#when they just bully creators into siding with them

[calamitydaze]

i’m a couple hours late (what else is new) but man what a surprisingly L take from connor, i thought he had more spine than that. i’d be more inclined to believe it was a genuine sentiment if he hadn’t done….. everything else prior to that but i guess harassing people until they give you the answer you want is okay as long as it’s against dream

[charmedreincarnation]

When I say that this journey is real, and our struggles are not in vain, I am shouting it from the rooftops. A month ago, I woke up with my dream life. Obsessed with the "void state", I woke up one day being the same person but with an entirely new life. All because I chose it.

Your efforts aren't going unnoticed. The universe is always on your side. You are the universe. It's been a month, and I still feel overwhelmed with joy and wonder every single day.

I was once poor and battling depression, a reality many can relate to. But we found the law because we knew we deserved more. You can be ordinary, flawed, even unkind, but you can choose to transform and have it all. And I did just that. My parents, who were illegal immigrants working underpaid jobs, are now wealthy and respected figures. My last name alone garners recognition, and I am a socialite earning money just by being me.

I used to live in an attic infested with cockroaches. Now, I reside in a four-story mansion, complete with exotic cars, house help, cooks, drivers - all treated and compensated fairly. We also own three other houses across the United States.

I was once insecure, severely underweight, and bullied. Today, not only am I stunningly beautiful, but I am also praised for my fashion sense. I was once a dull person, but now I am radiant with positivity.

I attended an underfunded school where I was bullied, and teachers lacked resources to intervene. Now, I study at a prestigious private school that assures my entry into an Ivy League university. Finally, I am respected and appreciated.

I was lonely and uninteresting. Now, I am vibrant with a close-knit group of friends and a man who seems straight out of a Wattpad story. He's perfect, and he's mine.

This transformation happened overnight. And I've been on this journey since 2020. But how??? I surrendered to my imagination!

The void was overwhelming, but now I can easily navigate it. I was tired of giving my power away. So, I gave in to myself, to my dreams. I knew I deserved it. Even if I didn't believe it at times, I made the choice. If you desire something, it's already yours. It's done.

I didn't have a list or anything of my desires, just a vision of happiness. I didn't know what it looked like, but I knew how it felt. Now, I embody that feeling every day. My life is a series of plot twists. It's not perfect, but my worst days now are what I once prayed for. That old life? POOF It's gone. All I have is now, and I'm living it to the fullest.

My advice?

Stop seeking proof. If you're looking for proof, you'll never manifest your dreams because the only thing that needs to change is self. Doubt is a reflection of your disbelief in yourself. When I surrendered to my imagination, it didn't matter who was lying or telling the truth, because I had my truth. The burden of proof lies within you. It's called the law of assumption. You might harbor some doubt, but you must have faith like the devout. They believe without proof. You can too! We all can! Believe in yourself, and the universe will conspire in your favor!!!!

I agree! Your words resonated with me a lot. Faith, particularly self-faith, is such an important tool in shaping our realities. The ability to trust ourselves, our desires, and our potential is essential in manifesting our dream life, and it’s only so beautiful to slowly see yourself give yourself all your trust when you’ve never even liked yourself.

You're spot on about the issue of seeking confirmation from others. It's an unnecessary hurdle that we give ourselves but it’s human nature. Our truths and dreams should not be validated by anyone else but us. As you said, why should it matter if someone lied or told the truth? We are the creators of our own lives and thus, the only validation we need comes from within.

And I wholeheartedly agree with your point about deservingness. We don't have to earn our desires or prove ourselves worthy of them. If we want something, that desire alone makes us deserving of it.

More importantly I am very proud and happy for you !!!! You’re a testament of what our own imagination can do for us and I hope you only keep getting happier and happier <3!!!!

[neil-gaiman]

Hello Mr. Gaiman, this is not a question, this is a story about how you helped me.

I took my law school entrance exam today. A few weeks ago I decided to take a study break by watching the second season of Good Omens, since I'd enjoyed the first one so much. The continuation of the story completely engrossed me and broke my heart. But it also gave me a framework to start talking about things that have weighed heavy on me for years.

You see, I'm transgender. When I came out at the end of college, professors that had been willing to write me letters of recommendation for graduate school suddenly weren't anymore. My parents bullied me. A few weeks before graduation I moved to another state. I've had a strained, if any, relationship with my family ever since.

Through this lens I identify heavily with Crowley; questioning the precepts of gender should not have been a reason to kick me out, and if it was, it's not a place I ever want to return to.

But if I am honest, I have an Aziraphalean desire to rejoin the edifices from which I have been ejected, and attempt to fix them, not just my family but academia and society at large, and within all that is tied up my Crowlian shame that I could ever want to return to a system that has treated me so ill, to somehow validate that treatment by returning.

In applying for law school I am caving to my Aziraphalean conviction that if I can possibly effect change, I should at least try. But through this I am struggling to hold space for and honor my Crowlian "you can take your external validation and stick it where the sun don't shine" attitude that has kept me alive this far.

Watching the show didn't resolve any of these questions for me, but it did get me to confront them, to give them form and shape and language so that I can start to resolve this for myself. So thank you and everyone who worked on this show, and I hope the strike resolves promptly and positively.

P.S. I really love the in-screen trivia bits and "how its made" factoids, it feels like you're fostering the next generation of creators and it warms my heart.

I appreciate that. I hope you make it into law school and out the other side. I suspect we will need good trans lawyers soon enough.

[garoujo]

saetoru is talking abt you on her private blog (@/clorindes) yuckkkkk

CW BULLYING, LITERALLY IMMATURE HIGH SCHOOL DRAMA, SUB POSTING.

hi nonnie, thank you for letting me know! since i’m leaving this blog & this platform for the foreseeable future i figured i might aswell get a few things off of my chest before i go. i apologise in advance for the vibes this post will probably bring, the discourse & the posts that will ofcourse follow, but i honestly i am not the first person to be targeted by this creator and i’m sure i won’t be the last considering the amount of creators that have been bullied off of this app by them.

first off i’ve had multiple blogs that would be considered bigger blogs such as @/hvnlydmn, @/atsymu + now this blog which is the biggest of all 3. i think there’s a sort of unspoken responsibility that comes with being a bigger blog which i know is no fun but it’s also because it can be super harmful on a site like this, when people weaponise their following.

on that note i’ll start this post by saying that i’ve known tee for probably around 3/4 years, maybe? we were mutuals on hvnlydmn & atsymu and we continued to talk on discord even when i was off of tumblr. i will honestly admit to this day i have never had a negative interaction with tee to my face and she was genuinely supportive of me during any discourse i was involved in. i am not some angel, i’ve had my fair share of crap on this app (of my own doing) but this post is not meant to come across like “oh she doesn’t like me so i’m calling her out” no. im sorry if this doesn’t line up with my brand and my ‘victim complex’ but i’m not gonna lie down and let someone on a power trip on a hobby app drag me through the mud.

first off i had began to get some off vibes from tee when i had started writing on garoujo, notably when i’d just hit my first milestone which was probably around 1k. during this i had decided to move my instagram theme from my main blog to my writing blog.

i’d noticed tee subposting (on main and on her personal blog which i followed at the time) about someone basically using the same theme as her, which after then clicking onto her blog i realised was an instagram theme. i didn’t think much of it, again me & tee were friends and she hadn’t came to me directly so ignored it. i was still a new blog and trying to solidly an aesthetic (before the beige lol) so i changed my theme / masterlists / layouts a lot.

a few more sub posts later i decided to message tee about it because with every thing i’d change / post on my blog, there always seemed to be another post. so i messaged her and got this response in: (i’ve blurred out my irl name btw) open up pics for convo!

so i let it slide, kept posting & that was that. probably a few days / a week later, tee had soft blocked me which then eventually led to me being hard blocked. i was upset ofcourse because i genuinely considered tee a good friend but i’ve always been a big advocate in controlling your space.

this was when, one of our mutuals in common (the first of many may i add) approached me on discord to say that just like now, i was being ripped to shreds on tee’s personal blog:

again i was notably upset about this because i was being accused of not only copying her theme but also her writing & masterlists, we did have a lot of mutuals in common so it was also upsetting knowing they would all be seeing these posts aswell. i allowed myself one sub post about “creating a narrative” because i was particularly frustrated but tee then also subposted about this, even though she had me blocked?

i would also like to say regarding our mutuals in common that this was not the first or last mutual to approach me regarding tee. i’ve had multiple people tell me that “they’re only mutuals with her because it would be more damaging not to be” “it’s easier to be on her side”. also i am not saying this is okay but i’ve had multiple of her current mutuals send me not only her posts, but screenshots of her private, personal instagram & also tell me about how all of them and their friends had a running joke / theory that tee made up her boyfriend (ex-boyfriend?) for attention.

regarding the accusations from tee i’d like to first comment on the instagram themes, again i had done an instagram theme on my main blog but it seemed to only be an issue when it was on my writing blog that was gaining traction. if the timing was off and it seemed like i copied her, i genuinely have nothing to say except it’s not the case— it’s instagram (which tee already admits she doesn’t own above) also the hanma writing? i’m still not 100% sure which drabbles she was referring to but i can only assume that 1. is when i posted a drabble about hanma fucking you outside of his subordinates house — this was a almost completely word by word rewrite of a suna drabble i done on my old blog @/atsymu i literally just changed the concept to fit tokyo revengers themes. i can post screenshots of this suna drabble also from my google docs dated February when i deactivated. the other one may have been some basic concept about him fucking you against the window.

she also mentions in the very first recent screenshot at the beginning of this post that i have apparently stolen concepts of fics / posts from her mutuals. what i want to say regarding this is, do you believe that i would have made it this far on stolen work? i don’t know any of the mutuals she’s referring to apart from 1 which i’ll get into. but every single accusation i’ve ever received has always come from someone associated or in contact with tee, she has always been at the root of it all but i have yet to receive a single anon or ask about me copying or taking inspiration from anyone’s work.

i know there was apparently a blog and an ex mutual of mine, who i had a lot of respect & time for who was under the impression i’d stolen their concept for this gojo fic. the whole premise of this fic is honestly not uncommon considering how many times people losing control of their techniques / powers / quirks during orgasm has been done in fanfiction. this concept was completely my own, i had originally posted shitposts about him losing control of his technique & also him putting you into a mating press / breeding before i’d decided to smoosh them together into a fic. we all read from the same workbook, we all have the same material to work off of — two people in a fanbase of THOUSANDS having a similar idea is not unheard of.

now onto the masterlist banners. the screenshot on the far left are the comparison photos that tee made herself— i’m sure you’ll be able to see them in better quality when she makes her own post about it; because obviously that’s going to come. first off i will say, i will admit i took inspiration from her official art masterlist banners — i thought hers looked good and i needed a masterlist so i used official art. fair game there although i only kept them for a few days before i changed again.

but onto the grey masterlist banners, i can honestly say i did not even know tee had this masterlist, also the only comparison i myself see is the colour. the only reason i chose grey was because i had started to use a grey / white overlay on my manga panels for my layout (as you can see far right), and as you know— i’ve always kept my colour scheme pretty consistent. on that note, regarding the actual layout of the masterlists— i’ve added screenshots from atsymu (that i could find due to it being deactivated) that shows the layout of my old masterlists, which was what i took inspiration from for my current. although the title font for each heading like headcanons is different, i had used the sort of old style, basic font that everyone uses before i had deactivated so it would match my fic headers i just don’t have photos obviously.

anyway on the back of this there was then discourse over me apparently copying tee’s kinktober masterlist, which again was not the case. but again due to tee’s following i had received multiple death threats into my asks the morning after i posted mine. as far as i was aware, the only similarities were the fact we both used gifs in our headers & the layout listing thirsts, hcs & fics (which is very common during kinktober but i admitted below i could see that similarity). unfortunately during all of this discourse was when ffflowers, my hate blog also came into the mix which then lead to tee reaching out to me in dm’s from her old blog.

the interaction between me & tee was pretty good, again she was nothing but nice to me directly despite the way she obviously spoke about me in private above. but as you can see below, tee herself told me that basically most of the similarities all made above were brushed off as basic. we spoke about the ig themes & i apologised, saying i could understand where she was coming from and that was that. i unblocked her & she unblocked me so i could reblog her post, it’s been that way since.

it is not my place to comment on other people’s experiences on this app but i would need more than 2 hands to list the amount of people that i’m sure have had similar if not worse experiences with tee. i know i have had multiple mutuals who have been bullied off of this platform & had their safe space ripped from them for little things such as: liking a character that this group selfship with, tee and her friends not liking their characterisation. they’ve even went as far as to go through other larger creators notes to check for minors so they can make excuses as to why they’re thriving.

i also know of a blog who was ‘blacklisted’ from tee & her mutuals as they self shipped with arataki itto at the time, one of tee’s friends also did, so they blacklisted this creator and had all of their mutuals block them for this which then in turn drove this creator off the app. there has been other notably bitchy things that i’ve heard but i have no receipts for therefore i don’t see any relevance in starting rumours.

i would also like to say i know plagiarism is a horrible thing, we have all been through it— myself included but it’s got to the point where being accused of copying tee has become a canon event. notably, bigger platforms have been ruined and driven off of this app for little things such as mdni dividers, similar colours schemes etc. and it’s the reason i’m also leaving.

i will say i have met some amazing people through my discourse with tee, notably people who have been in similar situations and i also apologise to any mutuals who we still have in common who are now sort of stuck inbetween. no hard feelings. although to tee: id be careful of the people you trust because it seems the loyalties they have to you are not as sincere as you may believe. you can also go to her personal & read the other things she was saying about me like how she was always so ? at how many people seemed to like me.

so that’s all i have to say, i’m sure dash will get a few responses from this but i’ll be logging out & turning off asks because honestly? couldnt care less. the only thing i’d change about my experience on this app would be i wish i’d blocked tee sooner.

i’d say have a nice day, but instead, have the day you deserve.

— emmie :)

[lovesickonmybed]

to hands between legs | 18+

masterlist | xo masterlist | info about palestine | donate to gaza

pairing | bully!ellie williams x loser!virgin!reader

synopsis | ellie williams made your high school experience a living hell, but once you got to college you thought you were finally free…until running into her at a frat party where she humiliates you just like it’s high school all over again.

warnings | 18+ MDNI! bullying, wedgies, dub-con, underage drinking, panty kink, degradation, humiliation, fingering, virgin reader, mommy kink.

word count | 4.4k

a/n | if wedgie kinks make you uncomfortable or seem cringe to you then please keep scrolling and let me indulge in my weird little kinks thank you! also i dropped out of college so if any of this is inaccurate i'm sorry!! i urge you to not buy any of the last of us games, including the remaster as the creator, neil druckmann is a zionist. the second game is based off of the israeli occupation in palestine and you can learn more about that here.

“Dude you are not wearing those to the party tonight!” Your roommate Seline scoffs looking you up and down as you stand in your underwear looking through your clothes in an attempt to find something semi-decent for your first party of the year. You’ve got on a plain white bra and a pair of white hanes panties that sit high up on your waist. 

You turn back to look at her with an annoyed sneer on your face, “They’re called underwear for a reason, they’ll be under my clothes, where no one can see them. I doubt it’ll make a difference, I’m not exactly trying to get laid tonight, especially not by any of those guys.”

“Wearing granny panties at any time besides your time of the month is just…wrong! There’s no way those are comfortable, like seriously I see you pick your wedgie like 20 times a day, just grow up and switch to thongs already.” Your cheeks heat up with embarrassment and you slip on a black skort that stops at your mid thigh before turning back to face your roommate. 

“I do not pick that many wedgies, stop being so dramatic! A thong would just be worse, I don’t want a string up my ass all day…” You retort.

“So instead of a string you want that itchy fabric to bunch up and give you a cottontail? Got it…this is why you haven’t gotten laid yet…” Seline says, side eyeing you.

“I really don’t need this right now, I’m wearing my comfortable and reliable panties and you can have fun telling a frat guy to stop pulling on your thong strings when he’s had too much to drink.”

“My thong is getting taken off by a frat guy tonight, not pulled up, honey. Now hurry up and get dressed so we can go, maybe if you pick the right top someone can look past your choice in underwear,” Seline chuckles.

You roll your eyes playfully and decide on a cropped white tank top, you slip on a pair of black heeled boots and a light wash denim jacket to finish off the look. You want to look alright just in case, you haven’t had the best luck romantically and definitely not sexually since arriving at school. You’ve made out with a few girls at parties but due to your own nerves you haven’t done anything past feeling them up and trying to not cum immediately when their hand is on your thigh. You swear you got more action from your high school bully…

“Come on, if you make me even later than we already are then I’m gonna lose it!” Your roommate commands as you grab your bag from off your bed. You’re not exactly the party type and you sure as hell weren’t in high school, then again you never got a chance to go to parties in high school thanks to Ellie fucking Williams for making you a pariah. You still have no clue what you did to the girl for her to target you as viciously as you did, you barely knew her…maybe she wanted to establish dominance when she arrived in Jackson, sure being the new kid can be tough but it doesn’t exactly call for you to make someone miserable everyday of their life. It started with a shoulder check in the hallway and escalated to you having to budget out having to replace panties on an almost weekly basis due to the waistband ripping wedgies Ellie loved to dish out. 

College was a fresh start for you, a way to escape your past as ‘Wedgie Girl’ and to finally make some friends…but thanks to your busy class schedule and your social awkwardness it’s proven harder than you expected. Your roommate Seline was kind enough to introduce you to some of her friends and you’re pleading with whatever forces are out in the universe that some of them will be there tonight to hang with you when your roommate abandons you for some dick from a sweet, but ultimately brainless frat boy. 

“Do you know if anyone we know is gonna be at the party?” You ask Seline, nervously playing with the hem of your skirt as you both walk the path to the nearby frat house. 

“Uh, I think Taylor mentioned she might be there…I’m not sure when though. But hey, if she’s not I’m sure you’ll find someone to spend your night with if I disappear,” She smiles, nudging your arm with her shoulder playfully. 

“More like when you disappear…”

“Hey! I don’t always disappear!” Seline scoffs.

“If there’s dick from a himbo you do,” you retort.

“Can you blame me? They’re always the sweetest in and out of bed, I can’t help that I like a dumb guy who will actually take care of me after we fuck instead of some asshole who’ll just take my panties after!” On multiple occasions freshman year Seline had some of her favorite pairs stolen by business majors, it was truly unfortunate. 

“Dude I swear to god I’m on a mission to get your panties back tonight, you know I love stealing shit from frat guys. I’m gonna steal your panties back,” you joke to Seline.

“I don’t want them back, they’re probably crusted with cum by now!” Seline laughs.

