#seriously this has been all I’ve been thinking about

[mattscoquette]

reader going through perv!matt’s journal

“i’ll be back in a sec, i just need to run downstairs and help chris with something really quick.”

that’s what matt told you over ten minutes ago, and he’s still gone. you were over at the triplets place hanging out with nick, when matt insisted he show you both his new pc set up. it only took nick five minutes to be over it, but you felt bad when you saw matt’s defeatist expression after nick went back to his room. you decided to stay, but soon after matt abandoned you to go do something with chris.

you could’ve gone back upstairs with nick, but you let your curiosity get the best of you, and somehow you were going through matt’s bedside drawers, seeing what he had in there.

you knew matt had a thing for you, he made it very, very clear. although those feelings weren’t really reciprocated, it was fun to tease him. like, really fun.

before you could stop yourself, the leather binding of matt’s journal was in your hands, itching to be opened and read. you thumbed through the pages, reading matt’s chicken scratch handwriting while he wrote about whatever. you didn’t want to be too invasive, but his journal piqued your interest a lot. you wondered if he ever wrote about you, or if he only kept those thoughts in his head.

your eyes skimmed up and down the pages, nothing really standing out to you until you saw your name.

today y/n came over to see nick. she had on this rly short skirt, i think they were going out to a bar or something later. i don’t really care. i overhear her talking to nick about the guys she gets with. i could be so much better than them. i would make her feel so good, where she’d be begging me for more. god her moans are probably so fucking pretty.

your cheeks got hot as they blushed a deep red, fingers flipping to the next entry.

it’s been a few days since i saw y/n, i miss her so much. i’ve probably touched myself to her more times than i can count in the last day or two. i don’t know what it is with her, but she just gets me so worked up. she doesn’t even have to do anything and i’ll literally get hard from her. a couple weeks ago we were at her place and i heard her in the shower. it turned me on so much i couldn’t handle it. i want her so bad.

there’s gotta be something seriously deranged about me. every time that y/n sleeps over here, i always sneak up to nicks room and take a pair of her panties. she has to have noticed by now. i can’t help it though. i use them to get myself off. sometimes she has really pretty lace ones, other ones are really really skimpy. i don’t care though. i wonder what they’d look like on her. she’d probably think im a fucking creep if she ever really found out. i wonder what she’d do.

at this point, your stomach was doing somersaults, and your thighs were pressed together, trying to relieve the ache that had grown in your cunt. maybe it was weird what he was doing, but the level of obsession was turning you on. bad.

you were quick to find a pen somewhere in the bedside drawer, popping the cap off and scribbling underneath the entry in your loopy handwriting.

you naughty boy. you didn’t learn that stealing was wrong? i would probably punish you and not let you cum. i would tease you, get you all wound up and make you hold it. id use my pretty pink panties around your cock to get you off and let you cum in them after edging you for so long. maybe i’ll use my hands too, or my mouth if you’re really good for me.

you grinned to yourself as you shut the journal, drawing your bottom lip in between your teeth before returning the notebook to its rightful place, exactly how you found it.

you knew that matt wouldn’t do anything about it, either. he would see the note, and probably get off to it a million times, but never actually reach out to you. until then, he’d just have to learn how to keep pleasuring himself alone.

© mattscoquette | taglist

𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐬. ⋆˚꩜｡ inspired by this fic from my girl @st7rnioioss ♡︎♡︎ perv!matt is soooo back i miss that freak

[chimielie]

match point

hajime opens the door, blinking blearily as the permanent fluorescents of the hallway greet his eyes. he drags a hand down his face, taking a quick opportunity to take you in, your shorts and knees (the left one has a nasty green bruise, leftover from his forcing you to try indoor climbing last week) and fuzzy socks peeking out from your sneakers. your shirt almost swallowing you, making the jacket you’re wearing look oddly cropped. your hair sticking straight up.

“hi, hajime,” you say, yawning uncontrollably. “thank you. sorry.”

“no problem,” he says, “come in, it’s too bright.”

inside, there’s only the pinpoint of his cell flashlight on, a beacon leading you to his room—first left in the hallway, you really would be able to find it blindfolded. you don’t act like it, though, putting a hand on his back and closing your eyes while he forges forward. the light brush of your fingers over the thin t-shirt he’d pulled over his head thirty seconds ago is the confusing kind of thing leaking out of his dreams.

“there’s a protein shake pack there, watch your—yeah. your step.” the warning comes just in time for you to stub your toe as he shuts the door behind the both of you.

he busies himself digging in his closet while you swear as quietly as you can.

“you want the bed? i’ll take the couch,” he offers.

“‘m not kicking you out of your own bed at—” you squint at your own phone screen. “3:47 a.m. i just really appreciate you letting me stay over, haji. thank you so much.”

“not your fault your roommates set off the fire alarm at 3:47 a.m. seriously, take the bed.”

you were lucky, he thought, lucky he had your contact set to break through Do Not Disturb, lucky he lived a floor above you so you didn’t have to scream hysterically at them for waking you up like this again in the middle of exam season. the violent string of texts he’d woken up to (and the distant shrieking of your apartment’s alarm) had made him laugh so hard he’d typed come over almost without thinking about it, i promise i won’t hotbox the bedroom while you’re trying to sleep.

“let’s just share,” you suggest, and he fumbles the spare blankets in his hands. he’s glad he’s facing away from you. “it’s too early to fight.”

“too late,” he corrects you. “you sure we’ll both fit?”

it’s a reference to your freshman year, when you used to climb into his twin XL bed and lie on top of him so neither of you were falling off the edge. physical affection was more common for you then, before he’d realized that his dumbass had gone and fallen in love with you and you were just his very affectionate friend.

“yeah, you have a big boy bed now. i miss the lightning mcqueen sheets, though.” you’re already hanging the jacket on the back of his chair, crawling through the vast ocean of cotton to curl into a ball near his pillows. he checks his phone again, wondering if he ever really woke up. he has dreams, secret, shameful ones, like this often.

there’s a song and dance missing. shouldn’t he be fighting harder to take the couch? building a pillow wall? as he joins you, even as he’s stretching his body out and feeling his left shoulder pop, you gravitate into him. he puts an arm around you, his bicep thick enough beneath your back to make you shift around to get comfortable again. your fuzzy sock-covered foot pushes up the ankle of his sweatpants.

