#it’s definitely saturated but I wouldn’t say it bad

[minami-ff]

Captain, Truth or Dare?

Levi x Reader

The open field outside the walls bathed in the soft saturated hues of the evening, as you and your comrades sat in a circle. Sasha had coerced everyone into playing ‘Truth or Dare’. Levi desperately wanted to find a quiet spot, away from hearing this nonsensical game, but had to stay close for protective duty.

Sasha smirked mischievously at you. "Alright, y/n, Spill it. Who do you have a crush on in the squad?”

A collective murmur of protest echoed through the group, "yeah we agreed not to ask that," you replied.

The air hung in silence as your refusal to answer left the question lingering. Sasha leaned in with a conspiratorial glint in her eye, "fine, fine. Then what's your ideal type of guy?"

You bit your lower lip, contemplating how to navigate this minefield without revealing too much. You had always been terrified that you would be kicked out of the squad if you revealed who had been occupying your thoughts all the time. Though word had it that Captain Levi gave you so much preferential treatment that a dismissal would never occur.

"I don't know," you began, strategically choosing to divert your true thoughts.

"Maybe someone carefree," thinking about his meticulous attention to detail.

"Laid-back," you continued, a complete opposite of Levi’s stern demeanour.

"Openly expressive," you added, against his highly reserved nature.

"A bit of a bad boy?" you chuckled, masking your captain’s discipline.

Connie giggled, "okay, so Captain is out."

Armin chimed in, "that's for sure."

Your words which painted a picture of an antithesis of Levi’s persona left him with disappointment subtly flickering in his eyes. He felt an unusually sudden twist in emotions, but ensured none of his feelings surfaced. Though he mastered the art of concealment, you noticed the tightening of his jaw when you glanced over at him, unsure of what it suggested.

Jean interjected teasingly. "Sounds like you're describing Eren."

You dismissed Jean's comment with a shake of your head, finding it utterly ridiculous. "Eren is way too young for me."

Eren, with an offended sneer on his face, "Uh, three years is barely any difference."

Eyes narrowed, you retorted, "Uh, yes it is."

Eren persisted, his playful grin widening, "You're just being prejudiced against younger guys. Bet you wouldn’t say the same thing about a man three years older."

Levi, quietly eavesdropping on the exchange, side-eyed the group, a secret indication of his curiosity. All eyes turned to you as the conversation hung in the air.

"Fine, this time you're right, a man three years older would definitely be perfect for me." You admitted, thinking it was a safe answer, while Eren snickered in victory.

The atmosphere shifted as Sasha, always eager for some excitement, seized the opportunity. "Alright, Captain, truth or dare?"

Ignoring Sasha entirely, Levi remained aloof, leaving the air thick with awkwardness.

Sasha pressed on, undeterred by the captain's silence, "okay truth! So captain, what is your birth year? I mean you know all of our ages, could we have an exchange of clarity?"

The question hung in the air, and for a moment, the entire field seemed to hold its breath. Levi's eyes flickered, a subtle change in his typically stoic expression.

"829," Levi admitted. A collective gasp of disbelief echoed through the group. You, too, were taken aback; yes he had a youthful appearance, but his experience was nothing short of astonishing, so you always assumed he was at least 7 years your senior.

“WAIT, that means Captain is three years older than y/n?!” Eren exclaimed, his surprise mirroring your own.

Sasha erupted into laughter, "Y/n, what were you saying again, about a man three years older?"

“Perfect for you?” Jean added to the fire.

The entire group joined in, a chorus of laughter that seemed to reverberate through the field. Heat rushed to your face, the teasing turning your cheeks crimson as you wished to dive into a deep hole.

Seeing your vulnerable body language, Levi intervened, breaking the moment with his sternness. He threw a bunch of papers towards the group, the rustle of the pages cutting through the laughter,

"Break is over. First person to collect all the plants listed gets extra meat for dinner tonight."

The shift from amusement to duty was swift, and the group dispersed as everyone refocused on the mission at hand. You and Levi locked eyes for a brief but electrifying moment before you shamefully looked away, then trudged off into the fields.

[peculiaritybending]

harvest, fog, and pumpkin for the autumn asks 👀

Thank you so much for the ask this was so fun!

harvest - what fictional character do you identify with most?

Honestly, that’s a difficult question. I used to have a kin list I was very serious about in 2020 & 2021 and I’m not sure I still identify with all those characters anymore but I’d say I’m currently feeling very Crowley & Marceline at the moment (silly little guy with trust issues and an air of loneliness & sadness about them) but that will definitely change though.

fog - how well do you think you’d survive in a zombie apocalypse?

I was actually talking about this today! I think I’d make it for a little while on luck, extremely basic survival strategy and hope until I either get get bitten or kill myself when I start to lose hope lmao. I think I’d cope for as long as I have my family with me then when the last of them die off I’d kill myself unless l die before that happens.

pumpkin - do you think that humans are inherently good or bad?

Extremely strongly and passionately believe we are not inherently bad. Whether we’re inherently good or just neutral I’m not too sure about but I think I’m leaning more towards good, at least I think everyone has a substantial amount of good in them. I think we all have bad in us too but the good most often is more saturated. I refuse to ever entertain the idea that humans are inherently bad because then what’s the point? Why are we here? If badness is natural to us then is everything bad we do acceptable since it’s nature? You wouldn’t condemn a lion for hunting and killing antelope because it’s just what must be done. It’s what the lion naturally predisposed to do. It will die if it doesn’t.

[5sosfanfictioncatalogue]

Sad Ending Masterlist

Deathbeds (ao3) - orphan_account Luke/Ashton NR, 9k

Summary: Luke runs away from his abusive dad and meets Ashton. Ashton is just a sad kid who can't say no to the incredibly attractive blonde haired, blue eyed beauty. Luke is very depressed and homophobic and he starts to fall for Ashton, but he goes into denial and both boys are led down a very dark path upon meeting the other.

I'll Always Love You (ao3) - orphan_account Luke/Ashton T, 1k

Summary: "I want you forever, forever and always. Through the good and the bad and the ugly. We'll grow old together, forever and always."

Or that one really sad fic where Ashton gets in a car accident, and Luke remembers what was supposed to happen.

I Like You Better When I'm Wasted (ao3) - HPFangirl71 Luke/Calum E, 5k

Summary: If you're drunk when you have sex with your best friend it doesn't make you gay does it?

But maybe the exchange of sober kisses the next morning are a telltale sign…

i've been cold since you left (ao3) - youranimalside Michael/Luke T, 1k

Summary: “Here’s what we’re going to do. We are going to go to Universal Studios; we are going to get sorted. If I am not a Gryffindor, I will fight the Sorting Hat. Then we will get wands, and be nerdy little shits, and then we are going to get smashed, watch a movie of your choice, Mean Girls will be vetoed, and tomorrow, we are going to get on a plane back to Los Angeles because you are better than this. Screw Luke, okay?”

Or Michael's heartbroken and Calum's trying to fix it.

Last Night (ao3) - orphan_account Michael/Luke, Calum/Ashton M, 5k

Summary: On July 16th, 2011, Life as everyone knew it, changed. Luke Hemmings birthday became an accursed day for him. Surviving as a 15 year old teenager wasn't easy, especially when you are trying not to be killed. Life has its upsides and downfalls, the apocalypse is definitely a downfall in Luke's book. At least there is no school.

Remembering the summer, it takes me back (ao3) - zephyrusnico Luke/Ashton NR, 995

Summary: 'Luke looks at the picture of them and he remembers the day it was taken, remembers the days and the memories before and after that day. He thinks about how he remembers the day that has long since been erased from Ashton's mind, never to be remembered by him again.'

Room 93 (ao3) - princessmikey Michael/Luke NR, 5k

Summary: Luke and Michael are dating, but Michael's not ready to come out of the closet, so the only times they can be together are behind the walls of room 93.

What I see is heaven on Earth (ao3) - beendreaminglikeafool Michael/Luke M, 11k

Summary: Luke was too innocent for this world. Too naïve to handle the harshness of the outside. He’s never dealt with being one of the most famous singers of his generation, no experience dealing with the press, so Michael couldn’t imagine him in a similar situation that wouldn’t leave him mentally or physically damaged.

Wired Love (ao3) - gloomywilbur Luke/Ashton T, 20k

Summary: Ashton's stepdad has a strange occupation. He's a mad scientist to be specific, though he kept it secret, making sure to lock his lab all the time. Ashton couldn't help but get curious, and his curiosity only grew when he found the extremely realistic looking cyborg in his lab, its blue eyes and blonde hair had him breatheless. The robot glanced at him, "Hi, I'm Luke."

Woman (ao3) - mtvluke Michael/Luke NR, 861

Summary: The morning sun began to rise, shining through the window that had allowed an orange toned light to saturate the room and light the skin of the duo reminding them that they didn’t have much longer before their night together ended finally.

[angstymilfy]

A friend from high school has decided that I’m his new life coach/therapist (as I do generally give phenomenal advice); he keeps calling me to whine about all the ways his life is going badly. It really is just a comedy of errors with him, with a cast of buffoons.

But the worst thing about this guy is what a bitter damn democrat he is. More than once he’s gone on a tangent about republicans, painting us all with the same racist brush. He has two bachelor’s degrees and can’t get a job any better than loading pallets in a warehouse. And he is BITTER af about it. He’s tired of working for people not as smart as him. He did everything right, he did what he was expected to do, and went to college so where’s the 6 figure desk job he was promised? That’s how it works, right? Only the college educated should have good jobs. Even the ones who get the easy/fun/useless degrees in already saturated fields.

So when a scholar like himself can’t find a good job, it’s because the republican trust funded white boy gets the best jobs via daddy’s powerful friends. Even though said TFWB is an idiot and spends his days golfing.

Apparently republicans are also always talking about how we want to kill all the mexicans and blacks.

Oh. And the border crisis isn’t real. Some dudes all went down to the border to see the problem firsthand and there was no crisis at all. So it’s all just fake news designed to keep us clicking on these fake news sites.

🙄

I don’t know how they do it, how EVERY damn democrat has such severe issues with reality. It’s staggering really. And terrifying because they are many. (Fewer since fjb has been such an epic failure, but still too many).

But my friend is a lost cause. And it’s bad enough that I don’t even want to talk to him anymore. The problem is neither does anyone else. I’m pretty sure our chats have been all that kept him off the ledge a couple times already. Y’all just wouldn’t believe what a failure he is. And we’re both 50 already, so he’s starting to realize there probably won’t be some grand second act to his life where he turns it around. He’s realizing financial security will most likely remain beyond his grasp…along with retirement.

