#like. first off that's kind of a weird place to go perform but second. second.

[pedriscroquettes]

𝐁𝐘𝐀𝐊 ✮ FLORIAN WIRTZ

summary. it’s kind of pathetic the way the two of you always come crawling back to each other.

warnings. emotional warfare. florian is down bad. light smut but heavy feelings. florian is lowkey pathetic in this. 18+

gabri speaks! unfortunately i am a florian girlie. anyways i’m back! heavily inspired by byak by alvaro diaz ft. rauw alejandro.

THE CROWD GROANS as florian hits the crossbar for the second time that night. the camera man makes sure to zoom in on him as his hands go up in frustration. florian stares at the goalkeeper in disbelief as he runs back into his position. another missed chance, another bad rating, another night of him stressing himself out. if there was one person in all of germany that night happy about his performance it was you.

your relationship with the player was controversial, what was once a promising relationship had turned sour, and quickly. the two of you had mutually decided that a committed relationship wasn’t in the cards for either of you. it had grown toxic to the point where you’d flirt with his teammates on purpose to provoke him which worked because you’d always end up in his bed and never in a foreign room. in fact you couldn’t quite remember when was the last time you had hooked up with anyone else.

meanwhile the brunette found himself staring at his phone on the ride home. chatter and music filled the team bus yet only one thing clouded his mind, did you watch the match? he was hoping a teasing message of yours would already be in his notifications, and when he saw there’s wasn’t one he sighed. as his teammates argued over their errors and mistakes he couldn’t help opening the messages between the two of you. the countless deleted messages and hidden pictures as well as the timed ones made him remember the many nights the two of you would spend on the phone.

the sound of your voice filled his head and when he saw you were online he immediately turned off his phone. was it possible you had finally gotten tired of your messed up relationship?

“bro, are you okay?” kai asked seeing the state his teammate was in. florian’s leg was bouncing and his demeanor had changed dramatically.

“i’m fine, thanks.” he offered him a curt smile before staring out the window again.

he wasn’t fine, he was far from fine, in fact he felt worse than he did after missing the goal. he’s not sure why but as soon as the team arrives back to the hotel he’s on his way to your flat. he makes a quick stop at the chinese place the two of you like beforehand making sure he doesn’t show up empty handed. it was already pathetic enough that he was showing up past midnight he could at least make up an excuse with the food.

he hopes the black hoodie he wore is enough to hide his identity from bystanders. although with all the pacing he does outside your hallway he hopes no one thinks he’s a robber. as he adjusts his hoodie he can’t help but think, why am i so nervous? after all it’s not the first time he knocks on your door at these hours.

“do you hate me?” is the first thing you hear as you open the door.

you study his frame and notice his disheveled hair and the training kit from the national team. you’ve never seen him so disorganized and upset — if that was the right word to use — you were amused. as his face grows concerned with your lack of answer you notice the takeout he has in his hands. the poor guy was either desperate or he had lost his mind. both of which could be true.

“what the fuck florian?” you look at him weird as you question him.

“you didn’t text me today.” he says as if that simple sentence answered your question.

“so what? i don’t text you every other week and you never show up at my apartment with food. what’s going on?” you’re even more confused than before.

“you always text me after a game.” he tries to explain like it’s the most logical thing ever.

you can’t help the half scoff and half laugh you let out. he couldn’t be serious right now. was he seriously at your apartment past midnight because he was freaking out over a message?

“okay seriously you need to get a girlfriend you’re starting to creep me out.” you joke.

“you say that while you’re wearing my jersey.” he l doesn’t even need you to turn around to know that you were wearing the leverkusen jersey he had gifted you months ago.

there’s a moment of silence between the two of you it’s entrancing. you stare at him and realize he’d made his way over to you immediately after the game. all because he was waiting for your message. meanwhile there’s something about you wearing his jersey for casually that makes you all more enchanting to him. there’s a mutual look between the two of you and in the blink of an eye his hands are on your waist, yours on his jaw, and his lips are on yours.

it’s poetic really the way he closes your door as he pushes you into your apartment and drops the takeout on your coffee table in the process. your hands already digging into his hair and his hold you tight as he carried you into your room. it’s all muscle memory. the darkness of your bedroom adds to the feeling of having him so close to you again.

“i think i-” he pauses not wanting to be so vulnerable in this predicament but you know what he wants to say. you freeze.

“florian you know i can’t. it didn’t work out the first time. i can’t do it again.” you grab his jaw making sure the two of you are making eye contact. his brown eyes captivate yours.

“i can’t either but i can’t live without you.” he whispers the end. “it will always be you.”

you drag his hand towards the waistband of your shorts. it would always be him too. the only person that consumed your every thoughts and the only person you were worried about getting hurt was him. always. you look into his eyes as he drags his fingers to your core and sigh as he begins to tease you. he’s also the only man you fantasize about.

“promise?” you ask him.

the moonlight barely allows you to see him fully but you catch the smirk on his face. the same one that had captivated you years ago at the bar. his fingers are so close to your needy hole. you can’t help but audibly gasp as he inserts them inside you causing an illicit groan from him. your nails dig into his shoulders as he starts fucking you with his digits. meanwhile he kisses you from your collarbone to your neck.

“i promise.” he whispers against your ear.

he pumps his fingers in and out of you slowly helping you reach your high. it was only fair you were treated right. it was small details like this that had you wondering why the two of you couldn’t just commit to each other. you’re distracted as he leaves marks on your neck and his fingers curve inside you. you can’t help the loud moans that leave your mouth as you reach your high. your hands dig into the sheets as you come around his fingers.

he continues kissing you as he begins to take his hoodie off. you’re quick to stop him before he begins undressing himself.

“do i need to remind you that you didn’t score today? you’re not getting any tonight.” you adjust your shorts.

“so you did watch the game then.” he wraps his arms around you pulling you closer to him.

“i always do.” you whisper as you cuddle into him.

that’s how you spend the rest of the night, snuggled into his body as it rains outside. it’s quite an intimate moment shared between the two of you. you’re not quite sure if you should be worried or content with the turn your relationship with florian took. you decide it’s rather late and with the way he holds you you don’t think much more. after all he promised and while you knew florian was many things he was not an oath breaker.

[distantdarlings]

CRY TO ME // t. nott

RATING: R / 2.1K WORDS

Theodore Nott x Fem Reader Insert

+ SUMMARY - (1960s AU) (Based on this) When Theodore Nott, the best dancer at one of the top clubs in the Wizarding World, loses his dance partner, he asks you to take her place. However, he pushes you too far and you quickly become overwhelmed.

+ WARNINGS - SMUT! (PIV), unprotected sex, kissing, language, inexperienced!reader, sub!reader, dom!theo, brief mention of masturbation, small amount of angst at beginning, fem reader, bad Google translate, not fully proofread (please lmk if I missed any)

+ MUSIC (listened to while writing) -

Cry To Me - Solomon Burke

A/N: Okay so here’s that Dirty Dancing inspired idea I had. I know it’s kind of a weird mixture but I want to see what you guys think, so please lmk below!!!

- - -

“So, why? Why can’t we do the dance this way?” you demanded, pressing your hands to your hips.

“Because the performance is in two days! We’ve rehearsed it like this the whole time!” Theo shouted back, his face becoming red with anger.

You groaned in frustration, pressing your hands to your face. The sweat slipped through your fingers and down your arms. The two of you had been at it for 4 hours, practicing like your lives depended on it.

Your second to last performance of the season was approaching quickly, as was the end of summer. The two of you couldn’t come to a conclusion about what the finishing move was going to be.

You had argued back and forth for weeks trying to decide what was going to knock the rest of the performers off of their feet, and ensure the two of you would be the main entertainment for the rest of the season. Only that would pay yours and his bills.

You’d been partners since the beginning of summer, when the two of you had first met. You’d had no prior dancing experience and had been absolutely terrified to take on the challenge of dancing with Theodore Nott. One of the best dancers you’d ever seen.

The club you agreed to dance with Theo for had been threatening to drop you for another set of partners. They were better, faster, more qualified, but you’d promised Theo that you’d help him keep his job with this club.

But right now, you felt as though he was expecting too much of you. You’d promised you’d be his dancing partner for the rest of the season only to keep him his job. You didn’t agree to become one of the best young dancers on the scene. You weren’t good enough. Theo was, however. And he was expecting too much from you.

“Theo, I told you I’d help you keep your job. When your dance partner backed out, I stepped up to help you immediately. But I told you from the beginning, I’m not a professional dancer. I’m nowhere close to you or even your old dance partner. I’m just me! I’m telling you—I don’t think I can do this move!”

Angry tears had begun to cascade down your face. At the sight of your emotions, Theo seemed to pause and drop his defensive boundaries. His rage seemed to stutter.

“I didn’t—I’m sorry,” he whispered, stepping closer to you. You shook your head and turned away from him, so angry you couldn’t see straight through the tears or your fury.

“I’m sorry…I’ve pushed you too far,” he said. “How about we take a break?”

You sighed, covering your face out of embarrassment. You didn’t want to cry in front of him. You wanted to finish the damn dance and move on.

“Amore,” he whispered, his voice rattling through the air. Your breath shuddered as he reached for you once more, trying to comfort you. The tips of his fingers brushed against your arm. Somewhat awkwardly, he tried to comfort you. Yet the way he spoke, and the way he touched you, led you to want more than his comfort.

Since the two of you had started dancing together, you couldn’t ignore the obvious attraction you felt for him and the tension that often hung through the air between the two of you.

“What does that mean?” You breathed, refusing to meet his eyes.

“What?” he chuckled quietly.

“Amore,” you responded. “What does that mean?”

���It means ‘love.’” You gasped slightly at his words.

When you finally met his eyes, he grabbed your hand and pulled you toward the back of the practice studio.

Behind the studio was a small building where Theo was allowed to stay while he was performing with the club—it had been part of his contract. He led you through the door.

His room was dark and smelled slightly of tobacco smoke. He walked past the fireplace and further into the room. You could feel his fingers unfurl from yours as he cast a small incantation toward the small candelabra in the corner. it was bronzed and quite plain but the boy it illuminated was cut like David.

Theo turned and walked toward you, stopping just before your body. His softly carved fingers traced slowly up your arms. Though you wore a long-sleeved shirt, you could still feel his fingertips through the material. Shocks went down your spine.

He pressed his hand tightly against the small of your back. You recognized this position as the one that he had done while you were dancing just moments before.

Your hips melded against his as he let you fall back against the brace of his arm. Your eyes fluttered shut as you allowed the dark boy to support you with full trust. You sighed as your back craned against Theo’s arm. He dipped you once before pulling you back up. You smiled slightly, allowing your hands to place themselves on Theo’s chest.

It was endearing how Theo seemed to incorporate dance into everything. He was a dancer, that much was clear, but you weren’t. You’d never taken any classes but the way Theo moved your body within his hands made you feel as if you’d always known what to do. Like you’d always felt the rhythm that Theo kept in his body.

He pulled you as close against him as you would go. Your lips trembled as the tall boy leaned you back once again, molding his blushed lips against your neck. You weren’t sure how you felt about this, feeling this boy's touch and wanting more. If your parents knew, they'd murder you but this was your way of rebelling against them. You knew that they'd hate you but you didn't care.

"K—" you breathed out, your chest shuddering beneath the pressure of his closeness.

"What?" Theo asked, his eyes flickering up to yours, eyebrows furrowed in concern.

You looked into his eyes, wanting nothing more than to fall into them. You wanted to feel the brunette's arms wrapped around you and his cold lips on your chest. You wanted to feel the strings of his heart wrap tightly around your throat and suffocate you.

"Kiss me."

Theo exhaled shakily and, without another moment, pressed his lips to yours, holding your face in place with his gentle fingers. Within a breath, you wrapped your arms around his neck, attempting to be closer to him in any way possible.

You felt his hands fall away from your back and slip beneath the underside of your thighs. A gasp slipped from your lips as Theo lifted you off the ground and pressed your back to the wall. The feeling of the wood behind you and his soft body before you made you shudder with delight.

The boy’s lips melded perfectly with your own, allowing you to see that this is what you wanted. You didn't want to be constantly nagged at by your parents about finding a Ravenclaw man or a wealthy auror. You wanted Theo—this beautiful, Slytherin dancer.

You unwrapped your legs from his tight waist, placing your feet gently on the floor. You pushed Theo backwards and over to the lounge chair you’d seen when you first walked in. Theo fell down against it and allowed you to straddle his hips.

You pulled his lips back to yours, feeling the way the boy's chest pressed so beautifully against your own. A small moan slipped across your tongue at the taste of Theo’s lips.

He brought his fingers up to your hair, burying them within the soft strands. Your chest shuddered against his feelings.

Theo’s hands traveled down to your waist, pulling the hem of your training shirt out of the waistband of your skirt. You helped him slip it over your head.

Theo marveled at your body. Your skin was flawless beneath the white fabric, carved with the intricacies of an art form. He dragged his fingertips down your curves, reveling in the feeling of the soft flesh that blushed beneath his touch.

"You’re so beautiful," Theo whispered, his lips parted, a springtime blush painted across his cheeks and nose. His lips were a bit swollen from the pressure of yours.

Without another word, you pressed your lips back to Theo’s, allowing him to turn both of you over.

The small chair caused some issues with that but Theo quickly figured it out, getting to work on your skirt. His nimble fingers moved over the fabric like they were dancers themselves.

You watched his every movement, his chest elevating with each heavy breath. The brunette boy pressed his cold lips to your stomach.

A gasp escaped you at the sudden change in temperature. Your fingers wrapped in Theo’s hair just as he had done to yours.

Once your skirt was undone and slid down the length of your thighs, Theo slowly slid his pants down his legs. You helped him pull the firm material down and to the floor.

Though you both had waited for months to see each other, to touch each other, to love each other, you couldn’t wait another second now. It felt as though you’d miss out if you waited any longer. You were scared that Theo would slip through your fingers and you’d never feel his touch again.

“Can’t believe I waited this long,” Theo breathed against your flesh.

He kissed his way back up your chest, marveling at the roving dips and curves. Your hands which were still tucked within his hair led his head back up to yours. Your lips locked together once more with a fervor that left the both of you—inexperienced and experienced—utterly breathless.