“hey, wait,” he says. you make a soft sleepy noise that breaks his heart to hear like this: so close, and yet not at all. “was that my jacket you were wearing? the one i’ve been looking for?”

“yeah,” you nod into his chest. “you gave it to me last time we went out.”

“oh, i’d forgotten,” he hums. a few more moments pass, his own eyelids getting heavy.

“i like wearing your clothes,” you tell him, “it makes me feel like you’re my boyfriend.”

maybe in the morning he’ll do something about that; for now, he sleeps with your deep, even breathing an inch away, the warm glow of something new and right and shared suffusing his chest.

[tsukuhoe]

22. baby, i know cw: heavy mentions of alcohol, teeny bit angsty, wc: 1.8k

you stood in front of the door, your fingers fumbling with the handle. “shit,” you muttered under your breath. you lean on the garage door, arms full of beer bottles and knocked. “hey shitheads?” no answer. you flick a switch, and the garage door opens, and as you walk towards the garage door, the door closes. you look back to see a costumed ghostface closing the garage door. 

“...is that you randy?” the masked man shakes his head. no. 

“what movie is this from? i spit on your garage?” you scoff in return. “lose the costume; if sidney sees it, she’ll flip.” you walk towards the costume. he’s shaking his head again. 

“oh, you wanna play psycho killer?” you said, tilting your head slightly, your tone dripping with sarcasm. “can i be the helpless victim?” 

he masked figure nods. you cocked her head to the side, looking him up and down. “oh no, please don’t kill me mr. ghostface, i wanna be in the sequel!” you said, scoffing, then pushing him to the side. however, instead, the masked face grabbed your arm and pulled out a knife. a few bottles in your arm dropped and shattered as he dragged the prop against your arm, fake blood coming out of the tube. “ah!” 

immediately, you ran towards the fridge, slamming the top freezer in his face. he fell to the ground as you ran past him, grabbed the unshattered bottles and threw them at him once he started getting up. “fucker!” 

desperately wanting to escape, you spotted the doggy door. you quickly ran towards it, trying your best to shove your body through… unfortunately, your shoulders had made you stuck. seeing his golden opportunity, the killer flicks the switch, which opens the door… you are lifted into the air as you look up…

“CUT!” utahime’s voice booms, the entire set erupts into applause. “that was perfect, y/n and toji!” this was the last day of your filming on set. after the hard weeks of consistent filming and visiting the building, you had finished your part. you felt a lump form in your throat as you watched the cast and crew celebrate. this was the culmination of weeks of hard work, late nights, and dedication. ​​

toji walkers over to you. “we did it. we made the iconic scene.” 

you laughed softly, nodding. “we sure did.” 

after being on set with toji for a few weeks, he had gotten used to your presence, however, just because you’d been with him for a few weeks does not mean he’s fond of you now… “now you can finally scram. honestly, singing might be something you’d want to stick you.” he said with a smirk on his face. 

you could tell he was trying to get on your nerves. “awh, thank you so much mr. fushiguro! i appreciate your support in my music career!” you shot him an insincere smile, tone all cheery.  

“nah, i’d never listen to–” “SWEETS! you were amazing!” before toji could continue, gojo ran towards you and spun you around. “seriously, baby, i’ve been watching all the behind-the-scenes clips, and you nailed every scene. i’m so proud of you.” 

“thank you so much, gojo!” you giggled. you aren’t exaggerating when you say you saw literal stars in his eyes. 

“so, dinner? at kura revolving sushi bar?” he asked, setting you down on the ground. 

“yeah, of course— sorry, off topic, but do you know if kento is in the building today? i’ve been wanting to talk to him…” it had been approximately three days since you last had an actual conversation with him. could he be avoiding you? 

“ah, i don’t think so, sweets. from what i remember, he has a shooting to do for tomorrow in osaka! i think he should be on a plane by now.” right. of course. kento nanami is a busy man, this shouldn’t be surprising. however, you couldn’t help but to feel a little disappointed… by what? not getting to talk to him? you could always text him. him leaving without informing you? it’s not like you two were together; he isn’t obligated to tell you anything— so what exactly were you disappointed about? did you want to be with him? is that why you’re disappointed? before you could start spiralling even more than you already are, gojo picked up the change in your mood. 

“hey, if you want, i could pass along a message for you…? or you could even call him! i’m sure he’d be happy to receive a call from you!” he gently said, running his hands through your hair. 

“really? you’d think so?” you asked, eyes watery, tears threatening to spill out. 

“i know so. now c’mon! we don’t wanna be late to our reservation, now do we?” 

‘fuck. what in the world am i doing.’ was the only thought that ran through his head the whole car ride there. supporting you and nanami’s… relationship? whatever you two had going on. his hands gripped the steering wheel harder. he couldn’t help but to feel a jealous— bitter even. he was jealous of nanami’s relationship with you. he was bitter at himself. what did he lack? why was he even helping him? 

“we’re here!” his voice came out cheery, a total contrast to his previous thoughts while driving. you two walked in, while gojo talked to the waitress you couldn’t help but notice the sudden shift in his mood. in the car it was completely quiet, but now he’s all sunshine and smiles. he’s the world’s favourite actor (other than toji, of course) after all. 

“‘order anything ya want, sweets! it’s all on me.” he grinned, taking his seat as you settled in the booth across from him. 

“do you drink, gojo?” you asked, looking at the menu. 

“nahh, i don’t, sweets. i’m a light weight haha.” 

“oh, alright! then i won’t either!” 

“nono, drink if you want to! i don’t mind you drinking, besides i’ll be driving you home!” 

It wasn’t long before you two were laughing and nibbling on different types of sushi— salmon, tuna, avocado rolls, and takoyaki. but the drinks? that was beginning to hit you. you started with one shot, but it had been so smooth that you’d convinced yourself to have another. and then another. 

gojo watched you carefully, noting the rosy flush on your cheeks and the slightly glassy look in your eyes. you were starting to slur your words, though gojo didn’t want to say anything just yet. you two were having a great time, and the vibe was perfect.