He readily admits things just keep getting worse, but still refuses to vote republican. Cause we don’t want to help anyone but giant corporations. And we force women to have babies. And hate mexicans and (he even says the N word when telling me how hateful WE are). I asked him, since I don’t use that word, can I even still call myself a republican? 🤦🏻‍♀️

He’s just fully off the reservation. I gotta find a nice way to get him to stop calling me. I don’t know wtf happened to him, he used to be normal.

But I say all that to say, I really don’t like democrats. Definitely not as a party, but nowadays they’re all such fucktards I can’t stand them individually, either.

People that vote Democrat hate this country and themselves.

[rainbowsandalchemy]

Color Response 1: Patina, Pretentiousness, Panache

Response to “Verdigris the Color of Oxidation, Statues, and Impermanence” by Katy Kelleher

I really connected with this article because, as a person who is over the hill, I know how a little oxidation can add panache to one’s appearance-much like Lady Liberty. I decided to make the color verdigris which I love because it reminds me of Paris, Art Nouveau, and grand architecture. I was interested to discover that the origin of the word is Vert de Grece or Green from Greece. I always thought it meant Green of Gray (gris is the french spelling for gray). My natural conclusion from that, perhaps incorrect, translation was “the formula is in the name.” 

I started by making a green from cyan and yellow. I then added white and the smallest amount of black to create a green tone. It was at this point that I started thinking about the article’s description of how the Statue of Liberty oxidized and transformed over time and through exposure to the ocean and the elements. Based on this information, I decided that I would make at least one swatch that included layers of different tones. I created a based layer of the toned green. Then I added some more white and painted another layer. Following that, I added a bit more cyan to the mixture and added another layer. Because oxidation implies “rust,” I mixed a rust-orange (mixed with magenta and yellow) that I washed over the top in uneven strokes to provide a rusted, weathered appearance that took time to develop. The end result of this layering appears in photo 1. Although the camera seems to have brought out the yellows and black in the swatch, I am pleased with the result. It definitely mimicked the patina of an oxidized statue, especially at the left and bottom edges. 

In photos 2 and 3, you can see the three swatches of verdigris that I created. Photo 3 from left to right shows the middle layer of green that I applied over the based green tone. The middle swatch in photo 3 is the layered swatch with the rust colored patina, and the third is the last layer of verdigris which incorporated more cyan within the toned green. I was surprised at how close it came to the Tiffany&Co signature color described as verdigris in the article. 

My ultimate conclusion is: If you really want a realistic verdigris, you have to get it the old fashioned way by letting a copper object oxidize. If I were attempting to do it with paint, I wouldn’t rely on a single can of paint to get me there. I would rely on the expertise of a trompe l’Oeil painter who could add layers and texture to the finish. 

Complete digression: I was tickled that the article brought up the color “aubergine.” A few days before reading it, I thought to myself “would it be too pretentious to say that my favorite color is aubergine?” Apparently, according to Kay Kelleher, it is. Too bad, I don’t care. It’s a beautiful color and I made my own. I mixed magenta and cyan to make purple (middle swatch in photo 6). I then added black and a smaller amount of white to create a saturated purple tone that was much darker in value than its parent hue. In order to have a comparison swatch, I added white to this mixture in order to get the swatch on the far right in photo 6. Oddly enough, the dark one ended up looking like an Italian eggplant and the lighter one was closer to a Japanese eggplant without the white streaks. In giving my newly-mixed colors pretentious names, Aubergine Italienne and Aubergine Japonais..coming to a Farrow and Ball retailer near you.

[dollwritesarchive]

" i'll walk you home. " shang chi

this screams protective bff who caught feelings!shang chi and no i am not taking criticism 🥰

𝓈𝒶𝒻𝑒𝓉𝓎 𝓃𝑒𝓉

fandom marvel

featuring shang-chi x BFF!reader (f)

rating sfw, but heed warnings

content warning reader is very drunk (practically incoherent), her date is a creep and tries to gaslight/take advantage of her, some swearing, confrontation, unrequited pining (him)

summary shang-chi makes sure you get home safely.

word count 1.4k / mini musing

attention don’t ever, ever, ever go out with a stranger without letting someone (friend or family) know where you’re going and how long you’re supposed to be there! also, please please be wary and careful when drinking alcohol with strangers AND REMEMBER that if some asshole ever tries anything like this on you: shang chi said YOU’RE A TEN, YOU DONT OWE HIM SHIT. do not repost or translate. reblog & give feedback 💗 every reblog is a kiss for shang-chi on his pretty little face.

the two of you had an agreement, made upon the creation of your tinder account. you would text with a code, a simple one, if you were ever in trouble while out on a date, and you would always keep your location on for him.

for a while, the agreement seemed silly. sure, the guys you’d meet online either wanted anonymous hookups or had a bad habit of ghosting or a plethora of issues with a crazy ex, but they were never… predatory. Shang-Chi was simply being the over-protective best friend, you thought, and while you were grateful he cared so much, you didn’t believe you’d actually need to use the code.

until tonight.

⚠️⚠️⚠️

thankfully, it was just emojis, because you were having a difficult time seeing past the haze as you wobble atop cumbersome and expensive stiletto pumps. the strobe lights were making you feel sick, and you couldn’t tell if you had one or three cellphones in your palm.

“Come on, pretty girl, let’s get outta here.”

“No,” you mumble, but the man whose name currently escapes you has already grabbed your bicep and is guiding you towards the door, none too gently. “No, I want to stay and wai—t on my friend. I just texted him!” you didn’t want to go, but your feet were trying to walk, at the very least, so this man wouldn’t drag you. “I want to wait on Shang-Chi—“

“Why’d you go and do that, huh?” he asks, turning to look down at you. he might’ve been trying to look hurt, or maybe it was his intent to look as angry as he did, but either way it made a knot tie itself in your gut. “We were having fun, weren’t we?”

“Yeah, but—“

“Weren’t you having fun with me? You told me you were having a blast, remember? You said you wanted me to take you home with me.”

you scrunch your nose. you were almost sure you didn’t say that… did you? “I… did?”

“Yeah,” he insists, pulling you outside. the neons from the signs on the windows hurts your eyes and one hand flees to shield your face from them, “that’s why I got us an uber, silly.”

“Oh.” confused, with your head swimming, it’s the only response you can give. you don’t remember telling him to get an uber, and you definitely don’t remember wanting to go home with him, but you were so wasted that you couldn’t be sure if you really did. your date walks ahead to grab the door to the backseat for you to get in.

staring at the ground with a perma-pout upon your countenance, you stumble on to the gritty concrete and misstep. the pin-like heel on your shoe snaps against the ill-distribution of your weight and the unfortunate, awkward footing. you crumble to the ground with your palms outstretched in an attempt to break your fall with a low huff. “Owie.” you mumble beneath your breath, just as another car, this one red in hue, pulls into the parking space beside your uber, and someone familiar steps out of the backseat.

“Shang-Chi!” your pronunciation of his name is slurred heavily by the numbing of booze-saturated tiers, but you feel a wave of relief as he hurries over and takes both of your hands to pull you to your feet. hardly aware of the red uber backing out of the space and driving off, you stare at your friend in disbelief. “You got here fast!” or did you text him a long time before? time seemed to move differently the more inebriated you became.

“Of course I did,” he exhales, holding your hands closer to examine them, “are you okay?” glancing down at them, too, you realize they’re covered in tiny scrapes from when you fell, with microscopic rock-shaped dents in your skin. his brows furrowed, and he uses his digits to sweep any minuscule debris off of them.

“She’s fine.” your date speaks up as he staggers towards you, but you take note of the way Shang-Chi angles his body in front of yours, creating a human wedge between you and he. the date holds out his hand, “C’mon, sweetheart. I’ll take you home—“

you shake your head, sheepish, but it’s your friend who speaks. “Nah, she’s good, man. I got her. You have yourself a good night.”

“Hey, man,” your date grinds his teeth, taking a step closer and glares at Shang-Chi, “I paid for her drinks and her ride. What, I’m supposed to get nothing? Don’t be a cockblock.”

Shang-Chi’s eyes are usually the warmest you’ve ever seen, like soft moonstones. however, when that final sentence filled the atmosphere between them, you could swear his eyes went black with anger. “Hey man,” he mutters, reaching into his pocket and grabbing his wallet, “let me cover that for you.” there’s an acidic bite to his tone as he stuffs two twenty dollar bills against the man’s chest with a flat palm and a smack that resonates in the night air around you, “And just, while I’m in a giving mood, have some advice to go with that. You take a lady out, pay for her drinks, and expect to get something in return, you deserve someone like me to knock your dick in the dirt. This girl right here?” waving his hand in gesture to you, he glares at the fuming man before him, “she’s a ten, and she doesn’t owe you shit. Remember that, playboy.”

whether he wanted to or not, your creepshow date backed off. grumbling to himself, he slams the door of the uber and the car takes off. Shang-Chi has already turned his attention back to you, grabbing your hand. “Come on,” he says, the softness returning to his velvety voice, “I’ll walk you home.”

“I can’t,” you whine, stumbling forward with your bottom lip sticking out. pointing down at your feet, you add like a child that is sad that her favorite toy is broken, “my shoe…”

he takes a moment to look at the shoe, kneeling down, and pats both of his shoulders. “Hands here.” you do as instructed, steadying yourself against the sturdiness of the broad expanse. “Right foot,” you lift your right foot, the one with the mangled stiletto, and he slides it off. to describe the relief your foot felt after the killer accessory had been subtracted would’ve been impossible. “Left.” you lift your left foot, and he takes that one off, too. when he’s finished, he clutches them together in one hand and whirls around, offering his back to you. “All right, now hop on.”

normally, you would’ve been excited; piggyback rides were always a staple in your friendship, but you felt a strange, sinking guilt as you latch on to him, and he begins to trek the crosswalk. why did he have to come and save you from some creep? why was it his responsibility to make sure you weren’t coaxed into doing something you’d regret? it didn’t seem fair to you— and so, you nuzzle your face into the nape of his neck, arms hanging loosely around his shoulders. “Sorry,” you mumble, half coherent with your cheek smushed into his skin. you can smell the scent of his shampoo, feel the dampness in his short tendrils, and you wonder if he had been just out of the shower, about to lie down and sleep for the night. the thought makes the guilt in you flare.

“C’mon now, don’t say that.” he insists, chortling softly. “You don’t have to be sorry. None of that was your fault, you know that, right? You did the right thing. I’m proud of you.”

your lids are heavy, so you close them, your mind beginning to numb with impending exhaustion. “I’m sorry that you have to take care of me… it shouldn’t be up to you.”

Shang-Chi takes a while to respond, because every response upon his tongue would’ve been a confession. his heart was beating wildly out of tempo at the prospect of telling you how he felt, but finally he settles for a, “I’ll always take care of you. You know that, don’t you?”

you don’t answer him. at first, he’s unsure if he’s said something wrong. then, he feels steady breath against the nape of his neck, and he realizes you’d fallen asleep.

maybe next time, he thinks, holding your legs close to his ribs.

[crippleprophet]

hiii!! i was wondering if u have any advice on getting taken seriously and getting care in an emergency department as a chronically ill/disabled person?

i've had progressive muscle weakness, fatigue, nerve issues, and pain for like five years that hasn't been properly diagnosed (been told it was fibro but. doesn't seem to fully fit that anymore. idk if anything will show up on tests but even if it doesn't i feel like the more correct diagnosis would be ME. my current gp thinks i have [seronegative] myasthenia gravis but gps can't order emgs so can't diagnose it), and recently have been having trouble breathing that seems like it's due to muscle weakness in my chest and follows the same patterns as my other muscle weakness.

my gp can't do anything to help (and referrals always get declined because the system is overwhelmed) and can only advise that i go to the hospital, been to one hospital who sent me home because my oxygen saturation was fine (even though from what i've read shortness of breath caused by muscle weakness doesn't show in oxygen saturation til it's Very Very bad, at the time i could only speak a couple syllables per breath and my peak flow was around half of what it usually is), i asked my gp what to do and he told me to try the further away hospital and explain that i haven't been able to get care at the closer one.

my mum is going to take me in a couple days (unless i really can't breath in the mean time obviously) and i'm nervous because i usually get dismissed, or they'll do a couple tests but not the ones that would actually show the conditions that i might actually have. i don't know how to advocate for myself without getting seen as overreacting, or get care for a chronic condition that has become urgent because usually if it's been happening for a while they'll say to just talk to ur gp but. my gp can't do anything.

(note: i know ur only supposed to go to the emergency room for things that are really urgent and the fact that i'm waiting a couple days might make it not urgent. my gp has said this is the best thing i can do though because there's literally no other avenue for me to get care and with my breathing the way it is i am even more restricted in what i can do than i have been before.)

oh god, i’m so sorry you’re in this position and am sending so much love to you. obligatory disclaimer that i’m not a medical professional, just Some Guy with a couple degrees, a girlfriend in medical school, and a whole lot of medical trauma.

that being said, my only advice is to lie. lie your ass off, lie like your life depends on it, most importantly lie in an informed fashion - which is easy in this case because you pretty much know what you have, you just need them to do the test you want. the doctor thinks they’re creating a clinical picture on a blank canvas and you need to give them a paint-by-numbers.

here are the factors i would consider and the narrative i would construct if i was in your position, but it’s your body, your experiences, and your care (or lack thereof), so all of this is just my opinion and your mileage absolutely may vary:

most importantly, make sure anyone with you in the ER is on the same page. a lot of doctors assume patients are lying by default because they suck, so if somebody contradicts you, you’re probably screwed. when my gf takes me to a doctor’s appointment, we have a “what are we lying to them about” meeting ahead of time. you know your mum best, so you probably know what approaches she would/wouldn’t be on board with, but i’d initiate that conversation like “i’m concerned this hospital might dismiss me like the other one did, so i’m planning to say XYZ to hopefully get them to take me more seriously” and not “Some Guy on tumblr told me to lie my ass off” lol

next, make your symptoms match the textbook. downside to this, i definitely recommend not bringing up ME/CFS because they can’t/won’t test for or treat it (i have a friend in the UK who almost certainly has ME/CFS and just got sent to even more physical therapy). here’s where it helps that your GP is pretty sure they know what you’ve got (whether you actually have that or not): research myasthenia gravis (i recommend continuing education sites geared towards clinicians), know what’s on that list, and (with some exceptions) say you have those symptoms. my personal strategy is three-tiered:

lies of creation: unless it’s something immediately life-threatening or something they can concretely disprove, say you have symptoms of your disease even if you don’t. ER doctors don’t give a shit if they can say you need to wait it out and go to a specialist, regardless of that being unrealistic and your symptoms being unlivable, so you need something urgent and serious. (my gf says “they might be worried if you’re having trouble swallowing. maybe.”) myasthenia gravis typically waxes and wanes, so even if you’re able to do something when they examine you, it would be totally realistic for you to not have been able to a couple of hours ago (eg, when you arrived to the ER). for example, i told the NHS i totally had a positive MRI in the US that i was having delays getting access to the records of, even though my MRI didn’t show a speck of inflammation, because at least that got me a couple months of flare medication while they confirmed and an NSAID when they decided i was in remission rather than literally nothing. obviously you can’t tell them you’re seropositive because they’ve unfortunately got that record, which means you’re already fighting an uphill battle, which leads to my favorite sub-category lie of creation: anything you’ve read or believe or know that works in your favor, your GP told you. memorize what percent of people with myasthenia gravis are seronegative - don’t lead with that, because doctors hate when people are educated about our conditions or know what’s wrong with us, but if they say “we won’t do an EMG because you can’t have myasthenia gravis because of your bloodwork,” then you can be like, “my GP said that’s pretty common, like, about X% of people don’t show up on the test, and they’re really convinced i have this.”

lies of exaggeration: increase frequency of symptoms, impact on your activities of daily living, rank on a scale. familiarize yourself with what the numbers on the pain scale generally mean in terms of ability, and elaborate - “my pain is at an 8, it’s really hard to XYZ.”

lies of omission: this ER doctor was an asshole and still would’ve fucked me over regardless, but the instant i said “yes” when he asked if i experienced acid reflux, he stopped listening to a single word i said. i was experiencing acid reflux, and i knew that symptom happened with IBD, celiac, and a host of other serious conditions, but he instantly decided that was all that was going on with me, tried to send me home with just an antacid during the worst pain of my life, and led to me experiencing malnutrition and all my hair falling out due to the severe delays in accessing care. my recommendation for “instant dismissal” (or worse, “instant institutionalization”) symptoms to omit are: acid reflux; menstrual cramps or really anything related to menstruation; anything they could dismiss as covid - if they try to dismiss your breathing issues as covid, say you’ve tested negative this week even if you haven’t had a test. if you’ve had covid and you’re certain it’s not in your chart (assume it’s in your chart if you’ve ever said it to a doctor), say you’ve never had covid. if they still try to say it’s covid, stress that this has been going on for years before covid; anything psychiatric.

so, what i would do:

“i have X, Y, and Z symptoms. my GP thinks i have myasthenia gravis and is working on referring me, and said to go to A&E if A, B, or C got worse. A, B, and C have [measurably gotten significantly worse since the last time you went to A&E] - i’m having trouble breathing, swallowing, and [other].” hope that they decide to do an EMG on their own.

if they try to send you home or try to do useless tests, say “my GP mentioned that i really need an EMG in order to get the treatment that would help me be able to breathe, swallow, [other]. will this test also do that?” (one of the instances where you strategically ‘play dumb’ because doctors hate when we know things)

if they still won’t do anything helpful, either you or your mum say: “i’ve/they’ve had these symptoms for five years and it’s never been remotely this bad. i/they seriously can’t breathe, swallow, [other] - how do we manage these symptoms before we can get to a specialist?” i’m white and, having been super professional/polite until then, this is the point where i start crying; you know your circumstances best and whether that will incur racism, etc, upon you from the medical system.

if they still want to send you home, i (again, being white) would at that point firmly request a second opinion. they still might send you home with nothing; i did all of this shit and received 50 pills of 50mg tramadol in addition to the antacid, and probably an angry note in my file, and not a millisecond of further testing.

i say this with love and from experience, in the interest of minimizing trauma and devastation: you need, to the best of your ability, to go to the emergency department with the expectation of receiving no care. i recommend a buddy, a reminder, and a reward: message a bitter crip or someone else who Gets It throughout the process and have support in place for if/when you get home with new medical neglect and trauma; remind yourself that your symptoms are real and serious and, in my gf’s words, “if your GP thinks you have myasthenia gravis, you almost definitely have something neuromuscular going on.” i like to make posters of my reminders (example here: link); do something that will make you feel better afterwards - my go-to is buying a new stuffed animal after experiencing medical trauma. i have a lot of them lol

for more advice on coping with medical neglect before and after appointments/visits, see my post here (link). if you don’t know anyone who’ll understand or be available and helpful to support you during your trip to A&E, feel free to dm me and i’d be happy to give you my WhatsApp. i wish you so much luck and you’ll be in my thoughts, i really hope it goes as well as possible - you deserve quality, compassionate, thorough care. if you’re comfortable with doing so and feeling up for it i’d really value an update afterwards 💓💓💓

[bi-planeandsimple]

I hate diet culture so much. There are so many red flags that ppl refuse to acknowledge!!

It’s a multi-billion dollar industry. If the fallacy of “calories in, calories out” worked, (aka just exercise it off or eat less etc.) there would be no mystery and no food plans and supplements and personal gyms and Atkins diets and Atkins shakes and Atkins bars and miracle pills and fucking gastric bypass (aka purposefully splitting your own stomach into two pieces so the piece connected to your digestion is smaller. WHAT!!) to pitch to ppl.

If diet culture was telling the truth, Fat ppl wouldn’t get eating disorders (one of the most deadly types of mental illnesses) they would just follow those simple, definitely useful (/s) instructions of exercise more and eat less, except that’s not how the human body works. The human body is designed to store as much fat as possible for use later when necessary. A body getting fatter is normal, it’s literally in the human species manual.

And Like op says, if you restrict certain types of foods, your body will crave them more! because there is nutritional value in ALL food. And everyone knows this! Ppl pretend not to, but if you are trapped in a cave in for days and for some reason, you find a junk food or a dessert, you will eat that and you will survive until rescue! All good is value neutral actually and everything is great in moderation. If a person literally only eats kale all day every day, that’s not good and some of us acknowledge that, but then we don’t take that to its logical conclusion. That someone who eats a variety of fast food or junk food options would be healthier than someone just eating lettuce or just eating nuts. When you look at it like that, how hard is it to understand that too much of any food is bad, and too little of any food is bad, and there are zero evil foods.

If any of what diet culture said was true, no one would be fat. because fat people are treated like shit, bullied, vilified and often encouraged or left to die. Fat ppl would want to and actually have done everything to lose weight in order to not be treated like literal garbage, so the idea that fat ppl are lazy or just choose to be fat does not match up with any reality.

Also There’s a new boogeyman every few decades. 20 years ago, it was all the rage to ban fat from everything. Fats in food was the villain, the culprit behind obesity, and had to be vanquished. Then it was specifically saturated fat. Then it was trans fats. And labels on all foods were made so ppl could make informed decisions about the “horrible” things they were putting in their body. But now no one talks about fat content. It was THE terror of the 90s and early 2000s. Where did this vile villain venture off to? It was largely just marketing, a ploy to get ppl to buy certain 0 trans fats foods or low in saturated fat foods etc. but guess what, humans need fat. And I guess people realized that and the fad went away. Or marketers moved on to the next villain of the decade. There will be a new villain soon, just watch. We are due.

the reality is being fat is not bad and does not make someone a bad or lazy person. Being fat is normal and natural and this fact must be accepted by wider society before more fat people die.

You know that feeling when you eat a lot of candy on Halloween and suddenly you crave carrots because your body is telling you that it needs nutrients not in the candy? That is no different than when you eat a lot of carrots and crave a Snickers bar.

Your body knows what it needs. Your body uses cravings to tell you to eat the nutrients you're in low supply of. You crave sugar all the time? It's because you are restricting sugar and not actually listening to your body. Cravings are not evil. They're literally how your body is designed to maintain a balanced food intake.

Please for the love of god (nontheistic), learn about intuitive eating and finally end the grip that diet culture has on you and your wallet. And in case this is one of my posts that somehow leaves fat activism circles, fatness is not evil either. You will never escape diet culture until you end your fear and hatred of fatness. Period.

[delimeful]

taking the fall (5)

warnings: mentions of starvation/hunger, fear, food

-

Virgil sat blankly at the edge of the folded up washcloth, watching as the human in front of him wandered back and forth in the kitchen, attending several different simmering pots and cutting boards with ease, as though he had two more sets of arms.

He hadn’t been restrained or put under a cup or anything, probably because his leg was demonstrably bad off enough to prevent any realistic escape attempts. Janus had glanced over several times between cooking anyhow, which Virgil hated immensely.

Each check-in was met with the most loathsome glare Virgil could muster while still looking like a half-drowned raccoon. Even so, he couldn’t help but huddle down further every time the human’s gaze flicked over to him.

Being a wild borrower came with certain tidbits of knowledge. One of them was this: If a human spotted you, you were screwed. Outside, there weren’t any convenient walls to escape to, only the easily-uprooted nooks and crannies amidst the trees and brush.

When hunting a curiosity down, humans were far more willing to destroy nature than their own homes.

All that to say, the primal hindbrain that had kept him alive many a time in the wilderness was now floundering, shrieking, and leaving him on the brink of shutting down entirely.

He didn’t even know why he was out here. The human had said something about food, but that didn’t make any sense. The guy was definitely satisfied with the answer Virgil had given, a pleased curl to his mouth lingering even now, but he’d also had to pry even that much out of Virgil through a combination of bartering and distraction. Janus had to know that Virgil wouldn’t agree to another deal like that, not even if it was for medical aid.

He had given away all he was going to give— in truth, it was all the real information he had; he didn’t know where the others lived. Roman had come to him, not the other way around— and there was no point in keeping him around any longer.

Virgil checked that the door to the room with the snake terrariums was closed for a fourth time, a shiver working its way through him.

“There we are.”

The words were accompanied with a subtle clink of ceramic, and when Virgil whipped his head back around with a start, it was to the human setting a plate only a few inches from him.

He huddled down further, mimicking the low hiss of an agitated tarantula and only getting another one of those amused looks in response.

“The hunger strike ends now,” Janus told him with a mocking sort of firmness, and then paused to glance between him and the dish for a moment. “Hm.”

Virgil glanced in the same direction and actually noted what was on the plate this time.

It was some kind of pasta, he was pretty sure. The shapes were pretty distinct, though he’d only ever seen them in their hard, shell-like form. Some inside borrowers used the larger kinds as temporary bowls or containers, or as building materials for areas that weren’t liable to become damp.

They got soggy when exposed to liquid, a flaw which meant that Virgil had never traded for any. Nut shells were far more abundant and effective.

Apparently, though, the sogginess was by design, because the folded shapes in front of him didn’t seem rigid at all. They were saturated with a thick sauce, and the plate was dotted with colorful bits of what he thought were probably vegetables.

They also smelled really good. If this was a new method of psychological torment on Janus’s end, bringing him just close enough to food for him to remember how hungry he was, well… it was going to suck.

“I suppose that won’t work, will it,” Janus mused.

He lifted the dish back up an inch, and even though Virgil had been expecting it, tried to prepare for it, he couldn’t help the way his body twitched forwards just slightly.

Stupid. What did he even think he was going to do? Play tug of war with a human?

He bit down on his tongue to stem any potential noises of protest that wanted to escape, furious with himself, but Janus’s keen gaze had already caught on him.

“Hm.” He set the dish back down the few inches he’d lifted it, expression edged with thoughtfulness, and Virgil braced himself for another deal, a game, something that the human thought he could use to wrest more details from him.

Instead, Janus turned on his heel and returned to his former position to rifle through the cabinets, leaving Virgil unattended and the food directly within his reach.

Oh, that was a trap if he’d ever seen one. The moment he reached out for a morsel, the human would whip around and execute some sort of gleeful retribution.

Virgil stared at the plate miserably, wishing it was further away so he could at least use the pain of moving as a mental deterrent. At this distance, he could just reach out and… No, no, he wasn’t falling for it.

He glanced at Janus, who had shifted from the upper cabinets and now appeared to be sticking his head and both arms in one of the lower ones, accompanied by the sound of objects shifting around obnoxiously.

The pasta was obviously out of the question; it would take him too much time to figure out how to eat it, let alone actually finish a piece.

But the vegetable bits…

Almost without his conscious input, his hand swiped out and snatched one of the smaller green pieces, his eyes switching to lock on Janus the moment he had it in hand.

Still in the clear.

Knowing that could change any moment, he wasted no time in shoving the vegetable in his mouth as quickly as possible, his heart racing.

“Here it is,” Janus said triumphantly, withdrawing from the cabinet with something in his hand.

Too soon! Virgil froze in place, ice slipping down his spine.

The human turned back to Virgil, and paused.

—

Janus had to work to keep his face neutral, his lip twitching.

Even as small as he was, there was no way to miss the way his guest’s cheeks were pouched out, bearing an uncanny resemblance to a squirrel.

The pale-faced stare of guilt he was receiving was significantly less funny. He had told Virgil the food was intended for him in passing, but it seemed the message had been lost somewhere between panic attacks and interrogations.

Well. When he put it like that, perhaps he should’ve seen this coming.

Janus debated trying to convince the little guy that he had no intention of punishing the ‘theft’, recalled just how suspicious Virgil had been of Janus offering basic first aid, and decided it was better to just pretend he hadn’t noticed.

“Many thanks for your patience,” he announced with only the slightest trace of sarcasm, and set his findings down on the table with a flourish.

A soy sauce dish and a few toothpicks weren’t the customary tools for fine dining, but they were the best he had on hand.

Virgil stared between them and Janus with enough apprehension that one would think he’d brought a tray of neurosurgery tools over instead.

Resisting the urge to sigh— if he'd known Virgil was so twitchy upon first meeting him, he might not have been so heavy-handed with the ominous threatening behavior— Janus used his own spoon to scoop up a generous serving of the pasta and poured it into the sauce dish, stabbing a toothpick through the thicker part of a noodle before sliding the dish over to his guest.

“Go slow, or you’ll throw up,” he told Virgil, though frankly he had no idea if that rule held true for tiny people. Perhaps they had developed evolutionary advantages against starving, since they relied on scavenging?

Janus pondered on the matter for a long moment, casting his gaze elsewhere and ignoring the frantic chewing of his captive.

Of course, once Virgil had finished his pilfered appetizer, he proceeded to eye the dish as though it was a coiled-up rattlesnake, rather than an entirely benevolent gesture on Janus's part. It was pasta, it wasn't going to bite him.

Now that he thought about it, Virgil likely wasn't familiar with farfalle pasta. Janus couldn’t imagine these little people had enough scavenged scraps to put together a miniature electrical stove, after all. Particularly not if Virgil wasn’t even from this apartment, as he claimed.

...Unless they were lighting tiny fires in the apartment walls?

Janus shook his head, dragging his attention back on track. It seemed unlikely Virgil would verbalize the source of his confusion, having faded back into that silent reticence the moment they walked into the kitchen. Janus wasn’t willing to guess either, not when it could be misconstrued as another interrogation.

“Eat,” he told him, settling on a simple instruction, “or feel free to waste away on my counter, it’s not like I care.”

Deciding to follow his own advice, he then picked up the plate and moved over to the counter before taking a bite. Thus, he proved it wasn’t poisoned or drugged, and gave Virgil enough space to eat without feeling loomed over.

Janus sighed. It had been considerably easier to play the villain. Now, every action had to be thought over from three different angles before execution, or he’d accidentally drive the little creature's soul right out of his body from stress. It was almost like chess, except he was attempting not to corner his opponent.

It took enough time that he wondered if Virgil wasn’t running his own complex mental calculations, but eventually he saw a tiny hand reach forwards and grasp the toothpick, figuring out how to use it as a makeshift kabob stick with characteristic resourcefulness.

Virgil kept an eye on Janus the entire time, as if expecting the rug to be yanked out from under him at any moment, and Janus was careful to pretend like he wasn’t paying him a lick of attention.

That didn't mean he wasn't still watching, though. If he'd thought the stuffed-cheeks look from before was amusing, the expression Virgil made upon biting into the pasta was hilarious.

Janus allowed his lips to curl up into a more-smug-than-usual expression. His cooking was one of his finest skills, one he didn’t get to show off frequently, and it was clearly blowing the mind of his guest.

Virgil ate quickly enough that Janus hoped his earlier estimation was correct, not wanting to deal with vomit or the potential damage refeeding syndrome could do to that tiny digestive system.

Predictably, he didn’t manage to make a dent in his serving, though if Janus measured it to scale, it was still a rather shocking amount of food to pack away, especially on a shrunken stomach. Another survival adaptation?

“Finished?” he asked when Virgil’s movements slowed, and frowned at the way his tiny spine stiffened with panic.

He had eaten plenty. Why would he be so concerned about the meal ending—?

Ah.

“I’ll leave the remainder of it with you for the evening,” he said casually. “I wouldn’t want to wake in the middle of the night to find that you wasted away without my delightful cooking.”

There it was, a distinct relaxing of shoulders.

Lips thinning, Janus abruptly decided he didn’t particularly want to reflect on his captive’s food insecurity issues and how the past three days may have just worsened them.

Instead, he reached down and curled his hand around Virgil, keeping his grip significantly gentler than he’d bothered with before. Only because he didn’t want to risk jostling the little creature into nausea, of course.

Virgil curled up into a tense little ball regardless, the sight making something in the pit of Janus’s stomach squeeze oddly, but didn’t bother protesting. Thankfully, he no longer had anything sharp to try and stab Janus with.

Picking the dish up with his other hand, Janus returned to the old terrarium, settling the dish down first and then the tiny form down next to it.

After a moment’s hesitation, he dragged the bundle of plastic greenery closer so that it shielded his guest from view unless one was standing right next to the tank. And then draped his handkerchief on the tank bottom within reach, for good measure.

Virgil was watching him with a strange expression, and Janus cleared his throat shortly before withdrawing and turning away without another word.

If he was going to be cooking more frequently, he should go check the fridge to see how stocked it was. And perhaps see what non-perishables he could leave in the enclosure long-term. If he got creative, a makeshift bed for better rest could probably be arranged as well.

All in the self-interest of keeping his unwilling informant alive, of course.

[agentnico]

Pearl (2022) Review

Plot: Trapped on an isolated farm, Pearl must tend to her ailing father under the watch of her mother. Lusting for the glamorous life she's seen in movies, Pearl's temptations and repressions collide.

Earlier this year A24 released a horror flick called X which was a slasher in style of Texas Chainsaw Massacre, and honestly it’s still one of my favourite movies of this year. A creepy old horny lady slicing a chap’s throat and then dancing over his dead body to the tune of Don’t Fear the Reaper by Blue Oyster Cult - what’s not to love? So yep, if you’re looking for a fun weird horror movie, X should do the trick. As for Pearl, director Ti West filmed a prequel to X only weeks after completing filming on the original film, hence we now got Pearl releasing in the same year as it’s predecessor. And now a third film has already been announced and being fast-tracked to film. Heck, at this rate Ti West will build up his X cinematic world faster than the Marvel Cinematic Universe! Not that I’m complaining, as Ti West seems to have really found a way of reigniting the horror slasher genre in a way that is familiar yet feels fresh.

Pearl serves as a prequel to X, and revolves around the younger years of the aforementioned creepy old horny lady who sliced and danced her way through X. And immediately what stands out here is Mia Goth’s performance as the titular character. Her tragicomic performance of Pearl wanting to capture her dreams of being famous and being appreciated for her supposed talents, yet in doing so literally killing her way to success, it’s very interesting to watch. For Pearl is, let’s face it, batshit crazy. Absolutely nuts. Definitely one flew over the cuckoo’s nest. But also through mannerisms and all the weird things she does, Mia Goth manages to make the character strangely comical yet also frightening and creepy due to the lengths she is willing to go. Especially there are two scenes, one a monologue and the other a lingering shot during the end credits that really signify how much Goth has thrown herself into this role, so much so that it makes me wonder if Mia Goth is actually sane or not in real life. Then again I am not planning on meeting her personally so I think I am safe. 

The film itself is also filmed in that over-saturated Technicolor glossy Disney fairy-tale style, and in some ways reminding me of The Wizard of Oz in like Dorothy, Pearl is being all lovely and nice and nothing could possibly go wro....oh wait, she violently killed a goose and fed it to her pet crocodile. Oh. Oh okay then. But Ti West definitely is having fun playing up to the irony of the fairytale dream in contrast to the psychotic nature of the central character. However when it comes to the story itself, the movie is a bit lacklustre. Don’t get me wrong, the elements of the plot are played out well, like the dysfunctional relationship between Pearl and her angry mother (the latter by the way would have been an amazing Health Secretary during the COVID pandemic, just saying) or Pearl building up towards an audition that she hopes will change her life forever. However none of these narrative are that game-changing or even memorable. The movie for the most part rests solely on Mia Goth’s terrific performance, and to be honest that’s not a bad thing, for Goth as I mentioned is fantastic and eerie in the role. 

Overall as a companion piece to this year’s X this movie is very enjoyable and provides enough slasher gore and twisted macabre to make for a fun watch, though I would still say X definitely shines more as the superior horror flick. As for Mia Goth, if she were to get nominated for an Oscar, I wouldn’t be too surprised.

Overall score: 7/10

[majesticbrownjawn]

Nervous

@soufcakmistress didn’t realize when she posted this that it would inspire me to write. Thanks boo. Here’s what happens when you so thick it makes Erik nervous...but not really cuz he doesn’t get nervous. 

--------------------------------------------

“I ain’t shy, you just so thick I’m a little nervous.”

“Really?”

He laughed at her shock at his statement. The look she gave him as she stared up at him in awe was cute as shit.

“Don’t worry, when I’m fucking you, all that nervous shit gon be out the window.”

“Excuse me?”

The trap music was loud, but not that loud.

“You heard me Thickums.” He leaned in close, his beard tickling the side of her neck when he spoke.

Y/N squeezed her legs together involuntarily, the weight of her thighs pressing against the sides of her clit, causing a soft moan to slip from her lips. He definitely heard it and now she was nervous.

Again.

As fate would have it, she’d seen Erik on Instagram before on multiple occasions. He gained notoriety after one the mother of one of his students posted him on IG with the caption, “My son’s teacher bout to have my ass bringing him an apple everyday!”

Another user found Erik’s profile, and BOOM, 40K followers overnight. It was no wonder though. Y/N had seen the photos of him in the school’s navy blue polo, muscles protruding from his sleeves.

But seeing him in person was almost too much. Your heart and other bits went thumpity-thump-thump when you spotted him at the house party two hours ago. You weren’t surprised to see the swarm of women around him or the fact that he was enjoying the attention.

“I feel like I’ve seen you somewhere before...were you at the brunch on 14th a couple weeks ago?”

“No. I don’t go to brunch often.”

“Too many niggas like me hassling you, huh?”

You bit back a smile as he glazed over your frame again. Yea, niggas hassled you, but they certainly didn’t look like him.

“You’re not hassling me.”

“Aight good. But for real tho, like damn… you just so—“

A woman plopped down next to you with a cup full of alcohol. She was drunk and desperate for the attention of the man sitting to your right. She leaned into you hard, so you leaned into Erik. The pads of your fingers to gripped his thigh for leverage. You couldn’t have anticipated brushing up against the tip of his firm, warm dick. Time stopped and you momentarily forgot about the freshly spilled tequila on your white t-shirt dress. Erik’s mouth hung slightly ajar, clearly turned on by your accidental groping. You didn’t read it that way though.

“I’m so sorry!”

You flew up from the couch and ran to the first door you could find. As you raced through the party, you’d decided as soon as your dress was dry, you’d head for the front door and straight to your car. The music was so loud and you were so frazzled that you couldn’t hear Erik behind you trying to tell you to slow down. You nearly slammed the door in his face when you found a random bedroom just behind the DJ booth.

“You move fast girl.” You jumped in surprise at the sound of his velvety voice.

He was stuck when you finally turned around, revealing the mess the woman on the couch made on you. The cotton fabric of your dress was saturated with tequila, giving Erik a vivid display of your mesh bra underneath. He could just barely see the outline of your deep brown areolas. You watched his eyes dilate as he zeroed in on your pebbled nipples. You felt vulnerable and exposed and turned on as he stood before you, speechless.

“Erik?”

“Yea, baby?” He slowly lifted his head to meet your eyes.

“Baby?” You giggled.

“Yea. You baby now…And, I don’t know your name. You dipped out before I could ask.”

“It’s Y/N.”

“Y/N, Y/N,” he repeated it like he was trying to etch it in his brain. “Why you run away?”

“I tend to do that when things get awkward. I’m sorry.”

“Shit ain’t get awkward until you took off.” He walked a few paces to lessen the space between you. “Don’t run away from me again. OK?”

His large hand gripped the side of your neck, his thumb caressing your jaw. He had to be the type of nigga that sprayed his colonge on his inner wrist. The sweet-spicy musk tempted you to turn your head and kiss the palm of his hand.  

“Umhm,” you nodded.

“Umhm, what?”

“I won’t run away from you again.”

“Good girl. Now, what were you going to say?”

He took a seat on the bed, keeping an eye on you like you’d still bolt at any second.

“Did I really make you nervous?”

He smiled so wide that the gold caps of his canines gleamed against the light in the room.

“Yea. I meant that shit. You perfect.” He reached out and pulled you in between his legs. “These thighs are what I noticed about you first.”

His hands slowly glazed over the back of your knees and upwards until he reached your thighs. He gripped them suddenly, making you gasp. His deep eyes grew dark with desire as he gazed up at you. The intensity in them made you want to look at anything but him.

“Hey…Y/N.”

“Hmm?”

“Look at me.”

Your eyes darted to his lips. They were so full and kissable.

“C’mere.”

You were already standing in between his legs staring down at the growing knot in his jeans.

“Sit down.”

You took a half step back to sit next to him on the bed, but his hand grabbing your ass signaled that wasn’t he meant by sit down. You carefully lifted your dress a bit and straddled his lap. It felt like you melted into his bulky frame. He gripped you so tight, it felt familiar. Safe.

“Imma be real witchu, Y/N.” Erik’s head was nestled in between your breasts, listening to your sporadic heartbeat. “I know where I know you from.”

You could barely hear him. His warm hands exploring your body clouded your senses. All you could do was feel.

“I asked Teddy to invite you tonight.”

You were surprised, but you were so relaxed that you didn’t react in the way you normally would.

“I DM’ed you like two years ago, but you never responded.”

All you could do was chuckle. You would have remembered him DMing you and you absolutely would have responded.

“You don’t believe me? Look—“

He tried to pull away from you to grab his phone from his pocket but, nah. You tightened your thighs around him, cementing yourself further in his lap. The heat of your pussy stilled him from moving further.

“So you already knew my name?” Your fingertips massaged his scalp. All he could do was hum in the affirmative. He allowed your hands to explore him as much as they wanted. Shoulders, arms, lips…

“Kiss me.” There was a hint of desperation in his voice that made you weak. The faint moan that slipped from him when your tongue entered his mouth made you weaker. The involuntary grind of your hips against his dick drove you crazy. You couldn’t get enough of the feeling of him pressing into you.

He leaned back with you still gyrating on him. Erik wanted to see more of you. You didn’t realize he slipped your dress over your head until you felt the pads of his fingers swiping back and forth across your nipples. You were so needy to cum now.

He drank you in, intoxicated by the look of you get getting off on his clothed dick.

“Erik,” you whispered. “Imma cum.”

Just the thought of his face between your legs, lapping up your pussy juices had you nutting all on his lap.

“Oh shit, oh shit….Fuuuuuuhhhhk.”

You whimpered into his mouth as you finished and he kissed you hungrily, suckling your lips.

“You feeling good as hell right now, huh?”

“Yes, nigga. What you think?” You laughed, looking down at the sticky puddle in Erik’s lap.

“I made a mess on you. I’m sorry—“

“I like that shit, Y/N. It lets me know how bad you want me…it’s good to know, especially since you was ignoring my DMs and shit.”

“Whatever. I know I would have talked to you if you DMed me.”

“You was with dude then.”

He was referring to your ex, Mark.

“I could tell you were a good girl so I figured you might not respond but it was worth a shot.”

“Would a good girl do what I just did with you?”

“Yea. Maybe with her man.”

You kissed him and smiled.

“Good thing I did it with you then. Wouldn’t want to ruin your opinion of me.”

Erik reached over and grabbed the dress from the other side of the bed and put it back on you.

“I love you so much, Y/N.”

“I love you too, Erik.”

“You ready to go home? I wanna be comfortable while I’m eating ya pussy. All this noise is too much.”

He held you close to him as you made your way back out into the crowd. You could faintly hear Teddy, Erik’s best friend yell, “Happy anniversary!” as you exited the party.  

-------------

@harleycativy @queenflaws @theogbadbitch @goddessofthundathighs @syndrlla97 @soufcakmistress @mbakusprincess @supersizemeplz @therealmrsrhodes @toniilaney @raysunshine78 @19jammmy@killmonger-fics @just-peachee @trinityaneise​ @wawakanda-btch @ladymac82@just-peachee @ladymac82​ @suburbanblackhoe

[rosewater-chlxe]

pumpkin | colby brock

✖ Summary: While taking a trip to Rosehill Cemetery for one Colby’s videos, you both become a little too distracted to realize the dangers surrounding you. 

✖  genre ; fluff, comfort, the tiniest bit of angst 

✖  warnings ; slight mention of smut, reader w/ anxiety, mention of rituals 

✖ requested - yes | no

anon asked:  Hi love ! I saw that you take requests for colby again and I sent a request a while back asking if you could write one where he and his gf wanted to film a video but they start to make out super randomly and have to film the whole video again and now I am wondering if you could write it ?

a/n: i’m so terribly sorry for the wait; i hope you like it my lovely!! stay hydrated, take care of yourself, n make sure to rest!! ily <3 

✖ masterlist

The setting was quite bizarre for the feelings you felt so deeply and beautifully in your heart; you were completely, utterly mesmerized by the boy standing beside you. You walked in this dark, melancholic place with your fingers intertwined; both his and your hands interlocked. He carried a backpack of filming equipment, drinks, snacks, and band-aids; you carried a separate bag of blankets and pillows. Ghosts and ghouls were rumored to be in this grey, brooding place; even dangerous rituals have taken place here: Rosehill Cemetery. 

“Where do you wanna film the intro? I was thinking next to the Mortuary,” Colby said, “If you’re still comfortable and down for this, that is.” 

“Of course I am!! Maybe a little nervous, but there’s no turning back now,” You replied, feeling a cold chill go down your spine at the thought of anything going wrong. 

“Then the Mortuary it is,” He said with a grin that contained a hint of rebellion and mischief in it. 

As the violet-haired boy filmed the intro to his video, you admired his every feature and each mannerism. The way he talked while swaying his hands and hips; the dimples slightly showing through his cheeks, the motions of his jawline. The angelic, ethereal man that stood before you made you weak to your knees; it was hard to count every breath he took from your lungs. 

You were so in awe that you couldn’t hear the pet names said to get your attention, until finally he said your name. 

“Y/N? You alright?” He questioned with a slight smile, catching your wandering eyes. 

“Perfect.” You replied with a soft smile as he looked you up and down. 

You both ended up heading to the biggest honorary statue nearby, to not only take a thumbnail but also to explore more of the graveyard. As you quietly stumbled down the gravel path with Colby, hand in hand, he made witty comments to the camera whilst paying close attention to your surroundings.  This if the first kind of video of Colby’s that you’ve joined; you’ve always been eager to do something like this, though you know it can get risky and dangerous. That’s exactly why he held it off for so long, he never wanted to put you in any kind of uncomfortable or tense situations. The dyed-haired boy leading you has always been the utmost respectful and kind human being you’ve ever laid your eyes on. 

The amount of pure infatuation and love you held for him came without hesitance or thought; no number could label what you felt, no word could describe what happened in you when you simply glance at him. The electric blue butterflies swarming through your heart and the rosewater in your veins never faded, only growing more and more intense each waking second. Before him, it was as if your world could only be seen in light grey and shades of blue; now everything is built with much higher saturation. 

You knew not of what may happen in the future, but you knew you seen him in every upcoming chapter. 

“Excited?” Colby asked, grinning at you as he looked back at you. 

“Very; and a little scared, not gonna lie,” you replied with a light, friendly laugh. 

“It’ll all be fine, if anything were to happen you know we can just go home,” he reassured you with a sly wink. 

You nodded with a giddy smile, trying your best to look away from him. He could always make you feel like you’re on top of the world even with the smallest of interactions - that absolute bastard. You rolled your eyes as you realized just how much you’ve truly fallen for him. 

You skipped in front of him and stopped him from walking ahead, smirking at him while he looked at you questioningly and suspiciously. 

“What’re you up to, rascal?” He asked, knowing of your mischievous tendencies in the past. 

“Now why do you always assume the worst from me?” you laughed as you started to trace a fingertip along his jawline, then to his neck; you felt him swallow as if he felt nervous, though you knew it wasn’t nervousness making him eager. Soon enough your fingertip made it’s way down to his chest, then to the bottom half of his black button down shirt. You let out a light laugh as you teased, completely removing your hand from his torso entirely. 

Colby scoffed and quickly ran his ring-clad fingers up to your throat, his hand then forming a light grip across your jaw.  

“Wanna think about teasing me again, princess?” He asked with a now lower toned voice. 

You sweetly smiled at his intimidating exterior and leaned in to kiss him, in which he happily obliged. 

You felt his soft, light pink-tinted lips against your own and the rest of your face grew numb. Your body became weak, and your legs tightly squeeze together as you felt the grip on your throat roughen. His tongue darted against your bottom lip, making you let out a sweet, soft sound. Within a few seconds, your hands started wandering beneath his slightly unbuttoned shirt; though as soon as your hand drifted lower, Colby almost immediately pulled away.  

You were snapped out of your lovesick state as his facial features grew concerned; the only thing you seen at the statue you were a few feet away from was the illumination of candlelight and light chanting.

“Down,” He whispered, gently grabbing your shoulder and taking you to crouch with him. He placed a finger over his mouth, creating a silent “sh,” sound as he watched what was happening. 

“Colby,” you whispered, “What’re they doing? Who are they?” you began to panic. 

“Sweetheart, it’s going to be okay, just make sure you stay with me and do as I say,” he calmly whispered while making the softest direct eye contact with you. 

He knew you have always had the worst anxiety and one of his top priorities are making sure that anxiety is calmed; that you’re taken care of. He always tries his best to keep you comfortable in every setting, that became much more evident rather than subtle when you told him about your anxiety. He very much understood what you went through and knew that you could help each other through your anxiety issues. Situations like this was something he never wanted you to experience. 

“Who’s there?” a man in black attire yelled from the statue, looking in your direction. The chanting stopped. 

Colby had a look of shock across his face, then sudden terror as he seen something near the statue that you didn’t; as soon as he gasped, the next thing you knew was running the opposite direction with him. 

“We gotta get the fuck out of here,” Colby loudly spoke right next to you as you ran; he made sure never to let go of your hand. 

“What did you see?” you yelled in response, trying to keep up with him when it came down to every single breath.

Colby didn’t respond, but he glanced back to see six masked silhouettes in the far distance; they did not run, they walked in unison. 

At this point of running for what felt like decades though it had only been an estimated 45 minutes, you could see what looked like the parking lot close ahead. You had tears in your eyes that just wouldn’t drop; your throat felt like it was closing more and more within each passing second. 

You and Colby finally made it to his car and looked back for anyone near you. No one else was to be seen. You jumped in and slammed the door, Colby then locking the car and doing nothing less than booking it. 

He quickly pulled out of the parking lot and started going far faster than he should have. You seen him glance towards you in concern, making sure you were safe. His fingertips tapped on the steering wheel due to anxiousness. 

“Colby, breathe, you’ve got me,” you reassuringly said to him with a small smile, though your voice came out with cracks and whines. 

“Are you okay? I’m so sorry, this was such a bad idea,” he said to you in response, placing his right hand on your thigh whilst he continued driving. 

“I’ll be fine as soon as we get home, please just relax for me?” you asked sweetly. 

He nodded, his muscles untensing and his jaw unclenching. 

“What can I do to make this up to you, sweetheart?” he asked, feeling incredibly guilty for the situation he put you in. 

“You have nothing to make up to me love, but if we’re being honest the footage wouldn’t have been used anyway,” you said causing both of you to let out a light laugh, “so we could film another video tonight instead. A more laid-back one? Perhaps making a Halloween cake?” you excitedly smiled. 

“Anything for you, baby,” he sighed with relief, “but we have to watch horror movies tonight and I don’t make the rules, you gotta cuddle me,” Colby demanded. 

“Most definitely, pumpkin,” you replied lovingly.  

- fin. 

[father-time-and-baby-new-year]

I love bully shiggy, but i love shiggy angst more, so could you write some bully shiggy angst where reader goes to live somewere else or just...dies or something? I need the bully to suffer of a broken heart hehehehe thank you!

your wish is my command. TW: death, violence, slight mentions of past noncon and past dubcon, angst, drugs

Most, if not all throughout his life, Shigaraki has always gotten what he wanted. Rich parents helped. His absurd talent for computer science helped, and when his parents were being especially annoying and threatening to cut him off-well thank god his crypto is going to the moon.

No, he couldn't say he was happy. But he wasn't sad either. Objectively, he knew he had a good life. Happiness is foreign to him, but thrills aren't. Mindless enjoyment isn't. He smokes skinny Korean cigarettes, snorts cocaine off glass tables, places acid tabs under his tongue, and fucks girls when he's high, sober, coming up, or coming down.

You were happy though. You were the kind of girl to be very grateful to live, the kind of girl who walked through life like the sun was shining on her, the kind of girl he hated and wanted to crush under his thumb.

No, that's a lie. He's never hated you. He could never hate his favorite toy no matter how many times she misbehaves.

So when you fucking died, of course, he didn’t believe it. Not at first. Not fucking possible. Not until he saw your fucking body, all twisted into grotesque angles because you were trying to save a stupid kid who was on the road when he shouldn’t have been. Fuck, out of everyone, at least you deserved a peaceful death.

