#[i'm just mentally elsewhere and whatever i do have the attention for]

[hellflcmes]

Well, I was going to do things after the play...But then I got a text from my brother's girlfriend saying that she just brought my brother to the hospital. I won't go into the reason why he got admitted but it came on suddenly from what I was told. She's staying with him for as long as she can tonight so she can update me if anything changes. Due to the play and tomorrow being a midday show, my mom and aunt are going to see him and keep his girlfriend company.

Needless to say, this has significantly dropped my mood. I'm still going try to do things on here but I honestly going to limit myself to just fluff threads and things I have the drive to do. That most likely means I'm going to focus on certain people too. I'm hoping once I find out more that things will change but for now this is how it's going to be.

[rassvetsky]

would literally lose my fucking mind if you wrote carmy like touch starved, idk maybe everyone is staying after to celebrate something and he’s dragging you into his office to eat you out with absolutely zero shame because he needs it so bad

your wish is my lifelong quest i love you, hope i did it at least some justice loml

Carry You Away With Me

carmen "carmy" berzatto x fem!reader

He looked sheepish for a moment, lips curling into a grin for another split second before returning to his natural expression, eyes finding yours and locking you into his gaze. "Do you think anyone would notice if I took you elsewhere right now?"

[4k] | chef ill be honest with you this is just porn, needy!carmy (he's fucking adorable), office sex if that's even a term, established relationship, cunningulus, unprotected sex, cum-play. my apologies to the church

reblog and/or like for a kiss, feedback much appreciated! not proofread.

It was around 11 when you returned to the restaurant with a bottle of champagne cradled in your arms, watching as Gary and Tina pushed a few tables together to make a bigger one for the rest. Eating together wasn't a rare occurrence, but it often only happened an hour before service in the morning— dinners were mostly had at home or skipped altogether, depending on the importance one put into their health. But tonight called for an after-hours get-together, one that Sydney and Marcus pushed for when Ebraheim showed up in the morning with the latest issue of Gastronomica, featuring a very familiar name this time around— Carmen Berzatto.

"You know— I bet you can like, make it to a Vogue issue sometime later on, too."

"That's not exactly food-related."

"I'm just saying, dream high and—"

The few clinks of a spoon against the glass cut Fak right off and Carmen made a mental note to thank god for that later on, his gaze lifting from the long, full table that everyone was surrounding to the source of the sound; the now-empty champagne glass that Richie held.

"Can we all take a moment to stop stuffing our faces with this whatever-the-fuck it is to congratulate my cousin right here?" he spoke up, bringing a smile to your lips as you reached for Carmen's hand from under the table and muttered out "chou à la crème", another dish that Marcus had been experimenting with lately. A short chuckle left Carmen's lips when he vaguely heard what you said, and he gave your hand a firm, appreciative squeeze before rubbing his thumb along the back of your palm. "Gastronomica isn't just any magazine. I think it's supposed to be one of the good ones, like—"

"—the Vogue of food!"

"Maybe! Who knows, anyway— really, I'm proud of this mess of a man and you all should be, too." and maybe this was the most affection that Richie could whip out in public, but it was more than enough— because despite his hate for having the spotlight directly on him, Carmen was currently busy offering a smile to Richie, which the other reciprocated shortly before sitting back down, his quiet little hum of affection drowned out by the mutterings of 'cheers' along with the clink of everyone's glasses.

Proud was an understatement for this little dysfunctional found-family.

But you knew Carmen, you knew that he'd much rather skip on the compliments and pats to the shoulder; and you were way too sure that he'd need a moment to himself sooner or later. That moment came almost fifteen minutes after, when everyone split themselves into a few groups of completely different conversations, scooped up chocolate sauce and cream and small pieces of the delicate pastry got left behind on the empty plates— you felt Carmy's fingers wrapping around your upper thigh, concealed by the dimmed out lights and the table.

"S'up?" you returned your attention to him upon feeling his fingers tapping along to some nonexistent rhythm on your clothed skin, not too invested in the story Richie was busy telling everybody with the loudest voice he could muster to begin with.

He looked sheepish for a moment, lips curling into a grin for another split second before returning to his natural expression, eyes finding yours and locking you into his gaze. "Do you think anyone would notice if I took you elsewhere right now?"

"Elsewhere?"

"Not too far, jus' my office. For a couple of minutes at most." he leaned in closer to your ear just so you could hear him over the 2012's pop playlist Manny whipped out earlier, a completely mesmerizing turn of events when he started singing along to a random Katy Perry song— but that leaning closer action proved Carmen to be just another self-saboteur because he was feeling specifically out of place all day and to feel your perfume so close was a pull with a force out of this world. He couldn't pull back away then, couldn't return to his own chair and you had no choice but to push him away manually. "I promise."

"Any ulterior motives I should be aware of?" you grinned, letting your fingers curl right over his own on your thigh— and making a mental note to ease him into the habit of using hand moisturizers regularly sometime, upon the roughed up feel of his skin.

"You wound me, baby." his expression seemed to linger over offense, but his eyes told a completely different story; and before you knew it, he was pushing his chair back to get up, patting Gary's shoulder on his way to the back of house, a momentary turn of his head just so he could silently tell you to follow with his eyes.

And that, you did, despite the raised eyebrows of Richie's that you met along the way.

The kitchen smelled like a different kind of citrus, one that only belonged in dishwashing detergents as you maneuvered through the stations, cleaned up from the day's worth of filth. From your peripheral vision, you noticed Carmen reaching behind to undo the strings of his navy apron, leaving out the top string that he'd have to pull over his head until you could catch up and he could get to the office. His shirt was, again, as pristine as ever and it was a work of magic how he managed to come back home with a perfectly clean white t-shirt each day, if not for a few little drops here and there.

Finally, he pushed open the door of his office for you and you stepped in, finding your way to his desk in the darkness to flip the switch of the small light that illuminated the paperwork mostly. When your eyes found him again, the apron was long gone— tucked away in a corner, folded, although not so neatly. "Happy now?"

Instead of a reply, he just plopped down on the old, squeaky chair by the desk, thighs spread and arms wide open to make space for you. You took the offer right away, seating yourself on one of his thighs but still balancing yourself on your feet too, in order to not just dump your whole body weight on him and potentially numb out his leg. He couldn't care less, as he wrapped himself around you tightly and pulled you closer. "I don't really give a shit about Gastronomica."

"I figured," you mumbled against the material of his shirt, lungs filling in with a scent that only he could carry— a surprisingly pleasant mix of cigarettes, sweat, and gravy. It belonged to him, at least. "When's the last time you gave a shit about anyone's opinion outside of here, anyway?"

A soft hum left his lips, one that feigned agreement— but he wasn't paying much attention to what you've been saying to begin with, mind all muddied with specific moments in time that included you. Come to think of it, he'd been like this all day, even when Richie jokingly smacked him across the face with the magazine or when Tina elbowed him while he was trying to explain why she had to strain the mixture twice to get a flowing consistency— on the back of his mind, there was always you; always the lack of time he got to spend with you when the rush hour got too much to bear and he couldn't bring himself to lift an arm when he came back home to you.

When was the last time he properly touched you, took his time to memorize all the little ridges and beauty spots across your body, he couldn't remember.

So as you spoke, listing out all the reasons why he should be proud of himself for all the accomplishments, Carmen's arm curled around your waist and his fingers found your thighs again, the warmth of his palm seeping through the material of your leggings and from the way they teased upwards, you knew where this was going. "... that you managed to turn— are you not listening?"

His smile was so smug that you wanted to either kiss, or slap him. "Not really. But go on."

"Carmy, if you actually think that I'll do anything non-churchy with you here while everyone's literally twenty feet away, you're so wrong." you breathed out, because that's all you could do when his lips ghosted over the side of yours, before trailing down to where your jawline met your neck. He only hummed as a reply, clearly not giving a shit about your opinion either at that moment— but to say that you weren't enjoying the attention would be a blatant lie.

His fingertips traced the seams outlining your underwear through the extra layer of fabric while his lips latched to your neck, finally, with his warm breath hitting against the sensitive skin and the usual wet nature of his kisses leaving behind a glistening spot of adoration. You leaned into it, rather shamelessly— legs parting and fingers carding through the locks on the nape of his neck, and that only encouraged him further, causing him to whisper out a curse and a few sloppy words of praise. "Just let me, hm? Please?"

The sense of desperation in his tone was enough to push back any words of disagreement that you could blurt out at that moment. You knew you had to power through, it would be so embarrassing and disrespectful to let him have his way with you right here, while everyone else was still at the FOH— but the way his palm covered your clothed core and his fingertips teased the slight outline of your slit, all while his pretty lips were oh so busy whispering absolute filth in your ear was slowly taking away all the care you had in the world. "Carm— not a good idea."

"You weren't saying that last week, right here," two weeks ago, to be exact, but you couldn't blame him for not being able to tell time apart. "Had to cover your mouth and all, s'loud for me—"

"You're getting carried away." you chuckled, the deepest of breaths still not enough for the capacity of your lungs as you tugged on his locks slightly, prying him off of your skin just so you could get a look at him.

"Let me carry you away with me. Please, fuck— I can't think of anything else when you're on my mind." he pulled away a little from your neck, eyes of pristine skies staring right at your soul with the expression of a kicked puppy— he knew exactly how to get his way when he was miserable like that. His fingers were still against your heat, expecting permission. "Ten minutes only, just let me touch you."

You could recognize that tone, that incurability way too well— it was often reserved for nights shared between hushed whispers of promises, where he was too needy to form a single thought and all he could do was to cover your body with his and curl onto you, to feel your warmth against himself and to be one body and one soul for an hour. Uncommon in nature, even rarer to take place in a room that he reserved for professional affairs only— but the heart wants what it wants.

To his surprise, you suddenly pushed your lips against his— letting his fever take over you as well, with your hands clutching onto his shoulders and hair. You could hear the slight groan escaping his lips when his fingers breached under the tight waistband of your leggings, pushing the material down slightly with the bend of his wrist before turning his hand a little to tug it all downwards, urging you up on your feet. You got up from where you were seated, now standing between his legs with your back bent just so your lips would be on his, but he broke the kiss with a smile that took over when he finally pulled down both articles of clothing at the same time. Your back straightened when he managed to push them both down to your ankles, your hands on his shoulders to help with your balance as you stepped out of them, feeling his moist lips over your abdomen for a second before he pushed you backwards slightly, towards the desk.

He took that momentary advantage to get up on his feet and pin you right in between his own body and the desk, hands blindly pushing the loose folders to the side. You felt too exposed when his palms gripped the underside of your thighs just to prop you up on the desk, lips finding and panting against yours, a clear indication of his need seeping through the way he tugged and nibbled before his tongue found its way to caress yours.

There was nothing nice about it, but you couldn't bring yourself to care— not when he whispered your name against the plush of your lips so sweetly when your fist closed around his hair, not when he didn't even know what to do with his hands; grabbing, fondling at every inch of your skin that he could reach shakily. He pulled you flush against his body, letting you get a feel of the harsh dark denim against your bare center and you had to bite into his lower lip to stay quiet, ultimately earning a groan from him when his hands slipped under your shirt.

"Bear," you whispered out, his lips chasing yours when you pulled away to speak— which made you chuckle quietly, as he looked at you again. "Ten minutes."

"Ten minutes," he parroted, the usually wide eyes of his now hooded, pupils blown out as if he was looking right at the sun. When you reached in to kiss him again, you couldn't catch him fast enough— he was already holding onto your thighs to crouch down, looking up at you with a Cheshire grin when you spread your legs a little further apart, a force of habit.

Leaning back on your palms against the desk as much as the cramped space could allow, you took a deep breath— but it wasn't enough to prepare you for what came next when his tongue trailed a bold line across your slit, spreading your folds apart gently. It was a pleasant routine, one that you never quite got used to; because when he was down on his knees with his tongue tracing abstract shapes across your clit in a teasing manner, it was all about you and to think that a guy who often rushed things and went through life at a 2x pace would slow down just to put all of his attention on your pleasure only was more delightful than any compliment one could attain.

Carmen's fingertips were perhaps digging into the skin of your thighs a bit too hard, but could you possibly complain? The tip of his tongue dipped between your folds to spread your essence upwards, a mix of his saliva and your wetness covering your clit when he closed his lips around it and sucked— letting out a blissed groan, one that he'd scold you for if you were the culprit. You could only imagine how hard he must've been at that moment, he was always a sucker for situations like this, with the thrill of doing something so forbidden, right where he could be caught and your taste on his tongue, thighs on either side of his shoulders.

Imagining it didn't help your situation at all, it was hard to focus on one coherent thought when he kept flicking his tongue over your sensitive bundle of nerves but you forced through— with the thought of the blunt tip of his length all flushed and leaking in your palm, curses leaving his soft lips whenever your fingers got a bit too tight around the girth. He liked it when you put your focus there, tip of your tongue tracing the slit and leaving kisses over it while the rest of your palm jerked him off— firm and slow.

And you'd always let your lips stray when he got close, deciding to suddenly bite into the skin of his inner thighs or to lightly trace his perineum with your tongue, just to have him reduced to a writhing, whining mess with not enough air to survive in his lungs. He'd spill onto your fingers and you'd clean him up right away, moving your way upwards with wet little kisses until you reached his lips. And he was one dirty fucker because tasting himself on you when you kissed him all sloppily was probably one of his favorite things in the world.

Drowned out in all the thoughts, you didn't notice how close you were until your thighs were shaking around his shoulders, and he finally added his fingers into the mix then— his middle and ring fingers easily breaching through, grazing all of your sensitive spots from the inside. You had to press your palm against your mouth to not let a sound then, when your climax finally hit you, and you'd probably slide right off the table with how quaky your whole body was at that moment if it wasn't for Carmen's strong grip on your body, holding you right where you belong.

