#pardon me i've got some self loathing to do

[angelasscribbles]

A little bird told me that's it your birthday, so...

Can't believe it's been another year!! Where the heck does the time go...?

I know you have not been focusing on TRR as much recently, but I wanted to celebrate by putting together a bit of a collage of the amazing stories and relationships you've built over the past 3 (...4?) years on Tumblr!

So, sit back and enjoy!

I know these are your normal ships, but I couldnt resist adding in some BR Riley x Leo as well 😆

And... last but not least, some incorrect quotes to top it all off! Hopefully I've managed to find some new ones you haven't seen before!

Just Riley

Riley: I love saying 'fuck me' because it can either be sexual or self-loathing and those are two things that describe me perfectly.

Riley: To everyone who has treated me poorly; I am sexier than you.

Riley: If we were in prison you guys would be like my bitches.

Riley x Liam

Liam: *banging a pen on the table out of frustration* Riley: Stop that. How would YOU feel if I banged you on the table? Liam: I— I don’t know the correct answer to that question.

Riley: I know every song to ever exist it doesn't matter if it's from the past, present or the future. Liam: Oh yeah? Then continue this. Liam: I don't cook I don't clean- Riley: So let me tell you how I got this ring. Riley & Liam: ..... Riley & Liam: GOBBLE ME, SWALLOW ME-

Riley x Drake

Riley: Hey, wanna take a shower with me? Drake: I have a gun in that nightstand beside the bed. If I ever say no to that question, I want you to take it out and shot me because I’ve obviously gone crazy.

Riley: What’s your body count? Drake: Do you mean sex or murder?

Riley x Max

Riley: You look good in that hoodie. Maxwell: You know where else I'd look good? Riley, zero hesitation: My bed. Maxwell, at the same time: By your side- wait, what?

Maxwell: Heh, Riley sneezes like a girl. Riley: How about I pound you like boy? Riley: That didn’t come out right.

Riley x Rashad

Riley: I committed all 7 deadly sins in 30 minutes. Rashad: Wow, I've gotta hear this. Riley: I was angry and envious of my neighbor so I lazily seduced his wife and ate all his groceries and didn't share. Rashad: You forgot pride. Riley: No, I'm pretty proud of this.

Rashad, barging in: Syphilis! Riley: Rashad: Riley: Pardon?

Riley x Leo

Leo: There are 20 letters in the alphabet, right? Riley: Nope, there's 26. Leo: Ah, I must have forgotten U, R, A, Q, T. Riley: Aww, that's cute, but you're still missing one. Leo: You'll get the D later ;).

Riley: Know why I called you in here? Leo: Because I accidentally sent you a dick pic. Riley: *Stops pouring two glasses of wine.* Accidentally?

OH, my gosh!! Those images are fantastic! (Also, funny story, a Leo x Riley x Drake idea has been percolating in my head.....)

The quotes were all good, espeically the "Do you mean sex or murder?" (So spot on for BR Drake!)

But this....

Maxwell: Heh, Riley sneezes like a girl. Riley: How about I pound you like boy? Riley: That didn’t come out right.

made me snort laugh!

I think it came out just right! (still want to write a Riley x Max pegging scene....)

Thank you so much for this! Seriously, day made!!

[awakenedmaiden]

"So be it."

Satori felt a mixture of frustration and disappointment but she tried not to show it. Making a change was not easy, all things considered. Still, she hadn't given up on the possibility. There had been times when she kept just as prickly of an exterior.

She gestured for the goddess to follow before starting to fly off towards her palace. Satori only hoped that the bit of distance between them would hide the gloomy expression on her face.

"Still, it will take time to arrive, so I will continue to trouble you with my speech. You may see us as ants but we are just as alive as any human. We have thoughts, feelings, relationships, goals. Our lives have value."

She paused for a moment as if debating whether to continue but then, after a moment of thought, did. For all she knew when they next met the Hakurei God would be killing her. She wanted to speak all that she desired now.

"You may think it hypocritical to say that life has value when we youkai often times are man eaters, I disagree. I recognize the value of every life I've taken. Each has had dreams. Each had someone that loved them. I know that because I read their minds. I recognize what I have snuffed out and ... sometimes I weep over it. There are times where I stay up late at night, my room sealed, crying over what I have done.

