#my favourite bonus details:

[asukachii]

"Why don't YOU drive for once?! Ya idiot!"

"BECAAAAUUSE! I... can't.. drive these things!"

[bonus]

(I don’t like putting watermarks so, PLEASE, if you want to post these gifs somewhere GIVE CREDITS! Also, don’t use them in edits/videos. Thanks~)

[hersweetrevenge]

once again, the best wake up on a friday morning 💕 and oh boy is this a good chapter, an amazing chapter actually !! the reader is introduced and i immidiately get it, i get who we are in this story and i love that. i always think you get corey down so well, expanding from what we know and grounding him so well !!

the most condemned house on a street of condemned houses

i love this phrasing so much !! the most condemned man in the most condemned house on the most condemned street.

your descriptions of corey and his life feel so forlorn and lonely and hopeless !! he's a ghost, piloting a body that doesn't look or feel like his anymore.

He didn’t see his reflection often, but when he did the person there was unfamiliar... Just a homeless guy, gaunt and haggard.

it feels so strange to imagine him as gaunt, a huge contrast to how he always looked plump. he never looked small, even if he isn't built either. but its also so real, he's in a vey, very rough place and that is going to be visible. i like how he still tries to shave though, not keeping up appearances but aiming for some sort of comfort.

Momma had always refused to let him grow his hair, and he enjoyed rebelling against her like that, even now that she was worm food... He lets Joanna give him a haircut... and that makes him feel more like himself too.

his long hair !! his little rebellions even though joan gone. those mommy issues are hard to shake. i love the parallel with joanna and how he lets her cut his hair for him, rather than joan making him do it. how it's such a small thing but it's part of the turning point for him coming back to the world and to himself.

And now he was fucking subterranean.

how things really just have not get better, how it feels like they won't get better. our boy is severely doomed by the narrative and i will read every sad and despairing word of it. him thinking about dying in that abandoned house where no one will find him.

the michael parallel is fascinating too. i love the idea of him falling. michael was a temporary leg-up, but then he fell even further. and he has to save himself this time.

He cried. He seethed. He released his full wrath... If anyone challenged him they came to regret it deeply.

corey and his violent impulses !! yes !! how its a way for him to take control of his surroundings while also letting go and releasing all the emotions that he never learnt how to properly manage.

But he would cast her as a guardian angel when he needed her.

an interesting turn of events, he thinks allyson is dead ?! how even now he feels like she can guide his decisions. how it was never really allyson, but the idea of allyson that he wanted?

very excited to see how this plays out. would he keep up with news in haddonfield, or does he try to block it out as much as possible. with the increase in paranoia he's ging to have, i can see this sending him into a bit of a spiral, thinking it'll give people more of a reason to look for him?

And he still hoped he might die.

it's interesting, and you put it really well here, how because corey fluctuates in his suicidal tendencies, when he's not actively thinking about it, he's very pragmatic about survival. he knows what he needs to do, always has, but it either seemed too far away to manage or not worth the effort. the way he thinks he'll never be able to lift his arm or clench his fist but starts doing his physio exercises anyway. how he eats to survive, but still adds extra protein. a part of him is still striving to get better, even when the rest of him is rooting for self destruction.

If anyone asks, his name is Corey Carpenter. 

his new name 😭 honestly the way i gasped when i read corey carpenter, i had to take a breather lol it's so perfect. him pondering on myers and nelson too though 👀 all those versions of himself that he can daydream about but that never came to fruition.

also, him choosing wallace as his middle name !! i love the way he can't cut certain ties even if they're imagined to begin with.

a motorcycle with less than 1000 miles on it, being sold for far less than half its value by a man desperate not to let his wife know he bought it in the first place

my silly little fascination with corey and his daddy issues and middle aged men was sparked through no intention of mine lol. love to see corey fuck over a man who is having a midlife crisis ✌

And you desperately needed to feel at home in some way, to try to find home in yourself again. 

this set up for the reader feels so grounded, which i really, really like. my favourite thing about corey (amongst many, as you know), is that he is just some guy struggling his way through his 20s, and i love that the reader is too (because damn, aren't we all?).

the biggest mood is reader side hustling as a seamstress. possibly my only skill, so i appreciate the random relatability lol.

He’s always struggled with insomnia

insomniac!corey is everything to me actually. you are so right. but then linking that back, i love the idea of him wearing himself out so bad that he can sleep through the day, the self destruction that results in more damage and this one bit of respite.

But he misses the intellectual challenge of figuring out what’s wrong with such a complex machine, and the prevalence of small businesses in the industry appeals to his need for privacy.

i love the list of failed jobs that he couldn't stick out. he was made for engineering and mechanics. i know he's literally a mechanic in the movie but i still feel like it's still somehow overlooked a lot. i love seeing that get developed, i want him to have his career lol i especially love the detail of him fixing up old appliances, obsessed with the image of his barely furnished apartment full of broken toasters and stereos. i think it really feeds into how focused and one-track corey can be when he wants to, he's used to having time on his hands.

ahh i've said it once and i'll say it a million more times, i am so beyond excited for this story !! each instalment builds up these characters and it feels so grounded while still having so many open possibilities !! 💕

Clean Again

Chapter 2: REAL ADULTS read on AO3 | previous chapter | tumblr chapter index make sure you check AO3 for this fic's playlist, all the references I make throughout, the drawings I did of Reader and Corey's apartments, the vehicles the characters drive and more!

Corey adjusts to life on the lam... kind of. We get introduced to Reader.

general warnings for this fic - angst, fluff, eventual smut (MDNI), canon-typical violence, canon-typical gore contents/warnings for this chapter- mega angst, violent assault (non-sexual), homelessness/squatting, unhealthy relationship and infidelity, wishing for death

7,901 words

@rebel-blue @heartrot666 @wolvesandvampires @cordelium @toxicanonymity @multifandom--mess @hersweetrevenge @futurewife @yllcm @ethanhoewke dm me or reply to this post to be added to my tag list 💕

His first day in Georgia, Corey slept. He slept until the motel manager banged on the door to demand he pay for another night or get out. Then he hitched a ride further into town in a 1970’s Ford Courier with an old man whose accent he could barely decipher. He didn’t catch the man’s name but he wrote his number on a crumpled receipt he found in his pocket and told Corey to call if he ever needed some odd jobs to do. 

When he got out of the truck Corey wandered. Trying his best not to look sketchy as he stumbled down residential sidewalks. When the neighborhood looked rundown, he went towards the shabbiest houses, if things started looking too well-maintained, he turned around, until finally he found the most condemned house on a street of condemned houses. It had been left to rot so long the boards over the windows flaked and sagged. Even with his limited strength he could pull the nails right through them, so he freed a window facing away from the street and let himself in. 

He shoplifted travel size bottles of lotion to rub into his scars. He couldn’t give two shits about how they settled, except that they were one more identifying feature, bright pink and broadcasting his past to anyone who looked in his direction. His hair grew long and hung limp and greasy on either side of his face. Momma had always refused to let him grow his hair, and he enjoyed rebelling against her like that, even now that she was worm food. He tried to grow a beard to hide the scar on his throat more, but he found it too uncomfortable. Sometimes when he’d pocket lotion, he’d grab razors too, and shave his face by touch. He didn’t see his reflection often, but when he did the person there was unfamiliar. Not a hapless dork, not the town pariah, not a dangerous man on the edge. Just a homeless guy, gaunt and haggard.

The weakness and the brain fog lingered so long Corey thought he might not ever feel better. He sometimes followed the physical therapy exercises recommended in the papers Nancy had given him, stretching and flexing in the moonlight streaming through the collapsed part of the roof. He wasn’t convinced it did much, and just accepted that he would always have a stiff neck and a loose left fist, that he would never raise his left arm over his head again, that he would forever sound like he had a frog in his throat. 

He did what he could to find or earn money. Sometimes he called the number on the greasy receipt he’d kept, asking a stranger who walked by texting if he could borrow their phone. The old man, whose name he learned is Phil, would give Corey grubby wads of cash for holding his chickens still while he clipped their wings, or helping his wife Joanna in her garden. Sometimes when the work was finished, they’d let him use their shower. Then they would send him off with a container full of some unfamiliar food. Collard greens with little cubes of ham floating in broth, peanuts that had been boiled instead of roasted, all kinds of animal organs he didn’t know people actually ate. They asked him questions about himself but he didn’t speak to them much. He knew they were the only people in Georgia guaranteed to recognize his face. Giving them any information at all seemed like too big of a risk. 

Sometimes he panhandled, but he tried to avoid it because it made interacting with cops far too likely. Other times he found money in places he knew people lost their wallets often, bus stops, bathrooms, alleys behind bars. He always dropped the wallets into mailboxes after stripping them of cash and gift cards. He read somewhere once that doing so meant it would be mailed to the address on the ID inside. He kept his savings in rinsed out containers from the old couple, tucked under a loose floorboard in his squat.

Corey often felt his life had scarcely changed at all. He was a nobody, friendless and marginalized. Strangers glared at him, or else averted their eyes, crossed the street to avoid him, and whispered behind his back. Just as they had done in Haddonfield. Constantly on trial for a new crime: being homeless. Climbing through the busted window of the rotted house where he sleeps just an endless iteration of breaking into the abandoned Allen house. 

It suffocated him, making him so angry he couldn’t see. Rage rising in him and spilling out no matter how hard he tried to remember how he used to bottle it up. He had lost everything! Fucking again! He had sunk to the lowest depths of humanity to try to get free. And now he was fucking subterranean. Reduced to a rabid animal. And responsible for the destruction of the only good he’d ever had proximity to. Too stupid to hold onto his one shot at happiness. All that effort to get out, but he could never get out. His isolation only worsened despite any efforts he made.

He cried. He seethed. He released his full wrath on the building he inhabited, using any blunt object he could find to knock the walls full of holes, tearing at floorboards and door frames with his bare hands, hurting his bad shoulder and expending so much energy he'd sleep all through the next day. Other nights he’d scream until his mouth filled with blood, until nothing but a wet rattle could be heard. Each time moving his scratchy, damaged voice just a little further from how he used to sound.

If anyone challenged him they came to regret it deeply. Occasionally on his wallet hunts, a drunk asshole pissing against the wall would decide he was tough. Corey had broken men’s ribs, felt the crunch and sick squish underfoot as he stomped some prick’s hand into ground beef. He generated enough broken teeth to put a dentist’s least impressive son through all four years in an Ivy League program. Magnanimous "donation" included.

When the rage threatened to overtake him he would call out to Allyson in his mind. Corey had never been a religious man. He knew that wherever Allyson had gone was black, and cold, and empty. But he would cast her as a guardian angel when he needed her. Picturing her love for him as a shield, keeping the feelings that had driven him to kill people outside of him so they couldn’t reinfect him, the spell she showed him on a divine level. Or else keeping his evil inside, smothering it and compressing it so it couldn’t leak out and hurt others. Allyson, in death, did for him what she couldn’t do in life. She hooked her finger in his collar and held him back from the brink. Though he left people battered and bruised, Corey didn’t kill anyone else.

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You wake from an uneasy sleep with an unsettled feeling in your stomach. Keeping your eyes closed, you pat around on the bed next to you. Your search turns up nothing. You open your eyes. 

You know that if the bed is empty, the whole house will be. But you lay still and listen anyway, hoping to hear a footfall, the sound of water running, any bump or clatter or rustle that would indicate that you’re not by yourself. No sounds come. For the third time in as many weeks, the only living thing in the building is you. God fucking damnit. 

You lay on your back and tears of rage roll down the sides of your face to pool in your ears. When you’d first moved in with Orin there had been a couple of times he hadn’t come home all night. It was weird, but he’d told you he was just getting used to having a reason to come home now. That before you moved in, he stayed with his buddies all night a lot because there was no reason to come home. He wanted to come home to you, but it was hard to tell the boys he had to leave when he was so used to staying out. You could understand that, you were adjusting to living with a partner too. But that had been before. 

Before he stopped pretending to be charming and kind. Before he started complaining about how boring and annoying you are every time you open your mouth. Before he quit bothering to roll over and kiss you goodnight before he fell asleep. Two weeks ago when you’d woken alone for the first time in years, you had been suspicious but tried to let it go. The second time was a wake up call. The third time is a death sentence.

You feel like you could explode out of your skin. What the fuck!? What the fuck what the fuck what the fuck whatthefuck???  You’re not sure if you’re more angry at him, or at yourself. You’ve been considering leaving for months, but haven’t worked up the nerve, and now this feels like his way of telling you you took too long. This is him saying why aren’t you gone yet? You desperately need to talk to someone, but it’s 7 am. Everyone you can think of talking to is asleep or already at work. You roll over onto your stomach so your face is in his pillow, ice cold from spending the night unused, and you scream until you run out of air.

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It has been four months of living like a rat. Corey slips into the unboarded window of his condemned hovel. He’s had a good morning, making $50 for helping Phil candle chicken eggs, and being sent away with an old Cool Whip tub stuffed with cornbread. He goes to the loose floorboard and pries it up, removing similar tubs, brimming with the cash he’s been hoarding. Stuffing a piece of cornbread into his mouth, he counts.

His plan took time to form. The grief, and the rage, and the effort his body spent healing all formed a heavy cloud over the future. And he still hoped he might die. That it would get cold enough overnight to freeze him in his sleep, or hot enough to boil his blood in a heat stroke, his body lying in the condemned house for weeks or months, decomposing in secret. That an alleyway opponent would produce a knife and, eyes darkening like storm clouds, deliver the karma Corey so desperately deserved. But things were improving, against all odds. So he decided he might as well live a little bit more of a life. He started by getting a phone.

A phone meant not having to borrow one to call the old couple for jobs. And a phone meant access to the internet. With the internet he could really get things done. Like trawling Craigslist for apartments owned by slumlords who wouldn’t bother running a credit or background check as long as he paid them, in cash, on time. Like finding a motorcycle with less than 1000 miles on it, being sold for far less than half its value by a man desperate not to let his wife know he bought it in the first place. Like buying an expertly crafted fake Georgia Driver’s License with a new last name.

