#And I am now certain that I have never read any of the pop-ups for this career

[robbybirdy]

Completecy Challenge: Gen 2 - 🌸Blake & Blossom 🌸Chapter 57. Casper's first case

A woman calls me. How she got my phone I will never know. But I do know that she is my first client. “I am Brianne Caron,” the woman says. 

She looks at me with a very serious face and tells me “I think that Chuck Hobble is trying to hack into the public library’s database. And as the Defender of the Public Libraries in Appolosa Plains, I want to hire you to find evidence to put a stop to his wrongdoings.”

I wait until the dead of night to get the evidence that I may need. I look in both his mailbox and his trash can and find the evidence that Brianne needs. Now I just need to report the findings. 

We agreed to meet outside of City Hall. I handed her the evidence (receipts from the library haking software, and a modem that was specifically designed for the library database infiltration)  that she would need to hand over to the police to give Chuck Hobble the just desserts he deserves. 

And with that, my first case for Casper the Friendly Detective was finished.

[prettyboyeddiemunson]

what’s your favorite scary movie?

summary: porn star eddie is doing a halloween film with his costar, one that involves a certain mask.

pairing: porn star eddie x porn star reader

word count: 5.9k

warnings: being filmed, daddy kink, use of a realistic plastic knife (nothing weird with it, though), unprotected sex, creampies, choking, brief oral sex (m & f receiving), mentions of anal, breast play, anal fingering (f receiving), degradation, rough sex, kinda dubcon

a/n: im aware halloween is over, but its always Halloween in my mind! also, sorry if anything like this has been done. I just returned to tumblr, and haven’t read many fics here in like 8-9 months.

18+ ONLY. minors do not interact or follow, or you’re getting blocked.

————————————-

Ring! Ring!

The phone next to you was ringing its familiar ringtone, and you looked at it with an eye roll. Unknown number, typical. You were acting the part of someone who didn’t like spam calls, but you hated them just as much in real life, too. You turned your attention back to the TV, ready to forget all about it and delete any voice mail they may leave, when it began to ring again. The same number popped up, and you killed the call. They called again, and again, and after the fifth time, you’d finally had enough.

“What do you want?” you asked irritably.

“y/n,” a deep voice came over the phone. “How nice to catch you.”

“Who is this?” you asked. 

“That doesn’t matter,” he said, and you could hear a grin in his voice. “I was lonely, and thought I would give you a call.”

“Very funny,” you said. “Tell me who you are.”

“What’s the fun of that?” he asked. “Isn’t mystery supposed to be more fun?”

“Is it?” you asked. “You’re probably just someone I know, trying to play some kind of weird joke.”

“Am i?” he asked. “I don’t think I know you at all.”

“Then how did you know my name and my number?” you asked. “Answer me that.”

“Maybe I have my own methods,” he said. “Ever think of that?”

“Ha ha,” you said with an eye roll. You hung up, but the same number called again and you picked up. “Yes?”

“That wasn’t very wise of you,” he said dangerously. “You didn’t even let me ask my questions.”

“They’re probably something really fucking gross,” you said. “I’m not in the mood.”

“Now, now,” he said, tsking. “What do you take me for?”

“A pervert,” you said.

“You’re right,” he said with a dramatic sigh. “But that isn’t why I’m calling you.”

“No?” you asked with a chuckle. “Coulda fooled me.” 

“What’s your favorite scary movie?” he asked, and you could almost hear the grin in his voice.

“What the fuck?” you asked, sitting up on the couch. “What kind of question is that?”

“Are you going to answer it?”

“No, now goodbye–”

“Hang up again, and you’ll regret it.”

The threatening tone of his voice gave you pause. “Who is this?”

“What’s your favorite scary movie?” he asked again.

“Whatever,” you said, and dared to hang up. It didn’t last long until he called again, and you rolled your eyes as you answered. “What?!”

“I’m sorry for disturbing you,” he said. “I just wanted to talk to you.”

“I’m not gonna entertain you,” you said. “You’re a fucking creep.”

“Just answer my question and I’ll leave you alone,” he said.

“Fine,” you said with a sigh. “I really like Psycho, Halloween, Friday the 13th, The Exorcist.”

“I know you like Friday the 13th,” he said, and he laughed evilly on the other end. “I can see that you’re watching it right now.”

You froze, sitting bolt upright. “What did you just say?”

“Never mind that,” he said. “Do you have a boyfriend?”

“No..” you answered automatically, looking around the darkness of your windows for any signs of life. “How do you know what I’m watching…?”

“Just a guess,” he said.

You got up and turned on all the lights, looking around again to see if you could spot someone. “Look, I need to go–”

“Don’t hang up,” he nearly shouted.

“Look, this isn’t funny or cute anymore,” you said. “I’m really uncomfortable, so if you could please–”

“You look really sexy in your pretty lingerie,” he said. “I mean, I think that’s what it is. You’re wearing that pretty pink babydoll with a thong. You like to tease people, y/n? That isn’t very nice.”

“Fuck you, creep,” you said.

“You didn’t ask what my favorite scary movie is,” he said.

“I don’t care!” you cried. “Leave me alone!”

“It’s The Strangers,” he said, and you could swear his voice sounded different now. More echo, closer somehow. “You know, that movie where those people break into that house.”

“I’m–” you began, and your back collided with someone as you backed away. 

You played the part of terrified really well, and you could see the cameraman giving you a thumbs up as you kept the facade. You turned around slowly, shouting in surprise when you came face to face with a man in a mask. He was in all black, and the rest of his mask was black as well, except for the face. It looked like a ghost, its mouth agape in some kind of eternal shock. In his hand was a knife, but you knew it wasn’t a real one. It was plastic that was made to look like the real deal, something the director found at a joke shop for a little bit of nothing. You shrieked and tried to run away, but he grabbed you and held you against his back as he stroked your hair in a near-loving gesture.

“Shh,” he said in your ear, trailing the knife down your arm. “It’s okay. I’m not here to hurt you.”

“Could have fooled me,” you said, feeling yourself already starting to get wet as you felt him hardening against your ass. “Why are you here, then?”

“I was hoping maybe I’d get lucky,” he purred, moving the knife between your breasts as you shivered. “You’re so much hotter up close.”

“And what do YOU look like under that thing?” you asked, your voice conveying the whole “stall him” vibe that the director wanted you to go for. “It’s not really fair that you see me and I can’t see you. If you’re really not gonna hurt me, then why won’t you show me?”

“I’ll show you,” he said, and you could hear the smirk in his voice. “If you do one thing for me.”

“What?” you asked, turning your head so that you could look at him slightly. 

“Show me those pretty, perfect tits,” he said in your ear, running the knife between them again. “Outside of that baby doll.”

“And what would you do for me in return?” you asked, turning around in his grip and looking into that mask. “Let me live?”

“Maybe,” he said, looking you up and down. “But first, I’ll just show you my face if you do. Let’s start there, yeah?”

You smirked at him, lowering the thin straps of the baby doll and biting your lip. “You’re probably some total asshole under there. I mean, who calls random women at nine on a Friday night, stalks them, then breaks into their house?”

“Keep going,” he said, his eyes on your breasts. “Show me.”

“You’re a real pervert, you know that?” you said.

“And look what you’re doing,” he said smugly. “Giving into me.”

“You came here to kill me,” you said. “I know that to be true, but it seems like you changed your mind. Why?”

“Because why would I waste such a good set of tits?” he asked. “And I know that pussy of yours is also perfect.”

You swallowed, but smirked as you pulled the baby doll down. You exposed your breasts to him, and heard him suck in a breath. That wasn’t scripted; it was his genuine reaction. You bit your lip again, smiling as you stood before him. He took the knife and dragged it over one erect nipple, causing you to shiver and moan slightly. That also wasn’t scripted or an act, and you knew that whatever happened from this point onward, it was going to be genuine. Well, aside from the basic acts they wanted you to perform on each other, but the reactions? It would be all you, and him. 

“Like what you see?” you asked, shaking them a bit as he groaned.