“Oh my god! Why would you put that image in my head, jesus christ!”

“Sorry, sorry!” Seline is out of breath as she apologizes. 

You reach the lawn of the frat house and you and Seline look at one another.

“If you plan to hookup with someone and stay at their place, text me and share your location, deal?” You say to Seline, making sure to establish a plan for tonight.

“Deal. Same goes for you, babe,” she smirks.

“We both know I won’t be hooking up with anyone but the optimism is appreciated, Seline.”

Seline laughs and throws her arm around your waist as you walk into the party, music playing loudly, the house filled with college students with drinks in their hands. 

You comb the crowd to look for anyone you may recognize but you’re unsuccessful, you frown and pull yourself closer to Seline for comfort. You cup her ear, “I don’t see Taylor yet.” 

“Let me text her and see when she’ll be here,” Seline responds as she pulls out her phone and pulls up Taylor’s contact, she shoots her a text and while she waits on a response y’all go into the kitchen to find something to drink. 

You separate from Seline and look around at all your options, you decide to just grab a Whiteclaw, ignoring how douchey it makes you feel to be seen drinking one. You crack it open and take a sip as Seline pours herself a shot. You lean against the counter as people come up to greet Seline, you feel out of place at this party but you try to ignore the feeling and take another sip.

“Hey, is it okay if I go with them?” Seline motions to the two girls standing where she just was, “I don’t want to leave you alone but we’ve been meaning to catch up for awhile y’know?”

You sigh and bite the inside of your cheek, “Yeah…it’s okay. Go catch up,” you give her a fake smile and in response she gives you a real one.

“I appreciate it, I’m sorry. If you need anything just text me, okay?” 

“Got it. Go have fun for me,” you smile.

Seline gives you a quick hug and turns to the other girls, walking off to the backyard together.

You stay where you are in the kitchen, bobbing your head to the music and mostly aimlessly scrolling on your phone when people watching gets boring. You’re broken out of your trance by a familiar laugh, “Holy shit…you actually made it out of Jackson? I’m shocked, truly.” Even if you hadn’t looked up you’d know exactly who was talking to you. Standing in front of you, a beer in hand, is Ellie Williams. 

You gasp softly and take a long swig from your drink, “I-You-”

“I didn’t know you went here, how’d you even get in?” Ellie asks, taking a step towards you. You can smell the woodsy cologne that’s been her signature scent since high school, she’s wearing a dark green flannel over a black tank top and a pair of black jeans. 

“I-I’m smart…I guess…” You manage to say. You regret it instantly, face heating up when you realize how stupid you sound. 

“Mhm, yeah of course…” She steps closer to you, setting her hand next to your hip on your counter, trapping you slightly as she gets in your personal space, “You know,” she chuckles, “Your roommate is a real dick for letting you leave the dorm like this…”

“What? What’s wrong with what I’m wearing?” You ask, instantly regressing back to the insecure high schooler you were just two years ago.

Ellie smirks, wetting her lips with her tongue, “Nothing, I’m just fucking with you, loser. You’re just as easy to mess with as you were in highschool…” 

You look down, avoiding eye contact, and shrink into yourself, “Why…why are you doing this? We’re not in highschool anymore, Ellie. I mean…who even bullies people in college?”

Ellie doesn’t appreciate your attempt to stand up for yourself, “Someone who sees a loser in desperate need of help…you still wear granny panties?” She bites her lip as she watches your face contort into an embarrassed look.

“I…I don’t know what you’re talking about…” You wrap your arms around yourself, trying to self soothe. 

Ellie pauses for a minute, turning around to scope out the house. She grabs your wrist and starts to pull you along with her.

“Hey! What do you think you’re doing?!” You yell, trying to tug your wrist out of her grip, it’s a futile attempt as she’s always been much stronger than you. 

“Shut up,” Ellie commands, continuing to pull you along with her to the upstairs of the house. The partygoers hanging out on the staircase pay you no mind, continuing their conversations without a care in the world. Ellie pulls you down a hallway, opening one of the doors and pushing you inside, causing you to fall to your knees. Ellie locks the door as you scramble to your feet, mostly out of fear of what substances could be on this carpet.

Ellie turns around to face you, “Take your skirt off.”

Your eyebrows furrow in confusion, “What?”

“Are you stupid? Take your goddamn skirt off,” Ellie sneers.

“What? Why? I-I’m not taking off my skirt for you! And I’m not wearing granny panties!” 

“Then lift up your skirt and prove it. You’ve got a little cottontail poking out of the back of your skirt by the way…nice hanes,” She laughs and pushes you back, causing you to stumble.

“You’re a sadistic bitch!” You exclaim, backing up away from her.

Ellie walks towards you, backing you against a wall, “I think you meant sexy, but that’s alright sweetheart I still understand you.” Ellie grabs you by your shoulders and spins you around, using her arm to pin you against the wall, your face feeling squished against the plaster. She grabs the bottom of your skirt and pulls it up, groaning in disappointment when she realizes you’re wearing a skort. “Fuckin prude,” she mutters before grabbing the waistband of your skort and yanking it down, exposing your white hanes to her.

“Hey! What the fuc-” 

Ellie cuts you off, “Sorry did I tell you to speak?”

“N-No but-”

Ellie cuts you off again by grabbing you by the back of your head and shoving your face even harder against the wall, causing you to whine in pain. “You speak when I tell you to speak, until then shut your goddamn mouth before I gag you.” Ellie slaps your ass and chuckles when you yelp. “Do you still want to stand here and deny that this borderline geriatric pair of panties are granny panties? Huh? I mean, this sure as shit ain’t a thong, but if you’re really so deep in denial I guess I could be generous and turn it into one for you, honey.”

Before you can even think about protesting Ellie grabs your waistband and pulls it up teasingly slow, your eyes go wide as you’re transported back to highschool by the feeling of the cotton fabric sliding against your skin and situating itself between your cheeks. As the fabric begins to sink into your folds you’re transported back to a memory of Ellie giving you a wedgie in the locker room during senior year.

“Shut up and take it, loser! It’s your fault for pissing me off today!” Ellie whisper-yelled as she pulled the front of your panties violently, tears welled up in your eyes as the baby pink fabric was forced into the folds of your cunt.

“Stop! Come on, you really don’t have to do thi-”

Ellie cuts you off with another harsh tug of your panties, your mouth falls open as a sharp pain shoots up your ass. You try to reach back and tug your waistband away from Ellie but she’s quick to pin your wrists against your back, using her body weight to help pin you against the wall. “Don’t you fucking dare! You’re so goddamn defiant, I miss the helpless loser you were in highschool, this was so much easier back then. You knew how to shut up and take it.”

Ellie shoves her leg between your thighs and lets go of your waistband, she uses her now free hand to remove her belt and restrain your wrists with it. “There. Now you have no choice but to take it,” she laughs. You try to squirm out of her grasp but with her thigh pressed against your cunt all it does is make your face heat up and make you hold back a moan of pleasure. Ellie continues to hold you against the wall as she grabs your waistband again, “Ready for me, wedgie girl?” Ellie smirks as she starts to pull your waistband again, pulling harder than before, almost lifting you off the ground with her first pull.

You choke on nothing as she uses your old nickname, feeling you with even more shame as your brain floods with countless memories of your public humiliation at her hands. Your eyes screw shut as you feel the threads snapping against your skin, the painful friction against your most sensitive parts sends pained moans from your lips. 

“P-Please…h-hurts so bad,” you whimper, tears forming in your eyes as you rest your forehead against the wall.

“It’s supposed to, dumbass. I bet you like it though, don’t you? It’s the most attention your little virgin cunt has ever gotten, huh?” Ellie snickers. 

“I-I’m not a virgin!” You reply.

“Bullshit. I doubt you’ve even had an orgasm…poor thing, bet your poor little pussy just leaks from the slightest attention…I could breathe on it and you’d cum. It’s a miracle you haven’t cum yet, I’m pratically fucking you with these,” Ellie pulls harder, getting you onto your toes to emphasize her point. Ellie giggles, “You know what, you’re not a virgin I’ve already fucked you with your panties.”

You mewl with embarrassment which sends Ellie into a fit of laughter, once she calms herself she lets go of your waistband. You sigh in relief as you think she’ll let you go but once you feel her grasp on your leg holes your eyes go wide. You’re not getting off that easy. 

“You know what, let me rip these and I’ll give you a pity orgasm, how does that sound, loser?”

“No, come on! Ellie don’t rip these!” You plead.

“Oh come on, nerd. I’ve already stretched them out, they’re unwearable, just let me have my fun,” Ellie begins to lift you by the leg holes of your panties. You cry out in pain, your legs kicking out of instinct as you feel the fabric of your panties pulled back and through your cunt, the fabric scraping against your cunt in such a way that causes you to begin to cry.

“Can’t believe you’re already crying, you went fucking soft on me, nerd. Guess I gotta do this everyday and build your tolerance back up,” she says in a patronizing tone. 

“No, no, no, please…Ellie…” Your breath is ragged as she continues to split your ass with your panties, showing no mercy as she bounces you, the sound of threads ripping fills the room.

“Oh come on, baby, you can take it. Don’t tap out now, you’re so close,” Ellie coos, snaking one of her hands around to grab the front of your panties and begins pulling from the front too. You scream in pain and she lets go and begins to scold you, “Shut the fuck up! Are you trying to get caught? You want everyone to see you getting fucked with your panties?” 

You sniffle, “N-No…”

“Then shut. the. fuck. up. and take it. Got it, slut?” She questions.

“Got it…”

Ellie resumes and you bite your lip to hold back your pained noises as she bounces you by the front and back of your panties, making you feel like you’re being split in half. You can’t remember the last time you were in this much pain and you hate how soaked it gets you, a wide wet patch is very visible in the gusset of your panties. It doesn’t take many more pulls for the panties to finally rip, you moan loudly in pain and pleasure as you feel the fabric rip against your cunt. Ellie is quick to grab you by your waist, old hand holding the ripped pair of panties as she helps you to the floor. You sit against the wall and catch your breath, looking up at Ellie completely wrecked. Your mascara is smudged beneath your eyes and you have red marks on your hips. 

Ellie squats down to your level, “You okay?” She asks softly, reaching towards you to trace the marks on your hips. Her gentleness confuses you, when she bullied you in high school she would’ve just let you fall to the floor and leave you to deal with the aftermath.

“I-I think so…” You mumble.

She reaches up and cups your cheek, “Can I finger you?” She looks down at your red puffy cunt, licking her lips as she imagines you mewling for her as she stuffs your cunt. 

“I…No one has ever…y’know…touched me like that before…” You explain shamefully.

“I wanna make you cum, loser. Wanna feel your cunt clench around my fingers.”

You look up at Ellie with glassy eyes, whining at the thought, “Why?”

Ellie looks down, her cheeks turning red, “Because I think you’re hot…and I’ve been wanting this for years…”

“You have?” You ask, brows furrowed as you scan her face for any hint of a lie.

“Yeah…I…I like how you sound when I torture your pretty pussy, wanna make it feel good this time, wanna reward you for how you took that wedgie.”

You think it over for a minute before you nod, “I want your fingers inside of me, please.”

“You want it on the bed, baby girl?” She asks, nodding her head towards the bed of whatever poor boys room you two have only just begun to desecrate. 

“Yeah. Can you untie me too please,” you ask softly, lifting your restrained hands behind your back.

“Oh shit, I forgot I even did that. Let me get that off you,” Ellie helps turn you around and removes the belt restraining your hands and slips it back onto her jeans. She takes your wrists in her hands to check for marks, “They should only be a little sore…I’d wear long sleeves till the marks go away unless you feel like coming up with a story about how they got like that.”

You nod and let her help you onto the bed, you wince in pain as you sit on the bed, the soreness in your ass already kicking in.

Ellie tilts her head and leans towards you, looking down at your lips, “Can I kiss you?”

You nod, wetting your lips with your tongue. She leans in and presses her lips to yours, kissing you softer than you could’ve ever imagined from her. There’s a masochistic part of you that had always had a crush on Ellie, you had dreams of her fingering you, eating you out, hell even taking you on dates. But you had never imagined she’d really kiss you, especially not like this. You kiss her back and are quick to deepen the kiss, Ellie smirks against your lips at your eagerness and pulls you into her lap, spreading your legs and cupping your cunt. She uses you gasping at the sudden contact to slip her tongue into your mouth and you moan into her mouth once she starts to massage your clit. Your body feels like it’s on fire and you beg the universe to not let you cum before she can even get her fingers inside of you. 

She pulls away from your lips, a trail of saliva still connecting them as she moves her mouth down to your neck. She presses a kiss below your ear and whispers, “Gonna take off your shirt baby, wanna suck those pretty tits.”

That alone is enough to make you grip her hair tightly and whine. You help her remove your shirt and she’s quick to remove your bra as well, beginning to trail kisses down your neck. “You’re so fucking pretty, got perfect tits…for a loser…” She snickers. 

This time it doesn’t feel malicious, it makes your clit twitch and your breath hitch. 

“You like when I’m mean to you, don’t you? Bet you’d go home after school everyday and play with that pretty pussy of yours and think about what I did to you…Bet it got you wet once I got everyone calling you wedgie girl…” Ellie smirks at you, admiring the embarrassed expression on your face.

“Shut up…” You giggle.

She smiles and starts to leave hickeys on your neck and collarbones, drawing whines and whimpers out of you with ease. She pulls back to admire her work, “I’d suggest you invest in a turtleneck, sweetheart,” she chuckles.

“Shit…what’s my roommate gonna say?” You mutter, brushing your hair out of your face as you try and think of an excuse to give Seline.

“Are you with her or something?” Ellie asks.

You shake your head no, “God no…she just knows I haven’t done anything like this before…never came back to our dorm with a hickey before either.”

“You’re so innocent it’s fucking adorable,” Ellie says, leaning forward and kissing you again. She pulls away and leans down to press kisses to your tits, nibbling slightly here and there, making you whine once she takes one of your nipples into her mouth, tweaking the other with her hand. “Fuck…Ellie…” you whine, tilting your head back as she worships your tits.

She trails a hand down to your cunt, slapping it lightly, making you yelp. She laughs softly and presses her ring and middle finger against your folds, swiping up some of your slick and bringing her fingers up to her mouth to taste you. She takes her fingers into her mouth and sucks your slick off, moaning at the taste, “You taste as good as you look, sweet girl.”

She leans forward to kiss you and slowly slips two fingers inside of you, you gasp against her lips and buck your hips forward. “Oh fuck…”

“I haven’t even started baby,” she laughs. She begins to pump her fingers in and out of your cunt, whispering praises to you as she brushes her thumb against your cunt. She bites her lip as you whine her name, reaching out to grip the bed sheets. “You’re so tight, bet you’ve been needing this huh…”

“Y-Yes mommy, needed it so bad,” you mumble, too engrossed in your own pleasure to truly realize the words leaving your lips. 

Ellie stops and tilts her head, looking at you with her jaw dropped, “Did you…did you just call me mommy?”

“Fuck…I-I’m so sorry, it just sli-” Ellie cuts you off by resuming her pace, speeding up her movements quickly to make you fall apart.

“Tell mommy how fucking good it feels,” Ellie commands. 

You’re quick to follow her orders, muttering pathetically about how good she’s making you feel. “Mommy…I fucking…I’m so close, need to…”

“Need to cum, don’t you pretty girl? Gonna make you cum, gonna make my pretty baby make a mess all over my lap.” Ellie curves her fingers inside you, hitting right where you need until it sends you over the edge. You let out a string of moans as you collapse forward onto Ellie, burying your face in her neck and you moan incoherently. Ellie works you through your orgasm, rubbing your back whispering praises as you come down. She sucks your juices off her fingers, continuing to rub your back and praise you as you catch your breath.

“Fuck…thank you…” You whisper, your head still buried in the crook of her neck.

Ellie smiles and pulls you close to her, “Anytime, loser.”

You roll your eyes and giggle, the word no longer feels hurtful but instead playful. Ellie pulls you off her lap and grabs your ripped panties off the floor, using them to clean you up. “These are coming home with me,” Ellie says, holding the ripped fabric up in front of your face.

You try to snatch them away from her but she’s quicker than you, stuffing them in her back pocket. “Nuh uh, these are mine now, loser. Need something to help me get off when I think about this again.”

She helps you redress and tries to help fix your hair and smudged makeup, it’s all futile thanks to the hickeys she decorated your neck and collarbones with. “You know it’s pretty dark out there, I doubt anyone will notice,” Ellie says, motioning to your hickeys.

You roll your eyes and give her a look that says ‘really?’ “Ellie, these are impossible to miss, my roommate is never gonna let me live it down.”

“I can’t help that I’m so good at humiliating you,” Ellie giggles, wrapping her arms around your waist, nuzzling her face into your neck.

“Shut up and take me back to my dorm,” you say playfully, nudging her with your head.

“Round two?” She asks hopefully.

“I’ll consider it…”

[royalarchivist]

Quackity: And speaking of pep talking– speaking of pep talking, I need to make something so fcking clear to everyone is that QSMP Purgatory is a specifically entertainment event.

If someone wants to go full on and murder an entire team, let's say Red Team just fcking came on us right now – not like that – but let's say Red Team fcking came to us right now and beat the sht out of us, left us fcking hanging, like fcking– just fcking full on bullying. It is so acceptable to do that. That's what the point of Purgatory is! Purgatory is a fcking intense event.

If someone wants to fcking bully another team– it's Purgatory. It's fcking Purgatory! What people need to remember is that this is an entertainment event. Please, please treat it as entertainment. I am so SO fcking sick of people going to other creators and just shtting on them because they play Purgatory the way it's meant to be fcking played! That's the point of Purgatory! It's meant to fcking push people to fcking limit, make them show off their skills or make them just– it's all about that.

Bagi: [Clapping] Thank you!

Quackity: Purgatory is about that. So we need to please, for the love of God, fcking holy sht. If one creator decides to kill another person because it's in their best interest to do that, why would you fcking go and send hate? Why would you fcking go and send hate? It's a fcking Purgatory event! It's meant to be an event like that. SO– and I know a lot of people are enjoying it the way it's meant to be, but for the few people who genuinely don't like that, it's called QSMP Purgatory. I think it's time to leave– it's time to leave that to the side. It's a Purgatory event.

Me and Bagi are starting from fcking zero. Realistically, any team could come to us right now and fcking kick our ass, and they could leave us at zero over and over and over again.

Bagi: We have nothing.

Quackity: We have fcking nothing– it is so easy to kick our ass right now! It is so easy to kick our ass. And if someone did come, and if someone did do it, I wouldn't even be mad! I'd be like, "Fck yeah! Yes! That makes so much sense!"

