#state-of-the-art toilets

[anacatalog]

drawing this felt like a fever dream... literally

[anastasiamaru]

Caricature🖼️

World War Ⅰ 1914-1918

1914-1915."russians returns with trophies from Lviv"

Austro-hungarian caricaturist made this beautiful postcard.Interesting fact that russian "soldiers"have always been greedy on a toilets.

russia raised the generations of thieves and rapists.russia must fall down

[fushitoru]

rainy days and brownies

pairing ⸺ college/modern!au: bf!gojo x reader

summary ⸺ you wake up for some soft moments with your boyfriend that involves brownies (turned freaky)

warnings ⸺ smut, tooth rotting fluff, some mild angst?, gojo unfortunately mentions skibidi toilet, I think I made gojo gen z here, boob worship, brownies and baking, established relationship, oral (f!receiving), gojo eats pussy like a champ, NOT EDITED, might be incoherent to everyone except me, product of a forceful effort to escape writer’s block, rainy mornings <3, lots of intimacy, art by 3-aem, probably in the same universe as this

general masterlist

Rainy nights with Satoru means baking.

It’s a ritual the both of you have fallen into. On a day like this, where the air smells like rain, you blearily wake up from your nap to smell the warm distinct aroma of overly sweet brownies.

The slutty brownies were Satoru’s masterpiece. Even if he did overdo the sugar, you can’t admit that your stomach was growling as you rubbed your bleary eyes and frowned while raking a hand through your head. This bed head was going to be a bitch to untangle with the hairbrush.

“AND IIIIIIIIIIIII, WILL ALWAYS LOVE YOUUU—“

You jumped, caught off guard by Satoru randomly deciding to pay homage to Whitney Houston. Standing up, you headed towards the living room of you and Satoru’s apartment—-not before you adjusted your tank top so your tits weren’t out and the boy shorts you chose to sleep in properly covered your ass.

“WILL ALWAYS LOVE YOUUUUU—-“ You cringed at Satoru’s attempt of a high note, grumpily looking at him use his chocolate covered spatula as a makeshift mic. He was in the kitchen—-shirtless, of course—-now bending over to peek at the state of his brownies in the oven. Deciding the brownies weren’t done yet, he closed the oven door and stood up once more, reaching for his phone to undoubtedly scroll through TikTok. Continuing to hum different variations of the chorus, he swiped at his phone, ignorant to your presence behind him.

You think he’s kind of sweet like this. If it weren’t for him, the both of you would never be in this position. You would always be the cold frigid bitch he saw in freshman orientation and occasionally at parties across campus, and he would be the sweet, friendly guy that all the girls would continue to fall head over heels for.

To be honest, you don’t really see what he sees in you. You’re like a Disney villain, the witch that entraps him in her webs of insecurity and jealousy, but he remains the valiant prince, fighting to get to you. When he finally has you in his arms, he kisses you into believing that you are his princess instead.

It’s obvious in the way he fought for you—memorizing your schedule, rushing across campus just to walk you to class, pleading with you to grab dinner. And each time, you’d brush him off with sharp rejections, finding excuses to keep him at arm’s length.

But when he finally had you, finally cracked all your defenses—he was never going to let you go. You could see as much; the way he proudly walked on campus with you at his side, across the main quad so he could boast that he got you. You were his, and he was fully, undoubtedly yours. At parties, his eyes would always be on you, raking his eyes up and down your figure in your nurse outfit, conjuring up the hundred and thirty four positions he would fuck you so good in, even if there were prettier girls clinging onto his arms asking for a morsel of his attention. Pettily enough, you would just need to sigh and mumble “This party isn’t fun,” to have Satoru whipped, ushering you out of the frat house while those girls glared at the back of your Halloween costume, angry beyond measure that a nobody like you has the campus sweetheart wrapped around your finger.

Loud booms of the Vine gunshot sound effect snaps you back into the present, where Satoru is snickering at some god awful brain rot. You choose to approach him, wrapping your arms around his waist and smothering your face into his muscular back.

“Hi baby,” you mumble.

“Guess which sleepyhead is awake!” He announces to the world and turns around, and your traitorous heart jumps in its chest while looking into his eyes. It’s stupid. You’re both in your PJs on a morning where the rain thuds against the window pane, blurring both the window and all outside life, suspending you both in this moment. His eyes look affectionately down to you, and he plants a wet kiss on your forehead. “How was your nap, baby?”

“It was good.” You watch him turn around again to peek at the oven, and he hums, upper arm flexing as he grabs the heavy bag of flour, dragging it closer to him. “When’d you get up?”

“Around 7.”

You shoot him a bewildered look as you hop onto the counter, a better space to observe your boyfriend. When he realized that you had woken up, he had left his phone open to give you a kiss, reel playing noises. You peek over and almost snort at what is playing.

“Satoru, why are you watching alligators get chased away by a shovel?”

He looks up from the bowl of brownie batter he was now cleaning—-with his tongue, mind you—-and grins boyishly. “Isn't it crazy how hundreds of years of evolution get destroyed by a shovel?”

”Your feed is not normal,” you shake your head, keeping a stony face as you continue to scroll through his TikTok. In fact, it’s hilarious—-the things he got were weirder than one could dream, with toilets producing heads of men taking over whole cities. You’re not sure what that means about your boyfriend, but you accept it as you watch the nonsensical video.

“Wait,” he makes his way over to you, standing in between your legs. “Is that skibidi toilet?”

“What the hell is that.”

“Baby,” he whines. “You don’t know the lore? I don’t know if I can be with you for any longer.”

Your bite back a grin. “And subjecting me to hours of FNAF backstory wasn’t testament to how much I love you?”

Before he could whine back, you noticed he had some leftover chocolate on the side of his mouth and leaned over to lick it. Humming at the taste, you grabbed his hands and took in his brownie coated index and middle finger into your mouth.

He frowns. “Are you trying to seduce me into forgiving you and giving you more brownies?”

You laugh softly and give him a soft smooch on his shoulder. “No, silly. If I ate any more than half, I would have diabetes.”

He grabs the back of your hips and pulls you closer into him, nuzzling his nose against yours. The physical contact rubs at your nerves the right way, firing off that emotional part of you that makes you think loving him is so easy. How lucky you are that he’s chosen to give you his love.

His god-awful alarm blares—same annoying sound he keeps hitting snooze on for his 7ams—and the moment breaks as he reaches for the oven mitts to pull out the brownies. The aroma hits you instantly, making your mouth water. Satoru blows dramatically on the brownies, pouting and mock-yelling, “Hurry up and cool down! My girlfriend wants to eat you.” You can’t help but giggle. Once Satoru finally decides they’re cool enough, he grabs one and offers it to you. “Make way for the choo-choo train!” he snickers, guiding the brownie through imaginary tracks, a shit-eating grin on his face, before plopping it into your mouth.

You can’t help but let out a soft sigh as the brownie melts on your tongue, its warmth enveloping your senses. Rich, velvety tones of chocolate overwhelm your mouth, with each bite releasing a symphony of deep, indulgent flavors that linger long after the brownie is fully swallowed. “Wow, this is actually good.”

He pauses, brownie and hand held in mid air. “Why do you sound surprised?”

“I don’t know.” You shrug innocently but stick your tongue out to him regardless.

Popping the brownie in his mouth--but not before sending you a pout---he brushes his hands together to remove the brownie crumbs as he makes his way back in between your legs. The way he settles between them makes you all too aware of the heat of his groin encompassing you. He lazily drags his eyes up your figure, but not before settling on your outfit. His eyes then flick down to watch his hands trace the hem of your tank top, and your eyes follow his hands, a little dizzy by the action.

You’re always a bit sensitive in the mornings, and before this day, you and Satoru’s interactions have been limited to a kiss before he runs for his 7am and then doing college work until 3am, where you’re both too tired for anything particularly frisky. So, yea, you are kind of pent up---and judging by the bulge that’s starting to form in Satoru’s sweats, you assume he is too.

You put your elbows on his shoulder blades to give him head scratches from behind and lean towards his jawlines giving small kisses. You can feel him close his eyes, purring silently like a cat, and underneath your hands, his back and shoulder blades tense and relax as you rake your hands over his scalp.

“This new?” He uses his index finger to snap the strap of your tank top against your shoulder, using his mouth to given open mouthed kisses to your collarbone.

“Mhm,” you hum, a little deliriously at that---he’s begun to trail down, mouth working at the swell of your breasts.

He slowly pulls the collar of your tank down, down down down until your breast pops out. His eyes trace the swing urgently and groans. “I missed these, sweet girl.”

You gasp sharply when he puts it in his mouth, tongue swirling around the nipple. Satoru’s always been a boob guy, joking about his hands being your bra to support “those mommy milkers.” Right now, he’s doing just that; groping the hell out of them and giving them kisses, as if they were God’s greatest creation.

As much as you were enjoying your boyfriend’s boob worshipping, you need more. You were throbbing in want of contact on your pussy, and you made sure to relay just that. “Toru, I need more,” you whined.

“God forbid a man appreciate nice boobs.” He rolls his like the sassy man he is and parts with your nipple like lips after a messy and wet make out session. Your breasts are gleaming with his spit, a string connecting your nipple to his lips. He trails his face down your torso, making his way down to his knees until he was facing your crotch.

You whine and clench your thighs together to draw his face closer to the space between your thighs. He looks up at you and coos, giving your inner thigh a kiss. “I can smell you from here, cutie.”

His statement reminds you that you’re not too wet in the mornings. As soon as you wake up, some of your morning sessions with Satoru require the aid of lube to ensure no pain. Irritation flares at you at the thought that you might need to leave your position to grab some l—-

Oh.

“What the hell. I thought you wet your pants,” Satoru giggles. The finger running through your folds glides messily, as you both marvel to how wet you are. You’re also on another plane; you haven’t felt his touch for weeks, and the feeling overwhelms you as the squelches your pussy makes echo throughout the kitchen.

Satoru gives you a kiss on your neck. “Baby, can I?” You deliriously remember that he’s lightly circling his finger around your entrance and when you finally give him the okay, he pushes in.

Both of you groan at how tight you are. “Satoru,” you moan and proceed to bring him in for a kiss as he pistons in and out of your pussy, curling them just the way you like and making you see colors.

“Pretty, pretty girl,” he groans. “Left my baby so pent up.”

At that, all you can do is nod and whimper in agreement. All that leaves your mouth are gasps of his names and oh my god’s because he’s making you feel so good.

And then, you almost scream as you feel him blowing hot air onto your folds, leaning down to give teasing kitten licks around your clit, but not directly on it. His tongue drags up and down until he finally stops it right next to your clit as if feeling the sensation of your pussy throbbing, echoing your fastened heartbeat skin-to-skin while drooling.

Frustrated, you try to move your hips, but Satoru grabs them to stay in place. He’s so close to the place you want him, but he’s stationed in one place, spit flowing down as his tongue is still and his dark eyes are staring at you as if enraptured by your struggling.

“Satoru, please lick my clit,” you moan wantonly, begging for him to change his position.

But Satoru Gojo wouldn’t be Satoru Gojo without some teasing. “What was that, baby? Avoid your clit? You got it.”

“No,” you sobbed, grabbing onto his hair and directing his tongue to your clit. This time, he relents, sucking the bud into his mouth and hollowing his cheeks, making you see stars.

But soon, his quick and fast lapping turn into lazy licks, and you get frustrated, grinding against air and pussy oozing out wetness as Satoru keeps his tongue outstretched in front of you but not close enough to make contact with your skin, teasing. You hate the feeling of your pussy throbbing and the inner thighs and pussy wet with your slick, lacking the sensation you needed to finally climax. “Oh my god, Satoru, please make me cum.”

“I don’t know baby, you sound pretty commanding to me.” The motherfucker shrugs as if he has nothing to do with your dilemma and starts trailing kisses up your inner thigh. His touches were close to where you needed him most, making you ache for the sensation of his wet laps against you.

“Please, baby,” you beg. “You feel so good, you’re making me feel soo good. I love you so much. Please let me cum.” You’re full on sobbing, hips writhing to get any sensation in.

Satoru, at your display, seems to give in, because he’s coming in once more, giving you a sweet little kiss on your clit. You nearly ascend.

He’s diving in, making a rhythm of dipping his tongue into your entrance and coming back to give sloppily wet laps on your clit. It’s when he groans while his tongue is inside, hot air and vibrations needily simulating your clit, that you come up with a gasp. You roll your hips, Satoru giving you little licks to help you ride out your orgasm.

For how hard you came, you’re bucking your hips frantically, body on a mind of its own as you almost fall off the counter. Satoru has to grip your thighs to prevent that potential injury and rubs soothing circles on the outside of your thigh as you pant, wetness and sweat likely painting the counter beneath you. It’s not until your breath returns back to it’s normal pace that you notice Satoru’s head against your thighs, looking up at you with lovesick eyes.

You’re probably giving him the same look back, you realize, given he made you ascend to heaven and back. He gives an affectionate kiss to your mound, moaning corny shit like “Your pussy tastes sweeter than the brownie.”

And then he stands up, knees popping on the way back up, and despite your fucked out state, you can’t help but giggle. “You old man with the popping knee caps.”

He glares at you playfully, but you know his expression too well to know there’s no real offense in it. “Hey. Rude to say that after I just made you cum your brains out.”

”And you’re about to get the same thing,” you purr, putting a hand on his hard-on. He hisses but looks at you with lust blown eyes as he grabs the back of your thighs to carry you to your shared bedroom.

Yes, rainy days do mean baking with Satoru, but not without intimacy with your even sweeter boyfriend in bed.

general masterlist

comment or reblog to let me know your thoughts! I appreciate all of them <3

a/n lol this was a bitch to write. this might be a word soup or salad or whatever for all readers and that’s ok! I’ve written this primarily at 1am so…

eugh ok im going back to writing ch5 of bridgerton!gojo and fixing the em dashes in this post when i wake up LOL

[communistkenobi]

something I’ve been thinking about is like, the internet is this magical system of technologies, never before seen in human history, and one of its capabilities is to answer virtually any question you ask of it. Which is not even remotely a novel observation obviously lol. But I’m thinking about this in the context of a point that Adorno & Horkheimer made (in The Culture Industry I think?) about the radio: that to expedience the radio, to live in a social context where there is this vast incomprehensible system of technological infrastructure that you do not understand or control, and which allows you, a mere peasant, to listen to news broadcasts, music, and advertisements, is effectively like listening to the voice of god. Like the average person’s relationship to modern telecommunications is so mystifying, incomprehensible, and abstract that we experience technologies like the radio as an all-powerful, indestructible authority, and this (obviously) shapes our relationship to the information that is shared through it. People make jokes on here about how transmission towers are angels, but like tbh that is essentially how we experience them - vast, incomprehensible, highly dangerous objects whose impact on our lives are at once all-consuming and unknowable. We do not just turn on the radio and listen to the news, we tune into what the voice of god has to say today - right now he’s selling toilet cleanser!

and all that to say, I always find something a bit incomplete about discussions about wilful ignorance online - that we live in an age of mass information and yet people still seem as ignorant as feudal peasants, or whatever. Nobody googles things, nobody tries to branch out and experience new kinds of art, nobody educates themselves on important topics they don’t understand. and like this frustration is very real and well taken, I feel it frequently, but what I’m grappling with is whether this is the correct framing - that maybe “why don’t people just google things” is the wrong question to ask, because I tend to find the explanations offered unsatisfactory. Like specifically I’m thinking of discussions on here that are about like, “anti-intellectualism”, kids these days are so ignorant even though they grew up with the internet, reading comprehension is piss poor, and so on. Recently I’ve seen a lot of weirdly moral-panicky posts about children not knowing how to type on computers because back in my day we were forced to learn how to touch-type by age 8 even though we couldn’t look up any tutorials on YouTube to help us, etc etc. And like I just do not buy that people are individually choosing to be ignorant, that people are “getting dumber,” and that this state of getting dumber is inversely related to the amount of information we have access to (which makes “getting dumber” even more dumb). An unstated assumption that goes into a lot of these “anti-intellectualism” discussions is that “information” is this universal object that has a standardised enlightening effect on the people who interact with it - that the only reason to have an ignorant, sheltered, or ill-formed opinion on something is because you have individually chosen not to Look At Information that will cure you of your ignorance. And so going back to the god radio thing, having regular access to the google search bar is not just having access to an encyclopaedia or dictionary - it is like having a direct line of communication to god, this authority that can answer any question you ask of it. But it’s not just one answer, it’s many answers, more answers than you could ever possibly read through. Google reports the number of hits it returns for whatever you type in - you will regularly get millions of answers to your question. And these answers are embedded with advertisements, just as radio news broadcasts are. Like if god is selling you toilet cleanser while telling you the number for a suicide hotline or news about what’s happening in the world, how do you psychologically deal with that, how is your relationship to capital-I Information shaped by this relationship?

