#it's just! so much easier so much more comfortable!!!

[pickledkiwiberry]

I can't find the exact one but one of my favorite childhood CD holders looked something like the above. It was a plastic transparent-but-not-see-through drawer that you opened by pushing into the front to pop it open, and then the front part would pop forwards a little to make it easier to access.

The inside was a bunch of soft sleeves attached to the drawer that you could sort your CDs into. I remember not having very much room and pushing CDs together and very carefully sliding them in to avoid scratching them because I was a child and couldn't just go out and buy new CD holders.

That, combined with spindles like this:

And books like in the original post were everywhere in my home.

And let me tell you: I preferred the floppy disks so much. I had a bunch of 3½" floppy disks (the kind where they're hard plastic and only the internal diskette is still floppy, vs the older kinds where the whole thing was floppy) and they were so nice because they were much easier to store safely, could be rewritten multiple times, and just felt really great to use (the ker-klunk when sliding them in, the ker-pop when ejecting them).

Not nearly as much storage space but files were so small back then. CDs were more for storing larger archival data (backups) and software (installers, games), and floppies were how I moved files around between computers. How I shared them.

I never used zip drives or any of that family. I didn't need that much storage space.

But man I really would love to go to an era where the evolution of the ZIP drive, the Clik drive, was the norm.

Mainly for aesthetic reasons. I think USB drives are fine, but they don't have the satisfying clicks and ejects.

More than anything, though, I wish that people still relied on physical media the way they used to. Now everything's being sent around in cloud storage servers, and backed up to cloud storage servers, and lost in cloud storage server sync failures...

Physical media was so much more under your own control. You didn't have to worry about people tracking what you were doing (even if you think you're not breaking any laws, trust me when I say you'll end up with a record if anybody truly audited your life against the books; so many things that seem intuitively fine are either breach of contract from an EULA you didn't read well enough or surprisingly criminal). You didn't have to worry about the cloud service going offline. Or losing internet.

Electricity was out? As long as you had a generator, those files were still accessible. (I didn't have a generator... couldn't install one in the condos I grew up in, which sucked considering the amount of power outages.)

Internet is so much less reliable by comparison. Cloud providers even less so.

Sure, you had to keep your physical media in the right conditions. The right temperature, humidity, etc. But in my opinion, that's much easier than making sure that your account is secure at all times.

IDK. This sort of thing is why I'm a big fan of Cassette Futurism era of Cyberpunk. The modern Internet-focused Cyberpunk narratives are great for writing dystopian fiction, but the old "haha I stored your soul on a mini CD" era has so much aesthetic appeal and comfort to me.

[a-s-ter]

can do headcannons for Myung-gi? Thank you 😭😭

THE KIND OF GUY

(squid game edition boys) sfw

Myung-gi / Player 333

—HE'S THE KIND OF GUY who found himself in fights more often than he’d like to admit. His past was a tangled mess of mistakes and choices that led him down this path. Most times, when he was beaten down, no one cared enough to stop. They’d walk by, eyes averted, pretending not to see him lying there, bruised and exhausted. The pain was familiar, but it was something he had learned to endure alone. So when he found himself on the ground once again, bloodied and sore, he didn’t expect anything to change. He didn’t expect someone to stop and help.

But then, through the blur of his vision, he saw you. Standing there, glowing like something out of a dream, your eyes full of concern. “Are you alright?” you asked, your voice soft, but it was filled with genuine concern. He blinked, shaking his head as if to clear the daze.

“Yeah…” he muttered, wincing slightly as he grabbed your hand and tried to stand. “It didn’t hurt that much.” He forced a weak smile, brushing the dust off his clothes, but his body was screaming from the blows he’d taken. You didn’t look convinced, your eyes scanning him with a frown. “You have bruises everywhere,” you said softly, taking in the sight of his battered form. “You need help, can i treat you?"

He wanted to refuse. He wanted to push you away and tell you it wasn’t worth it, that he was just someone who always ended up in situations like this. But your steady gaze stopped him. He nodded, letting you lead him away from the scene, knowing this would probably be the first time someone would care enough to make sure he wasn’t left to bleed out in a corner.He didn’t expect much—just a quick fix for the bruises. But as you carefully cleaned his cuts and bruises, your touch gentle and your voice soft, something inside him shifted.

The way you didn’t rush, the way you took your time, treating him with more care than anyone ever had, started to break down the walls he’d built around himself. His body still ached, but there was a warmth in his chest, a quiet comfort he hadn’t felt in years. He wasn’t falling in love with you right away. But in that moment, as you tended to his wounds and your eyes met his, something began to grow, slowly and quietly—an unfamiliar feeling, one that made him want to stay just a little longer.

—He’s the type of guy who keeps a distance from everyone, always a little cold, a little aloof, because it’s easier that way. He’s learned to build walls around himself, to guard his emotions, keeping people at arm’s length so he won’t get hurt. It’s become second nature—familiar and safe. But when it comes to you, everything shifts. You become the exception to the rules, the one who manages to break through the armor he’s so carefully crafted.

In your presence, the ice that’s kept him safe for so long begins to melt. The walls that once seemed impenetrable start to crumble, piece by piece, as he finds himself opening up in ways he never thought possible. It’s a vulnerability he’s not used to, one that both terrifies and comforts him in equal measure. For the first time, he doesn’t have to pretend. With you, he can just be. And it’s that warmth, that quiet shift in his soul, that makes him realize—maybe letting you in wasn’t as frightening as he once thought.

—He's type of guy who’d get nervous around you, never having interacted with a girl properly before. This whole thing was new to him. He would rehearse a simple greeting in front of the mirror, repeatedly stumbling over his words.

"Hello, nice to meet you again," he'd say, practicing until it felt right.

But the moment he saw you, standing there, his mind went blank. Flustered, he blurted out, "Meet hello again."

His face flushed red with embarrassment, and without a word, he quickly walked off, leaving you laughing softly at his awkward charm.

—Hes the kind of guy who would drop to his knees with tear-streaked cheeks, begging for another chance. The kind of guy who would plead, his voice trembling with desperation, asking you to take him back.

— He’s the kind of guy who melts under your touch, leaning into the soft strokes of your fingers as they weave through his hair. With you perched on his lap, his arms wrapped securely around your waist, he looks up at you as if you’re the only thing that matters in the world. His eyes, brimming with warmth, trace every feature of your face, and his smile—soft, tender, overflowing with affection—speaks the words his heart can’t contain. To him, this moment is everything: your closeness, your comfort, the quiet intimacy of being held by the one he loves.

—He’s the kind of guy who would drop everything at a moment’s notice just to make you happy. If you told him you wanted your favorite food, he wouldn’t just order it—he’d make sure it came from the best place, double-checking the details so it’s exactly how you like it. If you said you wanted something more, he’d move mountains to find it, his every action steeped in quiet devotion.

—He’s the kind of guy who would hold your bag without hesitation, tie your shoelaces if they came undone, and memorize all the little things that make you smile. If you said you were cold, he’d wrap his jacket around you without a second thought, even if he ended up freezing. If you called him in the middle of the night, needing someone to talk to, he’d show up at your door, no matter how far or inconvenient it was. If you mentioned something you like, he’d make a mental note and surprise you with it later, just to see the joy in your eyes. He’d stay up late if you needed him, wake up early to make your mornings easier, and cancel his own plans just to be there when you need him most.

For him, your happiness is worth everything. He doesn’t just listen to your words—he treasures them, acting on them like they’re his life’s purpose, because loving you isn’t a chore; it’s his greatest joy.

—He’s the kind of guy who pays attention to the tiniest details about you. Like the songs you hum when you’re happy, the exact shade of your favorite color. He remembers your birthday without needing a reminder, but he also knows the little anniversaries you don’t expect him to, like the day you first met or the first time you smiled at him in that special way.

He’d go out of his way to buy you things that match your favorite color—not just big gifts but the little ones, like a keychain he spotted at the store or a pen because he remembered you needed one. He’d surprise you with your favorite snacks on bad days and bring you flowers that match the hues you love, just to see your face light up.

—He’s the kind of guy who listens intently when you talk, even if it’s about something small, and he brings it up later to let you know he was paying attention. He’d notice when you’re feeling off, even if you try to hide it, and he’d do whatever it takes to make you feel better—whether it’s running to get your comfort food, wrapping you in a blanket, or just holding you until the world feels a little less overwhelming.

To him, it’s the small things that matter most because those details are what make you you, and he wants to love every single one of them.

—He's the kind of guy who stumbles over his words when you get too close, as if your presence is too much for him to handle. You don't realize how his heart races, a frantic rhythm he can't control, every beat echoing the weight of your nearness. He tries to pull away, but it's impossible—you're the only thing that makes him feel alive.

—He's kind of guy who would stay away from you for months, not because he wanted to, but because he believed it was for your safety. He worried endlessly that if anyone saw you with him, they’d make you a target—hurt you just to get to him. The thought of putting you in danger was unbearable, so he chose the distance, even if it tore him apart inside.

—Myung gi is the kind of guy who’d make you believe he has pure intentions, but the truth is far darker. He wants you all to himself—every moment of every day, your laughter, your smile, your touch. It's all his in his mind. The thought of anyone else having even a fraction of you fills him with jealousy, and he’ll do anything to keep it that way. You’re his everything, and in his eyes, no one else deserves a piece of you.

—He’s the kind if guy who secretly craves being treated like a precious little one, wanting to be praised for being good, his heart swelling at every word of affection you give him. When you look at him with that soft, loving gaze, calling him "baby" and showering him with overly sweet pet names, something inside him melts. It's not just the words, it's the way you care for him—like he's fragile, like he’s yours to protect. He acts tough on the outside, but deep down, he’s soft for you. Your attention, your affection—it’s everything to him, and he’s more than willing to be the one who melts under your love. He’d give anything to hear you speak to him like that forever.

(he's so IWBWIWHWIWJ😭😭☹️👊🏻)

[fawnnbmbi]

How to romanticize a low restriction diet・º•❦

Since I’ll be trying the “one apple a day” diet for the next month I’d figured I share some tips that personally keep me motivated during my diet journey 🪽

✶Nutrition

I know this one’s basic but to keep your body functioning and healthy you have to at least drink vegetable broth and electrolytes as well as take your vitamins daily. Please don’t underestimate the importance of nurturing your body otherwise functioning properly throughout the day will just become even harder

✶Find comfort drinks

If there is anything that keeps me going during low restrictions it’s my little fun drinks. Find some low cal receipts for Matcha , Hot chocolate , Tea’s etc. stack up on Diet Coke , maybe the vanilla and cherry ones’s all that good stuff. Just because you’re starving it doesn’t mean you can’t indulge in flavor

✶Remember it won’t go on forever

It’s often hard for us to see ahead of the present moment, time can go so slowly and you might feel like that hunger you feel will last a lifetime. You need to remind yourself over and over again that you’ll only feel this way for a few months, you’ll be fine again.