The brunette boy's hands traveled down between the two of you, his pale fingers tracing down your abdomen. His hands slipped gently between the fabric of your undergarments and your flesh.

You moaned against Theo’s lips at the contact he was applying to the core of your body. His hands gently teased the your most sensitive areas, smirking against your lips at the sounds he elicited from you. The sound was intoxicating to him.

The only thing you’d ever felt down there was the touch of your own hands, but now you wondered how you’d ever lived without his. He touched every aspect of your body perfectly—almost like he could read your mind and knew exactly what you wanted. Perhaps he was a Legilimens.

“Theo, I need you closer,” you breathed, just as his fingers had just begun to edge your inexperienced body over in on itself.

Without saying another word, he slid his briefs down his pants and ever so gently slid himself inside of you.

The foreign stretch pushed your face to the sky. Your lips opened wide, crying out in silent bliss. His hand gently brushed your hair away from your sweating face.

“So beautiful,” he sighed. “You feel just as I’d imagined.”

The thought of him imagining you and himself like this had you teetering on the edge of pleasure.

With him inside of you, claiming you as his, you imagined him after one of your heavy, tension-filled practices. Ones where he’d brush his fingers down your body a little slower, a little longer, a little softer than he had the last time…or ones where he’d let his breath fan across your neck when he was standing behind you…or ones where you’d touched yourself after the fact to relieve even half of the tension he forced into your body.

And with one final thrust against you, you came breathlessly over Theo, with him very close behind.

At the tightening of your muscles, he gripped the cushion above your head and released into you, pressing love and warmth into you over and over again. You clutched at his bare skin, begging for purchase on anything as he rode out his high into you, assaulting what little strength you had left.

You could barely see anything—not his gorgeous face above you screwed together in pleasure, not the metal ceiling of the building overhead, and not the black beginning to cloud at the edges of your vision.

“S-stop,” you barely muttered out.

Within a millisecond, he completely stopped his movements. His high had passed and so had yours.

“I’m sorry, tesoro,” Theo breathed, checking to make sure you were okay and desperately kissing your fingers. “I didn’t mean to push you too hard.”

“It seems you have a bit of knack for that, hmm?” you whispered, giggling just a bit.

As he realized you were joking, he relaxed just a bit, returning your lazy smile.

Theo was a hard man to keep up with, whether it was dancing, fucking, or just living, and you realized that. But for whatever reason, his intensity only exhilarated you, no matter if it left you in the dust sometimes.

“I will slow down for you, bella,” he spoke softly. “Resterò qui. I will stay here with you, my love. For as long as it takes…”

- - -

Tag List: @lilymurphy03 , @mypolicemanharryyy , @clairesjointshurt , @bunbunbl0gs , @acornacreacure, @niktwazny303 , @thestarlithideout , @sarahskakskskskajakwwnwjw , @yhiiil, @ravenclawprincess33, @xxrougefangxx , @thatblackthorn, @robinyx , @starsval , @jolly4holly , @blvebanisters , @chgrch, @abaker74

[inbabylontheywept]

can we get more security clearance stories? they are amazing

Yeah, sure. Remember how getting contractors in to perform regular to the maintenance is basically impossible? One of the issues that we have is that the roof is kind of fucked. Like, in the newer sections, it's fine, and in the older sections, it leaks and we just have big barrels to catch the rainwater, and in the oldest sections there are actual holes. Which is crazy, because the oldest sections are where a lot of the tests happen. Those are almost always the most important parts of the facility. And the holes have been a problem for a while, but it is only "recently" (the last ten years) (yes, that is recent in government time) that the holes got big enough to fit birds.

So we have been getting birds into our secret facility.

This causes several issues.

The first issue is that, surprisingly, the people here are gentle, and they don't like seeing birds die. Some of the old hands are pretty jaded about it, and they have tennis rackets that they used to use for uh... bird removal. But the newer batch threw a fit when they suggested that, so now we have to make a big ordeal out of getting the birds out of the building. And if I sound bitter about it, I'm not - I am one of the people that said absolutely no bird smashing. But it is much easier to catch a bird than it is to just smack it out of the air.

(Another layer of difficulty is the whole "working in a labyrinth" thing. The birds have a lot of places to run.)

The second issue is that sometimes we can't get the birds out, and they die in weird places. This isn't just sad - it makes the test areas smell bad for weeks afterwards, and a lot of us spend the majority of our working hours in those locations. So it's sad and gross and stinky.

And the third issue, which is actually kind of the worst, is that government knows about the "perimeter leaks" (IE, large holes in the ceiling) and instead of fixing the holes, they put extra security measures in place. You know, in case spies climb in through the holes. Which means that, unfortunately, instead of getting the holes fixed, we got a state of the art alarm system, complete with motion detection lasers.

So the birds get in, and we actually can't leave until they get out, because they will, and have, and frequently do, trip the alarms. And when the alarms trip, people get called in to check the site and confirm for the 10,000th time that no, it's not Russians: It's birds.

It's always birds.

(Some of the techs actually kind of enjoy those calls during the weekends, because it means free overtime where there's literally nothing asked of them. Getting the "bird alarm" call is just 4 hours of OT where you check the test cell and confirm, no spies, just birds, then sit there and play checkers or read or whatever until the airforce base calls back and says that it seems safe enough for you to go home.)

(Engineers like those calls less, because we don't get time and a half, and we also don't need the cash quite as much as the techs do.)

Anyway, the crazy scenario is when it's like, 30 minutes to quitting, and a bird gets in. Because now we can't leave until we get the bird out. And the scene that happens is actually quite pretty.

So, the first thing that will happen is that there will be yelling downstairs. The downstairs people are always irate about birds getting in close to quitting. The anger is directed vaguely at the bird, and vaguely at the government, and more specifically at whatever absolute fuckhead bought us an alarm system instead of fixing our roof.

The majority of the crowd of grousing engineers and techs will then move into the upper offices. A couple will break off to grab the floodlight and shine it down the stairs, a few more will prop the doors open, and someone will venture back into the basement to turn off the light.

Click, the light goes off, it's dark, there's this big, warm, yellow pool of light just dripping down the stairs like a river of melted butter, and there's a crowd of tennish people + whoever is poking their heads out of the office to watch. No one will be breathing at all... and then, 9 times out of 10, a little bird will flit out of the basement, up the stairs, towards the light, and trigger the apocalypse.

Everyone chases the bird.

The goal at first is not to catch the bird. That's very difficult, and none of us have very good hand eye coordination. The goal is to thunder along and keep the bird from sitting down and having a breather.

We are there to exhaust the bird.

It is just accepted that this thundering herd will go wherever the bird goes. If your office door is open, and the bird flies in, it doesn't matter what reports you're filling out, or what phone call you're on - you are expected to deal with the panting and scrambling and general primal chaos of the hunting party until the bird goes somewhere else. Eventually, the bird will slow down enough that someone can catch it. This is a semi-coveted position, because, yes, you do get to hold a bird in your hand. And holding a bird is a wonderful thing. They are so soft, and so small, and you feel so careful with the poor thing. But also, it will bite you. Always. And the birds out here bite like needle nose pliers. It hurts so bad. I have been the guy holding the bird before, and it's this kind of beautiful scene again - to be standing there, hands cupped gently around this thing that is chewing the fuck out of the squishy webbing between my thumb and my palm. Tears streaming down my cheeks, surrounded by my little hunting party, that is telling me how much further until the nearest exit, opening all the doors for me. Hushed in the silence as they acknowledge my sacrifice. Inspecting the chomps afterwards and giving their opinion on how long it will be until it stops hurting.

I'm getting a little lost in the sauce here and don't really know how to end this. It's a really good job. Wouldn't be half as fun if it was run in a sane and competent manner.

I'll make this into a post at some point.

[miiilowo]

You should make the list of ways you were correct anyways, just for fun ~

eh. sure. why not

Any time a post of mine about afton got a decent amount of notes (aside from fanart) there'd usually be comments on it complaining about how "those" fans [note: i am one of "those" fans] have no idea what his personality actually is, and that they water him down, woobify and mischaracterize him, all while listing things off that are just genuinely part of william's character. while yes, there are fans that DO do that, the stuff they talk about is almost never an actual example of this happening. this is likely due to people not viewing him as a person and just a bland cold serial killer with no personality whatsoever

obviously movie william is not 1:1 with game or book william, but they're gonna be similar in personality. so heres some stuff ive seen people complain was "mischaracterization" thats present in the movie:

hes emotional/sentimental and actually cares about things - william calls the owner of freddys sentimental when talking to mike about the pizzeria (and we all know the owner is william), he visibly regrets/is shocked by the fact he stabs vanessa, he gets really worked up when things dont go his way, very quick to anger, etcetera. one could argue that william is lying about being sentimental and just wants to give an excuse for why the place is still around, but there'd be no reason to do that, considering mike has no idea anyone even died there, let alone the fact HE killed the kids. we know williams sole motive for keeping the place around definitely isnt just sentimental reasons, but i doubt that what he said doesnt have at least an ounce of truth to it. he holds onto trophies from his kills as well if him keeping garretts toy plane is anything to go off of

he actually likes bunnies and has an affinity for them - he has a rabbits foot on his keyring and has a letter/paper holder that's rabbit shaped. the letter holder isnt actually in any shots, but it was present on set on his desk

his personality isnt one note and dull/cold, and hes superstitious & a little offputting/jittery - the rabbits foot on his keyring ties into this idea, because if he actually believes it to be a good luck charm, then it shows some "quirkiness" for lack of a better term that people adamantly refuse to admit is in his personality. this also shows how hes superstitious, which is an idea thats present in the books, and people also like to pretend he isnt. he pokes fun at mike in a somewhat lighthearted way multiple times, he has a has a FRAMED PARTICIPATION AWARD on his wall for christs sake. the kids hair colors match the animatronics they were stuffed into (minus bonnie). he matched them. he made them match he paired them up for fun. not only that, but he gets visibly nervous and antsy when he realizes who mike is, and clearly really wants him to take the job. gets kind of weird. gets a kinda strange. he likes when things match afterall (symmetry, my friend!)

he's theatrical and over the top in personality on purpose (this is also essentially an argument for the last point) - in the books he goes on and on about performance and how he viewed both dave miller & springtrap as characters he plays, and i seriously wouldn't doubt that it'd be the same here, considering how cartoonishly evil he is while wearing the springbonnie suit. the voice changer, the little flourishes he adds to his speech, the fact he wipes off the knife when there wasnt any blood on it in the first place. for what. for what reason other than for pizzazz and intimidation points. the "oh, this is going to be so much fun!" line, and especially his playful demeanor disappearing the second he takes off the mask

he cares about his kids/likes kids - his expression when he stabs vanessa and she falls to the ground says enough i think. obviously hes not a GOOD parent, but being a good parent and caring about your kids are two wildly different things. you can be abusive and still care. most abusers dont process that they are abusers but thats a conversation for another time. william prioritizes himself over anyone else, but he still looks shocked after he stabs his daughter, and i refuse to blame that on bad acting because its MATTHEW LILLARD. the training tape for mike also states that he enjoyed entertaining kids, and yes, while that could be a lie, do you seriously think the creator of what essentially is chuck e cheese would actually despise children. the fact he gives garretts toy plane to vanessa could be a point toward him in this department as well, though its also just as likely he collects them as trophies. i like to think its a mix of both

i included these points specifically because i also have a plethora of evidence for them from both the books and the games, and theyre the ones i most commonly see people stating are unrealistic for afton.

its not a lot of stuff, but its not like he has a lot of screentime. lets be real

i do ADORE how egotistical and shortsighted they made him in the movie, though everyone can generally agree on that being a staple trait of his

[dwtdog]

Nursing Home AU, from the list of reverse tropes

DNF, ~1.7k words, fun little drabble as a break from finals :33

George’s walker catches on a stray piece of carpet and he grumbles, waving off the nearby nurse who turns her head toward him. He can handle this himself, thank you very much.

He straightens his back as he nears the door that he knows opens to the room just above his, all the complaints he’s built up in the weeks since his upstairs neighbors moved in at the tip of his tongue as he raises a fist to knock, grunting slightly at the way his shoulder creaks with the effort.

After three quick, hard knocks that he’s sure will be audible through whatever hearing impairment burdens the person behind the door, he studies the decorations with a careful eye. There are unframed pictures scattered across the door, some close to falling off the weak adhesives that secure them. George has to hold himself back from pressing them back down, telling himself that whoever is pictured in them probably deserves to have their treasured family pictures swept up by the night workers.

Because they’ve made George’s life a living hell.

He didn’t think his time in a nursing home could get any worse, until this neighbor moved in. It was like they had bricks attached to the bottoms of their shoes and frequently performed tap dancing routines, or like they had a particularly rambunctious pet elephant that traipsed around the place at all hours of the day.

George had done his best to be patient. He really had, but it’d been long enough. He’s dealing with this here, and now.

As if summoned by his thoughts, the door handle turns, and the solid wood slowly eases open towards him. He shuffles back to avoid being hit, because he doesn’t exactly trust them to be caring of his health now.

The deep frown that he’s been wearing since he was awoken that morning by thundering footsteps directly above his bed shifts to something softer when he sees the man opening the door.

The first thing George notices about him are the eyes- a golden yellow that he knows is really green, set in a kind face weathered with smile lines. The second thing George notices is that he does not, in fact, have bricks attached to his shoes, and that brings the frown right back to his face.

“Uh- Hello. How can I help you?” the man asks, and he sounds nice enough. George thinks it’s an elaborate front.

“Are you aware,” George starts, bringing his eyes up from the mans shoes. “That there are people living below you?”

He blinks. “It would be pretty weird if they didn’t, yeah?”

“So you are aware them,” George clears his throat, crossing his arms. “That you should consider that before stomping around up here like a bull with dementia?”

George almost finds it satisfying, to watch the way his expression goes from open and friendly to sour, the way his stance comes to mirror George’s, down to the crossed arms. 

“So it’s a sin for a man to walk around his own house now is it?” he says, and George finds it hard to take him seriously with the ridiculous hat covering silvery hair- it’s pointed at the corners, taking a shape similar to the ears of a cat. “Just turn down your hearing aids.”