The corollary to “we live in an age of mass information” is “we live in an age of mass misinformation,” but they both show up as answers on google (again, not a novel observation). but in the face of that how do you not simply stop asking questions? & of course this decision to stop asking questions is given form and substance by social circumstance, it reinforces systemic privileges and violences, and so this decision is not one free from consequence, and in many cases it is not an innocent decision. a white person deciding not to read the news because it’s too hard to figure out what is happening/too frightening/etc has the consequence of reinforcing the white supremacist outlook that is foundational to the social context of white people because they’re not reading anything that challenges that outlook. ignorance has many social contexts and many of them are violent. etc. like the consequence of “why does nobody google anything” is just a continuation of the status quo, just with this supposedly glaring and easy fix to it (simply google it). but that just leads us back to a discourse of individual choice, of people individually choosing not to “google shit.” it is a deeply individual fix to a systematic social problem. and so maybe the question is not, why doesn’t anyone google shit, but rather, why is the primary delivery system of knowledge a god that sells you toilet cleanser 

[ghost-proofbaby]

never love an anchor (e.m. x reader)

"On some level, I think I always understood that a ship could never really love an anchor."

warnings: severe hurt/brief comfort, suicidal ideations, severely depressed reader. again: detailed recount of suicidal ideations. dead dove: do not eat.

wc: 5.8k+

an: i cannot emphasize this enough - this fic deals with a severely depressed, and blatantly suicidal reader. it is extremely heavy. it is extremely triggering. it is extremely self-indulgent. the romance aspect is ambiguous and the comfort aspect at the end is brief. this is a genuine, and sincerely personal piece of writing. it is an outline of how suicidal ideations may present themselves to some people. of these 5k words, 4k is deeply littered with reader's ideations without sugar coating. please, please, please do not read this unless you're in the state of mind to read it. you've surely heard it before but i'll say it just to be sure: it is a permanent solution for temporary feelings. and, just in case no one has told you, i'm glad you're alive. if you're reading this, i'm glad that you're alive. you're enough.

if you find yourself feeling like reader, i urge that you find resources such as those linked. hotlines, therapists, friends, your doctor, your family - please. i do not wish these emotions upon anyone, and they should never be taken lightly.

that being said, here are my guts from a very vulnerable moment, spilled out across the page. please handle them with care if you choose to read.

Technically speaking, the pressure that the human body is capable of handling almost seems infinite. When introduced slowly, and time is given to adjust, there is no pinpointed amount of pressure that dooms the human body. Like a crab in slow boiling water, your body should be theoretically able to handle a steady increase, bit by bit, and never truly notice. 

So why does it currently feel like you’re dying?

The pressure was never an overnight thing. It was a conglomeration you’d gathered, piece by piece, collecting little souvenirs of all the responsibilities you can’t currently remember if you’d ever agreed to along the way. It hadn’t been sudden, it hadn’t been with lack of adjusting, it hadn’t been a pressure suddenly unloaded upon you all at once – you’d done this, brick by brick, all with your own two hands. 

Keeping up with friends, keeping up with work, keeping up with expectations. Always trying to run ahead of the curve, always trying to be better. You should be fine. You shouldn’t even notice. You shouldn’t be sobbing on your bathroom floor, clutching the edge of your porcelain tub, every single breath a labor of survival. 

It feels like every bone in your body is splintering. It feels like the world has cracked open your ribs, one by one, just for show. You don’t feel poetic like the movies, you don’t feel like a valuable lesson learned in the books. You feel as though you’ve become nothing more than some crude display in a contemporary art gallery, and you were the one to hang yourself on the wall. 

Needles prickle across your skin with another heaving sob, as if you can feel the push pins you’ve used to spread yourself out for consumption. 

We still on for tonight? 

The text from Eddie glares at you from your phone discarded on the floor mere inches away. You’re lucky the screen hadn’t broken when you’d thrown it down on the ground on your way to the toilet, dry heaving through all your tears. 

He wasn’t a part of the issue. If anything, he was part of the solution. 

A shining clean slate, pristine whites and a scratch-free surface for you to press your cheek to when it all got a bit much. An abyss of freedom and openness for when the world was all a bit smothering. An anchor to cling to, a rope to tie around your wrists to keep from floating too far. The willow tree in a graveyard to rest your back against, the caress of a warm sun even if only momentarily as you stared out across headstones of all the pieces of you that you can never get back. Every version of you that has long since buried, a few even with newly churned dirt resting upon them. Something soft, something sacred, to rest your hands upon. 

Why does he still let you rest your bloodied and dirtied palms on his shoulders? Did he ever agree to that to begin with? 

You can’t remember. Or maybe your brain is simply refusing to recall. 

I hate to cancel, but I’m sick. I don’t think I can come out tonight :-( 

What? Is everything okay? Are you okay? Do I need to bring you anything? 

Please don’t.

The please is what gives you away. You should have forgone it, should have offered him a lighthearted response instead. 

But there is a pit in the bottom of your stomach, and seeing all the question marks across his text only made it more terminal. Only gave it more reason to swallow you whole. Only gave it more reason to grow and to tangle up and to restrict each stuttering breath of yours that you can’t seem to steady. 

Another buzz comes from your phone, but you don’t look to read it. You resort to resting your forehead against the lip of your toilet, all attempts at a deep breath futile as you finally taste the salt across your lips. 

Were you too much? Were you not enough? Was it possible to be an odd juxtaposition of both? 

A harrowing thought crosses your mind, and you know if Eddie could read minds across the intricate webbing that connects cell phones, he’d grab you by your shoulders. Maybe shake you until you see sense, or maybe cling to you until the thought has faded into nothingness. As if he could squeeze you hard enough to press together all the splinters that are left of your bones, forming a new body – a better body. One that can handle the pressure. One that isn’t imploding upon itself. A more durable mind, a more capable suit of skin to occupy. 

Does it even matter anymore? Would it even matter if I simply vanished? 

Would it be so bad to let the pit finally consume you? To just give in, to let it erase you from existence. To finally wave your white flag and let the awfulness inside of you finally win the battle, erasing you from existence and leaving behind an empty space in the world that could be filled with someone better.

Someone who could be a better friend. Someone who could be a harder worker. Someone who wasn’t choked up on their bathroom floor, beginning to contemplate if the painful gasps were even worth it. 

Were you worth it? Were you worth the air in your lungs? Or could it better serve someone who could handle all the pressure? 

And it wasn’t even that much pressure to begin with, if you pick it apart thread by thread. It was the natural weight of the human experience, and you were still crumbling. 

There was a full bottle of ibuprofen in the cabinet. There was a busy street not far from your home. There was a bathtub that could easily be filled with water – you’d never been good at holding your breath, unless someone counted the last few months, in which that seemed to be all you were good at. 

There was even a bridge, 5.27 miles away from your house exactly. You could already envision the patch of grass you could park your car at, feel the drop in temperature as you stood and overlooked the tame waves of a man-made lake.

Maybe your feet didn’t even have to leave the pavement. Maybe it would be enough to just stand in the silence and see the jump with your own two eyes. 

You felt like nothing more than a ghost of yourself, yes, but maybe. Maybe, just maybe, there would still be a broken shard within you that could stir awake at it all. Maybe if you got up off the bathroom floor and set yourself into motion, it would open its eyes just in time to scream no. 

Ghosts don’t just appear. They were a vibrant soul once – they were somebody once. 

But it’s hard to imagine that you ever were. When it gets like this, it’s hard to push through all the tumultuous thoughts and loathly emotions to remember that. A version of you vibrant, a version of you that might have been worthy, if only for a moment. 

A version of you that wasn’t insulting to compare to others. That was capable of progress, of earning your blip of existence. 

You don’t want the bottle of ibuprofen. You don’t want the busy street. You don’t want the overflowing tub. You don’t even want the calm of the bridge. You just want it to stop. 

There’s a knock on your front door that echoes through the entire apartment. You dread that you already know who it is, but you can’t get up to answer. 

You can’t move from this very spot. You’re terrified of what will happen when you do. 

Will your bones collapse into ash upon the floor? Will you make one wrong move, and in a fit of pressure, make a terribly permanent decision for what feels like a terribly permanent feeling? 

Maybe you were born with the pit in your stomach. Maybe you were born with that black hole inside of you. Cursed to always be yearning, always be a juxtaposition, always be a ghost of what could have become. 

You think you hear the click of your front door opening. You think you hear heavy footsteps across the hardwood floors. You think, you think, you think. That’s the issue. 

The tears are still coming and going in erratic tides. The salt is drying out your lips, your cheeks, the corners of your eyes. You’d thought you’d been incapable of any more emotions like this, but your tear ducts have managed to prove you wrong. 

Does it even matter anymore?

You’d left the bathroom door wide open. 

Were you worth it?

You’d been home alone – past tense.

A more durable mind, a more capable suit of skin to occupy.

A soft gasp of your name has you microscopically lifting your head from the toilet seat. You know what the scene looks like; it looks like nothing more than the excuse you’d used. You look as though you’re ill, like you’ve been spilling your guts across the bathroom floor all night. 

If you had been, would it all feel a little less heavy? 

“Hey, Eds.” 

You’re tired. You’re exhausted. Your voice is nothing more than a drag of a whisper as you look up at your anchor standing in the doorway, his face painted with concern. 

Maybe you were an anchor – maybe being an anchor wasn’t a good thing. After all, what use does an anchor have beyond weighing down the ship? 

“Jesus,” he mutters as he rushes to your side, falling to his knees carelessly as his hand flies out to brush back tendrils of your hair, “You look like shit.”

You felt like shit. 

Selfishly, you lean into his touch, desperate for comfort. Desperate for those caring palms to soothe the ache you’d carried since birth. Desperate to hear him tell you that you’re wrong – hands to promise you that you’re worthy, fingers to wrap around your bones rather than these burning ropes. You’re bloodied and raw, fully on display, and you just want to be okay. 

You don’t want the bridge. You want Eddie. You want him to magically make it okay, and that’s unfair. 

You’re not his weight to carry, not his burden to shoulder. 

After far too long of a silence, one in which he sits patiently in with you, all you can really reply is a broken, “Yeah.” 

Immediately, he knows something is wrong. Because of course he does. 

Because he’s a good friend. He’s a good person. He has the right words more often than not, and his hands were always formed to heal rather than injure. Create rather than destroy. Those warm palms are made to hold the space he’s earned in the grand scheme of the Universe, and it almost makes you nauseous as the jealousy spreads. 

He’s good. 

And you’re simply rotten.

You used to lie to yourself and say it was simply one rotted bit amongst plenty of good, but tonight, it all seemingly comes to clarity. You can’t dig out the bad, cleanse yourself of the rot, because it’s all decay. 

You don’t have to let the pit consume you – it already has. You were born with it, and it had swallowed you whole from the first cry that had ever left your lips. 

He makes himself a bit more comfortable, and you almost feel bad for reducing him to nothing more than the bathroom floor, “You wanna talk about what’s really wrong?” 

“I’m sick.” 

“This isn’t just some stomach bug.”

Your throat begins to tighten again, and suddenly, his gentle touch across the crown of your head burns. Your eyes water ferociously, and your chest caves into itself.

You can’t make a better body or a more sound mind out of the mess you’ve become. You can’t pull gold from tarnished rubble. 

Confessing to him will only be handing over something heavy, something terrible, that he shouldn’t have to struggle with as well. But not offering him a sliver of the truth almost feels more dishonoring. 

“Do you ever feel like a waste of space?” you croak, leaning back, finally accepting that the small space of the toilet that had been cooling your face has gone warm. Another thing you’ve ruined, in hindsight, “Like, this world is filled with great people, and I just… I just, I’m taking up the space- I’m wasting the space-” 

You can’t get out the proper words. You don’t know how.

How do you say you want to cease to exist when you’re not really sure if that’s the truth? You’re miserable, and you’re selfish, and you’re not entirely sure your feet would have ever left the pavement if you had driven yourself to the bridge. You’d be too scared to do it.  

Too scared to miss the day that science announces it’s found a cure to all your rot, a miracle drug to erase the pit, a way to reverse all the damage you’ve been comprised of your whole life. 

His brows furrow and his hand stops all the calming movements, “What? Are you- are you saying you feel like a waste of space?”

It feels silly to admit it to other people. To try and describe how it all feels. Like a child trying to convince their parents the Boogeyman is real, you have to make him see that you’re right. You have evidence, you have proof, and it’s not just a feeling. 

“I don’t feel like I’m a waste of space,” you finally correct, both yourself and him, “I know I’m a waste of space.” 

“Bullshit.”

“Eddie, don’t-”

“No,” he cuts you off. And somehow, in only a way that he’s capable of, it’s not offensive, “You’re not. I’m not going to sit here and listen to my favorite person claim they’re wasting space-”

“I am!” It’s your turn in the cycle of interruption. You pull away from him entirely, chest heaving with the weight presenting itself once more, tears starting to fall all over again. You can’t even distinguish where the old tears stop and the new ones begin, “I really am. All I seem to do lately is just exist. And that’s such a- such a- that’s such a waste. I can’t read any of the things I should enjoy these days, I can’t even write. All of the words feel like they just come out wrong. I’m letting everyone down left and right, I’m never living up to whatever pedestal you’ve put me on. I don’t even know what I’m doing with my life. I don’t even know where I’ll be in a year from now – I can’t even see that far in the future.”

Heaves become sobs, and the crumbling has begun once more. A cycle of breaking, a cycle of demolition. Even leaving behind the rubble feels like a crime. A waste of space. 

“I don’t think I’m a good person,” you manage to spit out between all your visceral reactions, “Every year, I tell myself the same thing – I’ll be better, I’ll be kinder, I’ll be worth it. And every year, I fail.” 

Can he see it? All the fractures and splinters and pits and metaphors? 

Can he smell it? All the rot and the destruction and hopelessness?

Can he feel it? All the pressure? 

Through your sniffles, you press your back to the tub, knees to your chin as you wrap your arms around your legs, desperately trying to shrivel up. To take up less space. To waste less space.

“I used to think I could make up for it,” you whisper, “I could offer people things that made them forget I’m… so useless. But I don’t think I’m even capable of that anymore.”