Bagi: I don't even have the right to be mad because it's meant to be like that! So–

Quackity: I don't have sht! I don't have sht! Anyone could come and kill me right now! They could! So I just need to remind everyone, holy sht, please. This is an event meant for entertainment. That is what this event is. This event is not meant to actually– next time I see Badboyhalo, I'm not going to fcking slap him for killing me in a fcking Minecraft event. This is an entertainment purposes only event. And it is so discouraging for any creator that's part of this for people to go and sht on them when they play the game the way it's meant to be played. So: keep in mind, I beg you, it's an entertainment-only event. [Returning to his conversation with Bagi] But see, we're fcked. We have nothing–

[hotteoki]

skz treating your skzoo plush

warnings: bullying of skzoo plushies, they deserve better 💔

notes: not proofread

©️ hotteoki | do not repost

chan (방찬)

you knew chan was THE most genuine and sweet man you've ever met in your life, you just didn't expect him to be so sweet with the wolf chan he gifted you for valentine’s day too. “oh my god you changed his clothes!” chan exclaimed, holding wolf chan up high to examine it.

“yeah! i ordered a few sets of new clothes for him, did you know how hard it was to find this one?” you grumbled. it was hard to find someone who custom made skzoo plush clothes, you were lucky enough to come across a creator on tiktok and immediately contacted them.

“he’s so cute…” chan cooed at it, stroking wolf chan’s ears gently. “i’ve got a few more clothes for him that i haven’t had the chance to change,” you held up a few small hangers that carried different plush outfits that were custom made for your special wolf chan. chan hummed, “i still think the one he’s wearing is the best.”

“you recognise it?” “course i do! it’s iconic!” wolf chan was sporting the red ‘thunderous’ outfit chan wore in the mv. “he’s so cute!” he gushed, kissing the plush. “starting to think you love him more than me,” you crossed your arms, teasing him. “baby, you’re the love of my entire life, and i adore you. but look at wolf chan!”

you couldn’t help but laugh. chan snuggled wolf chan close to his chest and closed his eyes, using it as a teddy bear. “like you don’t have the exact same one,” you rolled your eyes playfully. “but mine’s not in this cool outfit!” chan protested, grinned like a child seeing a rainbow for the first time. he just had to be so perfect, didn’t he?

minho (민호)

it was a terrible idea to leave minho sitting on your bed alone in your bedroom, with your innocent leebit sitting peacefully on your pillow by himself. you didn’t think about it much when you left to go to the bathroom, and you definitely didn’t think of how poor leebit was going to be treated by your supposedly loving boyfriend.

you came back into your room, hands still damp. amidst wiping the water off using your top, you gasped at the sight of leebit stripped of its adorable sailor outfit, a rubber band around its ears, tying them together. minho was leaning against your headboard, mindlessly swinging leebit around by its leg, acting like he's not torturing one of your most prized possessions.

"leebit!" you rushed forward, snatching the plushie from minho's grasp. he glared at you, offended, like you were the one who betrayed him. "why do you do that to my poor baby?" you asked, frowning, pulling the band off and clothing it once again. "i thought i was your baby?" minho teased, stealing leebit from your hold when he saw you struggling with the outfit.

"not after what i had just witnessed," you sat beside him, bringing your knees up to wrap your arms around your body. when leebit returned to its original look, minho tossed him away, pulling you close to him. "yah, tell me i'm your one and only," he whined, pinching your side. you sighed endearingly, "lee min ho, you're my one and only." minho gave no response and only buried his face in your neck, but you felt his widening smile against your warm skin.

changbin (창빈)

your eyes grew heavier and heavier; you were exhausted from the long week of overwhelming work. changbin had suggested the both of you to go straight to bed the second he stepped into your shared apartment and saw the tired expression on your face. you had shook your head, insisting you wanted to watch spirited away with him. neither of you have had any free time the past few days, work succumbing both of you. he had originally promised to watch a movie of your choice as soon as he got home, but that turned out to be later than he expected.

yawning, you snuggled your dwaekki plushie to your body and wriggled closer to changbin's warm body. you leaned your head against his broad shoulders, finally shutting your eyes. although your brain was sending all the signals your body needed to sleep, your thoughts were running wild and free.

you were so focused on forcing yourself to sleep you hadn't even realised dwaekki falling out of your arms and getting picked up by changbin. as you were about to speak, he sighed to the doll, interrupting you. you opted to stay silent to see what he has to say.

"yah, dwaekki, don't you find her stubborn?" you had to resist the urge slap changbin in the chest. you felt his arm that was wrapped securely around you tilt up, allowing him to brush his fingers over your cheek gently. "but that's what i like about her," he murmured, clearly not wanting to disturb you, "i just wish she could take care of herself the way she takes care of me. she's so caring, loving and just every good thing in existence shoved into one person, she deserves the world. you better not repeat this to her though, okay, dwaekki?" oh you were so in love with this man.

hyunjin (현진)

when hyunjin came out of the shower, he wasn't surprised to see you curled up on the couch, blanket engulfing you into a cocoon, your eyes fixated on the movie playing on the television, hair pushed back by your pink fluffy hairband that matched with his. he was, however, surprised to see your arms protecting little jiniret, who also had a mini hairband on its head.

hyunjin audibly gushed at the adorable sight, running over to jump on the couch, occupying the spot next to you. he placed his hand over his heart dramatically, pretending to be struck, head slumping down and squashing jiniret. "no!" you pulled the plush from underneath hyunjin’s head, earning an offended scoff from him.

“do you not love me anymore? have you ever loved me? were you just using me to get to jiniret?” he feigned a series of sobs. you rolled your eyes, stroking his cheeks gently and moving your legs to allow hyunjin to use them as a pillow comfortably. “yes, i’ve dated you for over two years just to have your doll. i’ve never loved you, it was all a lie.”

he pouted, sitting up and glaring at you, “this is an important topic, and you’re not going to take it seriously?” you leaned forward to kiss his pout, hand reaching up to lightly graze over his jawline, “i love you, so very much, hyunjin,” you mumbled against his soft lips. he smiled, resisting a love-struck giggle.

jisung (지성)

"ji!" you called for your boyfriend while walking around the dorm, seemingly unable to find him anywhere. "he's in the living room," changbin said without looking up from his phone as he passed by. you responded with a quick thanks before making your way there. true enough, there jisung was, going on his phone. he was laid horizontally on the couch, his legs dangling off the arm rest.

crawling on top of him, you laid there with him, your ear pressed against his chest, his steady heartbeat bringing a sense of calamity to you. his free hand began combing through your hair, and you sighed contentedly. “haven’t seen you all day,” you complained, moving your head to rest your chin against his body, looking up at him. jisung switched his phone off, tossing it on the coffee table, “aw, i missed you too.”

“what have you been up to?” you asked, subconsciously leaning into his hand. “well, quokka and i spent the whole day watching tiktok after chan convinced me to download it and watch some edits stays made,” he gestured at the plush that was placed beside his head. you hadn’t even noticed it. “is that my one?” you reached your hand up to collect it, noticing the outfit you bought before.

“yeah,” he confirmed. “don’t you have your own one?” it was meant to be a rhetorical question, you didn’t really mind him taking your quokka, as long as he returned it; it was one of your most prized possessions. jisung’s ears turned red and his cheeks flushed slightly, “it smells of you, and i missed you.” now you felt yourself blushing, and you hid your face in his chest, slightly embarrassed. he only chuckled, looping his arms around your frame and making himself comfortable with you.

felix (용복)

you strolled into the kitchen, hugging bbokari close to you. it wasn’t rare for you to drag the little chicken plush around, felix wasn’t always at home and bbokari provided you the comfort of him, though it was never as good as your actual boyfriend. even when felix was home, you had adopted the habit of bringing bbokari around; he didn’t mind, if anything, he found it endearing, it showed how much you love him.

your original plan was to look for a few snacks after feeling a bit peckish, but when you saw felix munching on a bag of fried chicken, you gasped loudly. the poor man jumped from fear, not hearing you come into the room. “felix lee!” you covered bbokari’s eyes, “how dare you?” his eyes widened, “i didn’t know you were in the room!” “and that makes it okay for you to commit cannibalism?!” you stroked the plush’s back soothingly, pressing his face to your chest.

“it’s not what it looks like-” felix tried to speak. “what else could it be?! how could you eat chicken in front of our child?!” he wiped his hands and mouth quickly, standing, “i didn’t mean to-” you interrupted by lowering your head, pretending to cry. this was a usual occurrence, both of you know it was all theatrics, it was just amusing to play along.

he stepped forward gingerly, wrapping his arms around your figure, bbokari in between your two bodies. felix stroked your hair, whispering apologies continuously. minho walked into the kitchen, scrunching up his face in confusion, “the hell are you two doing?” “we’re mourning our child,” felix sighed. minho stared, “you are so weird.”

seungmin (승민)

now you knew how seungmin treated his own puppym, that plush has seen things that you couldn’t even describe. on the contrary, you liked to hug your own puppym during your sleep, it was just so small and easy to hold, seungmin liked to complain about it being a replacement. normally, you never trusted seungmin with your puppym, as much as you loved him with your whole heart and soul, the man would probably throw the plush out the window just for the hell of it, so, you never let puppym out of your sight whenever seungmin came around.

you were curled up in your warm blanket cocoon, sleeping peacefully, seungmin, however, was not. he checked the clock on your bedside drawer impatiently, 2:19AM, it read. seungmin had long given up on shaking you, forcing you to stay awake with him, you had easily fallen back into your slumber each time. he grumbled; he had taken a nap in the afternoon, despite your chastising of how he wouldn’t be able to sleep at night, he probably should have listened, given how awake he current was.

bored out of his mind, seungmin looked around the room for anything to pass time, and the innocent puppym falling out of your arms caught his eye. an idea popped up in his head and he caught the plush before it could fall on the ground. he began smacking the plush against your head, making sure not to apply too much force in case you could somehow get hurt from a doll. groaning, you blinked your sleep away, reaching your hand up to block puppym from being hit against your head anymore. upon realising what was happening, you slapped his hand, making him release your plush from his grip, “what is wrong with you?! it’s the middle of the night seungie!”

seungmin grinned from ear to ear, happy his attempts of waking you up had worked, “i can’t sleep and i’m bored.” you closed your eyes again, “how is that my problem?” “it’s not, but i’m making it your problem, only because i’m so deeply in love with you.” “stop trying to sway me, i’m pissed at you,” you mumbled, rolling your body away from him. seungmin leaned down to press a kiss on your cheek, “you love me too much to be pissed at me.”

jeongin (정인)

today was as usually; the two of you were cuddling, talking about nothing but also everything in general. you had your foxi.ny wrapped tightly in your arms, nuzzling your cheek into its fluffy ears every now and then. it was near midnight, but neither of you felt like sleeping yet, feeling content with your current position.

out of nowhere, as jeongin was in the middle of talking about what to eat tomorrow, he snatched your foxi.ny from your arms and continued on like nothing happened. you stared blankly at him, "excuse me?" he gave you a dirty look, like you were the one who stole his plush, "what? don't interrupt me."

you tried to reach for your foxi.ny again, failing as he held it farther away from you. "this is actually bullying," you pointed out. he only shrugged, "you looked more comfortable with it than me." you let your arm fall on his chest, "you're joking." "i'm very serious," jeongin firmly responded throwing foxi.ny away, the poor thing landing somewhere to the corner of your bedroom.

you sighed defeatedly, knowing you would never be able to get it back until the morning. jeongin only gave you the brightest smile, kissing your nose gently, pulling away with an exaggerated 'mwah'. this was unfair, how could you possibly stay mad at him when he's this cute?

[vasyandii]

Headcanons of The Cousins

Beforehand: These are just my personal headcanons, it's okay if you don't like them; you are entitled to your own opinions and can freely scroll by.

Creator Notes: I headcanon that König's birth name is Darius Doss, I will be using that name and König interchangeably.

DARIUS "KÖNIG" DOSS

-I headcanon that he's Krueger's younger Cousin by a few months on his mother's side, hence the surname "Doss"

-Born with a cleft lip, a possible reason why he was bullied as a child alongside him being a fairly chubby kid.

-Took up smoking when he was 15 as a way to fit in, he's been clean for 12 years.

-In regards to his social anxiety, it's not that severe as it once was when he was a teen; he gets dizzy when his social battery is running low.

- Darius has dark brown hair, not blond/ginger, natural freckles.

-Buzzes his head constantly to keep cool, it must get hot in his sniper hood.

-Carries an abundance of gear; as much as he is confident in his abilities, he overthinks

-had a huge growth spurt when he was 18, so he went from 6' to 6'8".

-He's mean, alot meaner than Krueger, but he's more patient.

SEBASTIAN JOSEF KRUEGER

-I headcanon that he's König's Older cousin ( He would be 38 in Modern Warfare 2, so König being a colonel still makes sense to a degree)

-Buzzes his head occasionally, or when it gets too hot to manage

-Lost contact with his external family after he killed his parents, didn't reunite with König until He was in his mid thirties.

-Grew up with childhood food insecurity; even though he lived in one of the more wealthy parts in Austria, his parents didn't make good financial decisions to support a child.

-Started smoking at 15 as an act of rebellion, it slowly turned into a way to relieve stress in the field so he never stopped.

-Too smart for his own good, he was a problem child

-Wanted to look out for his cousin; he doesn't know if it was out of pity or genuine care

-Had the stupidest gelled up hairstyle when he was 16.

-Can't wink, so he just squints.

HEADCANONS FOR BOTH

-Their families often went on trips to Nordsee Beach when they were younger, gave them time to bond

-Awkwardness runs in their genes, Krueger is just so overly confident that he convinces himself things worked out

-Both extremely observant to the point it's kind of scary, must run in the family.

-Both are extremely intelligent however the moment they are put into a a room together they are two of the dumbest people on earth

- They pretend not to know each other while on duty during cross faction missions. (Both are kind of embarrassed to be related to each other)

-Darius has not forgiven Krueger for parricide.

If you made it this far to the post, I want to thank you for reading! Hopefully my rambles are coherent enough to be understandable xD Please have these Old sketches of them as babies/teens as a thank you :)

[emperor-kumquat]

Fandom, WTF

It's not just X; it could happen here too. My fucking god, a Transformers YouTuber almost did the unspeakable last night because of cyberbullying. Because people who claim they are being heroic are doing such terrible things. And they do it so damn fast.

(The YouTuber is more stable and safe at the moment)

You don't need to know the exact details, but the person made a post on X that was a little iffy. Not discriminatory to anyone, not an inappropriate picture or anything. The kind of thing that SHOULD have led to a discussion to change his opinion. And that's what the some other YouTubers and I did, we talked to him, and he regretted his words and changed his mind. Just like that. So fucking easy.

He wanted to write an apology and tell everyone he understood the issue now, but he was struggling to. His account was reported and suspended over and over. In the end, he did manage to write that apology on X and tell people he changed his opinion. That kind of thing can happen when we act patiently and try to guide people! But before then, other people were DMing him madly on Discord and X to say horrible shit, show gore, tell him to die. People were photoshopping a convicted criminal's face onto his profile pic. Friends severed ties without even talking to him. People doxxed him and someone left him a threatening phone call.

These people probably loved the excuse to do it. They would happily slap a label on someone then act dramatic about it. They pile on the hate because "that creator deserves it", they think.

How can you do any of the above and think you are a good person??

What on Earth happened to giving people the benefit of the doubt? Out of all the ways a statement could be interpreted, why do people choose the most negative instead of the most positive? When drama hits and your friend is involved, how can you leave without at least hearing the other side of the story? How can you forget that you may be harassing someone who has mental health or is neurodivergent?

It's like people love being mad. They want to put a bad label on someone, like some kind of "_ist", "_phobe", or a "p*do". They don't need much evidence before attacking. Here on Tumblr a while back, some people very eagerly wanted to harass me. They called me transphobic. The reality they didn't care to find out: I am trans, I make trans activist videos, I go on the front lines countering anti-trans protests in Canada while getting screamed at by conservatives for hours. Get real. If you are so quick to hate someone and label them, you were probably just eager to misinterpret anything they said to get a chance to be angry. You don't know them and you are not a sensible, fair person. They act like a pack of wolves if they can tell themselves it's justified. It is NOT justified. They should be ashamed. They are just bullies hiding behind a hero’s mask.

[ellieslaces]

CAN’T CATCH ME NOW. one

presenting: Umbrella’s Hunger Games

featuring: leon kennedy x fem!reader

synopsis: the Hunger Games, an annual show of brutal control the Capitol has over each of the twelve Districts. the Games’ number one sponsor: Umbrella Corporation, the creator of the Games’ most horrific torture strategies and nightmare inducing deaths. these games have always been cautionary, always a far away but constant threat — until you find yourself Reaped and thrown into an area full of your worst fears with 23 other Tributes, all out for blood.

content warnings: harsh language; violence; gore; class discrimination; usual hunger games/resident evil warnings

notes: please note this series will contain heavy themes of violence, gore, class discrimination, and torture. if these subjects trigger you, skip this series or proceed with caution; all the chapters will be super long, just be prepared

word count: 4.26k

now playing: enemy ; imagine dragons with JID

can’t catch me now playlist

the districts ; prologue

Spring had a poetic, two sided story. One of beauty and rebirth, flowers blooming in meadows, rain showers that brought rainbows to the end of a long day. But one also of death and destruction. Spring may as well be a double edged sword, one edge cutting away the dead to make room for the new. The other side a dangerous weapon to cut down upon that year’s newest crop of children unlucky enough to be Reaped.

Spring was a cautionary season, tales and preparations were made during the final months of long winter. Mothers being sure to hold their child close, fathers staying home from whatever jobs they were mandated a little longer in the mornings to get a glimpse at their children’s face before they went away for the day.

Though nothing could ever really prepare anyone for the possibility of their child’s name being called in the Reaping. No soothing words of how much they were loved and how strong they were would ever calm a child scared in their bones of dying — of killing. This was the reality of the Reaping Ceremony. A reality you’d been prepared for, thoroughly.

Since you were able to understand what the Hunger Games were, you’d been trained to survive them. Chris Redfield instructed you to hone your skills in combat, in knife throwing, in handheld weapons, in archery. You were skilled in just about every form of combat, of nearly any possibly thrown your way.

His sister, Claire, trained you to be smart. Not to fall for the similarity of berries, of mixing up plants, of mistaking the signs of infection, to fall into another Tribute’s trap. You were as prepared to survive any surrounding territory as you were to fight someone to the death.

Despite not really being allowed to train you as you weren’t a Tribute, the siblings did it anyway. They had no family save for each other. No parents, no other siblings. Just each other — and you.