“Fuck yes,” he said, his ringed hands coming up to grope them. You moaned a little, head tipping slightly as he massaged them in his hands. “I guess I need to hold up my end of the bargain, too, huh?”

“Mmm hmm,” you said, mewling as he gave your nipples a soft pinch. “Shit…”

He stepped back, and you whined at the loss of contact. He lifted the mask with one hand, revealing his face underneath. You acted as though you were surprised to see just how sexy he really was, and his pierced tongue came out between his lips with a devils-horn gesture at the top of his head. You smiled, moving closer to him and running your hands down his chest as he looked you up and down again. Soon, he was grabbing your head forcefully, and drawing your lips to his in a passionate, hard kiss. It turned sloppy, your hands wandering and his, too, finding purchase on your hips as he squeezed. Your tongue played with his piercing, and you could feel the presence of the cameraman in front of you both as you made out. One hand tangled in his hair, the other palming the big bulge that was forming in the front of his pants. His hands came up, grabbing your breasts hard as you moaned into his mouth. He tugged your lower lip between his teeth, moving away to start kissing down your neck. 

“You feel so big,” you breathed, mewling as his teeth found your sweet spot. “Fuck…”

“You have no idea,” he said, pulling your body to his before grabbing your ass. “I want you so bad.”

“Come on,” you said, taking his hand and leading him into the living room. You pushed him down on the couch, straddling his lap before grinding against his dick. “You know what I want you to do?”

“What?” he panted. 

“Want you to rip this thing off of me,” you said in his ear, tugging the lobe in your teeth. 

“Oh?” he asked, grabbing the back of it and tearing it down the middle. “Like that?”

“Mmm hmm,” you hummed, kissing his neck as he moaned. “And I want you to put the mask back on.”

“Okay,” he said, smirking before his face disappeared beneath the Ghostface mask again. 

“You know what else I want?” you asked, moaning as you continued to glide along his clothed erection.

“Hm?”

“I want that big, thick cock down my throat.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Mmm hmm.”

“Then what are you waiting for?”

You could hear the smirk in his voice, and it would have infuriated you under any other circumstances. Right then, though, you were too turned on to care. You moved from your spot on his lap to slide to your knees, keeping your eyes on him as you did so. You palmed the bulge in his pants again, feeling how hard he was and suppressing a moan. He watched you from beneath the mask, both of his arms stretched along the back of the couch as you pulled his pants down. His breathing picked up a bit as you put your mouth over his cock through his boxers, and soon, you were pulling those down, too. He was exposed to you now, all nine inches of his thick, pierced, flushed erection at your mercy. As per the script, you teased him a little, sucking on his piercing before swirling your tongue around his slit. He mewled, panting as you took the tip in your lips and sucked eagerly. His arms remained on the back of the couch, not moving yet as you started planting messy, noisy, open mouthed kisses all over the entire length of his cock. You moved farther down to take his big balls into your mouth as well, sucking on them with a moan as you jerked him off skillfully. He was panting a little more heavily now, and you traced his large vein with your tongue as you made your way back up his length.

“Don’t fucking tease me,” he growled.

“Sorry, uh…” you said. “I don’t know what to call you.”

“You can call me Daddy,” he said, reaching down with one hand to stroke your cheek. “And what shall I call you, huh?”

“Anything you want,” you said with a wink, spitting on his cock and jerking him off. “Such a big dick, fuck.” 

“What did I say about teasing?” he asked, tilting your chin up with the knife.

“Sorry, Daddy,” you said, opening your mouth and taking his entire cock.

You gagged for a moment until you got your reflex under control, which was something you’d gotten good at in the business. You could feel him in your throat, stretching, his piercing at the back of it as you drug your head up, then back down. He was moaning above you under the mask, his head tipped back as he tangled a hand in your hair. You looked up at him, bobbing your head slowly as you gripped his base in one hand. You began to jerk him off in time with your movements, ignoring the camera man as he came around to get some close up shots. It felt as if he wasn’t even there, that’s how into it you were starting to get. You could feel your pussy throbbing, wetness settling in the thong you still wore as you sucked him off.

“Fuck, baby,” he moaned, tugging on your hair as you hollowed your cheeks. “You’re so fucking good at that. You’re a filthy little cock slut, aren’t you? I mean, who else just gets on her knees for a man she’s just met, especially one who broke into her house to hurt her?”

You responded by twisting your wrist, eyes still on him as you sucked him off messily. Drool cascaded from his dick and onto the floor below, and your throat was starting to hurt a bit from his piercing. But he was so hot, THIS was so hot, and you couldn’t bring yourself to stop. His hips bucked upward with a loud moan, and you choked as more of his cock went down your throat again. He stroked your cheek tenderly, before yanking you off of his dick. Spit bridged your lips to the tip, and you looked up at him in surprise. Was this scripted? You couldn’t quite remember, but either way, it sent a fresh wave of arousal to your cunt.

“Rub my dick across your tits,” he said. 

“Those are one of my biggest insecurities,” you replied, but did as he asked as he moaned filthily. “But you like them, huh?”

“Fuck yes,” he panted, watching as you sucked his tip again. “You’re so hot.”

“Thanks,” you said, and you continued to alternate between rubbing his dick over your breasts and sucking him off. After a little while, he forced you to stop by grabbing your jaw. “What’s wrong?”

“You’re gonna make me cum if you keep that up,” he growled. “Did I say I was ready to cum yet?”

“No, Daddy,” you said, reaching out to jerk him off. “But I can’t stop worshipping this huge, perfect dick of yours.”

He grabbed your wrist and pinned it to the couch, causing you to whine. “Let me make you feel good.”

“You already did,” he said, grabbing your spit-soaked chin in one hand and forcing you to look up into his mask. “Now, it’s my turn.”

“What do you mean?” you asked, trying to take him into your mouth again, but you were greeted by a light slap to your cheek. “What?”

“I said stop it,” he said, pushing you away as he got up off the couch. “Sit up here for me.”

You whined, but did as he said. You sat down on the couch, watching as he lifted the mask again. He kissed you hungrily, sloppily, one ringed hand squeezing your jaw before it found your throat. He choked you for a moment, and you moaned as his hands found your breasts. He massaged them skillfully, his rings cold against your heated skin, his fingers rubbing your nipples until they were hard buds. He pinched them, tugged on them, swiped his fingers across them, all while you moaned hotly in his mouth. He grabbed his plastic knife, running it over & between your breasts before dragging it over your waist and stomach. 

“I’m going to show you just what I’m capable of,” he said, kissing down your neck after leaving a series of hickeys in his wake. He nipped at your collarbones, before he found your breasts. “You have the hottest body I’ve ever fucking seen.”

“All the other girls you broke in on weren’t as hot, huh?” you asked.

“Not even close,” he said, pulling one of your nipples in his mouth and sucking generously. “Such an amazing set of tits.”

“Fuck…” you whined, one hand in his hair as he tugged your nipple in his teeth. You knew the cameraman was probably getting a pretty good shot with that; Eddie was skilled, he knew what he was doing and how to work a woman’s body. You were reacting to him, wetness pooling in your thong, and you spread your legs for him as you grabbed one of his hands. “I want you to touch me. Please, I need it.”

“So needy, princess,” he said, giving your other nipple the same treatment as the last. He drug the knife down, running it over your cunt as he smirked. “I’ll bet you’re soaking wet for me, aren’t you? You’re such a depraved fucking slut, you know that? Putting out for me like this, soaking that pretty thong for me.”

“Touch me the right way and find out, asshole,” you challenged, and you could feel him grinning against your breast. “What’s so funny?”

“Nothing,” he said, smiling up at you as he started to kiss his way down your stomach. They weren’t gentle, tender kisses; they were needy, hard, bruising. You knew you’d have some marks there tomorrow. “Just that you think it’s so funny and cute to be calling me names right now, when I’ve got the upper hand.” 

“Who says you’ve got the upper hand?” you asked, and he slapped your thigh hard as you yelped. “You didn’t have to do that!”

