#nobody ask me how many of these i actually i have i'll start crying on the spot don't try me <- JOKE | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

sekaicards · 10 months ago

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what's your favourite card(s) for each character? at least one or two if you wanna fjfkfkkf :0

oh god uh. okay. um.

miku - The Sparkling Magic of Smiles | Where Feelings Come Together | Among The Petals Dancing In The Wind | First Time on the Street! | Feat. Hello Kitty

rin - Idol on Cake ♪ | Another Version Of Me | Tell Me About Your Memories

len - A Treasure Chest Of Fun | We Can Say It

luka - An Elegant Smile | What Do Kappas Like?

meiko - Reassuring Warmth | Narrator of Happiness | Teach Me, Shiho-Sensei!

kaito - It's Okay, Everyone | What Style Would Be Good? | Feelings That Can't Be Ignored

an - BBQ With Everyone ♪ | Dressed in Pure White | Gentle Memories | To the Place I Couldn't Reach

#this is EMBARASINGGGG #exposed for liking so many cards......#nobody ask me how many of these i actually i have i'll start crying on the spot don't try me <- JOKE #mod post!#asks!#sorry this took 10 million years anon.....

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roosterforme · 1 year ago

Text

How You Play the Game Part 7 | Rooster x Reader

Summary: You and Bradley are both determined to enjoy your last day together, but that doesn't mean neither of you are hurting. More than anything, he wants you to stay with him past the World Series. You wish you could reassure him that's what you want to do, too.

Warnings: Swears, fluff, angst, smut (18+)

Length: 4700 words

Pairing: Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x female reader

Check out my masterlist for more! How You Play the Game masterlist. Banner by @thedroneranger

Bradley's words were echoing in your ears. "What do you have in New York that you couldn't have in San Diego? Here. With me."

You couldn't answer him. There was nothing you could say, really. Instead you sat on his lap until your tears stopped and you felt like you could breathe again. Breathing was always easier around Bradley, because he seemed to be the only one who wasn't rushing you or shoving you along through deadlines and connecting flights and time zones.

You couldn't exactly tell him you had stronger feelings for him after knowing him for nine whole days than you did for the last guy you dated for a year. And you couldn't tell him you felt lonely in your own skin sometimes, like nobody else could understand how hard it was to love your job but hate the constant demands. You couldn't tell him that feeling lessened with each passing day he was near you.

When you finally eased away from him and kissed his lips, you tried to smile as you said, "Let's just enjoy our last day together." That was all you could offer him. That was all you could have from him in return.

Bradley closed his eyes, and said, "Sure, Ace." And you couldn't fight the urge to smooth out the crease along his forehead with your lips. You kissed him there, and he didn't stop you. There were so many things you didn't know about him, hadn't bothered to ask. And there was no reason for him to ask you either, because this was all a fling with an expiration date. But you were curious, especially after spending so much time in his home.

You were still smoothing your fingers along the scars and lines on his face when he opened his pretty brown eyes and tried to smile at you. By the time you were on your flight to Boston on Monday morning, you'd be craving the feel of his skin and the scratch of his mustache.

"It's late," he said softly, his voice raspier than ever. Your lips were on his before you could even reason with yourself that you needed to start pulling back in self preservation. And of course he kissed you back just right with his big hands on your back. When you pulled away, there were more tears in your eyes, and you wanted so badly to hide them. But he kissed your cheeks and said, "We should try to get some sleep. I want you to have energy when you're in Boston."

You nodded and stood, and you watched him gracefully pull his big body off the cold floor. Wordlessly, he picked up your computer and took your hand, leading you back to his bedroom. He carefully plugged your computer in so it would be charged up for game seven, and he kissed your forehead. "I already brushed my teeth. I'll warm up the bed."

When you slipped into the bathroom, you had to scrub at the tear streaks on your face as more threatened to fall. You brushed your teeth and used the toilet, and then you realized you still hadn't actually booked your flight. You were swiping at your tears when you walked back into his bedroom and saw him in bed with his head on his pillow and his hands over his eyes.

He must have heard you, because he sat up a little bit and pulled the covers back as he said, "Come on, Ace." Then he paused. "You're crying again."

You located your phone and whispered, "I still have to book my flight." You were clutching your phone to your chest as Bradley took a deep breath and patted the spot in bed next to him. You slid in, and he wrapped his arms around you, making it somehow easier and harder for you to open up the airline app and search.

Direct flight. 6:35 on Monday morning. One seat left. It seemed too fateful for you to look any further. You could be in Boston late in the afternoon and go right to TD Garden and start your research and maybe get a jump on the exclusive. You bought the ticket and then tossed your phone aside as you buried your face in Bradley's chest.

He must have seen your phone screen, because he whispered, "I can drop you off at the airport." You just nodded as he rubbed his hand up and down your arm, soothing you. "Hey, I thought we were going to enjoy our last day together."

You took a deep breath, indulging in the smell of his skin before you looked up at him. "That's what I want." Bradley looked at you like he was trying to memorize your face before he turned off the lamp next to the bed.

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

You were curled up sweetly with your head on his chest, but to Bradley, it felt like there was an unmovable weight that was crushing him. Your upcoming schedule would have you flying all over the place, and he wanted to know he did everything he could to let you get some rest now. He wanted you to think back to the World Series with him and smile, not feel stress from it.

Maybe you'd text or call him occasionally, when you could. The idea of it took some of the pain in his chest away. Just seeing a message from Ace on his phone would probably destroy and excite him equally.

"Bradley?" you asked softly. Your voice surprised him since your breathing had finally evened out to a slow and steady rhythm.

"Yeah, Baby?"

Your arm draped across his abs tightened around him as you said, "There are so many things I don't know about you. It's like we did this all backwards in a way, and I'm missing some little pieces of it all. I don't even know how old you are."

"I'm thirty five," he replied instantly. Then he told you when his birthday was in June.

"I should have known you were born during baseball season," you replied with a smile in your voice. "Where are you from?"

"Virginia. And I gotta say, I like the east coast girls, Ace."

He wanted to make you laugh, wanted to try to ease your mind, but you just said, "They like you, too."

Then you asked him more about his family, but there wasn't a lot to say. And you asked him about the Navy, but there was too much for your last twenty four hours together. And he wanted to know everything about you, too. So he repeated a lot of the questions you already asked, and eventually you yawned and rolled onto your side, pulling him with you.

Bradley knew it was time to let you get some sleep as he stroked your cheek with his thumb. This time he was almost certain your even breathing meant you were out, and he let himself relax with the back of your body nestled against the front of his. He was nearly asleep now, too, but he indulged in one last question. "Would you stay, Ace? Would you stay if you could?"

Once again he slept so soundly with you cradled in his arms, warmer and more comfortable than he could ever remember being. When he woke up, he'd barely moved, because you were facing him in his arms, still sound asleep. It was Sunday. Game seven. You'd be well and truly gone by this time tomorrow. Bradley wanted to wake you up and talk to you, hear your voice. He wanted to spend the whole day in your presence. But this was kind of perfect, too. You trusted him next to you after just a few nights together.

He pressed his lips softly to your forehead and let you sleep as long as you needed to, and his reward when you woke up was the look of pure happiness on your face when you realized you were with him. His heart ached as he watched your expression falter just enough that he knew you realized what today meant.

"Bradley," you whispered, voice laced with sadness as you let your palm rest on his cheek before pushing your fingers back through his hair. "Bradley, I-"

But you didn't finish your sentence. You kissed him instead. You were wearing his Padres jersey and a pair of his socks, and Bradley never wanted you to stop. He wanted you to have his clothing at your disposal whenever you wanted to wear it.

"Ace," he grunted, rolling you onto your back. You didn't let him break the kiss as you kept your hands on his cheeks and in his hair. Your thighs were spread wide for him, and you moaned softly into his mouth when he settled against your core.

Bradley's cock was heavy and throbbing as he carefully pulled his underwear down around his thighs. Your little moans were so pretty as he devoured your mouth and caressed your opening with his tip until you were bucking up against him with a gasp.

"I want you."

Well that was fine with Bradley, because he wanted you. And he wanted to give you everything. He wanted you to be his. So he guided himself slowly until he was deep inside you, and he let himself pretend it was already Monday and you decided to stay.

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

Bradley's arms were wrapped around you from behind, and his chin came to rest on your shoulder. "Let me make you breakfast. To say thank you for letting me eat all your food," you whispered. It was hard not to smile when you were wearing his clothing and he had you in his arms like this.

"I'd rather make it together," he murmured softly next to your ear. "Rather spend the whole day touching you."

You closed your eyes and swallowed past the lump in your throat. This would never work, no matter how badly you wished it could. Bradley wanted to touch you all day when you were here with him, but you'd always be away. You'd be chasing exclusives and jumping through all the hoops Greg set out for you. And Bradley would grow tired of your lifestyle, crave someone easier to be with. You were already too much for him.

"Can we make breakfast together?" he asked, and you realized you and he had snuggled in bed for such a long time, you only had a few hours until you had to be at Petco Park.

"Yeah," you replied softly. You did most of the work, and he did most of the touching, but a little while later, you and he were on the couch again with plates of eggs and bacon.

