#you know that they exist outside of each other... right!?!??!

[flowersforbucky]

i got it bad

logan howlett x reader (worst!logan x reader)

word count: 4.9k

summary/prompt: logan can't help that he has super hearing and overhears you - wade's seemingly sweet, shy neighbor - telling vanessa what you fantasize about doing to him. believing that you won't ever act on it, he takes matters into his own hands.

or - getting yourself off on logan's abs

warnings/tags: smut, 18+ only mdni, reader is afab, no use of y/n, logan's pov, porn with a little plot, male masturbation, teasing, nipple/breast play, some tit slaps, multiple orgasms, unprotected p in v, cream pie

Ever since Logan first met you, he hasn’t been able to get you out of his fucking head.

Which is really unfortunate for him, considering you seem indifferent to his existence.

Wade says that you're just an introvert, and that it takes you a while to get comfortable around new people, but after living across the hallway from you for the last few months, Logan is sure that you have no interest in him outside of simple, polite conversation whenever the two of you run into each other.

He first notices you from across the room when you enter Wade and Althea's apartment – his apartment now, too, he supposes. The small space is crowded, but you're impossible for him to overlook. He instantly recognizes you from the polaroid picture that Wade had showed him in the Void.

You’re greeted by Vanessa, who kisses you on the cheek and shoves a drink in your hand before dragging you over to where Logan is listening to Wade and Althea bicker about – what were they bickering about again? All he can focus on is the way your dress hugs your curves and the lipstick imprint that you’ve left on the champagne flute in your hand.

He needs to get out more. Go to a bar, get a job, maybe even try out one of those dating apps that Vanessa has suggested to him – something to get him out of this fucking apartment that he's stayed holed up in since arriving in this universe, because he should not be this flustered by a complete stranger.

“Earth to Peanut,” Wade snaps his fingers in front of Logan’s face. He barely processed anything Vanessa had said while she introduced you. Blah blah, neighbor, something something, lives down the hallway. “Jesus, did you get into the white powder under the floorboard? Your pupils are as big as saucers right now.”

“Oh, go easy on him, Wade,” Althea scolds. “It’s natural for pupils to dilate when looking at a pretty girl.”

The expression on your face matches how Logan feels – surprised, embarrassed, slightly mortified.

“You don't even know what she looks like. She could look like me for all you know,” Wade snorts.

“She brings me homemade cookies and she always smells good,” Al retorts. “I don't need to be able to see her to know that she's pretty.”

“Nice to meet you,” Logan finally speaks up with a forced smile. Leave it to his two roommates to make a simple introduction as awkward as possible. “And no, I am not high on cocaine,” he adds with a pointed glare at Wade.

“It’s nice to meet you too, Logan,” you return the sentiment with a chortle and shy smile. “And don’t worry, I never pay attention to anything Wade says.”

Yukio and her girlfriend with the long ass name that Logan has yet to memorize then walk up and gain your attention, leaving Logan wishing he could redo the entire interaction.

He spends the rest of the night hoping for an opportunity to talk to you again, and feeling disappointed when that doesn’t happen.

The next couple of months go similarly. He runs into you frequently – in the elevator, and the communal laundry room of the apartment complex, and when you’re both checking your mail at the same time.

You always greet him with a smile and ask the typical casual conversation questions – how he's liking his new job (he’s not, but he tells you it’s going fine), if Wade is staying out of trouble (no), and how Laura is doing (she’s doing great, actually), but it never progresses much past that.

As soon as the conversation starts to venture into more personal territory, you seem to shut down. You’ll make some excuse about having somewhere to be, wish him a good day, and then you’re gone.

He can’t help himself. He sees how carefree and talkative you can be with Vanessa and hell, even Wade – and he wants that. At least then he may feel a little less crazy for spending so much of his free time racking his brain for ways to get closer to you.

Maybe it’s because it has been so long since he’s had a crush on anyone, but sometimes he thinks he might be losing his mind with how often he thinks of you – your smile, your eyes, your scent, your voice, and the way that having a five minute conversation with you always leaves him feeling for the rest of the day.

That’s why when he’s walking to his apartment one evening, and hears his name come from inside your apartment, he stops dead in his fucking tracks.

God, he knows he shouldn’t listen. He knows he should keep walking, go into his apartment and close the door.

But it’s not like he has his ear pressed up against your door. It’s not his fault that he has super hearing and that the apartment building has paper thin walls.

His brain is yelling at his feet to move but they stay planted firm right where they are.

“He thinks you don’t like him, you know,” Vanessa says. Logan doesn’t need to be able to see to know that there’s a smirk on her face.

He’s tempted to cause some kind of commotion in the hallway and then dash into his apartment, just to stop Vanessa from saying whatever the hell she’s about to say.

“Logan?” You sound appalled. “Of course I like him.”

“I know that you like him,” Vanessa chuckles. “But I can see why he would think otherwise. You act like you can barely stand to be in the same room as the guy for five minutes.”

“That’s not true.” Your voice shoots up several octaves higher than normal.

Logan sends a silent prayer to whoever the fuck is listening that no one walks down this hallway in the next few minutes and sees him standing still as a statue next to your apartment door.

“It’s not that I simply can’t stand to be in the same room as him,” you continue, lowering your voice back down to its normal volume. “It’s that being in the same room as him makes me want to jump his adamantium bones.”

For a second, he really believes that his two hundred year old heart might stop beating.

“I’m fucking pathetic around him,” you huff. “Last week, I saw him pull his t-shirt off in the laundry room to put a clean one on, and ever since then I haven’t been able to stop thinking about grinding my pussy against his abs. Something is seriously wrong with me, Nes.”

But Logan doesn’t hear Vanessa’s response, because he speed walks away while she’s still cackling. By some miracle, Wade isn’t home, so Logan darts past Althea and locks himself in the bathroom.

What the fuck, Jesus Christ, and holy shit all play on a loop in his mind while he tries to ignore the bulge that has quickly formed in his jeans.

The last words he expected to hear anyone say today were jump his adamantium bones and grinding my pussy against his abs – but the fact that he heard those words come from your mouth in your sweet voice has his cock throbbing so hard that he can't think of anything other than you doing exactly what you’ve been fantasizing about.

Images of you straddling him with your bare, wet cunt rubbing against his happy trail, getting yourself off on his body as he plays with your pretty tits –

He let’s out an audible growl and rips the shower curtain open before turning on the water – straight to his normal hot temperature, too. He knows a cold shower isn't going to do him any good right now.

Standing beneath the hot stream, he thinks of what has transpired in the last five minutes and strokes himself in his hand until warm, white liquid follows the water down the drain.

When he finishes, he stills hears your voice in his mind and gets hard again within minutes.

••••••

Logan hasn’t seen you in three days. Three days might not seem like a long time to go without seeing your neighbor, but it feels like a long fucking time for him. In fact, it’s the longest he’s gone without casually running into you since he first met you months ago.

There’s a reason for this, though – he hasn’t checked his mail in days, hasn’t taken any of his laundry down to the basement in days, and has generally tried to avoid leaving his apartment as much as he can out of fear that he’ll see you. He even went as far as to pretend to be napping when you came by with some fresh baked brownies for Althea yesterday.

He wants to see you, of course. Goddamn, does he want to see you. But after overhearing your conversation with Vanessa earlier this week, he doesn’t know if he’s strong enough to look you in the eye and pretend like he hasn't been making himself cum to the thought of you on top of him every time he takes a shower.

But after three days, he finds himself missing you too much to keep up his attempt at distancing himself from you.

What if he’s being ridiculous, staying cooped in this apartment to avoid you? What if you’re just down the hallway, thinking about him at the same time he’s thinking of you?

He's tidying up the kitchen when he sees the pink Tupperware container that you’d brought the brownies in yesterday sitting in the sink. The brownies were long gone – they’d all been eaten by him, Wade and Al within the same hour that you brought them over.

Taking the Tupperware back to you would be the nice, neighborly thing to do, right?

With Al already retired to her bedroom for the evening, and Wade out with Vanessa, he takes it upon himself to wash and dry the container.

It’s a Friday night, so he knows there’s a chance that you’ve got plans and might not even be home, but he still takes a few minutes to fix his hair and swipe some deodorant on before walking down the hallway towards your apartment.

As he approaches your door, he realizes that you are home. There’s light spilling from the crack at the bottom of the doorframe and he can hear low music playing inside. A mix of anxiety and anticipation sets in, but he clears his throat and knocks on your door before he can chicken out.

He hears your footsteps approaching and attempts to wipe any sign of nervousness from his face – he’s just returning your Tupperware, for Christ's sake.

“Logan,” you breathe as you open the door. “I haven’t seen you in a few days,” you greet him. He can’t help but relax at the smile that grows on your face when you realize it’s him. “What are you up to this evening?”

You lean against your doorframe, and Logan has to force himself to maintain eye contact. You’re wearing a matching pajama set – a cute pair of velvet shorts and tank top that shows more of your skin than he’s ever seen before.

“I – uh,” he stammers, holding out the Tupperware container to you. “I just thought I’d bring this back to you. They were great, by the way.”

Your smile spreads to your eyes at his compliment.

“Oh, thanks,” you beam. “I’m glad you got to have one. Wade told me that you were asleep when I came by yesterday so I figured he’d have them eaten by the time you woke up.”

“I’m sure he would have, but Al made him save one for me,” he laughs.

He tries to focus on the conversation at hand, but the fact that you look fresh out of the shower definitely isn’t fucking helping. Bare faced with the scent of your body wash and lotion on your skin, his thoughts begin to stray into dangerous territory fast.

“I don’t wanna interrupt your night, though. I’ll let you get back to—”

“You’re not,” you say quickly as he begins to step backwards. “You're not interrupting. Are you doing anything tonight? I just ordered a pizza and there’s plenty. I was gonna watch a movie, if you want…” You trail off, glancing back and forth between him and your apartment behind you.

He can't help but notice that your voice sounds hopeful.

The invitation excites him more than he cares to admit. Sure, the two of you have hung out plenty of times, but it's always been in a group setting – at one of Wade’s get togethers or movie nights, surrounded by other friends.

But never just the two of you – definitely never in your apartment.

He could never think of saying no to you. Especially not when this is what he's been hoping for since he first me you.

“Yeah. Yeah, I'd really like that.”

You hold the door open for him, letting him enter your apartment. Right away, he notices how different it is from the one that he lives in. Then again, there’s three people cramped into Althea’s – you're the only person who lives here, so you're able to make it entirely your own.

It’s cute, and cozy, he thinks. From your furniture adorned with throw pillows and blankets, to all of your shelves stocked with books, knick-knacks and candles, to the various plants occupying space throughout the living room, it feels endearing and welcoming right away.

“So, where’s Wade at tonight?” you ask as he ventures into the living room. He notes a large cardboard box with an untouched pizza in it on your coffee table. His stomach growls at the sight, and it hits him that he actually is fucking starving.

“He’s out with Vanessa. Fourth time this week,” he answers, turning to find you retrieving two plates from a cabinet in your kitchen. You're angled away from him, and when you raise your arms to grab the plates, your tank top lifts enough to give him a clear view of your midriff. He quickly averts his gaze, pretending to find something on your bookshelf particularly interesting.

“I’m just really glad that they’ve worked through things and seem to be happy now,” you sigh. “He wasn’t in a good place after their breakup. Barely ever left his apartment for the longest time.”

“They’ve got something special, that’s for sure,” Logan agrees.

You hand him a plate, walking past him to your couch. You toss some of the decorative throw pillows to your recliner, making room for him on the sofa. You pat the empty space beside you, an invitation for him to make himself at home.

“Who knows, maybe they'll even get their own place soon and I won’t have to share the living room with him anymore,” he says as he sits down beside you.

It’s a pretty small couch – really more like a loveseat – so it’s a snug fit for the two of you. The skin of your exposed kneecap brushes against the fabric of his jeans as you lean forward to grab yourself a slice of pizza.

“Sounds like you just want Blind Al and Mary Puppins all to yourself,” you tease. You hand him a piece of pizza and close the box before propping your feet up on the table. You lean back, looking at him with a smirk and raised brows.

“If he moves, that dog is going with him and you know it. There’s no way he’d leave her behind,” he shakes his head.

“There’s no way Althea would let him take her. She's grown to be as attached to her as Wade is. I think even you like her more than you care to admit.”

“What can I say? She has a way of weaseling herself into your heart,” Logan sighs.

“Oh, it’s definitely the tongue,” you shrug through a bite of pizza.

Logan grimaces as a vivid image of Mary Puppins French kissing Wade awake flashes through his mind, but he can't help but laugh.

You turn on some action-comedy that Logan has never heard of, and the two of you eat and take turns making comments about whatever is happening on the screen for the first half of the movie.

He tries to stay focused on the film, he really does, but every now and then you readjust your position on the couch, causing him to catch a whiff of your perfume or your thigh will brush against his and he'll have to force his attention back to the characters on the screen.

No matter how distracting he may find your mere presence beside him, he's enjoying himself. This is by far the longest the two of you have hung out together, without the additions of his roommates and other friends. He dreads the moment that the movie ends and he’s obligated to tell you goodnight before reluctantly going back to his own apartment.

During the second act of the movie, he wonders what you’re thinking - if you could possibly be feeling the same way as him – when you randomly sit forward, grab the box of the leftover pizza off of the table in front of you, and stand to take it to your refrigerator.

It's then that he picks up on an odor – not the light floral aroma of your perfume but something new. A scent that answers the question of exactly what you had been thinking about. It’s musky and pheromonal, and even though it’s been a while since Logan has been intimate enough with a woman to smell the scent of her arousal, he recognizes it right away.

When you sit back down beside him, the sweet smell washes over him again and he bites the inside of his lip so hard that he tastes blood. The wound disappears as quickly as it’s formed, but the same can’t be said for the erection that begins to strain against the confines of his boxers.

He eyes the pile of small, decorative pillows that you had tossed to the side and wishes that he could grab one to place over his lap.

The words that you’d said to Vanessa a few days ago begin replaying in his mind for the thousandth time since he’d first heard you say them, reminding him this isn’t one-sided. He may be sitting here attempting to conceal a raging hard-on by shifting his position and subtly adjusting his pants, but Logan’s heightened sense of smell tells him that your underwear are probably starting to feel as uncomfortable as his do at the moment.

Without turning his head, he risks a glance at you. Your eyes are on the movie, and your face is neutral, but your posture gives you away. Your arms are crossed over your chest, the tips of your fingernails digging tiny crescent shaped indentations into the flesh of your upper arm. You have one of your thighs crossed over the other, locked together tightly but that doesn’t stop him from being able to smell how fucking wet you are.