Your crumbled, soaked form had been found by the pair when you were a mere eight. A ruthless school bully had taken your pack, jacket, and shoes. Leaving you in the rain on your way home from school.

They’d taken you home, cleaned you up and sent you on your way. It wasn’t until a few days later they realized you had no home. Not really, you were an orphan too, living in the local orphanage. So, they took you in. Despite not really being allowed to, they did. They loved you as their own family. And one of the ways they showed their love, was by teaching you how to survive.

Today was your final Reaping ceremony. Eight years of terror, eight years of worry for your life every time Spring rolled around. This was the final time you had to worry — if you were lucky. If you were lucky, you’d make it out alive, without being subjected to the horrors of the Games that the Umbrella Corporation were so proud of.

You’d heard the tales of what people witnessed — of what Claire and Chris had witnessed. Though they didn’t outright speak of their times in the arena, you’d watched clips of their Games. You’d heard rumors from the people who had seen their Games on broadcast.

The Mutts Chris had to take down by hand and sword to survive and become Victor. The horrors that chased Claire through the woods to push her and the final three Tributes into a cutthroat fight.

These were things you hadn’t experienced yourself, things you hoped you’d never have to experience. Things Chris and Claire prepared you for nonetheless. But even they knew — no amount of preparation could save you from the lingering fear of what you could see. The nightmares you’d have for the remainder of your life. The fact that every year, you’d be dragged out and forced to relive the past for the Capitol’s entertainment. And today was the final day they could ever even try to prepare you.

Your morning was spent as it usually was — an early breakfast and training. Chris had worked with you on your hand to hand combat, while Claire worked with you on your survival skills. Once training had come to a close, you were taken home to be prepared for your final Reaping.

There was no need for Tessarae, you didn’t need to put your name in more than the eight times it would be in the bowl. Chris and Claire provided for you, they never let you starve, never let you go without the things you needed. And it seemed comfort was one of those things.

“Don’t worry, your chances are low.” Claire soothed you as she and Chris walked you toward the square in District One. “And even if you are Reaped, you’re prepared.”

“I know,” you mumbled, nodding. This was the eighth time you’d heard this pre-Reaping speech from Claire. She said this every year.

“You’re strong, you’ll be fine.” And Chris said that every year too.

You appreciated their support, really. It was just hard to think about anything other than the possibility your life could come to a quick and brutal end in a matter of weeks if things took a turn for the worse today.

“I know.” You mumbled, again. And you did know. You were prepared, you were strong. You were all the things the Redfield siblings proclaimed you to be. Despite being the mere age of nineteen, you were a ruthless person, you had a human understanding of mercy, yes. But you also knew how to survive, no matter the circumstances. And anyone would be stupid to forget that.

Although you weren’t the only person who was given the opportunity to prepare for the Games longer before they were even Reaped. It was common in Districts One and Two for the children to be familiar with combat, with survival skills. Most Tributes ended up volunteering for the ability to compete in the Games. Many a sour face had come from the stage over the years a someone stole the Reaped’s chance to fight.

You’d decided long ago that if someone wanted to take your place and volunteer, you’d be happy to let them have your spot. Anything, anything to stay away from the Capitol. Or as far as you could, being from District One. But, being a part of the Redfield family — even if it was unofficial — you weren’t too far out of the Capitol’s reach. It would be the Games or your connection to the Redfield’s that would catch their attention eventually.

“We’ll see you after?” Claire’s voice brought you back to the present, her ever soothing tone causing you to look up at her. She smiled at you, patting your arms with gentle affection. “You’ll be fine.”

You nodded as Chris gave your bicep a small punch before brushing his knuckles along your cheek with playful affection. “We’ll break out that apple crumble tonight, yeah?”

His suggestion made you smile — even though you had luxuries being the family of District One Victors, they still tried to teach you some humility. They taught you to be human, to have compassion and sense and a heart.

“Okay,” you nodded, smiling a little as the pair left you in the lines to sign in for the Reaping. You watched them walk to the stage, greeting the representative from the Capitol who was sent to preform the Reaping — a short man with half shaved hair that was dyed a shocking orange.

The line moved quickly, it always did. The woman at the table pricked your finger, taking blood and registering your name to be entered eight times. Probably one of the least amount of times in the group of children here. You were ushered by the crowd to the section of fellow nineteen year olds, craning your neck for so much as a glimpse of Chris or Claire to soothe your nerves.

You were much different than many of the other around you. Some thrummed with energy, for the chance to swoop in and volunteer if they weren’t lucky enough to be Reaped. You didn’t want to be like them. You didn’t want to be a killer. You didn’t want to be another one of the Capitol’s playthings.

The video of Panem history began to play on the screens flanking the stage, the anthem ringing through the speakers. The sound of President Spencer’s voice echoed through the square with his grand speech of the relationship between the Capitol and the Districts. Peace, he called it. Compliance, he called it. No, it was control. But really, what was the difference at this point?

Once the film came to a close, the Capitol representative stepped forward toward the mic, his smile startlingly white and far too wide to be genuine. He tapped the microphone few times before clearing his throat and speaking.

“Good afternoon, District One, and happy 98th Hunger Games!” His voice matched his face — eccentric, high pitched, grating on the ears.

“Before you all claw up the stage to get your chance, I’ll start with the gentlemen’s names.” The man — whom you remembered was named Allium Copperhead — giggled at his own stupid joke before removing the mic from its stand as he shuffled over toward the bowl containing the boys’ names.

All you could think was how dumb Allium Copperhead looked trotting over toward the bowl. This was another example of the difference between the lesser Districts versus the Careers. Girls always went first, except in the richer Districts. Possibly an advantage, but not really. Boys were the most likely to try to volunteer, most likely to start a fight in the square to get their chance of glory and fame.

This particular part didn’t concern you — your name wasn’t in the boys’ bowl. And it wasn’t as if you had anyone to worry over. Allium reached his hand into the large glass bowl, his citrus orange nails grazing over the slips of paper before plucking one out and shuffling over to the mic stand once more.

“Our District One male Tribute is,” he purposely drew out the suspense, the square collectively holding its breath. This was his thing, suspense. Attention grabber — that’s what Claire called him. “Piers Nivans.”

A collective groan fell from each older boy’s lips as Allium announced who was the male Tribute. Piers Nivans was a bit of a prodigy amongst the District One boys. He was strong and level headed and ruthless as he was kind. Chris had trained him alongside you.

Piers didn’t seem all too happy though as he walked toward the stage. Chris’ eyes followed the boy, face set in an unreadable expression. But you could tell — he wasn’t ecstatic about this. No one dared to volunteer. Not because Piers wanted to be in the games. But because they knew Piers stood a better chance the any of them.

Once Piers had reached the stage and Allium shook his hand a little too excitedly, he took his stand on the right side of the stage, his eyes scanning the crowd. As if he were waiting for someone — anyone — to volunteer. To save him from this fresh new hell. No luck.

“Now, for the ladies.” Allium announced in the microphone with a giggled smile, practically skipping over to the girls’ bowl. If you hadn’t been so worried about your fate, you would have rolled your eyes at how childish this grown-ass man was.

But you couldn’t focus on anything other than the thousands of slips of paper in the bowl as he reached in and snatched one up. The square was dead quiet. You heard a girl to your right let out a sigh of anticipation.

The air was thick, the energy unbearable. Your heart raced in your ears, blood thrumming through your veins as Allium stood in front of the mic once more, unfolding the paper.

You almost didn’t hear him call out your name. Almost thought you were hallucinating. It wasn’t until he called out your name once more, all the people in the square turning to your direction that you realized you hadn’t dreamt it. You wanted to cry, throw up, beat up Allium Copperhead and claw the ridiculous make up from his face.

But you did none of those things as you braced yourself, walking up toward the stage. An entire desert ecosystem was born in your mouth as you walked up the steps to the stage. Claire and Chris’ sad gazes caught your eye. God, why’d they have to look at you like that?

You waited, prayed as Allium shook your hand — the feeling of his clammy hands against your own made you even more nauseated than before — for someone to volunteer. No one did. Not even that girl you’d seen before who seemed so eager for her name to be drawn.

No one would volunteer. Because while Piers was the boy prodigy of the District, you were his counterpart. You were the strongest girl in the District, the most capable of winning. Maybe even over Piers. No one dared to take the chance of winning the Games away from the Redfield’s top student.

You stood on the left side of the stage, looking out upon the crowd of children — some relieved not to be Reaped, others irked. How you wished you were able to go home, to not be sent away to the Capitol to kill and possibly die. Maybe, you wouldn’t even try. But you had to, you couldn’t leave Chris and Claire.

“Our District One Tributes, ladies and gentlemen!” Allium announced with a sickeningly cheerful smile. He waved a dramatic hand toward where you and Piers stood at opposite ends of the stage. “Oh, go on now! Shake hands.”

You turned toward Piers, ignoring the way Allium bounced on his heels — you wanted to rip his fucking vocal cords out so you’d never have to hear his agitating voice again. Piers held out his hand, and you took it. Being a good sport you offered a small, sympathetic yet understanding smile.

The irony, two of the strongest and most capable possible Tributes in the District didn’t want to be here. Didn’t want to kill and hurt and fight to survive. Despite being molded to do just that. Despite being the only ones with a fighting chance.

You let go of Piers’ hand, turning back toward the crowd as Allium Copperhead made his final goodbyes. Thank God, he would finally leave you the fuck alone. Maybe dying in the arena wouldn’t be so bad if it meant never having to see this crack job ever again. The orange-headed man placed the mic back on its stand before gently guiding you and Piers toward the back of the stage.

Peacekeepers took you from there, offering you a chance to say goodbye to anyone you wished to see one last time. But you had no one, other than Chris and Claire who were coming with you. So, you denied the opportunity, saying you just wanted to go to the train.

Piers took his chance, bidding a sad goodbye to his family. They were proud of him to taking it in such stride, you could see that. And you could also see how they knew that this wasn’t something to be cheering for. These Games were ruthless and they knew that their son would either return a murderer or not return at all.

Peacekeepers guided you and Piers toward the train, standing at the doors as you both walked in one after the other. The train shook as it started up, before lurching forward smoothly. You wandered into one of the cars and took in your surroundings.

Yes, you’d been raised with a certain modem of luxury. But it was District level luxury. This was true richness. Velvet chairs, patterned textured wallpapers, smooth carpet, rich wood furniture. God, it was like they were flaunting it in your face. Which they were.

“Oh my God,” you heard Claire’s voice echo through the train car and before you could even look over your shoulder, she was rushing toward you and enveloping you into a hug. “I’m so sorry,” her voice was muffled by her face pressed into your hair.

“Jesus kid, you got the Redfield bad luck, huh?” Chris grumbled as he walked in, shaking his head.

Piers’ eyes ticked between you and the Redfield sister that held you, and Chris with recognition. It seemed he hadn’t recognized you until just now.

“Chris,” Claire frowned, scolding her brother as she loosened her grip on you to hold you at arms length. Her attention turned back on you, hands smoothing down the fabric of your blouse. “You’ll be fine, we’re going to do our best to prepare you. Both of you.”

“I know you will,” you nodded, offering your best attempt at a smile. Like you even felt like smiling right now. You looked over to Piers. “At least we’ve got the best of the best.”

“Maybe we’ll have an actual chance.” Piers mumbled as Chris walked over to him, clapping the boy on the shoulder roughly.

“We’ll make sure you have a chance. Both of you.” Chris nodded as he crossed his large arms over his chest. He gave an eye roll as a cheery voice was heard distantly from behind one of the close train doors. He let out a grumble. “Brace yourselves, here comes traffic cone.”

“Chris,” Claire scolded as she narrowed her eyes toward her brother. But before he could even think of defending himself, the automatic train door opened and Allium Copperhead skipped into the train car.

“My tributes!” The man cried with a grin, clapping his hands beneath his chin — which you just noticed had a patch of bright orange hair to match the half curtain of hair on his head — and paced over to you and Piers. “I am so proud of you two!”

You wanted to move away, but the man was deceptively quick as he wrapped an arm around your shoulders and his other around Piers’ shoulders. He hugged you close, and you could see Piers physically cringe out of the corner of your eye. “I am going to be sure that your time in the Capitol is as enjoyable as it is productive!”

“All right, Allium, they’re overwhelmed right now,” Claire said with a gentle tone that held a bit of authority behind it as she raised her brows.

“Right, right! Of course,” Allium agreed cheerfully as he let go of the both of you. Which lead to you and Piers to let out a simultaneous exhale of relief. You watched the man’s eyes land on a television and he walked towards it. “We should watch the Reaping broadcast! It should be all uploaded by now.”

Your eyes widened as you looked at Claire and Chris, silently begging for them to put a stop to it. The last thing you wanted was to watch your own Reaping ceremony. Chris gave an apologetic grimace as Allium flicked on the television with a small remote. It seemed to be preset to the Capitol broadcast channels.

“Come here, come here. Get comfortable. I’ll have some food sent in, you two must be famished.” Allium waved you and Piers over with a cheek splittingly wide grin.

Of course, you much be absolutely famished because you lived in one of the Districts. He had no tactfulness. But with Claire’s nod of approval, you slowly paced over toward the small semi-circle of armchairs and a sofa that proved betrayingly comfortable. You took a seat on the sofa, Piers beside you. And much to your disgust and discomfort, Allium took his seat on your other side.

Chris and Claire sat on the armchairs on either side of the sofa. “I know you don’t really want to watch this, but it’ll be a good way to get an idea of who you’ll be up against in the arena.”

Chris was already in mentor mode. He was leaning forward, his elbows propped on his knees as the Capitol anthem played and the Umbrella Corporation logo flashed across the screen. The Reaping ceremony of District One played first, your own Reaping.

God, did you really look like that? Like a deer in headlights on that stage? Piers on the other hand looked great. Strong and intimidating. But you looked weak, like you were about to throw up and pass out. Which you’d almost done both.

As your Reaping came to a close, Allium gave a swift — and what was supposed to be an affectionate — pat on your knee. He grinned at you, nodding as you gave a weary smile back and looked back at the huge television.

District Two’s Reaping played next, a girl with long blonde hair and bangs that covered one eye stood on the stage as she was Reaped — Rachel Foley, that was her name. She was eighteen and had a menacing look on her face. The boy that was called up was Brad Vickers, a nineteen year old with a stocky build who looked a bit too relaxed on the stage.

Chris had previously informed you of the Victor for District Two, Jill Valentine. He had warned you not to underestimate her as most people did. And despite having won her games years ago and fought to prove herself in the Capitol, people believed she was weak for the way she’d won her games. However, with the glimpse you saw of her on the screen during her District’s Reaping, you decided maybe it was best to heed Chris’s warning.

District Three’s Reaping was as equally uneventful as the previous two. Though you suspected the girl tribute — Cindy Lennox — to be an immediate target for violence. She seemed too soft, too sweet to be on that stage. The male Tribute, however, looked up to the task. Steve Burnside was tall and seemed confident enough to be able to get through the arena alive.

Their mentor and Three’s most recent Victor was Ada Wong, someone that you didn’t want to mess with, as Claire warned you. She was ruthless and clever and cutthroat as she was deceiving and alluring. There were rumors around the Capitol she had ways of getting information, secrets. It wasn’t ever clear if those methods were ones of violence or sexual advances. Though no one ever questioned much. She was too beautiful to want to question.

All you could think as you watched the District Four Reaping was how fucking unlucky these Tributes were. Ashely Graham was what was called a ‘sympathy win’ in the Capitol. Meaning someone had the means to send her enough sponsor gifts that she managed to outlive the other Tributes in her games. Though her two — Jessica Sherawat and Kevin Ryman — seemed strong enough to handle themselves, so maybe they had a chance. No matter how small. Because if Chris and Claire taught you one thing, it was never to underestimate anyone.

District Five was where things got a bit dramatic. There was a volunteer for the girl tribute, Caroline Floyd taking the place of a girl who seemed to be blind. Which, in your mind, was a brave and selfless thing to do. Until you remembered there was so such thing as selflessness in the games. Her male counterpart was Billy Coen, whom Claire later told you was suspected to be close to his now mentor, Rebecca Chambers.

District Six was boring, as usual. Tyrell Patrick — a tall man with kind eyes — towered over the female Tribute, Christine Yamata who seemed entirely unemotional. Their Mentor was praised to be somewhat of a genius, despite Chris promising he wasn’t. Carlos Olivera was as cocky and unthinking as the next Yribute who wanted to stay alive.

Things were quiet in Seven, Josh Stone and Sienna Fowler being the Tributes. Chris praised their Mentor though. Sheva Alomar, he said, was trustworthy and dependable. He liked her, you could tell. Other than Jill, she seemed to be the only one he favored.

District Eight produced the Tributes nineteen year old Karen LesProux — who was rumored to have married extremely young at seventeen and then killed her husband after he’d hit one of their children, but those rumors were quickly shut down — and sixteen year old Richard Aiken who looked to be young, but strong enough to hopefully carry his own.

Their Mentors — Sherry Birkin and Jake Muller — were rumored to be cutthroat and did whatever it took to make their Tributes survive. Despite knowing that Claire had an obvious soft spot for Sherry when she’d made a connection with her a few years ago, Chris warned you it was wise not to trust the Tributes from Eight. And something about the way they looked made you believe him.

District Nine’s Reaping was quiet and uneventful as Moira Burton — a fifteen year old girl who was scrawny as she was fearful — and nineteen year old David King — who refused to speak at all — were chosen. Their Mentors, however, were the topic of conversation. Ethan and Mia Winters. Many rumors circulated around the Capitol concerning the now-married couple. Apparently, Ethan Winters had pulled many strings to get Mia — previously Mia Jensen — out of her games alive. Most of the other Mentors had been bitter and they weren’t the most popular amongst the current pool of Victors. Except for Chris, who had a soft spot for the pair.

The Tributes for District Ten were named Bruce McGivern — a charismatic looking seventeen year old boy — and Fong Ling, who looked extremely intimidating for a fifteen year old girl. Their Mentor was somewhat of a flirt around the Capitol, Luis Serra. He was rumored to be similar to Ada Wong in terms of how he survived his life in the spotlight as a Victor. Sexual favors and the payment of secrets. He wasn’t bad to look at, you had to give him that.

The Reaping broadcast was close to an end as District Eleven brought forth an increasingly devastating Tribute. Twelve year old Natalia Korda was picked from the bowl and stood on the stage, trying her hardest not to cry. She seemed to have at least some last sliver of hope though as her male counterpart, Parker Luciani, seemed to want to try and take care of her.

Their Mentors were a mix, that’s for sure. Zoe Baker who seemed determined to get Natalia out alive, and Lucas Baker who was rumored to have lost his mind after his games. Another batch of siblings — God, the Capitol loved that.