"y/n," he said gently, "maybe we should slow down on the drinks?"

you waved him off. "i’m fine, i’m fine! just one more… okay, two more..."

he let out a small chuckle at your drunken state. “i can now see why you’re such good friends with shoko!” 

a few minutes later, you leaned back in your seat with a contented sigh, then suddenly lurched forward, your hand grabbing the edge of the conveyor belt as if to steady yourself. "i think i’m a little drunk," you admitted, your voice wobbling.

gojo couldn't help but laugh. "you think? you’ve had like, seven shots."

you giggled, your head tilting to one side as you tried to look serious. "i don’t know what’s in that drink, but it’s like magic. i feel amazing. i could totally sing karaoke right now."

the mention of singing made gojo laugh harder. "let’s just focus on not falling off the stool for now, alright, sweets?"

you blinked at him, then suddenly grinned. "you’re so funny, gojo. i think i love you."

his heart started to throb. he chuckled and reached for his glass of water. "yeah, well, i’m pretty lovable when i’m sober… let’s go home now, alright, sweets? don’t want you passing out on the conveyor belt." 

“you’re so nice, gojo.” 

“you know, you’ve been calling me gojo for a while. satoru is fine, sweets.” gojo chuckled, helping you out the booth and walking you to his car. 

“satoru… satoru… sa…toru… toru. how about toru. since y’know, you’ve been calling me these cute names, i should too!” you beamed, as he opened the passenger seat door for you. 

“sure thing, sweets.” 

the car ride to his place was quiet, you were slowly dozing off while he drove. you stared at gojo for a beat too long, his eyes soft and focused on road. "toru…" you began, your words dragging, "you know, i’ve always thought... you’re really pretty." 

his heart skipped a beat, a soft chuckle escaping his lips. he thought you were just being intoxicated. "you’re not so bad yourself," he teased, nudging you lightly. “we’ve just pulled into the parking lot. i’ll call shoko or utahime to come pick you up in a few?” 

you didn’t laugh. instead, you moved closer, your face hovering inches from his, your breath warm and scented with alcohol. gojo’s heart started to race; unsure if this was the alcohol talking or something more. fuck. he wished it was. 

“y/n, what are you—” 

before he could finish his sentence, you closed the gap between. the kiss was sudden and clumsy, but it was there— his lips pressing against yours with an intensity he wasn’t prepared for. the kiss deepened, you tasted like the alcohol you’ve been drinking earlier. gojo hates alcohol, but fuck, your taste was so addicting. he didn’t care. your hand moved to his chest, your fingers pressing into him as you leaned more into the kiss.

the kiss grew more urgent, gojo pulled away slightly, his breath shaky. “sweets, wait... you’re drunk. this isn’t—”

“i want this,” you whispered, your voice soft but insistent. your eyes searched his, a mixture of vulnerability and something deeper that made his chest tighten.

for a second, he hesitated, unsure. but there, in your gaze, was something real. something he couldn’t ignore… but he also knew this wasn’t something to rush. not like this. not when the line between friendship and something else felt too blurry. 

with a sigh, he pulled back, his thumb gently brushing your cheek. “we can’t, not like this,” he said softly. 

your eyes flickered with confusion, and for a moment, he could see the haze from the alcohol fading just a bit, replaced by something more knowing, more aware.

“i… i didn’t mean to mess things up,” you whispered, your voice small.

“you didn’t,” he said gently, placing a small peck on your forehead. “we’re just... better off waiting for a clearer moment.”

you nodded slowly, your eyes heavy with sleep now, the alcohol slowly overtaking you again. you leaned back into him, your eyelids fluttering as you tried to keep yourself awake.

he held you there, his heart racing, his mind spinning. gojo didn’t know what had just happened, but one thing was certain— he couldn’t possibly face your sober state after this— even if this kiss wasn’t genuine. even if this kiss only happened because you missed nanami. 

album bonus tracks: — hihi i'm SO sorry for the late update omg... — im going to be so fr i actually got really sad while writing this, then i started contemplating my life choices — i love gojo sm, i promise he's going to be happy TT — other than that, please lmk if there's any grammar or spelling errors! — i wanna get deeper into everyone's character so bad but i don't know when's the right time to do it 😞 — anyways, i'll try to update the next chapter sometime this week to make up for the last weeks ^.^ ⋮ MASTERLIST  ֹ⋮  PREVIOUS  ⋮  ֹNEXT

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[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Dearly Beloved 1

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon/dubcon, age gap, arranged marriage, allusions to abuse, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: After spurning one too many suitors, you wind up with the worst person you've ever met.

Characters: Lloyd Hansen

Note: inspired by the ask about a reader that wears skirts all the time but Lloyd discovers she wears shorts too and it challenged to get past them.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

You swipe the wand against your lashes one last time and shove it back into the tube. You sit up as you check the overall effect. Nothing too much. You like a dewy look, natural but glowing. You have to at least look like you care about today. 

The knock at the door is like clockwork. You’ve done this too many times. You expected your parents to give up by now. All the men did. 

You yawn and set the mascara back in your makeup case. “Come in,” you call dully. 

You watch your mother enter in the mirror. She’s in one of her stiff tweed jackets and a matching skirt. If she took a few inches off the skirt, it might be cute. 

“Waiting on you,” she tuts and crosses her arms. 

“Oh, are you?” You shut the case and stand. “I must’ve lost track of time.” 

You stand and smooth your dress. The little bow accoutrements long the shallow slit of the short skirt add a touch of sparkly to the navy blue. You’ve paired the dress with beige heels and thick gold hoop earrings. You look exactly to her standards and yet there’s disappointment in her eyes. 

“He will not like you being late,” she girds as she crosses the room and reaches for you. You stop her from touching your hair. She always has to fix what doesn’t need to be fixed. 

“Mother, it’s not on purpose. I only want to look my best. As you said,” you tilt your head coyly. 

“Don’t,” she frees herself from your grasp and points at you. “I need you to start taking this seriously. You are twenty-five.” 

“An old spinster,” you sigh dramatically, “how many is this now? Eighteen? You think this one will bite?” 

“If you would try, perhaps. Don't think you are so clever,” she bristles. 

“Mother, I’ve done everything you’ve asked me too. I’ve been on my best behaviour but you simply can’t force love,” you insist. 

“Dear, I do not know why you do this. Your father will blow an aneurysm if you keep this up,” she hisses. 

“Oh yes, the steam came out of his ears last time,” you chuckle. 

“It isn’t funny. This is our legacy. You are our legacy.” 

Your smile falls. Why you? It was her choice not to have any more heirs. If they are so important, she should have, right? Why must it be you? 

“Mother, can it not wait longer? A few years?” 

“This is not a seller’s market.” 

“And I’m not property. I’m a person. Your daughter.” 

“Mm, well, a few more years and there would be concern. For... fertility,” she sniffs. 