The license arrived last week and he was finally able to get his hands on it today when he went to help the old couple. He’d asked them if he could get mail at their address and they’d happily obliged. He’d taken the photo himself, posing for a selfie in the craft aisle of the grocery store, a piece of blue poster board propped up behind him. He decided to keep Corey as his first name. It was common enough not to raise suspicion, ranked 110th his birth year, something he had checked. And going by the same first name seemed safer in social situations. He could never slip up and accidentally introduce himself as his old name if he didn’t have an old name. He picked Wallace as his middle name, after his father. A last name was harder. He considered Myers as a sick joke, and Allyson’s last name, Nelson, an even sicker one. In the end, he settled for another C name, because he’d always liked his double initial. If anyone asks, his name is Corey Carpenter. 

The newly christened Mr. Carpenter stacks bills by their denomination and makes sure they all face the same direction. He desperately hopes he can get the apartment and the bike today, but that’s a pretty penny. It just doesn’t seem possible he could have enough, but he’s not sure, he’s never actually counted all of it. He’s just been grabbing the amounts he needed, a couple hundred for the phone, a couple hundred for the ID. Corey knows he needs to prioritize a living space that isn’t so full of mold it practically writhes, and that if he gets a bike first, it will be a bitch to store it so it doesn’t give his squatting away. But this one he’s found is once in a lifetime. The owner wants it gone today, and it’s a Kawasaki, the same make as the motorcycle he left behind in Haddonfield. 

Cornbread crumbs rain down as Corey stacks and folds a wad of bills. With everything counted but the ones, he’s just a few hundred shy. He holds his breath as he passes the bills from hand to hand. Please be enough, please be enough, he chants to the strips of paper. He's $50 short. Corey feels cold rage spread through him, hand clenching around the wad of money so hard his knuckles look bright white. Then he gets it under control. It’s only $50. He can find that somewhere on the way, or intimidate the seller into coming down a little if he has to.

He doesn’t have to. The idiot didn’t even count the wad of cash being handed to him by this scruffy stranger who won’t make eye contact. Corey wishes he’d ripped him off more, since he hates having to spend everything he’s collected in one day. But the seller’s hurry grants Corey another gift. In his haste he doesn’t remove the license plate, giving Corey a reprieve from having to steal one or get a good fake made.

The way it feels to finally swing his leg over the seat of a motorcycle again, to lean down over the handlebars as he speeds away, to see the lines on the road as nothing more than smears, it’s the best he’s felt in months, better than he ever thought he'd feel again. He hadn’t had his bike in Haddonfield all that long, but it had become a part of him. Riding now feels like regrowing an amputated limb. He spends so long darting around town just soaking up the roar of the engine that he’s almost late meeting the landlord. 

He screeches to a stop outside the apartment. It’s a studio above a garage. 300 square feet upstairs, 300 downstairs. The cheapest thing Corey’s seen, but still a rip off to be sure. The whole structure sags and looks sad, slumped on the back corner of the yard of another house the landlord owns. The beige siding is mossy in places the water drips off the roof and bounces back up to splash the wall when it rains. The window facing the street is webbed with cracks around what can only be a bullet hole. It’s not a very big step up from the place Corey’s been squatting, but as the landlord takes him upstairs he explains he keeps the utilities in his name, and Corey will owe the light and water bill in cash to him on top of the rent every month. Fantastic news because he’s been dreading the utility companies asking too many personal questions. The landlord asks him none. Instead, he spews bullshit about what a good deal the apartment is compared to everything else in the city.

“Can I uh -  Can I move in today?” Corey asks, interrupting the landlord’s attempts to spin the apartment.

“If you’ve got the cash on you,” the landlord replies, skeptical.

“I do,” Corey says, pulling a fistful of bills from his pocket. The landlord eyeballs him with suspicion. He was not expecting such an easy target this afternoon. He pulls first a counterfeit detection pen, then the keys from his shirt pocket. He sets both on the counter of the kitchenette where Corey can see them. Then he takes the money from Corey’s hand.

“First and last month?”

“Yes, sir,” Corey replies. The landlord counts the money three times and marks every bill with his pen twice. The guy who sold Corey the motorcycle could learn a thing or two from him. When he’s confident the whole amount is there, he holds out his hand to Corey. Corey grips it firmly and does exactly one shake, up then down. The landlord pats the keys on the counter, satisfied.

“It’s the 12th, so next month’ll be prorated. Don’t put no holes in the walls,” he says as he goes. Then he closes the door behind him, leaving Corey in the empty studio.

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You compose and recompose your DM to Veronica Hand, a girl from your high school graduating class. You’d known her since sixth grade, and your friendship had waxed and waned. When you had class together you’d get close, when your schedules separated you, you’d more or less forget about each other. Since graduation you’ve had the type of zombie friendship only possible via occasional Instagram story replies. You haven’t seen her in person since your last Thanksgiving with your parents before they moved to Florida to be retired. It feels weird to reach out to her like this, but you don’t know what else to do. 

That went way better than you expected. You didn’t think her response would be quite so welcoming. Your friendliest moments feel like ancient history, but she seems genuinely excited to have you back in town.

You’ve started packing but you haven’t said anything to Orin yet. Not that he’s been around much to say anything to. 

You stayed home on the third morning you woke up alone. When Orin finally came in, you’d been sitting on the couch in silence. Waiting. He walked through the door with a big grin on his face. When was the last time you’d seen him smile like that? Had you ever?

“Jesus fucking Christ!” He exclaimed in surprise when he noticed you. “Weren’t you supposed to go to work today?”

“Called in sick,” you said flatly. He didn’t reply or ask how you were feeling. He just turned down the hallway toward the bathroom, the smile thoroughly wiped from his face. “Hey, wait! Where were you last night?”

You didn’t know what you wanted to gain from asking. He could tell the truth, but if the truth was innocent, you didn’t know if you’d believe it. He could lie, but you would know it was a lie. A question with no right answer. Really, you just wanted him to do something. To react. For months and months he’d ignored you more often than not, barely responding to you no matter how hard you worked to gain back his affection. At least an elaborate lie would be a reaction. You could pretend to believe him, as long as he put in a performance that gave even the tiniest indication that he wanted to be with you. 

“Out,” he said in an annoyed tone as he disappeared down the hallway to the bathroom.

You knew without a shred of doubt then. And he knew you knew.

Three years down the toilet. Three years when your friends were having fun, hooking up, going out. Three years where they were finding themselves and making connections. While you’d been at home, whittling yourself down into a shape you thought would keep Orin’s interest, pretending to be far cooler than you were so he wouldn’t get bored of you. Three years in service of a man who couldn’t even be bothered to look in your direction as everything crumbled around you. 

That had been more than a month ago. You’d barely seen him since then. With the cat out of the bag, there was no reason for him to act like he wanted to be at home with you. One day you came into the kitchen to find his portion of the rent on the counter, a balled up pile of cash for you to deposit in your account before you paid online. At least he wasn’t kicking you out. Yet. You had no desire to sit around and wait for him to. You looked at places online but everything was out of your budget. And you didn’t really want to stay anyway. First your failed stint at Georgia State, now this. The city of Atlanta is your own personal Hell. Huge and yet somehow cramped, teaming with reminders of all your failures. 

The idea of moving back to your hometown came to you one evening last week. You were standing at the kitchen counter trying to force yourself to eat something despite the mess your stomach had been in from the stress. It wasn’t exactly conducive to eating to be dwelling on the thing that was upsetting you so much, but as you pushed your food around with your fork you found it impossible to think of anything else. Going over everything with a fine tooth comb. How you’d met, how you’d wound up moving in together, what he’d seen in you and what you’d ever seen in him. Trying to understand how you’d wound up so small and insecure that you’d been dragging the corpse of this relationship for the better part of a year, desperate for a miracle to bring it back to life. How now, even though the body was in the ground, you slept on top of the grave. Why hadn’t you fucking left yet?

You wished you could go back to high school graduation and start again, have a second shot at the beginning of your adulthood, do everything differently. Tell your parents to fuck off about college. Take a gap year or three. Travel, or move somewhere it’s crazy to move, New York or Chicago or LA. Be a slut and refuse to let anyone make you feel bad about it. 

You couldn’t do any of that, but you could go back to your hometown, and do a soft reset of sorts. You knew it had changed since you left, places you’d haunted all your life now demolished. Shiny new buildings sticking out like sore thumbs with their incongruous architecture, built by people who didn’t give a shit about the history of the surrounding area. The population swollen huge, full of strangers, while everyone who’d been close to you had gone away, except Veronica. But it was the fire you had been forged in. As long as one ember of your memory continued to smolder, it would be home. And you desperately needed to feel at home in some way, to try to find home in yourself again. 

Veronica is exceedingly helpful. You can’t believe the kindness she extends in those first few weeks. She goes to see apartments in person on your behalf, reporting back about any unlivable details of the places in the links you send her. She finds the apartment you wind up renting, not online, but by noticing a FOR RENT sign stuck in the grass at the end of the street. 

She shows it to you in a video call. It’s an old building with an impressive number of original details intact. The floors are hardwood, stain oxidized so dark brown they’re almost black. The living and dining rooms have built-ins and all the doors are surrounded with heavy matching trim, little floral medallions carved into the corners. The kitchen and bathroom are time capsules too, renovated in the 70’s and the 90’s respectively, then never touched again. The anachronism charms you, and while not everything is in the best shape, it seems like it’s been subjected to remarkably few landlord specials. 

You finish packing. There’s not much you’re bringing with you, all the furniture and all the shit in the kitchen is Orin’s. You text him that you want to talk to him. He doesn’t reply. You hang out around the house, hoping to catch him in a rare moment home, but out the window you see his car roll slowly by, not stopping because your car is in the driveway. You weigh the idea of leaving without saying anything to him at all. It seems cruel. But then again, you’ve seen proof he’s been in the apartment when you’ve been gone. Things moved around, his hamper filling up and overflowing since you’ve stopped doing his laundry. The rent on the counter that day. Surely he’s noticed your things disappearing from parts of the house, the boxes and suitcases in the corners. He’s an inattentive asshole, but he isn’t stupid. 

After mulling it over for a day or two, you put everything in your car. There’s so little it all fits neatly in the trunk and backseat. The only thing you leave behind is the login information for the rental company’s payment portal, scribbled on a scrap piece of paper, stuck to the fridge with a beer cap magnet. 

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Corey is astounded at the difference having power and water makes to his health, mental and physical. The apartment is a dump to be sure. He wonders how it isn’t condemned like the squat he occupied. But it’s warm inside when it’s cold outside, and cool inside when it’s hot outside, more or less. He can shower, he can shave in a mirror with a light instead of dragging his hands along his cheeks and hoping he didn’t miss a spot. 

He finds a mattress and box spring on the curb down the road a week or so after he moves in, abandoned by a graduating frat boy. The mattress is covered in mystery stains, reeks of marijuana for days, and is extremely difficult to get up the stairs by himself. It gives Corey fleas that he has to set off a bomb for. Even so, it’s a vast improvement over the hard linoleum floor. He’s always struggled with insomnia, and he still doesn’t sleep much, but the amount of sleep he does get doubles right away.

He buys two plates, two cups, two forks, two spoons, two knives. He can eat two meals a day and do dishes once. Momma didn’t teach him much about cooking, but it’s no big loss since her food was disgusting anyway. He’s competent enough to follow the directions on the back of a boxed meal, stirring in canned chicken for protein. Sometimes he scrambles an egg from his warm, stale fridge, the only thing he retained from Home Ec in middle school.

He notices his mobility increasing. It’s crumpled, stained, soft and fraying like fabric, but he still has the paper Nancy gave him with the exercises on it. He commits to following them. Corey’s shoulder is still stiff and uncomfortable, he always knows when it’s going to rain — something he’d thought was made up — but he can finally lift his arm over his head. Most days. Something he thought he would never do again. The clothes from the hospital lost and found actually fit now, after so long being huge on him. He doesn’t have to worry about his ring sliding off his pinky anymore. The man he sees when he looks at himself is almost someone he recognizes. The cheeks are almost his cheeks, no longer so gaunt and hollow. The forehead is almost his forehead, just with some unfamiliar creases. He lets Joanna give him a haircut, massaging his scalp with her tree root fingers, and that makes him feel more like himself too.

With an address, an ID, and a reliable place to shower, he can look for a job. He wants something sketchy, something where they won’t do a background check, they won’t verify his resume, and they won’t make him fill out any tax paperwork. The first thing he finds is maintenance at a decrepit and festering apartment complex, so run down that the job seems moot. Being on call sucks, and he has to interact with residents more than he thought he would. He gets a call to examine a tenant’s leaky ceiling. When he comes to the apartment, the woman who lives there is listening to a true crime podcast. The hosts giggle and shriek as they describe a serial killer’s collection of trophies from his victims. It’s the last straw. He leaves her apartment, gets on his motorcycle, and rides away. When he doesn’t show up for work the next week, the complex manager only tries to call him once. 

For a while Corey wanted to avoid jobs at auto shops, fearing the memories of the last time he drove a tow truck, the last time he used a cutting torch. But he misses the intellectual challenge of figuring out what’s wrong with such a complex machine, and the prevalence of small businesses in the industry appeals to his need for privacy. He washes dishes at a restaurant, he works at a plant nursery. When those don’t work out, he caves and starts looking for HELP WANTED signs in the windows of the mechanic shops he rides past. It doesn’t take long for him to find somewhere that will hire him without any paperwork bullshit. They have a girl who works the front desk, the owner’s daughter, so he almost never has to interact with customers. He keeps his eyes on the ground when he hands her the printouts of what was done to each vehicle. She says nothing to him except thank you.

He lives simply enough that his salary from the auto shop mostly piles up, stuffed into Country Crock containers in his freezer. Corey continues to do jobs for the elderly couple here and there, now refusing to let them pay him, but still accepting food. He starts buying busted small appliances and repairing them, but he doesn’t have the space to keep most of his projects, and selling them fills the dent in his hoard right back in. He vaguely wishes he could open a bank account, but it’s way too risky to even entertain. He tries not to ever use his fake ID if he can avoid it. He picks smoking back up, a habit he’d had in his old life, but he makes sure only to buy cigarettes from places he knows won’t card him. 

He makes one notable exception. It’s a government entity, but only in the most local way possible, so although it makes him nervous, he convinces himself it’ll be okay. He gets a library card. 