“You know, if my sense of smell is as good as my sense of hearing, then I think I have a pretty good idea of what you’re thinking about right now,” Logan starts, his voice low and gruff. He watches from his peripheral vision as you freeze, your form going rigid.

“But I’d really like to hear you say it.”

You turn to him, your eyebrows quirked but your face otherwise impassive.

“I’m not sure I know what you’re talking about. What exactly is it that you’d like to hear me say?” you ask innocently. You give him doe eyes that make his cock finish filling with blood.

He huffs a laugh, picking up on the way that your heartrate accelerates when you look at him.

“I'd like to hear you say what you said to Vanessa a few days ago,” he hums. “I can’t remember exactly, but I think it had something to do with you rubbing your sweet little cunt on my abs. Does that sound familiar to you?”

“Hm,” you feign contemplation. “That doesn’t really sound like something I'd say.”

He knows you’re trying to play it cool, but there’s certain things that you just can’t hide from him – like the way your heart is beating a mile a minute and the way your nipples have pebbled beneath the thin material of your tank top.

“You’re right. It doesn't sound like something you’d say,” he snorts, and leans in so that your face is just a few inches from his. “So imagine my surprise when I walked by your apartment to hear you talking about jumping my adamantium bones.”

He doesn't miss the way your breath catches in your throat or how your eyes flicker to his lips.

“You gonna do it? Or you just gonna keep thinking about it while you're sitting beside me?”

For a second, you say nothing and Logan struggles to read your expression. Then, without taking your eyes off of him, you slowly stand in front of the couch. You reach for the hem of your tank top and pull it over your head, leaving you naked from the waist up.

Logan's mouth goes dry. Suddenly, he's all out of smart remarks.

You hook your thumbs into the waistband of your pajama shorts, pushing them down your thighs along with your panties, and let them both drop to your feet all while holding his gaze.

With you now stark naked before him, he leans forward, grasping you by the backs of your thighs and pulling you onto his lap. You straddle him, gently pushing him back against the sofa.

He tugs his own shirt over his head while you undo his belt buckle and pop open the top button of his jeans, your hands fumbling when he sheds his shirt.

Logan doesn’t typically think too much about his physical appearance. He knows he’s in good shape, and thinks he’s conventionally attractive enough. But he could see himself getting a bit of an ego, if he had someone looking at him the way you are right now on a regular basis.

You help him shimmy his jeans and boxers down far enough for his cock to spring free. You take him in your hand, using your thumb to smear the thick bead of pre-cum across the head.

“You should be careful listening to people’s conversations outside of their doors,” you hum as you pump him in one hand. You hunch over, lowering your mouth enough to spit down his shaft, lubricating the length. You smirk, glancing up at him from beneath your thick eyelashes. “Other people might not react as happily as me.”

Fuck, he knows it’s been a long time since he's even felt anyone’s hands on him, but he feels a little pathetic at the way his balls are already tightening and feeling so heavy just from the way you’re languidly stroking him.

And as much as he’d love for you to keep your hands on him, there’s time for him later. Right now, what he wants more than anything is the feeling of your pussy on him.

He pulls your hand off of him and then tugs you over his erection, trying his hardest to ignore the way the wetness between your legs glides against the tip of his cock, until you’re flat against the hard expanse of his lower stomach.

“This is what you wanted, yeah?” He grunts. You whimper in response, tightening your thighs around his sides and rocking back and forth with the smallest amount of friction. “Don’t be holding back, wanna feel you make a mess on me.”

His words seem to erase any remaining reservation that you may have had. You brace your hands on his chest and begin dragging your center across his lower stomach, your slick coating the thick trail of hair that goes from his belly button to his waistline. With every backstroke, the head of his cock juts against your ass.

You glide across him easily. Soft, wet, and warm, Logan thinks that if you feel this good on his fucking stomach then there’s no way he’ll be able to handle being inside you.

He leans his head forward, capturing one of your nipples in his mouth. You hold his head in your hands, tugging on his hair with your fingers as he teases your nipple with his tongue and teeth.

He pulls his mouth away from your breast with a wet pop. “You like this? Using me to get yourself off?”

“Mm-hmm,” you nod frantically, your answer coming out as a moan. He gives a quick, firm slap to your other breast. Judging by the sound it draws from you, you like it, so he does it again.

He'd pictured this exact scenario a shameful number of times in the last few days, but his thoughts hadn’t done you justice. Every little noise you make, every little whimper and moan as your clit brushes against the thick bulges of his muscles again and again, sounds sweeter than he could've dreamed.

He places his hands on the meat of your hips, guiding you forwards and backwards across his abdomen at a fast pace.

“Fuck,” you gasp, clenching your thighs around him as tight as you can. “Fuck, I’m gonna cum—”

“That’s right,” he coos. “Come on, cum on me.”

You dig your fingernails into his shoulders, drenching the hair on his stomach as you ride out your orgasm on him with a cry of his name.

You collapse against his chest, going still with your face in the crook of his neck as you steady your breathing.

“Look at me,” he whispers after a moment. It hits him that despite the fact that you just humped him until you came all over his abdomen, he somehow hasn’t even kissed you yet.

You pull away from his neck, looking down at him with a dazed expression. He brings your face to his mouth by the back of your neck. He wastes no more time, instantly slipping his tongue past your lips.

He holds you by the globes of your ass, which hovers just above his erection. You grind down, causing the tip of his cock to nudge against your entrance. He groans into your mouth, his cock past the point of feeling like it’s going to explode if he doesn’t fucking feel you.

“We can stop here,” he murmurs against your lips when he breaks the kiss, even though the thought kills him. He doesn’t want to stop kissing you, touching you, tasting you. It’s only been a few months, but it feels like he’s been waiting a lifetime for this and the last thing he wants is for it to come to an end. “Don’t have to go any further if you don’t—”

“No,” you exclaim with a breathy laugh. “No, I don’t want to stop. Do you want to stop?”

He grins up at you, taking his length in his hand and teasing it through your folds from below you. He coats the head in your juices before nudging it against your hole.

“Definitely don’t wanna stop, sweetheart.”

You sink down onto him at the same moment that he tilts his hips up enough to slip inside you, causing the entirety of his length to fill you at once.

You both go still, adjusting to the new sensation of each other. Your walls, velvet soft and so warm, constrict around him like a vice. He knows you’re likely tired from riding him through your first orgasm, so he begins thrusting his hips slowly, the tip of his cock nudging against your cervix.

“You’re big. So, so big,” you moan – something between a whine and a praise.

“I know, but you’re doing so good, honey,” he encourages as he eases himself in and out of you. “Don’t worry, I got you.”

You latch your lips to his again, and it’s hard for him to hold back. The feeling of your tight, perfect cunt around him and the taste of your tongue in his mouth is overwhelming. He wants to memorize every movement, every sound you make.

You snake your hand between your bodies, your fingertips finding your swollen clit and massaging languid circles. He feels you flutter around him as you start meeting his thrusts with movements of your own, and he knows you’re close.

“Not gonna last much longer, honey,” he grunts with a sharp thrust. “Feel too fucking good.”

“Cum with me,” you murmur against his mouth.

Your command causes something in him to snap. He releases a throaty growl, pistoning his hips upwards at a harsh pace as he fills you up from below. You constrict around him, crying his name into his ear as you ride out your climaxes together.

You collapse against his chest once more, his cock still nestled inside you. He loses track of how long the two of you stay like that, neither of you wanting to be the first to move.

“Remind me to eavesdrop on your conversations more often,” he huffs a laugh, still slightly out of breath.

You bring your lips to his, smiling as you give him a light kiss.

“I’ll know if you do. I have a doorbell camera. You didn’t notice that?”

thank you so much for reading <3 comments and reblogs are super appreciated. here are a few more of my favorite logan pieces that i've written ✨️

for always and ever is always for you - old man logan x healer reader

diet pepsi - old man logan x reader limousine sex

lavender and velvet - worst variant logan x neighbor reader

[autisticcatnip]

Andy Weir beat you to it

The Egg

By: Andy Weir

You were on your way home when you died.

It was a car accident. Nothing particularly remarkable, but fatal nonetheless. You left behind a wife and two children. It was a painless death. The EMTs tried their best to save you, but to no avail. Your body was so utterly shattered you were better off, trust me.

And that’s when you met me.

“What… what happened?” You asked. “Where am I?”

“You died,” I said, matter-of-factly. No point in mincing words.

“There was a… a truck and it was skidding…”

“Yup,” I said.

“I… I died?”

“Yup. But don’t feel bad about it. Everyone dies,” I said.

You looked around. There was nothingness. Just you and me. “What is this place?” You asked. “Is this the afterlife?”

“More or less,” I said.

“Are you god?” You asked.

“Yup,” I replied. “I’m God.”

“My kids… my wife,” you said.

“What about them?”

“Will they be all right?”

“That’s what I like to see,” I said. “You just died and your main concern is for your family. That’s good stuff right there.”

You looked at me with fascination. To you, I didn’t look like God. I just looked like some man. Or possibly a woman. Some vague authority figure, maybe. More of a grammar school teacher than the almighty.

“Don’t worry,” I said. “They’ll be fine. Your kids will remember you as perfect in every way. They didn’t have time to grow contempt for you. Your wife will cry on the outside, but will be secretly relieved. To be fair, your marriage was falling apart. If it’s any consolation, she’ll feel very guilty for feeling relieved.”

“Oh,” you said. “So what happens now? Do I go to heaven or hell or something?”

“Neither,” I said. “You’ll be reincarnated.”

“Ah,” you said. “So the Hindus were right,”

“All religions are right in their own way,” I said. “Walk with me.”

You followed along as we strode through the void. “Where are we going?”

“Nowhere in particular,” I said. “It’s just nice to walk while we talk.”

“So what’s the point, then?” You asked. “When I get reborn, I’ll just be a blank slate, right? A baby. So all my experiences and everything I did in this life won’t matter.”

“Not so!” I said. “You have within you all the knowledge and experiences of all your past lives. You just don’t remember them right now.”

I stopped walking and took you by the shoulders. “Your soul is more magnificent, beautiful, and gigantic than you can possibly imagine. A human mind can only contain a tiny fraction of what you are. It’s like sticking your finger in a glass of water to see if it’s hot or cold. You put a tiny part of yourself into the vessel, and when you bring it back out, you’ve gained all the experiences it had.

“You’ve been in a human for the last 48 years, so you haven’t stretched out yet and felt the rest of your immense consciousness. If we hung out here for long enough, you’d start remembering everything. But there’s no point to doing that between each life.”

“How many times have I been reincarnated, then?”

“Oh lots. Lots and lots. An in to lots of different lives.” I said. “This time around, you’ll be a Chinese peasant girl in 540 AD.”

“Wait, what?” You stammered. “You’re sending me back in time?”

“Well, I guess technically. Time, as you know it, only exists in your universe. Things are different where I come from.”

“Where you come from?” You said.

“Oh sure,” I explained “I come from somewhere. Somewhere else. And there are others like me. I know you’ll want to know what it’s like there, but honestly you wouldn’t understand.”

“Oh,” you said, a little let down. “But wait. If I get reincarnated to other places in time, I could have interacted with myself at some point.”

“Sure. Happens all the time. And with both lives only aware of their own lifespan you don’t even know it’s happening.”

“So what’s the point of it all?”

“Seriously?” I asked. “Seriously? You’re asking me for the meaning of life? Isn’t that a little stereotypical?”

“Well it’s a reasonable question,” you persisted.

I looked you in the eye. “The meaning of life, the reason I made this whole universe, is for you to mature.”

“You mean mankind? You want us to mature?”

“No, just you. I made this whole universe for you. With each new life you grow and mature and become a larger and greater intellect.”

“Just me? What about everyone else?”

“There is no one else,” I said. “In this universe, there’s just you and me.”

You stared blankly at me. “But all the people on earth…”

“All you. Different incarnations of you.”

“Wait. I’m everyone!?”

“Now you’re getting it,” I said, with a congratulatory slap on the back.

“I’m every human being who ever lived?”

“Or who will ever live, yes.”

“I’m Abraham Lincoln?”

“And you’re John Wilkes Booth, too,” I added.

“I’m Hitler?” You said, appalled.

“And you’re the millions he killed.”

“I’m Jesus?”

“And you’re everyone who followed him.”

You fell silent.

“Every time you victimized someone,” I said, “you were victimizing yourself. Every act of kindness you’ve done, you’ve done to yourself. Every happy and sad moment ever experienced by any human was, or will be, experienced by you.”

You thought for a long time.

“Why?” You asked me. “Why do all this?”

“Because someday, you will become like me. Because that’s what you are. You’re one of my kind. You’re my child.”

“Whoa,” you said, incredulous. “You mean I’m a god?”

“No. Not yet. You’re a fetus. You’re still growing. Once you’ve lived every human life throughout all time, you will have grown enough to be born.”

“So the whole universe,” you said, “it’s just…”

“An egg.” I answered. “Now it’s time for you to move on to your next life.”

And I sent you on your way.

Imagining a world where reincarnation is real and everybody suddenly remembers their past lives BUT it turns out all of humanity is just a single soul reincarnating over and over again irrespective of time and space so nobody can talk shit

[the-clumsywitchtarot]

What Kind of Relationship Will You Have with Your Future In-Laws? Pick-a-Card Reading

Because theoretically you're marrying the whole family.

Cards

Queen of Pentacles (Reversed)

3 of Swords

7 of Pentacles

Right off the bat I am getting that your future mother-in-law does not like you, like at all 😬. Luckily I don't see this influencing your future spoues's decision on whether or not to be with you but I do feel like this is something very important to you. You could be someone that has always wanted to have a super close relationship with your in-laws. Like you're just another kid in the family, I can see you being one of those people that wants to go to brunch with his mother and sisters or have shopping dates with his mother and aunt. I feel like they are a close family but that you just don't quite mesh with them (outside of your spouse). I don't see their siblings disliking you but I don't think they'll be going out of their way to deal with you. A scenario I see is them calling to talk with your future spouse and you walk into the room and your future spouse tells their sibling on the phone you just walked in. And instead of telling your future spouse they said hi to you, they end the call with something like "Okay, I'll let you go so you can talk to them." If you want any semblance of a relationship with his family you are going to have to work super hard and I still don't feel like it'll be enough. You may end up in a situation where it is going to just be you, your future spouse, and your children or pets. Like I said, I don't think their siblings will dislike you, they just won't necessarily see you as a part of the family, they will just see you as their siblings spouse.

