#only one of them will give you advice the other simply agrees with it

[towl]

the devil & angel on your shoulders, but they're in cahoots so be careful

[writingsfrombeyondthegrave]

Opposites Attract

Astrid Deetz x Fem!Reader

Summary- You had been a psychic ever since you were a child, but recently you had been overwhelmed by how many spirits were contacting you, giving you no time to yourself anymore. Seeking out Lydia Deetz, you go to her home for advice.

Requested by @perfectartisanwerewolf

Warnings- Ghosts, probably some timeline issues, morbid facts, talking about the afterlife, more of my ghost facts (Tell me when you're getting sick of them)

When you met the Deetz family, it was several years after the whole "Ghost House" incident. They had always been kind to you and your family.

The ghosts in Winter River were more plentiful than most people knew. It happened to be a very quiet and uneventful town, but your life never had a dull moment here. You were constantly sought out after Lydia had moved. Now the deceased flocked to you for guidance.

Apparently, they described your psychic abilities as "A shining light in the never-ending darkness". Which would be flattering if they hadn't always been around you for every second of your day. Some spirits followed you to the grocery store, to school, and even sat at your desk while you were sleeping, waiting for you to awaken.

You wanted to help them; you really did. It was just that the only privacy you got now a days was when you excused yourself to use the facilities.

Recently there had been a death in the Deetz family, so Lydia had returned to town with her daughter to attend the funeral and help her stepmother, Deelia. It was like a saving grace to have someone else help with the spirits around the place.

Walking up the giant hill to their home with a stack of books in your hand was proving difficult, but you needed Lydia's help desperately. You waited patiently after knocking on their door, shifting your weight from one foot to the other.

Lydia welcomed you into their home with a smile. After making your way to the couch and placing your books on the table, you took a quick look around the room. There were still many of Deelia's sculptures, most of them unsettling to say the very least.

Your attention shifted back to Lydia as she sat across from you. Talking about ghosts with anyone else might have been awkward, but not with her. She was almost like a second mother to you.

Even now as you sat in the house, you could sense spirits lingering just outside your line of sight.

"I agree, it can be overwhelming, you just need to learn how to set boundaries with them." She explained simply and you nodded.

"I thought I did, but I guess I could try and be sterner with them?"

Her smile grew and you both turned as you heard footsteps descending the staircase. Astrid was in the middle of putting on her sweater to leave the house when she stopped and stared at you, as if in a trance. You smiled and offered her a small wave, trying to be polite.

Your smile awakened something in Astrid. Like a light at the end of a tunnel. A breath of fresh air, or a missing puzzle piece to finally complete a part of herself that had been missing for years. The world faded as all she could focus on was you. She snapped out of it with a cough, finally making her way to stand in the living room with you both.

Lydia introduced you and in turn introduced her daughter, Astrid. It took a moment for her to regain her composure before she muttered an almost completely quiet "Hi."

On the inside, her heart pounded against her chest, but she fought to remain uninterested in anything that involved her mother. Especially now that it seemed like a complete stranger could easily occupy her mother's attention without even trying. It was frustrating.

It was an odd experience, how you made her heart pound. She wasn't sure if it was from jealousy or something more, so she opted to ignore it and continue her journey out the door.

A frown grazed your lips, confused by her behavior before you shifted back to continue your conversation from before. Lydia spoke up first. "Astrid can't see ghosts like we can. The living ignore the strange and unusual."

That didn't seem to brighten up your mood even in the slightest.

"You're saying Mrs. bright eyes can also supposedly see ghosts? Great, here I thought she seemed normal. Is there anyone normal in this town?" Astrid scrunched her nose and picked at her food as she sat at the kitchen table.

"Whatever makes us more money, maybe she could be on your show Lydia!" Deelia smiled as she continued eating, only half paying attention to their conversation.

"Maybe you would be more interested if you talked to her about it, Astrid. It could be good for you to have some friends in this town." Lydia suggested, trying to stray away from yet another argument with her daughter.

"Ghosts are everywhere, you may even see one without even realizing it. Have you ever seen someone walking on the side of the street, but when you look back they're gone?" You smiled; your books open in front of you as you spoke enthusiastically to Astrid.

You sat in her room, a stark contrast from your own. While you liked the paranormal and macabre, her room seemed more... gloomy.

Did you know how much light you radiated? Or the shimmer that appeared in your gorgeous eyes whenever you spoke about this mumbo jumbo? Astrid didn't care for spirits or the paranormal. She believed it was all fake, but the way you spoke to her and the way you looked, she swore she would follow you anywhere.

She simply nodded, trying to snap out of that trance you put her in. Sometimes she believed you must've been a witch instead of a psychic, because how had you possibly gained so much power over her cold heart?

"Are there any here now? You know, ghosts?" her eyebrow raised curiously, just thinking of an excuse for you to speak more.

"I know there is one here, but I haven't been able to place it. It's a male energy."

"Do you use candles or sprinkle some paprika on stuff for rituals?"

Her enthusiasm was great, if not a bit misplaced and incorrect. Your smile widened as you laughed, a freeing sound.

"I've been talking forever, how about you tell me something you're interested in? I know you don't care about this stuff"

Astrid froze, fearing that you caught her. She cleared her throat and blushed softly, looking away as she wracked her brain for anything interesting to say. "Did you know that Mount Everest has a certain area called 'Rainbow Valley' because of all the multicolored jackets and climbing gear that's still attached to the mummified corpses of those who failed to get to the top and froze to death?"

Your head tilted and silence loomed between you both before she spoke again.

"A cult leader named Jim Jones poisoned 918 people by forcing them to drink Kool-Aid mixed with cyanide, chloral hydrate, valium and Phenergan. It was considered one of the largest intentional losses of life since 9/11." She continued talking, trying her best to fill the silence.

Your giggles made her stop digging a deeper hole for herself. You looked amused and not terrified in the least. "Why Kool-Aid?"

"Probably because it was the cheapest" Astrid smiled wide at you, happy that you didn't see her as some sort of creep.

The next morning, Astrid was determined to gain more information about spirits, wanting another chance to spend time with you. She even went as far as to ask her mother for help, which she would deny until the end of her days.

Surprisingly, it wasn't as painful as she thought it would be. It was actually nice to have a common interest. Or so Lydia thought at least. Meanwhile she was interested in you, and not in fact her mother's psychic abilities.

By the time you showed up at her house, she opened the door to you and smiled softly, gesturing for you to come inside. She soon regretted that action as if you would think she was a dork for gesturing like a ringleader in some cheesy circus movie.

You didn't seem to notice her inner turmoil, simply enjoying the fact that she invited you back, saying she had something to share with you.

Sitting on her bed with your legs crossed, you leaned your head in your hand as you gave her your full attention. Everything you did seemed to light a spark in her chest.

"I learned some stuff about ghosts and wanted to run it by you. Maybe I could add it in with my history facts" Astrid spoke with a little more enthusiasm, as if excited to share with you.

She took a deep breath as she tried remembering all of the things her mother had previously told her. "Is it true that there are different types of ghosts? And that they're not all humans?"

You nod your head and sit up a little straighter. "Yes. There are many different classifications of ghosts, including non-human ghosts that never had a soul. Those may include poltergeists, which are simply manifestations of negative energy in a certain space. Thats why you can't communicate intelligently with a poltergeist, because they have no soul or sense of being. They're just energy."

That actually caught her attention, maybe the paranormal wasn't as fake as she thought it was. How could someone possibly come up with a lie that detailed in such a short amount of time? She sat beside you and resisted the urge to kiss you right there and then. Never in her life has she been attracted to someone simply because of their interests and passion when speaking about them.

"Will you go uh... ghost hunting with me at Dracula's castle this summer? I was planning on going there alone after... after my dad passed away. But I'd like you there."

You smiled brightly and wrapped your arms around her shoulders, hugging her tightly. "I would love to"

Bonus:

Lydia stood a careful distance away from Astrid's bedroom door. She wanted to give her daughter some privacy, but she was overjoyed to see the smile return to Astrid's face. The one that had been lost since her father.

She argued that it was to see what about you made her so happy. As she leaned in closer, she heard a gruff voice behind her, making her jump.

"Thats our daughter alright" He spoke, munching on a bucket of popcorn. He leaned against the wall smugly, watching Lydia with a smirk.

Her smile vanished as she stared him down. "Beetl-" She began to utter before he waved his hand dismissively.

"Alright, alright. Your Kid" He huffed out an annoyed sigh before vanishing.

A/N- I finally finished writing this one and I hope that it's to your liking! I tried my best. Usually, I base the reader off of myself to make writing it easier but I tried to switch it up a bit this time.

Thank you all for your patience with me writing this, and I'm sorry for the delay.

Please send in more requests! Next I will be working on a lost boys fic and the second part to the tom riddle series

Credits-

Book Divider- @firefly-graphics

Green swirl divider- @anitalenia

---

Taglist: @mirage018

[thedragonkween]

King Baldwin IV Headcanons! ♔🤍♕

A/N: So, here we are. I could not resist this mysterious and tormented king's charm. His silky voice makes me dream! These are some headcanons I've collected off the top of my head. The Reader is implied to be female and married to Baldwin IV. Please, do feel free to hit my inbox to ramble about our king because I'm literally dying of pining and yearning.

tags: female!reader x baldwin iv of jerusalem (from kingdom of heaven); reader is married to baldwin iv of jerusalem; fluff; slight angst towards the end

wc: 1150k

reccomended songs to listen to while reading: "Summertime Sadness" by Hildegard von Blingin; "Right Here" by Ashes Remain; "Blood, Sweat, Tears" by BTS (orchestral version)

"Many are the tales of the King Baldwin IV of Jerusalem and of his Queen. Despite the varying accounts of their deeds, each one of them agrees on one aspect: the King of Jerusalem loved his Queen dearly, and the world is richer for it".

Baldwin IV is mysterious, intense, valiant, noble and utterly devoted to you, his Queen. But what does this devotion look like?

Firstly, he would believe in you like no other and would always be ready to give you his best advice whenever the weight of your responsibility becomes too much. Foreign rulers would soon learn of your qualities - there would hardly be a piece of correspondence where the King of Jerusalem does not praise the intellect and insight of his dear wife. He would glance at you from time to time, while you both work at your desks sharing the burden of paperwork, silently thanking God for having sent him not only a beautiful, but reliable life companion as well.

He values your opinions greatly and has the utmost regard for your views on political, military and state matters. Disagreements happen, yet your overall values are aligned, which is why Baldwin understands your vision and where your point comes from. During the discussions regarding complex decisions, he would let you speak and explain, then he would offer his honest thoughts on the matter, should he see another, different way from yours. 

Playing chess is a favorite way of spending quality time together in your chambers, away from the chaos of the court. If you know how to play and are proficient at it, he would delight in the thrill of challenge, as he would finally have found a true equal. If you do not know how to play, he would teach you with patience, taking pride whenever you make an unexpected and astute move. He would be such a nerd while he explains the rules to you and would be delighted to see how your mind works when devising a plan.

"Congratulations, dove. You have a checkmate."

I can also see Baldwin taking you on long rides, if his health allows it. He would sweetly check the reins and saddle on your horse before mounting on his steed and leading you away to enjoy the cool early morning breeze, before the heat of Jerusalem becomes too sweltering. You would have a nice and secluded spot to enjoy and to pretend that you are a couple of young lovers without responsibilities and crowns weighing on your heads.

Your presence brings him safety and comfort, which is what would convince him to remove his mask when he is alone with you and the physicians. He would especially love to rest his head on your la as you gently caress his curls while the physicians tend to his skin. It is a sacred moment. He does not know how he went so long without your presence during this delicate time. Speaking softly to each other, you would distract him from the pain with talk of your hometown, fairy tales from your culture, or even simply reflecting on a happening of that day. On these occasions, you learn how to best take care of him, watching the physician tend to his arm while you tend to the other, delicately dabbing the cloth over his wounded skin. Baldwin feels so protected and safe in your presence. He thinks you are God’s greatest gift to him.

Now, jealousy. Baldwin knows he boasts the honor of having an exquisite flower such as yourself to call his own. As do powerful men and courtiers from distant lands. Many covet your loveliness as one would a precious gem. Should one of these foolish people try to take you from him or even stare at you for too long to be considered proper, they would be met with a pure force to be reckoned with. Should a knight’s eye linger on you for too long, he would be quick to put him in place in his signature glacial, elegant way. Before long, everyone learns not to disrespect the Queen consort of Jerusalem.

“Perhaps you would have understood my point, had you not been so insolently ogling my wife”. He takes out his whip. “On your knees. You will pay for insulting the Queen”.

He would protect you with his life. He swore to protect Jerusalem and, as its Queen, that includes first of all you. Should a courtier doubt your devotion and mistake it for thirst for power, or should he learn of an orchestrated attempt on your life, he would waste no time in employing his best forces in your service to defend you.

His enemies and templars alike fear him, yet with you he is as gentle as the morning breeze that gently caresses Jerusalem. This powerful king who makes armies tremble and kingdoms shake is the same person who holds and kisses your hand (when in public, bringing your fingers to the lips of his mask), who silently admires your loveliness from afar and sighs to himself, who longs for your warmth after a tiring day. 

He would write you letters. Lots of them. And not always when he is away. Maybe he just liked the way the sun reflected in your eyes that morning. Or maybe when you helped a servant, he was moved by your kindness. Your every action inspires him, so much so that he has to let out his thoughts on paper. You have a pretty wooden box brimming with delicate papers penned by Baldwin in your honor. He is not only the King of Jerusalem, but also the king of pining, of yearning. Even when he has you near, he yearns for you.

I love to imagine him letting you accompany him to battle. He would love it too, in theory. You make him so strong, the both of you would be quite the sight, meeting your enemies head on, as one, donning your best armors. Yet, at the same time I cannot imagine him resting easy knowing that a loose arrow, a desperate soldier seeking glory for killing the Queen of Jerusalem, or fatigue and sickness could take you from him. It pains his heart to be parted from you, yet he cannot risk your safety. Instead, Baldwin would trust you with ruling the kingdom. He has absolute faith in your intelligence, willpower and cleverness, especially after all he has taught you about running the realm. He longs for you every second he’s away from Jerusalem, yet his heart is at peace knowing his kingdom is in the most capable hands.

When he feels that his time on this Earth is nearing his end, he calls for his most trusted advisors, including Balian and Tiberias. He would ask them, almost begging, to protect you always, at all costs, when he is no longer there to do so. Balian and Tiberias would exchange a quick glance to each other, vowing to respect their King’s wish until the very end.

“Protect her. Please.” “Always, my Lord”.

Poems, songs and stories would be written in honor of your love even centuries after your passing. Many tales would speak of Baldwin IV of Jerusalem and his Queen. Different pieces of art, such as paintings and ballads, would inspire people from all over the world to find a love as devoted and unshakable as yours. Until the very end.

All in all, to love Baldwin means knowing your time together is limited. As is the time of all creatures on Earth. He would beg you to go on after his passing, to live for him. He shall wait for you and protect you from above. Until the very end.

[undyingoracle]

hai omg can you do alastor reacting to the person he's courting giving him flowers instead of the other way around

Alastor reacting to you giving him flowers.

warnings: gn!reader. romantic scenario. might be ooc. sorry about that.

A/N: I ABSOLUTELY LOVE THIS IDEA. At first, I wanted to write something like him just getting flattered by it? but I think he would be more upset and disappointed that he wasn't the one who was giving you flowers. after all, "he's a gentleman and should spoil his beloved with that kind of gifts every time he got the chance to." (that's what he thinks, at least). Hope you can enjoy it anon! ;; thanks for your request. ♡

English is not my first language, so I apologize for any mistakes. feel free to correct me as long as you're polite about it.

