#like my body is that gross that no one wants me?

[dreamingdormouse]

Back when Mr. Dormouse was in the Navy, he was for a couple years assigned to Pearl Harbor, as a nuclear mechanic on the submarine engines. (My husband is one of the most brilliant people I know, by the way, that's a very difficult job to get. But also it's hard work, long hours, lots of stress, and not very good pay.)

Shortly before I arrived to join him, his gross-motor twitches became more pronounced. They'd started when he was in training, and gotten stronger over time. He would be thinking about something or working on something, and abruptly his arm would flail out to the side, or his leg would kick like you'd found the right spot to tap with the little reflex hammer.

This was not as dangerous as Gallus's Dad without his glasses and with a gun, but still rather hazardous, as Mr. Dormouse quite often had a wrench in his hand, which was wont to go flying if his arm jerked!

His coworkers teased him about it in the friendly/mean way that is common in the military. He began the process of getting it checked out - the military, for all its flaws, has/had an amazing health care system.

The docs on base ended up deciding that

1) It's not Tourette's (which can manifest physically as well as the more well-known version of accidental cussing)

2) It's very similar, though, but, uh... not actually any of the things in our textbook?

3) Stress makes it worse

4) Sorry, Chief Petty Officer Dormouse, there's nothing else we can do for you

5) But you really shouldn't be in the military anymore

Well that was helpful.

Worse, commanding officers didn't care. Wouldn't hear of discharging him early. On the plus side, the submarine he was assigned to was in drydock for a year or more of preventative maintenance (if it was a car, it would've had an oil change, tires rotated, rust inspection, emissions test, the works), so at least he wasn't underwater like that, on multi-week trips, in a crowded environment 24/7.

The other engineer/mechanics around him knew he wanted to get a medical discharge. They began to joke that they should assign him to stand close to the officers, carrying a knife. Not in a threatening manner, oh no! Just as a tool. It wouldn't be anyone's fault if he just... twitched. And maybe then the officers would get the idea that this guy shouldn't be in the military?

Eventually somebody with some ability to sign papers decided to do so, and Mr. Dormouse was assigned to the equivalent of garden duty - a stint in the quartermaster's office. It took another 6-9 months before he got his discharge, because there wasn't a form for "IDK, I think it's Tourette's-adjacent, should we do another brain scan?" like there is for myopia or a heart murmur.

But at last he got out of the Navy and went to college for nuclear engineering, and it's been more than a decade. Not being in the military took away a lot of the stress, so these days he barely twitches at all. Sometimes it just looks like a full body shiver, and it happens a lot less frequently.

He does tell me that it is quite traditional to get stuck with the pin when a medal is being awarded, so it's possible that Captain Redacted lightly stabbed Gallus's Dad on purpose and as per custom. But it also might've been the whiskey. 🥴

The Hummingbird

The Story of my Father’s Very Brief military career.

Content Warnings: Military, guns, hummingbirds, Profanity, Lots of Profanity, spectacular incompotence, catholicism mention, alcohol mention.

As usual, all names have been changed or redacted to protect people’s privacy.

In the fall of 1969, my Dad was hit by a car and suffered a serious concussion, causing him to miss midterms and put his grade in a hole he wouldn’t be able to recover from, as this was the days before a lot of professorial accountability.  Like a sensible person, he decided to Withdraw for the semester and focus on recovering and maybe take a part-time job to pay for spring tuition, because you could do that back then.

“Son,” My grandfather asked, sitting on the couch with Dad shortly after he was discharged from the hospital. “What about your college deferment? I’m worried about you getting drafted.”

“Dad,” Dad said, filling in job applications. “I’m legally blind without my glasses!  I’d be a danger to anyone around me with a gun.  Even if I get drafted there’s no way in hell I’d pass the medical exam.”

“Don’t swear in my house.” Said Grandpa, under the entirely mistaken impression that the US Military was run with any sort of competence.

Literally a week later my Dad’s draft papers came in, and he reported to his local draft board, driver’s license and doctor’s note in hand to prove He Is Legally Blind Without His Glasses, only to be waved through without so much as a sideways glance by anyone resembling a doctor.

“They must be desperate.”  My dad concluded when he got home that night to pack.

The news was devastating to the family, as both his parents had siblings to WWII.  Grandpa was ready to beg, bribe and otherwise compromise his intensely catholic morals to get Dad out, and Grandma prayed to any available saint that would save her son from the fate of her brothers.  She had quite the collection of saints in her sewing room, some forty figurines and dozens more candles and images, along with some stained glass she’d made herself of saints, landscapes and animals, including a large hummingbird that lived on the sewing room window since they’d moved into the house.

Dad pleaded with them to not do anything they’d regret, and returned to the base for basic training.

Dad’s drill sergeant was a man whose real name was “Ross” but insisted on being called “Bulldog” or “SIR!” by everyone depending on rank.  Dad supposed this might have been a defense mechanism as Bulldog had an intensely jowled and acne-scarred face that did greatly resemble a fighting dog well past their prime.  The image was not helped by the fact that he was constantly smoking rose-flavored tobacco in a pipe that had seen better centuries, and consequently smelled like a terrible combination of trailer park and the women’s perfume counter at Macy’s.

Bulldog was also… not great about following protocol, which is a terrible failing in a Drill sergeant, but Dad supposed at that point in the war Bulldog had become horribly depressed by the sheer numbers of young men he was sending to their deaths and had kind of stopped giving a fuck about their safety and his own.

Which lead to an incident about three weeks into Dad’s training camp when in the middle of a Weapons Qualification lesson, Bulldog pulled Dad’s glasses off and bellowed “YOU WON’T HAVE THOSE COKE BOTTLES WHEN THOSE [incorrect slurs, because there’s no such thing as an informed bigot] BLAST YOUR ASS TO KINGDOM COME.” before stomping off to go change the paper targets, leaving Dad standing there with an M-1, squinting in what he hoped was the general direction of the targets.

To give you an idea of HOW bad my dad’s vision is, I once asked him at what distance things got blurry, and he responded by taking off his glasses, putting his hand up to his face, and slowly moving it back.  He stopped about eight inches from his face and nodded.  

“So I can see my hand from here but I can’t distinguish my fingers.  I think that green blob over there is your mother.”

“I’m in the living room.” called mom. “You’re looking at the blender.”

So it should come as no surprise that as soon as Dad heard someone shouting “Ready! Aim! Fire!” He did precisely that.

Hummingbirds are often mistakenly characterized as Delicate Little Rainbows that are a gift Direct from Heaven when the truth is they’re really Vicious Little Bastards thrown out of Hell for being too Nasty.  

You would be too if you could eat nothing but frappuccinos and the occasional chicken nugget, everything around you was at least the size of a pickup truck and regarded you as a tasty snack, and you were forced to defend your fridge from not only equally vicious rivals but goddamn insects that are bigger than you are.  

Being a hummingbird is awful under normal circumstances, and now there are maniacs with loud machines and projecties as big as you are stomping around and yelling and well-

At that exact moment, one of the nesting hummingbirds, having grown progressively more exasperated with the activity on the base, dive-bombed my father, hurling it’s tiny body directly into his ear and slicing the lobe up, and making him jerk slightly as he fired.

He missed Sergeant Bulldog by mere inches. Dad still isn’t sure if the Hummingbird caused him to miss or put him closer to accidental manslaughter, but it mattered little as Bulldog grabbed him by the head, shrieking in spittle-flying fury-

“ARE YOU FUCKING BLIND?”  He roared.

“YES!!” screamed my father, also hysterical. “SIR THAT’S WHAT THOSE ‘COKE BOTTLES’ ARE FOR SIR!”

Bulldog stopped, suddenly and uncomfortably confronted with the nature of causality.  He only let it stymie him for a moment.  “GET YOUR IDIOT ASS TO THE MEDIC, I’LL DEAL WITH YOU LATER!”

At the medical center, an extremely befuddled doctor dilated Dad’s eyes, took pictures because Dad had the worst case of myopia he’d ever seen and wanted to put him in a medical journal, and asked him:

“What the HELL are you doing here?”

“Very nearly shooting people sir.”

“Well, we can’t have you shooting people while you’re in the army!  I’ll get your medical discharge started.”

Dad decided not to comment on that statement, thanked the doctor, and wandered blindly back to his bunk.

It took them a full thirty days to process Dad’s discharge, perhaps largely due to the fact that actually FINDING the captain was a task for hercules- The man had an almost phobic aversion to his office and a tremendous love of whiskey so actually locating the man and early enough in the day that he was still sober enough to sign anything was a race against time and a battle against the wits of a man determined to get out of work, which is when humanity is at its peak intelligence.

In the meantime, it simply wouldn’t do to let dad bike the five miles back to his home and come back for the paperwork, nor let him sit quietly and not accidentally maim anyone, so he was put on garden duty.  

Supervised by recently-suspended-from-instruction Sergeant “Bulldog” Ross.

By the second day Bulldog had mostly run out of steam, perhaps out of a sense of really, whose fault was that? So He would mostly stand in Dad’s general vicinity, waxing philosophical on the nature of war, government and whatever else he could be crotchety about that day while continuously smoking his rose-flavored tobacco in his pipe.  Dad planted a frankly absurd number of flowers, trying to make a planted display that would spell out the name of the base in eight-foot letters, just in case someone has managed to miss all 824,594,359 signs beforehand.

On day five, perhaps attracted by the bright colors or the stench of artificial rose, the Hummingbirds found the new garden.