The position was a bit merciless on his legs so far but he made it up to his feet again, giving you a light peck on your lips before his fingers found his mouth, his tongue circling the digits to clean them up as he stared right at you, into your soul. He pulled them out with a slight pop, and licked his lips clean. "How long did we take?"

"I don't know," you panted out. "I was busy imagining the way you come."

His light laughter brought a tender, yet bittersweet ache to your heart. "Fuck, you get off to that?" and you could tell him all about just how beautiful he was, and how much it turned you on to see him blissed out in pleasure— but you didn't know if your lung capacity allowed for it at that moment, as being quiet came with the benefit of holding your breath for longer than you should. "Tell me more."

You giggled against his lips when he braced himself on the desk with his two hands holding onto the edge on both sides of your thighs. Both of your hands moved down to the front of his pants, too fucked out to care about timing as you palmed him through the material just to see that grin on his lips falter. "I'm gonna make you jack off and watch sometime." you mumbled, slowly pulling the zipper down after setting him free from the belt and the button. He hummed, forehead to forehead, before reaching for another little peck.

"As much as I don't see why I should jack off while you're in front of me," he spoke, a sharp intake of breath cutting his line of thought halfway through when your fingers finally wrapped around his cock. "but— shit, if you're into that… Only if you do it w'me, though. I wanna watch too."

"You don't get to watch." you sighed, bringing him closer with your legs to line his length up with your entrance. "You're just gonna sit there and come on your hand like a loser."

Carmen couldn't help the short snort that left him. "Are you even capable of being mean to me?"

"Mm-hm, I'm very mean when I wanna be." and right after that, his tip slid right into your cavern, pulling a deep exhale from both of you when he pushed a bit deeper. His lips found yours, mostly to keep the noises at bay while his hips rolled into yours, grinding against you before retreating a little, only to push in harder this time around.

You felt so full and blessed that you didn't even have to imagine anything to get lost in the feeling.

His pants slid further downwards with each thrust until they pooled around his ankles and your thighs wrapped tighter around his body, trapping him in. His arms were so delicately wrapped around your waist that you had to hold onto him with your whole remaining power to not slide further towards the wall, but he couldn't exactly notice that when he was feeling so damn lucky, whole length wrapped in a warmth beyond his comprehension.

And again, you couldn't blame him, because neither of you managed to notice when the skin slapping against skin got a bit too loud, and your lips pulled away from his just to breathe out the filthiest little nothings, like how much you needed him to fill you right up to the brim. "Fuck, give it to me." your hips met his thrusts half-way through when you pushed yourself against him. "Carmy, come inside me, please."

"Yeah? Are you gonna take it all?" his voice sounded broken, and his fingers would surely leave imprints on your hips with how tight his grip was. "Won't let you waste a drop, baby. I won't."

Somehow, through how feral he was with the way you were begging him, the responsible side came forward and captured your lips in his again— because while his team was full of respectful people, they were also little shits who would never live it down if they heard those beautiful sounds that escaped your lips with each hit of his blunt head against your sweet spot. The thought somehow egged him on further— he couldn't exactly decide if he was too possessive to let anyone hear or if he was possessive enough to make sure everyone knew he belonged to you, but at that moment, both of those thoughts turned him on too much, enough for him to feel his high approaching. And judging by the way your walls cramped down on him tighter with each passing second, you weren't too far behind.

You could feel yourself gushing around him, coating both of you in your essence beyond simple cleaning, but that was a matter to worry about later, not when the love of your life was balls-deep inside of you, his rough grunts right against your ear when he reached to press his lips right below it. "Close?" he mumbled, and even though your mind was too busy to hear and comprehend him properly, you nodded— feeling his arms wrapping around you tighter, pulling you closer to the warmth his body provided. And while as much as you'd like to keep this going for longer, witnessing his pace falter and voice break as he moaned out your name, filling you up in the most delicious way slowly was enough to have your eyes roll to the back of your head in pleasure, and to have the knot finally snap.

Your whole body was buzzing, shaky even when he held you so tight against his chest as if you'd vanish right there and then— something that he always did after sex, no matter the circumstance. You giggled wearily against his shoulder, leaving a few kisses here and there before he pulled away slightly to pull you into a kiss— nothing like the ones you shared in the past minutes, this one was all sweet and loving. "Might drip if I pull out."

"You can't stay there forever, Carm."

"Oh, but I want to." he huffed out but still moved to slowly pull out of you anyway, having you both hiss in sensitivity and just like he thought, his come was ready to spill all over the place. Quick-thinker in nature, he caught his seed with his fingers right before they could go further, pushing them back into you just to hear you gasp— and slap his shoulder playfully.

"You're a fucking freak."

"Shut up— round two at my place? Kinda wanna see where that watching me jerk off fantasy of yours might lead us."

a/n: once again i could be easily manipulated into breaking into your house with a part two, who knows

also @carmensberzattos consider this a marriage proposal

[baejax-the-great]

Archive-locking the fics that YOU WROTE and are thus 100% yours to decide what to do with 'hurting people' is so silly tbh. Skill issue on their part. Wish those people could be normal about the amazing fics that writers like you put out & be understanding or at the very least respectful of the choices that writers make about how and where they make their fics available. Especially in light of recent ai training theft and nonsense & all that.

I hope this doesn't sour the fic writing & sharing experience for you too much. I love your writing & think you're very talented & skilled!

There seem to be dual attitudes I'm coming up against recently (and obviously these are not held by everyone, I don't even know that they are held by a majority, but they are certainly held by a plurality).

The first is that authors should be grateful that readers deign to read what they put out there. I think this stems from the "content creation" mentality and the idea that everyone who posts things wants as massive as an audience as possible (for monetization purposes which... isn't a thing in fanfic). I think this mindset also leads to readers demanding that people write specific tropes/pairings/whatever, or threatening basically to take their business elsewhere. "Nobody will read unless you do [X]." 1. Not true and 2. Okay, you weren't my audience.

(I also think authors circulating those posts about how badly they want comments/kudos feeds this mentality of readers doing authors a favor by even clicking on the fic. "Wow, if people are so desperate for attention, then mine must be worth an awful lot!")

Fanfic ain't a business, and I write for myself. Readers choosing to read my work isn't a privilege or an honor they are bestowing upon me (nor are comments for that matter), just as me posting my writing where they can see it isn't a privilege or an honor for them. We are both engaging in hobbies and a love of some media, and sometimes we will overlap and connect and sometimes we won't. Readers aren't reading out of altruism for attention-starved authors, and authors aren't writing out of altruism for content-hungry readers.

And there are those who will read these paragraphs above and think to themselves "wow, what an ungrateful author," and that's exactly the attitude I'm talking about. Don't get me wrong, it's delightful and rewarding to receive comments on fics and chat with people about Blorbo and the Situations. But it should be delightful from both sides of the exchange, or why the hell are we doing this? If I'm meant to be grateful for every commenter who jumps into my inbox, then every commenter in my inbox better be grateful for me, and I can tell you right now there is a population who is not. There is a population who sees me as a service provider for their entertainment, and whatever form I take in their brain, it is not shaped like a full person.

This attitude also leads to people thinking that things like lorefm are no big deal. Don't I want to get my work in front of more eyeballs (or ears)? Don't I want to broaden my audience? And once I put my work out there for readers to see, should I be shocked (or express any negative emotions at all) when someone plagiarizes/scrapes it for AI/demands updates rudely/reads it on a monetized youtube channel/binds it and sells it for profit?

The other idea I've been coming up against is almost the opposite of this--that because some readers form attachments to fic, deleting that fic (or even archive-locking it!) is actively harming those readers. Sure, they can't be bothered to hit the download button or get an AO3 account, but that's no reason not to think of these strangers first before doing what I want with my creative output.

Yall, life is ephemeral. There are things we will see and enjoy and never find again for one reason or another, and it's not harm being done to us, it's just the nature of existence. Having an emotional reaction to something does not give you any sort of ownership over that thing. Artists are allowed to change their minds about whether they want that art in the wild, particularly given that it's free. Maybe it's because I utilize the library a lot, but reading a book and then losing access to that book is not a crime against you, it's just a normal thing that happens. If you read something and it means that much to you, there are ways to avoid losing it (download it).

Seeing this particular attitude extend out to "not making your fic available for as many people to read as possible is harming them" is beyond bizarre. If I woke up tomorrow and deleted everything I have ever written, there would still be thousands upon thousands upon thousands of beautiful, emotional, meaningful fics out there for people to read. They would lack for nothing. Would some people be upset? Probably. Would I be hurting them? No, not really.

Sometimes people have negative emotions because of our actions, but that doesn't mean we did anything to them. This is one of those times.

Lastly, this AI and everything else bullshit really has taken a toll on my enthusiasm for posting my work. It's one thing for companies to try to pillage every thought, every word, every stroke of a pen or paintbrush to enrich themselves while actively making the planet an unbearable and inhospitable place to live, it's another when fellow fans are telling you that "Whelp that's just life, what did you expect, give us your content anyway or you're a bad person and if you complain, then I'll be taking my business elsewhere, you sensitive, entitled creative, lol."

[carmen-berzattos]

Thoughts on that ceasefire statement?

So I have several people asking me about this. I do have some thoughts, but you'll have to forgive me, I am only able to engage with this passingly.

I want to make a few things clear: I'm originally from Iraq. I do live in the U.S. now, but I grew up in Iraq. And like most Arabs, the Free Palestine movement is unquestionable for me. I have been an uneqovical supporter of Palestine my whole life. Which means the past couple of weeks have been excruciatingly painful. And the horrifying circumstances of it have taken over almost my every waking moment. That, coupled with my own childhood of living through a war which the past two weeks have been triggered again and again, have really tanked my mental health. I mention this to make clear that I will speak to this question just this once, to articulate some of my thoughts around it. In order for me to do the work for Palestine sustainably which I fully plan on doing, I need space to step away from it. I'm choosing this website with the pretty images to be said online space. So I will not engage in any further discourse after this. Even now, I will engage only as far as my mental capacity will allow. As I'm sure you can understand, I am utterly exhausted, and what little energy I have left is better expended elsewhere. I thank you for your understanding.

I want to start by pointing out something that I unquestionably liked about his statement, because I think it's important and a lot of people won't read this whole thing: His mention of the West Bank. The media attention has focused a lot on Gaza, and rightly so. But Palestinians in the West Bank have been suffering gravely for the past two weeks under the tyrannical rule of the settler colonial Israeli government. You should all go read about this and learn more. Palestinians are getting arrested, kicked out of their homes, being brutalised, harrassed, and murdered. It's starting to get *some* coverage now, but still not enough. This would also be my time to remind you that the West Bank is not at all controlled by H*m*s so like, bitch what's your excuse now?

the gist of my thoughts: Is Hozier a Palestinian freedom rebel? No, absolutely not. Is he a hateful supporter of genocide? Also, no, absolutely not. I think Hozier is a well-intentioned celebrity with passing knowledge of what's happening, a publicity team that curtails his words for better or worse, and who has a lot to lose if he missteps in any direction. Whatever we may think of his actual politics that we can glean from his music is not quite the same as coming out with a very clear statement that could put him, and a lot of the people around him at risk. And I mean that both physical safety and otherwise. I think saying something very overtly pro-Palestine could very well put a target not just on him and his team, but possibly on fans attending his concerts in droves right now, especially since he's in the U.S. right now which is a) not his country and b) the country that's primarily funding this war so like fuck me the pro-zionist sentiments here are still STRONG (I just got egged yesterday at a protest and wearing the keffiyah has genuinely made me fear for my life for the past couple of weeks). This may be disappointing (it is), but I frankly have very little energy left to truly feel disappointed. More than anyone, I would have loved for him to come out, blazing fires in his eyes, carrying the Palestinian flag. But alas, I knew that wouldn't happen except in my wildest dreams. I understand that people want to hold him accountable. But it does feel to me like expending this level of energy on a celebrity whose statement was frankly more nuanced than what even media outlets have said is just not where I'm at. I understand if that's where you're at. But it's not something that I can currently engage with.

This is the extent to which I am able to speak to this at the moment. I am sorry if it's not good enough or extensive enough. There's so much that you can pick at, the framing of it, the specific wording that he used. Again, for better or worse, but I just do not think this conversation is where my currently very limited supply of energy should go to. It is up to you whether this is where you'd like your energy to go <3

I hope you're all well. Sending you all so much love.

[sincerelylea]

Headcanons for Eddie x fem!reader who struggles with anxiety and depression? How he would take care of her & support her 🥺 thank you!

hello hello, i gotcha.

tw: depression, anxiety

eddie would find out about your anxiety and depression pretty quickly into your relationship i think.

either you tell him, i imagine out of the blue because eddie has a really comforting aura - it's easy to talk to him and tell him things.

or, you bond over your mutual mental health issues. nevermind it being the 80's, eddie thinks avoiding conversations like that is more harmful than good.

i feel like his brain kinda works like,,, he has to speak whatever is on his mind in that moment because he needs to be heard and you need to hear it. does that make any sense?

being bullied and picked on can take huge effect on anyone - even though he owns his "freak" label now i'm sure it wasn't so easy for him growing up.

he always lets you know he's here for you, taking extra care in making sure he asks you how you're doing every morning, every afternoon, and every night.

if he isn't there when you wake up, expect a phone call. at lunch, he'll walk you from your class to the lunch table, asking how your morning classes went. and at night when you come over or vice versa, he'll ask yet again.

you know it's his subtle way of asking if you're feeling particularly anxious or any bit depressed at all without directly asking, any who, you appreciate it nonetheless - always ask him how he's doing too.

tells you he loves you literally any chance he gets. even if you know it deeply, he'll still tell you - and even greater he'll show you.

likes holding you hand; his is either super warm or super cold, no in between. his hands are always on you, they feel stabilizing, which he hopes for.

but mostly, in regards to your mental health (sorry i go off on tangents) he's utterly supportive.

during high anxiety days, he's more sweetly attentive. during those morning calls, he's tender. with a tired voice asking you to rate it on a scale of 1-10. at lunch, he comes up to you from behind when you're standing at your locker, you feel the weight of his hand on your lower back and turn to look at him immediately. he asks softly how you're feeling, looking over your eyes and face and smoothing your hair away from your face.

he tries to be a stable force in a sea of worry - the way his voice is exceptionally tender - leaving the absolute only thing you can focus on him.

he takes it easy. holds you gently, guides you to the table with a hand on your back or arm. he smiles sadly, gently, he wishes only to be able to take this feeling away.

at night, he urges you to stay with him or let him stay over. the thought of leaving you alone worries him tremendously.

with your anxiety in general he treats you gently, understandingly. he lets you scream and yell if it makes you feel better; or even word vomit your feelings in frustration. every anxious tick, every hand in your greasy hair, every stomach churn and blurry vision and shaky hand he is there. right there. and he wants you to know you can do all of these things and it's okay.

anxiety comes and goes and with it come anxiety or panic attacks - don't worry, he's got it handled.

eddie is amazing, truly. he doesn't freak out - if anything he speaks very little. just grabs your hands in the midst of your panic, the tears, the sobs, the messy brain.

that, he wants your attention on him. just for a moment so you can have something else to think about.