✶Reward yourself

Find something to reward yourself with once you hit your goal. A lot of people reward themselves by going shopping or others by getting wellness treatments but find something you can work towards. It makes it so much easier to keep motivation

✶Interests

Find something to completely lose yourself in. I just bought 7 new books, that way I’ll have something productive to spend time on. Other options could also be drawing or doing anything creative/calming that takes lots of time off your day and keeps your mind from constantly fixating on food

✶Keep yourself busy

Similar to my previous point make sure to do something other than scrolling through your phone. What it is that you like to do doesn’t matter , it doesn’t have to be super meaningful or thought out. But fill your day and not your stomach

✶Self care

Make sure to pamper yourself, you deserve to be taken care of. Do your skincare routine, meditate, paint your nails, take a bath, clean your room or decorate it, do your makeup. Do whatever makes you feel loved and comfortable, just because you want to lose weight doesn’t mean you don’t deserve to feel loved

✶Visualize

Picture yourself as your ugw , imagine how it would feel to be that thin , try to manifest it into reality, and remember that euphoric feeling you have while imaging yourself as that version. It’s possible to make it become a reality

✶Updates

Try to take pictures of yourself weekly to keep up with your progress. If you are uncomfortable with that maybe try and write down what physical changes you can see each week. We often focus on the number on the scale but actually seeing how your body changes can help you acknowledge your progress

✶Be gentle

You don’t deserve to suffer , you don’t have to torture yourself. Yes, you deserve to be skinny , you deserve to be that version you desire so deeply. There is no point in being mean to yourself. Discipline doesn’t mean to beat yourself up over every little mistake. It means to try and do better next time. Being terrible to yourself won’t speed up the process, it will only make it more painful

That's all for now Angels! If you want me to do more stuff like this let me know and I wish everyone good luck!!! I believe in you Doll 🩷

[mythicmanuscripts]

I’m thinking about the sub!Aegon that thrives on skin contact and nuzzles into the reader’s chest. Going along with his mommy kink, do you think this would also have him wanting to suck on reader’s breasts as a way to comfort himself when he’s had a bad day?

I know you don’t write pregnancy stuff and I hope I’m not violating your limits on what you don’t write for! I don’t want to make you uncomfortable

Aw I love this! Also thank you for taking note of the fact that I don't write pregnancy related content. I'm perfectly happy to write this type of thing, I think it would stray into an area where I'd be uncomfortable if it involved lactation. This is perfect though!

This answer is mostly just soft and sweet but since there's literal titty sucking and implied sexual conduct I'll hide it behind a cute. Enjoy!

Right so firstly, I have said this before and I will undoubtedly say this again but, Aegon has an oral fixation. An absolutely massive oral fixation. He's always wanting something in his mouth, always!! He'll often chew on his shirt cuff or his necklace or quill. The only time he'll drink water without a single complaint is when there's a straw in the cup and then he'll very happily sip it slowly and even once it's finished he'll just keep the straw in his mouth, sucking a little and chewing on it.

He tries to hide this at first from you, because it's definitely something others have noticed and teased him for. His mother has told him multiple times that he needs to grow out of it but he can't help it!!! He often doesn't even realise he's doing it, and if he tries to stop then he'll get all antsy and wriggly, bouncing his leg or tapping his knee or twirling his hair, anything to try and get the same sort of fidgeting calmness but nothing else is as good.

But despite how hard it is to stop, he really really tries to once he meets and bonds with you. He's never had someone he wanted so badly to please before and he'd actually just start sobbing if he did something that made you think he was embarrassing.

Needless to say, this attempt at keeping this from you fails almost immediately. He already struggles to control the urges if he's trying his hardest to concentrate on not doing it, so to try and control when he's with you and you start to look after him and his little mind turns off? Absolutely no chance.

How is he supposed to keep any train of thought for longer than two seconds when you're holding his hand and calling him pretty? That battle was lost before it even began.

But he does try. In the beginning it was easier because he didnt know you as well so he wasnt as comfortable. He was able to keep himself more or less contained because he didnt see too much of you and had even less time alone with you. That arrangement can't last forever of course, and before long you two get closer and closer and then the real struggles starts. His main strategy to try and save himself is just not allowing himself anywhere anything that he could chew on. Maybe what breaks it is when he's tired?

A few months into the relationship he finds himself unable to fall asleep. Aegon always struggles to sleep if he thinks he's done something wrong. If someone yells at him or calls him a failure or tells him he didnt do something right then he'll often be awake the whole evening, unable to calm down or get over it.

Except now he's never alone in his bed anymore, and so he can't just curl up in a little ball and chew on the cuff of his sleep shirt. Well, that's what he tells himself. He tells himself that he won't do it with you there, but then you see how unsettled he seems and you let him curl up against your chest and you kiss his head and well.... the cuff is in his mouth before he even realises.

You spot it of course, but you don't say anything because seemed to have finally calmed down. You ask him about it the next morning and he blushes so red he looks sunburnt, and then immediately starts promising he'll try his best not to do it anymore. It breaks your heart to see how guilty and ashamed he seems over something that clearly brought him some level of comfort. You promise you won't judge him or it and say you don't mind at all. Even though you say this, he still tries to stop, though all future attempts are absolutely useless.

The first time he uses any part of your body for it is after you've dommed him and cleaned him up. You get him into bed, wrapping as many blankets around him as possible and then you cup his cheek, gently tilting his head upwards so he can see you when you say you're just running to the kitchens to get him a snack and promise you'll be back in less than 10 minutes.

Only, Aegon doesn't even hear the end of the sentence because you're gently stroking his cheek with your thumb and he's so sleepy and happy and utterly incapable of any thoughts at all, nevermind any rational thoughts. So he turns his head slightly and takes your thumb into his mouth, gently sucking on it. You're stunned, not only from the action but also how happy he seems? He was sitting up on the bed but now he's basically leaning over, trusting you to hold most of his weight. When you stroke his hair with your other hand he hums around your thumb and clumsily tries to wrap his arms around your waist to pull you closer.

Needless to say, you never end up leaving to get the snacks because you get pulled into bed and have a lap full of happy, clingy, fucked out Aegon for the rest of the night. It gets more and more common from there, and you even start to notice the signs in his behaviour that means he'll be asking for that later.

I think using your breasts for this would first come about after sex one night. Sometimes the only way to settle Aegon is so push him as close as possible to limit, to wring out every orgasm you again until the poor thing can barley even speak (it basically resets him). After things like that you always stay in bed for a while. You don't get out of bed to clean up and fetch things and do all those other aftercare chores until much later because aegon needs immediate cuddles or else he'll spiral. You've just taken him apart completely so you can't just leave him like that.

That's how you end up laying in bed naked with a very tired Aegon who has been reduced to whines and huffs. You pull him against your chest and then he actually starts paying at your chest? You're so confused and you pull away just enough to look at him. Of course this is absolutely no help because he just whines and continues what he's doing.

You eventually realise what he wants and then you lay down on your back and pull him closer, essentially just scooping him up and letting him curl around you. He instantly goes for your breast, taking your nipple in to his mouth. You worry he might be too harsh but actually he's so so soft? He barely even sucks, mostly just keeps it in his mouth and nuzzlings into you. He falls asleep within 10 minutes.

From there he does it often, first only as aftercare and then after that whenever he needs it.

In conclusion, that little fucker is lucky he's cute.

[cheetabites]

☆彡 nasty ˳༄꠶

character: park gyeong-seok (player 246)

˳༄꠶ summary: five sfw and nsfw general headcannons for player 246

sfw headcannons

★ as he is a visual artist, if he’d ever found himself captivated with you he’d try to capture your beauty on paper; simultaneously recognizing your attractive external features while internalizing both your positive characteristics and flaws

★ his wife died from a similar cancer, so hearing that his daughter was diagnosed with blood cancer almost teetered him into depression - but he built himself up to support her

★ he not only draws portraits, but views of nature that he observes when he takes his daughter out on picnics or to the beach - outings like this caused his daughter to have a fondness for nature documentaries

★ he’s a very charismatic person but after his wife died he became a bit more withdrawn; he hasn’t dated in all the years since her passing, and it’s a bit harder for him to approach possible romantic interests

★ meeting you in the games made his romantic perusal reignite, as the looming threat of death followed your steps within the facility. he definitely admired you from afar after saved him in red light green light, and tried to remain as close to you as possible whenever the opportunity arose; he’s a bit timid though, preferring for you to take charge so you’re comfortable within the complicated relationship you both have with each other (he doesn’t want to overstep)

nsfw headcannons

★ he’s a switch; he likes domming, but with the pressure of his daughter’s health condition - and the racking medical bills - he’s been leaning towards subbing more. there’s just too much anxiety and stress that he’d been dealing with and it’s easier to give up control to his partner

★ he’s more into praise and soft touches rather than impact play and degradation; again, because he’s already been struggling and he doesn’t need someone saying mean things. although when the situation is right, he will go for a bit of condescending talk in bed - especially when he’s eating you out

★ he’s a really intimate person so the position you guys have sex in will be ones where he can see your face; if he’s on top he likes to brush away the hair that sticks to your face and praise you

★ he has a breeding kink but it’s been a bit more under control ever since his daughter was diagnosed. he 100% would love to have another child but wants to wait until na-yeon gets better and their financial situation improves; so he either ‘breeds’ you with a condom on or when you’re on some type of birth control

★ he doesn’t hide his sounds of pleasure when you’re engaging in the activity, so you’d hear him grunt and groan. and he definitely doesn’t like it when you try to hide yours, even if you’re loud enough to wake up the people around you

the end! i hope you enjoyed!

[literarystarfish]

When Caretaker just kind of incorporates Whumpee into their life, and doesn’t treat them any different than they do with any of their other friends even though they know what they’ve gone through.

They don’t baby them. They don’t tiptoe around them. They just treat them like a person. Like any random person. Like any of their friends.

(Unless, of course, its something specific to accommodate an unavoidable trauma, but Caretaker has never made a big deal about “such little changes to make you feel more comfortable. If you don’t want me to touch you or crowd you, thats no big deal! I make sure I have vegetarian snacks when Other-Friend comes over. It’s basically the same thing!”)

