#sometimes people die when they don’t deserve to

[the-fruit-tea-devil]

A monster witch who murderer her poor husband: This story makes me sick to my stomach

⚠️Trigger warning: violence, murder, torture, strong language⚠️

I was looking up murder stories because I was bored and I found this. When I read it, I actually cried. It made so mad and so sad. The psychological and physical torture this man had to go through is just horrific and this woman got a pleasure out of it. This worthless fucking whore beat and tortured her poor husband and starved him. If someone did that to brother/cousins/whatever, I’m LITERALLY ripping their teeth out.

Edit: she was given a 32 year minimum sentence in 2010 when she was 28 and IIRC she could possibly be eligible for parole when she’s 60 (though hopefully she never leaves prison)

[bottombillyapologist]

My opinion on billy hargrove as a character is so complicated but I think I can boil is down as: he is one of the few realistic interpretations of an imperfect abuse victim where his actions make you uncomfortable and it can be generally agreed he doesn’t take Good actions, but even just the slightest bit of thinking can make you understand why he does what he does. Why it makes sense to him.

You can look at him and go “I empathize with you, I understand you, I could’ve been you if I didn’t have a support system” or even “I WAS you” or “I AM you” and I think the reason he is so controversially liked/disliked is there is some inherent belief that somehow despite the way you were raised, you’re supposed to just inherently know what’s right and wrong. And yeah, once you’re in recovery you tend to learn what’s right and wrong, but nowhere in Billy’s story does anyone ever tell him the way he’s being treated is wrong. No one tells him the actions he’s taking because of it are wrong. Or on the other hand, he is punished so universally for his behavior it is hard to discern when his actions are actually wrong, or if he’s being treated unfairly. He is never shown empathy or understanding until quite literally, the moment he dies.

The message of his story is that when you are isolated, abused, and angry, no one tries to help you until it’s already too late. So yeah, I think anyone can dislike a character for any reason they want, but writing him off as an abusive racist when the quite literally Point Of His Character is “this is what can happen to a person when they are never given kindness/empathy/support and it warps their morals and actions to be violent and/or prejudiced” is just. Wrong. Especially when that includes attacking people who empathize with his character.

Regardless of if you like it or not, there are real people who were like that, are like that, and they deserve love, support, and empathy as much as any “‘perfect’” abuse victim that never perpetuated the cycle. Anger is simply a product of the fear that comes with abuse. Redirecting that anger at others is a learned behavior that comes with coping with that abuse, it’s not right, but you can’t unlearn it unless you’re given a chance to heal. Every abuse victim deserves support and a chance to heal and learn from their past actions and mindsets. Understanding a mindset is not the same thing as condoning it.

So please for the love of god, leave people alone when they write a happy ending for someone they see themselves in.

[tinytimism]

i’m having such a hard time wrapping my mind around liam payne’s death. i didn’t like him as a person and i don’t think anyone whose discussed his abuse of maya henry should retract their statements or feel bad about them no matter how harsh they were because it’s important to talk about to prevent it from happening again. because of his history of abuse and grooming fans i can’t mourn him the way i would’ve ten years ago and any tears i do shed will be for his friends family maya henry and his other victims who shouldn’t feel bad and be made to feel bad by stans who put their faves over the protection and safety of women and girls. i don’t feel like it’s the place of people who didn’t know him personally (knew him through one direction etc) to tell other who didn’t know him because emotions have no morality and people’s feelings over a death shouldn’t be dictated underneath a urfaveisproblematic lens

[thnksfrthmmrs]

[strohller27]

.

[daydreamerdrew]

The Incredible Hulk (1968) #253

[ashironie]

worst comes to worst, have a backup plan friend who’s cool with you eating like their arm or something. like obviously absolutely last option just too keep you from keeling over until you can get your next meal, but it’s only like an arm and they consent

Posts that be like “If I were a monster that had to eat people, i would just eat horrible people~” are so absurd to me. How often do you see Known Criminals on the street? Billionaires out for a nightly stroll around town? Effectively fucking never. If I have to drag myself to the grocery store, you think it’s gonna be any easier for me to hunt Bezos and Co. every time my stomach growls? I can’t bother to plan meals more than a day in advance, how am i gonna perform whole ass detective work to confirm someone’s a serial killer before i eat them? Ya’ll got that much time on your hands? Planning 5 course meals every night of the week? Don’t make me laugh. Eat a pedestrian and tragically wrestle with guilt like the rest of us, idiot.

[asteroidtroglodyte]

5 years ago, I was in Rehab.

10 years ago, I was watching my Potential and Opportunities dissolve and evaporate in an ocean of cheap gin and expensive whiskey.

But 5 years ago, I was in Rehab.

One of the exercises they had us perform was to imagine ourselves happy, 5 years in the future.

Many of us in that room had forgotten how to imagine nice things happening to them. A few snorted (well, I snorted), finding the notion that we’d even still be around in 5 years grimly humorous.

For about half of us, it was the last stop on the way down.

But I indulged the therapist. I was there, after all, because I did not want to die. So, I imagined myself, 5 years hence.

Happy.

It came to me all at once; an artistic remix on Norman Rockwell’s Freedom From Want, reframed with myself placing food at the table.

Sunday Dinner At My Place, I answered, when it came my turn to share my fantasy. I was asked what food I imagined eating.

It’s not the meal itself, I said, it’s the implications framed around it. Sunday Dinner At My Place means that I have a Place. It means that I have Family that will actually speak to me and friends who actually want to see me. It means money enough not just to feed myself but others too. It means having the time to spare to take the time preparing the meal.

A lot of nodding heads all around me. A struck chord. Many people with no Place, in that place. Nowhere that would lament their leaving.

5 years hence, as I lay down to sleep in my Home, with my Wife and my Son, surrounded by my Art and my Flowers, I reflect.

It was a long road. It was hard. We lost people. So many people. There were long days and long nights and hospital stays. Angry arguments with ghosts. I changed, in ways I never hoped for, or expected. Good ways, finally, for once. Slowly, against the backdrop of a world in chaos, I found my mind.

Sometimes, My Wife wondered aloud, what she did to deserve me. After some stumbling with my feelings, I eventually settled on an answer.

I’m a Rescue.

She gave me a Home.

And, so, I gave her a Family.