If he’s about to respond, it’s drowned out by your cries. You press your eyes hard into your kneecaps, until you see stars, and you try to swallow down all the embarrassment. Try to stop all the hurt from spilling out, to stop all your guts from painting the bathroom walls. 

He could simply sit there, let you wallow in your misery alone. Sit and stare as the artwork finally serves its purpose to the visitors of the gallery. Maybe jot down some commentary on how with your bones all spread out like this, the point the artist was attempting to make becomes oh so clear. 

And yet, he doesn’t. 

You know it’s his arms that are wrapping around you, pulling you from the chill of the tub and into the warmth of his chest.  And you let yourself smother within the fabric of his shirt the same exact way in which you’ve convinced yourself you smother everyone around you, let yourself breathe in drugstore cologne and his last cigarette rather than think about all the thoughts that had been spiraling you into dismay over the last twenty four hours – over the last twenty four years. 

He’d probably been smoking while waiting on your call tonight. Probably riddled with anxiety, if the shake of his hands pressing into your back are anything to go off of. An anxiety and waiting game that wouldn’t have to exist if you didn’t exist.

The thought makes you cry harder. 

If a ghost dies, can it even still return back as itself? Can it still find it within itself to haunt empty hallways, and watch the ones it once loved find peace?

“You’re not useless,” it sounds as though Eddie might be crying as well, if not just a little choked up, “You’re not- I swear- You’re not useless, okay? Never have been, never will be.”

His murmured words are nice, but they fuel an unimaginable guilt. It was supposed to be a nice night. A night of movie marathons and midnight coffee, of trying to remind yourself why you still stick around. A moment of incomparable joy and sweet reprieve as your stomach ached from laughter, your cheeks swelling with an infallible grin that Eddie always seems to pull out of you.

There’s no smiling, no giggling, right now. Just his favorite band shirt from the show you two had attended a few years before, soaking with a fast-growing stain from all your tears. 

When you don’t answer him, only manage to wrap your selfish arms around his waist, he continues, “How long have you felt this way, sweetheart?”

And if you hadn’t already been shattered previously, that would have finally broken you. 

You can’t pinpoint when it started. You can’t clear the smoke of memories and find an exact moment that you can point to and say, there. That’s where the hurt starts — that’s where the rot starts. 

“I don’t know.”

In your mind, it’s a wail. Loud and ferocious, efforts of all it has taken to withstand the pressure of your undoing screamed out loud. 

But on this quiet bathroom floor, it can’t even be considered a whisper. Nothing more than the spoken words lingering from a ghost who can’t give up the haunt. An echo of a memory, an echo of the piece in you that can’t let go, not yet.

Not of existing, and not of him. Your fists hold him so firmly against you, you’re scared that you’re going to bruise him. Hurt him just from the sheer effort of trying to show that you love him. 

The only way you know how to love – a violent dog who will always bite the kindest hands. Leaving behind bloodied knuckles even if you hadn’t so much as snipped this time. 

You take a sharp breath, aware of the levity of the words you’re about to say, “I don’t want to exist anymore, but I wouldn’t even make it off the bridge if I tried.”

It’s not about the bridge anymore. In all likelihood, it wouldn’t be the bridge you turn to. There’s a grand metaphor somewhere in the admittance, but your mind is just too tired to try and paint a prettier picture of it for him. 

Because exist is just a placeholder. And there’s a bigger, scarier word that should stand in its place. 

He starts to break the hold, and you nearly sob out again just at that. Losing the warmth of his chest and arms strike pain somewhere deep within you, just north of the pit that’s devoured all that’s left of you. 

“Bridge?” Phrased as a clarifying question, but when you see his face, it’s clear he knows. There are no good words left to say about it, “Sweetheart, no.”

There are worse reactions to be had. More scenarios that end in slamming doors or deafening silent treatments. Realizations that you’re right and it’s not worth it – defense mechanisms that involve them leaving first. 

“I couldn’t do it, even if I want-” 

Even if I wanted to. The words you can’t speak, dying on your tongue. 

Do you want to? Where does the pain begin? And where could it end?

“You really don’t see it, do you?” he laughs humorlessly, his hands still gripping your biceps in a death hold, “You… you just…” 

He doesn’t know what to say, and you don’t blame him. You knew this was heavy; you knew this isn’t the type of bomb to drop on someone you love. 

But if you didn’t, where would the bomb have gone? You’re not equipped to detonate it. You’re not equipped to survive the explosion. You wouldn’t want to survive that explosion. 

“I’m sorry,” your words pour out, beginning to shake beneath his palms, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” 

Dry, cracked lips feel as though they nearly split from the apologies. More violence, more devastation, more of what you always knew you were. You can see it in his eyes – you’re dragging him down with you, right down to the bottom of the ocean. You’re being an anchor. 

He’s all stutters and harsh breaths, panic filling the space with your own as his eyes search yours, “Don’t apologize. You don’t have to apologize. Just-”

He cuts off and is pulling you close again. Slamming your bones into his, wrapping up around you as if he might be able to keep you safe from the world. From your own mind. 

“I don’t need apologies,” another squeeze of your closer to him, another attempt to pull you away from the dangers that lie within, “I don’t- I just… Can I help? How do I make it better? Just say the word. I’ll do it.” 

It’s not your job. That’s not your job. 

You don’t realize you’ve said the words out loud until he’s squeezing you so tightly that you now can’t breathe. Until all you are is him. All his old t-shirts he’s lent to you that hang in your closet, all the nights spent with tangled legs as you sit across from each other on your couch, all the phone calls in which he refused to be the first one to hang up. Cologne that is too cheap to be able to cling so ferociously as it does to all your surroundings, chain-smoked cigarettes you always chastise him for because they’re gonna kill you one day, the smoke of his latest blunt resting in an ashtray as his head finds home in your lap. 

All the inside jokes. All the hugs. All the simple texts, if for nothing more than to just check in on each other. The broken reminders of having someone out there that cares. That loves you. 

How can such rotten hands pull such love from others? How have you yet to infect him? 

“I know it’s not my job,” he finally says, and you know for a fact he’s crying along with you before the first of his tears have wet the crown of your head, “It’s never been a job. You’re not a job. Okay? Get that through your head. There’s- Fuck, there’s plenty of things I wanna drill in that pretty little head of yours right now, but I know I can’t, so just get that.”

He’s trying. A little trill of his tongue that falls a bit flat when he refers to your pretty little head, a brief squeeze of your shoulders as he tries to relax a little. He wants to make you feel better. He wants to make it better. 

But he’s still holding you like he’s terrified. You did that – you instilled that fear. 

“I’m a mess,” you whisper in bitter realization, ash on your tongue as you process what you’ve done. You’ve already apologized, but you’re seconds away from doing so again, “I’m- I’m a mess, and I’m dragging you into it, and I’m sor-”

“Stop being sorry.” Definitive words, no room for argument. The smallest of shifts as things click into place. He isn’t budging – he isn’t letting go, “Do you remember when I first met you?” 

You can’t tell if the question is meant to have a point, or if it’s meant to be a distraction. You let it grow into the latter.

“Yeah,” you breathe out against him, melting into his chest, trying to focus on his voice rather than the ones in your head, “But tell me about it anyway?” 

“Two years ago. Technically, two years and seven months,” he starts in the same voice he used to take on during Hellfire sessions, before the members had scattered from coast to coast and his D&D club only became a rarity when the stars aligned. There’s still a crack to his voice from his tears, but that doesn’t stop him, “We were in some cursed fucking diner we don’t even go to anymore, in the dead of the night, and all the servers knew your name and order,” he paints the picture with a humor that should feel out of place, but it settles some of your breathing. Omitting all the vivid details, opting for triggering the memory with words you’d just get. You can feel the stick of the plastic beneath your thighs, you can smell the grease of the kitchen. You can see the cloudy night out of the oversized windows. He’s a natural born storyteller in the most subtle of ways, always knowing his audience, “You were sitting all alone in that booth, and all of Hellfire had just left. Gareth had just told us how he was going to college in California – did you know that?” 

“I didn’t.” 

“Well, he did,” his chin presses against the top of your head, a huff of a laugh escaping him, “Dropped the bomb it was our last summer as a club probably. We were happy for him, though. Real fucking happy. Got milkshakes to celebrate and made plans to get drunk off our asses the next night to keep the party going. It was dumb, and I’m getting off track, but…” 

Baited breath, you’re waiting for him to continue. No thoughts of the bridge. No thoughts of your failures. Living in a small memory with him on the floor of your bathroom. 

“Anyways, you were sitting there all alone, with a plate of fries and ranch.” 

“Oh, God,” your nose scrunches and you try to pull away, suddenly remembering how embarrassing this memory ends for you. It suddenly didn’t seem like the best way for him to make you feel better by any means, “No, I remember how this story ends, and-”

“I’m not done,” he locks his arms around you, and you can feel the whisper of a smile as it brushes against your temple, “Obviously you know where I’m going with this, but I’m not done, sweetheart. Because all the other guys had just left, and I’m sitting there, realizing the only other customer was some random person over across the diner, scribbling away in some notebook. Thought you looked cute when you were all focused like that, y’know? But then you were so focused that it became distracted, and you spilled that ranch all over yours-” 

“Please, stop.”

You’re laughing through the words, weakly, the air of desperation in the word please being far different from earlier in the night. No bridges, no failures. 

“I was probably being a weirdo, trying to run over and help you or whatever the fuck I was trying to do. I probably made it worse, right?” 

You’re there, remembering a version of Eddie that was a stranger, taking napkins to the knees of your jeans and smearing the ranch rather than really helping you clean it up. “Yeah, just a little bit.” 

“Sorry for that, by the way,” he airily apologizes before continuing, “But I just remember thinking about how focused you were on that notebook. And how you laughed with the waiter. And how you were just… lost in your own little world. And how you were so cute. You were so nice. The type of person I wanted in my life. Took one look at you with that ranch all over your lap and thought, huh. I want to get to know that person.” 

“Nice? I was not nice, I was-” you cut off, heart all but stopping as you recognize the point of it all. It wasn’t meant to just be a distraction. He was making a point. “I was a… a mess that day.” 

“Exactly.”

He pulls away again, and this time, it’s a little easier. The world has put a pause on its ending and you can handle the weight of his arms lightening for a few seconds, just so he can get a good look at your face. 

“You were a mess the day that I met you, and I still wanted you in my life,” he says each word deliberately, not breaking eye contact. Fear has broken through to determination. “And even if you’re still a mess today, I still want you. Nothing changes. You get that?” 

No bridges.

No failures.

The weight of it all had been heavy. The type of sorrow you thought was never meant to be carried by more than your own two hands. But he had taken it in his palms, lifted it from you entirely, even if it would only be temporary. One day you’d have to endure the pain again, get to the root of the problem. Figure out if all your ailments had been something wired into you since birth, or things you’d picked up along your way. But for now, you could breathe again. You could hear the drumming of your heart in your ears, and you could hear every single one of both yours and Eddie’s breaths in the silence, and that was enough. 

“I don’t want to die,” you finally quietly admit. Saying one of the bigger, scarier words. The thing you’d been too afraid to let slip off your tongue originally. “I just- sometimes it all gets a bit loud, you know? And I know you said don’t apologize, but I am sorry that I scared you. And I’m sorry that you have to take the bad to also get that little bit of the good with me.” 

His hand leaves one of your arms for the first time since he’d first wrapped you up, and it finds its way to cradle the side of your head. Holding you as if you’re porcelain still. You know that won’t go away, not tonight. “I’d rather have your bad days than have nothing at all,” he chokes up once more, and you can see tears threatening to welt in his eyes, “You get that, too. Alright? You’re worth it. Bad, good, funny, sad – give it to me. I’m asking for it. Just don’t… don’t leave me with the nothing.”

You’re worth it. 

He’s found a worth in you attached to nothing at all. He’s sitting here with you, on the bathroom floor, and his perception of you has nothing to do with what you can only offer. 

It just has to do with you. He sees you, and he’s decided you’re worth it. Even now.

He smiles softly, as if he can see the realization dawning upon you, “You wanna get up off the floor now? We can go sit on your couch or bed or something.” 

You’re quick to shake your head. Your knees are partially digging into his thighs, your breaths are matching his. 

“Okay,” his face falls slightly, but not entirely. Not entirely, “That’s okay. Do you want me…. Do you want me to go?” 

Another shake of your head. But this time, you need to offer more than just the motion of your head, especially when you can feel tears returning as your throat tightens up, “No. No, just- Stay with me? Please?” 

Your hands reach out without you even processing it, gripping his wrists, desperate and clinging and still verging on the edge of violent. The thought of being alone is terrifying, but the thought of having to watch him walk out of this room is even more petrifying. 

He doesn’t even flinch as you sink your claws in. His smile only returns, and he shuffles to pull you both to hold your backs up against the wall across from the toilet, “Of course. I’ll stay, sweetheart. I’m not going anywhere – wouldn’t even dream of it.” 

His words shake just a little less than they had when he’d first entered the room. 

He can’t fix it all magically. That isn’t his job, isn’t his role, isn’t his choice. But he can sit here with you, on the floor of the bathroom, endlessly patient and tragically caring as he urges you to lay down. He stretches his legs out and pats his lap once before hovering his hands over your shoulder, guiding you until your temple is flush with his thigh. 

He can choose to not hesitate as his fingers immediately push through the baby hairs by your temple, a soft hum in the back of his throat that sounds exactly as you feel.

Hesitantly content. Just for now. It’s enough. 

The storm is receding. As hours pass by, and noises of uncertainty become more confident hums of a song you faintly recognize, it all settles. He stays. You stay. The storm passes for the time being, and the hole tempers itself for just the night. 

It’s enough for now. You’ll worry more tomorrow, or the day after, or the day after that. You’ll talk more about why you feel this way, and he’ll offer better solutions. The weight won’t simply be passed into his waiting hands and forgotten – one day, you’ll find a way to lighten it through dissipation rather than through catastrophe. 

One day, the seas will calm, and you’ll find yourself the ship rather than the anchor. 

And the captain can be the boy who sits on the floor with you through the sadness, content to wait out the storms with you until you find the worth he sees in you.

[thetxtdevil]

Witch's Brew

Taehyun x Reader

summary: a simple fairytale of a witch in the woods doing her duties of potion making with her raven familiar. however the familiar isn't just a bird to help with her responsibilities...

content: smut w/ plot, witch f.reader, familiar/demon taehyun/terry, dom taehyun, mentions of masturbation, begging, oral (fem receiving), slight spanking, bulge kink, let me know if i'm forgetting anything

word count: 3k

"a drop of vampires’ white blood, two tears of a siren, herbs from the troll's garden, water from the still stream"

your hands wave in circular motions over a big charcoal cauldron. your face glows the numerous hues from your potion. along side you a raven perched on a back of a wooden chair watching closely to the boiling concoction.

"here are the makings of the weeping soup!"

the potion's boiling bubbles get more abundant. the steam turns into weeping ghost like figures reflecting the name. a grin appears on you face and with wide eyes you look at the weeping soup with hunger. as it is your dinner for tonight.

"terry, darling, would you fetch me a ladle?"

the raven you spoke to croaks back to you and flies away. coming back as soon as you turn to the two bowls on the cauldron's side table. picking one up you raise your hand up the dark bird flies over and drops the spoon with its talons into your lifted hand. you scoop up the soup pouring it into the beautifully carved bowl and set it down. you then grab a smaller bowl and do the same but you place it down in-front of the raven.

the raven gurgles with contentment. you give him a big smile as you pick up your bowl and walk over to your sofa. extending your finger towards the tv, a flicker of electricity turns on the box and you watch with delight.

you were a witch raised by a coven of witches. you knew all things magic and the creatures who live amongst the magic. you excelled in potion making however, you fell behind the great skill of memorizing and brightness. you are smart, not a lot of witches could understand the art of potions but sometimes you could get a little... distracted.

your mother would find you in tears after you accidentally tipped over a bowl of bubbling liquid on the floor or the time a potion exploded in your face because you forgot to add a pinch of wolves fur.

this fact made your 16th birthday exciting as it is the age when a witch receives their familiar. familiars were demons that would obey you along with help you and they usually took the form of an animal. the day of your 16th birthday your coven dug up a black crystal that shimmered hues of blue and silver. you were beyond excited to see what your new friend would be.

you place it on your night stand next to your bed that night. you stared at it with big eyes until you fell asleep. drifting off you find yourself in a dream like state. everything was dark with white and grey smoke that formed shapes. you follow the patterns of the smoke and then you see the smoke stops you by forming a shape of a young man.

he was unreal. the figure had sculpted muscles, his teeth were bright and beautiful, encapsulated by sweet lips.

"who are you?"

"i am taehyun."

"kiss me" you blurted out

the man smiles at you but doesn't do anything. taehyun's body starts to fade away and you rush towards him but it was too late. you wake up with a loud sound of a bird's call. you wince at the sound along with the sun hitting your eyes. you look over to see that your black crystal has been replaced with a beautiful black raven.

you were a fully grown witch now. you had a few years with your familiar you named terry and graduated earning the title of potioneer. it was time to move on, your coven didn't want you to leave, but you knew you had to do it besides your house was only 10 minutes away if you take a broomstick.

your house was a classic witches' cottage. small, wooden, with vines overgrowing it. yet it had the necessary advancements of modern day living: a working toilet and shower, heater, ac, wifi. it was all you and terry needed.

one morning after it rained all night, the sun was rising making the grass and vines shine. terry flew over the fields of freshly watered grass scavenging items for your future potions as you were still asleep. as the raven was enjoying the smell of earth he notices a women running. terry isn't too worried about her until he sees the lady heading towards the cottages. terry soars to the window of your bedroom. he croaks loudly making sure you wake up.

"huh? what?"

you're a mess waking up by terry's noises. and that's when you hear a loud knock at the door. terry flys up on the cottage’s roof to over hear the two. you open the door to see a familiar face from your coven.

terry on the roof leans down. he's protective of you and doesn't want any intruders messing around.

"y/n! y/n! you have to help us our coven was cursed and a plague is spreading!"

"what? how did this happen?"

"one of the younglings was blamed for stealing a flower from another's coven's garden and they were not too fond of that"

you were stunned. witches are known to be cruel but to put a curse upon a whole coven because of a small thing was medieval.

"we have repelled the curse but people are still sick. i know you're good at making potions so i thought you could make a cure"

there was no way you could say no. this was your family it was your duty to use your abilities to help. so thats what you plan to do. you pack a basket of food and simple potions for the women to take back until you make a cure for the plague.

terry and you are off on your task. you take a trip to the mystical farmer's market trying to find ingredients: rosemary, pixie dust, lavendar, four leaf clovers, anything that would show signs of health. terry flies over a rock shop croaking at you.

"no terry i don't think stones would be useful"

he caws again, you ignore until terry lands on your shoulder and nips your ear.

"ow, ok, if you insist"

you walk over to the rock booth looking over the great selection. you pick up a amethyst and a rose quartz. you were about to settle on those two until you found a rock that resembled the crystal you received when getting your familiar. you smiled looking at terry, his raven head tilting so his eyes can look at you. you buy the rock and thought to yourself even though you're not going to use it, it was nice to have as decoration.

after a million of tries and fails you start to give up hope. ingredients were everywhere, some burnt and ripped. the raven watches cry out of frustration. you crash on your sofa to rest your head. terry flies over laying a blanket on top of your tired body.

"y/n... y/n!"

your eyes open to darkness. your look around to see smoke like shapes you've seen before. looking beside you, you see the man from you dream a long time ago.

"taehyun?"

"hi"

"hi... what are you doing in my dreams again"

"you're giving up hope which means you're giving up on your coven"

"i know but i'm having a hard time" you lean your head down

"you need to try again" the man rubs his pointed nose on your cheek lovingly

"but i've done everything"

"not the stone"

"the stone?" that damn stone terry wanted you to buy "will you finally kiss me if i use it"

just like before taehyun smiles at you and he wraps his body around you until his body turned into fog. a slight "i will." was the last thing you heard from him.

you wake up feeling a little more rested. turning your head to the work table your see your raven perched next to that black stone. you got up to take a good look at the stone, it even had the same shimmer of blue and silver the familiar crystal had. you look at your empty cauldron and then back at the stone. you lifted the stone and threw it at the bottom of the cauldron breaking it into smaller pieces.

the opened rock blasted bright light that filled the dim cottage. terry started to croak at the scene and fly up to grab more ingredients. both you and terry started throwing things in the cauldron like the broken rock's light opened your minds. after hours of spell casting and stirring, the potion was made. this was going to work you could feel it in your potion making bones.

even though it was nighttime you did not want to wait for the next day to deliver the cure. the coven has been waiting patiently and you didn't want to fail them. you wrap yourself in your purple cloak, putting a heavy bowl of potion in a basket, you straddle your broomstick and fly to your old home.

terry arrives before you croaking loudly to awaken the coven. the ones who were less sick came out to greet and praise you. they lead you to the child who was hit hard by the curse. you pour a cup of the white illuminated liquid and give it to the child. terry and you watch closely as the youngling blooms like a flower as soon as she gulps the potion. you turn to look at terry with the biggest smile and the whole coven gathers to get the trusted potion.

you arrive at the cottage after spending time at your first home. you were exhausted, you could feel the heaviness of the dark bags you had under your eyes. but you told yourself that you saved the day. you waddle to your bed and sink into it. the beautiful raven watched from the window as you close you eyes to rest.

as usual the sunrise awakens your tired eyes. you try to turn your body away from the sun's gaze but you then realize there's something in your way. this something was bigger than you, and had their arm around your waist. you freak out leaping out of bed.

"what the hell terry where are you when i need you?" you thought to yourself. looking at the sleeping intruder you found yourself dizzy from the fact that it wasn't a stranger, it was taehyun, a very naked taehyun at that. you climb back on your bed to get a closer look at the beautiful man.

in your dreams taehyun was only shades of white and blurry but now he was very real and detailed. tan skin that glowed in the sun, his muscles seemed more defined in real life, his face was soft yet structural. your hand instinctively strokes his hair, admiring it you realize he had black hair with strands of dark blue and silver.

taehyun slowly opens his eyes, blinking a few times to grasp his environment. he looks at you and smiles.

"hi y/n"

"h-hi"

his voice was sweet yet raspy. you lay your head down so you were looking at him at the same level. he smiles just like he has in your dreams.

"so you're real" you poke his bare shoulder

he huffs a laugh "you mean you haven't figured out?"

you look at him confused

"i'm the demon who helps you"

your eye bulge out of your eyes "terry?!"

he laughs at you while pushing you disheveled hair out of your face.

"you're supposed to obey me so everytime time i've asked you to kiss me you were supposed to"

"you're very persistent on that, but that was only a dream"

you frown. you've been so obsessed with the appearance of this man, now that he his real and right in front of you the more you actually want to touch him.

"i did promise that i would kiss you if you used that stone"

"you sure did" you smile

taehyun lifts his head and leans in to kiss you slowly. your mind was exploding the handsome man from your dreams was finally kissing you. the kiss lasted for a while until you finally understood that this was terry your raven. the raven that has seen you naked when you get dressed, the raven whose seen you do some questionable things because you live alone. you lean away from taehyun's kiss and rub your forehead.

"hey what's wrong?"

tae turns your head towards him so he can read you. your blush gave away your embarrassed thoughts to tae.

"yes I've been with you all this time, but i pledged to be with you forever"

the statement felt caring and comforting. you smile as you wrap your arms around his neck and pushed into another deep kiss with the man. this time it felt heated. tae shifts from his spot to hover you. his hands roamed your body softly as if he thought you'd break if he pushed too hard. he kisses your face, jaw, and nips at your ear

"do you just want me to kiss you or do you want more?"

"more" you whine

"more what?"

"more of you, i want you and anything... please"

he smirks at you politeness and does what he is told. kissing you he reaches to the little tied bow holding the collar of your dress and loosens it. he leaves your lips to leave a trail of sloppy kisses down your neck and chest. tae finds himself a little impatient with you dress since there was no easy way to take it off other than tearing it apart. the sound of torn fabric fills your ears.

"terry!" you gasp

taehyun doesn't say anything as he goes back to kissing your body. he had a destination in mind something he's thought of everytime you touched yourself thinking you were alone. stopping himself right above your clothed pussy he looks up at you. your eyes are on him without saying anything he can tell that you were begging him to do something.

just like your poor dress he grabs the thin cloth covering your sweet parts and rips it off. before you could scold the man tae dives his face into your pussy. lapping all the juicy you made just from him kissing you. you grab and pull his raven black hair as you moan loudly. tae pushes a finger in your cunt thrusting it along his tongue. he enjoyed this, eating you out like you never fed the raven. he purposely moans to send vibrations to your core. he replaces his tongue with another finger and starts to suck on your clit. he glaces at his witch whose back was arched with eyes squeezed shut. he reaches his other hand from you thighs to your breast. groping and pinching he was determined for you to cum the hardest you've ever had.

"i- i'm... ugh..."

your body was shaking you couldn't get the words out hot from taehyun's touches. tae didn't want to stop his tongue on your cunt so he hummed. this put you to your last breaking point cumming onto tae as he laps the cum all up.

taehyun lifts his torso up, now on his knees between your legs. he takes the time to look at the sinful sight. your clothes were ripped and the holes were only showing off the part that are usually covered. plush legs spread just for him, breasts moving up and down breathing hard from the orgasm, you had dried up tears on you blushed face. it was beautiful to the demon.

he watched your eyes drift down to his exposed member. the size and bulkiness was enough to make you wet again. tae smirks and hovers over you again to peck your lips.

"say it."

"use that pretty cock and fuck me already"

taehyun shivers at your dirty command. he kisses you one more time before straighting up again.

"flip over and ass up"

with no questions asked you turn your body and lifted your ass straight to tae's face wiggling it a bit. he lifts his hand up to smack down the plush flesh. you squeak at the action which again excites taehyun. he bends over your body giving you a kiss on the shell of your ear whispering

"i like the sounds you make for me will you make more with my dick ruining your cunt?"

you moan a yes dropping you head down as you feel his big erection against your soaking heat. his hands grip your hips as he pushes into your tight walls. tae throws his head back gasping at the feeling. he waits there letting you adjust only for you to start rocking your hips back and forth. tae then takes the lead thrusting into your core faster and faster listening to every noise you make.

you felt beyond good, way better than anything else. you then felt his hand on your belly pushing down. you gasp at what his intention were to feel his bulge that he was creating.

"can- you fill me up?"

tae smirks "as you wish"

tae's thrust became quicker and you joined by moving your hips. his hand still on your belly then drifts towards your clit. the heated feeling came back to you making your tight wall clench around tae. both of you lose your rhythm tae's motions on your clit becomes rushed which help you to your second climax which in turn helps tae to his. your cum now everywhere you whimper at the overstimulation of the man still going. tae keeps his word by blasting inside you covering every bit of your walls white.

he slumps over your torso sweaty flesh clinging to one another. tae snuggles you, head in the crease of your neck giving a few kisses here and there while lightly rubbing shapes onto you're skin.

"if you were terry this whole time why couldn't you have helped me out?"

"helped you with your potions or with your poor fingering skills?" he nips your ear again.

you both smile to yourselves and eventually fall asleep again.

A nuisance,

TxT's Devil

[cookienha]

☆ silly arguments with zb1

¦ ot9!zb1 x gn!reader, fluff

¦ warnings: established relationships, pet names, petty fights, kisses

¦ a/n: my inbox is always open soooo feel free to send in asks!!!!!

kim jiwoong !!

"The plates should go on the bottom rack, babe, and the glasses on the top. It's a science," He declared, arranging the plates and cutlery with almost comical precision. I scoffed, "Come on, babe, they all get cleaned anyways." Playfully rolling my eyes, I continued loading the dish rack with freshly washed plates. "Besides, I'm a firm believer of a carefree philosophy in the kitchen," The tension rose as we debated the importance of arranging plates and utensils with almost comical intensity. In the end, we compromised by taking turns loading, each secretly rearranging the other's efforts when the other wasn't looking. As we stood amidst the clinking of dishes, Jiwoong nudged my shoulder, eyeing the dishwasher infront of us, "You know, our dishwasher deserves better." Unable to resist the humor in the situation, I replied, "Maybe it secretly enjoys the chaos." We couldn't help but burst into laughter, finally realizing the absurdity of our argument.

zhang hao !!

"Classical music has a timeless elegance, Y/N. It's rich, sophisticated," Zhang Hao argued, defending his favorite genre. I, however, leaned towards electronic beats, stating with a smirk, "But the energy in EDM is electrifying! It brings life to the moment." Our banter on musical tastes continued, passionately advocating for our preferred genres. In the end, we finally compromised, agreeing to add both of our favourite genres into playlists that seamlessly blended the grace of classical with the pulsating rhythms of EDM. As the diverse melodies filled the room, Zhang Hao teased, "I don't think adding music into playlists should be a diplomatic mission,"

I chuckled, replying, "Hey, you started it," Our shared laughter resonated, the delightful (and upbeat EDM) harmony being the background to our silly little debate.

sung hanbin !!

"You seriously think leaving socks around is a form of art?" I raised an eyebrow, eyeing the scattered socks around our shared bedroom. He chuckled, defending his carefree approach, "It's giving me 'cozy aesthetic',"

"Well, Hanbin, if 'cozy aesthetic' involves turning our bedroom into a sock exhibition, I might need some convincing."

Our playful banter on cleanliness unfolded, each defending our interpretation of a tidy living space.

Eventually, we compromised, designating certain areas for Hanbin's 'cozy aesthetic' and others for my organized order. Amidst the sock battleground, he quipped, "Clearly, socks are the secret to a harmonious coexistence." Smirking, I shot back, "Absolutely, who needs roses when you can have an array of socks strategically strewn across the floor? Romance at its finest."

"It's my love language," Hanbin defended, eyes twinkling as he chuckled.

"Oh, of course," I quipped with a playful smile, "Poetry is nothing compared to the intricate art of sock-scattering. A true romantic, you are."

seok matthew !!

"Babe, leaving the toilet seat up is not a statement. It's just inconvenient," I sighed, noticing the recurring situation. He grinned, defending his case, "It's more efficient, you know. Saves time," Our banter over toilet seat etiquette continued, each of us sticking to our preferences and I couldn't help but shake my head, chuckling slightly at his different idea of time efficiency.

"Efficiency might be your mantra, but a surprise cold splash isn't exactly my idea of a time-saver." Matthew chuckled, undeterred, "Think of it as an invigorating wake-up call. Keeps you on your toes, quite literally."

As he continued debating on his time-saving toilet seat tactics, I couldn't help but chuckle. "Maybe we should install a scoreboard for our daily battles of convenience." He winked, "Great idea! Winner gets the TV remote tonight."

Smirking, I playfully accepted the challenge, "Unless you agree to keep the toilet seat down, prepare to witness the unmatched skills of the reigning TV remote champion."

kim taerae !!

"How many times have I asked you to close the kitchen cabinets? It's not a hard concept, Taerae," I sighed, finding them wide open again. He grinned, defending his forgetfulness, "It's an open invitation to snacks. I call it convenience, babe."

We both persisted, unyielding in our perception on kitchen organization. Ultimately, a compromise emerged, resulting in him earning the privilege of leaving one cabinet open for snacks, while the rest were deemed off-limits to reduce culinary chaos.

"Fine, just one cabinet. Save the rest for my kitchen use," I proposed, a smile lingering on my face as he pretended to ponder for a moment.

"Okay, babe. Just don't be surprised if you find me conducting midnight snack raids." He grinned mischievously. "Just make sure the cabinets stay closed, and we'll avoid a midnight snack catastrophe,"

shen ricky !!

Arriving home to our shared apartment, I was instantly met with my boyfriend's scattered footwear. With a sigh, I began to carefully arrange them one by one. "Babe, didn't we agree to arrange the shoes on the shoe rack? Tripping over them is no fun,"

He chuckled as he eyed me maneuvering my way around his shoes before defending his shoe placement, "It adds character to the room, princess."

I shot him a playful look, raising an eyebrow. "Well, if shoes are the new aesthetic, then I demand a matching theme for the kitchen. Maybe utensils in artistic disarray?" He stood up, walking over and pickrd up a pair of his sneakers. Grinning, he replied, "How about a culinary chaos motif? It's avant-garde." I shook my head, laughing. "Avant-garde or not, I prefer a clutter-free zone. Shoes on the rack, and we can unleash creativity elsewhere."

He smiled, leaning in to place a chaste kiss on my cheek. "Fair enough, princess."

kim gyuvin !!

"It's been thirty minutes, Gyuvin. Can we please decide on the movie? It's just two hours of our lives," I groaned as I eyed him scrolling through the endless sea of movie options on Netflix. "Tsk, darling," He clicked his tongue, playfully rolling his eyes and furrowing his eyebrows. "Choosing a good movie needs determination, you can't rush it."

"Okay, but at least, don't open an action movie. Like, we've been watching The Avengers for three days in a row now,"

"Hey, it's a good movie for when you don't know what to watch!" He defended his movie choice with fervor, voice high. As I decided to present my point of view, our playful debate started, using more time to bicker rather than choosing a movie.

"Okay, fine. I hear you," Gyuvin chuckled, finally settling on a romantic comedy.

"How about we switch gears and give our superheroes a break tonight?"

I sighed in relief, "Finally, tonight will be the night we break the Avengers streak," I chuckled. Gyuvin hit play as we settled in each other's embrace, watching the movie playing on the TV screen and leaving the superheroes to save the world without us for once.

park gunwook !!

"Gunwook, can we not leave the kitchen sponge in the sink?" I sighed, noticing the damp sponge laying in the middle of the sink as I stepped in the kitchen.

"It's marinating, babe."

"...What?" I stop in my tracks, tilting my head to the side. "For a more efficient dish washing experience."

My eyebrows furrowed in confusion as we burst into laughter. Our banter started over basic kitchen hygiene, each of us sticking to our habits.

"It's a breeding ground for germs, babe." I chuckled, shaking my head. "That sponge holder next to the sink is there for a reason,"

Gunwook clicked his tongue, shaking his head with eyes closed and shaking his index finger, disagreeing with my point of view on kitchen hygiene. Standing up from the seat, he walked over and towered over me.

A smirk played on his lips, eyebrows raised. "Your obsession with cleanliness is adorable, but I'll stick to my rebel ways."

With that, he stole a quick kiss on my lips, leaving me chuckling amidst the remnants of our lighthearted kitchen banter.

han yujin !!

"Yujin, you left the cap off the toothpaste again," I scolded, walking out of the bathroom as I raised the offending tube.

He chuckled, "Does it really bother you that much?" "Yes! It's the little things that matter," I retorted, my annoyance genuine. "It's good to keep a spare, you know. For emergencies."

I couldn't help but chuckle at his idea, tilting my head. "Emergency toothpaste caps, really?" Yujin grinned, mischief in his eyes, "Alright, I'll make sure to keep the caps on next time," He teased, and just as I was about to reply with a grateful thank you, he slyly added, "But only if you beat me in a thumb war."

I burst into laughter, but I agreed nonetheless. A thumb war over toothpaste caps seemed absurd, yet we engaged in the playful duel. Amidst laughter, our petty fight turned into a thumb-wrestling championship, the toothpaste momentarily forgotten. In the end, Yujin surrendered, admitting defeat with a smirk. "Cap stays on from now on," he declared, sealing our resolution with a small peck on the cheek, turning a trivial argument into a cherished memory.

[bamsara]

Oooo, for the dialogue prompts "you should have thought about that before you got into a fight" and "I only wanted to help"

I love your works! Your art looks like itd taste like sour patch kids, v nice!! ^^

Sun (Mostly) Centric | Wordcount: 1,147 | AO3 Version

The world has not yet adjusted to the flood of robots merging with day-to-day society.

At least, not in the form they had taken prior. To say that there was some backlash was undercutting it; using arguments of humanity vs machine to its core, despite the clarity that those walking alongside them weren't just AI made to mimic human traits and personality, but sentient beings that develop their own. There's a difference between a chatbot app and your next-door neighbor who just so happens to be made out of metal.

Still, there is progress as much as there are incidents. A recent ruling states that all robots don't need to look human in order to receive the same amount of respect and rights (which is fantastic for all of Fazbear's line up of robots, considering they were animals in nature and all, in all franchises and pizza plexes across the country) but there were...incidents too, some of them making the news.

So when you're out doing some quick shopping for groceries one day and a stranger with a taut face and a sour attitude starts heckling Sun, and that heckling turns to harassment, and thus turns into him reaching for the back of the animatronic's head and pulling at the vulnerable wires there, you clock him.

Hard, actually. Your knuckles hurt like a bitch, but you don't have time to shake the feeling out from your hand because the guy sends one right back and oh, there you go, tumbling in the isle and knocking baking soda and sugar and other cake ingredients off the shelf as the two of you yell profanities and arguments while Sun has a metaphorical loading symbol over his head while he processes the last five seconds.

Now you're both banned from that store. The other guy is too, thankfully. Still sucks though. You didn't get to check out the ingredients for the cake.

"You're a real mess." Sun scolds you, dipping the rag back into the warm water, and bringing it back up to your face. He dabs at the dried blood under your eye, careful not to rub too harshly so as to not irritate the darkening skin beneath it. "Honestly. That could have gone so much worse-"

"Like pulling wires out of your head?" You interrupt. You're not too keen about the bathroom being turned into a lecture hall, and the lid of the toilet seat being your 'time-out' spot as he tends to you. "Yeah, sure. I'll just let the stranger rip out what is essentially your brain cords out of your flat skull and be fine with it."

Sun shoots you a look. The default smile is strained.

"What?" You hiss in the silent pause, and not because of the sting of your eye. "All I'm saying is that this-" A point to your face, "-is preferable than the other outcome."

"Our wires are welded in with steel, so I highly doubt a human could rip them out without some sort of power tool." Sun tuts. "You remember Parts n Service."

He had a point. The machine in Parts n Service did weld his arm back into place at the time, and all the other repairs since then didn't go without some sort of heat tool to make sure everything was properly molded in place. Still, you frown. "It's still fucked up that he did that, though."

"Language."

"We didn't even get the cake mix." A light dab on the eye, you bite your tongue as Sun clears the last of the dried blood from the area. "Shouldn't have banned us. Now we have to go across town to get groceries."

Sun pulls back the rag, stained pink and light brown with old blood, dropping it in the sink to be washed later. "You should have thought about that before getting into a fight."

"I was only trying to help!" You defend, continuing as Sun pulls out the disinfectant in a rather knowing manner. The cut underneath your eye from the guy's ring was about to sting like hell. "And it's not like I was the one who started it!"

He pours a dab of alcohol onto a cotton ball retrieved from the first aid kit, a small puff of white in between large silocone fingers, it's almost comical how he pinches it into place before crouching back down, the cotton ball hovering over your face. "Hush. This is going to sting."

Your mouth thins at the underlying tone of Moon's voice in his scolding, leaning away from the offending ball. "You're such a hypocrite."

A hand comes underneath your chin to hold you in place, thumb pressed into your jawline. "Stop whining."

"How would you feel, huh?" You wrinkle your nose as the disinfectant ball comes closer. "What would you do if someone attacked me like that?"

The cotton ball presses against the cut and you flinch, hard enough that your shoulders hike up and your neck tenses. It stings like hell, searing for a moment before dulling to an aching throb, a hiss in the back of your dry throat.

The Daycare Attendant's thumb keeps in place for a second, then pulls it away, expression unreadable. "The same thing we did the last time someone tried."

You grit your teeth, pressing your lips into a thin line as the stinging starts to fade.

"Though," He continues, pulling the cotton ball away and tossing it into the trash. "While your help is appreciated, It would be very much appreciated if we were to avoid something like that in the future!" He waves his hands, the bright smile returning, and Sun's fingers go behind your ear, pulling back out a colorful bandage. "I think it goes without saying that it makes me very sad to see you all hurt. Not fun at all!"

You blow hot air out of your nose in a huff as he applies the sticky bandage. "Hypocrite."

"There you are! Right as rain, dandy and peachy." Sun pulls back to observe his handiwork, and there's a slight pause. "Well, not quite. You've still got a bit of a shiner. I don't think I have a medicine for that one."

"It makes me look cool." You jest. "I look badass."

The animatronic sighs, heavy and loaded for a robot with no lungs, though his exasperation is evident in his voicebox. "Pulling my wires, our wires, please, you're constantly on them-" He's mumbling, quickly. Still talking even as he cradles your head gently by your jawline, and presses his faceplate to the skin above the black eye. "Afraid that's all I can give."

You wrinkle your nose, smiling. "I think a cake would be great too."

"Thanks to someone-" He starts, rising from a crouched position and taking your hand to help you stand. "It looks like we'll be ordering one from the bakery instead."

[volleypearlfan]

Canadian Cartoons Are Great

Today, the popular cartoon YouTuber Saberspark uploaded a video talking about the infamous “fart episode” of the 2023 Total Drama series. The comments were filled with hatred and generalizations towards Canadian animation. These terrible comments are not the fault of Saberspark, but it is true that the “big users” in the cartoon community are (mostly) Americans who spread myths and stereotypes about Canadian cartoons. This has bothered me and a few others for quite a while, so here, I’m going to prove why Canadian animation is great, actually, and dispel common misconceptions

All Canadian cartoons are about fart jokes - if you say stuff like this, you clearly have never seen a Canadian cartoon outside of Total Drama and Johnny Test. That’s like if I said “all anime is naughty tentacles” or “all American cartoons are about anvils falling on your head.” And don’t act like your precious USA cartoons and anime are exempt from toilet humor. One example of an anime with toilet humor is Panty and Stocking with Garterbelt - their first episode was about a monster made out of shit. And we all know about the gross out cartoons such as Ren and Stimpy.

Canadian cartoons are cheaply mass-produced because of CanCon - No. What CanCon ACTUALLY states is that a certain percentage of content on a Canadian channel has to be Canadian-made. The policy is about supporting Canadian art, not “mass-producing” cartoons, since this applies to ALL Canadian TV and radio content, animated or otherwise.

Now, let me tell you some reasons why Canadian animation is actually great

Some of your childhood shows, such as Arthur, Franklin, and Little Bear are Canadian in origin.

Some of the most acclaimed cartoons within the cartoon community, such as Ed Edd n Eddy and MLP:FIM, were both animated in Canada and had voice actors from there (same talent pool, in fact - Vancouver)

Inspector Gadget and the Beetlejuice animated series helped keep good animation afloat during the 80s. In a decade full of uninspired and insipid cartoons, these were two of the highlights.

Canada is still a great place to outsource animation, as proven with the works of Nelvana, Mercury Filmworks, Jam Filled, and countless others.

If you grew up without cable, you probably watched PBS Kids and/or Qubo a lot. Guess what - lots of the shows on both of those channels were Canadian. For example: the PBS Kids Bookworm Bunch: Timothy Goes to School, Seven Little Monsters, Marvin the Tap-Dancing Horse - these shows are all Canadian! Qubo was also home to Jane and the Dragon, Jacob Two Two, Babar, Spliced, etc - they’re all Canadian too.

Because Canada’s censors are far more lax compared to American ones, Canada has made huge strides in teen and adult animation. Such shows include Total Drama, 6teen, Detentionaire, Undergrads, Producing Parker, etc as well as the movie Heavy Metal.

Also because of the lax censors, Canadian cartoons had positive LGBTQ representation far before the United States did. One episode of 6teen has a character stating “I’m gay,” and in Braceface, the main character assists her gay friend in finding a boyfriend. Unsurprisingly, these episodes never aired in the US.

6teen also dealt with periods before Turning Red, Baymax, and Molly McGee did it (again, the episode was banned in the US).

Finally, here are a few Canadian cartoons I recommend, and where to watch them:

Cybersix (it was a Canadian and Japanese co-production). The whole thing is on TMS’ YouTube channel.

Redwall is on Pluto, and there are episodes of it on YouTube courtesy of Treehouse Direct

Toad Patrol (unfortunately you’re gonna have to resort to low quality YouTube uploads)

Silverwing - again, the complete series is on YouTube

Detentionaire- On Tubi and Pluto!

Ruby Gloom is a great show if you like cute gothic stuff; it too is on Tubi and Pluto

The Adventures of Sam and Max: Freelance Police - on Tubi

One of my favorites, The Raccoons. Basically the Canadian equivalent to The Simpsons, and with a banger ending song. The show’s production company has uploaded episodes of it for free on YouTube.

The original Clone High was animated by the legendary Nelvana (if you’re wondering, the new season is not outsourced to Canada 😔) It is on Paramount Plus and HBO Max

Undergrads - yet again on YouTube, in low quality unfortunately. Like Clone High, it was on MTV.

I also recommend watching some short films from the National Film Board of Canada. My personal favorite is the Log Driver’s Waltz.

Tl;dr - American cartoons are not bad because of Allen Gregory, anime is not bad because of Pupa, and Canadian cartoons are not bad because of Johnny Test or fart jokes.

[jamsterrr]

BONEDO . . . IMAGINES ⭑.ᐟ

BOYNEXTDOOR ,, when you are on your period.

( OT6 ) ‘ earth , wind , fire & being a woman ’

contains ‼️ : slight kissing ( for legal line ) , mentions of blood , jokes , overall fluffs , embarrassing moments.

a/n : the leehan one being this short should honestly be criminal 😔 but I couldn’t write. Anyways! I hope you enjoy! 🥺 I honestly think they’re really cute and I might do more imagines in the future.

link to my masterlist . . . !

JAEHYUN ‹𝟹 | 재현

Even though the two of you have been dating for a while, your period is something you wanted to keep to yourself for as long as you could. But this week you couldn’t. You’ve been spending the week with Jaehyun at his place. Playing video games, cooking together, telling jokes and overall enjoying your time until it was time for his schedules to get back to normal.

You were cuddling on the couch when all of a sudden, you felt a liquid slide down your leg after Jaehyun told a joke that almost made you piss your pants. “What?” He asked curiously as he leaned up to you. You widened your eyes and shook your head. “I have to go to the bathroom, I’ll.. uh be right back!” You jump up, turning yourself away from the man, running to the bathroom and there it was, like the Red Sea in your panties. Mentally face palming. How could you be so stupid as to miss the signs.

You sat on the toilet, deciding on what to do before just getting out of your mind. He’s your boyfriend, he’ll understand right?

But before you could even say anything you heard the soft knock on the door followed by your name. “Y/n? Are you okay?” The male asked, his voice being muffled by the door.

“No- I’m bleeding!” You say, your face flustered, your hands on your cheeks to cool the spots down. “Bleeding?? Did you get hurt??!” The male asked, rattling the doorknob. “Wait-! No! I’m okay! Don’t.. I don’t want you to see!” You about as he stops.

“What happened Y/n.”

“I got my period..” you shyly admit, clearing your throat. “Oh- okay..” he says. There’s a slight silence before you hear his feet step away. At few minutes felt like a couple of hours before you heard the male come back, gently sliding a basket with newly packaged underwear, a pad and some wipes carefully through the doors crack. “Here, you left in the laundry and I washed them” he spoke before shutting the door. Thank god for you spending the week over.

After you wiped yourself, making sure to clean everywhere and fold your dirty clothes up so he wouldn’t see the mess that was made, you changed your panties and threw on his shorts since your pants got ruined in the process, you slowly made your way out of the bathroom and to the livingroom after discarding your dirty clothes where the two of you were cuddling.

Jaehyun opened his arms which you gladly, yet cautiously sat beside him. “Feeling better now?” The male asked, his hand returning to its proper place on your waist. “Yeah, thank you Jae..” you mumbled. “Now what are awesome boyfriends for? This is the bare minimum doll.”

SUNGHO ‹𝟹 | 성호

Sungho smiled as he adjusted the camera to look at you and to make sure you were in frame. “Is it good?” You asked before waving your hands. “Yeah, stay still so I can get a good picture!” He stated as you nodded, posing you heard the camera shutter. A couple of times actually.

You and Sungho finally decided to take the art date you both so much wanted and deserved. Coming back from the panting, you linked your arms with his as he gently took your bag. The one you carried, but were used to him taking and carrying it for you.

“My angel won’t carry anything as long as I have my arms” he spoke. The words ringing in your head which made you smile. All of the sudden, you felt a liquid spill down your legs. “Babe.. I need to use the restroom” you said, gently tugging onto his arm. He nodded and looked around, spotting the bathroom and leading you to the ladies room.

“I’ll be right out” you spoke softly before walking into the restroom and entering a stall, sitting down and sighing. Your period had started about 3 days ago, this was the last day of such a heavy flow. After pulling off the pad, your mind searched for the bag that Sungho was holding. “Shit..” you mumbled to yourself. “Sungho!” You whispered shouted. Hopefully he was able to hear you. But seeing as no one said anything back, you tried again. “Sungho!” You yelled a little louder, still no answer.

You leaned slightly against the back of the toilet seat. Remembering your phone in your pocket as you took it out and dialed his number.

“Angel? Why are you calling me?” The male asked. “I’m uh.. on my period and I need my bag..”. “You want me to come in the bathroom??” The male asked. “Yes-! I need it. Please~” you pleaded, gently biting on your inner cheek before the phone call was hanged up.

After a few seconds, you heard a couple of shuffling foot steps. “Y/n?” You heard the male whisper yell. “Thank god no one is in the bathroom.. which stall are you in?” The male asked. “This one..!” You responded before he gently hung the bag over the door as you grabbed it. “Thank you, you’re a life saver.” “No problem angel, I’ll be waiting outside again” he mumbled before making his way slowly out the door.

You hummed in response before waiting for him to leave as you hurriedly clean yourself and change your pad. All you were truthfully thankful was that no one was in the bathroom with you at the time. You quickly discarded of the trash and came out, wrapping the bag around your arm, washing your hands and meeting Sungho back on the outside where his hands quickly came up to grab your bag and swing it on his shoulders, his hand holding yours.

“Feel better?” The male asked as you nod and smile. “Amazing, what do you want to eat?” You ask, resting your head on one of his broad shoulders as you both walk. “Let’s try the new cafe down the street, I hear that dark chocolate is good for cramps” he smiles.

How considerate.

RIWOO ‹𝟹 | 리오

You and Riwoo got to the company building early, practicing dances with each other. A sort of love language the two of you always shared. Even after 6 months of dating. The only thing you didn’t share was the fact that you got periods. Though you were sure Riwoo already knew that and bout them.

But it was still something you didn’t share, not because of that but your shyness to the subject. You were in the dance practice, warming up, sitting on the hard wood floor as Riwoo came back with both of your thermos water bottles filled up with water.

“Ready~?” He sang, smiling as he handed you the water as you gladly took it and took a sip, popping a pain reliever into your mouth, taking it down with the water. “Mhm, as ready as I’ll ever be” you spoke.

Riwoo smiled and helped you off the floor after you sat your bottle down as he walked over to the music and turned it on.

Throughout your practice Riwoo was nothing but helpful. Making sure you were on the right lead before starting with another dance. One thing about Riwoo was that he was passionate about dancing and would do whatever it took to get you there. Riwoo helped you with dance steps, putting his hands on your waist to guide you in certain moves. Your face blushing but it passed off as a sweaty and just heated face in general.

It been a couple hours since practice, you used the last bit of your tampons, since you found those a bit more comfortable to dance in. “Damn..” you slightly mumbled to yourself. You felt gross, you were sweaty and you needed to change. Asap.

You linked hands with your boyfriend, your demeanor changed from your normal talkative state to being quiet so he knew something was wrong. “What’s wrong baby?” The male asked, humming as you both swung your hands. You twitched a bit. “Uh.. it’s nothing” you shook your head as the two of you walked down the street.

“I know it’s something, talk to me.” He responded, the two of your strides slowing down to where you were basically moving one mine per hour. “I feel dirty..” you mumbled shyly. “Don’t worry, we’ll be back to our place soon.. you can shower first~ or we could shower toge-“ he started but you shook your head. “That dirty, but I’m not talking about that dirty.. I uh, ran out of pads.. and tampons” you admitted.

Riwoo looked at you, head slightly tilted but then the lightbulb went off in his head. “Oh- yeah okay right. There’s a store down the street, i can buy you some more.” He smiled and gently took your arm, his strides speeding up, you slightly stumbling but following after him.

“No it’s okay- i can bu-“ you started but he shook his head. “I might not know much, but if my world needs anything, I can buy it.” Riwoo spoke. You blushed and followed him down to the convenience store.

Riwoo looked through the aisle until he found the ones you used, “these right?” He asked as you nodded shyly. You knew his mom raised a good man if she taught him about periods. The handheld basket he grabbed slowly started to fill up with pads, tampons, snacks and medicine. The male was determined to make the rest of your day a relaxing one. Getting to the counter he paid and you stayed silently yet admiring behind him. Admiring the male he was.

When the two of you got back to your place, you showered first and got yourself changed as he let you relax on the bed before he went to shower himself. You flipped through the channels, finding a documentary to watch while you waited. Once he got out and came to the bed, he gently placed a couple of kisses on your stomach and cheek before you laid your head on his chest.

“Don’t ever be shy to tell me something like that again.. I’m here for anything and everything you will need” the male spoke as you nodded softly. “You’re the best boyfriend.”

TAESAN ‹𝟹 | 태산

You were sitting on your boyfriend’s lap, Taesan in the music room, letting him listen to music and work on the songs he wanted to. You didn’t mind being with him and he loved you being there. He called you his ‘ muse ‘. So you enjoyed coming and hearing the amazing things he was making.

It was truly music to your ears.

You shifted slightly uncomfortably in his lap, feeling a bit of blood rush from between your legs. The feeling making you shift once again. Feeling bad about the continuous shifting. Which you could tell Taesan noticed.

“Y/n babe? You good?” He asked as he removed one side of the headphones from his ear to be able to hear your response. “Yeah.. I’m all good” you spoke. But he knew better than that. “Seriously?” He asked, his voice soft but his tone serious. “Yeah..” you mumbled as he nodded and played the music in his headphone, bringing it back.

His hand wrapped around your waist, gently squeezing your waist in a soothing manner to try and help your shifting. But as you felt another bit of blood gush you shifted again which caused Taesan to stop and look at you. Now he knew something was wrong.

“Babe?” He asked and you looked at him. “What’s wrong?” He asked before you sighed and gently got off his lap, standing there slightly embarrassed. “I’m on my period, I’m just.. it feels weird~” you slightly complained as he chuckled a little bit. “Babe, you’re fine. You can talk to me and I’m not a stranger to it” he said reassuringly as he took off the headphones.

Taesan spun the chair towards you and pulled you in by your waist, his chin resting gently on the top of your stomach, “want to get food then go home?” The male asked. “What about your music?”

“That can wait.” He spoke as he slide back, standing up and taking your hand. You smiled, blushing slightly at your boyfriend’s willingness to have your comfort over his hobby. He took your hand and grabbed the bag he carried his equipment with. Making sure everything was turned off before the two of you walked out of the building with you.

The two of you finally made it back to your apartment where you were able to change your clothes into something comfortable, preferably your boyfriend’s hoodie. He was sat on the couch, having ordered your favorite food. Soft tunes playing in the background as you made your way onto the males lap, facing him as he smiled. His perfect teeth shining at you.

You pressed a small kiss to his lips as his hands grabbed your waist. He kissed you back, a smile being let out against the kiss.

You pulled away and looked at him, your arms wrapped around his neck as his long fingers tapped rhythms on the small of your back.

“I’m glad you finally let me know about your period, that way I can know about it for my little sister when she visits.” The male chuckled a little and you nodded, returning a smile back into your face. “I’ll make sure to keep the bathroom stocked for her then” you laughed.

LEEHAN ‹𝟹 | 이한

You looked in awe at the small fish swimming around in the aquarium. You’d picked up the knowledge of fish to have a better understanding of what Leehan would be talking about to you.

It was cute how his eyes lit up whenever he talked about them, so you didn’t mind it. He was holding your hand tightly as to keep you close, hand in hand swinging as he walked down the path of the aquarium. Your eyes wandered around to the exhibits, holding onto the small whale stuffed animal he bought for you before the two of you entered.

Leehan hummed as he held the bag that had your pads and a couple of pain relievers in it. You told him earlier about being on your period. He insisted that the two of you skip the aquarium date, because he knew how heavy periods could be, or how annoying they can get whenever you’re doing too much.

But you insisted that the two of you go and have fun. Leehan was super mature with it. Having grown up with an older sister, he was a little more prepared than the rest of his friends on that subject.

You changed yourself in the bathroom. Leehan stood next to the stall, handing you the bag under it before he made his exit out of the bathroom. You finished what needed to be done, washed your hands and met with him outside the bathroom.

He made sure to check up on you multiple times. “Are you okay?” He asked. “Do you need to take your medicine?” He’d asked again after he seen you stop, but it was only for you to toe your shoes. You adored his charisma. “No handsome, I’m okay” you’d reply, but he made sure to keep a close eye.

He’d even step behind you to look at your butt to make sure you didn’t bleed through any of your pants or fabric. Though it looked to other people as if he was checking you out.

Good thing for that.

“Wait- these are so cute. I want one!” You said excitedly as you finally made it to the beluga whale exhibit. Your boyfriend laughed at your excitement and gently shook his head. “Sorry, they won’t let us take those home, but..” he started before you looked at him with a small frown on your face.

“Hm?” You asked.

“How about we get a blue fish and name is beluga?” He suggested before chuckling at your reaction.

The rest of the date went amazing. You ate good food, enjoyed your times looking at fish, whales, sharks, penguins, stingrays and flamingos and throughout the whole time. Enjoying the company of your boyfriend before his busy schedule took him away again.

WOONHAK ‹𝟹 | 우학

Woonhak bounced the ball as you both walked through the silver gates. The basketball court being empty. Since the day was a bit gloomy. But that was better for the both of you.

The two of you had only been dating for a month, and you haven’t had the time nor the courage to tell your boyfriend that you had gotten your period, even though it was still new to you as well.

“Ready to play?!” He asked excitedly as you looked at him, finish the pain reliever after taking a sip of water. “Yeah, as ready as I’ll ever be.” He gently patted your shoulder, readying himself up at the 3 point line, tossing the ball to you as you catch it and throw it back to him.

The two of you played the game to your hearts content, making in goals and goals after shots. You panted slightly as he ran up to you and shot the ball into the goal.

“It’s no fair, you’re so much taller than me..!” You shouted, nothing serious behind your tone as he laughed. “Get taller than” he replied as you rolled your eyes, shoving him and taking the ball as he gasped. You laughed, running to the goal, bouncing the ball on the ground and scoring in.

“Hey-! Y/n, you’re bleeding the male said to you as you gasped. You must’ve bled through your pants. You stopped in your tracks, covering your face. Woonhak looked at you, tilting his head to the side as he came up to you.

“What’s wrong?” He asked as you couldn’t bare to look at him. Your face was red. Too red. “What happened?” He asked, taking his jacket from the bench and tying it around your waist.

After a few moments of silence, you removed your hands from your face and looked at the curious yet stressed out male. His hair sticking to his forehead.

“I’m on my period..” you mumbled before he looked at you. He wasn’t too familiar with it but he did know about the pads his mom kept in their bathroom.

“God this is so embarrassing..!” You shrieked as he gently shook his head and came to you, walking you to the bench before grabbing your bag and slanging it over his shoulder.

Woonhak then led you back to his place across the street where you were able to wash and change yourself. Woonhak finding a pair of his jogging pants that would fit you. His mother gave you a bit more advice on periods and how to keep up yourself. She fixed you, Woonhak and his younger sister some food. You were thankful you could get rid of the embarrassing memory of it.

[queenofthedisneyverse]

Technology from 1870-1899 (For Encanto fic writers)

So, A mutual of mine @miracles-and-butterfliess pointed out that everyone (including me) tends to forget that Encanto was literally made when the triplets were born. Which is literally 1900 or 1901. Regardless, it was the very beginning of the 19th century so let me tell you about the technology/things they would/wouldn’t have. (And please keep in mind that most of these may or may not have been imported into Colombia yet.) 

1870 - 1879

1872—A.M. Ward creates the first mail-order catalog. NO

1873—Joseph Glidden invented barbed wire. NO

1876—Alexander Graham Bell patents the telephone. NO

1876—Nicolaus August Otto invents the first practical four-stroke internal combustion engine. NO

1876—Melville Bissell patents the carpet sweeper. NO?

1878—Thomas Edison invents the cylinder phonograph (known then as the tin foil phonograph). MAYBE

1878—Eadweard Muybridge invents moving pictures. NO?

1878—Sir Joseph Wilson Swan invents the prototype for a practical electric lightbulb. YES? 

1879—Thomas Edison invented the first commercially viable incandescent electric light bulb. NO?

1880 - 1889

1880—The British Perforated Paper Company debuts toilet paper. YES

1880—English inventor John Milne creates the modern seismograph. NO

1881—David Houston patents camera film in roll format. NO?

1884—Lewis Edson Waterman invents the first practical fountain pen. YES

1884—L. A. Thompson built and opened the first roller coaster in the United States at a site on Coney Island, New York. NO

1884—James Ritty invents a functional mechanical cash register. YES?

1884—Charles Parson patents the steam turbine. NO

1885—Karl Benz invented the first practical automobile powered by an internal-combustion engine. NO (even before Encanto, Alma’s town looked rural so I doubt the automobile reached them yet.)

1885—Gottlieb Daimler invented the first gas-engine motorcycle. NO

1886—John Pemberton introduces Coca-Cola. NO

1886—Gottlieb Daimler designs and builds the world's first four-wheeled automobile. NO

1887—Heinrich Hertz invents radar. NO

1887—Emile Berliner invented the gramophone. YES

1887—F.E. Muller and Adolph Fick invented the first wearable contact lenses. NO

1888—Nikola Tesla invents the alternating current motor and transformer. NO

1890 - 1899

1891—Jesse W. Reno invents the escalator. NO

1892—Rudolf Diesel invents the diesel-fueled internal combustion engine, which he patents six years later. NO

1892—Sir James Dewar invents the Dewar vacuum flask. NO

1893—W.L. Judson invents the zipper. NO (zippers didn’t become popular globally until a little bit later; buttons, ribbons/laces and whatever else were still the norm/in fashion for fastening and tying (which is still the case in some places today)

1895—Brothers Auguste and Louis Lumière invent a portable motion-picture camera that doubles as a film-processing unit and projector. The invention is called the Cinematographe and using it, the Lumières project the motion picture for an audience. NO?

1899—J.S. Thurman patents the motor-driven vacuum cleaner. NO (if you're running from being killed, the last thing you're going to bring is a vacuum cleaner) 

I remember a post listing the sort of jobs there would be in Encanto but I forgot so I’ll just list the ones I know (let me know if I need to add anything.): 

Seamstress/tailor

Embellisher

Field worker 

Teacher (of any kind; music, dance, art, etc)

Woodworker - wood carver

Toy maker

Construction worker

Joining a Local band/ Orchestra - being apart of a choir 

Carpenter 

Metal worker 

Jeweler (though I’m not sure if Jewelery of the diamond/gem kind is common in Encanto)

bladesmith/ knifemaker 

Inventor? (Inventors should exist in Encanto by now…just one other genius besides Mirabel?)

I know some of these are very obvious but I’m just giving people options okay? 

@miracles-and-butterflies you seem to know a lot more about this kind of stuff so if you have anything to add/take away or me to fix please let me know. I tried to search up “When was X invention imported into Colombia” and literally nothing of use comes up. 

[lonelym00n]

No Promises

Amber Freeman x reader

Word Count: 2.1k

Summary: Amber Freeman needs several hugs and the constant company of her girlfriend.

Amber sat in her art class with the most displeased frown etched upon her normally smirking face. She scoffed as her phone buzzed with another text, reminding her of the reason for her current state of irritation. 

Her eyes shifted in annoyance to the usually occupied but noticeably very empty seat next to her before they returned to the text conversation open on her phone. 

Amber: Baby you’re late

[Seen 10:05am]

Amber: Did your chem test run long or something?

Amber: Helloo?? Are you not coming to class?

[Seen 10:09am]

Amber: Y/N stop leaving me on read, where the hell are you?

Y/N: amberrrr yk I love you, right <33?

Amber: Duh.

Amber: You’re ten minutes late babe. Did you fall into the toilet or something?

Y/N: haha very funny but, no

Y/N: how mad would you be if i told you i wasn’t coming to class…

Amber: Mad enough to finally snap and stab u like I’ve been threatening to

Y/N: guess this is it for me then, been nice knowing ya Ambs  >:(

Y/N: at least ur pretty face will be the last one i’ll see

Amber's foul mood dissipated slightly at her girlfriend’s dorky nature. If she wasn’t so used to the teasing flirtatious remarks from the other girl by now, she was sure she would have blushed. 

Amber: If you’re not coming to class where are you? Got someone more important to be with?

Y/N: babe you know that could never be true

Y/N: i have a dentist’s appointment

Y/N: i’m really sorry i didn’t tell u, but i know you would have weasled your way into coming with me if i had

Y/N: and i didn’t want u to miss class cuz of me

Amber: But I hate being here without you. You know that.

Y/N: i know, i’m sorry, i’ll be back for lunch if that helps at all

Y/N: i’ll bring u whatever u want from that place u love if u promise not to stab me

Amber: Alright bring me the caesar salad and some fries. 

Amber: No promises btw. >:)

Amber pulled herself away from her phone and began lightly sketching on the pad in front of her. Unable to stay mad at her girlfriend, she let herself calm down as she settled into the rhythm of one of her favorite classes. A soft smile graced her lips as she thought about how caring her girlfriend was, tricking Amber into attending class and offering to bring her an off campus lunch. This girl had her full heart and as much as Amber prided herself on her independence, she knew she’d do anything to keep Y/N by her side.

The bell rang, signaling the end of the class period and the start of the next one. Amber trudged to her next class begrudgingly, knowing she’d have to sit through three more classes til she’d next get to see her girlfriend. 

The next two classes were a bore, as she’d expected. She felt herself slip back into her usual brooding demeanor as she stalked into the history classroom. Amber walked towards her seat and slumped down into it.

“What’s got your panties in a twist, Freeman?” Mindy asked with a shiteating grin. Amber rolled her eyes at Mindy’s remark as Tara slapped the Meeks-Martin girl lightly on the shoulder. Mindy shot Tara a wounded look and it was Tara’s turn to roll her eyes. 

Tara fixed her gentle gaze upon Amber before speaking, “Upset because Y/N’s at the dentist today?” 

Amber’s brow furrowed at the knowledge that Tara had seemingly been informed of her girlfriend’s whereabouts. She stupidly felt hurt for some reason. She looked at Tara with what was almost a snarl. “How do you know? She told you?” 

“Easy tiger!” Mindy laughed, thrilled at the opportunity to tease Amber while the girl was too distracted to quip back. She quickly shut up at the wicked glare Amber sent her, turning to instead focus on the mind-numbingly boring reading they had been assigned.

Tara, knowing Amber well enough to not fear the girl’s cold exterior, remained unbothered by the intimidating expression Amber held. “She told me in chemistry before she left. Told me to make sure you didn’t go on a rampage when you noticed she wasn’t gonna show up to art.”

Amber sighed, feeling stupid for being so quick to jump down her best friend’s throat about the situation. “Right, sorry Tara. Didn’t mean to get so defensive.” 

Tara gave her a sweet understanding smile in return as the two girls began taking notes on the chapter. History class passed by extra slow as Amber swore she literally felt the minutes tick by. The girl shot up and gracefully slipped out of the room as soon as the lunch bell sounded, leaving Tara and Mindy to only smile at the girl’s very obvious rush to be reunited with her girlfriend.

Amber sat by herself at the group’s normal table, glaring holes into her phone as she waited for any sign of life from Y/N. As enough time passed for the rest of the group to take their seats at the table, Amber silently debated whether or not she should go on that rampage Tara had mentioned after all. She smirked to herself at how it would lift her mood to lock some poor unsuspecting soul in a bathroom stall. 

Amber’s group of friends chatted amicably, ignoring the girl’s quietness and even feeling sort of grateful for a change from her usual snarky demeanor. Tara glanced at Amber from the corner of her eyes, knowing the girl was likely planning someone’s demise and silently willed Y/N to make a faster arrival. 

Amber felt her jaw clench and her nostrils flared in deep annoyance. She had woken up that morning (just like every other morning since she began dating Y/N) feeling particularly soft and happy at the thought of getting to spend another day with her girlfriend. The girl’s absence, however, was seriously about to set Amber off. She was going to force herself to calm back down and just send Y/N a text until her ears perked up at the mention of her favorite franchise in her friends’ conversation.

“C’mon Mindy,” Wes scoffed, “Stab 8 is easily the best. You only prefer the original because your uncle’s in it.” 

Mindy went to retort back but was interrupted by Liv, who chimed in to agree with Wes. “Stab 8 is so much better. That’s the one by the director of Knives Out, right?”

Tara’s eyes widened comically as she took note of the murderous scowl upon Amber’s face. Being the only one to notice, she pleaded to whatever god might be listening for the conversation to come to an end. Just the opposite happened, however, as Amber’s posture became stiff and rigid and the girl stretched out to her full height before she gripped the picnic table with almost enough force to snap the pieces off into her hands. 

“You’re an idiot Wesley.” Amber spat with a tone full of hatred. Everyone but Tara seemed completely caught off guard at Amber’s burning tone. They all sat in silence, shocked by the girl’s tone. 

Wes cleared his throat nervously, “What?”

Amber sneered as she pushed herself into Wes’s face. “You heard me, momma’s boy. You’re an idiot, just like anyone else who thinks Stab 8 is anything but an absolute garbage movie.” She glared at Liv next, who shrunk back into Chad’s arms. Amber poked her finger harshly into Wes’s chest before gripping his shirt tightly and twisting it to pull him impossibly closer. “Next time you open your stupid fucking mouth around me, make sure you think twice.” 

Wes sputtered, mouth opening and closing like a fish, unsure of how to get Amber to loosen her grip enough so he could slip out of her strong grasp. He was about to speak in what probably would’ve been a plea for his safety until a voice spoke up firmly from somewhere behind Amber. 

“Amber, what the actual fuck?” Y/N clutched a brown paper bag by its handles as she alarmingly took in the scene splayed out in front of her. Amber had Wes clutched in a death grip, his face bright red from embarrassment and fear, while the rest of their friend group sat scared stiff, helplessly watching the interaction happen.

Amber released Wes so quickly he almost toppled over the bench backwards. She whipped around to face her girlfriend, finally feeling the sociopathic part of her quell at the sight of the girl standing behind her. “Baby!” She smiled gleefully as she scooped Y/N into a hug, nearly lifting the girl up off the ground. The group of friends behind her experienced whiplash at Amber’s sudden reversal of moods. 

Y/N seemed equally as shocked, trying not to let Amber’s tight and warm embrace completely divert her from what the girl had been previously doing. Amber sweetly kissed both her cheeks and Y/N’s brain finally caught up to her. Holding the bag of food in one hand, she clasped her other around Amber’s wrist, dragging the girl away from their group of friends, shooting them a confused yet apologetic look before setting her attention fully on Amber. 

“Amber?” Y/N questioned hurriedly, “What the fuck happened with Wes?” 

Amber tilted her head (very cutely, Y/N noticed) at her girlfriend’s bewildered expression. “Oh, that?” she said nonchalantly. Y/N nodded and Amber had to refrain from pulling the girl into another hug at the action. “He said Stab 8 was the best film in the franchise.” 

Y/N’s mouth dropped open at Amber’s reason for outright attacking Wes. “Amber!” She scolded her girlfriend like a mother would a child. “You can’t do whatever you just did to Wes because of his opinion of a movie.” 

Amber tried her best to not look like a kicked puppy for the second time that day. “Yeah I can babe. Especially when it comes to Stab.” She blinked slowly as she just stared at Y/N, who was torn up between being concerned for just how deep Amber’s love for the slasher franchise ran and (for the umpteenth time in her relationship with the girl) greatly wondering what the hell kind of parenting the Freeman’s had raised Amber with.

Y/N’s hand rose up to pinch the bridge of her nose, a habit Amber knew that meant the girl was stressed. Amber reached up and gently cupped her girlfriend’s cheek, smoothing her thumb over the soft skin. Their eyes met and Y/N made the decision to table the more serious conversation for a time when Amber and she were alone, knowing the other girl would remain fully stubborn on the matter unless she felt she could be fully vulnerable.

Amber heard her girlfriend sigh and watched as she nuzzled into the hand that was placed upon her cheek. “Let’s go to our spot, Amb.” Like it was a spell spoken straight from an enchantress’s lips, Amber dutifully followed behind Y/N.

The two girls took their place on the ground under the towering oak tree. Amber pressed herself as far as she possibly could into her girlfriend’s side, receiving a warm smile in return. She watched as Y/N reached carefully into the takeout bag, retrieved Amber’s salad and french fries and gently passed them into her waiting hands. Amber smiled wider than she had all day long and planted a tender kiss on Y/N’s forehead, before slowly beginning to eat her food while the other girl fondly watched. 

“I really missed you today Amber, I’m sorry again that I didn’t give you any notice about the appointment.”

Amber’s heart constricted firmly in her chest at her girlfriend’s soft apology. Y/N had a way of making her feel so whole, cared for, and seen. She gently placed a hand on the other girl’s knee, stroking the skin there just as she had done earlier with her cheek. “Don’t be sorry, just be happy that we’re together now.” 

Y/N smiled at her and the sight knocked Amber’s breath away. She knew at that moment, just as she had many others, just how lucky she was to have the privilege of being able to wholeheartedly love the girl in front of her. A love that, as silly and probably insane as it would be to compare the two, towered above even Amber’s sometimes irrational love for the Stab films.

[etherealspacejelly]

You tell harry potter fans to dni while consuming and listing art made by a rapist (neil gaiman), the performativism is REAL strong with you. If you're going to posture because you're so scared of looking like an immoral twat, at least don't be a hypocrite.

hi there.

while good omens is still in my pinned post (for now) i currently have the tag blocked and havent been posting about his works since shortly after the allegations came out. i havent removed good omens from my pinned post since neil gailman was not the only person who wrote that book, it is also terry pratchets work, and the story means a great deal to me.

jk rowling is actively using her money to fund the genocide of transgender people. she wants us dead and wont stop until she has achieved that. she has also stated that she considers support for her works as equal to support for her ideology.

neil gaiman is (allegedly) a rapist, yes. and im not denying that. but joanne is on a whole different level. neils actions are immoral, but ultimately they only affect him and those closest to him. jk rowling is fanning the flames of transphobia in this country and around the world, which directly affects me, my safety, and the safety of many of my closest friends.

im not scared of looking like an immoral twat. im human, im going to make mistakes sometimes and if someone calls me out for genuinely problematic behaviour i will change my ways. what i am scared of is losing access to transgender healthcare, which will cause rates of transgender suicides to skyrocket. we have already begun to see this happening. what i am scared of is not being able to use the bathroom in public any more, because no matter which bathroom i use im gnc enough to be beaten to death for daring to piss in a toilet.

what im scared of is intersex women, women of colour, and gnc women being 'transvestigated' and harrassed until they get invasive medical procedures to prove that they are a 'real woman'

harry potter fans are directly contributing to this womans platform and success. the harm that jk rowling is doing is a whole different ball game to whatever neil gaiman gets up to in his spare time.

so. to clarify. have i stopped engaging with neils works? yes. should you stop engaging with harry potter? YES.

now fuck off back to whatever tar pit you crawled out of

[copperbadge]

[ID: four images; top two show a small plastic shelving unit that has been attached to a wall with zipties, while the bottom two show, on the left, the remains of grey water in my carpet shampooer, and right, my fitbit watch band drying atop the wax melt heater.]

Weekend cleaning continues!

I did a bunch of small things this morning. I've wanted one of those nordic "drying cupboards" forever -- you know, the cupboard over the sink that you can put plates in to dry without having it out on the counter. I can't actually do that, so I did the next best thing and bought a super cheap plastic shelf and put it to one side of the sink where I couldn't keep anything else anyway. It's been useful but it falls over about once a week, so today's first order of business was 1. find the zipties and 2. ziptie it to the wall. Worked a treat!

After using the carpet shampooer I didn't empty the tanks because I knew I'd want to do more cleaning with it, but I'm also going out of town soon and I didn't want it sitting around with water in it, getting gross, so I did the last shampooing today and then emptied it out. I went over the hall rug a second time and then the bathroom rug, and emptying the dirty water tank went fine until I went to rinse it and dumped relatively clean but still "been in the shampooer" water all over myself. Crucially, all over the fabric band on my fitbit, so I had to rinse that out and set it out to dry. Fortunately the wax warmer makes a great warm drying rack for it.

Not pictured: my toilet that I just scrubbed clean, because it's still looking a bit gross so I'm going to try cleaning it a second time at some later point. Also not pictured, the litterbox that I dumped, wiped down, and refilled with new litter, or the blinds that I dusted, because frankly there's not much to see there. Still, felt good to get it all done. No one thing took much time, but I did get through an hour long podcast by Throughline about the Public Universal Friend and 20 minutes of I Don't Even Own A Television's dissection of The Maze Runner from back before it was a movie.

And then I went to see the Remedios Varo exhibit at the Art Institute with a friend! It was AWESOME, everyone who told me to go see it was correct that it's so far up my street it's a surprise I don't live there. If you're in Chicago don't miss it, it's on the second floor of the modern wing and a small but absolutely charming and beautiful set of paintings and studies. I'm definitely going to try to get back before it closes at the end of November.

[ID: A photograph of Remedios Varo's "Simpatia" or "Sympathy" from 1955, which she stated she painted because she likes cats. There is a large, very Polk-like cat leaping onto a table and being soothed by his owner after knocking over a glass of water -- while three more cats at least hide out under the table, only their tails visible. Both the cat on the table and the owner soothing him have bright spiky orange hair that looks like flame, and strange sparkling lines are emerging from cat and owner. It's giving big Hieronymus Bosch vibes.]

[rocketnottheraccon]

Green Eyes~~

Tw for self harm? kinda?

~ Renga

~Angst

~ not fluff!! (I js liked the art 😭🙏)

Art by @laurydoodles on twt <3

The teacher thought she was doing them a favor, putting them together in this project. Why wouldn’t she? They were best friends, weren’t they?

Lately, though, it hadn’t exactly felt like it.

The school day had finished, and Reki wasted no time gathering his things and heading out. He didn’t even bother turning to see if Langa would follow him, but of course, he would. He had no idea what thoughts rampaged in the redhead's mind at the mere sight of Langa’s face.

“Uh- Reki?” the lanky teen called, fumbling with his supplies. Reki turned from the door, staring back at him, unimpressed.

“You know where I live,” he said flatly. A shrug and the redhead is once again on his way out the door.

“You expect me to remember that?” He heard distantly, and man, Reki missed making fun of his memory. Making fun of his sloppiness, yet turning right back around and ensuring he was perfect.

But that was the problem, wasn’t it?

No one should be perfect, and Langa wasn’t. Those weren’t the traits of a perfect person, Reki should know. He had all of them and more…

Yet, when Langa performed those actions and flaunted those quirks, it was seen as endearing. Cute.

‘What am I doing wrong?’

Just as he was about to exit the building, Langa came running up behind him, huffing and puffing. Already, he could hear a group of girls that stood nearby giggle and whisper about him. But not in the way they giggled and whispered about Reki.

“C’mon, Reki!” Langa said, holding his side as he made his way over. “I know you’re not talking to me or whatever, but this is for a grade, you know!”

“Yeah,” the redhead states, dropping his board and stepping on. “I know.”

And he proceeds to skate away. Being around Langa just isn’t healthy for him… and he needs to start prioritizing himself a little. He’s spent too much energy on everybody else.

There was a groan from the former, and he dropped onto his board as well to go after him, but of course, he gets stopped by those girls. Reki watched their frames get smaller and smaller as he continued home.

He used to be proud of Langa whenever he got another love confession, but now he was just jealous and frustrated and all the feelings he shouldn’t be feeling. He’s such a bad friend. Why can’t he just push his negative emotions away and be normal again?

He couldn’t even smile at him anymore.

He arrived home, dropping his things lazily by the door and shuffling to his room. He hears his mother say hi, but he can’t find the energy to return the sentiment. He locks his door and flops onto his bed.

Langa would be there any minute.

What should he do?

There had to be a way to at least prolong this inevitable interaction… but how?

Reki lifts his head, peering around his room. He could take a shower. A long, steaming hot shower that would hopefully burn all these disgusting thoughts from his mind.

‘Shut up,’ he told himself. ‘It’s not that serious.’

He grabs a simple pair of plaid pajama pants and a band tee before heading to the bathroom.

His speaker already sits on the counter, so he connects it to his phone and sits on the toilet while waiting for the water to heat. He scrolls through endless skateboard images online before he starts to miss Langa again and promptly shuts it off, feeling the stinging in his throat.

The water is blistering hot, to the point where he physically releases an “Ouch!”, jumping back.

…That was good though. Just that little shock of pain took his mind off Langa.

Maybe that’s what he needs. A distraction.

The boy takes his second attempt at stepping under the water, and although it burns his skin… it feels good.

He gets used to it in no time and proceeds to sing his heart out, not caring who might happen to walk past the bathroom and hear.

As he enters his room, still humming the words to one of the many Radiohead songs in his playlist, he’s stopped dead in his tracks by the frosty blue eyes that find his.

They both blinked seemingly in tandem before Langa gave a chuckle and said, “I didn’t know you could sing.”

The emotion is wiped from Reki’s face and he sighs, sliding into his desk chair. “Do you make it a hobby to spy on people in the shower or is that just a me thing?”

“Only when they think their Thom Yorke.”

Reki met him with a flat look, and the boy shrugged. An eye roll and the redhead turned back to his desk.

“Fifty-fifty it,” he said. “I’m not trying to talk to you.”

“C’mon Reki,” Langa pleaded, seemingly not interested in doing work. That’s good, he guessed. Reki wasn’t either. “Can’t we just talk about it?”

Reki gave a long, hard look into his eyes, searching far and wide for any hint of another betrayal, but they were so pretty that it was no good trying to find anything but perfection. He simply settled for turning back around. “Don’t look at me like that.”

Langa stands to his feet, taking a hesitant step forward. “Like what?”

“Like-“ he looks back over his shoulder dejectedly. “Like fucking that, man!” He feels his voice about to crack, so he breaks eye contact and stares back down at his desk. “Like this is all my fault somehow.”

“I just want to talk to you, Reki,” Langa says, his hands out as if he were trying to reason with him. “Please?”

“Well, I don’t, alright?” the redhead stated, a note of finality in his tone as he pulled his backpack into his lap to retrieve his notebooks. “What do you-“

“Are you saying it’s my fault then?” Langa asked, clearly not picking up on Reki’s attempt to not talk about this.

The was a groan from the latter, and he glared back at the former, his shoulders tight as he snarled, “Of fucking course it’s your fault!” He stood to his feet, his backpack discarded and forgotten. With every word, he moved closer, a sneer on his lips. “I warned you about ADAM. Didn’t I? You saw what he did to me, right?”

“I was just-!”

“What?” Reki interrupts. “Having fun? Curious? He could’ve fucking killed me, Langa! Do you not understand that?!”

“He wouldn’t have killed you.”

“You don’t know that!” He yelled, arms flaring as he turned away to calm himself down. God, he didn’t want to yell at him. He really didn't want to yell at him.

But god-fucking-damnit! He made it so easy!

“Reki…” Langa said, and there he went, saying his name in that way that he knew made Reki fold. It’s unhealthy!

“Langa!” He says, turning, exasperated. “What isn’t clicking, man?”

The blue-haired teen gives a huff, pulling his lips into his mouth. His eyes wandered everywhere but to Reki as he said, “I don’t get why you can’t be proud of me.”

Reki’s brows scrunch. “What-?”

“I’m going to beat ADAM for both of us, Reki!” There’s a grin starting to peek through, almost triumphant. “Isn’t that a good thing?”

“… I never asked you to take down ADAM, Langa.”

Langa’s face fell, but his voice still held volume as he said, “I know. But I still want to.”

Reki peers back up through eyes just barely glossed over. “Why?”

He stammered a few times, searching for the words before: “Because I care about you, Reki!” He exclaimed, throwing up his hands. “Is that so hard to believe?”

“Yes! Langa!” Reki replied, his voice wobbling and cracking. “Yes, it is!”

Emotion from every corner of his mind seemed to seep into Langa’s eyes, and Reki thought that maybe he finally understood.

“Do you get it, now?” He asked, his voice sounding like something between a laugh and a cry. “Ever since you were met with the idea of beating ADAM, it’s like you’ve been obsessed!”

“That’s not-“

“You don’t care about me,” Reki went on, his vision so blurred he could hardly see his surroundings. “You don’t care about anything but beating ADAM. But guess what, Langa.”

Reki met the latter's eyes no matter how hard he resisted. “I cared about you. I cared so much that I made you promise that you wouldn’t go against ADAM because I know what he’s capable of. You saw what he did to me. Do you want to see the scars? Would that get it through your thick fuckin’ skull?”

Reki was panting. Air was hard to come by right now. He just wanted Langa to understand.

The boy in question opened and closed his mouth several times. There were so many words so clearly on his tongue, but it seemed only a fraction came out with, “… What scars?”

“What? Did you think I was getting out of there good as new?” Reki scoffed. He turned and lifted the back of his shirt, revealing that valley of stains and scrapes on his back, a constant reminder of what he let happen that day. The boy let out a chuckle, bitter and guttural as it may have been. “Not pretty?”

He looked over his shoulder to gauge a response, but all he saw was Langa’s mouth flapping open and closed once more.

“Reki, I’m-“

“Don’t you dare say you’re sorry,” Reki gritted through his teeth, letting his shirt fall back down to meet the others' eyes again. “Not again.”

More blinking. More mouthing.

“You know what?” Reki said, turning back to his desk chair. “This is going nowhere. Let’s just finish this project so you can get out of my room.”

Langa still hadn’t moved, but his eyes were starting to gloss over now.

Reki didn’t know how long he’d hold up if he started crying.

He watched, waited. He knew this boy well, even if their relationship had… shifted, in the past weeks. Langa had the tendency to lock himself in mind prisons when met with daunting obstacles. He just needed a minute to lay down the tracks for his train of thought.

Reki supposed he could give it to him.

Turning back to the desk and retrieving his backpack, he gets to work on the first half of the assignment. He’s about 20 seconds in when there’s shuffling behind him. Reki doesn’t turn, though, until Langa taps his shoulder, because the boy tends to be fragile in whatever his current emotion may be after figuring his way out of his mind prison. Sometimes he doesn’t want to talk or interact until the objective at hand is complete. Sometimes he is still a little tangled up in there and doesn’t like to be touched until he’s fully free.

Reki knows these things because he cares.

And because he cares, he recognizes that look in Langa’s eye and sighs, standing and letting him crash in to hug him.

‘It’s unhealthy’ says that voice in the back of his mind, but all he could hear, see, smell, feel was Langa, Langa, Langa, and man has he missed it.

“I’m sorry,” the taller of the two mumbled.

“For what?” Reki replies, the sound muffled by Langa’s shoulder.

“For… for breaking your promise,” he answers.

There’s silence for a long, long moment before, “I really miss you, Langa.”

Langa took a step back, and Reki immediately missed him. God, why can’t they just go back to normal? Why is he still so bitter about this?

“Can we please be friends again?” Langa asked, and Reki's heart tumbled to his toes.

He’s so pretty, even when he cries.

He’s so pretty, and talented, and funny, and everything Reki isn’t.

Is he a bad person for not liking him for that?

He was jealous. Reki Kyan was so jealous of Langa it wasn’t even funny because Langa is perfect in every way and Reki… isn’t. And he would keep blaming Langa for that until he blamed himself, and no one wanted to be friends with someone as lame as that.

And so, with a heavy heart, Reki shakes his head.

“We just aren’t right for each other anymore.”

And it’s a very silent night of completing their project before Reki finally has his room back to himself.

——————

there she is! Im so obsessed with renga rn its not even funny. Just gay skater dude angst. Btw this is meant to take the place of their fight in the rain lol. I just wanted to put my own little spin on it,yk?

[bullet-prooflove]

4500 Follower Celebration Bingo -Exposure: Brendon Acres x Reader

Tagging: @burningpeachpuppy @jennabean1 @lokiwife2021 @art2emily @soultrysworld

Companion piece to:

Lifeline - Brendon hands you a lifeline.

Sunflowers - You give Brendon a special gift for his birthday.

Distraction - Brendon needs a distraction from a hideous day.

Estelle - Your ex causes complications when she appears back in your life.

The Devil I Know - Companion piece to Estelle - You make a choice regarding your relationship with Brendon.

Lifetime - Brendon is building a life with someone else.

Climax (NSFW) - You think about Brendon on the day of his wedding.

It Should Be You (NSFW) - Brendon makes a realisation before the wedding.

Not The Way That I Love You - Brendon cancels his wedding.

The day that your ankle monitor gets removed is the day that Brendon proposes to you. He gets down on one knee at the beach where the two of you rekindled your romance and slips the ring he’d been carrying for past six months onto your finger.

He makes love to you in his house for the first time that night, in a room with a window that overlooks the ocean. You hear it roaring in your ears as you climax, the ecstasy surging through your veins as Brendon spills his release inside of you. You fall asleep tangled up in one another, his bare skin pressing against yours as he cradles you close.

It isn’t until the next morning that that you realise you’ve been papped. Someone has taken a picture of the proposal and it’s now been distributed across all of the entertainment outlets.

Vampire Cop – True Love Never Dies, the headline reads.

There’s a profile on you underneath, about your career as a forger and then as an FBI consultant.

“I knew it was going to come out sooner or later.” Brendon sighs as he clasps your hand, his thumb chasing over the finger where the engagement ring resides.  “I just didn’t expect it to be such a big deal.”

It’s been over five years since he walked away from the spotlight, he thought he’d be long forgotten by now.

It doesn’t take long for the messages to start rolling in, it’s a mix of congratulations and WTFs, followed by a voice mail summoning you both the FBI offices to discuss your relationship.

You spend the next three hours being questioned by your superiors, both separately and then together. It feels like an emotional cavity search, there isn’t an inch of your relationship that isn’t poked and prodded.

The summary is this:

What you did wasn’t illegal. It’s frowned upon and would have gotten Brendon fired if he was a probie but as it stands he’s three years into a very successful career and has a record of explementary service and behaviour.

He ends up with a thirty day reprimand for conduct unbecoming and a written reprimand. You however have bigger problems. There’s apparently a disagreement about what your punishment should be.

“They’re a couple of kids in love.” Garza argues with your superior Hendrickson, when he states your sentence should have been extended. “Not Bonnie and Clyde. You can’t send her back to prison because you didn’t realise the two of them were together. Her parole is over, it’s done.”

There’s silence then because for Hendricks there’s only one option left. He can’t stand the embarrassment of having this go on right under his nose and his own superiors, they’re going to come down on him, hard, for losing his grip on his own C.I. So he responds with the nuclear option. The only thing he has left that could possibly humiliate you as much as you’ve humiliated him.

“You’re fired.” He tells you and Garza groans out loud as he pinches his brow. “Effective immediately. Pack your shit and get out of this building.”

To everyone’s surprise you throw back your head and laugh because what they don’t know is that Hendrickson, he’s really fucking terrible at his job. During your four year tenure with Art Crimes you’ve pulled his shitty clearance rate right out of the toilet, he received a commendation because of the work you put in.

“Keep my shit.” You tells him. “Set fire to my desk for all I care but don’t come crying to me when you need help solving a case because you can’t tell the difference between a fucking Rembrandt and a masterpiece that’s been heated in an easy bake oven to crack the paint.”

The look on his face is worth every single time you’ve had to keep your mouth shut over the past four years, every time he’s screamed at you, berated you. You raise to your feet and, Brendon follows suit, his hand coming to rest on the door handle as you turn to leave.

“Mona,” Garza says and you pause, lingering in the doorway. “Come back to me in thirty days, when Brendon’s suspension is over. I may just have a position available.”

“I will.” You promise him. “I’ll see you in thirty days.”

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