Bradley's pretty brown eyes were on your face as you took a bite and smiled softly. "It's yummy. I like cooking with you."

He closed his eyes and balanced his plate on his knee. "We could keep doing this, Ace. We could definitely do this again." When he opened his eyes, he asked, "Maybe I could meet you in New York whenever you finally make your way back there? Or maybe you could come back here if you have a day off? I know it wouldn't be easy. I wouldn't expect it to be. When I get deployed, it's kind of the same thing. We'd understand each other that way."

"Bradley," you whispered. "That would only make things worse. We'd never see each other, and-"

"Just think about it." His voice was low and harsh, and his eyes were pleading. You didn't respond except to pick at the rest of your breakfast silently while he did the same. But as soon as his hand came to rest on your leg, he took your plate and set it aside next to the box of baseball cards you'd been looking through on his coffee table.

"You have some rare cards," you murmured, daring to meet his eyes again. "They were your dad's?"

You'd taken the time to ask him more about himself last night, and you kind of wished you hadn't. Bradley had answered every question you tossed at him, and you learned all about Nick and Carole Bradshaw as a result.

"Yeah, they were my dad's. My mom gave them to me when I was ten or eleven. I've been hauling them around with me everywhere since she died."

"Hey, that's dedication," you whispered.

You ran your fingers along the edge of the box before reaching inside. As soon as your body was no longer touching his, you felt Bradley scoot a little closer and slip his hand around your waist. He found you desirable, maybe even lovely, and when he kissed your shoulder through the jersey fabric, you turned your head to kiss his lips.

Before things could get too heated on the couch, you murmured, "I need to get a shower and start working on my article. You coming with me?"

You led him into his own bathroom where he turned on the shower and then took his time unbuttoning the jersey. Inch by inch he guided the shirt open, his fingers skimming your skin, making you whimper. "You're beautiful," he whispered, cheeks flushed and eyes on yours as he rubbed his hands along your sides and down to your butt. You shrugged out of his Padres jersey and let it fall to the floor as he kissed you.

He backed you up against the wall, and his lips were relentless on yours as you moaned his name. When he broke the kiss, he cupped your face in his big palm. "So beautiful." Then you stepped under the spray of the shower, and you were treated to his hands and mouth on your slick body.

This must have all been part of the long goodbye, because you let him whisper the sweetest words against your skin as you rode his fingers. And it broke your heart a little bit more when you felt his mustache on your ear. Your name was a broken cry on his lips as you used your hands on him as well.

Your legs felt like jello as he kept you pinned against the shower wall with his body. Your hands were covered in his cum, and he was looking at you with wide eyes and gently parted lips. "Ace." He shook his head. "Baby. Please."

More than anything, you wanted to tell him that you thought you could love him. But you pushed him away from you instead. "I can't be late again today."

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

Bradley found himself right back where he had been during game one. You and he sat side by side at the narrow counter in the press box at Petco Park. As good as it felt to acknowledge that this was all familiar to him by now, he knew this was the last time for it. You were keeping your stats and typing up your article, but your gaze landed on his face frequently. Your eyes were soft yet guarded, and every time you let your hand rest on his thigh, you kissed his lips.

He couldn't give a shit about the game. Ten days ago he was as excited as everyone else in San Diego about the Padres, but now it didn't matter. "You want something to eat? Some water?" he asked you softly, glaring at Quincy and the others every time they so much as looked at you.

"Please," you replied, marking down another Padres home run that Bradley wasn't allowed to cheer for but didn't really want to anyway.

"Be right back." He stood and made his way to the tables of food. He picked up a plate, but he just stared at everything before glancing back at you. Would anyone be there to make sure you ate and took breaks in Boston? Would anyone else even care? He knew your boss didn't. And he knew you would keep pushing yourself to be better no matter what.

"Fuck," he muttered, closing his eyes against more tears. He wanted to take care of you in the stupidest ways. Check on you a few times during the day. Make sure you weren't hungry. Keep chocolate chips in his kitchen. "Fuck."

He filled a plate with food as Petco Park erupted in more loud cheers, but only you really mattered. Bradley kissed your cheek as he sat down with your food and water.

"Padres are going to win," you murmured as you opened the bottle. "By five runs." Bradley just nodded, because even though there were still two innings left, he knew you were probably right. "Are you excited?"

"About the game?" he asked softly as your hand came to rest on his leg.

"Mmhmm," you hummed, taking a sip and then setting the water aside. But you looked more apprehensive than happy, and Bradley certainly didn't feel happy that the World Series was nearly over.

"The only thing I'm excited about is spending tonight with you."

You laced your fingers with his and occasionally scribbled down the bare minimum on your stat sheet as your head came to rest on his shoulder. Bradley drew shapes on your back through your blouse just like he had during every other game. And he kissed the top of your head just like he'd done in bed. When the Padres won seven runs to two, you set your pencil down and ran your soft hand up along his neck. And the kisses were sweet, so sweet as everyone around you started to pack up to leave.

Bradley knew there was a race now to be the first journalist to submit a clear, concise article chronicling game seven. He could hear the others talking about it. But you just kept kissing him, kept your hands on his face and in his hair. Nobody said a word to either of you as the press box cleared out, and you were in Bradley's lap with you finally broke the kiss.

There were tears in your eyes when he whispered, "I have some champagne in the fridge. Let me take you back home so you can submit your article, and then we can celebrate."

"Celebrate what?"

Bradley shrugged and kissed your damp cheek. "Celebrate how fucking cool you are. And how much I like you."

He was happy when you laughed, and he stood with you in his arms. It was a long walk through the crowds of people celebrating. He held your hand, and you stuck by his side the whole way back to the Bronco where he opened the door for you. The desire to make tonight a sweet goodbye instead of something painful had Bradley giving you just the softest touches and kisses. He didn't want this to end.

You sat on his lap in his kitchen and finished your article, but you weren't rushing it. Bradley kissed your neck and offered up some thoughts as he read what you wrote, and you added some of them to your piece. He held onto you like he had all of those nights in the hotel rooms, and he swallowed against his sadness. He was going to miss doing this with you, too. Just simply sitting with you while you worked your magic on your computer.

"I think it's done," you whispered, your fingers hovering as the cursor blinked over the Submit icon. "Game seven. That's it."

Bradley nuzzled against your neck. "Send it in, Baby. It's incredible, and people can't wait to read what you wrote." As soon as you sent it, you checked your email inbox for the receipt, and Bradley's eyes caught on the fresh batch of people trying desperately to recruit you. He tightened his arms around you as he skimmed the names, and he had to force himself to say, "Let's open that champagne."

He didn't even have flutes, but you didn't seem to mind that he poured you some in a pint glass. You tapped it against his and then took a few sips, but when you met his eyes, you set your glass on the counter. "I'll never forget you, Bradley."

"Fuck," he gasped, setting his glass aside as well. Now your mouth tasted like the champagne as you and he slowly made your way back to his bedroom. He wanted to make it last for the rest of the night. Every button on your blouse was a privilege for him to undo. Your warm skin was soft against his rough hands. Your voice telling him you'd miss him sent the ache in his heart up into his throat.

He was choked up by the time you were in his bed, completely naked and whispering his name. The room was mostly dark, but you were beautiful, and your voice was everything he wanted to hear. You pulled his body down on top of you, and his mouth found yours like it was a magnet.

He made love to you, fingers laced with yours, hands on the pillow above your head. Every roll of your hips soothed him and broke his heart. Every whisper of, "Bradley," left him wanting to beg you for more after this. Tomorrow and next week and next year. He wanted to stay buried inside you so your soft moans would never stop. Soft kisses to your face became more as he could taste the salt from your tears.

"Don't cry, Ace," he whispered, dragging his lips to yours. You hiccupped softly, and he knew you were broken like he was. And he thought you felt like a better version of yourself when you were with him. He knew he was better around you. "Baby, don't cry."

"Can't help it," you replied as you nibbled on his lips. "You're just so... you're good. You make me feel good in so many ways."

When he rubbed his big hand down the length of your arm and neck to your chest, he felt your fingers in his hair. The words were right there along with the desire to say them. Would he feel better or worse if he did? Your soft hiccups turned to gentle moans as his fingers reached your clit. He knew exactly what you liked now, and he knew how to give it to you. Your hands held his body tight to yours, and his shallow thrusts grew erratic as he got close. And when you came for him, your body shivering before loosening into languid limbs and softer kisses, he pushed himself deep. For the last time.

"Baby," he gasped, lips cascading down your neck as he came to rest on you. You held him close for so long without saying a word, he was a little afraid you weren't going to. But when you did, he kind of wished you hadn't.

"I'll never forget you."

You slipped out of bed and went into the bathroom, and Bradley took a minute to get himself cleaned up. He had to wipe his eyes as he leaned on his dresser, the ticket stub from game one hanging right in front of him. When he looked in the mirror, he looked truly miserable. When you returned from the bathroom, your face looked pinched in the darkness as you tossed your loose items into your luggage and set your tote bag next to his bedroom door. Then you slipped into his Padres jersey without a word and climbed in bed.