"look at me." he says it softly, almost like a question but not. it's not commanding.

he shows you love, when you're brain is elsewhere.

he only holds your hands, hugs you if you go for it first. he sits in the silence of your crying until you're feeling well enough to speak again.

he has hands on your back and hair.

so attentive; literally perfect.

offers a shower to clear your head.

he'll let you cling to him for the rest of the night, of course he loves to have you wrapped up all over him.

depression comes with a lack of energy, so if you don't feel like doing anything, he's right there, laying in bed with you - just running a hand up and down your back.

he wants you to feel absolutely comfortable enough to talk about anything and everything.

i kinda think he's the type to encourage you to get up, eat, shower, all that good stuff. he will get worried if you don't call him, even if you tell him you just don't have the energy.

has experience with cooking, especially when wayne works nights and most cooking for dinner is up to him if wayne doesn't cook.

i know this isn't about him, but i feel like even wayne would be understanding. almost like he knows the feeling too well.

eddie wants to be encouraging. he wants you to know life is meant to be enjoyed, it isn't about just surviving. he wants to be that good person in your life, your safe space.

he's right there to level with you, to do absolutely anything you want when you're feeling a certain kind of way.

his physical touch is grounding and his voice is safe and he just wants you to live.

to live.

and he'll be right there the entire way.

he likes going on drives with you when you're feeling bad, plays whatever tape you want. showers are nice, intimacy that isn't sexual, just existence.

holding you, i mean, he could do that all day. you're his favorite.

you're the best.

he'll tell you everyday.

[narconfessions]

Not dark per se, but definitely a NPD confession that I dont feel I can share elsewhere.

I actually Do want to collect "oppression points." I like being part of marginalized groups because it makes me feel special and being the victim in situations makes brain go brr. I dont go so far as faking things to feel oppressed, but I do take pleasure in being plural/disabled/queer/trans/cluster B/autistic/a trauma survivor/etc (which I am) partly because I like feeling special.

(Disclaimer this is not to say that discrimination and hatred based on these things does not affect me negatively. I do experience and struggle with ableism and queerphobia and other things.)

i can't believe my eyes because i genuinely thought no one else felt this way and im so relieved to know im not the only one. this is tough with my severe impulsivity too because sometimes i impulsively come out in situations where i KNOW i'm not safe just because i impulsively want attention and sympathy.

i think the problem with the whole thing surrounding "oppression points" is that most often, it's just a term pulled out by marginalized people who have fallen into the trap of respectability politics, to describe people who don't fit their worldview. for example, autistic people who i've seen shit on autigender people because "IM autistic and IIIII understand gender so why can't you". and just look at the endless cycle of exclusionism within the queer community. it's always that we "just want oppression points to be special" but the whole problem in the first place is that we've made oppression out to be something special in the first place! the online world has placed a hierarchy on who is coolest and most valuable based on how many marginalized identities they have. we've created this idea that being marginalized is "cool". sure, it can be a big part of your identity but i've met so many people online who genuinely believed they were cooler and more interesting than cishets just by virtue of having a different gender modality or sexuality and i've also met so so many cishets and guys whose mental health has genuinely plummetted because they think they are not cool because they have no or very few marginalized identities and it's like. being gay or trans or nd or disabled IS cool, but it's not what MAKES YOU COOL! no one is inherently better than anyone else based on unchangeable aspects of their identity because your morality is based on what you choose and how you act, not just who you are. i'm not saying "aw boohoo white cishets are so oppressed" because that's bullshit, but i do think it's ridiculous how much we've turned marginalization into a competition of cool points. you can have as much pride in your marginalized identity as you want but you are not morally better just by virtue of being an Oppressed Person. so that's why this whole "oppression points" thing has taken off and instead of criticizing the hierarchy of oppression-based worth and value that's contributed to it, people just blame other marginalized people for being the "wrong" kind of queer or nd. there's nothing wrong with liking having multiple marginalizations and enjoying the attention from it, it's just when it becomes, like you said, something that people take as paradigm for peoples value or "coolness" and fake stuff because they think it'll make them cooler, when it's a problem like babe no! you are not a boring person just cuz you're cis or straight or nt or abled or white or whatever you have a personality and a life and a value. if people realized that they had value outside of societal checklists and boxes, then people making fun of other marginalized people for being supposed "fakers wanting oppression points" will die down. (none of this is said to invalidate you it's just my take on the nuance of the whole 'oppression points' thing.)

[backhurtyy]

sorry if this is weird at all but i just wanted to say thank you? i followed you for other reasons but i didn't know anyone irl who (to my knowledge at least) has chronic pain, and no one i was following posted anything relating to it at all. reading through your chronic pain tags really helped me kind of just... accept that i also have chronic pain and have for a while now? in a way that just reading about it elsewhere didn't make it click for me for some reason. and it helped me move from "i'm overreacting, i'm just in pain right now for some reason and that's making everything seem worse than it is and worse than it's been, but this isn't an actual problem and i shouldn't pretend like it is" to "no this is an actual problem and i'm not overreacting or doing this for attention". anyway. nothing's really changed that much but it's kind of done wonders for dealing with it mentally and means a lot to me so. yeah. thanks for being open about it, i guess. wishing you a good time and much pain relief in the coming days <3

ohhhhhhhh anon… i am folding up this ask and putting it in my pocket 🥺🥺🥺

this was such a sweet message to receive and i am simply so emotional. you know, sometimes i get this fear when i talk about my pain or reblog a bunch of stuff about it that i’m being annoying, or that people will feel like i make it my whole personality and should just be quiet about it already. but i do it anyways because it helps me feel better, and i always hoped that maybe it helped some other people too. so knowing that it has helped you… it means a lot to me.

i know it’s very difficult to adjust to life with chronic pain— hell i’m still adjusting, and it’s been five years since this all first started for me. so i just want you to know that you are not alone, and if you ever need someone to talk to or vent to or whatever, you can come to me. i’m proud of you for realizing that you are not overreacting, and i hope you can continue to know that and hold it in your heart. you are NOT overreacting, and your pain is valid.

i wish you nothing but good vibes, and i hope that you’re able to find whatever support and care you need— if not now than someday. may your days be as pain free as possible… you got this 💖

[ID: a reaction image of a tabby cat looking at a phone with teary eyes. there are emoji hearts in various colors on the top of the picture, around the cat’s face. /End ID.]

[touchstoneaf]

Hey. PSA for all y'all ADHDers out there (especially in the US, since I understand it doesn't apply as much elsewhere)!

I just lucked into a Mini a short time ago for an extremely low price, because the person who was selling it could not find anybody to buy it because it was a manual. I haven't driven a manual in about 20 years, and I forgot how much damn fun it is. If you have an ADHD brain, it's honestly one the best activities you could possibly do. If you don't know how to drive a manual, I know it's kind of a hassle and an outlay of a lot of mental energy to learn how to.... but once you get the hang of it, it's one of the best things you'll ever do for your brain.

Not kidding. When I drive an automatic, my brain is always somewhere else. I'm barely paying attention. Not enough of my tabs are open in my brain, and so I start opening new ones to, like, write a story in my head or whatever. When I'm driving a manual there's so much to pay attention to at any given moment--whether to shift up, whether to shift down, balancing the clutch & the gas, as well as paying attention to other driving-related things like other people and such. It's enough to keep every tab in my spazzy skull open and crackling away, it lights up my entire brain like a Christmas tree... and makes me so damn satisfied and happy. It's just so much fun; some of the most FOCUSED fun I've ever had without chemical assistance.

The last time I had a manual, I didn't even know I had this brain thing going on that was so happy to be used like this, i didn't have a comparison because I had only driven manuals... and so I didn't realize why when I started driving automatics I had to have music on, and it was so tempting to mess with my phone, etc. But now I don't have to mess with my phone at all and practically all the time it stays in my pocket with no temptation, because I'm just busy with everything else and it keeps me all lit up. Seriously; try it if you haven't yet, because it's fantastic.

[cass1x1]

“  i think you’ll look quite pretty when you bleed.  ” xabian&fawn:)

@sangre i'mma be straight with you, captain, i have no idea what's going on here. or if this is even possible in canon. content warning for blood, talk of violence/murder, and implied/talk of sex stuff...

Fanalin said the words so reverently that Xabian was tempted by them. He knew he could drop into that mental state where the line between pain and pleasure became ever-thinner, where the safety of his own body could be temporarily out of his hands. He was not afraid of being cut, but in that state, he would welcome it, the cool sting of the dagger, the warmth of his own blood seeping out all over him. Maybe she would touch him like that. Xabian was not normally aroused by such things, but he knew if he left his own senses behind, he could be. The trouble was that he didn't fully trust Fanalin. Not like this. Not when she herself seemed to have left her senses behind. One of them would have to be pleasant.

"You don't think I'm pretty now?" he quipped instead. Stalling, and not well at that. But he was still feeling his way around the knot that bound his wrists together, holding his arms above his head with just enough slack to keep circulation going. So that, he supposed, blood would flow if she wanted it to. "I'm hurt."

"So vain," she answered breezily, her back still turned to him. She'd hardly looked at him since he woke up. The romantic part of him--if he had one--might think it was guilt, but he doubted it. More likely, her attention was elsewhere. On the table, where she had a number of instruments he couldn't see. Was torture in the plan? Or was it simply a matter of choosing her tool to end his life with. Xabian's long fingers felt their way along the knot. It was a simple one, but he'd need more slack to undo it, and there was nothing to pull on to lift his weight other than the hook his weight was fixed to. Very clever of her.

He needed more time, so he tried again. "Listen, if all you wanted was to doll me up, you didn't need to go through all this effort. I would've cooperated." He watched her curiously while he continued to feel around for a way to undo the knot. She froze a moment, and then turned. She didn't look torn or exhausted, as though this whole thing were some big trial to her. No, if anything, she had that spark in her eye. A certain excitement over the prospect of…whatever her plans were.

She closed the space between them, coming up so she was barely a hairsbreadth away from his bare torso. His shirt, apparently, had not featured in her plans. He felt something cold press against his navel. A blade, probably. "I do know how you like to be made to beg, Prince." He cocked an eyebrow and waited for the sting of the blade piercing him, but it didn't happen. If she were going to make her villain speech, now would be the time. But instead, she pressed harder with the flat of the blade, careful--it seemed--not to cut. Then, she stepped back, pulling it with her without so much as scratching his skin. "But that's not in the cards tonight."

Her back was to him again, as she resumed whatever preparations she had going on the table. But Xabian was no longer interested in that, for he'd discovered a sharp edge to the hook she'd tied his hands to. Wouldn't it make him seem like a dashing hero in some silly novel if he could use that to escape? It would make for quite the performance, and he did so love to put on a show.

[elegyofthemoon]

1, 5, 12 for female character ask

LETS GOOOOO also this will be under a read more because i will actually ramble forever lmao

female character asks

One of your favourite female characters?

I don't have a picture of her because she's just from a book, but Eleanor Vance from The Haunting of Hill House! I'm serious that The Haunting of Hill House really hit super hard and that it floats in my thoughts every now and then, especially because of the way Eleanor's story goes.

When we meet Eleanor, she was trapped in a shitty family situation, where no one really cared of her being, so the research she joins to go to a haunted house becomes her little getaway. I fell in love with her the moment she drove away with her sister's car and just dream of the many lives she could have lived in the many towns she'd go to visit on her way over to Hill House. And I fell in love with the romantic way that she viewed things in the house.

In the house, it felt like things were coming together. Eleanor felt precious in Theodora's gaze and attention. She was needed for the experiment, but it doesn't last long.

There's a moment in the story where Eleanor just disappears from the narrative, and the writing style becomes so bleak that I couldn't help but miss Eleanor's colorful flowery language. In that way she haunts the writing by her absence.

The ending though really got me. Nowhere else but this house did she find love, but the others were worried about how the house had been affecting Eleanor, so they try to make her drive home...and well. It doesn't end well.

"Silence lay steadily against the wood and stone of Hill House, and whatever walked there, walked alone.

5. A female villain you love?

I'd say she's more antagonist than a straight up villain? And mentally (and elsewhere) I've been raving so so much about her bUT-!

Alyssa Zaidelle from FF13-2! She doesn't start off as an antagonist when you first meet her, but later she winds up stabbing the protagonists' in the back and leading them into a trap to save her own skin.

She might actually be my fave villain just because of how often she kinda haunts my thoughts from time to time. In actuality, a lot of her motivations are so blatantly human, and it just makes me sad when a lot of people crap on her character. Like yes, I get it, but also. What else would you do in her situation?