In my youth, when I was less experienced, before I had even set foot in the underground ... I hated myself for it. Sometimes I questioned why I should live. Is it fair that I, a creature that must sometimes subsist off the lives of other thinking beings, should kill? Anytime I've done it, anytime I've actually killed, I've had to to continue living. But in such a case, am I not just saying my own life matters more than the ones I take?

I grappled with that thought for a long time. Eventually, I came to a conclusion I could accept. I had to accept it because I had to live. I only killed for such a reason. I've never killed out of malice, only because I was born into a life that requires me to do so. To remember their thoughts, to remember they have had lives of their own, it still hurts. It's still painful. Yet, it is a pain I can bare to carry. Am I an evil monster for killing? Oh, without a doubt, yet I can still take solace that it was a necessity to live.

I'm telling you all this because ... well. Because I can't imagine wiping all youkai from the world. Pardon my strong language but its disgusting and horrendous to erase so many individual lives. To destroy a land full of youkai with their own hopes and dreams. Their own goals. Their own families. Their own love. And it disgusts me more than you consider doing this when you don't need it. You do not plan to end our existence, to stomp out our dreams, because you must survive. You are doing it because you hate us. Because even my attempts to show you kindness fill you with disgust.

The knowledge that you've killed all of us. That you've committed a genocide, it would follow you forever. There's two possibilities either it will hang over you, to haunt and hurt you forever, or you will feel nothing over ending all our lives. If it's the second you will be the greatest monster of all Gensokyo, but ... personally I hope you aren't. Reimu is sweet, even if she acts prickly, she's saved our world countless times. I don't want her god to be a monster."

Satori had talked for quite a while. In truth, she doubted the woman actually listened to much of it but she nonetheless hoped that she did. That at least some small semblance of the point she wanted to make got through to her. If not. Well. At least she finally got her own feelings of self loathing off of her chest before she died. Which would likely be coming quickly.

They were almost at the palace now. Close enough that Satori could see the doors. The balcony where she often took her tea. The kasha playing around the front steps. There was still, however, a slight bit more she wanted to say. Now, for the first time since she took off, Satori looked back towards the Hakurei God.

"But if you do kill us all or, if for some reason, you can make things right and find happiness by killing me. Remove your mask before you do it, oh god. I refuse to die staring at a cold empty mask."

"Mere cloth would not protect you from my Touch, Youkai. And I do not make deals with false fantasies."

"Now..."

"Do not keep me waiting forever, and do not trouble me with your presumptions any longer. My patience is already wearing thin." Regardless of Satori's feelings on the matter, the Hakurei god's stance was clear- She wasn't at all keen on fraternizing with Satori as an equal, but observing her as someone might observe a colony of ants. And Satori's repeated proddings had left her feeling only more disgusted.

[comatosebunny09]

Good, Better, Best

Genre: PWP, Angst, Modern AU

Warnings: Graphic Description of Sex, Female Reader, Self-Loathing, Word Vomit, MDNI!

Inspiration: Call Out My Name – The Weeknd

As always, thank you so much for reading! Hope you enjoy! Considering making this another multi-part series.

‘I have a thing for blonds,’ you muse, sifting through strawy, flaxen locks. Maybe you always have, but it took a certain fiery-haired pillar to bring it to the surface.

Your lips part in a shaky sigh, eyes weighted like sandbags, chest afire. The man between your thighs—your prey for the evening—grunts into the juncture of your shoulder; paints your flesh with foul words and open-mouthed kisses. He talks too much. Touches too little, but you will take what you can get. Whatever brings you closer. You deserve this, after all; deserve the discomfort of your back grinding against the brick wall and the veiny cock fucking avidly into you and...

This is painful bliss.

Sweat pours in rivulets down your chest, drip-dropping on the ground below. You grit your teeth as his pace quickens; thrusts harsh and disordered as he snaps into you. And oh.

Oh, fuck.

A shudder wracks your body, toes curling. Speckles of light stipple the corners of your vision. He hit that spot. Not very many people have done it, so focused on bringing themselves to the brink whilst neglecting your needs. You wonder if it was on purpose, seeing as how he’s become more and more erratic by the second.

He’s close. You’re far from it, but...

Fuck it. Anything to feel, right?