“Shut up,” he snarled, kneeling in front of you and spreading your legs as wide as they would go. He peeled off your thong, and the cameraman moved behind him to get a shot of your pussy. “Fuck, look at that. So fucking pretty and so goddamn wet.”

“I can’t help it,” you said, shivering as he ran the knife over your bare cunt. “Daddy…”

“I’m going to make you fucking scream, baby,” he said, and he immediately began to devour you.

You had never been eaten out like that before, either off camera or on. The way his pierced tongue moved through your cunt, so skillful and hungry, had you moaning loudly. You usually had to fake your moans, or at the very least, over exaggerate them. Not now; right now, every single noise that fell from your lips was genuine. He was devouring you, his tongue flicking your clit with every drag upward, his hands gripping your thighs tight enough to leave more bruises. You reached down to grab his hair, and he moaned as you pulled it roughly. His piercing dragged through your saturated folds, slowly and teasingly, before he pressed it tightly against your clit. More wetness soaked his face, and his fingers soon joined the mix. The cameraman was getting some great shots, and Eddie began to fuck you roughly on his fingers while his mouth did its magic.

“Fuck, you’re so good,” you gasped, rutting against his face as you clenched around his fingers. “I need more.”

“More?” he asked, his free hand dragging the knife over your thigh. “How much more? I’m giving you all I can, you greedy whore.”

“I want more,” you insisted, your eyes nearly rolling back as he started sucking on your clit. “Please…”

“Is this what you want?” he asked, gathering some of your wetness on the fingers of his free hand and pushing a finger inside of your ass. “Huh?”

“Yes,” you gasped, looking down into his big brown eyes as he started to eat your pussy again. “Fuck, please…”

He took his fingers out of your cunt, instead focusing on your ass. He shook his head back & forth rapidly, growling, his eyes still trained on your face. You kept looking down at him, playing with your breasts as his tongue swirled your clit. You tugged your nipples, and soon he was slapping your hand away with his free one to take over. He squeezed it, massaging it, pinching the nipple as hard as he could. You cried out, and you could feel the familiar sensation in your lower stomach that indicated an orgasm was imminent. He kept going, lapping at your pussy as if his life depended on it, shaking his head occasionally, using his piercing to his advantage. He began to fuck you on his tongue as he fingered your ass, moaning as more of your taste flooded his tongue.

“So fucking good,” he mumbled, moaning as he reached down to jerk himself off. “I’m going to fucking cum just from eating your pussy.”

“I’d rather you cum inside of me,” you said. “I wanna feel that big dick in my tight, wet pussy right now. Wanna feel you pumping me full of cum, and feel how good you are inside of me. Please.”

“You’d rather cum around my dick?” he asked, raising a brow at you.

“Mmm hmm,” you said. “But you gotta put the mask back on.”

“Tired of my face already?” he teased, pulling his finger out and putting the mask back on. “Alright, have it your way. How do you want me to fuck you?”

“From behind,” you said.

“Just like a disgusting fucking whore, huh?” he asked, slapping your ass as you stood up. “I’m going to make you feel so fucking good, baby.”

“Then do it,” you said. “Stop talking about it and just do it already, asshole.”

He slapped your ass hard, leaving a large red handprint in his wake. You yelped but giggled, wiggling your ass toward him as he spanked it again. He held the knife to your throat, pulling you up by your head as his mouth found your ear. You could feel his giant cock throbbing against your ass, and knew he was close already. But if everything you heard about his reputation was true, you knew that didn’t mean anything. He could apparently hold off for quite awhile, even that close, and you were looking forward to having him inside of you. In fact, you needed it more than you ever needed anything. You were tired of doing films with men who had average or below average dicks; they didn’t do anything for you, and you always had to fake it. But with Eddie? You highly doubted you would have that problem.

“Keep calling me that and I’ll slit your fucking throat,” he said in your ear, pressing the hard plastic a little more firmly to your throat. “You’re in no position right now to be a fucking bitch.”

“I think I am,” you said, grinning smugly at him as you pushed back against his cock. “You’ve got me right where you want me, right? So, instead of making empty threats and being a douchebag, why don’t you just fuck me?”

He slapped your ass hard again, dragging the knife across your throat ever so gently. “You’re fucking lucky I think you’re so hot. Otherwise, I would be ending this right fucking now by cutting you wide open.”

“Fuck me already!” you said. “You’re–”

You were cut off by a loud moan as you felt him pushing inside of you. You cried out as his thick length stretched your pussy, and you could feel his piercing deep inside. He held onto your hips to anchor himself, bending you over the couch as he pushed himself deeper. You nearly screamed as you felt that piercing on your cervix, but it hurt so good. You reached down and squeezed his hand, and you could tell that he was trying hard not to break character to hold your hand. He had to know how it felt, and you could tell that he was holding back, even still. The director seemed not to notice, though; he just instructed his cameraman to get a shot of his cock buried deep inside of your pussy. He was almost fully inside, and it took you a minute to adjust to how it felt. Never had you been this full, never had anything felt so good, and you weren’t sure how long YOU would be able to last. He was moaning behind you, and you felt his dick twitch. That caused you to moan filthily, and you looked behind your shoulder into his masked face, a smirk on your own.

“What are you waiting for, Daddy?” you asked, biting your lip. “Fuck me.”

He started to thrust, keeping them slow and shallow at first. The cameraman looked up questioningly, and the director simply shrugged and instructed him to keep filming. You moaned, feeling that piercing against your cervix again with every movement inward. He kept hold of your hips, and soon, he was fucking you a little harder. You knew that he was making sure you were okay first, something that he seemingly didn’t do with any of his other costars. Maybe he found a soft spot for you, or maybe the rest of them were used to taking dicks his size. Either way, you thought the gesture of going off script was rather touching, and you looked back at him with a smile. You couldn’t tell if he was reciprocating, but the sharp thrust inside of you somehow told you that he was.

“You’re so fucking tight and wet,” he said, starting to absolutely DRILL you as you nearly screamed. “Listen to that, can you hear it?”

You could. As he fucked into you harder, you could hear just how wet you truly were for him. His fingers dug into your skin, his breath in your ear, and you just moaned as you clenched hard around him. That caused him to groan, and you smirked as you did it again. This brought another loud crack to your ass, and you yelped as the knife made another appearance at your throat.

“Stop doing that,” he growled. “You needy bitch.”

“Sorry,” you said, but did it again.

He stopped thrusting, putting the knife down to grab your throat with his hands. He choked you for a moment, chuckling darkly as you kept clenching around him. He began to move again but kept his grip, letting go only when you started clawing at his hands. He reached around to grope your breasts, rubbing the nipples as he absolutely pounded you against the couch. He was panting and groaning, the sounds filling the air as the cameraman got another shot of him fucking into you. You could feel your lower stomach tightening, but you weren’t ready for this to be over yet. Fuck, he felt so goddamn good; you never wanted it to end. You would have been content going on forever just like this, with him inside of you as you whined desperately. He knew you were getting desperate, too; he reached down, rubbing your clit in hard, fast circles as you cried out. You clenched again, his hands now on your shoulders as you braced against the couch. He drilled your needy, soaking cunt, each bump to your cervix causing you to moan even louder.

“Cum for me,” he said. “Show me just how much you fucking love what I’m doing to you. Show me what a greedy whore you are for my cock.”

You moaned, and were shocked to see that he was pulling out of you. The director was about to intervene, but Eddie was pushing you onto your back on the couch. He lifted your legs to his shoulders and pushed inside of you again, causing you to moan hotly as he filled you up again. The director stopped and instructed the cameraman to keep going, and you looked up into his masked face with a look of pleasure on yours. You arched under him, writhing, your hands finding his clothed back and digging your nails into the fabric. He pounded you hard, the new angle causing him to hit into your sweet spot. He didn’t use his entire cock this time; instead, he decided to get creative, and fucked directly into your G-spot. The feel of the piercing against it was so fucking good, and you tore at his dark shirt as he pounded against you.

“That’s it,” he cooed, the strokes of his cock remaining shallow and deep as your mouth fell slack. “Cum around my cock, princess.”