Her story: she was one of the people that had died in the train disaster that takes place at the beginning of the game, but due to the timeline distortions in the 2nd game, she winds up alive again, with a haunting sensation throughout her new life about how she should have been dead, just like her friend, whose grave she comes and visits in game as well. She gets told by the actual villain of the game that if the protagonists fix the timeline, then she'd disappear. All her dreams of doing research and making a name for herself will vanish just like that, and no one would remember her. But the villain tells her that if she helps him continue to break the timeline, then she can stay.

She chooses to help the villain, luring the protagonists into a death trap, but of course, plot armor happens and in the end, the timeline gets fixed and she disappears ironically.

I think it sticks with me a lot because I just see a girl just trying to fight for her life -- all the years she had gained for being alive than dying on the train 10 years ago. All those dreams unfulfilled. It just makes me sad :/

12. An interesting female friendship?

The first one that came up is the friendship between Tohru, Uo, and Saki in Fruits Basket!!

tbh I don't really remember much of their friendship, but Uo (the blonde on the left) and Saki (the black hair girl on the right) are so protective of Tohru that they pretty much serve as second/third mom to Tohru after Tohru had lost her mom.

But it's a mutual friendship. The way that Tohru was a light for both Uo and Saki and offering them a place of comfort and safety and just being a welcoming person overall, that's how Uo and Saki become so fond of Tohru. It's honestly the sweetest thing to see, especially how strong the friendships remain over time, and it doesn't get overshadowed at all by the romance that happens. (I have a word to pick though about the romance with Uo and Kureno though ngl like that happened way way way too fast but okay I guess whatever. In my head Uo and Saki are together)

[tielt]

I mentioned previously to ping me the word unfollow and I'll unfollow/not interact from then; mostly because I don't pay attention to my mutuals list mostly because my follower count is depressing, but more importantly it has absolutely nothing to do with who sees my content. I wish I could turn off notes, likes and notifications everywhere because I find that it helps with my mental health and allows me to consider whatever concept medium I'm focused on and liberates the conflated audience into whatever I feel like is more correct. Anyway I just noticed someone re-follow and there are plenty of reasons to do this when I'm going through some rough patch, but if you unfollow me I will not likely know. I go by Zeta for the last few years, for my direct name as for my pen name. It's the only name that has felt correct, if anyone uses my first name I assume that they have never spoken with me before. If this is your name, I hope you don't see this as rude, I like the name but it didn't align with my person and changing names is a laborious undertaking. I use lil sometimes as I like the flick of it against my actual name.

Whoever or whatever is running a proxy on my feed, I do not consent to the corpus of my content, or as a stream being mirrored elsewhere without permission. Please feel free to use sections of my work however you like with or without my permission with the exception of treating my creative work as if it fair to run it as the feed elsewhere. This is in my opinion a behavior that is unethical and rude. On my death I give full permission to use the corpus or any part of any of my work in whatever way you choose. Zeta or Tielt are acceptable handles approved for any embedded literary content. Any literary content without a name or source posted aside is nearly certainly my work. There may be a few scraps of graphics I couldn't find the author for, I will label any graphical art I make with a handle.

[ofheavenlysin]

𝐥𝐞𝐭'𝐬 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐲. •

———————————

{ Tonight... It has to be tonight.

There was an urgency within myself, a need to do /something/. I had been fighting it off for days, but it was getting harder and harder to keep it in check. The bar was slightly crowded tonight, a huge fight was on every television and it kept the customers plenty entertained. Eyes drifted over the faces of strangers, my breath halting as I noticed a man similar to /him/.

W𝙝𝙮?

W𝙝𝙮 𝙙𝙞𝙙 𝙝𝙚 𝙝𝙖𝙫𝙚 𝙩𝙤 𝙨𝙝𝙤𝙬 𝙪𝙥 𝙖𝙩 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙗𝙖𝙧 𝙖𝙨 I 𝙬𝙖𝙨 𝙘𝙤𝙢𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙩𝙤 𝙛𝙤𝙧𝙜𝙚𝙩 𝙖𝙗𝙤𝙪𝙩 G𝙖𝙗𝙧𝙞𝙚𝙡. T𝙝𝙚 𝙖𝙨𝙨𝙝𝙤𝙡𝙚 𝙬𝙖𝙨 𝙚𝙫𝙚𝙧𝙮𝙬𝙝𝙚𝙧𝙚 I 𝙩𝙪𝙧𝙣𝙚𝙙.

My next target.

I almost felt sorry for the male, he didn't know what tonight now has in store for him. Unlucky on his part, should've kept that pretty face at home. Lucky for me, Nico wasn't around to point out the small fact that there was a certain resemblance.

Making a point to walk by his table on the way to the bar, I know his attention wavers from the television and focuses on me. I mentally counted down from fifteen, while verbally telling the bartender my order of a neat martini.

O𝙣𝙚.

I feel a soft tap on my shoulder as he slips onto the barstool next to mine. Playing with the olive in my drink, I let a few moments slip by before giving him the attention he now craved. Getting a name I won't remember in the morning, I get the pleasantries out of the way and I work my charm on him.

My palm glides onto his thigh as I'm pretending to listen to whatever he starts to drone on about, a nod of understanding here and there. Or laughing when it called for it. He flirted, soft touches to my hand or a wandering palm to my own thigh. I wasn't worried he'd feel what was concealed beneath the dress, a gartered holster fitted snugly around my upper thigh.

I waited an hour before asking him if we could continue this elsewhere, making the excuse that the loudness of the bar was blowing the mood. He agreed, suggesting we take things to his apartment nearby.

Good choice.

───────────

His body presses its weight against mine, the slick surface of his apartment's wall the only thing to keep me steady. I almost enjoy it, having a man touch and caress my body. Even if he looked like /him/. That thought caused a my fingers to dig into the male's bared back, nails drawing blood where the scratches now laid.

𝙬𝙝𝙮? 𝙬𝙝𝙮 𝙙𝙞𝙙 𝙝𝙚 𝙝𝙖𝙫𝙚 𝙩𝙤 𝙡𝙤𝙤𝙠 𝙡𝙞𝙠𝙚 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙤𝙣𝙚 𝙥𝙚𝙧𝙨𝙤𝙣 𝙞 𝙙𝙞𝙙𝙣'𝙩 𝙬𝙖𝙣𝙩 𝙩𝙤 𝙩𝙝𝙞𝙣𝙠 𝙖𝙗𝙤𝙪𝙩? 𝙜𝙚𝙩 𝙤𝙪𝙩 𝙤𝙛 𝙢𝙮 𝙝𝙚𝙖𝙙!

I turn the tables on him, palms coming around to push him backwards. Finding our way to his bedroom by his directions, I roughly push him onto the mattress and crawl into a straddle position onto his lap. My lips lift into a devious smile as his hands begin their exploration again, this time, his fingers bunching the material of my dress at the waist.

His eyes roam over the now exposed skin of my thighs, stopping only to rest on the exposed garter. I can feel his excitement beneath me, my own soaring just not in the way he expects. His tongue darts out to moisten his lips and I know I've gotten him completely under the spell I wove all night.}

R𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘺 𝘵𝘰 𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦 𝘧𝘶𝘯 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘮𝘦, 𝘴𝘸𝘦𝘦𝘵𝘴? I 𝘥𝘰 𝘭𝘰𝘷𝘦 𝘵𝘰 𝘱𝘭𝘢𝘺. I 𝘱𝘳𝘰𝘮𝘪𝘴𝘦, 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘸𝘰𝘯'𝘵 𝘩𝘶𝘳𝘵 𝘢 𝘣𝘪𝘵.

{His head tips in approval, Adam's apple bobbing ever slightly in the smallest trace of fear. Poor thing, if only he knew that I was going to be the only one having all the fun.

Digits slip around the handle of the butterfly, a quick jerk of my wrist unfolds the pristine blade from its hidden notch. I gently run the tip of the blade down his right pec, ocean orbs watching the reaction flitting across his face. A hiss lets itself loose between his lips as I dig the tip deeper, beads of blood forming and trailing down the side of his chest. I repeat the actions on the other side, the urge I felt earlier building, a small voice urging me to get to the point. }

T𝘰𝘰 𝘣𝘢𝘥 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘩𝘢𝘥 𝘵𝘰 𝘭𝘰𝘰𝘬 𝘭𝘪𝘬𝘦 𝘩𝘪𝘮. Y𝘰𝘶 𝘴𝘦𝘦, 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘧𝘢𝘤𝘦 '𝘺𝘢 𝘨𝘰𝘵, 𝘳𝘦𝘮𝘪𝘯𝘥𝘴 𝘮𝘦 𝘰𝘧 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘱𝘦𝘳𝘴𝘰𝘯 𝘸𝘩𝘰 𝘤𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘥𝘦𝘴𝘵𝘳𝘰𝘺 𝘮𝘦. D𝘦𝘴𝘵𝘳𝘰𝘺 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘺 𝘸𝘢𝘭𝘭 I'𝘷𝘦 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘣𝘶𝘪𝘭𝘵. A𝘯𝘥 I 𝘤𝘢𝘯'𝘵 𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵. I 𝘯𝘦𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘰𝘴𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘴 𝘭𝘪𝘬𝘦 I 𝘯𝘦𝘦𝘥 𝘢𝘪𝘳 𝘵𝘰 𝘣𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘵𝘩𝘦.

{Knife held in the air as I speak to the male, his eyes slowly turn from confusion to another emotion I've grown enjoy. . Fear. The smile on my lips grew as his body began it's struggles, writhing in a desperate attempt to escape the coming assault.

The blade pierced his abdomen, rending through the muscle slowly, over and over until I began to lose count. His screams echoed through the bedroom, a sound cut off quickly by running the edge over his throat. The blood sprayed across my dress and over the wall behind him, crimson offsetting the white. His struggles ceased as the life flowed from the wounds, my frame lifting from it's position to stand next to the bed.

I was free, from the urge.. the voice. Peace.

Locating his closet, I change into a pair of his sweats and a t-shirt. The bathroom came in handy, scrubbing my hands clean of any evidence of tonight's event. I wipe the blade clean on a nearby towel, leaving it with the dress I destroyed. Footfalls pad their way to the clutch I had, phone freed to send a text to the one person I knew I could trust to handle the mess. As I type the text, I leave to male's apartment without looking back, luck having it that I went unnoticed.}

I 𝐧𝐞𝐞𝐝 𝐚 𝐟𝐚𝐯𝐨𝐫. A𝐧𝐝 𝐢𝐭 𝐧𝐞𝐞𝐝𝐬 𝐭𝐨 𝐛𝐞 𝐝𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐪𝐮𝐢𝐜𝐤𝐥𝐲. I 𝐨𝐰𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮.

───────────

[shirakumos-sandwich-shop]

Requested

(@notsoholychibichan)

RBF - Resting Bitch Face

Katsuki Bakugo x Reader

Masterlist

•

You were sitting in the 1A common area, headphones on as you plugged away at your homework. A thud on the couch brought your attention to a certain seething blonde, the rest of his squad quickly taking comfort in different seats in the area. You looked back at the hedgehog hair boy to see his narrowed eyes on you before casually shifting back into work mode.

Suddenly you felt your headphones ripped off of your head, hurting your ears in the process. "I SAID WHAT THE HELL WAS THAT LOOK FOR HUH?"

Your eyes widened at his outburst, "What look? I was just sitting here, the fuck?" You turned to look at the other members of his crew while rubbing your ears.

"I think he's talking about your RBF Y/N." Mina piped up, making Bakugo direct his flaming eyes in her direction. "RBF? What the hell is that?" 

You rolled your eyes, "It's resting bitch face. It means I always look pissed, even though I was literally just sitting here, minding my business."

Bakugo's expression faltered, before he got angry again. "That's not a thing, you're just making it up."

"Why would she make something like that up Bakubro?" Kirishima attempted to intervene and descalate.

"Because she doesn't wanna admit she hates me. It's obvious she does.." His voice cracked at the end, showing he was bothered by it.

Kaminari let out a *cough* "Awkward." *cough* as everyone looked between you and the fiery boy.

You smiled as you gathered your supplies, deciding it would be a good time to study elsewhere. "I don't hate you. I'd say quite the opposite actually."

You let out a giggle as everyone's mouths dropped, taking that as your queue to walk away.

"Why does Y/N like Bakugo. He's so mean, it's not fair." Kaminari whined.

Bakugo eyes never left your retreating form as he mumbled to himself, "She likes me."

A quick shake of his head, and he directed his attention to someone else. "What did you say about me, Pikachu?! ILL KILL YOU!"

•••

"I think Bakugo is totally gonna ask you out." Mina's teasing voice made you jump in surprise.

"Geez Mina, can you not breathe down my neck? What are you even talking about?" You awkwardly shifted over so Mina could squeeze next to you on the small bench.

You were trying to enjoy the weather, sitting outside and doodling away. However, it seems the Bakusquad would forever be interrupting your life now.

"I'm just EXCITED! I've never seen Bakugou like this before. He's been whispering with Kirishima and fidgeting a lot today. I cornered Kaminari earlier and made him spill the beans, I knew he would have the juicy gossip."

"Well can you please share whatever you found out?"

"Bakugo is gonna do this large, romantic gesture. I'm talking flowers, chocolate, stuffed animals, and then BOOM! He'll profess his undying love for you, and ASK YOU OUT!!!" You felt your ears vibrate from Mina's squeals.

"Alright, alright that sounds nice and all, but I'm having trouble seeing Bakugo do that."

"Well my friend, you don't understand just how bad he has it for you! I wish I could be here when it happens." Mina let out a loud sigh and abruptly stood up.

"Wait, what? When is it happening?" You started to stand as well before Mina pushed a single finger against your forehead to keep you in place.

"It's happening….about now. YOU HAVE TO TELL ME EVERY DETAIL LATER, MKAY BYEEEEE!"