Cards

9 of Pentacles (Reversed)

Six of Wands

The Lovers

I feel like the relationship with your in-laws will literally start from the first meeting you have with them. I can see this being a holiday dinner where your future husband takes you to meet his family. At first I think they'll just be nice but a little offstanding but they have met some girls in the past that they didn't care for or that just didn't fit their family dynamic. I feel like this is an incredibly close family, like when children are born into the family that child truly has a village full of love and support. As his family is talking to you and feeling you out they're going to start to realize they really like you! I feel like by the end of the dinner his parents are going to be pulling him aside and practically begging him to marry you. And you're future husband could be the type to want to take his time but his parents like you so much they'll basically be saying to him how much more time do you need, she's the one! So I actually feel like your in-laws will be a big part of the reason why your future husband realizes you're the one. I can also see them helping to prepare a big engagement!

I can also see his family cracking jokes like "I think we like her more than we like you." Or "Don't come back here unless you bring her with you."

Cards

The Hierophant

The Lovers (Reverse)

Knight of Pentacles (Reverse)

I feel like your relationship with your in-laws will be a cordial one, you aren't close but you don't dislike each other, the connection just exists because you married into the family. I don't think anyone in the family is particularly close though, they really only see each other for the holidays and special occasions and that's only out of obligation. I feel like this family is very into image and how others perceive them. But I don't see many pleasantries and heartfelt moments between you and anyone in his family. They seem kind of cold and uncaring.

Let me know what pile you chose and if it resonated!

- Erika, The Clumsy Witch

[cadavercowboy]

O Come, All Ye Frightful

Art The Clown x Reader | WC: 5.3k+ | Explicit Content

Summary: Contrary to popular belief, Santa actually comes way more than once a year. Warnings: 18+ ONLY — Minors DNI. Idk this entire thing feels slightly sacrilegious. Art being criminally hot in the Santa suit while behaving like a Certified Freak. Slightly dubious consent. Handjob. Premature ejaculation. Multiple orgasms (his refractory period is non-existent). Cum as lube. Unprotected sex. Rough sex. Choking & breath play. Degradation if you squint really hard. A/N: In the words of my iconic king...ho, ho, UH OH🎄Merry Christmas, happy holidays, and so on and so forth. <3

The clock hands finally crawl their way past 7pm and you sigh tiredly, knowing you’ll soon be freed from this hellish holiday prison. Christmas music plays quietly from the speaker system and you mouth the words mockingly, tired of hearing the same dozen or so songs repeat over and over during each shift. Between rude, entitled customers and the unruly hordes of children screaming their heads off for a chance to beg a fake Old Saint Nick for crap they definitely don’t need, you’ve just about had your fill of the season.

Outside the store, the rest of the deserted shopping mall has been left in engulfing shrouds of pitch-blackness; the other closed-down and empty shops like a line of pocket-sized abysses. It’s Christmas Eve and everyone else has shut their doors early to spend time with loved ones. You should be home too, but your boss is a heartless prick.

You huff with annoyed boredom, bent over beside the register with your elbows planted atop the counter and your palms cradling your chin. It’s been dead for hours—not a single customer in sight—but you’ve been forbidden to leave until the mall officially closes for the night. A quick glance at the clock says that’ll be in about an hour or so. Just beyond the entryway, a flurry of movement near the floor catches your attention and you lean over the counter to see what it is. 

The dingy strands of an old mop sweep into view and your eyes trace along the wooden handle until they land upon Mike, clad in his loose-fitting uniform. His long legs bring him into view with stuttered steps as he cleans the tiled floors. He spares you a quick glance and a wave which you return, trying to hide your obvious disappointment in the presence of the headphones planted firmly over his ears. You’d kill for some conversation right now. 

Aside from the janitor’s brief visit and the flash of someone dressed all in red in the distance, you’re certain the building is otherwise totally vacant. With that in mind, you decide to pack it up just a little early. What your boss doesn’t know won’t kill him, you muse.

Your back is turned as you straighten merchandise and lock the door to the rear exit, rendering you completely unaware of the noiseless presence lurking and watching you from just around the corner. When you close out the register, your head is buried in the drawer and your attention is too focused on what you’re doing to notice the tall figure which glides sneakily past the shop.

You flip the switches near the door and step outside, reaching over your head to pull down the steel security gate. The heavy contraption slams shut with a resounding clang and you crouch with your key in hand to lock it in place. From your stooped position, you spot a small puddle and several oddly-shaped droplets splashed across the tile floor beneath you; the substance opaque and viscous. You hum contemplatively, knowing Mike had been by not long ago to mop and wondering where the mystery liquid could have come from. With a dismissive shrug, you stand back up and turn to head for your usual exit, the only door you know will still be unlocked at this hour.

A single row of recessed lights remain lit overhead, lending a somewhat spooky atmosphere to the abandoned concourse. You reach up to whip the red-and-green felted elf hat off of your head, the decorative gold bell jingling as you shove it into the pocket of your matching dress. A pair of tight, flesh-toned stockings hug your legs and you long to peel them off. While the uniform is fun and festive, this year you’re feeling decidedly not. In fact, you’d go as far as to deem yourself unjolly. Even as you absently hum along to the tune still filtering through the mall, you aren’t feeling your usual holiday joy.

Passing through the food court, you approach the center of the mall where the massive North Pole backdrop still stands, illuminated beneath the silvery halo of a light that never gets turned off. You laugh to yourself, wondering whether a selfie inside Santa’s sleigh in your silly costume might help to prompt some Christmas cheer. You'd deemed yourself too old to take a photo with the man himself during business hours, but you still deserve to have a little fun on your own time, you suppose.

With renewed energy, you traipse towards the yuletide scenery where you find the zig-zagging velvet ropes blocking your way, but easily slip beneath the blockade between two posts. Once you’ve entered the empty queue, you spy a comically large pair of black boots sticking up from inside the sleigh—propped casually on the curled front. Your heart stops at the exact moment the ambient music cuts off and the wide-open space falls eerily silent. It would appear you aren’t as alone as you thought.

A familiar red hat peeks over the back of the cushioned bench seat and you approach cautiously, admittedly hoping to find the rosy-cheeked man who usually occupies the sleigh. Maybe you’ll be permitted to take a photo with Santa after all, as childish as the notion may be. 

What you actually find is alarmingly opposite of what you expected. The face tucked beneath the fur-rimmed hat isn’t jolly or round, nor is it warm or welcoming. It’s harsh and angular, painted in a stark black-and-white motif; seemingly done up for the wrong holiday altogether. A long, lithe body clad in all the trappings of a traditional Santa suit reclines leisurely in the sleigh, crowding the confined space as if he belongs there. Blackened lips wrap around the blunt tip of a candy cane and upon hearing your startled gasp, a pair of pure white eyes—spectral and inhuman—lock onto your face. The darkened pupils shine like two specks of coal.

Art’s expression twists into one of genuine surprise, having not expected you to come across him quite so soon. Your eyebrows flick upwards and he mirrors the gesture, waiting with barely restrained excitement as the wave of confusion contorting your face is swiftly replaced with the tell-tale signs of apprehension he knows and loves. His stomach knots with gleeful anticipation.

“S-sorry,” you laugh, awkward and breathy. “I thought you were Santa.”

The clown immediately hurls the peppermint candy aside and his oversized shoes come down with a loud thud as he hastily sits upright in the sleigh. Art points frantically to the massive banner overhead that bears the namesake, then gestures to himself; seemingly wanting to indicate that he is in fact Santa Claus. You can only chuckle in amusement, but when he emphatically waves in an attempt to have you join him where he sits, you realize he isn’t joking. 

Your smile falters only a little and with a dismissive lift of your hand, you attempt to politely decline his request. Art is not pleased with this response so he childishly stamps his feet and crosses his arms over his chest as he regards you with an exaggerated and churlish pout. When he tries crooking a beckoning finger in your direction, an actual laugh escapes unbidden. His surly expression of disappointment softens slightly at the sound and his hope renews. He attempts once more to entice you, this time patting a velvet-clad thigh with his hand and even offering an inviting if not unsettling smile.

Something about the animated stranger intrigues you and you find yourself compelled to accept the clown’s invitation. You relent with some hesitation, smoothing your palms over the knee-length skirt of your elf dress and shuffling timidly towards the sleigh. Art can hardly contain himself and twists his body, looking swiftly from side to side as if struggling to remain calm and seated. You lift your foot onto the raised platform and slide your way into the tight space with him.

Art continues to wiggle back and forth restlessly, his knees pressed tightly together as he pats them excitedly with both hands before eventually straightening his spine and adjusting himself until his posture is stiff and proper. A rush of air bursts from your nose as you laugh nervously. The celebratory clapping of his palms is muffled slightly by his fingerless gloves as he waits for you to plant yourself in his lap. You do so gingerly, lowering yourself with as much finesse as you can manage and situating your bottom at the very edge of Art’s bony knees.

You’re perched awkwardly only for a moment because Art promptly yanks you in, spreading his own legs so abruptly that you nearly tumble to the floor of the sleigh between his feet. The jarring movement forces you to reach out, grabbing onto his shoulder with one hand to balance yourself as he wraps an arm around your waist and uses the other hand to nestle both of your legs between his parted thighs. Your hip is so close to his body, you can feel the warmth emanating off of him and notice a distinct lack of the customary belly you’d normally expect to find beneath the velvety soft suit.

“Sorry,” you apologize a second time, clearing your throat with a smile and another awkward chuckle as you fold your hands in your lap. “This is probably weird...me sitting on a grown man’s lap.”

Art responds with a scandalized, open-mouthed frown and a firm shake of his head that makes the white pom-pom sewn at the end of his hat flop back and forth. He blinks his eyes rapidly and swishes a gloved hand in your direction, effectively batting away your concerns. It’s clear he finds little issue in having you perched on his thigh. 

When Art leans uncomfortably close, you stiffen, though he pays it no mind and peers around your shoulders to look at one of the props which comprise the festive scene. It’s a crooked sign whimsically nailed to a red-and-white striped pole that begs the question: What Do You Want For Christmas? He sweeps his hand towards the signage—inviting and expectant—prompting you to provide an answer.

“Hmm,” you stall, having not expected the creepy clown to go through all the motions of the mall Santa experience. You shift with a huff and his arm tightens around you as his other hand pats the outside of your thigh in what you suppose is meant to be some semblance of encouragement. It only serves to distract, filling your head with a disorienting buzz at the near-intimate closeness of this complete stranger. “Guess I haven’t really given it much thought.”

He considers your admittance for a moment, his face slack and pensive before he shrugs. Art releases his hold on your thigh in favor of diving a hand into a pocket in the pants of his red suit. To your surprise, out comes an artfully weathered scroll of paper that he unrolls with a quick flick of his delicate wrist. Evidently another prop, it contains names written in two columns—apparently a naughty and nice list. Art tips his head towards the paper and regards you inquisitively, as if asking which side you belong on.

“Well, I think the nice list,” you offer, happily playing along. “But I’m not entirely sure what it would take to end up on the naughty list.”

The clown tilts his head and regards you like a predator, grinning salaciously and wagging his thinly-drawn eyebrows in a way that causes an undeniable heat to stir low in your belly. You squirm in the clown’s lap and he playfully squeezes your leg just above your knee. Your cheeks prickle with something you’d rather not acknowledge and suddenly you can no longer meet Art’s pale gaze. Endeavoring to assuage your growing discomfort, you redirect your attention back to why you’d come over here in the first place.

“Would you mind if I took a picture of us?” you inquire politely. 

Art acquiesces quite gladly and frantically nods in agreement, his obvious enthusiasm making you smile. You shift your weight to access the deep pocket of your costume and his colorless eyes follow your every move. 

“You don’t talk very much, do you?” 

The conversational question somehow sounds more invasive out loud than it had in your head and you turn to dig around determinedly in your pocket so as to disguise the way you cringe. Luckily, your phone slides out and brings with it the floppy elf hat you’d shoved in there earlier, leaving no time for Art to respond. Not that he would.

The clown moves swiftly, snatching the crumpled felt hat and violently unfurling it with a loud jingle. His mouth forms a perfect circle of delight and he gives the hat several more shakes just to hear the musical tinkling before lifting both arms to gently fit it over the top of your head.

“Oh, yeah. Thanks,” you say, bending to allow him better access and smirking when he playfully flicks the little gold bell sewn on the end.

He adjusts the hat to his liking, then taps a single long digit on the tip of your nose. You duck your head bashfully, though he doesn’t allow you to hide for long. Two slender fingers hook under your chin and he lifts you by the jaw, forcing you to meet his eyes in a silent stare that stretches on until your pulse increases and your entire body grows hot.

Turning your attention to the phone clutched in your fingers, you beg your hands not to shake as you open the camera app and lift the device to align both yourself and Art in the frame, making sure to include the beautifully decorated tree in the background. The clown is so large, you have to extend your arm to its limit in order to fit him. As you do, his eyes meet your own in the image reflected on the screen and he draws his body even closer to yours. One of his hands drop into your lap and the other rests gently against your lower back. You swallow loudly. 

“Smile,” you command softly, struggling to make your lips lift in a gesture that doesn’t reflect the conflicting feelings of trepidation and attraction brewing within you.

Art’s grin slashes across his face in an instant, a wide set of teeth suddenly emerging from behind his inky lips. His ghostly eyes burst open and his eyelids all but disappear with the exaggerated stretch of his face. The abrupt appearance of the severe expression makes your stomach curl with unease, but you cannot deny the way the thrilling glimmer of fear settles somewhere a little further down.

You snap a couple of photos, then switch the angle to capture a few more. When you drop your arm slightly, Art repositions himself as well. With the hand that had settled in your lap, he reaches up to cup your chin and draw your face nearer to his. This close, your senses cloud with nothing but the clown: the earthy scent of grease paint mixed with something spicy, the warmth of his nearness and touch, the subtle whisper of his steady breathing.

His painted skin is unexpectedly soft when it rests against your own and he goofily purses his lips against your cheek like a teenage girl taking a silly selfie. While the pose appears playful, the painful way his fingertips pinch the flesh of your face against the firm edge of your jawbone is anything but. Shock zings through your body, though the heat it carries isn’t due entirely to surprise. Art holds you with unrelenting force and your smile weakens even further as you fire off several more snapshots.

Before you can lower your phone, Art’s hand ventures from the small of your back until it settles between your shoulder blades. Its counterpart finally falls away from your face, instead reaching for the illuminated screen and switching over to a video before returning to firmly encircle your throat. Your breath catches and you suddenly feel as though you may overheat. The furry cuff of his suit presses against your cleavage, the synthetic material quickly absorbing the warmth that rolls off of your body in waves. Your hand shakes so much, you doubt the recording will even be watchable.

When Art turns his head, the tip of his pointed nose drags sensually along your jaw and his grinning mouth opens with an audible slickness. Humid puffs of breath skitter along your hypersensitive flesh, a prelude to the wetness of his tongue wriggling lasciviously along your cheek and up towards your temple.