It seemed fair

This Sunday, my folks, which whom I have not had a shouting match in years, will come over for dinner. We will cook and eat together. My Friend became My Wife, and she took a piece of me and with it she made Our Son. There will be many hugs, and no violence. Good Things Happened.

I don’t know who needs to hear this, but you don’t know what the future holds.

don’t give up yet, ok?

It could get good, even.

[sammydem0n64]

The whole plot of Crumbled! (at least the main plot since several characters aren’t. Involved in that. Funny side plots and characters baby!) is how organized crime affects people, inside of it and out. It’s how members of the mob don’t have anything else they can do in life aside from the life of crime, it’s how the general public are harmed by organized crime even if they aren’t being targeted personally, it’s how being a member of this lifestyle can destroy or build your relationships, it’s how no one is pure evil or pure good, it’s the complexity of people while also being about The Horrors.

No one here faces “traditional consequences” to their actions, aside from a few. Hershey doesn’t go to jail, Donna doesn’t die, etc etc. This is a story that doesn’t need those consequences. From day 1 you know these characters are doing horrible things, and at the same time these characters learn and fully comprehend they’re doing bad things. The most they get as “traditional retribution” is how some of their personal relationships are affected. Aside from that, these fuckers dont NEED what the masses would deem a traditional consequence because the entire fucking plot is them going through the horrors because of their actions! Being in the mafia and seeing and doing horrible things while having to just live with it is a pretty damn good “consequence” to me! Melphis doesn’t need to go to jail because “he needs to suffer the consequences of his actions” when every single damn day he suffers‼️

Even if Cheon’s family isn’t destroyed, even if the Oreona family doesn’t ostracize it’s members that are criminals, even if the extremes aren’t reached in these “consequences” there’s still a damn effect!!! But at the end of the day like I said these guys suffer the consequences of their actions constantly so they don’t need jail time or death or anything like that oh my god. And if you think that’s wrong and makes me romanticize, endorse or fucking glorify the mafia because Melphis doesn’t get locked up and only two members of the Oreo Gang die in the end then OHHHHHH GROW UP‼️ GROW UP‼️‼️

[saetoru]

✩ ‧₊˚ ✩ FIRST KISS — GOJO SATORU.

contents. fluff + mutual pining if you squint, it’s literally just you being satoru’s first kiss <3, he’s just a loser boy beneath all his facades !!

it’s summer the first time you kiss satoru. his lips taste like the lingering sweetness of kikufuku. the cicadas are calling, and the sun finds every crevice of your skin to hug.

it’s hot outside—but you don’t mind the heat so much when it’s the fan of satoru’s breath against your skin. you can feel his hands tremble as they finds your hips. hesitant, you note as he pauses a moment before finally letting them rest against you.

“you’re eager, sweetheart,” he hums—because satoru, even dazed from the taste of you, is still persistently himself. large hands are gently cradling the curves of your waist—he’s warm there too, where he holds you and pulls you closer to his chest. he grins when you press a kiss to his jaw, rubbing circles into your hip with his thumb.

“it doesn’t feel like you’re kissing me while held at gunpoint either, gojo,” you roll your eyes. your hand cups his face, thumb tracing over the swell of his cheek gently.

gojo—his lips, rosy and just a bit swollen, pout at the use of his surname. surely, now that you’ve stolen the innocence of his lips, you can spare him a bit more than that. surely, the intimacy of his given name doesn’t outweigh the intimacy of exchanging breath.

satoru—he imagines the way the name would sound from you, carefully whispered like a secret. everything you do is careful, he’s noticed, everything about you is thoughtful and soft.

more than anything, you’re careful in the way you touch him. you’re delicate in the way you let yourself explore his skin, like he’s fragile and easy to hurt. like all he’s ever known is pain. it’s ironic—someone like satoru should know very little about pain, should never feel the devastating blows at its hands when infinity leaves more than enough room for him to remain untouched.

but you’re funny like that; take him by surprise as you carve out the slant of his cheekbone with your thumb slowly enough that you might almost think your touch is enough to slice the skin.

it’s nice, he thinks distantly, being handled with care is nice. it’s not something this world affords so easily.

“this your first kiss?” he asks shamelessly, throwing you that lopsided grin of his.

am i your first? is what he means to ask. what he wants to ask. what he aches to ask.

is he your first? or are you only his? has anyone else tasted the strawberry of your chapstick? was it a different flavor before it was ever strawberry? satoru hopes he’s the only one to ever explore the flavors your lips might come in—maybe you’ll try cherry next. he’d like that.

“it’s certainly your first kiss,” you giggle, thumb moving down to trace his bottom lip, “i can feel you trembling, y’know.”

not many people catch gojo satoru embarrassed—you do, though. that enough should make you feel like god, perhaps. who else is powerful enough to feel the strongest quake? who else feels the quivers of his hands and the uncertain hesitance under his touch?

no one but you—and you’d like to keep it that way.

his face flushes a little, against his control. even gojo satoru is not above the rush of blood rising to his cheeks, even he cannot stop the hue of color that paints across his face. he’s human, after all—and he deserves to be treated as such: with the fragility of being human.

“no it’s not,” he scoffs, “i’ve kissed plenty.”

“yeah?” you chuckle, admiring the rosiness of his flesh, “name one person.”

“i don’t recall anyone’s name,” he shrugs, hands still making sure to keep you painfully close. if you pull away, satoru thinks he might die—thinks he might never recover from the aftershocks of such devastation. “no one was ever worthwhile enough to remember.”

he’s too much sometimes—but never less than enough. you snort, huffing out a small laugh that rings in his ears and makes him gulp.

perfect—you sound and look and feel and taste perfect. gojo satoru is the strongest, but is he deserving of the one thing this earth has that’s devoid of flaws? he’s not so sure. but he can try to be worthy, and perhaps that’s enough.

“well, then tell me, gojo,” you murmur, gently slipping the bandages from his forehead to fall to his neck. he’s only recently left the sunglasses behind—you like him better this way. you can see the outline of his features better, even if you do miss his eyes.

“hm?” he quirks a brow, breath almost hitching when his eyes meet yours—since when have you looked at him like that? since when have your pupils housed so much affection for him? have you always done so, and he’s never noticed?

it would be a crime to not have noticed before this, he thinks, a cruel and terrible reality of missing every soft and affectionate gaze.

