#so it's stressful as fuck this time of year. I mostly want to cry through 75% of each shift. it's bad.

[abrushwithdeath]

((Hi again.

I'm still gonna be here a bit tomorrow, this isn't me saying otherwise, no worries.

I just wanted to say that I appreciate everyone who has been patient with me during all of this. I know I've been quiet both ic and ooc for a bit now. I haven't had the mental or social energy to reply back to people the way I want to. I'm basically jumping back and forth between working and packing and trying to prepare for the possibility of our windows being replaced amidst all of this (the apartment is not nearly as tidy as we'd like it to be considering all the packing and such, and we've been waiting 3 months for them to finally get to our windows and we're kind of hoping at this point that they'll just leave it until after we move but WHO KNOWS). When I do have some down time, I'm usually tired because of all of this going on and because I've been off of important medication since the end of May (between issues with insurance and my doctor being just the fucking worst).

There's still a lot left to handle and so little time left to do it (we're moving on the 11th, a decision out parents made without us after previously telling us we were moving the 18th, and which I only found out about a couple hours ago. I'm also still working full time until the 4th, so...). All that said, I don't know how much I'll be on between now and then, but I'm hoping to have some free time after we move.

Again, thank you to everyone who has been kind and patient during all of this. I've been feeling really... Left behind because I haven't been able to be on. I don't expect anyone to wait around for me, of course, nor to be content with my exceedingly slow pace. It's just nice to know some people don't mind waiting a long time for ic and ooc replies and haven't fully given up hope on me yet 😅

Sorry that was all a little scattered sounding, my brain is mush and I'm exhausted (also stuck mobile for the moment, so sorry about typos and such). But, really, I adore you all lots and I hope some of you will still be willing to write with me when this is all through ❤️

Take care! I'll be around a bit tomorrow ❤️))

[vatelixx]

On the concept of ‘want’, (part 1):

Spencer Reid x afab!BAU!reader (written with early-ish seasons Spencer in mind)

part two here.

SMUT!! (and fluff, and aftercare because im not a total hedonist), allusions to both Spencer and Reader being switches (but he’s mostly just down bad), autistic Spencer (the way it should be), mean reader (to everyone but him), reader has a very very high IQ when it comes to everything but a pretty genius— Spencer just wants that cookie so fucking bad.

Warnings: sub spencer (but also not entirely; he talks about human anatomy as he destroys her), maaaaaybe slight corruption kink (what? who wrote that there???), mentions of prior bullying and insecurity, first time (for Spencer, yess devirgin that hot nerd!!— do you think the BAU will get him a cake after?), brief mentions of past hypersexuality for reader, kinda rlly domestic. Some undertones of degradation but predominantly praise. Begging, crying (pussy so good he cried), etc etc

w.c: 5k (I feed)

a/n: Spencer’s first time getting fucked, my first time writing smut (we’re both going through it here). I’ve been watching too much Criminal Minds recently, so i’ve reverted back to my tumblr roots (im home i’m home). This is a new acc so like…. hi!!!

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Right person, right time. It’s a concept that Spencer Reid is more than aware of. Define luck, at surface level, it’s a made-up hypothesis, idealistic, fantastical. Conjured up to aid the desperate (or the delusional). It’s something he refused to humour, obstinate to the notion, well, that was until you came spitballing into his life, sharp features, sharper tongue. You could cut with your words alone, a weapon to the BAU, jagged and fast-thinking, and so entirely unattainable. Rorschach tests, and an endless sea of profilers, it doesn’t matter— he’s not sure anyone is ever capable of truly pinpointing you.

Rocky start— after you became a permanent member to the team, it took months to coerce you into dropping your guard. A year and 14 days, to be exact.

But, it was possible. Hardened words and blunt comments shifted into something more with time. A gravitational pull, perhaps, that led to evolution— you, softer with him, more tender than you’ve ever showcased before.

Maybe it was that night when he told you about highschool, about what they did to him, boys like him, who were too intellectual for their own good. Different, in every sense of the word. Bullying at such a young, impressionable age can have prominent effects, chronic stress inflicted on an underdeveloped brain, they tied him to goal posts, stripped him naked, endless torment that he still carries with him now. Maybe that’s why you lowered your defenses. Put down the sword.

And sure, he never expected anything, nor asked for anything. He was definite that he wouldn’t get to experience cliche-dating. Longing glances and anticipated moments. It’s not like he was ever the most appealing candidate, too nervous, too neurodivergent. It’s hard to grow out of the mentality that no, everyone isn’t making fun of you, not when it consumed the entirety of his adolescence. That you can walk into a room, and not be seen, targeted, as an outcast. He’s just different. But he’s also human, and the chemicals in his brain do make him want.

You apparently. Because, you looked at him softly once, and he was done. Ruined. Gone for good. Or, in Morgan’s personal opinion, whipped.

And illogically, you wanted him too. That wasn’t ever part of the equation.

But theres a pattern now— dates every weekend. Movies, cafes, museums, an endless onslaught of you. Because somehow, thanks to luck, you reciprocated. He’ll never understand why, you’re too beautiful (it’s a hazard), but he tries. He tries.

──────────────────

December. A haze of christmas markets and blanketing coldness. You kiss him outside and he thinks he might be dying. You make him burn cold. He’s a logical person, so obviously he’s aware that he’s only freezing because your hands are shoved in his pockets, a desperate bid to seek warmth, but regardless, it’s more than he ever expected.

He laughs against your lips, fingers gripping the front of your coat as he draws you backwards so that you’re resting against a wall. “Mm..” he hums, “You should kiss me more often.”

Everyone knows. The entire team is aware of this, an unspoken agreement that your lingering moments and aimless touching are not platonic in the slightest. You work with profilers, secrets are never quite effective. Everyone knows, but it’s taboo, something that needs to be left undisturbed. Do they expect you to break him? Does he? Maybe, maybe it would be worth it— to hurt for you, because it’s always been you. He’ll take anything, he’s not greedy. He’ll live off scraps if he has to, anything to satiate this want that burns solely for you.

“Actually.. you should just always be kissing me,” he suggests, tone soft, “Every day of the week. All the time. And—“ he laughs, “You should also stop stealing body warmth. It’s rude. Hypothermia usually occurs when body temperature dips to around 95F, oh oh but there are so many factors to consider—“

“Is this you trying to imply you’re cold?” you ask.

“Perhaps. Or maybe i’m implying you should be working harder to warm me up.”

You’ve grown soft, he thinks. He shouldn’t be allowed to get away with this level of affection. But its okay, you justify, mostly because it’s him. Spencer, and his pretty smile, and strange habits (sitting cross legged on tables, drinking coffee with excessive sugar, endless facts and a plethora of soft yearning glances at you when you’re interrogating— as if you’re not tearing an unsub to pieces). It’s terrifying, constant eggshells, because you can’t hurt him. Not like the others, distant fragments of your past.

You laugh in response to his comment, admiring the sight of him: flushed, with swollen lips and dilated eyes. He deserves to be like this, so thoroughly assured that despite all odds, you’re invested. All cards on the table. “You have a lot of requests, boy genius.”

He smiles boyishly. You’re hard lines, sure, a blade that can draw blood, but somehow, somehow, he’s always left unscathed. “Alright,” he answers, “You want requests? Here’s one, stay the night. Come over, stay over, i’ll cook breakfast and try not to burn it— and, and you can have the good side of the bed.”

“Spence,” you mutter, because of course there’s an underlying intention to ‘staying over’ and you're trying to be good here. To not let this fall into your past mistakes of sex and inevitable self-inflicted disgust. A cyclical cycle that clings to your skin. Everything is so new to him, the intimacy, the affection, and it’s nice being able to witness it— to see his reactions to innocuous touches, always disbelieving that he’s capable of this.

Fresh-eyes, so untainted to the sharpness of modern ‘love’.

You cup his face, god, under the dim shadows of the streetlight he’s beautiful. It’s a little alarming to be honest. More so disheartening really, because despite how much you remind him, he never believes you— obstinately refusing your compliments, as if you’d ever mock him. No, he’s different. He’s tender and disarming, and sometimes it feels unholy to touch him with calloused hands.

But, to Spencer, there is nothing unholy to this; the second you touch him, the entire universe crashes down into a singular moment.

“Just stay the night,” he reaffirms. It’s taken him over a month to get to this point, to be able to voice his wants, to comprehend his wants. Now, his thumb traces its way down the side of your face, tangible, real. “And tomorrow morning, there’ll be coffee and pancakes and—“ he laughs, “And there won’t be any regrets. I promise.”

You’re looking at him, wide-eyed and slightly disbelieving (because he’s somehow stumbled through the minefield of you without any consequences). He leans forward, his forehead resting against yours. “Don’t make me beg. I will beg.”

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To confirm, he makes you incautious, irrational, willing to blatantly disregard any sort of control. Of course you end up at his apartment; the moment he mentioned begging, you were already half-way down the street.

Spencer’s place is… well, it’s everything you’d expect of him. Scattered novels adorning the floor, a mess of untidy thoughts, neglected papers on science, endless open textbooks left half-abandoned for other pursuits. It’s so him, clean but discombobulated.

He wants to apologize, make excuses for the lack of order, he probably should. He doesn’t do that though. He only crosses the room, stopping when he’s standing right in front of you, just gazing down. He has no idea what’s to come— for once, there are no patterns, no statistics he can reference.

So, he reaches for you, fingers tugging at the edges of your jacket. “Arms. Up,” he instructs and god, it’s a stupid order, but you follow it without any protest. He folds it over the couch, abandoned. Putting it back on alludes to leaving, and he’s hopeless enough to never want you to leave.

His hands then gravitate back to you and he starts to tug aimlessly at the material of your shirt. It’s been raining, and the fabric is soaked. “Hm,” he hums, “Off. Take it off.”

You laugh at that. Straight to the point. You don’t follow his orders, because one was certainly enough, and you’ve never been the type to obey blindly. Instead, you grip his waist, drive him back towards the nearest surface. An end table, some books go clattering, light damage, they’ll survive. His response is a gasp, a hitch of the breath.

“I was promised the good side of the bed, breakfast, pancakes. But sex? Hm, did you invite me over just to get in my pants? I’m wounded, Reid.” you mutter, pressing a series of soft kisses along the curvature of his jaw.

“No! No,” he retorts, breathless, “I was going to get you some comfortable clothes to change into. Damp clothes breed bacteria. You made this dirty,” Adding, “And not in the way I was concerned about.” under his breath.

You roll your eyes, “Oh, here we go—“ sure, you have the experience he lacks, but you’ve been on your best behavior. Dirty? That’s an insult to the exhausting self-restraint you’ve upheld recently.

“Yes— i’m the dirty one here, clearly.” you scoff, “Just casually corrupting you,” You tug him away from the end-table because you don’t want him bruised in any way, shape or form (it’s actually distressing; when you’re working, you seem hellbent on making sure no one even thinks about laying a hand on him. Unsubs be damned.)

Ego-centric, completely independent, individualistic until he came along.

You push him back against the couch, watching as he stumbles, as he falls. For a minute he just lies there, looking up at you with hazy eyes— pupils dilated and lips parted on a half-pained gasp.

And it’s a sight to see, the brilliant prodigy, the young genius, his normally-composed features now twisted into something stricken. His hands tighten around the material of the couch and he lets out a sound that’s a cross between a whine and a groan.

“Oh—“ that’s just a clear-cut moan, “You can definitely definitely keep corrupting me, in fact I endorse it. Completely.”

“3 PHDS, 2 B.A’s and you’re currently asking me to corrupt you? I don’t know, Doctor Reid, that’s certainly very forward,” you say, moving to sit on his lap, aware that you really should entertain this spot more often, even if you’re at severe risk of deflating.

Deflating. God. When did it come to this?

He laughs, “You’re the only person in this entire world that makes me act without a single coherent thought,” IQ abolished. “So yeah,” he murmurs, fingers tracing mindless patterns across the exposed strip of skin above your waistline. “Defini-definitively corrupt me.”

It’s taken so much to get to this point. So much to unpack, to understand, from Spencer’s perspective. There’s a lifetime of bullying that he has to dismantle, and sometimes he still anticipates the punchline when you kiss him— the biting laughs, not entirely dissimilar to school, when someone would belittle him, fake being his friend just for entertainment value.

So, when you stumble into the bedroom, when you remove his shirt, he knows this is improvement. He’s fighting this internal battle, unsure on how he should act: coy or defiant. Both, really. He wants to cover himself up, to pretend like you don’t disarm him, to fight and fight until you make him bleed. Anything, he’ll take anything from you.

“You are so so pretty,” you mutter when he’s sprawled out across the bed. You’ve never been someone to resort to praise; sex had always been cold and clinical, something to relieve stress, to undermine the burden of work, and the endless weight of sanguinary. But now? If he is the eye of the storm, then you’ll happily commit to the chaos of this.

“Careful, you’ll make me inherit a disorder here.” he mutters. Narcism— he’s the least likely to ever develop such symptoms. “Or cry. I could cry, it’s a potential. Maybe break-down?”

“Or,” he adds, his hands tracing up towards your shoulder blades. “All of the above. The trifecta of issues. It’s very likely.”

He rolls over on top, you’re down to just your lingerie now, pretty lace contrasting against your skin. Removing your clothes had been a whole ordeal, he’s fairly certain he almost died; you’re the epitome of beautiful, and he’s not sure how he ended up with everything when he was so resolute, silently accepting, he would always obtain nothing.

“I want to kiss you, but I don’t know, I feel like my body has lost the ability to function at the moment.” he breathes out.

“You should definitely kiss me,” you confirm, posing it as a choice, one that he has any say over— when in reality, youre already tugging him closer. Lips meeting lips. It’s not sane how the world fades into a nebulous haze the moment your mouths connect; time remains constant, logistically, nothing has changed. But it’s just so much that for a moment you doubt the concept of existence, doubt everything but him.

Genius falling for genius. Only you could laugh when he traces molecules into your skin. Spelling out words with elements: Livermorium, Uranium. LV U, it might not be an exact replica of the three worded phrase, but it certainly gets the point across.

“Spence—“ you bite into his lip, tugging the soft tissue between your teeth.

He groans, whimpers, pulls you closer, eliminating every infinitesimal distance between, slotting his hips against yours. He draws away from your mouth, lips leaving a trail of kisses down your neck as he reaches for your hand, interlocking his fingers with yours and pinning it against the bed. His free one is now wandering, slipping beneath your panties to touch.

“Do you know how much I studied about human anatomy after you first kissed me?”

“Weeks.” he answers when you respond with a muffled groan. Your hands are on his back now, tracing the journey of his spine. He’s in over his head, but there’s so much want, so much he wants to do but never thought he would be capable of. And oh, when he begins to draw circles against your clit, slow experimental halos, those soft touches of yours evolve into grasping, gripping. By the time he’s got a finger slotted inside, he’s fairly certain he’s being scratched. Nail indents and faint white lines, souvenirs.

“I know about every erogenous zone the human body possesses, every single one.” He says, because whilst he might lack in physical experience, he has enough intellect to memorize placement, biology. Plus, he’s a fast learner. His finger bends, and both of you moan.

“Spence— fuck, feels good.” you gasp, tangled hands clutching tighter, tighter again until your knuckles are white and you’re trembling.

The human body is something of a fascination to him; the way it reacts, how each nerve and ligament can respond to even the most tentative of touches. But you aren’t every human, you are you, and he has an insatiable desire to discover and catalog every single response your body gives.

He adds another finger, slowly, eyes fixed on your face, gauging the reaction. When he curls both digits, a sharp exhale is your response. “I’m convinced I’ve discovered new anatomy facts in the last few months, just because of you.”

Maybe it’s not fair that he’s so good. First times are supposed to be fumbling and awkward, a mess of hormones and inexperience. To say you haven’t been touched like this before is a severe understatement. The meaningless sex, the onslaught of bodies doesn’t measure up to him, the way he’s so focused on how you respond, on what your body enjoys— it would be endearing (and it is!), but you're currently too preoccupied to voice such a notion.

“Doing so good, holy shit—“ you mutter, blissed out beyond comprehension. You're making art on his back, only vaguely aware of the pain. Though when you realize you’ve scarred his skin, you're drawing away, moving to tangle your hand in his hair instead. But Spencer doesn’t even care, doesn’t even register the inflictions; he likes the physical marks you leave behind, a tangible remnant of all you do to him.

And sure, he’d laugh, usually, at your responses. But it’s hard to laugh, when his own ability to form any coherent sound has been completely destroyed. He’s a mess, his breathing shaky, and his brain is a constant buzz of fragmented musings consisting of you, you, you.

He draws his fingers out, earning a discernible groan, maybe a fuck you (which he does intend to do). But right now, he’s already slotting his face between your thighs, removing those soaked, ruined, panties of yours. He doesn’t have a single thing to compare it to. But he already knows this is his favorite place to be, and he’s fairly certain he’ll be spending most nights between your thighs, learning and memorizing every reaction and noise, each movement, and the ways to repeat them.

He runs his tongue along your clit, savoring just how wet you are, a mess that he can bury his face into. You’re looking down at him with something akin to shock now, and he can only laugh, blow air against your clit, then drag his tongue back over the sensitive bud, drawing it into his mouth to suck.

His movements are tentative at first, unpractised, but soon gaining confidence. He doesnt need to do this, you're aware— you could take him now. And yet, hes here, between your thighs for no reason other than want. Your reaction is visceral, because it’s always been about efficiency in the past, quick touches to get you there before the other person can derive their own pleasure from the act.

He’s not like that. God, hes not like that at all.

“Oh,” is all you can say, gripping his hair down to the root, instructing each movement until he gains incentive, finding repeat patterns that your body reacts to. Then, you can only arch and moan, noises filtered out into the air. He’s back to opening you up now, two deft fingers pressed inside, working diligently to tear you apart.

“Oh? That’s all you have to say to me? Oh?” he retorts.

“Shut up,” you huff, “Put that mouth of yours to work.”

“Mhm— I plan to. God, you’re so perfect.” he mutters, voice distorted, muffled. “That’s it—“ he fights the urge to explain exactly what’s occurring in your body every time his fingers abuse that spot. Instead, he keeps his mouth busy.

He’s certain he’s memorized most areas of your body from years of pining, and that’s what brings him an unrepentant sense of satisfaction. Because he was memorizing your body, you, long before he even got the chance to touch or taste you.

“Wanna stay here,” he says, and he’s being petulant now, because there’s something so good about being reduced to movements. To follow the pattern, to take care of your body, mindless to anything else but you. Pussy-drunk, to put it less eloquently.

“Shit,” you buck up against his mouth, watching as he buries his face entirely into you, as he replaces his fingers with his tongue, nose bumping bumping your clit, consuming his senses entirely.

“Use my face, yeah. ‘M all yours anyway.”

“Fuck, fuck fuck— Spence. Gonna cum—“

When you fall apart, inevitable, he doesn’t stop— not until you’re boneless and spent beneath him. Back arching, stars burning through closed eyes. Pretty constellations that have you blissed out beyond belief. The pleasure is white-hot, feverish in intensity.

And then he’s moving, shifting his body back over you. He’s all soft touches and languid kisses against your mouth, not bothering to break contact as he settles himself fully over you, the weight of his hips pressing into yours. He’s hard, dick pushing up against his boxers, his sexual libido had always been low until you came into his life. Now, his wants seem to fight for release constantly.

“My turn, I believe.” he grins, pressing a kiss to your jaw, “Not that you have to, of course. It’s not an obligation, uh— more so a beg?”

“Of course it’s an obligation,” he goes to protest, to say you don’t owe him anything, so you sigh. “A thankyou, maybe?”

Fumbling hands, still shaky from pleasure, undo buttons. Unclasping his belt, removing loose fabric until he's bare before you. There’s something nervous to his gaze, something unspoken, lingering in the air. “Hey, hey. I’ve got you, yeah? You’re okay,” you promise, before your eyes shamelessly look down. He’s straining, pre-cum lingering at his tip, dick pressed up against his stomach now. “Fuck, okay— yeah. Good. Great even.” first time you've ever stumbled over a sentence in your life.

There’s so much to be concerned about. The fact he’s naked, that you could destroy everything with a few serrated words, years and years of rebuilding, reconstructing. But you don’t— and he can’t help but laugh nervously. “Glad to be up to your standards. I’d uh, hate to disappoint.”

“Always the over-achiever,” you respond, shifting away from him— there’s amusement to your expression when he groans, pitifully, when he rolls onto his back, draping an arm over his face.

Predictable. Condoms in his bedside table. At least he's prepared. You open the wrapper with your teeth, discarding it somewhere amongst the tangle of limbs and sheets, too hellbent on finding him again.

Oh, in this position, you have full, unrestricted view of his body. Endless planes of skin, begging to be marked, sentenced indefinitely to your touch. By the time you straddle his hips, hes a flushed mess beneath you. “I— um, you look really really pretty right now.” he stumbles, idiot.

His dilated eyes take you in. Every contour and curve, the way your hair hangs over your face, eyes up eyes up eyes up. He fails when you run your hand across his dick, thumb brushing against the tip. By the time you’ve slipped the condom over him, hes gone. Bucking and moaning, and so so much better than his hand could ever be.

He wants to be inside of you, but it’s hard to think right now, let alone vocalize the words. I want, he thinks, I want everything, with you.

Your name is on his tongue, muttered and repeated, a reverent prayer of sorts. He needs to gain back his control here, to return to equal footing.

“Yeah—“ he breathes out, “So much of an overachiever, considering I had you making all of those noises—“ his words falter, die out, when you sink down. When you take him. Wrapped around, tight. Warm heat that sets alight every nerve in his overstimulated body. He has half the mind to apologize for his comment because you’re about to ruin him, he knows.

“I thought you wanted me to corrupt you, hm?” you retort. The pace is slow, mostly for his own sanity. Though, the feel of him, the way he slots into you, warm skin pressed against warm skin is intoxicating, and it’s a battle to keep your composure. To not just fall apart under the weight of him.

“What’s that, pretty boy? Struggling? Because you were so egotistical a few seconds ago? Where’s all that ego gone? Straight between your legs, I think.”

