#nobody is going to like this but it’s okay

[obsessedoverwater]

Sometimes the doomed old man toxic yoai gets so bad you just have to start writing about fucking revenge guac to get over the pain.

[shima-draws]

Just got back from seeing Sonic 3 and HOOOOOOLY SHIT y’all. Oh my fucking god. OH my god. Ohhhh my g o d

[teaboot]

do you think i'll ever get to a place in my life where i'm actually a good person and i don't keep getting bombarded with people telling me all the ways i'm doing things wrong. will i ever stop feeling like i'm faking being good and i'm actually a despicable person deep down inside like there's something rotten and irremovable in the very core of me. i feel sick

As a recovering self-hater I have a few things that have been helping

Truly shitty people are typically, in my experience, not chronically preoccupied with anxieties that they need to be better. It seems to be the 100% rock-solid certainty that everything you ever do is selfless that you need to watch out for.

Motive only matters in court. If you donate 30 hours a week to charity so you can tell yourself you're a good person or you donate that same time because you genuinely enjoy helping people, that's still 30 hours, imo. At that point the argument is more philosophical than anything. The help is still happening.

Nobody can read your mind. You can be the bitterest, cattiest, most judgemental and mean-spirited motherfucker alive, but as long as you don't let your feelings hurt others, you're golden. In fact, I personally think you should get extra credit for effort. Swimming upriver ain't easy

None of us are selfless by nature. That's okay. We all crave attention, and validation, and comfort, and reward. That self-interest is a survival skill. It's not going anywhere and I don't think it should. The key is moderation, self control, and consideration for others.

The loudest voice in your head probably isn't yours. Survivors of all kinds of abuse- and all abuse is psychological to varying extremes- often keep their critic's narrative in their head. That voice that says you're awful- is that something you'd say to someone else? No? Then try to figure out who said it to you. They were probably an asshole. The voice that answers it it probably your own. Listen to that one

No, you will not feel like this forever. It's a pain in the ass, but dedicating time and thought into ignoring that inner critic and elevating your positive impulses is effective.

Some things I've done myself that seem to help:

Do some research on cognitive behavioral therapy and cognitive reprogramming. These are easier to exercise with a therapist but once you figure out the steps to follow you can do them on your own, too.

When you do something good, write it down for yourself. Keep a dated journal, either on paper or in your phone. When you find yourself in a pit of self-loathing, you can go back and remind yourself of all the good you've done. If this is hard, try listing 3 good things you did at the end of each day. Anything from picking up a scrap of litter to running a food drive.

Long post, but really, the best thing I can say is this:

Aything that takes effort is worth celebrating, even if that effort is minimal or that task is considered small.

At the end of the day, "bare minimum" isn't working a full-time job and eating three meals a day, cleaning up after yourself and doing it with a smile- bare minimum is nothing. Bare minimum is laying on the floor motionless for 24 hours and filter-feeding like a sea sponge. And if even that's difficult for you, then it's not your bare minimum, is it?

There's a lot of cruel, inconsiderate, uncaring people in the world, only out for themselves at the expense of others, and even if you think you're one of them, giving a shit about doing better still puts you a mile ahead of most.

Try not to worry too terribly. If you're thinking about it, you're probably doing fine👍

[in-sufficientdata]

ID: Trauma isn't just the sadness that comes from being beaten, or neglected, or insulted. That's just one layer of it. [begin highlight for emphasis] Trauma also is mourning the childhood you could have had. [end highlight] The childhood other kids around you had. The fact that you could have had a mom who hugged and kissed you when you skinned your knee. Or a dad who stayed and brought you a bouquet of flowers at your graduation. Trauma is mourning the fact that, as an adult, you have to parent yourself. You have to stand in your kitchen, starving, near tears, next to a burnt chicken, and you can't call your mom to tell her about it, to listen to her tell you that it's okay, to ask if you can come over for some of her cooking. [highlight] Instead, you have to pull up your bootstraps and solve the painful puzzle of your life by yourself. What other choice do you have? Nobody else is going to solve it for you. [end highlight]

That sadness—the sadness of loss—is a different flavor than the sadness of reckoning. The sadness of reckoning feels visceral and angry and tinged with violence. It feels healable, somehow, with revenge or justice.

[highlight]But the sadness of a lost childhood feels like a yearning, impossible desire. It feels like a hollow, insatiable hunger.[end highlight]

end ID.

Stephanie Foo, What My Bones Know: A Memoir of Healing from Complex Trauma

[potchi-fics]

note: sevika being soft. made this in like 10 minutes becus i miss her.

      sevika’s pretty sure that you cast a spell on her because ain’t no way you, a nobody who owns a bakery in zaun, turns her into putty. seriously, she is baffled. how you manage to break down her walls is a wonder not only to her but to everybody. and let me tell you, she doesn’t like people. like right now, her foot slams the door to your home close, the noise signaling you that she’s home. she hangs her cape up by the hook beside the door, taking off her boots, and rolling her sore shoulders back. her gaze falls on your back, you’re doing the dishes, cleaning the pans and things you’ve used while cooking.

“you’re just in time for dinner,” you dry your hands on a towel, turning around to face her, a smile forming on your face, “welcome home, sev.”

      her body subtly sags, but you notice it. you always do. she lazily walks to you, her tired eyes locking into yours, and you open your arms for her to fall into. you wrap your arms up around her neck, your fingers playing with the back of her baby hair, almost lulling her to sleep. in return, her human arm finds itself underneath your shirt, rubbing circles on your back.

“tired?” she nuzzles her head in the side of your neck, her breath tickling you, “let’s go eat?”

“let’s stay like this for a second, doll.” 

“okay.”

      you cherish times like these—her being softer. it’s rare, but they come by every once in a while, her job draining her to the bone. and sevika would just stay in your embrace, she doesn’t care if her legs are begging her to sit down, she doesn’t care at all. you pull away and before she can say a word, you press your soft lips on her cheek, just under her eye, and that action, that alone, almost makes her tear up.

she closes her eyes, “i don’t deserve you, doll.”

“you don’t,” you snort out jokingly, “but i’m still here.”

her eyelids flutter open, glaring at you but you know it holds no malice, “you’re supposed to say the opposite.”

“i’m only teasing,” you put both of your hands on her face, rubbing along them with your thumb, “and i think you’re the only one who deserves me anyway, you take care of me so well. who’s my good girl?”

      she gives you her infamous i’m-so-done-with-your-shit face, making you giggle and kiss her again. your kisses travel from her eyebrows, down to her mouth; pecking her lips affectionately. god, she loves you so much.