⠀⠀⠀⠀ 𝅭ㅤ𝅭ㅤ⎯⎯ㅤㅤִㅤㅤ୨ ♡ ୧ㅤㅤִ ⎯⎯ ㅤ𝅭ㅤ𝅭

February 14th. a date everyone knew the meaning of. a date where everyone did their best to show off to their loved ones, to spoil them or even fall into the deepest of the lustful desires.

however, for the radio demon it was a pretty irrelevant date. he didn't really saw the meaning of it, and therefore, he didn't get as excited as other people did, and it wasn't exactly because he didn't got gifts or attention during it, in fact he did get lots of gift, specially from people of the cannibal town (who seemed to like him quite a lot). however, all those gift were meaningless to him, and he even hate most of them, since they're usually some kind of sweets, and he isn't really a fan of them, so they ended up in the trash or someone else's hands. he just didn't cared about it, nor the people who gave it to him.

nevertheless, this time it was a little different. he had someone in mind he wanted to give a gift to, and since a few weeks ago that thought has been running around his mind. but being quite unused to being on the giving end on this dates, he was conflicted on what to get to his special someone. flowers? he already got them flowers before, a lot of times and a lot of different types and colors. chocolates? he couldn't even stand the sweet smell of them. other kind of desserts had the same effect. and just like that, he keep discarding ideas that wasn't good enough for him. he wanted to blow you mind, he couldn't just do the simplest things!

soon enough, he asked for advice to the best person: Rosie, who, after giving some other ideas that were also discarded, ended up suggesting that he invited you to have dinner together, but instead of going out to a fancy restaurant, both of you just stayed at the hotel and HE cooked the most mind blowing meal himself. that way not only was he able to show off his cooking skills, but he also was able to make sure that everything was perfect. to the decoration, to the lighting, to the ambience music, to the flavors. he was simply in control of everything. he agreed to this, he thought it was a perfect idea!

so the next day, he went to ask Charlie for help at having a space for you and him alone. she agreed excitedly, of course, and promised him that absolutely no one was going to interrupt their perfect date. so, with her help, he got the kitchen, dining room, and a balcony all for himself.

when the day itself arrived, he immediately started decorating the dining room and balcony, with just a little magic it was a quick process. the table had a pretty dark red tablecloth, in the middle of it were some light up candles. it was just what you expect to see at a table on a romantic dinner really, kind of the cliché stuff. the balcony, however, had some lights wrapped around the railing, you could find some flower petals from the table leading the way to the entrance of the balcony. he wanted it to be the most unforgivable night of your life! that way, even if you ever (tried to because hes not letting thay happen) leave him, you would remember him whenever this date came around.

he also cooked some fancy dishes, some simpler meals that he knew you liked, and Rosie got him some sweets (against his will) that she knew you would love. everything was made for you to love.

soon enough, the time for the date came around, and you showed up. as you were standing before him, he tilted his head, confused as to why you kept you arms behind your back.

— Darling, are you perhaps hiding something from me?

he asked as you giggled. then, you pulled a bouquet of flowers from behind you back and extended it to him, holding it with both hands as you said "happy valentine's day!" excitedly. he looked at you in shock. you got him flowers. and he didn't. you prepared such a beautiful bouquet for him, and he didn't? he felt disappointed in himself for not getting you something as basic as a bouquet of flowers. how could he not get something like that for you? how could he even think of not getting such a beautiful gift to you? he could have made it the best and biggest bouquet ever and he didn't! how could he-

— Hey, Al? Are you ok?

he came back to his senses when you spoke to him. he looked at your worried expression and just chuckled.

— You just took me by surprise, my dear! I wasn't expecting to get such a beautiful and heartfelt gift from you. I am truly flattered by such a cute gesture!

— You're sure? You seem a little... down.

— Well, I am a bit disappointed in myself. After all, such a beautiful person gave me such beautiful flowers, but I didn't get them flowers! How could a gentlemen forget to bring flowers to his date? For shame.

he replied in a joking tone, making you laugh. your laugh was absolutely worth everything to him, he adored it and he loved seeing you so happy.

— Don't worry silly! you already planned all this, didn't you? that's more than enough for me.

after you were done talking he extended his hand to you, taking the bouquet in his other hand as he lead your way to the table. he wanted that night to be something that you wouldn't forget, but he didn't planned for it to be a night that he also wouldn't forget because of a little surprise. not that he was complaining though.

[pers1st]

let down - leah williamson x reader

pairing: barca!reader x leah williamson

warnings: barça being broke

In truth, you shouldn't be nervous.

This conversation had been going on for months - it was no secret that Barça had many financial problems, and paying you, Alexia and Aitana as their midfield would always have been difficult. You had had countless conversations like these before - negotiating your new contract, negotiating your new wage, which you knew would be significantly lower. It didn't bother you, though. You would've picked up a second job if it meant playing for your childhood club, even if they refused to pay you.

This setting, however, seemed a lot more official than it should've, in your opinion.

You were still dressed in your clothes from training, and so was Jona, but the rest of Barça's management was dressed properly - in suits and leather shoes. They shouldn't have even been there yet. This conversation was meant to simply verbalize your new contract, not to sign it yet. You were in no conditions to take the usual photos and sit in front of the camera for an interview after the contract extension. It confused you.

"Y/N, we are so sorry."

That was how Jona started, and in that particular moment, your heart stopped. No, this couldn't- they wouldn't dare-

"We can't renew your contract."

Silence followed. Then, your shaky voice. Barely above a whisper.

"What?"

This whole situation seemed too surreal to be true. Maybe in a few seconds, your eyes would open and you would find out that this was just a horrible dream. If it hadn't been for your manager's piercing gaze on you, you might've pinched yourself under the table.

"We don't have the financial means to pay you enough to stay. I know it's not what you want to hear, but-"

"No, Jona, we talked about this. You can cut my wage, I don't mind. I'll stay here, whatever it takes. Alexia said she would-"

But the man in front of you didn't let you finish.

"You are right, we talked about this. And I told you that you deserve more than what we can give you, and that you cannot let us undermine you. It's not fair to you, it's not fair to all the women who are-"

This time, you were the one to interrupt him.

"But this? This isn't fair to me!"

That was how the argument unfolded, and only after your voice was hoarse from crying and pleading, your cheeks stained with tears and your manager stained with guilt, did you leave the office to fall into Alexia's arms, who had been listening in from the other side of the door for God knew how long.

It was January currently, which meant that as soon as you silently agreed with them to sign you to whatever club payed the most, you were out.

Just like that, the chance to play in front of the Culers for one last time was ripped away from you. They received a half-hearted announcement via Instagram, you received twenty women in your apartment, ready to pack your things. In all honesty, you had wished for no one to see as you organized your life into moving boxes and shipped them over the sea for whoever from Arsenal to receive, mostly because it would've felt even less real. Mostly because then, the goodbye wouldn't have hit you as hard. Ona tried to offer you advice on how to get by in England, telling you all about her experience abroad. Mapi tried to lift the spirits by joking around. Ingrid held you as you allowed tears to fall, and Alexia made sure you didn't forget anything, offering to take care of the things you would leave behind in Barcelona.

It was only you and Alexia at the airport. Your best friend, since the day you had been selected to play for the senior team of Barcelona, had shared many angry words with the management, and at one point even threatened to leave if you really had to. But the papers were signed, and the boxes were packed, and there was nothing left to do for Alexia besides holding your shaky frame as tears clouded your vision for what felt like the millionth time.

"You'll be okay, bebita. You'll enjoy London, and then you'll come back. I promise, you'll come back."

The both of you knew that there was no way she could ever promise that - Barça's financial difficulties were far too severe to sign you back soon - the most expensive player in the world, currently. When, or if the smoke would clear up, neither of you could know. Still, her words soothed you the tiniest as you held onto the glimpse of hope your best friend gave you as if it was a lifeline.

"Enjoy London, okay?"

You nodded, although you knew that you wouldn't. What good was London compared to Barcelona? What good was the capital of England compared to your lifelong home?

"Vamos, carino", Alexia huffed as she let go of you, gently pushing you towards your gate.

"Call me, okay? ¡Te amo!", she yelled after you as you turned away from her, and the hurt in her voice made a new layer of tears stream down on your cheeks, but you knew that if you looked back at her now, you would never board that plane. If leaving to England was what it took for your club to keep functioning, you would. If playing for Arsenal meant that you would be back in blaugrana one day, you would wear that ugly red shirt and call yourself a Gunner. You wouldn't do it happily, though.

London looked ugly when you flew over it, and London looked ugly when you landed in Heathrow Airport. You had expected people from the club to be there to pick you up, wearing Arsenal clothes and a sign with your name on it. It was apparently standard procedure, as Alexia had told you, though neither of you could really know because neither of you had never left the country to play football if it wasn't with the Spanish national team. What you hadn't expected, however, was Laia waving at you excitedly from across the hall, with two women dressed in the same hoodie as her, one significantly smaller (you guessed she was Kim) and one Leah Williamson.

You had never followed English football much, likely why you hadn't recognized Kim when you'd first searched up your new team on the internet, but Leah was the kind of footballer everyone was just.. aware of.

Admittedly, she was even prettier in real life.

"¡Hola, guapa!", Laia shrieked as you strolled over to your new teammates (the word 'teammate' along with 'new' still left a bitter taste in your mouth), dragging your suitcase behind you tiredly. The plain ride had worn you out - in all honesty, the entire past week had worn you out. Ever since you'd been told that you would leave the club that you had bled for, you hadn't been able to close half an eye.

Still, Laia's excitement was unmatched as she pulled you into a tight hug, allowing your face to sag against her shoulder. You didn't allow yourself to cry anymore, and so you could see Leah and Kim smile at you softly from a few steps behind the other Spanish woman without tears clouding your vision.

Laia continued to speak in Spanish, asking you about the flight, about how the Barça girls were, about how excited she was that you were finally here and she wasn't the only Spaniard at the Arsenal.

If Kim and Leah thought it was rude that they were left out of the conversation entirely, they didn't say so. Still, you pushed Laia off gently, mustering the smallest of smiles you could.

"Hello."

Your English wasn't very good, but even you winced ever so slightly at the realization of how truly cold you sounded. You didn't want to be here, didn't want any of them to show you your new apartment, didn't want them to show you the club, to bring you to training, to give you a red jersey and call you a Gunner.

But you needed to suck it up. Life wasn't fair. And if Alexia's words held any truth, this would merely be a temporal situation.

"Hey", Kim smiled at you. Her English sounded funny, but her smile was more genuine than yours as she introduced herself and Leah. You hadn't needed her to, but it was a nice gesture anyways.

"It's good to have you here", Leah smiled as she gently lay her arm across your shoulder.

"Wanna see your new flat?", you nodded as Leah guided you out of the hall, your luggage left with Laia who strolled behind you alongside Kim.

Leah's confidence and her proximity to you, your side pressed against hers, was making your head spin ever so slightly. You had, admittedly, hoped that Leah, as co-captain and being about to return to the pitch, would understand how badly you didn't want to be at Arsenal, seeing as she bled for the club the way you did for Barcelona. Maybe she could grasp the idea of being forced out of her home, and sympathize with you in the slightest. And it seemed she did, as she pointed towards what you guessed was Kim's car, leaving you and Laia in the backseats as you drove through the city. London was different from Barcelona.

It was slightly less ugly now, with impressive buildings and a few bits of nature sprawled around as Kim maneuvered the car through the streets. It was cold, though, and as you were shivering slightly, Kim put the heat just a bit higher. It was grey, as well. Not a single ray of sunshine was able to break through the barrier of clouds in the sky, and it reminded you a lot of your current mood, though you were hesitant to show it.

Leah and Kim seemed genuine in their efforts to make this transition as easy for you as possible, given the fact that your apprehension to leave Barcelona was a very well known fact. You had dedicated an Instagram post with a very heartfelt caption to your departure, which made it very clear that you did not leave on your own accord.

Their dedication to welcome you, though, made you feel the tiniest bit of unfair. The women were genuinely trying, and they promised you during the car ride, when asking whether or not you were nervous, that the whole team was excited to meet you. Maybe you could try a little bit. Maybe you could enjoy this for the time being.

"Here we are."

You could see Kim's smile through the rearview mirror as she parked her car in front of an old building which you guessed was your new apartment complex. The car had left the central of London around twenty minutes ago, and at your confused expression, Laia had huffed that the club was in North London, not Central London.

"¿Es un poco feo, no?", (It's a bit ugly) you asked Laia as you stared at the shabby building. The walls were grey, and the parking lot was grey, and it seemed like everything in London was just.. grey. Plain.

"¡No, Y/N! Leah vida aquí también", (Leah lives here too) Laia huffed at your comment, shaking her head while chuckling at your statement. You shrugged, ignoring the way Leah and Kim furrowed their brows at your Spanish conversation while climbing out of your seat to retrieve your luggage.

You insisted on carrying your suitcase up the small flight of stairs as well, though Laia offered to do it for you. The two of you hadn't been super close when she'd still played at Barcelona, but you had been quite good friends, and having at least one familiar face soothed you.

"This is it", Leah smiled softly as the four of you stepped into the hallway, following your curious steps into the flat. It was plain as well, of course it was. For the first time since calming down on the plane, you had to fight tears again. The flat was nice, sure. The club had organized a quite spacious place, with lots of room and comfortable-looking furniture. But it was bare. You knew that shopping for furniture would be a hassle in the middle of the season, so you had rented it furnitured.

You missed your green couch, the thrifted, quite antique sideboard, the golden-framed mirror. You missed the framed shirts on your wall, the clothing rack with all of the shirts you had swapped with other players. All of those things were now packed away in a storage room somewhere in Barcelona. You missed Barcelona.

"Es pretty", you mumbled, dropping your keys on the white coffee table and turning around to look at Leah, who was still holding on to your large bag, the Barcelona badge imprinted on it. The look she gave you, eyebrows slightly raised, eyes looking somewhat defeated, told you that you hadn't been able to fool her.

Laia and Kim left quickly, with the excuse of having early training tomorrow and needing to run whatever errands, but Leah stayed.

"I live in the same building, so I could help you unpack if you want?"

In truth, you didn't want her to help. You didn't want her to swoop through your things, eyeing all of your personal belongings, all of the tokens of your previous home that you had left so promptly, but you didn't have the heart to tell her no. So, the two of you got to work, after a small tour through the whole unit, finding the bedroom, the bathroom and another room that you guessed you would use for storage. Your kitchen was small, after all, and it was filled with things you didn't know how to use.

"What's this?", you asked as you held up a scoop of some sort, that you had found while rummaging through your cupboards.

"It's a tea scoop, for making loose tea", Leah explained with a chuckle, taking the utensil from your hand to showcase how one scoops.

"I don't drink tea", you huffed, taking the scoop back and shoving it into the back of the cupboard before closing it a little harsher than you would have expected.

"You're in England now, you're gonna drink tea."

You decided to ignore her comment, instead opening the next drawer.

"I have a microwave", you pointed out, moving slightly to the side so that Leah could look. She was awfully close to you again, and it made you nervous.

"So you can make paellas", Leah snickered, nudging her hips against yours playfully. At that, you turned towards her, taking a shocked step back.

"Joder, you don't microwave paellas! What is wrong with you? Mujer loca", (crazy woman) you exclaimed, nudging her back playfully before diving into the next cupboard. Maybe London wouldn't be as horrible as you thought.

notes: this is baaaaad honestly but we move

[theonlyhonoredone]

Satoru BF Headcanons

Pairing: Satoru x Reader

Warnings: none

Summary: my idea of how Satoru is as a partner

Masterlist

bf!Satoru who is absolutely obsessed with you, you can do no wrong in his eyes and he will blindly side with you on anything and everything. Giving you absolute princess treatment and never letting you lift a finger when you’re with him.

bf!Satoru is super clingy and spends every moment he can with you. He wants your attention on him no matter what and he does not care if that means annoying you or embarrassing himself. Anytime he comes home from a mission he claims he’s been so exhausted that he simply needs you to stay in the house and cuddle with him for hours until he’s rejuvenated. Of course you know he’s lying, you always agree though, and remind him that he doesn’t need to make excuses to get you so snuggle with him.

bf!Satoru already knows this but he likes the dramatics and sees his begging as a way to remind you of how much he loves you and how essential you are to his happiness. Since he often has to leave for missions you don’t get as much time together as either of you would like, so he always wants to make sure you know how much he appreciates you. 

bf!Satoru can be immature and annoying, but he also knows the importance of making his partner feel loved. He’ll spoil you in every way possible, with material goods, big romantic gestures, and sweet things he whispers so only you can hear. He

bf!Satoru brags about you to everyone who will listen, any event you attend features Satoru telling every person there how pretty and wonderful you are. Even in the middle of a fight he never has a bad thing to say about you, he can’t stand the idea of you ever feeling insecure in your relationship. He always makes sure you know you're the center of his universe.

bf!Satoru is eternally doting and loving but he still has his fair share of annoying habits. He’s immature in a lot of ways, not cleaning up after himself or teasing you about sensitive subjects. He certainly knows how to get on your nerves, but he also knows when he’s gone too far. He has no qualms about apologizing and while he is reluctant to give you space (he’d rather solve any issues as soon as they arrive) he will if you ask him. He doesn’t believe in going to bed angry and will always push to solve issues before you go to sleep. 

bf!Satoru is naturally protective, and certainly crosses the line into being overprotective around you. You rarely go on missions together because of this, but you're always there to take care of each other when you get home. Outside of work you don’t mind his overprotectiveness as much, it often shows in strange ways you find quite endearing. He’ll carry you over mud puddles and make sure he’s always on the outside of the sidewalk, often he extends his infinity to you when you’re out to ensure your safety. He let’s the students pick on him all they want, but if they try it with you he’ll assign them detention or challenge them to a fight. 

bf!Satoru gets along with your friends wonderfully. He loves when you invite him to girl’s night and he gets to participate in the gossip. He’s always especially interested in the romantic escapades of your friends, assuring them he has the best dating advice because he managed to get you to date him after all. He gets pouty when other boyfriends are brought along because he feels more special when he’s the only one that gets to come. His protectiveness of you extends to your friends too, he’s examining every drink you all order with his six eyes and he’s always happy to be the sober driver. 

bf!Satoru works hard to make sure you know how loved you are and needs the same assurance from you. He loves any gesture that shows you were thinking of him. Picking him up his favorite sweet or sneaking a note into his suitcase before a trip is enough to make his whole week.

bf!Satoru loves laying in bed, his head on your chest and your hand massaging his scalp. It’s the only time he can truly relax. He loves when you lay there and you pour your heart out to him, tell him how much you love and appreciate him and how he is your world as much as you are his. He loves pda, but treasures your moments alone much more. He loves feeling like it's just the two of you in the universe.

bf!Satoru loves the sound of your voice and finds it more comforting than anything on earth. If he’s having a bad day he’ll ask you to read to him or sing to him while he falls asleep. He doesn’t care if it’s over the phone or in person, or whether or not you think you're a good singer. To him your voice is the sweetest thing in the world. If you notice he’s upset and offer to read to him or sing to him it’ll melt his heart and maybe even make him cry. 

bf!Satoru only lets himself be vulnerable with you. He’ll tell you everything about him, his life and feelings are an open book. He needs that sort of communication from you too. Every random story you tell him is committed to his memory. His favorite dates are ones where you can spend hours talking and filling each other in on every little thing that’s happened in your lives.

bf!Satoru is ready to get married the moment he lays his eyes on you. He knows instantly that you’re the one for him and never questions that for the rest of his life. You are his soul mate and his other half. He believes there’s a gold string tying your souls together and he considers himself incredibly lucky to be tied to you. 