When he eased himself next to you, he felt your hands on him immediately. You rolled onto your side and tugged on him until he was snuggled up behind you. When he wrapped his arms around your waist, you squeezed his hands until he wrapped them a little tighter. His lips were right at your ear as he whispered, "I'll take you to the airport. I'll drop you off. I already set an alarm."

Your response was so soft, he barely heard you say, "Okay."

But even your breathing was a little rough. Shallow, shaky breaths seemed to be the only thing either of you could handle, and Bradley tried to kiss your chin and jaw, tried to offer you comfort, but he was hurting too much. He just wanted to know what came next, and if you told him nothing, then he'd be devastated. But not knowing was worse at this point, so he forced one deep breath in and back out of his lungs.

"Will you call me? From Boston?"

Your shallow breaths turned to a sob. "Bradley. That's not a good idea."

He held you a little tighter. Pressed his lips to your ear a little harder. Trying to live without you in his bed or at least your notifications on his phone screen just didn't seem possible at this point. "But you're everything I've been looking for, Ace."

"Bradley."

He could be good for you. He knew he could. But he didn't know what else to say as he clung to you, memorizing the way you felt and how you smelled. So he said the only thing he could. "You know how to reach me. You know where to find me."

You nodded your head against his pillow and whispered, "I know." And that was just the thing. You knew, but he didn't. He wouldn't know where you went after Boston unless you told him. He had no idea where in New York City you lived. He'd only have your phone number and your articles to read unless you wanted him to have more of you. He just wanted more of you. He wanted you to stay with him in any way you were willing to. And that's why he said it. Because it was true, and he was sure he wouldn't regret saying so.

"I think I'm falling in love with you."

You didn't say another word to him. He must have fallen asleep eventually to the warmth of your body. He must have dozed soundly, calmed by your presence even though subconsciously he knew it was going to hurt again soon. But when he woke up to his alarm going off, you weren't next to him. The spot was still warm as he killed the alarm and ran his hand along the sheets where you should have been.

"Ace," he rasped, panicking as he jumped out of bed and reached for his underwear. "Baby?" he called out as he pulled them on. He flipped the lightswitch next to his door and squinted against the intense brightness, but he noticed immediately that your bags were gone. The bathroom was empty. "Ace," he whispered as he darted into the kitchen. All he found was the mostly full bottle of champagne and the two half empty pint glasses.

He ran both hands through his hair as he paced around his kitchen and living room, tugging at the roots in frustration. His heart was beating so fast, he was sick and dizzy. He couldn't even look at the baseball card collection still out on his coffee table. Then he ran back to his bedroom and picked up his discarded phone.

He called you, and it rang for a long time. When he got your voicemail message, he hung up and tried again. Once again it rang through. When he tried a third time, you ignored his call. Or maybe you'd turned your phone off. It went right to your voicemail. With tears in his eyes, he listened to your voice tell him that you weren't currently available to take his call, but you could leave a message for later.

He walked back toward the door with tears in his eyes and turned the light off. As darkness surrounded him, he stumbled back to his bed. When it was time for him to leave a message, he swallowed hard, waited a few seconds and then said, "See ya, Ace."

Then he ended the call through his blurry tears and tossed his phone onto the floor as he climbed back in bed.

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I hurt my own feeling so much. Thanks for crying with me @mak-32 and @beyondthesefourwalls

PART 8

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concerningwolves · 2 years ago

Text

Also, this talk about scapegoating ND people because of "incorrect" or "weird" behaviours vividly reminds me of this time in middle school when our entire year group did this desert island survival team-building exercise.

I've blanked most of it from my memory because the whole scenario was unspeakably miserable, but I don't think I'll ever forget what happened when the teachers introduced a Traitors-type mechanic. Basically, they randomly picked a student who would "sabotage" the "supplies" by stealing some (iirc, these were a stock of those little beanbags we used in PE), and we were supposed to work together to salvage the situation.

What actually happened was a witch hunt for the saboteur, and because I (undiagnosed autistic) wasn't reacting "correctly" to the situation, everyone came down on me. I remember standing in the corridor while a bunch of people that I called acquaintances, and some who I considered friends, all crowded around asking me if I was the thief. I think I might have been almost hysterical, because I started laughing and grinning in that painfully embarrassed way while I protested my innocence, and they took this as further "proof" and pressed me harder. I remember feeling absolutely filthy with hot-and-cold sweat, so frustrated I wanted to cry, because nobody would believe me. They were convinced it was me, because I'd committed some social transgression or other that I didn't understand, and there was absolutely nothing I could do about it.

The teachers put a stop to it in the end. (I think they actually cancelled the entire exercise, but maybe it was just that particular aspect they scrapped). Our form teacher gave everyone a very disappointed talk and revealed that the real thief was someone nobody had even glanced at, because he was popular and well-liked. I don't remember if anyone ever apologised to me. One of my friends told me I'd been "over-reacting", because it was "just a game", but to me it'd felt like a microcosm of my social life with the stakes dialled up a 100%.

I will always be able to point to that instance as the first time I became really, excruciatingly aware just how Different I was. For some reason, I'd put a target on myself, I thought. I know now that it was actually a case of ableism and inherent biases against neurodivergent behaviors, but that's a recent revelation. And my heart breaks when I think about how that kind of thing happens every day, all across the world, because so many societies train people to see ND traits as red flags.

#Autism #Autism stuff #Ableism #Neurodivergent

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firegirl888101 · 11 months ago

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just wondering, what if reader was like. super popular with the girls(or guys. or both) would the harbingers get jealous?

ik this is a pretty dumb ask, but I gave it a shot💀

I'll be answering as a 'what if' and 'canon' for this one!

Before the Harbingers turn Yandere, they won't mind much. It'll annoy them slightly that Y/N, their prisoner, has a lot of people's attention meaning if they were to go missing so suddenly it could cause problems.

However, it won't cause any issues which doesn't have a solution. In their eyes, yandere or not, their sole priority as of when they entered this world is and has foremost been to deliver them to The Tsaritsa.

But, their actual mission will have to be delayed. They'll have to manipulatively control when Y/N goes to college and make them later and later, missing some days, before taking them away back to Teyvat.

Yandere-wise, they'd hate it. Just when they were starting to get used to you, Y/N, taking care of them and letting them help you with your education which deem important... They see you being followed by many humans similar to your age back to your house. You claim not to be interested with them, and find them nothing more as acquaintances.

But is that really the truth? You've lied to them a lot recently, especially when they first met you in the flesh. What's to say you're lying now to not only save yourself, but to save those pigs who see themselves as friends to you?

The Harbingers would get Childe and Columbina on the case. They look closest to your age, and are the most charismatic out of all the harbingers. If anyone can sneakily follow you to your college and threaten talk to those whom follow you around, it's them. The two would blend in with the students and act like newcomers, only approaching you when you ask them how they're there and what they think they're doing.

Childe and Columbina will somehow adjust to college life and glue themselves to your side. Soon enough, the crowds will get smaller and smaller. Those who seem too confident to stay by your side and dismiss their warnings will find either a limb missing, or themselves missing. They won't worry about the details either way, those who annoy the two harbingers will find themselves dead in unexplainable ways.

And the best part about it, you'll never know where your 'friends' went or why you're suddenly feared in the campus. All the Harbingers will hear you cry in your bedroom, who wouldn't? Unfortunately for you, it had to be done. Wipe your tears, and spend some time with them now, won't you?

Canon:

Nah dw this is pretty interesting - and it lets me communicate through my notes a bit more.

In the actual plot, you'll never see Y/N go to College due to the whole 'Missing' situation. But, I think I can reveal parts of their College life without spoiling too much of the plot.

As I've revealed in the earlier views, Y/N is a rather lazy and carefree person. They don't do much outside of College, and lie to their parents a lot.

Here are some sneaky little hints if anyone is interested:

There is a reason why nobody (college friends) has tried to contact Y/N after finding out that they're missing by the police or the news.

There is a reason why Y/N's other side of the family (their father's) hasn't bothered to help the police search for them.

There is a reason why Y/N hasn't attempted to message a friend or call for help.

There is a reason why Y/N has never, and will never become popular in College. Or any of their school years for that matter.

I think these notes will do nicely for now. Thank you for asking this and if you have any more questions let me know <3

#InsatiableMadness #InsatiableMadness(Y/N)#InsatiableMadnessQuestion

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thatsthewrongwallcraig · 1 year ago

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Track Marks And Dial Tones I

Summary: A late night call from your informant sets off an unexpected avalanche of gut-wrenching events…

Pairing: Clay Roach x fem!cop!Reader

Word Content: ~ 2.5k

Content Warnings: Dead Dove Do Not Eat!, 18+!, Lots Of Hurt And Hardly Any Comfort, Slow Burn, Addiction (Duh), Substance Abuse (Obviously), Used Needles, A Belt Used As Tourniquet, Clay's Disgusting Living Situation, Clay Being Absolutely Fucking Miserable, Crying…So Much Crying, Talk About A Wilfully Induced OD, ANGSTY AF

A/N: The dove isn't just dead anymore, it actually started decomposing a while ago…

I'll add the appropriate content warnings with the progress of this story!

For anybody interested: I've made a Spotify playlist to go along with the fic!

Find Part II here!

Tagging the horde:

@crypticsewerslut @quicksilversg1rl @cc-luvr @icarus-star @milaeth @roryculkinsgf @spookyorchid @arch1viste @whoareyoi @angelsanarchy @blueberrypancakesworld @rocketqueen-world @r0ttenmess @doddernix @svgarcaine

Somewhere darker, talkin' the same shite

I need a partner, well, are you out tonight?

It's harder and harder to get you to listen

More I get through the gears

Incapable of makin' alright decisions, and havin' bad ideas

- Why'd You Only Call Me When You're High? By Arctic Monkeys

"Shitbum." Pale, white letters on the screen of your vibrating phone proclaimed for the 3rd time tonight.

With each new buzz of vibrations passing by, your eyes narrowed down on the display. There wouldn't be anything good in store for you if you picked up, that much you knew for sure, but him calling three times in the span of an hour and not in one manic rush of back to back calls that ended in nothing but halfway nodded out gibberish on your voicemail was something new. Not one singular voicemail had been left so far and after your mobile phone fell back into motionless silence you waited for a notification to pop up, for the screen to inform you that "You have one unattended voicemail by Caller ID: Shitbum." But nothing like that happened. Just another unanswered call in the purgatory of your push-up notifications.

With curiously arched brows, you forced yourself to take your gaze from the phone and redirect it to your bedtime read. It wasn’t an entirely fruitless attempt, you even managed to read half a page before the screen of your phone flickered up again. You saw the display glowing in the corner of your eye and all of your attention shot right back to the device.

"Jesus, fuck…" You muttered under your breath as you rolled your tired eyes at yourself while practically snatching the phone from the nightstand.

"I need you, please." The message read as soon as you unlocked the display.

For a moment you just stared at the words, frowning and your lips subconscious pursing slightly.

"Help." The cold casing vibrated again in your touch and you felt your stomach dropping.

Clay had never asked for help before, never, not once. He might have been a dope-sick informant but he always carried his head high in his very own way of snarky arrogance and stubbornness.

"Shit, Clay. What did you do?" It shot right out of your mouth as you slid out from underneath your warm duvet and reached for your thick police jacket.

Right now you couldn't be bothered to change out of your checkered PJs, everything happened automatically; your phone got shoved into the jacket while your other hand searched through a drawer as your feet pushed themselves into a pair of sturdy winter boots.

Your fingers held onto as many clean rigs as they could while your pockets got stuffed with FTS kits, the usual you brought with you when you stopped by to check in on Clay. It happened maybe once or twice a month and absolutely nobody at the Boston PD would be pleased with knowing about it but you didn't really care. You saw something in him, something more than just a fucked up addict.

The pockets of your jacked nearly teared open with how full you had stuffed them as you leaned down to tie your shoes before rushing downstairs to grab the keys to your car from the kitchen table. Your mind was almost blank, no thoughts just operating as you threw the door behind you shut and nearly ran towards your car.

At this time of night the streets were practically empty and you very clearly speeded down the set of blocks separating you from Clay's flat...if you could even call it that. His housing situation was that of a stuffy, damp bunker that's been trashed and vandalized for god knows how long. Clean or organized were attributes that didn't exist in his realm of clutter, debris and moldy dishes.

Cold wind hit you right in the face as you left the comforting warmth of your car and hastily stepped down a flight of stairs to the subterranean flat.

"Clay? It's me. Can I come in?" You spoke through the old, creaky door and knocked loudly to make your presence known.

No response. You knocked again.

"Clay?" You heard the tremble in your own voice and you were met with nothing but silence again.

"Fuck that shit." You huffed, took a step back and kicked your heavy boot against the door with such vigor that it easily cracked out of its lock.

The fact that your intrusion wasn't accompanied by just any reaction whatsoever had your stomach dropping and twitching in every possible direction. Jumping right into that nervous cramping right beneath your lungs, a pungent yet sweet stench of decay swept out of the open door right into your nostrils.

"Oh god..", You gagged and dry heaved, stumbling back and coughing a lump of saliva onto the wet pavement, "Oh fuck…ew."

You tried to cover your mouth and nose with the sleeve of your jacket but it was little to no avail, the foul odor nearly burned in your nose as you took careful steps through the trash filled hallway.

"Clay?" You called out again, receiving no answer once more.

As soon as you turned a corner into the hellhole that could be described as his "living room", you learned why.

"Oh no! You better fucking not you fucking idiot!" It rambled out of your trembling lips as you saw his statue propped against the wall, head dangling to the side, unresponsive.

With your heart hammering against your ribcage, you practically jumped over all the rubbish piles and crouched down in front of him.

"Clay! Hey!" Your hand touched his sweaty, cold to the touch cheek before all your self-control left you and you smacked him right in the face. No reaction.

"You better fucking talk to me, Clay!" Your fingers searched for his pulse point under strands of knotted, unkempt hair as your professionalism crumbled into nothingness and a flash of tears dreaded to erupt from your lower lash line. You forced them back with every ounce of countenance you could gather whilst a sharp breath escaped your mouth as you felt his pulse. Low and slow, but still very much there.

"The fuck you think nodding out on me like that, shitbum?" You scoffed, plopping down on your ass with a heavy sigh, a bunch of music and TV magazines crumpling under you.

"Let's get this mess here sorted out.." With a wrinkled nose and furrowed brows, your gaze wandered to his left arm, the sleeve being rolled up until above the crook of his elbow.

"Okay, here we go…" You murmured, hoping, imagining that he could hear you as you raised your fingers to slowly loosen up and carefully pull the black leather belt, he had used as a tourniquet, off his arm.

"Almost done…" You placed the belt next to you before you turned back to him and drew the plastic body of an empty syringe out of his arm.

For a brief moment you just looked at it, in anger and in fear to equal parts, fighting the inner urge to just smash the needle into the ground until it would break. Instead, you placed it with the belt and sat back down, taking a look around. The flat was…bad, even for Clay's standards downright messy. It gave the heavy impression that he'd lost the plot since the last time you had seen him about 2 weeks ago. Your mind hardly knew how to respond to your eyes recognising his floor being littered with used fentanyl test strips but it brought an awkwardly lopsided, faint smile to your lips. At least something. He was using them for a minimum of harm reduction.

As you let your eyes roam through the room, you eventually discovered the source of the deathlike stench filling the flat. Even from afar you saw a thick layer of not only green but black mold practically growing out and eating through the thick paper package of some Chinese takeaway you'd brought him 2 weeks ago.

"I paid for those noodles, asshole." You huffed under your breath, a desperate attempt to ease yourself from some of the relentless anxiety raging in your chest.

The box of rotten noodles wasn't the only thing that doused this room in its odor. Countless small cardboard boxes of strawberry milk with their counterpart straws were piled up high in a corner close to the open arch leading into the dirty misery that had been something resembling a kitchen once.

From early on, you had learned that cheap stir-fried noodles and strawberry milk of all things acted as the two main pillars of Clay's cranky diet and you never really tried to change anything about it. Who were you to tell him what to do only because he worked as your informant? Overall, you just felt content knowing that his still severely malnourished body got any sort of culinary input at all.

"What am I gonna do with you now, huh? Jesus, Clay. Freaked the shit out of me." You turned your body back towards his statue, your fingers carefully rolling his sweater back down to his wrist, your fingertips lingering on his sweaty hand for a moment before pulling back.

For a good few minutes, you just looked at him and pondered over what to do now. He'd freak the hell out if you'd drive him to the ER and the ER would most likely just not give much of a fuck since he wasn't straight up ODing. You also didn’t want to leave him here like that. There must’ve been a reason for him to call and text you the way he had and you'd do jackshit before you knew what all this was about.

"Mhmmm…." Your ears perked up the very second you heard the dragged out, low groan trickling out of Clay's mouth.

"Hey there…" You practically whispered to him, careful not to spook him.

"The fuck…are you doing here?" His speech was a little slurred but he seemed to come back slowly.

"You called and texted me, Clay." You answered to him calmly whilst pulling your phone from your pocket.

Before you turned the unlocked display towards his face, you tuned down the brightness.

"Remember?" He swiped his hair out of his face and squinted at the screen, pupils blown out wide.

Clay didn't answer right away, his fogged up mind trying to piece together what had happened during the last 2 hours. The expression on his face told you that he clearly didn't like what his jumbled thoughts came up with.

"Oh….oh, no…." He stammered, sluggishly trying to sit himself up straight again, the features of his face contorting into a pained frown.

While still holding up your phone, you looked at him attentively, following how he clenched his jaws as his eyes got covered by a watery sheene, indicating the growing distress he found himself in.

"It's okay, I promise. I'm here now and I'll help you." You sought to calm him down as you put the phone back into your jacket and tried to smile at him.

It wasn’t a happy smile by far but one of affirmation and understanding.

"No…no, no…" Clay suddenly started to scurry away from you, unaware that his back was already pressed against the lifeless concrete wall.

"No, what? Please talk to me." You felt your brows arching up in worry.

"This is pathetic.", It ruptured out of his mouth in a choked back sob, "You shouldn't…I wasn't…fuck."

"Hey, now.", You carefully scooted a little closer to the dirty mess of a mattress he was sitting on, "Clay, take a breath and please talk to me about what's going on."

"Fuck off!" He spat back, turning his head away from you but you still could see a few vagrant tears running down his cheeks.

"No." You stated bluntly, stopping in your movements to give him room.

"I-...I can't do this shit anymore..", Clay's voice rendered sore and out of breath with every word, "Fuck…I-...I wasn't supposed to wake up."

At his sudden confession all the pieces in your mind fell into place and you were painfully sure to feel something breaking inside of you. A jolt of emotional hurt and plain dread ruptured through your chest, threatening to knock the air out of your lungs as the man in front of you lost his posture entirely and slumped into you, wailing and crying violently.

You caught him in a loose embrace, you recognised your body doing it but your mind could hardly catch up with what was happening.

"Oh God…I should've texted you back. Should've picked up the damn phone. Fucking hell, shit, Clay, I'm so sorry." Your own voice started cracking and flailing dangerously as the weight of what had presumably happened doubled down on you.

"No…no. I'm not your…not your problem." He sniffled into your shoulder, his weak body shaking with every heavy sob erupting from the depths of his lungs.

His croaked out words served yet another fatal hit against your already rapidly crumbling composure. You felt like simply breaking down right here, too, the need for crying and screaming all the pain and guilt out of you growing stronger with every desperate whimper of his that cut right to your bones. However, you forced yourself to keep your shit together, simply had to for Clay right now.

"Issok…", You hummed into the crown of his head, carefully tightening your embrace around his slender shoulders, "You're not a problem or a burden to me. Don't you ever think that, Clay."

Your tender words were only met by a new, reckless wave of breathless cries.

"Help me, please, help me." He whined out, the realization about the reality of his own situation heavy in his voice.

"I will, I promise. You heard that?! I promise!"

#rory culkin #clay roach #city on a hill #clay roach x reader #clay roach x you #clay roach x fem!reader #Track Marks And Dial Tones

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feiandart · 8 months ago

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Hi Fei, not sure if this message becomes public or not but I couldn't find any other way to contact you. Just wanted to apologise for my comment on chapter 35. I realise in retrospect it might have seemed rude, I was trying to be funny. So, I'm very sorry, and I don't want you to think I didn't enjoy the chapter. I have deleted the comment. If I may take this chance as well, you have been an inspiration to me, I love your writing. I am too an aspiring writer that took a sabbatical for many years, though my self doubt is my biggest saboteur right now. I would love to know how you honed your craft, your words are so beautifully written. I look forward to the next chapter ♥

First of all, hello and thank you for reaching out to me! ♥

I'm afraid my memory doesn't work properly (it never does, sadly), but I'm pretty sure no comment made me think "oh, that was rude", so don't worry at all ♥ Gonna admit now I'm curious 'bout what that was owo But I will not ask for you to share that again if it makes you feel uncomfortable!

Your words means a lot to me! ♥ I had inspiration issues for half of my life. I was around fifteen when I wrote my last paragraph, and after that I didn't for other fifteen years. Honest to God, Good Omens and its community saved me in more than a way when I was at my lowest - helped me both with coming back at writing, and starting drawing for myself. I startend enjoying things again. And I needed that. So, since finding inspiration again was so meaningful to me, being able to inspire others is like I achieved something so big I can't really find words to express it properly. It makes me feel kinda... Oh, dunno. I guess we can go with: blessed. Finding inspiration was (and is) an healing process to me. And I hope it'll be the same to others. So if it came to me, I can only be SO glad to know!! So thank you so much for sharing this!! ♥

Let me tell you this: I am my biggest saboteur myself. So I do understand what you say, and I can guess what you feel right now. My suggestion is something practical. Go in front of the mirror, tell yourself what you want to do and look straight into your eyes. Then, say: "I will do it. And you will NOT stop me." Then say the same to all the people who might go against you. Nobody, not even yourself, should have the power to stop you from doing the things you love. It may be hard at the very start, troublesome meanwhile, but I can assure you nothing's better than being able to live your dreams. All I can do for you now is assuring you I am on your side! And I am sure you can do whatever makes you feel happy.

Last, but not least (dear Lord I wrote so much and I'm not done yet.......), your last question. Funny thing to answer that one, actually. 'cause I never practiced. I never studied a way to arrange phrases and words, actually right now I'm always a bit overwhelmed anytime I sit myself in front of the screen and open my file to start writing. I'll tell you, I'm the messiest people in the entire universe. I had all the plot already written back in november, but yet my characters slip off my hands and do whatever they want. Does it makes any sense to you? I have to costantly re-arrange my plot to make sure everything have some kind of logic. The rest come from my own mind. Sugar, specifically, means a lot to me under a lot of different aspects. Both characters holds part of myself, my own traumas, my own experiences, my own mazes and struggles. I think maybe sometimes things went when I didn't want them to go 'cause my mind played dirty on me and I was unable to stop it. But I don't complain. So I'm afraid I don't have a real answer but this one: I just put myself into every single word I write. I play all the scenes in my mind just like watching movies. I feel what my characters does and, I will not deny this, oftern I cry while doing that too. I'm a bit too much emphatic, perhaps?

Gonna admit, writing Sugar is exactly like going to therapy to me. Goes just along with that, it helps me process myself, my own emotions, helps me validate anything bad I've ever felt.

Well uh, I got pretty carried away with this answer but I hope you can find something helpful around all of these messy words of mine ♥ (And sorry for my poor english if I made some mistake here and there, I fully believe in honest-to-God messages when it comes to answer people, both in comments, chat or anywhere else, so I never actually go back trying to correct my messages. Dunno, it feels like leaving you all full access to my stream of consciousness everytime I give answers like these. Not sure this makes sense. To me it does.)

Don't ever ever be afraid to tell me what you think or reach out! I'll always be here, happy to give you an answer. Thank you so much! ♥

#fei loves to reply #so feel free to ask anytime you want #sugar #writing #fic writing

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firenati0n · 7 months ago

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20 questions for fic writers

thank you to @alasse9 @anchoredarchangel @myheartalivewrites @anincompletelist @cricketnationrise

@tailsbeth-writes @cha-melodius @ninzied for the tags! i am so so so behind on all tags and questions and asks and i am sorry for the delay!! <3 thank you for your patience :)

How many works do you have on ao3?

7 under my name, 1 anonymously

What's your total ao3 word count?

32,316

What fandoms do you write for?

rwrb :)

Top five fics by kudos:

An Amateur's Guide to Piping That Cream and Beating That Meat (5,094 words)

our world, mine and his alone (the midnight train to go) (2,970 words)

cause you're classic, and i'm reckless (5,422 words)

each time we touch / i wanna take too much (1,339 words)

who truly stuck the knife in first (3,697 words)

Do you respond to comments?

yes! i haven't replied to any on angel fic yet bc they make me cry LMAOOOO but i will get to them soon :) comments mean everything to me. receiving any is a privilege. connection is so lovely.

What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

i would say who truly stuck the knife in first but it's not angsty, just open-ended. they're spies, so happiness for them at the moment is fleeting lol.

What's the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

i always write happy endings but i think and all i can taste is this moment, and all i can breathe is your life aka the angel!henry fic is the sappiest. it's so sappy I'm giving it a sequel for more sappy endings. it's the happiest ending because it also makes me cry.

Do you get hate on fics?

not yet, thankfully. people have been very nice and welcoming, which has been a real blessing.

Do you write smut?

no lol i got into my M game with who truly stuck the knife in first (sexually charged wrestling), keep me up all night / i wanna scratch your surface (prosey fade to black), and each time we touch / i wanna take too much (fingers in mouths) but i don't think I'll be writing smut anytime soon.

i could barely handle arms and legs in spy fic (@cha-melodius knows how terribly i struggled jfalksdjflkjasdlkf). how the fuck am I supposed to factor dicks into the equation????

Craziest crossover:

none yet but i am cooking up a sci-fi thriller au that may never see the light of day based on Dark Matter by Blake Crouch but no promises jfalksjdlkfadsf

Have you ever had a fic stolen?

not that i know of

Have you ever had a fic translated?

not that i know of. I've had art and moodboards and a podfic but no translations.

Have you ever co-written a fic before?

i am writing one right now with [redacted] and it's going to be so fucking good y'all are not prepared for this AU fr

All time favorite ship?

firstprince forever. alex and henry are my babygirls. Close second is Sydney and Vaughn from Alias or Chuck and Sarah from Chuck.

What's a wip you want to finish but doubt you ever will?

i have a lot of docs with bullet points but typically if i start WRITING real words in a doc, i will be finishing it EVENTUALLY. it will either take me 4 months or 4 hours and there is no in between unfortunately, considering i write most of my fics between the hours of 2am - 7am in a fugue state. fatal flaw. all of my docs with actual snippets in them WILL be completed at some point. it's just going to take me. forever.

What are your writing strengths?

i hate perceiving shit like this bc i always think i sound like I'm blowing smoke up my own ass lmaoooo so I'll go with dialogue. i like the dialogue i write.

@anincompletelist also told me that I can "curate a VIBE and TONE like nobody’s BUSINESS" which is extremely kind (ily) and i think i agree. I do like experimenting with tone and atmosphere. I have been playing with genre and expression with each fic and i like what I've done so far.

i also just love a silly goose time fr ok i love my fun fics like amateur's guide and worm fic and actor au. they make me laugh.