“Fuck,” you whined, your jaw still open as your head tipped back. “I’m gonna cum so hard, Daddy.”

“Cum for me,” he coaxed, his fingers rubbing hard circles on your clit again. “Do it for me. Show me how desperate you are to let some stranger fuck you like this.”

Tears began to leak out of your eyes. They weren’t bad; it was just so much, so overwhelming. You could tell that he was having doubts, so you sat up slightly to bury your face in his neck. He groaned, thrusting harder before pushing you back down. He pinned you to the couch, both of his large hands holding you down as he mercilessly pounded you. More tears leaked from your eyes, and he laughed wickedly under the mask.

“What’s wrong?” he taunted. “Is my dick too big for you, you disgusting slut? Can’t take it all?”

“No, i can,” you said, trying to get out of his grip. 

“Then take it and cum for me,” he coaxed, fucking you as hard as he could. “Go ahead, show me you can do it.”

It didn’t take much more for you to cum. A few more strokes of his cock, a few more swipes with his fingers, and that was it. You screamed in pleasure, and none of that was exaggerated or fake, either. You squirted around him twice, and the director was staring in awe as the cameraman caught everything. You kept arching, moaning, bucking up against him as he continued to pound into you. He was panting above you under the mask, moaning as you felt him twitch inside of you. He was fighting hard to keep going, but you knew he was going to lose that fight very soon. You reached down and took his knife, holding it up with a smirk.

“You wanna hold this to my throat again?” you asked. “Maybe that would get you off.”

He took it and did just that, holding it on your throat as he pounded you. You moaned, clenching around him, bucking your hips up against his thrusts to aid him. He looked down at your breasts, then back to where the knife was held to your throat, and you felt him twitch twice. You knew it was coming and, sure enough, it did a moment later. He came hard inside of you, moaning through it, his head bowed as he allowed his orgasm to take him over. He continued to thrust until it was done, stopping and nearly collapsing on top of you before pulling out. But he wasn’t finished, and you already knew what was coming because of the script. He pulled you to a sitting position and opened your legs, eyeing your dripping cunt as he rubbed the knife between both of his hands. 

“Look at that,” he said, running his fingers through your sensitive pussy before he knelt in front of you. “I made such a mess of you, didn’t I?”

“Mmm hmm,” you said, moaning as he lifted his mask. “What are you gonna do about it?”

“I think you know,” he said, dragging the knife over your thigh again before he started eating you out once more. “I’m nowhere close to being fucking done with you, you fucking slut. If you think that I am, then you’d better think again.”

“So much for scary movies, huh?” you asked, moaning as he began to devour your pussy even more desperately. 

“I think this is much better,” he said, eating you out more feverishly. “You know what we should try? You know, since you’re such a filthy girl.”

“What?” you asked, moaning as he fucked you on his tongue.

“Giving it to you up the ass,” he said. “I think that would be fun, don’t you agree?”

“And cut!” the director called.

You whined as Eddie broke away from you, standing up as he helped you. The director was coming onto the set to talk to the cameraman, both of them seemingly pleased with what they’d gotten. Eddie sat the mask and the knife down on the couch, grabbing a water as someone on set offered one. He handed it to you, and you accepted it with a big smile. You took a drink, and Eddie’s hand was on your shoulder in a comforting gesture. He pulled his pants back up and gestured for someone to bring over your clothes. You slipped them on once they did, and Eddie wrapped your jacket around your shoulders for you with a smile. 

“Are you okay?” he asked. “I mean, I didn’t hurt you or anything, did I? I tried to be as careful–”

“No, I’m okay,” you assured him. “Really. I just wasn’t used to someone that big.”

“A lot of the women aren’t,” he said with an apologetic grin. “I always ask them to let me go in slow and careful, but they never really let me. I guess they don’t want to shatter the illusion. It’s just…you were crying, and i was so scared that i was hurting you.”

“Well, I can promise you that I’m totally fine,” you said, taking another sip of the water. “Do you think we did well enough for them?”

“Oh, I think we did,” he said with a chuckle. 

“Something tells me they’ll be asking us to do another one together very soon,” you said. 

“In that case,” he said, smiling as he leaned closer to you and offered an arm. “How about I buy you dinner? I know I’ve worked up a hell of an appetite tonight.”

You grinned, taking his arm with a nod. “Yeah, I’d like that a lot.”

____________

taglist: @littledemondani @andvys @wroteclassicaly @succubusmunson @eddieschains @trashmouth-richie @eddiemunsons-missingnipple @reidsbtch @taintedcigs @happylilthought @sunkillerdreamer @battymunson @whore4romance @hallovoid @harrys-housewife14 @alovesongtheywrote @filthy-gorgeous @emmyshortcake @softgoodsstyles @deathlyweird 

[jasperxkuromi]

Regressors that are (bodily) older, please interact!

Later 20s, 30s, maybe even older? I would love to hear from you and maybe even your stories if you don't mind sharing!

I want to meet more people like me and also show others that age regression doesn't just suddenly "stop" at a certain age

Some of us:

Didn't discover regressing/didn't understand their involuntary regression until they were older

Wasn't in a safe space mentally and/or physically to be able to regress the way we want to

Didnt "grow out" of regressing. I think a lot of people outside the community assume we will all grow out of wanting to regress at some point. Maybe some of us will, but some of us won't. Regressing can be a safe and healthy coping mechanism, no matter your bodily age!

And probably many other reasons I can't think of at the moment lol

I would love to get to talk to older regressors, or if there are any groups/discords, I would like to know those too :3

I'm gonna talk about my story a little under the cut, but I don't exactly recommend reading it if you are little right now! I am going to be talking about s3xualization of agere and children's media unfortunately.

I started age dreamer/involuntarily regressing when I was in high school without really knowing what it was. I was really into MLP FiM during its height popularity. I watched the show, collected and played with the toys, did coloring books, took my MLP blanket to school ever day. You get the idea.

I discovered regression here in Tumblr, but this was yeeeeaaars ago, like back when nsfw was still allowed. The line between ddlg and agere wasn't as solid as it is now. Or maybe it was just because I was a kid and couldn't understand better? Either way ... i ended up getting wrong ideas of what agere had to be and ended up scaring myself off. I also had adult roleplayers leaving really inappropriate comments on my posts that made me feel icky. I thought agere had to be s3xual and scared myself off.

We also unfortunately probably know the uhhh .. types of fan art that was popular of MLP. And it just ended up making me lose interest in the series. The stuff was everywhere and it was hard to avoid even if you were vigilant.

I never got a real chance to understand what healthy, voluntary regression was. I still was an age dreamer, but most times when I involuntarily regress it is out of extreme stress and it isn't fun or pretty.

I had a lot of bad things that happened to me last year and in turn I am having more health issues. Chronic conditions I already had getting worse, and new ones popping up. My mom (the one who birthed me) has been helping me a bit, but it has still been a lot of playing adult. Making phone calls back and forth, filling out paperwork, figuring out disability leave, paying bills, etc etc. I started age dreaming more and more often to cope with the stress. Like I randomly one day bought a DVD player and sets of Winnie the Pooh and Scooby Doo DVDs lmfao.

I also never stopped collecting stuffed animals and came back to collecting dolls again last year. It helps that I have friends IRL who I don't think are regressors, but still enjoy collecting with me. (my friends don't know yet, but I think they would be accepting if I told them, or they might already assume I regress tbh)

I have kinda had age regression on the back of my mind for several months, but was scared to look back into it. I was scared of going through the same thing I did back in high school. But also denying I am a regressor and that I still need to heal my childhood wounds was getting heavier and heavier on me. I am sooooo thankful I finally felt safe to begin exploring regression again ♥️😁

Side note: while I absolutely don't care if people do ddlg and similar stuff as a kink/fetish, I am thankful that the distinction between that and agere is more distinct now. It is important we protect minors and other vulnerable people from having the same sorts of things that happened to me (or worse) from happening to them.