A whimper. It’s a whimper, a pained thing ripped straight from his throat. He’s making indiscernible noises now, messy sounds pooling from his swollen lips. The praise, the strained undertones of degradation? It’s too much. But god does he love you for it, because that’s you through and through. Sharp, and brittle to everyone but him, he wants to look, he does, albeit he has to turn his head to the side, bury half of his face in a pillow because he’s gone. At this point, he can only take it.

“I— um, mhm. Yeah,” he slurs. He’s almost incoherent at this point; he’s been reduced to nothing, just a mass of skin, bone, and flesh at your disposal, to own and use and he can’t find it in himself to feel humiliated about it, not when it’s you.

“Can’t— um, I was wrong, you’re— oh god,” the sounds of your body hitting his, back arching as your pace picks up. “Oh, ‘m sorry, ‘m sorry —baby, can’t, can’t take it. That’s…”

It’s a lot for his first time, that’s for certain.

“Yes, you you can. I know you can, Spence.” you mutter, interlocking your fingers, letting them hang near your hips. “You feel so good— so so fucking good. Look at you, so brain dead for me. Taking it all so well, love.”

Love?— oh he wants to be buried with that one. He’s a mindless disaster, impenetrably devoted to you alone.

He doesn’t even know how he’s saying words at this point, it’s as if his brain-to-mouth connection has been severed by your very presence itself. It’s not possible to form a coherent thought when you’re riding him like this, taking him so deep that he’s seeing stars. There’s tears pooling in his eyes, he looks pretty when he cries. Especially when it’s derived from pleasure, when he can let go of the burdens, everything he’s endured, when it’s just sensation. Nothing more, no more thoughts.

There’s safety here, an element of home, home home bliss, that has him keening. He wants to stay buried here forever, where nothing can ever hurt him again. When it’s just you, and your pretty words, and your exploitative power to destroy him. You never do, anyway. Even when you could, you restrain.

“Can’t, ’m gonna…, Please, please, don’t stop.” he whines, “Pleasepleaseplease— oh, can’t— I can’t.”

He grips you tight, rolls you over, mostly so he can feel you closer. The sight of you riding him was excruciating, but this is worse because now there’s no gap separating you. Now, he can bury his face into the crook of your neck, burn himself in the warmth of your touch.

“Spence..” you mutter.

“I know. I know—“ hes ruined, sloppy thrusts, whimpers catching against the stifling air. “Feels s’good.”

He doesn’t know what to do, how to breathe, so he just runs his thumb over your clit, watching your prominent reaction, watching as you gasp, moan— oh, and then you’re clenching around him, tightening the pleasure, and yesyesyes.

You’re too gone, moving still, and he can only cant his hips forwards, buck and squirm until he’s sobbing under the weight of your ministrations, releasing so hard that he can barely remember his name, no cognitive function, in the haze of his orgasm.

“There’s my boy— so pretty for me.” he can vaguely hear you saying, and if you’re talking him through it, he can only hear snippets of praise now anyway.

“Mhm— mhm. Yours, yeah.” he mumbles, body sinking against the sheets, a few little whimpers escaping his lips as you milk the rest of his pleasure from him.

Tangled limbs and sweat-stained skin. “You okay?” you ask in the aftermath.

“So okay,” he agrees, shifting closer, back pressed against your torso— sue him for being little spoon.

──────────────────

The next morning, you wake to an absence of Spencer. It’s unsettling, to say the least. So, you're quick to fumble over the buttons of one of his shirts, fabric creased, matching the tousled nature of your hair, disheveled, remnants of the ruination of last night.

For a moment, you consider that he might’ve left — but there he is, in the kitchen, attempting to make breakfast.

“Hey,” you mutter, leaning against the counter to watch.

Scratches adorn his back, indent marks from your nails, crescent reminders, stain his waist, and he’s content to wear them. If anything, he can’t wait to add to the budding collection.

Pancakes. The good side of the bed. Coffee. All of his promises from last night are being thoroughly met, even if he’s burning the food, and shit, he didn’t realize the coffee would be finished so soon. For all his calculations, he’s fairly off-center today.

And then, you come padding across his kitchen, embellished in only his shirt, unbuttoned near the top to expose your collarbone, and he’s fairly certain the last remainders of his IQ disappear.

“Hi! Hi,” he says, wide-eyed, “Um, making.. breakfast. You look, wow yeah.”

Breakfast lays forgotten.

[blkkizzat]

ღ 𝐆𝐡𝐨𝐬𝐭𝐟𝐚𝐜𝐞!𝐂𝐡𝐨𝐬𝐨 𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝟐 ღ

𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝟐 𝐨𝐟 𝟐 (part 1)

18+ONLY MDNI

kizzatober series: Smooth Criminals

Kinktober Prompts: Clothed Male/Naked Female, Thigh Riding, Knife Play Synopsis: The university campus is being terrorized by a copycat Ghostface killer. As a popular sorority girl with a dumb jock bf, you are a prime choice to be his next victim especially given how he can't stop thinking about you. But you're no ordinary Sorority Girl bimbo, now are you? CW: AU college fic. blood obsession/hematolagnia, bimbo reader, murder, slight DV/SA mentions (from your npc jerk ass bf), unprotected sex, masturbation, LOTS of teasing/foreplay, slight age gap (roughly 21 vs 28) and dark content. NOTE: If death/killer romanticization related shit triggers you this is probably a fic to avoid because that is happening all through this bitch. I literally wrote a murder fluff smut fic lmfao. WC: 9.9 of 15.4k Lightly black fem coded (reader is an AKA lmfao) but no descriptors.

A/N: I had no idea so many people would be this hyped for Part 2. No really, I'm shocked! But It gets real here peoples! Lots of smut and dark shit below so please read the content warnings! I don't want no crying in the mentions and DMs cause y'all should know how out of pocket I am by now and I took it there lmfao.

If you riding with me still Thank You for putting up with my OCD bullshit and for all the support, comments and reblogs on Part 1! y'all real asf & ilysm

Enjoy!

Previously:

“Whatever, let’s fucking go Y/N. We have an important party to throw later.” 

Dean grabs your wrist and jerks you away with you barely being able to grab your bag. 

Your stomach twists and you are at a complete loss for words but manage to flash an apologetic look at Choso while you are dragged off. 

However when your eyes meet he looks right through you.

The expression on his face is stone cold and it sends a chill up your spine.

☠

Sigh. 

For the first time ever in your life you are miserable at a party. 

To say you had been excited leading up to today would have been an understatement. The initiation party after rush was one of the biggest events in the greek system and you had led the charge this year in planning the party.

Nevertheless, any cheerful enthusiasm you held had been trampled on by the disaster that had taken place earlier in the day with Choso. 

If getting out of going wouldn’t be more trouble than it was worth you would have faked being sick. It’s not like you hadn’t already stressed yourself into a headache.

Yet here you were suffering through, completely sober. Not even being able to bring yourself to drink away your problems.

How could you even pretend to enjoy yourself when your forced smile cracked as soon as the mental image of Choso’s icy expression looped through your mind?

Your chest got a little tighter each time you remembered and it frazzled your nerves.

Just about everyone and everything annoyed you right now.

Even the party: Hunter vs Hunted, one of your favorites, was soured. 

Typically the theme entailed girls dressed up as various exotic animals or woodland creatures and the boys dressed as safari game hunters or woodsmen. But this time around, no thanks to singular frat boy hivemind, they all got the bright idea to collectively cosplay as Ghostface.

Taking a new meaning on Hunter. 

They couldn’t carry knives on campus of course so they all carried around metal bats which they probably stole from the baseball team.

Sure, let’s all dress up as the masked serial killer while he is still on the loose. 

You rolled your eyes. 

The pilfered bats were a hazard waiting to happen too. You could only be thankful that the party was at Dean’s frat and not your own sorority so him and the rest of those idiots could fuck their own shit up once they inevitably got way too hammered and started swinging them around. 

You mostly just wished they hadn’t changed the plan without telling you. 

Then at least you could have dressed up in line with the horror theme and wouldn’t have had to wear this sexy Bambi costume which although skimpy, the fur parts made it way too hot to be wearing in a crowded party indoors. 

On edge and not being able to leave, you did the next best thing and sequestered yourself in the kitchen pantry. 

It was spacious and a lot cooler than the rest of the house.

You made yourself look busy in there by restocking snacks and making sure there was an ample supply of red cups ready to go around for the keg. 

When someone did notice you tucked away, you gave the best fake smile you could muster and made-up an excuse not to join in on whatever drinking game they were playing promising you would ‘catch up in a minute.’ 

Fortunately for you, most of your friends and sorority sisters were a bit too faded by this point to notice you missing and never joining in. 

Maybe a bit longer and you could slip out unnoticed? 

That was your plan at least until you felt Dean throw an arm over you from behind.

“There you are babe!”

Urgh.

The overwhelming ick and nausea you felt from him touching you rivaled your worst hangover. 

You immediately shrug him off.

“Come on babe don’t be like that. Get a freshman to take over.  We're gonna play rage cage.”

You threw Dean a wary look.

You try to tell him you aren’t in the mood but of course your selfish dickhead of a boyfriend ignores you.

Dean then proceeds to pull your arm and lead you out of the pantry through the kitchen. 

On a different day you probably would have just given in, easier to go along with the flow than cause an issue. Today however was different and the last thing in the world you wanted to do was play fucking rage cage with a bunch of horny frat boys who were just trying to get girls drunk enough to fuck.

“Goddamnit, Dean I said no!”

Your tolerance had boiled past its limits.

You forcibly snatch your hand back, knocking some empty bottles over on the counter in the process which come crashing down to the floor shattering into pieces. 

Your words and movements dripped with so much aggression you surprised yourself, Dean and the people around you who had turned to see what the commotion was. 

”No? No? You’re really telling me no Y/N? After you’ve been acting like a fuckin’ bitch all day since I crashed your make out session with that freak.”

Immediately self-conscious, your eyes darted around the crowd of people that had now turned their full attention toward you.

You hated confrontation and never wanted to be that couple fighting at a party.

Ducking down quickly, you begin to pick up the shattered pieces of bottled glass on the floor. 

The pounding of your headache against your temples grew feverishly and the harsh fluorescent kitchen lights started to make you feel faint, you hoped Dean would just let this go if you backed down. 

“Look, we’ll talk about that later, ok? Just please don’t be an asshole Dean, I really don’t feel good right now.” 

You pleaded with him, quietly trying to quell the situation. 

But true to his infamous asshole nature, Dean wasn’t going to let you off so easily. He wanted to humiliate you as he felt you humiliated him in front of his friends earlier with that nobody loser.

”Now, I’m the asshole?” Dean questioned to his frat brothers smugly.

“Hey, maybe I am for having a girlfriend like Y/N, who would slut herself out for a grade in front of the entire quad!” 

Dean had all but yelled that last part out. Your drunken clown of a boyfriend didn’t care if he caused a scene at your expense.  

Now you had the full attention of everyone in the kitchen. 

You took a shaky breath as you stood up and felt the crunch of broken glass beneath your heels.

An unfamiliar sensation of rage rises within you.

It really wasn’t in your nature to be angry even when you were upset, you mostly just cried but now you were pissed to say the least. 

He has some fucking nerve. 

Especially when you knew no one starting on the football team studied at all and were all automatically passed through whatever easy bullshit major they signed up for.

“Dean–”

You start yet pause for a moment, trying to keep your cool.

“–you know how hard I study.”

Twisting the proverbial knife in your back to wind you up further Dean continued.

“Yeah, Y/N That's what’s so pathetic about it. You get Bs. That pussy ain’t even good enough for an A. I would know.”

Collective gasps, snickers and whispers arose from around the kitchen. Word had spread of your fighting as more people gathered in the doorway.

Typically this is where you would have run off crying. However, you were exhausted mentally and emotionally. You had already cried for a good hour today while getting ready. 

The only emotions you had readily available to tap into was the hidden well of resentment and ire you held for Dean.

“And how would you even know what good pussy is Dean? You can’t last longer than two pumps, is it not all the same for you?”

You snapped back. 

Your fists had formed into a tight ball.

You are so enraged you can’t even feel the prick from the broken glass bottle still in your hand puncturing your skin.

How long has it been since you stood up for yourself? 

You can’t remember the last time you even fought with anyone like this but it felt good seeing the smug look on his face fall as his friends around him jeered and laughed.

“I know how to settle this Y/N.”

Dean mused as he yanked one of your sorority sisters nearby toward you.

“How ‘bout we ask Aaliyah then, eh? She got more than 2 pumps last weekend after you left the party to go chase after Ghostface–”

Your head snaps to your AKA sister in question, Aaliyah, who looked like she saw a cursed spirit as all the color drained from her face. Her eyes shamefully hit the floor before they met your gaze. 

She couldn’t even look at you which only further solidified Dean’s accusations. 

So Dean himself confirmed he’d been cheating on you? Cool. 

With your own Sorority sister, who you considered one of your besties since you both rushed together? 

Even better. 

Blood slowly trickled out of your hand to drip on the floor from how rigidly you held onto the glass but the small red puddle went unnoticed as your whole vision was already saturated with the color red when you looked at Dean who hadn’t even finished his disrespectful tirade. 

“–Although on second thought, it was probably an excuse for you to go suck off that loser freak TA of yours right?”

More heckles erupted from the crowd around you and you don’t think you have ever hated someone so much in your life as you hated Dean right at this moment. 

Sure you were upset with Aaliyah but your fury was purely focused on Dean. 

He had some nerve to start so much shit earlier over an almost-kiss when he was fucking your good friend behind your back. 

“And how fucking out of her mind was she then, huh Dean? Would she even remember? You pathetic piece of shit...”

You get directly in his face. 

“...that limp dick of yours fumbles orgasms like you fumble passes. That’s why we lost the big game last week. And guess what? That's also why we’re now OVER!”

Dean’s bulky build towers over you but he might as well have been 3 feet tall to you as the razor edge of your words eviscerate him.

“So who’s the fucking loser now Dean?”

Everyone in the room was stunned into silence by the venom dripping from someone they had never even heard raise their voice before.

You don't notice anyone else's reactions though as suddenly you became hyperaware of the large fractured piece of bottled glass cutting into you. 

Your eyes flickered back to Dean as your hand twitches.

For a fleeting moment you felt an inkling urge to drive the glass in your hand directly into Dean’s smug ass face.

Yet whatever dark fury burned in you was instantly snuffed out as you felt a flood of cold bitter beer splash down on you from Dean’s red solo cup. 

”Why don’t you cool off for a bit dear,” Dean cooed at you, mocking you and your now ruined Bambi costume as he and the frat boys around you started to roar with laughter.

That was it. 

You were done. 

Dean had succeeded in humiliating you. 

Any contention or further will to fight within you had dissipated the moment you were doused in beer. 

The glass in your hand drops onto the ground as a dull ache radiates from your wound that continues to seep blood onto the floor.

“I hope you realize this is the last time an AKA will grace this sorry ass frat for a party. I’ll see to that. Enjoy the rest of your night fellas!”

The icy air of your words contrasted with the perfect pageant smile you gave them and it unsettled those around you especially as they all notice the blood gushing from your hand. 

The crowd immediately parts as you leave. No one dares utter a word to you as you exit the party through the side kitchen door. 

You can feel your phone go off as you get a flurry of group texts and missed facetimes. Most of your sisters weren’t even in the kitchen to witness the scene.

You respond to the group chat to tell them just to stay and enjoy the party and turn your phone on ‘do not disturb.’

You just wanted to be alone. 

You’d deal with the fallout tomorrow.

☠

Choso wore a twisted grin hidden under his Ghostface mask.

The hunter vs hunted party meant a perfect time for him to hunt. 

Leaning against a building Choso was shrouded in the dark cover of shadows far removed from campus lights.

Old habits, he mused. There was really no need for him to hide at all tonight. 

He could actually walk around openly as Ghostface now without causing alarm seeing as how most of those fraternity morons were dressed up like him tonight. 

This made things even easier. 

Choso scanned the area for his next prey. 

Someone, anyone alone would do. 

Choso had been itching to spill blood since he had the enticing inclination to slash your boyfriend’s throat earlier.

Currently he wanted nothing more than to see a violent geyser of blood spurt from his next victim. Having it be a shithead frat guy would only sweeten the kill so he had stalked close to frat row for his latest victim.

There.

Seeing movement in the distance, a lone figure, Choso cautiously advances trailing in the shadows towards them until they come into focus under the street lights.  

He nearly does a double take when he recognizes it's you.

Shouldn’t Miss-Perfect-Social-Butterfly be having the time of her life right now with her cretins being crowned queen of the frats or something?

Choso thought bitterly. 

That is, until he got a good look at you. 

You were wet and shivering as you failed to sniff back the tears pouring down your face.

Despite his desire to stay angry with you, his jaw involuntarily clenches as he had never seen you this upset before. 

Something had happened.  

Choso confused look turns deadly as vision travels down to see you nursing the hand you cradled to your chest. He recognizes blood running down your forearm to stain your already soiled costume.

A territorial urge swelled within him, not knowing you had inflicted your own injury. 

You were his prey. 

It was unforgivable for someone else to spill what was his to enjoy.

Choso immediately concluded the cause of it was Dean.

Boyfriend or not he would gladly gut that motherfucker at the drop of a dime. 

He hadn’t forgotten how roughly he had dragged you off earlier. 

And more importantly how you had let that asswipe drag you off. That honestly had fired his temper more than anything. 

A storm of conflicting feelings, Choso yearns to see more of your blood splattered on the ground as much as he secretly covets to have you writhing underneath him.

Should he approach you? 

No. Not yet.

Although, he would never have a more perfect chance than now to kill you if he was ever actually going to go through with it.

Securing his knife on the inside of his robe, Choso silently propels himself after you. 

Never falling too far behind, he vigilantly watches you from a distance as both your protector and predator.

☠

A warm shower was just what you needed but you were pissed you had to wash your hair 3 times to get the smell of Milwaukee's out, which proved insanely hard to do with one functioning hand. 

You could have killed Dean. 

No actually though, as you remembered the dark seething compulsion you felt. 

You weren’t sure what had gotten into you earlier.

Pushing those thoughts to the side though you focused on the gash in your hand, it was pretty gnarly. 

You were just thankful the first aid kit in your sorority house had enough gauze and tape until you could get to the campus nurse tomorrow. 

You probably needed stitches as any sudden movements had the fragile skin of your palm bleeding again.

Returning to your room in a comfy pink cotton bra and thong you throw your towel over a chair.

You start to reach for your fluffy robe when you see Choso’s black track jacket on your desk. It still had the small coffee stains on it from earlier but you opted to slip into it anyway.

Truthfully, you lied to him.

You hadn’t just been carrying it around waiting to give it back to him.

You had worn it more times this past week than you would willingly admit to anyone. 

You even took it on purpose instead of your actual jacket this morning not actually thinking you would run into Choso but when you had seen him, you knew you wanted him to see you in it.

With a sigh of frustration, you dove face first into the pillows of your bed as you curled into his jacket. 

It was your only comfort at the moment. 

Your mind wanders and you can’t help but think of how better a boyfriend Choso would have been to you.

Dean would never let you wear his jackets, no matter how cold you were. He said you were too air-headed and would ruin or lose it. 

Not that he wasn’t right, you definitely were accident prone.

But that's why it had meant so much to you when Choso, not even your boyfriend, had given you his own without a second thought.

You only hoped he didn’t hate you now. 

Not that you could blame him if he did.

Even you hated you a bit for even being with a jerk like Dean in the first place no matter how convenient you thought it had been for you. 

How could you even face Choso in class next week? 

Despite your heart crumpling when you thought of Choso’s cold intimidating gaze being cast upon you again, you admittedly had never seen a look that intense before from anyone. 

It was also impossible to forget the ravenous look in his eyes when he was so close to kissing you. 

He looked as if he would devour you whole. 

God, everything about him was so sexy.

His strong jaw set firm, his eyes dark pools that sucked you in even from memory, his lean muscular body.

You wish you had realized how bad you had been crushing on him sooner. Before everything got so fucked up. 

You fidgeted as an ache developed between your legs.

Turning your head to the side you used your bandaged hand to gently push his jacket collar into your face. 

It still smelled like him despite how many times you’ve worn it this week and despite the faint smell of old coffee from earlier.

Squirming on your bed, you tried in vain to keep your legs from sliding against each other creating more friction as your body became increasingly hotter. 

A shameless whine escaped your lips as you huffed his woody masculine scent in and out. 

Your legs rubbed together more eagerly. 

Shit, you were so horny. 

Still laid flat on your belly you lifted your hips up for access as a manicured finger pressed into your clit toying with yourself from the outside of your pink cotton thong.

Choso was so meticulous, so knowledgeable in everything he did you were sure he knew how to make you cum. 

You were desperate for him as you remembered what it felt like when he caught you from falling last week. 

How good would his sculpted chest feel pressed into you now?

Would he look at you with the same want that flared across his features when he had gotten a glimpse of your panties you had intentionally put on display for him? 

You didn’t miss how it matched the look he gave you when he nearly kissed.

“Choso…”

You moaned out loud. 

You could feel the wet spot your teasing was earning you spread over your thong as your cunt continued to drool over your fantasies of him.

Craving more you lifted your ass up higher while your fingers fumbled to slide under the flimsy fabric.

“A-ahhh s-shit Cho– F-fuck!”

You panted as you sunk two fingers into your cunt. You worked to diligently pump them in and out of you as you pressing your palm down firmly over your swollen clit. 

Your face buried itself deeper in his jacket as you gasped and your warm breath pushed back against you as you imagined it was his own tickling your neck.

All your senses screamed with want to be consumed by him and you pined for the feeling of his cock stretching your wet cunt instead of your slim fingers that weren’t cut out for the job.

“F-fuck C-Choso.. Mmm, let me cum.” 

You practically sobbed when you glided a third finger into your pussy, two wasn’t enough to quell the craze that had overtaken you.

Ironically and unbeknownst to you, Choso (who had hidden himself in your closet during your shower), was mere moments away from losing his own goddamn mind.

Wholly entranced, he listened to you wantonly call for him like a sweet siren song and watched utterly fixated on the way you fiercely finger fucked your pussy like it was his own cock.