“Yes, I am cattle. Forgive my mistake.” 

“Please, I am not—if you tried to get along, you might find a good match,” she snips. 

“They are all snobs and terribly boring. I’ve tried.” 

“You are late. You are catty. And you roll your eyes,” she sneers. “How about a smile and a ‘yes, mother’.” 

You hold back your agitation. You get your stubbornness from her but that only seems to irk her. She didn’t raise you to be a pushover but that’s exactly what she’s telling you to be. 

“Yes, mother,” you smile and flutter your lashes, “I will try to increase my price so that you and father can go on your....” you count silently on your fingers, “twentieth honeymoon?” 

“You--” she begins and makes a fist. You lean away. She glares at you. “Rein it in.” 

She spins and stomps to the door. You exhale as your cheeks pinch painfully. At least she thought not to mess up your makeup. 

You follow her into the hallway. You’re silent. You know better than to keep on when she gets to this point. You tell that crying little girl to go back to her corner and once more paint on a smile. 

You follow her down the curling stairs and your heels echo through the foyer. She takes you to the sitting room and steps back to let your through first. You barely look at the man sat in the centre of the settee. 

“She’s here. Apologies for the wait, she was having a bad hair day,” she preens. There’s silence. “Well, then I should leave you to introduce yourselves.” 

She pulls the sliding wood doors from another era. You huff, “as if. My hair is perfect.” 

The man laughs. His sole scuffs as he stands. He says your name. 

“Mm, let’s not pretend here. We both know what this is.” 

“Straight to the point,” he remarks with a snort. “Should we exchange measurements and decide?” 

It takes you a moment to get his meaning. That’s disgusting. You face him with lip curled. “I think I can guess pretty easily,” you look him up and down. You arch a brow. “Oh, well...” 

His lips thin and he squints. The crinkles around his eyes deepen. You want to wipe off that silly mustache above his lip. 

“You’re a bit older than I expected.” You shrug. 

He puts a hand on his hip, “experience. Means I know what I’m doing.” 

You smile again, only to keep from laughing. You dig a heel into the floor and check your nails. “Sure, well, we should waste about half an hour and then we can send for my mother.” 

He clucks. You look at him, your elbow against your side as you keep your hand up. His brows knit then lift. “Lloyd Hansen.” He offers his hand, “billionaire, with a whole lot more coming to me.” 

“Right,” you look at his hand and turn away. You strut around him, “look, I’m really not looking to get married. I’m just doing what they tell me so I wouldn’t bother. Save your energy.” 

You flop onto the settee and hook one knee over the other. You rock your foot as you cross your arms. He slithers after you, stopping by the arm rest. 

“Oh, I got lots of energy,” he scoffs. “Well, half-an-hour, I can think of a few ways to pass the time. I’m not really the sort to wait until marriage.” 

You grimace at him, “no thank you.” 

“Well, aren’t you a treat? I heard about you but I thought all those guys were cucks,” he snorts. 

“Heard about me?” You repeat. 

“Sure, frigid bitch it what they’re saying,” he snickers and turns to sit beside you, “but they didn’t say anything about those legs.” 

He stretches his arm across the back of the couch above you. He tries to drop it onto your shoulders and you catch his wrist and shove him away. He chuckles again and tugs on your hair. You swat him. 

“Hey, no touching,” you snarl. 

“I like this,” he pinches the little ribbon button along the skirt, “it’s cute. Nice little peek of thigh.” 

Before you can stop him, he shoves his hand through slit of the skirt and squeezes our thigh. You yipe and you grab his other arm. He pushes up against your shorts. He frowns. 

“What?” He pinches the edge along your thigh. 

“Chafing,” you push him off of you. “What the hell are you doing?” 

“I’m here to buy. I wanna know what I’m paying for,” he sneers. 

“Ew, ew,” you shove him again and stand, storming away as you shiver in repulsion. “Ew. Firstly, you’re too old. Second, your pervy little mustache is gross. Third, you’re nasty.” 

“You haven’t really given me a chance. One, I might have a few extra years under my belt but that means I know what I’m doing,” you face him as he holds up a thumb. “Two, this mustache is there for her pleasure. Yours, if you play your cards right. Three,” his other hand rests on his thigh as you glimpse the twitching in his cream coloured pants, “tell me how nasty to be and I’ll gladly fuck that rod out of your ass.” 

“Wow, you are repugnant,” you scoff. 

“I got some extra flavour,” he leans forward, his elbows on his legs as he clasps his hands together. “Those other guys, I know they came in here like simps in their bowties, tryna lube you up with those puppy dog eyes. Well, I’m here for business. I don’t have time to waste on games and you don’t seem to like playing. It’s perfect.” 

“It couldn’t be less awful,” you assure him. 

“Right, I’m sure you’re having the time of your life with Mommy Dearest there. Does she have wire hangers? Don’t answer that,” he laughs and sits back, leaning his arm on the cushioned rest. “At least I’m honest. I’m not gonna sit here and lick your asshole. Not figuratively. I got shit to get done, namely, getting married, and you seem, well, to put it in your language ‘so over it’,” he puts on a trite voice. 

“I’m over you,” you insist. 

“I don’t mind a girl on top,” he winks. 

“Ugh, maybe you should meet a few divorcees. They might just be desperate enough.” 

“Tried that game. She cried after. Was really awkward.” 

You glare at him. He really is gross. You’re not a prude by any measure but this is supposed to be an introduction. He’s supposed to at least pretend to be gentleman. 

“I’m done with this conversation, so you can entertain yourself,” you dismiss with a flick of your fingers. 

He chortles as you turn your back to him. You clomp over to the window and distract yourself with the hedges and the sparrows rustling within. Your mother will be upset but he’s the last of the...however many men you’d choose. 

“No wonder you got them lined up, sweet cheeks, you fill out that dress real nice,” his soles scuff on the floor. “It’s cute but I’d suggest something with a bit less at the top. I’m sure you got a nice balance.” 

You ignore him and shake your head at the panes. You listen to his slow approach. You tense as you sense him right behind you. 

“You’re not the first I’ve met either, you know? The rest of them are so... flighty. The last one had a list of demands. A fucking bride price. Chanel everything. Boring,” he says. 

You wince as he touches your back. He drags his fingers up your dress and you snarl as you go rigid. He gets even closer and hums. 

“Let me pet the kitty and then you can decide. You really can’t make a clear decision if you don’t know how a man--” he snakes his hand around your neck and you dip your chin. You bite down on the webbing between his thumb and index. 