[papiliotao]

・❥・IN CLASSROOM 143

♡ — Reader: GN

♡ — Characters: Aether, Albedo, Kazuha, Scaramouche, Xiao

♡ — Synopsis: what is it like sitting next to them in class?

♡ — Content: fluff, high school AU, modern AU

♡ — A/N: classes were just better when I sat next to silly people. That's probably where I got the inspiration for this from. Have fun reading!

AETHER is the living definition of overcommitment. He's quite popular among your peers, so it's only natural that people are queuing up to ask him to join their clubs. Unfortunately, he's a bit people pleaser, so he can never find the heart to turn them down. From music to volleyball, Aether is involved in almost every extracurricular that the school has to offer, and as his desk partner in history class, you begin to notice the toll it’s taking on him.

It shows in the way he's always late and gasping for air as he sits down beside you. It shows in the way he turns to you and tiredly waves at you each class, offering you a weak smile that makes your heart skip a beat. And it shows in the way his honeyed eyes droop as he fights the temptation of slumber, all while your elderly teacher's droning voice lulls him into a state of tranquility.

He's fighting a losing battle, and he knows it. Each time the boy gives in to his weariness and lays his head on his desk to inevitably drift into the realm of dreams, his expression softens. He looks so content. You can never muster the willpower to wake him up, so instead, you leave him be and diligently take notes to share with him once class ends. After all, even someone as busy as Aether needs to set aside some time to rest in their strenuous schedule. The dark circles under his eyes tell you all you need to know about the amount of sleep he gets.

But there's no way the frigid surface of the table he uses as a makeshift pillow is comfortable, so one day, on an impulsive whim, you offer up your shoulder as a headrest instead. Aether agrees gratefully, and from then on, the sweet boy leans against you as he rests. His warm breath sends tingles down your spine, and his soft hair tickles your skin, and although his proximity makes it harder for you to take notes, you wouldn’t trade it for anything.

ALBEDO, the boy who sits next to you in chemistry, is studious yet eccentric. He’s known for achieving nearly perfect grades by utilizing his unrivalled intellect, and he’s always the first person his peers go to for help with their schoolwork despite the fact that he’s rather introverted. As a result of his reserved demeanour, he almost never offers his aid to others first, but you’re the exception. 

Whenever you look as though you’re struggling, Albedo won’t hesitate to assist you. He almost appears a little too excited to talk to you, giving advice anytime he sees an opportunity to. It's gotten to the point where even your classmates have picked up on his eagerness to speak to you, and they have started speculating that the bright boy is infatuated with you. You can't deny the fact that the thought causes your heart to flutter, but you try your best not to get your hopes up, just in case your peers are mistaken. Besides, Albedo is rather difficult to understand anyway, so it wouldn't come as a shock if it turned out that his intentions were simply being misinterpreted.

One example of said contradictory behaviour on Albedo's part has to do with his participation during lessons. Despite his stellar academic performance, he has a habit of zoning out whenever a topic doesn’t interest him. In those instances, you notice that he pulls out a sketchbook and flips to a page half-filled with doodles and begins to meticulously scrawl on the paper. Soon, snowy white is dyed shades of grey and black, undergoing a metamorphosis that transforms it into the finest of portraits. You’re always curious as to what Albedo is drawing, but you’re never able to catch a clear glimpse. Whenever you look his way, he hastily shuts the book, concealing its contents as if he is guilty of a crime.

Unbeknownst to you, the ocean-eyed boy beside you is doodling the one he is infatuated with: you. His feelings ebb into his sketchbook, and his art captures every dip and curve of your face, encapsulating all your radiance with immaculate precision. And yet, he never overlooks your imperfections either — with his pencil acting as a catalyst, he records them in great detail. Albedo is in love with every single aspect of you, even your flaws, which arguably garner more adoration from the boy than any of your other features because they make you distinct — the brightest star in a galaxy full of wonders. Perhaps one day, he will be able to show you his works, but for now, he is more than content with silently admiring you.

Peculiarity is a trait best embodied by KAEDEHARA KAZUHA, the boy who sits next to you in English class. On the surface, he seems normal enough — although one could argue that he is abnormally pretty with his snowy white hair and eyes the colour of autumnal maple leaves. However, he is also strange in other ways. Six months of conversing with Kazuha have led you to the conclusion that he is most definitely odd, but not necessarily in a bad way.

Unlike most of your peers, Kazuha often appears to have his head in the clouds, daydreaming in a world that he has made entirely his own. There are times where he stares out the window, sighing wistfully as he gazes at the vivid azure sky overhead. On other occasions, he writes poems in the worn notebook he always carries around, hardly minding the way you look over his shoulder to get a glimpse of what he's writing. Most puzzling of all, however, is his tendency to absentmindedly stare at you in the middle of class. He doesn’t even have the shame to look away when you glance back at him. He just maintains eye contact and smiles at you, causing you to avert your gaze first.

Despite the fact that Kazuha is rather odd, he is still a polite and compassionate person. Whenever you allow him to proofread your assignments, he compliments your work in embellished words that bloom with praise, and he offers advice in a way that feels warm and genuine. You feel at ease with him — unafraid of being judged. However, sometimes guilt gnaws at you when you ask for Kazuha's help because he's always the one assisting you. He has nothing to gain, but he continues assisting you out of the kindness of his own heart.

That's why when Kazuha asks you to read over some of his poetry for the first time, you agree without hesitation. A quick scan of the page Kazuha directs you to causes you to raise your eyebrows. It's a love poem that is cryptically addressed to ‘the one I adore’. You can feel the affection Kazuha harbors toward the person mentioned in the poem just by reading it. When you ask Kazuha who it's for, he simply chuckles and asks if you like his poetry, effectively dodging your question. You decide to let him off easy and give him a half-hearted answer, pretending that you aren’t jealous of the person he likes.

Over the remainder of the year, Kazuha continues showing you his poetry and requesting input from you. Each time you read his impeccably-crafted works, you feel your heart race. His poems are spun from the stuff of dreams — sweeter than the cotton candy clouds that hang in the sky outside the classroom window.

Sometimes you like to entertain the idea that they could be for you, but you always shut the notion down before it can grow into a fully-developed thought, too insecure to believe someone as handsome and thoughtful as Kazuha could ever hold such feelings for you. 

When it comes time for the final English class of the year, you swear that you’ve read almost every form of poem in existence from sonnets to haikus to odes. On that particular day, you notice something different about Kazuha. He seems more fidgety than usual, and he has entirely lost his ability to zone out, instead becoming hyperaware of his surroundings. The smallest movements you make cause him to whip his head around to steal a glance at you.

You discover the reason behind his atypical behaviour at the end of class when he hands you a simple white envelope. When you open it, you find pages upon pages of poetry, causing you to experience a sudden epiphany.

The one he loved was you all along.

Raiden Kunikuzushi — more commonly known as SCARAMOUCHE — is living proof that pretty privilege exists. At least, that’s what you believe.

He’s infuriating. No matter how abhorrent you find the way he treats his friends (who are honestly more akin to acquaintances), they never stand up to him. They simply allow Scaramouche to walk all over them. It's like he's put them in a trance with his breathtaking eyes, which are filled with starlight and tinted an indigo reminiscent of the awe-inspiring night sky.

But despite the fact that he is admired by many, his relationships are purely superficial. To his peers, he is nothing more than a sight for sore eyes, and that is what keeps the bitterness of envious sentiments from swallowing you whole. You’ll never be jealous of Scaramouche because his popularity stems solely from his looks. 

His situation evokes a feeling of pity within the depths of your soul. The notion of your contempt for the boy still remains ingrained in your mind, but you also can’t help but pity him.

Perhaps that is what pushes you to sit beside him in your physics class on the first day of school when you notice that he is all alone. You have your reservations, but the way Scaramouche is scowling makes you think he’ll explode out of sheer rage if you don't take action.

Things start off slowly. He doesn't speak to you at first. You simply see him glancing suspiciously at you in your peripheral vision, as if he believes you have ulterior motives. However, the awkward tension becomes too much for you far too quickly, so on a typical day of classes, you decide to take your chances and pass him a note in the middle of a lesson, asking him how his day was.

When Scaramouche first sees your note, he frowns. It almost appears as though he's in disbelief because someone has taken an interest in him rather than his looks. Nonetheless, he decides to entertain you and promptly responds to you, writing a reply underneath your message in impressively neat handwriting. This sparks a conversation. One instance of the two of you passing notes in class turns to two — and two to three until you and Scaramouche are discreetly conversing each class.

Your inconspicuous discussions with Scaramouche lead you to learn more about him as a person. Whereas before you thought he was just a shallow pretty boy, now you know that he’s both cunning and witty. He never fails to make you laugh with his sarcastic comments, and despite the fact that he seems rather mean-spirited at times, you discover that once he opens up, he is more than capable of caring for others. Case in point: on days where you're feeling down, he (attempts) to tell you jokes to make you feel better, and he gives you the candy that his mother packs for him, claiming that he "doesn't like sweets anyway."

If only other people could take the time to get to know the real him. Underneath the veil of entrancing vanity and mystery that surrounds him, Scaramouche is a surprisingly entertaining and contemplative person.

However, for now, it seems that Scaramouche is more than content with the relationship he has with you. He doesn't care for any of his two-faced "friends." The only one he needs is you.

Fate has rather unconventional methods of bringing people together. There are times where you believe it is sentient, cutting, weaving, and pulling on the delicate threads that bind humans together with its steady hands.

Fate must be alive and working its magical because there is no other plausible explanation for how things ended up this way. All that is to say, some otherworldly force must have noticed your desperation to get closer to your longtime crush, XIAO, and finally decided to take pity on you.

It's crazy to think that one minuscule decision can shape the course of your entire relationship with someone, but your own experiences are indicating to you that there is some merit to the claim. After all, your computer science teacher's spontaneous choice to seat you next to Xiao is what kindles the first sparks of your relationship with him.

It all starts with music. At first, Xiao doesn’t attempt to converse with you. He seems adamant on retaining his introverted ways. It's not that he doesn't want to talk to you; he's just inexperienced when it comes to socialization. So instead of making an effort to talk to you, he simply grabs a pair of earbuds and listens to his favourite songs whenever the teacher gives the class time to work.

This all changes when you muster the courage to ask him what he’s listening to. The way his eyes widen that fateful day, gazing at you with surprise evident in his pools of amber, is something you’ll never forget.

After all the silence on his end, you still want to talk to him? He is touched by your resolve, but he is also afraid of being too blunt, so instead of giving you an overly-verbose response, he asks you if you want to listen with him, offering you one of his earbuds. Xiao's heart jumps when you accept with an endearing smile. From then on, the two of you bond over music, and Xiao begins feeling comfortable enough to speak to you.

Gradually, years of distance and rigid formality vanish. Hushed conversations at the back of a sunlit classroom, shy waves from across cramped hallways, and accidental touches of his hands to yours replace the barriers that once separated the two of you. A once hopeless situation gives way to a radiant future as you finally begin getting closer to the boy you've pined over for as long as you can remember.

Sorry if there are mistakes. I feel like I'm making this worse each time I edit it :( Either way, thank you for reading and have a fantastic day/night!

[baby-tini]

I actually want to hear you headcanons for Chuuya... just more of your thoughts on him because I liked that one post, ahhaa

Ahh, thank you love, I'm gonna assume you're talking about this post, but if not, I'm curious in which one. I'm gonna do some general, relationship and NSFW HCs

General-

-When he's not working for the Port Mafia, he likes too volunteer at dog shelters, he's so good at taking care of the dogs and giving them affection that multiple people have suggested that he take one home... he, for obvious reasons, doesn't have time for a dog but he truly wants one and he knows volunteering is the closest he's gonna get.

-I personally see Chuuya as the type too want either a puppy or an older dog. A puppy simply because they're adorable and he'd have fun training them, watching the puppy sleep in his hat and I think he likes the smell of puppy breath. Most likely it'd be an older dog that he took in though, considering he doesn't really have time too train the dog, plus Chuuya is the type too want too give an older dog the best last few years of it's life, so that it can pass knowing that it was loved and cared for.. that it had a family, he's just the empathetic type.

-Chuuya is kind of a neat freak, he likes things very organized and clean. It mostly comes from his childhood, with him being on the streets and forced too live in dingy, dirty places with dust everywhere. So, now that he has the finances and space for it, he cleans pretty consistently and very thoroughly.

Relationship-

-It is canon that Chuuya would be the best boyfriend in all of BSD, and I think we can all agree with that. Chuuya is the most attentive lover and he's so sweet. He's very intuned with you, and he's an amazing listener, he also always gives you the best advice.

-Chuuya isn't the most patient person, but he has never yelled at you or raised a hand. He's so very loyal to the people that he cares for and the last thing he wants too do is drive you away or hurt you. I do however think that, because of his job, he would want you too have your location on a lot, not in a controlling way but if you were ever in danger he could get to you quickly.

-He doesn't really want you working, now, if you want too and you're really passionate about a career or hobby he'd financially and emotionally support you. He doesn't want you working simply because his penthouse is heavily secured and he knows you're safe. Now, I do think Chuuya can be a pretty paranoid person and he will constantly be thinking about you're safety, so he'd want too know where you are quite a bit because he understands just by association you could be hurt, because of his mafia job.

NSFW-

-He is a giver rather then a receiver. Your pleasure is his main priority and it comes before his own. He loves going down on you, he does it quite often, it's his favorite way too put you too sleep or help you relax. Especially if you've had a bad or stressful day. Also, when he's drowsy, he likes too kiss your neck as he falls asleep, he not only likes too see you before he falls asleep but he also likes too feel you.

-He really really likes having his hair tugged on, it feels so good to him. The first time you tugged on it, was more of an accident, he was buried to the hilt in your cunt with one of your hands tangled in your hair as your other hand is clinging to him. Your head was all foggy as your eyes blurred with tears as he fucked his cock into you. It was more of a jerking twitch that your hands did, but as your hand pulled at the roots, he tensed up as he shuddered, a full body shudder as he came, he has never come that fast in his life and it drove him feral.

-I see Chuuya as someone who's really into the dom\sub dynamic, like he's deep into it. He likes taking care of you and doing things for you, I can honestly see him thriving in that type of dynamic. I see it as something very primary in your relationship and it's just how the relationship is, inside and outside of the bedroom.

[elllisaaa]

minghao bf thoughts pls 🫶

BF!MINGHAO who's always by your side no matter what, who doesn't seem like it sometimes but who always has an eye on you.

he's holding hands with you all the time, no matter where you are, who you're with or what you're doing. minghao especially does it when he can feel that you're anxious. the way you relax immediately when he swipes his thumb over your hand and squeezes it makes him feel better too - he loves to know that he's able to be some kind of comfort to you. when you do the same for him and grab his hand, minghao is immediately reconforted. holding hands is one of the only marks of affection he gives to you in public, never because he's ashamed of you, but simply because he prefers to keep that private, to keep your love private. so he will not really kiss you on the lips when you're with other people - he saves them for when you're alone - but he gives you so many kisses on your cheeks, the top of your hair or your forehead. it feels even sweeter and intimate to the both of you and you smile at each other everytime he kisses you. minghao kisses your hands a lot too - soft kisses to every one of your knuckles before he intertwines your fingers with his.