Whumpee appreciates this more than they could ever express to Caretaker. And their nonchalance about it all just makes it so much easier. After years of not feeling like a real person, being treated like one just feels so…. normal. Nice. … Better than nice. Incredible.

[miniaturesuitgladiator]

Batfam x Neglected Mortal

Kombat reader

Lucid Dreams llll ll

Notes: This is part seven of lucid dreams.

Warnings: child neglect ,child abuse. Mention of killing and blood.

___________________________________________

Sibling are supposed to be Close. Their supposed to know eachother. To share some kind of bond. If not through emotion. Then through blood.

You know that. And yet looking into the teary eyes of your brother you feel useless.

Because you know nothing....you should mean nothing to him. Especially because of how you've always treated him.

And yet his teary eyes search yours for comfort. And you want to give him that. To comfort him. To show him you care....but you don't know how?

If jason was in his place with tears in his eyes. Everything would be easier. You'd hug him. Tell him everything is going to be alright. You'd tell him that you'd revenge his mother....

But Kion is not Jason. You don't know Kion like you know Jason. You don't know the right words to comfort him. But you should.

Your his sister his blood. And yet looking into his eyes. You realize you don't even know his favorite color....

Hesitatently you make a step forward and embrace him in a hug...it's different then any hug you've ever had.

It feels right. Like your supposed to hug him. He's quick to react just like he is when he fights...

His smaller arms wrap around you tightly as if scared that to pull away. You rest your head against the top of his. And you can almost feel how tight his chest is. Because he's trying not cry more.

He's trying not to look weak.

He shouldn't be holding back his tears. Atleast not while with you. Because he's supposed to be your brother. And your support to comfort him. But don't know how to explain what your thinking into words without it breaking the comforting silence.

But before long he's breaking the silence. And your heart clenched when you hear his voice break. Because nomatter how much you try to pretend you don't care. You do.

"Please come back......please choose me."

His words are desperately and his hold on you tightens. As if his grip will convince you. You understood what he means when he asks you to chose him. He's asking you to chose him over Jason.

But you can't.....can you?

Your heart hurts and you want to speak but you feel like you can't trust your voice. So you nod.

It's a dumb mistake. Why the hell would nod?nod? The he'll would you agree?

You don't know but you just did. And he sighs and you can tell his chest isn't as tight anymore.

He looks up at you. And his eyes are filled with pain. But also love?

Your emotions confuse you. Why would you agree to go with him? Jason needs you.

But does he? He has a loving family. Something that Kion doesn't. Kion needs you more right?

You sigh you should chose Jason. He's always been there. But then there's Kion. And you've never even given Kion a chance....

And Kion is blood...and he loves like a brother should but so does Jason....

Your head begins hurting and you don't want to think about it anymore. But you don't think about your upcoming headache for long before you see a car far in the distance with their brights on.

Kion hesitatently pulls away from you and begins speaking.

"I'll be waiting for you at the big tower. At the square until midnight....don't keep me waiting sister........please?"

And his words are desperately as he steps back into the shadows. He knows you don't really want to go with him. He knows you love Jason.

He just hopes you love him more.....

He's gone before you can say anything. And the car that was once into the distance is now much closer. You already know who it is.

And you really don't want to get in but there already infront of you.

"Get in." They say and there voice isn't as rude as it normally is. No, now it's pleading.

You reluctantly get in because your tired and your head hurts.

Getting into the expensive black car. You buckle up and don't spare them a glance. You don't want to talk to them. And you hope they don't talk to you.

But sadly you hoping doesn't stop them from speaking up.

"Where were you planning on going?"

Bruce asks and when you look at him his blue eyes aren't as cold as they usually are. No, now they hold....warmth?

"Anywhere away from my mother and you."

You say and you watch as your words hit him. And he tries to remain stoic but you can tell your words hurt him.

Good. You want him to feel what you've felt for years on end.

Your not angry anymore ,no. You feel nothing for him or your mother anymore. You won't waste your time or emotional on them anymore.

Not when you have much bigger problems.

You can Bruce feels bad. He probably wants to redeem himself. To be a father to you. And that thought almost makes you smile. How pathetic of them to want to change now.

It's too late. And you'll show them soon.

"I'm sorry....for everything."

Bruce words ring throughout the expensive car and the make a shiver roll down your spine.

How long have you prayed to hear those words?

How long have you felt you needed those words?

Oh! but it's too late now.....

"Being sorry doesn't change anything."

Your voice is so sharp. You've never talked to him like that. You've always bowed your head. Always gave in. Always been weak.

Your words hurt him no doubt and he doesn't know what to say. And you want to laugh but that'll ruin your moment.

For once the incredible batman has nothing smart to say? Perfect.

"Fear is a powerful thing....it can make people do cruel things....like hurt a child. Ruin a child.... Neglect a child." You say and he's stunned.

His grip on the steering wheel tightens. He didn't know that you knew he was afraid of you. And maybe if he'd pay more attention to you. He would have seen how good you can read people.

Even him.

"Your right....and I'm sorry I have no excuse for my actions."

He wants to say something else. Sometimes more powerful then just sorry. But he can't he doesn't know how. He doesn't know how to be your father.

And when he glances at you he can see you don't want him to be your father.

Atleast not anymore.

How long have you looked at him with such hate? How long has it been since you stopped looking at him with respect? He doesn't know.

For once he does fucking know.

You sigh you want this conversion to end. But you don't want to bow your head like a submission pet.

So you speak again.

"You always feared the wrong thing. You always thought I'd hurt someone hurt you or someone in the family.....and for a long time I was scared of myself too...but soon enough I realized that I wasn't a monster. That's just what you pictured me as."

now your words hit stronger then any punch Bruce has ever received.

No longer mister smarter pants huh? You want to say.

But you keep your mouth shut. Not wanting to ruin the sting of your words. He stays silent the whole ride home to the manor.

Finally arriving at the manor you quickly exit the car and make your way into the manor. You see everyone in the living room and they all looked relieved that your back.

For the first time ever you see them look happy to see you. You want to roll your eyes but your grandfather walks up to you with such a loving look that you don't want to seem like a brat.

Atleast not infront of him.

"Why didn't you come to me?"

His voice is quiet and you can tell he's been worried. And that makes you feel terrible. You can tell he knows what happened. He always does.

You've always came to him first. Always. So why not now?

"I just needed some time alone."

Your honest. you have no reason to lie. You could've also said that the first place they would've looked for you is with him. But he probably already knows that.

He nods and he knows he shouldn't push you farther. You can clearly see he wants to say something.

But he holds his tongue figuring its better to ask when your both alone.

You catch a glimps of jason sitting on the couch. He's bandaged up and he's looking at you clearly worried. You wonder if they've told him what happened.

What your mother did to you. Or if they just told him that you ran away.

Either way he's looking at you with the same kindness and adoration he always has. And your heart clenches.

He shouldn't be here worried about you. He should be in bed. Resting. Not worried about you at 2am.

You know that if he wasn't hurt he'd be the first one looking for you.

Your eyes don't stay him longer than a second. Because they can't bare the thought of what your about to do....of how your leaving him.

Everyone in the room is silent. And you couldn't cut the tension with the sharpest sword.

Your the first to speak.

"I'm going to bed." Your voice is strong and everyone knows better then to speak up or decline. But you can tell their shocked.

They probably figured you'd want to stay with your grandfather like you always do when your fighting with your mother.

But you can't stay with him... you know he'll convince you to stay once he figures out what your doing.....and plus you need to pack.

As you walk up the stairs you see jason try and stand as if to follow you to room but dick pushes. Him back down on the couch.

And for once your grateful for something dicks has done.

Because you know that if you were to even talk to Jason for a second you wouldn't leave...

Because nomatter how much you try and deny it...blood isn't thicker than water...

Atleast Not when it comes to Jason.

___________________________________________

Thanks for reading!

Taglist: @dhanyasri , @kore-of-the-underworld , @i-adorehannah , @plsfckmedxddy , @phoenixgurl030 @bunbunboysworld @bat1212 @skepvids @sirenetheblogger @Nervousalpacalady @118gremlin @darktrashpoetry @bitternsweet @kksmush @awawage @coffeemin @feral-childs-word @cens0r3d @sweetprincesscomputer @exactlynumberonekryptonite @rosy-myhouse34 @hebaoffside @sheep-from-rad @time-shardz @vanessa-boo @jellyedkazoo @chinxinsomnia @sillysealsies @nervousalpacalady @gwyneveire @simpingpandas

[ribbonskiss]

ANOTHER ROUND -> CS55

Part 2 of 3. Read Part 1 here.

Pairing: Carlos Sainz x reader

Summary: A spontaneous night out alone lands you in a new bar in town, owned by a man whose story seems to intersect with yours—not that you know it, yet.

Tags: strangers to lovers, meet cute, very angsty in this part!, slow burn, multi-part fic

A/N: thank you to the anon who suggested some angst for this story, you will be very happy to know that I’ve ended up incorporating your idea into it ☺️ andddd as it turns out this will be a three-parter at the very least! I probably won’t be able to update it as fast as I have been so I hope you do enjoy this part haha

Things get easier and more comfortable after that night, but not as comfortable as you’d like. You eventually meet Alex, Charles’ girlfriend, when she shows up at the bar one night after a particularly gruelling day working. As it turns out, she’s an art gallerist, one with a busy workweek as she’s built up an impressive portfolio of artists that entrust her with their works and careers, and you get along surprisingly well. She promises to come by more often now that she knows you’re a regular, prompting Charles to pout and moan that she no longer loves him. And that’s that; you feel like you’ve solved the puzzle of Charles Leclerc. He’s a charming man in a steady relationship with a strong woman, and even if you don’t know the details of his life, you feel like you understand who he is.

But there’s something about Carlos. Carlos is warm, sweet and kind. You speak for hours easily, he attends to you as much as possible even when the bar is ridiculously busy, and you stay until it’s time to close much more often. He’s an open book. He speaks to you freely but you can’t help but feel like there’s so much you don’t know yet, so much you’ve yet to discover. Maybe he needs time; in that case, you’re more than willing to wait. It feels like it’s worth it.

It’s not so bad, either, if this is the waiting period. The car rides become more frequent. Carlos drives you home now like it’s just a fact of life that he has to, and you greatly appreciate that. You quickly discover, however, that by the end of the night he is often too tired to make steady conversation. You exchange a few words in the beginning, thanking each other for one another’s company; you exchange a few strange sentences, ones that blur the lines between customer and bartender or even acquaintance and acquaintance. One night he tells you the colour of your dress makes your eyes look like gemstones set in rings of silver; another night you tell him you’ve noticed he makes a face when an obstacle presents itself to him: his eyebrows furrow slightly, jaw drops loose and tilts to one side, the tip of his tongue poking slightly, gently at the corner of his mouth.