Before you could protest, Mina was gone, and in her place was Katsuki awkwardly standing in front of you. You surveyed his face and saw a tense, pinched expression staring back at you. His arms filled with a bouquet of flowers, a box of chocolates, and a large teddy bear.

"Um...hey Bakugo. What's all this for?" You mentally cursed and praised Mina for giving you a heads up. Otherwise, who knows how you would react.

"Y/N, ever since you've transferred to our class, I've really wanted to get to know you better. I've felt drawn to you since day one, your beautiful countenance, sweet laugh, adorable smile-"

Bakugo let out an awkward cough, stopping his monologue long enough to give you a chance to speak.

"Um...what?"

Bakugo stared at your face before grinding his teeth together, "Fuck that shitty hairs script, I told him it was pointless."

Your arms were suddenly filled with gifts as Bakugo plopped down next to you, his eyes closed in frustration.

"You have a bitch face." He suddenly spit out, making your eyes bulge out of your head.

"So you went from my beautiful countenance, to I have a bitch face?" You felt the urge to just get up and walk away, and it was almost like he sensed it.

"LET ME FINISH DAMN IT! please." He pleaded, his face turning red from the trainwreck this conversation had been. 

You sighed before nodding once.

"You have a bitch face….and I really like bitch faces. Specifically yours. Because I like you. Alot."

You felt your cheeks turn pink as he stumbled through the words, obviously trying to come up with an original way to confess his feelings.

"Katsuki, you're lucky I like you too. Alot."

Bakugo's eyes widened before he quickly recovered and scoffed, "Yea I know. You made it pretty obvious. So you want to go grab some food or something?"

You rolled your eyes before standing up, "I would be delighted to."

[s-brant]

Cherry Bowl (3/8)

(gif: @kiekiecarrera) (PART TWO) (PART FOUR) (SERIES MASTERLIST)

Summary: When Kie cancels their plans together, Y/N asks JJ on a date to the Cherry Bowl Drive-In. Unsure of how to navigate his first ever date, JJ seeks out advice. Unfortunately, the night doesn’t go as planned, and both parties are left shaken by miscommunication.

Word Count: 10.6k

Warnings: Smut, public sex/exhibitionism, sexual choking, angst, depictions of mental illness, post-traumatic stress disorder, and implied/referenced abuse.

A/N: Welcome back to Tokens! Slight trouble in paradise is brewing for these two lovers, so buckle up and read because it’s gonna be a rollercoster for a little while after what happens in this chapter. I hope you all like it, and if you did, feedback is very appreciated. Have fun!

"I'm just saying that oatmeal raisin is superior to chocolate chip, why is that such an egregious crime, Kie?"

The lunch room is filled to the brim with students going to town on questionably cooked frozen foods, soggy tater tots, and sugary drinks from the vending machines despite the Obama-era posters on the walls advocating for healthier school lunches that never seemed to make their way to Kildare County High. The extent of their healthy lunches extended to a serving of overcooked canned green beans served with the worst slice of doughy pizza known to human kind, so it was sort of contradictory.

Y/N sits across the table from Pope and JJ, the latter of which being the one who launched into a full-fledged debate with Kiara about which type of cookie was better.

The clear cling wrap sits, unfolded, on the table with one of her stickers neatly placed on the back of it. As consolation for his epic loss yesterday at the beach, she paid an extra .75 cents to get him it when she arrived first to their shared lunch period—one of only two class periods they have together, the other being gym. He was still in line when she peeled a surfboard sticker off of her sheet and placed it at the center of the wrapped up cookie as if to remind him of her triumph over him in the waves.

"Thanks, hot stuff," he said, voice somewhat quieter despite the fact that hardly anyone was in the cafeteria with them. Then his smile dropped into an deadpan expression as soon as he saw her choice of sticker and looked back up at her. "You're never gonna let me live that one down, are you?"

"Never in a million years. I'll be gloating about it until I'm elderly."

"That's my girl."

The sound of the constant chatter surrounding them from at least two hundred other people drowns out the memories of yesterday that threaten to haunt her when she watches him debate with Kie. The mere recollection of their night in the back of the van has her reaching to pull the collar of her cropped tee up to assure that the hickeys remain hidden on instinct, and he catches the action out of the corner of his eye. It has him fighting a smile.

Kie quips, "Maybe on another planet, but, here, I think we can all agree chocolate chip is better, right Y/N?"

Y/N's eyes widen around a forkful of mushy "green beans" at the sound of her name being said bringing her from the depths of her memories.

Usually, she's quick to jump in and give her two cents on whatever stupid back and forth they're all having, but her mind was elsewhere. Unbeknownst to Kie and Pope, she was mentally reliving every second of getting fucked in the van last night, so her attention to detail when it comes to the Chocolate Chip vs Oatmeal Raisin case isn't all too sharp.

"Uhhh," she stops for a second, looking at the half eaten chocolate chip cookie in Kie's hand, "If I say chocolate chip is better, can I get a piece of it?"

Kie's face lights up at her words, and she's already pulling off a generous chunk of the baked good to hand off to her. The sound of a certain someone whose lap Y/N's legs are outstretched onto from beneath the table scoffing distracts her from the first bite.

"I know you prefer oatmeal raisin, you traitor," JJ says.

Their brunette friend's brows scrunch.

"Why is she a traitor?"

They try to keep from making any faces or giving anything away, but Y/N has to stifle the sound of her choking on her mouthful of cookie at the question. You'd think one of them came out and asked if they were dating or something with how she reacts, and she feels JJ squeeze her ankle in a non-verbal way of telling her to hold it together. It was her idea in the first place, yet he's a lot smoother with keeping it under the radar.

Under it all, the aspect of keeping it a secret does unnerve him to a degree. He doesn't think he'd be brave enough to communicate it, especially not when their relationship remains undefined, but the darker side of his mind wonders...

He shrugs, saying, "Cause we were friends first. Duh. Other than John B, I've known her the longest."

None of them stop to acknowledge the identical aches in their hearts at the mentioning of his name. They skip right over it like it never happened. After the funeral a few days ago, they've filled their quota on mushy-gushy sad talk for the next week and a half.

The real reason is something far more complicated than him having a claim staked on her loyalty through having the longest friendship. It's something tied up in days of slowly getting pulled into one another's worlds like the tug of gravity itself, in how he has to refrain from slipping his arm around her waist in the hallway or kissing her goodbye after a sleepover at the Chateau. But until she gives him the go-ahead, he won't let it slip to anyone.

Pope speaks up from beside him, "You literally met her twenty minutes before we did."

"Still counts. Technically, I did meet her first, so her betraying Team Oatmeal Raisin is enough to be tried for treason in Pogue Court."

"Pogue Court isn't a thing."

He crosses his arms after he pops the rest of the cookie into his mouth.

"It is now. You can be tried for treason for breaking the rules. Rule number one is that all Pogues have to admit oatmeal raisin is superior."

He's about to ball up the cling wrap to throw away later when the surfboard sticker catches his attention again. It's the same color as his board, which he'd like to think is a result of her being an evil mastermind that went out to get this sticker sheet for the sole purpose of teasing him, but he's the one who got her the sheet as a gift for her birthday, so he knows it was pure coincidence.

Last second, he peels the sticker away from the cling wrap and looks down to place it over the top of her yellow converse that were once a vibrant, paler color when Big John got them for her, but have since turned into an ugly mustard/dirt-dusted color they heckle her over.

"What are the other rules?" Y/N asks.

One of the hands holding onto where her feet are casually planted in his lap, something that they've done long enough that their friends won't see it as anything odd, slides down to caress the stretch of skin beneath the frayed hem of her dark jeans. Something she didn't know about him before whatever it is they have together started was that he constantly needs to be touching her. She can't say she doesn't love it though.

Pope answers, "The oatmeal raisin rule is not official"—a pointed glance at JJ—"But I'd assume the rest of the rules of Pogue Court would be no lying and no macking."

"So, basically you two break almost every rule except the oatmeal raisin one, and I lie," JJ says and turns to look at her, "How does it feel to be better than everyone, Y/N?"

"Pretty good, not gonna lie."

He keeps caressing little circles and tracing up and down her skin beneath the flared out pant leg of her jeans while he swipes his phone off of the table top without attracting the attention of their friends, who continue on to a new topic. She isn't too focused on what it is. She only picks up that it has something to do with a class they're in that's more advanced that hers, so she promptly checks out of the conversation.

Ever since John B died, she hasn't been performing too well in school. She tries, truly tries, but her mind outright refuses to absorb any of the information. When she reads her assigned reading, she hovers over the same paragraphs over and over until she shuts the book in a huff and hides it in her backpack again. Losing someone you love has a surprising amount of side effects.

Her phone buzzing in her hand brings her away from the impending cloud of doom that often accompanies any thoughts of John B, and when she taps in her passcode, her brother's birthday, a message bubble appears with a banner displaying JJ's contact name.

JJ (Derogatory) ur a good liar. prob could've fooled me if i weren't the one macking on u

Their eyes meet for a second across the table, then he watches her thumbs move to type a response.

Kief Princess Little do they know I break every rule now that I've switched sides on the cookie debate. Kinda impressive ngl.

JJ (Derogatory) triple threat, baby

JJ (Derogatory) thanks for the cookie btw

She smiles to herself, so wrapped up in their own world that she doesn't notice everyone in the room starting to pack up their stuff in anticipation of the bell that is due to ring any second now.

Kief Princess Had to repay you for last night somehow ;)

When she glances up to see his reaction, she watches his chest rise with a particularly large inhale, and he chews on the inside of his lip in thought.

JJ (Derogatory) strategically bringing up last night so i'm turned on in physics? ur an evil mastermind

Kief Princess I try.

Kief Princess Apparently whooping your sorry ass at surfing isn't the only thing I'm good at.

She hears him scoff.

JJ (Derogatory) first of all, ouch. second, u barely beat me

Kief Princess I'm happy to challenge you to a rematch. I have plans with Kie tonight, so I can't till this weekend. All it'll prove is that I am the rightful winner, but we knew that already.

JJ (Derogatory) what r the stakes this time

Kief Princess No sexual favors. If you beat me (fat chance) I'll formally rejoin team oatmeal raisin.

JJ (Derogatory) :( sex makes it more fun but i still accept those conditions

JJ (Derogatory) team oatmeal raisin needs u, even if ur a traitor

Kief Princess Why bet sexual favors if you're just gonna fuck me after anyway?

JJ (Derogatory) good point

The sound of the bell ringing echoes through the cafeteria, and they both pop their heads up from their phone screens to see everyone, including Pope and Kie, already packed up and raising from their seats to scurry off in the direction of their next classes. Meanwhile, their stuff is all bestrewn across the table, particularly JJ's belongings.

The sight of Kie walking away makes Y/N ask after her, "We're still on for tonight, right?

She stops with Pope's hand interwoven in hers. The look on her face when she turns would make you think she got caught doing something she wasn't meant to. Something like forgetting about the plans they made last week to watch Fear Street together. The Cherry Bowl Drive-In is premiering the first two movies as a double feature for the horror movie buffs of Kildare, so they decided to get tickets. Kiara shares a fondness of horror movies with her. Since gory movies make the boys squirm, though JJ pretends they don't, it's their own thing.

"Actually, Pope and I were gonna go to the beach. I'm sorry."

JJ knows she's more upset about it than she lets on, but Y/N simply gives the pair a smile that doesn't reach the eyes.

The sound of JJ behind her makes them laugh on their way out, diffusing the minor tension lingering in the air from the awkward encounter, "Use protection!"

After their friends offer them a goodbye, they gather their stuff quite leisurely, not really caring about being late.

It's something they've talked about before here or there: her feelings surrounding Kiara and Pope's sudden relationship. It's not as if she harbors any ill feelings for them, she doesn't, but the ripple effects of their pairing on the group, and more importantly the girls' own friendship, couldn't be clearer from her perspective. Between the missed hangouts, forgotten plans, and the convenient way she never seems to have time to hang out with her and JJ unless Pope is there too, it's been building up for a month now.

What makes it sting the most is how close her and Kie used to be. They didn't hit it off immediately the way she and JJ did as children until her thirteenth birthday when no one she invited showed up to the party Big John helped her set up in the yard of the Chateau.

She was the one who rallied the boys together to walk to ask their school friends from the year above to come hang out for an hour or two, promising a slice of the wonky-looking but delicious strawberry cake her and John B spent the morning crafting together. She can remember the sound of their high-pitched laughs and the cloud of flour that hung in the kitchen when they high-fived over the finished product like it was yesterday. In her heart, it was yesterday.

That night was when she fell in love with her friends, and that was when she first knew Kiara was her best friend. They wove friendship bracelets on each other that night and wore them for years until they withered away. No one had ever done something like that for her before. Not even JJ.

"You okay?"

Feeling his hand on her arm, slipping down to take her hand for a moment in the seclusion of the empty cafeteria, makes her glance up at him with a distinct sorrow washed over her features.

You know what? Screw this. Why should she be torn up over Kie and let it ruin her excitement for the double feature tonight? There's no way in hell she's letting her best friend ditching her for her boyfriend get in the way of her plans.

"Do you wanna go on a date tonight?" she asks him abruptly, then adds, "To the Cherry Bowl with me instead of Kie?"

The question sparks a pause in his mind, a halt of hesitation in which he worries about her avoiding having to answer what he asked, but he attempts to play it cool and not fuss over her outwardly. There have been times where being treated like that has made her feel suffocated, so he doesn't want to risk it. When she's ready, she'll talk about it, and if she takes too long and buries her feelings, then he'll intervene. For now, he tries to keep his face neutral despite the frown tempting his lips at her disappointment.

JJ looks around once more before throwing his arm around her shoulder to walk her out.

"You bet your ass I do."

What is a person supposed to act like on their first date that's not actually a date cause everything between them is the same, but kinda is a date because they called it one? If you ever find out, please find JJ and tell him because he has no clue.

Pope wasn't too much help in the Instagram group chat he made for it seeing as his and Kie's relationship is too fresh, John B isn't even alive, so he's out of service for advice unless there's Ouija Board he can borrow, and, thankfully, Kiara was his savior.

Their phones began blowing up as soon as he reached his class after lunch period ended. He couldn't under any circumstances let it be known that this mystery girl he had a date with was their friend, but thankfully Y/N already had the alibi of going to the Drive-In alone. All he had to do was make up a fake date scenario and get basic advice.

danknugstickiestickies added kiara-c and popeheyward to the groupchat

danknugstickiestickies named the group HELP ME

danknugstickiestickies i have a date with this chick i met on the beach when i was out with y/n last week. i need ur advice

His phone screen lit up with the notification that both of his friends were typing, signified with the three dot symbol bouncing in the bottom left corner as he thought it through. They couldn't possibly figure it out, right? They'd been careful, he'd been respectful of her wishes, and they'd been too busy together to notice anything new with them. He figured it would work. It was a risk, sure, but it was worth it to him. He didn't want to fuck this up with her.

Knowing her, she probably wouldn’t even treat it differently than any of their other hang outs. It's not like they haven't been romantic or sexual with each other. They've done everything but go out on an actual date, so why was he nervous?

kiara-c ummmm

popeheyward Yeah, I'm gonna need you to ELABORATE!!

kiara-c did hell freeze over? since when does jj maybank go out on dates??

danknugstickiestickies renamed the group hell froze over

kiara-c very funny, I'm laughing so hard 😐

popeheyward Do we know her?

danknugstickiestickies don't think u do. she moved here last week and hasn't enrolled in school yet. her name's steph

popeheyward What about Y/N though?

kiara-c ^^

JJ's chest muscles tightened with the question prompting a rush of anxiety that made his breathing feel slightly harder. He glanced up at his Physics teacher, who was essentially dozing off behind his desk with his hand in a bag of chips and an educational video on the projector as an excuse to not teach, and looked back down at his phone without the added stress of possibly getting his phone confiscated.

Pope's message might as well have been a sucker punch. Forget butterflies, he set a wasp’s nest loose inside of his stomach to tie it into knots and flip it every which way. His neglected textbook served as a prop for his phone to lean on as he set it down to think.

Did they know? As far as he was aware, they were getting away with it. No evidence, concrete or circumstantial, was there to prove it. At least the stress of the situation killed any chance of him being turned on by her reminder of last night in their messages. This shit was boner repellant of the highest degree.

He played stupid. Better to let them volunteer whatever information they had before he went in saying anything incriminating that they didn't already know. If anything would sour the experience of their first date, it would be him accidentally making their strange in-between relationship public behind her back.

danknugstickiestickies ?? what do u mean

Three dots bounced in the bottom left corner of his slightly cracked phone screen.

popeheyward ...

kiara-c I mean, you don't see it?

danknugstickiestickies see what

popeheyward I guess we were wrong, but all of us always thought you two had some feelings going on.

"You don't say?" JJ murmured sarcastically to himself under his breath. "Never crossed my mind, Pope."

danknugstickiestickies bro that's jb's little sister

kiara-c so?

danknugstickiestickies forbidden fruit? making john b roll over in his grave? do those ring a bell or am i speaking in tongues

He was already a proficient liar in real life, but, fuck, it was easy in text messages. There's no chance at deciphering facial expression or tone, just a plain message with no room to budge. Thank God he didn't do this in person with them. He could've survived, but it wouldn't have been as quick and painless as the group chat was.

kiara-c jeez, sorry

Pope didn't voice it, but he noticed something.

He looked up from his phone and stared off at the wall in thought in his AP European History class. It piqued his interest that JJ simply said she was off limits, forbidden fruit as he put it, but did not outright deny having feelings for her. In fact, he didn't even address the question. He made excuses for why he shouldn't have feelings for her, but he never said he didn't have feelings for her.

Kie did not notice. Not because she wasn't smart enough to either, but because she was too busy hiding her phone behind her backpack to think too deeply about it. Her teacher was one of those teachers that would flip shit if they saw a cell phone turned off and faced down on the desk, let alone being used by a student during a lesson.

In his classroom across the hallway, JJ bounced his leg up and down beneath his desk in an absentminded urge to release the built up energy the anxiety produced in an over abundance.

popeheyward Our bad then. Even John B thought y'all were sus lmao.

Since when was that a known fact? Could he tell? Did he talk to Pope about him and Y/N before he died? Either way, it wasn't the time to pry about it.

kiara-c yeah you guys honestly could've fooled me if you wanted to

danknugstickiestickies well thank u, glad ur invested in our friendship but

danknugstickiestickies please help, i have no fucking clue how to act on a date and this girl is too cool for me to screw this up

That was when they finally dropped the interrogation session and started offering up tips. The best ones came from Kie, which made sense to him since women are more likely to know what other women like than two dudes who share one collective brain cell and never had real relationships.

Rule One: Be ready to pick her up five minutes early.

He wasn't ready to pick her up five minutes early. His bike broke down by the time he made it halfway down his street, so he had to push it back up the road and into the yard before setting off on foot to reach the Chateau quickly enough. And by quickly enough, it means he got there five minutes late, not early.

Rule Two: Compliment her after you get in the car.

She tossed him the keys to the Twinkie from across the hood, not giving him the chance to open the door for her, and it wasn't until they were setting off down the road that he remembered the next piece of advice he was given.

Side-eyeing her in his peripheral vision, he tried to find something to compliment her on specifically rather than the general compliments about her being pretty that she never fully believes when he says them. He was intending to say something about the skirt she had on, but when he chanced a glance over at her, she caught him and asked—

"What is it?"

Sent into panic mode, JJ blurted out instead, "I like your shoes."

He could've bashed his face against the steering wheel twenty times right then and there at the utter absence of reaction on her part for the next few uncomfortable seconds. It wasn't that it was a bad compliment. She appreciates any compliments at all...but her shoes were hidden from his view. Not to mention, they were the dirty, mustard yellow converse that the Pogues bash on a daily basis.

She laughed, lifting her leg to expose the sneaker on her right foot, and asked, "These? Dude, you roast me for these all the time. You and John B said they look like Big Bird shit on them."

The skin on the apples of his cheeks scorched hot with embarrassment, and he was never so glad that the overhead lights in the van were burnt out until that moment. He would've died on the spot if she saw him blush like that, face flushed pinker than sunburn. All he could do to save himself was murmur something about the color growing on him and keep driving in the direction of the theater with his hands white-knuckling the steering wheel he fantasized about banging his face into.

Rule Three: Insist on picking up the check.

In this case, it meant insist on buying the popcorn and drinks, and he miraculously managed to drop his wallet somewhere along the way when he ran over to the Chateau, so when he stepped up to the makeshift concession stand with her standing at his side, he felt around for his wallet in his jeans to no avail.

His thoughts echoed back to him, You gotta be fucking kidding me. Seriously? Is this actually happening right now?

"JJ, it's honestly fine," she said softly as he leaned over to search back of the Twinkie for the wallet. "We can look for it on your street right now if you want. It has your ID and stuff, you don't want a stranger to have that. We don't need to stay—"

It took all of his control to not shout it in reaction when he said, "No way. You've been waiting for this, and Kie ditched you, so I ain't ditching you too. We're staying."

His wallet could go kick rocks.

He came too far to be dragged down by the old leathery piece of shit anyway. Would he go out and search for it tirelessly the second the date ended? Hell yeah, that fucker had twenty dollars and his debit card in it, but he couldn't bear the thought of abandoning her or ruining her anticipated movie night by taking her out to search the streets with their phone flashlights for a wallet they might not find. He'd wait till the movies ended, take her home, then haul ass around the Cut searching for it after.

Thankfully, he found a couple bucks crumbled up in his front pocket while she scavenged for coins in the glove compartment, and they came up with enough to buy a water bottle and small popcorn to share together.

Rule Four: Don't have sex on the first date.

And it may sound easy enough to not act like a complete Neanderthal for the length of two movies, but the girl makes it pretty damn difficult if he's to say so himself.

That's what led him here, laying in the back of the sideways-parked Twinkie in the farthest corner of the outdoor theater with her practically on top of him. In any other instance, he wouldn't be opposed in the slightest, but with the cursed fourth rule in mind, he isn't too thrilled with the feeling of her hand rubbing up and down his thigh.

It isn't even meant to be sexual. They're constantly touching one another this way. She'll even slip her hands up under his shirt just to feel the warmth of his skin or when he asks her if she can get an itch on a part of his back he can't reach, but for some reason his brain is short circuiting right now.

The thing is, when Kie and Pope said he shouldn't do it on the first date, they meant it for his and Steph's made up circumstances, not his and Y/N's full-blown relationship without labels. When you've had sex with someone as many times as they have with each other, the hesitancy on the "first date" is nonexistent. It doesn't matter. But JJ, trying to follow the advice given to him to the letter for the sake of being the date she deserves, doesn't think about it that way.

It shouldn't be this nerve-wracking. They've been best friends since they were children, they've been flirting since they found out what basic attraction was in the first place, and they've been forming this relationship ever since John B died. Why can't he relax? Why is this so different compared to how easy it felt between them yesterday on the beach or today at lunch?

Rule Five: Be yourself.

It takes him another few moments of laying here with her before he realizes quite abruptly what went wrong in a quick flash of a thought that brings the fifth rule back to him. The problem wasn't the bike, or the weird compliment about her Big Bird sneakers, or the lost wallet.

The problem is him. The problem is that he's trying way too hard to make this something it isn't. The part about them that he adores so dearly is how they never have to try when they're together. With any other girl or guy, they'd have to fake something or act a certain way, yet when they're together, they can simply exist and everything is runs smoothly. That's not to say they don't disagree or bump heads, they do, but short of those outlier moments, it's easier than anything else they do in life.

His eyes flicker away from the screen for the first time since the movie began, which, by the way, is gruesome enough at times that he had to divert his eyes to prevent himself from seeing it happen. They land on where she lays, completely content with the night in spite of its mishaps, with her head propped up on the pillows they brought from the Chateau.

He wonders if she can tell he's acting differently. Surely she must notice. She's the type of person that typically never misses a thing, perfect for the gold hunt they went on in the summer with picking up the clues and helping her brother unravel the mystery, so maybe she noticed how flustered this date has him. Does it bother her? Does he bother her?

With a confirming glance back up at the movie to see nothing important happening, he can't fight the urge to speak anymore.

"Can I tell you something?"

His voice appearing through the darkness of the shut off van after spending the past half hour in complete silence makes her jolt at first before realizing who it was. Though she loves horror movies, she can't claim to not be affected by them. The night she falls asleep after watching one, she often finds herself compelled to turn a light on and keep her feet from dangling off the edge of the bed. It's worth the fear, though.

When she turns to look at JJ, there's a warm smile on her face. She's cuddled into his side with a hand placed casually atop his thigh, caressing with no purpose or intent, and her movement halts when the light from the movie on the projector allows her to see the expression on his face.

Anxiety has become an increasingly significant presence in his life with the recent events in mind; John B and Sarah, the four-hundred million dollars they lost out on, and dodging his father whenever he sneaks home to switch out the backpack of clothes and personal belongings he keeps at the Routledge house.

It manifests itself in jittery nerves, stomach pains, shortness of breath, and, at worst, panic attacks striking either at random or in response to a specific trigger. It's one of the few things he still tries to hide from her, and she tries not to push him too hard with opening up about it.

She abandons the movie for the time being and rolls onto her side to face him, upper body propped up on her elbow as she examines his face with downturned features.

"Of course," she says.

The words left unsaid are, "You can tell me anything. Whenever you need someone to listen, or to talk to about shit, you can tell me." He's heard her say it enough that he doesn't need to hear it now to know it's true.

There's a pause, then—

"I feel like I fucked this entire date up," he starts to ramble and cuts her off before she can think about saying what she wants to, "and I know it's okay to you. You have way too high of a tolerance for my bullshit, and I've been trying so hard to make this perfect, but all that did was screw it up."

She's left quiet for a second, taking it all in.

Maybe if he hadn't been so anxious about it, he would've realized what was wrong with his bike when he rode it home from school, or he would've noticed his wallet fall out of his pocket. The point is, he wishes he hadn't let the label attached to this freak him out so much. He isn't sure why it does, but it does.

But she doesn't do what he expects. She isn't drowning him in reassurances and, "It's okay's" because she knows he doesn't care for them much. When he, the most stubborn person she knows, apologizes for something he did, he doesn't want it to turn into the person accepting the apology coddling him.

Y/N sighs.

"Is that why you've been acting so different all night? I scared you with the whole ‘date’ thing, didn't I? It doesn't have to be a date if you don't want it to be."

What she doesn't know is that he wants it to be a date. He wants it to be a date so badly, he risked Pope and Kie finding them out for the sake of getting some proper advice on it, and now he's caught up in the same game of tug and war in his mind that always occurs when he wants to tell her the truth about his feelings for her.

Part of him doesn't understand why he doesn't outright say it. With every other girl he once showed interest in, he had no issues in letting them know he wanted them, but this is different. This isn't simply wanting someone, he thinks he's fallen for her. But whenever he says he's gonna grow a pair and tell her after all this time, he chokes. Involuntarily, he's reminded of his parents. Other than his friends saying it platonically, the only people to tell him they loved him were them, and with how they treated him, he sure as hell doesn't think that is love.

From his dad's brutal physical abuse to his mom's abandonment, he's too timid to tell her he loves her because of what could happen if she loves him back. Everyone else that has said that to him has either hurt him, died like John B did, or abandoned him.