[4pfsukuna]

B.A.S G. Suguru

Debrief: heavily inspired by Megan thee stallions new song B.A.S. Warning: Smut like turn your screen brightness down and read in private. Geto suguru is his own warning

part 1 can be read here but not necessary to read it’s just Gojo smut🙃

Suguru Geto was a very jealous man, although he kept a calm exterior inside he was a storm of brewing emotions.

You had been friends with both him and Satoru since 6th grade enjoying having two bodyguards…and jesters.While the three of you jokingly flirted with another the boundary was set when it came to any of you being in relationships even if Suguru never stayed with a girl longer than a few months, he blamed it on getting the ick and sometimes you dont know whos sassier him or Gojo.

“Ah so you were kidnapped by snow white” you hear before you catch a glance of his dark hair going into the fridge rummaging around as if he owned it. The two of you had made such a habit of going through satorus things and taking it, honestly it was a surprise he even let you back in. You sat infront of Gojos laptop checking emails and things for your job since you’d gotten so comfortable and he practically forced you to stay. Not that you minded he had fast WiFi good snacks and his bed felt like those luxury hotel rooms.

“I'm assuming that's why you bluffed our trip to the museum” he smirks over his shoulder, covering his pure jealousy, watching your face fall. Stopping your chewing you reach for your phone seeing the missed calls and text from him covered on your lock screen of you him and satoru with your matching koi fish tattoos behind your ear. 

“Sorry my glorious—“ you begin but he scoffs.

“I am not satoru, you can't sweet talk me!” He rolls his eyes taking a bite out of a cake pop left in the fridge. He doesn't seem to be bothered by it but you know better.

The previously mentioned man walks in shirtless black sweats hanging low on his hips revealing the designer logo on his boxer briefs. There's a certain pep in his step and arrogance about the way his sweats hang that Suguru absolutely does NOT miss.

“You're just jealous she spent the weekend with me and not at some boring ass museum” he smirks, bumping shoulders with Suguru who shoves him back with a pointed look. And he knows that glow on satoru, knows that you two fucked he doesnt know you two recorded it but even though he had a new girlfriend this week you two fucking gave him the absolute ick.

For her.

“It was a day and a half and i promise we can go to the museum after i finish this portfolio for my client” you correct Gojo and send a soft smile to Geto who smirks at the pouting snow haired man.

“No i don't want to share you, besides don't you have a girlfriend to bother and take on dates” Gojos sharp tongue jabs at his friend as he walks over to the fridge and he knew exactly what he was doing Getos got a sharper tongue though when he's jealous.

“Actually i do she wants to go on a double date tonight so get dressed” he tells him a challenging look in his eye and the tension in the room grows thick. he's challenging to see if either of you will speak up on what happened and he doesn't miss the way you two avoid eye contact his smirk growing wider.

Gojo catches it though. 

“Mmm no thanks, I'm getting my dick wet tonight” He shrugs knowing whatever upper hand suguru thought he had… he didn't. He can't help the way his heart skips a beat when he catches your smile confirmation for round 7…8?

“Why not two in one night, youre never one to turn down a sexscapade” and he's quick, so quick that it gives you both whiplash as he toys with you now pulling a random piece of lint off your shorts… a pair of Gojos boxers which makes his brow twitch in frustration. You had on his shirt, boxers and socks…you fucking smelled like him.

There was nothing he could say to Gojo so he turned his metaphorical dagger on you.

“Isn't that right sweetheart? Don't you just love listening to your favorite fuckboys sex stories” and he had the audacity to try and GOAD you. Knowing how incredibly possessive your ass was and poison is dripping from his lips at “your favorite fuckboy”. Oh he knew it's definitely known between the 3 of you that he knew. The room gets hotter and before Gojo could say anything they're both reminded why you fit so perfectly into the trio.

“If you think I spent the whole weekend with this blue eyed glow stick and he didn't spew complete filth into my ear the whole time— don't humor me” and it's a triple threat. The nickname, double entendre and you poke back. Both of their heads are spinning at the way you say it without even so much as glancing up from your laptop screen.

Yeah you heard about his sex stories satoru couldn't hold water if you gave him a bucket and strapped it to his chest but now that you've had it there was a tinge of possessiveness you now claimed over him.

It's a tense silence only being broken by Satorus phone ringing letting you know the uber eats driver is down stairs.

“I'll be back, don't miss me too much” Gojo humms arrogantly, fingers running over your shoulders before bumping suguru on his way out. 

You barely wait for satoru to close the door before you start speaking knowing Suguru would try to take control of the conversation.

“Jealousy isnt a good look on you—“ you smirk and he cuts you off, grabbing your chin.

“Are you FUCKING him?” He asks, a deadpan look on his face, his cologne enveloping your senses with a slight hint of japanese cherry blossom making you glare at him.

“Not you in MY business” you roll your eyes pulling your chin from his hand. The fucking audacity.

“Princess” he goads with that nickname glimpses of when satoru moaned it in your ear flash back “Are YOU fucking him?” He enunciates and you hated to be questioned it didn't matter who he was to you.

“Smelling like another woman and questioning ME is crazy” you scoff as he stands in between your legs eyeing you with a slight eye roll.

 “You aint shit” and something about that sets him off, his eyes getting darker as if you didn’t smell like Satoru.

“Oh! Are you jealous?” He steps closer leaning toward your face, eyes flickering toward your lips as he licks his. “Does Satoru know how many times we’ve kissed?” He asks you, hands setting on your thighs with a slight squeeze.

Sure you’ve shared a few drunk kisses with Suguru and maybe a couple of sober ones too but he was a good kisser and you liked kissing when drunk. Why kiss a random stranger when HE was there. Plus you had to test to see if he was that good sober… for research purposes.

Licking your teeth you watch as his smirk returns and you’d do anything to wipe it off, taking his thick neck and wrapping as much as your green acrylic covered fingers around his neck as possible. You smile when he melts into it, eyes focused on your thick pink lips.

“Yeah… guess we both AINT SHIT” and as if he’s psychic he pulls back just in time for Satoru to walk in with bags of food. 

“Guess who got extra food for being shirtless and the delivery guy thinking i was a God” he whoops, setting it on the marble island top  in front of the two of you, you  and suguru sharing a look before laughing. He was sooo…. Himself. 

You engage in mindless chatter opening up the white carry out boxes of food unaware of the looks the duo keeps giving you before Suguru notices there's only two platters of sticky rice he slides one to you and keeps the other for himself quickly using a set of chopsticks to gather a large amount.

Before he could even lift it to his mouth satoru lurches forward taking it in his mouth letting his tongue twirl around the tips of the sticks before pulling back and chewing with a vicious smile on his face.

“GOJO!” He snaps bewildered and the tips of his ears being red lost on the two of you due to his long hair covering it.

“That's for my cake pop” he retaliates sitting back on the stool and you giggle taking a bite of your own rice.

“Satoru, I don't know where your mouth has been.” Suguru says in fake disgust although he goes to eat off the same chopsticks.

“My mouths been places you wish yours was” and the tensions back this time it's playful as the two begin play fighting.

Getting caught up with work you hardly have time to spend with either of them except for a few texts here and there Suguru is relentless in the thirst traps he sends you— laying in bed with audio of his morning voice, shirtless gym selfies even after shower selfies with his towel hanging dangerously low.

 You entertain his game by sending him a photo of you arching in the mirror spine tattoo illuminated by the red mood lights and a black thong and ask ‘do you think this is good enough to send to my hoes’ and he chuckles at your little cat and mouse game. You're conniving, bratty and know how to work his nerve. He doesn't care who you send it to because he saw it first.

Ge-hoe {whats the plans for today, sweetheart} 

You know that's his subtle way of seeing if you wanted to hang out but you were out on a date and it wasnt with satoru either. You debate responding to the text when your phone buzzes again.

Ge-hoe {and Satoru already blabbed that you two went to breakfast today and he was drunk of mimosas so i know that idiot doesn't have your attention for the rest of the night}

You {just enjoying some me time, you?} 

Ge-hoe {Same.}

You had actually been out on a date, makeup done, fresh nail set, new hair style and a brand new outfit to an arcade date followed by a small cafe. You weren't complaining, it was something casual and fun without too much pressure.