And it’s so like you to throw yourself into oncoming traffic, trying to save other people. Always other people. The complete and utter opposite of him. He wasn’t even aware he had a heart, the metaphorical one that felt emotions because his real beating heart was a jumbled-up mess of pounding and vessels.

But all that adrenaline is gone now and there’s a hole where his heart is. A you-shaped absence imprinted on his body and mind. He was already so so numb but the flashes of feelings, the memories hurt. He smells your perfume in the scent of wildflowers and it drives him insane.

His drug habit had gotten exponentially worse. Days and nights blurred into frenzied chaos. How could he sleep when your voice on discord wasn’t the last thing he could hear before shutting his eyes? The cocaine has probably burned off the inside of his nose, and acid flashbacks wouldn’t be so bad if the patterns didn’t spell out your name.

How dare you leave him alone? How dare you? You were supposed to die whenever he dies. Your existence was meant to be alongside his.

His last straw is when he finally shows up to school and everyone looks at him with eyes of sympathy. It doesn't click until a reassuring hand is over his shoulder, “It’s okay, Shigaraki. We know you were good friends.”

He can’t stop laughing. Laughing and laughing until his jaw is going to unhinge itself. Everyone looks uncomfortable, perplexed by the sudden onslaught of never-ending laughter. A know-it-all voice chirps in the background, “...normal traumatic response.”

He excuses himself to the bathroom much to the relief of his classmates because they were not used to a manic Shigaraki, the boy who was usually cold and aloof. He grips the porcelain sink, laughing. He wonders why there are water drops falling into the basin. He wonders why he’s crying. And once the first few drops fall, the dam breaks. He’s sobbing.

How brain dead does everyone have to be to think you guys were friends. Yeah, Shigaraki was a great friend to you as he forced you to jerk him off. He was a great friend when he threatened revenge porn if you didn’t break up with your doofus boyfriend. And he definitely was a great friend, when he stumbled into your house high as balls, fully knowing you’d be alone that night and fucked you until you bled on your sheets. Victory tasted like your virginity on his dick that seemed like it would never soften.

Was everyone that blind to what you were going through? How much he hurt you? He wondered what you’d say if you here right now. You’d probably laugh too, wouldn’t you? Laughed until you cried and couldn’t stop crying.

Dabi and Hawks tried. They did. But they weren’t friends who sat around talking about their respective traumas despite being well too aware of how fucked up each other’s home lives were. But Shigaraki’s grief was different. Dabi tried to put himself in his blue-haired friend’s shoes. If Natsuo or Fuyumi died, he probably wouldn’t take it so well either. Still, he couldn’t fathom why Shigaraki would be so sad over some pussy, however tight it may be. Hawks especially could not understand, girls being replaceable him too like model cars—infinitely less valuable of course. The golden-haired boy had no frame of reference, but he did crash his Audi R8 which was his favorite car. Maybe that’s what Shigaraki is feeling, the loss of something very precious. (Maybe Hawks wasn’t too far off. Shigaraki did treat you like a possession.)

He visits your grave often, every day if he can. It’s beautiful, encased in obsidian and marble, gold lettering announcing the tragedy of your short life. He never learned what your favorite flowers were so he returns with a different bouquet each time. Today’s were pink carnations.

Much to his surprise, there was a figure already standing there. Your father, he recognizes. “You come at a time when no one else does so it’s hard to get a hold of you.” That was on purpose of course. He didn’t want to complain to you with an audience.

“I’m sorry I don’t know who you are but the way you come here every day with flowers, spending hours at a time you must have loved my daughter very much.”

His throat closes. He doesn’t know what to say.

Shigaraki cries more when he goes home, an avalanche of memories saturating his brain. Memories of your smile, your sarcastic quips, how he could never shut you up when you were talking about your favorite manga.

There’s a revolver in his desk. He could do it. Shoot his own brains out. Be where you are. His hands are shaking. Is he this much of a coward? You don’t care right, you wanted him to die right? For all the shit he did to you? You told him you had nightmares, that when you closed your eyes, all you could see was him.

But you were a bleeding heart. You’d never wish that upon anyone. Shigaraki looks out the window, wondering that if he could do it all over again, whether he’d be kinder to you.

No, he wouldn’t be.

[errantryraptor]

analog horror (and adjacent) series ratings

local58: has oldest sibling syndrome. it was the “first” so it seems to be the standard by which all other analog horror series are judged but honestly it’s not my favorite. You Are On The Fastest Available Route is legitimately one of the best horror shorts i’ve seen in a while though. great atmosphere, points for originality, though imo the episodes are hit or miss. haven’t got much to say about the story, it’s cool but not really that compelling

rating: moderately spooky but nothing to lose sleep over. 5/8

gemini home entertainment: lowkey the best one out there. it’s the most believable-- i would buy that the videos were actually created on tape, or at least transferred to tape and then re-digitized. (a lot of analog horror wannabes use the same VHS Effect Overlay and digital glitch effects, which are more aesthetically pleasing but don’t feel authentic. the pacing is wonderful as well-- each video gives you just enough information so that you can start to piece together the story without having it handed to you.

rating: didn’t want to turn the lights off after watching this one. however many legs the hungry eye has/10

monument mythos / ALEXKANSAS: i wouldn’t necessarily class these as “horror”, more like “alternate timeline history/scifi”. really neat concept, though text/narration heavy. could benefit more from “show, don’t tell”, even if the videos are formatted as if they’re amateur youtube documentaries. you can read it as a critique of the global effects of capitalism and american civil religion. sadly the comments section does not seem to get the point. the pacing suffers near the end of season 2, though, i feel like it connects the dots too quickly

rating: not scary, i could watch it full screen without a problem. lost my shit at the suez canal episode, crab/10

the walten files: okay. okay. listen. i came into this series pretty skeptically because at this point the horror market is saturated with FNAF clones and wannabe-spinoffs. however. i honestly think this stands on its own as a good horror series. i also can’t explain why i love the visuals as much as i do, but there’s something about the clumsy “just-discovered-the-airbrush-tool” artstyle and the stilted, awkward way the script is written that makes it so charming-- which in turn makes it really effective as a work of horror.

rating: lots of jumpscares, but sadly i am not immune to jumpscares and even without them the atmosphere is enough to make it pretty scary. please can we stop making fnaf clones/10

the mandela catalogue: this one is Okay. i feel like it has potential to be good, but it also has potential to be very bad. there aren’t a lot of episodes yet, so i really don’t have a lot to say about it. the editing is pretty good though, even though i can’t take the scary faces seriously because my brain just goes “WHEN THE IMPOSTER IS SUS”

rating: scary, but the scares are kinda cheap at times. i’m definitely keeping an eye on the series. sus/10

eventide media center: was so unmemorable that i literally forgot it existed immediately after watching, and only remembered it when scrolling through my youtube watch history looking for other series on this list, so make of that what you will. the effects are good, it’s definitely unsettling, but i feel like it just needs more of an identity y’know.

rating: what if they were growing brains in a greenhouse would that be fucked up or what. anyway i’m rod serling/10

anyway these r just my opinions, i’m very picky with my horror. the moral is that you should all go watch gemini home entertainment immediately. and if i missed any, feel free to recommend them to me, i’m running low on my backlog of horror to watch this october :V

[luxwritesfanfic]

Definitely Not Your Color

In true Sherlock fashion, he shows you exactly why green isn’t his color. Or, the one where reader can read auras and Sherlock is going through it at the sight of her new friend. AU!Bucky makes an appearance because I can’t live without him. Enjoy!

Sherlock Holmes/Reader

You were stood off to the side of the crime scene recounting your conversation with the last witness of the night. There had been yet another murder and Lestrade had requested Sherlock’s help for what seemed to be a serial killer in the making. Two murders in less than a week and Sherlock was thrilled and it was easy to tell. An array of yellows and subtle oranges surrounded him, engulfed him, as he explained how vacant Scotland Yard truly could be and how quickly he had figured out the killer’s M.O. He shined like the sun, and you swore you saw tendrils of sunlight shoot off of his fingers as he analyzed every aspect of the scene before him. All confidence, he paraded around the crime scene in a way you knew so well, pointing out things that even after working with him for months that you wouldn’t of picked up on. He was happy to be working again, to be playing, no, winning the game once more. 

You were thankful no one else saw his colors like you did. Because as sure as you were that he was what they meant when they said, “let there be light!”, you were sure that others would gravitate towards him even more until it got to a point that there was so much in between the two of you that you would only be able to see his shine from between the cracks of other people.

Pulling you out of your thoughts of Sherlock and things that you couldn’t control, you turned your head at the sound of someone’s throat clearing.

“He’s seriously brilliant.” An officer who you hadn’t recognized before stood behind you, holding his cap in his hands and drumming his fingers along the rim. He looked past you to where Sherlock and John were, a laugh slipped out from under his breath. “Makes it look so easy.”

Your lips twitched at the statement, a warmth you knew too well for your liking spreading around you. If anyone else could see you, really see you, you’d surely be figured out. Sherlock Holmes was a great man, you were sure of it. He was as intelligent as they came and as handsome as the devil, and sure— sometimes he could be rude, and maybe a little ignorant, and sometimes you really wanted to slap the smirk off of his face when playing Cluedo (Because, Sherlock, it can’t be the victim!) but you wouldn’t change him. 

They told you not to stare at the sun but you couldn’t help it. You needed to see what was really there because you refused to believe that a man who couldn’t feel a thing made the world look that vivid. You were the moth and he was the flame and if that meant dying a painful death just to bask in everything that he was, so be it. Evidently, there were worse ways to die.

Stealing one last glance like you couldn’t help yourself, you shoved your notebook and pen in your purse and made your way back to your conversation.

“He really is. You’re new, right? Lestrade mentioned he had some new guys joining the force. Can’t say you didn’t have an interesting first week.” You wanted to lighten the mood as much as you could because you knew this wasn’t an easy crime to see. You still couldn’t look at the body too long yourself without feeling the black sit heavy in your stomach.

“Don’t worry ma’am, I can handle it.” As if he read your mind, he gave you a warm smile and nodded. “My father, he, uh, he was an officer as well. Started me with the bad stuff early. Said it would give me a little more character and a lot more advantage. There’s not too much that can scare me away, I don’t think.”

You returned his smile. He was a cool blue, and it matched his eyes perfectly. It looked good on him, you decided. “Good. London needs all the help that we can get. Oh- I’m Y/N, by the way! I work with Sherlock and John sometimes. I’m not a genius or a doctor but I can take damn good notes.” And at that you both laughed, as he reassured you that the boys would have nothing to study from if it wasn’t for you. In turn it made you laugh even harder when you realized he hadn’t got the chance to see Sherlock visit his Mind Palace yet, where everything you could offer him he already had.