What are your writing weaknesses?

i struggle to plot things out bc i get so caught up in dialogue and snippets of things i actually want to write LOL so weaving the snips together is always a pain for me. i am also a perfectionist so it takes me way longer to get over my mental hurdles and put words on the page. i also struggle to write angst sometimes like angst does not come as naturally to me as zippy banter. neither does prose. i have to work at those.

Thoughts on dialogue in another language?

love!!! i find it so beautiful.

First fandom you wrote in?

i do not count the 1d fanfic i wrote in my notes app as a mentally ill thirteen year old as actual writing, so let's go with RWRB :)

Favorite fic you've written?

and all i can taste is this moment, and all i can breathe is your life. it's my most personal and a fic I used as a coping mechanism to get through some yucky times. i also like the emotional beats in that one a lot. it is my least read / least popular but my favorite.

no pressure and open tags under the cut <3

@wordsofhoneydew @bigassbowlingballhead @eusuntgratie @violetbaudelaire-quagmire @magicandarchery

@getmehighonmagic @indestructibleheart @14carrotghoul @onward--upward @sparklepocalypse

@porcelainmortal @nontoxic-writes @piratefalls @dumbpeachjuice @clottedcreamfudge

@tintagel-or-cockleshells @orchidscript @cheesecurdsgravyandfries @smc-27 @everwitch-magiks

@kiwiana-writes @hgejfmw-hgejhsf @ships-to-sail @rmd-writes @welcometololaland

#tag game #roop writes #:)

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cyanidas · 1 year ago

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BIG News: I'm trying to make some really huge changes, and I'll need your help.

Before I grant any details, I gotta preface everything with the reality of our situation; Jay, the sole breadwinner, has been a victim of yet another "new hire surprise fire". He was booted without warning, written or verbal, about two weeks ago.

Evidently this is very common in the production wood/metalworking industry, otherwise this wouldn't have happened so many fucking times, because he's a great person with amazing work ethic and that's not just my bias talking - most of his coworkers have felt the exact same way as me across every company he's worked for.

Of course, THAT DAY we wasted no time in reaching out to contacts and applying for mountains of positions on Indeed, on company websites, and the state hiring portal. Nobody has contacted him back. ONE hiring agency gave him a "maybe". Even I have applied to several places for myself, with not so much as a rejection.

Seeing the trauma this caused him first hand was my final fucking straw.

I'm sick to death of suffering this tragedy. I'm sick to death of hearing the love of my life, my Fiancé, cry because of how he was fired. And I'm sick to death of coming here or crawling to my friends and family for money they don't have because we're legitimately hopeless for it.

I don't have the heart to continually beg for cash. It was never something I've been good at or proud of doing, and it kills me inside to DM people for commissions I don't even have the time nor energy to do. I'm sick of this. All of this. I need it all to stop.

So of course, I want to nip this in the goddamn bud.

I met a very sweet vendor in Iowa who gave me a load of resources on how to get started selling my art on actual things I get to see and hold for myself and hand to people in person, namely conventions. It's a hell of a risk but I need this to work. I'm so exhausted from asking for money so please help me make this be the last time I ever need to come here for help.

More details will come, because I'm also tired of making plans and leaping forward without having anything to show for it. When I actually have these products designed, that's when I'm going to show you guys everything I've made, with as much detail on my thinking and planning as I can get out there (because lord knows the internet has taken advantage of people's generosity before).

When that time comes, please *please* give me your support. It would legitimately be world-changing for us.

I just wanted to get this out here asap so people would know what I'm going through and, hopefully plan along with me. I don't just want this to happen, I *need* this to *succeed*. I don't have any other option. Right now, I'm busting my ass on product designs (literally because this chair hurts!!), and Jay can attest to that.

I plan on having *something* to show for all my hard work by next week, and soon after, a Kickstarter to make it a reality. Keep an eye out!!

#let me know what you guys like to see sold in artists alleys #and what you like to see in online shops by digital artists #i just can't keep doing commissions and i can't just rely on friends #it's not a living #it's a hobby #i need this to change #this HAS to change #intercom #signal boost

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space-antlers-in-space · 16 days ago

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I don't know if I'll even keep this post up because to be honest, the people I see and follow on here don't seem to be guilty of this and also my reach here is not big. But I have to say, the reaction on the "left" to this election result has been a deeply radicalizing experience. What a huge embarrassment. Did I hope for a Kamala win? Yes. I believe that the fights we need to undertake going forward would have been easier. I think we would've been fighting on at least fewer fronts under her administration. Did I give myself one day after we got the result to sulk and feel sorry for myself? Also yes! I'm trans! Donald Trump ran a historic number of ads directed straight at me and my community and farmed up a gigantic amount of fear and hate, and it worked. But oh my god. The scope of the crashout among liberals has been completely insane. I've seen people crowing about going back to Starbucks and McDonald's, praying for hurricanes to wipe out red states and proclaiming they're done and tired and not to ask them for help anymore.

I saw Palestinians and other leftists predicting this exact outcome months and months ago. And me, a lil white queer chilling in a blue state, i thought that might be an overly pessimistic view. Never did I think the reaction would be so instant and vicious and I've been proven so incredibly wrong. And I'll eat that! Of course I never argued with anyone about that prediction because I know my blind spots and where I sit. If longtime organizers and people of color are telling me that milktoast liberals will cut and run the second things get hard, they know something I don't. And I sure know now. GOD. Like i see it now. I see what actual leftists mean by the two sides being functionally the same. I watched democrats take an L and then immediately start acting exactly like conservatives; buying Starbucks in some smug attempt to "trigger" everyone, climbing into comment sections to fantasize out loud about buying beachfront property in Gaza, making cringey dramatic TikToks with filters and audio to act out ignoring a Palestinian crying for help. I get being angry, i get the urge to look for someone to blame but there isnt! Nobody is to blame for electing Trump except Trump voters, and the Democratic party for failing to understand what was important to their base. The numbers simply do not support the idea that "palestinian influencers convinced everyone not to vote" or "jill stein did it again" or anything. What the numbers do show is a huge swing to the right among white gen-z and a predictable majority of white voters of every age voting for him. If you wanna do something productive take a look at how high school boys are being funneled into the alt-right at an alarming pace. But no. You're outing yourselves for what you've always been; punitive, cruel, self-centered and with the moraI convictions of an overcooked noodle. I'm so glad I've surrounded myself with people who are just as disgusted by this as me, and who keep sharing fundraisers and refuse to let this fight die.

I also want to be clear I'm not angry or dismissive of anyone that's really terrified by the prospect of another Trump presidency. I am too, and i do really wish it hadn't shaken out this way. But I promise you, there are frameworks in place to keep as many people safe as we can. Catastrophizing is not helpful and disregards the work people have been doing to prepare for events like this for a long, long time. Queer communities, communities of color, communities supporting reproductive Healthcare, have been around for ages. Find resources, help others out, we can go underground if we have to. We have before. Be smart and be kind, that's the only way forward. Remember that.

#us politics #election 2024 #free palestine

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startseeingstars · 20 days ago

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Delicate Destruction - Euronymous (Lords of Chaos)

CH24 🎶 The Love Machine - Varials 🎶

T/W - sexual themes, mature themes

The sun had begun to rise, and the birds began chirping. I groaned a little, my neck sore from the angle I'd slept in. Øystein and I were cuddled up in the backseat of the Volvo, draped in blankets. The air was freezing - I could see my breath. I felt him start to stretch as he woke. He planted a soft kiss on my hair.

"Morning, Peach." He murmured sleepily, voice husky from the cold air.

Now that the sun was up, I wondered how things would be between us. I had so many questions, but I didn't want to ruin the moment, or worse... scare him away.

I smiled at him as I sat up, running my hands through my hair as I yawned.

The drive home was quieter - we were both exhausted. It was a comfortable quiet though. He'd rested his hand on my knee most of the drive, grazing his thumb gently over my jeans. He finally pulled up at my house and cut the engine, turning to me with a small smile.

"You working today?" He asked. I groaned.

"Don't remind me." I laughed, looking at the time. It was still early - at least I had plenty of time for a nap before my closing shift tonight. He chuckled.

"I'll see you later, then."

I leant in nervously, pressing my lips to his. After a few seconds, he pulled away and kissed my cheek. I got out of the car, a pang of disappointment in my stomach as he drove away.

I looked up at the map beside me as I sat on Øystein's desk. Red pins littered across it, spanning several countries and continents. I knew they indicated other bands sending him their music, and he would usually send something in return - like pen pals of sorts.

The black cord of the necklace twirled between my fingers idly - it was chicken bone, not actually Pelle's skull. The relief I'd felt when he'd let me in on his secret was enough for me to cry. Of course, nobody else knew the truth.

Øystein returned, taking his seat in front of me, spreading my legs and sliding his chair closer to embrace me. I giggled as his hands pushed me lightly into him. He buried his face in my chest and I could feel him kissing me over my shirt.

"What're you doing?" I tried to shove him away gently, but he groaned playfully and refused to budge. He looked up at me, his big eyes full of mischief.