One day on his way to work, he sees a cop flashing her lights at him in his mirrors. He considers fleeing. If he did, maybe she would bump his motorcycle with her car, maybe bump it a little too hard and send him flying off and scraping down the road. Or maybe she would pull her gun out and shoot at him through her open window. Death hasn’t lost its appeal for him, and what a way to go that would be. A nice little ending for the Netflix documentary. But if he runs and she catches him without killing him, that would be the worst thing that could happen. So, gritting his teeth, he pulls to the side of the road and turns the bike off. 

“Good morning, sir.” The cop says as she walks up to him, thumbs hooked in her belt loops. “Did we leave our helmet at home?”

Corey’s not sure how to respond, so he doesn’t.

“Georgia law requires all motorcycle drivers and passengers to wear a helmet, and have some kind of eye protection. Since your bike here doesn’t have a windshield, that would mean goggles or a helmet with a visor. But I’m sure you knew that. Maybe you just forgot?”

“Oh, uh,  yeah. I was just in a hurry this morning. My mistake,” he says, trying to sound casual despite his heart pounding in his chest. A bead of sweat rolls down his scalp through his curls to make the collar of his shirt wet. He wonders if he could kill her, if he lunged forward and wrapped his hands around her throat. He's never strangled anyone before, but he remembers Michael's hand crushing his windpipe so vividly. The cop's neck is long and slender. Corey sees her pulse thumping beneath the skin, and imagines feeling it slow to a stop under his fingers. Would someone drive by and see him before he could finish the job? Or would a nosy housewife peak out the window and make a phone call? His eyes land on the cop's body camera nestled just below her breasts, then on all the doorbell cameras along the street. Watching him. Someone always fucking watching him. He stays seated.

“I’ll let you off with a warning this time. But don’t let me see you out without a helmet again,” she says.

“Right. Yes ma’am,” Corey replies.

“I mean it, now. I never forget a bike I like, so I'll know if I see you again, Kawasaki." She looks down at him over her mirrored sunglasses. "Have a good day.” 

The cop gets back in her car and pulls away in front of him, leaving him stunned on the side of the road. Guess I’m getting a fucking helmet, Corey thinks. 

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

You hear a massive vehicle approaching and go outside. Veronica and her little brother Harker pull up outside your new apartment in his lifted Ram. It’s so ridiculous you have to laugh at him. It has the biggest deer bumper you’ve ever seen, and lights twinkle on the running boards. A holographic sticker in the rear window proudly displays his Instagram username. Veronica opens the passenger door and slides to the center of the front seat. The sound of Walker Hayes meets your ears. You practically need a ladder to get inside, it’s so tall. You try unsuccessfully to stifle your giggles. 

“I know, I’m embarrassed to be seen with him too,” Veronica says.

“No, no, I think it’s cool,” you say, voice straining around the laughter you’re still trying to suppress. 

“It is cool,” Harker says. “I have 500 followers on Instagram.”

“Well thanks for taking the time to help me pick up furniture, Your Majesty.” You bow your head to him. Harker and Veronica both laugh. It’s so weird to see him driving, with his short little beard and biceps like melons. Last time you saw him he was a twerpy ninth grader with less fuzz than a peach, who had failed to even make the bench at football tryouts. 

Harker pilots his behemoth with surprising ease. You cruise around town in a big loop, meeting people from the Craigslist free section and Facebook Marketplace, hitting thrift stores and Target. The three of you organize boxes and furniture in the truck bed like a game of Tetris, then cross bungee cords over the top. When the truck backs up to your door hours later, you’ve managed to fit everything you needed to furnish your apartment in both the truck bed and your budget.

You can’t believe you had such a successful day. Veronica and Harker make easy conversation with you, as if you’ve kept in close contact with them all this time. After unloading your giant haul, you order pizza. They stay and help you assemble and arrange everything big. By the time they leave, the space has been transformed from the cold, echoing box you’d slept in last night, to something resembling a home. 

You haven’t thought about Orin in hours, comfortable and busy with your friends. But now that you’re alone and it’s dark outside, you remember why you moved here. You picture him. What’s he doing right now? What did he do when he came home and your car wasn’t in the driveway and your clothes weren’t in the closet, no goodbye except the login info you left him so he could make your replacement pay the rent. You hope he’s fine. You hope he doesn’t even miss you a little bit. You hope he’s miserable and kicking himself for losing you. You hope the new girl is cheating on him right this moment, screaming some other man's name. You hope they’re happy and that he never treats her the way he treated you, never says the things he said to you. You’re boring. You’re fat. You’re unambitious and slothful. No matter how hard you try to learn how football works.

Getting close to Veronica again is easy, like all those semesters you’d be pleased to find you had a class or two together, automatically sitting next to each other on the first day. She annoys the shit out of you sometimes — she always has to know everything , and she’s not shy about asking. But she’s a good friend, fun and funny and actually there for you. Orin got custody of all your old “friends.” Not one of them sent a single text after you left Atlanta. You can imagine him blaming the whole thing on you, making you sound so awful they wanted nothing to do with you. Or maybe they just never cared about you of their own accord. Veronica’s twice the friend any of them were. You’re relieved to find all your coworkers get along well, and you like when everyone hangs out together.

The way you bounce back and forth between incompatible feelings could give you whiplash. It’s his fault. It’s your fault. You feel bad for leaving how you did. You wish you did something much, much worse. You lean against the wall behind you and slide down it, sobbing. Embarrassing yourself in front of all your new furniture. 

You’re also extremely pleased to find out you love records. You’ve always liked music, but you’ve never owned a record player until the store upgrades its listening station and everyone votes that you should get the old one. The speakers it comes with are amazing. You can actually hear what audiophiles are talking about for the first time. It brings you great joy that the warm crackle of a record isn’t a myth. You slowly acquire a neat little collection of all your favorite albums. 

One day a customer comes to the register with a fistful of stuff from the patch bins. They’re wearing a plain denim vest.

“Are these going on that?” You ask as you ring them up.

“Yeah, I’m stoked on it, “ they say, “But I’m not actually sure how to attach them.”

“These three are iron-on,” you tell them, flipping all the patches face down to examine the backs. “You can tell because the back is like, plastic-y. The rest you have to sew on, but you don’t have to sew all the way around it, you can just tack it down in a couple spots.”

“I don’t know how to sew and I don’t own an iron. How much would it cost to have someone else do it?” They say, laughing.

“I’d take 20 bucks.”

“Are you for real?”

You hadn’t been serious but the customer asks with such earnestness, you feel bad. “Oh, I guess,” you say with a shrug. 

The customer takes off their vest and folds it into a nice square, then sets it on the counter. They pull their wallet out of their pocket and swipe their card to pay for the patches, then they put two $10’s on top of the vest.

“Thank you so much!” They say.

“No problem,” you say incredulously. “I’ll do it tonight and you can pick it up tomorrow.”

You attach all the patches to the vest that night. The customer didn’t give you any guidance on placement, but they’re all relatively small, so you put them all on the front and hope for the best. They come in the next afternoon and love what you’ve done. They ask for your phone number for when they buy more patches, and they hand you an extra $10. 

“20 just seemed kinda low,” they say. 

After that you find out their name is Taryn and they text you for permission to give your number to friends from time to time. The record store pays pretty decently but you could use a little more wiggle room, so you say yes and wind up with a neat little stack of projects from local punks. The money is a nice addition and the work is fun. Things come to you that you’re not sure how to do, so you watch YouTube videos until you figure it out. You realize you could try to market yourself to more people, so you make an Instagram and have business cards printed. When the work gets overwhelming to do completely by hand, you find an almost unused sewing machine at an estate sale. It becomes an actual thing, so much of a thing that you have to figure out what it means to the government come tax time. It makes you feel like a Real Adult for the first time. It feels nice.

[michellesneptune]

HOW THE MOON SIGNS ACT WHEN THEY LOVE YOU pt. 1

disclaimer: forgive me if the series doesn’t cover all twelve signs, but i don’t think i’ve known enough people to speak about everyone’s way of loving. please be patient🤗

aries moon/1H

ooooh those little devils🔥😈 you can see the mischievous twinkle in their eyes. they’re children of Ares - the god of war! when they speak of their loved ones it feels as though they’re ready to kill for them any minute, only waiting for the right (or any😂) reason.

(just my observation, please don’t come at me) i believe that these natives are prone to being more loyal, less selfish and flaky than aries venus. aries is known to be 'the baby' of the zodiac, valuing independence and self-fulfilment greatly. however, i’ve noticed aries moons to be devoted af!! you will never catch them bad mouthing a friend or a partner.

also, from my experience, both placements like to fight, however aries venus often does it for own enjoyment, the initial chase turns them on. as for aries moons, they’re more steady. they would go to great lengths for friends and partners. you can call them in the middle of the night and ask the craziest favor, they WILL come and help.

(please keep in mind that i mean unevolved aries venuses that still have a lesson or two to learn!)

PS. they love to be treated like the center of your world, please give them attention💕

taurus moon/2H

hmmmm how do i put it… 😍😍😍😍😍😍😍! i will say that i am biased bc my boyfriend is one and the way he’s attentive, always asks about the details of my day, pays attention to my routines and shows love through acts of service🥹 you’ve probably heard the rumours and they’re true. taurus moons make the best cooks ever. and i don’t mean putting together a couple of cheap pancakes, nuh uh. their sharp senses only let them buy the best quality ingredients and cook with great care. bonus points if they prepare a dish that they know is your favourite!

i will say though, they are not the most verbal lovers. but when they’re in, they mean it. when they say they love you, it becomes a fact so obvious that they don’t feel the need to repeat it over and over. they like to settle into a routine, so don’t expect them to be flaky, send mixed signals and stir things up just to feel something/for fun (sag moons cough cough😅😅).

they also seem brutal sometimes. but i believe it’s because they see honesty as the highest form of trust. they want to feel comfortable with you. they value silence, too. they’re the type to show you their appreciation not by telling you how perfect you are but by actually putting in the work to show you your value and show that they’re worthy of being by your side.

lastly, their homes are their sanctuaries, a reflection of their feelings. usually beautiful and they look for someone worthy of letting in, to match their belongings. they get a rep for being possessive and stubborn, nevertheless with the right person they can make a sacrifice and at least try to change their ways😂😂

virgo moon/6H

okay so i know they’re said to be critical, demanding, neurotic etc but hear me out. virgo is a mutable sign, ruled by mercury and in true mutable fashion they DO get wild, fun and unhinged lol. as a virgo moon myself i am well aware of the fact that i often act like i’ve got a stick up my ass. but when i get closer to you i want it all: karaoke nights, fast car rides, spontaneous trips! sometimes i even take those things to the extreme!

they’re also said to have the highest standards. and while i imagine it’s partly true, i believe that this placement is all about accepting the biggest, weirdest quirks of your s/o (as well as 6th house synastry!).

besides, i think that we get more so insecure and self-critical in relationships, analyzing the f outta our partners, wondering whether we’re meeting their demands! we’re about the overall quality of the partnership and just want it to be perfect🥺 we’re also quite anxious and require lots of reassurance.

lastly, everyone knows it: virgo moons are like the final boss of small acts of service lol. vacuuming your flat, folding your clothes. they notice the smallest things that could improve your life and happily do them for you!

capricorn moon/10H

this one is tricky. they remind me a bit of taurus but more rough in a sense that they probably won’t pamper you with luxurious baths and gourmet food but they will do things like pay your rent, get you a job or buy a car😂. i’ve noticed them to be a bit grumpy sometimes, definitely not the softest lovers.

they’re up to giving some tough love. pushing you into a scary path that they know will be rewarding in the end. teaching you that even in the hardest lessons of saturn there is light. they’re not the most cheerful on a daily basis but - surprisingly- they are the ones that keep calm in the face of crises. they’re like okay we can’t do anything about it now let’s appreciate what we do have and focus on what we can change.

it’s because they know all to well how karma is. they had to learn it the hard way which made them so strong and resilient.

what i’ve personally noticed: they will stick by your side no. matter. what. this isn’t always a good thing as sometimes it’s best to walk away but if you’re expecting a cap moon to give up on you, don’t.

i also feel like they’re used to being the oldest sibling, the mom friend etc. please take care of them from time to time!

that is all i have for you! thank you for reading💕 i wish all of you lots and lots of love💋 see ya

~Michelle

[borathae]

BTS Reaction to: Cock Warming

Gender: neutral

Warnings: Smut, additional warnings per member, sidenote: girlcock=strap or trans girl dick so this is truly for everyone

Wordcount: 2k

a/n: big shoutout to anonie. This one’s for you 🤪 love you besties as much as i love cock warming 💗

Namjoon

Warnings: consensual somnophilia, implied creampies

Receiving 

Needs it when you are half asleep. It’s summer, the bedroom is hot and your bodies are naked. Your back is facing him, you are so close to falling asleep and Namjoon can’t stop looking at you. He isn’t normally like this with you, but his eyes can’t stop brushing over your middle and what lies there for him. Your perfect hole. So sweet and soft and empty. Namjoon goes a little crazy not being inside, fuck, he needs you tonight. His cock is already hard from the view of you, brushing against you as he rolls over to spoon you. You purr sleepily, chasing him instinctively which only makes it harder for him not to want to be inside.

“Baby, can I warm my cock in you?” 

You’d croak a sleepy hum of consent, whimpering softly when moments later, he sinks his lubey girth into you. Your sleepy hips try to wiggle but he stops you.

“Relax, just relax. Let me do it at my pace, okay?”

You fall asleep only warming his cock, but wake up with a cum creamed hole, begging Namjoon for the details. 

Giving 

Definitely also likes it when you do it to him half asleep. But his favourite is during cuddle dates in front of the TV. You are sharing a blanket, spooning with your pants off. You are inside him balls deep while Namjoon is slowly getting more and more riled up. The movie is good and you are both honestly watching, but The Needy works in easy ways. It’s a lot hotter to have you inside him than Namjoon anticipated for. Halfway through the second half of the movie, he’d crane his neck and call your attention by kissing your jawline.

“Hm?” 

“I can’t concentrate, please just…”

“Fucking finally, I thought you’d never ask. I’ve been literally losing my mind for an hour”, you confess and thrust into him, dragging a guttural moan out of him.

Seokjin

Warnings: subby!Seokjin, sex while he games, finger sucking, nipple play

Receiving

This is a game to him. Quite literally. You and he made a bet. If he manages to beat this silly PC game while you are on his cock, he gets treated to a day at the amusement park. The only rule? He is not allowed to move or move you, otherwise he loses and you are the one getting an all expenses paid amusement park day. He thinks it easy, until he realises that your warm, wet walls are certain brain scramblers. He messes up constantly and blames you for it. 