All the while in his jacket sniffing the sweaty soiled material like some filthy fucking pervert.

Fuck!

When he had followed you back to the sorority house he had finally resolved to kill you, but now he was at a standstill as there was no plausible way this was actually happening in front of him.

The obscene ASMR of your cunt sloshing rang in his ears and your legs quivered obscenely with you approaching your orgasm. 

Your desperate thrusts caused his oversized jacket to ride up to your hips revealing the way your ass bare ass jiggled when you drove your hips down and pushed your digits up deeper into your core that waited greedily to suck them in.  

You chanted out Choso’s name with urgency straining your voice as you climaxed. The bed creaked from you now humping the mattress while riding out your high.

Shit you were fucking sexy. 

Thought you'd just been toying with him for fun all this time...

Until now.

Choso’s grip on his knife tightened as adrenaline surged through his body. 

He could feel the blood pumping through his dick. 

He wanted to fuck you. 

Badly. 

Give you what you’ve both been needing all this time. 

Choso fully bricked, suppressed a hiss through clenched teeth as he palmed the bulge in his pants but remained otherwise still.

He can’t imagine a positive reaction if he burst out of your closet as Ghostface nor could he just take off his mask and pop out of your closet as your TA like he was some fucking creeper.

This was pure agony. 

You never failed to find some way to unravel him.

Choso was so tense, his body coiled so tightly, he couldn't control his thigh involuntarily twitching and his knee recoiled against your closet door.

He cursed himself for the millionth time at the lack of control he had around you, he had never had to restrain himself so much around anyone else.

Ecstasy was etched on your features as you looked around puzzled from where the noise came from.

However, the even louder boom of the front door slamming shocked you out of your blissful daze and stole your attention away.

You sat up quickly and wondered if your sorority sisters were back already.

You glanced at the clock.

10:32 pm.

It was still much too early for them to leave.  

But who else could it be? 

You groaned and reluctantly hopped off the bed, zipping up Choso’s jacket fully to hide the slick between your legs and went out to greet them so you could avoid them coming into your room and return to your solitude as quickly as possible. 

You were tired, frustrated and still horny as hell. 

You only wanted make yourself cum hard enough you could fall asleep and end this miserable ass day.    

☠                                                   

“Girls~! You really didn’t have to leave so early~!” 

You call out to your sisters.

It was a little late for a show of solidarity if that's what they thought they were doing.

You rolled your eyes. 

But it was eerily quiet as you received no response. 

That’s odd.

Walking down the hall you froze once the view from the top floor opens into the foyer below and you see the front door wide open. 

Not a single soul in sight or to be heard. 

“Girls?”

Fight or flight senses kick into gear alerting you to the possible dangers below. 

You might be a bit of a ditz but you studied enough forensics and had seen enough scary movies to know how this shit usually ended.

You turn back to run to your room to call someone but stopped as you noticed your phone on the entryway table by the door. 

Crap.

Steeling yourself you slowly inched your way towards the staircase, stopping at times to lean over the banister for any signs of someone.

“This isn’t funny girls! You know I’ve already had a really shitty night!”

But only the hollow sound of wind whipping through the door answered you as it swayed on its hinges. 

This was an older house.

Maybe you didn’t close the door all the way in the beginning? 

No one in your sorority house ever locked the doors, which now you considered probably wasn’t the greatest tradition to keep up while you were at home all alone and a serial killer was on the loose.

You crept down the stairs trying to silence any creaks as best you could.

“I swear on a stack of Vogues if this is a prank you all of you whores will all be on campus clean-up community service duty for the rest of the semester!”

Still nothing but silence as you reached the bottom of the staircase.

The lights were on in the entire house. From what you could tell the den and living room areas surrounding the foyer were empty. 

You sighed. Maybe it was just the wind.

You close the door and this time make sure to lock it as you clutch your phone and turn to scamper back upstairs when you feel something grab at you from behind.

“Want to die Y/N?” 

You let out a screech as you whip your around to see a figure you recognize as Ghostface reach for you as you stumble backwards into the den. 

Tripping over your own feet, you fall back landing on your injured hand and knocking your head against the edge of a coffee table.

A roar of laughter erupts as you groan dazed from the floor.

“You really are a clumsy ditz, babe.” 

Puzzled and near concussed, you blink through blurry vision to see Dean pull off the Ghostface mask as he crouches down to your level and leans on his metal bat tauntingly.

Pain blossoms sharply in the back of your head and you can feel the puncture wound on your hand open and saturate your bandage.

“The fuck are you doing here Dean?” 

You glared up at him through your one good hand that covered your face as you struggle to get your bearings back. 

You couldn’t catch a fucking break tonight.

“Still being a huge bitch even though I came all the way over here to say sorry, eh?”

Dean hummed, brow raised as he chuckled.

“I thought a little fright would put you in a good mood, Y/N.”

“Nice way of apologizing Dean. Insult me, scare me half to death and give me a concussion.” 

You knew this man was not sorry at all.

Someone sober enough had probably informed Dean that you did have the power to essentially kill their fraternity’s social life, cucking his entire house for the foreseeable future. They likely sent him to make things right with you ASAP. 

But even with all that on the line your tool of an ex was such a huge dick he couldn’t even do the bare minimum to give you a decent apology like an actual human being (not that you would have accepted it).

“I see I was right about one thing though.” 

Dean got your attention as he pointed down at the moisture running down your legs.

You immediately pull Choso’s jacket down further to cover yourself. 

You couldn’t give a fuck what he thought at this point. You’d confess to fucking the entire Forensics department if got him out of your face.

“Sure Dean, think what you want okay? Just fucking GET. OUT.” 

You felt dizzy from the pressure thrumming in the back of your skull.

“Yeah and if I say no whore? Then what?” 

Dean slid a clammy hand over your knee which sent another wave of nausea through you, your head spinning.

You squeezed your eyes shut as you tried to stop his hand traveling lower before you suddenly noticed Dean’s body being ripped away from you entirely.

The scene that followed occurred in a whirlwind as your head felt like it would explode trying to focus on anything.

Your eyes strain to keep up with the action only registering fractions of it through your blurred vision. 

You see…blood?

Is it yours?

No. It’s flowing from Dean’s shoulder.

Another person?

No

…Ghostface?

Yes.

Your double vision struggled to pinpoint exactly what was happening as Dean and the masked Ghostface fought for dominance, somehow ending up back in the foyer. 

Dean was barely able to keep the large hunting knife from sinking into his chest.

Was this even real?

Were you really about to witness a Ghostface crime scene in action?

Were you next?

You felt like you were witnessing it all play out through someone else’s body as your mind floated off and you felt more disconnected. 

Your awareness faded in and out.

There was no doubt, you definitely had a small concussion. 

“Y/N!”

“Y/N!”

“Y/N!”

Your head snaps up as you finally hear Dean shouting your name although it sounded like you were in a fishbowl.

He had somehow gotten leverage and evened the odds with the killer as they both now had a hold of the blade’s handle.

“Y/N! Pay attention you ditzy ass bimbo! Don’t just sit there looking stupid, get the fucking bat.”

You scanned the floor around you. 

Sure enough, there was the scuffed metal bat shining back at you resting by your knees.

Your injured hand grazes it and you see a red trail of blood smearing across it as the cool smooth metal soothes your ruptured skin.

“Y/N, what the fuck are you daydreaming about?! Get your ass over here!”

You grip the bat’s handle, ignoring the pain to use it and the coffee table as leverage to push you up off the floor.

You sway on your feet as your blood pressure drastically drops from standing too quickly. 

Your head feels light. 

Your body feels light. 

Surprisingly too, even the large heavy metal bat now feels light in your injured palm. 

“Fucking finally, Y/N!”

Dean yelled as he saw you on your feet.

“It’s not like I’m trying to fight off a killer here or anything dumb bitch.” 

Dumb bitch?

Oh yeah, he means you.

God, Dean was fucking annoying you just wished he would shut up sometimes. 

You couldn’t even think straight. 

What were you doing again? 

Right, the bat. He told you to bring it to him.

You wanted to sit down again. You were so tired.

You couldn't rest though as Dean’s voice was ringing in your ears. 

You just wanted him to shut up more than anything so you willed yourself forward. 

“Give Dean the bat, Give Dean the bat.”

You lowly repeated in a mantra like state.

Your vision was spotted with black dots swirling like the pain in your head.

GiveDeanthebatGiveDeanthebatGiveDeanthebat

You gripped the handle in both hands.

You were going to give Dean the bat.

“Y/N! Goddamn bitch move your lazy fuckin–”

C-R-A-C-K!

The slick sound ricochets throughout the entryway and reverberates in your ears.

C-R-A-C-K!

You feel warm droplets of moisture spray on you.

C-R-A-C-K!

The bat and Dean’s motionless body both simultaneously hit the floor with a thud. 

You closed your eyes.

You felt… relief? 

Like you could breathe again as the hazy veil that had shrouded your thoughts lifted and the throbbing in your head slowly receded. 

You weren’t sure how to describe what you were feeling but it was some mix between euphoria, exhilaration and… freedom?

Well, you were finally free of Dean for good now.

You couldn’t help but be amused by that thought as you wiggle your toes in the warm red liquid that pooled around them. 

A child-like giggle resounds from you. 

Was this post nut kill clarity?

Catching a glimpse of yourself in the hallway mirror you noticed blood and chunks of brain matter strewn all over Choso’s jacket. 

You wouldn’t be able to go without washing it now.

You frowned at the thought of his scent being washed away as well as you unzipped it, checking to see if the stains seeped through the lining too.

You had made such a mess. 

Quick movements out of the corner of your eyes reminded you of the fact you were not alone.

The actual Ghostface killer stood mere feet away from you, his intentions clear as he visibly heaved and extended his knife out to the side approaching you.

You sighed exhausted. 

“I’m not going to be able to blame this one on you, am I?”

Ghostface shook his head, confirming what you already knew.

☠

Choso felt his own adrenaline reach a frenzied peak.

He approached you with the animalistic stature of a predator who was sizing up another. 

You were a killer now, no longer simply his prey.

Proving as much as eyes showed no remorse for the life you had taken.

Yet given what he had walked in on just minutes ago and how distraught you were leaving the party, there was nothing for to mourn anyway.

The only emotion shown was concern for the on coming threat of him as you backed up to keep from his advances. 

Heh, that could just as easily be him right now bleeding out on the floor.

He mused as he side stepped Dean’s body to stalk closer towards you.

Choso smirked, he was only disappointed he wasn’t the one to kill him.

Although he couldn’t deny how beautiful you looked creating your own work of art.

A bit abstract and not as precise as his own methods. 

Nevertheless, Choso continues to be amazed by how his cute and clumsy little undergrad just showed him a darkness he had only previously recognized in himself. 

Choso watches you back away until your ankles hit the bottom of the staircase.

Your feet and hands were slick with blood and you couldn’t find your footing on the steps nor support yourself on the railing so you were forced to scooch up the stairs. 

Yet given your injury even that proved difficult for you.

What would he do with you now?

“W-We’re even right? You saved me, I saved you.” 

You tried to bargain as you saw him crawl up the staircase after you.

Ghostface cocked his head to the side considering your words as he reached you and stopped your escape with a strong gloved hand digging into the flesh of your hip. 

Ghostface suspended himself over you covering your frame entirely and his metallic blade glared in the light as if it would pierce into you at the slightest whim. 

Were you going to die like this? 

Despite the danger you couldn’t help but be a bit turned on.

Especially as Ghostface’s touch reminded you so much of–

“Did you get off on killing your boyfriend, Y/N?” 

Ghosface taunted, speaking for the first time.

“...or were you already this fucking wet from fantasizing about someone else, hm?”

Your eyes widened.

Your mind raced too fast to reach a succinct conclusion. But you were disappointed to hear a voice box distortion instead of the actual person's voice beneath the mask.

Your flurry of jumbled thoughts are paused when you feel the cool caresses of the flat metal side of his blade drag across the skin of your stomach leaving goosebumps in its wake. 

Your chest heaved slowly with steady intensity as your breath shuddered. 

“Are you turned on now Y/N?”

You look away from Ghostface as he taunts as you. You feel more self-conscious considering who you think is under the mask.

Just how fucked up was it you were turned on from murdering your boyfriend in cold blood to save a serial killer who might have been the guy you had just been masturbating to who was also the serial killer Ghostface and very likely about to kill you now? 

Very. 

Very fucked up was the answer.

You would have been ashamed if you could bring yourself to care.

Choso’s jerks your face back to him as the hand with the blade parts your legs. 

The lust in your eyes and your drenched cunt were all the answers he needed.

“AHH!”

You cry out as you feel the smooth metal come down to slap your clothed cunt hard, sliding over your pussy lips. 

You fight the urge to close your legs. You can’t or the sharpened edges of the knife would stab into your thighs.

You bite your bottom lip to the point of drawing blood. 

This does not go unnoticed by Choso as he brings his gloved hand to your lips to soothe the bite. 

His soft leather covered thumb hooks to guide your jaw open, exploring your mouth as you openly moan. 

“Tsk, Tsk, we can't have you breaking skin and wasting more of that pretty blood that belongs to me.”

You shiver at his words dripping in possessiveness and your mouth encloses around his thumb, sucking as your tongue still squirms under its pressure.

A strained hiss comes from Choso and his eyes roam down to admire the slime trail of sticky fluid your clothed cunt dripped his blade.

Before Choso can get a peak at your pussy your hands fly down to cover yourself. 

Amused, Choso gently removes his hand from your mouth to palm your inner thigh as his thumb slick from your spit rubs circles into your flesh.

His coaxing has you spreading your legs wider as he brushes up against the hands covering your cunt.

“Show me Y/N.”

He breathed out.

You pouted and shook your head.

“Is my little slut a liar then? I recall you telling me you didn’t mind if I saw your panties.”

Your suspicions confirmed you gasped in realization but Choso could no longer control himself as his hunting knife returned to your body to trail up your stomach this time the pointy edge hovering over your soft skin.

Your stomach sucks in to create distance between the blade and your skin causing your chest to push up through your arms but it's exactly what Choso had wanted.

Whoosh

With a swift slash through the air his blade slices your bra in two and its straps fall back down your shoulders laying bare your breast and hardened nipples to the cool air.

Exposed, your hands instinctively move from you core to cover your tits.

You see Choso pull back from you to sit up fully.

No longer touching you as he opted to imprint into his memory the imagery of your wet puffed pussy glistening through the soaked and now nearly transparent thong which clung to your lower lips like second skin.

He shifted his mask as the voice box moved from over this mouth.

“Y/N” he sighed.  

Hearing his actual voice had you whining with need again.

Choso couldn’t keep his hands off you for long as he grasped hold of your thong and slipped his fingers between the fabric covering your cunt.

Choso rubbed the sticky moisture on the thin fabric between his thumb and forefingers while his knuckles bullied into your clit, causing your toes to curl.

“Mmm C-Choso.”  

Your hands went from simply covering your tits to messaging them, pulling on your nipples, as you couldn’t hold back the sounds from the pleasure you felt from him touching you.

Shit. He wanted to ruin you.

Choso’s knife returns to your throat applying soft pressure dangerously close to breaking skin.

“So tell me what you want then, Y/N?” 

Choso knew you wanted him but he wanted you to say it. 

He needed you to admit it to him outright before he could really believe it.

His knuckles had stopped teasing your clit and your body trembled as you bucked your hips into his hand and pouted.

“I want you to hurry up and decide if you’re going to fuck me or kill me before my sorority sisters get back Choso!” 

Choso smirked under the mask. 

Becoming a killer turned you into a bit of a brat.

But he knew how to handle you.

Heh, fair enough.

Driving the knife into the staircase behind your head he pulls you up, swapping positions and seating you on his thigh.

He pulls his soiled track jacket off of you and you shiver as the cold air hits your back. 

“Mm, Fuck me Choso”

You sighed longingly, arms encircling his neck.

“Mm, Should I though?”

Choso questions out loud as you melt deeper into him from his hands roaming your body.

One settles on your hip under the band of your thong and the other peels you back by your hair so Choso can see your eyes blown out fully with lust.

“Or should I make you wait like I’ve been waiting ever since you first stumbled into class in that slutty green skirt?”

You cried out and our tongue lolled out of your mouth when he yanked your panties roughly by the front, pulling the material between your pussy lips.  

Your clit was cradled in the steamy fabric and you clutched the front of his robes for stability as your eyes rolled back.

“Do you know how much you made me suffer thinking about that pretty pussy of yours? How many times I fisted my cock? How much blood I spilled to forget the way you looked in those slutty outfits?”

Choso's own desire was apparent in his raspy voice.

You shake your head and tears spill as he pulls the fabric tighter over your clit. 

“I-I w-wanted you too,” you sniffled out.

“Then prove it,” Choso breathed out huskily.

“I want that needy cunt of yours to beg me by fucking herself real nice on my thigh like she did on your mattress earlier.”

You could have combusted as he all but admitted he had in fact been watching you from your closet, still you couldn’t help but obey his orders.

The frantic way your heart pounded in your chest couldn’t trump the unbearable arousal between your legs.

You braced yourself on his shoulders as you began to rock your hips down on him.

“That’s it baby.”

Choso encouraged you as you heard a loud rip and realized he had cut away your thong when you felt him snatch the material right off of you.

Your plump pussy lips parted when pressed onto his thigh and you felt the rough material of his heavy robes directly chafing against your clit. 

Surrendering to pleasure you circled your hips to grind down on him as Choso started bouncing you on his leg.

The impact of your weight forcing your clit down while his thigh pushed up into you shaking.

“S-shiiiit D-daddy!”

You cried out arching back. 

Choso could have busted in his pants completely untouched when he heard you call him daddy. 

You didn’t know how much you had him wrapped around your perfectly manicured fingers. 

He would kill every single one of those bastard frat fucks on campus on a whim if you asked him to.

He would do anything for you.

Choso's muscular thigh flexing underneath your cunt felt amazing but your hole was screaming to be filled as it gaped around the phantom thought of his cock penetrating you.

“N-Need more. S’not enough Daddy”

You beg, whining into the mouth opening of his mask.

Your breath enters through the material as your hot tongue presses against the cloth barrier hungrily. 

His own tongue responds in kind, entangling with yours through his mask and you moan deeper into the opening.

You feel so good yet are still frustrated that you alone are naked while you couldn’t even see a sliver of skin from him still in his full Ghostface attire.

You move to lift up his mask when he stops you, breaking the makeshift kiss.

“Now, now Y/N.”

Choso playfully chides. 

“Can you think of nothing but my dick? You’ve forgotten so quickly this is still a crime scene?”

You panted as you looked over your shoulder and spot the gruesome remains of Dean’s lifeless body and half bashed in face. Blood stained the foyer rug and pieces of tissue splattered on curtains, walls and even the fake plants.  

Right.

You still had no idea what you were going to do about that situation but Dean was already dead. He wasn’t going anywhere.

Honestly you felt as if you might die as well if you couldn’t get Choso’s dick inside of you soon.

Your hips never stopped grinding down on his thigh as you returned your attention to him.

You knew if Choso couldn’t even kiss you, he couldn’t fuck you either as those same rules applied to both potential sources of DNA. 

“S’fine.”

You pout.

“I-I had your jacket, y-your DNA could c-come from that.”

Your injured hand came to cup the slide of his masked face and your other rubbed the outline of cock over his jeans, feeling the precum soil through them despite the thickness of the fabric. 

Blood from your hand smeared onto the pristine white Ghostface mask as you pulled your foreheads to touch.

“I’ll admit Dean was right, w-we w-were sleeping together...”

Choso chuckled.

“...and then get me expelled for sleeping with a student on top of a motive to connect me to your victim?” 

He gave your ass harsh smack. 

Your cheeks clenched and your panting grew more ragged as you chased your high against him. 

“Y/N you gotta think with that sexy little head of yours not that needy little cunt if you really want me to fuck you. I know you’re smart. This should be easy for you.”

You groaned. 

Thinking was virtually impossible right now. 

You wanted to give up and resort to begging again but Choso calling you smart (something your recently deceased ex never did) and now rubbing your thighs encouragingly, had made you so happy you wanted to make him more proud of you. 

You reluctantly stopped your hips, ignoring the fiery ache shooting through in your cunt but you wanted to cum from his cock not his thigh.

You closed your eyes and exhaled a shaky breath.

Focus Y/N, you willed yourself.

Focusing became harder to do though when Choso became impatient and had nuzzled his masked face into your chest.

His mouth latched to your nipple through the black cloth, swirling his tongue and grazing his teeth against your bud causing it to swell.

“Oh!” you smiled sweetly down at him and his abs tightened as he held you closer to him.

“We get rid of the body! Clean up and make sure there's no crime scene to be found!”

“That’s correct,” Choso praised you as if you answered a question in class correctly.

 “Now, most importantly, how exactly will we get rid of the body, Y/N?”

“We…w-we..”

Your fingertips grazed your lips and you bit a nail as you pensively considered your options. 

You looked like you were thinking so hard on this.

So fucking cute.

“Come on baby, tell me.”

Choso was the one begging you now while he lifted your hips just enough to pull up his robes and position you to straddle his dick straining against his jeans. 

You were so close to the answer. He knew it would come to you and he wanted to be inside of you as soon as you got it.

You clasped your hands together and gave him one of your pageant winning smiles he grew to love. 

“We make a kill room!”

“Smart girl” Choso said as he lifted his mask and his lips came crashing down on yours.

☠

“Shit-Shit-Shit!” 

You cried as you lower yourself onto Choso’s cock. 

You had begged and pleaded him for this but Choso was so much bigger and longer than you expected. 

You never had a problem taking dick before but not only was Choso huge he had 3 rows of frenum ladder ball piercings on his long veiny cock that dragged against your gspot when you tried to force him inside you.

You still had about an inch to go and his fat cockhead was already pressing against your cervix.

“Fuck baby, you really been keeping all this good pussy from me?”

Choso spread your cheeks to assist you down on his enlarged length but your walls vice gripped his cock preventing him from guiding you down further.

Choso grunted, he was going to too cum fast if you didn’t ease up.

Pulling you back, he captured your lips again devouring them as he violently pushed his tongue into your mouth in a sloppy kiss, dominating you completely. 