He won't let that happen with him and Y/N. What they have, albeit undefined and codependent, is safe. It's the only thing he has left. Maybe it isn't right, and maybe he should open up about it to communicate the correct way, but somewhere in the misshapen logic of his mind, he correlates love to abandonment. And he doesn't want that to happen with her.

There are two sides of him at battle inside his mind. One side, the side that wants to do right by their relationship and actually communicate his feelings for once in his life, wants him to tell her everything. The other side, the side that responds based on the history of his past, wants him to hide it all.

"Will you be mad at me if we don't call it a date?" he asks.

She shakes her head.

The heavy sensation inside of JJ's chest nears a point of vitriolic violence against him as he starts to realize what he's doing to her, clearly letting her down, but he can't stop himself. Like a passive witness watching himself from outside of his body, the instantaneous trauma response to the sudden confrontation of his true feelings for her guides his actions without his permission. It shuts down any protest he has.

The sound of the movie fills the gap of silence between them the entire time. It’s a variety of bloodcurdling screams and disgusting sounds that would've made him gag if he weren't as distracted.

They can make out each other's faces through the darkness, but barely. It takes a flash of bright color from the film or a nearby car's lights turning on for them to fully see one another. Without the other knowing, they both put masks of calm and collected coolness on their faces despite the feelings raging beneath the surface—more so on his part than hers.

"Maybe," he says, pausing, "we should just keep things the way they've been."

As soon as the words leave his mouth, a soul-crushing amount of disappointment weighs her down. She said it was fine if he doesn't want it to be a date—and it is, she would never hold it against him—but that doesn't mean it can't hurt her. Things have been going so well, she almost thought...If tonight went well, she was thinking about no longer keeping it a secret, but if he said he wants things to stay the same, then maybe he isn't as ready for it as she is?

Meanwhile, JJ is on another page entirely.

She's embarrassed of being with you, a familiar voice in the back of his head croons. She's gonna leave just like everyone else does. If she doesn't even wanna tell your friends, why should you pretend you're dating?

The internal comments are the type that cause him to physically grimace when he's alone. Intrusive thoughts are just that: intrusive.

Sneaking into the guarded sanctuary of a person's mind, they set out to convince them the opposite of their reality. The only thing is, where most people's minds are guarded sanctuaries with walls of impregnable defense, his mind is the equivalent of a fortress blown to smithereens. The castle walls lay in rubble, the guards no where to be seen, and the path for these thoughts to slip past and straight to the vulnerability of his mind is left wide open.

In the privacy of his room, these thoughts attack him the most at night when he tries to fall asleep—when things get too quiet. With nobody around, when they get this bad there's nothing he can do except break down. It builds from the mere anxiety of attempting to force the thoughts away to full-blown panic attack mode. The more he resists them, the more aggressive they become. He'll gasp for air with tears streaming down his face, hitting his head with the heel of his hand as if that'd do something to stop his relentless mind.

But he can't afford to react in front of her, so the extent of his reaction is a subtle twitch of his face that she cannot see in the momentary darkness before the movie switches to another scene a second later. In a way, it does make the thoughts go away to have her here preventing him from spiraling alone. Having to focus on her keeps his mind away for moments at a time until the thoughts ease their grip on him.

When she hasn't answered for a while, he asks, terrified that he did something bad, "Are we good?"

The question seems to wake her up, snapping her out of the lonely direction her thoughts went into when he "rejected" her. It takes every bit of common sense she has left to force herself to understand that this doesn't mean he doesn't want her. He does, and not calling this a date doesn't mean they won't be together in the way they have been since John B's death, but she isn't perfect. She gets as unsure and insecure as he does.

As if the cloud of doom was lifted off of her, she makes her face lighten where she lays on her side next to him. Seeing this expression makes his chest feel less heavy, and he could let out a sigh of relief at the realization that he didn't break her heart and stomp on it. He should've known. Y/N is the sweetest person he knows, so she never would've flipped shit over him not wanting to label this as a date. That's not how she is.

And he's partly right. It isn't how she is. She would never hold it against him if he didn't want something further with her since she got herself into this position by pursuing him with his reputation with girls in mind, but she can't ignore it. Whether she wants it to or not, it had its affect on her as soon as he said it.

She leans in to kiss him, their lips meeting in the middle with the faint taste of popcorn salt mingling at the soft peck.

When she pulls away, she brushes the hair back from his face and says, "Don't worry. Nothing can change how I feel about you."

She has no clue what it feels like to hear that from her.

Despite the turmoil they unknowingly share beneath the surface due to this conversation, he could cry hearing her say it. It doesn't feel real to him that she feels the same way he does about her, because nothing could change how he feels about her either. That’s why he manages to work up the courage to repeat it back to her, and, for now, this is the closest he's physically capable of coming to telling her the truth.

"Ditto," he says.

It isn't what she wanted, but it's close enough, and if she dwells on this any longer, she might start getting too emotional and let the urge to tear up become too strong. Why does she have to be this sensitive? It's no secret that it's remarkably easy to make her cry, but this is insane to her. When all of this began with him, she didn't give a shit about him not wanting a label. She understood him, and she understood that he doesn't do this kind of thing, so why has it changed? Why doesn't she want to keep it a secret anymore? Why does she want this to be a date when she knows he doesn't want it to be?

Pulled by an invisible string back to him to silence her mind, she leans in to kiss him again with a hand cupping the back of his neck to guide him the rest of the way to her.

It shouldn't be laced with any sexual intention. She should be kissing him simply because she wants to, and, in a way, she is. Their kisses and touches are never lacking the motivation that is their underlying connection and mutual feelings for one another, but this is not the same. As he kisses her back with as much confidence and passion as always, she is reeling from the conversation that reminded her too much of a breakup.

It takes another minute of this for the kiss to heat up, their breathing becoming shallower in the moments they part to inhale, and she is undeniably the one instigating when she officially crosses the line between casual and sexual by crawling onto his lap. It's not hard for him to pick up on when their innocent moments take a turn. She's easy to read in that regard, and this has happened a multitude of times with them, so the shift of a mini make out session turning into something more is nothing out of the ordinary for them.

If he knew how shaken she is on the inside, he'd never want this. And the same would go for her if she knew what he was thinking before this. Neither of them wants to admit what they're feeling.

With her legs seated on either side of his hips, she kisses him like it's the last time she'll ever get the opportunity to. Her hands wander wherever they can, pulling at his shirt and feeling him up as his hands guide her hips to move against his in a steady grinding that she has no issue partaking in. It's an eagerness he hasn't seen from her in weeks. She's never un-excited when it comes to being physical with him either, but this is another level. The last time a girl was all over him like this, it was desperate touron at a party a few months ago.

In the span of time it takes her to glance over her shoulder to see if anyone could see them and reach to pull her skirt up until it bunches around her hips—no one can see them, by the way, since they got here late and were forced to cram the van into the back corner of the lot with no street lights illuminating the path—his brows raise at her presumptuous behavior. Not that he's one to complain, however, seeing as he's typically the one doing what she is.

Their next kiss clashes their teeth hard enough to make them wince, but he loves it. It makes him smirk into her parted mouth, alive with both the feeling her reassurance provided and the fuzzy-headed high that often finds him when they're together in this way. Incomparable to past flings or the high related to any drugs, she is the peak of everything to him. It's no contest.

His chest stutters against hers with a bout of amused laughter, asking within a brief pause in what feels like the most JJ thing he's said this awkward night, "Two for two in the Twinkie. What's gotten into you?"

Y/N's hand dips between where their bodies move together to unclasp the closed buckle of his belt in one smooth motion that has it falling apart with a clinking noise.

Her features are set with a look that tells him she means business. Whatever it is that sparked this, he wonders how the fuck to make it happen again another time. She's begged for it before, but never taken control so dominantly, and he can't deny what the role reversal does to him. The evidence is obvious in the distinct hardness she feels pressing up against the hand undoing his jeans.

"I was hoping it'd be you," she says, voice breathless and airy from the constant contact in a way that makes it ten times hotter for him.

If there were any chance of him not being in the mood prior to this, which wasn't the case anyway, it's gone now. He never wants to hear her say she doesn't deliberately try to tease him ever again.

He doesn't need to be told twice.

JJ surges forward to capture her mouth with his, this time with no intention of pulling away to breathe or speak again. No, he'll let himself get lightheaded and dizzy if it means he can stay with her for as long as possible.

With the circumstances of it all, them being visible to someone if they happened to pass by the open door of the van, they move at a pace quicker than usual. She's immediately helping him shimmy his jeans and underwear far enough down his hips to free his dick from the confines of his clothes, making him sigh out a breath of relief when her hand brushes against him in the process.

There's no opportunity to slow down, it has exploded into a full-throttle speed race that neither of them can halt.

His hand blindly flies out beside him to grope the floor of the van for the set of keys he tossed carelessly to the side once the movie started, eyes shut in the midst of the hot, messy kiss they share. His fingers find the fabric of one of the blankets they brought in case they got cold, then drifts again and lands on her Big Bird sneakers until he feels the sharp metal of her keys meet his calloused palm.

After the events of last summer, she bought a switch blade to keep on her key ring alongside the keys to the van, HMS Pogue, and Chateau. She may not like violence or weapons, seeing as she was a skeptic of JJ keeping the gun alongside her friends, but she saw it necessary. Between Rafe, Topper, and Kelce, how could she leave the safety of her and her friends up to chance knowing what some of the kooks did to them not long ago? What happened to Pope on the golf course alone was enough to make her skin crawl.

Right now, though, the knife flips out from the pressure of his thumb pushing the button to release it. He holds it out away from her at first to assure it doesn't nick her in the process, then uses his other hand to tug the side of her panties that hugs her hip far out enough to press the sharp side of the blade onto the inside of it.

She can hardly believe what she's watching as JJ cuts the delicate maroon underthings from her body as if he were doing something so normal, like it's something he's done before. Her forehead is pressed against his, her mouth parted both in shock and in a need to pant for oxygen, and she watches the knife ruin her favorite panties. The stitches come apart with a satisfying ripping noise that can hardly be heard over the sound of people reacting to the movie in the background.

Other customers of the Cherry Bowl Drive-In are too glued to the screen as a beloved character is chased down, reacting in shouts when she's seized by the killer and shoved onto the table of an industrial bread slicer, so they remain wholly unnoticed.

The lace, now ripped in half, dangles on the tip of the knife when he lifts it away from her, tosses it aside, and presses the button once more to retract the blade. It clatters to the floor, but is in no way forgotten with them resuming in a desperation to keep going until they both satisfy the need clawing at them from the inside. But her sense of need is different from his, and even with the fresh memory of him with the switch blade in mind, she's still somewhere else the whole time.

Her mind is faraway, muted through layers of sadness, anger, and disappointment as he reaches between them to line himself up to her entrance. The sensation of him running his cock, hard and messy with a few drops of precome, through her dripping pussy to coat it in her slick arousal is enough to make her moan pathetically. Yet when he's about to guide himself inside of her, she stops him.

"Wait, wait, wait," she breathes out rapidly, heart pounding so hard she can feel herself pulsating between her thighs, "Condom."

They were so antsy to get to it, they almost forgot.

"Fuck," he curses under his breath, and his eyes flicker from where they were trained between their bodies to glance back and forth around the van before it hits him. "I lost my wallet..."

But right when he thinks their public rendezvous in the back of the Drive-In is over due to his unfortunate mistake, she shakes her head and slips away from her perch astride his lap to crawl over to her bag.

She fumbles with the old tote bag and plunges her arm in to sift through the hodge podge of things that are purely Y/N in nature—stickers, glitter pens, a half-eaten bag of candy, etc—for the square foil package she decided to toss in before she left just in case. She usually doesn't keep them on her because he never fails to have one, but, thankfully, she had the random instinct to bring it tonight.

The only thing to bring her out of her cloudy, malevolent storm of feelings when she settles back onto his lap with the condom wrapper ripped open for him is him saying, "So you planned this, huh?" with his mouth tipped in a familiar self-satisfied grin.

She didn't plan it. In fact, she threw herself at him the second she sensed him withdrawing from her and can't stop herself despite the fact that she constantly feels two seconds away from letting a tear slip down her cheek. If that counts as "planning it", then sure.

"Maybe so," she answers, cool, calm, and collected—the antithesis of the truth.

They usually don't lie to each other.

They're thrown right back into it without any other hiccups once he rolls the condom on, and he takes in a shaky breath at her hand wrapping around him to align their bodies up. Before she can do anything, though, he takes chance to swipe the blanket he found a moment ago and wrap it around her back to keep her covered in case they get caught.

Y/N sinks down onto his cock with her lip caught between her teeth to stifle the sound that threatens to escape. JJ, on the other hand, doesn't bother concealing the sound of the groan he makes at the sensation of having her wrapped around him like this. The tension in her entire body from the anticipation and the looming threat of being seen by someone has her squeezing him so tightly, he can't help but be a little louder than he should.

Her soft palm slaps over his mouth with enough pressure to force his groan to quiet itself, and she watches his pretty blue eyes widen in reaction to the dominant action. Who is this girl and what has she done with his sweet, submissive Y/N? Don't get him wrong, he is very turned on by it, but it's unlike her to take the lead this way. He can't figure it out.

"What's wrong, angel?" she asks in a whisper into his ear, her hand over his mouth and her hips starting to slowly rock against him, "Watch the movie."

Once the words leave her mouth, she drops her hand, just in case he wants to stop and can't say anything because she had his mouth covered, and JJ is pretty sure he's died and gone to heaven.

He doesn't watch the movie, not at all, because he's too busy watching her. For someone losing their mind internally, she does not let it show, nor does she let it distract her from what's happening. If anything, the distraction in this situation is the sex, not what's going on inside of her head.

There's a moment of adjustment and going as slowly and gently as possible while waiting for the dull pressure of feeling him inside of her to fade away, but, for the most part, she doesn't waste any time. As soon as she feels comfortable enough with the ache between her thighs giving way to a spark of pleasure when she grinds her clit down on his pubic bone, she starts to ride him at a better pace than the initial slow movements of her hips.