You’re paralyzed—arm still hovering parallel to the floor—frozen beneath the disbelief of Art’s seductive attention and held still by the increasing pressure surrounding your neck. You know you should tell him to stop or push him away, but you just can’t bring yourself to put an end to the suggestive way he holds you prisoner and samples the saltiness of your skin.

As quickly as he licked your face, Art stops and you cease filming with your phone, hardly able to comprehend what you’ve just recorded. His mouth snaps shut with force and his hands slip away from your body as if burned by the contact. To your surprise, he carries on as if nothing out of the ordinary has happened and steadies you in his lap as he pitches to one side.

Reaching into a bag stashed near his feet, Art presents you with a single candy cane. Your head is still reeling from the hot, wet drag of his tongue across your skin and it takes a moment for your brain to catch up to what your eyes are seeing. The hooked confection is waved tantalizingly in front of your face before you manage to raise a hand and accept it.

“T-thank you,” your words emerge barely a breathy whisper. 

The cellophane crinkles slightly in your grasp and you robotically stuff your phone back into your pocket. Your body moves on autopilot as you plant your feet and shift to stand, but Art’s sinewy arm bands around your waist and crushes you right back into his lap. It seems to jostle you from your stupor and you blink several times before turning to face the mysterious clown. He reaches out and snatches the candy cane from your hand, causing you momentary concern that you’ve done something to offend him by trying to leave. 

He proceeds to methodically unwrap the candy with theatrical flair, then holds it out to you, indicating a desire for you to eat it here and now. You hum in understanding and attempt to take the candy cane, however Art pulls it away with a chiding look and instead directs it towards your mouth himself. Staring incredulously, you watch with niggling suspicion as the clown nods in encouragement, a glint of something sinister flickering in his white irises. 

Your lips part obediently and though you do so somewhat clumsily, you lean forward and—as requested—allow the candy to slip into your mouth. Sweet peppermint flavor bursts across your taste buds and your mouth instantly begins to water. Art studies you with unflinching and steadfast attention as he feeds you, his pupils expanding into deep, dark pools of hunger. While the act is bizarre and slightly humiliating, you find yourself inexplicably turned on; exhilarated by the pleased way in which Art’s open-mouthed expression seems to silently praise your compliance. 

Perhaps it’s how intimately close you are to his monochrome face or the way he shamelessly watches the lewd swirling of your tongue with such rapt, appreciative awe, but you find yourself clenching your thighs in an attempt to quell the sudden wetness blooming between your legs. Art takes notice of your restless predicament and his body responds in kind, blood rushing to his loins where he begins to harden against you.

Without warning, Art yanks the candy cane from your mouth, giving no thought to the way the sharp, hard sugar scrapes painfully along your bottom lip. He plunges the spit-sheened end of it into his own mouth, savoring the taste of you and coating it with his own saliva before carelessly shoving it past your now-bleeding lips once more. 

You’re unsure what possesses you to behave so wantonly, but you lock eyes with the clown and practically swallow the narrow cylinder of candy whole; being mindful of the slight point your sucking had formed, but taking it deep into your mouth until your lips meet the tips of Art’s fingers where he holds the curved end of the candy cane. For good measure, you even let out a throaty moan that shatters the quiet of the empty mall. 

His drawn-on eyebrows raise so high, they disappear behind the furry brim of his hat and his mouth rounds into a humorous circle of facetious astonishment. This time, he removes the candy cane from your lips more gently, ignoring the thin strand of saliva that follows it. With the list he had procured earlier back in hand, Art takes the pointed end of the candy cane and uses it as a pencil, pretending to add your name to the naughty column. He smiles proudly and fakes a hearty laugh before blindly tossing the props over his shoulder.

You lick your sticky, bloody lips and try once more to slide off of Art’s lap. When he latches onto you this time, something noticeable shifts in his demeanor. Whether it is the darkening of his eyes or the muscles in his body growing taut and coiling like a beast prepared to pounce, it is blatant and frightening. Your skin prickles with apprehensive awareness, though your aching center doesn’t seem to receive the same message. 

A breathy cry escapes you when Art harshly twists your body around, pulling you away from his thigh and settling you directly over his pelvis where you immediately feel an unmistakable ridge of firmness through the thin material of his suit. You have no choice but to allow all of your weight to rest against him as Art holds you down and begins to grind against your ass. He isn’t testing your reaction to his advances like you might have expected, rather the distinct lack of shyness in the unhurried rotation of his hips indicates something more like a warning of what’s to come.

Unsure what else to do with your idle hands, you reach behind yourself and brace either palm on the clown’s writhing hips. Your biceps quiver with the effort to ease at least some of your weight off of Art’s lap, but he’s having none of it. He yanks you down fully and even parts his thighs wider to facilitate more contact between your body and his painfully hard erection. You’re overcome with your own bout of carnal need and reciprocate his enthusiasm, swiveling your hips with determined precision.

Art has only known physical contact though the occasional struggle of a terrified victim’s body against his own and this new sensation is totally foreign to him. The stimulation is overwhelmingly pleasant—a particular faction of indulgent self-gratification yet unfamiliar to him—and he leans into the strangeness of it. His body’s reaction is swift and imminent. Art’s arms twine around you with disconcerting strength that renders you immobile, practically squeezing all the air from your lungs as a powerful shiver wracks his trembling body.

The clown makes no sound, but he hotly exhales the relief of his release against the back of your sweat-dampened neck. His hold is unrelenting, trapping you close to the solid heat of his lanky frame for a moment longer until he recovers. However, his composure does not return and instead he’s burdened with a new and curious hunger which instantly begs to be sated.

Art presses both hands to your lower back and shoves you forward onto his right knee, creating enough space between your bodies to access the elastic waistband of his crimson costume. His gloved hands move with grace and speed, easily freeing himself from the suffocating velvet prison. The consuming fire in your belly beckons you to turn and look at him and in doing so, you fan the flames into a raging inferno of desire.

A light sheen of sweat decorates the narrow sliver of skin that is visible between the disheveled halves of the rumpled Santa suit. Beads of cum still ooze from the tip of his length and evidence of his orgasm smears messily along the pale skin of a thick and still visibly hard cock. With lust-driven bravery, you reach for it, desperate to feel the solid heat of the turgid flesh against your palm and yearning to quench a lecherous thirst of your own.

The tacky streaks of Art’s release wet your skin as you grip his swollen dick and give him an experimental squeeze. You slide your fisted hand from the reddened, shiny tip all the way down the veiny shaft until your knuckles meet the cum-matted thatch of hair at the base. The engorged appendage throbs noticeably in your grasp and Art’s shoulders drop as he throws his head back. His white irises roll and disappear behind his hooded eyelids, his body thrashing with stilted, stuttered jolts as your fingers tighten and you take advantage of the glide of his slick spend to begin steadily jerking him off. 

When your thumb sweeps over the sensitive head, Art flinches at the stimulation and a milky rope of cum spills lazily from the slit. The warm strand of seed splashes across the back of your hand and in a flash, he’s rudely batting your sticky fingers away from his cock with a sharp slap. 

You’ve barely recovered from the harsh contact when his spindly fingers delve under your skirt and tear at your tights until the delicate threads come apart and allow him access to your panties which he yanks unceremoniously down your thighs, the garment tangling in the torn stockings still wrapped around your legs. Art’s hands dig claw-like into the flesh of your upper arms, brutishly twisting and turning you as he pleases; dragging you back into his lap so he can lift your hips high enough to notch the tumescent head of his cock at your center. 

A grating cry rips from your throat and echoes through the cavernous building when you’re violently yanked down and stretched with sudden force around Art’s erected cock. Though unprepared for the size of him, your cunt swallows the clown’s length with little trouble. As your lips part with an unbridled cry of ecstasy, your cheeks sting with shame at how the flood of moisture leaking from your core eases the harsh penetration, the momentum of you taking Art’s cock halted only on account of his considerable girth.

Finally managing to get your feet under you, you scramble to escape the dizzying pressure and overwhelming penetration so you can catch your breath, but Art refuses to allow you a single second of reprieve. He stands abruptly without ever pulling free of your relenting body, sinking his cock unbelievably deeper as he bends you over the curved front of the sleigh. Your elbows crash painfully into the hard surface when you attempt to catch yourself before your face makes contact. As you adjust your position, your hips drop in a way that forces the bulbous head of Art’s length to grind against you with blinding pleasure and your knees grow weak.

With your eyes pinched shut against the onslaught of sensations, you can’t see Art reaching towards the massive Christmas tree to unravel a length of perfectly-strewn ribbon. He yanks the metallic gold material free and gives it a dramatic twirl through the air before lashing it across your back the same way Santa whips his trusty team of reindeer, ushering you to continue writhing so willingly along his slippery cock.

Art quickly grows bored of that and instead takes the ribbon between two fists with a flourish while he continues to thrust leisurely; burying his cock to the root then slowly, tortuously, and teasingly dragging it back out until only the tip remains within your spongy walls. He reaches over your head with the ribbon, taking advantage of your parted mouth to wedge the scratchy material between your lips. It pulls taut and settles between your teeth, becoming the perfect means for Art to wrench your head back at an uncomfortable angle. His eyes widen comically when they meet yours upside down in a taunting stare, holding your gaze hostage as he starts to fuck you mercilessly.

Mounting you like a feral animal, Art becomes desperate with the need to wreck you wholly; driven by the desire to possess and consume you. His hips surge with unforgiving and powerful thrusts that have his heavy balls slapping your clit with each stroke.

You call out on every deep drive of his cock, the unsteady and unpredictable rhythm sending you into a tailspin of pleasure that robs you of the ability to breathe. Drool and tears spill down your face, the harried sounds he forces from you catching in your throat as you gasp for air. The hat crammed down on your head falls sideways, its cadenced jingling a derisive reminder of the depraved things the clown is inflicting on you.

Before long, the frenzied push and pull of his cock isn’t enough for Art and his lips split with a snarl, his teeth bared in a savage display of greed. Nothing but complete surrender will satisfy him and only total ruin could fulfill his recently unmasked libido. He wants to watch you fall apart and the evil motive shines brightly in his unsettling eyes.

Using your tongue, you force the spit-soaked material from your mouth so it falls around your neck. Art gathers it in one hand and pulls tight, fashioning the glittery ribbon into a sort of noose that begins to choke you out. While the position of your head is more comfortable, the lack of oxygen certainly isn’t.

Your grow light-headed both from the inability to breathe and the unrelenting grind of Art’s fat cock. With his unoccupied hand, he grabs your waist with bruising pressure and pins you in place so he can curl his towering frame over top of you. Blanketed beneath the heat and heft of the impassioned clown, your ribcage presses agonizingly against the edge of the sleigh and you can do nothing but accept Art’s brutal usage of your body.

Bending his knees, he leverages his height to fuck up into you with rapid and shallow thrusts before he cruelly buries every inch of himself inside you. Your slick walls spasm around the thick, veiny intrusion as an orgasm slams through you. Art cums with you as your pussy ripples and squeezes, but he has no intention of relenting. He ruts wildly against your ass, fucking you harder and faster until your juices spill around him and your combined fluids form a creamy ring around the throbbing base of his cock.

You bite back a scream when Art pulls out of you with a vindictively mimed laugh. The sudden termination of your pleasure sends you tumbling to the ground on unsteady legs that refuse to hold you up any longer. Twisting as you fall, you’re met with the sight of Art looming tall and ominous above your crumpled form. With his thickening cock in hand, he fists himself like a madman, crowding over you just in time to paint your face with yet another burst of cum. Ropes of opaque fluid splatter messily over your features.

The clown gives his length several harsh shakes, managing to flick a few more measly drops of his release onto your stained skin. Your face twinkles and sparkles in the light coming from overhead, appropriately looking like flecks of snow melted on your cheeks and lips. Clapping happily above you, Art offers you a rather proud thumbs-up of approval, deciding you fit in rather perfectly with the rest of the festive decor.

David Howard Thornton Masterlist || Writing Masterpost

[szariahwroteit]

FUNGIRL A Trent Alexander-Arnold + Original Character Erotic series.

Chapter 7

18+ Minors DNI

The thin cotton of Amber’s T-shirt clung to her pert nipples as she raised her arms, pulling her hair into a messy bun. Trent smiled lazily over the FaceTime call, melting into his seat as he relished the visual.

As he sat there, his gaze drifted to the three elegant bouquets of velvety roses arranged neatly behind her. The vibrant red of the petals caught his eye, pulling at the corners of his consciousness. A cloud of uncertainty settled in his stomach, and his smile wavered slightly. “Someone’s pleased with you,” Trent remarked, trying to mask the surge of anxiety that twisted within him, betraying his feelings at that moment.

“Thank you! We closed on a case that I’d been working on for a few months. My colleague Kenneth gave them to me,” Amber explained, a soft smile spreading across her lips as she glanced over his shoulder at the flowers she’d been gifted earlier.

“Congratulations!” Trent smiled, clearing his throat as he attempted to stop his mind from going to the worst places.

Outside of her—her body, the way she viewed the present world, her surface-level likes and dislikes, and physical wants and needs—he didn’t know much about Amber’s life, and the revelation made his heart sink.

He had always been drawn to her vibrant energy and infectious laughter, but the more he learned about her professional life, the more he realized how little he truly understood her. The roses were a symbol of her success, but they also highlighted the distance between them—both physical and emotional.

“Thanks! It was tough, but I’m really proud of the outcome,” she said, her eyes sparkling with enthusiasm. “Kenneth helped me with some of the finer details of the case, we spent months and countless late nights working to get a win, I’m over the moon.”

Trent nodded, forcing a smile as he tried to mask the unease brewing inside him. “Congratulations. You deserve it. You’ve worked hard.”

The truth was, Trent had no real grasp of the effort that had been poured into the case that she had successfully championed for her client. As he reflected on their relationship, he began to understand the depth of her words when she remarked that he saw her as little more than a source of pleasure. The woman who existed beyond the warm, intimate cocoon they had spun around each other was an enigma to him, a puzzle he was increasingly eager to solve, yet felt wholly unqualified to approach because of his own doing.

He felt terrible.

Every match he asked her to attend, she attended. Whenever he asked her to make the commute from London to Liverpool for him, she did so without question, and he didn’t know much about her day-to-day life outside of what she did as an occupation. 

She’d even faced scrutiny from his friends, degradation and disrespect yet Trent hadn’t paid any attention to the world around her that made Amber Webb the woman she was. 

He finally understood why she was so hesitant to accept the earrings he sent her and threw his flowers out. It was Trent doing what he thought was right, not what she actually needed of him. 

“Are you doing anything to celebrate?” Trent asked in an attempt to mask his current inner turmoil.