“Don’t need them,” George says curtly, rubbing a finger over the skin of his left ring finger, a habit he hadn’t dropped since his divorce. It draws his eyes to the same place on the man across from him, and he notices that he wears no ring either. “And it is a sin if you’re disrupting my sleep.”

He looks ready to argue back, but his eyes dart down to the movement of George’s finger, and he seems to change his mind. “Listen if you want to debate the bible, the lady three doors down can go for hours. Let’s say, instead, you come in for a cup of hot chocolate. Get all your complaining out.”

George shifts on his feet, feeling his hip pop as he does, and it reminds him that sitting down sometime soon would be nice….

“Fine. But if there’s no vodka in that chocolate I’m stealing something.”

With a small smile that makes George’s heart flutter in a way it hasn’t in decades, the man steps aside, pushing the door all the way open. “I’m Dream, by the way. I don’t think you introduced yourself.”

“George,” he replies as he steps forward, struggling for a moment to lift his walker over the edge between the hall and Dream’s carpet. “Strange name.”

Dream laughs, and George is distracted from looking over every inch of his apartment when a small animal appears, walking with its tail held high. 

“You have a cat,” he observes, and Dream turns from where he’d been pouring milk to heat up. George sets his walker to the side as he ever so carefully crouches down to pet the thing, smiling to himself when it purrs.

“He likes you,” Dream says, and there’s a note of fondness in his voice. “That’s Spirit. He probably hates my stomping just as much as you do.”

“Oh, you’re a smart one then, aren’t you,” George coos, rubbing under the cats chin. He’s a big cat, with long orange fur and some spots of gray on his muzzle, and ridiculously long whiskers that tickle where they brush against George’s leg. “You ought to bite him more. Maybe piss on his bed,” George says in a faux whiper, leaning down as much as he can.

“Oh, so now you’re trying to turn my cat against me?” Dream says, and George nearly jumps from the sudden proximity. “Need a hand up?”

George huffs, glaring at the offered hand but taking it anyway, groaning loudly as he stands. “So you can walk quietly,” he grumbles, eyeing the distance between he kitchenette and his current position.

“Only when I want to” Dream says with a wink, and George really wishes he still had his own cane- a much better weapon. “Come here, sit down before I have to call someone to help you. God forbid that new one- what’s her name- Rosa, god forbid she shows up. She’d have you on the ambulance in a matter of minutes.”

George laughs, following as Dream leads him to a chair in the living area, acutely aware of their still connected hands. “She on this floor too? Sent my neighbor to hospice for a cough. Haven’t seen her since.”

As George lowers himself onto the chair, Dream still doesn’t let his hand go, and George can feel a blush, of all things, creeping up his neck and staining his face.

“You planning to hold my hand forever, or-” George suggests, just as the microwave beeps. “Don’t tell me you microwaved the milk.”

“How else would I do it?” Dream asks, pulling his hand back and turning back to his microwaved milk. “You want peppermint?”

“I want vodka. And I don’t know, on the stove, maybe?”

“Too much work,” Dream says cheerily, and George sighs, long and exaggerated. 

He looks around Dream’s living space as he waits, noting the various pictures with his seemingly excessively large family. It’s not the only thing he’s looking for, but he can’t help but notice the lack of any sort of spouse.

“Snooping around already?” Dream asks as he returns, two steaming mugs in his hands. “You could probably find my whole life’s story on these walls.”

George meets his eye as he hands a mug over, wrapping his easily chilled hands around it gratefully. Dream takes the chair opposite his, and watches as George takes his first sip. As much as he wants to hate whatever microwaved monstrosity is swirling in the mug, he has to admit that it tastes damn good.

“‘T’s good,” he says into the mug, not missing the way Dream’s face lights up at the admission. “Family recipe?”

“Nope, all mine,” Dream says with a grin. “Come on, I know you have questions. Hit me.”

George hums, making a show of thinking it over. The burning question feels too obvious, and too revealing. He’s only just met this man a few minutes ago, he shouldn’t be asking about his love life. And yet-

“No wife?” he asks bluntly, taking a big sip right after. 

Dream laughs, setting his own mug aside as he leans forward, planting his elbows on his knees. “Nope. Never settled down. Always felt like I was chasing something just out of reach, like I needed to wait until the perfect person came along. And now look at me,” he laughs again, this time sounding more forced. “Left in a home to die alone. Probably doesn’t help I only realized it wasn’t a wife I should have been looking for what, ten years ago?”

George leans back in his chair, studying Dream in a new light. “Trust me, men aren’t worth it either. My husband filed for divorce, what, 20 years back? Never even bothered to tell me why. One day there, the next, gone. Took everything too.”

“That why you ended up in Florida? Don’t meet many British people around here.”

“Wanted to die under the sun,” George says easily, the alcohol warming his veins. “London was too grey, too many memories. I always loved it here.”

They sit in silence for a bit after that, only broken by Spirit jumping up to George’s lap with a loud meow.

“So no kids?” George asks, easing one of Spirit’s big paws away from where it’s kneading at his shorts, claws digging into his skin.

“You’ve got the only one on your lap,” Dream says. “Well, grandkid, technically. His mom was mine too.”

George nods, tangling his fingers in the long fur. “You ever think about second chances?”

“I think I’m on third’s by now,” Dream chuckles, meeting George’s eyes curiously. “Why, you rethinking the way you introduced yourself?”

“In your dream’s,” George says with a grin. “But I wouldn’t mind coming over again- to tell you off, probably.”

“And to pet my cat. And drink my vodka.”

“That too,” George nods. “Might need to visit a lot, then.”

“Well,” Dream shifts in his seat, and he appears to be fighting off a smile. It still reaches his eyes, and George can’t help but think of the man he sees on the walls- happy, glowing. Hopeful. “Then I guess I’d have to let you in. As an apology for the stomping.”

[eryiss]

Fraxus Week 2024 - Day 2: Sports & Competition

Description: Laxus had known there would be changes in the guild, and in his team, when he got back from exile. What he hadn’t expected was Freed getting involved in the guild's weird competitions. What he really didn’t expect was Freed competing shirtless, and looking jaw-droppingly sexy while doing it

Note: Day two, again hosted by @fuckyeahfraxus. This really is just Laxus going wild for Freed. Sue me. He’s hot, and I like to project onto Laxus.

Link: Ao3

To See Him Ruffled

In the year – or was it technically eight years now? – that Laxus had been out of the guild, obviously a lot was going to have changed. That would have been true even if they hadn't been trapped on the island and the wold went on ticking around them. Changes were something he had known to expect.

What he hadn't expected was how two different changed would mingle into him having to deal with Freed shirtless, sweaty, and sexy as all hell.

First, there was guild culture. Fairy Tail liked to talk about how close and friendly they were, but it had always been a big place and not everyone knew each other. But as members had started to walk away and leave for other guilds, those who remained had evidentially rallied together and gotten close. There were more events, more get togethers, and more focus on community. After everyone trapped on Tenrou had returned, that community had expanded, and the events had increased tenfold.

Second: Freed. Before, Freed had been the very personification of stoicism. He had a darkness behind his eyes, an underlying ferocity. That wasn't gone, as such. There was just more to him now. Like the darkness and the demon were a barrier, and he'd let it down, but was ready to bring it back when he needed it.

Both of those things were fine. Good. Great. The guild was reestablishing its roots, and Freed was growing into his skin in a way he hadn't been able to before. So yeah; all good.

The thing was, though, that they'd merged together to make something… troubling.

Apparently was of the new traditions was the 'Adaption Knockout'. Any member of the guild who wanted to participate would be faced with a day of random challenges wherein their ability to tackle situations were tested. It ranged from solving riddles, to setting up tents in a rainstorm, to performing spectacles of human exercion.

The Freed that Laxus had known when they were younger would have turned his nose up at it. But now, he had said it would be a good way to test his skills and hone his mind.

So, Laxus was now watching from the sidelines as Freed stretched. His coat and his shirt were on the ground, getting muddy and crumpled, while Freed's strong, firm, wonderful back flexed with the effort of his stretching. His shoulder blades were so pronounced, with skin stretching tight over them. He had a few scars, even a few whip marks that Laxus knew he had no business asking about but desperately wanted to know about anyway. It was a back for a strong, working man who had dealt with the crap life threw at him, and bit back with vigour.

Freed never used to take his shirt off. Never. He rarely removed his coat.

He'd been hiding a body like this for so long? Selfish asshole.

What the hell was Laxus thinking?

When Freed turned around during a waist rotation, Laxus wasn't thinking anything at all. How had he never seen Freed's abs before? They were rippling and tight and goddamn mesmerising. Freed wasn't the kind to aim for a body-builder physique like Laxus; he had that swimmer's build. The type you might miss when he was clothed but would get your mouth watering the second that he wasn't.

Damn his nipples were perfect. Laxus could imagine pinching and sucking and biting them, to see what the once reserved Freed would do. Bite back? Pin him down? Spank him?

"Come on man!" Gajeel snapped, sitting on the bleachers beside him. Laxus looked around and was met with a glare. "You wanna screw him, we get it. You really gotta smell like it though?"

Laxus blanched. He hadn't been around other Dragon Slayers for a while. He'd forgotten they had the same heightened senses. Dammit.

Through either luck or coincide, Laxus was saved from having to respond to that when the whistle blew, and the obstacle course race began. Freed shot forward, with the other contestants of course, and began to climb the rope to get to the raised platform. His arms ripples and his thighs clenched, and Laxus had to take the bleachers in a dead-white grip to control himself. He ignored Gajeel's damn snort.

Laxus only had eyes on Freed, and as he zip-lined down back onto the ground, he felt his throat dry up. The man's stomach was clenched, and every single part of him looked intense and tight and lickable.

"And, our first competitors are getting towards the axe wielding portion of the game," Bickslow, who had somehow swindled his way into being commentator for the day, said into the microphone. "Our daring guildmates will be tasked in cutting a felled tree into firewood, and then has to throw the axe into a target fifteen feet away. Tough, and very sexy too."

Seriously, who had let Bickslow get hold of a microphone?

He wasn't wrong though. Seeing Freed yank out the axe from the tree stump that it was bashed into without breaking pace was as sexy as anything Laxus had seen. Then to see him going to town on the tree, cutting it up fast and sharp and so damn skilfully set Laxus' body on fire. If he smelt of his attraction before, it must be a damn stench now.

"And that's Freed taking the lead after hitting the target," Bickslow crowned. "And I think I speak for all of us when I say, 'Daddy may I?'"

Laxus turned to glare at Bickslow, only to see him grinning back with his tongue out. Apparently Gajeel wasn't the only one who knew Laxus might not be thinking entirely purely. Slightly cowed, Laxus looked back to the race, to see Freed laughing and shaking his head slightly as he ran towards the next part of the course.

It was nice that Freed was laughing more. He deserved to laugh. Life had given him a crappy hand, and it was right that things were turning around in his favour.

"God your pathetic," Gajeel growled. "You're acting like he hung the goddamn moon."

"Like you wouldn't be doin' the same if it was your girl doing it," Laxus snapped.

Gajeel looked caught out, then annoyed, then vengeful. He crossed his arms and puffed out his chest. "Least I don't have competition."

Laxus frowned, not knowing what that meant. Gajeel looked past him with purpose to the rest of the crowd, all of whom were watching the race. Watching Freed, he realised belatedly, and there were quite a few flushed faces, sharp whispers and scandalous giggling. Why the hell had the guild allowed random members of the public to watch? Yeah, the guild needed money, but they didn't need to sell Freed out to a crowd filled with perverts.

What the hell had they done to look at Freed's flexing… fuck, he was flexing. There was a rubble moving section and Freed was hefting a large part of a demolished wall, and his entire body looked powerful and tested and too sexy for words. His back. His shoulders. His neck!

Why did they get to see Freed like this? Laxus was the one who knew him!

But he couldn't say any of that to Gajeel. So, he huffed and grunted, "Guess my guy's hotter than your girl."

"The hell did you just-"

Had he just called Freed his guy? He had, hadn't he. He didn't have a claim on Freed. He didn't. But he had more of a claim on him than anyone else, and if anyone deserved to be worshipping the man's body – did he want to worship him? – then it was Laxus.

Okay, he really needed to leave. It had to be the sun making him lose his mind.

It was certainly the sun giving Freed that beautiful, sweat slicked sheen.

"And with his storming lead, Freed is approaching the plunge pool. I think we're all looking forward to seeing how he handles this," Bickslow said.

Freed actually halted as he climbed the ladder, turned to look at Bickslow and yelled, "Next year, consider a cold shower before you start."

Maybe Laxus would benefit from a cold shower.

"Only saying what we're all thinking, Baby."

The fact that even Bickslow calling Freed baby, something he did to basically everyone he had ever met, had Laxus feeling jealousy roiling inside of him was a problem. Yes, Freed was basically sex on legs at this point. Yes, Dragon Slayers apparently had a predisposition for jealousy. Yes, Laxus wasn't so horned up and pathetic that he'd actually do anything about it. But still, it was a problem he was even thinking it.

He needed to leave. He would calm down, get his head on straight, and deal with this explosion of lust he was feeling when he was back to his self.

Just as he stood up to leave, a splash rebounded around the space, and Laxus turned to see Freed had jumped from a raised platform into a deep pool of crisp clean water. Crisp clean water he was climbing out of, shirtless and soaked and practically a siren that sang directly for Laxus' soul.

Water rolled down his chest, over his abs, and down the waistband of his pants which clung to him sinfully. He ran a hand through hid sodden hair and brushed it out of his face, his human and demon eye equally sinful as he rolled his shoulders and caught his breath, chest rising and falling and taunting Laxus.

Holy shit.

Silently, absently, and resolutely ignoring Gajeel's manic laughing at his expense, he sat down again. He could get his head on straight later. Maybe he was making a mistake, but this was too good to miss.

"And just so you know," Gajeel whispered lowly. "Looks like he's getting into the final round. You know what the final round is?"

"Don't care."

"Mud wrestling."

Laxus' grip on the bleacher got so tight he splintered it. Gajeel just laughed.

Once the final round was over, and Laxus had lost all sense of any sanity he'd ever previously had, Freed approached him. He was drenched head to toe in mud, still shirtless, and was grinning as if entirely content with the situation.