You're sitting on the basketball game watching as he misses every jump shot, the two of you laughing about it until you feel someone brush up against your arm. Ready to snarl about personal space until their cologne hits your nose and you instantly know who it is. Dior sauvage with a hint of coconut conditioner.

Ge-hoe {Pleasure seeing you here princess.}

You {likewise}

And when you hear the high pitched voice of another woman you can't help but glance, she was cute you'll give her that— but not his type. You like her style and just as you're ready to compliment her she muggs you sending you the nastiest glare which your smile grows at. You weren't entertaining her when you had matching tattoos with this man. Not enough of a threat when he's lying about spending time with her. But you were lying too.

Lying to me and im lying to him guess we both aint shit

Ge-whore { you look so pretty propped up there}

8 more messages come through and you nearly block him as he lays his compliments on thick. 

The last one catches your attention though.

Ge-whore{can you condition my hair tonight, you know i love when you scratch my head with fresh nails} 

You {youre so annoying} 

You {i want food}

Blueeyedking to group chat {i know you two didn't go to the arcade without me!}

When Suguru pulls up to your semi spacious loft (apartment) donned in a tight fitted compression shirt, gray sweats and sneakers two bags in hand you know he's serious. There's a lot of things he played about but his hair wasn't one so when he sees your extravagant hair care routine he knows he can trust you.

You turn into a certified yapper talking about work taking pride in it as you lather his scalp with conditioner and when his eyes close you know he's thoroughly enjoying it.

“And your date?” He ask now moving to lay his head in your lap as you use your diffuser on his hair claiming something about heat damage but you know he just likes the feeling of your fingers in his hair. You shrug looking over at your calendar.

“What are you wearing to your boyfriends party on saturday” and he opens his eyes to send you a glare knowing you were talking about gojo and you send him a coy smile. Heavy arm dropping down to your calf he begins massaging it pressing a thumb heavily into a specific spot that causes you to let out a strangled sound.

“Ngghh- Suguru! S-stop” you tug on a lock of hair which doesn't phase him. Suguru was no idiot he knew exacctly where every pleasure point on the body was and would sometimes fuck with you and Gojo at the worst times.

“Sounds so pretty saying my name” and this time his fingers brush your knee making you squirm so focused on his hair you don't notice the oversized shirt has been rising this whole time and it now rests on your hips giving him a perfect view of your red lace underwear.

“You wore this for your lil date?” He asks, hooking a finger in the band and snapping it against your skin.

“I wore it for myself cause i look hot as fuck dont piss me off” you pop his finger but that doesnt stop him as he plays with the lace hem the tension rising as you try to focus on his hair.

“Suguru stop fucking playing” you hiss pulling half his hair up into a bun to section off the finished part and he takes that as a challenge.

“I never play with my food” and he leaves a kiss on top of your mound over the lace listening to the way your breath hitches. He flips the both of you in one movement so his back is laying on the couch and you're straddling his mouth.

His tongue is licking a long stripe through your underwear that you feel on your slit making you let out a stifled moan. 

Satoru was an idiot.

Satoru was a big fucking idiot.

There was no way satoru tasted you and let you walk out. Hes licking at your folds feverishly before his tongue swirls around your clit. 

“S- suguru” you moan softly and that triggers an insatiable side of him. He locks an arm around your thigh so you can't move before sucking your clit into his mouth with more intensity.

The moans are spilling out the same way your wetness is your body instantly so responsive as he flickers a tongue through your folds. Thrusting a tongue up into you twisting and curling your hips buck at the intrusion earning a groan.

He uses his free hand to slowly push a thick middle finger in your core curling it pulling the sluttiest moan from you. watching your head lul back and back arch he's committing everything to memory, every moan and gasp when he curls or flexes a finger, the way your brows furrow and nose scrunches cutely when he sucks on your clit but most importantly the way you’re hips buck when he pushes his tongue harder against your clit.

Your moans begin to get higher and thighs start to tighten around his head and damn is he so contempt you both miss the vibrations of his phone on your coffee table nearing the edge…just like you.

He can't help but to snake one of his own hands down to his aching dick that's so painfully hard he bucks into his hand the minute he gets a grip on it.

He moans out the vibration traveling up your whole body as one hand grips the armrest of the couch and he nearly loses it when you start to babble.

“Fuck fuck nnggh fuck sug…suguru i—“ you whine hips bucking against his face and fuck hes losing his mind at the way your hand comes down to hold his face in place.

“Talk to me sweetheart” his muffled words come out and you feel the orgasm ready to rip through you watching his hooded eyes look up at you.

It's when you notice he's jerking off from pleasuring you that you can no longer hold back the orgasm and release down his face juices falling in his chin, down his neck even falling to his shirt.

He doesn't stop eating though, oh no his mouth latches on adding a second finger in listening to the squelching sounds he's pulling from you and the way you keep moaning his name like a prayer. His mouth starts making smacking sounds as he pushes you more into his mouth.

“F-feels so good! Im gunna—Suguru please please please” you whine and you never had to beg but fuck do you sound so pretty when you do and the way your tone gets higher, voice gets needier and pussy gets so much wetter. He moves his fingers faster,  mouth faster and his grip faster on himself matching the way your hips move on his lips.

“J-just like tha—nghh” You cum extremely fast this time your whole body shaking  and his hips stutter ropes of white cum shooting from his tip all over his pants as he lets you come down from your high noticing your body swaying as your breathing gets extremely heavy. 

Chuckling he sits up pushing your hips down to his lap as he rubs your back and thighs before placing a sloppy kiss on your lips. He wanted nothing more than to let you keep cuming on his face but if he didnt get up he was going to lose his mind and take everything you had to give and then some. Hed never make it to actually fucking you.

“So you done fucking with that loser from earlier?” He asks in your ear trailing kisses down your neck listening to the way you pant for him soaking up his whole lap nails digging into his broad shoulders. His phone rings on the coffee table a contact photo of the girl from the arcade and you peel yourself off of him wiping your essence off his lips.

“Quit asking when imma leave my niggas knowing you still with your bitch” and he pulls you back by your thighs massaging them over his lap pushing his hair out of his face long locs cascading over his broad shoulders covered in his now soaked shirt. He pays little attention to what you were saying knowing he'd be single by tonight.

You don't speak to either of them much until Gojo’s party taking your time getting ready, only waltzing in once the party is in full swing.

Its only a minute in before Getos by your side pulling you in for a hug a smooth “hey sweetheart” chuckled in your ear as he holds out his drink for you never moving his arm from off of you. Gojo isn't too far behind pulling you away from the dark haired man taking you in an embrace of his own.

“Princess you finally made it” he yells kissing the top of your head with 3 shots in his opposite hand. You scrunch your nose as you take the shot and push the empty glass back towards him.

“Free alcohol and a chance to dress up and look pretty as fuck? Of course” you finish the drink Suguru had given you,  eyes landing on Shoko and Maki who waves you over.

“Ditching us already?” Suguru purrs an unashamed glint in his eye. He licks his lips and the way your eyes flicker and watch momentarily let him know the two of you are thinking about the same thing.

“Yeah you’ve been ignoring us the past few weeks. I can't remember the last time you called me your blue eyed king” Satoru pouts crossing his arms over his chest.

“What can i say…I’m a hot commodity” you wink before going over to the couch where the girls are, your heels sinking slightly in the rug as you walk.

“I'm surprised you could get away from your boyfriends” maki smirks over her red solo cup and you roll your eyes taking her cup downing all the contents, the cognac sliding down your throat smoothly. 

“Not my boyfriends” you fake gag giving her back the empty cup making her scowl at you.

“Please Suguru hasn’t stopped staring at you like he wants to eat you since you walked in, and Satoru… Satoru has that arrogant smirk” Shoko speaks, lighting her cigarette knowing it would piss off the latter.

“Have you seen how good my ass looks in this dress, and satoru always has that arrogant smirk. Besides we’re a trio” you smile coyly you could feel the heat of sugurus eyes burning into your back. They both send disbelieving looks not even wanting to get into your relationship with the two before pouring more shots enjoying the music and chatter.