"let me hold your hand darling, i don't want to lose you in the crowd."

he loves to have deep conversations about serious subjects with you, it's very interesting because you get to know more about the ways you're both seeing the world in different ways. and everytime minghao is blown away from how well you're completing each other. you're not always agreeing on everything, but it still fits perfectly. and he also can't get over how clever you are. whenever you have a new fixation or obsession, he lets you ramble about it and asks details to get to know more. even when the subject is pretty tough and complicated, he wants you to tel everything. and when it's his turn to explain something in-depth, he always makes sure that he doesn't make you feel like you're dumb for asking some questions or not getting on the first try, he always makes you feel at ease. minghao also has so much respect for you. whatever you do, he will support you through it and give you advice. you want to start a new hobby ? he'll help you buy the supplies you need. you want to change jobs or major ? it's okay, it's a big step but he'll be with you all the way. and he never fails to remind you that he's really proud of you.

"you did so good love, i'm so proud of you."

talking about being proud, minghao praises you a lot, for about anything. and he especially makes sure to compliment you about the things he knows you're insecure about, because every little part of you is perfect in his eyes and he can't bear the thought of you not loving yourself as much as he does. and it all feels so natural that you can't help but believe him. whenever you both have a day off, minghao loves to spend a lazy day at home with you. you pick out a book for each other, he makes you some tea, and you spend the whole day reading, quietly talking and just basking in each other's presence. one of you often ends up falling asleep, and when it's your turn to take a nap, minghao adores watching you sleep. he brushes his fingers against the soft skin of your cheeks, runs his hands through your hair and kisses your eyelids tenderly. you just look so peaceful like that, he cannot help it. his need to take care of you translates in the way he always insists on helping you when you're sick or sad. he stays by your side to help you even if you tell him that you can take care of yourself, he loves to do it for you.

"don't move darling, i'm going to prepare you some tea, yeah ? it'll help you sleep better."

BF!MINGHAO who's in need for control, who needs you to behave. he will give you what you want if only you follow his rules.

we all know that minghao loves art, and as an artist, i think he would love shibari a lot for two main reasons. first is that it allows him to have full control over you and do whatever he wants. second, it looks very aesthetically pleasing. he has a lot of different ropes, of different sizes and colors, so he can switch up depending his mood or yours that day. he always makes sure that the knots are not too tight, and that you know you can say your safe word at any times, to not hesitate to tell him if you're uncomfortable. minghao loves to tie you up in ways that exposes his favourite parts of your body to him, or in ways that render you unable to move and lets him do anything he wants. he fucks you with your wrists tied to your ankles, pretty knots all over your legs while he's having his way from behind. he will also pull on the ropes for some more leverage. one of his favourite parts is when he frees you from the ropes and they leave red marks all over your body.

"you look so pretty like this, all pretty just for me."

minghao takes foreplay very seriously, he wants you literally soaking wet by the time he pushes his cock inside of you. and this man knows how to use his fingers for sure. he also knows how much you like them and he loves to tease you with them. he circles your clit until you're cumming from only that, he run his fingers against your folds but never puts them in, he insists that you don't need more than one of his finger. he could spend hours with his fingers deep inside of you without getting tired of it. minghao also makes you beg for them too, asks you to spell it out for him before he lets you have them. the best part is that the both of you are enjoying it just the same - you cum (most of the time) and he gets to feel you squeeze around his fingers. though he isn't above edging either. when you're being a brat and getting on his nerves, you think you finally got him right where you wanted when he gives you his fingers, but he doesn't let you cum until he's satisfied with how much of a mess he made of you.

"don't get all shy on me now darling, you wanted my fingers now take it."

he loves to experiment too, loves to help you discover everything that you like, loves when you let him test something too. he always makes these nights special and sweet so you know how much he appreciates you because even if he's gonna be fucking you in an hour, he's still a gentlemen. when he has the time to really take care of you, minghao loves to use a blindfold on you. he knows that it heightens all of your senses, and he has so much playing with your body when you can't see. you react to every one of his touches even more, whining every time his fingers trace your skin, moaning every time he kisses you, shivering every time he speaks to you. it doesn't happen often though because minghao does love to have your eyes on him while he's fucking you. it's something he's very adamant about - keeping eye contact. even when he's deep inside of you, your legs trembling around his waist, he still asks you to keep your eyes open. it makes it even more intense and intimate for him, he feels even more connected to you this way. cumming at the same time while looking in each other's eyes is what gets him going the most.

"eyes on me darling, i want to see you when i make you cum around my dick."

[aces-and-angels]

seeing the influx of gfm campaigns on your dash may be overwhelming- the purpose of this post is to help others navigate through the many gfm links that are circulating here on this site- esp. those that find their way directly to you via your inbox. this advice is specific to tumblr- i cannot speak on other platforms (instagram, twitter, etc.) though some things i say may be applicable

disclaimer: i do not vet/verify any campaigns myself. i simply want people who are willing to engage with these types of posts to do so in a safe manner

read more below:

---

what to do if you get a message from an account claiming to be 🇵🇸 in your inbox:

-> step 1: do not immediately dismiss it as spam

to quote one of nabulsi's posts:

"... you cannot generalise with Gazans if their tumblr blog is only a few days or a few hours old.

Gazans on tumblr are making accounts for the express purpose of spreading their fundraisers because it is spreading amongst Gazans that tumblr is a safe place to do so.

They could often be making multiple blogs and even remaking after staff flags them as spam. But don't blanket assume that Gazans are scammers if they're on a new tumblr blog with no pfp or content.

I agree that until a fundraiser is vetted you shouldn't reblog it in case it is someone dishonest taking advantage of the circumstances in Gaza. But you cannot do the opposite and immediately assume they're a scammer. I'm seeing people harass Gazans sometimes who genuinely are people who just don't know how to use tumblr and are falsely raising red flags because of it." (read full post here)

to sum it up: don't hit 'report' right away- marinate a lil and put on a detective hat

-> step 2: background check

the following are accounts that are known to vet/verify gfm campaigns here on tumblr. note- this is not a comprehensive list:

el-shab-hussein

nabulsi

90-ghost* (edit 8/4: recently announced that ahmed will no longer be vetting/verifying new campaigns)

ibtisams* (only has done it on situational basis; is not currently vetting new campaigns- read post here)

rubashabansblog (has been promoting other palestinians who lost their tumblr accounts; currently living under occupation)

heba-20 (unsure if heba takes request to vet others personally but is a reliable source for finding legitimate campaigns)

northgazaupdates

fairuzfan (says they are less active on tumblr these days/not currently vetting new campaigns but is a reliable source)

i recommend giving these individuals a follow if you haven't already as they provide far more information regarding all things 🇵🇸. they've all put in a lot of work to make the process i'm sharing with y'all as simple as possible. also please be respectful if you try reaching out to any of them. they are likely getting a high volume of asks and may not be able to respond to you quickly

important note: it has been recently announced that nabulsi + el-shab-hussein have stopped vetting new accounts for the time being and are only focusing on campaigns that have already been vetted. read their full statement here and here

to start- check out the person's account. this can be a hit or miss depending on how new the account is. however- you may notice that the person in question has stated that they have been vetted:

good signs so far- but better to be safe than sorry. next thing to do is search the username of the person who messaged you on tumblr. it's likely if you got a message like the one pictured above, others may have received one as well and did the digging for you:

if you can't find a clear answer with tumblr's illustrious search bar/want to confirm someone's claim that the campaign in question was already verified, the next thing to do is check one of the following:

el-shab-hussein's pinned post

el-shab-hussein/nabulsi's google sheet

imo, this process is far easier to do while on a laptop/desktop vs. mobile app. ctrl+f is your friend in this scenario as is the ability to click through multiple tabs. for el-shab-hussein's pinned post, i click through the multiple lists and see if any names match. in ruba's case, she was found under List of fundraisers for my direct contacts from Ghazzah & Sudan:

and for the google sheet- her campaign is no. 90 on the list:

tip: to narrow down your search even further- ctrl+f the title of the person's gfm campaign that they've linked on their tumblr account:

-> step 3: share your findings + follow that account

if everything checks out- ✨share le campaign✨ provide the link to it in your response to the ask + where it was verified. make it easier for the next person who gets a message to figure out that the gfm is real

following 🍉accounts is esp. important since the forces that be are keen on suppressing them at every turn. the more eyes on these accounts- the easier it'll be to determine the legitimacy of any new accounts they may need to make

---

okay, but... scams 😬:

-> step 1: seek a master

people can be assholes- and anyone trying to make a profit off of an ongoing genocide can eat glass

anyways- the following are accounts that are known to identify scam posts on tumblr (again, not a comprehensive list. these are just the one's ive seen/most familiar with):

mangocheesecakes

kyra45

kyra45's pinned post contains a plethora of resources to help determine if a post/message is a scam- and not just in regards to 🇵🇸- key goes in on many types of scams. please refer to their guides (and be sure that you are reading the most recent version of key's posts)

-> step 2: if you see sumn, say sumn

we're human and sometimes things slip our radar. so if you ever see someone on here sharing a known scam, do 'em a solid and let them know about it regardless if you are mutuals or not

---

final/misc. thoughts:

it's good practice to double check a campaign's verification with these tools for yourself regardless of how legitimate it looks. note that checking for a gfm's verification is not the same as verifying them. that work should be left to qualified individuals with experience in doing so. this is why it's bad to attempt things you are not qualified to tackle also- i think it's important to remember that transferring 💵 from a gfm campaign to those in need requires a lot of pieces to be perfectly set in place. if you see 🇵🇸 blogs linking alt. methods of raising funds (ex. p*ypal/k*fi) the reason could be that their gfms were frozen/suspended for a myriad of reasons. as always- check credible sources if you are unsure about a campaign you may come across notice how the spreadsheet provided here has over 100+ campaigns listed. generating a list that extensive requires hard work that is undoubtedly both physically and mentally straining to the individuals who are involved in making it. i've seen some accounts myself that have had to announce that they can no longer continue to vet campaigns because it has taken that much of a toll on their wellbeing. do not let their efforts go wasted

other resources:

some other places/grassroot organizations where you can find vetted campaigns:

operation olive branch (oob)

gazafunds

operation poppy flower (now also linked in oob's sheet)

operation watermelon

project watermelon

strawberry seeds collective

ottawa4palestine

camps breakerz crew

gofund(water)me(lons)

flowersfromfalasteen

[shaunamilfman]

the ghost you dressed up as [3]

pairing: Jackie Taylor x Shauna Shipman x R summary: "Things have been a little strained with your two friends given the weight of your own suspicions, but you carry on regardless. You have a date at a party tonight with some girl you barely remember. Jackie and Shauna are being a little weird about it. What could possibly go wrong?" note: jackieshauna my beloved 🥰. warnings for descriptions of violence masterlist

You can’t help but sneak looks at Shauna just like you have all night long. Despite your newfound suspicions, you can’t change one simple fact: damn, does she look good in the so-called “boob dress.” Jackie had scoffed at the look of amused disbelief on your face when she had first uttered those words, but once you saw it, you couldn’t help but agree it was aptly named. The effect it had on Shauna’s figure was nothing short of life-changing.

Normally, you'd be all for sneaking a few peaks at Shauna throughout the night. She never seemed to mind, even before the two of you became friends–she'd encouraged it, even. Catching your eyes as they trailed across her figure and giving you a smug smile or a raised eyebrow that just dared you to keep looking. 

There's just one problem: you were getting ready for a date with another girl. Your thoughts spiral as you pull your eyes away from that plunging neckline, choosing instead to focus on the finishing touches of your outfit. You didn't know the girl all that well–truthfully, you'd already forgotten her name–but she had flirted with you the last few times you'd stopped by the video store. It was something to do, at least. Something to take your mind off of everything happening with Jackie and Shauna. 

At least you had hoped it would. It didn't seem to be working well so far, given that they insisted on getting ready with you. You were only meeting her to hang out at the party, nothing all that serious, but Jackie's voice had reached a pitch that only dogs could hear when you told her why you couldn't hang out on a Friday night, demanding to know everything about this random girl you were apparently ditching them for. Then, of course, she and Shauna just happened to also want to attend the same party. 

Go figure. 

Every time you tried to refocus your mind, there Shauna was in the background. Legs crossed lazily, lounging back on Jackie's bed like she belonged there. It was a scene straight out of Jackie's playbook, and you have a sneaking suspicion they're teaming up to work against you. Her eyes keep catching yours in the mirror, looking more and more smug every time your eyes have to dart away. 

This level of possessiveness from them simply wasn't fair, given that they're already dating each other. You weren't theirs–not in any way that mattered–yet here they were making it difficult for you to have anyone else. What gave them that right, anyway? The territorial behavior did not make sense, and it was really starting to get on your nerves. You'd rightfully pointed out the unfairness of it all earlier, and Jackie had just given you a strange look while Shauna had let out a long, exasperated sigh and threw her head back into the arm of the couch (misjudging the force and sending poor Jackie into near hysterics as Shauna had cried out in pain). 

“You know,” Jackie says, reaching over to brush stray hair flat. “That girl’s going to be boring compared to us.” Her voice is low, almost teasing, but there's a knowing glint in her eyes that makes you squirm. 

She'd been giving you unsolicited advice all night long, throwing out comments on your outfit, your hair, your date, you name it. But this is the first time one of her comments strikes home. You'd been having much the same thoughts since you had agreed to meet up with her there. A big part of you wonders how right Jackie is. The worst part is that you're not even sure you want to prove her wrong about it. 

The way Jackie says it makes you feel like she's daring you to try. To go out with this girl and be bored just to find yourself crawling back to them at the end of the night. Is there even a doubt in her mind, or is she just confirming what all of you already know? 

That some part of you wants her to be boring and forgettable so you can come back home with them tonight. You're already dreaming of curling up in Jackie's too small bed after the three of you stumble up the stairs. You can almost feel Shauna's hand just brushing your arm as she wraps her arm around Jackie's hip, who's tucked tightly between you. She'll complain, like she always does, about how the two of you together make her too hot. She'll complain about the lack of space, maybe kick you in the shin for stealing the covers, but neither of them will ever actually pull you away. You'll fit in that space like you always have. 

Jackie almost immediately zeros in, quick to jump on a perceived weakness. “Why don't we just stay home and watch a movie instead? We can watch your favorite this time, I promise.”

“After we spent all this time getting ready?” You point out with a laugh. 

“Shauna will keep the dress on,” Jackie offers with a wink. 

Your eyes widen slightly. Is it weird to give a friend permission to ogle your girlfriend? Shauna certainly would have killed—Allie's broken body flashes through your mind—someone else for doing it to Jackie. But here Jackie was, offering her girlfriend up on a silver platter. 

“I think I'll have to pass,” You say slowly. It's not like you hadn't considered it. That was not the kind of game you wanted to be pulled into. Not tonight. 

Jackie looks annoyed but unsurprised, sharing a look with Shauna behind you before she walks off to get her jacket. There's something about the way she moves–calculated, almost dismissive–that makes you immediately feel the need to take it back. Like you want to beg for her forgiveness. But you don't. 

Tatum–it had taken an embarrassingly long time for you to finally catch her name–wasn't as boring as you feared, but you still spent the night uncomfortably aware that you'd rather be spending your time with your two friends. It was a creeping realization every time you laughed at one of her jokes, knowing that Shauna would have phrased it better, or nodded along to one of her stories, knowing Jackie would have told it better. You tried to stay present, in the moment, but no matter how engaging she was, your mind kept inevitably drifting back to them. That was becoming an increasingly common problem as of late. 

Yet, when she had–with all the subtlety of a brick wall–told you to follow after her in a few minutes as she walked off further into the woods, hands already playing with the hem of her shirt, you hadn't done anything to discourage it. You'd just watched her go, heart beating rapidly in your chest, and told yourself this was what you wanted. 

You're being an asshole, you know, but you might as well get something out of the night. Of course you know exactly what she wanted. The way she tilted her head off to the side as she spoke, that slight intensity that was but a pale imitation of what came so naturally to Shauna–but it was enough. 

You can't shake the feeling of guilt that comes along with it as you start making your way into the woods after her. It wasn't like you were doing anything wrong, technically. It's not like you were actually dating either of them; you'd said it yourself just earlier the same night, but it felt strange. You'd agreed to meet up with Tatum tonight, not Jackie or Shauna. You were here to have fun, damn it. So that's what you would do. 

Only, you've already checked out on Tatum tonight. Your heart wasn't in it, if it ever was. As you stumble over protruding roots and sticks, your mind keeps coming back to Jackie, wondering how drunk she's already gotten tonight. She never seems to hold her liquor well, always slurring her words a couple drinks in. Jackie was a touchy drunk, and you were usually happy to enjoy the benefits of it. Then the thoughts of Shauna in that ridiculous dress filled your mind, doing more to entice you back to the party than Tatum had managed all evening. 

But not tonight. 

No, tonight you were trapezing through the woods to hook up with some girl whose name you hadn't remembered until three-fourths of the way through your date. 

For some reason. 

You curse silently under your breath as you catch your foot on an uneven patch of ground, sending you stumbling to your hands and knees. The sting shoots through your body as you hit the ground, and you mutter another string of curses as you wipe the dirt leaves off your skin as you start to stand up. 

It's the only reason you even notice the blocky phone laying there abandoned. You remember seeing it earlier, knowing it was Tatums. She'd pulled it out to brag about how her father could afford to buy her one, which you would've completely zoned out had it not been for the rhinestones encrusting it that brought Jackie to the forefront of your mind. It was glitzy and girly, just like something Jackie would like.

Why would she have dropped it? You start to reach for it, intent on bringing it to her when you find her, only to suddenly hear what sounds like a scream. Briefly, you consider running back to the party for help, but you don't trust your ability to find your way back to where you are once you get back to the party. Besides, you thought to comfort yourself, Tatum probably just saw a snake or something. 

You follow quickly after the sound, hoping just as much to find her as you hope not too. Man, do you wish you were back with Jackie and Shauna right now. You wondered if Jackie was already getting handsy with Shauna in your absence, hanging off her arm like she always did with you. It was Jackie's right to hang off her girlfriend's arm, of course, but the thought made you more jealous than you were comfortable admitting.

Another scream pierces the air, much closer this time. You turn just in time to see a terrified Tatum running right for you. There’s a look of relief on your face when you see her, that clearly turns to horror as you catch the reflection of moonlight on something pale, too pale just to be skin. The ghostly white mask of the person chasing after her stands out sharply in the deep dark of the woods, like every possible light source began and ended on it. Its mouth is hauntingly opened in a blood chilling scream, terrifying in both its visage and its mocking of Tatum. The dark cloak is barely able to be seen with how dark it is, leaving the mask looking as if it’s floating toward you at top speed. The blade in their hand finally catches the light, the cold, hard steel stretching into a sickening point. 

It’s no costume. Not tonight. Each and every step brings that terrifying mask closer, and you just stand stock-still in your horror, frozen in the gaze of those empty soulless eyes staring back at you. There’s a fluid purposefulness to each one of their movements, like every action is carefully calculated to be as efficient as possible. They're playing with Tatum, you realize, holding themselves back as they revel in her fear. It’s surreal, like it’s been ripped straight from a horror movie Jackie would only watch through her fingers. You’re not sure what’s more horrifying: the killer barreling toward you or the fact that you’re already weighing your options–none of which include saving Tatum.

Tatum’s certainly counting on you to help her, to bravely fight off her pursuer as she runs back to the party for help; you could tell from the look in her eyes: the belief that you’ll somehow save the day. She must not know you as well as she thought, because you certainly weren’t going to be doing that. You turn and run too, using the distance you had on her for all it’s worth. You didn’t have to outrun the guy in the bloody costume–who, judging by the speed he’s closing in, definitely could have made the track team. 

No, you just needed to be faster than her.

This wasn’t how tonight was supposed to go, you think bitterly, but here you were running for your life in the middle of the woods. This wasn’t Tatum’s fault, but you couldn’t help but blame her for it anyway. You wouldn’t be here if she hadn’t been so insistent on sneaking off into the middle of the woods to hook up when there were perfectly good bedrooms in whomever house this was. Instead, you’d allowed her to play off the slight fear everyone looked at you with since the accusations, playing right into it just like she so obviously wanted from you. Was it your fault she took your short answers as broody silences?

Your heart pounds rapidly in your ears, drowning out the noise of Tatum’s frantic screaming. You want to yell at her to save her breath, that she’s not doing anyone any favors by wasting precious air on screaming, but that’s not entirely true, is it? No, she’s doing you a favor by making herself an easy target. You can hear her stumbling, hear the cracking of sticks beneath her feet, and hear the frantic footfalls off every step. But what’s more important is that you can’t hear whoever is chasing her.

Reluctantly, you sneak a look over your shoulder, expecting to find another glimpse of that mask, only to find Tatum running behind you. Just Tatum. Your eyes widen in horror, taking a few precious seconds to come to a terrifying conclusion. Slowly, you turn your head forward, already sure what you’ll find. Sure enough, there they’re. Standing just thirty feet in front of you, the knife is held behind their back so that it doesn’t catch the light, gloved fingers wrapped tightly around the handle. They tilt their head slowly to the side, the movement mocking, almost playful, as if daring you to do something about it.

You stop suddenly, or at least you try to, feet sliding in front of you on a forest floor full of leaves as the rest of your body tries to stop. Your back hits the floor with a painful thud, knocking the breath out of your chest as you stare up dazedly at the treetops. Tatum, for her credit, at least spares you a look as she runs straight past you. It makes you want to warn her, to finally do something to help her, but you can’t force it out of your mouth, each painful breath taking the words out of you. You close your eyes, knowing she’s sprinting right into her own demise.

Her scream is cut off almost as soon as it starts, trailing off into a gurgling noise and frantic wheezing for breath as she fights to fill her punctured lungs with air that'll never come again. You can hear the sounds of sticks breaking beneath her knees as she tries in vain to crawl away from her attacker, then a guttural wail of fear as they grab her by the ankle. The pitiful sound of her whimpering fills the air as the killer's gloved hands pulls her across the floor with a practiced ease. 

A chilling voice fills the air, menacing and distorted as she speaks. It's gravelly, almost robotic in nature, like an automated voicemail from hell. Slow, deliberate, and taunting. Every word carefully chosen to deliver a bolt of fear through Tatum's body, and you by extension. The worst part is how impersonal it sounds and how indifferent it is to Tatum's suffering. 

Only, the longer you listen to it, the more familiar it starts to sound. Not on the surface–you would certainly know that malice-filled voice from anywhere–but in the word choices, the way her mouth moves around the vowels as she speaks. If you didn't know any better, you would almost think it was… 

You sit up, finally, scrambling to your feet as you find Ghostface staring back at you. Her head is still tilted in the horrifying eagerness as she watches you, one hand holding a knife to Tatum's throat and the other casually holding a small box up to her masked mouth. She seems almost excited to have your attention, leaning back from her place on Tatum's hips to slowly raise her hand up to her mask. 

You want to scream at her to keep it on, knowing the second it comes off that your fate would be sealed, but a part of you needs to know for certain that it's Shauna staring back at you from those menacing eyes. 

The mask lifts just enough for a sliver of skin to become visible in the faint light, revealing an achingly familiar jaw line. The truth doesn't feel like a relief, even as the mask finally reveals those brown eyes staring back at you. Because it's Shauna–the girl you've spent so many months exchanging glances with, spilling your fears too. Shauna, who sits perched on Tatum's trembling form, knees digging into the dirt on either side of her hips. She glances down as Tatum makes another pathetic noise, looking utterly interested before looking back at you. 

Slowly, knowing you’re watching her, she raises the knife and brings it down with terrifying accuracy. You stand frozen in the trees as Shauna stabs into her with a sickening noise that grates your ears. The blade scraping against her ribs, you realize with  sudden clarity. You shudder, looking away and closing your eyes as she stabs her over and over and over again. She’s not just killing her–she’s savoring it, relishing every thrust, every splatter of blood as it leaves her body. Her eyes are wild, a feral gleam that turns her normally familiar expression into something unrecognizable.

The sheer joy in Shauna’s eyes makes your blood run cold. Your stomach churns, a wave of nausea overtaking you as you force yourself to stay standing, your knees buckling beneath you at the sheer brutality of it. It doesn’t seem to matter to her that you’re here or that you’re watching. Instinctively you look away, closing your eyes tightly, but even then you can’t escape the sounds.

All you can hear is the sound of the knife tearing through her skin, each stab more frenzied than the last. The squelching noises as her blood rushes out around the wound and drip, drip, drips onto the floor. Her blood is pooling on the floor, spreading out in a terrifying wave as it seeps into the floorboards. The scent of copper fills the air, overwhelming even as you barely resist the urge to gag.

You start to stumble back, desperate to get away before her attention is turned onto you, but you run into someone else. Their presence is a cold shock, one you don’t even have a chance to grow accustomed to before a soft voice speaks into your ear.

“Breathe,” Jackie says, her voice calm, almost soothing. Her arm wraps around your waist, pulling you against her as she leans her head against the back of your shoulder. Her breath is warm against the back of your neck, a welcome presence even as she keeps you captive in a moment of utter terror.

“Jackie,” you breathe out, barely audible over the scene in front of you. Your voice trembles, a mix of fear and relief fighting against each other. You know better than to think Jackie doesn’t already know what Shauna was here to do, but she’s somehow still a comfort.

“It’s okay,” she murmurs. “Shauna wouldn’t hurt you. Don’t you know that?”

You shake your head slowly, the motion almost mechanical in nature. You had certainly believed that before; even as rough as Shauna could get with others, she’d never once frightened you, but this was something else entirely. Her rage was a terrifying thing to witness.

Jackie tuts, a disappointed sigh leaving her mouth. “Don’t be like that,” she chides, her voice a mix of pity and something darker. Her grip tightens around your waist, whether to reassure you or to keep you in place–you’re not sure. A subtle possessiveness that makes you squirm despite yourself. 

Neither the time nor the place.

“Look at me,” she whispers. Reluctantly, you turn your head, just barely meeting your eyes as she looks up at you from her place against your shoulder. There’s a tenderness to her expression that soothes the jagged edges of your fear, but even that soft smile on her face can’t erase it entirely. She’s enjoying this, you can tell. Enjoying your dependence on her, taking pleasure in your vulnerability.

“Shauna wouldn’t hurt you,” Jackie repeats again, as it’s the most obvious conclusion in the world. She tilts her head slightly, searching your face for a flicker of belief, of trust. It almost makes you feel silly for ever doubting her in the first place.

The words are stuck in your throat, unable to come out even as you try to force them. You want to believe her–have to believe her. What other choice are you left with? The image of Shauna wild and slashing is imprinted on your mind, playing over and over again even as you try to think of other things. 

You think of how Shauna likes to carry your books for you, pressing up against you in the hallways as she bumps you against Jackie. 

(The same hands she’s using to hold the knife, to drive it into flesh.)

A soft, secret smile that Shauna saves for you and Jackie, the one you only catch when she thinks you aren’t looking. A tenderness you enjoyed being on the receiving end of.

(The feral grin as Shauna tears Tatum's stomach apart, relishing every moment of her pain.)

“Shh,” Jackie soothes, her touch gentle, almost loving. “Don’t think about it, okay? Trust me.”

You nod slowly, hesitantly, not sure if you’re trying to convince yourself or her. “Jackie…”

“Just watch,” Jackie interrupts, with a reverence that unnerves you. “Isn’t she gorgeous like this?” 

The skin of her hand is surprisingly soft against your chin as she maneuvers your head, turning you to face the bloodbath you’ve been avoiding. The horror of it looms large in your mind, and your eyes snap shut reflexively, shaking your head desperately.

“Open your eyes,” Jackie says, a gentle reprimand as she taps her fingers against your chin. “We’re doing this for you, you know? You could at least watch.” You can’t focus on the meaning of those words for a second, or they’d undo you.

We're doing this for you. 

The expectation in her voice is almost unbearable, and no matter how much you want to resist, you find yourself opening your eyes once again at her command. The sight that greets you is almost too much to bear, but at least Shauna’s wild frenzy has tempered into something more methodical, something controlled.

“It’s over, see? Nothing to be afraid of.”

Even as she speaks you look at Shauna, watching the way her chest heaves with exertion as she stands over Tatum's lifeless body. You can’t help but wonder how true it is and how long you could possibly count on that reassurance.

Jackie squeezes your hand in a way that would almost be affectionate if it weren't for the drying blood splatters on her knuckles as she lets you go, nearly skipping over to Shauna as she finally stands up. You stand frozen, eyes flicking between Tatum's mangled corpse and the sight of them kissing above it, ghostly black robes blowing in the slight wind. 

After a kiss you watch longer than you care to admit, Jackie pulls away, her face flushed with a mixture of excitement and desire. “We'll see you at home, ’kay? You seem like you need a moment,” She offers helpfully, like she's doing you a favor. 

You look at her, wide-eyed and pale as the mask she's holding loosely between her fingers, before nodding slowly. They walk off hand-in-hand further into the woods, presumably to wherever they were hiding out in the first place. Somewhere, deep down beneath your horror and fear, there's a flicker of something else. Acceptance, almost excitement at the thought. 

You go home. 

Your home.

[bamsara]

feel free to ignore this ask if it's too spoilery, but what kind of sibling relationship did narinder have with the other bishops before the betrayal?

was it more of a "i have a formal obligation to you since we're related" or "gods forbid you ask me for a singular corn chip, but i would kill someone for you"

Def the second one. Please pardon me because I'm about to ramble for a long minute.

The relationship between him and his siblings are very much built on sibling rivlerly but also care. They might have had spats about godhood and domains and spars with power, but they still supported each other and cared for each other; when you're an immortal god, really the only company you'll have in the end who understands you is your immortal siblings.

They will scold each other, help each other, tease and mock each other, maybe playfully sabotouge eachother, but they were eachothers family.

I've put some hints into it in my fic so I hope it's okay if I explain/point out some of them:

They helped each other with their domains and temples, respectivly, and sparred with one another, which is how I hc how Narinder is able to give The Lamb advice on how to fight them. They sqaubbled and bickered but it was all in care, and they had each other for eons.They were each other's support pillars.

At least back then. Now, there's a bitterness and resentment, not just between Narinder and the siblings but also the siblings themselves, possibly because of how the situation with Narinder went. Kallamar himself says to to kill Shamura and not him, and that it was not his idea to chain Narinder. Heket talks about grief and suffering:

Heket's ingame dialogue:

They both speak of suffering and grief. Possibly, suffering because of the pain sewn through the family when everything fell apart, and grief I can only imagine because they felt like they had to kill and/or chain their brother in the afterlife. Clearly there is love, or there used to be love in the family, and that love is lost or killed now. Suffering and grief. Resentment; because even after everything; Narinder, is STILL causing rifts and suffering for the family.

Kallamar's dialogue:

Kallamar is absolutley terrified of Narinder, his younger brother, who is the God of Death, and states that it was not his idea to chain him for his 'ideals'. Possibly because Narinder's crime was to create resurrection, to undo death, which would be wonderful for somone like Kallamar who is so deeply afraid of dying and suffers from cowardice. I imagine that Kallamar did not agree with his sibling's will to chain Narinder but didn't have the spine to go against them when Narinder threatened to unbalance everything. Thus; some resentment.

Shamura's ingame dialogue:

Shamura states that overtime Narinder grew discontent with being the limitations of Death. This is possibly when he began to look into creating the concept of resurrection, something that would reverse the 'absolute'. Possibly he would be very powerful with the ability to reverse death as many would seek that sort of safety. But it horrificly unbalances the nature of things.

How? The promise of Resurrection makes sacrifice and the fear of death useless.

Heket cannot control her followers with the promise of feasts or threats of famine if they can simply come back from death of starvation. Kallamar's followers would not fear disease or sickness if they were just going to revive after dying. Those who worship Shamura would not try to gain their favor for war, battle or knowledge if they were able to just resurrect if they lost. I'm not sure how it would affect Leshy's following, but I can imagine it's the same kind of outcome.

And still Shamura loved their brother, even aknowledging that they, the four siblings, were the ones to betray Narinder in the end. 'Of your own turned against you'.

It was Shamura that made the decision to chain Narinder in the underworld. It was Shamura who blames themselves for planting the idea of change, that something could be better, into Narinder's head, and it was Shamura who realized that the freedom of change that was allowed to themselves could not be allowed to Death himself, and made the other siblings join them to seal The One Who Waits away.

I'd like to think that the siblings each loved their family, at least before. There's resentment and bitterness now, hatred from betrayal and animosity between not just Narinder but possibly a little through the four siblings as well.

That being said, Shamura clearly still cares about Narinder or at least thinks back on him fondly in the dialogue of the blame. I'd like to think that there's grief like Heket says, and the others feel the same. They grieve him.

And in my story, I'd like to think that Narinder grieves them too.

So yeah. It was def 'a gods forbid you ask me for a singular corn chip, but i would kill someone for you' type of family, at least before it all went to hell.

[dadsbongos]

i eat your skin - f.megumi

part of the jjk movie marathon event / movie selection … warnings - cunnilingus (fem reader), title sounds like vore smut but it isn't i promise word count - 3.7 K / rating - R

Megumi braces his hands on his knees, brows pinched tight in preemptive annoyance. Satoru spindles over him, shadowing the younger man almost completely - and it only serves to irritate Megumi that he’d refused to sit down. Furiously determined to forever humiliate his former pupil, Megumi assumes.

Or, he would, if Satoru hadn’t actually agreed to give him advice about a little… situation.

“Alright, now when you see her, look at me- seriously, look at me, Megumi,” Satoru’s face is lethally drawn, usual bright grin tugged low and serious with furrowed brows to match, “Megumi, you cannot let her intimidate you,” Megumi opens his mouth, a vile retort slithers back down his throat when Satoru interrupts, “No, I know you, and you’ll feel all sick,” he mocks a frown, even pretending to wipe tears from his eyes, “You’ll get all nervous. But you cannot let her intimidate you out of it.”

“I’ll hardly die asking her out,” Megumi rolls his eyes, one hand lathering the sweat in his palms against his sweatpants and the other scratching the back of his neck, “Maybe this just isn’t a good idea…”

“And what? Be a miserable wimp the rest of your life?” Satoru folds his arms across his chest, “You’ve liked her since you were first years.”

“And?”

“You’re graduates now!”

“So?”

“‘So,’” Satoru mimics Megumi’s sulking nature, voice deep and neanderthal-ish in nature, “Be greedier, kid!” he flicks the younger man’s forehead, “You’ll die one day. You’ll die. Whether it be on a mission, or in your hospital bed as a diseased old man - you can’t stop it. So, why deprive yourself of something you really want when it all ends the same?”

Megumi can’t exactly pinpoint the reason he even came to his old legal guardian for help over, say, Nanami. He definitely should’ve gone to Nanami, at least he could’ve given Megumi genuine advice that isn’t some children’s show morale of “just tell her how you feel!” - he could’ve done that any day.

When Megumi opens his mouth to protest, Satoru flicks him again.

“You think your special one,” Megumi gags loudly at the title, and Satoru pays it no mind, “is gonna sit around her entire life not having fun and being young? Getting dates?” Satoru nods to himself when Megumi doesn’t reply, “Duh.”

“I want this to be special,” Megumi insists, both hands coming to rest in his lap now, he squeezes them together, lacing his fingers and imagining how yours would look with him instead, “I want- “

He wants and wants and wants and does nothing.

He needs to be someone you simply can’t fathom saying no to, he needs it so bad his stomach churns just like Satoru said it would.

“Alright, I know it can be difficult for you - not being me, after all,” a large hand claps on Megumi’s shoulders and he looks up to see the beaming face attached, “But trust me, kid, this whole idea of a ‘special’ confession is archaic bullshit compared to just being yourself.”

“I thought girls liked special confessions?”

“Sexist: not all girls automatically like the same things,” his former teacher shakes his head, sighing out each disappointed fiber trapped in his soul, “And if she doesn’t accept a plain, Megumi-style date proposition, then her shock and awe over a sick-as-hell graphic novel confession isn’t going to make for a healthy relationship.”

“Hm,” Megumi bites back frustrated curses, taking the words and molding them into a more conventional way that actually makes sense. He nods, “Okay.”

“Exactly,” Satoru stands back, giving Megumi room to rise from his bed, “Oh, but one thing that does help?” the older man grins wickedly, “Eat her out. Direct line to a woman’s heart is through eating her pussy.”

“Shut up,” Megumi huffs, pointing at his wide-open bedroom door, “Shut up. Shut up and get the hell out.”

“Jeez,” Satoru yanks at the already loose collar of his plain black shirt, “I thought we left teen angst behind. Just give it some thought! And also, I wanted to ask- “

Megumi huffs, falling back onto his bed, still pointing at the door.

“If,” and in true fashion, Satoru continues, maybe even a little louder (just to prove a point), “you wanted to watch a movie?”

“No,” Megumi immediately answers.

“C’mon! It’s this or paperwork I have to do.”

Megumi’s eye roll gives Satoru no more room for pleading, and so he stalks back to the living room. Dragging his socked feet over a shaggy black rug towards the door, he takes a final peek over his shoulder at the boy on his bed. Stupid mouth in a stupid pout and stupid nose forcing stupid crocodile sniffles, Satoru acts out a picturesque performance. And if his blindfold were off, Megumi is certain he’d catch big blue eyes framed by batting white lashes.

“No, “ Megumi rolls his eyes again, “‘m going out.”

…

Blushy top with faded blue bell bottoms and a shiny, thin chain that dangles across your chest, Megumi’s eyes flit away from your figure just as quick as they’d found you. Everything’s a little murky under the purple LEDs, but he thinks you’ve worn that before. He thinks you’re somehow more beautiful now. He looks away, snaking through a narrow, picture-framed hallway at Yuuji’s back to this house��s kitchen. There are no light strips strapped across the kitchen walls, simple and plain and unflattering fluorescent bulbs send a gentle cream wash over the walls.

With only a handful of straggling bodies leaning against peeling-edged faux wood cabinets and spotted countertops, there’s more room to breathe than in the hall. Red Solo cups from every teen movie nightmare decorate hands and unnerving corners. Some more anxious part of him wants to reach out and push every precarious ruby further back into secure landing, but he doesn’t.

Two women in complimentary spaghetti strap dresses flounce out of the kitchen with looped arms. They’re sunk into the plum tank until Megumi can’t see them at all anymore.

“Oh, like that!” you muse, nudging your chin towards a pair in matching floral print dresses that reach about mid-thigh, “Exactly my point.”

“That’s hardly 70s influenced,” the man in front of you - Jirou? Junto? Jouji? you don’t really recall - shakes his head, “Just flowers.”

“No, no, look at the trim,” you’re trying your hardest not to point but this guy just cannot pinpoint the details in your mind to save his life, “It’s flowy and mesh. Sort of. That’s a little more flower child era, right?”

“I guess, if your only experience in that fashion was movies,” you huff at the response and he laughs in the face of such exasperation.

“Whatever! You’re so difficult.”

“Hobby,” it’s so plain out of his lips. Like you should somehow be expecting that snark.

“Oh my God…” you can hardly believe someone could be so obtuse. A contrarian just for the fun of it, “And are you normally invited to parties for that?”

“Oh, no,” his tone, again, betrays some delusion that you should already know the answer, but this time you do already know. Who invites a conversation killer to an event? “I got dragged here by a friend. Don’t even know who the host is.”

You snicker, one hand smothering the sight of your mouth, “That makes more sense.”

Megumi can see the hand that binds, you usually don’t string it up around those you’re close with. Like Yuuji and Nobara and Maki and Miwa from Kyoto and your friends that live closer to the coast and the friends that don’t and your parents and him. So you’d think he’d know better than to let a big, gangly, clawed, green beast sprout and grow and suck away at his gut.

Even though that hand is a sign of some rising desire to be out of that conversation, he still hates being across the room when it happens. Because that’s still some semblance of a shining star behind the flesh. Some laugh or smile he’s not next to.

And it isn’t like he hates when you’re out with others. What he hates is being in the same room with someone potentially more captivating than he is.

He hopes you like him best because he’s the most familiar and drawing, and it’s disturbing when someone else might be more homely and more charming and more absorbing. He hates the curdling illness of jealousy and he hates to be this way when you two aren’t even together, but most of all he hates that maybe you’ll prefer someone else simply because they’re better at his craft than he is.

So Megumi watches and rots quietly with thick, spindling vines spreading and tangling him to the kitchen doorway as you talk to a guy whose name he doesn’t know. It’s pathetic and waning most unbearably.

“Stop staring, it’s weird,” Yuuji chastises, chunking part of his weight against Megumi’s side, an elbow shelved on Megumi’s shoulder, “Just go up and say something, if you wanna talk to her.”

“Yeah, it’s that easy,” Megumi jerks through the vines and into the hungry waters of a living room party with a snapping, starved crowd before finding the optimal spot: a plain wall with no posters or pictures to snag and smack down.

Yuuji trails after, his white shirt reflecting a blinding shade of lavender from beneath his puffer jacket. Much easier to track down than Megumi’s gloomy, funeral-grade attire. Yuuji capitalizes on the empty space so ugly at Megumi’s side, staking claim to the wall with a huff, “It is, by the way. You two are friends. Go tell her you’re here.”

“But then I’d have to,” Megumi’s mouth zips shut, head tilting as he snakes a hand through some imaginary crowd.

“I guess,” Yuuji wants to shake Megumi at times like this. He wants to shake you too, sometimes. But mostly he imagines squeezing Megumi’s shoulders and smacking him around, but he never does.

Maybe just the first part.

All out of love.

“Okay,” so Yuuji pivots, swerving in front of his best friend and taking one shoulder in each hand, “You need to do something or you’re going to sit here and be pouty, dude.”

“I’m not pouty.”

“Biggest lie in Tokyo, brother,” Yuuji purses his lips, eyes flitting to where you are, “I’ll get her over here if you really don’t want to.”

“Hm?” Megumi’s brows furrow, neck craning closer as if he could somehow mishear the man.

“Just pretend to be busy or some shit and I’ll brave the crowd,” Yuuji goes to walk away, suddenly pausing and placing a hand over Megumi’s heart, “And if I don’t return, sing songs for me by a nice lake every anniversary.”

“Whatever,” Megumi knocks away the hand but is already pulling out his phone to perform the charade. His eyes lock onto the screen and he soldiers on to not rip them away and give slight that this was planned.

…

“Do you think I could maybe get your number?”

“Oh!” no, God no - you wish you were better at saying that, “Uh,” it’s not even as if you dislike this guy, you just don’t think any conversation with him could amount past what it has.

Wow, you’re a pain in the ass! Yeah but it’s funny, right? Not if it’s on purpose. Especially if it’s on purpose! Sure, if that’s what you think. You do think it’s funny, right? Sure. Come on, it is! Sure.

And dry replies make you want to claw your eyes out more when you have to give them than when you receive them.

So when the bony fingers of Yuuji creep upon your side, it’s like the first drink of water after sifting through thick bowls and hills of sandy desert. He leans his head down into your peripheral, grinning brightly, “Miss me?”

“Yuuji!” you cheer, turning to… Junsei? and laying a flat palm under Yuuji’s chin, “This is my buddy, who I didn’t know was coming.”

“I texted you,” he pinches your side, “Fushiguro’s busy, so I’m fetching you for the night,” and you wonder if he might feel the stiffness of your muscles and the rigid air, “Sorry, man, but she’s got serious business tonight!”

“Oh,” Junzo! Junzo’s forehead crinkles, nose wrinkling at the bluntness of this cocky new stranger, “Uh…”

“See you around,” maybe it’s a lie, maybe it isn’t. You wave and let Yuuji keep you pressed to his side. You wait until you’re certain the surrounding affairs of other people drown whatever you could say to Yuuji, “Thank you for that. He was asking for my number and I just didn’t know what to say…”

“No,’” he shrugs.

“Oh, like you could’ve done that.”

“I could’ve!”

But Yuuji can do anything, so that isn’t fair.

“‘gumi!” you cheer upon getting close to the boy, arms splaying wide before wringing yourself around his neck, “I was worried you weren’t coming!”

He hesitates before having the misfortune to hear Satoru’s words once again. Be greedier. Be greedier. So he gently settles both hands on your back, pushing you chest-to-chest, “Yeah, well, Itadori wouldn’t let me stay in.”

“Poor baby,” you step back, and Megumi takes notice in how you maintain your hands’ position over his shoulders, nails picking at fluff on his shirt.

Megumi, regrettably, can still hear Satoru in the back of his head. Greedier, greedier, greedier. It chokes him up, the idea of selfishly taking you for himself. But what really grips him is the terrible way your gaze flits from his face to other men - unintentionally, he’s sure. But it drives him wild all the same.

“I hate big parties,” Megumi boldly cradles the bend of your waist with his hand, fingers splaying wide over the curve. He tugs you closer, thighs nearly brushing, “Crowd’s a pain in the ass.”

“Ah, no, c’mon, what’s that Great Gatsby quote?” who’s to say, he hasn't read that book, “‘I like large parties. They’re so intimate…’” you shrug, bottom lip tugging between your teeth when he doesn’t show any recognition, “‘At small parties there isn’t any privacy.’”

“You actually remembered that shit?”

You titter coyly, “Maybe I saw it on one of those book quotes videos. Maybe I remembered it.”

“Well, it’s a stupid quote. There’s too much noise at big parties, it’s hard to hear people.”

“You hear me just fine,” that’s just because he’s leaning closer and trying harder than he does for most people, “Besides, I like it. At big parties you can just fuck off and do your own thing, you know? At small parties there’s this expectation to be around everyone and interact with everyone and be having fun with the group.”

Finally, it seems to click, he nods slowly, “You like to get away from the crowd?”

“Yeah,” you scratch the side of your arm, then your neck, and it’s so odd how just thinking about how uncomfortable your skin is that you can get so itchy, “Hard to do that when the crowd’s five people and a dog.”

“Well,” Megumi can feel Yuuji’s stare, and it takes everything in him to not knock the kid up his skull, “If you wanna get away, I’m sure - uh,” he’s suddenly humiliated by his own hubris, “I’m sure there’s room… upstairs…”

You grace him with a patient nod, hands lowering from his shoulders to lace your fingers together, “I’m sure there is.”

…

“So…”

“So…”

Megumi nods, head slowly tilting so he’s staring up at you through his long lashes, “So.”

You lean closer, shoulder pressing and nose bumping against his, “So?”

The heat from Megumi’s cheeks wavers over you, his flesh ripe with crimson. You want to bite him. Leave a terrible mark that he couldn’t possibly cover up; maybe he’d let it bleed through his dark shirt. Maybe he’d let you lick it clean.

“You look nice,” he tucks his face down, heated skin now flush against your top. His brows furrow, uncertain, “Really nice.”

Megumi wonders what Satoru or Yuuji would do. They’re greedier than him by nature. More outgoing.

They would’ve done something years ago.

Suddenly, you grin. All sharp teeth and nails pricking over his thigh, through his pants. Your eyes stare down at him over the bridge of your nose, and you lean closer - smothering any space he’d initially put between your bodies.

“Are you gonna do something about it?”

Megumi’s eyes widen, warmth beating over his face and the back of his neck. He flails for a response, trapped under your piercing gaze, before finally settling on a response that he hopes pleases you.

“Do you want me to?”

You frown; something in his chest stings, a chord pulled awry. The tug of your lips is all a ploy, a mesmerizing color to disguise venom, “Don’t you want to, ‘gumi?” you pull away, leaning back with your hands pressed to the mattress below, “Don’t you want me?”

A cold breeze from this stranger’s open window takes up residence across Megumi’s sweltering skin. He hates it. He wants to get up from the bed altogether and slam the window shut. He wants to take you in both hands and sink himself into the softness of your skin. He thinks you’d be savory.

He wants to be certain.

So both of his hands mold to your hips, melting his exposed skin to yours.

Fingers dipping into the waistband of your bottoms, he bats his eyelashes and tucks his lower lip between fangs. He may draw blood. He cares not.

The oxygen is thin; hardly refreshing.

Megumi swallows the pooling want on his tongue, his fingers twitch against you, “Can I- “

“‘gumi…” you flatten yourself onto your back, hips tilting up into his palms, “Show me you want me.”

“Okay,” Megumi nods, air forced out of his throat through swollen hunger, “Okay.”

Once he’s gotten your pants off, Megumi presses open kisses against the inside of your thighs, following the swell to its natural apex. He digs the jab of his nose into you, lips impolitely fluttering against the seat of your panties before dipping his tongue out. Lolling the soft, soaked muscle over the clinging fabric, he feels his chest clench at how you rock your hips down into his face.

He feels one of your hands wind into his messy hair, carding through the softness. He wants to make you tug it - pull cruelly and grind against his face. Take what he gives and selfishly demand more.

Megumi groans heartily into your clothed cunt when the slickness of his saliva pulls your wetness from the cloth; when the unabashed taste of you meets his tongue.

He nearly rips your panties down your legs, settling it in a ball at his side. Heart leaping up into his jaw at the mere thought of getting his tongue into you.

Laving his tongue between your folds, Megumi licks up to your clit and circles the bud - his hips jerking down into the plush mattress when you jolt up and tug his hair. He pulls his head back only to pucker his lips and drool onto your hole, adding to the sloshing wetness before steadying his shaky fingers against you.

Sucking your clit into his mouth, Megumi begins softly. Caressing the bundle of nerves with his warm tongue, blending flat, broad strokes with precision dances of the muscle over you. Meanwhile, he slicks his middle finger into your hole and moans in response to your gasp.

When he’s sure you’re wet and stretched enough, he adds a second finger and curls them both upwards. The muscles in his arm will be aching tomorrow, but he shoves that to the back of his mind. He presses and scissors and dips inside you until the pads of his fingers find sponge, and he hits there, and there again. And again. And again. And again.

He hits there until you’re fully babbling, gushing against his swollen, pink lips and chin. And he’s starting to babble back.