At first, it was timid little trips to the edge farthest from Dad and Bulldog, testing this new territory for both risk and bounty, but upon finding it full of sugary goodness, they became bold, getting closer and closer to Dad, zipping in as soon as he got up to get the next flat of flowers, then not waiting for him to finish planting them before they were up in his face, squeaking angrily for him to get out of the way of their lunch.

One male objected to Dad and Bulldog’s presence particularly strongly, dive-bombing and buzzing angrily at them, an ounce and a half of glittery impotent rage.  After a month, he’d gotten quite aggressive, and one day flew directly up to Bulldog’s face to chitter curses at him eye-to-eye, only for Bulldog to take out his pipe and blow a cloud of smoke at him, laughing as the bird tumbled over backwards in midair.

Agitated with the sudden noxious cloud, or perhaps merely a violent psychopath in its own right, the bird flew back, then straight up into the air for a good fifty feet before going into a dive, aimed directly at Bulldog’s face.

Dad doesn’t recall actually moving, only a sense that he ought to do something, and launched himself out of the dirt, arms outstretched to clap and force it off course-

“SHIT! What the hell was that for?”  Demanded Bulldog.

“Well, the hummingbird looked like it was going to attack you, Sir.  So I stopped it.”

“How noble.  What are you standing there like an idiot for?”

“…I think I caught it sir.”  Said Dad, staring at the tiny bill poking out from between his gloves.  The two of them leaned in close as dad very slowly opened his gloves and peered inside.

The hummingbird immediately forced it’s tiny head out to peep furious profanities at them both.

“How is it,”  Bulldog wondered aloud as the hummer continued to curse the both of them for the next seven generations. “That you can’t see to hit the broad side of a barn but can pull a shitty little bird right out of the air?”

“I’m wearing my glasses, Sir.”

Bulldog looked up at him, glaring with such intensity his face ceased to be a face at all and transformed into a dali-esque collection of wrinkles.

“Fuck you. Now go take that damn thing to the other side of the base so it doesn’t come back.”

��Yes sir.”  Dad nodded, nearly saluting out of reflex before remembering that he was holding a live and very angry bird.  It took him several hours to get to the other side of the base, with literally everyone stopping to ask him what the hell he was doing, well I have this bird sir and I was told to release it on the other side of the base- how in hell did your blind ass catch a hummingbird, well I had my glasses on- Fuck you, go ditch that thing already.

At three o'clock on the dot the very next morning, two MPs woke up my dad and told him he needed to report to the front office right away, no time to get dressed, right away right now.

They marched him directly to the main office, barefoot and in his Pajamas to be greeted by not only Sergeant “Bulldog” ross, but nearly every officer on the base, including the lieutenant and the Captain, all of whom were… attempting to stand at attention with varying degrees of success, most weaving slightly, some snorting with poorly-concealed laughter, and the entire room reeking of booze.

“GENTLEMEN!”  hiccuped the lieutenant, before shaking himself and continuing, “WE ARE GATHERED HERE TODAY TO HONOR OUR ‘COMRADE’ -snort, giggle- IN ARMS -louder derisive laughter- FOR HIS BRAVERY AND SERVICE IN THE FACE OF EXTREME DANGER-”

“IN THE BEAK OF EXTREME DANGER!” Howled one of the assembled officers.  

“-AND FOR HIS SERVICE IN DEFENDING AN OFFICER OF THE UNITED STATES ARMY.  I AM ~SO~ PLEASED THAT WE HAVE CAPTAIN [REDACTED] HERE WITH US TO PRESENT THIS MEDAL.”

He turned to the Captain, who took out a small box and motioned Dad forward.  Upon closer inspection, it turned out to be a chocolate box from See’s Candies.

“[REDACTED], in honor of your brave and frankly improbable service in the defense of Euge- sorry, Sergeant Ross, and the capture of a dangerous wild animal, we award you this medal-  The Flying Purple Bastard.”

He opened the chocolate box to reveal this*:

(Image Description: A piece of cardboard cut out approximately in the silhouette of a hummingbird, by someone with only a passing familiarity with what hummingbirds look like.  The cardboard has been haphazardly covered in tinfoil and cartoon eyes drawn on.  It’s attached to a scrap of ribbon and a safety Pin.)

Which was then pinned crookedly to Dad’s nightshirt, after accidentally stabbing him a bit, saluted him as someone attempted to play the bugle but made a rather melodious farting noise instead, then slapped Dad in the face with a manilla folder full of papers and shouted. “DISMISSED!”

“Dismissed, sir?”

“Those are your discharge papers.” Said Bulldog. “Get the fuck out of here.”

“Yes, Sir!”

At which point Dad biked home in the rain, and thus ends my father’s military career.

*Pictured here is actually The Flying Purple Bastard 2.0, as the original was destroyed when partially eaten and fully regurgitated by one of the cats.

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[dailymanners]

It's Tuesday, and it's been a few weeks I think since my last Off Topic Tuesday, so I want to take the opportunity to talk about something very near and dear to my heart: the bidet.

I am an unapologetic bidet enthusiast. I strongly believe bidets to be superior over toilet paper alone.

Bidets are more eco friendly. People bring up the water usage as an environmental concern, however, bidets actually use less water than the amount of water it takes to produce toilet paper. As the article points out “It takes 37 gallons of water to make just one roll of toilet paper.” (Producing one roll of toilet paper also requires approximately 1.5 pounds of wood.) In contrast, using a bidet only consumes about one pint of water."

Also pointed out in the article: it's more hygienic because your hands are less likely to come into contact with your waste.

And also pointed out, it's (generally) gentler on the skin to use water rather than to scrape yourself repeatedly with dry paper.

And honestly, you just *feel* fresher and cleaner than when you only use toilet paper.

One thing I take issue with in this article is that it makes the sweeping generalization that "Europe uses bidets". Which, honestly, to me seems like bidets are mostly common in southern Europe, and outside of southern Europe their usage is hit or miss.

I know for a fact that Finland is the only Nordic country where bidets are widely used and common in most households. It was actually briefly living in Finland that made me a bidet convert. I still favor the Finnish style of bidet and find them to be superior to the other types, mostly because the Finnish style (a hose attached to the sink) allows more maneuverability than the kind that's built into the toilet seat (more common in east Asia) or the kind that is a separate bowl next to the toilet (more common in southern Europe).

But outside of Finland, bidet ownership and usage is scarce to nearly non-existent in most of the rest of northern Europe. When I came back to Iceland I scoured every hardware and housing goods store I could find, and none of them had a bidet, so I had to order my bidet online.

So no, as a whole not all of Europe uses bidets. Mostly southern Europe, and outside of southern Europe a few places here and there, like Finland.

However, I hope that can change, and more people can see the light when it comes to bidet ownership. Everyone I know who I've talked into using and/or buying a bidet has thanked me, even if they were apprehensive at first.

If you think of bidets as gross or weird, think of this: if you got some of your waste on your arm while you were in the bathroom, would you just wipe it off with paper and call it good? Or would you actually want to wash that off properly? Why should your nether regions get inferior treatment from the rest of your body?

Or, another example taken from a text I had to read in a French class in secondary school that was supposed to open our minds about the foreign concept of using a bidet: imagine you're staying at a hotel in a foreign country, and after a long day you want to take a shower. However, there is no shower in your hotel bathroom. You walk up and down the hallway looking to see if there is a shower anywhere on your floor and you find nothing. So you go to the front desk and ask the receptionist where the shower is, to which they give you a weird look, maybe they have to suppress laugh, or maybe they look grossed out at you even suggesting you want to take a shower with water. They explain to you that there is dry paper in your bathroom, and all you need to do is wipe yourself down with the dry paper (your pits / hair / etc.), and that having a shower with water isn't considered necessary here. How would you feel?

[petrifleur]

pairing: nanami kento x reader; prompt: 36. striptease

contains: established relationship, mostly suggestive, office worker nanami, he has gross coworkers, burlesque dancer reader, afab fem reader (reader has boobs, wears a bra + lingerie), consensual nude sending, kento being a cutie patootie; word count: 1.2k

author's note: hehe this was so fun to write! i would love to watch a burlesque show one day :3 thank you to @benkeibear for helping me and proofreading! <3

please read my rules before interacting! minors, ageless / blank blogs will be blocked!

music blared through the speakers, the bass thumping in nanami’s head. it was pounding from the stressful day already and then his coworkers decided to go to a burlesque bar to ‘unwind’.

he did not want to be there.

he’d rather be curled up on the couch cuddling with you, his sweetheart. a little secret he kept all to himself, the relationship providing comfort in the day-to-day rush of his boring office job. however, you encouraged him to go and have a few drinks, stating that you had to work anyways and wouldn't be with him until tomorrow. at least he had something to look forward to after this terrible workweek.

the lights dimmed, spotlight directed on the stage as the mc’s voice boomed to introduce the next act. the voices around him quieted down as everyone’s eyes were glued to the stage.

a soft, sensual jazz number started playing, the curtains opened to reveal. . . you. kento’s jaw almost hit the floor but he composed himself. hollers and whistles were heard from his already inebriated coworkers, some even saying how ‘tasty’ you looked. you were donning a beautiful robe, matching feathered fans covering most of your body. your face was obscured by the fluffy feathers, only your eyes peering over them. gloves covered your hands, bedazzled at the nails.

kento was awestruck. he knew you were a dancer but not this kind. you haven’t been dating for very long, haven't gotten physical besides a few heated makeouts on his couch after half a bottle of wine. you haven't really talked much about your profession besides telling him you were a dancer. but you politely declined when he asked if you could show him a few moves or even teach him. but now he knew why. burlesque was not his personal style but boy, he knew he he loved to watch you.

