what a selfish asshole"

[storywestistrash]

watched mouthwashing finally. the fact that i saw people be more aggressive towards curly than jimmy is kinda strange. kinda real weird

[bibxrbie]

"Between Anakin and Luke who is the better Jedi?"

"Who's the strongest?"

Blah blah blah.

Every single person who thinks it is Anakin is wrong because Anakin "coolest thing about me is my kids" Skywalker would beat you up for thinking that his son isn't the greatest thing of all time.

[rbtlvr]

& by the way i literally CONSTANTLY think about how loop uses the partys titles to create distance to remind themself that those arent 'their versions' of them. that theyre not loops party anymore. and yet and yet and yet

[pleasedontcareaboutme]

It's missing my father hours rn so imma just dump a bunch of pictures here and cry

( sorry i don't know the source of anything I just had them on my phone)

(also dont read the tags i just need to let it out lol)

[cervinae-canine]

is it fair to call people like this "hack writers" if the only way they find a relationship interesting is when it involves pedophilia, incest, cannibalism or necrophilia?

[skrunksthatwunk]

you go to a lesbian blog and find it says women only!! no men allowed!!! and go oh! excuse me, um, what about other lesbians? plenty of lesbians are genderqueer... and they go well, okay, go fuck yourself tim chop off your sweaty dick and stop calling yourself a lesbian. you do not have a dick, actually. you think about that fact often, even though it does you no good. you do not tell this person that.

you go to another lesbian blog and it says women only and you try again, and this time they change it to wlw + nblw only (non-men who love non-men :D). and you'll say hey i appreciate that but gender's not really that cut and dry for a lot of people. someone could be both a man and nonbinary, for instance. i just worry that you're looking at nonbinary as a generic third gender, or an extension of womanhood. i mean yeah you include nblw in your tags but all your posts are about pussy-havers exclusively. what's with that? and they say go fuck yourself you pervy man pretending to be a lesbian. you tried to sneak in but i won't let you.

so you go to a lesbian blog with a dozen or so posts about queer people needing to be more weird about it and you sigh in relief. but you still see the men dni. that's odd. hoping for the best, you say hey! i know you mean well but please maybe don't put men dni at the end of the lovely posts on your lesbian blog bc some lesbians are men. and they'll be like ok!! well you're allowed ;) and you say no that's not. no. some men are lesbians not just me. you think about your own dicklessness and wonder if that's why you were given entry. and you add that even if male lesbians are allowed, there's no indication of that. how would anyone know without asking? and they're like ohh gotcha gotcha well men dni + this is for sapphics only!! and you'll be like ok well that treats the concepts of men and sapphics as mutually exclusive identities and i just told you that's not true and you agreed with me so.. i don't think that solves our problem. and they're like. ok. fine. men dni but genderfluid and multigender people are allowed! and you're like no see that's. that's still the same thing.. you're saying the same thing just with different words. if you don't want men to interact but you're fine with multigender/genderfluid/etc ppl interacting then you either don't see them as Real Men (because they don't reach a standard of Full Manhood) or Complete Men (because they're only Part-Time Men), both of which suggest that they are, in some way, not men or less-than men, which is invalidating and defeats the point of the exception in the first place (accommodation) OR that you don't really mean the dni which is confusing and inconsistent and makes guydykes feel weird and uncomfortable and excluded from the lesbian space you're trying to cultivate. and they're like um. ok. so. cishet men dni? and you're like well i think that makes more sense, but what if someone identifies as both a cishet man and a sapphic? again, if we're trying to accommodate the genderfucky populace then that has to be a possibility that is considered. and they say god you people are never happy. what do you want me to do? what am i supposed to say to keep the right men out? and you pause. you empathize with the need for a space free from dudes trying to fuck you straight and feminine. dudes who watch lesbian porn and joke about what they'd do if they were allowed into girls locker rooms. who look at you like a piece of meat, and like someone who looks at women like pieces of meat in the same way he does. you get it. you know. you want a space where you can be sapphic, too. that's why you came to these blogs in the first place. you brace yourself and you say well i don't know that there are "right men" to keep out. i don't know that there's any single label that would accomplish whatever it is you're trying to accomplish. you could go for "sapphics only" or "queers only" and i think that might be the closest thing to what you want, but it's never going to be perfect. creating any exclusive space is going to shut out people you didn't account for, and the broader the label, the more people will be shut out that you didn't want to shut out. and what about people who don't know if they're allowed? what of questioning transbians, where are they supposed to go? and, frankly, i think i might rather my dykey posts get read and appreciated by a gay guy who sees me as a man than a woman who only sees me as a sacred womb, pure from male perversions or violence or whatever. i think community might just be more complex than a dni can handle. and they look at you and say i don't want to not have a dni. i think you're too permissive. you can't just "what about" or microlabel your way into everything. go fuck yourself, i bet you're not even a lesbian anyway. go find a real problem to get mad about.