She raises herself up and takes him again inch by inch, enjoying the sense of fullness she gets from having to fit him in spite of the slight discomfort at first, and she could swear that he'll leave bruises in the shape of his handprints with how tightly he clutches her hips. It's all he can do to prevent himself from moaning or saying something, ever the vocal lover she's come to know.

Unless his mouth is preoccupied like it was on the beach yesterday afternoon, JJ is usually impossible to shut up, especially in this context. With him always whispering dirty things to her, whether it be praises, pet names, or plans on what he wants to do to her, she has come to find it breathtakingly hot. He could likely get away with saying something if he wanted to, but he isn't sure he wants to risk it. If he opens his mouth to spew something filthy to her, he won't trust himself not to make a louder, different kind of noise that won't fit in the with background audio the other moviegoers are listening to.

The wet sound of their bodies colliding that fills the space of the van is drowned out by the loud and violent sequence occurring on the screen far ahead of them, and hearing it makes her bounce herself on him a little harder. She's fueled on by it all, and, strangely, what happened before she practically pounced on him is the main contributor.

Similarly to the nature of his intrusive thoughts, the harder she resists the memory of how it felt when he told her he didn't want this to be a date, the more forceful it is in its return. Her eyes trail down to watch where they connect with her forehead pressed to his, then she's thrown back into the feeling of helpless disappointment and insecurity. His head tips back against the window with his bottom lip dropped open and his brows furrowed just enough to create a crease on his forehead, and she's bombarded with the look of relief on his face when he realized he didn't have to be tied down to her with a label.

It makes her want to get rougher, harder, and she doesn't even care if it'll make her sore later on. She presses herself down so far every time she slides down on his cock, her teeth draw blood on her lip with how hard she must bite it to remain quiet. The pain of her hipbones rubbing against his doesn't even matter to either of them at this point. They're both too lost in the pleasure that has begun to take control of them to care about something as minuscule as that, or the burn in her thighs from the repetitive physical strain.

She grabs his wrist and brings his hand between them, flattening hers overtop of it and pressing down on the base of her abdomen in the midst of the increasingly feverish thrusts.

"Feel you here," she murmurs to him through a quiet moan, hoping he can hear it over the movie, and pushes down on his hand for emphasis. And if the way he reacts by cursing under his breath tells her anything, it's that he picked up on it. "JJ..."

He reaches out to grab her by the throat with his free hand and tug her forward to kiss him, as if something inside of him snapped in response to her doing that. The motions of her jolting up and down throws the already messy and uncoordinated kiss off-kilter, but they don't mind. It has them separating every time she lifts up, producing this heady little head rush from from them breathing in each other's air without actually letting their mouths meet in the middle.

Though they're trying their hardest not to alert anyone outside of what's happening, it didn't occur to him until now, when his eyes catch John B's old bandana swinging back and forth where it's secured around the rear view mirror.

They're worried about moaning while the entire fucking Twinkie is rocking with their movements. Well, at least it makes good use of the corny sticker he gifted John B last year as a gag gift. He tried to peel it off after JJ snuck it onto the side window to no avail. So, now Y/N is stuck with a sticker on her car reading, "If the van's a-rockin', come on in, we like orgies," rather than the more common phrase.

It almost makes him start laughing, and he prays no one takes that shit seriously, 'cause he is never intent on sharing this breathtaking girl. Ever.

Y/N isn't anywhere near laughing like he is, in fact, she's finding it difficult to keep herself together. She feels her eyes sting with the promise of tears, and she's never felt so pathetic before. Is she seriously about to cry during sex? Is she really that girl that is so ill-equipped to handle rejection, she can't get through it without tears?

She won't cry. Perhaps if he sees how glossy her eyes have become in a rare moment of good lighting, she can blame it on the hand around her throat putting pressure on the sides of her neck.

The worst part about her being near to crying is the timing of it.

The emotion of what she feels mentally mixes with the swirling, building sensation she feels in the pit of her stomach that tells her she's close to going over the edge, and it's so overwhelming. Was she imagining that their friendship had changed? More importantly, is this all she'll ever be to him? Sex is the only thing she's sure of with him, it's the only thing that doesn't require deeper emotions, and when the ground beneath their fragile relationship felt shaky...

He can feel her starting to unravel, and he knows that he'll come before she does if he doesn't do anything now, so he decides to take control.

JJ pulls the hand he had resting on her abdomen away as though he were burned by it, wrapping his arm around her waist to steady her body against his and using the hand around her neck for leverage to thrust up into her, effectively reducing her to a teary-eyed, moaning mess atop him. They both stopped caring about making noise the second he began to fuck her like this.

She cries out in ecstasy at the sudden change in pace and depth that has him hitting all the right places. Every time he thrusts up into her, just as rough as she wished for, the tip of his cock nudges into that perfect spot inside of her that makes her incapable of silencing her moans. This time, it's JJ that puts his hand over her mouth, letting the one he had around her neck move away to keep her from alerting everyone around them of what's happening.

There's nothing she can do to stop her climax as it barrels through her in its initial sweeping wave of bliss to contrast the venomous doubts in her mind. She's never felt such conflicting, yet powerful feelings before—the intensity of the physical pleasure that makes her whine into the palm of his hand, then the part of her mind replaying every word he said in their conversation before this.

Her body is rigid and tense through it all, squeezing down around his cock with the involuntary spasms of her orgasm, and he can't help himself anymore. All it takes are a few more frantic thrusts for him to bury himself inside of her one last time and spill into the condom, uncovering her mouth so he can drown out his own groans into a kiss.

Their skin sticks to their clothes on the inside with sweat from the exertion of their actions, and he can feel her stomach tremble where it presses up against his with each undulation of her hips that meet his as he rides it out.

But even with the added distraction of the sex, she can't rid herself of the feeling that started plaguing her as soon as things went awry. That was why he was acting weird all night. He must have been so worried about her thinking this was anything more than their typical hangouts that he couldn't bring himself to act normally.

She forces herself to look happy when they pull away from the kiss, panting, and JJ, unaware of what she's been thinking, doesn't notice the small deception.

Tag list: @gabiatthedisco

[weirdthingsphanniessay]

Some thoughts on Dystopia Daily aka Dan's Last Attempt At YouTube.

"[Dystopia Daily] may not be daily" - Weird but ok.

"I am finally just gonna give the people and the algorithm what they ask for"; "I am here to create some fucking content (...) my way" - So which one is it, their way or your way?

"I would like to open each episode of "Dystopia Daily" with a monologue about the times that we live in. Something topical, personal, controversial, sexual maybe, I dunno, whatever." - So which one is it, rambling about the world or rambling about yourself?

"I dunno what I wanna do with my life because I don't know what I want." - You're a rich 31-year-old man, not a helpless teenager. Get off the internet, get intensive therapy, and get yourself together. Find hobbies and a job that actually fulfil you.

"More attention? God, please no." - Why are you still a public internet personality then?

"Money? Yeah, I've been ruined by stupid leftist YouTubers and Twitter accounts. And now I'm some bloody, low-key socialist that can't live without the guilt." - Get off the internet, leave your bubble, and use that money you feel guilty about to do good in the world.

"Is it just sex?" - Your sex jokes stopped being funny 5 years ago. Stop.

"after having my dreams disintegrated by an uncaring corporate cog in the machine, and thusly relearning how to be cripplingly depressed for a while after I literally wrote the book about looking after your mental health..." - You had to face rejection. Welcome to life. You're also a hypocrite, cool.

"The problem with everything I aspire to do with my life off social media is it has to be on someone else's terms, and their timeline" - Again, welcome to life you privileged dumbass. Do you think you're the first and only person ever who faces challenges and has to make compromises with other people and still gets disappointed every now and then? Who do you think you are?

"Every day, I am tempted to just go live in the woods, but you keep asking me to come back, trapping me in this liminal hell where I can neither fully follow my dreams or just frolic in the forest and finally be free." - Don't shift the responsibility. Go live in the woods if you want to, no one's trapping you. Stop acting like a martyr. Your fans will be fine.

"What I wanna know is what happens after [burning out]?" You either (1) quit for good, (2) reinvent yourself and your act, or (3) continue to spiral while the world is watching. I can think of several Youtuber examples for each option, and right now it looks like you're on the way to #3.

"I have developed a total phobia of social media, which as someone who is reliant on two apps to live is a bit of a fuckin' problem."; "I feel like I cannot tweet without…"; "On Instagram, my problem is…"; "I really dunno where to go from here" - Get help for your social media addiction and get off the internet.

"I am afraid to upload anything unless it's a fuckin' feature film"; "I have somehow pushed myself into a corner where I can't create a clip unless I got some kind of bomb to drop or trauma to mine for content."; "I care way too much about what people think and what it all means." - It means you need to grow thicker skin or get off the internet and get a job where you aren't exposing yourself to millions of people.

"have I just let various paranoias mutate unchecked and trap me in a prison of my own toxic thoughts?" - Probably.

"I am in terminally online rehabilitation, just trying to learn to shitpost again and find some serotonin somewhere. So this show here is a immersion therapy." - No, you should definitely try to find serotonin elsewhere. Offline. Actual therapy, and hobbies and work that have nothing to do with the internet.

"They say the best way to face your fears is head on. So I am here and I'm queer and I am just gonna force myself through the tears."; "I just wanna show the world and show you that even when every part of you is screaming not to do something, sometimes, you should just go for it" - Sometimes, the fear you feel is there for a reason and you should listen to it because it's trying to protect you. Again, stop being a martyr.

"[We're All Doomed]'s a show I made to just give me something to head towards to save my own life" - If this isn't a cry for help, I don't know what is.

[bookofmirth]

Fandom! Just curious...like wouldn't SJM be aware of the fandom chaos? Even in some form? Maybe I'm just a bit anal and obsessive but when/if I publish a book I'd look into what my fans are thinking and if things got this bad release a statement or something. Am I just not that intune with what the publishing/author things are like? Or am I just more anti sjm than I originally thought I was. Because this is not okay and no one is holding these people, whatever ship they are, responsible.

No, I really doubt she knows. And personally, I don't think it's her responsibility. We built this mess, we are the ones behaving and reacting this way. It's ours to clean up.

Sorry, I get on my soapbox a bit here re: the acotar fandom.

From what I know, sjm intentionally keeps herself out of any sort of internet discussion. In one of her most recent events, she said that she doesn't even have any social media apps on her phone, and just uses it to play solitaire or something like that. And I think that Steph said she doesn't tell Sarah about any of it because of her mental health. There is 0 reason for her to need to know that people were joking about kidnapping her kid or her husband choking. The fandom is such a clusterfuck right now, that how would she be able to see through the noise to the actual, useful information, not to mention how could she engage with it?

I think there are some good reasons for this - I can't even imagine how I would react to seeing an entire anti community dedicated to me and my work. A lot of the criticism or discussion online is... suspect, at best. What good would it do her to read someone's headcanon? Or someone's completely subjective analysis of a scene? That's also tricky territory because authors aren't supposed to see any written fan work stuff, or they could be accused of taking ideas from people. I'd also rather she not know because I don't want fan service books. I want the organic story she wants to tell.

Also, fandom is a completely separate monster that the books, the publisher, and sjm did not create. Our behaviors are our responsibility. It's like the Wild West out here and some of us are taking full advantage to be assholes they always aspired to be. But there is no Fandom Police, which in cases like yesterday, kinda sucks.

I understand the desire to want sjm to make a statement. When Steph was getting a raft of shit for not shipping elriel anymore, I thought that surely Sarah would say something. I thought now this is personal, so she should get involved. But the thing is - and this is why I often choose not to reblog things with negative content - her response would also give that behavior a larger platform and more attention. And for someone with sjm's following? It would be 1000000% times worse.

And honestly? Even if she did say something, then people would just cry "death of the author" (inaccurately, might I add) and continue doing whatever they want to do. There is a fundamental lack of respect for other people that these behaviors indicate, and Mommy Sarah coming out and chiding everyone isn't going to make it better. People need to be held accountable, but it so quickly spirals into deflection, defensiveness, and then rerouting the conversation to insult OP, that what's the point? Sometimes I want to hold people accountable, but at the end of the day, that's not my job or responsibility, and all I can do is control my own actions.

My advice is to just be vigilant with who you do and don't follow, freely use the block button, and don't go into spaces that you know aren't safe. Right now, that's almost all of Twitter, and from what I hear, BookTok isn't that great either. I stick to tumblr, I have tags blocked, and I have about 40-50 fandom-related blogs blocked.

Unfortunately - and this is what makes all of this even worse - the fandom is proving itself to be very unsafe for people of color, and that's disgusting to me. It's disgusting and embarrassing and makes me want to peace out when people are just here trying to have fun, and a woman of color who rightfully calls out disgusting behavior is then subjected to something 1000% worse, essentially derailing the conversation away from the actual problem - racism, sexism, homophobia, and ableism in the fandom - and turning the discussion into tone policing.

And that is what happened yesterday. Instead of reflecting and saying "wow, this fandom is doing shitty, racist, ableist things", the discussion turned into "omg why is OP calling people out, OP thinks she's so smart, OP needs to say these things differently, OP should be nicer", etc. etc. But that means WE NEVER END UP ACTUALLY CRITIQUING THE ORIGINAL PROBLEM OF RACISM, SEXISM ETC. IN THE FANDOM. The entire discussion gets skewed elsewhere and we are right back where we started. With people being problematic assholes, and others being afraid to say anything about it.

(The way those phrases have been used as weapons in ship wars is a separate issue.)

I know I went way beyond your original question, but I think that as a fandom, we have way more responsibility for our own actions than Sarah does for calling them out. And I am putting this in all the tags because I think everyone needs to see it.