"I can't help myself," His husky voice muttered and his hand moved to under my shirt, creeping toward my breasts. "You're a fucking temptress." He continued, groping me as I gasped lightly.

"I wasn't doing anything..." I insisted, smirking down at him.

He shrugged, lifting my shirt and taking a handful of my breast, gently gliding my nipple over his tongue. "You didn't have to." He murmured against my skin, sending chills down my spine.

I groaned, in both annoyance and pleasure.

"They'll be here any second." I reminded him reluctantly. I wanted him to take me right there on his desk as his teeth nipped gently at me. He knew it drove me wild.

As if I'd summoned them, there was a loud knock on the door and the sound of it opening. Øystein groaned but pulled back, letting my shirt fall.

Varg and Hellhammer walked in. Hellhammer wolf whistled and winked at me.

"Interrupting are we?" He grinned as he approached the desk, Varg following behind me, face hard as he glared at me. Apparently he wasn't my biggest fan after the night in the cellar.

Øystein's face fell, becoming serious as he glared at Hellhammer. He slid his chair back and I jumped off the desk, wordlessly exiting the room.

Øystein was appointing Varg as Mayhem's new bass player.

I didn't fully understand it, but it seemed as though it was his effort to keep Varg from one-upping him in everything he did.

He'd confirmed that Varg had burned down the church last week. Besides that, he tried not to talk about him much - I could tell he got under his skin so I avoided him as a topic.

He'd also mentioned that the Helvete cellar was a meeting place for 'The Black Circle' - their most trusted friends. I'd giggled when he told me and teased him slightly about having a clubhouse.

I sat in Faust's loft cave, watching tv absentmindedly for a while. Faust was reading a magazine at the counter and we'd laughed, exchanging glances when an old woman had walked in by mistake.

After a while, Hellhammer walked out alone.

"Beer run. Want anything?" He asked me but I declined and watched him leave. Varg and Øystein were in the office a while longer before they came out. Øystein's eyes found mine and he motioned his head toward his office. I followed, passing Varg without a glance.

#rory culkin #culkin brothers #culkin cult #euronymous #fanfic #lords of chaos

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aaronstveit · 5 months ago

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14, 28, 54, 55, 68

hi anon, thank you sm for asking!!♡

14. how do you write emotional scenes? Do you ever feel what the characters feel? Do you draw from personal experiences?

oooooooh boy. i very much draw on personal experiences to the point that it's kind of embarrassing to post anything because i feel like i'm giving away so much of myself but the truth of the matter is that nobody notices except me most of the time. i wouldn't say that i feel what the characters are feeling most of the time but i do feel emotional in general when i'm writing emotional scenes and i cry while i'm writing a lot. i am naturally very emotional and i cry a lot anyway so i expect it when i'm writing!

28. On average, how much writing do you get done in a day?

if i were to somehow actually do the math it would probably be very little, but when i'm actually like In the Zone for lack of a better term, i can put down a few thousand words a day. outlining is slow going because i'm awful at coming up with the plot the first time around but when i start drafting i'll probably be doing a solid 5k words a day on the days when i write!

54. What’s your favorite part about the fanfiction writing process?

as mentioned here, my very favorite part is probably when i start side-by-side writing! i really enjoy it because at that point i've got the general sequence of events down and i can start really having fun with emotions, metaphors, dialogue, etc. definitely the best<3

55. Of the characters you write for, which is your favorite? Has that choice been swayed at all by your followers/readers’ reactions to certain ones?

currently i have to say grantaire is my favorite! i do get nice comments about his characterization, which always makes me smile, but he's really just my favorite because he's very fun to project messy emotions and worldviews on. my little bestie. love him so much. putting him through so many horrors rn <3

68. What, if anything, do you do for inspiration?

i don't think i really do anything For Inspiration! a solid amount of my ~ inspiration ~ comes from conversations with cossette tbh and everything else always comes to me very randomly when i'm nowhere near my laptop because isn't that the way the world works.

get to know your fic writer!

#thank you sm!!!#answered #anonymous #love letters only💛

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emiefluff · 6 months ago

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Asks!!!! 8, 13, and 20 if you please :3c

Silly goofy goofy silly

What show/series are you watching right now?

- Currently, I'm not technically watching anything right now, but I hopefully plan to rewatch Angel Beats, K-ON!, Yuru/Laid-Back Camp (apparently had it's own game i think), and Slow Start!!!!11111

I also just discovered Stardust Telepath today so I plan to watch that in the future!

✄┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈

Name 3 fictional lers you’d like to be wrecked by!

- Ruh roh raggy I'm really exposing myself, aren't I? (LMFAOOOOOO)

Ok so all 3 will be separate fandoms so I'll have honorable mentions

1. Stelle from Honkai: Star Rail

2. Nene Kusanagi (pjsekai el oh el)

and 3. Mephistopheles from Eversoul (I'm going to assume that nobody here knows what the fuck Eversoul is so I understand if you assumed at first it was the guy from Obey Me, but I'm not in that fandom)

Honorable mentions are as follow:

Furina from genshin (So many people flustered me with ler furina scenarios I'm crying just from remembering them)

Any of WxS + Kanade and Mizuki from pjsekai

March 7th, Dan Heng, Firefly, and Robin from Honkai: Star Rail

and let's not forget about another genshin character that I will not be naming for personal reasons so don't try to ask me for this character's name 😠😠😠😠😠 (it's Lumine LMAO)

✄┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈

A tickle memory!

-Episode 2 of Klaira exposing themself to tumblr dot com because she thinks it's funny to watch people silently and cringingly (if that's an actual word) relate

Disclaimer: I'm putting the rest of this under the cut because it mentions death and shit and I'm not gonna accidentally trigger people.

I don't really have many memories, I've never really been tickled, and even when I was, it was extremely overstimulating for me and I genuinely didn't enjoy those moments

I think the only memory I'd be fond of was when my grandmother was still alive. I remember she always used to tickle me and compared to how my dad tickled me, it was a lot more bearable and I genuinely felt content and happy. I remember she would always go really soft and shit because she had pretty long nails (oh the way I died when she traced her nails at my side what the fuck)

I think another reason I genuinely enjoyed those moments with her was because she was basically my mother figure (my mom never really raised me she just left me with my dad after they divorced so my grandma was basically my best friend until she ended up in hospice and passed after my 14th birthday.

That's basically it, holy shit this got deep so quick.

#protected by mizuki akiyama #shit up klaira #mootie cutie patooties #my bestie westie py <3 /p #sleep deprived and alive #surviving and thriving off of serotonin #ted talks with klaira 101 #secret life of klaira

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agena87 · 7 months ago

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📩 Simblr question of the day: Choose as many sims/ocs as you'd like for this question, What's something INCREDIBLY obscure and/or out-of-pocket about your sim/oc? Something that nobody (fellow sims and/or your followers and mutuals) knows 👀 (This could be things about their social skills, physicality and/or birth defects, or it could be something they vaguely remember, a dream they had that actually predicted the future, etc etc... whatever you come up with)

Oooooooh, I love this ask! I feel that I'll discover plenty of stuff about my characters 😃

---

In no specific order other than whatever pops into my mind first:

* The first "book" Jeb ever wrote was about twelve (short) sentences long, full of spelling & grammar errors, written in several colours in crayon, and called "Don't cry, mommy". He was eight.

* On a more happy note, Lukas and Max have been calling each other husband and wife since, when they were nine, Elsa "married" them during recess.

* Hugo & Mallory used to date, that's no secret. What is, is how they actually broke up (Hugo will kill me for telling this story). They had been dating for nearly two years, and never had sex (they did touch each other a bit before, though). After talking, and deciding they were both ready, they scheduled their first time. Hugo, the sweet boy he is, had even "studied" how to please his partner; he was determined to give Lory the best experience possible. And he did give her a good time. So good that Lory couldn't stop from moaning a name, but unfortunately it wasn't Hugo's, but Jacques's. And that's how Hugo discovered that his girlfriend had the hots for his father; worse, Lory was IN LOVE with Jacques. So, they broke up (and somehow remained friends).

*Strabismus is very common in the Landgraab family, especially among women. If you look closely to pics of them you'll notice that Clara, Sofia, Olivia, Teresa, and Joy have it to some degree. But not Nancy. That's because Queenie had her operated because she "had to be perfect".

* Willa got pregnant when she was sixteen, but she got an abortion because she wasn't ready to be a mom. Plus, the dad was a wanker who dumped her as soon as she told him he had knocked her up. She sometimes regrets her decision, as she wants plenty of kids (at least four), but she knows it was for the best. And she still has time.

* Mila owns a restaurant and has two Simichelin Stars. Hugo is her sous.

* I think I already said that Joy's mom was Holly Alto and that she died during childbirth. What I didn't say (I think), was that Holly was Malcolm's best friend (and regular "bed companion"), and that they only got married because Holly got pregnant. They loved each other but were never IN LOVE with each other.

* Jacques is a very enthusiastic and talented pussy-eater. Sorry, Lory took possession of me for an instant.

* Willa says that Mal is, too. THANK YOU, GIRLS, THAT'LL BE ENOUGH.

* Björn and Nancy used to date in high school, but her parents were against their relationship (a heiress such as Nancy shouldn't marry someone from a "poor" family). So, she married Geoffrey who always had a massive crush on her; he was cute and from a good family, so why not? Clara who had always been sweet on her older sister's boyfriend, saw her chance to finally have the boy she wanted (her parents couldn't care less about what she did, she was just a spare after all). Somehow Björn accepted to date her and later asked her to marry him (a long time later, she would understand that it was to stay close to Nancy without seeming suspicious).

* Nancy was already pregnant with Johnny when Geoffrey and her married. Of course, Geoff knew he wasn't his, since he and Nancy hadn't had sex before their wedding night (though now one other than them - and Björn - knew that), but he loved Nancy and thought that their wedding would put an end to Nancy and Björn affair (which... nope).

---

Aaaaaand, I'll stop here because it's starting to be a tad long.

#SQOTD #the fearless and the ravishing

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lucalearnstowrite · 7 months ago

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"What kind of father would do this to his only son? The future King of the empire.", Aster wonders to himself, In disbelief of what his father did to him. When he was going to succeed his father's throne to be the next King of Riguania, he was banished from the territory. The king's only son, whom he adored and whom he promptly provided every comfort in the world was thrown out by his guards into a dark forest. The forest of Wanderers.

He arrived in a swamp region, lost in the forest of the Wanderers, a mysterious marsh. He saw a cabin on the shore of the river, with lights on. For a prince who had been in excruciating pain and hadn't slept for the last three days, it was a blessing in disguise. He knocked on the door, but nobody answered. The door was open so he entered and discovered flasks filled with vibrant potions, wands , hairs of animals, colourful brooms and a lot of things Aster didn't even know the name of. Something weird was about the room, actually everything. Aster says to himself, "What kind of witchcraft is this person trying to do?"

At that moment, he hears a pleasant voice out of nowhere. "Boy, you shouldn't have come here. This place is not meant for the timid. You will be lost here forever if you do not quickly leave the forest." He glances out of the window and notices a woman holding a sword while wearing a white clock. "Who are you?" he exclaims. But, the woman disappears in the mist.

"What is happening, who was that strange lady? She also called me timid like father did", Aster says to himself. "Nevermind, I can see something is really wrong here but whatever she was, I ought to go."

"Meow, meow, meow," cries a terrified cat. He looks around and sees a cat in a small boat crying. "Chiro!", shouts Aster. That was his beloved cat, Chiro. How is Chiro here he wondered. He gave her over to his mom. "Don't worry, Chiro, I'll save you." As he advances to help her, he sees eyes popping from the water. Aster screams, "Those eyes... Alligator!!" with fear. "Oh my god, there ain't one but so many"

"Those alligators will eat me up. I can't do this. What should I do? Let Chiro die and run saving myself. No, I'm not that weak. It appears that Aster has overcome his dilemma. Luckily, one alligator shoved the boat in his direction. He could draw the boat closer to the shore if he swam swiftly and get in the boat.

He inhaled deeply and jumped. He made it the boat while the alligators started revolving around the boat. Chiro jumped into Aster's arms. "It's okay kitty, we'll be safe". He moved the boat closer to the shore being careful of the Gators and threw Chiro towards the ground by him. Her cat sensors helped her to land safely. "Chiro, get out of there and run! Hurry up!" Aster tries to divert their attention from Chiro. It succeeded, but the Gators attempted to topple the boat. Aster accepted his fate, but they fled awat as the king's soldiers fired gun at them. "Aster, my boy," sobs his mother. "Mom!" Aster was astounded. He was helped out of the boat by the soldiers. Both of them were secure.

His father says, "You passed the test with flying colours." "Test?" Aster asks. "You had turned into a weak person living in luxury, but a king must be brave and willing to risk his life to ensure the protection of his people." Aster didn't know what to say but he was happy that no one can call him timid now.

"So that's why you sent that mysterious lady and had a weird cabin set up here" says Aster. "What? What lady and what cabin Asty?", his father exclaims. He looks around and finds that the cabin has disappeared.

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im-a-matt-girl · 2 years ago

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@mattslovergirl here is a fic based on your 4th request, a meetcute:

I hear the PA system call out my flight number. "Last call," the robotic voice announces. "Please make your way to the gate now."

I start running. I hope I still have time to make it. I hate traveling so much; it makes me panic like nothing else. My backpack is falling off of my shoulder, making me unbalanced.

Suddenly, something hits my shoulder, knocking me down. Both my tote bag and my backpack go flying. I hear people saying, "Oooh," but nobody stops to help.

"Are you okay?" I hear a gentle voice say.

I look up, and I am met with the most beautiful face I've ever seen. "I… uh… I think so," I say. I can't even look you directly in the eyes, you're so attractive.

"Here, let me help you up," you say, extending your hand toward me.

I take it, and you carefully pull me up. I watch, dumbfounded, as you pick up my things for me. "Thanks," I utter.

"Of course," you smile at me. "Where were you running to?"

"My gate," I explain. "They made the last call, and it's kind of far from here, and I don't know if I'll make it at this point, and-"

"It's okay, slow down," you tell me calmly. "Let me carry something for you." You hook my tote bag to your suitcase handle. "Lead the way," you say, gesturing to me.

You follow me all the way to my gate, and they close it off as we approach. "Wait!" I tell them.

"Sorry, Miss, you just missed the flight," the attendant says to me. "You'll have to wait for the next one."

I want to cry, but I know it's my own fault, anyway. I turn to you and apologize. "Thanks for trying to help me, but… I'm sorry, it seems like it was all for nothing."

"Not a problem," you say, shaking your head and smiling at me.

"Don't you have somewhere to be, though?" I ask you. "I'm so sorry to be an inconvenience to you-"

You gently put a hand on my shoulder. "It's okay, really," you reassure me. "Besides, this is my gate, too. I'm going to L.A. also."

I raise my eyebrows in surprise. "You are? Did you miss your flight, too?"

You laugh softly. "No, I'm early for my flight. It's the next one. I'm just waiting for my brothers. They'll be here in a bit."

"Oh…" I say. "How many brothers do you have?"

"Three," you answer. "But only two of them are coming with me. I'm actually a triplet."

"No way!" I exclaim. "Are you serious?"

"Yep," you nod. "Oh, look, here they come."

"Matt, where the fuck were you?" one of your brothers says to you. "We were looking all over. You're not answering your texts."

"Sorry, I got kinda… busy," you tell him, looking sideways at me.

Your other brother smiles at me. "Is this a fan?" he asks you.

"I don't think so," you say, shaking your head. "She didn't even know that I was a triplet."

Both of your brothers look absolutely gobsmacked.

"She ran into me and dropped her stuff, so I helped her get to her gate, which happens to be our gate, too," you explain to them.

"Oh, you're the one I ran into?" I ask, horrified. "Oh, my gosh, I am so, so sorry! Now I feel really bad…"

"It's okay," you chuckle.

"Hi, I'm Chris," your brother says, waving at me. "We're the Sturniolo triplets."

I wave back, not knowing what to say. "Uh… hi," I stammer awkwardly. I'm painfully shy.

"I'm Nick," your other brother says quickly, holding his hand out. "Pleasure to meet you."

I shake his hand. His mood changed so fast, I don't exactly know what to make of him, yet. "Same to you," I say politely.

"Where're we sitting?" Chris asks you.

"I haven't decided, yet," you say, looking around the area for four adjacent, empty chairs.

"So… you're Matt?" I ask you. "We never formally introduced ourselves," I remind you.

"Oh yeah, sorry," you smile again. You have the most alluring smile I've ever seen in my life. "I'm Matt. You wanna sit with us? We can get to know each other while we wait for the plane."

"Sure," I smile shyly.

We talk so much, it seems like the plane arrives quickly. You all seem like lovely people.

The three of you board the plane before me, and I end up sitting behind you. I watch as you talk and laugh and argue with each other the entire flight. I am able to discern that Nick is the oldest, based on his somewhat bossy yet caring personality; and Chris definitely exudes baby brother energy.

At one point, when Nick gets up to use the restroom on the airplane, Chris turns to me and says, "Well, since Matt's not making any moves, can we get your socials?"

"Oh!" I look up in surprise. I wasn't sure if any of you had noticed me sitting behind you, since I've tried not to bother you this whole time. "Um, sure." I get my pen and notebook out of my backpack, and I scribble my online username and hand it to him.

"Sweet," Chris says, taking the paper from me. "We'll add you soon, so keep an eye out." He smiles at me, and while his smile is similar to yours, it definitely carries a more charming quality than an enigmatic one, like yours does.

Once the plane lands, I am able to get wi-fi on my phone again. My socials start sending me notification after notification, and I can't keep up with all of them. I decide not to look at them until I'm back home. I figure it's just you guys, anyway.

"See ya!" I hear a voice call out to me as I'm about to exit the airport.

I turn around and see you, waving at me. Your two brothers are walking ahead of you. "Bye!" I smile and wave at you. I'm so glad to have made three new friends today.

#matt sturniolo x reader #sturniolo triplets & reader #fic #op #pov: yours #mattslovergirl #criticism from requester accepted ♡

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