along with the beat, your fans wiggled open and closed, slowly revealing the extent of your outfit. the half tied robe showing off your cleavage and teasing the lacy bra you were wearing underneath. you were moving sensually to the music, revealing more and more. the fans moved behind you like a peacock’s tail, flaring beautifully with the rhinestones glimmering in the spotlight.

you closed the fans with a snap, putting them away to the side before slowly pulling on the robe strings and turning your back to the audience. his coworkers let out huffs and puffs, wanting to see the robe fall (and drooling over your scantily clad body). kento balled his hands into fists, knuckles turning white and his nails leaving indents in his palm. his jaw was starting to hurt from clenching so hard. sweat was starting to accumulate on his brow with a vein threatening to pop. contrary to what you may believe, kento wasn't angry. oh no, not at all.

he was aroused. very painfully so. and even a little bit jealous. jealous that his coworkers would see you like that, even before he did. even if they didn't know you were his partner, he was angry at them. they didn't deserve to see your beautiful body, didn't deserve to drool over you and how stunning you were. you were his, and his alone. he was very jealous, in fact.

he was watching with gritted teeth as the robe opened, drowning out the whoops and hollers right next to him. he almost didn't notice what was stitched into the back of the robe. “k’s”.

he felt his heart beat out of his chest. did you get that done just for him? oh, he desperately hoped so.

the music reached a crescendo and the robe fell. he could see the tightly laced corset around your waist, matching panties and garters. saliva was pooling in kento’s mouth and he swallowed. hard. he would do anything to touch you right now, to feel the rhinestoned corset beneath his fingers and unlace and unravel it slowly. his hands were sweaty and he was wiping them furiously on his pants, adjusting his posture so (hopefully) no one would notice the tent in his pants. he was so, so hard, scared he would pass out from arousal.

you turned around with a dazzling smile, revealing your full outfit to everyone. the bra you wore pushed up your breasts, the shimmer from your body oil so pronounced on your skin. you slid your hand from your shoulder down, slowly pulling on the glove and revealing even more of your glimmering skin. grabbing the bedazzled tip of each gloved finger before pulling it off with your teeth seductively, kento almost felt like you were looking right at him. his heart was lurching up to his throat, his leaking length twitching in his pants. you really looked delectable.

he watched with bated breath as you did the same to the other hand, showing off your bejewelled and manicured fingers. you then grabbed each end of the gloves, rubbing the gloves between your legs as you moved your hips back and forth. kento started salivating even more at the image of you moving like that on top of him and almost came in his pants.

you spun the gloves a few times, cocking your hips side to side before throwing them over your shoulders. you did a few more lascivious moves, showing your ass cheekily before finishing up your routine with laying on your tummy on the prop sofa. you were kicking your legs and twirling your imaginary hair between your fingers as an artificial phone ring interrupted the ending your smooth jazz song.

you acted surprised before picking up the fake phone. the sound had kento holding his breath as your sweet, sweet voice responded to the familiar intro: “hiya barbie.”

“hi, ken!”

you looked in his direction and winked. of course, every man in his vicinity thought it was for them. but oh, kento knew. he knew you were onto him, you knew he was in your audience tonight. you blew a kiss before the curtain closed and the mc announced a quick break. your boyfriend shot up from his seat, muttering a quick “excuse me” before squeezing past his hollering coworkers joking about him being a little too into it. and they were absolutely right.

as soon as he reached the bathroom, he locked the door and let out a shaky exhale before fishing his phone out of his pocket. you had sent him a photo.

thank god he was alone. you were only wearing the garters, at least from what he could see. even though everything else was covered by your massive fans, he could make out the rough shadow of your breast behind the glittery feathers. the cheeky smile from your mirror pic almost had him cumming in his pants like a pathetic teenager.

‘hope you enjoyed the show! ^_^’

he quickly pulled down his pants just enough to free his leaking cock, snapping a photo himself. he had only sporadically sent nudes before so it wasn't very aesthetically pleasing. the photo was shaky and unclear but it had to do. your thighs clenched in anticipation. his photo had you drooling and getting ready to set out to find him. before you could, he was calling you.

“yes, kento?” you giggled on the other end of the line. “did you like it?”

“more than you know,” he panted, sweat running down his temple. “please, let me take you home and show you just how much.”

©petrifleur 2025 – all rights reserved, do not copy, modify, repost, translate any of my works. do not feed my works to any kind of ai.

[corviddusk]

It's actually so depressing how people will try and take my transness away from me because they don't understand that my body is literally NOT "female" I'm intersex my anatomy is fucking weird, I need surgeries and I want to socially transition. I was raised as a boy and never got put on E but was put on T instead.

But because I was AFAB even though that never effected my gender of rearing, even though nobody ever truly let me be a girl, even though I was bullied my whole life and told I wasn't a real girl and I was a disgrace, it doesn't matter.

"Oh you're just an AFAB TME cis woman trying to invade our spaces"

"Oh come on you're better off as a man anyways you basically are one. If you want to be trans then you're a man. You are only allowed to be a man you're too gross to be a real woman anyways"

No I'm not cis I'm literally transitioning socially and medically. I'm looking at getting on E and maybe some way to block my high levels of T. I'm looking into bottom surgery. I've gotten massive help and pointers from other trans women because they're the only ones who understand my position. I literally engage in transfeminism and do everything I can to further help my sisters but it just ends up with me being stabbed in the back over and over.

I'm still going to help others. I still care about transfeminism, and I won't take shit from people who treat me like garbage for being intersex. I don't care if you're going to be openly transmisogynistic to me and try to chase me out of the only spaces that have genuinely welcomed me. Nobody in my personal life has ever had an issue with me being transfem now. All my friends who are trans women have been nothing but supportive and kind to me. Both intersex and perisex.

I will still be against the term "AFAB transfem" as it's gross and pushes to forcibly label many transfems as "AMAB" and makes a traumatic event into an identity that it should not be.

Saying that people like me who are intersex are incapable of being transfem is disgusting and the same as forcing us to be men. Fuck you.

[247-diaperboy]

“Diaper college “

a colege student discovers unusual rules.

I was a freshman at a sate colege. I had been sheltered as a child.  I never was out pass ten a clock. I was a home body. I had no interest in being out pass ten. I loved my family. I did want a little more fredom. I was ready to enter adult hood. 

The dorms were small and had bunkbeds. I found that a little strange at first.

I was excited to be away at collage and I made friends almost right away. I liked the school almost immediately.  

We had to be back at the dorm by midnight.  That was fine by me. The first day went well. At night right before lights out, the dorm supervisor called floor meeting.  

The dorm supervisors welcomed the incoming students.  Freshman and transfer students.  “We have a rule that we do not talk about until the last minute. No one likes to admit that they have issues with bed wetting.  Sometimes first-time college students who have never had issues with bedtime incontinence develop issues. It can be caused by stress.  Over the years incoming freshman issues with incontinence have been on the rise.” the supervisor said. 

I was perplexed.  I had no idea where he was going with this.” all students hear are required to wear diapers at night. All students must be diapered before going to bed. The d.a will go room to room checking to make sure every student is diapered.  We will make sure that the diapers are secured. d.a max said.

“We do not want the diaper to become loose or leak while you are asleep. We ask that you not take off your diaper until morning. The bathrooms are locked after midnight. You are not allowed to access them. We recommend that you use the facilities before you go to bed.” Mark the other d.a said.

 “We have to pee or poop in our diaper my roommate asked. “Yes. That is true. Its sounds gross but take precautions. Max said.

I was shocked and stunned. I really wanted to like the college.  So far i had. I was having a great time. I disliked this.  I see why they waited until now to inform us. 

“We need to look at your diaper. If you wear shorts or pjs you will need to show us. We will need to make sure that it is fastened correctly Max said. 

After the meeting was concluded, we were to go to our rooms. I took off my shoes. I unzipped my jeans. I pulled it off. I took off my underwear. 

I took out my diaper and put it on. I waited to put on shorts before the dorm advisors had time to examine it. I did not want to put it on just to take it off again. I waited.  

Max and Mark came in. They looked at my diaper. They concluded that my diaper was secure. Adam my roommate's diaper was looked over. he was concluded to have a secure diaper as well. 

They left. I put on my shorts. However, Adam put on a t shirt but nothing else.

I got into bed. my diaper felt weird. I tried not to think about it. After all everyone else hear was wearing a diaper.

I fell asleep fairly easy. I did not wet myself. I woke up needing to pee. Adam had peed his diaper. There was a huge stain on his diaper. 

I felt horrible. I took off my diaper and used the toilet. It felt so good. I got dressed. Adam took off his diaper and showered.  

The next night i went to bed.  I had not peed. I felt awful again. I was getting tired of waking up with a full bladder. I decided to just pee my diaper. 

I woke up in the middle of the night needing to pee. I was going to let myself pee. I imagined being in a toilet. I imagined peeing. The urine started to drip into my diaper. It started off small then all at once I flooded my diaper. It felt good.  It was almost orgasmic. I fell back asleep. 

I had a full diaper. I felt good. The next night i slept through the night but had a full diaper. Every night i slept like a baby. My diaper had been soiled.  It was like that every night. 

I tried to wear underwear when i was home for break.  I ended up wetting the bed. I was now nocturnally incontinent. I wore diapers at night all the time. Other students said that they had the same problem. They all wore diapers every night from that time on. 

I was bothered by it at first. After a while I got used to wearing a diaper to bed and waking up in a wet diaper every morning. I kind of enjoyed it. 

[daryltwdixon]

Could you write some Joel Miller filth about period sex? I doubt that Joel would be like these stupid men that are repulsed by some period blood. I think he'd even like the mess to be honest. It's okay if you don't feel like writing it, it's just that I am on my period and I'm so fucking horny and sensitive and I just wish Joel would fuck me senseless.