“Not really, we’re having after-work drinks on Friday and then it’s on to the next case I guess,” Amber shrugged. 

“Do you have any other plans this weekend?” Trent asked, the knot in his stomach tightening ever so slightly. 

“No,” she confirmed. 

“Then would you like to come up to Liverpool after your work drinks?” Trent asked, the cogs in his head already turning. 

“I’d like that, but the commute…” Amber trailed off. 

“Leave it to me,” Trent interjected. “I’ll figure it out,” he continued, surprised by the vulnerability present in his voice.

And so, when Friday rolled around Amber and her colleagues made their way out of the office for the weekend, she messaged Trent to let him know the name of the bar they were heading to and left the rest up to him. 

She knew that yesterday evening’s football match against a team she couldn't remember the name of was the last game of the week for Trent and his teammates and that was about it. 

Whenever they exchanged words over the phone, he had consistently kept his plans under wraps, leaving her in a state of suspense. Despite the flutter of nerves that churned within her, Amber found herself relishing the thrill of uncertainty and spontaneity that came with it.

“I need a whole bottle of wine to myself,” Amber’s colleague Isabella sighed dramatically as both women climbed into the cab set to take them over to the bar. “This week has been tedious.”

“It has,” Amber agreed, a smile creeping onto her face when her phone vibrated in her hand, the black screen coming to life as a response from Trent came through. 

Trent: Have a good time with your colleagues, we’ll have our fun later 😏

The message was rather flirty and made Amber’s cheeks warm as she read it over, before responding and putting her phone back into her purse. 

“Who has you smiling like that?” Isabella asked teasingly, playfully poking Amber’s dimpled cheek as she attempted to sneak a peek at her phone. 

“No one,” Amber blushed, dulling any suspicion as Trent took over her thoughts, holding them captive as they drove through the city. 

“Is it Kenneth?” Isabella asked, her eyes widening in shock. 

“No, it's not Kenneth. It's someone else, he's…a friend.” Amber explained trying not to give too much away. 

“Would you ever go there with Kenneth?” Isabella pressed, her curiosity piqued.

Amber hesitated, the question hanging in the air. Kenneth was a great colleague, she appreciated his mentorship, and he was incredibly easy on the eye, but the thought of anything romantic with him felt off. “No, I don’t think so. He’s more like a big brother to me. I really value our professional relationship.”

Isabella nodded, but her expression remained skeptical.

“What?” Amber asked in amusement as she took in Isabella’s expression, it was clear she had more to say. 

“It's obvious he likes you, have you never noticed?”

Amber rolled her eyes and laughed, shaking her head as she leaned back in her seat, the soft hum of the taxi driving through the night serving as background noise. "Isabella, we're colleagues. Yes, I think he respects and maybe even fancies me, but professionally, nothing's ever crossed the line. He's never made a move, and I've never considered him as anything more."

"Sometimes as women we don't always notice these things," Isabella argued with a raised eyebrow. "Your job's high pressure and your focus is always elsewhere, it's not unusual for people to feel unnoticed if someone's interested but never expresses it."

"Fair point," Amber conceded, though she still didn't see Kenneth in any other light than a valued mentor. As for potential suitors, she had no room in her mind for anyone besides Trent, and lately, that connection had become increasingly complicated.

“As handsome and friendly as Kenneth may be, my attention is elsewhere,” she continued vaguely. 

Isabella pressed her lips together, still appearing unsatisfied with Amber's response. "Well, if he's such a good colleague, you should at least consider being kind to him. Someone might miss out on feeling special if you keep passing him up."

"Who says I'm passing him up? Like I said, he's more like a brother to me. I value the professional relationship we have," Amber defended, her tone a touch firmer now as they pulled up to the bar.

The neon lights of the establishment cast a gaudy glow over the vehicle as they climbed out onto the sidewalk, their heels clicking against the pavement. As they stepped inside, the familiar hum of conversation and clinking glasses enveloped them like a warm blanket.

Isabella stopped at the bar, ordering a glass of Sauvignon Blanc for herself before turning to Amber. "I'm heading to the ladies' room. Do you need anything while I'm in there?"

“Just for you to come back out with a change of heart and at least flirt with him,” Isabella smirked. “The same for you?” she asked as the bartender placed a crisp glass of wine in front of her. 

“Yes please,” Amber smiled before turning on her heels and heading in the direction of the restroom. 

After relieving herself, she lingered at the sink, enjoying the refreshing feel of cool water as she thoroughly washed her hands. Once dry, she reached into her purse and retrieved her favourite lip gloss, the shimmering tube catching the light. With a careful application, she coated her lips in a glossy, vibrant hue, adding a touch of glamour to her appearance. Satisfied, she ran her fingers through her hair, fluffing the strands into place, before making her way back out to the lively atmosphere of the bar.

“There she is!” Isabella smiled as she held up Amber’s glass to her, now joined by a few of their colleagues including Kenneth who had changed out of the suit he wore earlier in the office into a more casual outfit of jeans, sneakers and a knitted sweater. 

Amber felt a flutter of nerves as she approached the group, her heart racing slightly at the sight of Kenneth. He looked effortlessly handsome, his dark tapered waves shaped to perfection and his smile warm as he caught her eye. She returned his smile, but the moment was fleeting as she was quickly swept into the lively banter of her colleagues.

“Amber! You made it!” one of her coworkers exclaimed, pulling her into a friendly hug. The atmosphere was electric, laughter and chatter filling the air as they settled into their evening.

“Cheers to a successful week!” Isabella raised her glass, and the others followed suit, clinking their drinks together in a toast. Amber felt a wave of camaraderie wash over her, the weight of the week lifting as she took a sip of her wine.

As the night wore on, the conversation flowed easily, and Amber found herself enjoying the company of her colleagues. They shared stories, jokes, and laughter, but every so often, her gaze would drift to Kenneth. He was engaged in conversation with another colleague, but every now and then, he would glance her way, a soft smile playing on his lips.

“Are you going to keep staring at him, or are you going to say something?” Isabella teased, nudging Amber playfully.

Amber rolled her eyes, a blush creeping up her cheeks. “I’m not staring! It's… you made things awkward now.”

“I didn't do anything wrong,” Isabella winked, and Amber couldn’t help but laugh.

“Okay, okay, maybe I’m a little distracted,” she admitted, her heart racing at the thought of Kenneth’s attention. But her mind quickly flickered back to Trent, the anticipation of their plans later that night sending a thrill through her.

“Speaking of distractions, what’s the deal with that guy you were texting earlier?” Isabella asked, her tone shifting to a more serious note. 

“It's a little complicated,” Amber said honestly, her heart fluttering as she thought about the rather complex situation she’d found herself in. 

As if Trent had a sixth sense Amber’s purse began to vibrate as her phone rang inside of it. Placing her glass down on the bar, she lifted the flap on her bag and pulled out her phone. 

She couldn't help the smile that took over her features as she Trent’s call and placed the phone to her ear. 

“Hey,” she greeted, her voice warm and inviting, cutting through the ambient noise of the bar.

“Hi, beautiful,” Trent replied, his voice smooth and familiar, sending a rush of excitement through her. “How’s your evening going?”

“It’s great! We’re just getting started, actually. Everyone’s in here,” Amber said, glancing around at her colleagues, who were laughing and chatting animatedly. “How about you? I watched your game last night, congratulations.”

“Not too shabby on both of our parts. We’ve both won,” he chuckled, and she could almost picture the lazy smile on his face. “But I’m more interested in hearing about your night. Are you having fun?”

“Definitely! It’s nice to unwind after a long week,” Amber replied, her heart fluttering at his praise.

“Do you mind if I join you?” Trent asked instantly, making Amber’s eyes widen in surprise as she looked towards the entrance of the bar.

“Are you here?” Amber asked, her voice tinged with a mix of anticipation and nervousness. Her cheeks flushed a warm shade of pink as she envisioned the intricacies of her arrangements. The thought of her Premier League star friend with benefits mingling among her colleagues sent a flutter through her stomach, blending excitement with a hint of anxiety about how the evening would unfold, and the questions that would be asked. 

“I’m outside, but I wanted to make sure you were okay with it first,” Trent replied, his tone light but earnest. “I didn’t want to crash your evening.”

Amber bit her lip, weighing her options. She could feel the energy of the bar pulsing around her, the laughter and chatter of her friends creating a warm atmosphere. But the thought of Trent being there, of seeing him in person, sent a thrill through her. “No, I’d love for you to come in! Just… give me a second to prepare myself,” she said, her heart racing.

“Okay, I’ll give you a second,” he replied, and she could hear the smile in his voice. “See you soon.”

Amber hung up and took a deep breath, her mind racing. She quickly scanned the room, spotting Isabella and the others still engaged in their conversations. She felt a rush of excitement mixed with nerves. What would they think?

The volume of the bar seemed to increase towards the entrance of the bar, bringing with it the patter of Amber’s heart in her chest. Her suspicions were confirmed when she heard someone utter Trent’s name. 

When their eyes met across the room, a jolt of electricity surged through Amber. He stood at the entrance, tall and confident, his presence commanding attention. The dim lighting of the bar highlighted the sharp angles of his jaw and the playful glint in his eyes.

Clutching her glass Amber let out a breath she’d been holding as she walked towards Trent, who had been pulled into a conversation with a group of men who asked if he'd take a picture with them. 

Amber slowed down slightly as she made her way towards Trent, trying to calm her nerves. She couldn't help but notice the way his broad shoulders filled out his casual grey sweater, and the way his dark curls had grown slightly since she’d seen him last, his hairline lined to perfection as if he'd just stood from his barber’s chair.

He took a deliberate step away from the conversation, letting the noise around him fade into a dull hum. He could feel the weight of curious gazes upon him, each one filled with a mix of intrigue and recognition. He sensed the silent speculation in the air as onlookers tried to piece together why his face seemed so familiar or, more than that, concluded his identity.

Trent's eyes traced over Amber’s figure as she stood before him, the lowcut blouse, jeans and heels she wore equal parts casual and sexy. 

“Wow,” he breathed, his voice low and husky as he took in the sight of her. “You look stunning.”

Amber felt a blush creep into her cheeks at his compliment, her stomach fluttering with excitement. “Thank you! I wasn’t expecting your company, but I’m glad you’re here.”

Trent stepped closer, the warmth of his body radiating towards her. “I couldn’t resist crashing the party when you’re celebrating a win,” he said, his tone teasing, but there was an earnestness behind his eyes that made her heart race.

With a fleeting glance over her shoulder, Amber noted her colleagues, engaged in their conversations and completely oblivious to the presence of her unexpected guest. She turned her focus back to Trent, her expression softening into a warm smile. Gently, she extended her glass towards him, the polished surface catching the light as he reached out, fingers brushing against hers. He took a careful sip, savouring the drink while their eyes locked for a brief, electric moment.

“Are you going to introduce me to any of your people?” Trent inquired, his brow furrowed in curiosity as he scanned the crowd, trying to decipher which group Amber belonged to. Just then, Isabella turned away from her conversation, her gaze suddenly drawn to Amber. He noticed a flicker of surprise cross her face, her eyes widening as she recognized the woman standing a short distance away.

“Amber, is that…?” Isabella didn’t even finish her sentence before her expression shifted to one of realization and excitement. “No way!”

Trent chuckled, his confidence soaring as he caught the eye of several of Amber’s colleagues, who were now gaping at him in shock and awe. “Hi,” he said playfully, flashing a charming smile that only seemed to terrify them even more.

Amber’s heart raced with a mix of pride and nervousness as she leaned closer to Trent, feeling his warmth seep into her. “Okay, come on. I’ll introduce you,” she said, trying to shake off her wide-eyed disbelief and pass it off as normal behaviour. She led him toward the small cluster of her colleagues, who had momentarily paused their banter, captivated by the presence of the football star.

“Guys, this is Trent,” Amber announced, gesturing towards him. “He's a friend of mine.” She felt her cheeks grow warm as she admitted it, unsure of how her colleagues would respond.

“Trent, this is Isabella and Kenneth,” she continued, pointing out each one. Kenneth's expression was bemused, his mouth slightly agape, as he absorbed everything unfolding before him. 

“Wow, nice to meet you!” Isabella said, flashing a smile of genuine enthusiasm while the other colleagues introduced themselves, their excitement palpable.

Kenneth, however, was still standing a beat too long in silence, assessing Trent with a guarded expression. “So, you’re Amber’s, um, friend,” he remarked, tone casual but with an edge of something more possessive underneath. 

Trent turned his attention fully to Kenneth, eyebrows raised with playful challenge. “You could say that.” He shot back with a sly smile, his teasing tone igniting an internal tension that sparked to life igniting the air between them.

Trent had never been an insecure man, nor was he a controlling one in arenas he didn't have to be, but there was something about Kenneth, something about his proximity to Amber that he didn't feel. 

She wasn't his girlfriend, but given their situation, there was a level of possessiveness that Trent had adopted when it came to Amber. 

The idea that the two good-looking twenty-something-year-olds spent hours on end together was a fact he didn't want to ponder on and in an instant, he'd to his verdict. 

He didn't like Kenneth.

Trent stayed close to Amber as he engaged in small talk with her work friends, doing his best to keep his wandering hands at bay. 

“Can I get a round of drinks?” he asked, purposefully slipping his hand around Amber’s waist, leaning into her as she said something enthusiastically to Isabella. 

“Wines good,” Amber confirmed, holding up her half-empty glass, her breath hitching in her throat when she felt Trent’s fingertips on the skin of her stomach as he listened to the orders of the rest of the group. 

As Trent carried their drinks back to their cluster, his fingers brushed against Amber's lower back, sparking a tingle that ran through her. He placed her glass in her hand, his touch lingering just a beat too long, making it clear that he was as affected by their intimate moments as she was. 

Trent's gaze softened as it met Amber's, the air between them charged with a current of tension and desire. For a fleeting moment, the noise of the bar faded away, leaving only the two of them suspended in a cocoon of raw emotion. 

But reality snapped them back in an instant, their surroundings demanding their attention once more. Amber sipped her wine, her thoughts racing as she tried to process the surreal situation; Trent standing among her colleagues, making small talk as if it were the most normal thing in the world.

As the evening went on, Amber found herself fully at ease in the moment, slightly giddy from a combination of the wine she’d consumed and Trent’s presence. 

But beneath the surface of her carefree laughter, she could sense the tension; Kenneth and Trent were exchanging glances, a silent battle of wills playing out in the backdrop. Kenneth’s practised charm felt a touch too deliberate, while Trent’s confidence exuded a raw, lingering energy directed solely at her.