He yowls as you clamp down on him. You let him go and he staggers away. You face him and watch him with a smug smirk as he shakes his hand. He cradles it and hisses. 

“You little...” he snarls through his teeth as his eyes blaze at you. 

“I warned you already not to touch me,” you insist. “The next time, they’ll be blood.” 

He holds up his hand and examines the red bite mark. He scowls and lowers it. His glare meets yours hotly. He squares his shoulders and narrows his eyes. 

“Oh, baby girl, you don’t know what you’ve done,” he spits. 

He turns and strides to the door. You cackle as he tries to pull them inward first, then figures to slide them apart. You stay as you are as you hear his footsteps reverberate around the foyer. You turn to face the window again. 

He marches down the long stone walk toward the arched driveway. You’ve never chased one out before. To be honest, all the others were too shy to get that close. He waves at Carmen, the valet. You tisk between your teeth and shrug as you spin back. 

Your mom will probably let her fists fly now but it will be worth it, so long as you never have to see that man again. 

[lucysarah-c]

How do you think Levi will react when his partner gets jealous with his past flings? Like they know that it means nothing and he was just a playboy back then and he is being serious with them but who isnt get jealous at the thought of other women had him before them

Hi! How are you?

Funny enough, this actually happened in one of my fics (Holy Ground, ch. 18) haha. Believe it or not, I think Levi is someone who doesn’t handle jealousy scenes very well. Some couples find it—if it’s not actually toxic and just an occasional thing—almost funny, even endearing. But Levi? He doesn’t find them endearing at all haha. I can just picture him going, "Me? For real? You’re making a jealousy scene over me? I barely tolerate people, I’m grumpy, blunt, and I talk to almost no one on a daily basis. And you’re doubting me?" Almost like saying, "I’d get it if I were someone more outgoing or charming—like Eyebrows, who smiles at every stranger—but me?"

If the jealousy is about something he did before they were even together, oh boy hahaha. At first, he wouldn’t even take it seriously, but once he realizes she actually means it? Levi would be like, "You’ve gotta be kidding me." I think I’ve mentioned this before, but Levi is not only extremely secretive about his past—he’s also deeply mistrustful about it. If he opens up about his past or past relationships, it’s because he’s trying to share a piece of himself. But at the same time, Levi knows he did a lot of shit as a young man haha. Still, in his mind, it’s his shit. His mistakes. His past. I feel like he has this mentality of, "I did what I had to do in the shitty situation I was in. And despite all that, I turned out… somehow decent." So if someone tries to use his past against him—either to lecture him or to get jealous over it—not only are they shutting down any chance of him opening up again, but he’s not going to take it nicely. I can definitely see him getting defensive, like:

"I didn’t have parents to tell me what was good for me or to lecture me. Don’t try to take on that role now, because I don’t need it—and it’s not your damn place."

At first, he might brush it off as a joke. Like, "Are you serious? Don’t be stupid. Who cares about that? You have me now—isn’t that what matters? I was with them when I didn’t even know how to clean my ass properly. I’m with you now, as an adult." Maybe he’d even play along a little, pulling her back to him, getting that sassy edge in his tone—"Didn’t you love all the things I know how to do thanks to them? You sure seemed grateful last night." But if he realizes she’s genuinely upset? That’s when he might actually get mad lol.

Of course, he understands that jealousy isn’t something a person can just turn off. He’d probably try to talk it out because, in his mind, the real issue here isn’t the past—it’s trust. "She doesn’t trust me." And that’s the real problem, right? But at the same time, he’s not going to tolerate it if it becomes a habit. Like, Levi can be controlling, but don’t try to control him haha. I have this feeling that when Levi enters a relationship—especially as a Captain—it’s because he’s looking for some kind of happiness, some calm in the chaos of his life. He doesn’t want it to turn into a constant argument over who he’s been with or who he talked to.

I think that’s everything! <3 Hope you like it!

[heretical-cogitations]

Chairon x gn!reader

Word count:  ~880

I haven’t seen too much written about him and think he deserves more love, so have this: how I can see yours and Chairon’s relationship starting and how you end up convincing him to bed you. Once again, I already have more, I could write about….

Warnings: MDNI 18+, intercrural sex (thigh fucking), Chairon being the most loving and sweet man, very brief mention of oral and fingering.

Please let me know if I’ve missed anything!!

I can see a relationship with him starting surprisingly naturally, he is the type to always greet the baseline around him and strike up small conversations, he is aware of how in awe they are of him, but he just likes yapping.

Then he meets you and you both just seem to click together. Chairon finds himself actively seeking you out, wanting to know more.

He starts looking for little things to bring back to you when he is deployed, little gifts that come with stories he can share.

Eventually this leads to you forming a romantic relationship in private, both sneaking around, to not get caught. Despite him being so careful, his brothers can tell something has changed. Chairon can’t really school his expressions well especially in the eyes of fellow astartes, and so when he is pressed about why he has been creeping away in the night he crumbles pretty quickly, gushing about you.

He is so much larger than you in every way and could so easy kill or seriously injury you without even thinking about it. So, he is petrified of being intimate in anyway with you in the beginning, it’s not at all for lack of want.

Numerous innocent kisses turning into soft moans, roaming hands and heavy petting before he abruptly stops, apologising that he can’t continue.

No matter how much you protest he won’t hear it, so you have to get creative.

Your first attempt is suggesting oral, which Chairon is excited to give but refuses once again to receive. More of your little meetings go by tension twisting tighter and tighter until you mention intercrural sex. That seems to snap that rising tension weeks if not months of skirting around what you both want crashing down full force.

He has you on your back ankles grasped in one hand, pulled to rest on his shoulder, hips held suspended in the air to be level with his own as he lathers his cock in lube before slowly inching it into the smooth embrace of your thighs.

Breath stuttering as he feels his length grind against your sex. Eyes fixated on the apex of your thighs, watching the head of his cock appear with each thrust precum smearing across your abdomen.

He realises this is close to how deep he would reach if you took all of him inside you, the revelation causing a deep groan to rumble out from him spare hand roaming the expanse of your chest to rub a thumb over that spot.

“S So beautiful, my sweet, I have craved this for so long, thought about you for so many nights.” Interrupting himself every few words with soft moans thrusts gaining speed and force, eventually bouncing you up with each slap of his hips against your arse and thighs.