“What’s the matter? Can’t beat the game?” you ask, making it just that teeny bit harder for him by clenching down on him. Just enough that he has to inhale sharply.

“Obviously, you can see how shit-”

“Careful, no cursing.”

He purses his pillowy lips, glaring at you, “aren’t you already doing enough by sitting on me? I can’t even curse now?” 

You’d giggle, “nope.”

“Baby seriously, don’t laugh I’ll- fuck! I fucking lost again!”

“Language, baby.” 

“I'll give you language once I win and, and pound you on this stupid…couch…jump, let’s go! Yes! That’s it Seokjin, keep jumping!” 

Receiving

What if I’m boring and I’ll say that it’s the same scenario but flipped? He’d be the one sitting on you and having to beat a game while you are inside him to the fucking hilt. Definitely a reverse cowboy situation so you can inspect his stuffed hole or fondle with his dick or nipples. You know, just for extra hurdles. Bonus points that when he starts cursing, you’ll simply silence him by stuffing his mouth with your fingers and making him suck them. Oh lord, he will not win any game that day. He’ll end up doggy style on the ground while you pound him stupid in front of the “You Lose” screen. Afterwards you take him for ice cream and a calm carousel ride where he’ll say something stupid like “You pound me like a maniac and now you’re taking me out for ice cream? I feel like your whore for real.” 

“Just shut up and eat your ice cream, you stupid loser you.”

Yoongi

Warnings: switch!Yoongi, studio sex, whiny!Yoongi, slight somnophilia

Receiving

It definitely happens when he is “busy”. He’s been holed up in his studio for far too long and has been unknowingly neglecting you. You are always welcome in his studio, so he definitely wouldn’t complain about your visit. You are also always welcome on his lap, so he wouldn’t comment on it when you make yourself comfortable on it. He would definitely say something though once you start kissing his neck and grind on him, but overall, he’d act nonchalant. He’d probably even act like this once you really sink him into you. Only a sharp intake of breath lets you know that he likes it. Maybe he’d also purr deeply and give your butt a squeeze. He definitely enjoys it when you sink him totally soft so he can grow hard inside you. He wouldn’t let it show, but he loves it when you visit him for some cock warming. You are so warm and wet and soft around him, Yoongi’s obsessed with it. Definitely the type of guy to hold out for long, but to really be rough with you once his composure breaks. 

Giving 

Hates it. Hates it. Hates it. Not actually, but he hates it because he wants to move but isn’t allowed to :( that’s so stupid! He’d try to warm your heart with neck kisses and breathy begs and promises of oral sex. But to no avail, he is ordered to sit still and be patient. Yoongi hates being patient :( Definitely the type of guy to try and get away with hip wiggles, which earns him a spank. He’ll complain and whine and say that he doesn’t like it, but he is leaking so much and squeezing you so needily that his lies are so obvious. He loves it, there is no denying that. 100% the kinda guy that gets so riled up by it that he cums within seconds once you really move, begging you to keep going even if his little hole is tight.

Also sidenote: sometimes when he is feeling needy for a stuffed hole but he is too sleepy to move, he asks you to cock warm him as he falls asleep. He wakes up with a raging boner and the most desperate case of The Hornys the next morning though. Definitely bounces on you that morning even if he’s normally a pillow prince.

Hoseok

Warnings: creampie, multiple rounds

Receiving

Post nut, balls deep, sweaty and hot. That’s his favourite. He’d cock warm you to make sure that his release stays oh so deep inside you. He also loves it because you are twitching and throbbing from your afterglow. Sidenote: Growing soft inside you is his ultimate afterglow. Wow, it’s almost just as good as cumming inside you. Yep, in conclusion cock warming mostly happens post sex with him as a way of still staying connected and keeping up the feeling of being inside a little longer.  Also, don’t tell anyone but it’s secretly also the perfect scheme to start a round two (or three). 

Giving 

I think post nut cock warming is also his favourite to receive. He’d like the feeling of his tightened walls and rim clenching down on you. If you filled him with a good load, he likes that cock warming keeps it deep inside. It definitely happens during spooning so he can hold your hand and talk about the sex with you. It will be nice at first, but then rile him up again.

“I think I can go again.”

“Are you sure? I’ve been pretty rough with you”, you are teasing him and he knows it.

“Please don’t tease, just more please.”

“More. It’s always more with you, Hobi. That’s the second time you are asking for more.”

When your hips finally begin moving again, Hoseok literally moans his words with a scrunched face.

“Not my fault I love your dick so much.”

“Mhm, you’re way too obsessed.”

Jimin

Warnings: Dom!Jimin, dirty talk

Receiving

First a disbelieved chuckle, “are we really doing this now, baby? Fuck, fine so fine with me.” 

Then another, slightly offended, chuckle when he realises what you are doing, “you’re fucking kidding. Baby, you know that I can’t control myself with you. Stop messing with me.” 

When he realises that you are not going to move, he’d try to act tough, but fucking fuck, his ever increasing breath and rapidly hardening cock is going to give him away.

He’ll end up begging in a rasp and with his fingers dimpling your buttocks, “if you’re not gonna tell me to move in the next five seconds, I’ll take matters into my own hands and fuck you into obedience.” 

Why did I make him so dangerous? Bro is a cutiepie I swear, but he gets a little feral when you warm his cock. 

Giving

Dominant af. If you think he is going to be whiny once he is warming your length, think again. He knows his hole is tight and oh so good and he is going to fucking make you beg for it even if you tried to make HIM needy. Will either randomly come up to you and sink down on you, giving you hopes of a spontaneous fuck or he’ll do it in bed when you’re spooning. No matter, you’ll end up begging him to move please, please, please. Will definitely be very dirty mouthed once you are moving, telling you to keep fucking him so rough and hard despite knowing you’re so goddamn desperate and weak from the cock warming.

Taehyung

Warnings: switch!Taehyung, hand stuff

Receiving

Very nonchalant but a tease. Cockwarming either happens to “shut your needy whines up” or because you wanna get him needy. In both situations, you will come out of this situation way needier than Tae. Definitely the kinda guy that begins feeling you up while his other hand is busy working. I can even see his long fingers touching and playing with your sensitive spots. Like: if you have a pussy, he’d be tracing your folds or rim or rub your clit and if you have a dick, he’d trace your rim or fondle your balls or trace your cockhead. Obviously all nonchalantly and as “if he wasn’t doing it”. You’d end up being the one begging him 100% and he definitely fucks you into multiple states of ecstasy.

Giving

BOY THINKS HE CAN HANDLE IT BUT HE CAN’T. Give this big tease a taste of his own medicine. Remember that he is the biggest denier when you’re on his dick, so make him fucking needy as revenge, seriously do it. He’d be cocky and playful at first, but then reality starts to sink in. He is meant to sit here and not bounce on your amazing, girthy length. Oh fuck. Tae is getting restless, squirmy and vocal. “I think it’s been long enough, don’t you think?” 

“Nope, not even in your dreams.”

“I’m getting a cramp, I need to move I swear.”

“You are not cramping, stop whining.”

“Please, I can’t do this anymore.”

“Too bad, I’m not done yet.”

Would definitely become so loud and slutty once you really fuck him, head thrown back and back arched as he screams your name and bounces on you hard and fast.

Jungkook

Warnings: switch!Jungkook, strength kink, tears, praise

Receiving

Either a whiny and pouty sub or a demanding and touchy Dom. I can see both situations with him. It all depends on the time of day. If he’s busy working but you’re needy, he’d sit you on his dick and tell you to be good for him. He’d keep touching you innocently and kissing you all while his cock slowly throbs inside you. Lots of praise as well because he likes that you clench for him when he calls you pretty words. He’d be okay at first, but then get needy too, which results in him either wordlessly standing up with you still on his dick to carry you to bed for a rough fuck or in him trying to make you cum first on his lap so he is the winner (in his mind, it has always been a competition). If he is in one of his hyper, restless moods you can totally shut him down with some cock warming. You sit on him and tell him to behave and he’d become the goodest boy ever. Definitely competitive, trying not to show you how needy you are getting him, but he’s very obvious. Once you reward him with bounces, he tries and fails not to cum instantly. Good thing about him is that he can go again right after an orgasm, he’ll just be a lot louder. Which is a win-win in my book.

Giving

Definitely only subby and very pouty. He thinks it’s unfair. You did all this work, prepared him so well, lubed him up so nicely just to end up telling him to be still. How unfair :( Jungkook so looked forward to bouncing on you and now he has to stay still :( definitely tries to get away with doing kegles for some stimulation, but you notice and punish him by slipping out. His pout grows and his begs get needier, so you slip in again because you can’t deny him. Of course he is ordered to stay still until he misbehaves again and gets punished again and the cycle repeats itself. I think this little play continues until you can’t take it anymore. Jungkook definitely ends up crying and shaking during the fuck because you riled him up so much that it feels euphoric to him.

[dreamlifebunny]

dream life daydreams: being with your sp!

an “imaginal act” is a scene you play out in your imagination that implies your wish has been fulfilled. the scene can use any of the five senses, and can be as long or as short as you want; what matters is the feeling that it evokes in you! i like to refer to my imaginal acts as “daydreams,” because the word reminds me of when i was a creative child who’s imagination was limitless.

instructions: take these imaginal acts and put yourself there in imagination! tweak the details to match your desires, personal details, and preferences, and use the senses that you have in your imagination to fully immerse yourself.

seeing:

imagine picking up your phone like you always do throughout the day and seeing your background light up; it's a picture of you and your sp holding hands that you took last month on a date. your sp has the biggest grin you've ever seen, and is looking at you with eyes filled with love and adoration for you!

or, the inverse: imagine your sp passing you their phone to take a picture of them or to show you a text they got, and seeing their background is an adorable picture of you that they absolutely love looking at every day!

hearing:

imagine you and your sp are out with friends at a party or event. both of you are doing your own thing, talking to friends and making the rounds, but both of you are still in the same room and nearby. while you go to the entrance of the room to get a drink, you overhear your sp's voice as they talk to one of their friends: "seriously, being with (your name) has been the best thing to have ever happened to me. they make my life so much better, it's seriously crazy for me to believe that they wanted to be with me when i've been pining after them for so long." you can hear their friend congratulate them, telling your sp, "i haven't seen you this happy in forever!"

touching:

imagine your sp sitting next to you and reaching down to intertwine their fingers with your own. their thumb traces back and forth over your thumb, slowly and thoughtfully. notice how their hand feels; are their hands soft or calloused? are their fingers warm or cold? do they hold your hand tightly, or in a soft and gentle grip?

smelling:

imagine your sp going in to hug you, and their soft and familiar scent fills the air and warms your heart! what do they smell like?

tasting:

imagine your sp cooking your favourite food and eating it together; do they do the recipe justice and impress you? is it the most disgusting thing you've ever eaten, but was made with love?

bonus!

try picking one of these scenes and incorporate all five senses instead of just the one mentioned! does it feel immersive?

try imagining these scenes with your comfort characters instead of your sp! you can manifest fictional characters the same way that you'd manifest any sp; give it a try and have fun!

love, bunny 💕

[runariya]

Prompt game:

🥰🤪👽

Alien Jungkook's tentacles try to get attention from the reader. But reader is mad and giving Jungkook the silent treatment. So tentacles decide to take it in their hands (?). I'm sorry my imagination is bad, but i trust yours ;)

a/n: I hope it's alright that I used this request as a Y(E)ARNED bonus...it just fits the couple so well

To spend your days alongside Jungkook is nothing short of pure bliss, a kind of beauty that shows itself in moments both grand and unspoken. There is, indeed, a profound sweetness in being the object of his love, of his adoration, a warmth that seeps into every corner of your existence, making even the most ordinary hours shimmer with a peculiar magic. 

Yet, as with all such beautiful things, this love, though a balm for your soul, does not come without its moments of maddening frustration—little flashes of exasperation that threaten, every now and again, to undo all the softness with their dizzying intensity.

It is during these moments of quiet contentment, where you’ve developed a peculiar fondness for collecting miniature porcelain figurines of Earth’s animals—everything from delicate little ducks to turtles no bigger than a thumb, from bees captured mid-flight to cows rendered in the most absurd detail. 

You‘ve chosen each piece meticulously, though the greater part of the collection, truth be told, bears the mark of Jungkook’s love and generosity. There’s no species left unrepresented, no space on the shelf unfilled. But amidst them all, there is one that‘s your favourite, a tiny maneki-neko with a raised paw and a chubby little face, who commands the centre of the shelf of your now shared home. And of all the figurines, this one—Jackson, with his impossibly cute charm—holds a special place in your heart, the only figurine affectionately christened with a name, as if that alone elevates him from all the others. 

So when you hear the unmistakable, gut-wrenching sound of porcelain colliding with the hard floor while you’re busy tidying the kitchen, something inside you breaks too. 

You turn and see Jungkook standing by the shelf, frozen, his wide eyes filled with a kind of helpless guilt, his lips parting to release the softest, most regretful “oh-oh” that barely registers in the quiet room. Jackson, once proudly perched in his rightful place, is nowhere to be seen, and the realisation dawns on you as swiftly as the growing pit of frustration inside you.

“What did you do?” you ask, your voice tinged with horror as you throw unceremoniously the dish towel aside, running towards the shelf, your heart and mind already brace themselves for the worst.

Jungkook’s wide, panic-filled eyes lock onto yours, and as you glance down to to find poor Jackson, or rather what remains of him, shattered and scattered across the floor in a hundred tiny pieces before Jungkook’s feet, your heart shatters too, as though a part of it has been dashed against the cold floor with Jackson. 

“No…” you desperately whisper, the word as fragile as all your figurines, as you resist the overwhelming urge to drop to your knees  and gather the broken pieces, knowing full well that no amount of careful reconstruction will restore Jackson to his former state.

This isn’t the first time Jungkook, with all his towering presence and boundless energy, has accidentally decimated one of your precious figurines, his sheer physicality, though endearing at many other times, always at odds with the delicate world you curated and that is so easily fractured. But this time, it’s Jackson, and somehow that makes it worse.

“I—I didn’t mean to,” he stammers, his voice fumbling over itself as he scrambles for some sort of excuse, eyes darting as if searching for a way out of the mess he’s created.

“Oh, right,” you say, incredulous, “Jackson just leapt off the shelf, did he? Jungkook, you knew he was my favourite! How could you—how could you let this happen?”

“I swear, it wasn’t me… it… it was them!” he protests, pointing towards his remaining two and free tentacles that hover ominously behind him, as though they too have witnessed the grand disaster. The tentacles, however, seem none too pleased with his accusation; they rear up, jaws flexing as though insulted, ready to challenge his words, daring him to continue with the absurdity.

“You’re unbelievable,” you mutter, turning away, exasperation and resignation rolling off you in waves, the whole spectacle having become too much to bear, leaving the wreckage of both Jackson and your patience in your wake as you walk away, tired of this particular chaos.

"Princess, please, I’m sorry!" Jungkook follows you in a desperate attempt to soothe your anger, fully aware that he’s really messed up this time.

But you don’t answer. He’s destroyed your things more times than you can count—accidentally, yes, but still enough for you to give him the silent treatment before you say something you might regret. So when you enter your bedroom, lying down on your side and huffing with a blank stare, you refuse to acknowledge Jungkook, who’s now kneeling before you, clasping your tiny hands in his, puppy eyes in overdrive.

"I’m really sorry, Princess. Please forgive me, I’ll buy you another Jackson." Jungkook’s pleading eyes would usually make you give in, but this time he’s destroyed more than just a replaceable figurine. No, he murdered Jackson, your precious maneki-neko, taking your good fortune with him. So, no, you’re not giving in. You pull your hands away from his and huffily turn around to avoid his face.

Jungkook scrambles to his feet at that, running around the bed, stumbling over his own big feet, and jumping onto his side. "I mean it, I’ll buy you ten! A hundred! A million! Please, Princess, don’t be mad at me." But again, you just turn back around.

You hear Jungkook sigh in resignation as he plops down on his pillow, mumbling apology after apology that you’re not willing to acknowledge. It doesn’t take long before you feel one of his tentacles tentatively brush along your shoulder, but you shake it off, too fed up to accept any affection.

It tries again, but this time, you stop yourself from pushing it away, realising the tentacle—or rather, they—aren’t the ones at fault. A second tentacle soon joins, poking your side as if to tease you into letting go of your anger. But you still are, not at them, but at Jungkook. You start to pet them, though, and the simple action begins to soothe your frustration.

"Oh, so you’re giving them attention but not me?!" Jungkook whines.

"My precious babies," you coo lovingly, "got accused of doing something they didn’t."

"But they did! It’s all their fault!" He shouldn’t have said that, because his tentacles don’t see it like that though, and the next thing you hear is Jungkook yelping, "Ouch! Don’t attack me! Ouch! You’re supposed to protect me! Hey!"

You do your best to suppress the laugh bubbling up, knowing full well Jungkook deserves it for lying so boldly. When his tentacles slither back towards you, settling over and in front of you, you resume petting them, while Jungkook sulks silently behind you.

Your anger gradually fades, the soothing motions of Jungkook’s tentacles helping you calm down. "Do you know why Jackson was my favourote? He was the first figurine you ever gave me. On our 100th day anniversary." 

He remains silent, so you go on. "He wasn’t just a figurine. He was a symbol of our relationship and our good fortune."

"I’m sorry," Jungkook whispers, clearly sad now.

"You can’t replace him."

"I know."

"And you can’t make him whole again."

"I know." His voice is faint now, as if he truly understands just how deeply he’s messed up.

His tentacles begin to run along your arms, sensing your sadness too. You feel movement behind you, and as Jungkook’s breath fans across your neck and his big hand lightly strokes your arm alongside his tentacles, your resolve to stay mad a little longer disappears entirely. You turn around, facing his beautiful face and mesmerising eyes.

"I never understood why he was your favourite, but now I do. I’m really sorry, Princess."

"S’fine," you mumble, gently stroking his cheekbone.

"Do you want to know what my symbol of our relationship is?"

"Hm?"

Jungkook’s connected tentacles lift behind his back. "This. And this is something that’ll never break, no matter what."

Your eyes well up with tears because, frankly, he’s right. It shouldn’t be a fragile figurine that carries the very symbol of your love, but Jungkook himself. You regret ever giving Jackson that meaning, because there’s something so much stronger than porcelain—a living, conscious bond that shows just how meaningful and overwhelming your connection with Jungkook is.

"I’m sorry."

"You don’t have to be. Please don’t say that. I love you, Princess."

"I love you too, Jungkook."

And it's true, you’re the happiest woman in the world, now and always.

[icypopz]

with an affectionate s/o ♡

↬ request from anon ; If your requests are open of course and if you could, I would like to request some hc with Artem and Vyn with a s/o that is very affectionate

↬ notes ; artem wing (zuo ran), vyn richter (mo yi) x gn!reader

↬ from ice ; the original ask was very detailed so i just put an excerpt of it above :) btw this is my first post for artem !! hehehe,,, also i rly need to kiss mo yi ok bye hope you enjoy <3

↬ warning(s) ; vyn's is microscopically suggestive at the end hahaha

please reblog ! it helps a lot :)

[ artem wing / zuo ran ! ]

artem would definitely love having an affectionate partner. he's someone who values communication, and hearing you always remind him that you love him never fails to make his day, whether it's through text messages or verbally. whenever he receives a notification from you, a smile will always unintentionally curve his lips as he stares at the barrage of heart emojis and exclamation marks. celestine has caught him smiling at his screen multiple times now, and she never stops teasing him about it.

as for physical affection, artem is comfortable with it as long as it isn't at work. it's not that he doesn't want to show you off or he's embarrassed to date you, he's just shy and gets too embarrassed when you kiss him goodbye in front of his coworkers (it's mainly celestine's knowing smirk that he doesn't think he can face). at home or when you go out on dates, he adores it when you jump on him in an excited hug or pepper kisses all over his face. he especially loves having your hand in his as you both walk around stellis, it's so casual and subtle but artem secretly likes how it signifies to everyone around you that the two of you are dating.

if you ever get insecure about being so enthusiastic with your love, artem is quick to reassure you. he'll tell you that you're like sunshine to him, and he adores basking in the warmth of your care. he would pull you into a comforting hug, resting his chin on your head and caressing your hair as you nuzzle into the crook of his neck, whispering sweet nothings about how much he loves you. artem hopes you know that he loves you equally, if not more, despite not showing it as boldly as you.

more content utc !

[ vyn richter / mo yi ! ]

having a partner who's so genuine with their affection would come as a welcome shock to vyn. he's usually more restrained with his emotions, rarely letting his guard down even around you. ever since he was a kid, he's never met anyone who was so eager to love him like this, so it takes some time before he feels more comfortable with your enthusiasm. but once he's used to it, it's a welcome addition to all the things that he already adores about you.

vyn really appreciates the way you always tell him you love him. as a psychologist, he has a tendency to hyper-analyse everyone's behaviour, which includes you, and he sometimes manages to overthink himself into a spiral where he convinces himself you don't really love him (though he'd never voice it to you). at times like these, just seeing an "i love you, vyn!" text from you always chases away his negative thoughts, and he'll remind himself that you truly do care for him. he'll be sure to make your favourite desserts when you get home, but if you ask why he'll simply chuckle with an enigmatic smile and say he just felt like surprising you.

to be honest, vyn would totally one-up you in the physical affection department every time. he isn't shy to show that he loves you through touch, and when the two of you are relaxing at home, his hands are somehow always on you. resting on your waist, intertwining your fingers with his, sneaking under the hem of your shirt - vyn just loves how warm you are, and sometimes he can barely believe that you're there beside him, so the physical contact helps keep him grounded. if it makes you flustered, then that's a bonus! he also has zero shame when it comes to kissing you, and there definitely isn't a single place on your body that his lips haven't marked at least once. can you blame him though? vyn just wants to show his precious partner that he loves every single part of you.

✧ thank you for reading ! if you have a request, feel free to send it in 🌠

© icypopz 2024. do not repost or modify in any way.

[whenthelightisrunninglow]

i finally finished shiny hunting the subway boss super line teams this summer! + a bonus random shiny snivy i hatched (with its hidden ability!) that feels fitting to have since it's my favourite unova starter :-]

more details about stats/movesets under the cut :-] was using everstone + destiny knot to breed for ivs and natures (with the exception of serperior, who was an unexpected hatch) so they're all really fantastic :-]

[hersweetrevenge]

another friday, another chapter of clean again to read like it's the morning paper !! 💗 i loved the reader in the previous chapters, but this one really endeared me to them !! i love the world you're building and how grounded it is, while still letting us live a little vicariously lol

Everything is just a simulation, you’re watching from above, not really there. You come across as frigid and they don’t put in the effort to thaw you.

ohh reader struggling with the dating scene and the expectations that come with it. that no man's land of wanting to find something like romance but being cynical of the ways to do it. the fear of not being interesting enough while simultaneously not finding other people interesting enough. ahh reader is so me, for real lol.

for me you've created the perfect blend of 20-something struggles and i am in awe. the safety and stagnancy of a hometown, the dating struggles, loneliness and fear. but reader has a certain confidence that is very not me, which is exactly what i want in a fic, i want to be a better, slightly different version of myself.

You can’t pinpoint any specific thing he’s said or done, something just… changes.

ugh hurley is exactly the sort of guy i would think is too cool for me, but once you actually get to know him he is no where near cool enough, in a genuine and heartfelt way. that wouldn't stop me from being a little be infatuated up until that point though, of course lol. the worst guys are the guys that know they're cool.

But he wants you, in a more serious, more real way than anyone else you've been seeing. He's interested in you.

the way this hit hard. unfair. uncalled for. you get it. that feeling of "what if this is my last chance?" and you're stuck between staying and not meaning it, or leaving and being left in a desolate wasteland for all of eternity because no one else will want you.

am i projecting? maybe so.

“Yo Carpenter, what’re you gonna be for Halloween?”

ahh hearing (or reading, i guess, you know what i mean) someone call him by his new name? so obsessed. he really suits it.

Fucking Halloween. The worst day of his life, twice.

obsessed with this quiet sort of resentment. but i love the growth you're giving him. he's past the point of actually doing anything, of being actively angry, but now it just simmers. it feels like he's sort of accepted it, in an indignant, "god won't kill me so i'm making it everyone else's problem" type of way. like his life was ruined once, and when he thought it couldn't get any worse, it was somehow ruined again.

He’s never seen a scrap of evidence that his most surly employee has even one friend, let alone a spouse, a child, or a good relationship with his parents... the way he always does when a conversation goes on too long for his liking.

this is it, this is everything to me, actually !! corey being surly and unfriendly because what is the point? him having that perpetual scowl on his face because he's going to get through this, but he doesn't have to be happy about it.

how he's never been much of a talker but especially not anymore, not when his past has to be non-existent and his future seems tenuous at best.

i'm honestly so excited to see how he interacts with reader !! when he's so curt with everyone else, i can't wait to see him finding his way back to feeling like a person who can talk and interact and be with people.

He pictures his skin searing and cracking in the heat, before being ripped to shreds by the shrapnel generated from the vintage toasters and antique clocks he tinkers with. 

his wild imagination really comes in handy, doesn't it? now it's become another little obsession of mine to think about corey thinking about all the ways he could die.

and the way you described this is like, goosebumps-inducingly visceral. amazing word choice, amazingly blunt violence.

Pain shoots through his bad shoulder and he lets it take over all his senses, experiencing the fleeting agony as fully as he can.

the mundanity of his small acts of self-harm is so torturously fascinating to read. and i cannot explain how much i love you bringing this particular ritual back. something he did for so long, i an't decide if he does it to ground himself somewhat, or to re-live the moment over and over again to prove something to himself.

the way he tried to turn anger into pain, because maybe he can feel less guilty that way.

Someone puts some goofy 60’s novelty song on the jukebox.

halloween is at it's best when it is kind of kitschy and goofy !! vintage spooky. janky, homemade costumes and decorations. groovy music with scary movie sound effects. this is what halloween should be.

also i can absolutely taste the drink you mention. idk what you intended the drink to be when you were writing but i can taste it, whatever it is. weird green cocktail, is going to taste exactly how it looks lol.

If he could bring them with him he could sell them, blending in seamlessly with all the other old school electronics that pass through his hands.

corey's pragmatism is one of those characteristics that gets overlooked, but you always strike the perfect balance. his thoughts can absolutely run away with him, but before he works himself up too badly, i always think of him as being very structured. him still thinking about maintaining his funds before doing something terrible anyway, the duality is so interesting !!

He lights a cigarette. Then Corey holds the match to a piece of paper at the bottom of the pile until it catches... his only regret is that he can’t stay to watch the whole thing be consumed by flames.

the way i only noticed on my second read that he lights a cigarette 😭😈 the image this delivered straight to my brain of him walking out of there with a cigarette between his teeth and the kindling inferno behind him. he's so hot.

ahh baby's first arson (or second, technically, but who's keeping count?). i'm so glad you're exploring his affinity for arson.

If he didn’t want broken fingers he shouldn’t have grabbed someone who’s told him no 100 times. You watch revenge movies and feel like the protagonist, soaking in the catharsis. Something in you feels like it woke up from a long sleep.

yes !! yes, reader, fuck him up !! 💪

i also love her spiritual connection to carrie !! you totally get it, those random kinships we develop with characters because you understand them, or they might understand you. carrie is an excellent choice.

ahh the feeling of something awakening 👀 so, so, so obsessed. the feeling of something finally happening, or finally snapping and the endless possibilities.

Clean Again

Chapter 3: WORST NIGHT OF THE YEAR read on AO3 | previous chapter | tumblr chapter index make sure to check AO3 for this fic's playlist and other extras!

The 1 year anniversary of Corey's little murder spree is coming...

general warnings for this fic - angst, fluff, eventual smut (MDNI), canon-typical violence, canon-typical gore contents/warnings for this chapter- angst, girls comparing themselves to each other ): sexual harassment, suicidal ideation, arson, alcohol consumption, violent assault (non-sexual), extremely mild spoilers for Carrie, The Shining, and Christine, victim blaming

5,546 words

@rebel-blue @heartrot666 @wolvesandvampires @cordelium @toxicanonymity @multifandom--mess @hersweetrevenge @futurewife @yllcm @ethanhoewke dm me or reply to this post to be added to the tag list 💕

Time flies. You realize with shock one day that it’s approaching a year since you moved home. You’re standing in your living room, sliding a record from its sleeve to place on the turntable. You just got a tiny easel from the dollar store to display the art for the album you’re currently playing, and you’re excited to put it to use. You pause with the vinyl halfway out. Tears burn your eyes and blur your vision. I like my life, you think. You shake your head and laugh to yourself. You have a job you love, you have friends who can be bothered to text you first, you kinda sorta run a little business. You’ve grown so much, been infused with new confidence and purpose. Coming back was a good idea. Maybe the best one you’ve ever had. You put the record on the turntable and push start. The music sounds so fucking good.

But like a vine that climbs a trellis, all your growth happens around something hard and unyielding. You don't think about Orin anymore, but you still feel the way he made you feel. You want to date, you want to hook up. Or at least, you think you do, you act like you do. There's no shortage of matches who want to take you out. You acquiesce to their vapid desires as long as you can stand it. But it always ends with a moment when you're sitting on their bed, or sitting in their car, or sitting at the bar with them thinking what the fuck am I doing here? Your inbox is a fridge full of food with nothing to eat. 

You’ve always known you were bisexual, but you’ve never gone out with a woman or a nonbinary person, so you take the chance to do so. Maybe suppressing your sapphic desire is the problem. You even hang out with Taryn once, thinking your acquaintanceship might give them a leg up. No such luck. You have the same problem regardless of gender. Everything is just a simulation, you’re watching from above, not really there. You come across as frigid and they don’t put in the effort to thaw you. Most of the dudes, and some of the girls too, just want a place to put their dick. They’re usually not interesting enough for you to provide it. On rare occasions you do, you never bring them to your apartment, where they might besmirch your sacred space. 

There is one guy you think could break the cycle. He’s become a bit of a local celebrity as a member of so many bands you can’t believe he has time to do anything else. You've been seeing him at shows for a while, from a distance, but when he stands next to you at the bar, oblivious to your presence as he tries to hail the bartender, it's the first time you fully notice him. He's the opposite of a Monet— nothing to look at from a distance, but gorgeous up close. You watch him for a week or two, gathering intel, making sure he passes the vibe check. He's such a frontman, even when he's in the back on bass, even when he's not on stage at all. Everyone you think is cool thinks he’s cool. How the fuck did it take you so long to see him?  

“What’s the deal with Hurley?” You ask Veronica after a show. Your love life feels like a joke when you talk to her about it. She's so hot and so confident and her suitors are so much more eligible than yours. You've been too embarrassed to ask her what she knows directly, but tonight you felt like he’d made an unusual amount of eye contact with you while he was on stage. You feel giddy for the first time in… Well, you can’t remember how long. 

“What do you mean?” She replies.

“Is he like… available?” You wiggle your eyebrows at her.

“Huh. I dunno. I don't know much about him at all but it seems like he’s been single forever. None of my friends have gone on a date with him,” she says. “Think I heard he’s divorced.” 

The news that he has baggage only serves to make you more interested. “I felt like he was looking at me a lot tonight.”

“Hey, who knows? Maybe you can be the one to get some water back in that old, dry hose.” Veronica says.

“You’re fucking disgusting,” you tell her, laughing.

Next show you go up to him before you leave. You hit him with the classic. “Great set tonight.” You try to say it in a sultry way, but you can’t take yourself seriously. It doesn’t matter that you have no game, because he does. He knows all the right things to say. You stay up late texting him every night leading up to your first date. You think you could really like him.

Until you don't. You’re not sure why, but after hanging out a couple times you feel your infatuation dissipate completely. You can’t pinpoint any specific thing he’s said or done, something just… changes. You go on a few more dates with him, the most dates you’ve gone on with anyone since you first met Orin. You try so hard to see what you saw at first, to get the giggles around him again. No luck. Sometimes you find out you’re just not compatible with people, and that’s fine, you tell yourself. God, it sucks though. 

You should break it off in some kind of official way. It’s not fair to him not to, you know it isn't. But he wants you, in a more serious, more real way than anyone else you've been seeing. He's interested in you. You're not merely a warm body to him. How can you bring yourself to close that door? You know it's wrong, but you distance yourself from him without explaining why, avoiding shows his bands play — a difficult feat since he’s in so many. 

“I can’t hang out Friday night, I have a huge pile of jackets to patch,” you tell him. “I can’t get drinks after work, I’m on my period and I just wanna go to bed.”

Never “I’m just not as interested in you as I thought I would be. I’m sorry.” You say it in your head all the time, every time you talk to him, every time he texts. Sometimes you type it out, edit the message over and over, highlight it all and delete it. As long as you don't say it's over, there's still a chance that the spark could come back. Then he goes on tour with one of his bands and you're relieved things are gonna come to natural end, all on their own. He’ll forget about you while he’s gone, he’ll have so much fun that he’ll realize having something steady at home would just hinder him in this phase of his career. You think you’re off the hook when he doesn’t text you the whole time he’s gone. But the day he gets home, he calls.

You agree to meet up with him. At a coffee shop, not a bar, in the afternoon, not at night. He’s already sitting down with his drink when you get there. You don’t order anything, you just join him at his table in the back corner. 

“I missed you,” he says. 

You don’t meet his eyes. “It’s not working out,” you tell the table.

“What?”

“I think you’re cool. I like your bands. I want to like you as more than a friend, and I’ve tried to. But I just don’t think we fit like that.” You finally get the courage to look at him.

“What did I do?” He asks quietly.

“Nothing! You didn’t do anything, we’re just not quite right for each other.” 

He doesn’t say anything. He just nods. You don’t know what that means, but you hope he understands.

“I’m sorry,” you say, rising from your seat. You leave without looking back.

After that, you take a break from dating. You delete all the apps. The whole experience is so daunting. You’d much rather focus on the things about your life that you love, but Hurley makes it difficult. It’s like he only selectively remembers you breaking things off. Sometimes he ignores you, or pretends to. Other times he’s in your face, trying to put his arm around you, reaching for your hand before you snatch it away. Veronica makes a new friend, a girl who knows Hurley's ex-wife. Apparently he stayed a problem for her until he met you. Shit. You rack your brain, hoping to come up with a plan to finally get him to fuck off, but you don't want him to escalate and you don't want to make any enemies. He’s so entwined with the scene. A scene you can’t separate yourself from because of your job. A job you really love. You’re thankful he’s on the road so much, always having to leave just before you reach your breaking point with him.

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

Every day of Corey’s life is exactly the same. He knows what day of the week it is, so he knows his work schedule, but the months and the seasons escape his notice, especially in this climate where it gets hot so early and stays hot so late. The leaves on the trees take forever to turn orange and blanket the sidewalks. If he’d been paying more attention, he would have been filled with dread and hatred, steadily increasing over the end of the summer as Halloween approached. But he doesn’t notice until the week before, when the skeletons and bats made of paper appear on the walls of the front office. The owner’s daughter uses a magic marker to draw faces on tiny pumpkins and places them on the counter. Their silly cheerfulness mocks him.

“My wife’s insisting on a Halloween party, everyone’s invited,” he overhears the next day as he walks past the break room.

"What's the name of the movie with that psycho with the mask? Based on a true story? There's like, eight of 'em?" Someone in the customer lounge asks. "Stab?" Someone else supplies.

“Yo Carpenter, what’re you gonna be for Halloween?” A muffled voice comes to Corey as he hangs his upper body into a car’s engine compartment. “Comin’ up next week.”

He scowls. Fucking Halloween. The worst day of his life, twice. When his coworker wanders off he extracts himself from the car and wipes his hands on a shop rag so covered in grease it just makes his fingers blacker. His nostrils flare at the smell of burnt coffee as he stomps to Will’s office.

“Give me Halloween off, and I’ll work Thanksgiving. And Christmas,” he says.

“What's so special about Halloween, Carpenter? You know we ain’t open on Thanksgiving or Christmas,” his boss says.

“Day before, day after, whatever. The days the guys with families don’t want.”

“You don’t got no family?” Will asks. He knows Corey doesn’t. He’s never seen a scrap of evidence that his most surly employee has even one friend, let alone a spouse, a child, or a good relationship with his parents. He feels bad for the kid, but he also can’t help but find it a little funny to get a rise out of him. Corey doesn’t answer the question. He clenches his jaw and his fists the way he always does when a conversation goes on too long for his liking.

“Alright, it’s a deal,” Will says once he’s made Corey squirm enough.

On Halloween he wakes up agitated, the darkness that’s always inside him swirling, rising higher like the tide coming in. All morning he’s plagued by visions of what must have happened last year. The last thing he remembers clearly is Allyson above him, crying. Everything after is hazy, and out of order, like listening to someone else recount a dream, all the way up until the night he heard the nurses talking about him in the hallway. But he’s sure Michael was there, at Laurie’s house, certain he looked up and saw Michael’s ugly face looming over him. Stupid Laurie, emptying her gun into the wall, wasting her best bet. She called 911 before Michael got there, but all Corey can assume that did is led more lambs to the slaughter.

Fucking Laurie. Why couldn’t she just let him get his ass kicked in peace? Everything that happened to him last year, everything bad in Haddonfield, it was all her goddamn fault. Now he’s alive, bearing the weight of everything he’s done, hiding like a coward, fighting the part of him that can never be buried deep enough again after it was dug up in the sewers. If she'd let Allyson go everything would have been okay. Allyson would be here with him, alive. Instead, they're both surely dead. Did you really think I'd kill myself? she asked him. Well it turns out she did. Laurie orchestrated a murder-suicide, Michael was just the weapon.

Corey opens a new pack of cigarettes and flips the one in the top left corner upside down. A lucky cig for the most unlucky asshole in the world. He strikes a match and lights up, letting the flame creep down until he reflexively shakes it out so it doesn’t burn him. Then another match, then another. Daring himself to let the flame get closer to his fingers, or to drop the match to the mattress where he sits, cross legged. He imagines the flames engulfing the apartment in mere minutes, the gas and the electronics in the garage downstairs exploding, fire ravaging the whole street. He pictures his skin searing and cracking in the heat, before being ripped to shreds by the shrapnel generated from the vintage toasters and antique clocks he tinkers with. 

When that fantasy doesn’t satisfy him anymore, he dresses and leaves his crummy apartment. He doesn’t take the stairs down. Instead he straddles the rickety railing around his tiny porch, then swings his other leg over, so his toes are just barely resting on the sliver of wood that extends beyond it. He leans back, holding onto the posts, getting splinters from the rotten wood as he hangs over the ground. Falling seems to be a common theme in his life. Always slamming into the ground, but never with enough force to break him the way he wanted it to, the way it broke Jeremy.

Before he can let go, he hears a loud crack. One of the posts fractures, then with another sound like a small explosive, it snaps entirely. He slips, thudding to the ground with the shattered piece of wood still in one hand. 

It knocks the air out of his lungs and he lays there winded for a moment. Pain shoots through his bad shoulder and he lets it take over all his senses, experiencing the fleeting agony as fully as he can. When it subsides he stands. Corey chucks the broken post back up onto his porch before mounting his motorcycle and speeding away.

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

You stand in Veronica’s front yard with your arms outstretched, head tilted back slightly, eyes closed. Veronica climbs the three steps of a short ladder, apron tied over her dress, jug of fake blood in her hands. You hold your breath and Harker films on his phone as she slowly dumps the blood over your head, completing your Carrie costume. 

You stay outside, dripping excess blood onto the grass while Veronica puts away her apron and the ladder.

“Don’t forget your baseball bat!” You shout after her. Her Wendy Torrence is good enough for people to get her costume without it, and she honestly just looks kind of like her. But she was so excited about the bat when she found it at the thrift store, short enough to carry around all night, solid wood and unadorned like the one from the movie. You want to make sure she has it.

Everyone from work is going on a bar crawl as Stephen King characters. You as Carrie, Veronica as Wendy, the new girl and her boyfriend as the Grady Twins. An Annie from Misery, a Victor from Pet Cemetery, the possessed cop from Desperation, a Cujo and a Christine. When everyone picked characters, Christine was a choice no one else had the guts to go for, so you can’t wait to see what Drew does with it. Rose just picked Cujo because she’s a furry.

Harker’s too young to partake, so he’s designated driver for you two in his ridiculous truck. You’ve been banished to the bed to keep corn syrup off his precious custom interior, so Veronica scrambles over the tailgate and into the bed with you. As you roll through town everyone hoots and hollers at the ostentatious truck with two pretty girls in the back. A group of trick or treaters signal for Harker to honk and he lays on the horn to their extreme delight. 

Your coworkers slowly trickle into the first bar on the itinerary. Drew’s Christine costume turns out to be a car he made out of cardboard, hanging from his shoulders by suspenders. It’s pretty cool, and genuinely impressive that he was able to make it himself. But he looks like he’s in Christine rather than that he is Christine and everyone gives him a good natured ribbing. 

“Dude, you were supposed to be the car, not the driver!”

“The car literally doesn’t even need a driver. You’re the driver of a self-driving car.”

“You could’ve at least dressed like Arnie, you know, the guy who does drive the car.”

“No! I’m wearing all black, so it’s like I’m not even here,” he defends. “Y’all wouldn’t have even tried this costume.” Everyone has to concede to that.

The group gathers around to take the bar’s special Halloween shot, a bubbling lime green thing in a wide plastic cup. It’s surprisingly tasty for a split second before it ignites your throat and sinuses. Someone puts some goofy 60’s novelty song on the jukebox. It’s silly but it kind of slaps, and you find yourself dancing with your boss in his Annie Wilkes drag.

When everyone agrees to move onto the next stop, you take the lead, walking at the front of the group. As you step off the curb to cross the street towards bar number two, a motorcycle speeds by so fast your blood matted hair blows back. If you’d been just a little farther into the street you would have been a goner. The whole group yells after the biker, calling him an asshole and flipping him off. He doesn't seem to notice at all.

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

Corey spends most of the day on his motorcycle, riding around, leaving the confines of the small city and flying down winding country roads. Cows and horses ignore him as he jets past pasture and paddock. His back hurts from the fall he took and from hunching low over the handlebars to make himself more aerodynamic. His knuckles are stiff from gripping the handlebars. He refuses to let that stop him. He has to keep moving. If he stays still the violence will catch up. As long as he’s blasting around curves, pushing the bike and his reaction times to the limit, he can make it through.

As the sun starts to dip below the horizon, Corey’s fuel gauge drops below a quarter, then below an eighth. He knows he can’t make it much further. The timing is terrible, he’s going to ride back into town just as the trick or treaters come out, when the whole world will be on the streets. God damnit, god fucking damnit. He should’ve planned this better, this is the worst way it could have happened. His anger at himself just fuels the swirling blackness in his heart. 

As he comes back into town he tries to ride where he knows no one will be, but he can’t avoid a few crowded streets. He zips down them, trying not to see the merriment happening around him. He winds up down a road he’s familiar with. It takes him a second and then he realizes, this is where he’d squatted. Just half a year ago, the whole neighborhood was condemned houses. But progress marches on and now several of the houses are being renovated. Giant dumpsters are parked in front lawns, jutting out into the street. This or that house is surrounded by a temporary fence, the name of a developer or realtor on the sign hanging from the chainlink. 

No one is around. All the contractors have gone home for the night and none of the houses are finished enough for anyone to live on this block yet. He checks for cameras as he rolls slowly down the road. He can only see one house that seems to be under surveillance. Luckily the cameras are old, he can tell by the shape of them that the footage is probably being stored somewhere in the house instead of on the cloud. Excellent. 

He pulls his bike back behind the house in case someone comes by. He picks up a stray 2x4 on the ground and, raising it over his head, slams it into the nearest camera. Corey moves around the property, crushing plastic and cracking lenses until every camera is destroyed and the 2x4 is reduced to a battered toothpick. On one side the house is just framing, stripped down to the studs due to water damage. He slips through the gaps between posts.

He stalks from room to room, looking for the monitor and recorder the cameras were hooked to. He finds it in the closet of the master bedroom. The system must be at least as old as he is, with a VCR and a tube-type TV. If he could bring them with him he could sell them, blending in seamlessly with all the other old school electronics that pass through his hands. But he couldn’t ride with a TV like that in his lap, so he picks it up, yanking the power cord out of the wall, and hurls it at the floor. He ejects the tape and unspools huge ribbons from it before pitching it at the wall as hard as he can. It leaves a dent on impact and little pieces of plastic fly through the air. 

The bathroom floor is stacked with boxes of greenish gray ceramic tiles. He tears a box open and flings them one by one to the floor where they practically explode on impact, sand and shards spraying everywhere. Corey breaks two whole boxes of tiles before catching sight of himself in the mirror. His face is mostly obscured, only illuminated by the thin light of the street lamps filtering in. For a moment in the low light it doesn’t look like his face at all, but a skull, hollow sockets where his eyes should be. As he stares the image becomes Michael’s mask before finally transforming back into his face. He realizes the mirror isn’t mounted yet and grabs it. Seven years of bad luck as he swings it against the wall. He’s already had 25 years of bad luck, why the fuck should he care?

He terrorizes every room, kicking the walls and destroying any supplies left around. He finds a box of nails and tacks and pours them all onto the floor. It takes Herculean effort to resist the impulse to bring his foot down on them, knowing the longest ones would more than penetrate the worn-out sole of his shoe. He doesn’t know how much time passes before, covered in cuts and scrapes from the carnage, sweating and completely exhausted, he gives the house a break. But the reprieve is only temporary. He stands in the center of the living room with a pile of cardboard, paper, and drywall. He lights a cigarette. Then Corey holds the match to a piece of paper at the bottom of the pile until it catches. 

He watches the pile ignite, then goes outside. Retrieving the splintered remains of the 2x4 he destroyed the cameras with and using it like a broom, he covers his footprints and tire marks in the dusty yard. As he rides off in search of a gas station his only regret is that he can’t stay to watch the whole thing be consumed by flames.

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

You’re on the dance floor with your coworkers at bar number 4, a club called The Club. You’ve been pacing yourself so you can straddle the line between buzzed and drunk, the intoxication sweet spot. You wave Veronica's baseball bat around in front of you as you dance, holding it for her while she and Rose are in the bathroom. You feel a hand on the small of your back and stiffen, scared. A mouth appears near your ear and shouts your name over the thumping music. The voice is thick and slurring and warped by the shout, but you recognize it instantly. Hurley. You can’t ever just have a nice night out. 

He’s saying something to you but you can’t understand him over the music. He slides his hand from your back to your stomach and pulls you backwards against him. You feel the anger you’ve stuffed down every time he’s called you to ask you for dinner even tho he knows you’ll say no, every time he’s casually draped his arm around your shoulders while you nearly fell out of your seat trying to get further away from him, every time you see one of his bands on a show flier and decide not to go out that night. 

But that’s not all of your anger, no, not nearly. Bubbling to the surface is everything you suppressed about Orin, the way you would only let yourself feel once or twice, when you imagined wrecking the house you’d shared, or showing up wherever he was to make a scene. I hate to bug you in the middle of dinner. And then there’s the fury you feel towards yourself. For not leaving Orin when you first got the sense that things were failing, when he was first mean to you for no reason. For not rejecting Hurley swiftly and soundly when you knew it wouldn’t work out. For letting these things happen to yourself. For being such a goddamn doormat. You see red, vibrating, totally unable to think rationally. 

If Veronica or Rose were out here, they’d intervene. He wouldn’t have even been able to walk up to you, Veronica’s gotten so good at putting herself between you two. But the line for the bathroom is long, no telling how long they'll be gone. None of the rest of your coworkers know any details about you and Hurley. You’ve tried to keep things from them for the most part. You know they would support you but you try not to involve yourself in scene politics, a discussion that’s unavoidable with someone as prominent as he is. They know you’ve gone on dates with him, maybe, but they don’t know that he’s been bothering you for months since.

With the hand not holding Veronica’s bat you grab his fingers from your stomach and rotate your wrist. You don’t think about it. It’s instinctive, automatic. One hard twist downwards. You feel something in his hand pop, a plasticky feeling click, like the knee in a Barbie doll leg. Still holding his busted fingers you spin around. The drugs and alcohol in his system protect him from the pain of the damage you did to his hand, and he laughs. 

“How long's it been since we danced?” He slurs. 

You feel small inside yourself, watching a movie instead of seeing through your own eyes as you raise Veronica’s bat. The other people on the dance floor are absorbed in the music or their own conversations. No one notices as you hold the bat aloft, preparing. Then you bring it down on him, hard. It makes a horrible cracking, crunching sound as it collides with his nose. Real blood spurts from his face, landing on your dress to mingle with the fake blood, and he drops to his knees. His fingers pull from your hand as he falls, bending unnaturally. 

You stand there, stunned and shaking, as people around you start to realize what happened. Veronica is suddenly by your side, guiding you toward the door. You emerge into the clammy air of the club’s patio and the change in atmosphere brings you to your senses. You take giant, panicked breaths and tears stream down your face, rewetting the fake blood caked on your cheeks. Veronica calls Harker, barking for him to come get you two, now. She shepherds you to the parking lot, shushing comfortingly, as people pour onto the patio to try to talk to you. Harker’s giant truck screeches to a halt beside the club. He wasn’t far away and Veronica’s tone made him worry. You hoist yourself into the truck bed and you feel the lurch of the truck accelerating just as you see the bouncer come outside to look for you. 

You take the next couple days off work. News reports come out of mischief that happened Halloween night. Other fights in other bars. Vandalism, theft. Three empty houses in a neighborhood undergoing revitalization burned to the ground and the cops have no suspects. You wait with baited breath to hear bad news that hits closer to home. That Hurley or The Club are pressing charges, that you’ve been banned from The Club for life. That you’ve been fired for turning violent in front of your boss. That your reputation in the scene is ruined for what you did to the city’s biggest star. But there is no bomb that drops. 

There’s tension, certainly, but your life does not crater. When Veronica whisked you away, Rose took initiative as the only other person at Plymouth Records who knew what you’d been going through to do damage control. She did such a good job you feel like she missed her calling as a celebrity publicist or a defense attorney. If anyone at work isn’t on your side, they keep it to themselves.

That doesn't mean you don't get sucked into the scene politics conversations you’d tried so hard to avoid. Most people aren’t upset about what you did to Hurley, they’re upset that you didn’t do or say anything about him sooner, allowing him to stay in the scene, even knowing he would behave like that. Knowing that if another girl in your community dated him, he would probably be a creep to her too. 

You don’t fault the people that feel that way. It’s something that crossed your mind every time someone asked how things were going with him and you clenched your teeth and gave a noncommittal answer. But you’d been waiting, hoping soon all his touring would finally lead him into a record deal, or make him move to NYC or LA to pursue one. Where he would be too far away for you to do anything about, and too busy to do it to someone else. 

There are some people though — his closest friends, people who’d envied you when you started dating him — who are furious with you for what you did. Fractured three fingers on his right hand and fucked up the connective tissue, broke his nose. You jeopardized his future, you hear them saying. You potentially ruined up the most important thing in his life. Who knows how long it’ll be before he can play instruments again. His broken nose has altered the quality of his voice, and the doctors aren’t sure if it’ll go back to normal. He doesn’t have insurance, and you knew that. 

You try to feel bad, but after you get over the initial shock, you just… don’t. Not about hurting him. Not about his future. If he didn’t want broken fingers he shouldn’t have grabbed someone who’s told him no 100 times. You watch revenge movies and feel like the protagonist, soaking in the catharsis. Something in you feels like it woke up from a long sleep. To keep yourself from driving to Atlanta and fucking Orin up like you’d tried so hard not to think about doing, you put on another film. New ones, old ones, good ones, bad ones. It doesn’t matter as long as someone other than you can quench your thirst for blood. 

Carrie in particular is significant to you. You feel a little silly but it’s almost spiritual for you that you were dressed as her when it happened. You watch all three versions repeatedly. You go to the library and get the book, then buy it when you’ve renewed it too many times. You worry about people’s reaction for only a second when you email a tattoo artist to get a portrait of Carrie done. You need to calm down, to put the pin back in the grenade. But you never want to forget any of it either. You never want to forget to quit being such a goddamn doormat.

end note: Just so there's no confusion about canon compliance lol, Allyson and Laurie are not actually dead in this universe. Someone just assumes they are because that's the first assumption his contused and drug addled little brain came up with and he has no motivation to interrogate that assumption.

[wittymumbledon]

With how much gravity falls stuff I’ve been working on lately it’s taken me a while to get around to finishing this (long enough for me to nearly finish reading over the first “season” for the third time in a row) but here it is!! A double-page spread dedicated to @ckret2’s golden-haired menace, because I wanted NEEDED to show my appreciation for this fucking amazing AU ✨

Figuring out how to translate Goldie into my style was really fun--I tried to stay true to the original, but kinda subconsciously also added elements from my own Bill which I think is neat (namely the angular smile and triangular brows). I dunno why I gave him That One Curl (TM) but once I noticed it I tried to carry it through all the pics--the hair as a whole was really fun, especially messing around with the textures when it was--well, say, messy.

I redrew some of my fav frames/story moments (plus a couple extras: the cleaning one is inspired by when i was cleaning irl, and realized that Goldie made me feel a lot less dysphoric about wearing leggings and tank tops 'round the house. Thus - in tribute to the irony - Bill gets my leggings fdfhjdfhdf)

but that barely even scratches the surface of just the pure, gloriously hilarious chaos that this beast has to offer-- not to mention the simple fact that it is just. REALLY well written: the attention to details from the books, the comics, and the show itself; the way each character is visibly flawed in some way, be it with their morals, or their actions, or the soundness of their morals; the way each chapter healthily mixes random show-like chaos with genuinely useful info that later BEAUTIFULLY Chekov Gun's itself right back into the culmination of each saga -- it all feels so aware and true to canon and so, so, SO beautifully ALIVE. Dare I say it is one of my absolute favourite fanworks that I've ever read.

Speaking of which - if you’ll excuse me - I have some chapters to catch up on. Like I said - I’ve specifically held off reading the latest ones so that i’d finish the fanart faster and so that i’d have an excuse to make more. looking at you - bill’s abomikini /hj

If you've made it through my lil essay there I appreciate it so much <3

Bonus: I wove a lil bracelet inspired by the one Mabel made for Bill✨

Didn’t have the right colours of embroidery thread on hand so I used yarn instead, but that actually ended up working perfectly with the beads I had (just plain ol' blue ones, cause I wasn’t sure if using nazar beads would have been culturally insensitive or not - nor did I have any nazar beads that I could have used in the first place - but hey! these ones are nice and shiny and the colour works well imo)

[local-limebug]

DBDA characters + formal desi attire: Charles and Edwin (Pt. 1)

This is not fanart, because I cannot draw, but if any fanartists want to use this as inspo, go ahead. And, before we begin, my fashion sense is not the best, so if any fellow desi people see this and have anything to add, go ahead. These aren't very detailed either tbh, because I am much more well versed in women's desi fashion than men's. Ok, now, let's go.

Charles Rowland

You know I had to start with my favourite desi boy of all time. I'm putting my man in a sherwani because he deserves it. Red's his colour, and it's also the colour associated with weddings in south asian culture, so yes, these pictures are technically bridegroom inspo.

So, I absolutely adore embroidered sherwanis, and I do think Charles would slay one of these beyond imagination. For full outfit references, see below.

Golden and red go together amazingly in desi wear, although they do usually denote wedding wear. But sherwanis fit so wonderfully on the shoulders + Charles' dangly gold earring would go so so well with the outfit !!

Edwin Payne

Yes, I'm imagining the British Raj era white boy in desi attire. Sue me. We all know blue's his colour, so of course I went for the blue sherwanis.

Now, blue and golden are an amazing colour combination and my original choice, because I wanted there to be a common colour between Charles and Edwin, but blue and silver/white was easier to find on Pinterest. You can see golden highlights on a few of these, though, and this next one.

This one is a bit plain but to be quite honest, it has a simple elegance to it that reminded me of Edwin. Its golden highlights mean that it would work best with golden trousers, like Charles' outfits up top.

BUT I also saw this amazing formal shalwar kameez in blue that I do think Edwin would look so so good in, so I have to add it here as a bonus idea.

+ Bonus Payneland

So, desi men's attire also has this thing where the sherwani itself is a muted colour and the man wears a cloth draped around himself in the highlighted colour (IDK what the cloth is called 😭). But I found these similar ones in blue/white and red/golden combo, and yes, it reminded me of Payneland.

LIKE. You can't tell me they wouldn't absolutely slay it. Like these are their wedding outfits to me, like for when they get married to each other.

Anyway, that's the limit for the pictures I can put on this post. Next one up is Crystal and Niko! I am so excited for Niko.

taglist because people seemed to want this and i don't want anyone to miss it. just say the word and i'll tag you for the next part: @queen-of-hobgobblers @mirabel-on-a-bicycle @shipspainfulships @read-write-thrive @justalunaticfangirl @guardianspirits13

[taro-bae]

hello! i just saw your post 😉

what is your favorite house in Tokyodeb rn ? Mine is Hotarubi, i love them sm 😭

so i was thinking what could they be Hotarubis love language towards their s/o ?

thank you for taking my request !

drink water and rest well :p

Hiiii, thank you for your request!

My favourite house is jabberwock currently ♡

Hotaribu Love Language HC

Possible love languages towards their S/O (gender neutral), !slight spoilers!

Characters: Subaru Kagami, Haku Kusanagi, Zenji Kotodama

Subaru Kagami

He seems very shy and insecure, so in a relationship he would initiate slowly. He would remember small details about his s/o, whatever they said before, their favourite food, colour and so on. Because he's a little shy he won't be too into PDA. He would do small actions to show his care like like brushing their hair, getting things for them and small acts of service. He's very responsible so that would transfer onto his s/o through making sure they are taking care of themselves.

Haku Kusanagi

Words of affirmation. He's pretty laid back but supportive. He's naturally flirty through compliments and teasing, which bonus if his s/o gets flustered easily. But he will be polite about it, he won't do anything that makes his s/o uncomfortable, if that ever happens he'll apologise straight away. Another boy who will check up on his partner, to make sure they aren't overworking themselves, eating and drinking enough. He will always be there to listen and provide kind words of reassurance and advice.

Zenji Kotodama

Will support his s/o's rights and wrongs. Wants to spend as much time with them as possible, always eccentric sending messages and talking. You cannot tell me this man won't write poems and love letters and hide them around for his s/o to find. He is hoping for a day to be able to touch them. He devotes his love through quality time, playing his biwa for them, content moments together with him just talking as he admires his s/o, romantic stargazing dates. He has the 'in another lifetime' mindset cherishing every moment with his partner.

I love Zenjis "girls be ambitious. Dream big, my dear" phrase, it's like a fancy version of "slay queen"

I'll appreciate any feedback ♡

Hope you have a good day!

xoxo

[hamsterclaw]

Fic Library: Yoongi (Pt 1)

My ult bias, it makes sense that there were too many to fit into one list. All of these authors capture the essence of my favourite tsundere king, check these stories out and show them some love.

Pause by @whatifyoulivelikethat. Music producer MYG x reader, domestic abuse. The first time I ever slid into an author's DMs was after I read this, to let them know how much I loved this story. It's unexpected, and profoundly beautiful, and re-reading it now takes me back to where I was when I first read it.

Like Butter by @bonvoyagenoona. Photographers MYG x reader, director KNJ x reader. Set in the setting of a magazine production team, and featuring a very sexy scene with our fave maknae and a scheming Park Jimin.

Countermelody by @bonvoyagenoona. Producer MYG x shopgirl/musician reader. A gorgeously rendered enemies to lovers story that's as much about life, love, new starts, self belief as it is about Min Yoongi and his beanie. IYKYK.

Moonlit throne by @hobidreams.Joseon king Yoongi x reader, historical AU. The seminal Joseon dynasty story told in a non-linear timeline with a perfectly characterised Yoongi and incredible attention to detail.

Three Tangerines by @kithtaehyung. Fuckboy Yoongi x f! reader, brother's best friend AU. 3tan makes it onto almost every fic rec list I've seen, and deservedly so - the dialogue slaps, the writing's sharp and this Yoongi's irresistible.

Bet on it by @minisugakoobies. Quizzers Yoongi x reader, featuring a super competitive reader and Yoongi with a blonde undercut. Hot, fun and hilarious.

Perpetual Datejust by @jiminrings. Model Yoongi x manager reader. A very sweet, romantic read, with a devoted reader and a healthy dose of angst.

Sodium Vapor by @miscelunaaa. Yoongi x f! reader. An atmospheric, wistful read about a chance meeting that also has Em's signature raw honesty.

Man of the year by @raplinesmoon. Single dad Yoongi x gn reader. A sweet, heartwarming read, and Yoongi's relationship with his daughter is adorable.

Look down on me like that by @here2bbtstrash. Co-workers Yoongi x reader, enemies to lovers. There's nothing better than Yoongi being an asshole, and he's written so perfectly here, as are reader and cute and endearing babystarcandy JK.

Teardrop by @hesperantha. Yoongi x reader, road trip AU. I read sometimes just for the pleasure of how a writer puts words to paper, and this is one of those stories - there are so many truths woven into the words, subtle and beautiful.

Moving day (Explicit) by @here2bbtstrash. Yoongi x reader, domestic AU. Sweet, sexy smut involving Yoongi tying up his hair. I repeat, Yoongi tying up his hair. The visual still gives me chills.

Proof by @illneverrecover. Yoongi x reader, strangers to lovers. A confident reader approaches an equally confident, sexy Yoongi with the added bonus of Joon and Jin as supportive besties.

Quiet Kitten by @thatlongspringnight. Professor Yoongi x college student reader - a smutty read with a fiercely sexy, stern Professor Min.

Straight Shooter MYG x reader, cyberpunk AU by @snackhobi. A perfectly characterised Yoongi, a dystopian futuristic setting and a subtle and gorgeous love story that I've read and re-read more times than I can say. The story that pulled me into BTS fanfic that I still have so much love for now.

Punch Drunk MYG x reader, boxer AU by @joonbird. From memory there's an open ending but that hasn't stopped me from re-reading. A troubled Yoongi's depicted so beautifully here.

Greedy MYG x reader, mafia AU by @xjoonchildx. Ana knows how much I love this - this Yoongi breaks my heart every time and I love how the relationship develops between him and reader.

Close Call by @xjoonchildx - a follow up to Greedy that's just as stunning as the OG story. I can't tell you how much I love this. Yoongi's a provider, and he takes care of his own, and there's nothing sexier.

All the wrong places by @mrworldwideshoulders. Yoongi x reader, strangers to lovers, in progress. An intriguingly irritable Yoongi covers the tab for reader at a bar.

Interlude: Sundown by @eoieopda. Part of the Darksided series, featuring Yoongi x reader in an established relationship. Hot, smutty, intimate goodness.

Angel by @sailoryooons. Mafia Yoongi x sex worker reader. I started reading this and couldn't stop - the writing's sharp and riveting and the pacing is perfect. A sexy, smutty, captivating read with a sexy, dangerous Yoongi.

Part 2

[beartitled]

Did you play the pristine cut of STP? What do you think of Dragon, Cage and HappilyEverAfter if so?

Spoilers for STP pristine cut under read more (+ a lot of text warning)

Hehe I see STP ppl are excited and want more silly comics

Well there’s a lot of things to say tbh 👀

Overall really enjoyed new content so far

It kinda feels like a fanservice for the people who already played the game

Which is not a bad thing, don’t get me wrong ☝️

I just view the original game as a perfect instalment, which doesn’t really need a continuation

New scenarios is just a pleasant bonus

(I’m one shot/short story fan okay 👉👈)

I already saw Dragon and Happily After routes

Yet to see all the variations the Cage route has to offer (heard ppl said it’s the most diverse one)

The Princess and The Dragon

HEY REMEMBER HOW I SAID I DON’T LIKE THE IDEA OF CHANGING THE GENDERS OF THE CHARACTERS BC THAT WAY THE DYNAMIC WOULD BE UNSETTLING?

YEA SO THIS ROUTE EXPLORED THAT DYNAMIC GUYS

I enjoyed this route, bc again

It’s scary, uncomfortable, makes you feel unsafe and uneasy 👁️👁️

Awesome depiction of how scary this type of situation would be

And of course bonus points, we got to see the bird bois 🎉

(Opportunist go brush yo teeth, u spooky lookin ass)

Happily ever after

Ok

Noooow we’re talking

I love that route, it’s my favourite so far

The pain, the suffering, the absolutely devastated British crowman

Brilliant, chills

This one actually feels like a missing part of the og game to me

I wanted to go into details about my opinions on that route in the future post

But now I want to talk 😈

👏Smitten👏my boy👏how are you in your edgy villain era already omg

Can we just admit for a second how badass Smitten is for escaping protagonist’s body?

Like-💥

This was the first route I saw and was like “Ooooh that’s probably the new gimmick, every voice is doing to escape and shenanigans happen” AND NO Smitten is just that guy™️ absolute chad

Minus points for “we will give her something she doesn’t know she wants yet”

*hits Smitten with newspaper*

Bad voice 💥🗞️bad 💥🗞️ we listen to what 💥🗞️our queen 💥🗞️wants 🗞️💥🗞️💥💥

But it works okay

The atmosphere is immaculate, I was legit concerned for a moment

Ok now give me a moment to be a nerd ☝️🤓

I love how this route gives Smitten flaws

I think finally we saw that every voice has them, because voices are an isolated part of a person, a pure feeling if you will

And Smitten represents that naïve love idealisation/love obsession

The guy loves the princess, she is pure perfection to him

This feeling is blinding and honestly pretty toxic irl

During the whole og game Smitten was never conflicting?

He pretty much the comedic relief of the whole game (and least it felt like that to me)

I think he was kinda a missed potential

Yes, love is sweet

Crushes are can be funny, silly and overall just positive

But it can be so destructive, so painful and so so exhausting when it gets to the point of obsession

And that route gives you a direct illustration of it

Which is amazing

I honestly think we don’t have enough media just showcasing this feeling of obsessive love and how dangerous it is

(yandere trope doesn’t count 👿 this trope just kinda glorified the issue)

And the tragedy is SMITTEN IS TOO DELUSIONAL TO EVEN UNDERSTAND WHAT HE’S DOING WRONG

My poor poor birb boy

He’s too focused on doing everything perfectly, to make princess satisfied, to make us satisfied, why isn’t it working? He does everything he can, why doesn’t it work? How doesn’t it work?

HE’S TOO LOVESTRUCK TO TAKE A STEP BACK AND REFLECT

AAAAAAAAA

God I’m insane about Happily ever after

As a person who struggles with this exact feeling of idolising and obsessing over ppl, I just really feel that route

Goth Smitten incoming *coughs*

Thanks for your question ❤️ hope you enjoyed reading my mess of thoughts💥

Share your thoughts in comments/reblogs if you want ppl

[luceafarul-de-dimineata]

Since my special interest is Pokémon and my favorite activity is to make pokémon teams for my friends, I was wondering how the kings would react to MC making a team for them. This is just that.

The kings reacting to MC making them a pokémon team

Satan doesn't know what a pokémon is, but seeing you excited about the concept makes him happy. He would make you explain why you chose each of them and be flattered by the amount of detail put on display. After you tell him all about it, he ruffles your head and calls you a nerd (affectionatly).

Mammon would order a portrait of him with the pokémon you chose for him. It would become a national treasure since you, his master, blessed him with this team of magical creatures. Would 100% buy merch of the team and put them in his room. Would get into Pokémon so he'd be able to make you a pokémon team as well.

Leviathan would glare at you and ask if you made a pokémon team for anyone else. He calls it childish, but looks up the pokémon you mentioned in his free time. He has a file where he compiles all the information he has about these pokémon you're so fond of. Secretly appriciates the effort, but he'd die before he told you so.

Beelzebub is the only one that has a tangential knowledge of pokémon. I headcanon that Beelzebub knows the weirdest things about the human world. Like, he has no idea what a pikachu is, but he has a keychain of Octillery. He'd also call you a nerd for making him a team, but he finds it cute. He'd rate the team on how likely he would be to eat them. You'll have to remind him that he's not supposed to eat his pets and also pokémon aren't real. Not that he really cares.

Lucifer would just stare at you silently. You were scared you gave him brain damage, but he eventually hugs you (your face pressed to his tits). He thanks you and in the gentlest voice asks you to explain. He's glad that you like him enough to do this for him and he'd show his affection by caressing your hair while you talk. He's a big softie inside, and you get to see all of it.

Bonus (My favourite dragon boy)

Gamigin would be exantric that you did something like this for him. When he finds out about the dragon type in pokémon, he constantly bombards you with questions about it. He's the most likely to get into pokémon just because he finds the concept fascinating. Cuddling and watching pokémon movies become his favorite dates with you.

[sarahreesbrennan]

My FairyLoot Edition

I wish to celebrate art, August and evil. LONG LIVE EVIL was FairyLoot’s August pick for their adult fantasy box. Do you SEE this edition? The dust jacket is reversible and the art is by magnificently talented Bon Orthwick.

I send out so much love and thanks to the whole Fairyloot team, not just for choosing LONG LIVE EVIL but for their love and dedication to stories and their thoughtfulness in creating the most beautiful meaningful editions.

The hardcover under the book is TIME OF IRON, my protagonist’s favourite book she walks into. The book within a book IS A BOOK WITHIN A BOOK. Look it’s TIME OF IRON and it has the SERIES TITLE for the imaginary book on the spine!

LONG LIVE EVIL is an ensemble book, so I was so happy to have endpapers showing all my vipers and heroes. Marius’s hair… is so beautiful it makes me feel quite unwell? He is perfect. I love how Key is Octavian’s shadow! Victoria Broccoli is there too! They are COMING OUT OF THE BOOK PAGES.

The sword on the sprayed edge has its legendary sinister name. The stained glass is there for dark divinity. Every detail is perfect. Getting to sign some Wednesday was so thrilling. I used to moon over other authors’ fancy beautiful editions, never dreaming I’d get one of my own: they seemed a thing for luckier people.

I took these in front of flowers in my wee garden because I moved into my house in the cold, unsure if I could still be a writer. When I was lonely I was surprised by an explosion of roses. FairyLoot choosing my book was like that for me. I send them thanks for changing my story, by coming like a gift. I hope their readers enjoy their special letter from me and their bonus content.

I will show you the title under a spoiler cut.

I think of it like a romantic Screwtape Letters! Anywho hope you enjoy the pictures, all.