[toastling]

Maybe this is just me. But. When you step back and look at the last 20 years, isn't it a bit weird what, specifically, is still being censored, vs what isn't? It used to be that even in Saturday morning action cartoons based off superhero comics, like Superman TAS, you often couldn't show the specific frame of, say, a fist impacting someone in a fight. Now, this improved over time, but if you really pay attention, you'll notice a lot of the time instead of actually seeing an impact there's a white flash that conveys said impact without actually showing it.

The fear among censors was that any violence that could easily be replicated by kids wasn't safe to show, and gun violence also got thrown in there since so many American families own guns. Incidentally, the DCAU is one of the biggest reasons this changed over time, but it stood for decades regardless. The kind of violence you saw in Tom & Jerry and the kind of violence you see today wouldn't have flown in the 90s and 00s.

Similarly, there were certain things you just couldn't really animate for kids and families when it came to things like body horror or outright cruelty that involved bodily trauma. There were times and places, genres, where it was a little bit more acceptable and you had more leeway - gross-out humor has always been a thing and has allowed more freedom in form and disgust, and horror media, even when aimed at a younger audience, is allowed to get away with more because it is an inherent aspect of the genre by nature - but you usually wouldn't go into something like Spongebob expecting something truly gruesome or horrific to look at.

When body horror did occur outside of its native environments, it was always toned down or humorous in some way. Think pulling off a face but you just see a skull or some messed up computer parts, or the OG Spongebob Halloween episode where he gets shaved down to a brain and a nose. It was gross, but it wasn't quite horrific, because firstly it wouldn't really serve the intended purpose of comedy, but also because censorship about that sort of thing was a lot more strict, it was categorized under violence.

Meanwhile today you have episodes where Spongebob's face skin is peeled off to reveal the highly detailed musculature underneath in an image that is not in any way humorous, or Squidward's toenail trauma depicted in a way that is not disgusting for the sake of humor but gratuitous and horrific for its own sake, and nobody bats an eye. Not the kids watching, not the Christian adults, and certainly not the censors.

And that's not necessarily a bad thing! I have a low tolerance for body horror in general which is why I chose it as the topic here, but I can just. Not watch. Evidently times have changed and these sorts of things aren't as off-putting for newer generations, or maybe I'm just especially susceptible to it. I don't think it's inherently bad if the world moves on without me and I end up left behind in some aspects, that's part and parcel with progress, and all things considered, it's probably a good thing that censors aren't so up their own ass about this stuff anymore. It allows for more freedom, and not everybody's going to jump to the extremest of extremes now that they have it.

But when you step back and look at how censorship has loosened over the years with regards to violence, body horror, sexual innuendo, themes and topics... you ever notice that anything even remotely queer hasn't received that same sort of grace? If anything it feels like it's gotten even tighter restrictions, if only because it's so front and center in the cultural conversation these days, and the public is more okay with it than the censors are. But any mention of queerness, especially transgender queerness, and suddenly the Comics Code Authority is very real again and your show is poised to lose a sizable chunk of Christian and/or Conservative viewers.

Nobody cares anymore if Spongebob is dissected on screen with unnecessarily detailed human-like anatomy showing all his muscles and ligaments and various blood vessels, that's just health class. So it wouldn't have flown back in 1995, who cares? But god forbid you have a story that treats a transgirl like she's a human being! Oh no, no, no! That's not appropriate for children. That's not appropriate for anyone! And even with homosexuality - yeah, we get our gay couples now and then, but you ever notice how a lot of them are either at the very very end, or when they aren't, suddenly that show ends up cancelled early or facing production or promotional issues for some strange and definitely unrelated reason?

Violence is okay. Even sex is becoming more okay than it used to be. Being queer still isn't, though. We still get censored into the dirt.

It's been incredibly surreal watching it gradually unfold these past 10 or 15 years. The more things change, the more they stay the same. And it always goes on to reveal the inherent biases and flaws with the idea of censorship in the first place.

Maybe it's time we stop trying to classify media as being strictly for any one demographic, to stop censoring any content whatsoever in its entirety no matter who the "target audience" is, and force parents to actually do their job and vet what their kids watch themselves. Maybe we shouldn't leave it to some old white business major to decide what is or isn't suitable for who, as if they are the only thing standing between the human race and moral annihilation. Maybe people should just make up their own minds on what is or isn't okay instead of having it dictated to them by someone else. Maybe.

That video of Alex Hirsch reading S&P notes for Gravity Falls conveys a few things to me:

1) the U.S. entertainment industry (especially animation) is run by older conservative types who make up offensive terms and get really mad about them.

2) the people who run Disney would be the first to fall in line with a fascist regime.

3) most of the media we consume is tailor-made and watered-down to appeal to the tastes of older, deeply religious conservative audiences.

4) conservatism, not the left, is and always has been the biggest voice of censorship in American culture.

[rainsiide]

NOBODY GETS ME .ᐟ.ᐟ

𓊆ྀི❤︎𓊇ྀི now playing Nobody Gets Me - SZA . 𓊆ྀི❤︎𓊇ྀི

“i don’t wanna see you with anyone but me.”

giselle x reader ⋮ you’ll never let go of each other, nobody gets you but her.

warning you! ⋆ toxic exs,

tonight was another spoiled date. this was your last time responding to someone that had swiped up on your insta story. someone’s quick to take you home, huh?

now you back at your apartment. shoes kicked off, jakcet thrown on one of the couches. the ponytail holder no longer in your hair. scratching every bit of tightness out. the fridge called you, so did bed, and so did giselle. your phone buzzed, then again, and once more.

she knew about the date, you know she viewed your instagram story. you didn’t bother to take it out your pocket. you grabbed some water and went your room, face down on the bed. going into something comfortable and throwing your clothes into a hamper, that probably needed washing.

then the text came again, and again. you switched your phone to silent and then to do not disturb. yet, that didn’t block anything and she only hit notify anyway.

then the call came.

you sighed, why’d you pick it up? because you need her. you needed to see her.

“why aren’t you picking up, i know your home by now. unless you took them home.”

“i— just come over. please, i need you.” you felt so embarrassed for saying that. like a fool, a clown. the red tint on your lips might as well have been smeared and if you smiled in the mirror, you’d pass just as a foolish clown. and you’d proababy laugh too.

not long later a knock came to your door, you knew who it was. you couldn’t look desperate and bolt to the door and break off the hinges. you slowly trudged to the front door, and opened it. a sympathetic face staring back at your unwise one. words were exchanged, just not with your mouth. she pulled you in her arms and shut the door behind her. her arms compressed around you, inescapable. not that you wanted to escape.

“i’m here, it’s okay”

she pulled you over to the couch, gently embracing you. you wish she’d never let you go. pulling back gently and putting her hand as she gently caressed your cheek.