You scramble for purchase, nails leaving ellipses in his shoulder blades. Hiccup so pitifully into the nook of his neck. You asked for this; begged for it. This is warranted. You never like it soft, anyway. Prefer hot and furtive fucking that reduces you to a blabbering mess of incoherencies. This way, you can forget how you continually allow yourself to be violated by cheap imitations.

For now, this is good. This will suffice. This will do, and…

And his hips stutter like a sputtering engine, disrupting the inner mechanisms of your mind. Suddenly, he comes undone, much too soon for your liking.

Of course, everyone does.

You deserve this, too.

You wince whilst he releases a guttural sound. Coats your walls with scorching, viscous fluid that burns a trail down your inner thigh. The smell is repugnant, but it’s okay. This is alright as he releases you from his ironclad grip and unsheathes, allowing you to slide down the wall with a fucked-out expression descending onto your features.

He doesn’t say a word. The only sounds between you are the jarring zip of his pants, and the chorus of city-life beyond the towering walls of the alleyway. The blond departs as quickly as he came, leaving you to gather yourself from the crumpled heap of sweat, cum, and contempt you’ve become.

You didn’t get his name; never asked. You prefer it this way, as it makes it easier to envision him between your thighs instead.

You fight to get your breath under control. Sweep your tresses into some semblance of neat, heaving yourself up from the ground onto trembling, crackling limbs. You fix your dress as best you can, grateful for its length.

Wouldn’t want him to see the remnants of your tryst coasting down your legs.

He regards you so highly, after all. Too highly. You’re not that amazing; not the innocent woman everyone has typecast you to be. If only they knew how frequent your run-ins with passion have become. Would they still respect you? Coddle you? Adore you?

Would he?  

You spare a glance at your reflection in a shop window. Push yourself into the sea of passerby once satisfied, stumbling down the sidewalk, eyes darting this way and that. You continue fussing with your hair until—

“There you are!” That voice: warm, familiar, enticing. Drawing you in like a moth to a flame, commanding your attention. You watch with bated breath as Kyojuro approaches you; polished in his burgundy button-up, loosened tie, and onyx slacks. He stops a few inches from you. Aura is imposing despite the effervescent grin on his face.

Burnt cedarwood and aftershave impede your nostrils, a tide of vertigo crashing into you. Heat from his body trundles off him in waves, causing liquid fire to singe your innards. Kyojuro dwarfs you by a foot. Slowly, you tick height off as another must-have in your internal book for your future victims encounters.

You think of how easy it would be to stand on the tips of your toes and just kiss that pretty, cerise mouth of his. Your mouth grows dry with the notion. How silly you must look, gaping like a fish out of water. Stammering like some frazzled schoolgirl.  

Really, honestly, truly. Kyojuro is much too beautiful like this, iridescent eyes gleaming under the harsh streetlights. He gives you a once over, frowning.

“Are you alright?” he asks, reaching out to console you, ground you. Concern swims in the undercurrents of his tone. You shrug away from his touch because…well, you don’t deserve his compassion right now. Never have, never will. Especially after—  

“You look a bit flushed,” he adds, hurt dotting his tone.

Good job. You’ve gone and made him feel bad. Stupid, stupid girl.

“Perfectly fine!” you chirp, clasping your hands together behind your back, bouncing on the balls of your feet. You plaster a foolhardy grin on your face, following it up with a strained chuckle. “Just a little cold is all.” The lie is heavy on your tongue, much like the regret sinking into your stomach. You’ve never had a problem doing it before. Filling your spare time with quickies and men in his likeness.

So, why is it bothering you now?

“Ah! It is a bit chilly, isn’t it? Here! Take my jacket!” Kyojuro wrests his coat from his shoulders, moving swiftly to drape it over yours.

Sick. You feel so very sick. The sour taste of bile collects at the back your throat, but you smile around it. You aren’t worthy of his kindness. His pity. Not when…not like…

“I’m fine, Rengoku-san. Really!” your voice, saccharine; overwhelmingly so. Liar. Liar. You’re not fine, but this will do. ‘This is fine,’ you chant to yourself, ignoring the homely embrace of his coat enveloping your frame. How it reeks of the cinder he was forged from.

Kyojuro grins tenfold, maneuvering himself to stand beside you. “I will hail us a taxi,” he says, offering his arm. You observe it for a little while. Feel the acrid vomit char your throat, but you take it. Twine it with yours, falling in idle step beside him as he guides you to the cabstand. This, you don’t deserve. However, it is as close as you will get to touching the sun.

He swims in your peripheral, a stark contrast against the twinkling bokeh in the horizon. That ardent insufferable smile still sits atop his lips. He is so very warm and welcoming. You swallow, looking at your feet.

This was your last time. For real. Has been the last time four last times ago. You can’t continue doing this to yourself; to him. What would he think if he knew you possessed such depraved thoughts of him? If Kyojuro knew your body ached so painfully for his touch; if he discovered what you did to satiate your yearning for him…

Would he able to stand the sight of you?

You can’t risk it. Can’t keep putting your friendship at stake. The sun is unavoidable, after all. If you continue on like this, it’s only a matter of time before you are burned.

Masterlist

[mollymawkwrites]

I just read (and reread sgdfhjlkl) your prison fic for watb and I'm having. Feelings. Primarily about cultivating vulnerability and tenderness in an oppressive and toxic environment which 😭

This AU is giving me so many questions tho. Presuming they continue building a relationship (which of course I'm going to presume) how will it progress? What kind of psychological toll will it take on them to keep up the performance, on Geralt particularly? I imagine it being painful for him to have to be so cold and forceful with Jaskier, especially as they grow closer, but does the greater objective of protecting him make it bearable? I feel like Jaskier would be more able to compartmentalize it, but could it get to be too much for him as well? What happens if it gets to a point where Geralt can't hide his affection for Jaskier, will that be used against them - not only by fellow inmates but by the guards? The wrath of the system is what's getting to me the most. Will Jaskier keeping Geralt "under control" as it were (meaning not tearing through new cellmates on a regular basis) be enough to maintain the status quo or will the guards find it more entertaining to play with them? Splitting them up, putting Jaskier with other more violent inmates or just torturing him themselves to torment Geralt? Will it get to the point where Geralt just tears the entire prison down and they run away to live out their days on the lam, maybe settle down on a lovely little coast in Mexico? (we can only hope) Also, what are they in for in the first place? Will Jaskier get out before Geralt? If Geralt's been routinely assaulting (or murdering??) other inmates is he EVER getting out? What will Jaskier do?

The whole situation has me thinking about the (woefully short) story of Butch and Wesley from the documentary "The Fear of 13" (which is very good, highly recommend and I think it's available on kanopy rn) where they were lovers on the outside and when Butch was arrested Wesley intentionally committed crimes so they could be together. Eventually they got separated and one of them was going to be moved to a different prison so that last night they sang to each other from across the cell block and the (usually tyrannical) guards let them have their goodbye. It's so soft yet tragic and I have so many feelings and I wish we knew what happened to them.

I'm sorry this is such a massively long ask, I've literally been thinking about this all evening and had to make some kind of comment 😅 your writing is lovely and I will definitely be reading more of it! (so maybe I'll be assaulting your inbox again soon dfghjjkl)

Gods Anon, I had such trouble keeping plot from sneaking into this fic, and you are not helping! I've been thinking about it all day long because of you!

I think Geralt would suffer greatly, both from his own self-loathing at "forcing" Jaskier to do things he couldn't possibly want to do with a monster like him 🙄 and from the opinion everyone else around them has of him. Jaskier would try to make him understand that he is very much willing, but Geralt's skull is thick and that would take some time for them to even be able to admit to themselves that they are in a relationship together. Of course having to keep up the act of the White Wolf and its pretty young prey would blur the lines in their relationship: what is an act and what is real? They both enjoy the roughness and the name-calling and the role play more than just for show. I think Jaskier too feels guilty about forcing sweet Geralt into it. Lots of guilt on both sides and no way to deal with it healthily in this violent, toxic environment.

I can see them managing to create a little bubble of happiness together though, despite the guards expecting Jaskier to keep Geralt on a leash and the inmates constantly poking at them to see if something gives. Once they get to talk and explain that they both very much want to be with each other outside of their farce, that, would the circumstances have been different, they would have asked the other on dates and had a sweet first kiss and maybe a house and a dog (not me crying about my own AU), they find a balance and a way to keep other people's venom from chipping at their love. Maybe they find allies too, jail can't be filled only with enemies after all...