Your own moans growing more needy and erratic only encouraging him to continue at tis punishing pace.

“O oh C Chai p please, I It feels so good, need more.” You sound angelic to him, hips bucking up against him.

“What do you want, sweetheart?”  hand travelling up roving over and up your body ending at your cheek cupping it, thumb rubbing lovingly over the skin beneath. Hips still grinding pace unfaltering.

Your legs are pushed closer and closer to your chest as he leans down, body curling under him to

“N need you i inside me p please.” You moan out arms wrapping around this neck pulling him as close as you can your plea repeating over and over as he pushes you closer and closer to your climax.

A low growl emitting from him, his head knocking forward forehead resting against your own. The deep timbre of his voice cut through your begging “My light, there will be time for t that in the future… I I can tell you are close, so am I.” hot breath fanning across your cheek. You pull him impossibly closer head nodding, moaning into the crook of his neck.

Your hips crashing together, as you buck up uncontrollably against his as you cum, a series of pitched moans of his name spilling out of you as you bit down into the skin of his neck. Legs trembling with each white-hot jolt of pleasure that burst through you.

He’s quick to follow hips press yours down squashing you under him as he spills his seed across your stomach, pooling where you are folded, face nuzzling into your hair as he sighs out your name.

You both stay tangled for a moment, basking in the afterglow of your orgasms.

Sitting up Chairon unlatches your arms from his neck before gently removing his grip from your ankles pressing soft kisses against them. “You were amazing, as always my dear.”

“As did you, my lord.” You hum in return serene smile spread across your features.

After this, it is less of an uphill battle to get him into bed, than it was before.

Able to coax him into fingering you with 1 then 2 and ultimately 3 of his fingers over multiple different occasions each followed with him fucking your thighs.  

He has developed a bit of an obsession with your thighs because if this.

Eventually, you convince him to actually fuck you.

But that is for another day…

[alternate-real-ities]

I’ve been on a weight loss journey and I just found out from my doctor and nutritionist that I’m no longer overweight, I would love to see what happened to me in other universes.

First of all, let me just say congratulations on your incredible achievement! Losing weight is no easy feat, and the fact that you've managed to shed those extra pounds and reach a healthy weight is truly something to be proud of. I can only imagine how hard you've worked, how many sacrifices you've made, and how much dedication you've shown to get to this point. So from the bottom of my heart, well done! Now, let's talk about what might have happened to you in other universes...

I've found this universe where you're a total beefcake. Like, seriously, you're a walking, talking, muscle-bound Adonis. I guess all those hours in the gym really paid off, huh?

Every inch of your body is chiselled and defined, sculpted to perfection by hours of hard work and dedication. And let me tell you, it shows. I can almost smell the heady mix of sweat and musk rolling off your body in waves. It's intoxicating, making my knees go weak and my mouth water. Your skin glistens, a light sheen highlighting every ridge and valley of your sculpted muscles.

Don't even get me started on those arms - each one thicker than my waist, corded with power. I can just imagine how incredible they'd feel wrapped around me, crushing me against that rock-hard chest.

But it's not just your top half that's been blessed by the gods of gym. Oh no, you've got a set of legs on you that could make a marathon runner weep with envy. Those thunder thighs and that juicy, muscular bubble butt... fuck, I'm getting dizzy just thinking about it.

And as for what's nestled in those tight shorts? Well, let's just say that the outline of your impressive manhood is enough to make a grown boy like me drool like a puppy. I bet it's thick and heavy, swinging between your legs like a pendulum, begging to be freed from its cloth prison.

In this universe, you're not just a sexy beast - you're a god among men. A beefy, muscular daddy who could make even the most seasoned twink tremble with desire. And fuck, do I want to be the lucky little slut who gets to worship at your altar, tracing every inch of your glorious body with my tongue until you roar with pleasure and claim me as yours.

Also, I'm not sure how it happened, but somehow I've stumbled into a parallel universe where you're a bit more of a lad.

Here, you're a bit different from the previous muscle beast we saw. Your muscular frame, honed by years of manual labour and football at the pub, is usually clad in musky Adidas gear that clings to your curves like a second skin.

Fuck me, but you're the epitome of a fit, rugged, working-class stud. The kind of bloke who could bench press me and fuck me silly all at once. I bet that cock of yours is thick and heavy, swinging between your legs as you strut around in those tight pants, just waiting to split me open on it.

And as you take a long drag from your cigarette, I can catch a whiff of your scent carried on the breeze - sweat, smoke, and cheap cologne, a heady cocktail that makes my head spin with desire. Your eyes, cold and calculating as they rake over my body, tell me you're not used to playing nice. This version of you takes what he wants, consequences be damned. And fuck if that isn't the hottest thing I've ever seen.

I can only imagine the filthy things you'd whisper in my ear as you pinned me against the wall, rough hands roaming my body, leaving marks on my skin. The way you'd grind your hips into mine until we were both aching and desperate for more. One can only dream...

In another universe, you've transformed into a total Japanese e-boy wet dream. Gone are the extra pounds that once slowed you down - your doctor and nutritionist just crowned you fit as fuck! And oh, how the multiverse has blessed you.

In this reality, you're sporting a lean, muscular physique that fills out your tight black hoodie in all the right places. Hell, even your glasses - stylish and sleek with black frames - can't distract from your smouldering good looks.

But it's not all about looks (even though, damn, could this guy be any more gorgeous?). Nope, your multiversal twin is packing some serious smarts too. You're a gamer god, fingers flying over your keyboard/controler as you dominate online matches in your cluttered yet cosy flat. The glow of your monitors lights up your handsome face as you grind on your opponents, and I bet that's not the only thing you grind on.

Wait until you see yourself in the reflection of your 4K screen - the way your hair falls messily over your forehead, the glint of sweat on your brow from intense gameplay, that mischievous smirk playing at your full lips. I bet people are surprised when they see a little nerd with such fit body. This alternate reality version of you is a total wet dream come true - gaming glory, cute boys falling at your feet, and a sexy e-boy body that has everyone drooling.

So there you have it, a glimpse into what might have happened to you in other universes. I hope you enjoyed the journey, and I wish you all the best as you continue on your path to health and happiness. Keep up the good work, and remember that you are strong, capable, and deserving of all the good things that life has to offer. Congratulations again on your weight loss, and may your future be filled with joy, love, and success. You deserve it.

[boozles]

Faifa just fucking went for it, didn’t he? Now THAT was a kiss.