“it’s okay pretty girl, no more tears.” she said, placing a gentle kiss on. “you don’t deserve this, stop looking for other people baby. i’m right here.”

so many things came back to you. when you and giselle got back together for the tenth time. when you and giselle got back together after your friends told you not to. when giselle showed up to one of your dates and took you home. when giselle promised she would change for you because she loved you that much, and she did for a week.

giselle was toxic, but unfortunately nobody got you like her. she knew that, and so did you.

her fingers gently caressed your ring finger. the finger that held her promise ring. you’ve both broke the promise by now but, at this point did you really promise anything?

“you know i love you baby, those other girls aren’t worth your time. you know no one else could love else could love you like i do.”

she was right, you knew that. nobody else could love you like her. she always told you that nobody could replace her in your life. and no matter how many dates you went on, at the end she was always there. no matter how long the road was, your destination was her.

“i know, i love you gigi.” you said, like a fool. yet your heart didn’t beat this way for nobody, but her. it burned, beat, pumped, differently from her. she placed a desperate kiss to your red stained lips. leaving them smeared like a clown.

“you can’t leave me, you know this. i’ll always have you won’t i?” she didn’t mean it as a question. she knew you were to dumb to leave her.

“mhm.” you responded, her hands caressing your waist. her lips finding else where. there never was a end to it

[keiluv-s]

u can run but u can hide

cw. ghostface!suna x fem!reader, pet names, smut, little non-con if u pay attention, established relationship at the end, english isn’t my first language.

wa. 2,7k

It was close to 10 p.m. when I went down to the kitchen to make some popcorn. My parents went on a trip and left me home alone. It was common for nights like this to happen, as they always traveled for work.

I put the butter and corn in the popcorn maker and turned on the stove at the same time as the landline in the living room started ringing. The phone was maintained by my parents' work, because let's face it, nobody still uses a landline these days.

— Hello?

— Hello, who is it? — a thick voice asked on the other end of the line.

— Who are you trying to reach?

— What number is this?

— What number are you trying to reach? — I replied.

— I don't know.

— Well, I think you have the wrong number, then — I spoke simplistically.

— Do I?

— Yeah, it happens. — I shrugged, even though the person couldn't see me, and hung up the phone without waiting for an answer.

I turned to go back into the kitchen when the phone rang again.

— Yeah, I guess I really did call the wrong number. — It was the same voice.

— So why did you call again? — I asked, with a laugh.

— To apologize.

— You're forgiven. Bye.

— Wait, don't hang up! — The person exclaimed.

— Huh? Why not?

— I want to talk to you for a minute.

— Well, you have plenty of other numbers for that. — I said with a smile, hanging up the phone.

The popcorn had left a delicious aroma in the kitchen and my mouth was already watering. I was stirring the popcorn popper, waiting for the corn to stop popping, when my cell phone rang. It was a private number, so I had no idea who it was, but I answered anyway.

— Hello? — I asked as I looked for a bowl to put my popcorn in.

— Why don't you want to talk to me?

— Okay, who is it?

— Tell me your name and I'll tell you mine.

— Um, no, I don't think so. — I rested my cell phone on my neck to get the popcorn out of the pot.

— What's that noise?

— Popcorn.

— Um, I only eat popcorn at the movies.

— Well, I'm going to watch a movie now.

— Yeah? What movie?

— Oh it's just some scary movie.

— A scary movie? Interesting — the person on the other end of the line paused and I could hear his heavy breathing — What's your favorite scary movie?

— Oh, I don't know... — I pondered a bit, leaning on the kitchen counter, popping some popcorn in my mouth — I think… Scream.

— It's the one with the masked killer, isn't it?

I mumbled an "uh-huh", wanting to end the conversation

— So, do you have a boyfriend? — The person asks.

— Why? Do you want to ask me out on a date? — I asked mischievously, with a laugh.

— Maybe. Do you have a boyfriend?

— Mm, no.

— You never told me your name.

— Why do you wanna know my name?

— ‘Cause I wanna know who I’m looking at. — the person stopped talking and I remained silent, a shiver ran through my body and the joke was no longer funny. — Are you used to being alone at home, y/n?

— Who's talking? - I asked seriously this time.

— Calm down, there's no need to get nervous — the person spoke with an annoying calmness — You see, it's important to lock all the doors when you're home alone, especially at this time of night. Are you sure everything is locked, y/n?

— It's not funny anymore. You know I can call the police if you carry on with this silly little game, don't you? — I checked the front door and the door to the living room that led to the garden and both were locked.

— Yeah? And what would you say to the police? Although... I don't think it's a good idea to call the police, sweetheart, especially given the clothes you're wearing, right? You know how disgusting these guys can be.

I swallowed, going up to the second floor.

— And what am I wearing? — I asked. It was probably just some weirdo trying to prank and scare me. From school, maybe. But even so, I checked the glass doors leading to the balcony, just to be sure.

— Um, let's see... You're wearing a black tank top, and apparently you're not wearing a bra since your nipples are marked on the fabric, and a... what is that? A pair of panties? Shorts? I can't tell the difference, but it's short, black and has a kitten print. — My heart was pounding out of my chest and I wouldn't be surprised if it jumped out — You're quite a sight, y/n.

— Right, end of joke. I'll call the police. — I ended the call and went to my room. Of course I wouldn't call the police for that.

A cold wind blew in through the open window, chilling my bare legs. I hurried to close it and locked it out of conscience just as I heard a noise in the hallway, only to stick my head out and see nothing. I jumped with a gasp when my cell phone rang again, but fortunately, this time it was my mother.

— Hi babygirl, how are you? — she asked softly and I relaxed at hearing her voice.

— Hi, Mom! I’m okay, how are you? — I lied, I wasn't going to worry my parents on account of some unoccupied weirdo.

— We're fine! — I heard my father shouting "I love you, baby!" in the background and my mother's laughter — I called to see if everything was okay, you're not scared, are you?

I laughed nervously — Of course not! I'm a big girl, I can stay at home on my own!

— Huuumm okay, Mrs. Grown-up — we laughed — Make sure you go to sleep soon, huh? Don't stay up till dawn.

— Yes, ma'am! — We laughed some more and said goodbye.

I was able to relax a bit more and went down to the kitchen to get my popcorn. I went upstairs and turned off the downstairs lights that were on and returned to my room, putting the movie on the TV and lying down on the bed.