Then the words dry up. The silence is goosebump inducing at first; you are terrified that it could be an indicator of his true feelings for you, ones of disinterest and apathy. That these interactions, the conversations and car rides, are conditional and transactional. But the silence prevails, and what a relief it turns out to be—when the words subside, what is left is a common language of action. Carlos never ceases being attentive to you. He rolls the window down when he notices you pulling a face, letting the fresh air in to soothe you. He turns the music on, skips to a track that seems to make your eyes light up. And then, your favourite part of these car rides: when he stops at a red light, you begin a game of stolen glances, the objective of it being to not get caught by the other despite both of you being plainly aware of what is really happening. Cheeks warm, lips curl up into sly smiles concealed by the darkness of the night. And how wonderful it is, when the rare word is finally spoken before you leave his car.

“You may not understand,” he says. “But I’m most grateful for this—this time of the night we have, together.”

Surely he understands, then, why this would hurt you so much. There was no way to anticipate this. It had never dawned on you until now that Carlos had made no mention of his love life to you—and of course, you feel like a fool.

He’s made you look like a right fool.

You don’t even make it inside. You stand outside, hovering over the glass of the shop window as you watch the woman cross her legs and lean over the counter, looking at Carlos with a twinkle in her eye in your seat. He treats her with the same kind of attentiveness he does with you, and watching it in action now as he smiles at her fondly reveals to you a certain mechanical quality. Was it always this rehearsed with you? You can’t really think straight, ankles wobbly as the night breeze blows and Carlos pours her another glass of wine.

You feel a cold, awful shiver run down your spine and fill your stomach with a terrible feeling of sickness. But then Alex emerges from the bathroom a second later and spots you outside, looking rather distraught. She walks past the bar, gives Charles a look of concern as she recognises the situation at hand, the woman monopolising Carlos’ time and attention, before bolting out the door to you. She doesn’t know what to say. She just yanks your handbag out of your hand, puts it on the ground and pulls you into a hug.

Charles comes running out the door soon after, halting to a stop as he sees Alex has already come to comfort you. You’re not crying, it’s not that serious, and being this upset even is such an incredible overreaction, you think to yourself. He sighs, turning back and forth between the two tableaux that have transpired in and out of the bar.

“It’s not what it looks like,” he starts.

Alex pulls her head off of your shoulder. “Yeah,” she nods. “It’s… It’s complicated.”

Your stomach twists as you realise they’ve only come to bat for him. You pull away from her, coldly breaking the embrace. Alex frowns, looking at you with soft eyes. “I should be leaving now,” you say.

She reaches out, tugs on your hand. “No. It’s really, really not what it looks like. It’s—Charles?”

Her boyfriend comes bolting towards where the two of you are, offering you an apologetic look as he runs his fingers through his hair in frustration. Charles lets out a huff that draws out for longer than you expect. “None of us like it,” he says. “It’s… It’s only Carlos’ story to tell. Neither of us know everything.”

“He’s sort of always been hesitant to talk about that,” Alex nods. “About his relationships. But it at least seems like it was only her, for a very long time.”

Charles sighs again.

“It was bad,” he continues. “Very, very bad for him. She is… not good for him. She left when he was thinking about quitting. She would wait for him outside our work and they’d just start going at it, arguing the moment he got off work. And he did quit, and she left for a while, but now…”

“It’s not love,” Alex shakes her head. “So don’t break away, if you can be so gracious. I know it’s selfish to ask, but with Matador and you and everything that’s been going on in his life now…”

Charles comes even closer, puts a hand on where Alex’s is holding onto yours. “He’s become vibrant,” he says, smiling bitterly. “I can’t tell you what he’s thinking, but Carlos has changed.”

You’ve been holding in your breath for god knows how long. You let out a belated, deep breath, and it feels painful in the cold air to breathe this deeply. You look at them with eyes that don’t signal anything good, and before any words can even leave your parted lips explaining how conflicted and awful you feel right now, Alex nods. The couple look at each other, before turning back to you with a look of complete understanding.

“It was a big ask,” Charles says. “I get it. But thank you, anyway, and I hope we’ll see you again.”

He mutters something to Alex, holds her hand fondly and kisses her on the cheek before giving you a final nod and retreating into the bar. But his girlfriend stays, holding your hand still as her thumb rubs circles into the back of it.

“I can’t say anything definitive,” she murmurs, still smoothing her thumb over your skin. “I can’t say I have heard any evidence of this. But words can fail us, anyway, and I have seen better evidence. I have seen it, and I know what I saw. Whatever it is you have… it is true. But it’s your choice, babe. Your choice.”

In the corner of your eye, Carlos has long abandoned his station, watching the situation outside of his own bar unravel in front of his eyes. And it makes him feel sick, having to watch you fall apart. Now it becomes crystal clear to him, and Charles, who is watching from afar, what is happening. Well, it’s too little, too late.

You can’t help but feel like this is some sort of divine punishment for having been led astray. You had forgotten what it feels like; you weren’t even aware it was happening. The realisation only happens way after it creeps up on you, the realisation that you’ve been behaving inexplicably irrationally. In the end, it has resulted in very little. So what if he drives you home? So what if he looks at you a certain way? It means nothing—or it meant nothing to him. How shamefully you’ve behaved. You can barely deal with the weight of it.

You stumble out of bed the morning after when daylight streams through your curtains. As much as it pains you to admit it, the night before has certainly dampened your spirits for this weekend. Saturday is joyless, spent mostly lying down on your couch in silence. The worst thing you could have done for yourself is overthink it, and that is exactly what you do, overthink every interaction you have ever had with him, and the worst part is you don’t even come to a satisfying conclusion. It would be so gratifying in a way to end with the sentiment that none of it was ever real, to allow yourself to feel that tragedy and sweep it away by Monday, but you are far too aware that the truth may not be so catastrophic. And that’s much worse; that things may be complicated, too complex for you to understand now, and all you can do is wade in the water and wait. Wait for a conclusion that may never come.

It consumes you in ways you did not realise. It is bizarrely feverish and ails you in more ways than one. You clutch at your stomach, nauseated by the scenes that replay in your head on loop, scenes of her and him together, her in your seat, how he looked at her and she looked at him, how she leaned closer and over the counter. Your head is pounding, chest tightening as your heart becomes heavy.

It won’t be permanent. Heartache is not chronic. You choose to believe it will come and go like a cold, or the flu if it chooses to persist for longer, that eventually you will survive it and return to your old ways. You have a steady job, a comfortable home, you’ve even gotten good friends out of this whole thing. Losing Carlos is not a net negative. The way it is now, it can only end so many ways. You can sit and let it simmer, or you could take it into your own hands and cast it out of your life before it can hurt you more. You can forget about it. Soon he will mean nothing to you, and these visions of them together will subside and disappear. And then life will be normal again.

You can’t say you won’t miss the whirlwind of emotions all of this has come with. It has been a while since you’ve felt so much, so deeply, and you’ve forgotten how much it overwhelms all your senses. You haven’t been dating for around three years at this point, after your last relationship… Well, it wasn’t so much that it crashed and burned; it fizzled out slowly, an emotional deadlock that culminated in him cheating on you. You didn’t cry then, and you’re certainly not starting now, when you’re reaching for your phone to delete Carlos’ number from your contacts.

Before you can, though, a notification pings. Alex wants to get coffee with you. ‘An apology for the trainwreck that was yesterday.’ Today is too soon. ‘I was going to say we should do it tomorrow, anyway.’ Okay, then it’s locked in. You’re having coffee with her tomorrow.

“I swear, on my mother’s life,” she says, hand on her heart while the other clutches her coffee cup. “I had no idea she was there.”

You’re sitting in a little café with Alex, where the oven stays on in the kitchen as they continue to warm their croissants and pastries for the day, the heat radiating to fill the entire space. It’s very cosy, and it smells lovely, like sugar and vanilla. “She came while I was in the bathroom,” Alex continues. “Didn’t even have time to wipe my hands on the paper towels, fuck me.”

You’ve always loved how blunt she is, and it does make you chuckle, a welcome sound that seems to lighten her up too. “I just want you to know that I’m on your side,” she says. “I’ve known Carlos for a long time, sure, but over the weeks we’ve become…”

“I know,” you nod. “I get it. You’re my friend. And I don’t really wanna let go of this just because I’m letting go of the other things.”

“Yeah,” she nods back at you, smiling now. “Exactly. And hey, you don’t have to see Charles ever again, honestly, I can keep him out of our business completely—”

“It’s fine,” you snicker softly, taking a sip of your coffee. “He’s an innocent bystander. He’s safe.”

“Oof, okay, thank god,” she sighs in relief. “Sorry, he’s quite clingy and I know I did offer but I really wouldn’t have known how to get rid of him.”

For an hour more you stay, eventually ordering yourself a Danish as you chat with her about other things, about work, life, the shoes you’ve had in your online shopping cart for way too long (“absolutely fucking not, their sales are total bullshit!”). It feels good to move on, to know you’ve got a safety net when things take a turn. You really are grateful for her, and you’re so glad she took the initiative to reach out and comfort you. Life, as it turns out, will be okay, and you will move on.

But maybe not just yet.

“I’ve been trying to negotiate a price between the two of them but they’re just so stubb—”

Alex halts to a stop mid-sentence. Her eyes drift above your head and out the window, widening before furrowing in confusion. “Sorry,” she says, getting up from her seat hastily. “Just, one minute.”

She bolts out the door, coat flowing in the wind as she runs over to someone, speaks to them in what is seemingly an antagonistic, interrogating tone. Your eyes trail her all the way to him, a meek, hesitant man who seems not so certain of himself either, but insists on whatever his objective is to her as they continue to argue with exaggerated motions.

You recognise those eyes under the cap he’s wearing. He’s looking much scruffier now, more worn out and exhausted. It’s Carlos.