I’ll admit that before this series I wasn’t buying the JuniorMark ship. It never really clicked for me in Cherry Magic (don’t flay me - I loved Junior in the show, but Mark felt a bit flat for me considering the character he was playing) and I just didn’t really enjoy their scenes together as much as I enjoyed Junior on his own.

Idk if perhaps maybe I’m still a bit bitter about MekMark being split? Full disclosure, it isn’t that I was diehard MekMark or anything, I just don’t like how Mek was treated - like, being split from Mark seems to have been his last straw with GMMTV before he quit because he was so comfortable with Mark and they were good friends. So, I admit that I was probably a bit negative from the get go because I felt bad for Mek.

However, P10L has really made me fall in love with Junior. (It probably also has something to do with how close he is to Tay and New now and how they are literally just idiots together. No braincells at all.) and I’ve really started to like the character of Wine, whilst at first I was like “this is such a flat character” but he’s coming out of his shell and now I see AHAH HE WAS SO FLAT AT THE START FOR A REASON and I am loving watching them fall in love. Junior and Mark really do have a good little connection.

So many people were negative before P10L started because of the size of the cast and number of episodes, but I genuinely think it’s become one of my all time favourites. It’s just a seriously that always leaves me feeling happy?

I’m gonna be so depressed when this ends.

[earthlybeam]

Hey, I love your writing so much and I had request if you're taking them right now. I read your headcanons about Glorfindel and I thought it was interesting that people kind of underestimate him because he's attractive. Could you do one where Glorfindel overhears the reader defending him to other people? Hope this isn't too strange of a request!

That’s such a kind thing to say—thank you! I’d love to write this for you. 🫶 It’s a great idea, and not strange at all! Glorfindel is such an interesting character, and I really like exploring the contrast between his beauty and his strength. 😉❤️‍🔥🤌

Glorfindel version below

☀️𝓖𝓵𝓸𝓻𝓯𝓲𝓷𝓭𝓮𝓵

Glorfindel was no stranger to admiration. His golden hair, striking blue eyes, and radiant presence often left people in awe before they even knew his name. It wasn’t unusual for conversations to shift when he entered a room—whispers of his past heroics, quiet sighs over his beauty, or, occasionally, dismissive laughter from those who assumed his looks outshone his substance. Most days, he ignored it. He had lived too long to care about the idle chatter of those who did not truly know him. But today was different. Today, he overheard you.

The voices reached him just as he turned a corner in the halls of Rivendell. He hadn’t been paying much attention—his mind had been on council matters, his upcoming patrol, and, admittedly, the thought of seeing you later that evening. But the moment he heard his own name, spoken with a sneer, he slowed his steps.

“Oh, come on. He’s Glorfindel—he’s all charm and golden hair. He’s a warrior, sure, but it’s not like he’s some grand strategist. If he weren’t so pretty, do you think people would take him half as seriously?” Glorfindel’s steps halted. He exhaled sharply through his nose, already prepared to walk away. This was not new. He had heard it all before. He had nothing to prove to those who judged him by his face rather than his deeds. And then, your voice cut through the air like a blade. “That is the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard.” His brow lifted slightly, curiosity sparking in his chest.

“Glorfindel is one of the most formidable warriors in Middle-earth. He literally fought a Balrog single-handedly and won. He has led armies, advised lords and kings, and is one of the few elves wise enough to be trusted as an emissary of the Valar. He’s not just ‘some warrior’—he’s a leader, a tactician, and a legend.” Silence followed, and Glorfindel could practically see the way the others must have shifted awkwardly under the weight of your words. But you weren’t finished.

“And even if he weren’t all those things, even if he were just ‘some warrior’—what of it? He’s kind, selfless, and one of the most honorable people I have ever met. He doesn’t look down on others, even when they clearly don’t deserve his patience. The fact that you all assume he gets by on his looks alone just proves you’ve never actually spoken to him. And maybe you should, instead of sitting here making fools of yourselves.”

Glorfindel had been called many things in his lifetime—hero, lord, captain, legend. But standing there, listening to the raw conviction in your voice as you defended him without hesitation, he had never felt more seen. His heart clenched, warmth flooding through him in a way that had nothing to do with the golden light of his spirit. You hadn’t defended him because you wanted something from him, or because you needed to impress anyone. You had spoken because you believed in him. Because you knew him.

The sound of chairs shifting signaled the end of the conversation. He waited until the footsteps faded before stepping forward, rounding the corner just as you turned to leave. You nearly ran into him. Your eyes widened slightly, guilt flashing across your face—as if you’d been caught saying something you shouldn’t have. “Glorfindel,” you breathed. He tilted his head, amusement glinting in his gaze. “That was quite the speech.” A flush crept up your neck. “You… heard that?”

“Every word.” He let a slow, knowing smile spread across his lips. “Legend, was it?” You groaned, covering your face with one hand. “They were being idiots—what was I supposed to do? Let them keep talking nonsense?” Glorfindel chuckled, the sound rich and warm. “No, I rather enjoyed hearing you put them in their place.” He hesitated for a moment before reaching out, the back of his fingers brushing lightly against your hand. His voice was quieter when he spoke again, more sincere. “Thank you.”

You looked up at him, and for a brief moment, he felt like that young elf from Gondolin again—awed, hopeful, endlessly grateful for the kindness of another. “They don’t deserve to speak about you like that,” you said firmly. “You matter, Glorfindel. And not because of what you look like. Because of who you are.” His breath caught. For all his centuries of existence, for all the titles and accolades and whispered praises, this—this simple, earnest truth—was what meant the most.

With a smirk, he nudged your shoulder lightly. “Well then, my most loyal defender, what say you to a walk? After all, if I am to keep up this image of a ‘legend,’ I ought to be seen in the company of someone just as formidable.” You laughed, rolling your eyes but accepting his offered arm nonetheless. “Fine. But only if you admit that you’re more than just a pretty face.” Glorfindel grinned, leading you down the corridor. “Oh, I never doubted it.”

[eucatastrophicblues]

I think these are all good points (particularly the one you mentioned in your tags about denominational differences) and I think it also highlights the differences in social circles that can seriously color how you interact with witchcraft.

I’ve met hundreds of self-avowed pagans and witches; the ones for whom this isn’t about control are for me pretty significantly in the minority. I’ve also read a lot of literature authored by pagans and witches, and spent a lot of time as a silent observer in communities both in person and online - I did and still do find a lot of common ground between my practice and theirs.