[…]

I was almost halfway through the movie, about forty minutes in, when I heard a noise, a kind of thump. I instantly remembered the phone call from earlier, which had really scared me. I decided to ignore it, it must have been the wind knocking something over in the garden or something. I played the movie and snuggled into bed, my popcorn bucket long since empty. But, as my peace wasn't lasting long tonight, I began to hear heavy footsteps in the hallway. I stopped the movie immediately. I tried to convince myself that it was nerves about the phone call that must have been in my head, or even the influence of the movie, but it was too real to be in my head. The footsteps were firm, they didn't seem to want to go unnoticed. A thick, loud voice said "toc, toc" followed by two knocks on my door. I froze, paralyzed on the bed.

— Cat got your tongue, y/n? — it was the same voice from the phone, I knew for sure.

— What are you doing in my house?! How did you get in here? — I asked nervously.

— Come on, I told you it was dangerous to leave the doors unlocked, didn't I? — the guy said, in the same calm, irritating tone of voice.

— Everything was locked, you weirdo!

— Are you sure? — the door handle began to turn slowly and my body moved on its own towards the closet.

I hid among my clothes, crouching on the floor. I was panting and shaking, tears in the corners of my eyes. I heard the door creak open and footsteps entered my room. I mentally cursed myself when I realized that I had left my cell phone on the bed. Now would be a good time to call the police.

— Do you want to play hide and seek? — he said, laughing before continuing: — All right, it's more interesting that way.

I heard him open the door to my bathroom and I could see when he turned the light on through the crack in the door. I also heard him open the drawer of my dressing table and play the movie on the television, even though he had turned the volume down.

My heart was pounding loudly and I was afraid he could hear it, so I put my hand over my mouth to stop my panting coming out too loud. I watched as he opened the closet door. He was a tall guy. All black pants, shirt and boots and a white ghost mask preventing me from seeing his face. The fucking ghostface. He rummaged through some hangers, making space between the clothes. My heart beat even faster, he'll find me. He'll find me!

— Boo! — he made space at once between the clothes covering me, a sadistic laugh coming from beneath his mask.

[…]

— What do you want? — I asked in a tearful voice, sniffling.

He laughed: — Let's watch the movie.

What?!

I looked at him paralyzed, still crouched on the floor of my closet, and he left, sitting on my bed.

— Aren't you coming? — he turned to me, as if waiting for me. I got up from the floor, walking slowly over to him and sitting on the bed on top of my legs. He shook his head in denial, clicking his tongue. — Come here, sit down. — he patted his own lap.

I swallowed and looked at him incredulously, even though I couldn't see his face. I stood up and faced him. With surprising speed, he turned me onto my back and whispered against the back of my neck: — Do you know what a safe word is, y/n? - I nodded — Yours is mercy, you'll use it if you need to.

His big an cold hands gripped my thighs firmly from behind.

— Bent forward and your head on the floor. - he ordered, his voice firm.

I did as he asked, sat on his lap, my clitoris almost brushing against his scratchy jeans, I was hanging off the bed, my torso stretched out and my face almost touching my white fur rug.

— What do we have here? — he said, and even though I couldn't see his face, I could tell he was smiling.

He pulled my pajama shorts aside, the chilly air in the room making my pussy clench around nothing, since I wasn't wearing any panties. He ran one of his fingers between my outer lips, realizing right there that I was wet.

— Did the fright I gave you make you wet, sweetheart? What a pervert... — he pulled my shorts down my legs with a little difficulty due to the position, hooking my ankles around his waist.

His hands roamed up and down my thighs, his thumbs hooking into the curve of my ass. I was all open for him, open and dripping.

— So pretty, babe — his voice was nothing more than a whisper, followed by a slap on my ass. It burned.

One more.

One more.

One more.

My thighs trembled from the slaps and my pussy throbbed and ached from lack of stimulation. I moved my hips down, my clitoris rubbing against his jeans, and I let out a louder moan than I expected.

— Owwn — he laughed — Does that pussy need something, pretty girl?

I gasped when his icy thumb brushed under my clitoris.

— Come on, beautiful, I asked you a question. Don't be rude.

— I... — I was dizzy. Maybe because I was horny, maybe because of my position and my blood was rushing to my head. I was nothing but a mess.

— Looks like someone here likes to be scared — he laughed as he rubbed my swollen clit.

I moaned, unconsciously leaning towards him for more contact as his palm slapped my pussy, the pain reverberating throughout my body. He slapped my ass again, my skin was hot and burning.

— Your pussy looks even prettier when your ass is red, that’s funny — but his tone had no humor in it.

When the seventh slap came, I let out a yelp, scrambling to my feet in a failed attempt to ward off the pain burning my skin. He laughed at my attitude, stroking my burning ass. Each time he slammed into me, the momentum pushed me further and further down, rubbing my clit against his jeans, which were probably already stained with my lubrication. Those flashes of pleasure were what kept me there, the pain and pleasure turning me on even more.

— Come on, babe, do you want to cum already? — he asked in a whisper, leaning down.

I turned my crying face to the side, trying to see his figure: - Yes! I... Please! - I was nothing but a humiliating mess who just wanted some relief.

— Very well, then — he pulled my torso to himself, my back against his hard and warm chest, my battered ass pinching under his scratchy jeans.

— You okay, babe? Do you want to use your word? — he asked, his hot breath hitting my cheek. I denied it. He smiled. — That's my good girl.

He laid me on the bed, my back on the mattress, while he lay on top of me. He ripped off my top with ease, my nipples erect from arousal and the chilly air in the room welcoming them. He tugged on my right nipple with his forefinger and thumb, twisting it and pulling it upwards, eliciting a moan from me. He left a kiss on my belly and started to undress, without taking off his mask yet. His chest was white and toned, with a few spots here and there, as were his thighs. His cock wasn't thick, but it was long and slightly curved upwards. The little pink head was leaking pre-cum and had a prominent vein at the base. I sighed at the sight.

— Enjoying the view, doll? — he asked, head tilted to the side, sliding his right hand in a slow masturbation. I tipped my head back, biting my lip with a stifled laugh. You bet I am. — Come here, sweetheart.

He said slyly, pulling me up by my ankles and slowly inserting his cock into my needy pussy.

— Oh fuck — I moaned, sinking my head into the sheets. My insides trembled around his cock, feeling full. He sighed heavily above me, muffled by the mask.

He moved his hips back, taking his cock out completely, to shove it in again with force. He did this a few times before he started thrusting hard. I moaned loudly, too sensitive. My pussy was squeezing his hard cock and my clit was throbbing, my ass was burning against the sheets. I brought two fingers to my clit to stimulate it, but they were soon removed and replaced by his.

He rubbed my swollen spot hard with his thumb while I squeezed my nipples. The familiar pressure felt extremely good from my womb.