Finally — and much to your relief — the District Twelve Reaping began. Chris and Claire had told you before of the Victor for Twelve. Jack Krauser. He was cutthroat and viscous and had a bad run in his games. He’d been chased through the jungle by Mutts, Mutts that no one knew looked like but were rumored to resemble his fellow deceased Tribute. So, ever since then, he’d been hellbent on making live a living hell for all of his Tributes. Somehow a twisted revenge on the Capitol.

His Tributes, however, caught your eye. Helena Harper, seventeen years old and volunteered for her younger sister. Noble, very noble of her. But it wasn’t Helena who caught your interest. Rather, it was the male Tribute.

Leon Kennedy — nineteen years old with golden hair and the bluest eyes you’ve ever seen. He looked mortified as his name was called, like he was wanted to drop dead then and there. You couldn’t blame him. Twelve had the least advantage. There were only around five Victors to come from Twelve in the history of the Games.

But there was something about him. Some innocent yet driven nature he had that made you lean forward in your seat, eyes glued to the screen. This did not go unnoticed by anyone in the room. Chris and Claire exchanged a look, Allium thought close to nothing of it. But Piers, he knew what it was. Fascination, the way your eyes widened and your focus never unwavering from the boy your age on the screen. The way he composed himself and took his fate with stride.

Something in you — all the survival instincts that Chris and Claire had put into you — it all vanished. And it was replaced by a lingering sense of fascination for this boy. And the need to make sure he made it out alive.

Even as the screen shut off and Allium mentioned something about having dinner served, you didn’t move. Not as Piers started up a conversation with Chris about what the arena may be this year. Not as Claire decided to come and sit beside you. You knew what was coming.

“What’re you thinking about?” She asked, looking at you as you sat on the sofa, eyes still trained on the blank television screen. She knew full well what you were thinking about. She wasn’t born yesterday. She just needed you to say it.

You sat in silence for a moment, pictures of Leon Kennedy running through your mind. He was from Twelve, you were from One. You weren’t supposed to mix. It was like oil and water. But, something about that boy drew you in. Maybe the kindness in his eyes that made it so obvious he wasn’t cut out for this. Maybe the way he’d quickly recovered and took his Reaping with stride. But no, there was just something about him. He wasn’t supposed to be subjected to this.

With this on your mind, you turned your head, looking at Claire as she awaited your answer. You knew this confession would damn you, you knew it could be the reason you may die in that arena. But consequences be damned. You knew that you had to do it.

“I’m thinking about how I can get that boy out alive.”

How you can help Palestine! 🇵🇸 | daily click!

2023 ellieslaces please do not repost, rewrite, translate, or submit my work to AI or any other platform. please support your creators by reblogging, liking, and following!

[theabigailthorn]

Surely with how popular you are you would have had a few cancelling attempts, but you're drama free. How? I thought you'd be target number 1 with TERFs.

So the thing is, people on the internet have and do try to wreck my life! But it's true that I get less of it than a lot of other women, and I often ask myself (and them) this same question. I think it comes down to a few factors. In no particular order:

I'm white and thin

I don't post selfies very often

The Philosophy Tube Jutsu: I never use my platform to say anything bad about individuals, so I don't make enemies

I'm British

I don't put my pronouns or the word 'trans' in my bio. I mention it if it it's relevant but to a casual troll looking for someone to go after there are more obvious targets

My brand: in terms of online content, my brand is 'Educational and Compassionate.' I try to be even-handed and listen to all sides and never be angry, and people are maybe a bit reluctant to get mad at someone who does that? In terms of acting, my brand right now is 'I'm Trying Hard and I'm On My Way Up!' which I guess people like?

I have a posh accent

I don't make online content about video games

I'm pretty enough that men like looking at me but not so hot it makes them angry

I transitioned in private before I came out publicly. I knew that when I did I'd get a lot of backlash, so I pre-emptively muted LOADS of words in my comments section and wove a kind of digital safety net

I'm so busy that I often miss whatever the discourse du jour is and don't get involved. As a wise woman once said, 'Do Not Tweet.'

I deliberately dress and present myself as 'classy' in public-facing stuff

Most of my content is scripted, so by default it attracts people who like to sit down and listen

Philosophy Tube is literally all about critical thinking and not taking things at face value. So if a typical Philosophy Tube Subscriber sees a post that says 'I saw Abigail Thorn kicking a puppy down the street!' they're more likely to stop and think, 'What's the evidence for this?' This means that when there are hate campaigns and lies spread about me (and there are, from time to time) my core audience sees through it and sticks around

I have very good mods! Big shout out to all the lovely people on r/philosophytube and all the people who moderate my livestream chats!

I have a social media manager who can look out for hate and pre-emptively guard against it

I don't hitch my brand to other people. I sometimes do little collabs or appear at events with other creators but for the most part I fly solo. That means if another creator blows up or posts something awful I minimise my chances of cancellation-by-association. I'm friends with lots of creators but for the most part I keep it behind the scenes (Learned this one the hard way!)

I'm not a sex worker. Those people get hate like you wouldn't believe - the sex workers I know are the toughest folks I've ever met!

I'm not very fun to bully! I do get death threats and hate campaigns and people make fake porn of me and libel me and all that stuff - literally every day - I just never talk about it publicly so trolls don't get the satisfaction of seeing me get upset. I just mute and block and move on silently. When I have to talk to a lawyer or the police about someone causing a problem, I handle it behind the scenes

Platform size. When TERFs in British media go after someone they tend to pick on people smaller than them, cause they're bullies.

I built my platform slowly, so I've had time to adjust and get used to how it impacts my life

People have tried to cancel me in the past and it's blown up in their faces, e.g. the Trump Transition Tweet Incident and the B*ck A*gel Affair.

To be absolutely clear, a LOT of this is luck and privilege. I'm not trying to blame the victims of online harassment: yes, some of these factors are things I choose to do but not everyone is able to make those choices. It's also the unwinnable game of respectability politics: yes I might get less hate because of the way I dress or whatever, but fundamentally that won't protect me if I get arrested and sent to a men's prison. These things aren't a substitute for a more just distribution of power. There's also this final possible factor:

It just hasn't happened yet.

[punkeropercyjackson]

If you're an adult in fandoms for children's media,you have to be nice to the kids in them.The creators for the shows and books and games and so forth may be adults but they made them to cater to KIDS.I'm using 'cater' because it's become a buzzword to try to silence minors when they're uncomfortable with things like proshipping when,again,yes it literally IS 'catered' to them so they have a right to say what should and shouldn't exist in their fandoms.I'm not saying it's bad to be an adult who's super into children's media and in fact half the reason i'm making this post is that i fall under that due to my type of autism and as a way healing my inner child from a lot of trauma and i'm sick and tired of watching you overgrown tar pits bullying minors in their own damn spaces and then acting like they're actually yours

You have no right to mock them for being young or insult their headcanons and art and fics because they don't line up with your headcanons that you think are objectively superior with no basis other than your egos or call them weird for doing crossovers of their interests because it makes them happy and helps them develop their writing skills without needing to get a professional involved.You want to be horny about the adult characters and write darker topics with respect and both with proper tags?Go right ahead,nothing inherently wrong with either.But sexualizing characters who've always been underaged in canon and calling writing taboo relathionships that're taboo because they have abusive dynamics and have been proven to be used to abuse irl people(in///cest and age gap headasses,i'm looking at you)and not just 'cencorship' or whatever has no place existing to begin with but especially not in elementary/middle/high school franchises

You're literally PUTTING REAL KIDS IN DANGER with your weird little incel fantasies instead of leaving them fuck alone and degrading them over being upset over your bullshit that you invaded their boundries to push onto them and as an eldest sibling to both my biological ones and several younger people i've gotten close friends with to also consider siblings on both my side and theirs,i won't stand for any of this and i have no remorse in actively trying to push y'all out of here.If you're an adult who's in fandoms for children's media,you have to be nice to the kids in them.I'm not fucking asking

[immaturityofthomasastruc]

for a show who's creator openly and shamelessly calls people abuse apologists, ML's tendency to use love and moral uprightness as justification really does not help the hypocrisy and double standards allegations. i know I've seen people who haven't kept up with the show or never watch it to begin with asking what's happening in this show but it does feel bad when you see people being told that yea, ML really said "the end justifies the means" and love can forgive even the most heinous crimes (which is, yanno, an actual manipulation tactics used by abusers to keep the people they abuse in relationships with them). that terrorist who's been destroying the city and manipulating it's inhabitants and abusing his child? poor little meow meow, his wife is dead and he just wants her back. that kid who's response to his oh so troubled past of being abused decides to use the miraculous to do something that'll get people killed? he's fine, he's got a girlfriend now. (nevermind that the show already said your sad backstory isn't an excuse for your bad actions to somebody else but who cares about the unfortunate teenage girl) doesn't matter if how the protagonist acts ableist, destroys public property and disregards young girls and their privacy (already an irl problem tbh) itself is horrific, so long as we get rid of the girls who's going to make the classmates sad for like two seconds. doesn't matter if you're sending a child away to be further abused and neglected, our class bully is gone and we don't gotta put up with her anymore. doesn't matter if i have to lie to an abused child about the extend of how shitty his dad is so long as he's not too sad about said abusive parent dying. canon says they're all good actions so obviously they must be!

The thing is the stuff with Chloe in Season 5 isn't bad in a vacuum. The lesson that your past can only go so far to justify your present actions isn't a bad one. It's just that the show ignores that lesson time and time again with almost every antagonist who isn't Chloe, like Felix, Sabrina, Andre, Nathalie, and Gabriel.

This is seriously a show that had an episode end with a child being taken to live with her verbally abusive mother treated as a satisfying conclusion right before another episode trying to tell a serious story about child abuse.

If you want to talk about a serious issue like child abuse, you can't "both sides" this. Pick a lane for God's sake.

[soraya-snape]

There was this HP creator on TikTok that I was starting to really like. But then she said that “Snape is not a good guy (OK kinda agree but the way she said it sounded more like “he is a bad or even really bad guy” which is obviously not true) and that he only tried to save Harry which was the least he could do” and this is the part where I was like?!?!?!

He might have started off only trying to save Harry (actually Lily at first) but then he actually tries to save the whole wizarding world. Like remember that time he told Dumbledore “Lately only those I couldn't save.” or when he tried to save Lupin at the beginning of DHp1 or told Phineas Niggelus Black to not call Hermione a mud blood. And let's not forget how he spied for Dumbledore during the first and second war, which is definitely more than the least he could do. I could go on but I think people with enough braincells get that he was not just trying to save that one boy but actively going against Voldemort's values and also kinda his own (or at least the once he was taught as a kid/teen). And like the example with Lupin shows also protecting those who, from his perspective might not deserve his help (considering Remus was a bystander at his bullying who actually had the power and the duty to stop it and also while mostly being civil towards Snape in later years still made his life extremely hard [I still love Remus but let's not ignore his flaws]).

Yes maybe he was a cruel teacher even bully to some of his students (we actually canonically only know of the trio and Neville) but at the same time also beloved and admired by some (mainly Slytherin but considering how badly they were treated by almost everyone else I actually think it's good of Snape to favour them especially considering what he went through during school simply because he was Slytherin. If you have a problem with that, perhaps you should complain first about everyone mistreating the Slytherins before complaining about someone treating them nicely, even if it is unfair). 

But besides that his position in the second war (and also the end of the first one) on the good side is clear and not only to save Harry but also everyone he simply could save. And if you don't see it, maybe you should get your eyes checked, or I don't know...

[saccharinesunsetretired]

Wilbur Soot’s Guide to Side Hustles | camboy!Simpbur x camgirl!reader | Part One

My first ever series on this blog yayayayay! Also first time writing Simpbur. No fucking clue when the next chapter will be up though. Could be next week. Could be a month. Life contains many mysteries.

Summary: Wilbur has had a long line of obsessions in his time. In a desperate attempt to get the attention he craves, he starts making content online. When he encounters you at a party full of other creators...well, he's never been good at staying away from things that draw him in, and you may very well be his undoing.

Warnings/Tags: sub!Simpbur, dom!reader. Unrealistic sex/depictions of sex work (although I did try), smut, pegging, general simpbur creepiness, discussions of virignity/consent, low self-esteem and insecurity problems, unhealthy attitudes toward sex. Reader is AFAB and a woman

Word Count: 11.3k

MINORS DNI - BLOGS WITHOUT AN AGE INDICATOR GET BLOCKED, NO EXCEPTIONS

“Hey, creep.” 

Wilbur blinked and looked up from his math textbook. Standing right in front of him was a girl from his English course, a girl he’d had a crush on for years. They had never actually spoken. Instead, he’d done what he did best—watched from afar and stayed out of it. For a moment, despite her harshness, he just stared, basking in her attention. 

She laughed, and her friends laughed from a few desks away as they looked on. “Do you know how to speak?” she asked.

“Y-yeah,” he said. He could feel his cheeks burning. “What’s, um…what’s up?”

“‘What’s up’?” The girl laughed again. “I’ve seen you hovering near my locker, you fucking pervert.”

Wilbur froze. “I-I wasn’t—“

“Oh, you weren’t?” She leaned against a nearby desk. “Who’s been leaving me notes, then?”

Wilbur wanted nothing more than to curl up in a hole. He had been leaving notes. And admittedly, yes, some of them were creepier than others. The notes ranged from Good luck on midterms :) to You looked so hot in class today. And despite Wilbur’s general lack of self-awareness, he recognized how this looked. “I’m sorry,” he mumbled, avoiding eye contact. “I’ll stop.”

“If you don’t, I’m reporting you,” she replied. “Stay the fuck away from me.”

“Got it.” Wilbur had never felt more embarrassed. The other students began to whisper. He could feel a million eyes on him—well, what felt like a million, at least. “I’m so, so sorry.” He stared at his desk as his eyes stung.

“Good.” The girl stood there for another few moments. “It’s a waste,” she said. “You could almost be cute, if you weren’t such a freak.”

Present Day

You could almost be cute if you weren’t such a freak.

Wilbur remembered that, because of course he did. It was the closest he ever got to someone returning his affections. Yes, he knew it was pathetic, but that shred of affirmation went a long way.

He started bettering himself. It started with better hygiene, not wearing clothes multiple days in a row, properly washing his hair. His parents had been bothering him to do that for ages, anyway. He dressed better, tried to socialize. That last point didn’t go too well. He got bullied to the point that he ended up switching schools and had to deal with the fact that at least a bit of it was warranted.

He never saw that crush of his ever again. He developed new ones, new fixations. He didn’t leave notes, though, or stalk anyone or do anything to arouse suspicion. He promised himself that he could be normal, that he would be normal.

Well, perhaps he’d intentionally switched classes a few times to “keep an eye on” some of the people he became fixated on. But was that such a big deal?

And then university came. Loans, what felt like a million dollars in debt. One night, the result of a drunken decision, he filmed himself getting off. On an even more questionable drunken decision, he posted it online to some internet forum he had only heard of in passing. The second he remembered it the next day (after recovering physically a bit from his previous drinking binge), he was absolutely mortified.  And yet, to his immense surprise, people liked it. It wasn’t any sort of viral sensation, of course, but he had a decent number of comments when he woke up in the morning. At first, he was put off by the vulgarity of it, but then, he realized that this was how he could get the high that he’d always craved—attention. 

He started working on it. Filming videos, uploading photos. Pretty soon, he had an OnlyFans account going. His content was mostly solo stuff, webcam livestreams and private chats with his more dedicated followers. To his surprise, he started making decent money. It was nice to have something to help relieve some of the university debt. Plus, the validation was nice, even if it was only in praise of his body.

Besides, he had long given up the idea of anybody loving him for anything other than that.

Online, his persona was more submissive. It was easier for him, not having to fake confidence that he didn’t have. Instead, he could let himself moan as loud as he wanted, let the microphone pick up every small gasp and whine as he got himself off either with his hands or one of the million toys that he’d purchased since starting the job. The needier he looked, the better.

Then, he found the confidence to do his first collaboration. The benefits of moving to a larger area for university were plenty, but one of the biggest benefits turned out to be the fact that he was far from the only sex worker in the city. He lost his virginity to a girl on a livestream, although she didn’t know it was his first time. At least, she pretended not to know. Wilbur got the feeling that she could tell. Either way, it had made good content. In fact, it had been so profitable that she had invited him to a small gathering of some other creators—sex workers of all types.

And that was how he ended up holding a can of cheap beer in the corner of a party. It was at someone’s apartment, someone he didn’t know and didn’t care to know. The music was far too loud, the conversation too overwhelming. For a moment, Wilbur was sixteen again, sitting at his desk and wanting to disappear.

At least, until you walked in. You, dressed to the nines for a simple house party. For a moment, he locked eyes with you, and he nearly forgot how to breathe. He looked away first, too intimidated, too afraid. However, he watched out of the corner of his eye as you walked into the kitchen to greet the host of the party and grab a drink. 

When you reentered the living room, Wilbur’s eyes immediately went back to you. Suddenly, it was as if nobody else was there. He could feel it creeping up on him again, the beginning of an obsession.

Be normal, he reminded himself. Don’t be a creep.

He watched as you greeted almost everyone at the party, flawlessly interacting with the guests. Clearly, you knew your way around. Eventually, you made your way over to Wilbur. He took a sip of his beer to try and appear casual, only to choke slightly.

“Shit, didn’t mean to startle you,” you said, chuckling. “You alright?” You leaned against the wall right beside him, so close that he could smell your shampoo. Or maybe it was perfume. He couldn’t tell, and honestly didn’t care to discern the difference. 

“Fine,” Wilbur replied. He laughed awkwardly, rubbing the back of his neck. “Sorry. You caught me mid-sip.”

“My bad, stranger.” You offered your hand. “I’m Y/N. And you’re Wilbur, right? Allison told me about you.”

Wilbur hesitantly shook your hand before pulling his own hand away suspiciously quick. “Right, yeah,” Wilbur replied. “We did a livestream earlier.”

“I heard. Apparently it was a hit.” You briefly glanced at your phone before tucking it back in your pocket. “And you’re new on the scene…?”

“Yeah, pretty new.” Wilbur shrugged, trying to play it cool and relax his nerves. “That was my first non-solo livestream.” And my first time having sex ever his mind reminded him. Because people only want you if they can profit. 

He shook the thought away as you spoke again. “Damn. Pretty good for your first time, then.” You grinned at him. “Most people don’t get this kind of attention so quickly.”

“It’s…definitely been a surprise to me,” Wilbur agreed. A tense silence passed between you and Wilbur. “So…you also do the whole…camgirl thing?” He thought that he’d heard of you in passing, but before, he’d had no reason to look you up.