Vibrations are loosely strewn together as ‘yes’ and ‘please’ and ‘cum on me’ are bound against your clit as he nuzzles closer into your heat. Burying himself between your thighs and finding himself releasing a moan into your cunt when your thighs clenched tightly around his head. The fat of your thighs snug over his ears.

Releasing your clit from between his lips with a soft ‘pop’, Megumi flays his tongue onto the exposed nerve. Hot puffs of air leave him with each groan and whimper as his desperation to make you cum hammers over him.

Finally, you yank his hair again and snap your hips into his tongue; cunt sucking his fingers in even deeper. You squeeze around him, back arching, and his name singing from your lips.

Megumi unfurls his fingers as your cum splashes out onto his waiting tongue and chin, riding you through the hurls of pleasure until your twitching legs crash back onto the mattress. Slowly, he slides his fingers out of you before licking up your excess release from the divots in your thighs and your cunt.

Unwinding your fingers, you settle for soothing his stinging scalp with gentle pets.

Eventually sitting up, Megumi gasps for air as you do, staring down at his fingers. Shining with your wetness.

“Still hungry?” you tease, voice ripped at the edges.

“Actually?” Megumi shrugs, “A little.”

The cocky air has dissipated from your body. Once tense and lively limbs were now useless against the bed.

Megumi jams both fingers into his mouth and sucks off your cum.

“Insatiable!” you huff.

Rouge has overtaken Megumi’s cheeks - worse than before - and he can’t meet your eyes after having swallowed what remained of your soak. He leans over onto his elbow to avoid crushing you, “Only when it’s you… I don’t,” he waves his hand around, “do this often…”

“Really? Could’ve fooled me.”

Megumi has to hide his grin, almost embarrassed to enjoy being praised, choosing to take up time looking around the room you’d shoved him into.

Idol posters with one constant member litter the walls. Pink concert tickets cover the desk. And many pictures with the same two people overwhelm Megumi’s sight. He feels an unsettled chill scrawl over his skin.

“Todo is going to kill me,” he grimaces.

“Was it worth it?”

Megumi doesn’t take long to respond, already trying to think of where and when he can get you under him again, “Definitely.”

Megumi’s proper death is drowning via punani tsunami *thumbs up emoji*

[cacoetheswriting]

celebrity skin. (part nine)

pairing: rockstar!eddie munson x popstar!fem!reader word count: 4.6k summary: an album release forces some feelings and conversations — one thing's for sure though, Eddie will always be thinking about you.

content warnings: 18+, minors dni: suggestive & mature themes, adult language, use of pet names, mentions of alcohol consumption, mentions of blackmail — if i missed anything in this chapter, pls let me know!

& psa: images used in the header don’t depict readers physical attributes! these are also described vaguely in the story, only that she’s a little shorter than eddie.

celebrity skin. masterlist

“We are here this morning with a true music icon in the making, who’s hits like Compromising Positions and most recently Honesty took the world by storm. Now, Eddie Munson is just a few short days away from releasing his sophomore album with his Corroded Coffin bandmates, Assistance is Futile. Welcome to Eddie Munson everybody, yes!”

“Happy to be here, Charles.”

Good Morning America was definitely not the type of talk show the rockstar pictured himself ever getting invited on. He didn’t think his personal style, or the music he was putting out there with the band, would be something the producers would welcome. Considering especially the whole thing was televised live. No cuts, no edits, no take backs. Whatever is said remains out there forever. Quoted and interpreted until the next schmuck makes a fool of himself.

Hosts, Charles Gibson and Joan Lunden, were also known to be quite blunt with their guests. Blunt, but not in the rude sense of the word. Given their history on the network, their experience, they're simply good at what they do, which sometimes means effortlessly picking at a topic until they get a satisfactory reaction or better yet, television worthy answer. Of course there’s always a list of pre-agreed questions, carefully discussed with management and PR teams, but things have known to… slip out.

But Marianne trained him. Extensively. She flew out to New York the second this interview was arranged and spent hours in Eddie’s penthouse hotel room going over details that to most people, people not from this world, may seem minor: how to sit, how to smile, what to laugh at, the amount of seconds it should take him to answer a question. The list goes on. And now she was here, at the studio, to make sure Eddie saw a friendly face in the crowd. Someone to look at in case he got flustered at any point during the fifteen minute round.

“Before we get into the nitty gritty,” Joan begins, crossing one knee over the other, “Eddie, why don’t you tell us a little about how you and the band first got started?”

So Eddie talks. He’s charming as he tells the story, sparing a few details ‘cause he knows he doesn’t have a lot of time. He does however, crack a few jokes, including one about the list of names Gareth and Jeff brought to him one night before they all agreed on Corroded Coffin. Charles laughs before asking the next question about the band's success so far, and what he makes of it.

“Oh man, it’s so insane,” Eddie answers truthfully, “I still have days where I don’t think any of this is real. All of us in the band feel incredibly lucky, for sure.” He nods along as he speaks.

Joan and Charles take turns asking a few more general questions about the band plus the other members who couldn’t make it out today, before settling on the whole reason Eddie agreed to do this interview in the first place: promotion for the new album.

Assistance is Futile was a collection of songs about you — but that was not going to be an answer he gives today, accidentally or otherwise. Instead, the rockstar focuses attention on how the record was built. Technical language that he dumbs down slightly to make sure he’s continuously captivating his audience (Marianne’s advice). He tells them what instruments the group played around with that may not have featured on their last album, which was more classic rock than this new project. And he’s excited as he talks. Passionate.

He continues to lay out the facts. List the number of tracks it features, eleven plus two bonus songs on the extended version. He talks about the writing process, still carefully avoiding mentioning the influence. He won’t say he wrote them all during the aftermath of your breakup. He hasn’t even admitted that to you, despite the fact that you spent every waking moment together since the afternoon at Cove City Sound Studios. He knows he won’t be able to hide that for much longer, but until the album comes out and you hear the songs for yourself, he’ll keep it to himself because things have been so… great.

Sure, things weren’t back to normal. It can’t be the way it was until Eddie finds the time to speak with your management and nip this whole evil grandmother blackmail thing in the bud. At least he’s got you in some capacity. He gets to talk to you again, laugh with you. He gets to hug you, kiss you, touch you. Friends with benefits, or whatever the term is. Eddie’s just glad to be around you.

“Now, here at the studio, we got an exclusive, sneak peak listen to Assistance is Futile, and there’s a little bit of speculation between the crew about the meaning behind some of the songs.”

Boom. There it is. The dreaded topic. And it was going so well.

“Care to share where the inspiration for these lyrics struck you? Who, in particular, they might be about?”

Eddie smiles. “Give into the charade”, Marianne’s words ring in his ears, “But by any means, don’t confirm their suspicions”. Not an easy task. A slippery slope by all accounts. He ever so slightly glances in the direction of his manager who nods her head to show encouragement.

“Who do you think they’re about, Joan?” Eddie bounces the question back.

The presenter smiles. She knows she shouldn’t say. Yes, it would be good for ratings, but bringing up your name is not something that can be done lightly. She knows that. Hence why Joan hoped Eddie Munson wouldn’t be smart enough to avoid the initial question. But the rockstar’s been trained and he’s not about to mess up with two minutes to spare.

“Well, I’d say my friend Charles here. He’s got, what was that one lyric, legs for days and a wicked smile.” Joan deflects. Ever the professional.

The whole studio starts laughing. Eddie joins in, satisfied with the way this worked out. 

“You’d be right on the money there, Joan.” The rockstar nods with a wide smile before continuing, “Charles Gibson has been a constant inspiration for Corroded Coffin songs. There’s not a lot to do in Hawkins, where we grew up. Gotta write what you know and my uncle has an affinity for this show.” 

He turns to the camera to say hi to Wayne, “I know you’re watching.”

Then shifts to look at the hosts once more, winking at the gentleman sitting across from him.

“Charles, you sexy devil, you.”

The laughter continues. People start to clap, whistle along to Eddie’s perfectly curated response. Marianne is beaming with pride because for a brief moment, she didn’t think he could do it. There've been so many mishaps in the past, wild things the band — the curly-haired frontman in particular — have done that she’s had to either smooth over with the media or keep hidden from the public altogether. This morning she finally exhaled. He did well.

You’re laughing too. Feeling proud too as you watch him through your television screen, just like you promised Eddie you would.

Blanket covering your body, all the way up to your chin, as you sit comfortably on the couch. The smile on your face is as genuine as they come. He’s so good at this. Considering how nervous he was, how much time he spent with Marianne going over every possible scenario until his head hurt. You took a mental note to tell him later that he really had nothing to worry about. He’s a natural.

The question about his inspiration for the album didn’t surprise you. It’s pretty standard for these types of press junkets. Even more given the fact your relationship has been the talk of the town for months, especially when the two of you weren’t even together. People love to speculate.

When Eddie told you about the upcoming album, one night after you came down from another intense orgasm, you assumed he wrote about your relationship — especially the failures. Honesty came to the rockstar after only one night. Makes sense that a complete record would be next. He didn’t confirm it though, because you didn’t ask. You would know once it came out, when you purchased your own copy to listen through. Artists supporting artists, and whatnot.

“Corroded Coffin’s Assistance is Futile. Coming to a record store near you, this Thursday, October 14.” Charles Gibson announces, holding up a shiny compact disc to one of the cameras, showing off the album’s cover art: a thundering night sky, with something sinister looming inside the blood red clouds. An ode to the band's Dungeons & Dragons days.

“Eddie Munson, thank you for your time today.” Joan Lunden flashes a pearly white smile.

The rockstar returns the expression. “Thank you for having me.”

Backstage, Eddie gives Marianne a big hug. Thanking her for being here. While returning the embrace, she reassures him that’s never going to change. “Or at least until the contract ends,” his manager teases and ruffles his already wild hair before sitting down on the velvet sofa.

“So, tell me, am I flying back to LA alone?”

Eddie picks up a bag of previously opened Funyuns before leaning against the vanity. He shuffles the remainder of the onion-flavoured corn chips inside the plastic, then starts eating them, one by one.

“Yeah,” he says, shrugging as if it was an obvious answer. “We’ve got the release party for the album. The guys would kill me if I missed it.”

“I’d kill you first.”

He smirks. “Then why ask me the question?”

Marianne gives him a pointed look. One that says, no, screams, he of all people should know why. Eddie got on a private plane to New York so he could “sort something out”, then ended up staying for weeks longer than intended with no explanation. Marianne called him at the hotel multiple times, asking for a return day, but he always gave a vague answer. Then Gareth called, as did Jeff (who sort of already suspected the reason for the delayed homecoming, kudos to Holly), but Eddie continued on the road of avoidance, all while Page Six posted about sightings of him with a certain pop sensation.

“Eddie, you haven’t been this happy since—”

“I know,” he interrupts, “I know and yes, to whatever you’re thinking, but I don’t wanna talk about it now because there’s something I need to do first.”

“What do you need to do?” She asks, puzzled because in the time they’ve worked together, the rockstar has never once left her out of action. She did everything for him. That was her job. One she did gladly because she’s grown to care for these boys.

Eddie sighs, wiping his crumb covered hands on the material of his trousers. The bag of chips lays empty on the table next to him. Of course he contemplated telling Marianne everything on multiple occasions, but each time he chickened out at the last minute. He knew she could fix everything in the blink of an eye. Simply, the rockstar just didn’t feel worthy of that. 

His entire life, Eddie ran away. From situations, from people, from feelings. Anything that was messy, or just became messy. He ran until the distance felt comfortable enough to continue with his life. Growing up in Hawkins, he didn’t have a Marianne. He didn’t have anyone that would stand up for him, so running became second nature. Running fixed his problems. 

By the time the band hit stardom, running turned to escapism in the form of drugs and alcohol. The bubble. Under the influence, the rockstar didn’t care who cleaned up after him and Marianne was so good at her job that most of the time, Eddie didn’t even know there was a problem to run from until it was resolved.

The situation with your grandmother however, was different. It involved you. 

He gave into his instincts and ran. Only this time, Eddie ran to protect you. Threats were made to potentially ruin your career — fucked up, considering the person that made them was also the person who helped kick-start your fame. And as selfish as he may seem to people that don’t know the real him, the rockstar wasn’t willing to gamble everything you built for yourself. He ran.

But Eddie was done running. He was going to fix this and he planned on doing it alone.

“What’s going on?” Marianne stands and takes a step closer, crossing her arms. Concern is starting to fill her veins, though she’s trying her best not to show it. Trying and failing.

Maybe solving this alone wasn’t the way to go.

“Someone’s been blackmailing me,” he admits eventually, reluctantly. 

“What?!” Marianne just about shouts. “Who? For how long?”

“It’s uh…. It’s a complicated story.”

“Well, fuck.” She’s slightly annoyed ‘cause how could he have hidden something like this from her? This is why the band has her. Managing them, planning shit to maintain their career is only a small part of her job. Protecting these boys is a priority and blackmail is a big fucking deal.

Exhaling, Marianne lets her arms drop and proceeds to take a much less confrontational stance. 

“Eddie, you know I’ve always got nothing but time for you, so spill.”

And he does. Starting right at the beginning with Chrissy Cunningham.

-

When Eddie stops by your place later that afternoon, he kisses you, the second you open up your apartment. He kisses you fully, deeply. He’s kicking the door closed with his boot, lips continually locked together, his hands holding you firmly by the waist. A man on a mission and the mission being to make you feel like you're floating all the damn time. 

You smile against his soft lips. Mission accomplished.

“That’s one way to say hello.”

“Hello,” he whispers back, also smiling. “How was your morning?”

“Not nearly as interesting as yours,” you answer his question and turn in your spot, wanting to lead him to the couch. Eddie’s hands remain on your waist as you do so, no inclination of letting go.

MTV is on. The wild-haired rockstar instantly feels at home — a stark contrast to that first night he showed up at your door. Adrenaline pumping. Unsure of the outcome. But it was better than he could’ve imagined, dreamed. Back in your arms with little to no arguments. Back where he for sure belonged.

Honesty comes on. The video makes him smile as he effortlessly pulls your legs over his thighs, hand settling on your soft flesh and giving it a gentle squeeze. The memory of that day with you on set. Eddie wouldn’t call it acting. Hugging you, kissing you on camera. Not a tough act. Natural, actually. That was a good day. You’re thinking it too.

“Magnetic.”

“Huh?”

Eddie can’t tear his eyes away from the screen. “You’re magnetic. Utterly. I almost forgot, but I didn’t really, you know? I-I think about that day often and how much fun it was,” he rambles. It’s sweet. 

“But what I replay in my mind the most is how fucking talented you are, sweetheart. A goddess in front of a camera, I swear.”

You smirk, your own mind flying to something much, much dirtier than what Eddie meant, and he flicks your leg at the institution, all while glancing at you from the corner of his brown eyes. Because there was a video camera left under the rockstars California King bed with a tape inside, a tape that could get you both — although the sexist industry you’re lucky to be a part of would blame only you, mainly — in a lot of trouble, if it ever saw the light of day. A tape for private eyes only. And Eddie wasn’t wrong, you were near damn a goddess.

“Wish we could work together again,” he says, then quickly adds, “Professionally, sweetheart, before you get any kinky ideas.”

That makes you laugh.

“Think you should focus on the album the band is about to release, hotshot. Once that’s a sure hit, then we can talk about doing something together.”

“Well, there is a box in my room, back in LA, with notebooks full of songs…”

He’s trying to be encouraging. Motivational. Really what Eddie’s doing is building up the courage to ask you to go back to Los Angeles with him. In a complete roundabout way, to be honest. The guys would call him a pussy. He was being a pussy. There was however, a lot he still needed to tell you. This whole thing with your grandma, for one. But Marianne was handling that now, and once she gave him the agreed upon sign, there was nothing stopping Eddie from screaming he loves you from all available rooftops — which he hoped to do for the first time at the place you two officially met. 

And with his manager on the case, he knew it would be sooner rather than later.

“Eddie, you’re a dumbass.” Marianne states. There’s a frown on her face, but it’s not serious. Accompanied by a smile that’s giving him a little bit of hope.

“I know—”

“No,” she interrupts, “You don’t.” 

He exhales. “I do, though.”

“Eddie. If you came to me when this first happened, you would’ve never lost all this time with Little Miss Perfect. The fact that you didn’t, the fact that you didn’t trust me with this information, makes you a dumbass.”

“So, you can fix this?”

“There’s a little thing called a Cease and Desist,” Marianne says as if it’s the most obvious answer in the world. And in a way, it is. “No one is going to threaten the career of my favourite client and get away with it.”

Eddie smiles. Genuinely. Something reminiscent of relief is flowing through his body, down to the tips of his toes, until he no longer feels heavy. The burden of this situation is slowly lifting.

“With your permission, I’d like to approach her team with this information. They’ll most likely also issue a cease and desist, so that her career is also protected.” Marianne says. “But I guess since all you’ve tried to do is keep her out of harm’s way, the only way you knew how, I’m assuming I have your permission without even asking for it?”