It's when the alcohol begins tasting like water that you know it’s beyond time to slow down on drinking especially when you begin…feeling absolutely feral.Truthfully you were not…okay. At all. Geto must have some magic tongue because the way every time you blinked you could picture the view of him under you. Could feel his mouth on you. You nearly came to the thought of this man.

How did you feel like you were missing out when you were the one that let him taste test the goodies. 

“You alright?” Maki asked after you release a small hiccup relaxing further into the cushion. Watching as Suguru and an older dark haired man with a scar on his lip has what looks to be a muscle off. 

He's glaring at suguru with a look of disgust that borders “ill kill you” while sugurus look of disgust is “bitch please your filthy hands couldn't even touch me. They exchange a few words before settling into arm wrestling positions and you smile Sugurus definitely been drinking to partake in something so… beneath him.

“Yeah I just need some air” you tell them standing up and walking to the kitchen to grab a bottle of water seeing Satoru already in there cracking open another bottle of alcohol.

“You okay, princess?” He ask genuinely and your nod holding the bottle of water towards him so he can open it he complies, loosening it lightly before handing it back to you. You waste no time guzzling it nearly choking as you laugh at him goofily singing along to the song earning a smile. 

He sets the bottles down,wrapping you up in his arms, versace cologne strong but not overbearing as he rocks you two gently, unaware of the looks you were getting.

“I miss you, we haven’t hung out in weeks. Do you think I’m ugly or something?” he gasped dramatically, making you laugh as you used his belt loops to keep you steady.

“Ohhhh thee Gojo Satoru” you begin to tease knowing that as much as an arrogant bastard you’re friend was he called your friendship and quality time aka he was a softy that loved validation, a brat.

He leans into your teasing pushing his face into your neck before you feel his sharp teeth graze your neck.

“S-satoru” you gasp shocked and you go to laugh but he beats you to it.

“Never let them know your next move. That’s what you get for ditching me” he pokes your chin and you feel an energy shift. Both of you looking to the right you see Suguru approaching, his eyes focused on Satorus arms around you.

Geto suguru is a jealous man and the thought of someone else having you in the way he wanted pissed him off.

When he’s close enough he leans against the table Satoru has you pinned against staring strictly at the other man.

“The people are waiting for alcohol, especially old scar lip. How'd you even know him?” He ask, taking a shot from the bottle. Satoru only groans, grabbing another bottle quick to walk out.

“You must taste good to have my best friend openly licking you in public” he points daggers at you and if so bitchy at that, he’s not angry. He's good at hiding his jealousy behind a teasing facade but you knew better drunk or not.

“Oh don't tell me you've forgotten Suguru.” you milk his ego slightly reminding him of a few nights ago with a purr and an adorable head tilt batting your eyelashes up at him. It's when you take your bottom lip between your teeth that he's reminded of the faces you were making as you rode his face until you came. While Gojo likes outright straight up flattery Geto prefers the mind games getting off on the mental stimulation. In other words he likes to be talked out his boxers.

“Of course not sweetheart,” he chuckles warmly, using the band on his arm to tie half of his hair up brushing the rest off his broad shoulders. “The offer is always on the table”.

Standing up on your tiptoes and using his muscular bicep as leverage secretly feeling him up you match his smirk pulling the band from his hair.

“I actually like your hair better down it would look so hot in missionary like that” you say innocently pulling his hair back over his shoulders and like a charm… he was talked out his boxers.

The minute the door is closed behind the two of you your hands are pulling him down by the front of his shirt lips on his and he's moaning into your mouth.

He's pushing you back on the bed behind your lips never leaving yours as he straddles your hips one hand propping him up the other holding your head in place.

“You’ve been giving me those fuck me eyes all night” he breathes kissing down your neck directly over where Satoru jokingly bit you making sure to suck a mark of his own on your neck. Pulling your dress down there's a slight shredding sound before he's completely ripping off your dress.

“S-Suguru!” You stutter pulling away and he just lets out a slight hum taking in your bare body.

“What? It's not like it was covering much anyways i'll take mine off too” he pulls his black sports jersey off revealing a perfectly sculpted body and you are momentarily distracted running a hand from his happy trail up his abs to his chest.

“We do have to leave this room eventually,” you begin tilting your head with a pointed look which he shrugs at.

“Won't be anytime soon” he chuckles amused at you even assuming you would. Your hand trails back down to his belt yanking him forward your lips meeting again his hair acting as a curtain shielding the two of you. 

His tongue dances down your chest until his mouth reaches a nipple, his fingers sneaking inside your waistband brushing against your slick clit.

“Oh sweetheart”he grins like a Cheshire cat enjoying the way you arch into him and soak his fingers up. He watches you throw your head back,whines coming out as he circles his middle finger around your clit. Arching up into him to get more pressure he chuckles his finger sliding between your folds and into your core.

“Soaked soo fucking soaked” he heaves adding a second finger grinning when you push your hips down twisting. Giving you exactly what you want he starts thrusting them faster, feeling you clench.

“Suguru” you moan, clutching onto him your soft pants increasing more and more until he makes a particular curl of his fingers against your g spot that makes your eyes cross.

“G-gunna…Sug—“ your body begins twitching as the pressure builds so intensely from his fingers and he only chuckles, pulling his fingers away, making you gasp at the sudden loss.

“Suguru PLEASE” you beg gripping onto him so tightly and it’s exactly what he wanted you under him his jealousy twisting into his need to have you a begging  mess under him.

It satisfied a sick part of him, itching a certain scratch that inflates his ego. So while people were lusting after you, you were writhing and begging under him.

Stroking his thick length you hiss when he slowly starts pushing in feeling the burn of how thick he is youre ready to wrap your legs around him to take some form of control but he grips your thigh pushing it to your chest. 

He leans forward as he bottoms out groaning feeling the way your tight pussy sucks him in and grips his fucking soul.

“Fuck… FUCK” he grunts feelings his pelvis touch your mound and he needs a second or hes going to burst until he hears you let out a soft exhale that sounds strangled and his eyes meet your wide ones. You had never felt so full before, never had your legs forced open because someone was so thick, you could actually feel him in your stomach.

You could fall apart just like this. Everything about this moment was more than sexually satisfying his scent, his touch, his hair dangling down over you the way his dick spread you open but isn't painful. You begin to wonder how many kids he wants and can instantly picture him as a girl dad.

Fuck kids, you needed to be able to fuck this man for breakfast lunch dinner and a midnight snack. Until the walls had no paint, until he couldn't tell left from right, until your throat was sore and his hips hurt. Until your knuckles hurt from clenching the sheet so tight and his bottom lip bruised from biting it so hard.

“Y/n, you okay?” And him calling you by your actual name brings you back down to him bringing your mind from the spiral he sent you into, damn how long was i daydreaming.

“Baby?” He ask sliding out slighty and the sloshing sound makes you look at him grabbing his face to pull his lips to yours. Oh he was so fucked. YOU were fucked. Sliding back in, your hands, find your way to his hair tugging lightly when he snaps his hips. You couldn't find words so the kiss would have to suffice.

“Oh fuck” you whine in his mouth and that’s all it takes before he’s creating a steady pace of strokes  grunting when you clench around him any thought of… anything was lost. The only thing he could focus on was how tight and hot you were around him and how perfectly you were taking him. Part of the reason why he switched women so much was because they always had a hard time taking him and while yes he may look every bit of a sex God some things just aren't enjoyable. Oh, but you? If heaven was real this was it and he could die happily between your legs.

“That's right baby youre doing so good” his voice rasp gently, nearly being drowned out by the loud music of the party. Getting wetter at the sound of praise he takes note kissing your leg that's bent by your face.

“So good at taking me” he grunts in your ear, biting on it easily, pushing you into your first orgasm from just talking and he looks too satisfied to be done any time soon. The way your nose scrunched cutely and you clenched tighter before the warm gush pushed all over his dick oh he needed so many more. How were you so pretty and perfect at everything you did?