Joel Miller x Reader Mess and All

Summary: Joel isn’t the kind of man to be scared off easily. And most definitely not by a little bit of blood. smut MDNI 18+

I never know how to tag these things: pinv, daddy kink, period sex, light fingering, dirty talk

a/n: hope I'm not getting this to you too late! Enjoy this smutty period sex, ya filthy animal. Joel is all about aftercare too, the gentleman he is, so we did get a bit of fluff at the end.

Joel’s hands were everywhere, gripping at your hips, sliding up your back, pulling you deeper into him as his mouth devoured yours, hot and insistent.

The room was dark, the sheets warm beneath your naked bodies, the heat of him pressing firm against you. His weight always grounded you, it made you feel wanted, crave— needed by this man.

Your breath hitched as he slid a rough palm down your thigh, hitching it up higher over his waist, pressing the full length of himself against you. You whimpered, arching into him, your body thrumming with need, too sensitive, too desperate for more.

“Wait, shit,” you exhaled, palm flattening against his chest as you gently pushed him back.

The sound of your lips parting, the wet smack of spit and heat between you did nothing to dull the flush of arousal still burning through you.

Joel froze, blinking down at you, pupils still blown wide, chest rising and falling in heavy breaths. His hands left your body with what looked like great willpower.

“I’m on my period,” you groaned, frustration evident in your voice.

Joel made a ‘pfft’, shaking his head, already reaching for you again, his hands kneading your skin as his lips reached for your face, your lips—

But before he could close the space, you stiffened your hand against his chest, pressing firm.

“No, it’s gross—”

Joel’s eyes flickered, his expression shifting into something unreadable. His hands stopped, pausing their heavenly touches.

“Do you want me to stop?” he asked, his voice low, searching, serious.

Your lips parted, breath pausing. No. God, no, you didn’t want him to stop. Every fiber of your body was screaming for him, every nerve alive, every inch of you aching for more.

But men never wanted this. They got squeamish, annoyed, turned off. You knew how this conversation always went. It always ended the same: you, needy, unsatisfied, and very much alone in bed with your vibrator.

Your teeth pressed into your bottom lip, uncertainty warring with desire. “No,” you admitted quietly, a pout tugging at your lips as you watched Joel’s expression.

His breath was warm, the scent of musk and pine and something deeply masculine filling the space between you. His eyes stayed locked on yours, dark, unreadable—until they dipped lower, down to where your thighs pressed tightly together, like you were trying to hold back the need pulsing between them.

Joel exhaled slowly. His hands, gentle as ever, reached for you again.

One slid to your jaw, tilting your face up, his thumb brushing slow and deliberate along your cheek. The other trailed down, over your stomach, pressing firm over your hip.

“Then why you stoppin’ me, baby?” he murmured, his voice so deep, so rough, sending a shiver down your spine.

You swallowed, but your body betrayed you, your hips shifting instinctively toward him, seeking more.

“Because…” you hesitated, cheeks flushing, voice small. “Men don’t… like it.”

Joel huffed, a low, almost amused sound. “That so?”

You nodded, eyes searching his, testing him.

Joel’s grip on your hip tightened, the heat of his palm searing through you, “Good thing I ain’t other men,” he murmured. Then, before you could say anything else, he kissed you, deep and slow, his lips parting yours like he wanted to consume you. You melted into him, moaning softly as his hand slid between your thighs, his fingers pressing into the soft flesh there, gripping, kneading, spreading.

“Joel—”

“Feel that?” he muttered against your lips, his fingers tracing up and down so slowly as they reached your already wet slick, “Feel how bad she wants me?”

You whimpered, your hands flying to grip at him, anywhere they could gain purchase–his thighs, his forearms, anywhere.

“You really think I give a shit about a little mess?” Joel growled, pressing his teeth into your neck kissing and sucking at the flesh there now pebbled with goosebumps. His cock throbbed against your hip, heavy and hard, his fingers still working tight, lazy circles against your clit, keeping you squirming beneath him.

“Wanna make you feel good, baby,” he murmured, his lips trailing down your throat, along the bone of your clavicle. “You gonna let me?”

You nodded, gasping as his fingers dragged down, the obscene noise of your arousal filling the space. Joel’s breath shuddered as he pulled back just enough to look.

“Fuck,” he muttered, his voice wrecked, his fingers sliding through your slick folds, until they began teasing your aching clit. A broken moan tore from your lips, your body pulsing, needy.

“Aw hunny, she’s soaked,” Joel teased, his thumb circling your clit, taunting. “All that for me?”

“Y-yes,” you whimpered, nails digging into his arms, “Yes, Joel,”

Joel smirked, pressing a slow, deliberate kiss to your leg as he pulled it over his shoulder, “Then let me make a mess of you, sweetheart.”

And with that, he pinched your clit, circling faster and faster as he held your body as you bucked beneath him. His fingers worked you into dizzy oblivion, steady and rampant, his mouth hot against your skin, his breath thick with restraint.

You gasped, reality cutting through the haze of pleasure as you felt him near your entrance. “Wait, wait—”

Joel froze, his fingers stilling, his lips pausing mid-kiss against your calf.

Your head spun, your thighs trembling, the ache still heavy in your core. You swallowed hard. “I need to—” You exhaled shakily, shifting against him. “I have to take out my tampon.”

Joel blinked at you, dazed, like it took him a second to even process the words through the fog of want that had settled between you. Then, after a beat, he exhaled through his nose, slow and measured, reluctantly pulling his fingers from you, sitting back on his heels and releasing your leg.

His hands flexed, his jaw tight, his whole body radiating pure restraint.

“Alright,” he muttered, the look on his face like a toddler being told to wait for his favorite dessert, before nodding toward the bathroom. “Go on, then.”

You pushed off the bed and hurried to the bathroom, your whole body throbbing as you shut the door behind you. Your fingers trembled as you reached for the tampon, your pulse still racing, your mind clouded with the image of Joel waiting in bed, wrecked, ready to tear into you the second you walked back out.

You tossed the tampon, taking a slow, steadying breath as you grabbed a washcloth, running it under warm water, wiping between your thighs.

But then, as you turned and opened the door, you were greeted by the most marvelous, beautiful sight you’ve ever seen. Joel stood there, bare, broad, towering, his pupils blown wide, his aching cock in his fist.

“Couldn’t fuckin’ wait,” he muttered, his voice rough, before his hands were on you, turning you around, hands gripping your waist, bending you over the sink. You gasped, bracing yourself against the cold porcelain, your thighs trembling as he pressed up behind you, his cock sliding between your slick folds. 

“Joel—” you whimpered, your breath fogging up the mirror, your fingers curling tight against the edge of the sink.

“Nah uh, baby,” He didn’t waste another second. With one firm thrust, he sank into you, stretching you open, filling you to the hilt.

“Still so ready, so wet for me. Even with all your complainin’,” he groaned, voice thick, rough against your ear. “‘Joel, I’m on my period,’” he mocked, and the next thrust was hard, forcing another gasp from your lips, your knuckles white against the sink.

“Joel, it’s gross,” he continued, smirking, his breath hot against your neck.

Your body shuddered, clenching around him as heat poured through you, spreading like liquid fire. Your moan echoed against the bathroom walls, pussy clenching around him, the sensation even more intense than usual due to the added wetness and sensitivity.

Joel grunted, his hands gripping your waist as he pulled out, then thrust back in, deep and slow.

“Fuck,” he groaned, his breath ragged as words tumbled from his mouth. “You love this, don’t you? Love bein’ my filthy little thing, huh? So needy, so wet and achin’. Can’t believe you tried keepin’ her from me. All fuckin’ wet and perfect and tight, Jesus–”

Joel growled, his pace quickening, fucking into you with deep, steady strokes, his hips slamming against yours, the sound of skin-on-skin mixing with the soft, wet sounds of you taking him.

You whimpered, arching into his touch, your head tipping back onto his shoulder as he devoured you, kissing the side of your neck, biting just hard enough to make you moan.

“Say it,” Joel gritted out, his voice dark, low, commanding. Before you could even process the words, his hand slid up, rough fingers wrapping beneath your jaw, forcing your gaze to the mirror in front of you.

“Watch, baby, look at you,” he rasped, snapping his hips into you from behind, making you cry out, your nails scraping against the sink.

You were a mess—flushed, sweaty, your lips swollen and eyes heavy, your body rocking forward with every deep, punishing thrust. Whimpering and barely able to think, your body was already on the edge of something sharp, hot, all-consuming.

Joel’s grip tightened, holding you right there, making you see the way you reacted to him, his touch, his cock. When your eyes flickered up to meet his, he had a devilish grin. 

“Say it,” he repeated, his voice thick with something dangerous, something possessive, kissing the side of your face before looking back up into the mirror to meet your gaze again. “Watch yourself get off on my cock, all messy and nasty, little thing—” His other hand slid down, pressing firm circles against your clit, dragging a wrecked whimper from your lips.

“—and say you love it.”

You gasped, your hands gripping the edge of the sink, your head spinning, your body clenching tight around him. 

“I—I love it,” you finally panted, voice breaking, your eyes blown wide as you watched yourself take him in the mirror, “I love it, daddy–love your cock–”

Joel’s smirk deepened, his grip tightening.

“Atta girl. So pretty like this, baby. All mine. My pretty, filthy little thing.” Joel ground out, an inhuman noise escaping his teeth as he pulled back to watch himself disappear inside you, the slick mess between you coating his length. And God, he loved it.

Your stomach tightened, your body clenching, pleasure coiling tight, hot and unbearable.

And he felt it.

“There she is,” he gritted, his fingers trailing down, pressing against your folds again as his rhythm steadied, his thumb circling your clit just right. “Come on, baby—give it to me. Cum all over daddy’s cock, yeah? C’mon now,”

Your whole body jerked, pleasure shooting through you, your walls fluttering around him. You moaned loud, rocking back against him, desperate. Suddenly, as his fingers rubbed your clit once more, his thick length stretching and pushing into the spongy corner of your pussy, your orgasm ripped through you, hot and overwhelming, your body locking up before shaking apart in his hands.

Joel groaned, feeling you pulse around him had his breath shattering against your skin as he buried himself deep, his hips stilling as he spilled inside you, his whole body going tense before sagging against your back.

The bathroom was silent except for your ragged breathing, the heat still thick between you.

Joel exhaled sharply, pressing a slow kiss to your shoulder, his hands rubbing slow circles into your hips, “You alright, hunny?” 

“I think you may have just created the cure for cramps–” you exhaled a laugh.

Joel chuckled, the deep sound rumbling against your back as he pressed another kiss to your skin, the scruff of his beard deliciously rough against your oversensitive flesh.

“Yeah?” he murmured, nuzzling the space just below your ear. “Guess I’ll have to keep you comin’ back for treatment then, huh?”

You hummed, smiling as his arms wrapped around your waist, holding you close for a long, quiet moment, his thumbs still absentmindedly stroking your skin, grounding you.

Then, after a beat, he pressed a final kiss to your temple.

“C’mon,” he murmured, voice softer now, more gentle. “Let me get you cleaned up.”

With that, he finally pulled away, slipping out of you, soothing a warm palm down your back as you caught your breath. He leaned over, turning on the shower, steam already curling into the air. Joel glanced over his shoulder at you, his eyes warm, steady, that familiar softness creeping back into his face.

“Water’s warm,” he said, tilting his chin toward the shower. “C’mon, sweetheart.”

You sighed, stretching your limbs before stepping in after him, your body still buzzing, still humming in the aftermath of everything he just gave you.

The hot water cascaded over your skin, washing away the evidence of your shared pleasure, but Joel’s hands never stopped taking care of you.

Strong, steady palms kneaded into your sore muscles, working out the tension, soothing where he might’ve held you too tight, where his grip had branded you as his. He reached for the soap, lathering it in his hands before running it over your skin, slow and deliberate, like he was memorizing you all over again.

He worked through your hair next, fingers massaging against your scalp, his touch firm but careful, gentle in a way that made your heart stutter.

You leaned into him, your back pressing against his front, your body melting under his touch.

“Love you, baby,” he murmured, lips brushing your shoulder. “Mess and all.”

A soft smile stretched across your lips, your eyes drifting closed as you reached back for him, fingers threading through his damp hair.

“Love you more,” you whispered.

Joel just hummed, arms tightening around you, holding you close as the water poured over both of you, sealing you in the warmth of something deeper than just this.

[munsonsmixtapes]

Just You and Me: Part Two

On every part of this series, there will be a poll where you can vote whether you want reader to end up with Steve or Eddie or both! This has been so much fun to write and I hope y’all enjoy!

summary: you debut your “relationship at Corroded Coffin’s gig at The Hideout, unknowingly hurting the both of them.

cw: hurt/no comfort, angst, mention of alcohol

part one

Steve is sitting on the couch in your living room while you show him the entire time frame of your “relationship” that you’ve mapped out on a piece of poster board. You put it up on an easel and even got a collapsible metal pointer to really show him how serious you are about the whole thing.

Though, he seems more interested in the bag of potato chips he’s snacking on as opposed to the whole point of why he’s even at your apartment. He knows he’s supposed to be focusing, but how can he when you’re wearing that skirt that drives him crazy? Your legs just look so good and he’s so desperate to run his hands up and down your thighs as he lies on top of you, kissing you until you’re both-

“Steve, hello,” you’re waving your hand in front of his face and he’s quick to snap back into reality.

“Huh?” He asks, still partially in his daze and you snatch the chip bag from his hand and see them down on the coffee table that sits between you, making sure it’s just out of reach for him.

“Focus.“ You hit the pointer against the poster board to try to get his attention, but he’s still got that dreamy look in his eye. You wonder what’s so important that he’s not listening to you. It seems like he’s been in his own head for days.

“Sorry.” Now he feels like a jackass. You’re going through all of this effort and all he’s doing is staring at your body. He brings his focus back to the board and for the first time, he’s actually looking and holy shit, with how much thought you’ve put into this whole thing, it might just work.

“Where is your head today?” Up his ass, apparently. He can’t think about anything except how beautiful you look and it’s fucking with his head.

“I’m sorry. I was just up really late last night.” He’s actually not lying. He couldn’t sleep because of you. Because of this whole thing and how he isn’t exactly sure how it’s going to play out.

“Right, with your flavor of the week?” He hasn’t actually slept with anyone in a long time. He would just keep wishing it was you so he just stopped altogether because he didn’t want to lead anyone.

“Nope, just me and my hand, unfortunately.” He holds up said hand and wiggles his fingers which causes you to grimace.

“Gross.”

“So when does this whole thing start?” He asks, leaning against the couch with his arms sitting along the back.

“Tomorrow night. Corroded Coffin is performing at the Hideout so it’s a perfect opportunity.”

“So, no practice? We’re just going balls deep?” How the hell are you going to pull this off without practice? That makes no sense and no one’s even going to believe you if you can’t be convincing.

“First of all, don’t ever say that again. Second, we’re going to practice right now so just chill out, alright?” You head over to the couch and sit down next to Steve. Your thighs are touching and he can feel the heat from you through his jeans. If things were different, he’d have you straddling his lap, his hands resting on your back as he kisses you until you’re both breathless.

“Practice what?” He asks. Maybe if he actually read everything on your easel, he wouldn’t be so confused.

“Hold my hand,” you tell him and he hates that his cheeks are blushing. He’s held your hand so many times, but this is different. It’s supposed to be romantic, or implying that it is to other people.

His hand slides into yours, fingers intertwining and when he looks up at your face, you’re staring at him like he’s just hung the moon. God, you’re good. You’re acting, right? You have to be. Because if you weren’t and actually in love with him then you wouldn’t even be doing this whole stupid thing.

“You’re a natural,” you tell him with a smile.

“I’m just holding your hand, l/n. It’s not rocket science.”

“Still,” you shrug. “You know exactly what to do.” And he does. You’d never admit it, but his hand feels nice in yours. It’s soft and smooth and the way that his thumb is rubbing back and forth along yours. You almost don’t want to let go.

“Is this it?” Steve asks, still feeling his heart hammer in his chest at the feeling of your hand in his. He’d never tell you how right it feels to him. How he wants to hold your hand forever and never let go.

“No,” You shake your head, your hand reluctantly slipping out of his. You turn your body fully to face him and he mimics you, trying his best to not reach for your hand again. “I was wondering if you’d be comfortable practicing kissing.” Would he be comfortable? He’s only dreamed about kissing you every day for the majority of his life. He’s so ready and trying to not show just how eager he is.

“I’m open to it,” he nods and you bring your legs up onto the couch, crossing them over each other. And once again, Steve mimics you, doing the exact same thing. He watches as you take a deep breath. Could it be possible that you’re just as nervous? That would actually make him feel a whole lot better.

Your hands slowly reach up and grab hold of his face, cradling it gently. He hums at your touch, his eyes fluttering closed. Is this actually real? Or does this dream just seem so realistic? As soon as your lips touch his, he’s sure that it’s real. And it’s perfect, everything he ever dreamed it would be.

His mouth moves with yours as one hand rests at the back of your head, the other resting on your waist. And of fucking course you’re a good kisser. You’re good at everything. It’s only supposed to be short, but neither of you want to be the first to break away.

So you stay like that for just a little longer. You even go as far as licking into his mouth to deepen it, so close to climbing into his lap, but you refrain. It isn’t supposed to be like this. It’s just practice. But you’re enjoying it way more than you thought you would. So much so that you’re not even thinking about why you’re doing it or Eddie for that matter. All you’re thinking about is Steve and how much you want him inside you.

Steve lets out a moan and you’re quick to pull away, finally pulled back into reality. His pupils are blown wide and his lips are a pretty shade of pink from being kiss bitten. He runs his hands through his hair and god, he’s just so pretty. You’ve always thought that, but especially tonight. You have to pull yourself out of your thoughts, trying to think about Eddie. That’s your main focus.

You don’t like Steve. This was just you getting caught up in the moment. That’s all it is. You just have to make sure that you don’t go that far again so you don’t do something you know you shouldn’t. As long as all of your kisses are around other people, that shouldn’t be a problem.

“How was that?” You ask before rolling your lips into your mouth.

“That was-” Steve cuts himself off, his cheeks turning a bright pink. “That was-I mean, wow.”

“Is that supposed to be a compliment?” You’re unsure, but you’re hoping so. He wouldn’t have kissed you for that long if it was bad, right?

“Yes.”

“Well, good. I think we’re going to be convincing.” So you still want to go through with it. Eddie is still your goal. He doesn’t know why he thought that his kiss would make you want to call the whole thing off. Clearly all Steve will ever be to you is your best friend.

The rest of the night is spent role playing different scenarios and acting accordingly. Steve tries his best to play it off like he’s fine, but really, all he wants to do is throw in the towel. He wants to just quit and tell you that you’re on your own because it’s all just hurting too much.

But because he’s just such a great friend, he doesn’t. He can’t. You’ve already gotten this far and now you have to see it through. He also doesn’t want you asking Robin. Partly because he knows Robin can’t lie for shit and partly because he’d just be super jealous. So he’s going to do it and he’s going to do it with a big smile on his face because he doesn’t want to hurt you.

The Hideout is pretty empty when you and Steve show up. This is the usual turn out for a Tuesday night, but you and your friends are going to cheer for the band just like you always do. They’re setting up their equipment on the stage and you and Steve make a beeline for them, you trying to not seem so excited to see Eddie.

He looks so good in his leather jacket, cropped t-shirt, and jeans that hug his body in all the right places. He catches sight of you out of the corner of his eye and cuts his conversation with Gareth short as he hurries over to you.

He jumps off the stage and Steve’s quick to pull you back so you don’t get hurt, trying his hardest not to glare at the guy. That’s one of his best friends and is he really going to be the kind of guy who lets a girl get in between them? No way. Their friendship is way more important than that.

“You made it,” Eddie smiles, stuffing his hands into the pockets of his jacket.

“I always do,” you smile back and Steve doesn’t like the flirty looks you’re giving each other. “And I even brought Stevie to be another one of your cheerleaders.”

Eddie watches the way Steve wraps his arms around your middle, resting his chin on your shoulder. This doesn’t surprise him since you’re always touchy with each other, but this time, it seems different. And when Steve kisses your cheek, he knows it is.

“So, you two, huh?” He asks, pushing hands further into his pockets, balling his fists as he tries his best to hide how upset he is. He always knew this day would come. The two of you are meant for each other and everyone knows it. He just wished he would have had a chance before the two of you made it official. But he supposes that you were always bound to end up together. That’s how that kind of shit always goes for Eddie.

“Yeah,” you nod with a smile, looking up at Steve and Eddie feels like his heart is being ripped out of his chest because it’s not him who you’re looking at like that. “For a couple weeks now, wouldn’t you say so, honey?”

“I’d say so,” Steve nods, not even having to try to look lovingly at you.

“Well, I’m happy for you. It was a long time coming.” He’s smiling through the pain, trying his best to pretend like he can’t hear his heart breaking.

There’s a look on his face that you can’t quite make out and you really wish you knew if he was telling the truth. But then again, Eddie is one who’s known for being honest, even brutally so. And you’ve been friends long enough that you expect him to tell you the truth when something is bothering him.

But Eddie would never tell you the truth, not about how he feels about you, anyway. He’s taking that shit to the grave now since you’re with Steve. He excuses himself to head back to the stage to make sure that everything is all set and you’re starting to think that went too well. He really wasn’t even a little jealous?

You and Steve head to the bar and he’s squeezing your shoulder to show you that he’s sympathetic to the situation. Because as badly as he wants to be with you, he really just wants you to be happy in the end even if it’s not with him.

The two of you sip on your drinks, standing even closer to each other than you normally would, feeling the need to touch each other in any way you can to make the whole thing believable. You have to admit that Steve is a much better actor than you had initially thought. If you didn’t know any better, you would have thought that he was in love with you.

How devastating that would be if he was? You would have felt so horrible for asking him to pretend to be your boyfriend if you knew that was what he was wanting from you all along. That would really make you feel like a dick because how cruel would that have been to make him pretend to be something he’s wanted to be all for the purpose of trying to get the attention of someone else?

You reach up and brush some hair out of Steve’s face and he’s trying so hard to reel back his feelings. He’s been thinking about that kiss since it happened and if he had the balls, he would have asked you if you could price again. He’s desperate for more, so close to pulling you yo the bathroom to have his way with you, fucking you senseless until you completely forget Eddie’s name, Steve’s being the only one to fall from your lips.

You’re nudging him from his fantasy and he’s immediately snapped back to reality. How long was he out? His fantasies seem to be lasting way longer lately, much more real. He’s getting even more pathetic by the second and he’s not sure how much more he can take.

“It's about to start. Let’s go.” You grab him by the hand and he follows you to the front of the stage where you’re beaming up at Eddie who’s at the front of the stage, introducing the band into the mic before going into the first song.

He watches you the entire time, hating how Steve’s got his arms wrapped around you, his chin making a home on your shoulder. He’s filled with more anger than he knows what to do with. Seeing how you’re looking at each other makes him so jealous that he’s so close to diving off the stage and tackling Steve, which he knows is wrong.

Because truly, neither of you are doing anything wrong. You’re just a couple and Eddie was actually counting down the days, trying to slide in before you got together, but he’s too late. And he’s kicking himself for it.

He’s so focused on you and Steve that he’s not even paying attention to what he’s doing. He’s actually not even sure how he can keep up with his bandmates. He’s trying to focus on the lyrics he’s singing. The lyrics he wrote for you and how he feels about you.

You can’t believe how talented Eddie is. How this is what he’s really meant to do. You just know he’s going to make it and pretty soon, Corroded Coffin is going to sell out arenas, The Hideout being just the beginning.

He’s so into what he’s singing, his eyes closed. But you don’t know that he’s only doing it so he doesn’t have to see you with Steve. The song is so romantic, unlike the band’s other songs. Eddie’s voice sounds so pained and you hope that he’s not speaking from personal experience. Even though it hurts thinking about him being with someone else, you’d hate for him to not be able to be with who he’s interested in.

He’s grabbed your attention as he goes into his guitar solo, the cords slower than what he’s used to. You’re hypnotized by the way his fingers slide across the strings, doing it so effortlessly that you can’t help but be impressed.

Steve sees the way you’re staring and pulls you closer to him to get your attention. How will it look if his girlfriend is looking at the lead singer like he’s hung the moon? He knows no one cares, but he does. He honestly only cares because of how badly he wants you to look at him like that. That’s all he’s ever wanted and he knows that he’s not going to get it. Because it’s just his luck that he'd be in love with someone who isn’t in love with him. He’s never anyone’s first choice.

The set ends and the two of you wait as Eddie and the band pack up their equipment. You’re supposed to go out to dinner with them afterwards and Steve is absolutely dreading it. He just wants to go home and drown himself in the bottle of tequila he bought the other night and listen to your favorite record on repeat.

You wait until Eddie is distracted and wrap your arms around Steve's neck, throwing your head back as a loud laugh escapes your lips. Steve somehow catches on and he laughs as well, his genuine because yours is just so damn contagious.

Eddie looks up from where he’s putting his guitar away and that feeling in his gut he’s been having since the two of you showed up gets even worse, to the point where it starts to hurt. Yeah, he’s not going out tonight. He’s going to curl up in his bed and write some of the most devastating lyrics.

And when he watches the two of you lean in for a kiss, well, you might as well have ripped his heart out of his chest. That would have hurt a lot less. Gareth follows Eddie’s line of sight and doesn’t even have to ask to know what Eddie is thinking.

He doesn’t see how no one else knows how Eddie feels. He’s so goddamn obvious that it’s become painful to watch. And he knows you like him too so seeing you show up with Steve really threw him off. He knows that Steve likes you too, so this whole thing is really just a mess. He doesn’t want anyone to get hurt, especially not Eddie because he’s always getting the short end of the stick.

The rest of the members go out to dinner which you politely decline the invitation to since Eddie’s not going. You just have Steve drop you off at your apartment because being by yourself suddenly sounds so inviting. You just want to be by yourself because of how hurt you are that your plan is failing and it’s only started. How the hell are you going to continue when it’s not even effective?

So, the three of you wallow in your self pity in your respective rooms, hating how everything is turning out. It’s all so painful and unfair. Tears are shed and alcohol is drunk like water to numb the pain that you’re all feeling. Something that should be so simple has been complicated because you just had to go and pull Steve into your scheme instead of just being honest with him. And it seems like you’re going to pay for it, unknowingly hurting the both of them.

[taelophone]

Frat Boys & Parties ˙⟡ — A tutorial. ⋆⭒˚｡⋆ "How do I write a Frat Party?"

Ok, so as a luigi girlie, I want you guys to understand how to write our frat boy correctly !! Heres a lil walkthru of a frat party! The good, bad, and the gross lol

!DISCLAIMER! Not every frat is the same, but these are some common themes ive seen after about 4-5 crashes at diff brotherhoods lol

1. The Party

Ok, so this is a p self explanatory part. What is a frat party like, and what are some common misconceptions.

The most common one i see is that there’s some sort of “guest list” or that in order to get into a frat, you have to come with a brother. This isn’t true…at all. You will be LET IN for being a woman, as long as they find you “attractive” (I did say the bad would be included). Frat parties are usually not invite only, and if they are it’s usually a brother thing. It’s actually harder to get into a frat as a man, as their main goal is as many chicks in the house AS POSSIBLE. If you come with ONE dude as ONE chick, you will separated if he’s not a brother lol. They won’t let him in.

If you do go with a man, please bring at least 3-4 friends. There needs to be a ratio lol.

Now how do you even get into a frat? Simple! Word of mouth, socializing, etc. if you have even one friend that’s a social butterfly, you will more than likely be aware of when different frats are hosting. There is usually NO invite system.

You can make a character that’s known to be social, you can be the social friend, etc etc. But honestly its not difficult if you have even a slightly small friend group.

2. What It’s like

You can always tell when someone hasn’t been to a frat by the way they talk about them. They are very VERY gross😭 You will be uncomfortable, the music is painfully loud and shitty, the tables are sticky, everyone smells sweaty, and you will get hit on and very potentially harassed. This is why it’s wiser to come with a male friend and 4-5 girlfriends. It’s not wise to be at a frat alone or just with one girl. Remember, the goal is ALWAYS going to be getting you drunk.