A tremor shot through your cunt as your hips jerked and your legs quivered.

“My slutty girl is so sensitive she came from just kissing?”

Choso teased knowingly pulling back to allow you air and lapping at the drool from the corners of your mouth.

It wasn’t just a kiss. 

Without the hindrance of a mask Choso’s kisses felt like he was eating you alive and set your body ablaze.

Your orgasm came with enough intensity to loosen your walls allowing you to finally sink down to the base. However your legs are still vibrating and unable to support you riding him.

You fall forward into the crook of his neck. 

“C-can’t D-daddy” you babbled into his neck drooling.

Choso wanted to tease you more. He wanted to goad and praise you enough so you would ride him in earnest until your pretty face sobbed for him to fuck you but time was of the essence now.

You both probably had a good hour and a half left before the cops broke up the party and members of your sorority started heading back. 

He needed to finish you quickly and he silently promised to take his time with you later.

Rising up, Choso positioned his arms under your thighs to keep you seated on his cock as he walked up the few steps to reach the landing in the middle of the staircase. 

Placing your back carefully against the wall he glides his hands over your sweat and blood laden skin to lift your legs onto his shoulders. His grip settles onto the fat of your ass and he marvels at how his fingers sink into them.

Choso allows you time to get adjusted to the new position as he now held you in a standing mating press.

“Ready?”

You nod and Choso takes that as his greenlight to rigorously fuck you into the wall with such vigor you felt it quaking behind you.

There was no possible way you could have ever been ready for that though and your hands dive into his hair tugging at the roots under his man buns as if you intended to scalp him. 

Your reactions fuel his cruel thrusts as Choso greedily drinks your guttural screams into his mouth. 

They sound more heavenly than any he had heard before even from his own victims.

Slamming you down on his cock, Choso manhandled you like you weighed nothing to him.  

His piercings and engorged veins continue to scrape the walls of your core with every stroke as you gush around him soaking his robes.

Choso wanted more of you.

He didn’t think he would ever get enough.

You felt so fucking good he could fuck you like this for hours and he cursed the dwindling time he had before he needed to remove himself from the warm comfort of your mushy cunt.

The hallway echoed with sounds of his hips sadistically ramming your body further into the wall as well as the sloshy vulgar noises his cock tore from your tight creamy cunt.

“S-so c-lose Cho–” 

Were the only words you could croak out as your cries become lodged in your throat.

The pleasure you received being folded between Choso and the wall had you salivating like crazy. Drool was pooling in your mouth faster than it could dribble out down the sides. 

You locked eyes with him. 

The wild glint in them was so primordially feral you can’t believe you ever mistook the restraint he tried to maintain around you for shyness. 

Frankly, there was nothing timid about him. 

The cold confidence of a true killer radiated off of him and into your core as each of his thrusts felt like they were stabbing into your womb.

Your whines turned into horse croaks as you desperately gasped for air.

Like a killer he showed you no mercy as his long cock shifted your guts up and into your lungs.

Choso was quite literally murdering your cunt.

“Yeah Y/N? Is my girl gonna cum all pretty like on this dick?” 

Too cockdrunk to reply, your pussy readily spoke up for you as your walls clenched and spasmed. White stars flood your vision as your body vibrates against him as you cum hard, gurgling his name.

Choso’s hips stuttered and his moans increased as he fucked you through your orgasm and chased his own. 

He knew better than to cum inside you, he wasn’t wearing a condom and didn’t even know if you were on birth control. 

But your cunt was like a drug to him so Choso resigned himself to cleaning you up after as he gave one last thrust, injecting you with his hot seed that scorched your insides and sent you spasming all over again.

It took a few minutes for Choso to catch his breath but he gently released your legs down to touch the floor as he pulled out of you.

You groaned immediately at the loss after being so full as you still tried to regain your own steady breaths.

Not missing a beat, Choso moved with reverence as if he was worshiping your form from the kisses he peppered down your chest and belly.

“Eyes on me, baby,”

Choso ordered, glancing up at you. 

You nodded your breath hitching once he reached below your belly button and he threw one of your legs over his shoulder again.

He shamelessly breathed in the scent of sex wafting off your pussy.

The musky mixture of his cum and your juices combined with sweat and blood entered his nostrils and sent his eyes rolling back into his skull.

You shuddered. 

You wanted to feel his mouth on you more than anything but you knew you couldn’t both remain like this in the open hallway for much longer.

Seemingly forgetting all concerns of time, Choso’s thumbs lightly ghost over your battered pussy lips as he slowly peeled back the slippery folds.

His chest swoll with pride seeing how much of his cum you had taken inside of you. 

Choso's tongue salaciously darted out to catch the drippings that seeped out of your messy little cunt.

Despite your concerns, you can’t resist bucking up towards his face as he brought your hips off the wall towards him. 

“Be patient princess, let me enjoy this.”

Choso open handedly spanks your pussy, landing a direct hit on your clit which has you shaking as your squirt spritz onto his face.

His thick tongue rolls out of his mouth like a man starved licking his lips at the feast before him

“Goddamn, I already love her so much”

He cooed into your cunt while looking up at you with puppy dog eyes.

“Go out with me, yeah Y/N? I’ll treat her right. Just let me have a taste of her everyday.”

You almost came on his face again from the utter display of depravity he was showing you, not missing the fact he was so pussy drunk he was technically asking your cunt to be his girlfriend instead of you. 

To be fair you were both way past the point where he needed to ask you out anyway as he was an accomplice to your homicide and soon-to-be cover up.

“Okay Choso, I’ll be your girlfriend,”

You grinned at him.

Choso thanked you by gently placing a kiss on your clit before nose-diving into your folds like a mad man between your legs.

Seeing how sensitive you are it wasn't long before he had you thrashing on his lips from the nasty way he heartily ate your cunt out.

The suckling, bubbling and squeaking sounds of him inhaling your pussy nearly had you at your peak again.

Yet you were snapped out of your pleasure when you heard the grandfather clock in the hall ring signaling it was midnight. 

Fuck what if the party got broken up earlier than expected?

“W-we don’t have time for this Choso.” You plead anxiously as you pry his head out of from between your legs.

The sounds of the clock chiming and the sight of Dean’s body still laying in the entryway made you more nervous with every passing minute it remained there.

His eyes narrowed dangerously on you as he nuzzled his nose back into your cunt hooking it under your clitoral hood.

“Oh? My sweet girl gets one kill and thinks she knows better than me what we have time for?”

His expression dares you to pull him away again as he drags the flat of his tongue lazily over your clit.

“Please Choso…”

Choso relents as he feels you tense up more, he wouldn't be able to enjoy himself unless you were.

“You trust me right Y/N?” 

“Yes”

You breathe out as his fingers play with your puffed pussy lips.

“Do you have the key to the basement?”  

You nod.

“And you know exactly where the supply closet is, baby?” 

You nod again.

“Perfect. This won't take long at all then.”

Choso assures you as his confident words calm your worries.

“So now just relax princess and let me take care of you. This isn’t my first clean up job babe…”

You weren’t sure if Choso was talking about your cunt or the dead body, but you didn’t doubt he was experienced in both.

“Give me 15 minutes to see how many times I can make you squirt on my tongue. Then we can finally make that dexter kill room you like so much, yeah?” 

You nodded once more and Choso wasted no time drowning his face back into your cunt.

You sighed contently.

He was already the best boyfriend you ever had. 

© ʙʟᴋᴋɪᴢᴢᴀᴛ 2023. ᴀʟʟ ʀɪɢʜᴛꜱ ʀᴇꜱᴇʀᴠᴇᴅ. ᴘʟᴇᴀꜱᴇ ᴅᴏ ɴᴏᴛ ꜱᴛᴇᴀʟ, ᴛʀᴀɴꜱʟᴀᴛᴇ, ᴄᴏᴘʏ ᴏʀ ᴄʜᴀɴɢᴇ ᴀɴʏ ᴏꜰ ᴍʏ ᴡᴏʀᴋꜱ. ᴛʜɪꜱ ɪɴᴄʟᴜᴅᴇꜱ ꜰɪᴄꜱ, ᴅʀᴀʙʙʟᴇꜱ, & ɢʀᴀᴘʜɪᴄꜱ. ᴛʜᴇʏ ᴀʀᴇ ᴀʟʟ ᴍᴀᴅᴇ ʙʏ ᴍᴇ ᴜɴʟᴇꜱꜱ ᴏᴛʜᴇʀᴡɪꜱᴇ ꜱᴛᴀᴛᴇᴅ. ᴛʜᴀɴᴋ ʏᴏᴜ

A/N: How was that? Did I do our emo kang justice? Lmk! (y'all better lmk cause y'all busted my balls for days over this lmfaoooo)

Also ding dong Dean is DEAD thank fuck. Whew I made that man as horrible as possible so you could kill him. Tbh, I would kill a nigga just for pouring Milwakees in my hair alone, that shit smells and tastes like cat piss lol.

Also here if y'all wanna see a cute lil pixivi I made of me bimbo!reader x Ghostface!Choso.

You know the original idea for this was actually based on a fic I was writing where Choso, Yuji and Sukuna (all brothers) all transfer to your university and bimbo!reader (no bf this time) clearly likes Choso but his oblivious emo ass has no idea and keeps being a dick to you cause he thinks you are just making fun of him. LOL! I may in the future still end up writing a version for that since this ended up going in a completely different direction with Ghostface thrown into the mix.

Y'all this fic was way too fuckin long. I know theres likely errors/redundancies still so I will comb through it later and I may edit/reword somethings too but general content will stay the same. Tbh, what took so long is the last scene cause I decided I cannot write a smut fic with Choso where that man isn't acting completely deranged and unhinged over the taste of pussy. He's munch, he can't help it.

Reblog for Ghostface!Choso to be your personal munch, but likes and comments are appreciated all the same!

Next up on Kizzatober, Werewolf!Toji from Thrilling Ghouls! (PWP)

ღTaglistღ: @callm3senpaii @arxliana @jujutsualy @luxiethefairy @akaza-simp01 @fredswh0re @missphanosaur18 @moon-esque @samicamy-13 @strvqtt @wisteriaflowersss @spookyy-gracee @jujutsualy @anakalana @crying-person @missphanosaur18 @jazzmynerule @megatqistina @trobed1312 @mimiemie @insomninaz @bloodysweetcat @cyyberm00n @nikkitc0703 @briefrebelfanalmond (so sorry if I missed anyone but I'm delirious rn forgive me ily)

[girlgenius1111]

overworked

putellas!reader r is struggling with being a full time student & playing for Barça, and being alexia putellas' sister. she turns to some unhealthy methods to cope, and her sister is not pleased when she finds out. warnings: panic attacks, hospitalization, drug use [very mild]

--------

"Alexia," Olga murmured, shaking her girlfriend gently. The blonde only mumbled incoherently, rolling away from the disruptive sound of her girlfriend's voice, and tucking her head under her pillow.

"Alexia Putellas Segura," Olga repeated, yanking the pillow away.

"Hey! What do you want?" Alexia asked grumpily, glaring up at her girlfriend.

"I think your sister is still awake. I went to get water and her light was on."

Alexia sighed, running a hand over her face. "What time?"

"It's 3am."

"Hermanita loca," Alexia groaned, rolling off the side of the bed and directly onto the floor, before popping up and heading for the door.

"You are so dramatic." Olga sighed, rolling her eyes at her girlfriend's antics.

You'd lived with your sister for a while now; after signing with Barça, Alexia had convinced your mami that the best thing would be for you to live with her. Alexia could keep an eye on you, and Eli wouldn’t have to deal with the crazy schedule you had to follow. 

Being a 20 year old playing for the best football club in the world, while simultaneously being a full time student was not easy. In fact, you were pretty sure it was slowly killing you. 

You were, and always had been, a perfectionist. You weren't a quitter. In your family, you saw through your commitments. So, even though you were dead tired, stressed beyond belief, and barely keeping up with your coursework, you wouldn't give up. You wouldn't even drop a class. You were running yourself into the ground, and everyone around you could tell. Well, mostly everyone. 

You'd heard Olga get up, and you knew her well enough to know that she had probably woken your sister to tell her that your light was on. Before she could come marching into your room and take your computer, you flicked the light off, shut your laptop, and burrowed under the covers.

Sure enough, your door creaked open a minute later, and your sister poked her head in, finding you 'asleep'. She knew you, though, too, and she didn't buy it for a second.

"Nice try." She said, voice just above a whisper. She moved towards your bed, flicking the light back on, and grabbing your laptop.

"Alexiaaaa," you complained, pretending she'd woken you. You squinted your eyes at her, removing the covers from your face, finding her staring at you with one eyebrow raised. You knew you were fucked, but you needed to get this essay done, tonight. The thought of adding it to tomorrow's to-do list made you want to cry.

"That was quite a performance." She opened the computer, where your essay was still pulled up, and looked at the document history.

"'Last edit made: 3 minutes ago'. Do you think I don't know all your tricks, nena?" Alexia teased, shutting the laptop again, and moving to get off the bed to leave the room with it. She caught your facial expression, though, and realized you were barely holding back tears.

"Hey," she said softly. "What is it? What's wrong?" Alexia took a seat back on the edge of the bed, brushing a piece of hair out of your face as you blinked hard, willing the tears away.

"Please give it back." You managed, gesturing towards your computer.

Alexia grew stern once more. "Nena. No. It's late, and you need sleep. This isn't healthy."

"I need to finish this essay, Alexia, please," you pleaded. You and your sister were similar, especially in that you were both very stubborn. The chance of either of you letting up was... low. Alexia held your computer, though, and therefore, held all the power.

"No. You can finish it tomorrow."

"I can't! We have training, and I have an essay to do for another class, and an exam to study for, and a presentation to start, and-"

"You are working yourself too hard, nena. None of those things are more important than sleep. You can turn in some things late, it won't kill you."

Unlike you, Alexia was not a perfectionist; at least not when it came to school. She tolerated it for as long as she had to, before putting all of her energy into football. It had paid off, but Alexia never understood your need to be a good student, to get the highest grade possible in everything.

This very distinct difference between the two of you often caused confusion on Alexia’s part, and frustration on yours. Alexia didn’t understand why you couldn’t just relax about school, and you didn’t understand how Alexia expected you to be okay with getting anything less than a perfect score. 

“Alexia,” you began. 

“No. Sleep.” Alexia insisted, leaning down to press a kiss to your forehead before leaving your room, your computer held hostage in her arms. You waited until her footsteps faded down the hall before you grabbed your phone from the nightstand and opened up your essay. It wasn’t ideal, but it needed to be done. Sleep was the last thing on your mind. 

You finished the essay an hour later, which gave you only 5 hours of sleep. Still, you’d trained with less sleep, and you probably would again. 

--------

Being the sister of the best in the world wasn’t easy. Alba had been telling you that for years. Being the sister of the best in the world, and playing the same sport that she was the best at, though? That was a different kind of nightmare, one which you lived everyday. 

Though the athleticism genes seemed to skip right over your middle sister, it was clear to everyone that from a young age that you were talented on the football pitch. The 10 year age gap between you and your sister meant that Alexia had always blurred the line between parent figure and sister. Once you got serious about football, Alexia made it her mission to make sure you were the best that you could be. 

From extra training to talking about tactics while you were supposed to be studying for school, your sister had always made it clear to you that if you wanted football, school would have to come second. Your mami disagreed heavily, but no one on earth had the will to stop Alexia doing something she’d decided was important. And as her baby sister, you showing interest in following in her footsteps was the most important thing. Ever. She’d moved you in with her when you were 18, still playing on the Barça B team. It was because of your sister that you excelled enough there to move up to the first team by the time you were 19. 

Your sister had been stunned when you told her you intended to attend university and get your degree while you continued your football career. For her, football was it. Football was everything. It was all she had ever wanted to do, and all she would ever want to do. For you, though, it was much more complicated. You loved football. And maybe you would have loved it as much as Alexia did, if it hadn’t been for your sister herself. 

It was a combination of things that had begun to leech away your love for the game. It was the pressure Alexia put on you, for sure. The demand for perfection at all times, even if she told you that it was okay to make mistakes. It was the expectations inside of the team to be a mini Alexia, to take charge and be a leader even though you were much shyer and quieter than she was. Above all else, though, it was the feeling that nothing you would ever accomplish, no matter how hard you tried, how hard you pushed, would ever be enough. Alexia, the public, the team, the coaching staff, they all expected you to be a younger version of your sister. They expected you to do what she did, sooner than she’d done it, and better than she’d done it. 

The pressure mounted. It built over several years, accumulating until you were 20 years old, and you weren’t even sure why you were still playing. You didn’t think you loved football anymore. You kept going because of Alexia, because you’d made commitments. But the truth was that you worked so hard in school because that was your safety net. It was your chance to do something that was your own, do something that Alexia hadn’t done first. It was a place where you were spared constant comparisons to your sister, a place where you felt like yourself, your own person. 

You loved Ale; that wasn’t the issue. It was just that very accomplishment you had was tinged with it just not being as good as something your sister had done. And it felt like everything football related you would ever do would be overshadowed. 

It felt like if you ever wanted to be something other than Alexia Putellas’ baby sister, you’d have to do it someplace else. 

So it was a full workload of classes for you, on top of training with the team. On top of playing for the national team. Alexia didn’t understand why school was so important, no one did. But you were committed to having a back up plan. Football wasn’t your passion at the moment. So much of the joy you had while playing had drained away. 

You couldn’t slow down with football, that was out of the question. And you couldn’t slow down with school, either, not if you wanted to graduate on time. Your only option was to push through. 

It was inevitable, really, that you’d stumble, that it would all become too much. And inevitable that you’d break. You just couldn’t fathom what would come after that, so you plowed forward. Moved steadily ahead, towards the edge of a cliff. You didn’t know what awaited you at the bottom once you fell from the edge, but you were well past caring. 

-------

Your sister always kept a close eye on you during training. She made sure you were hydrated enough, that you didn’t get overheated, that you weren’t doing anything to risk injury. Any hint of discomfort on your face had your sister yanking you off the pitch and dragging you inside to get evaluated. 

No one could ever accuse Alexia of not caring. 

Today, she noted that you looked preoccupied. And that you’d brought your phone into the gym with you, which in and of itself wasn’t odd. It was the way you were checking it obsessively in between reps that had Alexia slightly concerned. You weren’t talking to your friends the way you normally did, and just as Alexia had decided to put her foot down and pull you aside, you picked up your phone again. 

This time, your face dropped, all the color draining out of your cheeks. Before Alexia could take even a step in your direction, you were slipping out of the gym, rushing into the locker room as you stared at something on your phone.

“What are you doing?” Alexia said, following you into the locker room. 

“I- I got a grade back.” You told her. 

“A grade?” 

“On the exam from last week,” you whispered. 

“Is it bad?” Alexia wondered, taking a few steps closer to you. Her mind flashed back to when she used to have to show Eli a bad grade she’d gotten on an exam during school. Normally, she’d slip her the paper and take off to hide in your room, because Eli didn’t like to yell in front of the baby. Alexia wondered if you were so upset because you were worried about her reaction. 

“No Ale, I did well, that’s why I'm freaking out,” you snapped sarcastically, falling back down onto the bench as your chest heaved, hiding your face in your hands. “I can’t breathe.”

“Hermana?” Alexia asked, brow furrowing with concern as she looked at you. 

“I can’t, I can’t, I can’t,” you repeated, your voice muffled by your hands. 

“What is happening?” Alexia asked, her face clouded with concern as she sat down next to you. “Hermanita, tell me what is wrong.” 

You thrust your phone into her hands. It took Alexia a moment to figure out what she was looking at, but then she saw the grade reflected back at her. It wasn’t bad by any means, but it wasn’t your usual perfect score. 

“Nena, this isn’t bad,” she tried, but you pulled your hands away from your face to glare at her, barely able to form words. 

“It’s- not good enough, Ale, I need to do bet-better than that, it’s not good enough,” you sobbed. Alexia couldn’t remember ever caring this much about a grade, but she knew how different you were from her, and she did her best to comfort you. 

“Hey, hey, it’s okay nena,” she soothed, noticing Irene and Mapi walking in through the locker room door, looking concerned, but she couldn’t tear her focus away from you. You’d gone completely silent on her, the only sound you were making being a choked gasp as you tried to inhale enough air. “Nena?” 

“Ale, help,” you cried, both of your trembling hands clawing at your chest. Your face was rapidly losing color and you looked completely dazed and completely petrified. Irene and Mapi moved closer, looking between the two of you.

“Hermana?” Alexia panicked. You shook your head, a few tears escaping. You swayed in your seat, tilting forward until you were half leaning on your sister, and gripped onto her shirt with your hands, desperate for some relief from the tidal wave of terror and panic rushing through you.  “Nena, talk to me.” Alexia said, rubbing your back as she looked between her teammates. 

“Can’t breathe,” you gasped, “chest hurts.” 

Alexia froze, but Irene snapped into action. 

“Mapi, call an ambulance.” She instructed. “Ale, let’s get her on the ground before she passes out.” 

The world was swirling around you, nothing comprehensible. Before you knew it, you were laid on the floor of the locker room, your head resting in your sister’s lap as her hands anxiously fiddled with your hair. You could see her mouth moving, and you tried to force your ears to hear anything other than an echoing ring. 

“You’re okay, nena. You’re okay, I’ve got you. You’re going to be just fine.” 

You blinked, but when you opened your eyes next, you were moving through the halls of the Barça facility. You felt a bit like you were floating, and though there was a mask on your face that was forcing oxygen into you, it still didn’t feel like there was enough air on earth to fill your lungs. 

You blinked again, and Alexia’s face was hovering over yours, along with the face of a stranger. You could hear a bit better now, and even as your eyes tried to shut, you did your best to listen before you drifted back off.

“-does she keep passing out?” That sounded like Alexia. Worried Alexia.  

“A lack of oxygen, she’s breathing too rapidly. Every time she comes to, her heart rate picks up again.” 

“Stay awake, please,” Alexia begged, the paramedic next to her forgotten as she glanced down and noticed your eyes were open.  