What the hell had happened to Freed, exactly?

Laxus was glad of it, whatever it was. Seeing Freed let loose and without the anxieties and holdbacks that had made him his previously reserved self was wonderful, but this was so far form the Freed he had known it was like night and day. To Laxus, who had only known this version of Freed for a few weeks, it was like a switch had been flipped and suddenly Freed was the man he was always meant to be.

He was so sexy like it, too. Not just because he had a good body – a really good body – or that he was caked in mud in a way that weirdly worked for Laxus. No. Freed had an easy confidence, and a cockiness that had always been there, but seemed more lighthearted now. Previously, they'd spent time laughing at their guildmates in a way not entirely kind. Now, it felt like Freed would make those jokes about himself only.

Laxus wanted to kiss him. Right here, right now. To hell with the consequences.

"I didn't expect you to come," Freed said in greeting. Had he not known Laxus was there? And to think Laxus had been entirely hypnotised by him.

"You're my teammate. I should support you," Laxus grumbled, glancing around to see if Gajeel was close enough to make a comment. He wasn't.

"You should apply next year. It's quite fun. Definitely gets the blood pumping," Freed grinned, rolling out his arm and flicking his now heavy hair out from his eyes.

Laxus had to look at him. His arm was troubling him, and he wasn't hiding it, which was frankly a miracle. Many a time before the harvest festival, Freed had decided to hide his injuries as if they were something to be ashamed of. There had been knife wounds he'd refused to admit to. To Laxus' shame, he hadn't all together cared. He'd thought that it was Freed's business, and he could handle himself.

Then there was the mud. The Freed he had known was spotless and without blemish, going so far as to cast illusion spells if something was wrong with his outfit. Now he simply stood there, like some kind of a swamp monster, and didn't seem to have a care in the world. He was ruffled and messed and gleeful in it.

He'd changed so much, and it looked so good on him. Laxus wondered if he could ever change so much. Maybe he needed a push.

"Yeah. I will," he said.

"You will?" Freed asked, a little shocked, but then grinned. "You'll really enjoy it."

"Sure I will," Laxus nodded slightly. He'd probably agree to anything Freed said in the moment.

"I should warn you, though," Freed continued. "I intend to win next year, so you'll have heavy competition."

"Obviously," Laxus grunted. As if Freed had ever not been one step away from putting Laxus on his ass. Just because Laxus might not have admitted to it before, it didn't mean he'd never known it. "Second place ain't bad, though. You did well."

"I suppose. I think third would have been preferable, honestly."

Laxus frowned. "Why?"

"There's something of a tradition between the final two competitors. A wager wherein whoever comes second has to perform a demand of the winner. A dare, essentially, of which I am now burdened to adhere to."

Well, that was one thing that hadn't changed. Freed got weirdly eloquent and verbose when annoyed. Laxus had to grin. "What's Loke makin' you do?"

Freed glanced at the man who had bested him, who was surrounded by Lucy, his fellow celestial spirits, and a few of the other competitors. He didn't look half as good shirtless and covered in mud as Freed did. "I'm his personal butler for a full week. Any demand he has, I have to without complaint."

Laxus snorted. "Sounds awful."

"I expect it will be," Freed chuckled, and the fact he was taking it in such good faith had Laxus grinning. He wanted to push Freed into the grass, pin him down, and drive him to distraction. "I don't think my ego will handle it."

"Nah, something that big can handle anything."

"My ego, Laxus. Not yours."

"Asshole," Laxus grinned. "Hope he makes you squirm. Gives you some stupid uniform or something."

"Funny you should mention that," Freed chuckled. "He actually sent me to change into my 'uniform' now. I just happened to see you before I snuck off."

"Is it bad?" Laxus teased.

"It's… exactly what a man like him would want in a butler."

"He gonna yell at you if you keep talking to me?"

"It's a bet, Laxus, not an employment contract," Freed laughed, and ran a hand through his muddy hair after it fell over his head. He reached down to the hair tie and pulled it out, swapping his hair into a messy ponytail. Laxus might not have ever seen so much of Freed's neck as he had in that moment. "Even if I was on a time limit, I wouldn't have reached it. He told me to change in the bathroom, but there's no real point. I might as well do it here."

"In front of-"

Laxus cut himself off when he saw Freed bending down and unbuckling his belt. He could do nothing but gape as Freed pulled down his pants and stepped out of them, standing just in his muddy boots, and his very tight – sinfully tight – boxer briefs. Laxus, in the brief second that he let himself look, could see everything. He quickly looked up

"What're you doing?"

"For the next week, I am to wear nothing but my boxers. Well, that and," he reached back into his pants pocket, letting them drop to the floor once he was done. He reached behind his neck, and Laxus swallowed at the sight. "A bow tie."

So. Freed was standing barely over a foot away in boxers tight enough to show off veins, and in a bow tie. Right. That was manageable. Laxus could deal with that. He didn't want to pin him against the nearest wall at all.

"A full week, huh?" He asked, voice hoarse.

"Yes, I'm afraid you'll have to get used to me looking like this for a while."

"Right."

"And flirting, too," Freed said with a blasé tone that might have Laxus falling to his knees.

"Flirting?"

"Loke's demand. I am to flirt constantly and shamelessly. I should probably start doing that, actually. I can imagine that he'd come up with a demeaning task to put me in my place, or some such nonsense," Freed laughed. He then stood tall, changed his posture, and looked up at Laxus from under his lashes. Laxus' spine snapped straight when Freed all but purred. "Is there anything I can do to please you, sir?"

Okay.

Right.

That was his limit.

That was the step too far.

Laxus let lightning cover him, transformed into it entirely, and shot off into the sky, ignoring the resounding sound of Gajeel's cackling, and missing Freed's self-satisfied smirk.

[abiiors]

102 blurbs!!!!

jules at the band’s show after she and matty are properly together and she realizes max is in the crowd

jules and matty and carly and hann double date

jules and matty moving in together

anything!!!

omg!!!! okay okay i love the first one so i'm gonna pick that tihi

there are eyes on her. jules has been feeling it for a while now—not the eyes of people from the crowd or matty's eyes or people backstage. there are eyes on her that don't feel entirely welcome. it makes the hair on the nape of her neck stand straight.

it makes her stomach feel all shaky and weird.

still, jules tries to enjoy the show. it's one of the first ones since the band's debut album has come out and it's all been mental—for everyone, but especially for matty and the band. and while it's been incredibly tiring, jules won't trade this for the word.

not when she gets to watch matty perform almost every night.

every night is a different crowd—a different city in the uk, and shit in two months' time they're even supposed to be in america—a place that jules has never even dreamt of visiting.

the crowd tonight is much like any other—screaming people singing along to the band's songs. but something feels different tonight. jules bites the nail of her index finder and stares at the sea of people.

it's like a kick to her gut then. because there he is—perhaps the only person who's not happy and smiling and cheerful—brooding in the middle of the pit with his eyes trained on jules. there is max, looking at jules with something that feels uncomfortably like hatred.

and now she knows why she felt like she was being stared at.

jules tries her best to ignore it, to focus on her boyfriend and forget her useless, cheating ex. yet she can't help that her shoulders curve inward a little, as if she's shielding herself from max's gaze. she doesn't know why she feels so small all of a sudden. all she knows that one minute she's side-stage and carefree, the next she's stepping away from view.

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

matty finds her minutes after the show ends.

she's by the water cooler, hiding mostly and also drinking the cool water to soothe her now sore throat.

"there you are," he throws his sweaty arms around her, leaning his weight on her, "were we too loud?" matty teases and jules manages a half-hearted chuckle.

"god, i thought i was going to piss myself laughing when that bra hit george, did you see that? and someone threw a whole pack of fags on the stage too, damn!"

he's rambling away, in a happy mood like he always is after a show. jules knows she's supposed to respond in kind. and on any other day she'd happily participate in this. today, however, she wilts at the thought of max somewhere outside the venue.

oh god what if he's waiting for them to leave and to create another scene?! what if he's drunk and looking for a fight?!

"you alright?" matty's voice jerks her back to the present.

"yeah, mm-hmm," she nods, crumpling up the plastic cup and throwing it in the bin nearby. "fine."

"you seem..." he turns her to him. jules lets her eyes linger on his face for a moment. his curls are plastered to his forehead, his pupils are dilated and his lips looks so red and pretty that she can't help but stand on her tip-toes and kiss him.

a moment later matty pulls away and smiles crookedly at her. "can't distract me like that darling. what's wrong?"

she toes the ground for a second and then looks back up at him. "i think max is here."

she sees the shift in him instantly. his warm and huge eyes turn wary and cold. his face turns hard.

"in the crowd?" matty asks.

jules nods.

"and has he tried to..." he lets the sentence trail off, but jules knows what he wants to ask. has he tried to talk to you? has he been a nuisance? do i need to do something about him.

with a rush of affection, jules realises just how much she loves matty. she smiles and holds his hand. "no, no. i don't know though, i'm worried he might be waiting outside to cause a scene or pick a fight..."

"oh, sweet girl, c'mere." matty pulls her into a strong and tight hug. a matty hug—one where he's the only thing she can smell and feel. jules sighs and melts into it.

"don't worry about that alright?" matty kisses the top of her head, "he's a cunt and if he tries something we can take him on. besides he's a little bitch, he's not going to pick a fight when there's four of us and only one of him."

jules giggles. matty's right. max is a little bitch. she feels a bit of ease descend on her. matty's always right. she just needs to stop being paranoid about max.

[kawaiijohn]

Dipper accidentally summons King Phantom to Gravity Falls to help against Bill?

okay never thought i'd write anything with GF buttttt here ya go @guardianrex <3

And Happy super late tenth birthday gravity falls. Hope this rocks.

"You're just a teenager!" Dipper pointed at the lanky boy from behind the table turned cover. His finger shakes a little as he wills himself to be brave.

"You're just a teenager!" Dipper pointed at the lanky boy from behind the table-turned-cover. His finger shakes a little as he wills himself to be brave.

"And you're just a kid," said teenager yawns, rubbing sleep out of heavily bagged eyes. "Is there a reason I'm standing in my living room with some kid I don't know at ass o clock in the morning?"

Dipper swallows. He'd meant to summon the 'Infinity King', a figure Grunkle Ford had found information on during his travels. The King of All Reality was supposedly an eldritch being of unknown origin and deathless power, one that could possibly be asked to help deal with Bill and his crap.

And his research was going perfectly! The texts Ford had shown him a few weeks ago- the very same texts that Dipper had stolen while Ford was asleep, were translated quite easily (who knew Pig Latin was a viable language in some realities?) and used without his Grunkle's knowledge. Against said Grunkle's warnings.

But ignoring warnings could have gone much worse. At least the figure floating three inches off the floor looked about as human as Dipper did. He knows from personal experience (what a weird summer) it doesn't mean much, but at least the King's skin wasn't like, inside-out or something gross. He shudders at the thought of the possibility.

Although the King looks nothing more than a teenager who just woke up, Dipper could still sense something about the guy was... off.

Unnatural

Dipper realizes he's been staring for a while, and that he's being stared back at. He points more confidently at the King and swallows his fear.

"Takes one to uh... takes one to know one!"

Smooth

The Infinity King sighs and pinches his brow. "Look, kid. I don't know how you summoned me or why you summoned me, but I'm very tired. I have no money, and I would like to go back to bed before the test I have tomorrow."

"Oh man, is it not summer break for you? That stinks."

"Buddy I'm in summer school, it does stink. So I'd appreciate being able to leave. Please."

"Oh yeah let me just-" Dipper almost falls for the believable performance before catching himself. "Wait a second, that's dumb. I'm not gonna fall for that, Infinity King!"

Dipper shines his flashlight into the King's eyes and is on the receiving end of a very angry stare. "Ancients help me..." the King sighs.

"Nobody can help you! Those sigils are for trapping ghosts and spirits! So now you gotta listen to what I say."

"I really don't have a choice, huh?" The King crosses his legs and places an elbow on his knee. "Alright, shortie. What did you summon me for? Need dating advice? Video game level can't be beat? Annoying sister?"

"I'm not so dumb to summon a powerful being for petty squabbles or whatever!" Dipper grumbles. "I'm dealing with something really really bad, alright?"

He walks up to the border of the circle and shows the King the journal, specifically the pages on Bill Cipher.

"What the hell is this thing? An evil triangle?" the King asks and begins to read. "Don't like how that page gives me goosebumps."

"He's an inter dimensional demon and a jerk. He's also evil and messing with my family."

"Well, I don't know what I can do, but inter dimensional jerks happen to be what I fight most." the King sighs. "What can I do to help?"

"First you gotta make me a-a deal!" Dipper's voice squeaks, realizing what he's said aloud before looking around to make sure Bill isn't going to pop up out of nowhere.

"Kid, I don't think deals are a good choice for someone your age, nor with an inter dimensional being like me."

"Yeah, but like, your kind is kinda all about deals, right?"

"No, but I guess if it makes you feel better... how about you buy me a pizza when this is over. A pizza, and a milkshake of my choice."

"You're serious?" Dipper squints.

"Deadly." the King grins.

"Alright, deal then-"

"Okay, drop the shield and we'll shake on it."

[entities-of-posts]

yknow i wish i could exaggerate this and say this isnt real but i keep ending up in liminal spaces. i feel like this is the best blog to discuss such things. i dont know why, just feel the need to share my strange experiences! i just found this blog, but it calls to me or something dramatic like that. i dont know, im pretty sure these liminal spaces keep finding me instead of me finding them.

heres a few pictures of the places i go! i kinda wonder how i get here. those first two was when i went to see a movie, and it was kinda full when we got there, but when we left there was no one! no cashiers, and the theater we were in was empty too. the whole town seemed kinda dead at that time, which was strange, cause it was only 8pm.

second one… not sure how i got that, to be honest. i just found a slide. i dont know how far it goes up, or where it leads. you cant see it, but it turns and spirals to some far off second floor.

the warehouse one was when i was trying to find something for someone! was sent to grab something from a warehouse. the warehouse was on the 6th story, strangely. never found what i was looking for.

ooh, that street. that was a strange seat. was trying to find the car after a long night. there was a lot of alleys. that was one of the alleys! no idea where the alleys went to. they simply existed. they are simply alleys.

the last one. i just.. found it like that. it was in an empty room in a church. i didnt really dwell on why it was like that.

theres a lot i didn’t get pictures of, either! that church i mentioned is really strange. me and my sister broke into a room below the chapel once, and the floor was covered in dead bugs. we didn’t get far past it. there were so, so many bugs. that church underground lead to a few other tunnels within it. I’ve gone through those tunnels many times, and I’ve gotten lost in them so many times too. Possibly more than I’ve entered have I gotten lost!

Oh, what else. Ah! I was in the backstage of a theater once. I don’t know what play they were performing. They werent playing it yet, It was a few months before the show. In fact, the show should happen soon! Regardless, I found strange things in the backstages. A lot of black, cardboard cutouts of human shapes. There was a large room, so large. There was some kind of mountain of props, with a stairwell leading up it.

i only have a blurry images of that theater. i don’t actually know why they’re blurry! they just turned out like that. better not to question, huh.

i hope you enjoyed reading this! all of this is real, to be as honest as possible. you can throw away this ask, i don’t mind! or publicize it. i don’t mind either! I just felt that, seeing as you are an archive, it was fitting to settle down my own ‘statement’ or whatever. have fun, and remember! there are liminal spaces around every corner. for some weird reason.

Oh I love those uncanny little corners of the world! I would have climbed up the inside of the slide 👁👁

Liminal spaces are generally in the Stranger/Spiral overlap. It may be an overused word, but nevertheless the feeling remains as strong.

[ursa-tan]

Hi! This might be a very niche but I was wondering if you could do a

Wally x reader, 🍑, consensual soul eating where he either fucks us during it, or it turns into a type of invisible/soul sex

(And if you didn't know: soul eating is where Wally eats with his eyes and feeds off of our emotions/energy, but it's like a kind of a weird sleep paralysis out of body experience for the person he's feeding off of, I've seen people also use the concept for kissing and more)

I'll show you

Wally Darling x Masc!Reader

Word count: 4,221 Reading time: ~16 mins

A/N: I hope this is what you wanted anon! I know it went a little off-request, but I hope you're still satisfied with it! Please let me know if you can!

Upon joining the neighbourhood, you were under the impression that you were the only one that would eat. Being the only human in a village of sentient puppets, the assumption made sense. In fact, the first time you say a puppet eat you were convinced it was some sort of joke set up by Barnaby to get you to embarrass yourself by asking questions. It wasn’t until said humorous puppet ask why you were staring at Sally so weirdly while she was eating that you realised that these puppets actually do eat.

You spent the next few weeks tallying up the number of times you saw each puppet eat. Well, you tried to at least, before you gave up. It became apparent pretty quickly that all of them ate on pretty much the same schedule as you, even if you didn’t see it happen. Sally would often tell you about how strict her diet is as a performer, Poppy offering you things she had baked, and Eddie talking about being a fool for skipping breakfast because he woke up late. Sufficient to say, the puppets ate, just like you did.

What struck you as strange though was that you had never seen Wally eat. Not once. He held food, stared at it, carried it around, yet he never seemed to eat it. Not even when Julie and Frank took the time to put a picnic together. He just held an apple in his hands the entire time, staring at it occasionally, but never eating it.

“It’s strange,” You mumble to yourself, breaking apart a chocolate bar and placing a square in your mouth. Your eyes are fixed on Wally, who’s currently engaged in conversation with Eddie and – once again – holding an apple that you know he isn’t going to eat.

“What’s strange, Kiddo?” Barnaby, one of your closest friends since joining the neighbourhood, asks. He’s standing next to you, doing nothing in particular.

“Hm? Oh, just the fact that I’ve never seen Wally eat. I mean, I’ve seen him holding food plenty of times, but I’ve never seen him eat it.” You don’t take your eyes off the smaller puppet – almost like you’re afraid that if you blink, the apple might disappear and you’ll seem crazy. You nearly spit out your chocolate when Barnaby next speaks.

“Yeah, that’s cuz he doesn’t eat,” he chuckles, placing a massive paw on your head and ruffling your hair, making a mess of it.

You push Barnaby’s hand off your head but don’t let go of it, knowing that he’ll put it straight back if you do. Staring at him in confusion, you wait for him to continue. When, after a few seconds, he stays silent, you know that you’re going to have to ask questions to get answers.

“He doesn’t eat? Like, at all?” You keep Barnaby’s arm in your grasp, looking up at him with a curiosity that needs to be satisfied.

“No, he eats,” Barnaby looks down at you, chuckling at the way you’re looking at him, “Just not like the rest of us, that’s all.”

“Not like the rest of us? What does that mean? How does he eat? Does he need to eat then? What would-“You don’t get to finish your barrage of questions as Barnaby uses his other hand to silence you, placing his massive paw right in your face. In much the same way that a cat would if you got too close.

“Slow down with the questions there, Kiddo!” Barnaby chuckles, holding his paw against your face for a second before removing it.

“I just-“ You’re once again interrupted by a paw to the face.

“Just tell me you’re done.” He slowly removes the paw from your face, as if expecting to have to silence you a third time.

“Ok, ok, I’m done. I’ll stop with the questions.” To say you’re disappointed is an understatement, you’re brimming with questions that you’re absolutely desperate to ask. It seems like Barnaby can tell.

“Why don’t you ask the man himself?” He gestures towards Wally, who’s still obliviously chattering away with Eddie, “You know he likes you, he wouldn’t say no if you asked politely.”

“You sure?”

“Yes, I’m sure. It’s Wally, he’s my best friend, I know him like the back of my paw,” Barnaby holds up his free paw, looking at the back of it proudly for a moment. That moment doesn’t last long, however, as he takes any opportunity he can to crack a joke, “Huh, never noticed that spot before.”

You can’t help but giggle at his antics, finally freeing his other hand as you do. He takes the opportunity to ruffle your hair again, just making more of a mess as you hadn’t had a chance to fix it last time.

“Off you go then.” Barnaby makes a shooing motion, pushing you lightly towards Wally. No plan, no time to come up with one, no help from the comedian, it’s all up to you. You aren’t even entirely sure what you’re supposed to do.

You find yourself stressing slightly as you approach Wally and Eddie. You hope that you can just slip into the conversation, and ask Eddie how his day has been. But you don’t get that chance, because just before you get there, Eddie says goodbye and walks away. Now it’s just you and Wally.

“Oh, hello neighbour,” Wally smiles up at you, his eyes droopy and half-lidded as always. He’s still holding that goddamn apple.

“Oh, uh, hi Wally, you, uh.” You find yourself attempting feebly to stumble your way through a complete sentence. Wally’s eyes don’t leave you for a second. He’s staring straight into your eyes, almost like he’s trying to stare straight into your soul.

“Are you ok neighbour?” He’s looking at you with that cat smile. It’s so relaxed and yet you feel so tense.

“Yeah, yeah, fine,” You mumble, reaching up to pick at your arms slightly, flaking off an old scab that you never gave time to heal, “Just wondering if you wanted to hang out tonight? Maybe I can come round yours and we can have dinner?” You can feel his eyes leave you as you ask this question, but the nerves keep a tight grip on your neck and you can’t find it in yourself to look at him to find out why.

“Sounds delightful, neighbour.” The apple is gone. You look down at him when he speaks and the apple is gone. He hasn’t dropped it or stuffed it in his pockets. It’s just gone.

“Right, right… I’ll come round at about… 7?”

“yes, 7,” Wally nods, smiling and waving at you, “I’ll see you later neighbour.”

You wave at him as he walks away, watching him walk over to Julie’s before knocking on the door and waiting for her to let him in. Once he disappears, you turn back to Barnaby, looking at him with a quizzical expression.

“What’s up, kid?” He chuckles, looking at you as you find your place back at his side.

“He… Did you see what he did what that apple?”

“No clue, I was more focused on how awkward you looked,” he chuckles, reaching out to ruffle your hair for a third time. You swat him away before you get a chance.

“Seriously, did you see anything? Anything at all? It can’t have just disappeared!” You sound exacerbated, desperate for answers.

“Maybe he ate it,” Barnaby chuckles, pulling his pipe out and placing it in his mouth.

“I thought you said-“

“You should ask him about it, you’ll have him all to yourself tonight.” He lets out a puff of swirling iridescent smoke. You know that you aren’t going to get any more answers out of him. He’s being belligerent on purpose, something you know that he’s grown to enjoy when talking to you. Said it’s something about how you look funny when you’re frustrated.

Instead of trying – and ultimately failing – to wrangle more information out of Barnaby, you decide to head home. It’s not a long walk, but it gives you time to think. The main question on your mind for the next few hours is how you’re going to bring up the topic of how he eats.

You’re so consumed by the question that you don’t even realise how quickly the time passes. Before you know it, it's 6:30 and getting kinda dark outside. You know if you don’t get ready now, you’ll be late and it’ll be dark by the time you get there.

You choose to put on a nice pair of black trousers and a colourful cardigan – something you think Wally might like. You also gather up some simple snacks, the kind of things you’d want someone to bring to yours if they were going to come over. Once you’re sure that you’ve gathered everything you think you’re going to need, you set out towards Home.

Wally is opening the door before you even knock on it, wearing something much more comfortable than his usual outfit. His hair is down and he’s wearing a light pink robe that he seems to have purposefully pulled off his shoulders.

“Neighbour, you’re early,” He smiles up at you, eyes half-lidded as he holds a hand out, “Come in, please.”

“O-Oh, ok!” You shift the bag you were holding so that you can take his hand, allowing him to pull you into the house. His hand is surprisingly warm in yours, soft against your palm and small enough that you could crush it with ease if you wanted to.

“What would you like to do, neighbour?” He stops and looks up at you once he’s brought you to his living room. The main light has been turned off and replaced by the presence of a lamp. There are already a few different snacks laid out on the coffee table – you notice that he’s got your favourite. You aren’t sure if he got it on purpose or if he just already had it, maybe you can be nosy and ask Howdy when he brought it later on.

“I don’t mind…” You mumble, realising you hadn’t prepared for anything other than asking Wally how he ate.

“Would you like to make something? Maybe we can paint together,” He’s still holding your hand while he speaks, “Or we could just talk?” He’s looking up at you with something in his eyes that you can’t quite put your finger on.

“Talking sounds nice.” You smile, sitting uncomfortably on his sofa. The sofa itself is quite comfortable, but you perch yourself on the edge.

Wally doesn’t say anything, instead just coming to sit next to you. He presses himself against you, his head resting on your shoulder to the best of his ability.

“Wally, can I ask you a question?” It feels far too serious to say that, but you also feel like you might implode if you just outright ask the question that’s been on your mind for so long.

“Of course, neighbour.” He slimes up at you, moving to intertwine his hand with yours.

“I’ve noticed that you uh… I don’t… I haven’t…” You look down at his hand, and the way it holds yours, fits so perfectly has you struggling to speak, “ You… How do you eat?” Eventually, you manage to just spit it out and ask him. He doesn’t react like you would expect him to. You expected him to look up at you with that lazy, half-lidded gaze that he always had. Instead, he jumps in his seat slightly and continues to stare straight forwards.

“Well, neighbour, it’s hard to explain,” He chuckles lightly, finally moving to look up at you. His pupils are restricted, small and not looking into your own but rather focusing on your lips, “ It would be easier to show you.”

“Show me then.” You know you sound way too excited, it's probably a little off-putting.

“You have to promise not to… React badly, neighbour,” He mumbles, letting go of your hand and shuffling away from you.

“I promise.” You have to force your voice out, feeling the excitement bubble up inside you.

“Stay still.” Wally stands up, moving until he’s in front of you and can rest his hands on your thighs, just above your knees.

“O… Ok?” The excitement subsides, confusion taking its place. His hands move slightly, shifting up to rest about midway up your thighs.

Before you get a chance to ask a question, Wally is climbing into your lap and situating himself until he’s pressed as close to you as he can get. You try and ignore the way that he’s sitting directly over your crotch, or how his hands are now resting on your chest.

“Open your eyes for me,” His hands come up to cup your face, holding your head still with a surprising amount of strength, “Don’t move.”

“Wally I don’t understand why this is necessary-“

“I’m going to show you how I eat, stay still and open your eyes.” His fingers dig into your cheeks, almost painfully holding you in place. You just close your mouth and nod as best you can, deciding that you don’t want to face whatever emotion Wally was just feeling.

His pupils blow wide, almost completely consuming his eyes. You can barely see the whites of his eyes in just the corners. It’s almost scary as he stares into your own.

Suddenly, something starts to envelop your mind. A fogginess that you can’t seem to shake off no matter how much you try. Wally continues to stare into your eyes, his own almost completely black and entirely unmoving. The fog begins to numb your limps, starting in your lower legs and tingling as it leaks into your thighs. Pins and needles seep into your fingertips, crawling up your arms in a warm sensation that leaves you unable to feel anything. You try to speak, but you can’t even open your mouth. Your lips are sealed shut, leaving you unable to do anything but let out a soft whimper.

“Don’t worry,” Wally speaks, hands moving to rest on your shoulders. You don’t move your head – you can’t move your head. “This is supposed to happen.”

You try and open your mouth again, attempting to ask him what this is. Yet, no matter how hard you try, you can’t get your jaw to move. The only thing you can do is whimper pathetically, unsure of what he wants from you.

Soon enough, you realise that you can’t move your eyes either. Unlike when you experience sleep paralysis, you can’t move your eyes at all. The only thing you can focus on is Wally’s charcoal eyes, blown so wide that you feel like you’re going to fall in.

“Just relax, you wanted to see how I eat, didn’t you?” Wally shifts forwards slightly, pressing himself further against you, managing to lightly grind himself on you, “ If you want me to stop, all you have to do is close your eyes.”

With those words, you realise you can move your eyelids. While your vision is focused on those deep pools of black in front of you, your eyelids begin to twitch and flicker. You don’t feel the need to blink, your eyes aren’t dry or irritated. And, despite the fear of being unable to move… You can feel something in your mind telling you to let this continue.

“Good… Please relax neighbour, I promise this won’t hurt.” You can barely see that he’s smiling as he speaks. His hands move to run over your chest, splaying his hands out over the top of your shirt, wrinkling the material slightly and causing it to lift slightly and show your lower stomach.

A sense of pleasure starts to take over, the pins and needles like tingling becoming a warm, dripping sensation. It starts in your fingertips, slowly trickling upwards, moving like honey in thick, sticky rivulets. The feeling leaks into your chest, pooling warmth right above your heart that’s spread further and further with every beat, being spread through your veins. Soon enough, your entire body is enveloped with the tingling euphoria.

“I’m sure you’ve figured it out by now, neighbour,” Wally mumbles, his usual, sleepy voice breaking you out of your focus, “You always were smart…”

You whimper in response to his statement. You hadn’t figured it out, you hadn’t figured anything out. All you know is that you feel amazing and that you can feel Wally’s ass pressing against your slowly hardening cock.

“You haven’t?” He seems surprised to ask this question, almost as if he really did think you understand what’s going on, “Should I explain then, neighbour?”

You let out another soft whimper, no longer caring about what’s happening. You’re losing yourself to the sensations, to the way his soft body feels pressed against yours.

“I eat with my eyes,” He starts, still staring deeply into your own, “But I can’t just eat food, it’s not enough… I need something more substantial, something bigger… Which is where you come in. I just need to take a little from you, some energy, I guess you could say.”

There’s nothing you can do as Wally continues to stare into your eyes, still smiling slightly, eyes still blown so incredibly wide. You wouldn’t stop him even if you could. You have plenty of energy to share if he was telling the truth about that. It doesn’t matter really, the feeling of warmth throughout your body and your slowly growing erection made you desperate for more.

“It seems you’re enjoying this neighbour… Maybe I should give you a little something in return.” Wally seems to be thinking out loud, wondering about what he should do for you.

It doesn’t take a second for him to begin slowly rocking his hips. His ass is pressed against your cock, slowly grinding into it, causing your erection to grow more and more with each passing second. The way he rocks his hips causes you to groan, eyelids flickering slightly but never once blocking Wally’s view of your eyes.

The puppet's hands trail downwards, eventually reaching your lower stomach. Slowly, he inches one hand under your shirt, touching your skin in soft, barely-there circles that cause your muscles to twitch involuntarily. He pauses his movements when he feels your muscles quiver under his fingers, seemingly cherishing the movements before continuing his ministrations. Wally manages to get your muscles to tremble again, many times.

The hand that isn’t under your shirt moves down to your belt buckle, undoing it with practised ease and quickly pulling it from your belt loops. Wally tosses it over his shoulder, letting it clatter to the floor somewhere behind him that you can’t see. His eyes never leave yours, not once.

Next thing you know, the puppet is popping your trouser button open with one hand, unzipping the zip as well. You groan again, only this time it’s out of disappointment, as Wally has shifted backwards and off you’re your painfully hard cock so he can shuffle your trousers down. The fabric bunches up around your mid-thighs, giving Wally space to sit on your crotch again, now only with your boxers in the way.

You want to buck your hips upwards, thrust yourself into his small body, and maybe even get the chance to hold him down and fuck him. But you still can’t move, so everything is left up to Wally. He knows this. You know he knows you know.

He removes his hand from underneath your shirt, shifting his small body backwards to leave your thinly veiled cock exposed to him again. He places one of his hands over you, palming you softly through your boxers, applying just enough pressure to make you feel something so delicious that you want more. It’s not long before he’s pulling your boxers down, freeing your cock and allowing it to spring up and hit the stomach of your shirt. It leaves a small, dark patch where you’re already leaking precum.

Wally begins to focus on undoing his trousers now, popping the button and somehow managing to pull them off within seconds – all without breaking eye contact. He gets his boxers off as well, throwing them somewhere behind him, probably letting them join your previously discarded belt.

Despite being unable to move your body yourself, your lips part seamlessly when two of Wally's fingers press against them. It allows him to slide the digits inside your mouth, pressing the pads of his fingers into your tongue. You can feel you're saliva coating his fingers, making them slick. You want to curl your tongue up and against him, wrap it around the fingers in your mouth, allowing you to suck on them lightly.

Slowly, Wally pulls his fingers from your mouth. Thin strands of your saliva connect your lips to his fingers, glistening in the light and drawing your attention for just a moment - even if you can only see them in your peripherals.

You aren't entirely sure what he's going to do with his now slick fingers until he reaches backwards. Wally's hands slip behind him, begging to slowly tease and dip into his tight hole. You can just about feel the way his hips shudder as he begins to finger himself, slipping both of his now-slicked fingers into his ass. 

Your cock twitches as he lets out a soft moan, hips bucking backwards a little. He's fucking himself on his fingers, thighs starting to tremble slightly as he continues. The way he moves makes you want nothing more than to have him, the feeling is a burning lust in your chest that drives you mad.

Eventually, Wally stops pleasuring himself and pulls his fingers out, moving his previously busy hand round to his front. You think he's going to touch you, until he begins to stroke his cock in long, languid movements. The fact that he isn't touching you is driving you crazy, your cock is aching and you're desperate for his touch, but he won't give it to you.

Until, that is, Wally shifts slightly forwards. He uses the hand that isn't stroking his cock to lightly grip yours, lining it up with his tight hole. You can feel your leaking cock press against him, meeting a small amount of resistance as he begins to lower himself down onto you. You can feel yourself sliding in slowly, your saliva making it easy for him to push himself down.

Wally bounces gently as he pushes himself down further, pulling up slightly to be able to slip more of you inside of him. After a few soft, subtle bounces, he reaches your base, leaving you fully hilted inside him.

The combination of the thick, honey-like pleasure and the tightness of Wally's tight hole around your cock has your mind beginning to fog. You know you aren't going to last long, not like this. Especially as the head of your cock presses into his soft, gummy walls. Wally's surprisingly warm body squeezes around you, tightening more than you thought it could. 

Slowly, he begins to rock his hips again. The soft rocking progresses into a bouncing motion, causing Wally's soft inner to glide along your cock, sending waves of pleasure through your body.

The pleasure starts to overwhelm you. Everything that's happening is getting too much, the thick, tingling pleasure, the rolling waves of euphoria, it's pushing you towards climax. You're desperate to orgasm, to finish and fill the small puppet sitting in front of you.

Soon, the growing, building pleasure becomes too much. Your orgasm comes crashing over you, muscles twitching, your mind flooding with pleasure. You can feel yourself cum, waves of complete euphoria rolling over you as you.

Wally doesn't stop bouncing as you reach your peak, seeking his finish. The sensation of his soft walls becomes too much, overstimulating your now sensitive cock. You can feel your eyes tearing up, although you don't dare to blink. He clamps around you, body stilling and thighs trembling as he orgasms. Hot, sticky ropes of cum shoot out and ruin not only your shirt but also his cardigan.

A few seconds pass, Wally practically panting, before he finally breaks eye contact. Immediately you feel as if there is nothing left of you. Your eyes are sore and your body is tired from what just occurred - but your mind is also foggy.

Wally doesn't bother speaking or even getting up, instead just leaning forwards and cuddling into you. His head nuzzles into your neck, cock still hilted inside of him. You don't want to move either, still enjoying the feeling of him. So instead, you opt to wrap your arms around the puppet and hold him close, almost immediately falling asleep.

[uldren-sov]

The new normal

A look into the band and a start of what real fame may start to look like as always it GOT AWAY FROM ME and initially it was just going to be the ending bit but if I don't give context I will explode ~3k words lil @infamous-if ficlet Camy Rose is mine! Everyone else (but those fans) are canon

✩

Camy should not be alive right now. Or at least, she should not be awake right now, not after the party that happened last night. It’s day two of a two day music fest and even though they had two-day passes, they were only scheduled to perform on day one. Which meant the after-party for all the other bands also only playing on the first day had every right going as hard as it did, but had no right leaving her in the state that it did. 

She remembers doing her due diligence: rubbing elbows, laughing, networking, and making fast friends with the right people. She remembers the flashes of recognition, the compliments on her band’s performance and their newest album, the excitement of the connection was happening with other bands, mutual comments of admiration, and all of the selfies and pics and tags to show off brand new friends. She also remembers the tight smiles, the sympathy in some words, the condolences that still haven’t gone away, because despite their new album – Gambit – finally coming out (more like getting ripped out of her like a bullet would in an action movie), despite it doing better numbers than she would have ever expected, despite it getting better reception than she anticipated, despite it being over a year later, despite Soft Violence’s debut; the breakup, the breakdown was still on everyone’s tongue. She remembers the drinks, the drugs, the laughter, the dancing, and hands gripping her clothes. She doesn’t remember much after that. 

But at least she woke up in her hotel room, not only with all her clothes on, but on the correct way, without any kind of signs that there was anyone else here besides Jazzy. Small victories and she’ll take them where she can get them. Wait, Jazzy? She doesn’t remember falling back asleep but the next time she opens her eyes – it’s raining? The rain is warm and it’s soaked her through, her clothes feeling like a weird, warm, weighted blanket. No, that’s stupid. It’s not raining inside. She’s in a white tub, in a white tiled bathroom, and Jazzy has her chin propped up on her hand at the edge of the tub smiling as their eyes meet. 

“I’m not going to recreate that Vine-” the headache bursts behind Camy’s eyes and she’s scrambling to hunch over the tub’s drain in the next second. Hands drag her long navy hair away from her face as she dry heaves with her whole back curling with the effort. A gulp of air wracks her before she rests her head against the cool tile, even as her headache pounds with every beat of her heart. “I’m good.” She gasps, sagging down and curling into a more comfortable position, nausea sharp in her stomach even if the soft patter of water alleviates some of the tension across her body. 

The familiar snapping of a top twisting open reverberates in the small bathroom as a plastic bottle is pressed into her grip.  

“You’re amazing,” Camy groans, blindly sipping the electrolyte filled drink. She knows immediately she needs to stop after just a couple of sips.

“You know it,” Jazzy says gently. “I’m kinda feeling nostalgic, actually. It’s been a hot second since we’ve done these, like, frat party recovery sleepovers,” she teases gently, placing the bottle on the corner of the tub so it won’t have too much water in it from the shower.  

“Ugh, don’t remind me,” she replies around the pounding in her head. “Though look at you, being the responsible one and not being here in the tub with me. Guess I owe Chris something for stealing you last night.” Peeking an eye open she dares a shaky smile as she draws herself up straight with even shakier arms. Jazzy watches her closely, just in case she might slip or collapse or something. Even if she wants to tell her she’s worrying over nothing, they’ve both been fucked up with each other during college. So she’ll hold onto her conclusions and be thankful for the safety net. 

“Designated driver, Camy-baby. I got you and don’t worry about him.” And Camy feels some hair getting drawn out of her face. “By the way, no need for any damage control. Or, well, at least from you. Not sure who Rowan went off with. But! Your phone’s been blowing up, and we got a ton of good feedback on our Insta after yesterday. You were on fire, girl, and I’m glad you got to let loose.” 

Is that what I was doing? Sure, partying now is part of her work, and Jazzy’s summary does put some part of her mind that isn’t screaming at her, at ease. But she can admit to herself she might have gone a bit overboard… 

“‘Kay, good,” she groans. Reaching out, Jazzy puts the bottle back in her hand before she gets it herself. As she sips from her bottle and lets the warm shower rain over her face, she thinks she’s slowly feeling better. “And maybe once I get over this hangover I’ll agree that partying as hard as I did was a good idea.” She dares a smile because she doesn’t dare trying to laugh along with Jazzy, yet. “I’m better. I’m good. Go check on the others.”

“All right. Love ya,” Jazzy says as she gets to her feet as Camy hums affirmatively in response. “Want help putting your face on later?” 

“No. We’re not performing and I did enough work last night. I’m just a civilian today,” she smiles a little more pointedly and Jazzy backs off. 

Camy manages to hold on until the hotel door closes before she turns and barfs her guts out. 

-

An hour later and she’s found herself in the full length mirror, showered and dried, in clean, dry clothes, glaring at what she sees. 

When Seven ripped the rug out from under her with his move – showing up after a month of radio silence to being caught with boxes of his things stacked near the front door – he left three things behind: his favorite, red, “7” guitar pick because it was under the cushion of a chair he didn’t take; the hoodie he’s had since he was 16 because it got lost between drawers, and; his leather jacket she was wearing as she walked through the door and fought for what would be their last time. She brought the hoodie with her on this trip because it was still the most comfortable thing she owned. Once three, now two, sizes bigger on Seven, she used to be able to curl her legs into her chest and drag it over her whole body to nap on the bus with it. Now it hangs off her, covering her fingertips and nearly covering up the rips and embroidery on the thighs and knees of her jeans. Pair it with her old, trashed, sneakers and completely fresh face, and she looks exactly like she did when she was 17. 

Her hair is longer now, and, well, blue, instead of brown, but can she even say she changed that much? Seven years later and it still feels like she’s waiting to grow up, to work off the shine of adolescence and be beautiful, to find some sign of being different from who she used to be. Maybe she’s even looking for a scar, a sign in her eyes that would tell people she’s different, she’s more mature, she’s irrevocably broken, she’s hanging on by digging her nails and teeth into the things that used to come so easy to her.

What does survivor’s guilt look like on a person?  

Whatever it is, she doesn’t find it. There’s nothing there. Just miserable Little Camila staring back at her. 

She ducks away from her reflection before it has time to judge her, putting on a cap and the hood over the top of it. 

…Maybe her cheekbones are a little more pronounced. 

-

It’s not long until she’s back at the music festival. The whole event is set up as a couple of stages at the back of a massive grass lot, to get to it the fans have to pass through a lane full of tents with merch from bands and food. At the mouth of it is a decorated arch with ticket booths and security and it is still so cool that she can flash her badge saying Talent and just – get into places like this now. Looking back at the lines and, even with her hazy mind, she can manage to appreciate how her band is slowly going from being the people in the lines, to the ones they’re paying to see. 

She tucks her badge back underneath her hoodie and sips from the sports drink she bought from a vending machine as she shuffles further in. Dressed down like she is people just pass by her like she’s invisible, which she gets. She’s dressed like she’s in high school, it makes sense that people treat her like she’s back in high school too. At least she’s free to catch up on social media and the hot mess of a group chat with her band trying to coordinate a meet up. Collecting the clues of what happened last night through photos and messages, following up on some texts, and reaching out to others, she makes her way to where they’re all meeting up as music starts filtering through the air. 