“It’s nice to meet you. I’m James, but I hardly ever use my government if I don’t have to. Please, call me Bucky.” He reached his hand out to you and shook yours, that boyish smile never leaving his lips. From behind you, you could tell subconsciously that it had gotten significantly darker. Like a light had went out. You didn’t think enough of it to turn around and investigate it.

---

You found it was easy to talk to Bucky and you had more things in common than you could have expected. He was polite and seemed to have seriously believed that you were an integral part of the team that he needed to get to know. You appreciated his kindness and how friendly he was, and it seemed like more than anything he was grateful you were giving him a chance to belong. You couldn’t figure out why.

It just so happens that from the angle you were looking, you saw Sherlock’s shoes before you saw his face. It looked like moss had grown through the concrete and saturated him so thoroughly that you thought he wouldn’t soon be able to move. It made you uneasy how sickly the green made him look. You had never seen this color on him before.

“If I knew all you were going to do was stand around and disregard everything I say, I would have brought Molly instead. She listens. Intently.” Sherlock spat and cut his eyes at you before looking to Bucky and giving him a once over before digging in. 

“Generally, they say to try again and again if you fail. I would think that wouldn’t apply to something like the police academy. Third, no... fourth times the charm as they say?” The green fog spilled out of Sherlock’s mouth and continued to cover him, wrapping so tightly around his body that you thought he might have trouble breathing. Even though you were standing a few good feet away from him, you could feel how heavy the fog had made you, and you worried for Sherlock as it encompassed him. You almost made to reach for him because you were afraid you’d lose him under all the smoke.  

“You’re a favored drop out who still lives with his mother, no, father. That’s where the drinking problem comes from I assume? One failed relationship too many and now suddenly your calling is keeping the streets clean of the people you used to run them with. Now, I know Lestrade has horrible taste when it comes to putting together a team but tell me, how did he get so lucky as to stumble across you? It can’t be the... no wait, it is because of-“

“Sherlock!” You say exasperatedly, looking at him like he’s he’s got three heads when you can’t even see the one he’s got as it is. He is solid and dark and lost in this feeling that you can’t name and he’s not him. Well, he is him, but weighed down so much by whatever he’s trying to carry through that you can’t imagine he’s acting this hateful for no reason. You refuse to believe it.

Bucky sighed and somehow still managed to twitch his lips upwards, a ghost of the grin he wore before. “Well, Mr. Holmes, you are what they say you are. Brilliant for sure. Hell, you haven’t even spoken a word to me prior and you know my life.” You were shocked to see Bucky’s reaction, most people would of blacked out on Sherlock for an outburst like that and this one definitely warranted it. “You’re right, about all of those things. I guess I’m just trying to play the best game I can with the hand I was dealt. I’m not one for feeling sorry for myself.” He straightened up and fastened his cap back on as he caught eyes with Lestrade and returned a knowing nod. 

Turning to you, Bucky grinned as if it never phased him, like he had grown used to being talked down on. The blue never left him and that made you happy. You didn’t want him to feel bad.

“Goodnight, Y/N. I look forward to speaking with you again. Mr. Holmes.” With that, he bid you both a good night and headed towards his team.

“Sherlock,” you murmured when you turned back to face him. The fog was so dark that you couldn’t make out his features anymore. You felt the fear creeping up your neck while you were trying to figure out what was so wrong with him. “What’s wrong with you? I figured you’d be happy that you practically solved the case...?” 

You saw it, he had been happy. And then you remembered his earlier comment about Molly. Maybe he wished she was here instead to celebrate his win with him.

“Listen... if this is about Molly, you know you can always ask her to tag along instead. I don’t want you to feel... obligated to invite me. She’s probably more useful in a situation like this anyway.” 

You felt yourself internally deflate as you spoke, but you were able to make out Sherlock’s face once more under the city lights. The green began to thin out. He must’ve been relieved at your confession, you thought.

Sherlock visibly tensed for a second before quickly masking it under an air of nonchalance.

“I could care less about Molly or what she’s good for. All I care about is the work and that it gets done. You know that.”

You watched as time passed and you could start seeing more of him. You realized you’d been holding your breath for some time waiting for the green to dissipate and set your detective free. Sherlock was back with you, and whatever feeling tried to take him away from you was lost now. That’s all that mattered.

And, of course, because there were still pressing matters to finish attending to, your moment with Sherlock didn’t last long. You swore something had changed within him. Something you couldn’t name just yet.

You weren’t totally quite convinced that whatever had happened between you two back there wasn’t about Molly, or some strange feeling that Sherlock was having that he’d surely never talk about. Even still you continued to follow after him wherever he asked you to go, as he still always asked you to go. 

And if he happened to stand a little closer to you the next time you worked alongside Scotland Yard, you were none the wiser.

[ssweetleaf]

🐝

• First off I wanna say congratulations on 1k, you deserve it !! ♡

• Also I'm kinda new to tumblr, so I apologize if I'm doing this wrong 😃

• Lasty, I was wondering if you could do a nsfw Fred Weasley headcannon where the reader has a praise kink and there's thigh riding, and just a lot of dirty talk (this feels so bad to type pls-😭✋)

thank you so much, dove, your support means the world! welcome, bby and you’re doing absolutely wonderful! 💗

I hope this is okay! I’ve never done a headcanon before. :)

as the more outgoing twin, I imagine freddie being into a little bit of public sex.

the thought of someone walking in and seeing the two of you - being so vulnerable and exposed.

it had him impossibly hard.

so, with that being said, i believe that common room shenanigans would not be a rare occurrence between you two.

let’s continue.

both of you would be sat in the common room, enjoying your evening by the fire - deciding you’d cut your dinner short and spend it with each other.

alone.

the mere thought of having you alone with him had his slacks tightening. being so caught up in assignments and homework, there was never enough time to spend with each other.

he was touch-starved and horny and so eager to have you straddle his thighs.

so, teasingly, he’d sponge his lips against the sensitive skin of your neck. the tip of his tongue swiping greedily once he’d had his first taste.

you’d feel his bulge pressing against your backside, having to swallow a gasp at the rutting of his hips; a silent plea.

“anyone could walk in on us, freddie.”

by now, he’d have you straddling his thighs, knees pushing into the couch cushions and you’d attempt to steady yourself - palms clutching at his shoulders and thumbing the fabric of his jumper.

“i know. isn’t it exciting?”

no matter how cocky he was, he found it incredibly invigorating.

his fingertips would slip underneath the waistband of your cotton panties, tugging and pulling at the material so teasingly.

his praise starting to drip from his tongue like sticky honey. mumbling his filthy words of worship into searing skin.

“such a good girl.”

“so pretty and all for me.”

“just the thought of what’s underneath this skirt has me leaking, darling.”

in moments he’d have you wrapped tightly around his pinky finger. and it’s safe to say your panties would be long gone.

anyways. on to fred weasley’s thighs, because we all know he thicc.

he’d have you straddle his left thigh, leaning back against the cushions and grabbing at your hips - setting a rhythm that would be infuriatingly slow.

the rough material of his trousers grazing your bare clit, but the hold he’d have on you would be restricting. not being able to thrust your hips, nor press yourself hard against his taut skin.

and he’d do it all on purpose.

“faster, freddie. harder!”

it’d be so impossibly hard to focus on listening out for fellow peers - just in case they decided to come back early when your clit was pulsing and so engorged between your sticky thighs.

“what’s the magic word, sweetheart?”

i am certain that he wouldn’t obey to your requests unless you uttered that magic word. keeping you lifted from his tensing thigh with grabbing hands and whitened knuckles.

“gotta give it to me, dove, or i’m afraid you won’t be coming tonight.”

Merlin, he’d be infuriating.

so, with a huff, you’d bat your eyelids, a pretty pout drawing your lips downwards.

“pretty please?”

soon, fred would have you pressed firmly against his thick thigh, tensing and bouncing it upwards, his palms guiding your desperate movement.

this kinda links in to a size kink. he would be lifting you and tugging at your hips like you weighed nothing. and he’d still be so tall! having to look up at him, even when sitting upon his thigh and you cannot change my mind.

the material scratchy and rough, but in the best way. Your folds wet and puffy, sliding and parting with every thrust forwards.

“such a good girl for me.”

“merlin, dove, look how wet you’ve gotten. completely soaked my uniform.”

Fred would have a cocky smile upon his lips and his pupils blown. large palms tugging at her shirt and untucking it from her skirt, blunt fingernails biting into the hot flesh he found.

you’re eyes would be rolling back, so engrossed in bouncing on his thighs, your own pressing against his bulge - rubbing him so delectably.

in merely minutes, he’d have you on the edge, so close to cumming and crying out, whines falling from your parted mouth.

but he just had to take his hands away, let the rutting of his thigh falter.

the fucking tease.

You’d be whining, and clutching at the collar of his school shirt. and you’d follow his gaze, his eyes pointing at the clock above the mantle.

“better hurry up if you wanna cum, sweetheart.”

“you don’t want anybody walking in and seeing you like this, do you.”

His smirk would be high on his face, his hands - instead of on her hips - would be resting behind his head.

basically, he wanted you to get yourself off without any help. just knowing you’d much rather him take care of you and have his hands determine the rocking of your hips.

so, you’d start rocking your hips again, just like you had at the beginning, but the orgasm that bubbled inside the pit of your stomach was falling further and further away.

“freddie, please!”

“what is it, pretty girl?”

his nonchalance would have you seething, the furrow between your brows a clear indicator.

“can’t get off on your own, can you? only I can make you cum, isn’t that right?”

he’d have you begging and nodding, you’d be pulling at his wrists and placing them back where they belonged.

he’d definitely leave it to the last minute so you could cum, just basking in the risk of it all.

“come on, angel. you cum now, or you don’t cum at all.”

on the peak of your orgasm, pussy clenching around nothing and your clit throbbing, your arousal saturating the fabric upon fred’s leg.

the sound of faint footsteps would creep up on both of you. so sure there were people outside of the common room, only a single painting and a set of stairs was what shielded you both.

and I am sure that fred would push you off as soon as you came, ruining your orgasm completely.

and as the shocks coursed through your body, the painting would swing open and people would be piling into the stuffy common room.

fred would flip your pleated skirt down before anyone could get a glimpse of what was his, and you’d be sure people would be able to see the arousal dripping down your thighs and glistening against your hot skin.

your panties would be stuffed deep inside of fred’s pocket. 

“good girl. I’ll make it up to you later.”