“Another round?” Kenneth asked, attempting to divert the attention back to the drinks, his voice smooth as he regarded Amber. “How about a shot to celebrate your victory?” He leaned closer, his fingers brushing against her exposed collarbone. The contact sent an involuntary shiver down her spine, though she couldn't ignore the discomfort that flickered in Trent’s eyes as he watched.

She noticed Trent’s relaxed demeanour shift slightly, tension curling at the corners of his mouth.

As Kenneth leaned in closer, Amber could feel the warmth radiating from him, but it was an oddly misplaced warmth—one that made her acutely aware of Trent's presence just a breath away. She turned her gaze back to Trent, whose expression had shifted. A subtle tension gripped the space between them, and Amber's heart raced in response.

“Maybe we should skip the shots,” Trent interjected, his tone light but layered with something deeper, an underlying challenge that only Amber seemed to notice. 

“Oh come on, Trent,” Kenneth said, his voice dripping with casual confidence. “Amber has just achieved something incredible; she deserves to celebrate.” The way Kenneth's gaze lingered on Amber made her feel exposed as if she were caught in the crossfire of a power play.

“I have a surprise waiting on her,” Trent replied, his smile never faltering, but the intensity in his eyes spoke volumes.

“Oh really?” Kenneth’s brow furrowed slightly, leaning back as he assessed the situation. “What kind of surprise?” The amusement in his tone was at odds with the tension radiating from Trent, who stood protectively close to Amber, his hand resting possessively on the small of her back.

Trent didn’t break eye contact with Kenneth, his expression a mix of amusement and defiance. “Let’s just say it’s something that’ll take us away from this place for a while.” 

Amber’s heart raced at the thought. She felt a rush of excitement and curiosity flood through her alongside the growing tension. “What do you mean?” she asked, looking back and forth between the two men, trying to gauge Kenneth’s reaction and Trent’s intent.

Trent’s eyes flickered toward her, softening momentarily. “I arranged for us to take a helicopter ride back to my mansion in Liverpool after your drinks. I thought it might be a fun way to kick off the weekend.”

Kenneth’s demeanour shifted. The confident smirk slipped from his face as the reality of the situation set in. “A helicopter ride?” he repeated, trying to mask his surprise and jealousy.

Amber bit her lip, trying to process the grand gesture. The idea of soaring through the night together, feeling the wind tousle her hair as the city lights twinkled below them, sent a thrill through her. Yet she couldn’t ignore the weight of Kenneth’s glare, a silent challenge in his gaze.

Amber wasn’t sure what any of this was, but until Isabelle had taken the time to point out Kenneth’s behaviour towards her, she hadn’t noticed it. 

The unspoken energy between the two men was palpable, hanging heavy in the air like a storm cloud on the horizon. Kenneth seemed to bristle at the suggestion, his earlier carefree attitude evaporating, replaced by an uneasy silence.

Amber felt caught in the middle, torn between two different worlds—the life she led with her colleagues and the whirlwind of intimacy she shared with Trent. She could sense the undercurrent of jealousy emanating from Kenneth, an emotion that stoked the simmering tension.

“Are you ready?” Trent asked, his voice low and inviting, drawing Amber's attention back to him. The warmth in his gaze made her heart race, and she felt a thrill of anticipation ahead of the adventure he had planned.

Isabelle and Kenneth watched the interaction between Amber and Trent, as they readied themselves to leave the bar and head to Liverpool. 

“Do you have everything?” he asked softly as she pulled her thick winter coat over her shoulders and fastened the buttons. 

“Have a good weekend,” Isabelle smirked knowingly, already anticipating her catch-up with Amber on Monday morning at the office. 

“Be safe,” Kenneth added, his tone a mix of concern and something else—perhaps a hint of possessiveness that Amber couldn’t quite place. She caught his eye, and for a moment, the air between them crackled with unspoken words. 

“Thanks, Kenneth,” Amber replied, forcing a smile as she felt Trent’s presence beside her, a reassuring warmth that made her feel bold. 

“Let’s go,” Trent said, his voice steady and confident as he gently placed a hand on the small of her back, guiding her toward the exit. The gesture sent a thrill through her, and she couldn’t help but glance back at Kenneth, whose expression was a mixture of disappointment and something darker.

As they stepped outside, the cool night air hit Amber’s face, invigorating her senses. She looked up at the starry sky, feeling a rush of excitement at the thought of the helicopter ride. Trent led her to a sleek black car waiting at the curb, the driver stepping out to open the door for them.

“Ready?” Trent asked, his eyes sparkling with mischief as he slid into the back seat beside her.

“Absolutely,” Amber replied, her heart racing. She felt a mix of exhilaration and nervousness, the thrill of the unknown ahead of them.

As the car pulled away from the bar, Amber glanced out the window, watching the city lights blur by. She could feel Trent’s gaze on her, and when she turned to meet his eyes, the intensity of his stare sent a shiver down her spine.

“Tell me more about this case you won,” he prompted, leaning in slightly, his voice low and inviting. “I want to know what you’ve been working so hard on.”

Amber smiled, grateful for his interest. “It was a complex case involving the separation of a merger that joined in the early 2000s. There were thousands of documents to go through and hours of emails, but I was able to come to an agreement that both parties were happy with. It was exhausting but rewarding to see it all come together in the end.”

Trent nodded, genuinely intrigued. “It sounds like you put your heart into it.”

“I had to,” she agreed. “My dad always says you either took up law because you're crazy or you love it,” Amber smiled softly, making Trent do the same. 

“Sounds like you’re a little bit of both,” he teased, his eyes sparkling with admiration. “But seriously, it’s impressive. I love that you’re so passionate about your work.”

Amber felt a warmth spread through her at his words. “Thanks, Trent. It means a lot to hear that from you.” She paused, her expression turning slightly more serious. “I’ve worked hard to get where I am, and it’s nice to have someone recognize that.”

Trent leaned back in his seat, his gaze steady on her. “You deserve all the recognition and more.”

Amber’s heart fluttered at his sincerity. “Thank you, Trent,” she blushed. “I really appreciate it. It’s been a while since someone told me they're proud of me.”

Trent smiled, his expression softening and his heart cracking, he pitied her. 

“I’m proud of you, Amber. You’re doing incredible things, and I want you to know that I see you,” he said, his voice sincere. “Not just as the woman I’m attracted to, but as a talented professional who’s doing something and making her mark in the world.”

Amber felt a rush of emotion at his words, a mixture of gratitude and something deeper. “That means a lot to me, Trent. I sometimes feel like I’m just wading.”

“You’re not a distraction,” he replied firmly, his gaze unwavering. “You’re someone I want to be around, and I want to be part of your life, not just the fun parts. I want to know everything about you—the good, the bad.”

Amber smiled, feeling a warmth spread through her. “I want that too. Life is just crazy, I guess.”

Trent reached out, taking her hand in his, his thumb brushing over her knuckles in a soothing gesture. “We can figure it out together. Just take it one step at a time. And tonight, let’s enjoy this adventure. No pressure.”

Amber nodded, feeling a sense of relief wash over her. “You’re right. Let’s just enjoy this.”

As the car approached the helipad, Amber’s excitement bubbled over. She could see the helicopter waiting, its blades spinning gently in the night air. The sight sent a thrill through her, and she turned to Trent, her eyes wide with anticipation.

“Are you ready for this?” he asked, his voice low and playful.

“More than ready!” Amber replied, her heart racing at the thought of taking to the sky. 

As they stepped out of the car, the cool night air enveloped them, heightening Amber's senses. She looked up at the helicopter, its sleek design gleaming under the moonlight, and felt a rush of exhilaration. Trent's hand remained firmly clasped around hers, a reassuring presence as they approached the aircraft.

“Just a few safety checks, and we’ll be on our way,” Trent said, his excitement palpable. Amber could see the thrill in his eyes, and it made her heart race even faster.

The pilot greeted them with a nod, and Trent helped Amber into the helicopter, ensuring she was securely seated before taking his place beside her. The interior was surprisingly spacious, with plush seats and large windows that promised breathtaking views.

“Ready?” Trent asked, his voice low and filled with promise. 

“Yes,” Amber replied, her pulse quickening. She could hardly believe this was happening.

As the pilot began the pre-flight checks, Amber turned to Trent, her heart swelling with affection. “Thank you for this. It’s incredible.”

Trent smiled, his gaze warm and sincere. “You deserve it. I wanted to do something special to celebrate your success. You’ve worked hard, and I want you to know how much I admire that.”

Amber felt a flutter in her chest at his words. “It means a lot to me, Trent. I’ve never had anyone go out of their way like this for me before.”

“Then let’s make it a night to remember,” he said, his voice filled with promise.

The helicopter lifted off the ground, and Amber felt a rush of adrenaline as they ascended into the night sky. The city below them sparkled like a sea of stars, and she couldn’t help but gasp in awe. The view was breathtaking, and she turned to Trent, her eyes wide with wonder.

“Look at that!” she exclaimed, pointing out the twinkling lights of the city. “It’s beautiful!”

Trent leaned closer, his shoulder brushing against hers. “Just wait until we get higher. It’s even more crazy up there.”

As they climbed higher, the world below faded away, and Amber felt a sense of freedom wash over her. The worries and stresses of her life seemed to dissipate, replaced by the exhilaration of the moment. She glanced at Trent, who was watching her with a soft smile, and her heart swelled.

“Thank you for being here with me,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper.

“You’re welcome,” he replied, his gaze steady and sincere. “You deserve it.”

Amber felt a warmth spread through her at his words. Everything felt a little too perfect and it scared her. 

The journey from London to Liverpool was filled with laughter and shared stories, the hum of the helicopter blending with their voices as they navigated the heights together. Amber felt a sense of connection with Trent that she hadn’t fully grasped before, a bond that transcended their physical attraction and ventured into something deeper.

As they soared above the city, the lights twinkling like stars beneath them, Amber couldn’t help but steal glances at Trent. His profile was illuminated by the soft glow of the cockpit lights, and she admired the way his eyes sparkled with excitement.

Her heart raced as the helicopter climbed higher, the wind whipping through the open windows, creating a thrilling sensation that added to her excitement. She could feel a heady mix of adrenaline and longing as she reached out, her fingers brushing against Trent's arm as she pointed out various landmarks below, her excitement bubbling over.

“This is amazing! I can see the river! And look at the skyline!” she exclaimed. The world below was a patchwork of lights, shimmering like diamonds scattered across velvet fabric.

Trent turned to her, his expression a mixture of pride and endearment. “Just wait until we’re over the water. The view is even more breathtaking from there.”

His words sent shivers down Amber’s spine, not just because of the awe of the scenery, but because of the intensity of his gaze. At that moment, she realized just how much he meant to her. As the city continued to fade into the distance below, she felt liberated—free from the constraints of her thoughts that often weighed her down.

As they flew over the shimmering waters of the Mersey, Amber couldn’t help but turn to Trent, her voice barely above a whisper. “This is the most incredible thing anyone’s ever done for me.”

Trent’s expression softened, his eyes never leaving hers. “You deserve everything good in your life, Amber.” 

A flutter of warmth spread through her at his words, and she felt a thrill course through her veins. Their eyes held steadily, each heartbeat echoing like drum beats, further closing the gap between the two, bringing them closer to that tension they both felt but had yet to fully acknowledge.

Within those electrifying moments, the helicopter banked gracefully over the coastline, the night sky wrapping them in a cocoon of serenity and allure. Amber marvelled at the rolling waves illuminated by the moonlight, casting an ethereal glow over the water.

By the time the helicopter landed Amber felt as though she was stepping out of a dream as Trent helped her climb out of the aircraft. 

“That was amazing,” Amber gushed as took in the sprawling fields around them, turning to look at Trent who had pulled out his key to unlock his car parked a few yards away from the helicopter. 

Holding out his hand to Amber, he guided her towards the svelte black car, the way he moved with confidence making her heart flutter. 

When they finally made it to Trent’s house, Amber removed her heels eager to rid herself of them before heading upstairs to his bedroom to finally decompress after a long and rather precarious day, with Trent following close behind. 

“Finish whatever you’re doing and come to me,” he murmured softly against Amber's lips, his breath warm and inviting. With a teasing grin, he pulled away, playfully catching her lower lip between his teeth for a brief moment before releasing it.

Amber felt a shiver run down her spine as she watched him turn on his heel, his confident strides carrying him across the room and out of sight. Left alone in the intimate setting of his bathroom, she could hear the faint sounds of his movements in the distance as he settled on his bed, awaiting her.

Her heart raced with anticipation as she reached for the hem of her blouse, she pulled it over her head, the fabric grazing her skin before she tossed it casually into Trent’s laundry hamper. Next, she turned her attention to her jeans, unbuttoning and sliding them off with a fluid motion, sending them to join her blouse in the hamper. Now standing in Trent’s bathroom clad only in her delicate lingerie, she felt an intoxicating mix of vulnerability and boldness, the anticipation of what was to come taking over her movements. 

Making her way out of the bathroom Amber slowly made her way into Trent’s bedroom, her breathing steady as their eyes met. 

“Come here, Amber,” Trent commanded, his voice soft yet filled with dominance as he eyed her hungrily. 

Amber stepped closer to him, the anticipation that hung between the palpable as she stood at the end of the bed. 

Sitting up, Trent shifted toward the end of his bed, his eyes never leaving Amber's as he reached out for her, pulling her to stand between his parted legs as his hands traced the curves of her shapely hips and thighs, leaning forward to press a soft kiss just above her pantyline as his eyes flicked up to her face.

“You’re so beautiful,” he whispered, his voice filled with want. “I want you in every way.”

Feeling a wave of desire come over her, Amber titled her hips towards Trent’s lips, her breathing uneven as she looked down at him. 

“I want you too,” she breathed, her voice barely above a whisper, filled with a mix of longing and urgency. The heat radiating from Trent's body was intoxicating, and she felt herself drawn closer, as if an invisible force was pulling her into his orbit.

Trent's hands moved with a gentle yet firm touch, exploring the delicate fabric of her lingerie, his fingers tracing the lace edges as he savored the moment.

Amber's heart raced as she leaned down, her lips brushing against his in a soft, tentative kiss. The connection ignited a fire within her, and she deepened the kiss, feeling Trent respond with equal intensity. His hands gripped her waist, pulling her closer until she was pressed against him, the heat of his body enveloping her as he pulled her into his lap.

Trent's strong hands roamed over Amber's body, feeling the softness of her lingerie beneath his fingertips as he devoured her lips in a passionate, dominating kiss. She melted against him, her curves fitting perfectly into the contours of his muscular frame.

As their tongues danced, Trent slid a hand up Amber's side, his thumb brushing the side of her breast before finding the hard peak beneath her bra. He pinched gently, eliciting a gasp from Amber that he swallowed as he deepened the kiss.