This is admittedly not proofread 😅 so sorry for any mistakes! As always, please feel free to leave any thoughts, ideas and suggestions in my askbox. All my love <3

[ihfmseatsoch]

go ahead and ignore it if it makes you uncomforatble, ill get the hint

but uummmmmm maybe something from jimmy's pov where he finds a girl at the bar, gets her drunk, has sex with her, and chokes to death? corpsefucker jim is my hyperfixation rn not gonna lie

aaaa sorry this took a lil while ! ive been sick and very sleepy

genre: smut, dark fic

word count: 2.2k

warnings/content: dead dove, noncon, coercion, manipulation, choking, murder, necro, jim being misogynistic

—

It was almost embarrassing, how easy some women are. At least their willingness to spread their legs for any man that came their way made it less of a hassle to get in their pants, Jimmy thought.

Pussy is pussy, no matter how you get it, or how many men have had it before you.

That's why he's not very particular when it comes to choosing some trashy whore to spend the night with. Looks, of course, is the main factor he pays attention to, but that's about it. Doesn't matter if she's annoying, unwilling, or bitchy; he'll never see her again, anyway.

He takes interest in a young girl sitting in the corner of the shitty bar he regulars, a drink in her hand and an aura of innocence surrounding her. She's alone and out of place, eyes darting around the room like she's overwhelmed by all the different noises, and the pungent scent of alcohol pervading the stuffy air. Plus, she's not bad looking, pretty by any standard.

Could the opportunity be any more perfect?

Jimmy gets up from his barstool and approaches her, leaning against the counter, a little too close to her for comfort, not that he gives a fuck about how she feels in the first place.

"Hey. You alright?" He feigns concern, "Ain't never seen you here before."

She has the demeanor of a frightened rabbit, ready to scamper away at the slightest sound or sense of danger. The girl's got pretty eyes, he notices, as she looks up at him with apprehension. He bets her daddy at home warned her about all the dangerous men that want to take advantage of a sweet thing like her. Jimmy almost pities the man that raised her.

She explains that it's her twenty first birthday. Ah, so she's one of the ripest on the branch, it seems. That's how he likes 'em. The younger, the dumber. Her friends are already plastered, throwing up in the bathroom. In harsher words, she was ditched.

Jimmy pretends to feel some kind of sympathy for her situation, while he's already coming up with a plan on how to steal her away and tarnish her purity.

"Your friends are a buncha assholes then. They just leave you high and dry like that?"

With a shake of her head, she smiles a little, already looking at him with complete trust. "They're usually nice... just not when they're drunk, I guess." She defends the very people that selfishly abandoned her. He can tell this won't be hard for him at all.

"What's your name, sweetheart?" He asks, a little too sweetly for someone with such vile intent.

It's obvious a man has never spoken to her like this. Flirtatiously. Her flushed cheeks give away that she's either a virgin, or just very inexperienced. Cute. She tells him her name, but if he's being honest, he forgot in about five minutes. Her name doesn't hold much significance to him, anyway.

Introducing himself was the first step. Now, onto the second. Buy her a drink. Alcohol will loosen her up nicely.

"What kinda drink you want? I'm buying."

She orders something sweet and fruity. It suits her. He flags down the bartender, hoping the drink is strong enough to give her a good buzz. In other words, easier to take home.

When their drinks are ready, he clinks the rim of his glass to hers. "To your first legal drink." He says, his smile deceptively warm, tipping the glass back and downing the whole thing in one go. She takes a little longer to drink hers, drinking in small, irritatingly cautious sips. That won't do. He doesn't want to be here all night.

"You're doin' it wrong," He invasively grabs her wrist, "C'mon, you gotta drink it all at once."

He guides the glass to her lips, coaxing her to take his advice. He watches her hesitate, before she mimics him and swallows it all down in one gulp, wincing as the tart liquid burns going down her throat, the flavor lingering on her taste buds.

Jimmy is a more than pleased at her obedience.

"There ya go. Atta girl." He praises, intentionally making her feel proud of herself so she continues to crave his validation and listen to his every word. He orders a round of shots, moreso for her than for himself. He needs to be sober enough to drive her back to his place, after all.

Jimmy intently observes her as she takes shot after shot, becoming increasingly more drunk. She's a giggly one, blathering about every thought on her mind. Jim nods and hums absentmindedly, not having any interest in actually conversing with her.

"Alright, I think you're done for the night. Time to get you home." He pulls her up off the stool and wraps an arm around her waist to support her weight.

Confused at his sudden insistence on leaving, she places her hands on his chest, stopping him from dragging her any further. "N– No, I'm good! I can handle a little more..." Her words slur, eyes glazed over. This will be a little harder than he initially thought. He has to repress the urge to roll his eyes.

"You can barely walk. C'mon, I'll drive. You'll thank me in the morning."

To her drunken mind, what he's saying makes sense. "Oh... M'kay." She mumbles, too intoxicated to question how he knows where her house even is, and in truth, he doesn't, but he's not taking her home.

She's going to his.

Jimmy keeps a tight grip on her as he leads her out of the bar towards his parked car. She's stumbling the whole way and leaning against him far more than she should. "Whoa, whoa. Careful, now." He says, though it lacks any sort of real concern for her well-being.

The drive back to his apartment feels longer with her babbling to him about pointless stories that he can hardly comprehend because she's recalling every event out of order. Jimmy has to bite his tongue to keep from snapping at her to shut up. He'll get plenty of use out of her mouth soon enough.

"Yeah, yeah. That's great." He says absentmindedly as she babbles on. He makes a show to listen, adding an occasional hum or wordless response to her ramblings, but he's only focused on getting her to his door. Finally, he parks the car and cuts off her incoherent chattering. "We're here."

It took her until now to realize she's not where she's supposed to be. "Umm... That's not my apartment." She points out, as Jimmy helps her out of the passenger seat, grabbing her arm to lead her along with him, leaving no room for her to protest or pull away.

"I'm takin' care of you tonight. Can't leave you home alone, you'll end up doin' something stupid." The way he lies without flinching is convincing enough to the inebriated woman, allowing him to drag her to his floor, and into his home.

The interior is messy, empty liquor bottles and cans laid on various surfaces, not excluding the floor, either. Half-smoked cigarettes fill an ashtray on the coffee table, a variety of trash littered in every corner. He won't bother cleaning up, of course. She's not here to judge how he lives.

"Sit." He gestures to his ratty couch. Jimmy speaks more like he's ordering her, rather than offering her a place to rest out of the kindness of his heart. She obeys nonetheless, collapsing onto the torn cushions. Fortunately, she can't properly notice the filth with double vision. Unfortunately, she doesn't know what she's in for.

He sits himself down next to her, too close, invading her personal space. He takes her chin in his hand and tilts her head around, studying her. "You're a pretty little thing, ain't you?" His arm snakes around her shoulder, pulling her close against him.

Lacking her usual judgement and reflexes, she let's him run his hands all over her, albeit confused as to why he's touching her like this in the first place. "Uhh... My boyfriend's not gonna like you doing that..." She tells him, inarticulately.

Jimmy laughs dryly, "Aww, your boyfriend wouldn't like it? And where is he if he cares about you so much, hm?" He lets his hand continue downward, tracing the curve of her ass. She recoils slightly, much to his displeasure. "I don't think I should do this..." She attempts to back away from him, but his grip is stuck firmly in place, her body forcibly pressed to his.

He clicks his tongue and shakes his head in disappointment, "And here I thought you were a good girl. I've been so nice to you, haven't I? You should be thanking me." He gruffly tells her, his fake compassion long gone.

Jimmy pushes her to her back carelessly rough, grabbing her wrists in one hand to pin them above her head. He utilizes his free hand to pull her skirt up, bunching it at her waist. Thankfully, she's too stupid to fight back right now, her mind barely processing what's happening to her, unable to understand the danger she's in.

He takes two fingers to rub her pussy through her underwear, feeling her clit twitch at the contact. She squirms ineffectively, trapped under him. "N– Nooo..." She whines, kicking her legs weakly, yet despite her resistance, her slick begins to dampen the fabric. He hums in satisfaction at the sight of her body betraying her.

"If you don't want it, why's this little cunt all wet for me?" Jimmy pulls her underwear to the side, uncovering her glistening folds, spreading them to get a better look at her. She whimpers, ashamed that she's enjoying the way he toys with her pussy, as if it's not even attached to a human being.

He pinches her swollen clit just to watch her jolt. She attempts to close her legs, but he pins down her thighs with his knees, trapping her under his weight and keeping them spread apart. "You're not gettin' away from me," he grunts, "Not after I've put in so much effort gettin' you here."

Jimmy unzips his jeans, slipping his cock out through his open fly. He's already hard. He's been hard since the moment he finally got his hands on her. He runs his girthy, flushed tip up and down her wet slit, making her whine every time he repeatedly nudges against her rock hard bundle of nerves.

"Y' like that, huh? You're all the same once you get a bit of alcohol in your system. Just a bunch of cock hungry fuckin' sluts." Jim presses into her hole without warning, eliciting a gasp from her at the sudden intrusion. "I'll tell you what, though," he hisses through his teeth, "You've got one of the best holes I've ever felt."

Jim rams into her, his pace already relentless, and he's only just begun. Her body jerks at every brutal thrust, the sound of his heavy balls slapping rhythmically against her ass, along with his heavy breathing and the occasional grunt filling the room. "That's all you're– shit– good for though, isn't it? This little pussy's the best thing you've got goin' for ya."

Both his hands find their way to her throat, squeezing uncomfortably tight. She tries to wriggle her way out of his grasp, or at least into a more comfortable position, but he firmly holds her down in place, supporting more of his weight directly onto her windpipe. She tries to gasp for air, claw at his arms and shoulders to get him to stop, but nothing works. Ice cold fear washes over her body when she realizes she can't breathe anymore. She can't even scream at him to get off of her, let alone speak.

"Sorry bout' this. I was tired of your fuckin' whining. You don't mind, do you?" He chuckles lowly to himself, leading her to believe that this is what he wants. He's intentionally trying to kill her. That only makes her panic more as she becomes lightheaded from the lack of oxygen, her limbs weakened and unable to properly writhe underneath him. Not that it'd help her anyway. All she can feel is his hands on her, cutting off her airway, lungs burning and eager for oxygen, and his cock pounding ruthlessly hard into her, bruising her insides.

Even when she falls unconscious and limp, her face turned a light shade of blue, he doesn't stop. "Better finish up while you're still warm, huh?" Jimmy huffs, fucking into her like he hates her, although he has no real reason to. "Cold pussy doesn't sound very appealing."

She's much more likeable when she's dead, he thinks. Quiet, laying there like an obedient little doll, her only purpose being to take his dick. He's not sure if she's actually dead yet, but taking the time to check her pulse doesn't exactly cross his mind.

He finishes inside her, a deep growl ripping from his chest, hot spurts of cum filling her hole to the brim. He finally removes his hands from her throat after he catches his breath, a ring of fresh, fingerprint shaped bruises around her neck. She's not breathing, her eyes still open, wide with the same fear she felt before he killed her. Jimmy pulls out of her with a sigh, like she's inconveniencing him by being dead.

"Fuck. You're gonna be a pain in the ass to hide, ain't you?" He grumbles, lighting a Newport and taking a long drag. "There's a... forest or somethin' a ways away from the city. That'll be a good spot for ya."

Jimmy himself is unsure if he's speaking aloud to himself, or the lifeless corpse laying on the couch beside him.

—

[na0koz]

some jinx hcs!!!!! just general ones

toxic!jinx masterlist

- her love languages are physical touch and quality time. since you met you’ve spent more time than not with her and she honestly can’t go more than two days without seeing you. most of the time you hang out with her she’s touching you in some way as well. holding your hand or a strand of your hair, anything.

- loves to sit in your lap all curled up while you hold her head to your chest. it makes her feel safe and loved. she just crawls into your lap whenever she needs a little extra comfort.

- we all know jinx is a genius, and it’s no secret when she makes little trinkets for you. ones that play songs or light up, all completely from scratch. they’re all specific and meaningful to you or your relationship too, like your favourite song.

- it took a lot of convincing for her to meet your family. it wasn’t that she didn’t want to she was just so scared of what they would think of her. if they were going to make you stop seeing her or something. she knows she’s a little strange but she has no idea how she would come across to her girlfriend’s parents.

- i feel like she wouldn’t watch any movies or tv shows. like if you say “have you seen ___?” she’s like “what’s that” every single time. the only shows or movies she’s seen were with you.

- the same kinda goes in reverse for the music jinx listens to. she listens to purely underground artists but not in a pretentious annoying way. that’s just the music she likes and you’ve never heard of any of the bands she likes. she also has never heard of super popular artists like arctic monkeys or whatever.

- prefers when you do her hair. she lets you wash it, brush it and braid it. she says you just ‘do it better’ and she loves the feeling of your fingers in her hair.

- she doesn’t sleep that much, and when she does she really struggles to stay asleep. it’s a little easier when she sleeps with you, especially when you’re holding her but she still struggles. she goes days with basically no sleep and then one day will spend the whole day napping on your shoulder/in your lap.

- knows literally everything about you. she knows where you fell and got the barely visible scar on your calf when you were 11, she knows your favorite pasta recipe exactly, she knows exactly how to make you feel good.

- lovveeeesss when you call her nicknames. like literally anything. simple but she likes baby the most. she calls you stupid ones like ‘sexy’ and ‘hot stuff’ because she thinks romantic ones like the ones you use for her sound weird coming out of her mouth.

- loves bugs. she just lets spiders live in her apartment. she’s one of those people that says you shouldn’t put them outside because they eat the flies or ‘they’re more scared of you than you are of them!’

- really good at memorising numbers. examples include your phone number, street/house number, birthday, childhood home address… all coincidentally to do with you! coincidentally.

- tattooed your initial on herself somewhere you wouldn’t see at first. she was hesitant to have sex at first purely because she wasn’t sure how you’d react to seeing the first letter on your name on her v-line.

- has so many clothes???? you don’t know where she gets them from and when you ask her about it, she says it’s because she hadn’t grown since she was 14 so she’s got like several years worth of clothes gathered up.

- doesn’t blink like ever. you could be telling a story and she just stares at you the entire time. when you notice how she hasn’t blinked or looked away from you and start to stutter, she’s genuinely confused when you ask her why she doesn’t blink. “i do blink! just not right now…”

[celestialbruise]

sanguine

(some moshang bloody kisses for the new year~)

-

The first time it happens, Shang Qinghua thinks he’d dreamed it.

Mobei Jun had come to haunt his leisure house, and while this was no longer enough to startle Shang Qinghua, it was still enough to leave him on edge, his wary eyes always pinned on his uninvited demonic guest. Mostly, Mobei Jun would come to knock him around a little, mutter a few words of complaint, order Shang Qinghua to do something such as gather information or sabotage some Night Hunt that interfered with Mobei Jun’s interests, and then he’d either pass out on Shang Qinghua’s bed or hover over his shoulder like a shadow of death while Shang Qinghua shakily tried to finish his work. 

Stupidly enough, sometimes the silence lulled Shang Qinghua into a false sense of security - perhaps even comfort. 

He’d always been a rather solitary person. In his past life, his few friends had all been made on Weibo, and while he did meet up with his family on occasion, it was really more a part of his role as a son than for any reason like companionship. They registered him as their flesh and blood and saw no deeper than that. Mostly his days were spent in front of his computer, slaving away on another ten-thousand-word chapter of Proud Immortal Demon Way. On occasion he had socialized with his fans in the comment section - his haters too, if he was feeling especially bored and, oh fuck, did that mean he subconsciously considered that asshole Peerless Cucumber to be one of his friends?

Shang Qinghua’s life really had been pathetic. Sadly, given a second chance, he wasn’t faring much better - at least he was a Peak Lord now. That had to count for something, right?

“You write very slowly,” Mobei Jun intoned from behind him. Shang Qinghua couldn’t hide how badly he flinched. He had a tendency to zone out while working, which was probably one of the dumber things to do in the presence of a demon. 

Shang Qinghua glanced down at his hand, slowly scrawling characters. It wasn’t his fault - writing traditional characters was hard! Typing was much, much easier. 

“I usually write faster than this, I’m just thinking,” Shang Qinghua grumbled, annoyed, before feeling horror envelop him at the realization that his annoyance was audible, bleeding all over his words like ink. “Sorry, my king!”

Shang Qinghua braced himself for the blow and miraculously managed to swallow his undignified yelp when an ice-cold hand cuffed him over the head. 

“And stop picking at your lip!” Mobei Jun snapped. It took Shang Qinghua a moment to register that he even was. Another unconscious habit - picking at his lips, worrying at the dead skin, peeling it away, over and over, sometimes only stopping when he’d taste blood.

As if summoned by his thoughts, something wet suddenly welled forth.

“Oh,” Shang Qinghua’s hand slowly fell away. “Sorry, my king,” he dutifully repeated, raising his hand back up to wipe the blood away, before a large, pale hand suddenly wrapped around his wrist, five strong fingers coiled to keep him in place. Shang Qinghua froze, and not just because of the icy touch.

“My king?”

When he looked up, he was shocked breathless. Mobei Jun’s eyes had gone dark.Pupil entirely eclipsed his frigid-blue irises, and Shang Qinghua suddenly got the bone-deep impression that he was staring into a fathomless abyss - or perhaps, more aptly, the eyes of a beast.

“My king….?” Shang Qinghua repeated, voice layered with nerves, when Mobei Jun still did not answer. Was Shang Qinghua’s blood really so unsightly? So offensive? He didn’t remember writing ice demons to have an aversion to human blood…..

In one swift movement, faster than he could blink, Mobei Jun dipped down and swept his tongue across Shang Qinghua’s bleeding lip. Shang Qinghua was too shocked to even flinch. Mobei Jun’s tongue, now flecked with sanguine, slithered back into his mouth and Mobei Jun’s lashes fluttered as his throat bobbed. A moment later his eyes flared as if incensed and he returned, this time capturing Shang Qinghua’s bottom lip in between his teeth. A whimper stole from Shang Qinghua’s mouth unbidden as razor-sharp teeth teased his stinging flesh. It wasn’t painful, but the threat that it could be set his blood alight. In fear! Definitely fear…..

Shang Qinghua swore what escaped from him next was a gasp of shock, and nothing at all like a moan as Mobei Jun began to suck. He could scarcely comprehend it, all at once wound taut as a bowstring yet going boneless, limp. Pliable under his king’s hands and his surprisingly deft ministrations. At the feeling of his own blood being pulled forth into Mobei Jun’s mouth, the strangest sensation overtook Shang Qinghua. It was not simply one thing. It was cold and hot. Fire and ice. Pain and the absence of it. No, there was something sharp tugging just behind his navel, like a fishhook was caught there, waiting to spill his guts. Was it fear…..? Unconsciously, his eyes fluttered shut.

At long last, Mobei Jun’s strangely warm mouth pulled away. Shang Qinghua opened his eyes, feeling dazed. Light-headed, though he was certain Mobei Jun couldn’t have drained that much blood. Drank, drank that much, because that’s what he had done, hadn’t he? He’d taken Shang Qinghua’s cut lip as if it were a chalice filled with wine and he’d…..he’d-

“Sweet,” Mobei Jun murmured, licking his lips. Shang Qinghua felt a lurch in his gut as if he were free-falling.

Had he really written demons to crave the taste of human blood….?

[mychlapci]

I've been writing and rewriting this to not sound stupid and tbh I don't remember if I ever sent any of the draft versions of this idea so if I did ignore this my bad

On that one ask about grandpa Magnus pressuring Rodimus into getting plastic surgery, he loves making his grandson carry his huge babies but he isn't into how fat Rodimus gets when he carries. Rodimus can't help how much weight he puts on when he carries, the babies are just so big and they need so much energon to grow that he always feels hungry. After he pops his latest bitty out, Magnus either puts Rodimus on a strict diet or calls his surgeon friend to debulk Roddy's frame manually. He gets the extra mesh removed from his belly, a boob job to keep his pouches perky, and Magnus being the old pervert he is wants something to keep his grandson's aft nice and round. He treats Rodimus like a little doll he can put back to standard after he pumps babies in, and it gives Rodimus a terrible relationship with his frame.

Enter grandma Megatron. He wants his boys Sentinel and Optimus back home, but they don't wanna go with their mom without their baby Rodimus. That's all perfectly fine with Megatron, his sons and his grandson all coming back with him is better than what he asked for. The decepticons capture Rodimus on Cybertron while he's laid up recovering from a surgery he didn't really want and bring him straight to Megatron. He looks Rodimus up and down and tsks to himself. His poor grandbaby was so small, and Optimus said he was often a carrier on top of it. Megatron wanted to use all his boys for studs for a better generation of decepticons, but Rodimus was in no shape for any playtime. From then on, Rodimus would be put on a strict diet of Megatron's milk until he could keep some weight.

It made Rodimus feel bad at first, he was ashamed to be getting chubby again when he knew Megatron had expectations for him. When he tried to voice that though, Megatron just shushed him and made him take his huge nozzle into his intake. He pat Rodimus on the back while he made him drink and told him he looked so much better and healthier now compared to when they picked him up. He didn't need to feel bad being comfortable, grandma was gonna spoil him rotten unlike mean old Magnus. He eats much better after a little pep talk and he seems a little more comfortable with getting heavy again. Eventually he's all soft mesh curves and has to have some plating removed to let his fat frame move easier. He's nice and big, and strong on top of it. He's in great shape to step up and try to give Megatron great grandchildren now that he's feeling better, Magnus doesn't even know what he's missing out on -🌱

nothing has ever made me hate Ultra Magnus more. he literally doesn't know what he has. a perfect grandson who could be all nice and chubby with baby weight if only that old pervert wasn't a shallow dickhead.

it's okay, grandma can turn his boy into a big strong stud.

[psycho-pills]

A Second Life for Strays! ฅ (•˕ •マ.ᐟ sylus x reader fanfic // next

౨ৎ⭑˚ RATING; 18+ (minors do not interact)

౨ৎ⭑˚ PAIRING; sylus x afab!reader (not the mc)

౨ৎ⭑˚ SYNOPSIS; you are a soldier reincarnated into the world of love and deepspace, except you’re not the mc. she still exists. despite looking exactly like her, you don’t sound or act the same. and to make things stranger, cats follow you everywhere.

౨ৎ⭑˚ GENRE/WARNING; angst, hurt/comfort, slow burn, (mutual?) pining, eventual fluff, eventual romance, eventual smut, cursing, graphic descriptions of violence, blood, mental breakdowns, ptsd, death, isekai, reincarnation, cats/cat puns, mc is named serenophe to avoid confusion/reader is not mc

౨ৎ⭑˚ AUTHOR'S NOTE; this is written in third-person limited with she/her pronouns. only the prologue is written in second-person. i use the terms [name] [surname] instead of (y/n) (y/ln) because it's easier for me to write. also, this chapter is basically the synopsis but fleshed out. you can skip the prologue and go to the first chapter, and you won't miss much. anyway, please take all of this into consideration before continuing. besides that, enjoy. uwu

౨ৎ⭑˚ LINKS; ao3 // masterpost // story inspo

prologue — eight lives later! ౨ৎ⭑˚ word count; >1k

You died.

You feel the impact before you hear the gunshot. A sharp, searing pain tears through your chest like fire spreading through your body. The chaos of modern warfare surrounds you—vibrating explosions, the rumbling of rifles, and the constant murmur of drones. You’re one of thousands. A faceless statistic in a war of shifting fronts and political ambitions. Merely a soldier sent to fight for a cause you barely understand. After your death, your country will replace you ten times over and then ten times more. Each body a cog in an unfeeling machine.

The moment feels weird, as if it has been pulled from the pages of a dream, except you know—you know—this is the end. You lie dying on a grassy field, far from the main warzone. It hasn’t been the ‘enemy’ that caused you to run across the open streets. It wasn’t the orders barking through your earpiece or the desperate cries of your comrades. 

No. It was a cat.

Your final act of rebellion was focused solely on rescuing the tiny bit of humanity left in the desecrated city. In a world that has taken so much from you, perhaps it was time to give this small creature the chance you never got. The kitten is small, dirty, and terrified. Its tiny frame trembles as it meows helplessly in the chaos. Artillery pounds the earth, drones buzz like mechanical insects, and gunfire split echoes in your ears. With rapid shots tearing through the streets and your radio spitting orders to regroup, your legs move on instinct. You dart past the ruins of cars, decaying walls, and flying shrapnel. Like a drug, adrenaline pumps through your veins as you scoop up the cat and cradle it in your arms.

As you dash through the ruined landscape, you feel hands grasping at your feet. Soldiers, either too wounded or mindfucked, cry out for salvation that you can’t offer. You run past them, their voices heavy on your soul. But you keep running—towards the outskirts, where the fighting isn’t as intense—where there’s a chance the kitten can escape the horrors of humankind. However, just as you think you’ve made it, you feel it—the bullet tearing through your body.

Your knees buckle as the force sends you crashing, the kitten still cradled in your arms. The world around you spins. Your heartbeat thunders in your ears, faster and faster, as the warmth of your blood soaks into your uniform and spreads across the grass beneath you. You gasp for air, but it won’t come. The pain in your chest is unbearable, burning with every shallow breath.

You try to move, try to keep going, but your body is failing you. Rolling onto your back, your eyes gaze upon the strikingly blue sky. It’s strangely devoid of clouds and fighter jets. By now, the gunfire and explosions are faint. A vague memory, even. It’s like the war itself is retreating from you. Yet, you can still hear it. Bated screams in the distance, clashing with the rustling of leaves and the soft meows of the kitten.

The last feeling—the last sensation of kindness you feel before drifting off to an eternal slumber is the soft brush of fur nudging your tear-strained cheek. Then, just before everything goes dark, you hear it—a voice, delicate and clear.

“Thank you,” the kitten says—or does it? Perhaps it’s a hallucination brought on by your fading consciousness. But no, you feel sure, if only for that single instant.

Then, there’s nothing. Your final breath leaves you with the warmth of the cat’s nuzzle lingering on your cheek. You died.

Or so you thought.

When your eyes open again, you aren’t greeted with the battlefield. Your body isn’t lying on the cold, blood-stained grass. You’re in a hospital bed. It's clean. Sterile. The sharp beeping of monitors replaces the din of war, and the scent of antiseptic fills your nostrils. You blink, disoriented, and that’s when you see him. A man—tall, composed, and black-haired. He holds a file in one hand and a pen in the other as he stands at your bedside. His name tag glistens in the fluorescent light. Zayne. When he notices you stirring alive, his face dances between surprise and something else. Something hard to decipher.

“You’re awake.” Zayne glances at your file. He squints to confirm your identity. “I’m Dr. Zayne, and you’ll be under my care for the foreseeable future,” he finishes.

The room around you is strange yet familiar. You try to make sense of it—the stark white walls, the quiet thrum of machines, the feathery sensation of your body. You were on the battlefield. You had died. And yet, you’re still here. Alive. In some new reality where the boundaries of love and deepspace collide.

ao3 // masterpost // next

[littlefankingdom]

Kind of frustrating how many posts there are criticizing Bruce's parenting in Batgirl (2000), while Barbara is getting barely a slap on the wrist for her parenting.

The thing about Barbara and Bruce in Batgirl (2000) is that they both do something bad that is projecting yourself on your kid (no, Bruce doesn't see Cassandra as a weapon, stop saying that shit), however only Bruce is getting call out for this by y'all, and I think there's two reasons why:

Bruce is so easy to criticize. Everything he had ever done has been criticized to hell and back. Damn, he is criticized if he dares parent his kids and tells them no or something (literally read a fic where he was painted as the bad guy by the batfam, the writer and the reader for... saying no to another dog Damian decided to adopt without telling him) Somehow, he is always in the wrong with y'all. Even when he is nice or right it's "well, actually..."

The way Barbara is doing it is very normalized in western societies. Bruce isn't projecting something we are used to, he is projecting his crusade and how he dealt with his pain by kicking criminals' asses. Barbara is projecting ideas about womanhood and life that a lot of mothers do, but that doesn't mean it's not wrong.

"What is Barbara projecting on Cassandra?" Her sexuality and her interests. She wants Cassandra to go flirt and date boys, to dress more sexy, to love reading, even tho Cass doesn't want to. She forces Cassandra into situation she is very uncomfortable in (being viewed by men as sexy) because she enjoys it herself and misses it. There is NOTHING wrong with that last bit, but projecting it on Cass and ignoring it until Cass has a breakdown, that's not okay. (Cass keeps communicating she isn't comfortable in the bikini, and it's only when Cass runs away from the situation that Barbara accepts that Cass is uncomfortable) Cass tries to force herself to be more like Barbara to please Barbara, she puts on her suit and goes out, but she is so uncomfortable. Tim's comment about her body, and the heels, she can't. And then, there is the library scene, where Barbara yells and insults Cass for not knowing how to read. It is more difficult, as older as you get, to learn a new language. It is easier if you already speak multiple, but if you have never spoken ANY language before, and you just learned to understand one NOT EVEN A YEAR AGO, learning how to read is going to be hard. It is so ableist and unacceptable for Barbara to call Cass "stupid" for not knowing how to read. It doesn't matter if Cass hasn't been training enough, she literally should have helped and not let her do it alone (in the cases of children who, like Cass, didn't learn a language as a child because of their environment, they only improve with love and care in their teaching. If you give them a book and tell them to learn on their own, they will not succeed. Reading is a concept taught to you, not in you, and they need to learn it from another human.) And the reasons why Barbara gets so frustrated are just that, reasons, not excuses.

I'm going to be sincere, the reason why I'm criticizing Barbara is because I had a mother like this. I'm asexual and afab, and I was forced into uncomfortable situation because "girls are supposed to like flirting with boys". My mother got really frustrated after a couple of years because I never had a boyfriend, and that wasn't "normal". She would force me to see myself in a sexual way, to attract boys, because that's what "a normal teenage girl wants". And that was nightmarish for me. But also, my mother is a big reader, and I'm not for multiple reasons. My mother would often diminish my intellect because I don't read novels, and especially not as much, like her. Reading a lot was associated with intellect in our home, and it was extremely harmful to my self-esteem. They are different kind of intelligence, people aren't stupid if they don't read a lot. That's the classicism talking, because it was literally badly seen for working class folks to read not so long ago and so, only the rich did so only the rich were smart. And having an education, which I have, is not the same as being a reader.

This is also probably why I have seen queer afab folks identify with Cassandra, because we experienced the "you should be flirting with boys" pressure when you don't want to.

The other thing is that, not only is Barbara projecting herself on Cassandra, she is also living through her, which is bad. That's something you can hear a lot about for children stars, where their career and success is for mommy, who cannot be a star anymore. Barbara wants Cassandra to date boys and "have fun" because she thinks she can anymore because she's disabled.

And I'm sure a lot of y'all don't understand what is wrong with what Barbara is doing. But it is forcing amatonormativity and her sexuality on Cassandra, it is ableist, it is forcing Cassandra into uncomfortable situation because she would have enjoyed them. Cassandra doesn't want to wear a bikini, it's not ok for Barbara to force Cassandra to wear a bikini because SHE enjoys it.

In no way I'm trying to say that Barbara is a bad parent. What I'm saying is more that y'all are very hard on Bruce when both him and Barbara are doing the same thing. They both fuck up and learn to do better, because they love Cassandra. They are both wrong about Cassandra, but also right sometimes (example: Bruce is right about letting Cassandra fights because that's what she wants to do. Barbara is against it and she is shown she is wrong multiple times) Y'all are calling Bruce a bad parent to Cassandra in Batgirl (2000) and not Barbara because he's forcing on her his bad copying mechanism of sacrifcing your life to save others, and she is forcing on her amatonormative sexist and ableist norms of our western societies.