Write about the stickiness of the floor, how humid the room feels, the constant jostling of bodies, and the people around you. The party will feel less realistic and flat if there’s no small dialogue. For example, bumping into people.

“Excuse me, sorry!” A random girl squeaked, a drunken smile on her face as she squeezed past, her pupils the size of dinner plates.

Or if you’re feeling a little more frat-boy motivated, write a brief interaction with a brother.

“Hey…you havin’ fun? Yeah, my dude Jacob put this party together. He’s kind of an asshole, cuz he made me do all the planning, but it’s whatever.”

If your character is more reserved and tends not to drink, the night will be uncomfortable for them. One way I like to show discomfort or emphasize the grotesque is use “gross” imagery. Compare the actions and surroundings of your character to formally uncomfortable topics and ideas. Remember, imagery is a GREAT tool! Use it to make your advantage and make your readers skin crawl!!

“The crowd around you wiggled and thrashed like a hoard of hungry maggots attacking at a piece of rotten fruit, the bitter and stale taste of the cheap beer serving as their stimulant in the ghostly night.”

And on the topic of beer, it’s ALWAYS cheap. It’s free, so why are you complaining? Complaining about the drinks is usually a no no lmfao😭 make sure to include that in as well! I can’t give you any brands to go off of cuz it’s different at every party I’ve been to, but it’s usually NEVER any high quality shit. No Heineken, no Bud Lite, no Miller.

Cheap beer tastes literally like scorching expired fruit. It has the stalest taste ever. It’s DISGUSTING. I need to emphasize this so YOU can emphasize it in your writing. Alcohol burns! It hurts to chug, it hurts to sip, it’s “spicy”. This is another opportunity to use allusion and imagery in your writing. Talk about how it feels like flames going down, or how it bites at the flat part of your tongue and stings your nose.

Now, if your character is a little bit more open to drinking, slowly begin to go from “gross” imagery or themes of discomfort into fantasy and “wonderland-esque” imagery.

You’ll have more fun at a frat if you’re not sober, and that’s the tea. Monitor how much your character is drinking, and how she should be reacting in this state! I break it up into a couple of levels.

Buzzed.

Tipsy

Sloppy

Blackout

At buzzed, your character should slowly begin to get more social. She’s giggly, happy, and a little more relaxed but still very in tune with her surroundings. Spend more time in the party than you will in her mind. At this point, she’s thinking a little bit less, so try to cut a little bit of monologue.

At tipsy, she’s getting loose-lipped and courageous. Talking to strangers, dancing with a brother she’s never met, pursuing the goal she had originally come to the party for (if she has one), and a little bit less aware. She may lose her friends in the sea of people, but she’s overall still fine.

At SLOPPY, she’s becoming a bit of a nuisance. She’s getting loud, bumping into people a bit harder than usual, has no concept of personal space, and is a yap machine. She’s talking so much, and is stumbling and laughing at anything. Or, quite the contrary, she’s crying and sitting on the floor. Depends on who she is.

At Blackout, she’s slowing down. Her words are drastically slurred, so be prepared to ignore your grammarly. She’s stumbling through people, likely trying to find a place to sit down, the lights are way brighter than they actually are, and she might even throw up.

THISSS is how you write being drunk! It varies from person to person, because I am unfortunately a flirty and energetic drunk, but this is a baseline to work with.

The more your character drinks, the more their headspace should reflect this feeling. Some words like floaty, tingly, euphoric, giddy, etc should suffice. I even like to compare it to space because sometimes it do be feeling like zero gravity😔

do we want a part 2 with how to write actual Frat boys? Cuz it seems not many of us have encountered them irl…(it’s better that way trust.)

[genderqueerdykes]

Really appreciate this blog and what it shares. Got into an arguement with someone who was a transfem TIRF (didn’t realize that was even a thing at the time lmao) and it left me feeling really upset due to the both gross ways she’d talked about trans men and the fact that she got a lot of support in the notes. So coming here and seeing in fact most people love and care about us transmascs is nice.

Won’t argue again next time I see an account like that cuz it’s kinda obvious people in those circles are prolly not getting out but yeah.

i am so sorry you had that experience. i'm glad you're advocating for yourself and choosing to not argue with that person again.

i honestly refuse to socialize with a person when i see them be that openly hateful with no attempts to change. i stopped talking to one of my old roommates after he started saying all kinds of transandrophobic shit, shitting on transmascs bodies and calling them gross because he's "gay" and could never be into vaginas or breasts. my ex (trans)gf literally fucking yelled at me for not wanting to be his friend after this. like actually fucking yelled at me numerous times. i asked her if she would be comfortable staying his friend if he was transmisogynistic toward her and told her her body was disgusting, and she said yeah of course, as if somehow that wouldn't cause her pain. nobody gave a flying fuck about how transandrophobia affects transmascs, so i said fuck all of you and stopped being their friends.

there are so many people who have gladly jumped on the rad fem train and it's so sad. that's no way to live your life. that's such a hateful ideology. rad feminism is nothing but hate. it's hate for yourself for being a woman because you equate womanhood to suffering. it's hate for other women because they're not women "right" like you are. it's hate for transmascs and trans men. it's hate for nonbinary people. it's hate for genderfluid people. it's hate for trans, nonbinary, genderqueer, genderfluid, gnc, bi, & pan lesbians. it's hate for butches who are men. for TIRFs in specific, it's hate for other trans people because they're "trans wrong". rad feminism is hatred all the way down no matter how you look at it. rad feminism will never be productive or progressive. it's about wallowing in your misery, mining for sympathy and pity, and crying about how you're powerless and defenseless instead of doing something about it. it's admitting defeat.

as a fellow transmasc, i'm just over it. i'm not gonna stew in self hatred. i had a friend who WAS transmasc who basically forced me to hate myself for being a trans man. always going on and on about how they hated certain transmascs and trans men, how they were "Whiny and entitled"... yikes dude. you can keep hating yourself over there, but i genuinely love being transmasc & a trans man. coming out as a trans man literally saved my fucking life. i was a depressed mess that hated myself before i came out. i've never loved myself more. and if someone else can't love what i love about myself? they're not worth my damn time.

i'm not here to throw transmascs under the bus just to kiss up to transfems to try to look progressive for brownie points. that shit is underhanded and dirty. we can support all trans people at once. we aren't football teams. you don't have to pit random queer identities against one another. we're on the same side. none of us are enemies. none.

thanks for taking the time to stop by! take care of yourself, i'm glad that i could help in any way. i am just OVER people forcing transmascs and trans men to hate themselves and exist solely to talk about trans women and transfems and nothing else. i am just over people making men and mascs feel like shit. it's done. it's over. i'm not participating, and neither are you. pack that shit up into a box, and throw it in the garbage. we're working together whether or not you like it. the only way we get out of this is together. our fight for liberation is NOT a crab bucket- you do NOT have to pull someone else down when you see them rise up and advocate for themselves.

[curly-fry-3]

i have a request. I don't know if they are still open but here we go. Dean x reader, where reader is possessed and tries to kill the brothers, but they exorcise her. She has weak health so when the demon is out, she gets ill. Fluff after that. Love your writing!

𖦹Possessed𖦹

summary𖦹 You get possessed and Dean takes care of you

pairing𖦹 Dean Winchester x Reader

word count𖦹 1,190

notes𖦹 I hope you like this. this is my first time writing a fight scene so it might not be spectacular. also just fyi, learned this the hard way, writing someone who's possessed it HARD

also I didn't fully proofread it, I kinda skimmed it (sorry its like midnight and I have school tomorrow lol)

Holy shit. This is probably the worst you've ever felt. Being trapped in your mind with no control over your actions, demons suck. Of course you would be targeted, being close with the Winchesters always got you in trouble–damn Dean and his charming smile that lured you in. You and Dean had been together for almost a year, you two had met through Bobby when he needed help translating some ancient spell. Of course Dean hit on you like there was no tomorrow and of course you fell for him and you've been going strong ever since. You help Dean and Sam with researching and questioning people for information. Dean would die before he let you actually fight, especially because you already got sick so easily, he didn't want more strain on your body. That's how the demon had found you.

You were walking back to the motel after questioning the victim's husband. It was dark out and you had this creepy feeling, like someone was watching you. You had quicked your steps, hoping to get back to the motel–and Dean–before something could jump out at you. Unluckily for you, you were being watched by a demon, and you would never be able to outrun it. When the black smoke entered you and you were no longer in control, your body continued to head to the motel–to Dean and Sam. You tried to take control of your body, you have no idea what you would do to them but you know it wouldn't be good, but you weren't strong enough.

Soon you made it to the motel and walked through the door, strolling in like nothing was wrong. Sam was sitting at the small table near the door on his laptop and dean was laying in your shared bed reading up on some lore. When you enter Dean looks up and smiles at you in greeting “hey babe, any leads”

“Oh no nothing” the demon said, taking of your suit jacket and shoes and sitting on the bed next to dean

Dean looks at you confused “sweetheart, is something wrong”

“What, no, why” the demon responds, pretending to be just as confused

His face hardens as he gets up from the bed and stands against the nightstand, reaching for the demon blade in the top drawer behind his back. “You're not her”

Sam is listening in on the conversation and immediately goes into battle mode when he hears Dean's tone. He stands up as well and reaches for his gun on the table next to him, silently sizing you up.

When the demon realizes it's been found it drops the innocent act and you stand up facing the boys, getting ready to fight them. “Oh you're very observant, Dean, you know I thought I had about an hour till you figured me out…guess I'm not that great of an actress.” The demon says, with a sinister smile on your face. “Oh well, i'll still get to kill you two” You look over to sam. “Don't try and pull a fast one, I know you don't wanna hurt this little meatsuit.” You turn back to dean “especially you ... .you know, her first thought when I took over for her was that she didn't wanna hurt you…so sweet it makes me sick. You two are just gross.”