you go to a lesbian blog. you ignore the men dni because you know you probably don't even count to them. or maybe you do count and, out of respect for your manhood, they'd shun you accordingly. you try to feel okay about that. you scroll past dozens of posts about mediocre men and gagging at straight friends' boyfriends and how gross and undeserving men are of the beautiful women they couple up with and how all women should be gay so they can get treated right and and and and and. you finally find a post about curling into someone you love and feeling at peace and try to lose yourself in it. you know that feeling is what unites you, what makes you belong. you try to focus on it. you think about carding your hands through a butch's hair or lacing fingers with a femme and feeling warm and loved and more yourself than you ever have before. like this is who you're meant to be. you read about lesboys and butch boytoys and genderfucky dykes and big hairy deep-voiced wonderful women (like you want to be someday, like you wish you could make yourself) and you try to ignore the men dni underneath each and every post. and you daydream about meeting someone kind and earnest at a lesbian bar even though you don't think any such bars exist within three states of you and you can't drink and don't want to drink because you need to be in control of yourself at all times so you don't fuck up like you're always about to and here in the nonexistent lesbian bar you feel wanted and safe and in good company. you picture your ideal, happiest self. it is a mistake. ideal-you has a goatee. not the mascara one you smear on and call drag even though you know it's not drag, not really, the beard you call drag because you think everyone would look at you sadly if you told them it was just to pretend you had something out of your reach. a beard that's soft and that you grew and that cannot be smudged away if you get too comfortable with it. the dream shatters. your people pull away from you, their scoffs mixing with the mind-numbing gay girl bedroom pop you learned to settle for just to have something that almost resembled you, they all pull away and turn their backs and do not look at you. you're too close to being a man now, even though you're the same amount of man as before. and they know you're not supposed to interact with men, not as you would with dykes, at least. and it sours. it's all your imagination, all in your head, but it sours.

you sigh. you think about how small you are. how short, how narrow, how feeble. how your voice pitches up when you talk to strangers because it's easier to speak quietly when it carries more, and because you're nervous. because it's a chore to talk, like everything is. you think about testosterone. you think about how your family would look at you, the questions they would ask, your answers they would only pretend to accept. the uncomfortable glances and whispered questions they'd try to hide from you. you think about how small you are, and how small you will always be. how you don't know of a way to fix it, but even if there was one, no one would want you anymore. you'd be the only one thinking it made you a cooler dyke. you think about how you don't even want a T-voice all the time, how you'll never be able to switch it at will, because you don't know how and can't bring yourself to figure it out. you think about how your throat closes around every hint of your own attraction. how wanting is perverse, how wanting is invasive, how wanting is embarrassing and too vulnerable so it must stay anonymous, as an online witness, and how you can barely manage to form or maintain friendships because your brain makes you pull away, always spinning out and struggling to recover from the simplest of interactions. how they'll all leave you and you won't chase after them at all and how that will hurt them. how stuck you get. how it looks like nothing's holding you back, how that frustrates everyone who thought you were going to be more than you were. the people you love who understand except when it comes to being ghosted, being shut out. how you don't want to hurt them. how you can't tell them that because you're stuck. how you turn to stone when touched, how you never reach out, how you lose your speech and can't look at people, how your autism is fun and sexy until it becomes real and you never see them anymore, how much you longed for someone who knew everything without you having to explain, and who loved you anyway. how unreasonable you know that is to expect of anyone. you think about that not-even-real lesbian bar. you think about how you still can't drive. how you can't leave your home on your own, without dragging somebody into helping you. how you can't leave your body. how you can't leave your manhood behind.

you think about finding another lesbian blog and ignoring everything. about skimming it for the parts you can juice some meaning from. the parts men ignore and don't understand, and how typical of you it is to do so. or the parts where you're not welcome and you should accept that, because it's for lesbians only. how you are a lesbian anyway. how you're meant to choose lesbian or man, how each is a betrayal of some kind to yourself or your people, your family, your lovely strangers, your rare friendly acquaintances. about the parts that tell you you're not wanted, that you're ugly and lazy and gross and insert yourself everywhere without even asking. about the parts that tell you you are hated, and how lesbians are above it all by rejecting men. how lesbians are each blessed miracles. about the parts that say you should be ashamed of being whatever twisted confused freak you are, of everything, of looking and wanting or not looking or not wanting, of picking and choosing instead of taking it all in with a smile. after all, shouldn't you take it? or is your ego too fragile, as men's so often are? aren't you tired? good. we're not here for your consumption. and we sure as hell don't want your company or "community" or whatever. didn't you read the sign? no boys allowed. and if you want to come in you have to make up your mind. as if you haven't told them the only answer you have. you're both. you're both.

you know you broke the rule by interacting.

but it gets lonely sometimes. you wonder if they know.

[autisticlee]

sometimes people who struggle like to make jokes or find positives about their condition that causes them to struggle so they can escape the constant negative and struggle. sometimes autistic people will say things like "the 'tism" or use the "autism creature" or say their autism helped them have a *positive trait* to feel better about their struggles. because living your life only focusing on the struggles and negatives is depressing and makes it hard to want to live, even if those struggle take up 100% of your life and you can't actually escape them. sometimes any little seemingly positive thing can help a lot.

but there's so many other autistic people that hate when we do that and call it "reducing autism to a cute trendy thing" and say it takes away from *their* struggles and is bad and shouldn't be used. maybe *you* want to only focus on your struggles, but some people can't live in constant negative and need some positive or to find ways to make their condition more positive so they can feel better about living with their struggles. life is hard. I take anything I can get.

I cant get jobs. I can't make and keep friends. I can't get help and support for doing "normal" things so sometimes I go weeks without being able to shower and without eating more than a bowl of cereal a day. most times can't even do things I like. struggle to communicate. have meltdowns. i'll never be able to live independently. I struggle a lot. but instead of sitting here always depressed and having no motivation to live, i'd rather try to joke about "my 'tism is acting up again" when i'm struggling (just an example. don't think I ever actually used the 'tism thing but i saw others use it) or say "i'm just being a creature" when I need to stay in my dark room because everything is too much and I personally find it cute to be a little creature meant in a positive way. i'm not actually downplaying mine or anyone else's struggles. I still acknowledge them and that silly jokes dont make them go away. i'm not trying to be trendy. i'm not doing any of the things people say we do by making silly little jokes. i'm using the silly little jokes to convince myself life can be a little more than pointless, painful garbage all the time.

(continue in tags)