[wetcatspellcaster]

2024 fic wrapped

I was tagged by @cursedhaglette to do this tag-game, but I found the focus on stats made me a little uncomfortable! (also, no one needs to know how many words I wrote while having multiple breakdowns last year, truly).

But, I didn't want to ignore Mia's tag! so instead, I'm going to take @cinnamontails-ff wrapped tag-game, just bc I sympathise with the logic and I like this set of questions a lot more!

Thank you Cin for coming up with questions that don't focus so much on productivity. And thank you again, Mia, for including me in the original game :) hopefully this is an acceptable substitute!

What's been your biggest learning point this past year?

I guess, what it feels like to be a 'popular' author - and the answer is, 'both good and bad, in fact, extremely mixed'. Obviously, many parts of it are wonderful: more people interacted with my work in the height of the BG3 fandom than I've ever had before, I felt like my writing mattered and I enjoyed every conversation I had about it. I also felt under a lot more scrutiny, very hyperaware of how I acted in 'public' (ie. on this blog), and aware of the people I'd disappoint with the directions I took my stories and what I chose to include. I also had to watch the baffling half-life of modern fandom! BG3's 6 month peak and 1yr trough was wild to me, as someone who joined dragon age 8yrs after the game was released. But I've decided I actually really like the middle-road of interaction, with much less noise and dedicated, recurring readers who I recognise and who make me smile and laugh every single time they comment or tag my work. I'll probably never experience whatever the fuck Pieces was ever again, and I'm honestly... ok with that, currently? Not to sound awful, but I'm not sure I liked it lmao.

In terms of my writing, my biggest learning point was "you're good at this, actually". Chanting this to myself in the mirror while I white-knuckle the sink.

How has your writing developed this past year?

I'm genuinely not certain. Pieces was certainly my most ambitious story yet, but a lot of the outlining of that took place in 2023 so it feels like the development happened then... though I suppose landing the dismount was something I worked very hard to do. I guess the main development this year was that a lot of what I wrote was extremely, extremely angsty. I wrote Pieces, I wrote This Is Not A Love Story. and I gave Rosalie to Orin :))))) this doesn't necessarily surprise me, given the way my writing often reflects things I'm dealing with in my life, and I've been trying to both recover from - and desparately stave off a relapse into - depression. I think that I can see why I keep making characters into the worst versions of themselves (this goes for Astarion, Rosalie - bc Pieces Rosalie is NOT in a good place, Gale and my Durge) and then watching them claw their way back to happiness in the hope of proving to myself that that's possible.

But jfc, it all got a little heavy. I've decided that 2025 is the Year of the Rom Com™.

Good writing habits?

Committing myself exclusively to what I want to read and sticking to my guns - which means I actually finish the thing, rather than getting into my own head about it.

Stretching my comfort zone a little (writing something vaguely smutty, writing something very different in style, switching genres for a bit) without losing my own voice.

Not falling into any jealousy/existential crises about my own writing, which I guess is much easier when you're experiencing a bout of 'success', but I've managed to keep it up even after the success began tailing off :)

I wrote a lot of words last year. I'm not putting the stat down but god. It was a lot.

Bad writing habits?

Overwriting everything. Everything. All the time. Party Favours was so short!!! I used to write novellas!!! Why are my chapters so fucking long now?????

Having multiple fic wips when I promised myself I'd wind down fanfic and start writing original work again :')

I wrote a lot of words last year. I think I did this bc I was extremely unhappy, and productivity is how I define myself. when I feel bad, I write and post bc it makes me feel good. And I felt very bad this year. So anyway, I think my wordcount is both a good thing and also a wee cry for help :'))))

Favorite thing you wrote?

Chapter Twenty-Three of Pieces (Mephistopheles consultation and my Ascended!Astarion meta-reveal)

Chapter Four of Cooler Than Me (putting the blorbos in a formal-wear situation)

I also liked my sex scene in Pieces :') it was tame but it was written for me specifically x

Favorite reads?

for fic!

long summer days can lead to lazy vices by @pouroverpaloma

eyes like fire by demonsbanebard

only once by @bearhugsandshrugs

and of course stitched into your sleeve by the bestie (@violacae)!!! my first ever gift fic!!!

for literature!

The Scholar and the Last Faerie Door by HG Parry

Long Live Evil by Sarah Rees Brennan

Deeplight by Frances Hardinge

Biggest win?

god. I'm endlessly grateful for my gift fic and for my fanart, but... it's got to be bookbindings. I used to daydream, about somebody ever wanting to have my fic bound, but I thought it was impossible and would never happen! I now know of 3 copies of my work that exist in the world :D and the ones I've seen were fucking gorgeous, like oh my fucking god.

I am also very proud I finished Pieces! It was my most ambitious project, and writing the ending presented even more challenges than I expected - as I discovered how much you write yourself into a corner when you resoul Astarion. I still haven't managed to read the completed work in full yet, but I'm proud it exists :)

Goals for the new year?

finish outstanding wips, and then see where my writing takes me next. I want to write original work, but I also don't want to make it a resolution. As long as I continue to enjoy writing, that's what matters most to me!

Your favorite words of the year, aka the words you check each chapter for, making sure you didn't repeat them 788 times?

I think I use '[x character] froze' a lot, but rather than focusing on my repetitions I want to focus on some of my favourite turns of phrase that I managed to pull from the ether! :)

'before her brief courtship with death threatened to become a commitment' - from the risk and the reward

'We can all still be butchered. We cut away the parts of ourselves to make us fit' - from this is a love story.

"He played an androgynous, morally-grey vampire, of indeterminate gender! In a nice coat! Anyone who had two working eyes and a relevant Kinsey Score read the porn, back in the day!” - from cooler than me

What are you excited for in the new year?

act 3 astarion characterisation for honest lie! the first big romance moment in cooler than me! and then just romcoms! 2025 is the year of the romcom! I want to write exclusively happy things!!!!

tagging: @cursedhaglette (as it's a different set of questions lmao), @imscissorbladez, @violacae, @eraserspiral, @scaryanneee, @sitting-in-the-sink, @pricemarshfield, @pouroverpaloma and anyone else who wants to give this a whirl. anyone is welcome, and if you tag me in it I'll share x

[amuseintime]

Shattering Realization (Pt 2)

Star Souls AU

After Siffrin is rendered comatose, well, they have to keep his apparently not human form somewhere… So why not their tent? Isabeau can be normal about this, surely… (he cannot)

<< PREV || NEXT >>

Isabeau tried to settle into his and Siffrin’s tent once night came, he really did! But it was easier said than done, especially with so much to think about.

Funny how something that had become as mundane as a Sadness attack could throw everything into chaos! Bonnie was taking it the worst of all of them, not at all helped that no one had answers. What was Siffrin? Would he be okay? When was he going to start moving again? Was he going to start moving again? Why didn’t he have a pulse? Did that mean he was dead? Had he ever been alive? All great questions that no one had answers for. The best anyone could think to do was try to keep them from looking at…

The body? The doll? Siffrin? No one could quite decide how to refer to the still and silent form that usually housed their friend.

Odile wanted to inspect it, but she conceded to waiting until Siffrin could consent. Whether he ended up having anything to look at or was literally built like a child’s doll, whether he was aware and unable to respond or completely unconscious, it was still messed up to strip someone and look at their body when they couldn’t say no—at least outside of medical emergencies, but even if this counted as one, they had no idea what they were doing so that was senseless.

Mirabelle seemed to be taking it the best, shockingly? Apparently she loved books like this! Which was great! At least one of them should be able to help, and he’s glad that someone actually held Siffrin’s hand as… whatever happened to him happened.

Isabeau still didn’t really understand. The best he could do was stop Bonnie and Odile from staring and obsessing over Siffrin’s form…

And now, as he rolled over to look at the little body tucked into a sleeping bag, he couldn’t help but feel like a hypocrite. Why did he ever think this was a good idea? Was this even okay? Sure, they did it every night, and it wasn’t like he was doing anything—they weren’t even sharing a sleeping bag! But it still felt weirdly violating. His hands still felt cold from tucking Siffrin in, from having to be ever-so-careful with joints that suddenly seemed so fragile and arms make of something more brittle than flesh. The idea of accidentally breaking him was terrifying—what if that pushed him over some unseen edge and he couldn’t fix it this time? Could Siffrin spill out of himself like pouring water from a glass?—but what was worse was just…

Doing it.

Moving Siffrin’s body for him. Forcing it to bend and pose, even if it was just to keep him safe and, hopefully, comfortable.

Even worse, he could imagine an appeal to it, in another context. What little bits he saw of Siffrin’s body were inhumanly pretty. Pearly, smooth not-skin, slender proportions, an impressive amount of articulation with joints that Isabeau, at least, found strangely appealing, and even without the subtle glow his hair usually had, it was so soft. He understood why Siffrin would feel a need to hide it, but it seemed a shame…

His stomach curled and he turned away. There was something wrong with him, admiring the craftsmanship while Siffrin was unconscious because he got his head shattered.

Any growing heat in him was quashed. That was for the best.

…

What was he even doing? Should he be in here? Or would it be weirder to leave him? How many times had they shared a tent or been back to back on a bed with no more than a pillow or some sheets between them—Siffrin didn’t like being touched, another thing to make this situation worse. He was basically just sleeping, right? Hopefully? This shouldn’t have been any weirder than every other time they shared a tent, but…

“… hey. Sif. Siffrin. Sifarooni? Um… I don’t know if you can hear me at all, or if you’re awake or asleep. Do you sleep? Or have you just been pretending this whole time? I, uh… hope not. That’d get really boring…”

What was he even doing?

“But, uh… I hope you didn’t mind me tucking you in. I just want you to be comfortable, and we couldn’t just leave you kneeling in the field! So I hope? This is? Okay?”

…

“Sorry. I’m being weird. And, uh, I know you can’t really talk back right now. If you can hear me. At all???”

He shifted back over to look at them, to stare at the back of their head. Even in the dark of night, he could make out the darkless shades, though not half as well as usual.

“… Sorry. I’m being weird. Don’t worry about it. Just know that I still care, okay?” He paused, then sighed. There’d be no answers tonight. “Sleep well, Siffrin. See you in the morning, hopefully.”

———

I prefer tea, but buy me a Kofi?