Breaking away, he leaned back to trail kisses down her neck, his breath hot against her skin as his hands found the straps of her lingerie. He worked at them, uncaring of the scraps of fabric that fell away until Amber was bared to him, her skin glistening in the dim light of the room.

There was a lack of control that Amber brought over Trent that no other woman was able to conjure from him. 

And despite being a man of self-control and discipline, with her he loved to exercise his reckless side and lean into his lack of control. 

Despite the vacant king-sized bed above them, Trent and Amber had found themselves on Trent’s bedroom floor, his hands gripping Amber’s behind her back as she rode him. 

“There you go, sit all the way down on it,” Trent coached through his teeth as he looked up at Amber through heavy, hooded lust-filled eyes. 

Amber moaned lowly, her hips rolling languidly against the rigid length of Trent’s dick, their bodies slick with sweat as she adjusted herself to take him fully.

"Just like that," Trent grunted with a furrowed brow, his grip on her wrist dropping so he could palm her ass, his grip tightening as he watched her work him into her pussy.

Amber’s muscles clenched around Trent as she started to move, rocking her hips in a sensual rhythm that had them both panting with desire. She leaned down to kiss him again, her tongue dancing with his as she set a pace that left them both breathless and needy.

“Trent, I’m going to cum,” Amber whimpered helplessly, her mouth falling open in a silent cry as her back arched into him. 

As Amber’s orgasm moved through her, her body flopped against his before going stiff as she moved through the motions of a powerful climax. 

Trent let out a moan as he felt her teeth press into his neck, her lips brushing over it as she whispered sweet nothings against his warm flesh. 

Raising his hips, Trent tangled his fingers in the hair at the back of Amber’s head, tugging it backwards as he peeled her face from his chest so he could look her in the eye as he rearranged her from the inside out. 

“I’ve been thinking about fucking you since I woke up this morning,” he grunted as he felt his end nearing. 

Drawing out their sex for as long as he possibly could, Trent decided to exercise the power he knew he had over her. 

“Who do you belong to?” he asked as he buried himself inside of her, his filled with a mix of desperation and possessiveness. 

“Only you,” Amber gasped, her voice laced with surrender as her words hung in the lustful air between them. A declaration of their undeniable connection and the ever growing passion between them. 

Trent's hands left imprints on her skin as they reached the peak of passion, her eyes rolling shut as she caught her breath far too suspended in pleasure to do anything but sit there, Trent’s softening cock still buried inside her. 

As the final waves of their shared ecstasy faded, Amber remained in her blissful daze, resting her forehead against Trent’s. 

Much like the effects of alcohol, the act of intimacy had a profound ability to unearth deep-seated emotions. As Amber nestled her head against Trent's broad chest, the steady rhythm of his heartbeat provided a comforting backdrop to her thoughts. A haunting melody, begging for reflection and clarity, clarity that she had been trying to avoid the admittance of.

In the case of Trent Alexander-Arnold; she was his without regard—even though she knew he wasn't ready to give himself to her in the same way. 

[corinescorner]

How to be a System Ally

This can be a post for both non-systems and systems! We all should be educated on how to be an ally for the community! It's aimed towards non-systems, though.

Educate yourselves. Before engaging, you should learn about systems and plurality. Different types of systems exist, and come in many, many different ways. Terms llike headmates, switching, co-consciousness, etc. should be learned before interacting!

Read about experiences: Follow blogs, watch videos, or read posts from systems who share their journeys.

Avoid assumptions: Not every system is the same, and their internal experiences and why they even exist can widely vary.

Use correct language! Ask about pronouns, names, or terms that the system may use. They can vary between each system, or even each alter.

Respect system-specific terms: If a system describes themselves as a way that's unfamiliar, instead of calling them fake or lying, take time to understand what it means. Ask questions, do research.

Don't assume every system view their system or plurality as a negative or a problem. Some systems see it as apart of their identity, regardless of how they formed.

Respect boundaries and autonomy. Like anyone else, systems have boundaries, and it's extremely important to respect them. Some systems are more open than others, but don't assume that every system should talk about their inner world.

If you're not sure who's fronting, ask before assuming! Some systems may let you know, but others may prefer to keep it private. Respect both.

Never, ever pressure a system to switch for another alter to interact with. Or in general. Switching isn't a performance, and asking is very invasive.

If a system requests to be treated as individuals between alters, respect that. Don't treat them as a singular identity unless they prefer it. Ask questions.

Validate their experiences. Systems face a ton of invalidation, both from the outside work and even in their own community. As an ally, you should validate every experience.

Believe them. If a system tells you about their experiences being a system, believe them. Don't question their legitimacy or dismiss their reality.

Acknowledge the diversity in systemhood. Whether a system formed due to trauma or not, their experiences are valid as a plural or system. Don't engage in debates that question the validity of "real" systems.

Support how they view their system. Some view it as a disorder, while some view it as their identity. Support how they see themselves without your own judgement.

Many systems, particularly the ones formed from trauma, can be sensitive to certain topics. Ask about what topics they would like to avoid, and respect it. Avoid triggering language; slurs, stereotypes, or graphic descriptions of trauma can be harmful.

Avoid intrusive questions. Questions about how often they switch or what their trauma history is are often invasive. If they want to share, they will.

Amplify system voices. Share content, posts, or messages from systems who are advocating!

Correct misinformation. Gently guide a person to the correct information. Remember, misinformation generally comes from lack of education, so pointing them to the right direction can help.

Offer support, not pity. Systems don't inherently need rescue or pity. Don't be the "hero" of systems. Listen without judgement, listen without trying to "fix" things. Celebrate their strengths instead of focusing on their weaknesses.

Support a system automony. Systems are allowed to make nonconventional choices for their system. Whether it's delaying recovery, purposely splitting, creating alters, etc. They are allowed to make these choices.

Continue to educate yourself. Plurality is a diverse and growing field of discussion. Keep up with new conversations and research.

I hope this is able to help people who are newer to the system community or what to help advocate for their system friends!

[bisexualbrainrots]

a while ago I had an idea for a one-shot, sort of inspired by @ohithankyou's posts about lexie grey's confession to mark, and I just got to start writing it. it's 3rd person, tommy's pov (for the most of it)

so, here's a snippet, it's still in the works.

and yeah, tommy is NOT doing okay, he's a very unreliable narrator here.

It should be awkward, shouldn't it?

Tommy's standing outside on the porch, trying to convince himself to just knock, but it's getting harder. It's especially hard since he can hear the music and loud conversations taking place inside, and he fears he will ruin the atmosphere.

He squeezes the bag, This is stupid he thinks, they don't want me here.

He wants them to not want him here.

It would be much easier that way, if the resentment was still fresh in their brains and they could just shut him out, but it's been over 5 months and resentment is probably a thing from the past, at least for most of them. Resentment would be much easier than what Tommy has in mind: indifference, like he stopped existing entirely to them and there's no reason to remember him even. Yeah, that hurts more.

But I deserve it.

After what was probably 5 minutes but felt like 5 hours, he finally rang the doorbell, taking a few steps behind to make his presence less threatening.

A warm smile received him, the kind eyes of Sergeant Grant looking straight at him.

“Tommy! You made it” he wanted to believe this was all an act, that her warm arms pulling him into a hug were just a way to pretend, for her to be civil about this, and yet, he missed them.

Missed this.

Missed the way in which her arm, like right now, would drive him inside the new place the couple built for themselves, missed the little comments about what they were having to eat and drink, and missed the way in which Bobby would appear, a beer bottle in hand ready for him to drink accompanied by a big smile.

“I’m glad you could make it Tommy, I didn't know if you'd feel up to it”

The coldness of the bottle helped him to ground himself, to remind himself this was just a cordial invitation: he wasn't a priority.

“For you and Athena? Believe me I'd even fly into a hurricane again” a small smile appeared on his lips when the couple laughed, both holding onto each other with a love he always dreamed of.

A love he let himself lose.

He looked down at the big bag, suddenly nervous about what he had gotten them “I-I got you two this, as a housewarming gift” Bobby's fingers brushing against his as he took the bag felt like fire, like he was being burned and was being warned and reminded not to get too close again “You don't have to hang it anywhere it's just— you can even put it in the garage if you want”

Athena's eyebrow arched and looked at Bobby, a question in both of their minds as they took the Kraft paper covered rectangle out of the bag. Their reaction when the paper was ripped would've made a good video, the kind that spread throughout social media and even reached the news.

Their eyes were glued to the painting, sparkling as they took in the details: a faceless couple dancing around what looked like dusts of wind, with leafs and flowers around them. The piece had a warm palette, except for the couple: a combination of pink and purple. “A hurricane of love” read the post-it note attached to the corner, which made the couple gasp when Bobby took it out, revealing the signature.

“You made this?” Bobby's voice hitched, and Tommy hoped it was a good thing that the man's eyes were glistening.

He nodded, his cheeks feeling strangely warm, and fidgeted with his fingers “I took on painting after—” he stopped himself from talking, a lump in his throat that suddenly made it harder for him to keep going.

After I broke my own heart.

[the-blossica-fan]

Yo, guess who got 37 accidentally from a single ten pull?

In celebration, Actors AU!

37

finally worked up the courage to ask Sophia out on a date.

CONGRATULATIONS 🎉🎉🎉

My friend told me the same thing and I was like "goddamn luck be on your ass"

Didn't know if you wanted a short story but I tried ☝️

There is never a shortage of rumors in the set. Harmless, of course, but still funny and interesting, as well as a little informative.

It's not hard to assume that some would even know about the existence of such rumors, those with little interactions would naturally have a hard time learning or keeping up with the gossip, and those denser than a brick wall wouldn't even be aware of them.

During accidental meetings with an acquaintance, it's best to settle for a topic everyone is well aware of, gossip. Sitting outside of the place they hang out the most without any topic to share, what's more simple than gossiping for a moment?

If you know how to, that is.

Alma and Thirty-Seven had been sitting on a bench outside the set for more than ten minutes, one mindlessly playing with her hand, the other thinking deeply of a topic to start a conversation, the girl is a friend's daughter and friends with her own son, this awkward silence can't stay forever, can it?

A brilliant idea came to mind. Thirty-Seven must not be too different from her mother, they're just like each other, so, she must enjoy gossip too, right?

Right?

"Thirty-Seven, is it true that you have a crush on Sophia?" Alma attempted to start a conversation with Thirty-Seven, a poor subject to choose for a poor unsociable lady.

"WHAT?!" And the response received carried the expected shock from such a blunt question. "Who-- who told you that?! Was it Two hundred and ten? That bastard--"

"Uh, no" Alma shook her head, placing a firm hand on the girl's shoulder to prevent her from standing up. "It's actually quite a famous rumour, Seventy-Seven and Regulus told me they heard it from someone, who then heard it from someone, and so on"

Thirty-Seven's face grew redder the more details Alma offered, blue eyes searching for any kind of indication that this had been nothing more than a tasteless joke. Of course, Alma is nothing more than an honest woman, not a trace of a lie on her face. Such a thing running around, had she been so obvious that even this sheltered lady would know?

"Uhm, Miss Alma," The woman turned to Thirty-Seven with a curious glance, just like what Atticus would do. Like mother like son. "Do you think Sophia knows?"

"Yes, indeed" No hesitation in the woman's voice accompanied by a soft smile "she had been there during Seventy-Seven's explanation of the rumor"

Alma found herself confused once Thirty-Seven turned to her with wide eyes and a pale face. Whatever had been on her mind had been long forgotten, she could almost see betrayal in her eyes.

"Is there something wrong-- oh," Alma placed her hand on her shoulder, ashamed of her own naivety. Of course that would be her reaction, what a stupid question to ask! "I apologize, perhaps I shouldn't have told you that" or she should have? What a dilemma.

"Sophia knows?! But-- Where is my mother at this moment?" Thirty-Seven stood up in a hurry, moments before realization could settle in completely.

"I saw her moments ago, let me guide the way there" The whole time Alma tried to calm down Thirty-Seven, even more thoughts appeared in her mind.

They stood from that small bench, walking towards the last place Alma swore she had seen Seventy-Seven, that cunning lady, always scheming with such an angelic face... Mm, that sounded very different on paper.

Thirty-Seven placed a hand on her chin, deep in thought like she usually would during a mathematical problem, but this is a real life problem! A rumor that could ruin her relationship!

But, that's merely a rumor, isn't it? Sophia would not believe such a baseless rumor, this is Sophia we're talking about! But, if she did, how would she react? What if she found it disgusting? What if she didn't want them to be friends anymore? What if she breaks all ties with her because of this?!

"Are you overthinking?" Thirty-Seven's thoughts are broken by the woman's soft voice, her own confused and surprised face must have answered that question. "Atticus has that same face when he's in deep thought, don't worry, you can share your thoughts with me"

As far as she knows, Alma is a more reliable woman than her own mother. This betrayal being the best example. Though a bit sheltered and socially awkward, the woman, had never let her down even once! Unlike her mother, what a traitor.

"What if Sophia ends her friendship with me over this? I have heard so many takes of friendships breaking because of these kinds of rumors..."

Alma sighs, placing a comforting hand on Thirty-Seven's shoulder, squeezing slightly. "It's obvious it's not just a rumor, dear" And the girl looks away, red-faced. "But do you really think Sophia would leave you behind over such a simple thing?"

Thirty-Seven shakes her head slowly, making Alma laugh amusedly.

"Even if she didn't return your feelings," Which I doubt "she wouldn't dream of leaving you behind over such a simple deal, you know this better than anyone, dear"

Thirty-Seven has no response to this, after all, Alma is right. Sophia has been there through thick and thin, despite everything, so why would she leave over such a rumor? Thirty-Seven looks up to Alma, a pleading gaze in her beautiful blue eyes.

"Miss Alma, would you be my mother?"

"That holds some implications, so no"

It proved hard to find Seventy-Seven, the woman could never stay in one place for a long time, however, they did find an even more knowledgeable guide. Well, he just finished talking with the woman they've been looking for, so he had fresher information on her whereabouts.

"Let me see if I understood this correctly," Atticus led the way, his gaze resolute, but even someone like him could be curious over such an absurd discourse. "Your mother, Miss Seventy-Seven, shared with Sophia--"

"And Miss Alma!"

"...And my mother, that you have a crush on Sophia, am I correct?"

"As always, Atticus!"

"What a funny discussion"

Atticus' reactions are hard to discern, but Thirty-Seven has gotten used to his and his mother's ways to show emotions. Subtle, but meaningful, hiding behind their words and careless actions.

"Are you sure this is the way, Atticus?" Alma walked by his side, their blond head so similar one could almost confuse one with the other, that is if you didn't look at their faces.