And you wanted to, but you couldn’t. You couldn’t think, you couldn’t move, you couldn’t breathe. You were pretty sure you were dying, and the only thought you had was that at least the anxiety would finally stop. 

-------

You were completely calm when you woke up. Sleepy beyond belief, and your body felt heavy, but you were calm. It was hard to peel your eyes open, and harder to try to move your hand to rub at your eyes. 

You remembered what had happened, but you didn’t feel panicked like you normally did. The constant pulse of anxiety wasn’t running through you as it normally did, and though you couldn’t figure out why, you were relieved beyond belief. 

“Hey,” Alexia whispered. She was sat at your bedside, cheeks alarmingly tearstained. 

Your guard was up instantly, and your sister could tell. She desperately wanted to know what was happening to you, what had caused this, but she knew from the look on your face that you wouldn’t talk to her. 

And that hurt more than she wanted to admit. 

“I am going to go call Mami and tell her you are awake.” Alexia said, avoiding eye contact as she got up and left the room. You hadn’t realized Olga was standing against the wall until she moved, taking Alexia’s vacant seat. She gave you a soft smile. 

“Hi.” You whispered. 

“Hi.” She replied, taking your hand in hers. 

“Was it a panic attack?” 

“It was.” Olga nodded. “Has that happened before?” 

“Never that bad.” 

“You need to talk to someone. And it doesn’t have to be me or Ale, but something is going on. I don’t know what, but you need help.” 

“I’m fine, Olga.” You said, biting your lip and looking away from the brunette. She sat silently for a minute. 

“Alexia is not going to let this go. You know that. You terrified her today, and you know as well as I do that she would go to the ends of the earth to make sure you are okay. It doesn’t matter how much you pretend, nena. She sees right through you.” Olga said gently, falling quiet as your sister reentered the room.

You knew she was right. But like your sister, you were stubborn, too. And you wouldn’t make this easy. 

-------

Three days and two painful therapy sessions later, you were dragged into a meeting to discuss your wellbeing. Your favorite topic. 

The meeting really couldn’t have gone worse. The team psychologist, Ana, couldn’t say much because of confidentiality reasons, but she’d made it clear that if you kept going like this, panic attacks like you'd had the other day would keep happening. You were under a high amount of stress between school and football, and it was of her opinion that something needed to change. 

Ana suggested you be benched for a few weeks, while you figured things out. She told Jona, and Alexia and Irene who were sitting in the meeting, that she didn’t think you were being honest with her, and that if you were going to get better, you needed to be. 

You’d barely spoken during the meeting. Alexia did all the talking for you, and she managed to convince Ana not to bench you, not yet. You were given 2 weeks to get a better football-school balance, and to prove that you were mentally doing better. If your sister, Ana, and Jona felt that you weren’t improving after 2 weeks, you’d be benched.  

You knew Alexia was upset when she ignored you the rest of the day. The entire training session, the entire drive home. Olga looked confused at the icy tension between the two of you as Alexia stormed into the house, turning to face you with a frustrated look on her face. 

“Here is what we are going to do. I want you to drop a class, but you are not going to agree to that. So, you are going to put your computer in my room every night at 11pm. You will either finish your homework by then or it won’t get done. Either way, you will go to bed at 11. You will see the psychologist twice a week. You will come to me if you have any more panic attacks. We are fixing this before it goes any further, okay?”

She paused, raising her eyebrows at you. 

“Okay.” You agreed. There was no arguing with your sister, and you knew it. You’d have to break the rules, rather than try to change them. Alexia was instantly suspicious how easily you’d agreed to her request. 

“There is no option of you being benched, pequeña. Football comes first, before school, before everything. Do you understand?” 

“I understand.” 

“Good.” Alexia turned without another word, heading upstairs to take a shower. You avoided eye contact with Olga, as you slipped upstairs, too. You had a call to make.

-------

It was a bad idea. You knew it as soon as you bought the pills, but that didn’t stop you. 

It was just a few. Just to get you through this upcoming round of exams and through football. You had to wait for Alexia and Olga to both fall asleep to get your computer out of their room. Once you finished your homework, it was normally around 3 or 4 and you were exhausted. You had to put your computer back, and then you could go to sleep. It wasn’t a sustainable routine, but it was your only choice. And the only way you knew how to accomplish it was to take the adderall you’d bought from a boy at school. 

You couldn’t quit school. When football failed, or you quit, whichever came first, you needed to have a plan b. School was your plan b. 

And you weren’t sure you wanted to quit football. You hadn’t decided yet. It was suffocating, playing in Alexia’s shadow, and you just weren’t sure how much more you could take. Quitting, though. You weren’t quite there yet. 

You just had to keep going. Keep trying to balance both things, and not let anyone know how miserable you were. You didn’t really consider, very naively, that the pills would make everything worse. 

-------

You took one for the first time the next evening after training. 

The guilt that hit after you swallowed the pill was unbearable. You couldn't work, couldn’t get anything done. You curled up into a ball on your bed and let your thoughts run wild. All you could think was that you were risking everything; school, football, everything. 

It was school or it was football, but you couldn’t have both. You were pretty sure of that now. Something had to change. You had to get rid of the pills, and you had to make a decision. 

School or football. 

Disappointing your sister, or never living up to her expectations. 

And, ironically, the only person you could really turn to for help was Alexia 

You couldn’t keep everything a secret anymore. And even though you were terrified of being honest with her, you knew you had no other choice. 

-------

Alexia and Olga were lounging on the couch, Olga draped across your sister, when you walked in. Olga saw you first, sitting up slightly at the sight of the distressed look on your face. She nudged Alexia, who paused the TV and turned expectantly towards you, a frown tugging at her lips as she looked up at you. 

“Pequeña-?” Alexia cut herself off when you took the plastic bag out of your pocket, the little blue pills clearly visible inside. You dropped it onto the table in front of her. 

“I bought them from someone at school. It’s adderall. I didn’t take any. Get rid of them, please.” You said numbly, refusing to make eye contact with your sister, before turning and walking back out of the room. 

Alexia and Olga sat in stunned silence for a minute, before the blonde slowly reached for the bag, picking it up gingerly and looking at the pills. Her expression quickly grew angry, and she moved to stand up from the couch and follow you up the stairs. Olga grabbed her arm, though, pulling her back down onto the couch. 

“Ale, hold on.” 

“She bought drugs, Olga. This could have ruined her career, gotten her kicked out of school, gotten her arrested. You cannot tell me not to yell at her,” Alexia complained, though she turned to Olga with an expectant expression on her face. 

“She brought drugs, Alexia.” Olga repeated slowly. “Your perfect marks, perfect training schedule, perfectly behaved sister bought drugs to try to keep up with her school work. She is so stressed about getting everything done that she bought drugs. She didn’t take them, she gave them to you before she took them. This isn’t normal, Alexia, this is not a normal stress level for a 20 year old to have. Yelling at her is not going to make it better. Trust me, Ale, talk to her like she’s an adult.” 

Alexia considered that, for a minute. It was worth a shot, she supposed. And she could always start yelling if she needed to. 

-------

The softness of the knock on your door was almost unnerving. You’d expected Alexia to follow you up the stairs, shouting her head off. It had been a few minutes, though, and you’d only just heard her quiet footsteps coming up the stairs. 

“Come in,” you called shakily. 

Alexia walked in slowly, her every step measured. You could tell that she was trying to keep herself calm, which is more than you expected. More than you deserved. 

Your sister didn’t speak as she came in, didn’t seem to know what to say. She just slid onto the floor next to you, seemingly stunned into silence.  

“I fucked up.” You said after a minute. Out of the corner of your eye, you saw your sister nod slowly. 

Very suddenly, she put a hand on your shoulder, forcefully turning you in her direction. Her eyes looked severe when you looked up at her, and all you wanted to do was cry and beg for her to forgive you. 

“Hermanita. Did you take any of those pills?” Alexia asked, enunciating each word slowly. She was looking at you right in the eye, and you knew that if you lied, she’d be able to tell. You’d lied before, and you thought you’d be able to keep it going, but you couldn’t. All of a sudden, you felt like another lie might suffocate you. 

“One.” You whispered, shutting your eyes tightly. 

Alexia exhaled slowly. “When? Today?” 

“Sí.” You told her, voice dripping with shame. You couldn't look at her. If she’d been disappointed in you before, you were sure the look on her face now would be something you couldn’t tolerate. 

“You feel okay? No hives, no allergic reactions?” 

“No, I’m fine.” 

Alexia didn’t really feel like taking your word for it, evidently, and you felt her hand grip your chin and turn your face up towards her. She didn’t look as disappointed as you’d feared. She looked worried, and a bit lost as she inspected your face. 

“I don’t know what to say. I’m… I am upset with you. This is just so unlike you, nena, and I am really worried. I don’t know how to help you.”

“I’m never going to do it again, Ale, I gave you all the pills, I swear.” 

Alexia shook her head. “The pills are a problem, but something is going on with you to make you feel like you needed to do this, and I want to understand.” 

“Nothing. It’s nothing, I was just stressed, it was a mistake and I won’t make it again.” You dismissed. 

“It is not nothing!” Alexia shouted, seeing you wince and look away from her. She took a deep breath, reminding herself that yelling wasn’t the way to get you to talk to her. “It is not nothing. I am your sister, nena, you can tell me whatever is going on. I can help you. I can fix whatever isn’t okay, you just have to tell me.” 

“Alexia, there is nothing to fix. Now please, I gave you the pills and I know I fucked up. There isn’t anything to talk about, just leave it alone.” You hated how much she was pushing. You’d prefer if she would just yell. Yelling, you could take. But honesty? And what would come with it? There was no chance on earth that Alexia would understand. She was Alexia, and you were just you. Her younger sister, who would never live up to her legacy, no matter how hard you tried. 

“Leave it alone?!” Alexia yelled again, throwing her hands up in the air dramatically. She rose to her feet, beginning to pace, and you stood up too, crossing your arms defiantly across your chest. “You bought drugs at school, you took a pill that was not prescribed to you, you have been going crazy with anxiety, and I want to know why!” 

“I told you, I was just stressed.” You said through clenched teeth, willing yourself not to rise to her level of anger, even though you wanted to. Why was she pushing so hard? Why did she care so much?

“This has to be more than just stress, pequeña! Doing things like this is not okay, you are not okay.” 

“I’m fine.” You insisted. 

“Stop lying to me!” Alexia yelled, ignoring the appearance of Olga in your doorway, even as she felt her girlfriend giving her a look that told her to calm down. 

“Ale-” Olga began, but you cut her off. 

“ I am doing the best that I can, I am doing everything I can to be good enough for you and for the team and for everyone, but none of it is ever enough!” You shouted, slamming your mouths shut when you felt like you’d said too much. 

“This is about school, not football. No one is making you do school! This stress is your own doing, this pressure is coming from you, not anyone else. Drop a class, drop out for all I care. What you are doing to yourself is completely unnecessary.” Alexia said, completely and entirely confused as to just why school was so important to you. Important enough to risk everything.

“It is not unnecessary, Alexia. I need a backup plan, and school is my backup plan.” 

“You have football, why do you need a backup plan?” Alexia scoffed, rolling her eyes at you in a way that made your body flame with rage. 

“Maybe I don’t want football, Alexia. Maybe that’s not what I want anymore.” 

Alexia stared at you, jaw dropped in shock. “What?” She whispered.

Out of the corner of your eye, you saw Olga step closer, but you willed yourself not to look at her. Olga was always more sympathetic than Ale, and you were pretty sure the look on her face would break you right now.

“I can’t do it anymore, Ale, I can’t,” 

“You are 20! You are a baby! How could you want to quit, you have barely even gotten started!” 

“You don’t understand what it’s like for me, Alexia.” 

The blonde rolled her eyes. How could you say that? Of course she understood. “I do, nena, I understand better than anyone, but you cannot just give up because things are more difficult than you anticipated.”

“No. You don’t understand. Things aren’t more difficult than I anticipated, they are impossible. I am losing my mind, Ale, I can’t take it anymore. I can’t.” 

“So you want to quit? All of it, everything you’ve worked for. Throw away everything I’ve done for you?”

“I don’t know, Ale. I just can’t do it like this anymore.” 

Your sister didn’t understand. The anger on her face told you that, and you knew when she opened her mouth next, her words would hurt more than you thought possible. 

“If you are quitting because it is hard, you are not the person I thought you were. Putellas’ don’t quit. I expected so much more from you.” 

And even though you’d anticipated it, the words Alexia spit at you still felt like a bullet through the heart. Mostly because you were pretty sure she was right. You were a failure and a disappointment beyond comparison. 

Your sister took a step back, and though her face remained hard, she was horrified at herself. 

“Alexia, that is enough,” Olga snapped, walking to stand in between the two of you. She knew she’d stepped in too late but the roles of Alexia’s girlfriend and of someone who cared about you were difficult to balance. 

“I’m going to Alba’s. I can’t be here right now. I’m sorry Alexia.” You rushed out of the room, leaving your sister frozen, in horror at her own words, behind you. 

-------

When Alexia got to Alba’s,  she could hear you from the hall. Your sister paused for a minute. She’d expected you to be angry, expected you to be telling Alba exactly what she’d said. She’d expected anger, and that wasn’t what she found. 

Instead, she opened the door to Alba’s apartment quietly and stepped inside. You were curled up on the couch, your head in Alba’s lap as she soothingly ran her fingers through your hair. 

“I-I’ve ruined everything,” you sobbed. 

“No, hermanita.You made a mistake. Nothing is ruined.” 

“She hates me now,” you continued, as if you hadn’t heard Alba speak at all. 

“You need to breathe, cariño, you need to calm down.” 

“I can’t, I can’t, I can’t,” you cried, before words became impossible and all you could do was cry. 

Alba looked up, then, her face thunderous as she caught sight of her older sister. She shook her head, but Alexia’s eyes were only on you. 

“Hermanita,” she whispered, cautiously walking closer to the sofa. You sat upright at the sound of your oldest sister’s voice, a downright terrified expression on your face. “I don’t hate you, nena. I could never hate you.” 

Your face crumpled at her words, the last stable part of you collapsing.“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry. I can’t do this anymore, Ale, I can’t,” 

“Alright, alright.” Alexia soothed, sitting down on the couch next to you. 

“We’re gonna fix it, hermanita. Whatever is wrong, whatever you are struggling with, we are going to fix it.” Alba promised you, exchanging a look with her older sister. Alba was pretty furious with Alexia at the moment, but they knew they’d need each other to get you through this.The destroyed state you were in now, the things you’d been doing were all signs that you weren’t okay, and that you needed their help. They were determined to help you.   

You sat in between your sisters, crying harder than you ever had before. You weren’t sure how everything had gotten so messed up. And you weren’t sure you knew how it could be fixed. 

-------

Alexia and Alba had both decided that you should go back home, and get some rest. 

Olga had been anxiously waiting for you both to return, having sent your sister after you almost as soon as you’d left the house. Neither you or Alexia had said much upon arriving back home. You’d been practically catatonic when you’d walked through the front door; cheeks tearstained, body slumped against your sister’s as she helped you into the house. You’d gone right up to bed, and Alexia had simply pulled Olga into a hug. All Ale had told her girlfriend was that she was going to sit you down tomorrow and get you to talk. She was going to figure out what was wrong. What had brought you to this point, why you’d been hiding things from her. She was going to get you to talk if she had to get down on her knees and beg. 

Alexia had already texted Jona and told him neither of you would be in tomorrow, aside from a meeting with Ana that your sister had scheduled for the afternoon. If Alexia couldn’t get you talking, she hoped the therapist would. If that didn’t work, she’d call Eli. The only reason she hadn’t called her mami yet was because she knew how hard Eli would come down on you for the drugs, and on Alexia for not taking better care of you. And Alexia knew that each of you respectively carried enough shame for both of those things. 

 Your sister lay awake in her bed that night, trying to piece together what exactly was happening with you. It was like there was a big piece missing, and she couldn’t think her way through the problem no matter how hard she tried. She tossed and turned in her bed for at least an hour, fighting the urge to go check on you. 

“Ale.” Olga whispered, having been woken up by her girlfriend's restlessness. She rolled onto her side and wrapped her arm around her girlfriend’s body. 

Alexia sniffled. “Did I wake you?” 

“No. I was thirsty.” Olga lied, sitting up to grab her water off her nightstand. “Worrying all night is not going to help your sister, baby.”

“Well, I can try.” Alexia said back, turning on her side to bury her face in Olga’s shirt. “I messed up. So badly. She wants to quit football, she brought drugs at school. She’s been miserable for so long and I didn’t know. I didn’t do anything about it.” 

Olga ran her fingers through her girlfriend’s hair, thinking hard about what to say. “Amor, you can’t go back and change things. You can just try to be better for her.” 

“What if I can’t be better? What if I’m just a bad sister? A bad person?” 

“You aren’t either of those things, mi amor. A mistake doesn’t make you bad.”

“This is more than just one mistake. This is months of mistakes.” 

Olga shook her head. “It doesn’t matter. She is your sister, and she adores you. Both of you will get past this. You love each other too much not to.” 

Alexia sat with that for a moment. It was true. Even if she didn’t always act like it, even if she wasn’t the best at showing it. She loved you and Alba more than anything on earth. And she decided, then and there, that she wouldn’t ever stop trying to prove that to you. 

------

Crying must have tired you out, because when you woke the next day, before even opening your eyes, you could tell it was late. Well past when Alexia would normally wake you up for training. Momentarily, you wondered if she’d gone without you. If she was upset. But then you recognized the soft touch of Alexia’s hand on your back, gently moving back and forth; her preferred way of waking you up. Alexia cherished her sleep, and because she assumed everyone else did too, she was careful to wake you up in the least jarring way possible. 

You rolled over, clonking your head into her knee. Grumpily, you opened your eyes. Alexia was not in her training clothes. She was still in her pajamas, in fact, looking down at you nervously. You weren’t used to her being nervous to talk to you. 

“Hola.” She greeted. “I woke you up because you never sleep this late, but if you are still tired, you can go back to sleep. We have an appointment with Ana at 2, and I was hoping we could talk before that, but we don’t have to. We can just-”

You cut off her rambling with a shake of your head, dragging your body into a sitting position. Your head was pounding, probably a combination of all the cry and dehydration. 

“No, I’m okay. I’m up. We can talk. I’ll be down in a few minutes.” 

“Okay!” Alexia said much too quickly. She ruffled your hair awkwardly before turning and heading downstairs, looking back at you slumped in your bed at least 3 times. 

When you appeared downstairs 5 minutes later, having made yourself look somewhat presentable, Alexia was sitting on the couch, anxiously bouncing her knee as she waited for you. She had her phone in her hand, and she was rapidly texting someone. Alba or Olga, you guessed. You carefully sat down on the couch a safe distance away from her, now feeling a bit nervous yourself. 

You didn’t know what you were supposed to say. If being honest would make things better or worse. If things could really even get any worse. 

“You wanted to talk.” You said after a minute, finally venturing a quick glance at your sister, who was looking expectantly at you. 

“I want you to talk. And I want to listen.” Alexia said gently. 

You thought for a moment, before shrugging. “What do you want me to talk about?”

The blonde took a deep breath. “Do you want to quit football?” She asked quietly, unable to hide the disappointment in her voice, no matter how hard she tried. She loved playing with you. It was her favorite thing. 

You read her disappointment wrong, though, thinking she was disappointed in you, and you became slightly defensive, and slightly more tense. “Sometimes.” 

Alexia fought the urge to respond to your hostility with her own. Instead, she kept her face soft and open. “Why do you want to quit? And why do you not want to quit?” 

You shifted uncomfortably, fiddling with your fingers in your lap. Avoiding Ale’s gaze, you replied as honestly as you could. “I think I still love it, deep down. It just feels like it’s suffocating me right now. Draining all of my energy and all of my happiness. It’s really hard, Ale. I don’t know how to fix that.” 

Nodding slowly, the blonde tried not to react to your words outwardly. “Can you tell me what is so hard? I have played for many years, nena, and I do not think I have ever struggled as much as you are struggling now. I don’t understand, but I want to.” 

She was being sincere, you could tell. She genuinely did not understand what the issue was. It had never felt this difficult for her, not in this all consuming way. You wanted your sister to understand, but you didn’t want to hurt her. Explaining ran the risk of upsetting her, yet you knew you had no choice. 

“You have played for many years, yes. But you have never played as Alexia Putellas’ younger sister. You have never played in the shadow of the greatest in the world, of your sister.”

Alexia inhaled sharply. “I make it hard? Being my sister makes it hard?” She asked, voice almost a whisper as she tried to fight back tears. This was her fault. 

You nodded miserably. “I can’t go a day without being compared to you. Your talent, your leadership skills, everything. I feel like nothing I do is ever good enough… for you or for anyone else. No matter what I do, no matter how hard I try, I will never be you, Ale. And that is what everyone wants me to be.” 

Your sister shook her head frantically, scooching closer. “That’s not what I want, nena. You are one of my favorite people in the world. I don’t want you to be me, I want you to be you.” 

“But I’m not good enough, Ale. Not for anyone. Being me isn’t good enough.” You cried, pulling your hand away from Alexia’s. You couldn’t even begin to consider that she was telling the truth. 

“Yes it is, nena, and I am so sorry if I have made you feel like-” 

“If? Alexia you have spent the past 2 years of my life pressuring me to be better, telling me to try harder and to push more. And so has everyone else.” 

Your sister shook her head again, wrapping an arm around your shoulders and pulling you into her, even as you tried to pull away. “I am so sorry, nena. So sorry. I thought you wanted it, as much as I wanted it for you.” 

“I did want it.” You mumbled. “But I wanted you to just be my sister more.” 

Alexia felt her heart shatter, but she fought against the tears welling in her eyes. “I am so sorry.” She repeated, shutting her eyes tightly as she rubbed your back. “ I… If you want to quit, I will support you. I won’t be disappointed in you, I will always support you. No matter what you do or don’t do, I will always be your sister. And you will always have me.” 

“No, Ale, I don’t know that I want to quit, I just… I can’t do it anymore. Not like this. It’s too hard.” You sobbed, hiding your face in your sister’s shirt. 