“will i be long forgotten after this kiss? or has this one finally caught your attention?”

there is no prior kiss to compare yours to—but there never needs to be one after, either. this is the best kiss he’ll ever have, the only kiss he wants to have. no one will ever feel like you, he’s sure of it. no one will ever make him feel what you do, and even infinity is something that cannot protect him from the risks.

but satoru is not scared, not of you—and never with you.

so he grins, tapping his chin in thought as he hums, “give me another, and i’ll decide.”

you scoff in disbelief—amused, if anything, before shaking your head. he can’t help the chuckle that escapes him.

“you never change, gojo,” you say fondly, “do you know that?”

“say satoru,” he says quietly. it’s almost a plead—it sounds like a plead.

you smile. it’s an innocent little thing, untouched by the cruelties of life—or maybe it has, and you still find a reason to stay pure. maybe it’s the latter, he realizes, maybe you’re just resilient enough to remain unwavering in the way you love so unapologetically.

“come here, satoru,” you whisper, gently pulling his face closer as you hold his cheeks.

desperately, he needs to taste his name rolling off your tongue—so he comes closer, bridging the gap and kissing you again. and again—and he can’t find it in him to stop.

the same day satoru has his first kiss, you call him by his first name. it’s summer. the flowers smell sweet as the cicadas call, and you put the sun’s heat to shame.

he’ll always stay warm wrapped in you.

tbh this was supposed to be y’all fucking for the first time but then it just turned into this. alas, we prevail

[neil-gaiman]

Hi Neil.

I know you are flooded with asks and this somehow became extremely long. Too long. “Why am I suddenly telling this poor man my life story?” too long. “I think I’d rather he work on the GO3 script than read this wild beast” too long. “He’s going to think you’re criminally dangerously insane” too long. If you never get to it, I’m good with never seeing a response from you. Maybe it’s better that way? Maybe an anon would have been nice here. But, it’s 2024, so I say “we ball.” It’s a privilege to be able to send this to you at all. You get a lot to this effect and I hope they give you good feels, so maybe what’s the harm, yeah? Because this is not an ask. This is a thank you letter.

First, thanks for reblogging my therapist post, I hope it amused you. I nearly sent you “How am i supposed to explain this to my therapist?!” But refrained. At that time.

So, therapy. What is therapy really? Well…

Things have been really rotten for as long as I can remember. Bad health, bad doctors, bad relationships, bad coping mechanisms, bad all kinds of things. (Yeah, bad is a weak and unhelpful word, my therapist reminds me, but we’re doing this.)

Well, things got even more really really rotten and BAD these last few years. Health declined further, coping mechanisms declined further and more intensely, packed up my life, applied for disability, moved back in with my parents across the country.

Then 4 years ago last week I watched my fiance die of a sudden heart attack. I was 29. Two years later my best friend died. Then last summer I sauntered vaguely into a cancer scare. Not long before an operation my cat who has been my companion through so much garbage died as well. I’m not entirely in the clear on the cancer scare front. All my attempts at going back to work, volunteering, going to grad school - they collapsed on me because I couldn’t get through this STUFF.

(Sometimes when I talk about this, when I tell people, I think “they are going to think you are a raging pathological liar.” Because I’m not sure I would believe someone if they told me all of this happened to them. In such a short time period. All before they were 35. And hell if that hasn’t been isolating. You know how it sounds? Lonely. And it is.)

I did the hypervigilant and sensation/experience chasing stage of PTSD. It got me in a lot of trouble in all kinds of ways. I had to do a lot of medical and psych advocating because things kept getting worse. That was exhausting. Then that peaked. I went into the thick of the “I feel absolutely nothing” stage for a long time. I didn’t feel fatigue or hunger or thirst. Not people, feelings, a reason. Not hope.

But of course, like seems be for a lot of us, I somehow found Good Omens at just the right time. I was a very “I’m so cool and intellectual I mostly consume non-fiction media” person for too long. Like, what? How is that even a real thing? And it wasn’t real. It was just part of this curated autism mask that I don’t think anyone really bought anyway.

I think I got to a point where I’d just had too much reality. I needed fantasy. I didn’t realize I always needed it. But I denied myself for too many odd and painful reasons. Maybe I thought it was an escape I didn’t deserve.

But as it turns out, it wasn’t an escape. I watched both seasons last fall, and then this light came on. I watched it again and again.

I came to tumblr because I needed more. I found this fandom. I stepped into this beautiful world of fanart and fanfiction and brain flexing meta writing and a sense of community and wonder that you and Terry created - that everyone involved in the show inflated - exploded in the right way - like fireworks if fireworks were some kind of autocatalytic reaction - a self perpetuating force.

It’s not a “saved my life” feeling. Not a “getting my life back” feeling. It’s been a “maybe it’s time for you to have the life you’ve always been denied - that you’ve denied yourself” feeling.

I’m creating. I’m not “great” yet. Not terribly “good” at all. Maybe “behind” as far as the “proper” timeline for starting. I know there isn’t one, not really, but boy does that society machine make ya feel like there is. And sure, I started and stopped a lot in the past. But the second it got hard I always gave up. I felt like if I didn’t get it “right” to begin with, then I just didn’t have it in me at all. But for once I’m really in it. I’m writing and trying to draw things that look less like fever dream five year old drawings. (Not that there’s anything wrong with those, is there? 🙃) I’m eating better. I’m sleeping better. I reach out to old friends more. I’ve made new friends who share this love of Good Omens.

My therapist has been floored by the change in me. After that first funny mini flop, he has been so encouraging about it. I saw him this week and I said “Maybe this is helping me get prepared to start living again. Maybe it’s a springboard.” And he honest to god said “But You ARE living. This is YOU LIVING. Why does it have to be a springboard? Why do you have to turn this into ‘work?’ Just let yourself have this for once in your life.”

But there were two more added elements that made it all work. And I can’t help but think this whole brainrot thing wouldn’t have happened without them. So many things just happened all at just the right time - a proper coincidence.

In all of the madness of the last few years I finally got the memo that I'm autistic. i figured I was for a while. But it finally sunk in for me and my docs and my people. So I’d been working on unpacking that. Grieving the life that could have been entirely different, shedding the mask. I let myself hyperfixate openly instead of hiding it and hating myself for “spiralling” or “obsessing” like others -!like ‘I’ always punished myself for before we knew that it was a trait and not a personality flaw.

Then over the last few months my therapist and I started trying this new exercise. One session he stopped me and said “in the last 20 minutes you have responded to what I’ve said with 9 ‘I knows.’” My response to that? “Ugh, I know.” So we started this “I know” swear jar type situation. Really, I’ve been afraid of not knowing. I couldn’t let myself “not know.” Because it meant I was “dumb.” I was just drowning for so long in guilt and self loathing for the “I knew better and screwed up anyway.” Or “I should’ve known better - I should know that by now.”

As it turns out, there’s a lot of things I don’t know. That I didn’t know. Things I will never know. And refusing to admit all of that kept me from learning a damn thing. Kept me from asking questions. Kept me from trying new things because it was scary to do something new - something unknown - and I "knew" how it would all turn out anyway. Kept me from connecting with people because it was painful or embarrassing when they knew things I didn’t and it seemed like I already should have. Kept me from getting better at making art, music, writing. Kept me from forgiving myself. Kept me from growing. And kept me from moving forward. Maybe not on. I don’t know if we ever “move on” from things. But we can move forward as we carry them. And as we do, the weight gets less. We’re able to carry it better. But only if we can admit that we don’t know how. Only if we don’t treat ourselves like this is something we do know or should know and we’re just failing because we’re less than. Not good enough. Not strong enough. Not deserving. We have to be able to say “I don’t know how to do this.” And then we can start looking for the answers. We can ask. We can learn.

I thought about the apple. Being able to tell the difference between good and evil. Aziraphale’s years and years of watching what he “knows” to be true be proven wrong. Crowley’s need to ask questions…

The simple and enormous gift of “Knowledge.” The “Knowledge” of the difference between Good and Evil. The “Knowledge” that can only be gained by realizing, accepting, admitting that there are things we don’t know. Asking the questions. Sometimes we get answers we don’t like. Sometimes the consequences of asking hurt us. And unless you want to stay in that painful place that painful knowledge got you, well, you’ve got to let yourself learn how to get out.

So all of this good? I never expected this. I never thought I deserved it. Joy and belonging and this sense that “Yeah, maybe things can get better. Maybe things can be good.” Because I said those things, not truly believing them, to the people I thought needed to hear it. But it couldn’t save them. It was hollow. The proof for us wasn’t really in our orbit or on our radar at the time. And now they’re gone.

People always say “it’s never too late.”

One of the people I lost said “it’s later than you think.”

I jokingly would respond “it’s already too late.”

It was for him in the end. For them. For some people I guess it really is. But maybe a lot of the “too late” people are there because they think “they know” that things will never be good for them. So they stop looking, they stop asking, stop finding. And eventually they just stop.

Then there came Crowley’s “It’s always too late.” The first time I heard it I thought “For sure, Crowley-cakes, I KNOW.”

But then…I just needed to rewatch the whole thing. And lines like that…familiar things…familiar themes…I was suddenly identifying with these characters. I suddenly saw myself. And the realization hit - I connected with something! Something new. And I FELT THAT. And that tiny little crack that made in the wall was just enough to start breaking it down. Yeah, when you start letting yourself feel after not feeling for so long, opening up to the good feelings means opening up to feelings and then the bad ones come out too. But when there IS good … it helps you balance. You can deal with the bad a little better because you’ve got the good thing to lean against when it gets too much. And now you’ve got feelings. You’ve got good and bad. You’ve got sticky foggy grey. You’ve got life.

Whew.

So, TLDR, thank you. From the bottom of my slowly healing heart, thank you.

And to sign off with some shits and giggles… I couldn’t find this in existence as a sticker so I had to custom order. Perhaps this will spread misery and panic among the humans of my city - or at least a malignant and creepy sense of unease.

Or maybe they’ll say “wtf” and go home and google it and they’ll fall into the Good Omens hole they never knew they needed too.

Thank you for this. I never quite know what to say to messages like this apart from I am really glad that it helps. (It becomes the weird extra piece that I worry about when writing season 3 -- hoping that it will be that thing again. Not just a story, but something that helps people feel and helps with healing and helps with love.)

[star-girl69]

i think aphrodite kid reader x clarisse is simply just better??? like the trope is just superior??? like, we have clarisse who is tough, and mean and one of the strongest people at camp, then we have reader who is kind and compassionate and really doesn’t care all that much about fighting. so naturally, clarisse is super protective and treats reader like a princess?? how could people dislike it 😔😔

no exactly and i actually must write about this - basically this is just all about the little things clarisse does for her perfect princess angel daughter of aphrodite gf (me!!!!!!)

okay as payment for my absence please accept some shitty headcanons I LOVE YOU ALL BYEEEE

she’s just always DOING THINGS FOR YOU

she’s so perceptive and she always knows exactly what you want and need even if you don’t know it yourself

like if you like wearing high heels one) clarisse genuinely wonders what is wrong w you

she sees no practicality in them bc there isn’t lol

but also she’s like omg???? MY GF feels safe enough around me to wear shoes she can’t run in???? WHAT JOY!!!!!!!!!

and you’ll come back to your cabin being all ugh omg my feet hurt so bad laying on the bed and putting your feet UP

and clarisse is like “well i could have told you that”

excuse me????

“don’t get me wrong baby you look gorgeous and i love you wearing heels but it’s your funeral”

“DIE”

she just laughs and takes your shoes off

she’ll continue to bully you as she’s literally massaging your feet like ok girl yeah we see you

clarisse is also a MENACE about making sure you eat

“did you eat today?”

“babe you SAW me at lunch”

“just making sure….”

you’re just so kind and amazing and clarisse loves you so much but you are not the best at fighting!

she is constantly stressed when you’re not by her side

bc no one loves you like her who will protect you 💔💔💔💔

when someone takes advantage of you she gets so PISSED OFF

bc it’s not like someone is beating you up it’ll be like someone is using you as their personal therapist or smth and you’re just like “pls go speak to an actual professional wtf 😭😭😭”

and she’s so pissed off bc WHY IS THIS BITCH PSYCHOLOGICALLY AND EMOTIONALLY TORTURING HER GIRL??????

she’s not afraid to beat people up for you and actually enjoys it!

anyways, clarisse is also a koala bear

and an emotionally stunted caveman

she’s not good with her words so these actions are all she has to show you that she loves you

idk if y’all have noticed but clar rarely saying ily to y/n bc it’s my personal headcanon that she has such a hard time saying those words. she shows you she loves you but for some reason it’s just so hard to get the words out. (…BC SHE IS AN EMOTIONALLY STUNTED CAVEMAN)

so she quickly adapts to do all these little things

if you’re walking down a flight of stairs trust she is holding your hand

QUEEN of opening jars for you

if you’re not feeling well or you’re tired or just feeling lazy she’ll bully someone into doing your chores for you

also this bitch is NOT afraid to stand up for you and make sure you get what you deserve.

like that one meme

“UM… she said NO PICKLES… you fucking dumbasses…”

“CLARISSE 😭😭😭”

also like in “better than revenge” she loves to watch you do your makeup

finds it so fascinating that you can only get PRETTIER

like she’s okay at makeup but you can do that shit perfectly like standing on your head

you make it seem so effortless

she’s not a HUGE makeup girly but sometimes she’ll let you just go crazy

so you can sit on top of her….. that one sapphic meme yes…..

also she’s constantly bragging about you

“yeah… i have the prettiest gf in camp… y’all are just losers what can i say”

ofc if anyone were to agree w her she would go insane

“yeah y/n is so pretty”

“um ok yeah you don’t have to say it i say it enough….”

even if one of your siblings gives you a compliment she’s like HOLD THE FUCK ON- then she remembers THATS YOUR SIBLING ITS OK and she’s like oh this is so embarrassing.

will she stop? no ofc not

she’s constantly telling you how pretty you are. beautiful. gorgeous. exquisite. all the words

loves kissing you all over

KISSES YOUR HAND 🤭🤭

anyways going back to the clarisse koala bear agenda that got away from me

she’s just always touching you

hand on the small of your hand guiding you somewhere

hand around your waist

SITTING IN HER LAP AT CAMPFIRES

no matter what type of hair you have she’s obsessed w it. if you have pin straight hair she’s so obsessed w the fact that you don’t need a huge curl routine like her, finds it fascinating

if you do have curls she loves doing a curl routine together

whatever whatever type of hair you have she’s obsessed with it and will wash it for you if you want

so soft and lovingly like a more of a scalp massage than a hair washing

will brush your hair for you, braid it for you, anything you like just OBSESSED

she loves when you like sit on top of a picnic table and then she gets to sit in between your legs on the bench thinks it’s so so fun and so so silly

she LOVESSSSS sleeping w you OBVI.

on top of you, you on top of her, she’s a koala bear. like entirely wrapped around you

partially bc she is as aforementioned a koala bear and partly bc she is overprotective even in her sleep

if you move in the middle of the night even just a little bit

she’s a super light sleeper i feel like

always on the guard fr ✊

a little bit better when you’re there tho

so if you move in the middle of the night she’ll just like caress your hair and kiss your cheek and try to shush you back to sleep

like bitch you’re still asleep have you never heard of ADJUSTING? MOVING? SHIFTING?

hope you’re not one of those people who has to go to the bathroom in the middle of the night bc with clarisse that will stop

you can’t abandon her even for 2 minutes even for basic bodily functions like you just can’t it’s so inconsiderate to her… 💔

taglist:

@lvrue @t-wylia @laughingcheese037 @kroumi @urdeadpoet @colezb @rey26 @harmzilla @elliewilliamsbae @amberfreemansburntface @kyuupidwrites @neverwaakeme-up @shark1008 @liballer @heyimadison @nvirskies @pnsteblnme @mar2ss @restellsss @ravisinghs-wife @marsconer @evangelinexo @randomhoex @luvrrish @rebecca37 @saltair-and-palemoonlight @ace-spades-1

[glitterponyshark]

thinking about mouth washing SPOILERS UNDER CUT

after watching manlybadasshero play mouthwashing, i’ve come to say that jimmy can suck a fat dick and curly and anya are end game (even though he didn’t protect her from jimmy, he still was trying to help in some sort of way)

Daisuke and anya are sweet souls that didn’t deserve to die to some narcissistic asshole who thought he could “fix” everything, when in reality, he’s root that caused all the problems to happen in the first place.

and don’t even get me started on the perspectives differences between curly and jimmy, the way he sees the crew as “nurse” who is too poor to go back to school (anya), old man that gonna croak before he knows it (Swansea), and young “spoiled brat” who can just live off of mommy’s and daddy’s money (daisuke).

he views everyone as a problem while he’s the one that’s supposed to be able to fix all of them. he literally doesn’t even see them and people with emotions, just problems he HAS to fix

his delusions especially pissed me off, at the end of the game it shows the rest of the crew sitting around the table, smiling at him, calling him a friend and celebrating. but when you get to another perspective, birds eye, you see that all of them are dead and slumped over showcasing that even in his delusions, he still sees himself as the “hero”

but curly on the other hand, god do i love curly, you can just SEE the difference in his perspective. the way he talks to anya and the rest of the crew is just beautiful, he see anya as an actual person with feelings, someone who you can have deep conversations with and never wanna stop. then swansea and daisuke, he knows swansea can be harsh and cold sometimes, but he saw how daisuke was somewhat breaking that down.

GOD HIS PERSPECTIVE IS JUST MY FAVORITE SO MUCH JUST a CAUSE YOU CAN SEE HOW MUCH HE TREATS THE CREW BETTER THAN JIMMY

and then here comes jimmy, mr “everything has to happen my way” causing the ship to crash, pretty much almost killing curly, and blaming curly about the crash to try and get the crew to turn on him cause he envy’s how curly is so well liked. and then indirectly causing everyone’s deaths (including also raping anya, that part made my gut drop to my ass dude)

all in all, i fucking hate jimmy, kill your self next time

[another-lost-mc]

the characters finding out about mc's fwb but instead of it being with a random demon, it's solomon >>>>

them being flabbergasted not only about the situation but that you have the arrangement with that shady sorcerer. also frustrated because of course you'd take comfort on the only other human in the devildom!

➤ when they find out solomon is your fwb

characters: the demon brothers + dateables

1k words | gn!reader | nsfw | snarky and suggestive

c/w: jealousy, non-explicit sexual content, implied voyeurism, implied threesomes/moresomes

related: finding out you having a fwb: the demon brothers | the dateables

disappointed but not surprised: lucifer, beelzebub, diavolo

They warned you, didn't they?