“Yes, yes, thank you.” He’s repeating over and over and over, wrapping his arms around Marianne. A hug they’d both cherish forever.

“Like I said, let’s get you to survive this record release first, okay?”

You’re looking at each other now.

“Take it day by day, Eds.”

“What if I want to skip ahead?”

There’s a lot hiding behind that question. The future is uncertain in many ways. He knows that he wants you, you know that you want him. That’s enough, but at the same time it isn’t. Day by day is easier than thinking about tomorrow, or the next day. He just loves you, which he’ll tell you soon. That’s what he wants to skip too.

On the other hand, you’re terrified. Giving into him again brought no shortage of anxiety about his past behaviour. Eddie Munson hurt you, twice. Second time worse than the first. You forgave him, yet the fear was still there. The question remained: what if he did it again? He wouldn’t, but what if he did? So taking it day by day, as it came, was easier. A shield, of sorts. Protection against hurt. 

Also, it was a lot more fun to act without consequence. To just be. 

Existing with him felt almost normal, even though there was nothing normal about the various interviews and photoshoots the rockstar has been doing promoting Assistance is Futile while in New York, or the long phone calls with his manager and bandmates in preparation for the release party. Nothing normal about your own career, which you’ve slowly been defrosting following the short heartbreak hiatus. Pivoting slightly towards acting as a new form of expression. So you’re reading scripts, rehearsing lines. All without expectations. Day by day.

“Skipping ahead means you, going back to LA for the release party,” you point out.

“You could come with me. The invitation is there, you know that.”

“There’s nothing I’d want more than to be there for you and the guys, Eddie, you know that.” You lean in closer, pressing your body weight into his. “But if I make an appearance, it will overshadow the album you worked really hard on and that’s not fair.”

He doesn’t say anything. Instead, pressing his lips to the side of your head, leaving a soft kiss while inhaling the sweet scent of your shampoo. He slowly nods against you, understanding your point of view.

“So we won’t see each other for a while then, huh?”

“Well, I got that recurring part in Law & Order which is filming here, so that’s a couple of months, at least, that I’ll be stuck here in New York.”

“I can visit,” he jumps in almost instantly, “And you, maybe… You can come out to see me whenever you have breaks in filming?”

“Sounds good, Eds.”

There’s a moment of silence. It shifts towards the heavy side. Eddie’s biting his tongue. He wants so badly to tell you everything he’s been keeping secret, but he knows it’s not a good idea until Marianne confirms she’s consulted your team and the cease and desist letters have been sent out. He’s just not ready to say goodbye yet. Not even for a little while. He just got you back. You’re also lost in thought. Reuniting with the Corroded Coffin frontman has been nothing short of a rollercoaster, in the best way possible. Having him here, next to you once more, kissing and touching you. And you know it was limited. That time would come knocking and he’d have to go back, while you’d need to stay. Bittersweet would be the word to describe how you feel. 

“How about we focus on right now, hm?” You offer, lifting your head so that your sweet gaze catches his chocolate one. Then a short inhale later, you kiss him. Gentle, at first, although not quite a peck. His eyes close on impact as his hand reaches for your face, attaching itself like a magnet. Cradling, squeezing your cheeks. 

And you smile. Fucking smile. Eddie loves it when you smile while kissing him. It drives him crazy knowing his touch makes you that happy. So he can’t help but smile too. Teeth knocking against each other in the process. 

“I’ll never get tired of kissing you,” the rockstar admits.

“I’ll never get tired of kissing you, Eddie Munson.” 

The hand that held his toned abdomen just a mere second ago is now not so innocently sliding in a downward trajectory. You fiddle with his leather belt, unbuckling it rather effortlessly with one hand after you press your lips against his once more. Deeper this time. Wanting.

“But distracting me from a conversation about what’s mph… next,” he mumbles as you tug at his zipper. You’re not giving him a chance to breathe. “Isn’t going to - Jesus - work.”

“Okay,” you’re teasing. It’s a whisper and Eddie’s brain short circuits ‘cause your perfectly manicured fingers are sliding into his boxers, reaching for his semi.

-

“So, you guys are like back together now, huh?” 

Steve’s question lingers in the air for a moment. He’s glancing at his small-town friend turned worldwide phenomenon from across the table, swirling black coffee in his takeaway cup.

Eddie looks out the window at the clouds passing by. 

After getting over his initial fear of flying, since he hadn’t been on a plane until his early twenties, the rockstar decided he enjoyed it a lot more than he thought he would. Things were peaceful up here — especially since he could now afford private jets. Just him and his guitar. Even when he travelled together with the guys, they all got lost in their own thing too, as did Marianne.

The upcoming release party however, prompted an invite to his little sister as well as Steve. So he knew that unfortunately this trip wasn’t going to be a quiet one.

“Something like that,” Eddie answers, turning his attention back to his friend.

Harrington nods. “That’s good, man. She’s great.”

“That she is.” Eddie fails to contain a smile.

“I’m happy for you.” Steve’s words are genuine.

“Thanks, dude.”

The short exchange is interrupted by Max’s snort. The two boys look at the redhead currently splayed out on one of the recliner seats. A book in her lap, one that she’s not really reading, but she’s keeping up appearances anyway.

“To think we wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t for my genius,” she retorts, a smirk now present on her face.

Eddie laughs lightly, but doesn’t say anything. He’s looking out the window again. His mind turns to you. He misses you, even though he saw you not even a half hour ago when you said goodbye before he got on the plane. He misses you. Anxiety building since neither of you are really sure when you’d be able to see each other next. “And that’s okay,” is what you said to him in between soft kisses. He’s repeating it now.

“She’s not coming to the party, right?” Red asks her older brother, briefly breaking Eddie away from his thoughts. 

The rockstar shakes his head. “No.”

“You’ll see her soon,” his sister reassures, reaching for his forearm across the aisle, squeezing. 

“I know, I know.” 

“Then why the sad face?” Steve points out.

Eddie wishes he was alone. Then no one would be questioning him, even though he knows it’s coming from a good place. They just care, he tries to level his emotions, they’re asking because they care.

“Our last goodbye wasn’t so good,” he answers plainly.

Luckily both Max and Steve understand. They exchange a glance between themselves before returning to whatever activity they were engaging in prior to the start of this conversation: Red buries her head in the book she wasn’t really reading and Harrington resumes listening to music on his Walkman.

Eddie is once again glancing out the small jet window. He’s once again thinking about you. 

And he continues to think about you when the plane lands. In the car, on the way to his Hidden Hills home. He continues to think about you when the house fills with people that are there to style him for the release party. He’s making small talk, his mind still centred on you.

You remain the centre of his attention, even when Eddie and the band arrive at the venue, and he’s being ripped ten thousand different directions. Picture here, sign this, talk to this person. He enjoys a drink and he’s still thinking about you. He’s wishing you were here. 

The guys are introduced to come up on stage and even though Eddie is on cloud nine for this release, super proud of the record they put together, he’s wishing you were here to celebrate this with him.

He thinks about you as he sings one of the songs. Breaking News — a song about you, of course.

There comes a point during the night, a split second during which Eddie stops thinking about you. Not for any particular reason. Nothing spectacular happens for him to do so, he just… does. But it’s only a fleeting moment. He regrets it as soon as he realises. He especially regrets it when Marianne approaches him, a concerned look spread across her usually composed features — although the rockstar doesn’t pick up on her expression immediately.

“What did you think of the performance?” Eddie asks, smiling wide.

She doesn’t answer. Instead, she reaches for the half-empty glass in his hand and sets it aside before exhaling a sigh.

He furrows his brows, the smile fading as quickly as it appeared.

“Eddie, there’s been an accident.”

thank you for reading! really appreciate the endless & continuous support!

celebrity skin. masterlist

& tagging some cool ppl that expressed interest: @eviethetheatrefreak , @thirddeadlysin , @haylaansmi , @nope-thanks , @tlclick73 , @vintagehellfire , @ashlynnkennedy , @avalon-wolf , @sidthedollface2 , @astheni-a , @bebe07011 , @aysheashea , @papillonoirsworld , @vol2eddie, @spideyanakin-interacts , @rogers-sweatbands , @mimsie95 , @mmunson86 , @eddiesguitarskills , @ohmeg , @hereforshmut , @eg-dr3amer3 (if your user is crossed out, it means the tag isn’t working. pls check you’ve enabled tagging in your settings)

[doberbutts]

We have a little free pantry in our front yard (toothbrushes, tampons, shelf-stable snacks bottled water, etc.), and I read a lot about people's experiences having one online before we put ours up re: expectations about potential interactions with people using it, but nothing prepared me for how weirdly aggro *other* people sometimes get about us having it as a form of "activism" as opposed to some other, more nebulous idea of broader social change. "Don't you think it'd be better to volunteer at or donate money to a homeless shelter, so those people can get the actual help they need?" "Shouldn't you focus more on trying to campaign for policy changes that will help more people than one street corner if you care about this problem?" "Isn't doing that a waste of time?" "Aren't you just encouraging people not to get help?" I do that other stuff when I can. This is something small I can do - in addition to raising awareness and fighting for bigger change, when I have the time and money and spoons - and at least, when I don't. It's crazy to me to approach social justice issues with such an all-or-nothing mindset as some people seem to. I've met enough of the individuals who utilize it to know it makes a difference in a very tangible way for the people directly around me.

No, I agree entirely.

Corny and dated as it is, there's a reason the saying is "be the change you want to see". If no one within the community puts in the work to fix the community's problems, even in little bits and pieces, then how will anything change? Raising awareness only goes so far. What happens when all anyone is, is aware? Aware, and still doing nothing, waiting for someone else to put in the work.

Sometimes, that someone is going to need to be you. You can't just wait around and wait for someone else to do it for you.

If I see someone digging through the trash for food, I wave them over and offer them food from my house or fresh food from a store or take them to a restaurant where they can order whatever they want. If I'm getting groceries and I see someone very obviously homeless struggling to pay for their food, I tell the cashier to add it to my bill. No one starves in front of me. Ever since I stopped needing to rely on food stamps, no one starves in front of me.

This past summer I saw someone splayed out on the sidewalk in 95F weather in direct sunlight. I couldn't tell if he was unconscious from drugs or passed out from the heat or just simply had fallen asleep in the shade and then the sun moved. I was getting groceries so I added a bunch of hot chicken to my order plus several bottles of refrigerated water. I went over to him and woke him and explained that I was worried he needed medical attention. He'd passed out because he was tired, he told me. I offered him the hot food and the water and he thanked me, telling me he'd run out of water the night before and food the day before that and didn't have any money to get any more.

Everyone else had been walking around him like he was just an obstacle on the sidewalk. No one had thought to offer any help. When I walked away, some folks who saw me told me that that was very nice of me. I don't think it was nice of me. I think that's just what you should do if you see someone obviously in distress. They agreed that he seemed like he needed the help. They didn't act. They agreed that the compassionate and right thing to do was to offer assistance and make sure he was okay. But they didn't do it. They waited for someone else to do it.

I've mentioned in passing that I volunteer for the local teen LGBT club, helping lost gay kids find their way and maybe not kill themselves about it. It's not much. I mostly just text back and forth with whatever kids get my number from the adults that run the thing. Sometimes I give them tips and advice. Sometimes I'm just the cool gay uncle they tell about their latest school drama. Once or twice I've served one of them lunch on my couch while my dogs smother them with affection and they cry about their latest heartbreak. I don't do speeches or history lessons or anything like that. I don't think I'm qualified for it, in honesty. But if even one of them doesn't commit suicide, if even one of them doesn't self-harm, if even one of them no longer feels all alone in the world because I'm there when they reach out to me, that's enough.

Today on my commute to work, the guy in front of me had a major wipeout on his motorcycle. I stopped my car in a position that none of the other cars could hit him, and asked if he was okay, and waited until his friend (also on a motorcycle) had circled back around to help him off the road and check him over. I left once his friend waved me away. I offered to call an ambulance but he refused.

A couple weeks ago, also on my commute, a woman was stopped on the side of the road, waving her arms at drivers, shouting for help. I stopped. The other drivers didn't. Her car had died, she was new to town, and she was somewhere that notoriously doesn't get cell service. I helped her call a tow truck. It wasn't a trap. She didn't want to hitchhike. She just was stuck and panicked about it.

I stop and help animals get off the road. I've lost count on how many turtles I've carried to the other side. I helped my neighbor search for a dog he saw get hit by a car so he could take it to the vet. I shoveled my elderly neighbor's driveway for her, and talked my boss into giving her a major discount for her little dog's dental in which pretty much every tooth needed extraction or he would die. When I still lived in that rental with my roommates, we were surrounded by kids. Every kid on the block knew we were a safe house to go to. If they needed food or water, if they needed entertainment, if they needed just somewhere to be, they could be at our place. When covid started, I did a "reverse halloween" since Halloween was canceled, and I put bags of candy on every doorstep that I knew had kids inside. I've done a "neighborhood santa" putting a small toy plus a small gift card for the parents on every doorstep that has kids, for as long as I've lived around kids.

When I say activism requires action, I don't mean that every single person is required to save a thousand lives. The honest answer is, unless you have a lot of disposable time and money, you probably won't. But you can still make a difference. To one. To ten. To twenty.

And you know what? I'm not saying black people specifically came up with this- but how can you be surprised to know this is how I live my life when I say over and over that I was raised by black activists who lived during MLK Jr and Malcolm X and knew community action would have the longest-lasting effects? Of course I do all this. That's what being part of a community *is*.

[fortheloveofexy]

Can we have some aaron hc 🥺🥺

Absolutely you can!! :D

Aaron Minyard Headcanons

He has an eidetic memory just like Andrew does - it's the only reason he's still able to pass his pre-med classes while being a student athlete, partying every weekend and dealing with mafia bullshit/murder charges (Neil just never notices because he has Andrew Minyard Tunnel Vision)

Half of his anger at Andrew over killing Tilda is because Andrew robbed him of the chance to finally stand up to his mother on his own terms. (The other half is that Aaron still craved her affection and approval, no matter how much she'd hurt him).

He didn't meet Nicky until Tilda relocated them to South Carolina, and only briefly, since Nicky left for Germany shortly after and was disowned by Luther and Maria upon his return.

After he left to study abroad Germany, Aaron didn't get to see Nicky again until after Tilda's funeral. After Nicky was disowned, Aaron was subjugated to endless rants from his mother and uncle about how Nicky had "strayed from God" and had "chosen a sinful lifestyle". Maria never joined in on the rants; she simply acted as if her only son was dead.

Desperate for his mother's approval and love, Aaron agreed without ever really questioning what it was Nicky had done that was so bad.

A large part of his sour attitude towards Nicky's sexuality stems from the fact that by choosing Erik, Nicky had inadvertently left Aaron to fend for himself. At the time, Aaron was too young to understand that Nicky was also drowning - all he could see was that Nicky had left him for some stranger. By the time Nicky came back for the twins, the resentment had already long since grown

He's grey ace, which he didn't realize until he overheard Neil explaining his experiences with attraction to Matt. Neil put into words what Aaron had long felt but could never quite articulate. It drives him crazy that he has this in common with Neil and he refuses to ever mention it to him.

He and Kevin had a drunken make out session one (1) time. They never speak of it - largely because Aaron is too embarrassed and Kevin just doesn't remember.

He's also mildly sex repulsed. Discussions of sex in general make him deeply uncomfortable, and it takes him a long time before he feels okay with going past kissing with Katelyn. Even then, there are days where sex holds zero appeal for him (Katelyn doesn't mind, she's content just to cuddle and talk).

Most of his friends are from outside the Foxes - mainly cheerleaders or people he met in study groups - and he acts very differently around them than he does with his family and team.

To his non-Fox friends, Aaron is relaxed, intelligent and has a wicked dry sense of humor.

His friend group grows even bigger once Andrew agrees to end the deal. Of all the Foxes, his social circle is probably the biggest.

He gets along quite well with Matt. They play games and hang out together, especially once they start sharing a room.

After Randy hugs him and tells him she's proud of him, his friendship with Matt only deepens.

Katelyn's friends didn't approve of him at first, but once she started bringing him around and he started to come out of his shell more, they warmed up to him quickly. It helped that Aaron practically worships the ground Kate walks on.

Katelyn's dad doesn't approve of him at all. He holds a grudge against Aaron for the murder charges and is praying on his downfall, right up until Aaron and Kate get engaged and Katelyn finally puts her foot down.

Her little sister loves Aaron though. She especially loves to pester him. Aaron doesn't quite know what to make of it at first, but Katelyn tells him it's a good thing so he just accepts it and pesters her right back.

He and Katelyn have twin girls. They stick to the tradition of giving both girls "A" names.

Becoming a father terrifies Aaron, right up until the girls are born. Luckily for him, Matt gives great parenting advice (he and Dan were the first to have kids).