“Okay. Okay, cariño. We’ll figure it out, alright? We’ll figure it all out.” Alexia promised. 

You hoped she was right. 

--------

Therapy later that day was… alright. You broke down again, detailing your near constant anxiety and stress, and admitting to Ana that you’d bought adderall. You don’t quite remember what you said, honestly. It was a blur. You remembered crying, remembered holding Alexia’s hand. Explaining to her that you were so obsessed with school because you wanted to have something if football didn’t work. You never wanted to disappoint your family, Alexia most of all. Alexia had cried too. You remembered what she said clearly, and even now, three weeks later, you thought of her words.  

“Hermanita, I don’t care if you are a footballer. I don’t care if you get a degree or get an impressive job. I don’t care what you do, as long as you are happy and healthy and okay. That is all that matters to me. And that is all that matters to Mami and Alba, too. I love you, nena. That is not conditional or dependent on anything.” 

And she had proven that. She had been patient, kind, and thoughtful. Supportive. Even when you took three weeks off of football and school to get your anxiety under control. She was there through every sleepless night and every tear. Alexia was the reason you got through it, and she was the reason you made the decision you did. 

-------

You’d waited a bit to tell her. You were always going to finish the season out with Barça, but it remained to be seen whether or not you’d continue after the season ended. Alexia had prepared herself for you not to continue. For you to tell her that this was it. She’d made her peace with that. She was wholly surprised, then, when you sat her down two nights before you were set to go back to training and told her your plans. 

“I’m dropping out of school.” You said carefully, watching her reaction. She looked stunned. 

“But I thought… you don’t have to do that for me, nena. I just want you to be happy.” 

The thing was, you believed her. And that was why you wanted to play again. 

“I know you do, Ale. I’m doing this for me. I love football. I’ve missed it these past few weeks, much more than I missed school. I didn’t really care about school, I just wanted to have something. If I couldn’t make you proud of me with football, I thought I could do it through school.” 

“I am proud of you. So proud of you, because of football and completely separate from it.” Alexia insisted. 

You nodded. “I know you are, and that’s why I want to play again. It doesn’t feel the same as before, like your love for me is riding on how well I perform. That wasn’t ever the case, and I know that now. You’ve made it really clear, Ale.” 

“But your anxiety,”

“I was having a hard time because I was trying to do school full time and football. I’m already so much less stressed. The pressure feels less intense. It feels like football can be fun again.”

“You are sure about this?” Alexia asked, gripping tightly onto your hand. She didn't want a repeat of three weeks ago. And she didn’t want you to be unhappy. 

“I promise, I’m sure. I want to play. And if that changes… I’ll tell you. I know I can trust you. I should have known that all along, and I didn’t, but I do now.” 

“You can always trust me.” Alexia affirmed. “You are sure? You want to play?” She checked again, looking intently at your face, trying to tell if you were lying to make her happy. 

“I want to play.” You promised. 

Her neutral face transformed into a huge grin and she all but suffocated you in a bear hug. 

“I love you so much, hermanita. And I would have understood if you wanted to quit, but I love playing with you and I am so, so happy.” She told you, rather vulnerably. “I’m going to be better. I am going to make sure no one puts too much pressure on you, especially me. I won’t mess up again, nena, I promise. I won’t ever let you think that I care more about football than about you.” 

You buried your face in her shoulder, sniffling slightly. “I love you too.” 

It wasn’t just about missing football. It was about knowing, really really knowing, that your performance wouldn’t change how your sister looked at you, or how your teammates looked at you. You’d spent the last three weeks learning from Ana to see yourself as a person separate from your abilities on the pitch. You were good and worthy of love no matter how you played. And with that weight off your shoulders, you knew you wouldn’t care as much about being in Alexia’s shadow. You could just be proud of her. And be proud of yourself. You hadn’t needed school the way you thought you did, and you hadn’t needed to quit football. You had just needed to be honest with your sister, and be a bit kinder to yourself. 

The following season, you would play better than you ever had. You found your place on the pitch and within the team, and you set yourself aside as your own person. Even if you were known as a great footballer, you would still always be known as Alexia’s sister. And you didn’t want to change that, because it was your favorite thing to be. 

--------

hope you enjoyed! ❤️ leave a comment if you want, they make me v happy! :)

[astropookie]

Sun houses and fathers 🌞

Yoshitomi Nara

✨first post of 2024✨

take what resonates, leave what don’t 🎀 you don’t have to necessarily identify with it.

*I use whole sign system -house system- for more certainty

9H: you’re learning constantly from your dad. he teaches you what he’ve learned through his life. he’s teaching you about his mindset, the origin of his beliefs, why he stands for them. he could be someone very religious or faithful, and through that faith he could have teach you things he know now. also, he could be really philosophical and probably has a fixation with politics, investing. he could seem very patient or is constantly worried trying to understand how he can help you.

10H: your dad could be someone really hardworking, who you could have seen work really hard through all this years, making sure you’re satisfied in the economic and study aspect. he could have not been present too much when you were growing up and when he showed up he was too strict, he probably wasn’t conscious or didn’t know how to approach you -could be bc they thought him to bottle up his emotions-. you could end up studying/working on the same career/field your dad’s in.

11H: your dad it’s okay with who you are, or what side you show to them🧐. you’re their fav or they left you. you could feel like the only child/you are. he could seem too disperse, take it how you want to. idk why but mostly of dads of sun 11H are younger than what’s expected. he’s permissive. you were a spoiled kid, that has to do with your dad. “dreams” that word is important, he had a lot of influence and power over yours, he could have destroyed them or making sure you have all the resources -depending on the aspects-.

12H: your dad won’t judge your decisions or you. he’ll be a support. he could have difficulties to put limits in a father-son relationship, you could have felt stressed when you’re seeing how your dad is being bullied by your siblings bc of that attitude. you could have being the one who is protecting them or you’re the more serious/introverted one in the dynamic. or the total opposite: he’s too strict and you had to be careful on how to act. there’s something that happened there… you two could share something obvious, an interest, physical appearance, an adjective, etc. something everyone can point out. also, you could feel a strong or subconscious connection with your dad’s sight of the family.

5H: idk why I have the feeling you didn’t saw your dad for a long time and then you saw him, I’m trying to express that your relationship with him it’s not constant. he could be explosive or impulsive. he could contradict himself so much. he could have had you without planning it/unexpected -you were a surprise for him 🤩-. could be that your parents were young when they had you and etc. that’s why you’re like an experiment 😭 your dad doesn’t know how to approach you and he has a temperament. emotions here are fiery, when each other express their emotions they don’t take a seat and have a chat with a cup of tea, they’ll say how they feel crying and screaming.

6H: your dad could have OCD, no, I’m lying, but he could be really fucked up about order. “thinks have to be like this, why you didn’t let me this at this time?” Or the total opposite, not in the middle. he could get sticker in his routine and if things are not how he planned he get stressed. a perfectionist. he could be strict or conservative. he’s sarcastic, that’s why you could be sarcastic too. he’s hardworking and also could help on campaigns and etc. at some point you could have helped him on working on his health. and you could be the one who end up taking care of him/being the sibling who spends more time with him.

♡ Based on personal experience and what I’ve analyzed in my surroundings.

♡ English is not my first language.

♡ I’m not a profesional astrologer.

Thank youu. baibaiii🫣🫶🏼💋

Do not copy. Please give me credits.

[gayhoediaz]

nieeeee. i literally cannot stop thinking about of solace and amelioration. like. i've read it three times and i always skip to the end and cry because buck and tommy are. so full of love for each other, it literally makes me Ache. and. the little details you wove in there about tommy's backstory? just.. annihilate me. do you have any more tommy/bucktommy headcanons to share pls 🤲🏾🥺

jaaaack my loveee 🥺🥺🥺 yess of course anything for you!!!! ❤️❤️❤️

tommy spent a lot of time alone growing up so he can solve a rubik’s cube in like absolute record time. for some reason buck finds this just… so hot. he loves it when his man is capable and confident. (and he loves his hands.)

tommy doesn’t necessarily mind being alone because he is so used to it - spending christmas alone, watching love actually and cooking just for himself doesn’t make him sad. he’s certainly not someone who feels sorry for himself. but when he does have people around him? oh god he loves it so much. he loves taking care of people he loves loving people and he loves it when he gets the same right back.

buck is not a huge fan of muay thai either but he still learns a little bit - mostly because he likes seeing tommy all hot and sweaty (and capable) in as many situations as possible (and yes it always ends in sex, in fact i think eventually “muay thai” stops meaning muay thai altogether. it’s just code for dicking each other down.)

buck loves running his fingers through tommy’s hair and tommy loves it when he does it. after a bad day, he’ll just walk in through the door and drop himself on the couch with his head in buck’s lap.

a few years ago tommy went to the animal shelter to maybe get a cat cause he was a little lonely, but he came home with an irish wolfhound and he named her keira because bonus hc: keira knightley is his favorite actress. (buck and keira take to each other immediately, and since buck does more cardio than tommy, he takes up a habit of running with her whenever he has time - usually in the morning, dropping a kiss to a half-asleep tommy’s temple as he tells him he’ll be back in a bit.)

tommy loves buck’s ass (what he sees, i don’t know, there is literally nothing there) but by the time they’ve been together for a few months, he’s comfortable enough to stop holding back, and he’ll just fucking live down there. often it’s sexual but sometimes it’s also not - sometimes they’re having a sick or lazy day, watching the tv in tommy’s bedroom, and buck is fully dressed in sweatpants and a hoodie, and he always ends up on his stomach so tommy can use his non-existent ass as a pillow.

they shut keira out of the room when they fuck, but when they’re done they always let her back in to sleep in bed and she takes up 85% of the space but that’s okay ❤️

tommy meditates and buck tries too but his brain moves too quickly it doesn’t really work for him. when meditation doesn’t work for tommy either - he smokes. it’s a terrible habit left over from rebellious teenage years and stressful time in the closet, and he’s done a good job kicking it, but sometimes buck kisses him, and he can smell it on his breath and he just. sighs. and runs a hand through his hair and asks if he wants to talk abt it.

the longer they’re together the more “cracks” start to show in tommy, i think he’s a lot better at hiding it than buck is - but he struggles not only with ptsd, but with depression and anxiety and he has worked on himself and continues to do so, but he still keeps a lot of that stuff to himself - it takes a while but when buck starts opening up more, tommy slowly starts to do the same, and evan is the first person he feels he can truly rely on and trust, and he’s never really had that before, never felt as if he can be all of himself with someone - not like this.

tommy is plant dad. he has so many plants and he takes such good care of them, and of course, since buck loves learning things, it quickly becomes a shared hobby. their monstera is their pride and joy.

tommy drinks his coffee with so many extra shots of espresso that buck usually makes a little bit of a face when he kisses him right afterwards.

tommy has a lot of small skills he’s kinda good at but not really but kind of (usually, again, born out of boredom and/or loneliness) painting, baking bread, playing the harmonica. he knows how to do these things, but whether or not his own results will be great is… a toss up. however combined with buck’s love of learning and adhd brain, they learn a lot more small skills together. kind of. for a while. until they drop it and move onto the next thing.

tommy is really good at playing the guitar and the first morning buck wakes up in his bed, he asks him about it, and he plays for him. until buck wrestles it out of his hands and puts it to the side because his boyfriend is even hotter now and he needs to get dicked down again thanks. (when they’re done, buck asks tommy to teach him and they end up doing the classic “hands over hands” move and it’s very cute but tommy keeps pressing soft little kisses to bucks shoulder and telling him he’s doing so good and it’s hngggggg… very distracting.)

tommy used to be on the swim team in high school.

tommy is indeed abby’s tommy cause i think it’s funny. it throws them both off a little bit but then tommy says something so smooth that buck forgets all about it. it doesn’t matter. they are each other’s now, fuck her. (i think tommy ended things w her amicably probably cause he was figuring out he’s gay and doesn’t have any negative nor positive feelings abt her, but when buck eventually tells him how she ended (or didn’t) things w him, tommy decides that he does have decidedly negative feelings about her actually.)

[dmercer91]

in your arms i feel at peace | look after you, tz11

in which trevor is your shoulder to cry on

don't let those super fluffy pictures of z fool you, this is sad as fuck (and dialogue heavy)

when i first started this account i figured i'd be doing mostly nsfw and look at me!!! every character i write has mommy issues :)

also send in for this au pls and thank you ill give you a vital organ

"someone's in a good mood," trevor mumbled behind you, wrapping his arms around your waist as you made breakfast for the two of you. nobody else was awake yet, and it was nice to just have some quiet time with him.

in just a couple weeks you’d become great friends, and you found yourself glued to him or to a book all day every day

“my mom asked if i wanted to go shopping with her today, it’s been a while since we’ve done something like that,” you explained, not clocking the look of worry on trevor’s face

you were over the moon that your mom wanted to spend time with you, one on one. this was your chance to bond with her now that you were closer to being an adult

your chance to fix things and have her treat you as an individual

you figured your mom saw today the same, that she might change. maybe she wouldn’t undermine your issues, compare them to her own

maybe she’d offer you help rather than argue that she was worse off

maybe she’d buy you things you actually like rather than force you to dress like she wanted - professional and proper so that you would be taken more seriously

trevor could tell that you thought today would change some things, and he wasn’t quite sure what to think of it

he knew your relationship with your mom wasn’t great. he knew your relationship with your whole family was less than ideal, actually.

he was a little nervous to see where the day went, but for now? you were excited, and he loved that for you

that excitement didn’t last long

he had a feeling he’d be left picking up the broken pieces of your heart whenever you got back

the feeling was right

but, he didn’t think it’d be this bad.

you were yelling as you walked through the door, your mom poker faced and unimpressed, almost rolling her eyes as she told you to calm down

“would you quit being a brat? there are other people in this house!”

trevor watched from the bottom of the stairs as you paused, laughing to yourself

“right. other people. you know what, mom?” you left space for her to answer you despite the question being rhetorical, but she just crossed her arms

challenging you to say what it was that was on your mind

“i don’t want to be your daughter anymore. from here on out, i am a stranger to you, i am the other people you’re so worried about looking your best for” you smiled softly

your moms face fell from amused to confused, thinking you’d do what you normally did - cry, and then accept any offer to rekindle your relationship in hopes that this time, she’d be a mom to you.

“you’re a pathetic excuse for a mother and i was just a kid. i didn’t- i don’t deserve to be tangled in this stupid, one sided vendetta you have against me for just existing,” your tone was level, you weren’t yelling anymore

your mom scoffed, trying to hold up a cold exterior while facing the reality that she was losing the only person who’d do anything for her

the person who, at seven years old, helped her move out of your dads house after the divorce

the person who didn’t question that you were moving in with a man you’d never met before

the person who cleaned the whole house regularly so that she wouldn’t have to stress about it

the person who helped her with laundry because her boyfriend refused

the person who defended her when he was drunk

the person who let her cry on your shoulder when owen wanted to stay with your dad for some time

the person who didn’t do the same because you didn’t want to hurt her feelings

the person who offers to do anything and everything for her because you know she works a lot

the person who forgives quickly and tries to forget, cause that’s your mom and you believed she could be better

the person who shuts up when you’re feeling down because you don’t want to put more things on her

the person who drops anything you’re feeling cause when you bring it up, suddenly she feels worse than you about that same thing and she needs you to lean on

the person who after seventeen years, has finally given up

you’ve given up.

“don’t you think that’s a little dramatic, y/n?” you smiled with a shake of your head, a tear falling down your face

“that’s kinda the problem, isn’t it? if i was any less emotional you might have me checked for psychopathy.

my whole life you let owen walk all over me. demean me over and over, and of course i cried, i was eight years old.

every time i tried to say something you’d tell me i was too emotional, that he treated me like shit on the bottom of his shoe because it was easy and i reacted too much

that wasn’t the truth. you just didn’t want to deal with it. you were annoyed that i was crying.

regardless i believed you because you were meant to be my mother

the bullying never stopped but every single time i just walked away and suddenly i wasn’t emotional enough for you

i was uncomfortable in my own home and that meant i was rude and blunt and i needed to smile sometimes cause i seemed like a bitch

you made me into that and i think it’s time someone lets you know so you can get the fuck off your high horse, cause we all know you think you’re a great mother”

she clenched her jaw and opened her mouth to speak, but you cut her off

“i’m not done.

news flash, buying me things at the mall just to soften the blow of you being a massive cunt doesn’t make you a good mother

putting a roof over my head and feeding me doesn’t make you a good mother, it just allows you to keep your kids.

so, again. you’re gonna start treating me like a stranger

because it’s not hard to see how insecure you are about how random people see you on the outside

you put up this mask of perfection for people who don’t even know you and never will, but you don’t give a single fuck how your own child sees you on the inside

i’m done being an extension of you to torment and compare yourself to, and i’m staying here wether you like it or not.

i’m here as a friend of quinn’s, now. as a friend of the family’s. this is not my family,”

the room was so quiet you could hear a pin drop

“don’t be disrespectful, y/n. i do a lot for you. i bought you summer clothes today!” you bit the inside of your cheek, filing through you head to look for any memory of her that wasn’t tainted by it’s true purpose, and you couldn’t.

“you didn’t listen to a word i said, huh? figures,”

when you turned and the first thing you saw was trevor, looking at you from the staircase, every bit of yourself willed to not let the dam break until you were alone, with him.

you walked right into him, clinging onto him and pressing your face tight into his neck

he reciprocated the second you were near, taking you into his arms and squeezing you tight, cupping your head and rubbing your back

he helped you up the stairs and towards the door to his room, holding your hand until you got to his bed and he could pull you back into his arms, on his lap.

"what happened, sunshine?" he murmured, letting you comb your fingers through his hair to try and keep yourself calm

it didn't work all that well, tears already streaming down your face now that you were in the comfort of his room, alone where you felt you wouldn't be judged.

your reply was muffled by his shoulder, where you'd pressed your jaw to try and keep your cries quiet

"she wanted me to go back home."

trevor furrowed his eyebrows and traced patterns on your leg with his fingers, knowing you'd open up when you were ready.

you took a minute to calm your breathing, explaining everyhting.

that originally you wanted to spend the summer at home with your dad because you knew you'd be isolated here, that quinn had other friends and you couldn't steal him away from everyone for the whole offseason.

that you got put in your place before the drive down to michigan and told that ellen needed you there to help around the house and that you could just be helpful 'this one time'

that ellen hadn't made you touch a thing all summer, the only time you did a chore was when you made yourself and him a snack, so you knew your mom just wanted you here to be a servant

that when you met him, you were finally happy in michigan and you were actually looking forward to the summer and getting to know him, spending some more time with jack and luke now that you had someone in common

that today, the shopping trip was just a cover up, your mom spoiling you before telling you - not asking - that you were going back home to house sit until the offseason was over

that you were naive at first, that you thought your mom grew a heart and that she was giving you an out due to you wanting to stay back home weeks ago

that you quickly saw through that

that your mom told you that owen had been excited to meet the team usa guys, trevor especially, and that you were getting in the way of your brother having the offseason experience he wanted

that you were going to be miserable the whole summer, but now that you've found a happy place in michigan, you were told to go home and be miserable there instead

that she wanted you isolated all summer. that was her plan.

and after you let it all out to him, you just started sobbing, and you couldn't stop

trevor did his best to soothe you, mumbling sweet nothings and reassuring you that ellen wanted you at the lake house and that he knew she'd let you stay

"i don't know what i could've done to make her hate me so much," you croaked, balling his shirt up into your fists and pulling him closer

“you didn’t do anything, sunshine. there’s nothing in the world you could’ve done to deserve that, you were just a kid. n’ you’re an angel, you know? like heaven on earth, it’s not your fault,” he whispered, cradling the back of your head

you looked up into his eyes from your spot on his shoulder, eyes uncertain and still overflowing with tears

“i know you don’t believe me, it’s okay,” he slid his thumb back and forth along your hair, kissing you on the temple.

you adjusted your head to get closer to him, still keeping your eyes on his

sniffling slightly, you took his other hand and toyed with his fingers, gaze eventually falling there as your tears slowed and nose cleared up

“thank you, trev, that-“ he cut you off with a kiss, catching you a little off guard

still, you pulled away with a smile, holding his jaw with the hand you’d had gripping his shirt

“that’s really sweet.” you finished, fresh tears falling from your face

he moved to wipe them, brushing his thumb against your nose gently

“of course, my sunshine,”

you hugged him, using both arms to wrap around him and squeeze tight, him returning the favour

“i’m all yours for the rest of the day, hm? maybe we can sneak off on the boat? bring some snacks, blankets n’ your laptop for movies and make a day out of it,”

you nodded happily, becoming pliant in his arms with a dumb smile

“that sounds perfect, z,”

he went to kiss you again, but the door cracked open mid lean-in and you jumped apart like it was an affair

it was ellen, now grinning to herself at the sight in front of her

“i figured you’d be in here. can we talk?”

you blushed, nodding.

“yeah, auntie el, just-“

“i’ll go,” trevor cut you off, ruffling your hair and placing a kiss on your cheek

[rosiestalez]

Caught

Content 18+, minors will be banned

Warnings: Smut, degradation, unprotected sex, maybe an age gap, 26 year old Nightwing and 20 year old main character. Edging slightly, bad grammar and punctuation.

Summary: Dick is back in town paying a visit before school starts. He spots something interesting on your phone from the beloved blog app we have.

It has been a long week, all you wanted to do was sleep for an undetermined amount of time. Unfortunately, due to your college courses starting soon, you only had one day to prepare. You spent your summer working, crying, and drinking; something that a lot of college students do.

The sun creeps through the trippy tapestry that covers your window. Your eyes flutter open as the soft glow of 7am softly burns the sleep out of your eyes. You lay there silently for a second before Turing off your pink noise in spotify, the first 20-30 minutes of your morning is spent on Reddit; you went on a social media cleanse and only kept Reddit for “news”, but you mostly use it to keep up with r/Gothamcitybatmansightings.

You muster up the courage to get out of the plush bed your feet land on the soft carpet and you let out the biggest stretch you’ve been holding in all night. “Right well time to begin my last day of summer break”, you sigh to yourself. With that you waltz to your bathroom and begin your “day before school regimen” that you’ve had since your senior year of high-school when you met your first bottle of self tanner.