“I’m telling you guys, I think I’m in love,” she catches Rowan’s voice first as she finds them standing around, looking way more the part of musicians, or at least attending a show than she is; especially Rowan who’s still in last night’s clothes. “He was just so- oh, shit, Camy. It’s that kind of morning, huh?” His laugh rattles in her brain as the rest of the band regards her with a spectrum of wary surprise to clear amusement. Flicking her arms out to get her hands out of the sleeves, she grins brightly as she flips them the double birds. 

“Fuck off, I did my time. I’ve earned the right to be comfy today and chill.” She says lightly as she gives him a side-hug to a chorus of light laughter and smiles. She goes around to the others, murmuring ‘morning’ and giving half-hugs and casual greeting kisses to the air beside their cheeks. 

“Aw, I’m going to miss my mosh-pit buddy today,” Jazzy chirps in. Chris emerges behind his girlfriend and hands Camy the final coffee in a four-cup cup holder. She exchanges it for a cheek kiss with a quick thanks, and she gestures to him. 

“Isn’t that what he’s for?” She smiles with a wink as Chris settles a strong hand on Jazzy’s shoulder. 

“It’d be an honor to be in the crowd with you, babe,” he vows down to Jazzy, managing to keep a straight face even as Camy and Rowan snort and Iris shakes her head a little. 

“I wouldn’t have anyone else be my back-up.” She purses her lips together and makes kissy noises at him as she leans in, and of course he plays into it, pursing his lips too and humming until they lean in for just a quick pop of a kiss and a mwah! The rest of them roll their eyes and groans at the display. 

“You guys are ridiculous,” Iris teases around her smile. 

“But still very cute,” Devyn supplies as they look to Iris expectedly. “Maybe we should be more -”

“Absolutely not,” Iris cuts them off as Devyn just laughs gently, snaking her arm around Iris’ as they lean against her affectionately. 

“Gross. We’re honestly so strong dealing with these couples, am I right?” Rowan shoots to Camy with a grin but then stalls out. There’s a flash of alarm and panic as he scans over just what she’s wearing again and all the implication that comes of it. His grin turns brittle and, just for a moment, she lets him stew in it, staring at him flatly. 

“For real.” She smiles back brilliantly after a beat. “If I didn’t think I was sick before, I might be now.” She shrugs her shoulders dramatically, marking the motion of heaving before they all dissolve into a lighter mood and she drinks from the lukewarm coffee. “But, might not be the case anymore because you’re in love? Again?” She narrows her eyes at her prompting.

“Oh! Phew, yeah! Listen, it was magic, okay? Like, he was so cool and when he-” Rowan started again. 

“Oh my god!” A stranger’s voice cuts him off as he groans. All of them turn to regard a group of three people. A young man in a mesh shirt, black shorts and spiked platform boots, the source of the interruption, leads his other two friends who are also decked out in black, studs, and belts over to them. “You’re Chaos Anthem!” 

Camy squeezes her eyes closed as she subtly steps back. Dammit, that’s right. No such thing as downtime anymore, is there? Not when they are actually getting recognized more and more often. They all glance to her quickly before Iris steps forward with a confident smile. 

“That’s right,” and even though she’s opening her mouth to say more, Boots cuts her off with a gasp. 

“I saw your set yesterday-”

“We saw your set yesterday!” One of his friends cuts in, a girl in a short, tight dress that looks like it could double as lingerie. “So awesome.”

“I love the new album!” The third cuts in, the three of them getting closer and slowly crowding Camy out. The band all look between the fans and Camy with alarm as she just smiles wider and wider, trying and failing to hide her amusement. What the fuck is happening?

“Yeah! We all bought it and love the new, harder, sound.” Boots says straight to the others as Camy’s attention flits between the praise of these simultaneously very kind and very dense fans, and Devyn staring at her with alarm as they continue. “Rosa sounds so good-” and she nearly chokes on her spit, “-and you guys are killing it!” Her eyes widen as she stares openly at the back of these fans heads now that they have effectively separated her off. Her thanks is on the tip of her tongue before she bites back a laugh at how they continue. Devyn is about to say something but she quickly shakes her head. This is just too good.

“It’s so awesome and so impressive that you all have that ability to just nail it across genres!” Dress says once more before Boots whips out his cell. The band barely has time to get their thanks across before they continue with their praise and Boots shoves his phone at her. 

“Can you take a picture of us and Chaos Anthem?” As Chris pulls away to get out of the shot he’s the one who breaks first and laughs aloud. She stares openly for a moment, first at the phone then at Boots, before she manages to get the phone into a better grip. 

Turning her back she tries to at least set up the selfie to include her. They wanted the whole band, right? It’d be a dick move to not include herself even if they don’t know. Rowan nods along with the silent decision, throwing his arms around Boots and Dress, as she somehow manages a smile. 

“What the fuck are you doing?” Dress cuts in and Camy whips around to the remark, wide-eyed. “Just us! Did I say you, too? Be fucking normal, rando.” And Camy almost loses it, Iris has to duck to the side with the effort to hide her laugh, covering her mouth with the back of her hand. 

“Sorry,” Camy manages, lowering her voice as her band all have to hold themselves back now. She set up the shot properly and takes a picture of just them and the band. “Got a few, here.” She hands the phone back and it’s snatched from her hand, the three of them turning their backs on her once again.

“Thanks,” Boots says at least. “It was so great to see you guys! Can’t wait until your next shows! And maybe we’ll be able to catch Rosa - I mean, Camy - then.” With a timber of pride in his tone because he knows her real name. “She’s such an inspiration.” From her place behind them she mimes dramatically ‘such an inspiration.’ Jazzy grins as she tries to signal her to reveal herself but she just shakes her head.

“Yeah, maybe,”  Rowan grins at her over their shoulders. “Appreciate the support! You guys are great.” The three of them turn over their shoulder to glance at Camy one more time as she takes a long drink from her coffee. With the cup obscuring even more of her face and her hoodie hiding any kind of shape of her, she doesn’t even blame them as the fans say their goodbyes without another thought. Though she does catch a weird look from them after they leave, most likely as to why some rando is still hanging around the band. 

They all wait until their gone before bursting out laughing. It makes her wince, the added effort of laughing aggravates what remains of her hangover as she recovers the quickest. 

“I can’t believe that just happened,” Devyn giggles still. Jazzy tapers off her laughter breathlessly, touching up her eyeliner so her tears won’t mess it up. 

“I feel like a fucking superhero with a secret identity,” Camy grins wickedly even though she clutches onto what remains of her coffee for dear life. Hangovers suck so bad. 

“How did they not know?” Rowan gapes as he shakes his head. “Like, who else could you be?”

“Just another fan trying to get your guys’ attention obviously. If they’re only used to seeing me perform,” she shrugs a shoulder. “I’m pretty sure I could not look more opposite right now to that if I tried.”

“Don’t they know that makeup makes you shapeshift?” Iris rolls her eyes with a smirk. 

“You’re joking but-” Rowan starts.

“Quit while you’re behind,” Iris is quick on it as Rowan throws up his hands to another round of chuckles. 

“We should post something like, posing with our number one fan,” Jazzy says with a grin though Camy just shakes her head. 

“Maybe some other time. It does have me thinking that we can start posting less like, official stuff, and more us hanging out? Makes us seem more approachable, maybe doing some QnA streams? Adding what we do in our downtime together, rather than just keeping that to our personals,” she suggests as the rest of her band give various noises or gestures of agreement. 

As they begin to wander toward a performance and Rowan finally continues his story about the newest love of his life, Camy removes the hat and hood to fix her very distinct hair. There’s an immediate no fucking WAY! from somewhere behind them and everyone shares a laugh before she fixes her “disguise” back in place. She gets ready for a rare day off, listening to their peers and colleagues, and soaking in any inspiration she can squeeze from the event. It’s been a while since she felt hopeful, but hopefully this is a sign of better things to come. 

[just-some-random-blogger]

Can you write some Dream with a Filipino! Reader please???

Beer

Dream of the Endless x Reader + Corinthian x Reader

Summary: You want to get drunk because he's gone. Oh, and Corinthian is so going to take advantage of that.

Word Count: 1k+

Warnings: Filipino!Reader, gender neutral!reader, I use filipino, mentions of heavy drinking/drunkennes, angst, fluff, typos, etc.

A/N: Hey nonnie, tbfh, being filipino played no part in this fic besides the fact she speaks some filipino and sings a filipino song, which is why i added in the warnings instead of the pairing lol ANYWAY, this can kinD OF DOUBLE AS A p2 for Thorn At My Side, although it kind of doesn't really mention much about what happens in that fic and is mostly centered on my fav nightmare But whatever I am tagging everyone who commented on that @cleverzonkwombatsludge @pinksirensong @lexi-anastasia @aralezinspace @emy635 @libra207 @secretdreamlandmentality @deniixlovezelda @shadow-pancake9 Please listen to Beer by Itchyworms, because that's what reader is busting out a lung to here's then english translation if you're curious Part 3 ig "Not Enough"

Corinthian snorted as he watched from his personal corner of the bar. He was deeply impressed by how drunk, yet on key the singer was as each song progressed. This, he notes, would be the 3rd drunken and broken hearted song confession of the night.

When it ends, the crowd cheers but the performer does not care.

Corinthian smirks to himself, taking a sip of his drink. If heartbreak was the recipe for a star performer, then more people should try getting their heart ripped out.

The intro of the next song started to play.

The guitar riff to the familiar tune made my heart clench. Much like the song, I took a swig of beer-- whoever's it was didn't seem to mind. It tasted horrible. I never liked beer. But the burn down my throat was exhilarating. It was well welcomed with all this sorrow in my chest.

I mistakenly use my bottle as a mic when I sing the first lyric.

Someone in the crowd telling me this was made me realize it.

"Dahil wala ka na," I sang the next line.

Because you're gone.

I smack myself with the beer bottle when I begin to think of Dream.

Fuck that.

Corinthian licked his lips, grabbing his glass as he made his way closer to the performance. He pushes his shades up and places a hand in his pocket as the music from the speakers grew louder with every step he took.

He surveyed the room. Corinthian thought of how much of a waste it was for the crowd to be as receptive and appreciative of the performance, though they had no idea what the words meant, when the singer was too intoxicated to even be able to tell.

Corinthian listens to how the lyric about returned gumamelas was sung, how beer was dumped down on it like a sad throat, and how, much like your feelings, the flower was still very much alive after it all.

It was so pathetic it was funny.

Corinthian downs the last of his own drink as the chorus started.

Nah, this was definitely the limit. Aint no way anyone that hammered is making it past the chorus.

He rolled his shoulders, readying for the inevitable, as he enjoyed the severely vulnerable words of the song. The nightmare in him thrived in the pain. It pays to be language omniscient. At least he could thank Dream for that one thing.

Corinthian was nearly a second too late when it happened.

I blink rapidly, my lightheadedness distracted by the gasp of the crowd. It was pretty weird that my head wasn't hurt by the impact of me falling after tripping on a mic chord.

"Steady there, doll face."

I look at the smirking blonde before me, swearing I knew him, even though I didn't.

"Aw, it's Corinthian, babe. I can't believe you'd forget your favorite nightmare," he says, getting me onto my feet, "alcoholism doesn't suit you very well."

He leads me off, placing the mic on the stand. The crowd stirs. I turn over to the TV still flashing the lyrics of my song, "hindi pa tapos."

Not yet done? Corinthian pulls me close to him, brow quirking, "I'm pretty sure you're past done, doll."

I turn to him when I crash onto his firm chest. I barely see my reflection on his thick glasses. I realize he was holding a cup of water in his hand when he brings it up to my lips.

I take the glass from him and drink it.

"Honestly, I should just kill you."

I choke on my water. I feel it come out of my nose.

Corinthian chuckles dryly, shaking his head, "wouldn't you like that? Your Dream Daddy broke your heart. Don't you wanna break his?" The sound of my coughing makes Corinthian think he might not have to do anything for the moron to die.

He grabs the cup from my hand, sets it on a random surface, and leads me out of the bar as I continue racketing my lungs.

"Geez," he pats my back, "you secretly have TB or something?"

I shrug him off as we walk down the pavement. He watches me as I look at him, "you know my dad?"

"What?"

"Sabi mo 'dream daddy', eh hindi-"

This bitch really talking about a dad?

Corinthian mutes out the next words, turning his attentions to the street. He pulls me to the left so that I don't step on a smallish pothole I don't even see.

He peers down to his side, finding the rant 10x more annoying since it was being spoken in a language the idiot was clearly very comfortable with.

"Shut up," Corinthian snips.

I turn up to him, furrowing my brows, "are you my boyfriend?"

Corinthian snorts, ripping me back by my top when I continue walking, though it was a red light. I choke on my collar as I wind up falling back into his chest.

"That depends on how pissed off dad would be if I were."

"It's none of my dad's business who I date."

Corinthian hums, "but it is my dad's."

"You have a strict dad?"

Corinthian snorts, lips curving into a lopsided smile, "oh, you have no idea."

We begin to walk again, and Corinthian turns up to his right when he catches sight of a fluttering black bird. He pulls me closer to him, throwing his arm around my shoulder. He dives his hand to his pocket and takes a stick of gum, popping it into his mouth. He chews it, enjoying the mint for a moment.

"Good news, babe," he starts, "I'm your boyfriend now."

My face contorts, "what?"

"Nightmare."

I am abruptly pulled into a stop. I topple against Corinthian.

"Daddy dearest," said nightmare states, hand gripping one of my shoulder's firmly, "to what do I owe this pleasure?"

I look at the man he was addressing, the dark hair and blue eyes make my stomach churn, but I push it away as I look up to the grinning man I was next to. I wrap my arm around his torso, as not to be left in such an awkward position. He turns to me, licking his lips.

"Your dad isn't blonde?" I mutter.

Corinthian laughs, "no he is not. It's kinda funny you don't remember."

"Enough."

Corinthian turns to his maker. He watches as Dream's face tenses, "unhand your captive this instant."

"There's no captive here, pops," he tilts his head, turning to me, "tell 'im. Aren't I your boyfriend, dearest?"

"Uhm," I think, then turn to Corinthian's dad, "yes, sir."

Corinthian holds back a laugh. He wills his face into neutrality. It takes everything in him not to flat out yak at Dream's furious look. Still, he exercises his self-control well.

"You heard it yourself."

"Except," Dream steps forward. A bunch of passersby gives us all weird looks. "You clearly got alcohol-"

"I didn't get alcohol anywhere."

"Oh? Then why does it reek-"

"You know why," Corinthian blurts, "a consequence of trying to forget you, Dream."

"Dream?" I perk up at the sound, turning from Corinthian then otherwise. When I catch his face, when I realize who the man with the dark hair and blue eyes before me was, I hide myself in Corinthian's chest. My heartbeat begins to exhilerate.

Corinthian finds himself acting out of instinct. He pulls me close to him, "don't worry, baby, I got you."

Dream fumes.

"Besides, he can't banish you in your own neighborhood," he smirks to Dream, "now can he?"

"Corinthian," Dream utters with a conviction that shakes the nightmare to his core. It makes him tense. It makes his stomach drop.

However, the spreading feel of wetness on his shirt snaps him out of it.

"Yeah," Cori says, "bye."

I grip on him tightly as we begin to walk away. A chill runs down my spine when he pass Dream. Corinthian experiences the same thing.

We make it down the block in relative silence, relative because beyond the sound of cars, there was a soft voice in my mind calling out to me.

Corinthian silences his own by speaking up, "you wanna have some sinigang? There's a Filipino restaurant just across the street."

I close my eyes, listening to the sound of his heartbeat, as I nod against him.

[openphrase123]

i realize this may not be the best time to ask because of the last post you made, but how do you find the motivation to keep up with so many projects at once? the fact that you can is both inspiring and also very scary and i'm jealous. "average person writes 1 fic in their lifetime" WRONG. ficwriter openphrase123 who writes 3276453287 fics in their lifetime all at once is a statistical outlier and should not be c

oh this answer got long here's a readmore

well first of all. i have a boring dayjob that lets me marinate big ideas on the backburner. i can turn my thinking brain off for 90% of my projects at work. i've been working there for seven years, i can plot fanfiction in my head without taking a single performance hit LOL

second. um. i'm thirty in like four months. that is in NO WAY old, but i have been on this earth long enough to know when i, specifically, cannot execute or follow through an idea. i only pursue projects i know i can reasonably finish without going crazy. i just kind of. know how my brain chemistry works? i have reasonable expectations for myself?? i'm friends with my brain even if it likes to overthink or be anxious or have seizures or go down weird ocd-adjacent thought paths

third, which feeds a lot into the above point. but when you are in your teens and twenties it's going to take you some time to figure out the rhythm of how you work. i like to take a lot of mini breaks in between what i'm doing. this does not work for my girlfriend, who has ADHD and is like "if i take a break i will never recover" so she doesn't do that. brains are all different and you gotta find what works for you

fourth. well. this one might just be me. but the reason i have like 8 concurrent projects is because when i get tired of one, my brain is VERY happy to latch onto another one. no matter what i'm doing, something is getting done?? that's why i was writing 3 fics at once trying to decide which one to do next. and why i couldn't figure it out and had to leave it to a tumblr poll

and, fifth. idk. i don't write fanfiction when i don't want to? if you look at my ao3 account i haven't done it since. like. 2021? and before that the last time i wrote any fanfiction was in like 2013. of which i cannot track down that old accout but i swear it probably exists?

s.sixth??? and this one is going to sound the braggiest. and maybe it is a little bit. i'm good at this? not like. naturally. i wasn't born writing 100k fanfics. but i've been writing fiction for like. most of my life. i wrote a lot of awful stupid shit before i started writing good shit. i'm not falling asleep at the wheel or anything but after you're making art for enough time, it more easily falls into place. after doing it for so long you develop an intuition for the kinds of projects you will be sufficiently motivated for. i don't know how to describe this without sounding like a pretentious asshole. maybe i can allow myself to be for like five minutes. i've earned it

i hope that helped??? my brain kind of just. does stuff. i've trained it over the years to do stuff in the direction that makes me happy!! i wish my brain would let me go clean my bathroom instead but eh. tradeoffs?

[fuckyeahfightlock]

Hi Poppy! How was your trip? :D

Ooh, lots of fun! It was hub's and my 25th wedding anniversary trip, the first trip we've taken, just the two of us, since our honeymoon. It was my husband's first trip outside N. America (my second; we're so adventurous).

Edinburgh was lovely as always and I got to visit (twice!) my favourite painting of Achilles Lamenting the Death of Patroclus by Gavin Hamilton.

It's so much more beautiful in person, and I could talk about it all day. Just ask my Facebook friends, they'll tell you that's no lie.

"Enbra" was P A C K E D with tourists, shoulder to shoulder every damn where, but that's to be expected in summer. We took a day trip to Rosslyn Chapel (made famous in The Da Vinci Code, but that's not why we went), visited the National Gallery and the National Museum of Scotland (Dolly the cloned sheep is preserved there, and they have a very good Fashion gallery, including a few items by Alexander McQueen), and took a tour of a whisky distillery (with tasting!). I tried Irn Bru and Monster Munch, both for the first time. We went in Boots once, to get an emery board (my nails all decided to crack, peel, and become snaggly/scratchy for the duration of this trip, it was weird), and there was a DJ! Hilarious. Scottish people are lovely and kind, and no matter how fashionable/dressed up an Edinburgh woman is, she wears sensible shoes. I admire this immensely.

We spent a day in Melrose, Scotland, which is south of Edinburgh in what They call "the Borders" area of the UK. Melrose Abbey was impressive, we had lunch in a very British hotel restaurant (like the one in Fawlty Towers), and experienced how truly dog-mad Scotland is; we met about 60 local dogs and only about 40 local people. I swear you must get a dog with the key to yr flat, there. We also visited a small museum of Roman artifacts from the site of a nearby fort.

Spent one evening/overnight in Berwick-Upon-Tweed, the northernmost town in England--it was still light out at 10:15 when we left the restaurant where we ate dinner--which may be a name familiar to you if you are a fan of my fight!lock stories. Solely because it was a long journey by train from London, and sounded quaint, I sent John there to do some doctoring when he wasn't with Sherlock. Turns out it's the closest place to get a train to London, from Melrose.

London was London-y. We did all the things: the Tower of London, walked the south bank of the Thames, Big Ben/Parliament, stood at the fence of Buckingham Palace awaiting a guard change that never happened, Piccadilly Circus, Trafalgar Square, Borough Market, Camden Market/Camden High Street, V & A Museum, National Gallery.

A definite highlight was seeing Richard III performed by a fantastic all-female cast in Shakespeare's Globe theater. Absolutely recommend seeing Shakespeare at the Globe if you go to London; a completely unique experience.

The weather was H O T and if you ever needed proof that first world countries aren't coping quickly or well with climate change, just ride the London tube, or spend time in almost any indoor space in Britain. There is no air conditioning. It's no wonder heat waves have been killing Britons for the last few summers; the infrastructure is not set up to cope with the temperatures they're getting. We stood aside at one tube station to let cops and medics rush by us to attend to someone who had just been taken off a train and left on the platform (as signage instructs passengers to do) because of fainting from the heat.

There is no such thing as a cold drink in the UK! You can go into a shop and buy a can of Coke or sparkling water, and it is cool, but not cold. When servers heard our accents they would put two ice cubes in our glass at restaurants, but that's not enough. The only truly cold drinks I had there all ten days were gin & tonics, Aperol spritzes, and ciders. Alcohol comes iced; everything else--even the tap water!--just doesn't come cold. It was my only complaint.

Thanks for asking! Great to be home, of course, but it was a lovely ten days.

[laugtherhyena]

Bunch of random little things about Akira i moved onto a second post because the loredrop got too big

-Her songs are a form of venting of sorts, putting her emotions and feelings into lyrics so a good handful are about the tragedy or her struggles growing up or even "simpler" topics like love and uncertainty about the future. (On a somewhat related note, i imagine her stuff sounding kinda like Willow smith, Beach bunny and No doubt songs)

-She's had 3 guitars so far; the first was a birthday gif from Teruya when she was like 13 that she used to the point of it becoming unusable and now it's hanging on the wall of her bedroom, she forgot the second one at a party and couldn't remember where the place was (Hence why she always keeps her guitar on her afterwards) and the third one is custom made.

-She keeps a notepad and pen in her pocket to write lyric/song ideas she has on the spot because otherwise she'll just end up forgetting it. Her notes there are incredibly messy and scribble to the point only Akira herself can make something coherent out of them.

-Her easy-going enough to go basically anywhere as long as it sound like it could be fun, this helped her careers quite a bit since there's been several times she was recognized at some party or event or similar thing and in some cases even asked to perform for the crowd.

-Akira's pretty fit which makes her stronger than the avarage Dra gal. As you can probably guess, that just comes naturally when one of your parents a workout freak. Ayame's always made sure Akira keeps her exercises in check.

-She worked at the Kisaragi foundation as Rei's assistant for a bit when she was around 16-17 before her music career really took off.

-Similarly to Kizuna, Akira is also very physical affectionate, tho in her case that comes in the form of hugging people and invading their personal space.

-Other than her moms, the other Class 79 survivor she's the closest with is Teruya! She used to call him uncle as kid and he's helped set up a handful of her concerts.

-She's pretty close with Minako too, for obvious reasons you know that's her grandmother, and since Minako is working on improving herself by the time she's adopted she's been a nicer grandmother than she was a mother to Kizuna. (which gives her a whole mess of conflicted feelings, but at the end of the day she's glad her daughter has a good relationship with her grandma)

-She's never met her grandfather tho, the guy sorta just vanished when Minako managed to finally divorce him Akira things is for the best they've never met because she's only heard bad things about Toshiro. She's also never met her grandparents on Ayame's side but that's because they died in the tragedy, Ayame did tell her about them quite a bit and they have some a photo of them around the apartment.

-When it comes to her biological parents, Akira really doesn't have any interest in learning about what kind of person they were because she has a pretty weird relationship with them (or their memory i suppose). She was far to young when they died to remember anything about them and and so really can't feel much for them + she can't know if the Sakamotos would have been supportive of her being trans as her adoptive family is so that adds a whole another mess of feelings to the mix.

-She's always been going by Akira, she likes the name and didn't feel like choosing a new one when starting her transition. Still on the topic of names, the reason she has both of her mom's surnames is because she insisted in doing so out of how important both Ayame and Kizuna are for her.

-Aside from her memory getting worse, Akira's second biggest fear is virtual realities/simulations because she was told by her mothers about how Mikado tried to lock all of them inside his virtual reality when the foundation got into the sim. Needless to say the idea of losing both of her parents in a flash like this was really scary for a kid, and even as an adult Akira is scared of being stuck inside a machine with no way out.

[roxannepolice]

hope I'm not late for the ship meme, may I suggest 12/simm 👀

You're absolutely not too late, this unironically helps me get around to write my thesis 😅

Who’s the cuddler? Twelve is very embrace averse in the canon, and I think so is Simmy. However, the Master is willing to make sacrifices to annoy the Doctor, so he keeps plopping himself on his lap like it's free real estate. Essentially, Twelve likes his personal space and Simm also likes Twelve's personal space 🙃

Who makes the bed? The Master is a bit pedantic in this area, but after he made the bed a couple of times Nardole thanked him for sparing him this work, so obviously the Master got very pissed and started going against his bed making instincts. Especially given that Twelve only now found out Nardole has been making the bed all this time rather than it spontaneously rearranging itself against the law of increasing entropy and was very happy the Master would do such a selflessly kind thing. So now the bed is a permanent mess and Bill got popcorn for the daily tense stand offs over it

Who wakes up first? Whenever the Master actually wastes his time on such a trivial activity he gets awoken by Beethoven blasting on a guitar. Needless to say, the TARDIS had to start producing a supply of guitars after each meets its gruesome end in a hydraulic press

Who has the weird taste in music? The Master took up the reverse of the Doctor playing classical music on an electric guitar, so now he's mostly into a string quartet cover of I can't decide and Carmina Burana version of Waterloo

Who is more protective? Twelve is not very happy about it, but still feels obliged to end up with a very pissed wet cat version of Simm fished out of Sea Devils' contraptions

Who sings in the shower? The Master, very loudly and purposefully wasting his actually good voice. Given the TARDIS is not very fond of this regeneration, she takes the opprtunity to turn on only hot or only cold water, which results in the Master singing even louder in definace of blisters and coldbite

Who cries during movies? The Doctor allows himself a few somber tears while watching highbrow gangster dramas that are actually cinematic poems about how an individual with every potential to be a decent person becomes a monster and loses everything, betrayals and broken childhood friendships, but also capactiy for last minute redemption (think The Godfather, Once upon a time in America or Angels with dirty faces). And then ruins everything including Nino Rota and Ennio Morricone soundtracks by commenting on them in a very passionate and grandiloquent way that all the same would fit well a sunday school sermon. The Master can later be found performatively bawling his eyes out at the episode in which teletubbies couldn't make the tubby custard machine work so they sang a special song (lyrics of tubby custard, tubby custard, tubby custard (...) tubby custard) to fix it

Who spends the most while out shopping? They're both absolute absolute disasters shopping, but mostly for cosmetics. Twelve spends hours browsing thorugh hair-floofing products while Simmy needs to scrutinize every beard trimming device and test them on other customers' dogs. The one time they went shopping together each made the other wait with the bags outside and started manipulating the timeflow so the torture can last longer

Who kisses more roughly? Again, Twelve isn't very touchable, so Simmy kisses him Bugs Bunny style whenever he drops his guard for a second

Who is more dominant? Twelve is a bit too tired for that, while Simmy flaunts every triumph like making him carry more bags from the disaster shopping trip or seeing his selection of pizza toppings placed on top of Twelve's

My rating of the ship from 1-10. I really wish we had more of their interactions, because I kind of see them turning every domestic detail into an intense battle of wills. Also, Twelve is just more fun to annoy than self-flagellating Ten. Solid 8 ❤️