Solomon is the shadiest sorcerer to ever exist. He's powerful and unpredictable and he can't even be called human anymore. Why in all the Devildom did you have to pick him? You could've had literally anyone else!

Unheeded warnings about not getting too close to Solomon turn into vague reminders that the demons are there to save you from that white-haired menace if you ever need them to.

Lucifer sneaks behind your back and gives Solomon the world's scariest shovel talk, which is a little silly since this was only supposed to be a casual arrangement for comfort and intimacy. (Of course, no one realized that you and Solomon managed to catch feels along the way.) Lucifer's thinly-veiled threats promising a painful demise should be enough to scare anyone away.

None of them expect Solomon to abruptly end your casual relationship so that he can date you officially instead. He looks far too smug with himself when you hold his hand at RAD in front of the others or when he becomes a semi-regular visitor at the House of Lamentation.

Your undeniable happiness is a constant reminder to the others that they underestimated both humans in the exchange program.

why didn't anyone stop them?! (yeah, they're jealous af): mammon, leviathan, satan, belphegor

This is awful. Isn't this why they were supposed to keep an eye on you, to keep you from getting mixed up with people like him?!

"Weren't you supposed to do that, Mammon?"

"Shuddup!"

They hate Solomon's guts. They don't think he deserves you. (They might not deserve you either, but you could do a hell of a lot better than him!)

They roll their eyes and gag dramatically when Solomon kisses your cheek or cozies up beside you in the cafeteria at lunch. When you're not looking, they shoot daggers at him and make not-too-subtle gestures that translate roughly to I'm watching you and if you hurt them, you die. They're less subtle and more aggressive than Lucifer is, and Solomon thinks it's hilarious.

He knows how lucky he is that he caught your eye first and not them. He'd be lying to himself if he said he didn't enjoy rubbing it in their faces just a little bit. Maybe he forgets to use a silencing charm on your bedroom door when he fucks you in the House of Lamentation.

Maybe he wears low-collar shirts to show off the fresh line of marks you made around the base of his neck. He leaves a toothbrush in your ensuite bathroom and spare clothes in your closet.

Sometimes you wear his clothes when you don't have class because they still smell like him. You don't notice the demons sitting beside you at breakfast twitch in their seats and suddenly lose their appetites.

You feel so fortunate that you found friendship and love in the Devildom. Your friends tell you (and themselves) that they're happy for you too. You don't notice how fake their smiles are when they see you together (but Solomon does).

they're surprisingly okay with it and no one understands why: asmodeus, barbatos, simeon

They don’t know whether to blame fate or their own bad luck that brought you and Solomon together. They grudgingly admit you could do a lot worse than the white-haired menace that seems to adore you. As long as you’re happy and treated well, they don't feel it’s their place to interfere.

The others might sulk and pretend they’re not disappointed, or they might be openly belligerent about it, but some of your friends still support you above all else.

Asmo drags you into his room and gossips with you about Solomon while he does your nails. Tell me, you can be honest—how is he in bed with you? I’ve never seen him like this with anyone else! Oh, I bet he's so romantic, isn't he~ He’s curious about your relationship and teases you for intimate details that are too personal to share, but you know he's genuinely excited for you.

Barbatos doesn’t say much about your relationship openly, but he enjoys reminding the others that if they were less distracted by their own foolishness, they wouldn’t have taken you for granted.

Simeon welcomes you with open arms as a guest to Purgatory Hall when the atmosphere at the House of Lamentation grows too stifling. He does his best to make sure Solomon doesn’t completely ruin dinner when you visit in the evenings. He enjoys discussing books and your other shared interests when the sorcerer is busy; Solomon knows you're safe with the angels in his absence.

Like Asmo and Barbatos, you grow closer with Simeon as well through your mutual connections to Solomon. You might not realize what they’re up to when they try to spend more time with you outside of class, but Solomon does. Their sweet gestures of comfort linger far too long to be considered platonic, and the way desire creeps into their eyes when they gaze at you from afar would irritate him if they were anyone else.

He has long, colourful pasts with both Asmo and Barbatos, and Simeon quickly became one of his trusted friends while living in the close quarters of Purgatory Hall together. It wouldn't be the first time Solomon invited one of his acquaintances for a little bit of fun in the bedroom, but that was only to share casual partners he didn’t have feelings for. The thought of sharing you with anyone else nearly drives him to violence.

Time dulls those jealous impulses, and he admits how appealing it would be to watch you with one (or more) of them together. You’re so lovely in the throes of pleasure, and there's a certain thrill from watching on the sidelines. He knows they'll obey without question when he tells them how to touch you, and he can savor watching you fall apart under their hands and his sinful commands. He gets hard just imagining you crying out his name when you cum, even if one of the others is between your legs instead of him.

If you admit to feeling desire for any of them, he'll discuss those delicious possibilities with you too.

read more: headcanons masterlist | obey me! masterlist

[eth-edwards-73]

Comfort

Kenan Yildiz x reader warnings: none, sad Kenan

Your heart dropped when you saw Kenan pull his shirt over his head. You knew he’d take this hard because he was so optimistic before and this just crushed his dreams. Your work wouldn’t let you fly in for the games so you had to watch them from home and now you had to wait for him to come home before you could comfort him.

The second he got off the plane, you embraced him, just holding him tightly, trying to offer as much comfort as you could. The ride home was silent but not an awkward silence which was nice. You gently rubbed the pad of your thumb over his hand as you drove. 

“Warum hassen sie mich?” (Why do they hate me?) He quietly muttered once the both of you were laying down on the bed, his arms wrapped around you as he clinged onto you, you didn’t mind, you wanted him to be comfortable. Your face fell and softened at his question and you brought your hand up to his cheek, softly stroking his skin. 

“Sie wollen nur, dass jemand die Schuld gibt. Sie sind enttäuscht und müssen es an jemandem auslassen. Es ist nicht richtig, dass sie es an dir auslassen, es war nicht deine Schuld.” (They just want someone to blame. They're disappointed and need to take it out on someone. It isn't right that they're taking it out on you though, it wasn't your fault.) You quietly tell him as you press a soft kiss to his temple. He buries his head into your neck and you feel soft sobs rack through his body. Your heart clenches as he sobs into your neck and you gently run your hand through his hair, making soothing motions on his back with the other. 