After your shower you make some coffee while letting your tanner dry. Your phone rings, you lift it to see the screen, ‘Babybat 🦇💙”.

“Hey! Good morning Richard !”,you cheer. You hate the name Dick so you decided to call him his legal name, except during sex when you let your pathetic moans do all the talking for you.

“Good morning beautiful, it’s good to hear your voice, although Richard just doesn’t flow off your tongue beautifully.” He chuckles over the phone. You simply roll your eyes, and pour your French vanilla creamer into your coffee. “Wayne and I just got back from Metropolis, so I’m bored. I know you’re busy getting your school things in order. I was wondering if you wanted to spend some time together?” He asks, you take a sip of your fresh coffee. You smile, at the thought of hanging out with him because you know what this entails; really good sex, endless pampering, and food.

“Yeah totally! I just have to put some clothes on so give me a call when you are close.” You say with excitement lining your voice.

“No clothes?” He smirks through the phone. “Stay that way I’ll be there soon, I want you on your bed waiting for me like a good girl.” You gasp, but this isn’t surprising. Your heart beat flutters down to your pussy. “Bye princess.”The line goes dead.

You down the rest of your coffee, and walk off back to your room, you slip off your robe and lay down on your bed, you have exactly 5 minutes to get into the mood to take Grayson’s cock. You scroll on tumblr reading fics about him, it’s insane how everyone is so accurate about his size, stamina, and sex positions. Your legs squeeze together in anticipation for him wet seeping from your hole, resisting the urge to touch your pussy.

Scratch that you have two minutes before he’s walking into your house. There he is in the doorway, his tall frame. He licks his lips with anticipation seeing you there vulnerable in-front of him. “God you’re such a good fucking girl.” He strips his uniform as he makes his way to your bed. “That’s what I like about you, you listen to everything I say. You do everything I ask because you’re a slut. Aren’t you?” His voice gets dark, only something you hear after a stressful mission, or when the bat family is getting to him. He comes to you for comfort and peace so it makes you wonder what happened on this trip, you see scratches on his chest that you aim to nurse back to health after he rearranges your delicate body.

“Yes sir.” Your voice shaky. He crawls on top of you, hovering your small frame. He leans in for a kiss, his kiss is deep and soft. Something you missed while he was gone, his tongue slips into your mouth fighting yours. He smiles into the kiss due to his win and pulls away. He notices your phone, open to the smutty fic you were reading before he walked in. His dick twitches against your bare thigh, the only barrier being his soft briefs.

“What is this?” His eyebrow cocks. He snatches the phone out your hand. “Dick slams into my hole, his thick cock stretching me. He tightens the leash around my neck with each stroke.” He reads aloud, your face burns, you could die right here just out of embarrassment. “Wow, you read about me?” He questions, “you read nasty things about me while I’m gone?” He follows. You just nod, no words can escape your mouth at the moment. “Well I didn’t know you liked to be collared.” He adds.

“I’m sorry, I missed you so much. You were gone for too long, and I needed you.” You explained softly. All he does is chuckle. He gets off of the bed and walks over to “the drawer”. He grabs a toy and a pair of cuffs.

“I don’t have anything to collar you with, but I will choke you until you’re dazed.” You squirm waiting for his cock to fill you.

“I’ll take that as a yes, I love when you’re a needy bitch for me. It turns me on so much.” *click* one side of the handcuff around your wrist, *click* one around your other. You can’t move your arms, they’re chained to your iron bed frame. Your breath is uneven, the flutter in your wet pussy getting faster. “Look at you, so pathetic.” He takes out his phone and flashes a picture of you. “I’m gonna use this later.” His dark smirk turned into a tooth filled grinned. *Buzzz* the toy turns on, “I’m gonna make you cum so hard you won’t need to read those.” He dances the toy along your thighs, up your body to your exposed breasts, circling it on your soft nipples, smiling as they begin to erect at the vibration. “Tell me what you want?” He whispers in your ear before kissing your pulse point. You push his hands down to your dripping center. “No darling, you have to use your words. Remember?” His arm resisting your pushes.

“I want it, I want you.” You moan.

“Where, be specific baby girl?” He looks at your cock drunk eyes.

“I want it on my puss-FUCK!” He places the vibrator on your sensitive clit before you could finish your sentence. Causing a pulse of pleasure and shock.

“Sorry did I scare you?” He asks sarcastically. “I knew you wanted it, I just wanted to have some fun.” He chuckles, but to your dissatisfaction he removes the toy from your clit. You let out a whine, “why the fuck are whining? You’re going to get what you need.” Darkness filling with voice again. “God why are you so pathetic!”

“I’m sorry Grayson.” You slightly tug at the cuffs, lift your hips up against his thigh to get some relief from the tension in your cunt. He pushes your hips down with force glaring at you; you’ve done it now you’re going to get what you want, but on his terms.

“Oh you shouldn’t have done that.” He says exactly what you’re thinking. He pulls down his briefs, his thick cock slapping against his stomach. “Look at what you do to me.” Your pussy drips and mouth waters when he point to his delicious cock. “I’m gonna use you today.” He leans over your cunt, spitting into your dripping hole. “Every- FUUUCCK- inch of you”, he shutters as he slides in. The first entrance is always the best. Your back arches at the feeling of being filled, and a small moan escapes your lips, “Shut up”, he slides out completely, and slams back in to the hilt of his cock. There’s pain and pleasure and a whine forces its way from your mouth again.

“That’s my girl, taking it all. I know you can do it.” He coos, his hand finds his way to your neck while the other supports his. “Take it all baby.” He picks up the toy, his grip tightens, he rises up placing you legs on his shoulders for stability as he places the toy on your even mores swollen clit. Your eyes begin to roll back as the feeling of being filled and stimulated. “S’beautiful”, he grunts. His pace gets quicker his hips snapping against you and his grip tightening around your neck. You can’t moan, can’t think, can’t speak. He pound into you, groaning and speaking nasty things, the toy rubs against you. You feel something boiling in your core, and pulsing in your pussy.

“I’m-“, you gasp for air, his grip unrelenting, “I’m gonna cum Rich!” His movement stops, he leaves your center and pulls the toy away from you. You look up at him with confusing.

“No you’re not, not yet.” He chuckles, he moves to hover over your face. “Taste yourself, open up.” He taps your cheek, you do as your told opening your mouth and sticking out your tongue as welcome to his cock. You gag as he reaches the back of your throat. You bob your head, his hand tangles into your hair, but is quickly removed when he feels the tracks of your expression, “s-sorry baby.” You try to smile, but it’s hard when there’s 6.5 inches in your mouth right now. He matches your pace, but his pace quickens and tears brim your eyes. “That’s my good gi-“ he shutters and a deep growl like moan escapes his lips. His cum fills your mouth. He pants, “I wanna see, open your mouth.” He pulls his cock out from your mouth, you stick your tongue out showing his excitement. “Good girl now swallow, look at me while you do it, nasty bitch.” You do as you’re told looking up in his eyes as you choke down his fluid. He really needs to drink more water. “You’re beautiful, so desperate to reach your end”, he cups your face and smiles. He reaches up to unhook the cuffs from your wrists. “Show me what you do to yourself while reading these things. Do you use your toy or your beautiful fingers?” He questions with his hands playing with your still erect nipples.

“Both”, you muster out, he smirks. He guide your hands down to your core as he assists you making soft circles along your clit. You moan arching you back to get more from the hand movements that are being created.

“Oh that’s a good girl. I bet you’re thinking of me? How good I feel inside of you.” You moan you eyes flutter close savoring the movements. “That’s such a good girl”, he removes his hands letting you take the show. He watches your body, your movements. In his eyes this is as close to heaven as he could ever get. “You’re so beautiful, can you cum for me?” He cups your face placing a gentle kiss on your lips. Your tummy coils, your pace quickens as you reach your end. The Euphoria rushes over you leaving you dazed and sleepy. “Good job baby.” He coos. Your legs clench around your hand as you work your way through you self inflicted high. You move your hand away from your pussy to reach out to his messy black hair and pull him in for one more kiss.

“Thank you Grayson.” You smile, “I missed you so much. I really wanted to see you before I start school tomorrow.” You add. He shifts in the bed finding something to clean your juices up with.

“ I know my love, it took a lot of convincing Bruce to let me come back early to give you a proper send off”, he winks wiping you down with an old towel. He tosses it to the side when done, and lays down next to you stroking circles onto your back.

You shift over to be facing him on the bed, “what happened?” You ask cupping his face in your hands. He just sighs and hugs you close.

[vanmarkus]

I really hope my ask here doesn't start discourse or like potentially draw angry people to your blog but I too find punch discourse insane because it's absolutely insane that people find Chimney awful and irredeemable for that when so many people move on from that time when Buck tried to refuse care to a teen mom who was hemorrhaging after giving birth. Like I guess the point is it's insane that damn near every character's sins are brought up (especially if Buck is on the opposing side) but so many people are just straight up not willing to ever go as hard on Buck for some of the messed up things he's done. I really do love Buck as a character but man some people in the fandom woobify him so much and it's incredibly frustrating.

first of all, don't worry about stupid people flocking to my blog with drama, i'll just block them if they get annoying <3

and yeah, out of all the characters Buck gets woobiefied the most, hands down. i think it's partially because a lot of people didn't watch or sleepwalked through season 1 and forget that Buck was the deaignated troublemaker character. a lot of people think of him as this co-parent for Eddie and Christopher, this responsible guy who saved Chris in the tsunami and who helped Eddie get the help he needed with childcare.

and not the guy who literally stole ("borrowed") life saving municipal equipment without permission while on shift. i think we giggle a lot about how he stole the truck on multiple occasions just to get his dick wet, but what if there was a call coming in? you know, actual people dying in a fire.

and yeah, he was hotheaded (still is in some cases) and didn't have the best of judgement all the time, but that was part of his journey. people mostly remember the big buddie moments (the shooting and all the crying) and kinda just... forget all the shit he put people through over the years.

and i love him so much, because he's a fucked up character learning to be good and it's interesting to see.

but also, i already went into a rant about Chim's situation, so i won't do that again, but i will say that a lot of people get super high and mighty when it comes to mistakes or wrong-doings of fictional characters, saying that "it makes no sense" or "he wouldn't do that" going off of the thought process that they themselves would not do that — which is also probably false.

most recently we saw how people were saying that Eddie would not go after a woman who looked exactly like Shannon — his dead wife and his life's focal point — just cuz he was in a relationship; which he already wanted to bail on once, mind you. because they can't imagine the effects of grief this character went through or understand his motivations because of it.

and i think that's the same thing with Chim. no nuance, just "violence bad. buck is pookie. he doesn't deserve it." and that's that. nevermind the incredible stress and heartbreak and the feeling of betrayal Chim was actually going through.

also, again. this is a TV drama, which means they gotta do stuff just for the drama. take it or leave it, i guess.

[bluelolblue]

I present more Santino headcanons🍷

I love talking about him, I'm literally him :>

@evren-sadwrn you wanted more Santino headcanons AND I GIVE YOU MORE SANTINO HEADCANONS ‼️

I'm starting with sad/angst stuff bc I'm feeling like it but TRUST THE PROCESS

Santi started smoking as a teen, (like idk 16-17 years old) as a coping mechanism from all the stress that he's been going through, mostly bc of his father bullshit and that age was just rough for him

Vincent was kinda like his first boyfriend but that mf was very toxic with him. And Santino couldn't see that at first bc he was young and in love but later on he realized how he was actually being treated and just used, he broke up with him. I'm talking about how Vincent manipulated the shit out of him all the time and just used everything he told him against him. Even his traumatic experiences. Vincent used it against him in arguments to get what he wants

Santino learned how to control his emotions. He can switch up fast. But it's not a good thing. He literally goes into the bathroom while fighting back his tears, looks at himself and kinda just breaths through it and just smiles like he didn't want to scream and cry a second ago

He likes to sing (I can't remember if I mentioned it already?) but ONLY around people he trusts and can actually be himself around...so not often and not too many people

Speaking of people he trusts...he barely had any friends growing up. I mean, he was the Camorra's heir ofc it's gonna be a struggle to find true friends. However, Ares still remained loyal to him through years and that's something he values. Loyalty. (They had crushes on each other for some time)

Aahhh I always talk about him and John AND I WILL CONTINUE-

Santino was literally jealous of Helen. Because she hit the jackpot. John is everything Santino is looking for in a relationship. John is caring, loyal, romantic, helpful, careful, gentle...the list just keeps going

And that's something Santino needs.. he needs to heal

Thing about Santino is that...he knows he's broken on the inside, he can feel it yet sometimes he doesn't bother with trying to help himself. He just suffers in silence because he got used to it...but he kinda knows that's not right

Okay how about some positive stuff :D

Santino has a collection of some books he's into. Like...a full collection of A LOT of books that he ACTUALLY read.

Santino actually likes watching football (or soccer, so some of you don't get confused) but only when it's like World or Europe competition, not clubs. And he's gonna be screaming and cursing in Italian at the tv

I wrote this already but- his guilty pleasure is pizza, spaghetti and risotto and he likes all that in the most basic way. Like plain cheese pizza. But not the fucking frozen ones, he's gonna kill whoever offers him frozen pizza.

Santino discovered most of his kinks with John. Because John was up for anything, really:

"Choking? Alright but I'll be gentle."

"No, you don't have to be~"

"...Santino, we talked about this-"

John just doesn't want to hurt him, even if it's by accident

Not to mention the hair pulling UMNHH~ sorry, got a bit excited :3

Yeah he's very...VERY into the hair pulling

He also just likes the feeling of someone rubbing his head, like playing with his hair. When John discovered that, he did that to him every night while they were cuddling in bed until Santino fell asleep. It's such a comforting thing that Santino can't get enough of. *sighs* it has to do with the trauma...

Yes, he likes to tease and be very flirty with John. And he absolutely loves to wear his shirts in the morning after their sexy time- or when he's cold or can't find his shirt (*coughs* or it got ripped *coughs*), John is like: "You can have mine :)" and it's too big for Santino so it kinda looks funny but they both like it so it's fine. And Santino likes the way it smells like John

The fucking praises. He eats that shit up:

"You're such a good boy, Santi..."

"You're doing so good for me..."

Praises like that

And he doesn't mind when the dog joins them in bed before sleeping. If they're in um...flirty mood however, they just kinda give the dog some treats and lead it outside of the bedroom

I GOT CARRIED AWAY-

He smokes after sex most of the time

He has this mindset on: "I don't want to be like my father." But then keeps doing similar things his father did...like smoking and he often catches himself even acting like him- mostly when he snaps at someone and he regrets it

He loves spending time at the beach. Summer time, he's gonna be in Italy on the beaches (yk what? He even goes to Croatia during summer, when I catch him there) so he likes to get some tan and breathe in the scent of the sea and yeah go for a swim

John also took him there few times during nights so it's only them two and it was really romantic. At the beach during night, looking at the sky and how the moon reflects on the sea

He likes strawberries...and grapes...most of the fruits, bc why not

When he tries not to live a day on cigarettes and coffee, he actually eats some fruit as a snack

His breakfast is: Cappuccino or other type of coffee that he feels like having, black coffee when...when um...it gets rough or he is hangover and then a cigarette...on bad days, it's even worse

Someone give him some tiramisu, he loves it

Anyways- I'M HAPPY TO TALK ABOUT MY ITALIAN HUSBAND 😫 🇮🇹 ‼️

I will probably write more headcanons about him again...bc like, I stan him and he's my husband

Here are my first headcanons about him

[likeadevils]

rank songs Jack Antonoff made with Florence + The Machine?

THANK YOU FOR ASKING

The Bomb: i feel like objectively this isn’t the best song on the album however i’m just absolutely obsessed with it. it’s absolutely perfect, it’s just such a simple concept delivered concisely with just the right amount of wistfulness. that “come here baby, tell me that i’m wrong” is just so perfectly delivered. please tell me i’m wrong. but you can’t. and that’s okay, i’m mostly over it now. except for all the ways i’m not

Morning Elvis: i can’t listen to this without crying at some point i don’t know it’s so good just listen to it. that build? immaculate

King: i remember listening to this for the first time in the car and i didn’t want to stop listening to it so i ended up driving for like two hours all alone and just screaming along with the wailing at the end. it’s so. she has an insane command of her voice and that bit at the end is so. what can not be said will be wept

Girls Against God: genuinely at 18 i came to this exact same realization and to this day it’s what drags me out of suicidal spirals. just. spitting at god and saying if you want me dead come down here and do it yourself, i won’t do it for you, fuck you. also the first verse calls me the fuck out

Cassandra: so my mom grew up super catholic, and she genuinely believed in it for most of her adult life, but a couple of years ago so started really struggling with her faith. and kinda in the middle of that she got to go to italy, and she had this day to herself, so she was wandering around the duomo in florence which is this like, massive, beautiful cathedral, and she was listening to this song and openly weaping because she realized she just didn’t feel god’s love within her anymore. and i never really believed in god myself but i can’t listen to those “well can you see me? i can not see you” without thinking of my mom

Free: I’M ALWAYS RUNNING FROM SOMETHING, I PUSH IT BACK BUT IT JUST KEEPS ON COMING, AND BEING CLEVER NEVER GOT ME VERY FAR, BECAUSE ITS ALL IN MY HEAD! OH, YOURE TOO SENSITIVE THEY SAID, I SAID OKAY, BUT LETS DISCUSS THIS AT THE HOSPITAL!!!

Choreomania: i want to like this song so much more than i do, like don’t get me wrong i still like it, but this should by all accounts be a love, but i don’t know. i don’t love the spoken intro. but i absolutely love the SOMETHINGS! COMING!s, and “but do they speak to you? because they speak to me too, the pressure and the panic you push your body through.” and of course, “you said that rock and roll is dead, but is it just because it hasn’t been resurrected in your image” (though like if jesus came back but in a beautiful dress does undercut it a bit for me)

Dream Girl Evil: obsessed with the production on this, the verses are amazing, it incorporates religion in a genuinely perfect way, i love the idea of the chant on the chorus, but every once in a while there’s a line that pulls me out

Heaven is Here: love this so much. like i can’t stress enough how much i love florence and the machine like if this was on another artists album then it would easily be in the top five but it’s on this album so it’s somehow in the bottom 3

Prayer Factory: i love the melody for “why don’t you give me a call, open my mouth yes i’ll take it all”

White Cliffs of Dover: it’s good? i don’t think i’d go out of my way to listen to it but i also won’t skip it if it pops up

Back in Town: a rare skip for florence, i’ve genuinely probably listened to this song maybe five times ever

[koukaaa-descent]

A few questions! /pos

- How did Indigo and Monsoon find out about Gordion, did they just piece together Sigurd's logs or did they experience something that taught them about Death?

- Did Indigo have a crew before he found Monsoon, or was he alone? If alone, why? Is it because, as an amalgamate creation the company assumed he would have no need for companionship or extra power/protection?

- Did Indigo or Monsoon ever make more friends, maybe something like a friendly loot bug or an uninterested coil-head?

- What year does their story take place? Iirc the main game takes place around 2500 and Sigurd's logs are from about 1990

- Do you think those manmade creations by the company, coils, masks, nuts, maybe jesters (?) retain any of their sentience/commitment toward people, or have they all been perfectly programmed to be commitment solely to the company/their facilities/mansions?

LETSFUCKING GOOO THIS IS GOING TO BE VERY LONG I THINK. HOPEFULLY I WILL REMEMBER TO LABEL THE SECTIONS.

in retrospect this is so fucking long (cry for help)

FIRST QUESTION;

Indigo discovered the mythos and legend surrounding Gordion by wandering moons & slowly finding the logs and files left behind by various sources (not all of them Sigurd!!).

Indigo usually goes into facilities alone, as Monsoon does not like Hoarding Bugs and tends to try and immediately kill or eat them on sight, uncaring of whether or not it is walking into a swarm of ten. This dislike stems from a singular day early into its life wherein a Hoarding bug attempted to steal Indigo’s scarf. Indigo can attest to the bug’s very quick death; you really don’t think a creature the size of a dog can be that vicious. Especially not when it was curled contently in one’s arm the moment before.

A majority of these things regard Gordion as an ‘end to all endings’. Thus why it is occasionally referred to as ‘Death’. Indigo’s not particularly talented at exploration or survival, and he has a propensity for getting lost inside of facilities. This has led him into places very, very deep inside of said facilities—deep enough that he’d found actual human skeletons at some point, long since rotted away.

In those particularly deep halls, one certainly finds equally old documents & writings. Indigo spends roughly half of an entire day reading and absorbing all of the information left behind. Most of it details a monster to be defeated; very little regards the monster as a thing to be worshipped. His logic is sort of like this; monster bad? monster bad. these people wanted it dead so surely I must want it dead too. & then that idea grew into an awful purpose.

Monsoon is too young at this point and not yet intelligent enough to care much regarding Gordion. It reacts much as an animal would, sharing in the stress of one close to itself.

Experiencing something that taught them about Death; yes and also no. Indigo’s had to fulfill quota cycles alone, and there is roughly a two week period wherein he fulfills said quotas. An interaction with the tendrils in the wall is inevitable.

In all honesty, quotas were very easy for Indigo. Things very rarely bother you when you too seem strange. That, and the (at the time) hip-height Bracken that frequently went through smaller creature populations each time it was present. Monsoon did not go inside very often, though, usually having been left outside to hunt & watch the ship.

SECOND QUESTION;

Yes, indigo had a crew. For roughly four days before they all died either because of him or for him. The only one he recalls with any clarity would be the same one who’d attempted to protect him, however vainly, from a Masked on Rend. It wasn’t a very fruitful endeavor in all honesty. The masked was mostly just curious about him—entirely passive. Until she came into the picture, of course.

Indigo did watch her die. Or, rather, be converted. Oddly, he’d begun to salivate as if in sympathy towards the boiling blood the Masked threw up with heaving, shuddering retches. There remained the distinct taste of copper within his own mouth, as well as an odd sting. As is the life of one with fucked anatomy.

Indigo is not special in this context for being a frankenstein-esque creature. Nearly every worker belonging to the company was at one point remade with the corpses of other things, eventually straying into the territory of creatures & entities. They do not keep their original consciousness nor their personality. Once remade, it is the total and utter erasure of the self. This, solely, was the only process observed with meticulous focus within the Company. It is no longer necessary, as there are no individuals on their ‘first’ lives anymore.

Going by this idea; Indigo was never human. He was never originally human. He is the amalgamation between that which is dead and that which remains alive, despite the self’s attempts to claw it back into the grave. Fun fact; Indigo only has two organs. A heart and a stomach. Neither have much use, though the heart functions well enough. Probably.

Workers are mass-produced, some more eroded than the others. Some don’t even believe that they are human, nor that they are anything. Something that remains mostly consistent throughout each iteration of every worker is ‘purpose’. It is a fairly abstract thing, mostly symbolizing their ties to the Company and the desire (conscious or unconscious) to continue to serve it.

Also, the Company is not the same thing as Gordion. They are separate things. I am willing to say that the Company was once run by living entities, but that there is nothing living left inside of it. It is now entirely automated, hence why so many people slip through the cracks.

THIRD QUESTION;

Regarding whether or not Indigo or Monsoon have met friendly entities; yes, they have. Indigo has interacted with Masked on more than five occasions, and Monsoon likes Nutcrackers and Jesters. It loves the music, and sometimes tries to whistle along.

Coil-heads hardly even acknowledge Indigo’s existence. Even when he looks at them, they merely slow rather than stop. As their freezing is entirely behavioral, this is acknowledgment enough. As a throwback to the other world building post; Coil-heads are eroded, dead people. Indigo, too, is technically an individual eroded into its current state and rendered essentially dead. Basically. Kind of. The most that a Coil-head acknowledges Indigo is when he directly tries to interact with them. Only then do they freeze. (i just imagined something really evil.)

Something about kinship between dead and dying things. It’s more of a dismissive kinship.

Anyways. They do not meet any other individuals during their lifespans. Perhaps they’ve heard other crews through the halls, but they’ve never seen said people. And who knows? They might’ve just been Masked.

Loot bugs are not viable as friends for these 2. Monsoon is explanation enough.

FOURTH QUESTION. I am writing all of this in one sitting please send help. my brain is static)

The story takes place roughly around the range of 2500-2550. I will not be giving it a definitive date as . If I do that the evil will take over (EXCESSIVE MICROMANAGING REGARDING LORE)

It’s basically the same as it is in-game. There’s just,,,, a lot more secret places as well as some extra things you can find lying around. The only major change to everything would be the atmosphere, i think??? This entire world I’ve built up to in my head has become fairly somber and quiet, in a sense. The entire universe is an aftermath. The dust has settled and there are no more soldiers left to disturb it. War has been done and over with and an unhealing universe is left to attempt to mend the pieces as it is devoured.

Also, there are ‘groups’ outside of the Company.

FIFTH QUESTION (i am actively falling aslee

First off; manmade entities could not be ‘programmed’ even after their masters/owners/companions died off. I only included Coil-heads in the manmade category because they’re quite literally just people who’d been eroded by a star.

The Jester is not manmade, technically. It’s related to the nutcracker, and i will not be thinking about how they reproduce in any measure in my head right now. . Think of it kind of like how domesticated animals become ‘wild’ over the years. (Ex. Feral cat colonies. This does also imply that they can be ‘domesticated’ again.)

None of them are tied to the Company beyond being hostiles categorized within the database.

Nutcrackers and the Masked are the only two entities to retain any form of sentience. They both retain differing measures of duty towards people. The Nutcracker protects its ‘home’ and designated patrol area. It is not sentient enough to question whether or not there are actually other Nutcrackers patrolling other parts of the area, or even if there are any others at all. It’s a pretty lonely existence, mainly because there is nobody else to sing with. (Can you imagine it? Legions of singing machines, marching through war. Each step a heartbeat, each whistle & trill a body added to the piles. Perhaps the songs were meant to comfort those dying people, too.)

The Masked were created by an unnamed organization in the attempts to create an object capable of 1) going on even after all of those who created it were dead and 2) continuing their work, all for the sole purpose of destroying Gordion. Obviously, this didn’t work out very well. Shambling corpses and rotting memory, pervading the shell of purposeless existence. Thus; they created their own purpose. Grabbed onto it with decaying hands and made something of it.

If you were to enter a facility and come face to face with a Nutcracker and were to, say, take off your helmet… the humanoid expression is deeply familiar to those of its kind. Nutcrackers retain an awfully long memory, going back decades with decent clarity. However, they are not entirely of the flesh; they, too, have databases and cores. The most important memories are stored beside their ‘heart’.

Generally, a Nutcracker first stores the moment of its creation within those databanks. Inaudible murmuring; warm hands lowering it into an endless darkness. Then, a song. (Originally, the music-boxes were meant to comfort the newly-created Nutcrackers and prevent panic. It’s a very strange thing, to come into the world and believe it is dark. They were only made into a fundamental feature after others expressed the joy they brought. I suppose they weren’t always war machines, but simply war machines for a relatively short time.)

A Mask or Masked is not sentient. They have existed for the last three hundred years or so. They have had time to slowly develop. They are relative failures regarding what their creators desired of them. The Masked struggle with a yearning intrinsic to their very existence. Yet, what do they yearn for?

Jesters can be domesticated. I just need to reiterate this. They’re just wilder Nutcrackers with stranger shells.

Coil-heads are, in simpler terms, memories of people. Like all memories, the clarity of such things fades. Most often these memories are physically bleached from the body, resulting in the stark beige color they are most common with. Some ‘variants’ may retain body hair, toenails, teeth (in places teeth should probably not grow), and active, flowing blood. They are not in pain. They are simply bleached, empty husks that once were people of any and all species, who once attempted to contain a star. A star does not hold disdain, but i imagine that being trapped in any way is rather displeasing.

Spore lizards were also once domesticated war-dogs bred to distract, detect and alarm. Some were specifically trained to bite at any small disturbance and set off into crowds. They were quite renowned for their use during the war, up to and including one named Daisy that was memorialized after devastating a forty-person squad of soldiers before succumbing to its wounds.

Nutcrackers may hold the memories but the Masked hold the emotion. Think of this what you will.

IM DONE IMDKNE IM DONE…………….. imfreee…… ive been trapped here for 6 years I am starving to deatf… (I REALLY ENJOYED MAKING THIS I JUST CHOSE A BAD TIME (GUY WHO IS ACTIVELY FALLING ASLEEP))

might be edited later I am legitimately falling asleep trying to re read this

[certifiedbitch777]

Don't Touch My Hair... I MEANT IT!!!

Entry Date: 1/18/2024 11:03 pm

Today's topic is 'Don't Touch My Hair,' and I mean it quite literally. I am tired.

Tired.

Tired.

I'm so tired of this shit, and I want to cry and scream and more.

My hair is something I've struggled with since I was a kid. It's a very sore spot. When asked what their ideal hair would be growing up, most girls would point out things such as a difference in texture, thicker hair, or even extra length. For me, it sucked because I didn't have any of the desired traits.

My hair was a lot different than my siblings. Their hair was much fuller than mine. My hair is low density, aka it's hella thin... Man, is it really thin. Reflecting on what I know about my hair now, my hair also has low porosity, while my siblings seemed to have medium porosity.

My mother struggled to plant the proper seeds to make my hair grow and be healthy. She didn't know how to take care of hair like mine. With my siblings having thicker and much more resilient hair, it was no reason why their hair seemed to flourish in different settings; meanwhile, mine would break off at the most minor inconvenience.

For the majority of my life, I grew up with short hair and even went through the phase in middle school of lying about my length so that I wouldn't be ridiculed. I would go to extreme lengths to manipulate my hair in a particular way to feel more feminine and aligned with the beauty standards. None of that would be able to erase the many years of humiliation I would feel from my peers or even my external family (grandma, aunties, etc.). It was like a running joke...

I felt so ugly for many years, but I still held the idea that my beauty was tied to how my hair looked. Even now, in my early 20s approaching my mid-20s, I still struggle with this. I struggle with prioritizing my physical appearance, though I know the beauty within is what counts the most. And trust, I do focus on building my internal world and shifting the harmful internal dialogue, but it's just so hard when the world is built on all superficial matters.

I've won over certain battles that I faced regarding the beauty standard. For example, I have big boobs. Big boobs, by nature, sag due to gravity, skin elasticity, genetics, and so many more factors. I thought something was wrong with me during my teen years. I mean, why the hell was my boobs frowning if I didn't even birth any children?? But the older I got, the less I started to care. Shit neither does my partner, so I just learned to embrace this difference within myself. But when it comes to my hair... it's the battle I'm struggling to win over the most.

I shaved my hair in the summer of 2022. It is now January 2024, and I'm still baldheaded.

Granted, the past year, for me, has been highly stressful. I suffered hair loss due to stress from work, my weight was fluctuating, and my health over was in the gutter. Due to this, I started balding in random spots. However, it's been MONTHS since I stopped balding, and my hair is not even 5 inches...

It makes me feel so ugly.

So masculine.

I mean, I've been with my boyfriend for 2 years, and since we've dated, I've been taking care of his hair. His hair is now mid-back length, drastically different from his mini afro. And yet, here I am, his girl, with shorter hair. It just makes me feel so undesirable. I feel the need to wear a full face of makeup every time my hair is out. That is just utter bullshit!

I'M JUST SO FUCKING TIRED!!

And I'm so hurt.

This never-ending battle with my feminity tied to something as trivial as my hair is draining me. If anybody asked me if I was over all of my hair struggles that summer of 2022 before I shaved it, I would've said yes!! But I'm clearly not and don't know what to do.

Outside of being overpriced for simple services, these new-age stylists LOVE adding a pile of product, mostly thick gel, to our hair and straightening it for basic styles... How are these styles being labeled protective??? My hair just simply won't thrive in those conditions.

And what sucks is I love styles such as mini braids or twists, but hair is such a low density, I end up looking like Cynthia from rug rats LMFAOO. Just 3 goddamn braids on my hair.

I want to know how do I feel pretty with my hair in its current state. That's the question no one knows how to answer, and I don't expect them to. The answer should come from me and only me, but this battle just feels so lonely...

[nikatyler]

Zeph 1.0

can't believe that yesterday i was like eh i'm not sure about that armor, it looks so good on them

(x)

oooh a pretty evil lady!

(x)

same girl, same, about everything that has ever happened to me

(x)

it's been 84 years (more like 16 hours) but i'm finally opening bg3 again ✨

i think i'll do some more goblin camp shenanigans today if possible 👀

ohhh right. essentially i've already murdered like half the goblin camp so now the other half of the camp is trying to murder me, huh?

Me: "ah yes I'm far enough" *the explosion hits Zeph and Zeph dies* *reloads* "ah yes now I'm definitely far enough" *the explosion hits Zeph again and Zeph dies again*

"yeah we've got this" *the entire party dies*

Fucking gnolls man

yeah it's been a long bloody day

HELLO SAY THAT AGAIN

hUH

jesus christ this man is h🫣rny

Okay so I'll go watch a baking show with my mum in a bit and then we're going back and doing da thing 😏

Sorry for not giving updates if you were looking forward to them, anyway a little thing I love is how everyone sleeps on their back. I do that and apparently that's weird to everyone around me? 😂🤨

I will literally be in my bed like 🧍‍♂️

(x)

newest development in my bg3-rotten brain

did i mention this game is doing things to me because it is doing things to me

(x)

Anywayyyy you know what time it is 😌

I may have just spent an hour organizing everyone's inventories and figuring out who gets what armor and all but we're good to go now I think

Explosive shrooms, yay 🤩

(x)

I'm 💀💀💀 I need to go to bed lmao

Okay so basically what happened um. I don't know how but it did. So I wanted to help Astarion. But I clicked the wrong thing. And I pushed him off the boat. And he died.

I RELOADED BUT HOW DID I EVEN DO THAT 😭😭

If there's one thing about me it's that I'll accidentally murder my favourite vampires

(x)

I love Zeph so much they're so prettyyyyyy

Kinda wanna make a modern day version of them in ts4 and have them interact with my other characters. They'd fit right in

(x)

hole hehe. hole

(x)

my bi ass is having a bit of a dilemma rn

(x)

gay gay gay they're in love your honor

HELL YEAH KISS

(x)

Raw footage of me during my latest combat

I was actually so stressed dude 😭 thankfully we made it through but ahhhhh

Does anyone else apologize to the characters when they get hurt? Like sorry lil guy in my computer I'm sorry I'm putting you through this I promise you'll make it out I PROMISE ah fuck you're getting hit again oh no sorry sorry ahhhh

So uh. The adamantine forge fight huh. 🙂

(x)

Granted it doesn't count ts4 correctly rn probably because I haven't updated yet but…yeah 😅😅

(also I have way more hours on ts4 actually, this is just since Jan 2023, I played through Origin/EA app before and then switched to Steam for reasons)

(x)

my fucking thoughts exactly, i hate this battle 😭😭 on a real note i relate to him so much when he's whining DUDE WE LIVE

i should've known he wouldn't take that as a good thing lmaoooooo dude creases when you smile is the biggest compliment smh

FREN!!!

(x)

oops

(x)

I'm sorry what

(x)

pwettyyyyy

(x)

I'm sensing that I may have messed up real bad in Last Light Inn yesterday...ooops

I should've reloaded to see if things could turn out differently but I've done a lot afterwards, idk if I wanna go back now 😂 No spoilers pls, that's something for me to figure out in my next playthrough

"ooops" people DIED 💀 people i had previously saved died 💀

(x)

You're never gonna believe who I murdered again

(x)

I'm fucking crying I need you to resurrect him you moron stop shaming Zeph for having a sex life Update we are so back lads

(x)

Funny how fast I went from "I think Zeph is mostly good, they just want to get rid of the parasite and help people along the way" to "actually fuck it darling you're so right some power would be nice"

(x)

Crying laughing sending this to my sibling who's in art school. On point

(x)

"eh we'll be fine i don't need bonuses" *rolls 1*

(x)

daddy Ketheric omg💀💀

(x)

uh anyway

(x)

this is the best they are the best 🥹

(x)

Don't be upset, I will reload, just don't be upset with me pleaseeee 😭

The "please a videogame vampire at all costs" disease is real I'm afraid

(x)

Uh oh it's almost 3am, tomorrow will be an eepy day, well it's worth it

(x)

I'm so close to having a funny number of hours played 🤭

(x)

Killed the workout, now let's kill this guy that I struggled with for half an hour. Almost killed my whole party in the process so I quit and decided to kill my legs instead 😂

(x)

[kthecutest]

Random Rant??

so I was really on track to just stay positive today but i just cannot....

context : I found a tik tok of a clip from Nichomaki's live reacting to enhypen's criminal love. An engene&lune in the comment section said &Team voice would suit the song and a cover would be nice. I saw a lot of supportive comments but then the toxic engenes start flooding in. In summary, they were just practically trying to say that Enha's vocals are better than &Team (aka favoritism)

See as harmless and peaceful as it sounded, it wasn't. And no this isn't me being overdramatic or favoritism from my side. I love all the boys equally truly. But the way they were trying so damn hard to BASH &Team's vocal quality just to make their own group and themselves feel superior is really disgusting. Like we know how brilliant Enha's vocals are, but attacking another group and the fanbase was another level.

I started replying to few nasty comments at one point, the ones that go so far. And this one nasty ass engene shamelessly have the audacity to reply to me and say "Oh yea Enha's B-sides are way better than &Team's overall vocal. Their vocal sucks." - honestly to that person - do you hear yourself right now? You are comparing a 3 year old kpop group to a 1 year old rookie kpop group that just debuted last year. And you have the audacity to compare the quality and amount of tracks and sides they release. Disgusting.

Another thing I wanna point out - It's true each idol will differ on fields they're best at as well as groups which mainly is because of the difference in experience and time. And I think people need to get that in their heads. They all became 'idols' for a reason. Because they can sing and dance better than any local humans out there and can do both without collapsing on stage. These toxic shits don't even know the amount of stress and pain each idol/group goes through yet they're here so damn ready, doing nothing but sitting at home and binging on reality shows, and now you wanna bash and attack small growing groups. Disgraceful.

Apparently the fight stopped after a while between me and the person because I basically just told them I have no time or energy to be in an argument with a deluded person where this would lead absolutely nowhere. And the notifications pretty much went dead. And then that person tagged me - and that one act they did, straight up i just blocked them.

They tagged me in a jungwon edit video and then wrote "jungwon >>>>>>>>> &Team". I'm not here to bash jungwon or Enhypen, i truly love them, they're literally the group i stanned before &Team formed. And the problem wasn't the edit or i'm not butt-hurt about the comment, but it's the fact that even after i left the argument and moved on, they still was raring to go. The fact that we were done with this nonsense crap-talk, and they had the audacity to tag me back and try so hard to trigger me. And ykw, congrats to the person cuz at that point, i just blocked them. I'm not trynna have someone like that bugging my ass on the notification bar, they can go cry in a ditch idc.

Conclusion : Ik i'm coming off really aggressive here - but forgive me cuz i just cannot with toxic engenes. Enhypen and &Team are practically supposed to be like brother groups. They share the same lore, same storyline, even appear in each other's mvs, collabs, the past survival show contestants, the bonds - Everything. Yet its either twitter or tik tok each day, it's not even any other group stans atp, it's literally mostly just engenes. Like it is unbelieveable, how the toxic part of the enha fanbase, literally wants to target and stir discord between the two bonded groups and each other's fanbases.

A lot of engenes are also the ones currently apart of the Lune community including me and i just cannot imagine the shame and embarrassment and absolute disappointment, we must have to feel witnessing all this crap that our same old fanbase is at.

Toxic engenes just need to fucking stop. You guys are so full of yourselves. You guys even have the audacity to call normal engenes CRAZY just because they weren't in your damn toxic train.

I understand favoritism, thats something most people have, I can literally sit here and say Niki was my first love but I favoritize K over him just bc it's my liking. But that doesn't mean I'm going to go attack Niki. You can favoritize someone and love someone without trying to bash and launch at everyone else that isn't THE PERSON. It's crazy how these same toxic engenes have to make &Team and Lune inferior just soo they could feel superior

And ykw the worst thing is - it's these same toxic engenes that make other normal engenes like us want to quit the entire fanbase and these toxic sewage cans are the same reason that the engene fandom has a shit reputation.

[ferindencadash]

twenty questions for fic writers!

Tagged by @samuelroukin 🙏❤️

1. how many works do you have on ao3?

14

2. what's your total ao3 word count?

78,977

3. what fandoms do you write for?

So far just Mass Effect, Dragon Age, and Baldur's Gate

4. top five fics by kudos

A Port in the Storm - Mass Effect - FShep/pre-embodied EDI

Blood and Flesh - BG3 - Durgetash

Stockholm - Mass Effect - FShep/Zaeed

The Crack in Everything - Mass Effect - FShep/Ashley

Stitched Together - Mass Effect - MShep/James

5. do you respond to comments?

Always. My favourite thing about fanfic is connecting with people. I've made some amazing friends through the comments section.

6. what is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

Blood and Flesh for sure. It's Durgetash hate-fucking so... 😅I think all my other fics at least have a hopeful/bittersweet ending.

7. what's the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

If you count the sort-of epilogue in the author notes, Stockholm. They fuckin earned it after the shit I put them through. 👀 If you don't count that, probably Cold Feet.

8. do you get hate on fics?

Not yet! Knock on wood, because I will cry. 🥲 I'm pretty careful with tagging, I think that helps.

9. do you write smut?

Almost exclusively. 😅 It's usually mixed with plot though.

10. craziest crossover:

I haven't written one yet, but I do have this incredibly stupid Mass Effect/Letterkenny fic somewhat plotted out. 😂 Target audience of one (me), right there.

11. have you ever had a fic stolen?

Not that I know of. Much like my identity, I can't imagine anyone wanting to claim that for themselves. 😂

12. have you ever had a fic translated?

Nope!

13. have you ever co-written a fic before?

I have! It was fun but also incredibly stressful, so I probably wouldn't do it again.

14. all time favorite ship?

Shepard(any gender)/Kaidan/James. I could write essays on them. Ironically I have yet to publish a fic with them (though I have one in the works right now!) mostly because the standard I've set for myself with them is entirely too high. I blame PossumBones for writing them so perfectly I could never compare.

15. what's a wip you want to finish but doubt you ever will?

I have an unhealthy amount of wips, but I don't want to give up on any of them permanently. The one that I most want to write, but is giving me the hardest time is my FShep/Aria piece, even though it's a short one-shot. I think because it has almost zero dialogue, and dialogue is the part I'm best at. 😅 But it's such a good little piece in my head. I just need to get better at writing before I can do it justice I think.

16. what are your writing strengths?

As above, dialogue. It always flows the easiest for me, and I'm usually quite happy with the end result. I've been told a lot that I'm good at nailing the character voices, which is very important to me. I spend HOURS listening to in-game dialogues before/while writing scenes, until I can hear them talking in my head.

17. what are your writing weaknesses?

Pacing, I think. I rush too much. (I have the same problem with my academic papers) I try to slow down and add more detail, but I get bored. 😅 I'm working on it...

18. thoughts on dialogue in another language?

I end up doing it quite a bit (if only in short bursts) because of James Vega. It's forced me to pick up Spanish again. I'm definitely not fluent, but I'm improving!

19. first fandom you wrote in?

Mass Effect. A Port in the Storm was my first piece I ever wrote. I published it just under a year ago. I actually just checked, and my first fic anniversary is exactly one week away! 🎂 I don't care if it's cheesy, I'm honestly really proud of myself for what I've accomplished in a year.

20. favorite fic you've written?

Stitched Together. I really, really love it. I wish more people would read it. 😅 It actually has started to pick up a little bit of attention in the last couple of weeks (just pushing it to my top five!), I'm not sure why, but every kudos that pops up on it makes me ridiculously happy.

I think my anxiety is officially too high to tag people today. 🥲 I always feel like I'm harassing people (even though I love getting tagged). So, please, seriously, if you want to play PLEASE DO and please please tag me (mutual or not) so I can read your answers! I honestly love reading these things.