“Yeah! Two years and going. Still doing mostly solo stuff, but trying to branch out a little,” you replied. “It can be difficult to know who to trust in this industry, who genuinely has your best interests at heart and who is taking advantage.”

“I bet.” Wilbur set his beer aside. It wasn’t that good, anyway. “Do you like it?”

You shrugged. “Sometimes yes. Other times no. Depends on how creepy people are that day.” 

Wilbur laughed, nodding in agreement. He watched you as you took a sip of your own drink, some sort of cocktail. “But you make good money?” he asked. His frenzied mind attempted to come up with some flirtatious lines, but nothing else left his mouth. Considering how cringy all the lines were, it was for the better.

“Decent money,” you replied. “And you?”

“Decent money.”

“Cool.” Wilbur felt slightly uneasy as you eyed him up and down. “Hand me your phone,” you said after a moment.

Wilbur blinked. “Why?” he asked. Despite his questioning, he unlocked his phone and handed it over without complaint.

“So I can give you my number,” you replied. You began entering your contact information. “Not to be too forward, but the main reason I came to this party was just to network. Like I said, I’m branching out, and it seems that you’re doing the same.” You handed his phone back. “Maybe we could collab.”

Wilbur felt his heart hammering in his chest. The room felt like it was spinning, and considering he’d only had half a beer, he definitely couldn’t blame it on alcohol. “Oh. Um…you sure?”

You smirked. “You seem harmless enough, Wil. Besides, we can talk a bit beforehand, get to know each other a little. I’d rather not fuck someone without knowing a bit about them.”

“Fair.” Wilbur very shakily tucked his phone back in the pocket of his jeans. He noticed you starting to leave. “We’ll be in touch, then?” he asked.

You winked. “You can count on it.” Only a moment later, you disappeared into the crowd.

Wilbur left the party immediately after. He saw no point in staying if he couldn’t talk with you more. Even after that sliver of conversation, everyone else at the party seemed even more dull than before. He got into the back of a taxi, trying (and failing) to make his brain go quiet.

All he could think about was your skin under the multicolored lights at the party, the sound of your laugh, the brightness of your smile. He checked his phone, and all he could think about was the fact that your hands had touched it less than fifteen minutes prior. And maybe, just maybe, if he played his cards right he would get to touch you for real.

He imagined your hands on him, fingers curled around his cock. Nobody had ever given him a handjob before, but he (for better or worse) had always had a vivid imagination. He closed his eyes and rested his forehead against the window of the cab as he imagined it, your fingers on him. He tried to imagine every detail, the texture of your fingertips, the tone of voice you would use as you praised him.

By the time the taxi dropped him off outside his apartment building, he was achingly hard. He made it to his studio apartment, took off his coat and shoes, and immediately sat on his bed. He opened his laptop and searched for your name.

Sure enough, he found your OnlyFans, as well as the few free teaser clips that you’d uploaded elsewhere. There you were, a vibrator on your clit in one clip, your fingers teasing your own nipples as you moaned for the camera.

He slammed the laptop shut. No, he told himself. No more obsessions. If you manage to make this work, all she’ll be to you is a colleague, a coworker. 

Don’t be a creep.

He got out of bed and made it to the bathroom, where he stripped, tossed his clothes in the hamper, and turned on the shower. A cold shower would do the trick, he figured. Admittedly, he’d never actually tried the method, but it was the best he could think of. He could scrub away all thoughts of you, get rid of his hard-on, and call it a night.

He shivered as the cold water hit him. It felt fucking awful, cold water on his skin when all he wanted was warmth, but he toughed it out, waiting for his “problem” to resolve itself.

But it was no use. All he could think about was the sound of you moaning in that video, gorgeous lips parted, legs spread. He couldn’t help but wish he could hear you moan for real, not the fake sort of moans that are exaggerated for the camera. 

He gave up after a while and got out, wrapping his lower body in a towel as he did a walk of shame back to his bed. He sat on the towel and reopened his laptop.

He found your OnlyFans page, and without thinking, he subscribed. He wasn’t sure if you could see his username if he used his official account, so he made another guest account. You were worth the inconvenience. He started to scroll. He saw a clip of you and Allison, you grinding against her thigh. Another clip showed you edging yourself into oblivion, cheeks flushed, eyes watering. That was the clip he finally settled on. 

He edged himself along with the video, stopping whenever you stopped. If your hand stopped moving, so would his. In his mind, it felt almost like mutual masturbation, like you were really there doing this with him. He imagined you watching him, murmuring praise to him. 

It wasn’t often that he got off without toys, not because he couldn’t, but because he was almost always filming his orgasms, and thus toys were usually involved. Despite not having any added vibration or stimulation, he came harder simply from touching himself while watching your videos than he had in months. 

He laid there afterward, his own cum on his stomach. He squeezed his eyes shut. You’re absolutely hopeless, he told himself.

And yet, he couldn’t stop now. Not when you were so close. 

It took Wilbur three days to work up the courage to text you, and from then on, conversation flowed naturally. At first, it was small talk about the industry—which people did you know, how many parties had you been to, what sort of content were you interested in making, and on and on and on. Wilbur was honest, admitting his lack of experience in the world of sex work, although he didn’t admit his lack of sexual experience in general. If he did, he might scare you off or make you hesitant, and he didn’t want that.

Conversation then turned to more personal matters. Still surface level, yes, but less detached than talks of industry and networking. He learned that you were a camgirl on the side, using the funds to add to the money you made from waitressing as you saved up. He also learned your favorite restaurant in the city (which he offered to take you to sometime, delighted when you accepted the offer) as well as your favorite bands, books, movies…all the surface-level questions he could hope to get answers for. 

To his dismay, two weeks of texts went by without you mentioning possibly meeting up to film together. Just when he thought that was off the table and this would only amount to friendship, his phone buzzed as he was working on an essay. He picked it up, assuming it would be either one of his parents or a spam call, and grinned when he saw your name. You were requesting a FaceTime call, so he quickly smoothed his hair before answering.

“Hey!” you said cheerfully. Wilbur was so relieved to see your face, not just on your OnlyFans, but you, you choosing for him to see you. You looked like you were fresh out of the shower, and he realized quickly that you weren’t wearing a shirt. He couldn’t see anything below your shoulders, but the realization still had him speechless for a moment before he regained his composure.

“Hi!” he said back with equal cheerfulness. “How’re you?” He flicked on another light in his apartment so that you could see him better.

“Good,” you replied. A moment of silence passed. “Listen, are you free Saturday?”

“Yeah, why?” The truth was, Wilbur wasn’t free Saturday. He was in a study group for an upcoming exam, but at that moment, he decided that he didn’t give a shit. He would happily flunk an exam if it meant getting to spend more time with you. He had only seen you in person once, and only for a tiny moment in time, and all he had thought about since then was getting more. 

“I have a business idea,” you said. Wilbur watched as you sat down on a couch at what must be your apartment. He caught a glimpse of the top of a towel wrapped around your torso, and although this thought made him slightly disgusted with himself, he couldn’t help but be disappointed. Still, his disappointment only lasted a second once your words sunk in.

“A business idea?” He immediately perked up. “What is it?” His mind went wild with possibilities. A livestream? Some short clips? A whole homemade porn film? 

“So…your online persona is more on the submissive side, right?” you asked.

Wilbur’s brows furrowed. “How did you know?” Although the two of you had talked about the industry, bonded over creeps on the internet and the like, the details of your content had gone mostly undiscussed. 

He noticed the rather sheepish expression on your face. “I may have done some research,” you admitted. “Is that weird?”

His heart skipped a beat, and he had to fight to keep himself calm. You had done research on him? That meant you had definitely seen some of his content, and not only that, but seeing his content made you more interested. Usually, he wouldn’t have cared. If it were anybody else, he wouldn’t have cared, but you? You, the subject of his obsession (he’d finally admitted to himself that’s what it was), the person he thought of every night before going to bed, thought he was desirable? Maybe not desirable, but at least worthy of seeing, worthy of working with. That was enough.

“It’s not weird!” he reassured you. “I…I may have done the same.” He did not tell you that he had a whole folder on his laptop that was only clips of you, that he’d labeled each video, that he’d gotten himself off to every single one. He definitely didn’t tell you that while filming himself the day prior, he’d been thinking of you the entire time. No, that was too much. That was creepy, that was obsession…but based on your admission, he figured a bit of the truth couldn’t hurt.

Thankfully, you reacted positively. “Thank god,” you said, laughing softly. “I thought you’d think I was a pervert.”

“No! No, of course not,” he said quickly. “I would never.” He settled his back against the headboard of his bed. “So, anyway, what was the idea?”

“Well, as I was saying,” you continued, “your persona is more on the submissive side. I portray myself as more dominant. Very convenient for us, no?” Wilbur nodded along as you spoke. “I was wondering…” You trailed off. “I can be forward with you, yeah?”

“Honestly, I’d prefer it that way.”

“Great! How do you feel about getting pegged?” A moment of silence passed as Wilbur’s brain completely short-circuited. He didn’t realize how long he’d been quiet until you spoke again. “Okay, uh…maybe I was too blunt.” He heard your awkward laugh through the phone.

“No! No, not too blunt at all. I’m fine with it,” he replied. “Yeah, no, that sounds great.” He tried to hide the nervous undertone to his voice. Using toys on himself is one thing; being on the receiving end of someone else’s movements is another. “I’d be down for that.”

“Are you sure?” you asked. “You were quiet for a moment, there.”

“Yeah! Yes, I’m completely sure,” Wilbur replied. “You want to, um, livestream that? Or are we just filming…?”

“Just filming,” you replied. “Having sex live is way more complicated. This way, we can try a couple different angles to see what looks best on camera.”

“Right.” Wilbur took a deep breath. “That sounds good. You said Saturday?”

“Saturday, yeah,” you responded. “And I was thinking we do it at my place. No offense, I’m sure your setup is nice, but I’ve been in the game a bit longer. I’ve probably got nicer gear.”

“That’s great. Sounds good.” Wilbur’s nerves kicked up a few more notches. He was going to embarrass himself, he just knew it. He was going to walk in, immediately get hard just looking at your setup (which was already somewhat familiar to him) and look like a loser. He tried to shove that thought away.

Thankfully, it seemed that you sensed his discomfort. “Listen, uh…I know that you’ve only done something like this once,” you said. “If you ever change your mind, you can leave. I won’t judge you for that, even if we’re in the middle of filming. Consent rules don’t magically go away when there are cameras rolling.” 

Wilbur’s heart thumped in his chest. You were smiling warmly at him over FaceTime, and he wanted nothing more than to be there with you. His thoughts weren’t sexual, at least not in the moment. 

His mind wandered. When was the last time he’d been held by somebody? He’d never once been held by somebody who liked him romantically. He wasn’t sure that anyone outside his family had ever so much as hugged him. The thought made him dizzy. “Thank you,” he managed to say.

“Don’t thank me. It’s basic decency.” You continued smiling at him. “Oh, we don’t have a time set. Does one work?”

“One is fine,” Wilbur replied. “I’m totally cool with one.”

“Sounds good. Saturday at one, then,” you said. “Be ready to film.”

“I’ll be ready,” Wilbur promised. He just hoped that it was a promise he could keep.

He spent the rest of the week panicking. He shoved himself into schoolwork, studying, finishing up the essay that you had distracted him from. On Saturday morning, he woke up, shaved, took a shower, blow-dried his hair and got dressed. He knew that the clothes would be coming off, but he tried to dress somewhat nice anyway. He figured that even his nicest jeans and a button-up would be fine. He kept reminding himself that a business encounter was all this interaction would be.

Around noon, he got a text from you: 

Hey ;) ready to film?

He quickly replied. 

Born ready. Send your address?

The next message contained your address. He took a deep breath, brushed his teeth (for the third time that day) and set off. He left his apartment, got into his car, and started driving.

He put on a playlist on the way there, one he had made containing music from your favorite bands. He kept constantly checking himself in the mirror to the point where he realized he would hit something if he didn’t stop. He was an absolute wreck of nerves.

He pulled into the apartment parking lot and got out of his car. He walked into the building, took the elevator…

And there was your door. He stepped toward it and hesitantly knocked three times. The wait was agonizing. He stood outside the door for a minute before you opened it.

“Sorry!” you said. “I was in the middle of getting the lighting set up. Come in!”

“No worries.” He followed you inside. Your apartment was immaculately clean, with enough decorations to add character without being overwhelming. He followed you down the short hallway to your bedroom.

Sure enough, it took a lot to keep himself calm the second he stepped through the door. The whole place smelled like you, and it was enough to make him lightheaded. He looked at the setup, and it was honestly impressive. You had a professional-level camera setup, multiple lights, and cameras at various angles. “This is…wow,” he said. “You know your shit.”

“I’m a professional.” You winked at him as you adjusted the angle on one of the cameras. “Okay, so…a bit unconventional, but we’re going to do a test of sorts to make sure that the angles on the cameras are correct. Is that alright?”

Wilbur shrugged. “As you said, you’re the professional. I’ll let you call the shots.” He had no idea what a “test” would entail, but he wasn’t about to question it. He stood off to the side, watching you as you worked. Your white tank top left absolutely nothing to the imagination. 

“Great.” You adjusted one of the lights, lowering it slightly. “What do you think? Too bright in here?”

Come to think of it, it was a little blinding. “Maybe a bit softer,” Wilbur suggested.

“Good idea.” You nodded in agreement and dimmed the lights. “Better?”

“Better.” Wilbur took a few deep breaths. “We good to go?” 

“Good to go.” You sat on the bed, examining the angles from your sitting point, clearly trying to decide if they were any good. “Yeah, definitely good to go.”

“Okay, then.” Wilbur stood there awkwardly. “What, um, what do I do?”

“Like I said, I want to test the angles before we start actually filming.” Wilbur watched as you pressed record on all the cameras. “I figure we just experiment with a few positions, see how the camera captures it. You can stay dressed if you want—-like I said, this is just a test.”

“Alright,” Wilbur murmured. He sat on the bed and nearly froze when you cupped his cheek. His face was so close to yours that he could barely breathe.

“You still okay with this?” you asked, searching him for any sign of hesitation. He nodded. This was terrifying, but the thought of walking away was even scarier. “Good.” Mere seconds later, you pressed your lips to his.

It took him a second to kiss back, but once he started, he never wanted to stop. Your lips were soft against his, just testing the waters at first. He had no idea where to put his hands, but he didn’t have to think about it for long, as you quickly pushed him onto his back. He made a small noise as you got on top of him and continued kissing him.

Wilbur didn’t consider himself a good kisser. It wasn’t like he had much experience. The kisses became rushed and sloppy, and just as he started to settle into the rhythm, you were getting off of him and checking the camera footage. He sat there, dazed, as you made your way around the edge of the bed, checking what the cameras picked up. You were explaining something about the process, something about lighting and shadow and…whatever else, Wilbur wasn’t listening. He could still taste you, still feel your lips against his.

He only snapped back to reality when you approached the side of the bed again. “You still okay with the pegging thing?” you asked.

“Yes,” he breathed out. He could feel how hard he was, the slight friction against his jeans, but he didn’t have it in him to be embarrassed anymore. Who cared if this was just for work, just for content? He was about to have you, and having you in any capacity was better than not having you at all. 

“Alright, then.” He watched as you opened a nearby dresser. “I have a couple things that you can choose from…” You pulled out a box and set it on the edge of the bed. He scooted closer as you opened it, his throat catching at the array of items. “These are all the toys I have that are compatible with the harness,” you explained. “I’d rather us not start filming until the main event, so to speak. We can get you all prepped before that.”

He nodded, breath catching in his throat. “Sounds good,” he choked out. He glanced over the collection of toys. Some of them were definitely too big for him, so he avoided them. His eyes finally landed on a pink dildo, just slightly bigger than the one he’d used in a recent clip. “That one, maybe?” He pointed.

“Good choice,” you said. “Just got this one.” You picked it out of the box and laid it on the bed. Wilbur’s eyes stayed on you as he watched you gather more stuff—-the strap-on harness, some lube, a buttplug. You went about it with the precision of a doctor gathering medical supplies. It was both hot and slightly unnerving.

“Do we have everything?” Wilbur asked. He shifted slightly, both to get comfortable and because it was difficult to sit still when he was so close to you. 

“Yep! We’re set.” You sat back down on the bed close to him. He shuddered as you rested your hand on his thigh. “Still okay?”

“Still okay,” Wilbur confirmed. He closed his eyes as you leaned in to kiss him. He kissed you back, less sloppy this time, less desperate. He wanted to be able to contain himself, at least a little. He didn’t know what you’d think of him if he appeared too needy.

Your gentle hands pushed him backward, and he laid down on your soft mattress, eyes unfocused as he looked up at you. He pulled you in for another kiss, and whined as your tongue found his. The sound was pathetic in his mind, but it seemed to spur you on further. He gasped as you grinded against him. Even though it was only the tiniest bit of friction, it was one of the best things he’d ever felt. His hands wandered to your waist, sliding under your tank top. It was the boldest thing Wilbur had done so far, and he was more than pleased when you leaned further into his touch. 

A moment later, your lips left his. He frowned for only a split second before realizing why. When he opened his eyes, your hands were brushing against his as you took off your tank top, leaving absolutely nothing underneath.

He stared. He couldn’t help it. He wanted so badly to touch all of it—-your stomach, your bare waist, your chest. It was almost too much. His cheeks went red as he heard you laugh softly. “Enjoying the view?” you teased.

“Oh! Um…sorry,” he said sheepishly. He forced his eyes upward, and when he did, he locked eyes with you. To his surprise, there was no sign of disgust or embarrassment on your face, only amusement. “You’re just gorgeous. Couldn’t help it.” 

“Of course I am. How else would I have gotten this job?” You smirked down at him, and he managed to laugh despite his nerves. “In all seriousness,” you said, “thank you. You’re pretty good-looking yourself.”

It was one of the more tame comments he’d gotten in recent times, but it was by far the best. “Thank you,” he replied, his voice coming out as a squeak. Before he could apologize for that, you were kissing him again. Your hands found the buttons of his shirt, and he helped you take it off without hesitation. His mind went blank as your hands wandered his skin, tracing the lines of his abdomen and chest. He returned the favor, letting his hands wander a little. He held back, not squeezing or grasping, just lightly touching. 

You slid out of your shorts, and Wilbur fumbled with the button of his jeans. Once he undid that, you got his zipper for him. You lifted yourself up for a moment so that Wilbur could remove his jeans. He shivered as his bare skin met the cool air of your room, then frowned as you got off of him. “We should get you ready,” you said. He nodded, finally removing his boxers.