— Fuck, I'm going to cum! — I exclaimed as I felt my orgasm coming, and he increased the pace of his thrusts, driving deep into my pussy.

My legs trembled as the orgasm hit me and I opened my mouth in a silent moan. He penetrated me a few more times, prolonging my orgasm as he deposited his hot cum inside me.

— Fuck! — he exclaimed as he removed his mask, kissing me for the first time that night, a delicate kiss. I laughed against his lips. — You perverted little thing! — he laughed, slapping my sensitive ass, not so hard this time.

— Rin, babe! That was awesome! — I kissed him with so much love.

— You naughty naughty girl! — he laughed, biting my lower lip as he pushed his oozing cum back into my pussy.

— Yeah and you like it!

Well, let's see what a coincidence. The weirdo Mr. Ghostface who broke into my house and fucked me happened to be my boyfriend, Suna. He and I always like to do something different when it comes to sex from time to time, and knowing that his naughty girlfriend was a little scared and horny about ghostface and that she'd be home alone all night, he wanted to surprise me. Besides, I would recognize my boyfriend's voice on the phone, which only increased my anxiety and excitement about what he would do that night. And what a good surprise it was!

[schnee-gheist]

Okay so i've seen alot of talk about what type of job Danny would get out of Casper High and there's stuff about him becoming a teacher out there and i think that's cool but hear me out...

Janitor Danny.

He'd be working at Casper High obvi, so he can stay in Amity. it typically only requires a high school diploma to be a janitor, so he wouldn't need to worry about going to a college or university that's outside of Amity.

Not to mention the freedom with it! people wouldn't question why he's just gone, because you don't usually see janitors around anyways. he doesn't need to worry about people questioning him going into the janitors closet to go ghost because that's HIS closet. (that also means he can keep things inside of it. say a thermos or two?)

He could be in the most random ass place and ppl walking by would just be like. 'yea okay he's just cleaning that's cool 👍' meanwhile Danny's dangling halfway out of a window frame on the top floor.

You also don't have to really talk to anyone else for it. just clean and then clean some more, there's like no interactions needed except for sparse greetings. most people tend to avoid janitors anyways be it courtesy or (especially in Danny's case) Creepy Janitor Vibes. ifykyk

Also he'd be spectacular at the job?? intangabilty to make things instantly dry or to reach the really hard spots, super strength to move heavy objects to sweep under them, automatic water through melting ecto-ice, flying around to reach high up areas, telekenosis to clean several things at once, <- even moreso with duplicates.

(He'd have to use these pretty discreetly or when nobody's there but they're still useful)

Taking into account how well and fast he is at cleaning, any suspicious shit he does can just be shoved under the rug because "who tf cares where he is this place is SPOTLESS. I'd rather not fire the one guy here who's actually doing his job well."

Could even work w/ multiple janitors working at Casper High, they'd just see him a bit more and maybe question some objects stashed away in closets (could also lead to some HILARIOUS identity reveal scenarios)

but yeah no. janitor danny 👍

[gogogoat495]

[ID: 1 - Text reading "Reynolds: I'll tell you one other thing about this story that nobody gets. One day, a friend of mine at the studio comes by pushing a two-wheel cart. It had three or four legal boxes on it. He goes, 'Okay, Reynolds, thanks for this.'

I go, 'What's that?'

He goes, 'This is the Groove, these boxes. This is everything you've written,' Anytime you write something and you hand it in, they stamp it and it goes into a box somewhere, because Disney owns it. It's like that last scene in Raiders of the Lost Ark. [Some time later,] the movie's out, and a guy knocks on my office door and says, 'Are you Dave Reynolds? I'm from archives. I just need the final script for Emperor's New Groove. They didn't send one down.'

I go, 'What's that?'

He goes, 'The final draft, the whole final script.'

I go, 'No script.'

He goes, 'There's no script? What are you talking about?'

I go, 'We don't have a script. We never wrote a script. We just made the movie.'

He goes, 'You've got to have a script. Archives has to have a script.'

'I don't know what to tell you. Tell them to go see the movie. It's in theaters right now.'

He goes, 'You guys don't have bound pages?'

I go, 'Nope. We have no bound pages. There's three or four legal boxes. You can have all you want. I saw them the other day.'

They had a couple interns just take all the pages and put them into a document, and then they wrote interstitials, and they slapped my name on it. This is the honest-to-God truth: The first and only draft of The Emperor's New Groove was handed in two weeks after the movie was in theaters."

2 - Gif of a smug Kronk saying "mission accomplished"

3 - Gif of two guys going wide-mouthed with shock

4 - Text reading "Dindal: Story rooms, often someone will pitch an idea almost as a joke and then someone else goes, 'That's funny. But what are we really going to do?' This was the only movie I worked on where someone pitched an idea like that and we went, 'Let's use that.' Like Yzma, [who's been turned into a] kitten, is falling off the tower and we're like, 'How are we going to get her back up? She's not going to splat.' I don't remember if it was Dave or Don Hall, another story artist who's become a director since, said, 'What if there's a trampoline salesman at the bottom and she hits that and bounces back up?' We said, 'Oh yeah. That's what it should be.' You can't imagine a story session in Bambi where somebody says that. This quickly became a movie where a trampoline salesman makes sense."

/End ID]

emperor kuzco was clearly gay

[scary-grace]

(secret) santa, baby - part 7 of a shigaraki x f!reader fic

Shigaraki doesn't want to participate in the office's Secret Santa exchange, but when Toga promises to make it easy on him, he gives in. But making it easy for him makes it a lot harder for you -- you're the one who got his list. Office AU, no quirks. A fic in 12 parts. Divider by @ wcnderlnds

part i part ii part iii part iv part v part vi part vii part viii

part vii (staying in)

“I think everyone else is asleep,” you say, glancing around Toga’s living room. “We can probably turn this off.”

“Still awake,” Spinner says from the armchair, which he stole when Magne left after the end of the third movie. “I’m watching.”

“Yeah? What just happened?” Tomura asks.

“He’s giving everybody weird haircuts,” Spinner says. Close enough. “I have to pay attention. Aiba likes this guy’s movies. She says he’s –”

He yawns. “Nostalgic. I’m watching.”

“Okay, but nobody else is,” you say. “Shouldn’t we call it?”

Tomura glances around the room. Magne left after making everybody sit through Love Actually and Twice left midway through Die Hard because he gets scared of sleeping in other people’s houses, which leaves Toga, the girl she invited, Spinner, Dabi, Tomura, and you. Of everybody who’s left, only you and Tomura can be said to actually be awake. Spinner’s yawning on every other breath, Toga and the girl are cuddled up in the same beanbag, snoring, and Dabi drank too much eggnog and was out like a light before they’d even finished Krampus. You and Tomura are definitely outnumbered.

It’s not like Tomura isn’t tired. Tomura’s really tired. He feels the heaviness in his limbs and the yawns tightening his jaw, but his mind is wide awake, and he’s going to pay attention to every second of the movie you picked. Since he gave up forcing everybody to watch Gremlins in favor of your movie, he wants to make sure it was worth it, and he wants to know exactly what happened in case you want to talk about it afterwards. He’s hoping you do. He’s not ready for you to leave yet.

Tomura wasn’t sure about seeing you outside of work, but then he decided it would help him figure things out. Seeing you around the office is one thing. For him to know if he likes you, he has to know what you’re like outside of work, so he can decide if he’d want to hang out with you then, too. Tomura’s not good at this whole liking-people bullshit. If there was some kind of life skills class where everybody learned it, he probably missed it while he was being homeschooled or in juvie. By the time he got out, halfway through high school, everybody already knew what they were doing. Tomura just has to fumble through somehow.

You make it feel less like fumbling. It makes more sense to Tomura when you’re sitting next to him, roasting Love Actually just like he is, actually paying attention during the horror movie he picked instead of drinking straight through it. You pay attention to things, notice them, just like Tomura’s Secret Santa notices stuff about him. Tomura feels less weird about being noticed than he used to.

But he doesn’t want to just sit here noticing and getting noticed all night long. He wants to talk to you about something that’s not work or whatever dumb Christmas thing is happening, and he can only manage half. “Is this really the first movie you thought of when I said you could pick one?”

“I was trying to pick one you all would like,” you say. Something about that reminds Tomura of the way you wrote your wish list. “I do like this one, though. Some people think it’s stretching it to call it a Christmas movie, but it’s all leading up to Christmas, so I count it.”

Movies that can only be called Christmas movies if Tomura’s stretching it are his favorite kind of Christmas movies. “Why do you like it when it’s going to be sad?”

You glance sideways at him. “What makes you think it’s going to be sad?”

“The grandma telling the story is the main girl when she’s old, and she’s telling it past tense,” Tomura says. You nod. “Besides, he’s – like that. No way is that working out well for anybody.”

“But it could,” you counter. “You might be right about how the story goes, but there’s nothing in the story that says it has to be that way.”

Tomura thought you were awake, but maybe you’re sleepier than he thought. “You mean, other than the whole story so far?”

“I mean –” You trail off. “In some stories, there’s obstacles that can’t be overcome. Like somebody being dead, or something being too wrong to work. And in some stories the obstacles are a choice, kind of. Those are the ones I like.”

Tomura’s played games where choices matter. Somehow he always stumbles into the bad ending, and knowing that there’s a good ending out there that he was too stupid to get makes it even worse. If you like those stories, you’re probably better at making choices than he is. Still – “If the end’s the same, why does it matter?”

“Well –”

“Hey, can you save the philosophy until after the movie?” Spinner yawns. “I’m still trying to watch.”

Tomura gives it five minutes until Spinner passes out, and he’s only off by about thirty seconds or so. Now it’s just the two of you awake, watching the weird movie you picked. Tomura’s trying hard to watch the movie, but just like he keeps getting the song you sang stuck in his head, he keeps getting stuck looking at you.

The movie ends like Tomura thought it would – sadly, but not surprisingly – and he glances at you. “You’re going to say she could have chosen to stay with him,” Tomura says, and you nod. “Why would she do that? When he’s – like that –”

Tomura doesn’t get why he’s being squeamish about calling it like it is. The main character’s ugly. Scary. Nothing anybody wants to touch. “Maybe she likes him how he is,” you say. You’re not looking at the screen anymore. You’re looking at Tomura. “There’s nothing about the story that says she couldn’t have picked him. There’d have been consequences, but there are always consequences. And I guess that’s why it’s sad. Knowing it could have been the other way just as easily.”

You look away from Tomura, and even though he usually hates being looked at, he sort of misses it. “I guess it’s good that everybody fell asleep,” you say. “This doesn’t really seem like a sad-Christmas crowd.”

“Sad Christmas makes more sense than happy Christmas,” Tomura says before he can really think about it. “It never made sense to me, except –”

Making friends. Spending the holidays with them instead of wondering why everybody but him got to celebrate with people they mattered to. And he’ll never admit it to Toga, or anyone, but the Secret Santa thing is kind of fun. He likes leaving stuff for you and seeing how you react. Almost as much as he likes getting things from whoever his Secret Santa is.

“Yeah,” you say, like he’s explained it all out loud. Maybe he’s tired enough that he has and just didn’t realize. “I can see that.”

You’re doing that noticing thing again. Tomura keeps looking at you, trying to notice you back, but the longer the two of you look at each other, the weirder it starts to feel between you. Like there’s something more that needs to happen. Tomura steels himself, braced for whatever you do or to act as soon as he has an idea of what to do.

And then you look away. “It’s late. I should go.”

“You could stay,” Tomura says. “None of us except Toga live here, and we’re all sleeping over.”

You look like you’re thinking about it. Tomura can think of a lot of reasons why you should – it’s late, it’s cold, it’s probably a long way to your apartment, you’d basically have to wake up again by the time you got home – but before he can say any of them, you nod. “Okay. Where should we sleep?”

You end up with your heads at opposite ends of the couch, under the same blanket. Both of you rustle around, knees knocking together as you try to settle in. You fall asleep faster than Tomura does. There’s no way he can imagine you tangling your legs up with his if you were awake, and Tomura’s so focused on trying to live with being this close to someone that the question of whether he likes you is answered definitively offscreen. It’s something he wakes up with. Just like he wakes up still sharing the couch with you.

<- part vi part viii ->

[thursdayinspace]

So I rewatched "Our Town" last night and when I sat down at my laptop this morning to do something that was not writing, I ended up writing instead. These things happen. Just a silly fluffy-ish little thing because omg that ep is so gross and also Scully has to be getting sick of being abducted all the time. Mulder feels the same way.

She can’t sleep. It’s not every day you almost get beheaded—even after everything that she’s already been through this year, it seems there are still things that can shake her up pretty badly. She rolls over on the lumpy motel mattress and tries to get comfortable. For a glorious moment, she considers quitting. Handing Skinner her resignation and walking away, finding a nice job with regular hours where people won’t handcuff her to radiators, stick her in closets, contort their stretchy bodies through cracks in her bathroom window, or drive her around in the trunks of their cars before handing her over to aliens or the government or whatever theory Mulder’s going with right now. A job where she won’t spend the end of a work day strapped into a metal harness as a guy in a mask raises an ax above her head.