I think a lot of people who are dismissing what I’m saying assume that I’m speaking from a position of ignorance, but I’ve been on the periphery of and engaging in good faith with these traditions for the better part of 20 years. I’ve done scholarly research on pre-Christian and non-Christian polytheism, and I don’t seek to argue with or denigrate non-Christians of any stripe whose practices include these elements - their religion is their business, unless they want to talk shop. I’m critical of Christian witches because I’ve had enough religious education, theological conversation, personal research, and private revelation/UPG to speak confidently on Christianity and I see (as a mystic and as someone who has some inculturated/syncretic elements to her own practice) a lot of places where I think productive critique and conversation needs to happen - I’m grateful for this kind of dissent alongside the agreement. I have love and affection for these spaces and I want them to be fertile ground for discussion. We do all love and worship the same God ultimately.

The control thing is for me significant enough to be commented on - it sort of forms the backbone of the discussions I’ve seen play out about interfacing with the divine. Despite that, I was definitely overenthusiastic as presenting it in such a broad and generalizing manner - there have been people I’ve met who don’t seek things from their gods in a self-serving manner and I shouldn’t be as callous to them as I have been in this conversation.

like I get it, being witchy and occult is in vogue right now, and I’m not ever going to tell someone it isn’t real or it’s not a valid spiritual practice

but we have a God who spent an excruciatingly long amount of time explaining to us how She wanted to be worshiped. part of worshiping a specific god of any sort in any pantheon is being aware of their preferences and desires - why is the way She wants us to worship Her no longer good enough? why do we need to look elsewhere? we are not supposed to divine, to use magic, to invoke without cause. there are rules. we should follow them.

[gimlilithegreat]

One of the weirdest interactions I’ve ever had with a commenter happened today.

A couple of days ago someone started commenting on my HP/Twilight fic, innocuous things, it’s always fun when someone comments when they reach the end of every chapter because I can kind of see their progress through the fic.

They get to chapter four and there is a moment in that chapter when Harry is making fun of someone and they really didn’t like it. Left a multi paragraph comment with dictionary definitions and a lot of rage.

No problem. I get it. Stuff can be triggering. I get the email notification, go off and do some research to try and see it from their point of view and decide if I’m going to respond, if I want to make any edits, that kind of thing.

They continue to comment. So I’m like hey, that’s nice at least that didn’t ruin the fic for them.

Their next comment is about something completely different and when I go to respond to it I notice that there isn’t a reply button.

I have no idea what that means, but after some googling it looks like they blocked me. Fair, I wrote something, they had a reaction. I can understand blocking someone. But now I’m really confused because they are still reading, I’m still getting an email every two hours that they are commenting.

Positive things. Reactions to parts of the story. Favourite bits or characters. Things I’d usually respond to.

So I make a Reddit post to see if I am alone in thinking that’s weird. Maybe this is normal and I’m alone in finding that strange. I’m relatively new to writing fanfic maybe this is something people do.

Nope. Everyone thinks that’s weird.

Great.

One of the suggestions on a way it could be not weird was if they’d blocked me by accident. People suggest I leave a guest comment to double check.

After basically a day of getting fixated on how weird this is I decide to do just that. Head into incognito and leave this comment:

“Hey! Not sure you're aware but you've actually blocked me (the author) from responding to your comments?

If you have deliberately blocked me, that's obviously fine, you do you, but I'm not massively comfortable having comments I can't respond to in my comment section especially as I get an email notification every time you leave a comment and I just find that really strange. So I will be blocking you from commenting on this fic. And potentially deleting your comments. Unless this was a mistake, I'll leave this up for a bit to check.

I've appreciated you going to the effort of commenting either way.”

A couple of hours later I get this back:

“Not a mistake but don’t see the big deal. Don’t know if you’re really the author or not but if so it’s a little weird to go out of your way to message someone who clearly didn’t want further interaction than leaving a comment.”

Wow.

Just wow.

Now I’m offended BECAUSE I AM NOT THE WEIRD ONE HERE.

2 hours later she’s finished the fic and left another positive comment.

Like a weirdo.

So I blocked her back and deleted her comments.

Obviously this has become a point of fixation here. I am not going to get over how weird I found this for a while.

So that was my day, how was yours? XD

[bythehearts]

not to bring tiktok drama on tumblr but like every time a ‘scandal’ comes out with one of these ‘production companies’ that make fan films i always hope we’re finally gonna discuss how they professionalize something that should be an hobbyist endeavor… and yet every single time i’m disappointed.

[lesbiansanemi]

I’ve been spending less and less time on this stupid ass website recently and honestly….. good

[shorlinesorrows]

so, with the Percy Jackson tv show fully out and the reaction of various people from across the fandom, I’ve noticed that there are some book fans who are still upset with how it was done

which is fine!!! (The whole “what are you doing Rick I’m so disappointed in you this sucks you suck” video essays kind of get on my nerves, personally, but that’s just me)

But also, it kinda made me start thinking about the standards we hold adapted media to, and the way that we act as if nothing CAN change. The Percy Jackson tv show is staying true to a lot of the core messages and values of the book series, while also showing us changes that Rick clearly thought made the story better and enhanced these values. That doesn’t mean the books are “wrong” or “bad”. That ALSO doesn’t mean the show is “wrong” or “bad”

you don’t have to like changes made in adaptations, but acting as if the series is trash because of differences that enhance the story this TV Show Specifically is trying to tell, feels wrong.

it’s important to approach media with critical thinking, but please please remember that it’s also just supposed to be fun. Yeah, the show isn’t entirely the same as the books! Did I have a fun time watching it and get a little emotional seeing my childhood characters on screen? Yes.

if something isn’t fun for you to watch, just don’t watch it. Interacting with a piece of media only to drag it kinda defeats the point and feels like a waste of time. Quite frankly, you don’t have to watch adaptations if you don’t like them! Continue interacting with the original media instead!

anyways sorry thank you for coming to my TED Talk

[uchiha-gaeshi]

I’m calling off my SI/OC fic.

[danielnelsen]

there’s so much i wanna do this week/month/etc but i’m just too sick, i have no energy, i can’t sleep, i’m constantly nauseous and headachey and on the verge of a migraine, i’m stressed and irritable and impatient and panicky…….how tf did i survive nearly 5 years of high school untreated if i can’t even manage this when i don’t have any major obligations rn