He let them fall to the side of the bed, leaving him completely exposed. He could feel how hot his cheeks were, but you didn’t seem to be judging him for it. In fact, you were focused instead on putting lube on your fingers, occasionally glancing at Wilbur. He shivered, parted his legs without you asking. He laid there for a moment, staring at your ceiling, trying to calm himself. He only had a moment before you were back, settled down beside him. “You ready?” he heard you ask. He could only nod in response. 

He felt a finger press inside of him, and he sighed. His eyes closed, his lips parted, and he let himself revel in the feeling. For once, he had someone else’s fingers, someone else’s touch. Of course, only one finger wasn’t nearly enough, but it was a perfect start. He moaned quietly as you moved your finger in and out, slowly, almost teasingly. He spread his legs further for you, and you scooted closer. At one point, your finger curled just enough that it brushed against his prostate, and the moan that he let out was downright desperate. He clasped his hand over his mouth, only for you to move it away. “Where’s the fun in that?” you murmured. He couldn’t even process your words before you brushed his prostate again, and he nearly moaned even louder.

“More?” he questioned. “Please?” 

“Since you asked so nicely…” You slid in another finger and he whined. It was then that a thought occurred to him.

When he used his own fingers or his own toys, he never properly prepped himself. Not ever. It always hurt a little bit, since for him, he was always doing it just for the camera. It made him realize how much he neglected himself when it came to his job, never truly considering his own boundaries or what felt good to him. And yet, here you were, and it didn’t hurt with you at all. Even though this was just for work, just for content, you were being more considerate and gentle with him than he was with himself. He made a mental note to thank you later.

In the meantime, your fingers curled against his prostate, and he let himself moan and whine, gripping at the sheets and breathing heavily. He let his mind go empty, let himself fully relax, let himself be yours even if only for a moment in time. He felt it as you switched between brushing against his prostate and prepping his hole, gently stretching your fingers to spread him a little wider each time. “This feel okay?” you asked. 

Wilbur nodded, unable to speak properly. You continued your movements, and Wilbur continued his moans. Your fingers were gone all too soon. Wilbur gasped a few times and forced his hazy vision to focus. “All good?” he asked, a little concerned. He watched as you wiped your hand off with a wet wipe before tossing the wipe in a bedside trash can.

“All good,” you replied. “You feeling ready? I grabbed a plug just in case you wanted to use that for more prep, but if you’re feeling good, I say we go for it.”

“I’m good to just go for it,” Wilbur said. To his surprise, his voice was a lot more steady than it had been. Something about your presence was calming, even in a situation like this that Wilbur had no experience with. He watched as you got the harness ready and strapped it on. Okay, maybe the dildo was a little bigger than he’d originally thought, but he would be fine. He hoped. “Thank you for, um, helping me get ready.”

“Why wouldn’t I help? I don’t want you to be uncomfortable,” you said. You finished putting on the harness before coating the strap in more lube than was probably necessary, just for good measure. “The nice thing about not working for some big porn company is that we get to do things in our own time. We’re not rushing to fit some director’s schedule.” 

Wilbur nodded. “Right.” He’d heard varying things about being in professional pornos from various people in the industry. Experiences ranged from incredibly negative to incredibly positive, depending on the company, the director and any number of other factors. Wilbur was grateful to be making enough money on his own to make this venture worth his while. It was nice not having to risk mistreatment. “Still. Thanks.”

“You’re welcome.” He watched as you pressed “record” on each of the cameras. You turned back to him, your expression focused, methodical. “Ready?”

Wilbur nodded. “Ready. Um…safeword?” He definitely didn’t plan on using it, but it was always better to be safe.

“Is the stoplight system good with you?” Wilbur nodded. He’d never used it, but he knew what it was. “Perfect,” you replied. “Let’s get this show on the road, then.” You smirked, and Wilbur grinned back. All the nerves were gone, replaced with excitement and focus. The cameras were rolling. Time to put on a show.

Wilbur wiggled his hips slightly, getting comfortable as well as a bit closer to you. He glanced at one of the cameras and shifted a little so that it would catch his facial expressions better. His eyes quickly went back to you. He felt your hands on his thighs. “You gonna be good for me?” you asked, your voice a little louder than it had been earlier. He figured it was just for the cameras.

“Y-yes,” Wilbur said, slightly exaggerating the tremble in his voice. From the look in your eyes, you approved. “I-I’ll be good for you. I’ll be a good boy, I promise.” 

“Yeah?” Your hands ran up and down his thighs, causing him to tremble and shiver. “Then be a good boy, and tell me what you want.”

“I want…I want you to fuck me,” he said. He realized then that he was being too quiet for the cameras to pick up, but thankfully, you saved the scene.

“A little louder, sweetheart. I couldn’t hear you.” 

“Fuck me,” Wilbur said, a little louder. “Please.” Despite the fact that it was just an act, he knew that the way you called him sweetheart would be playing on repeat in his head for weeks to come, if not months. His obsession was certainly deep enough for that.

“Good boy.” He felt the tip of the strap press into him, and he gasped. “Aw, already too much?” You asked teasingly.

He shook his head frantically. “No. Not—-not enough. Need more. Please…” He tried to scoot closer to you, to get more, but you shook your head.

“You only get what I give you. Understood?” He nodded. “Good boy.” You continued pressing the strap into him, painfully slow, giving him a chance to adjust to the size of it.

He whined, trying not to arch his back or move too much. Instead, his hands gripped at the sheets. He tilted his head to the side a little bit, right in the view of the camera to show off his face contorted with pleasure. His viewers always liked that; he figured that yours might as well. “Fuck,” he gasped out. “You’re so…so big…”

“Too much for you? Or are you gonna be good and take it?” You pushed the rest of the way in, and despite feeling fuller than he’d ever felt, not an ounce of pain came with it. Wilbur was grateful for that.

“I can be good,” Wilbur promised. “I can take it. I swear I can be good and take it.” He whined as you shifted your hips a little, and his hands went to grasp at your back. “Please. Please start moving. I need—-I need you.” Not even Wilbur could tell at this point where the genuinity ended and the act began. 

You grinned. “You’ve been good so far. I feel like you’ve earned a reward.” You started shifting your hips, slow but deep thrusts that had him reeling. You weren’t quite getting his prostate, and he suspected that it was on purpose, you wanting to draw this out longer for the cameras. 

Wilbur tilted his head back slightly. His eyes fell half-closed, and he peeked out at you from beneath his lashes. He let his lips remain parted. He suppressed his moans, opting instead for gasps and grunts. It would make better content, he figured, if he could start small and build up to it. It was taking a lot of effort to hold back.

“More?” he asked meekly, trying to make his voice loud enough for the cameras, yet quiet enough to keep up the submissive appearance. Although, he supposed it was more than an appearance. With some time, practice and confidence, maybe he’d be able to play a different role. For now, this is what it was. His body trembled slightly with the nerves and the sensations. 

“Hm? What was that?” Your movements slowed down a little, much to Wilbur’s dismay. “Did you just ask something of me without saying please?” You leaned down, your face hovering inches from his. “You remember when I told you that you only get what I give you, right?”

“Y-yes,” Wilbur said. “I’m sorry. I’ll be good.” He sighed as you ruffled his hair, his brown eyes wide and gazing up at you full of desperation. “I promise.”

“Then say please,” you replied. “You can say please, can’t you, baby?” 

Wilbur nods, a sharp, jerky movement. “C-can I please have more?” he asks. 

“More what?” you asked innocently. Your hips continued rocking back and forth, so languidly that it was frustrating. “What do you want, sweetheart? Use your words.”

“I-I want it harder,” Wilbur replied. “F-faster. Please? Please, I need it.” With every passing moment, Wilbur became less and less aware of the cameras picking up his every move. If he focused hard enough, he could pretend that this wasn’t all an act. It was a dangerous game, pretending that way, but as time passed, he cared less and less. 

“I guess I can give you what you want,” you said nonchalantly. “If you promise to be good.” Your movements picked up speed, hips thrusting slightly faster but just as shallowly. You weren’t thrusting all the way to the hilt, but Wilbur did his best to be patient despite wanting it desperately. 

“I promise,” he panted out. “Please. I’ll be good.” 

“Good boy,” you cooed. Wilbur felt a shiver go down his spine, and his shivers immediately turned to gasps as your thrusts got harder, faster, more forceful. He tried to tilt his hips a little, make you brush against his prostate, but you refused to comply, still avoiding the spot entirely. He let out a whine, high-pitched and needy. It was almost embarrassing, but based on the way you only smirked wider and picked up the pace, it was clear that you weren’t about to judge him for it.

Wilbur let himself get a little louder. He was tempted to cup your face, to run his fingers gently along your sides. He almost did before remembering that this wasn’t real. You didn’t love him. This was just sex. His second time ever, with someone he’d been crushing on obsessively, and none of it was even real. Despite how good he felt physically, he started to feel like shit mentally. The thoughts combined with your movements caused him to tear up a little bit, much to his embarrassment. He felt his eyes burn a little, and he glanced away from your face, trying to hide it.

It was no use. You saw. “Color?” you asked softly, too quiet for the cameras to pick up properly. Your eyes held a somewhat concerned expression. Immediately, Wilbur felt bad for upsetting you. 

“Green,” he replied easily. “I’m okay. Promise.” He even managed a small smile. 

You nodded, the worry slowly melting from your face. He moaned as your movements picked up speed again, and then whined as you finally, finally, hit his prostate. His moans got increasingly loud as you continued hitting that spot with every thrust of your hips, burying yourself inside of him to the hilt of your strap. He looked down between his legs as best he could, watching you move in and out of him. He could only look for a moment before having to tilt his head back and whine once again.

“Look at you,” you cooed. “So desperate for my cock, huh?” 

“Y-yes.” Wilbur gripped the sheets with one hand and your shoulder with the other. “Please, please, please don’t stop.” His voice came out sounding whiny and pathetic, wobbling with every word. 

“You’re doing so good,” you replied. “Taking me so well.” Wilbur moaned once more as you gripped his hips, using the hold as leverage to help you thrust harder. 

He could feel himself getting close. He noticed how much pre-cum he was leaking, small drops of it dripping down his cock. “S-so close,” he whined. His hand subconsciously went to his length, but you quickly pulled his hand away.

“Not without my permission,” you chided him. He gasped as you continued your movements.

“Please,” he said desperately. “Please, I need…fuck, I need you to touch me. Please.” 

You grinned and wrapped a hand around his cock, slowly pumping him up and down. He let out an embarrassingly loud moan. After just a few movements of your hand, his hips were twitching. He let out a series of swears and pleas, his words nearly incoherent as he finished, cum coating your hand and his stomach. You murmured soft words of praise, but he could barely register them. 

His vision was hazy as you stopped moving. He gasped for air, panting. He felt numb and overstimulated all at once. His hand that was gripping the sheets slowly loosened its grip, and he let his hand fall from your side. “Thank you,” he murmured. His throat felt scratchy and dry. 

“You were such a good boy,” you said, running a hand down his hip to his thigh. You pulled out, and he gasped at the feeling. You leaned in close to him, your faces inches apart. “We’ll have to do this again sometime, yeah?” He nodded eagerly before you pulled away. 

He watched as you turned off the cameras, and he finally let himself relax, laying down fully on the bed. His gaze went from you to the ceiling before he closed his eyes. He needed a break, a few moments to collect himself, to come back to reality. His eyes still burned, and he let a few tears escape down his cheeks. How could something so pleasurable also be so painful? 

He laid there for a few moments, taking deep breaths and trying to calm himself. He closed his eyes, trying to will the tears away. He couldn’t get over the thought that this wasn’t enough, that he needed more of you, and he needed it to be real. It was as if all his years of loneliness were catching up to him at once. Every night that he wished someone would hold him, every day that he’d spent pining after people who would never love him back…not to mention the constant self-loathing that came from the small amount of self awareness that he had, the awareness that he was a creep who nobody could ever love. 

Wilbur heard you as you took off the harness before walking over to his side. “You alright?” you asked. Your voice was soft, concerned. “Was I too rough with you? Do you want some water, or maybe something to eat?” 

Wilbur opened his eyes and sat up a bit. “Um…water would be good. And no, you weren’t too rough with me.” He wiped his tears off his cheeks and managed a smile. “You were a lot less rough with me than I am with myself, honestly.”

You grinned back at him. “Okay, I’ll get you some water. If you want to clean yourself up, the bathroom is to the right of the entrance to my room. There are washcloths in the drawer under the sink.”

“Thanks,” he said. Some warm water to help wipe the sweat off him sounded almost magical. “I’ll go do that.” He slowly got off the bed, feeling a little shaky. Your kindness and the sweet sound of your voice had taken away some of his pain, but the loneliness lingered in his mind like an ever-present itch that he couldn’t reach the source of.

“I’ll be here when you get back,” you called after him. He went into the bathroom and closed the door. 

He used the bathroom, cleaned himself up, and was about to head back to your room when something caught his eye. You had a laundry hamper in the bathroom, and on top of the pile of laundry, nearly blended in with the surrounding fabric, was a pair of black underwear.

He immediately beat himself up for even thinking about taking it…but god, it was tempting. He would have something of you always, something you’d touched. More than just touched. He could keep it in his room, with his things, a little souvenir. 

The only other souvenir he’d ever kept was from the girl he was obsessed with in high school. She had once torn out a page of notes and dropped them in the trash can, and he had fished it out and kept it. Of course, he’d thrown it out after she’d called him out for being a creep. 

Never had he had something like this. But he quickly realized that, even if he wanted to, he couldn’t take it. He was naked, so it wasn’t like there was a pocket to hide it in. 

He pushed away the disappointment and left the bathroom. It was better this way, better that he not have the opportunity to do what he wanted. Despite knowing that it was for the best, he couldn’t help but feel upset by it. 

He re-entered your room, where you were sitting on the bed. You’d changed out the duvet, and there was a glass of water on the nightstand for him. You were dressed again in sweatpants and a t-shirt, and he felt more exposed than ever. You turned when you heard him enter, and immediately, he was given a smile. “Feeling better?”

Wilbur nodded and smiled back. “Much better, thanks.” He glanced around and saw his clothing on the floor. “I’m just gonna…”

Your eyes flitted to the pile of his clothes. “Right. Good idea.” You then glanced at the dresser in the corner of your room. “Hold on, I have something you can wear instead of that uncomfortable button-up you were wearing.”

Wilbur was about to protest and say that the button-up was fine (despite the fact that it was cheap and a little itchy in reality), but he quickly shut his mouth and worked on getting his jeans and boxers on. If you had something for him to wear, something that was yours, that would be a dream come true. He watched you as you shuffled through a drawer. 

“Here it is,” you murmured, more to yourself than to him. He saw as you picked up a t-shirt, one that was definitely too big for you. “I have this extra shirt. I accidentally ordered a few sizes too big, so you can have it if you want.” You tossed it over to Wilbur, and he caught it.

It was a band t-shirt. Wilbur recognized the band as one of your favorites. “Are you sure?” he asked. The material was soft in his hands, and Wilbur swore that it smelled like you. 

“Yeah, I’m never going to wear it. It’s yours.” 

Wilbur held it like it was precious. He examined it before sliding it on. It fit him well, not too loose but not too tight. He looked over at you and immediately noticed that you were looking right back at him. “It fits really well,” Wilbur said. “Thank you. This is much better than my other shirt.”

“No kidding,” you replied. “That thing felt like it was awful to wear.” You paused. “Plus, you look good in it.” 

Wilbur could hardly believe it. You had complimented his appearance twice. In one day. “Thanks,” he said, his voice slightly shaky. “I, um, appreciate it.” He reached for the glass of water on the bedside table and sat down in order to steady himself. He took a sip, immediately feeling refreshed. He hadn’t realized how dry his throat felt.

“Anytime.” You sat beside him on the bed. “Can I…ask you something serious?”

Wilbur put down the glass and turned his full attention to you. He saw the slight concern in your expression, and his small smile quickly faded. “Sure. What’s up?”

You tilted your head slightly as you looked at him. “Are you okay? I know that you said you were alright, but you seem a little shaken up still. I’m just a bit worried.”

He sighed, trying to figure out what to say. On the one hand, he could be honest. At least, a little bit honest. You didn’t need to know the full truth. On the other hand, he could insist that he was fine. He worked through the options in his mind, and settled on a half-truth.

“I, uh, have never been pegged before,” he said. “This was my first time. I think I just got a little overwhelmed is all.” He paused, and when he saw your expression grow more concerned, quickly added, “But I’m fine! Really, you were great. You didn’t do anything wrong, and it was a good first time. A great first time.” He could feel his cheeks get slightly hot, but he did his best to stay relaxed.

You looked surprised, your eyes slightly wide. “You…you got pegged for the first time, just now, on camera?” You shook your head, a barely noticeable movement. “That’s…brave. I’ve never done something for the first time on camera.”

“Yeah…yeah, I probably should’ve prepared beforehand,” Wilbur said. “But I just figured…it’s not like I’ve never done anything anal on my own. I figured it would be fine, and it was.”

“But you looked upset,” you said.

“Just overwhelmed,” Wilbur replied. “I promise it’s okay.” The last thing he wanted to do was deter you by making you feel bad. Besides, it really wasn’t your fault. 

“Wilbur…” You looked away, pausing as if considering what to say. “Allison showed me a short clip the other day of that video you two filmed, and…and I don’t know if it was just an act, but I got the feeling that you were very new to what you were doing.” You looked back at him, and he felt the intense desire to disappear, to change the subject, because how could he admit how little experience he had without being intensely embarrassed? “Was that…did you ever have sex before that?”

Once again, Wilbur had the choice between honesty or a lie. Somewhere in his mind, he knew that he wanted to try for more with you—more than just friendship, and definitely more than business partners. The terrifying thing was this: if he wanted that, truly wanted that, then he would have to be honest with you at some point.

“...No,” Wilbur said, barely audible. He avoided eye contact. “I was, um, too nervous to tell her that it was my first time. I wanted to do a collab, so I just didn’t say anything.” He fidgeted with his fingers, trying to distract himself. “I…maybe I was wrong to do that. I don’t know. I wasn’t trying to hurt anyone, I just didn’t want to wait around for things to happen for real, because I need the money now, not later, and…and it didn’t seem like anything was going to happen anytime soon, so…” He shrugged, hoping that the explanation was enough.

“And…and was it good?” you asked. “Like, was it a good first time for you? Did you enjoy it?”

Wilbur thought back to it. Allison was nice, sure. She was amenable, very understanding when it came to the fact that Wilbur was new in the industry. And yeah, Wilbur had finished that first time with her, but when he really thought about it, he couldn’t say it was enjoyable. It wasn’t enjoyable, being with somebody he had no connection with. It wasn’t enjoyable knowing that this incredibly vulnerable moment of his life was being livestreamed in real time, and it definitely wasn’t enjoyable that his first time was done for profit rather than for the experience, for the fun.