As for why they are in jail for in the first place, I have to admit I hadn't settled on an explanation as I was writing it. I think Geralt has been set up by someone, probably Stregobor, because of an event similar to what happened in Blaviken? So while his "crimes" are not as bad as anything Jaskier might be imagining (and oh, imagine the angst potential of Jaskier torturing himself over what the man he is falling in love with could possibly have done to have end up in jail), he still sees himself as a monster who made the wrong choices and is not deserving of Jaskier's love.

For Jaskier, I'm not so sure, to be honest. What do you think he could be in for?

Although I am a sucker for angst, I couldn't survive a bad ending, but I don't have a clue on what could happen to them. They could escape, helped maybe by Eskel and Lambert on the outside, or some of Jaskier's shadiest friends; or Jaskier could find a way to have Geralt pardoned, and Stregobor in jail/killed at the same time, because that's what the fucker deserves.

I haven't heard of that story you talked about, but I'll make sure to check the documentary, it sounds very beautiful and heartbreaking. As I was writing the fic, I remembered that movie with Jim Carrey and Ewan McGregor, I Love You Phillip Morris, that I used to love as a kid. I might watch it again, for... Inspiration ;)

Thank you so much for your ask, and please, don't hesitate to assault my inbox again, it made my day! (Though I might have to add another WIP to the list now.... sigh)

[comatosebunny09]

Storm ⛈

Genre: Angst, Modern AU

Warnings: Depression, Self-Loathing, Word Vomit

Inspiration: Cloud - Monsune

I had a dream that Kyojuro was voiced by Christian Bale in English, and now I can’t hear anything but his voice. Somehow, that brought me to this fic. Anyways, please enjoy!

When you get into one of your moods, you tend to shut the world off.

Avoid human contact as much as possible, since you're much more content with sulking in the presence of your own shadow than someone else.

She doesn't pry and ask questions that make you cry, after all.

You hate when people worry. Hate feeling weak in the eyes of someone who otherwise thinks you're built of stone. You've always been like this; spent half your youth glowering at a wall or the inside of a blanket. Pondered over the should-have-beens of your life. Different outcomes and scenarios flashing through your mind with the tenacity of a ferocious flame.

For you, thinking is dangerous. Your mind is an abstract work of splatters and colors and chaos. Your therapist warns that you should try to enjoy the company of others, but solitude brings you the most comfort. Briefly, you dislodge yourself from the inner mechanisms of your mind to intake your surroundings.

Your room is a subdued black, save for the slivers of silver tearing through your blinds, and the dim, blue glow of your cellphone wades over your face. You're cocooned in your comforter, still clad in pajamas from two nights ago. You scroll through your Instagram feed, a dull tint in your eyes. Candy wrappers lie haphazardly on the bed and nightstand.

You've only moved twice: once to pee and again to grab more candy. You haven't showered. Haven't eaten anything filling. You haven't brushed your teeth or made any effort to straighten up, and the thought makes you sink even deeper into a pit of self-loathing.

If your friends, see you like this…if Kyojuro sees you like this...

On cue, your phone vibrates with a message.

The tenth one today.

'Hello, dear Sunflower!’ it reads, his cheerful voice filling your head.

Shit. You've gone and worried him. Stupid, stupid girl.

You ignore it for the umpteenth time. You don't want to talk, not even to him. Yet, like clockwork, another text impedes your vision.

'I have not heard from you today!'

You avert your gaze, tears springing to your eyes. The phone buzzes again. He's growing restless.

'Are you feeling unwell?'

And again...

'I’m worried about you.'

Once more.

'I miss you.'

A few tears scorch your cheeks. Plop softly on the blanket.

'Is there something that I did wrong? Please talk to me.'

A shaky sigh pours from your mouth.

Pitiful.

You wipe viciously at your eyes with the sleeve of your hoodie, finally punching in a reply.

'sorry,' it says.

Really, you are. In more ways than one. Sorry for being worthless, dramatic, selfish, pathet—

'been cleaning all day. lost track of time. i'm okay tho'

It's a lie, and you taste its bitterness on your tongue along with tangy tears. It's a full minute before he responds,

'Alright then. As long as you are doing fine.'

At 5:47, you fall back into the pillows, a pout taking hold of your lips. You are not crying anymore, so that's good. But there is an unpleasant, sticky feeling on your cheeks and in the bowels of your stomach. Somehow, you don't believe his simple reply is the end of it.

Your eyes are heavy now, whilst you glance out the window.

Gray clouds invade the sky, a wary rumble of thunder following. The sound of it is somehow comforting. Reminds you of the storm brewing inside you, often crawling its way forward before exploding with no warning.

You're okay, you muse, exhaustion gripping you. You've weathered greater storms. This is just a small gust of wind in the violent typhoon that is your life. The bed croaks soundly as you roll onto your side, eyes slipping shut. Vaguely, you feel the ripple of your phone behind you. Had you turned around to see it, you would've noticed the dejected text lighting up your screen.

'I don't believe you.'

Masterlist

[ashnadir]

casefilesofelizabethbell:

To Elizabeth mind it wasn’t that she was unique in struggling. Her job brought her into contact with struggling people more than most. Rather she seemed alone in her inability to cope with it, to grow past what had happened to her. And as much as she hated it there seemed to be nothing Elizabeth could do to change it. For the past few months she’d been trying. It had felt like it was working too, like she was changing for the better.

But all it took was one little fact and Elizabeth was right back to where she had started. 

“I don’t think I even know who that is,” she said, voice still small. She took another sip from the bottle before explaining, knowing that Iann would want an explanation, “I spent seventeen years trying to be the daughter I thought Annie wanted, to be good enough to convince her to stay for once. And then it was what the men told me I was allowed to be and then some cliched hard boiled detective that was the only thing I ever thought I was good at. But Elizabeth Bell? I have no idea who that is.” 

Elizabeth thought again of how she had made Freddie feel, of when Iann had yelled at her for her inaction in trying to comfort him. She swallowed, knowing that she was pathetic, that she sounded like a whiny teenager. “It kind of seems like she’s a bitch though. If all I’m ever going to do is hurt the people I care about I can’t accept that,” she said. His answer to that, she guessed, would to be to change. To put in all the work it would take to change. And she planned to. “And I know, just change then, but I don’t know if I can. I don’t know if I ever get any better than this.” 

For the moment even getting up off the floor seemed like too much to manage. 

“Yeah I remember what they look like,” she replied. She couldn’t forget what they looked like as much as she tried. “It was Christmas Eve, so they were wearing coats, but I saw them later. When I was trying to find them. They were part of some really fringe extremist group, maybe only a hundred members. 

“No, I don’t think anyone really knows who Elizabeth Bell is.  Maybe some people have come close to her, but if you don’t know who she is, then no one else will either,” Iann said.  He didn’t trust her to hear the words behind his words, so he added,  “It’s something of an identity crisis, pardon the overused expression.  But it feels very scary and difficult.  I've been there, Elizabeth.”

Iann listened to her debate with her inner self, or most likely what she anxiously scrambled to guess what he was going to say.   “Well if you don’t think you can get any better than this, then I guess this is it, hm?  If this is where you’re limited to, then work with what you got.  Accept this Elizabeth,  Elizabeth.  Because if you just keep trying to be something for other people, you’ll just be seventeen forever.  It’s your choice.”

And it was.  Right now, Elizabeth might find it completely hopeless, but her self-imposed stagnation wasn’t as static as it seemed.  “And let me tell you, a forty-year old who still acts like a teenager?  It ain’t pretty,” Iann added.  “You’re still young, you have ample time to be a fuck-up and an utter disappointment to yourself, and still get away with it.  Self-accountability is a bastard.”

“Fringe extremist group?  That sounds like a convenient cover...” Iann muttered to himself.  What was puzzling to Iann was how Elizabeth then used this supposed ‘fringe extremist group’, in conjunction with her mother, to judge all fairies.  It was like blaming all of Islamic faith based on the Taliban and a shitty parent.  Extreme self-loathing wasn’t out of the question, of course; and would explain that frenetic bias.  Knowing Elizabeth, she likely installed herself with one single opinion, and never bothered to revisit or question it, no matter what changed in her external environment.  Self-evaluating herself in a constructive manner, was likely an underdeveloped skill.  To crumble these unyielding but outdated opinions would crumble the woman herself, most likely.

“Do you recall the name of this group, Elizabeth?  If not, that’s okay, I can see what I find.  If one of them still survives, then there’ll be records.”

compatibility || elizabeth & iann