In her mind she pictures a simple life: a nice house with a yard, a dog greeting her as she opens the door and walks inside after a long day at the hospital…no, a private practice? A day of teaching? Whatever she’s been doing, she walks into a kitchen that smells like home-cooked dinner, leaning up to kiss her faceless husband who’s vaguely Mulder-shaped. “Honey, I’m home!” “Dinner’s almost ready! How was your day?” “Fine. Narrowly avoided decapitation. Nothing exciting.” Fuck. Not even fantasy-Scully can escape the absurdity of this life.

The knock on her door doesn’t even surprise her. She already knows who it is. He stopped waking her unless it’s something really important, so she groans and gets up, her bones aching, weeping inwardly as she makes her way to the door. So she can’t sleep; that doesn’t mean she wants to spend the night going over their case report or whatever that infuriatingly charming insomniac wants from her this time.

But when she opens the door, he doesn’t look as if he wants to go over case reports. He looks like shit. As much as that’s even possible for him. Another thing that’s simply unfair about her life, she thinks with a sigh. Even with bags under his eyes and pale as a sheet he still looks beautiful. “Mulder?” she says.

He doesn’t answer, just steps right into her and pulls her into a wordless hug, so tight she’s a little afraid he’ll crack her ribs. She hugs him back weakly and pats his back, not quite sure what else to do since she has no idea what the fuck he’s even doing. She expects him to pull back, but he just keeps holding on, and she’s genuinely having trouble breathing.

“Uh, Mulder?” she says again, a little louder.

“You’re okay,” he mumbles into her hair, and she wiggles in his arms, trying to loosen his grip.

“Not for much longer if you don’t let go.”

“Sorry.” He drops his arms and takes a step back, but keeps looking at her like he’s never seen her before. “Sorry, I just—”

“It’s fine,” she says. “Did you have a bad dream?”

He shakes his head. “I couldn’t sleep.”

“Yeah.” She grimaces. “Me neither. It’s been…a day.”

“Are you sure you’re okay?” he asks, and she laughs. She’s too tired not to.

“Thanks to your timely rescue, my head is still firmly attached to my body.” It sounds a little bitter, and she’s surprised at herself before she feels another little piece of her frustration clicking into place. Ah, yes, she thinks. There’s that too. Rescued once again. She makes a mental note: fantasy-Scully in her little imaginary suburban nine-to-five utopia will never have to be rescued. She’s gonna be the one doing all the rescuing. Except nobody needs to be rescued in that perfect little world, because nothing bad ever happens to anyone.

“You don’t sound okay,” Mulder says, and she closes her eyes for a second. She’s not annoyed with him, she reminds herself. It’s not his fault that she became part of these townsfolks’ dinner plans, and it’s not his fault that she needed him to keep that from happening.

“I’m just a little tired.”

“I’ll let you sleep.” He sounds exhausted and when she looks at him, she sees leftover fear in his eyes. “No more interruptions, I promise.”

Her hand reaches out for his before she’s fully conscious of what she’s doing. It’s just that he’s here and she’s had enough of being Agent Scully for tonight, and he really looks so much like Doctor Scully’s faceless dinner-cooking husband in her nice little fantasy home. “Come on,” she says.

“What are you—”

“Bed,” she explains, hoping he won’t ask any more questions.

“Oh. Okay.”

She gets in on her side and is relieved when he lies down next to her without another word. She closes her eyes, but she can feel him stock-still as a statue next to her, she can feel the tension radiating off of him, and, hell, it sounds like he’s even trying to breathe without making a sound. So she grabs his arm and rolls onto her side, tugging him with her until he has his back against her chest, and she holds firmly onto his hand and snuggles back into him.

“Scully?” he asks, sounding a little confused.

“Relax, Mulder,” she tells him. “Sleep.”

“Are you sure?”

“About sleeping?”

“You know what I mean.”

She laughs and squeezes his fingers. “No. Of course not. But honestly? I really don’t care right now.”

“Okay,” he says, and he gets it, she knew he’d get it. “Okay,” he repeats, and laces their fingers together. She feels him lift his head, feels his hot breath against the side of her face, and then a gentle kiss against the corner of her eye. “Good night, Scully.”

“Good night, Mulder.”

Behind her closed eyelids, fantasy Scully lies just like this with her faceless partner, who’s just as warm and smells just as good as real Scully’s friend-partner spooned up behind her. The only difference is that her own real Mulder is…well, real. No matter how perfect her beautiful little dream house with her beautiful perfect husband may be, she kind of prefers snuggling with someone who has a face and a name. And maybe she’d actually miss the mess.

Not all of it. Not the ax-swinging, homicidal maniacs or the lumpy motel mattresses. But a partner who knocks on her door in the middle of the night because he couldn’t sleep without making sure she was okay? Who sleeps wrapped around her with his breath ruffling the hair at the back of her neck, knowing this isn’t leading anywhere other than comfort and friendship? And…she kisses the backs of his fingers once she convinces herself he’s probably asleep…a vague hope that maybe this won’t always be all there is between them?

Yeah. She’ll take it.

[owldownag]

Amir Romantic Gemini Emote Lines

bby gurl is gonna end me he's so sweet, why can't i stop dating people who bark for me even in video games?

"Anybody order a Smart and Sexy? I got an order here, hot off the grill!

Boo yeah! Let's do this babe.

Never fear, your baby Amir is here.

Honey, I'm hooome!

Aw, I missed you too, my wittle fwuffy duck.

This is gonna be good! You are just so adorable when you are covered in blood-- that came out wrong.

The couple that slays together shtays together *uwu*

My Shmoopie and Me: The Love Story of a Genius H4XX0r! and his Wacko Time Traveler

Ah, I love you too, cuddleywumps~

Y'know, this whole "having someone drive me around" thing would suck if it weren't you. Love you!

"That's right, nobody touches my SO! barks"

Funny, I was just thinking of you, heh, my little velvet owl.

Some people give each other flowers. Other people wear each other like meatsuits.

Kisses!

clears throat A haiku for you Because I love you so much Let's go kill things… fffffffish

I wonder if I'm still ticklish like this. Maybe we can find out later.

singing Gonna share a body with the one I love, which is weird, but it's okay, cuz we're in love, doodideedoo"

update (missed a line) Babe after this what do you say we get some pad Thai?

[littlegaybean1]

Not to go too analytical here, but that's exactly what I'm going to do.

See, that last gif of Buck and international treasure Christopher Diaz is of a scenario where typically the roles 'should' be reversed. That's the scene where Buck is telling Chris that his father got shot. But instead of Buck comforting Chris, as would be considered the more normal thing to happen here, it's the other way around. Buck later says that he should have held it together, but looking through the other GIFs and just thinking about the general context, is it really surprising that Buck broke down?

Think about it. Buck is, as dubbed by Bobby 'the guy who likes to fix things'. He always makes sure everyone else is okay before addressing his own issues, and sometimes he never does. Eddie got shot right in front of Buck. They were only about a metre or two apart, it could so easily have been him instead. Buck, being Buck, believes that it 'would have been better... If I'd been the one who got shot'. He's very clearly showing signs of survivor's guilt. And then, after that, he has to tell his best friend's son that he's not coming home tonight, maybe not ever. He has to say that to a child who has already lost his mother.

And here's the crucial part, the part that is summed up in the original post nicely: nobody checked to make sure Buck was okay.

They were so worried about Eddie that you never actually see Buck get any sort of comfort from anyone. He was barely holding himself together as it was, and his coping mechanism is to push it down and act like he's okay. He kept it all in, which of course can only ever lead to it bursting out. So when, on top of all the pain and stress and fear he's experiencing, he has to go and tell Christopher - a child he already feels like he's failed due to the tsunami - that he might be about to lose his father. And Buck loves them both, Eddie and Christopher, so much and so from his perspective he might be about to lose them both.

And it all comes out.

Then there's Chris, who has already lost so much for someone so young, who understands much more about the situation than anyone his age should. But in that moment, his first priority is to comfort Buck, his father's best friend who is practically family at that point. Nobody else had thought to comfort Buck, not any of the firefighters who have all suffered losses and know how to cope, none of the adults who knew far more of what Buck had been through, just a ten(?) year old boy.

Somebody please give Buck a hug. Literally anyone. I do not care who. Just someone comfort that poor guy.

Thinking about comfort hugs.

Comforting Bobby.

Comforting Maddie.

Comfort Eddie.

Comforting Chim.

Comforting Hen.

And then there's Buck.

Here's a hug, but he's comforting Maddie.

No one even touched him until he collapsed, and then they're just holding him up. He can barely grip Hen's arm.

Bobby drags him back and lets go just as Buck breaks down.

And then there's this MVP.

[helluverse-rewrites]

Rewriting Fizzarolli and Striker

Yeah I'm putting these two together because if I were to just do one it would be to short I feel

Fizzarolli

Fizz is a fucking menace. He causes chaos wherever he goes with no regard for others. He's a selfish jokester and an asshole and legit loves to bully people and make others feel smaller than he feels

I hate how the show ruined his character and just made him uwu sub boy who has to be protected by his big dom daddy. Make him be an asshole. You guys had it in the first half

Sure, he was a jerk before working under Mammon. But after? He can read you like a book. He knows immediately what your biggest insecurity and will bully you mercilessly about it

I'm not going to spoil too much about my rewrite of Fizzmodeus just yet. But they didn't have the smoothest first meeting

Yeah he bullies people using their insecurities, but truth be told, he has a lot of insecurities he hides behind cruel words and snark. He is literally all bark and no bite

Okay he can bully you and he tells you exactly what he thinks of you. But around Mammon? He is very compliant, it's like he's a completely different person honestly

Striker

Striker :)))

We don't meet Striker until the halfway point of season 1, but his character is foreshadowed a lot in the first couple episodes. Wanted posters, offhanded comments, ect. but the thing is... nobody knows it's Striker. When assassinating people, he keeps his identity hidden behind different pieces of clothing. But one thing that points to his identity is that one golden fang. A passerby claims that the assassin's mask slipped off for a split second, revealing a golden tooth. A couple other people has claimed to also see the golden fang. And until his identity is confirmed, they call the assassin Golden Fang. Too bad so many imps do, in fact, have a golden tooth

The only reason the higher ups care about this is because he's killing royals, and that's unacceptable

Striker is a cunning, manipulative, and charming imp. Like I said, we meet him at the Harvest Moon Festival, and it's revealed that he's actually a family friend of Millie and her family. Moxxie immediately doesn't like him and Striker is oblivious

Man, wouldn't it be crazy if he ended up joining I.M.P which creates some fun dynamics 🤔🤔

Oh yeah I should probably go over the reason why he hates rich people. When Striker was only five, his family got killed by the Goetias. His family were trained fighters so they tried to fend off the Goetias. Striker, being smaller than them, and also a baby, just had to hide and hope for the best. He hid under his bed for five hours, hoping his ma or pa would come to retrieve him and tell him everything would be alright. But that never came

[ts-janus-rp-blog]

Remus gave a small soft smile, "Yeah, sounds good. You know... You could also get a new phone too. There's nobody stopping you from doing that. But, you're making the first step. And, trust me, it's hard making that first step. I'm proud of you, ems." Then he waved his hand, "It's fine. Trust me, you should see some of the pornos that Remy sends me on a daily basis. He's into some pretty rough shit. I can handle it. He probably did got off on it, assholes like that typically do. Yep, I'm positive." He held out his hand, "You want me to do it now? I can just get rid of the bad photos for now?"

"Ems, I don't mind doing it. But I don't want you to do it. I'll ask, okay? No, no, fuck no, Ems. You're just coming off a bad abusive relationship, the least you need right now is to be in an intense porno. I... Okay, yeah, we can see what he would want for that info and go from there. But if we decide to agree to his terms I'm gonna be doing it, not you, understood?"

Patton knocked desperately at the strangers door, praying someone, anyone was home. His heart beat as fast and loud as the rain thundering against the sidewalk. He was sure he was being followed, they were going to catch him. They were going to drag him back. He wasn't sure if whoever lived here might be worse, but he was willing to risk it at this point. Anything to escape.

{@moralpuppylover2}

Janus didn't know who would be at the door. It was late, but his master won't surely be home at this time. He normally doesn't get home until the sun starts to come up.

So, as the dog hybrid walked up to the door and opened it, he wondered who it could be. And if he should open it at all... Who knows, he may get in trouble with his master for opening the door. But, his curiosity was getting the better of him-

He stopped when he saw the soaking wet cat standing at the doorway. He could tell that this cat needed help almost immediately. Well, if his poor state of clothes were anything to go by. His eyes flickered up and down the sidewalk before he grabbed pattons arm and pulled him inside.

"are you alright?" Janus nervously asked as he grabbed a towel from the mud room. "Well, that's a stupid question, of course you're not alright! Are you...running away from your owners?" As Janus walked, the collar around his neck would jingle loudly. And even though it was cold outside and even in the house, he only had a pair of boxers on. Because of that, Patton would be able to see the numerous large scars that covered his body...and the countless amounts of fresh bruises.

@moralpuppylover2