“I mean, does anyone enjoy their first times?” Wilbur managed to dodge the question, but his eyes still didn’t meet yours.

“Yeah! Well…I don’t know. They’re generally not good in the sense of being physically pleasurable, but they don’t have to be awful,” you said. “I just…I can’t imagine doing that in front of a camera, streamed live like that. And it sounds to me like you did it because you didn’t feel like you had any other choice.”

Wilbur finally looked up at you, scared of a reprimand, scared of your judgment. But all he saw in your expression was worry and kindness. “I…I’ve just never really had the opportunity,” he said quietly. “I’ve never been in a proper relationship. I kissed a girl, like, once in high school, but that was it. And then not again until Allison. I just wanted to get it over with, to feel…I don’t know. Normal, I guess. Desirable. Like…like someone wanted me.”

The second the words came out, Wilbur was mortified. He’d never told anyone any of this, and the fact that he’d told you of all people, the second time he’d ever spoken to you in person, made him wish he could turn back time and erase this entire conversation. 

He felt you gently take his hand. “I’m sorry,” you said, “that things didn’t turn out the way you would have liked.”

Wilbur looked down at his hand, gently wrapped in yours, and he gave it a small squeeze. “It’s okay,” he said. “It wasn’t awful.”

“Still,” you said. “It sucks.”

“It does suck.” He watched as you let go of his hand, hiding his disappointment. “Anyway, um…I’m sorry to unload all that on you,” he said, his self awareness returning to him.

“It’s fine, Wil. We’re friends, and I wouldn't have said what I said if I wasn’t prepared for a response,” you said. “Really, it’s okay.” 

He could hear the softness in your voice, the hint of concern. It nearly made him cry again, just knowing that somebody cared about him at all. “Thank you,” he said. “I…I really appreciate it.” The words felt so tame in comparison to what he wanted to say, but all the words he could think of seemed too much. He couldn’t believe that you’d referred to him as a friend, that you wanted to continue associating with him. It seemed too good to be true.

One thing was certain: it would take a lot of willpower to make this obsession go away, and Wilbur wasn’t sure he had it in him to let you go. 

To Wilbur’s absolute delight, his time with you didn’t end there. After filming, he stayed for dinner. He ate pizza with you on your couch, watching a cheesy 80s movie and making fun of the special effects. Admittedly, he watched you far more than he watched the film, and he felt shivers every time you looked his way.

Over the course of the next week, he messaged you every day. Sometimes, it was because he messaged first, and other times, you were the one to reach out. He forced himself to exercise some restraint, to not be too eager. You made it difficult. Many of the texts were about the video, you giving Wilbur updates on the editing progress. At the end of the week, it went live. Wilbur was notified by your message:

Done! Let’s see how this goes

Wilbur grinned, swallowing back all the anxiety that he felt. What if it was bad? What if people didn’t like it? What if his inexperience showed on camera? 

He shoved it all down and sent a reply.

Sweet

After a moment, he was struck both by how boring his last message was and how great of an opportunity this presented him with. 

Want to celebrate tonight? Drinks on me?

He waited anxiously for a reply. Five, ten, fifteen minutes passed with no response, until finally, your name appeared on his screen. 

How about that bar a block from my place? You know the one?

Wilbur did, in fact, know the one. He’d passed it on the drive to your apartment. 

I know it. Send the address and I’ll be there

Eight?

He smiled.

Eight sounds perfect :)

Once again, he couldn’t believe his luck. He took a shower, brushed his teeth, combed his hair. He left early to make sure that he was there in time and that you wouldn’t be stuck waiting for him. The cab ride to the bar felt like it took a million years, and when he got there, you were sitting at the bar waiting for him.

The bar was packed. There was music blasting over the speakers, some pop song that Wilbur couldn’t place, though he’d heard it over the radio a million times. He sat beside you at the bar. “Hey!” he said, perhaps a little too enthusiastically. 

You greeted him with equal enthusiasm. “You made it!”

“Of course I made it,” he said, grinning. He could already feel his cheeks get warm, although whether it was from the crowded bar or his proximity to you, he couldn’t tell. “I hope you weren’t waiting long.”

“Only about five minutes,” you replied. “But I got here early. Still waiting for the bartender.”

“Perfect.” Wilbur glanced at his surroundings. The scene reminded him of when he’d first met you. It was hard to believe that it had been less than a month. “Is the video doing well?” It was too early to draw many conclusions, of course, but he was curious.

“Holy shit, you have no idea,” you said, grinning. “People love the video. Already, I’m getting messages asking for more of it.” You seemed proud of yourself, and Wilbur couldn’t blame you. You’d done most of the work, after all. 

He could feel his heart pounding. People loved it, which meant that you would probably want to do it again. More time spent with you, more excuses to see you…it all sounded perfect. “So when is part two?” Wilbur asks. “If people love it, I mean…we should probably get to filming more material, right?”

Your smile faltered, and his heart immediately sank. Of course. Of course it was all too good to be true, too perfect to be real. He should have known better. When you finally spoke, Wilbur was already bracing himself for rejection. “I don’t think it’s a good idea,” you said. Before Wilbur could say anything, you continued. “Not because I don’t like you, okay? I…I won’t lie, it was fun. I’m just…”

“You can be honest,” Wilbur said, so quietly that he could barely be heard over the sounds of chatter and music. “If you don’t like me and don’t want to do it again, that’s okay. I get it.” He knew that he sounded pathetic and self-deprecating, but he had no clue what else to say. 

“Wil, I just said that it wasn’t because I don’t like you,” you said. “Please take my word for it.” Wilbur nodded, slightly embarrassed. “The reason I don’t want to film more is because I’m a little worried about you.”

Oh. In a way, that was a relief to hear. It meant that you didn’t dislike him. On the other hand, he was terrified. Did you see him as pathetic? He wouldn’t blame you, but it was still a blow to his ego. “...Why?” he finally asked.

“I just…” You sighed. “You were literally crying, Wil. It was concerning. And I’m not saying that you did anything wrong, because you didn’t, I just think that…” You laughed, a short, nervous sound. “Fuck, I don’t know how to phrase this without sounding insensitive.”

Wilbur froze. You were going to call him a creep, pathetic, a loser. He just knew it. “Just say it,” he said, his voice trembling.

“You have some things to sort out,” you said finally. “This type of job can ruin you if you don’t have the self-esteem to handle it. I’ve seen it before. People go into it feeling like shit about themselves, and then all the validation they get is purely sexual, and it fucks with them when they don’t get that validation anymore. It can be hard to separate your sense of self from your sex appeal, you know? But you have to.”

Wilbur took a deep breath. That was somehow worse than anything he’d anticipated you saying. He wasn’t a creep in your eyes, maybe, but he was broken. He had low self-esteem. You saw him as something to be pitied, and that was a hard pill to swallow. He kept opening his mouth to speak, only to close it again. He finally gave up. “Okay,” he said finally. “Yeah. That’s fine.”

You went quiet. It was only until the bartender showed up that you spoke again, ordering some drink that Wilbur couldn’t make out the name of due to being lost in his own thoughts. When you asked him what he wanted, he replied with water. He didn’t feel like drinking anymore. 

After the bartender left, Wilbur felt your eyes on him. “Yeah?” he questioned. “What?”

“Did you actually listen to what I said?”

“What? Yeah, of course I did.” 

“Wilbur…”

“I get it,” Wilbur said quickly. “I know that I’m…that I’ve based my whole life around this, and I know that it’s concerning, and I get it. But what else am I supposed to do?”

“Take a break,” you suggested.

“I need the money.”

“Okay, well, go back to solo content for a bit. Because I think you need a moment to think things through.”

It didn’t sound so bad, actually, going back to doing things alone for a while. As long as he still had you in some capacity, maybe it would turn out okay. “Alright,” he said. “I could do that.”

“Good.” You thanked the bartender as he handed you your drink before turning back to Wilbur. “I think it would be good for you.” 

“Probably,” he admitted. He sipped his water, trying to enjoy your presence despite the war of emotions he had going on. It took him a moment for him to ask the question that he wanted to ask. “...Do you think there’s something wrong with me?”

“No,” you replied immediately. “I just think you need some time off.”

He accepted the answer, but there was one more thing he needed to ask. “I’m sorry if this is…weird,” he said carefully. “But I was wondering if you wanted to go on a date sometime. Like, a proper date, not…”

“An amateur porn filming session?” 

“Right. That.” Wilbur felt his hands trembling. “Um…we could go out to dinner sometime. Wherever you want.” He felt dizzy, his breathing shallow and his heart pounding way too fast. “If you want to.”

You took an agonizingly slow sip of your drink. “I’d like that,” you said finally. You smiled at him, and it was like everything falling into place. Wilbur could breathe. You hadn’t rejected him. 

And soon enough, he would have you, one way or another.

[lovesickonmybed]

What if Bully Ellie and the reader are exes and now Ellie just wants to make the reader's life miserable 💀💀 I will pay for it, bc I know she will be so mean to her but the moment a new girl wants to make a move on reader Ellie will lose it

better than me | 18+

masterlist | info about palestine | donate to gaza

pairing | bully!ex!ellie x ex!reader

synopsis | ellie isn't handling your break up well, her jealousy and anger taking over in the worst ways

warnings | 18+ MDNI!! wedgies, bullying, insults, jealousy, toxic behavior, sexual context, masturbation.

word count | 2k

a/n | honestly i'm kind of debating turning this into a miniseries because i really like this concept and kind of want to see where i could take it but let me know what y'all think!! i wrote this in the middle of the night with zero editing so if you see any mistakes no you don't. i urge you to not buy any of the last of us games, including the remaster as the creator, neil druckmann is a zionist. the second game is based off of the israeli occupation in palestine and you can learn more about that here.

You and Ellie had a very messy breakup, one she couldn’t get over. So she started bullying you. It started your freshman year of college, only two weeks after the breakup. Ellie had gone up to you in the locker room at the school's gym. She looked at you with an angry glare, “Move, you’re in my way.” She glares at you with her arms crossed, she had never looked at you like that before. 

“Just go around, you can literally climb over the bench. I don’t wanna talk to you,” you say, the breakup still fresh for you. 

Ellie shoves you back lightly, not breaking her glare, “No. You’re gonna move.” This exchange had garnered them a crowd, a lot of the girls in the room glancing over at the pair. Ellie is stubborn but so are you.

“Who the fuck do you think you are? This isn’t you, Ellie!” You exclaim, not even caring if you’re causing a scene. You’ve never seen this side of her and it upsets you. You’re not even expecting it when she grabs you by your shoulders and spins you around, quickly pushing you face first against the cold metal lockers. She grabs the waistband of your gym shorts and pulls it away from your body, giving her access to your underwear. She wraps her fingers around your waistband and you beg as soon as you feel her cold fingers brush against your skin. 

“Ellie, whatever you’re about to do, don't do it, please! I-I’m sorry! I should’ve moved!” You plead with her to literally save your own ass. It doesn’t work. She grips the waistband, pressing her arm hard against your back to keep you in place.

“You should’ve listened to me when I told you to fucking move,” Ellie borderline snarls before pulling hard on your waistband, the cotton fabric of your panties forcing its way up and between your cheeks. You yelp in pain and instinctively try to run, causing Ellie to pull even harder, forcing you onto your toes in seconds. You try every trick in the book to escape the pain but it’s no use, she has you right where she wants you and you’re not going anywhere.

She pulls and pulls at your panties, hiking them up to your shoulders before letting go of your waistband, laughing when you whine as it snaps back against you. She continues to hold your body against the locker, pressing herself against you and gripping your hair painfully. “You better listen to me next time I tell you to do something you fucking loser,” she threatens before letting you go and shoving past you to get to her locker. You look around the locker room with embarrassment, looking down at the ground and trying to hide your face with your hair as you grab the rest of your things from your locker before running out of the locker room and back to your dorm. 

You encounter her again a week later, you’re out in the quad talking with a girl from one of your classes, her name is Layla. You’re both sitting on a blanket she brought, talking about an assignment, cracking jokes here and there. You’re having a great time, smiling bigger than you had in a while, cheeks flushed when she compliments you. It’s bliss until Ellie comes along. She’s walking back to her dorm after an annoyingly long lecture, she’s got an overpriced iced coffee in her hand that she bought from the campus coffee shop and a pissed off look on her face. 

She’s speed walking, wanting to get away from everyone and everything when she spots you and Layla. You’re leaning in and giggling, smiling like you did when you were with Ellie. It makes her heart ache and before she even realizes it she’s walking over to the both of you. Her mouth feels dry as she’s standing in front of you two. She looks down and feels nauseous as you both look up at her.

“Uh, can I help you?” You ask coldly, glaring up at her. She looks nervous, and it’s slightly amusing to you to see her like this. Your date grabs your hand reassuringly, aware of the incident that had happened a few weeks ago. 

“What are you doing?” Ellie asks, her mouth moving quicker than her brain. She mentally facepalms after realizing what she’s said. It’s obvious what you’re doing and Ellie fucking hates it. 

“We’re just…hanging out. Why do you care?” You respond, looking away from her, focusing your eyes on a bird flying around in the distance. 

Ellie shuffles her feet and racks her brain, trying to come up with a response. “I-I-” She cuts herself off, still trying to find the words.

“Can you just leave us alone, we’re just trying to hang out and enjoy some fresh air. We’re not bothering anyone, okay?” Layla says, speaking up for the both of you. This angers Ellie even more, she doesn’t want to hear a word Layla has to say. She’s seeing red, jealous when she knows she has no right to be. She wants to act logically but she can’t, she acts purely on emotion as she tosses her coffee at Layla. It sends you both gasping in surprise scooting back, but not near quick enough to avoid the splash. You groan as you realize your white shirt has been covered in Ellies drink. Ellie is just as shocked by her actions as you are, she’s quick to run off, wanting to get back to her dorm as quickly as possible. 

You and Layla scramble to figure out what to do, using the blanket to dry yourselves. All you do is make the stains on your shirt and light wash jeans even worse and you hang your head in embarrassment as she walks you back to your dorm. You let her borrow some clothes and your shower stuff as she goes and gets herself cleaned up, you can’t lie she looks pretty good in your clothes even if it is just a black t-shirt and some sweatpants. You have your turn to shower and change and when you finish up you go back into your room to talk to Layla.

“I’m so sorry about that, I had no idea she was gonna do that. She hasn’t been herself since we broke up, she’s all mean now, it’s weird…” You apologize, sitting down on your twin bed next to her, brushing through your wet hair. 

Layla looks at you and smiles reassuringly, “It’s not your fault. You’re not responsible for her now, if she can’t get over it she should talk to you instead of acting like such a dick. It’s not like you knew she’d do something so ridiculous.” You lay your head on her shoulder and look down at your lap. 

“I just feel bad you got caught up in this shit, she shouldn’t be messing with anyone else. I mean, she’s mad at me, there’s no reason for you to get caught in the middle of it,” you sigh. Layla once again grabs your hand, rubbing circles into your skin with her thumb. 

“She’s mad at me too for taking you out on a cute little picnic,” she chuckles, resting her head against yours. You feel comfortable and happy with her, but there’s a part of you that feels like something is missing. You push down the feeling, it’s not something you feel like addressing in the middle of such a sweet moment. You push back your memories of Ellie and let yourself smile as you and Layla cuddle up together. She stays over for an hour, cuddling with you and talking about class and getting to know each other better, you’re grateful she doesn’t bring up Ellie again. When she leaves she promises to return your clothes when she sees you again, you couldn’t care less if she did, she looks better in them, anyway. 

Ellie is freaking the fuck out when she gets back to her dorm room, completely out of breath as she had run the entire way there. She’s thankful Dina isn’t there as she collapses onto her bed hyperventilating. She hasn’t always been great at impulse control, everyone who’s known her has known this. But she didn’t think it was bad enough for something like that to happen. She knows she’s going about everything wrong, there’s no way she’s getting you back acting like that, but she doesn’t know how to get her shit together. 

“I’m so fucking stupid oh my goddd,” Ellie groans, grabbing her pillow and screaming into it in frustration. She’s embarrassed and angry and still feels pangs of jealousy as she thinks about you and Layla giggling together in the grass. Ellie had never taken you on a picnic, when you dated it was mostly arcade and movie dates, she hadn’t even thought you’d want to do something outdoors. She overthinks it, convincing herself you broke up with her because she never took you on a nature date. It’s a stupid, irrational thought, and Ellie knows that, but she doesn’t care. She needs to let herself spiral before she can pick herself back up and make a plan that doesn’t make you look at her like she’s a complete jackass. 

“I need to apologize, tell her I’m sorry for the wedgie and the coffee and fucking up her date…her date with that girl who doesn’t deserve her but whatever…” Ellie mumbles to herself, pulling at her hair stressfully. She thinks back to the wedgie incident, she completely humiliated you and it got her wet. Your pathetic little noises, how you were at her mercy like that, it just did it for her. She scrunches up her nose, trying to convince herself to stop thinking about it like that but it doesn’t take long for her to soak her panties once again. 

“If I take care of it, I’ll stop thinking about it,” she mutters as she tries to convince herself it’s okay to get off to the memory. She slips off her jeans and slips her hand under her panties, starting off by flicking her clit, whining pathetically at the sensation. She slips two of her fingers inside her soaked cunt, pumping them in and out slowly as she uses her thumb to stimulate her clit. She continues working her fingers in and out of her cunt as she bites her lip to keep her noises to a minimum. All she can think about is how pathetic you sounded as you took your wedgie, she replays the noises in her head, loving how you sounded. You never sounded like that when you had slept together, that was a side of you she didn’t get to see until she had your waistband in her hand. It doesn’t take her long to cum, whimpering out your name as she reaches her climax. She lazily works her way through her orgasm, wishing it was your fingers instead. She feels guilty afterwards, mumbling to herself that she’s not doing that again.

She forces herself to get out of bed and into the cramped bathroom she shares with Dina so that she can wash off her shame. Little does she know that you’re in your dorm room doing the same, pumping your fingers in and out of your cunt shamefully as you use your other hand to pull your panties like Ellie had. The feeling of powerlessness, pain, and humiliation had all combined into pleasure in your brain. You halfway moan Ellie’s name when you cum, cutting yourself off when you realize what name is leaving your lips. “I’m never doing that again,” you promise yourself as the shame bubbles up inside of you. For once you’re grateful for your roommate to come bursting in the door, you let her nonsensical rant about whatever show she was watching distract you from the lingering thoughts of Ellie’s hands on your waistband.