“Lass es raus, Süße, es ist okay.” (Just let it out, sweetheart, it's okay.) You mutter as you hold him, trying your best to comfort him even though you don’t really know how because you haven’t gone through something similar. You’re trying your best and you know that he tried his best too but sometimes trying your best isn’t enough because the others are just better and that’s fine too, that’s the way life goes, some people just aren’t mature enough to realize it. 

It doesn’t take long for Kenan to fall asleep in your arms and you follow soon after. 

You wake up before Kenan and take the time to admire his face, he looks so peaceful and relaxed as he sleeps. You gently trace his features, you had truly missed him while he was away for the European Championship and although you wished he had gotten further, you were glad that he was back home with you. 

He stirs a little before opening his eyes, he’s still a little groggy from his sleep and he grumbles something incoherent before dropping his head back onto your chest, making you giggle. 

“Wir sollten aufstehen, Kenan, es ist schon 11 Uhr.” (We should get up, Kenan, it's already 11 o'clock.) You tell him softly as you try to sit up a little, he protests and pulls you back down, which makes you laugh. 

“Kenan, bitte.” (Kenan, please) You laugh as you try to sit up again and this time he just sighs and looks up at you with puppy eyes. 

“Okay, wir können aufstehen.” (Alright, we can get up.) He grumbles when he realizes you’re not backing down. He rolls off you and sighs while rubbing his eyes. You get up already and walk to the kitchen to make breakfast, giving Kenan a little more time to get up. 

He walks up behind you after a few minutes and wraps his arms around your waist, resting his head on your shoulder and pressing a few soft kisses on your neck. You lean into his touch as you continue making the pancakes, carefully flipping them. 

“Ich weiß nicht, was ich getan habe, um dich zu verdienen.” (I don’t know what I did to deserve you.) He mutters into your ear, you smile and shrug a little. 

“Das frage ich mich auch, Hübscher.” (I ask myself the same question, pretty boy.) You reply before pressing a soft kiss to his cheek and putting the pancakes on two plates, one for you and one for him. 

There’s a comfortable silence between the both of you as you eat at the dining table until he breaks the silence. 

“Wie soll ich mit dem Hass umgehen, den ich bekomme?” (How should I deal with the hate I'm getting?) He asks you, looking very unsure and vulnerable and you take his hand over the table. 

“Ich denke, es wäre am besten, wenn Sie die Kommentare zu Ihren letzten Posts in den sozialen Medien deaktivieren oder zumindest einschränken.” (I think it'd be best if you turn off the comments on your recents posts on social media, or at least limit them.) You tell him and he nods, it’s a good idea and it might help at least a little bit. 

“Ich bin so froh, dich kennengelernt zu haben, ich weiß nicht, was ich ohne dich tun würde.” (I'm so glad I met you, I don't know what I'd do without you.) He tells you with a relieved sigh and your gaze softens, a loving smile growing on your face.

“Ich liebe dich, Kenan, bis zum Mond und zurück, vielleicht sogar noch mehr.” (I love you, Kenan, to the moon and back, maybe even more.) You tell him, pressing a kiss to his knuckles. 

“Zum Mond und zurück.” (To the moon and back.) He whispers with a soft smile.

------------------------

I'm not entirely sure of what i think about this but meh, it's okay and i wanted to bring out some comfort fluff because seeing how sad he was and all the hate he's getting hurts so yeah

please send requests :)

[miss-oranje-disco-dancer]

breaking news!

pairing: milf! reader x pre-re2 leon

cws/tags: protected p in v, virginity loss, leon cumming immediately, coming untouched, talking about past somno (implied to be consensual), presumably established relationship, no description of reader beyond cis female who has had a child and is older than leon, reader POV, no use of y/n

summary: leon doesn't wanna die a virgin! shit goes down in july '98 (bizarre murders occur in raccoon city etc. you know the monologue), and leon sees it on the news, decides he's gotta fuck before he becomes a cop fr.

a/n: this is part 3 to cool mom's countdown. i wasn't sure how to tag some stuff bc it's like they're having sex rn but reader is thinking about stuff they've done in the past too, so it's kinda a little time-skipping sometimes. (past things are italicized for your reading pleasure)

wc: 1.7k

taglist: @onlyasimp4-2dbitches @puppedup @nilpill @sya-skies @shiawaseorii

@rigorwhoring @porcelainseashore

@tieabowaroundme @frankieeeeesblog @kerredgraveblog

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At first, your relationship with Leon made you feel old -- all of the pop culture references you’d make flew over his head, and you realized how out of the loop you were when it came to modern slang when you had to ask Leon for the definition of approximately one word per sentence he spoke. While miscommunications arose through conversations, you were in sync when it came to sex. 

In the proverbial bedroom, Leon made you feel young again. After work one Friday night, you made out on the couch until you insisted that you needed to freshen up before your movie date, and ended up sitting on the bathroom counter with Leon’s head between your thighs, and, to pay him back, you jerked him off in the theater.

You’d been together for a good six months before you finally went all the way. You told Leon from the beginning that you wouldn’t have sex with him until he was 100% sure he was ready. A sweet boy like him deserved to have a good first time. 

After a gourmet meal of macaroni and cheese plus whatever else you could find in the cabinet, the two of you shared a six pack on the back porch while watching the sun set over the suburbs. It was romantic, minus the topic of conversation -- everyone was talking about the bizarre murders in the Arklay Mountains which weren’t far from where you lived. Leon was glued to the TV, watching updates as they appeared on the news over the course of the past week. 

It was disturbing enough to hear the outlandish reports of families being attacked by a group of about 10 people, but the victims were apparently eaten. And, you couldn’t bear the thought of Leon being a member of that STARS team that went missing. 

Leon had always been insistent on joining the force, but being forced to actively accept your own mortality can be a scary experience for even the bravest. However, Leon’s biggest fear wasn’t death itself. 

“I keep seeing those cops on the news -- the ones from the RPD who died and I don’t wanna die a virgin.”

“What?” His train of thought blew past about 10 stops before arriving at its destination, it seemed. You struggled to put the pieces together. 

“That’ll be me pretty soon -- well, not necessarily dead, hopefully not, just part of the RPD, I mean. But, since there’s a real chance I could die, I would like to lose my virginity.”

Talking about death put a bit of a damper on the mood, but Leon could get you riled up in the most inappropriate of situations. 

“I told you we can do it whenever you’re ready,” you said nonchalantly. 

“What I meant was, I’m ready now.”

Your first instinct was to look down towards the front of his jeans. 

“Mentally,” he clarified when he saw you checking for a bulge in his pants. 

You swiftly led him up to your bedroom and by the time your lips were on his neck, he was physically ready for you too. Leon’s a sucker for hickies. Pun intended. 

“It makes me feel like I’m yours,” he mentioned one night, wearing a stupid grin and smudged lipstick - both courtesy of you.   

“You are mine,” you said, cupping his cheek, “and I’m yours.”

“Then, can I give you one too?” 

He shouldn’t. You already felt out of place at the neighborhood book club, and you didn’t want Karen and Cheryl (or whatever their names are) to think you’re a complete whore. 

Fuck it. They could stare all they wanted. Bring on their jealousy-fueled disgust. 

You exposed your neck to Leon and let him suck lightly at the skin. As it turned out you liked them quite a bit too. 

When you told Leon he was yours and vice versa, you meant it, but tonight you were really going to seal the deal. 

It was a dance of tipsy fumbling around as one’s first time should be. Giggling while barely holding yourselves back from ripping each other’s clothes off. 

“You’re so needy,” you whispered into his ear, though you were the one palming him through his underwear. 

“No... you’re just hot... I can’t help being like this around you.”

“Yeah? Then how do you think I feel around a handsome young man like you?” You took his hand and gently guided him to feel your arousal through your panties. 

He inhaled sharply, and you felt his needy cock twitch against your hand which had yet to slip inside his boxers. Poor thing, he was always so desperate. 

Not that you minded – not even when you’d wake up in the middle of the night to him rutting his hips into you from behind. He did this often in his sleep – he thought it was embarrassing, but you thought it was endearing. He’d mumble your name and coax your hand back to his hard-on if you ever dared to retract it. 

Leon hooked his fingers in the fabric of your panties and slid it to the side, teasing your folds with his touch. 

In retaliation and reward, you took his length in your hand, planning to give him the same languid, tantalizing strokes he was giving you. But he grabbed your wrist and stopped you. 

“Wait-” he said, breath shaky with what you assumed to be nerves.

You backed off completely. “Leon, I’m so sorry. If you’re not ready tonight, we can do this some other-”

“-I’m ready, too ready. Just thinking about getting to be inside you is making me feel... really good already, so, um, if you touch me like that, I might not be able- I might cum before I can actually... you know...”

“Fuck me?” God, it was so cute how flustered he’d get over the simplest things. 

“Yeah, fuck you.” He couldn’t curse in front of you without blushing. It took him a while to adjust to calling you by your first name instead of ‘ma’am’, so you couldn’t blame him for feeling awkward cursing around you. The redness in his cheeks only rose when he realized how his statement - fuck you - could’ve been interpreted. 

“No, wait, not fuck you, I mean, I wanna fuck you... in a good way. I wanna make you feel good,” he clarified.

“Then come here,” you lied back on the bed and beckoned him closer. 

“Yes, ma’am.” Typical. You had to resist the urge to call him a ‘good boy’, knowing those words alone might make him cum in his pants. 

It wouldn’t be the first time. Once, while he was going down on you -- on his knees at the edge of your bed, his favorite position -- you told him how he was such a good boy for making you feel so good, and though his hands remained gripping your thighs, holding them open so he could bury his face in your cunt, your orgasm triggered his, and he came completely untouched. 

You grabbed a condom from your bedside table -- you were on the pill, and neither of you were seeing anyone else, but you were pretty sure that his cock wouldn’t make it inside you if you told him he could fuck you raw -- and you handed him the packet. 

“Do you know how to do it?”

“Yeah, they made us try putting them on bananas in health class.”

“Thank your health teacher for me, then, will you?”

“Um, I don’t know if Mr-”

“I’m kidding, baby.”

“This is no time for joking around. You’re breaking my concentration,” he said, but his smile betrayed any facade of seriousness. 

When he successfully put it on, you said, only half-joking, “I’m proud of you, baby.”

“Don’t say that,” he said -- no, whined. 

“Why not?”

“Gonna make me cum too quick.”

If only he knew that his bashfulness, his pretty, whiny voice, and his desperation were going to make you cum quicker than you usually would. 

“Okay. I won’t say anything.”

“At least tell me if I’m doing it right, like, if I’m putting it in the right hole.”

“You’re doing fine so far.”

He nodded and took a breath before positioning himself at your entrance. When he pressed the tip inside you, you moaned simultaneously. You wanted to beg him to keep going, you wanted to feel all of him, but you knew you needed to let him set the pace. 

“You feel so good, you’re so tight...” His thoughts were mostly tame, things you’d heard men say before but he was so genuine, couldn’t even help running his mouth -- until his words were reduced to nothing but moans. Pornographic, pathetic, sexy. 

When he’d finally buried himself to the hilt, he stilled his hips, keeping both of your orgasms at bay. Your hands never left his body because you couldn’t get enough of him, not even when he was entirely inside you. You thought you were being gentle but the marks left on his skin said otherwise. 

Eventually, he began to thrust in and out of you slowly, and you could see that he was holding himself back. 

“Leon, baby, you know you can go as slow or as fast as you want, yeah?”

“I wanna go faster but if I do, I’m gonna cum,” he said as if that wouldn’t be the hottest thing he could do. 

“Yeah? I wanna see you cum, baby.”

“Fuck, really? Already?” 

He didn’t wait for a response before he increased the pace of his thrusts rapidly, his hips leading and his mind following. 

You tried to answer, but he was brushing against that sensitive spot inside you over and over again, so all you could manage was an ‘uh-huh’. 

Frantically, he said, “I’m gonna cum, I’m gonna cum,” with a mixture of pleas and apologies. Neither of which you needed. 

When he came, he threw his head back and let out an unbridled moan followed by labored breaths. 

The sight of him sent you over the edge, scrambling for something to hold onto, your nails dug into his back. You nearly screamed his name as you shuddered through your high. 

When you returned to reality, you saw complete bewilderment on Leon’s face. “Did you just cum?”

“Uh, yeah?” you couldn’t help but laugh a bit as you said it. 

“I made you cum?”

“Uh-huh.”

Flopping down next to you, satisfied with himself, he asked, “Can we do that again?”

“Like right now?”

“Yeah, that was amazing.”

And you couldn’t agree more.