"Of course, mother, I heard she would speak with Miss Greta for a while" Atticus sneered "A one-sided conversation that would last as long as Miss Greta's patience, nothing."

"Hey! My mother is not that annoying, I'm sure Greta would hold a longer conversation than last time!"

The mother and son turned to each other, sharing silent conversation with their eyes before turning back to Thirty-Seven.

Oh she doesn't know.

"Mm, look, she's there" Atticus decided to smartly ignore the response, pointing instead at the gorgeous woman with blue hair excitedly talking to the most tired-looking woman on the set.

"Mother!"

Thirty-Seven ran all the way to her mother, leaving behind her guides that accompanied her all the way without a single goodbye or thank you. Terrible, but expected from Thirty-Seven.

"Rude..."

"...As expected of Seventy-Seven's daughter"

"Ah? Oh! Thirty-Seven, darling, what a surprise seeing you here!" Seventy-Seven's attention turned to her daughter running towards her. God has blessed Greta.

"Mother! I've been looking for you for a while! I need to speak with you!" Thirty-Seven grabbed both of her mother's arms, holding her in place desperately, and turned to the tired woman by their side. "Uh, privately, if that's alright with you, Miss Greta"

The woman shook her head, relieved to have such a distraction from Seventy-Seven's annoying words. "It's more than alright, thank you, Thirty-Seven" and so, she parted ways, quickly.

Now that it's just mother and daughter, Thirty-Seven has enough freedom to stare at her mother with a betrayed gaze, winning an amused but confused grin from the older woman.

"Mother, is it true you told Sophia about my crush on her?!"

Seventy-Seven blinked once before laughing, anyone would have been deceived, but not Thirty-Seven. She's lived sixteen years with her, she knows her mother.

"Of course not! What sort of things go through your brain, dear?"

"Miss Alma told me so!"

Seventy-Seven gasped, her gaze now similar to her daughter's. "That traitor!"

"You're the traitor!"

Such an argument technically made sense, so Seventy-Seven had to give in. She sighed, easing her daughter's grip with her hands slowly.

"Listen, you aren't exactly the most discreet one, dear" As if that answer would love everything "But I didn't tell her because I could, she asked and I couldn't say no! What a darling she is, you should definitely ask her out"

This time, it's Thirty-Seven's turn to look confused and tired. Too much time around Greta can do that to you. "She asked?"

"Indeed! She came to me since you were hard to find, a couple days ago if I remember correctly, and asked me bluntly if you had a crush on her" Seventy-Seven nodded at the memory, as if approving of something "She's smarter than I thought, but you're also not that discreet, I still have to give her points for asking"

"A couple days ago?!"

"Are you just going to repeat what I'm saying? I thought you'd ask more important things!"

Thirty-Seven let go of her mother, covering her face with her hands. Sophia and her just talked yesterday like normal, this morning Sophia looked so normal, not like she had discovered Thirty-Seven's raging crush on her.

"What do I do now???" If she had thought about it more deeply, she would have realized that Sophia didn't even mind or care, but of course she didn't.

"How about you ask her out on a date? I doubt she'd say no, and you have nothing to lose!"

"My friendship??"

"Who cares about being friends?" Perhaps it's a curse of their family, but comforting is not their forte, especially in these cases. "Okay, that sounds horrible"

Perhaps she realized so because of Thirty-Seven's petrified face or because finally she had used emotions and reactions.

"Listen, dear, I know this must sound horrible, but if she already knows, isn't it more painful to leave it as it is? A question in her mind that would plague her forever? She's waiting for your answer, dear, won't you give it to her?"

Sometimes, Seventy-Seven proved herself to be a decent mother, someone that you could trust with your problems, that would give you advice with a soft smile on her face and a warm gaze in her soft eyes. Perhaps that is why she's so adored by many.

"...Miss Alma is better at comforting than you"

"I know, isn't that ho--"

"But, thank you, mother" A smart interruption before things got off the rails, Thirty-Seven looked into her mother's eyes, determined, as always. "I'm going to talk to Sophia and clear this misunderstanding!"

"Hah, no" Seventy-Seven gave a well deserved slap to the back of her stupid daughter's head, affectionately. "You're going to build up the courage to tell her your feelings, preferably now, as soon as possible"

"But--but why?!"

"I'm tired of hearing you fawning over your best friend, I want to hear you talk about your girlfriend for once"

Ah, indeed, what a weird conversation, but it seems that only those two understand each other. Thirty-Seven nodded her head, having made up her mind after her mother's nonsensical cheerful words.

"Alright, wish me luck!" And she ran to Sophia's direction, forgetting that she doesn't know where she is. "Wait-- Where is Sophia?"

"...You don't know?"

"..."

"Her room, darling, she's in her room"

"Thank you, mother!" She ran again, this time in the opposite direction, to Sophia's room somewhere in the building.

Seventy-Seven watched her go with a proud smile on her face "I love spreading misinformation, good luck dear!"

What a tiring journey, Thirty-Seven took a moment to catch her breath before knocking on Sophia's door. The final destination to this adventure, and the only place where she had felt the more nervous.

Her heartbeat accelerated, her hands sweaty and her legs shaking, all signs of being nervous-- or running all the way here, as Thirty-Seven tried to convince herself.

"You can do it, Thirty-Seven! You're your mother's daughter, you should be able to say something as simple as a confession, it's not hard! Think of this as a mathematical problem!" Oh no... "The answer is a formula, one that can be solved with easy wording!" A door had been opened, but Thirty-Seven had been too caught up to notice "What is the information we have? Sophia's knowledge, your own feelings and the problem being lack of communication!"

"And how would you solve that problem?"

"Confessing my love, of course-- SOPHIA?!"

Standing in front of her is the same girl she had been thinking about, eyes wide in surprise and growing blush on her cheeks. She heard everything... Well, mumbling outside her door is something anyone would be concerned about.

"Hello, Thirty-Seven" Sophia tried to maintain a straight face at those words and at the deafening shout. "I would have asked what you're doing here but I think I shouldn't"

"Why are you here?!"

"...This is, uh, my room..."

"...Forget what you just heard and listen to me!"

As hard of a request as it is, and Sophia's face growing even more red every second that passed, Thirty-Seven had to act quickly and precisely before making a fool out of herself! More than she already is.

"I-- Sophia, I--" Thirty-Seven's hand trembled, her face so red it rivalled Sophia's hair.

"Do you want me to--"

"No! I have to do this, for my pride!" Sophia shrugged, the scene as silly as it can be. "Sophia, I am in--in... In, I'm," How would her mother say those words? Terrible example to take but also the best at the same time. "Go on a date with me!"

A moment of silence for Thirty-Seven. Fortunately, Sophia found it funny. The usually composed young lady, a prodigy at mathematics and the smartest person she had ever seen... Shaking from head to toe, red faced and embarrassed. A cute image that made Sophia laugh, something the poor girl had only been able to witness twice.

"Of course, whenever you want, Thirty-Seven" She looked at the stunned girl by her door. "Not today, I assume, but I'd love to"

"Really?!"

"Really"

Thirty-Seven held back her wish to punch the air, her dignity had been dragged through the mud, she needed to preserve what was left.

Oh, and solve the mystery of why Sophia hadn't told her about her own crush if she had asked.

"Oh, and, Sophia" The girl hummed, waiting for the upcoming question. "My mother said that you had asked her if I had a crush on you, why didn't you tell me if you already knew?"

Sophia furrowed her brows, blinking in confusion. "I didn't ask her anything of the sorts"

"But, Miss Alma also told me you knew about the rumors about me..."

"The rumors, yes, these are hard to miss, but I never asked anything to Miss Seventy-Seven"

Sophia could feel Thirty-Seven's anger grow, to prevent any incidents, she had an idea.

"How about you come with me to get some coffee? After all, I walked out because I needed something to drink" That's a lie, but a harmless one, to save whatever pride the girl had left.

"Yes-- wait, why coffee?"

"Regulus' recommendation... Don't get mad at her and come with me, please"

And so, Sophia attempted to distract Thirty-Seven from her mother's betrayal, two times already. This would be considered a date, but Thirty-Seven wanted something that could feel more warm, more romantic.

Preferably, without any help from her mother.

[whamss]

"Making Rosemary tea drinking lesbians is bad" says Internet User, but not because it strips them of their characterization and turns them into carbon copies of each other, destined to sit in the background while other characters (men) have character arcs around them, but because they aren't Silly Enough. No no, we don't need to flesh them out, we just need to turn them from Wise Lesbian Couple to Comedic Relief. This will fix everything wrong with fandom depictions of them. *Wipes sweat from forehead* Woo! Being a feminist is so tough!

[dykedvonte]

I dislike takes that Danse would be just as conservative in modernized aus when it's clearly shown his staunch views of things come from his time in the Brotherhood and his deep-rooted desire to belong to something with a greater purpose.

Not to mention lines that show much more open-mindedness that get overlooked for his harsher sentiments when you first meet him. Like the oppurtunity to be a part of something is why Danse fell so far into Brotherhood dogma and it doesn't negate the offense things he does but I feel like it's just lazy to be like "hmmm he'd def be racist" just so it aligns to his BoS beliefs.

[toddtakefive]

thinking about todd and his resolve toward… not quite isolation, but being alone in a room full of people again. he goes along to the study room to sit on his own and do his homework, he sits at the poets table and follows along with what’s being said while keeping quiet, he goes to the meetings at all but doesn’t necessarily contribute (in fact, if you watch him when cameron is telling the story ‘from camp in sixth grade’, you can see that he recognizes it before any of the other poets but doesn’t voice it until they all have). he’s not alone, necessarily, if you want to get technical about it, he’s just lonely, and he’s generally okay with that. he doesn’t have friends and that’s fine, he doesn’t participate in class and that’s fine, he doesn’t have a relationship with his family and that’s fine—he could live without any real connection and he’d have been, more or less, fine.

the thing about when he says “i can take care of myself just fine!” is that he isn’t really wrong, you can infer that he’s been doing it his entire life anyway, it’s that ‘taking care of yourself’ isn’t the same thing as really living or being happy. todd’s an introvert, certainly, and even as he gets closer to the group he defaults to sitting quietly in the background, but he’s also denying himself community out of fear not introversion. todd isn’t friendless because he’s an introvert, although that definitely plays a part, he’s friendless because he pushes anyone that might want his company away. if anyone has every wanted for his attention in the first place. (neil’s unwavering interest in him is unique (even when it comes to the rest of the poets, who are fine with todd coming along and joining the group, but aren’t really hellbent on him being there in the beginning) and his refusal to accept it is a direct result of being so lonely growing up.)

there’s obviously something to be said about the implications of his parents neglect, and the more than likely fact that he grew up friendless, and how those both play a part in in him being so skilled at dodging social interaction/being so avoidant of it, but by the time we see him in the movie he’s all but accepted his fate as being alone his entire life. he’s already accepted being the family disappointment, and he’s already accepted he’ll never amount to anything, and he obviously doesn’t like it, but he’d have managed living with that knowledge without the confirmation that it was all wrong. would he have been miserable? almost certainly. but he’d have managed. he’d done it for that long already, anyhow.

[omarwolaeth]

thinking 'bout how the lads interact with what the bracelets represent, especially in their decks

[always-a-slut-4-ghouls]

When I was making my first trying-to-be-serious ocs it was in the start of the 2010s (and I mean the START, 2010-2012) and there was a big “anti Mary-sue” movement on deviantart (the website I spent half my internet time on and was posting my art on) and I liked to make my character designs pretty extra (although compared to modern stuff they look pretty normal) so I started to get self-conscious. At the time though I was watching soul eater (and there was another thing I’m forgetting and it’s really frustrating me) and I saw that it was popular with a cool art style and the characters were extra AF, so I was like “okay. Maybe, as long as I can draw my character often and consistently it doesn’t matter if they are wild!” and you know what? Early teen me was RIGHT. Not about many things, but about this in particular she was!

[ignatiusteto]

i think people should stop thinking in stark black and white and stop taking things violently at face value and maybe society would be a little better. or at least stop making it the problem of other people. it really is a great brain exercise to stop and be like well okay wait a minute. you literally feel better.

[lvllns]

there’s something very comforting in going from talking on skype until three in the morning almost every day to reaching out once every few months and yet. it feels like nothing has changed.

[necronomeconomicism]

Ok gotta talk about it.

As a Jewish historian, I fucking hate Israel in ways most probably will never be able to comprehend. I'm going to try and explain it anyways. The central creation myth of Israel is that it is Jewish, and then consequently, that Israel is a part of Jewishness. Its easy to simply state this is false, but fully comprehending this and putting it into practice in thought and deed seems rare to me.

The evil at the heart of this violence predates the recent acceleration of genocide. Israel is a colony, and more than that, an antisemitic fraud itself. After WW2, when Israel was being founded, the Jews of Europe generally did not wave goodbye to their neighbors and head to the promised land. Many were expelled from their homes. Zionism itself, as an action, was a false choice at the time. A mere excuse to place an ally in the middle east, and an excuse to complete the expulsion and destruction of the European Jew. The Zionist Jew is more than complicit in this, they actively seek the destruction and assimilation of all other Jews.

Many fail to realize, and largely because of Israel, that Jews are not inherently white, Ashkenazi, European-descended people. Our faith and culture has an immense variety that is spread all across the globe. Jewishness, in population and volume of culture, exists more so outside of Israel than within it. Israel is for a very specific kind of Jew. The kind that lets Yiddish die, that attaches themselves to European things, that makes themselves and their practices as white as possible.

And they have the nerve, the fucking belligerent GALL, to frame themselves as the necessary saviors of our people. To the Zionist, questioning Israel is to question Jewishness itself. They bake adoration for the colonial machine into their very prayers, and push them on us even as children. To *not* oppress, to *not* kill, to *not* genocide, is to invite death. This is the core of fascistic thought, of course. "Kill them before they kill us." And they KNOW this too, they really do. The truth of that irony does not matter, because as is true for all fascists, the truth itself does not matter to them. They wanted this, they wanted this even before the British saw it in their best interest to give them the land. Any excuse to RETVRN, as the neo-nazis say of Rome, or the German Empire, or whatever the fuck stupid country they want to poorly animate the corpse of. Some select Zionists even *sided with the fucking Nazis* in agreement they should abandon Europe to colonize Palestine. (Haavara Agreement)

My people have proved time and time and time again you don't need a nation state to have an enduring culture. We have protected ourselves for thousands of years without the help of these spiteful, doom-saying maniacs. I was going to post something like this on Passover, but that would be hypocritical. The state of Israel doesn't actually have shit to do with Jewishness. Hear Israel (the state and supporters, Israel the icon) I should outlive it long enough to bury it. (old yiddish curse)

Free Palestine. Donate what you can, they need it right now.