Dean look at you with a warning gaze “don't you dare hurt her, you son of a bitch”

The demon chuckles “oh, baby, you're gonna be the one doing all the damage” 

A look of realization flashes over Dean's face and he drops the demon blade in his hand–he would never hurt you. You pull out the knife from your belt and lunge at him. He dodges your attack, tripping you, and you end up on the floor, Your knife across the room, with him standing over you, Sam in his duffle bag getting holy water. From your position on the motel carpet you quickly kick upwards, hitting Dean in the balls. While you're getting up, Sam comes over and you punch the back of his knee, making him bend forward–losing his balance. Before you can get far, Dean has recovered from his hit and grabs you and pins you down. “Sam now!”

Sam splashes you with holy water and begins exorcizing you. If you thought being possessed sucked, being exorcized was ten times worse. By the time it was done you were so weak you couldn't home yourself up. Thankfully Dean was holding you. “Shit, baby I got you”

You look up at him weakly with tears in your eyes “I'm so sorry. I tried to take control, I really tried.”

Dean gently lays you down on the bed, giving Sam a look saying that he needs some alone time with you. He brings his attention back to you as Sam heads outside and you continue to apologize. “Sweetheart, it's not your fault” he starts taking care of you, changing you out of your FBI uniform and into your pajamas. “Don't, even for a second, think that it's your fault” He pauses after you're dressed and wipes the tears from your eyes as you're propped up on the pillows. “Are you comfortable baby? I know that was a lot for you.”

“I'm so tired, my body aches” You complain looking up at him with red rimmed eyes “I didn't wanna hurt you”

He looks at you with a reassuring smile “trust me, you didn't”

“But i kicked you in the balls” you say concerned

He grimaces at the memory,“And I handled it” Dean sits on the bd next to you and rubs your calf comfortingly, “do you need anything”

“I just want you to hold me” you answer, pulling him down into your embrace

He immediately reciprocates your hug, wrapping you in his warm comforting arms, You let out a deep breath of air in relief, your achy muscles already feeling better. When Dean gets situated next to you melt into his arms and rest your head on his chest. “Better?” He asks

“Way better” you confirm. “You always make everything better”

He softly smiles at your statement and kisses the top of your head. He rubs your back in soothing, comforting motions. “I try”

You look up at him guiltily, “I should be the one comforting you, I tried to kill you”

He shakes his head in disagreement, “that wasn't you. And besides, you're way too weak to do any comforting. That demon did more damage to you than me.”

“I still feel bad” you look away, sheepishly

Dean playfully rolls his eyes and his hand stops its movement on your back. “Dont…I love you ok…I just wanna make sure your ok”

You look back to him “I love you too”

Not needing to say anything else, you curl back up into him and his hand resumes it's comforting pattern. Sure, being close with the Winchesters made you a target to monsters across America, but Dean was always there to protect and comfort you.

You kiss Dean's chest then mutter into his shirt, “I really need to get that anti possession tattoo.”

sorry if there are any typos

love y'all

[writing-zelda-brainrots]

Winx Club? I haven’t heard that name in years. *slides you $20* got anymore drabbles or HC for the Links and fairy reader?

(If that’s okay to ask ofc. I loved Winx as a child and now I think you got me wanting to watch it again. I’ll never get over how stunning those girlies were 😩)

We love our beautiful and badass girls. I really hoe the reboot will do our queens justice (but I am sceptical).

I know that in the previous fic, I mentioned that [Name] had already earned their Enchantix, but I imagined them in their basic Magic Winx/Charmix form in this one.

--

This was the worst.

As if these monsters couldn't be more disgusting, you just had to get caught in a giant Skulltula's web. It was thick, sticky, stringy and stronger than it had any right to be. And you hated it. Any and all attempts to free yourself only resulten in you gatting more stuck.

Thankfully, you had just enough wiggle room to shoot a couple spells at the few remaining Skulltulas that wanted to sink their mandables into your flesh. But who knows how long it'll be until more come.

At this point, you would rather get swallowed whole by one of those "Like Likes" that Hyrule mentioned.

"[Name], are you okay?" Oh thank the Great Dragon, Wars was here. You were wondering when someone would notice that you were missing from the fight.

"Never felt better." You answered with some sarcasm. "This is so gross."

"Don't worry, I'll have you out in just a moment." He took hold of whatever parts of you weren't covered in sticky web and began to pull.

Wars was undoubtedly stronger than you, so he had a much better chance at getting you down. However, he was pulling too hard too fast and the web just wouldn't let go. It was as if he and the web were playing tug-of-war, but for keeps. Particularly, your wings and the rest of your body were being yanked in different directions. It hurt. A lot.

"Stop! Stop! You'll tear my wings off!"

It was only when you started pleading did he stop pulling. Thought he did still have half a mind to apologize.

The next brilliant idea was to cut you loose. But, to be fair, this one was much more successful. With just a few swipes of his sword, Wars had severed the bits of web holding you in place while staying away from any of your body parts. Thankfully, you were spared the fate of faceplanting onto the rocky dungeon floor when Wars caught you.

"Would you look at that, I caught a butterfly. A big, pretty one, too."

"One more word out of you and I swear I'll blast you."

"Fine, fine, just having some fun." He set you down before mentioning for you to follow. "The others must have already gotten rid of the leftover monsters on this floor."

Sure enough, Wars was right. Everyone - minus the two of you - had gathered in the middle room, each giving their reports from when you decided to split up.

"Are you badly hurt?" Time asked as he saw you coming back, pulling some loose hanging webbing from your clothes.

"I'm okay. But I won't be able to fly until I get this gunk off of me." That's going to be a day to itself.

Time gave a small nod of acknowledgement. Actually, taking a good look around at the group, they all looked pretty worn out. "We'll call it a day. Let's go back into town and get some rest. Tomorrow we clear the rest of this dungeon."

There were no objections.

--

Thankfully, the inn was quiet this evening. You didn't know how much more irritated you could be right now, especially if people were running around and causing a ruckus.

You've already gotten the web from your body, so that only left one thing. The part that you dreaded the most: your wings. Your hair had already been a painful mess to deal with, so you could only imagine what your wings would be like.

"How are you doing?" Sky's (or your self proclaimed "Flying Buddy") voice cut through the silence as he stepped through the doorway. He was probably one of the better roommates to have right now. You'd have to thank Time later for putting you with him instead of Wind or Legend.

"This web's really annoying. And it's in some hard to reach places, too." You grumbled, frustrated. "I swear, if I see a single Skulltula again, I'm exterminating the entire species."

"That bad, huh?" He cuckled a little, but stopped himself when he noticed you slightly flinch as you got another sticky chunk out. "Do you want some help?"

A sigh escaped from your lips. "You know I don't let just anyone touch my wings."

"I've had to help clean Crimson's wings many times before. I'm sure I can handle it." Sky sat down on the bed next to you.

"It's not you I'm worried about." You admitted. "I know I don't have my wings out most of the time, but they're still a part of me, and they're really sensitive."

You've long heard stories of fairies losing their wings, either in an accident or by someone destroying them. Either way, it's a horrible fate for someone of your kind. Yes, they eventually grow back, but that takes time, and it doesn't erase the fact that it was a traumatic experience or that it left the fairy vulnerable and weakened in the meantime.

"You're having trouble and I want to help. Besides, you won't be able to reach some of those places."

"You'd really do that?"

"Of course. What are friends for?" He gave a reassuring smile. "Just lay down and I'll handle it. You won't even notice I'm here."

He had a point, you supposed. Guess he couldn't do that bad of a job. You laid yourself on the bed, back facing Sky.

"Just... Be gentle, alright?"

"Promise."

--

And then, they fu-

Btw, if I have convinced anyone here to watch this show fo the first time or revisit it, my personal reccomendation is to watch the Rai English dub (you can find it on YouTube for free) because it's the most faithful of the English dubs (of which there are 5, apparently, and none of them have the entire series). I would also stop watching after season 4/the second movie. Trust me, you're doing yourself a favour by not watching seasons 5-8.

There are the Nickelodeon Specials that condense season 1 into 3 hour long specials and one that covers season 2, but I really don't reccomend them for new veiwers. Just watch the original full seasons. They butchered my precious season 2 so badly.

P.S Also, you should maybe skip the "Miss Magix" episode in season 1. It has a pretty bad scene that mocks a black woman's natural hair. It's a filler episode, anyway, so you're not missing anything.

[lawva-girl]

Who up crying in the club cause no one wants them

[sforzesco]

"Since you've named yourself after Julius fucking Caesar, perhaps I'll follow in your lead and choose one of the conspirators." "Interesting," says Giuliano. "Should I worry about finding you at the center of some kind of conspiracy that ends with my death?" "Not from me," replies Ascanio. He sounds tired. "Not anymore."

informally, some kind of. conversational follow up to the last comic. I'm trying to get the atmospheric conversational whimsy out of my system because I have a vision of the vatican as a body in active decay, a point of infection spreading out and poisoning the well, a jaw unhinged that people walk into over and over, and I am so close to figure out how to convey this visually. maybe.

[intertexts]

sand steamer......

[astrobei]

oh boy do i have some news for you

[tpup]

having such an absolute shit time which is horrible because I had put so much effort into making this week bareable only to be fuckin stranded in the worst place I could be rn because my health was so bad I couldn't leave i feel so fucking bad and helpless and fated to having to suffer over and over and over