Finally relaxing slightly he nearly lets out a strangled moan when you tighten your legs around his hips and flip him over. It happens so fast one minute he feels like he has the upper hand and the next he's at your mercy. There's a feral look in your eyes, you look like you absolutely want to ravage him and as dominant as he is the thought of you taking charge makes him twitch inside of you.

Raising your hips slightly and propping yourself up using his abs as balance you slowly inch back down so painfully slow squeezing as you do and he lets out a broken groan. Inching back up against the headboard to give you a hand he almost regrets it  the way your hips twist and grind into him so deliciously. His grip on the headboard tightens the wood creaking slightly.

The way he bites his lips and gives you such a loud moan fuels you as you repeat the action, hips moving faster as you raise and drop releasing moans of your own as his dick hits that perfect spot inside of you every time.

You slither a hand up to his neck watching his eyes widen the wicked smirk on your face growing the widest its ever been. Its when you squeeze that his hips buck involuntarily up into you but being the rider you are you let the movement adjust you on your tiptoes picking up speed a bit more.

So when he lets out a broken moan that almost sounds like a whine he starts scrambling to get some sort of control over the situation. Using his thumb he presses against your clit rubbing circles to stimulate you more listening to the sounds the two of you are making.

“Fuck baby s-slow down” he moans but the way hes watching himself dissapear fully inside of you is letting you know hes enjoying this to much for you to slow down. Squeezing his neck a tad bit more and tilting his head up so you're making eye contact the smile on your face never leaves.

“I cant keep— ngghh, feel so good Suguru” you purr and even though you look fully incontrol you never fully recovered from that first orgasm you were actually still brain scrambled but you were still taking him— riding him and using him to your advantage so well. 

“Suguru” you whine eyes rolling back and that's his undoing oh but he's not done yet, you decide. The feeling of his hot cum bursting inside of you satisfies a sick part of you knowing you could reduce him to… this. You had to see it again but this time you had to watch his face.

“If you… if you can tell me what i'm spelling” you start leaving a peck on his lips “i'll let you cum again” and he's confused as hell but likes the sound of it. Shit you could probably ask him for his credit card number and he’d sing it.

Twisting your hips in a certain direction you smile when he says the first letter of your name.

“Good, how about this one” and you twist again with a thrust moving his hand to play with your clit yourself watching his eyes zero in on you.

He stutters out the second letter of your name but quickly clears his throat. You smirk repeating through all the letter of your name watching how wrecked hes becoming the closer you get to the end of your name and hes melting at the thought. You spelling your name out on his dick taking your ownership he wanted to lay you on your back and go feral but that would mean he'd have to give this up and for a jealous and possessive man he loved being claimed.

Its when you get to the last letter that you reach behind you grabbing his balls and squeezing as you twist the last letter on his dick and he bursts for the second time and never has he cum this fast back to back… you could definitely ask for his credit card number and have it. Credit card number, his house key… fuck it his soul anything you wanted was yours he swore it.

He realizes quickly that you making him cum wasn't for his satisfaction… it was for yours you were having fun milking him for every drop taking taking taking until nothing was left. In fact looking for more ways to make him cum. He gets a moment of relief when you climb off of him. He was entirely too sensitive and any second longer he was sure he wouldn't be able to feel his dick— in the best possible way.

Hes heavily panting, still closing his eyes trying to get his shit together when the next sensation has his eyes shooting open.

Your tongue teases his sensitive tip and he nearly thrashes in your hand but the lack of energy has him only let out pathetic whines that nearly sounds like whimpers. Oh the joys of breaking a man! Watching your thick gloss covered lips spread around his thick girth was a sight he’d commit to memory and never forget. Twisting both of your hands down and around his length you let your mouth follow licking up your combined mess hollowing out your cheeks with a particular suck that makes his stomach squeeze.

“Fuck baby” he groans ready to tangle his hands in your hair but settling for running it down your spine tattoo over and over. He knew better than to touch your hair. Its when you let half fall out of your mouth, spitting it back into his dick, licking it back up and swallowing before swirling your tongue around the tip is when he starts to plot the murder of everyone you’ve been with prior.

He listened to the way you gag when you take him as far back t in your throat as you can, the sound of you sitting and licking it back up, the slurping the gawk and the gulk before he finds himself getting too overstimulated. But there's a soft wet sound that he knows isn’t coming from him so he follows it between your legs watching your slick covered skinny brown fingers rub maniacally at your clit oh his little freak indeed. 

Your mouth travels down his shaft before sucking his balls into your mouth and he throws his head back, hips bucking up unable to stop himself from grabbing your hair this time as your thumb presses into the slit on his tip.

“Come here” he rasp out, finally coming to his senses slightly right before coming again pushing you on your stomach.

“Sug—npphhh” and your muffled by the pillow as he pushes his dick back in the squelching sound only fueling him as he slides in. He pulls all the way back to the tip placing a hand on your upper back to push you deeper into an arch before snapping his hips back in all the way.

“Fuck Sug!” You borderline yell arm reaching back to grab onto something and he chuckles repeating the motion over and over using your hips as leverage. He slams you down onto his dick right where he knows your g spot is watching as you try to run arch falling completely. 

“Whats the matter baby?” He antagonizes wrapping a hand around your hips to find your clit terrorizing the bundle of nerves until your legs are quivering and lip trembling.

Leaning forward he brushes your hair out of your face taking a moment to just observe how fucking pretty you are like this. His pretty baby, with a face like this you could call him at any time and he’d come running.

“Close… im s’close” your legs begin thrashing even wilder as you clench his sensitive tip leaking ready to fill you up with another load. The way your acrylic fingers grips the sheets as you fall into your  arch even more was such a sight. Party be damned, Satoru be damned and exes be damned. Suguru felt so head high the electricity brewing between the two of you as you both fought off your peaks to elongate the sex as long as possible.

“Oh yeah, sweetheart?” He ask rubbing your clit faster picking up his speed releasing loud obscene groans in your ear and it’s when his thrust start becoming sloppy that you know he's just as close as you are and that’s enough to muster up the tiniest bit of energy to throw your ass back and match his rhythm.

“Cum with me sweetheart” and he begins counting down from 5 knowing he wasn’t lasting 10 seconds at all nor did he even remember all the numbers at a time like this.

“3…2..” he breathes roughly in your ear and your eyes roll back in your head the both of you releasing at the same time before he could even reach 1 the intensity too much and he collapses onto you his fingers still rubbing you through the orgasm until the two of you are reduced to nothing but sweaty heaving bodies.

It’s a comfortable silence even when he moves off of you and pulls you to lay on his chest…and out of the wet spot.

“So messy” he teases, brushing your hair down with his hand, ignoring the way he has strands sticking to his own forehead.

“It’s your fault.. you made me that wet” you grin trailing your fingers over his abs loving the way he convulses slightly.  You're so ready to sink into the soft sheets and warmth he provides until a distinct buzzing grabs your attention, pulling your vibrating phone from the floor seeing you had about 10 text messages from Gojo 2 from Shoko and one from Maki. 

Suguru uses the time to check his own messages seeing he has quite a few missed messages himself though all from the same person.

His ex girlfriend that he broke up with the other night through text directly after leaving you.

Gojo had been looking for you and all you could tell him was that you stepped out for sure ignoring that you’d have to face reality at some point.

“I could go for another round”

“Fuck it, Guess we both aint shit”

tag list(and my very first🥹) @gardenof-venus

[gummysharklover]

KART HEARTS !

summary: ᯓ˚࿔ schlatt falls in love under a pseudonym // ᯓ˚࿔ request found here

notes: ᯓ˚࿔ FLUFF <3 ᯓ˚࿔ gn!reader (no use of prns) ᯓ˚࿔ use of y/n ᯓ˚࿔ streamer!reader ᯓ˚࿔ reader has older siblings and a good relationship with their mom ᯓ˚࿔ tipsy schlatt bein cute :3 ᯓ˚࿔ reader does drugs😱😱😱 (gets a little high) ