#she just refuses to be happy for other people at all

[somesortapunk]

Gave me a scene idea:

So this would be when they save him in ice after all that plot nonsense, blah blah blah, he gets his human half cut off from the dragon half and healed after the giant feast.

Falin looks terrified because that gnawing doubt in her mind refuses to go away. It's been rotting her from the inside out. Marcille asks what's wrong, and for the first time, she tells her. She explains how happy Laios was, how she feels she's robbing him of his dream, even as people behind her devour his dragon body. She can't help but wonder how long it'd take for Laios' slow resentment of her to boil over. For him to leave her alone again.

The others try to reassure her. But she knows her big brother.

They thaw him out and heal him, and she watches as his body turns into that of a tall-man instead of the beast he used to be, the beast he so obviously adored being.

And he wakes up. And he looks at her, she looks at him, she holds her breath because she won't be able to inhale when he realizes what she's done.

Laios looks down at his body.

And his eyes light up.

Before she even has time to ask if he's OK, he's running his hands over his feathers, beaming at her, showing off his new body (much to Marcille's dismay, given his unfortunate lack of clothing). And she can't help but start to cry.

Her tears snap him out of it, and he's suddenly fretting over her, like he always did. He asks if she's OK, and she nods. She's better than she's been in a very, very long time. She just didn't know why she didn't expect this.

After all, she knows her brother.

Thinking about a Dungeon Meshi swap AU where Laios is eaten instead of Falin

I think everything is relatively the same in the terms of party members. Chilchuck would stay, not for Falin, but for Laios cause he and the blond are actually close and he wouldn’t say it out loud but he’s worried about him and no I won’t take criticism. Marcille would stay, definitely for Falin but she’s worried about that weird guy in her own way. Namari would still leave and wish Falin the best. The only difference is that Shuro would definitely come this time if it was Falin who asked, however he’d probably tell her to go on ahead without him so he can get a bigger team to help and meet her down there. Senshi, of course, still joins the group.

There are a lot of little things that would change but I have such a specific scene in my brain that won’t leave.

In the swap version of the scene where Chimera Falin fucks everyone up and then run off, Falin watches as her now monsterfied and wounded brother flee, tears in her eyes as she attempts to stop herself from crying but can’t. Marcille, immediately assuming that she’s crying about Laios, tries to comfort her by saying they’re going to find a way to revert this, even if at the time she’s just saying an empty promise to make Falin feel better since she has no clue on how to fix Laios either.

But that’s not why Falin is crying.

During the fight she watched her brother very closely, the way he moved, the way he analyzed each person who came close, the way his eyes softened and he gently smiled when he recognized her for just a moment before turning back into a beast. A gut wrenching realization ran through her head the more she watched him and it got even louder when he fled.

She realized that when her brother appeared as that chimera, that monster, his yellow eyes shined bright in the dark and his toothy grin could be seen for miles, and the grin barely faded even during the battle.

Falin has never seen her brother so unapologetically happy in her entire life.

It was like he was made to be a monster.

She wondered if it would be cruel to turn him human again, a horrid thought that she might be ripping him away from what was assumedly his dream come true. Who gave her the right to ruin her brothers happiness when she knows Laios would do everything in his power to make sure his little sister was happy.

She quickly shook away the thought. She had to save her brother. She had to.

But no matter how much deeper they traveled that small persistent thought stayed in her brain, trying to make her doubt the rescue and convince her that, while he wouldn’t tell her outright, Laios would grow to despise her for turning him back a tallman when being a monster was so freeing and easy.

Falin knows in her heart that her brother could never hate her and it was just her stressed and anxious thoughts getting the best of her, but it doesn’t stop those fears from manifesting in her nightmares.

Ignore me I’m running on 2 hours of sleep and I’m loosing my mind slightly

[satellite-evans]

right where you left me

Pairing: Max Verstappen x ex girlfriend!reader

Summary: You're still where Max left you.

Word count: 2.8k+

Warnings: angst, based on the Taylor Swift song

A/N:

Hi everyone, this is the first fic that I’m posting for the folkmore series, I am so excited!!! Can’t wait to hear what you guys think <3

English is not my first language, so I apologize if I made any (grammar) mistakes. Feedback, requests, talks, vents, recommendations or just simple questions are always welcome.

Happy reading xxx

I do NOT give permission for my work to be translated or reposted on here or any other site.

The restaurant still smells the same. The warm scent of buttered bread, the faint tang of expensive wine in the air, the subtle undertone of aged wood and candle wax melting into soft pools of gold. It’s been months—years, maybe—since the night Max walked out, yet the place feels untouched, frozen in time. Just like you.

You sit at the same table, your fingers brushing against the linen napkin, tracing invisible patterns on the surface. The same table where his laughter once curled in the air, where his hands would have reached for yours without thinking. Your glass of water remains half-full, just as it was that night. Untouched. Forgotten. A relic of a moment that still lingers in the corners of your mind like an echo you can’t quite silence.

The candlelight flickers, its glow catching the delicate ring you still wear on your right hand—the one he gave you as a promise before he decided promises were too heavy to keep. You twist it absentmindedly, the metal cool against your skin, a contrast to the warmth of memory.

Outside, the city hums with life. Cars glide past, their headlights flashing like distant stars. The murmur of strangers, the clinking of glasses, the occasional burst of laughter—all of it moves forward, untethered to the past. But here, at this table, in this restaurant where time seems to hold its breath, you sit in the hollow space he left behind.

And for the first time in a long while, you wonder if he ever comes here, too. If he ever stops just outside the door, hand hesitating on the handle, breathing in the familiar scent and remembering. Or if, like the promises he made, he’s let it all go.

“Are you ready to order?”

The waiter’s voice pulls you from your trance, gently but firmly, like a hand on your shoulder bringing you back to the present. You blink, your gaze shifting from the flickering candlelight to the young man standing beside your table, his notepad poised, his expression polite but unreadable.

You only shake your head, offering a tight smile. “Not yet,” you murmur, though you already know the answer.

He doesn’t question it. He never does. Maybe by now, he recognizes you—not just as another customer, but as a fixture of this place. The girl who always sits alone. The girl who never changes her order. The girl who lingers too long over a half-full glass of water, as if she’s waiting for it to fill itself. The girl who still waits for someone who isn’t coming back.

Does he wonder? Does he piece together the story in his mind, constructing quiet theories about why you return to the same spot, why your fingers still play absentmindedly with a ring that should’ve lost its meaning by now? Is he used to people like you—the ones who haunt old memories like ghosts who refuse to be laid to rest?

Or does he just think that you’re a girl frozen in time, that time went on for everyone else but that you wouldn’t know?

A girl that just can’t move on.

He nods, stepping away without another word, leaving you alone once more. Alone with the past. Alone with the quiet hum of the restaurant around you, the soft clatter of silverware, the muted conversations that blur together into white noise.

You exhale, glancing toward the empty chair across from you. It remains untouched, just as it was that night. Just as it has been every night since.

You wonder if Max ever thinks about this place. If he ever remembers the way your fingers used to trace lazy patterns over his knuckles while he rambled about race strategy, his voice animated, his eyes alight with passion. If he recalls how you’d bite your lip to keep from laughing when he confidently—yet disastrously—mispronounced the names of the wines on the menu, only to scowl at you in mock offense when you corrected him. If he ever sits in a quiet moment, caught off guard by a passing scent or a familiar song playing in the background, and suddenly, inexplicably, thinks of you.

If he feels even the slightest pang of nostalgia when he hears your name.

If he even knows that you come to this restaurant, even though you felt the most heart crushing pain here.

That he left you no choice but to stay here forever.

Or if he’s forgotten all of it. All of you.

You hadn’t meant to check, but old habits die hard. One second, your mind was wandering, and the next, your fingers were already scrolling, moving with a muscle memory you wished you didn’t have. Before your brain could stop them. Before your heart could brace itself.

And suddenly, there it was, a picture trending on Twitter.

Max Verstappen & Kelly Piquet expecting their first child together!

The words seem to blur for a moment, your vision tunneling, breath catching somewhere in your throat. And then, below the headline, a photo.

You wanted to say that it was irony or even faith that you found out that he was expecting a baby with another woman in the same restaurant where he would whispered sweet words about how he wanted to be father to your children so badly, but you don’t believe in faith anymore. This restaurant was just destined to haunt you forever.

At least he looks happy.

Happier than you remember. Happier than he ever was with you.

Your grip tightens on your phone, but your body remains still, frozen in place. The sounds of the restaurant fade into static, the clinking glasses and quiet laughter around you suddenly feeling like background noise to a scene you no longer belong in.

You exhale slowly, pressing your lips together as you force yourself to look away from the screen, as if that might erase the image from your mind. As if that might make it hurt less.

But it doesn’t.

The ring on your finger feels heavier. It presses into your skin like an anchor, pulling you back to a past you can’t escape, a past you’re still tethered to. You blink rapidly at the screen, hoping, praying, that the words will change. That maybe this is some cruel joke, some mistake, but they don’t. The image doesn’t blur. It’s real. It’s him.

Another picture.

Christmas. They’re spending it together.

A perfect family. The kind you used to imagine when you’d sit together, planning for the future, talking about how one day, maybe, you’d have a house full of children and laughter.

The cruelest part is how ordinary it all looks. A picture-perfect moment, the kind you once dreamed of having with him, now shared with someone else. A life you are no longer a part of.

It’s funny, really. How time moves forward for everyone but you. How the world shifts, the seasons change, new memories replace the old ones. Love finds new homes. But you? You’re still here, frozen in place, gathering dust like an abandoned photograph tucked away in a forgotten drawer, one that’s too painful to even look at anymore.

You can’t help yourself but eread the headline over and over again and look at the pictures of them spending Christmas together, as if the repetition might somehow make it easier to swallow. Your heart clenches, a familiar ache spreading through your chest. The kind of ache that never really goes away. The kind of ache that lingers, festers, and refuses to fade no matter how much time passes.

You want to scream, to throw your phone across the room, to erase the image, the words, the entire situation from existence. But you don’t. You sit still, paralyzed, watching the truth unfold in front of you, as if you’re witnessing something that’s no longer your story but someone else’s.

And maybe it is. Maybe it always was.

You think about the night he told you. The memory lingers, every detail sharp as if it just happened yesterday. The dim candlelight flickered between you, casting warm, uneven shadows on the table, making his eyes look darker than usual. Your hair was pinned up, just the way he liked it, because all you wanted was to be enough for him, to be loved and cherished by him just the way you loved him. You remember the way he fidgeted with the water glass in his hands, the way his fingers trembled slightly, betraying the calmness his voice tried to convey. He didn’t even drink from it, just held it there like it was something to anchor him. And you? You could feel it before he even spoke. The knot in your stomach, tight and twisting, the way your heart seemed to freeze in place, like it already knew what was coming before your brain would allow it to acknowledge the truth.

"I met someone."

The words barely make sense. They hang in the air between you, impossible to grasp. For a moment, it feels like the world tilts on its axis, like reality itself has cracked and this is some sort of cruel dream you’ll wake up from.

You almost laugh, bitter and disbelieving, because it doesn’t sound real. It doesn’t sound like Max. Not the Max who once whispered forever into your hair, promising you a future where nothing could tear you apart. Not the Max who swore he couldn’t imagine a life without you, who said your names together like they belonged in the same sentence, forever linked. But the words still come, and somehow, despite everything, they are his.

The restaurant around you starts to fade away, the sounds dulling to a distant hum, muffled like you’re underwater, as if the world is pulling away from you, inch by inch. Your heart races, but your body feels oddly disconnected from it all, like you're watching someone else’s life unfold before you, helpless to stop it. You take a shallow breath, but it doesn’t reach the depths of your chest, and the weight of the moment settles in there like a stone you can’t dislodge.

"What?" Your voice barely makes it past your lips, a fragile whisper, so quiet that for a second you think he won’t even hear you. But he does.

His gaze drops to the table, his eyes avoiding yours, as if he can’t bear to see you crumble, as if he’s already sorry for what he knows he’s about to do. His voice is quieter now, almost too soft to catch. "I didn’t mean for it to happen."

You shake your head, disbelief clouding your thoughts. Your hands curl into fists in your lap, nails digging painfully into your palms, trying to hold on to something, anything. The ring on your finger suddenly feels like it’s choking the life out of you. "But it did."

The words escape from your throat like shards of glass, sharp and cold, biting as they land between you. He swallows hard, and you wonder if he’s doing it to hold back tears, or if it’s just the weight of what he’s about to say.

“She has a daughter,” he adds, his voice thick, but the words hit you like a slap, sharp and unforgiving. You feel your mascara run as your eyes sting with the hot, unfamiliar ache of betrayal. But you don’t wipe the tears away. You don’t move. You just sit there, paralyzed, staring at him, waiting for him to say something—anything—that could take it all back. That could prove this isn’t real. That could remind you of the love you thought was enough.

“She’s not mine,” he continues, his voice wavering, like he’s trying to make it sound better, like he’s trying to convince you this is somehow okay. “But I love her like she is.”

The words hang in the air, thick and suffocating. A sudden, cold numbness spreads across your chest, a pain that feels both sharp and hollow. The space between you and him stretches, filling with the things he can’t say.

“And her mother?” You force the words out, each one heavier than the last.

His silence is loud enough to drown out everything else—the clinking of silverware, the murmur of conversations from nearby tables, the soft jazz music playing in the background. Everything around you fades into the background until all that’s left is him and you, caught in the unbearable weight of what he won’t say.

When he finally speaks again, his voice barely rises above a whisper, like he’s afraid of the truth. “I love her too.”

And just like that, it’s over. The last thread of hope you had been clinging to snaps, leaving you floating in a place where nothing makes sense anymore. The ring on your finger burns, searing into your skin, but you don’t take it off. Not yet. You can’t. Because somehow, it’s the only thing left of him, of the person you thought you knew, of the future that is no longer yours.

You know where he is now. He’s winning. He’s thriving. The world sees him on podiums, champagne in hand, his new life already unfolding in the bright lights. He’s standing beside someone else now, someone who doesn’t carry the weight of the past, someone who fills the space you left behind with ease. The world loves him, adores him. And you? You’re still at the restaurant, in the ruins of what he left behind, trapped in a love story that never got its happy ending, a story that no longer belongs to you.

You press your phone to your chest, as if it could somehow stop the ache from spreading. As if holding onto the past will make the present hurt less. But it doesn’t. The weight of the truth is suffocating, a heavy fog that settles over your heart, and you realize, with painful clarity, that you were never meant to be a part of his forever. You were never meant to last.

The whispers around you grow louder, piercing through the fog of your thoughts, and it doesn’t take much to understand why. You hear his name before you see him, and when you finally do, it feels like the ground beneath you tilts ever so slightly.

Max.

He looks different—sharper, somehow. More defined, more polished by the world that shaped him after you. His eyes sweep over the restaurant, and you wonder if they’ll stop on you, if he’ll look at you and see something from the past, something worth acknowledging. But no.

He’s here’s. At the restaurant. With her.

He really brought her here.

Kelly is beside him, her laughter effortless, untouched by the weight of history, the burden of old wounds. She leans into him, her hand resting gently on her stomach, a soft smile playing on her lips as she looks up at him with the kind of love you used to think was meant for you. She doesn’t know what it’s like to sit in this seat, to watch someone walk away, to feel the years stretch endlessly before you as you wonder if they ever think about you.

Max’s gaze flicks across the room, and for just a split second, it lands on you. It’s so brief that you almost convince yourself it didn’t happen. But it did. His steps falter for a fraction of a second, his fingers tightening around Kelly’s hand before he looks away, as if something inside him is trying to hold onto a memory that’s already slipping through his fingers.

And that’s it. No smile. No apology. No acknowledgment. Just a glance, a flash of something unspoken, and then—nothing.

You knew that he didn’t care about you but, facing with that reality hurt you more than you thought. Here you were, coming to the same place a man hurt you because you loved him so much, only for the same man to come too because he didn’t love you at all.

What a shame.

Maybe it is true. Maybe you really are unawarely frozen in time. Maybe that would explain why you still feel the same pain now as on the day he left you.

You swallow hard, blinking away the burning in your eyes. The candle on the table flickers, casting long shadows that seem to stretch endlessly across the walls. The world outside moves forward, time marching on relentlessly, but you remain frozen in place, clutching onto the past like it’s the only thing that hasn’t slipped away.

The moment passes, and Max moves on, just like he always does.

But you? You’re still right where he left you.

[dadsbongos]

dirty 30... or 40.

1.9 k words / warnings - (first time) anal, age gap/age diff kink, jimmy's your asshole ex, kinda rushed but like stfu

summary - it's curly's birthday! and a surprise guest (jimmy's pretty ex) gives him a surprise present!

“My dad died at forty, man,” the redhead in front of him mumbles. Plump lips stained red with wine and hair mussed in all the places she’s been wringing her fingers through it. Her eyes are a little drifty, empty behind the color and caked mascara, “But you’re in way better shape. So, you’re fine… I think. You don’t have cancer, right?”

Curly clears his throat, shakes his head to both refuse the accusation and try spotting any of his actual friends, “I don’t think I do.”

Jimmy is across the room, standing in the open patio door with his back to the room. An unlit cigarette bit between his molars and a black lighter in the hand he’s using to point out the glass frame. His cheeks are red, surely not from the single beer he’s had, and his face is pinched toward a scowl. He’s getting in a fight.

Perfect.

“Ah,” Curly beams down at the woman, a friend’s friend’s sister he thinks. Fresh out of a divorce. Pretty. One year older than him. Lovely, drunk, off putting, “My friend needs me. I’ll see you around, yeah?”

Usually the last two are more his type, but tonight just isn’t his.

She nods and waves him off with the sweetest little, “happy birthday!” he’s heard all night.

Easily cutting across his tiled kitchen through the spread of his friends and family, Curly flocks where everyone else is already staring: troublemaker Jimmy raising his voice at an unseen woman in the backyard. Music filters in through the open doorway, not nearly loud enough to cover the murmuring of people wondering why the man was even invited. Which Curly supposes is fair -he tends to avoid bringing Jimmy to his formal birthday gatherings because everyone showing up is either from work or related to him.

But for some reason, the morning after Curly’s real birthday party with his friends Jimmy insisted upon making an appearance. Said he’d smoke the whole way through, but he’d stick it out.

Right as he’s brushing back stressed blonde waves and gearing up to drone out the classic hey what’s going on? he sees exactly what’s going on. From over Jimmy’s shoulder, he gets a view of the entire grassy block making up his backyard. Cousins and their older kids clog towards the pool, a few aunts lingering by his orange trees, but all the way to the right is his target. All the way to the right, at the very side of his house is a cracking wood gate door hung on rusty, squeaky hinges.

A hand is on that door, it trails around the edge and around to slide its metal bar lock into place before joining the other hand in cradling a yellow polka dot box. A purple glitter ribbon crinkles into the bust of your shirt, shiny flecks decorating your cleavage.

Once his eyes tread up your neck, he spots the beaten pout slithered over your face. Gaze honed on Jimmy -- which redirects his own attention toward Jimmy, the entire reason he’d toddled over this way.

“Get your hooker ass the fuck outta here!” Jimmy doesn’t give you the benefit of anyone’s doubt, either, he fishes you directly out of the crowd with the tip of his lighter. Silver glinting beneath the warm sun, “Bitch, if you- !”

“Don’t pretend we were strangers,” Curly steps past Jimmy, slightly jostling the man with his broader shoulders. Thick stature leaking out at his friend’s side and pouring onto the cement, he waves you over, “It’s been awhile! Glad you could find the place alright.”

Then Jimmy stabs an elbow into Curly’s side, hissing, “You fuckin’ invite this cunt?”

“No,” dismissively, Curly shrugs while watching you slink over. Heels stapling lime green astroturf into the ground as you do, “But what’s the hurt?”

“Bitch,” Jimmy scoffs, reaching behind the both of them to slam the glass door shut. Staunchly avoiding eye contact with you by craning his neck downward, cigarette drooping between his front teeth while he fiddles to light it.

“Good to see you again, Curly,” you all but purr, pushing the box in hand beneath your chest to give him a biiiig birthday hug, “I’m glad Jimmy hasn’t killed you yet.”

“Shoulda fried your ass,” is all the man says.

Curly laughs when he really shouldn’t and ticks his head towards the door, “Want to come inside?”

“How nice,” it’s clear you’re saying that loud enough for Jimmy to hear, “Of course, I do.”

To ease his friend even a little, Curly lingers at the glass door and quietly offers, “Jim’ wanna come inside?”

Jimmy shakes his head stiffly, sucking almost half the life from his cigarette in one breath.

“It’s been awhile, how’ve you been?” he guides you into the kitchen and pops the fridge. Snaking a hand deep into the back for one of those fruity seltzers he knows you drink (Jimmy hates them all and made you chug his entire beer in apology for buying them one night, Curly thinks that’s why he remembers this about you).

Your face, still round with unlived life and sweetness, brightens seeing the crisp white can in Curly’s hand, exchanging gift for gift as you answer, “Pretty good… Nothing crazy. How about you? What’s old age feel like?”

“Old age,” Curly rolls his eyes, twiddling the showy bow you tied, “Jimmy’s older than me, you know?”

“What do you think I called him?”

“‘Babe.’” jimmy hates pet names unless he’s the one giving them.

“You’re so cute,” you slide into his side, expertly dragging one tassel of ribbon to undo the knot. Skin flush against his, your warmth mingling until he can’t surely state where personal space ends and begins, “I meant that. Differently.”

Once the bow is done away, you lift the top of the box to expose a single piece of paper scrawled over with a pink glitter pen and heart stickers.

“I thought it’d be funnier this way, but uhh, happy birthday!” you have to double check Jimmy’s still outside before kissing Curly’s stubbled cheek. A dewy stain left behind, smelling of pure sugar, “You said you liked your ladies direct, right?”

‘ONE FREE COUPON FOR: BIRTHDAY SEX!’

Curly feels winded. Grasp on the box tightening. He blinks down at the scraplet before locking onto you.

Soft and sweet, despite it all. A reprieve from his own bullshit as much as an untouchable boundary. Maybe even more forbidden, actually.

Con: Jimmy had to buy your drinks for you when you two first got together, and that was only a couple years ago.

Con: You’re strangers outside of Jimmy.

Con: You’re Jimmy’s fucking ex.

Con: You’re almost half his age.

Con: You’re Jimmy’s ex.

Con: half his age

Con: jim’s ex

Con: age

Con: ex

pro: you’re absolutely throwing yourself at him.

“You think that’s a good idea?” Curly can’t really look you in the eye so he focuses on the patch of skin between your brow bones. Weirdly, that too is pretty to him.

“Why wouldn’t it be?” you shrug, so disconcerted with taboos and trivialities just like his cousins’ kids, “We’re both single, right? Not like anybody’s getting their feelings hurt.”

“Jim’ would- !”

“Jim’ would kill me if I toasted you,” you’re not sure why they’re friends but you don’t have the energy to ask, especially if it means it’s about to lead you to the holy grail of men, “Forget about him for a second, it’s your birthday.”

Sexual liberty, anti-puritanism, pleasure principle and all that bullshit -- kids these days are all hopped on hormones and fight those causes daily just for the right to fuck as they please (jesus he should stop saying ‘kid’). Sometimes social impurities are set in place for a reason.

But this is your choice, isn’t it?

Besides, you dated Jimmy. How much worse could Curly be for you?

“Break up was pretty ugly,” Curly hisses like this hurts him, and for all you know it probably does. His knuckles are whitening as he holds the (practically empty) box, “He wouldn’t even tell me about it.”

“Do you actually give a shit? Or do you just want me to go home?” you take the box away and make to turn out the door.

Not even a second passes before Curly scrambles after you, after the box. One hand on the corner and one hand on your shoulder as he blushes and pants, “Well- I- well- you know?”

“No clue, Grant.”

You beam up at him, all teeth glowing beneath rosy lips.

“You’re terrible,” Curly steers you towards the stairs, shaking his head the entire time, “You’ll get me killed.”

“Relax, it’s your birthday -you can do whatever you want!”

Like having sex right upstairs from the party composed of all your family and work friends.

“How’re you doing…? Hah -shit- can I move?”

“Uhhh… go slow, please?” you bat lashes up at him, one cheek smushed against the pillow and voice so high and pathetic and pleading.

Curly nods, a loose coil of flaxen hair bouncing in front of his forehead, “Yeah, yeah, of course- of course,” he’s mumbling to himself, mostly, every working braincell dizzying out at the tightness of your ass around him. He slides out one squelching, lubed centimeter before sliding back in, “Don’t wanna hurt you, baby.”

You squeal between pinched teeth, brows knitting up at Curly, “Careful!”

Sighing through his nose, Curly has to swallow down that entitled little ‘it’s my fucking birthday’ he wants to spit on your flaming cheek. Instead he just forces a ditzy, gold-hearted chuckle, “I didn’t believe you at first… about not letting Jimmy fuck you in the ass.”

Pouting, you reach up and claw the back of his neck to yank Curly’s lips against yours, “Don’t bring him up now!”

“But you really are tight,” he grunts, bruising your thigh in his hand -- taking out the urge to restlessly hump your ass in that vicious grip. The other hand slides between your molten thighs until he can swirl leisurely circles into your swollen clit.

A ragged mewl slithers through your throat right into Curly’s mouth as he repeats the tedious little pushes and pulls before he can glide smoothly into your ass. Pitchy whines wheeze after, hardly muffled by the man’s rosy lips. Shiny with mingling spit and swears. When his cock can finally urge past that cinching ring of muscle and you gasp, Curly can only quietly chuckle and nose at your cheek,

“What’s that, baby? What’re you whimpering ‘bout, huh?”

Letting your head hang back, nearly thunking against his darkwood headboard, you shudder and blubber out between ‘ah, huh, mm, uh’s, “So- full- Grant… so fuckin’ big…”

Some sick urge crawls over him before he can choke it down, "Bigger than him?"

You squeal, "Fuck, yes!"

Surging forward, Curly digs pearly canines into your exposed throat -- unsuccessfully attempting to mute his own moans into your skin. Only retreating far back enough to whisper into your hot ear, “Yeah? You like it?” your fucked out needy nod isn’t enough, he needs: “Say it, baby, tell me how much you love me in your ass.”

Fuck the party downstairs, if the music isn't loud enough they can just leave. And Jimmy could croak for throwing away a diamond slut like you.

“I love it!” you warble, breathe sharp, “So good, Grant- thank you!”

“‘Thank you,’” he laughs, sucking each bite in your neck until he’s sure it’ll be stained there tomorrow morning. Fingers dipping into your cunt as syrupy slick gushes out, middle and ring finger crooking toward the pouch of your stomach while his thumb continues to ply your bundle of nerves, “Cum for me, honey, c’mon, it’s my birthday.”

If he wasn’t digging you out with his cock then maybe you’d be able to cackle at how pathetically he whines.

And the best present of all is Jimmy’s controversially young ex letting him fuck her pretty little ass.

[hellameyers]

I can't believe it *just* hit me. All the talk of Lestat using Antoinette to get Louis angry enough to eat her and break his fast. I nodded my head, even though it felt like a bit of a stretch. Why would he continue the affair if he realized it wasn't working? Sure, maybe he kept it going because Louis went cold fish on him. But once Claudia was turned, they were happy family for a while there. Louis has promised to stay, and they were all over each other again.

And it hit me. Antoinette had said there were rumors, lots of people talking about Louis and Lestat being lovers, in a time when that was illegal. Sure, they're vampires and they could just kill any cops that go sniffing around. But Louis refused to give up his human life, so they had to play along. Lestat only started very aggressively flirting with Antionette after she mentioned this. He took Antoinette as a lover to throw people off their scent. I mean, they were very public and even performative with public displays of affection after she mentioned the rumors. Just like Louis's visits to Miss Lily were performative.

He probably enjoyed the sex, I mean, he is Lestat, but it was nothing like what he had with Louis.

I feel like Lestat was still hoping that Louis would eventually just kill her so he could stop the charade. But eventually, with Claudia's departure, her return, then plotting against him, Antoinette became the only place he could turn to feel listened to, respected, and he couldn't part with that. And maybe he still hoped Louis would finally "claim him" and kill Antoinette.

In the end, she was only ever a pawn. She was a gamepiece to just be pushed around the board, and console Lestat when he felt lonely.

It was always *only* Louis who truly mattered.

[balkanradfem]

I wrote this post in a word document, and I named this document 'not got stabbed yet', so that's the theme today.

I mentioned someone was slashing my bike tyres in the park, and it happened two times in 4 days. I thought, you know, crazy park person was after me, and I need to stop going to the park with a bike, if I want to avoid this.

However, something else happened next. Something that truly chilled me. My bike tyre was slashed the day after, and I hadn't been to the park that day. Not even close. I've been to work, and then visited a store, for 5 minutes. Someone found my bike and slashed it either at my workplace, or at the store. Someone had to follow me to find it there. Someone knew where I worked and shopped.

The tyre had a very small hole, so it deflated very slowly, and I only realized it was flat after I got home. I didn't know whether it was slashed while I was at work, or at the store. I took the tube out to check it out, found no thorn or any natural signs of damage, and called the police again. I wanted to know if there was more reports of this happening.

This time I was in luck and got to talk to a police woman! So I was happy, and I was able to share more details, such as where, when, how many times it happened, she was willing to hear me out. However, she did not take it seriously. She told me somebody probably got offended that I parked my bike at the park, because it is 'the park', so they wanted me to stop leaving it there, and since the third time hole was so tiny, it was possible I just ran into a thorn. I allowed that it could not be ruled out, but it was incredibly unlikely since I was only riding it directly on the street, not any grass or branches, and I did not find a thorn inside of the tyre. Usually when I do run on a thorn, it will get stuck in the outer tyre.

I explained I was worried about being followed, and legitimately scared of going to work next day, but she said I can't shut myself in, I shouldn't be scared, I shouldn't let someone know they've managed to unnerve me with this! And I'm facepalming, thinking, what kind of girl power is this? Is a stalker gonna quit if the victim is not unnerved enough? Wouldn't that inspire them to escalate behaviour? I sighed and thanked her for listening to me.

There were no other reports, she couldn't even tell me if it happened before at all to anyone. I looked up online if there were records of it happening to anyone, anywhere, but only articles I could find were about mass slashing on one location, like one person slashing 30 bikes at once. It was never about just one person having it happen repeatedly.

I was thinking about what was the point of this, and decided if it's not a crazy revenge for something (and I don't know what, I don't have beef with anyone in the entire city), it has to  be to stop me from using my bike. So I would have to walk. And be much slower. Much more easy to follow. And apparently I was already followed, if they managed to find my bike at my workplace. I was scared to go to work again.

To make things more interesting, I was at that point reading 'Career of Evil', which is jkr's book about a serial killer who stalks and murders women, and some of the book was written from the killer's perspective. This part helped me, because it revealed how it could actually be a bit difficult to attack a woman if she's only walking trough public places with people around, refusing to be out at night, refusing to go into dark alleyways or overcrowded bars and dance clubs. He couldn't do it out in daylight where there were witnesses. I had to stop and think whether this book logic could translate to real life, and if this holds out in reality. Can I protect myself just by being in open public spaces, in front of witnesses? Can I be sure I won't get stabbed if I stick to these rules? And I figured, yeah, that actually tracks, nobody will stab me in front of witnesses. And if I'm on my bike, it's harder to catch me. As long as I can quickly repair my bike every time and use it to get around, I should be safer than walking.

But I still felt unnerved about being followed, so I decided to go to work in a disguise. It was a different location and I didn't want to be followed there. I put together a jacket that was a different color than my usual one, put on a wig, different shoes, pants; it was obviously mismatched upon a close look, but if you saw me zooming by on a bike, you couldn't tell it was me.

Next morning, I nervously entered the workplace all costumed up, and people thought I was pulling a funny prank on them and were delighted. They insisted I stay in my new getup to show me to more people to get a laugh. They acted like it was the most fun thing I ever did. I played along, thinking how this is a convenient reaction, because I didn't want to take the disguise off immediately, for the chance that I'm still followed.

Later they asked me why am I in a mascarade, and I explained what happened. They then confirmed I'm definitely being followed, and started listing all cases where a woman got stabbed jogging or walking outside, which was just great to hear.

My bike remained whole that day, and I got home in my disguise safely as well. Now the question remained – do I stay home scared to go out all day? Do I just go around in a disguise everywhere? I needed to know why this was happening to me. And I felt sick of being scared and agoraphobic. So I made up a plan.

*

Later that same day, I went out with my bike in my usual outfit, bright and noticeable jacket, and my laptop in my hands. I went to the park. I carefully tied my bike behind where I was sitting, and opened up my laptop, which had a bit of tape covering the light from the camera. I was filming the bike with my webcam while I was on the laptop. It was almost obvious what I was doing, from the way I was sitting and leaning, but I was there to find out whether the tubestabby was a freaking idiot or not. Either he would fall for the trap, stab my tyre, get caught on camera, and I would know who did it. Or, he would do nothing while it's being filmed, and I could sit in the park, and do whatever I wanted to, safely.

My bike was fine half an hour later when I headed home, and I then had to review the footage, to see if anything happened. Bike was on camera the entire time, nobody came close to it, but also I was on camera, and while I was reviewing it, I had the crazy experience on seeing how my own face looks while I'm online, reading messages, scrolling trough tumblr. At first all I could see were my eyes moving left to right rapidly, I was speed reading, looking all scared and nervous because I did expose myself to a possible stalker and I was not having a good time. But as time went on, I saw myself breaking into smiles, because I had read something funny, and by the end of it I was just grinning and laughing, the internet humor broke trough my nerves and made me forget the fear. Tumblr is okay.

I was satisfied. I had been to the park, I wasn't stabbed, my bike was not damaged, and if I kept this up, I could be in the park and be safe by the means of obviously recording the bike. I can't do it at night time, as my webcam will not pick up a picture in the dark.

I'm not that spooked out anymore, I was freaked out when my bike was slashed the third time, and not even in the park. It is still scary that it's happening to me only, and I'm not targeted randomly among other people. And that it happened on a different location that nobody should have known I'd be on. If I catch the culprit it will take effort not to try and fight him immediately, because I am truly weak due to my impinged nerve and that guy has a sharp object. But he is a coward, destroying my stuff behind my back, never facing me and telling me what his problem is. I refuse to be scared of a coward with a sharp object.

[inkshadow]

"well, yes. i'm sorry — that wasn't meant to imply that you wouldn't." it's mainly to confirm that he fit in the same bucket as any other friend in her life. there was nothing outlandishly special about him specifically; she was doing the courteous thing in making sure that he was alright. like a good friend. their only added benefit is a bit of fun in the sack, not that he's taken anything mentioned for granted. "it doesn't have to be anything unusual. the terms of being a friend can be as different or the same as you'd like it to be compared to all the rest; the core, its fundamentals, are rooted from the same place." following the little lecture, however, andrei reflects her smile with one of his own. "i'm just happy that hopefully nothing will change if we ever decide to stop. i'm actually refusing that stopping is an option right now. i think i've endured enough heartbreak for the night," andrei caps off with a chuckle. "i also care about you a great deal." and sometimes, the lines are so blurred, he feels like he cares more than he should. "i find that sometimes, it's a bit difficult to express or put in words the extent. but i know what i'm willing to do and the lengths i'm willing to go to in order for you to see that. not many people in the world i would leave my house for to kiss outside of a club for all of five minutes."

"maybe not." he's only explaining how he feels which she can't really argue with. it's just a bit unfortunate that they're in such a situation where being public in any sort of way may result in backlash that she doesn't think either of them would care to deal with. rina knows herself that she would hate for anything negative to come out of it. she's spent so long finding people that she cares about and can actually believe they care equally for her, ruining it would be... unthinkable. though, it does sit in the back of her mind that she started this. "i don't think you can stop me," she murmurs, well aware of the fact the glass behind her sits without a drop of liquid in it anymore. "i don't think so..." nose scrunches slightly, though she does believe he needs rest. however, doubts that will be a possibility any time soon. "of course. you saw me with cordelia, didn't you? and her ex didn't walk into her home..." really, she can't tell if the absence of their friend was helpful or hurtful that evening but that's not something to get into right now. "you're... you're my friend, andrei. in a perhaps rather unusual sense of the word. i care about you a great deal and that wouldn't change even if we were never to fool around with one another again. though, please don't for a minute think that i'm suggesting that we stop. i only want to be sure that... that i'm not getting the degree in which we care about one another confused."

[practicalgauntlet]

Δεν θέλω να σε αφήσω

"I don't want to leave you."

Your POV

Synopsis- Sacrifice one of your characters who doesn't want to die and watch them beg to live.

Category- Heavy angst

Notes- I'm writing a full-length fic for Ao3 and experiencing major writer's block, so here's a prompt I stole from Pinterest. This will be a two-part story but there will be no happy ending so don't ask (I have a plan for how I want this written) I will write the fluffiest story I can to make up for it though. Stay tuned.

Warnings- Heavy angst, character death, conon typical gore and violence, no happy ending, I'm feeling very evil today, kidnapping, grief, murder, mentions of torture but no description, established relationship, flashbacks to make all this bearable. Poorly written medical scenes.

Word count- 2,883

⋆⁺₊⋆ ━━━━⊱༒︎ • ༒︎⊰━━━━ ⋆⁺₊⋆

Denial-

You were blindfolded, gagged, and bound in the back of a rattling van. As far as you could tell there were only two people beside you. One driving the van down a winding, bumpy road, and the other in the back with you- holding a gun to your forehead.

How could you have been that stupid?

How could you have let your guard down during a chase?

You were trained better than that.

The team had split up to cover more ground, two members in each direction. You were teamed up with Morgan, much to Spencer's chagrin. Ever since the wedding, he didn't like to be apart from you. But you had spotted a light shining off in the distance, its beam bouncing as if the owner was running. Stupidly, you charged for it, ignoring Morgan's call after you.

It wasn't until a bag was pulled over your head that you realized it was a trap. One that would pull you at least forty-five minutes away from the team.

The van jolted, bouncing up and down as if the road were littered with large rocks and potholes. Maybe it was, you had no idea where you were.

"Why can't we just shoot her? She's a cop."

Your gun-wielding captor murmured, pressing the barrel of the weapon harder against your head. Your heart was pounding but you refused to say anything, refused to give them anything they were looking for.

"Because, jackass, we need 'er. We could hold 'er ransom, she's obviously important. Did you see that one guy lookin' for 'er? I was scared he was goin' to start crashin' out."

"Ugh," The man in front of you presses the gun harder before pulling it away entirely. "Fine."

If your team was going to find you, you were going to have to do your part and get away. Leaving a trail was your best bet. Draw their attention to where you are heading if you can't get out. They were going to find you.

So, with a controlled deep breath, you kick your foot out to the man closest to you. Pride and energy exploded through you as soon as you heard that tale-tell sound of a gun clattering across the floor.

"What the fuck-"

You had managed to get both the gag and the blindfold off, your eyes adjusting to the brightness of the sun streaming in through the windshield and windows. You didn't let it deter you. Quickly you strike, kicking the man once again as you struggle unbinding your hands.

The van swerves and you lose your balance, falling to the ground and landing in a heap of twisted limbs. You didn't have enough time to react as the man towering above you brought the butt of the gun across your skull.

⋆⁺₊⋆ ━━━━⊱༒︎ • ༒︎⊰━━━━ ⋆⁺₊⋆

Anger-

The sky was a vibrant blue with no cloud in sight. Spencer fussed over the use of sunscreen. He didn't want the honeymoon to be ruined over something as preventable as a bad sunburn. You let him dote over you, his wandering hands rubbing the sunscreen over your face and shoulders.

He was so handsome in his thin, white linen shirt and dark slacks, that leather satchel strapped across his chest like always. The two of you were at the beach, the city of Santorini glistening behind you with its bleach-white buildings and cobalt roofs.

When Spencer looked over to you, his sunglasses reflecting the pure joy on your face, he grabbed your hand.

"I'm so excited for forever with you."

"Me too, Spence." - You were tied up to a rusty beam, arms stretched high above your head, toes just barely touching the ground. Your arms ached, your head throbbed, your body was sore. But you still fought, still writhed in place to wear down the rope digging into your skin.

"They'll fucking find you!"

You scream, throat scratchy and ragged. It had been hours since you had been tossed into the basement and unceremoniously tied up. Could it have been more than that? Days? Weeks?

No one answered. Still, you kicked the air, threats echoing into silence. You were literally talking to a brick wall that this point.

"Do whatever you want to me, I'll never talk."

You spit at the ground, ears catching the faintest scrape before the door swung open. Two men and one woman approached. By the looks of it, with her head held high and her confident strut just a few feet in front of the men, she was their leader.

"What the fuck do you want with me, cunt!"

You scream again, energy and anger returned now that you have something organic to yell at. She grabs your face, dagger-sharp nails digging into your cheeks as she squeezes so hard she forces your jaw open.

"Watch your mouth, bitch."

"Make me."

She chuckles darkly, the sound so evil you feel it taint your soul.

"You heard the lady." She snaps her dangerously manicured fingers and the man to your right steps forward. "Make her."

Hours pass and you don't know how much longer you could take their torture. Knives, whips, waterboarding. Anything they could get their hands on, they used. But the lives of your team were at steak. If they weren't already on their way to rescue you.

Blood was lost and skin was ripped. You were kept awake, on the brink of consciousness for so long that you didn't think anything was real anymore. This was supposed to be an easy case, in and out. Spencer promised that he would take you out to dinner; a cute little Greek place that reminded the two of you of the honeymoon.

It was almost like you could see Santorini again. The blinding bright light of the lamp above you twisting and swirling into a midday sun. The sweltering hot heat of the basement bled into the summer air as the two of you walked from one bookstore to the other all the while Spencer rambled on about something you couldn't remember.

The brick walls morphed into the stark white walls of the Air B&B Spencer had rented, with its open windows and stone floors. And soon you were trailing behind Spencer, trying to keep up with his long legs as he pulled you down the cobblestone street.

Your face suddenly stung, your cheek igniting in a powerful blaze that ripped you out of your daydream.

"Wake the fuck up."

You spit in her face and feebly kick at her shins as you continue to dangle. You were too tired to do anything else.

She clicks her tongue at you, smiling a snake's smile.

"Your friends should be here any second. And if they play nice, I might let one of them live."

"You touch-"

Another slap, this time to your other cheek. That fire inside of you, the one that kept you going for however long you'd been there, was slowly dying. You were slowly dying.

⋆⁺₊⋆ ━━━━⊱༒︎ • ༒︎⊰━━━━ ⋆⁺₊⋆

Bargaining-

They had set up a camera. It was an older model that sat on a tripod directly in front of you. On the table to your left sat an old landline; it was on speakerphone. You could hear your team making deal after deal for you, and you could only assume the camera was for them.

"Please..." You whisper, your voice meak. You were so tired, eyes heavy and body numb. You felt like you were floating.

The woman was gone now, her two goons watching you from the table. They refused every deal Hotch made. You don't know why they refused or why they were keeping you here. What did you have that wasn't already offered by your boss?

The man to the left, Dimitri as you learned, grinned an awful smile as he watched you dangle like meat on a hook.

"I'll kill you, you son of a bitch-"

You briefly hear Spencer's voice over speakerphone, the sound like a mirage in the middle of a desolate desert. It pulled you further into the memories that kept you from breaking.

"I love you so much, my darling..."

Dimitri stood, chuckling as you heard a scuffle from the other end of the phone. Spencer was most likely pulled away from the table, kicking and fighting as Morgan took him out of the room.

Your mind was slipping, switching back and forth between fantasy and reality. Soft kisses you could almost feel. The blinding pain in your wrists as the rope rips your skin. His shining smile as you say 'I do'. The throbbing ache all across your body where those fucking monsters continue to cut. The silk sheets sliding against your skin as Spencer kisses down your body.

Finally, Hotch made a deal they seemed interested in. A one-way ticket to dissappear without the threat of the government chasing after them.

"I guess we don't need you no more. It's such a shame, I was just startin' to like ya."

Dimitri raised his gun, the barrel aimed at your temple. It was so close, the bite of the metal against your skin sending adrenaline-filled shivers across your body.

"No, please!" You try, energy coursing through your body as the reality of the situation kicks in.

"Awe, little miss thinks she can plead her way out of this."

The other man, Kyle, joined in. His joy was just as twisted as Dimitri's.

"I don't want to die! You got what you want, please. I have a husband, and a life, and friends!"

You heard somewhere that if you recite your life, your loved ones, and memories, you'd remind them that you were human.

"Boo fuckin' hoo," Kyle mocked as he walked towards the phone and hung up on your team. He moved the camera closer, one last fuck you to the government that failed them.

"You don't understand, please. We got married three- three weeks ago, Penelope’s birthday is next week and I haven't gotten her a present yet. I haven't, I haven't seen my parents all year. Please put the gun down, put it down, please. "

He cocked the gun and squeezed the trigger.

You brace for the pain, the pressure you'd imagine you'd feel. But it didn't come.

"That shit won't work on me, sweetheart. I don't give a shit whether or not you have a litter of ankle biters and plan on meetin' with the president. You're not getting outta this."

"Why?"

"Because I like the look on your face."

Another click. You didn't know if there was even a bullet in the chamber, but every time he pulled the trigger, you flinched.

"This," He drags a meaty finger down your cheek, collecting the tears that were spilling. "Is why."

He licked the tear off his finger, grinning like a madman before pulling the trigger for the sixth time. This was it. Everything happened in slow motion, the release of the gun, the maniacal cackle of the men before you.

Still, you were alive. Still, you were dangling in that basement.

"Please!"

Is all you can say.

"Please stop,"

All other words disappear from your vocabulary.

"Stop, please. I don't wanna die!"

You were rendered a rambling child, begging for a chance to live while they played God with your existence.

Suddenly, you hear an explosion of sound above you. Thundering footsteps, gunshots, falling bodies. They found you.

"I'd say your last words now, mother fucker because you'll never be a free man again."

Dimitri growled in your face. He leaned in real close, his putrid breath fanning across your face.

"And you'll never make it to your one year anniversary."

Boiling, white hot pain spread from your stomach. A knife, its blade twisted in your guts before Dimitri and Kyle are tackled to the ground.

⋆⁺₊⋆ ━━━━⊱༒︎ • ༒︎⊰━━━━ ⋆⁺₊⋆

Depression-

The salty air blew gently across your heated face, the crashing waves like music around you. Spencer pulled you out of the Air B&B after dinner, dragging you down to the beach where he convinced you to a late-night swim.

It was severely out of character for him, but he was just so happy to be married, to be by your side, that he allowed his impulses to rule the night.

The full moon was your only source of light, but you could be blind and still find your way beside him. He was loose and carefree in a way you've never seen him before.

The two of you were waist-deep in water, the tepid waves lapping at your bodies. He held you, one hand in yours and the other on the small of your back, as the two of you rocked to the sound of the ocean.

"I don't think I've ever been this happy before."

He confessed, his face bright. He was looking at you like you were the only girl in the world, and at the moment - with the beach empty - you felt like it.

"Me neither, Spence."

"Please stay with me..."

His voice was different. It was strained, not at all matching the blissful expression on his face. Spencer sounded far away, panicked. All at once, the comfortable warmth of the summer night ocean turned boiling.

Wet, blazing warmth spread across your stomach and leg.

"What?"

"Come, on. Wake up, please. Stay with me."

"I don't want to leave you, Spence."

You were so confused. You weren't going anywhere, not anytime soon. Especially not now.

His face screwed up, his brows drawing in. Tears you didn't notice fell from his lashes as his chin wavered.

"Then stay with me, please."

The night sky disappeared. In its place was a white ceiling. The sound of crashing waves turned into wailing sirens and blunt orders. Spencer's hands around your body turned into the straps of a gurney.

"Spencer?"

You didn't know where he was, your mind still desperately grasping that memory.

"I'm right here, baby. I'm here."

Spencer leaned over you and his worried face was in your vision. He placed his hand on your face, his thumb tracing idle circles into your cheek.

"Where are we?"

Where did the ocean go? You miss it terribly.

"We're on our way to the hospital, darling. You're going to be okay. "

You had the feeling that he was saying that more to himself than to you. But it was comforting nonetheless.

Your eyes felt too heavy, your body too cold. It didn't feel like you were in an ambulance, it felt like you were floating in the ocean, your body suspended in time.

"No, no, no!"

Spencer yelled.

Why was he yelling? You were having such a good time at the beach.

"Baby, please!"

He tapped your cheek, his hands suddenly too warm.

"Calm down, Spence."

Words spilled out of your mouth like molasses, your tongue sticking to the roof of your mouth.

"Were in Greece..."

⋆⁺₊⋆ ━━━━⊱༒︎ • ༒︎⊰━━━━ ⋆⁺₊⋆

Acceptance-

"Scalple."

There was an insistent beeping.

Everything was dark, your body floating in a void that was all too familiar.

Muffled murmurs, a metallic release of air, something wet.

"Baby?"

You turn, and the darkness bled into a soft light. You were in Spencer's apartment, arms and legs tangled with his.

"Yes, my love?"

"I'm going to miss you."

You prop yourself up on your elbow and tuck a piece of hair behind his ear.

"What do you mean, dork? I'm not going anywhere."

Spencer looked so sad.

"What's wrong, Spence?"

He pulled you forward with both hands on your face. Spencer kissed you deeply, his lips moving over yours in a way that had your heart soaring.

When he pulled away, he tucked you under his chin.

"Nothing, just rest."

The sheets were not as soft as your remember, his body not as warm. Something was off. And then it hit you. The van, the torture, the knife.

"I'm dying, aren't I?"

Spencer said nothing, only pulling you closer.

"Did I at least get to say good bye?"

A kiss to your forehead but still no comment.

"Spencer, say something please..."

"The time I spent with you had been the best years of my life."

Oh god.

"Don't say that, baby."

"You'll always be the love of my life. No one will replace you."

"No, Spencer. Stop."

"I'll see you soon, my darling. You better be waiting for me on the other side."

You claw at him, begging him to stop saying such stupid things. But he doesn't respond, only settling further into the bed and holding you as tight as he could.

After a while, you give up and hold onto him as well. You lay there, in his arms, for so long you start to relax.

"I'll wait for you, Spencer. But do me a favor."

He finally looks at you, tears freely flowing down his face.

"Don't subject yourself to a lonely life just because I'm not there. If you meet someone, you meet someone. I just hope they make you happy. That's all I want."

He smoothes his hand down the back of your head.

"Promise me, Spence."

"I promise."

You knew he was lying, but you also knew this wasn't Spencer. It was your subconscious mind preparing you for departure.

You stay in his arms after that, imagining what awaited you on the other side.

[velvet-thirst]

It's mind-blowing how many people will vote against their own best interests and the people they love. Take my mother-in-law, for example. She’s disabled and relies on disability benefits, and her sister—who MIL is the legal guardian of—is also disabled and dependent on the same support. My mother-in-law has faced so much hardship, including multiple miscarriages, sexual assault, and abuse. Her daughtet is bisexual and married to a woman (me)

All of these things are directly under attack by Trump and his allies.

Yet, my mother-in-law and her husband are die-hard Trump supporters. In fact, my father-in-law went so far as to say back in October that if Kamala won, it would "trigger the ritual to summon the anti-Christ." That’s how deep their beliefs go.

Just today, she was talking about how happy it made her to see other disabled people working at Walmart, specifically an autistic man and a woman with Down syndrome. She went on and on about how important it is for them to feel independent—though it came off as really infantilizing because she refered to them as a boy and girl and talked about them like children. When I pointed out that these workers might lose their jobs because Walmart plans to roll back its DEI programs, she completely shut it down, refusing to believe that had anything to do with Trump.

[drivemysoul]

oh my fucking god

[happyk44]

Jason who immediately loses respect for people who don't own up to their mistakes vs Annabeth who would rather die than admit she made a mistake

[keepingmyoptionsfluid]

The idea that Tommy, a closeted gay man who was desperately trying to fit in in a hyper macho and discriminatory environment, isn't allowed to have any growth from when he was over compensating and was a dick to Chim really pisses me off. He literally had canonical growth to the point he was going for drinks with Chim and Hen in Bobby Begins Again and they got him a fancy leaving cake.

Why isn't he allowed to grow and be better? Because he's white? Because he "gets in the way of buddie"? Because no one is allowed to say and change at all over a decade?

Like this is a queer fandom and I'd bet a lot of money that a ton of people in this fandom said and did things they weren't proud of when they were younger, especially before they came out so they could try and hide it.

I know this is quite a young fandom too but like, it was literally only a decade ago when "gay" was an insult at school and doing anything that could be get you accused of being gay was fucking social suicide. You guys have no idea how lucky you are that people at least get called out for that shit now cause they didn't when I was a kid. I would have done almost anything to just be ignored, let alone accepted, rather than being openly bisexual.

So yeah, I think Tommy is allowed to fucking change as a person because Bobby, Chim and Hen came into his life and allowed him to stop repressing. Stop being such fucking assholes. You aren't any better than him, and frankly the way some of you behave makes the way Tommy acted when he was first in the show look like a fucking saint. Touch some grass.

[st4rstudent]

i feel somewhat responsible for this, even if i’m not the one saying these things. I’m genuinely so sorry.

No need to apologize! It's not one singular person doing it and truth be told I don't think it's a large majority that thinks that (albeit the ones that do are quite vocal). I didn't mean to upset anyone or anything when complaining about it, I was just letting off some steam.

Having a yap session under the cut sorry I feel like rambling under your ask anon.

Admittedly, I do think there are reasonings for people thinking this way. A lot of the focus with Clash has been on the cogs, especially after the 1.3 update. Which I can't say I blame them! Managers were something new and exciting and (from what I can tell) really separated them from the other servers. I don't blame them for wanting to put focus on that because that was their thing. Alongside other things, but majorly when you hear Clash the managers are mentioned in someway shape or form. But as we all know, toons ended up taking the short stick from this. This isn't helped by the gameplay itself, being mainly a fetch-quest deal so you often only talk to npcs once or twice unless if they're repeated ones and the taskline wasn't entirely accessible on the wiki for a while (shoutout to the wiki maintainers. The taskline script is a savior). Which I'm quite excited to see if they deal with this issue with the rewrite. I imagine they will, but anyways. Social media posts would often contain more managers than toons, which I also believe they're starting to fix. And ontop of this, I believe most of the team in the early era of the sever is gone, so there's been some stuff lost in the change. So yeah, dialogue/writing has been kind of rocky. AGAIN- I am completely aware of the rewrite going on and I am not judging them harshly based off of their current state. I'm very appreciative of the fact that they took the time to listen and are focusing on trying to fix it up. And then there's also fandom mischaracterization- especially of the cogs. Forgive me for mentioning mischaracterization because normally I wouldn't really care (I've mischaracterized characters before..especially in my younger years. I think it's just a process of learning an having fun and I hate to limit anyone because of it). With that being said, there's a lot of baby-fying and coddling of the managers. Especially with those who have more 'sympathetic' stories (Misty, Chip, Winston specifically). Don't get me wrong, I like these characters and I can appreciate the story they're trying to tell, but I feel like so many people will hear their dialogue and then misplace their anger. People get mad at Bessie for trying to protect HER lighthouse or at the Elders for trying to keep YOTT safe (lets not forget Winston was there to brainwash toons). Yes, yes technically there would've been better ways to do it but consider this: The toons are scared. Their homes, stores, lives are being taken over by a big corporation that has more resources that they do. They don't have the privilege of waiting, seeing, and gathering. And then people forget that the company has such a huge role in both toons and cogs lives. If you're mad over the mistreatment of Misty or the fact that Winston is still in the dungeon, your anger should be directed at the company who doesn't care. I may be completely wrong in saying this, but I feel like the stories with almost all of the managers is a reflection of the company. The toons are only trying to protect themself and their environments and yet this seems to go forgotten when people start bashing them. And of course, I'd consider myself a toon guy so me saying all this and complaining may come off as "I HATE the cogs and everyone who posts only about them!" and for clarification that's not true. You all know how much I like that little brain thing. The cogs are interesting, their designs are fun, I don't blame people for liking them because I do too. I just wish that the thought process behind so many of these discussions wasn't so cog focused because I believe that this anger at the toons for, RIGHTFULLY, defending themselves helps push this mischaracterization of them as a whole. That they're mean, boring, unlikeable while the opposite is true. Yes there are some, what I'd consider, "filler" dialogue from the shopkeepers. This is just because of the gameplay. But there are some funny and cute moments with them if people would just listen and read.

Which also brings me into another point: people skip the dialogue. I've caught myself doing this before (on my first account. I have 4 accounts total, so I reread the dialogue on like 3 of them). But people will complain about lack of toon personalities while doing this. It's like reading through a comic book, only looking at the drawings, and then complaining because there "isn't a storyline". Luckily, there's been efforts to keep track of the dialogue on the wiki but I doubt a lot of people are going through and reading the entire script. It just feels very disingenuous to criticize the dialogue when you haven't even read it. Likewise, people don't seem to read the blogposts either. This is both from a dialogue aspect and from an update aspect (people continuously asking about hammerspace/mix-and-match under unrelated posts).

[mabaris]

sees another post about how It’s Wrong and Bad to let bethany join the circle. screams into my pillow forever

[moth-mart]

"I need them to die in eachothers arms and for it to mean something" then proceeded to make a terrible. horrible punch to the gut

[this-should-do]

venting dont mind me xp ✌

[boypussydilf]

i get why people would take this perspective since at the time everyone thought it was The End Of Adventure Time Forever And This Is Where Everyone’s Stories End. Forever but in retrospect its kind of so funny that after CAWM there were ppl like….. “wtf so now simons just Cured just like that and now he’s just normal :/“ Why would you think that, though. not having curse induced insanity anymore isn’t gonna change the fact that he survived a nuclear apocalypse. his last lines of dialogue in adventure time are him on the ground sobbing over betty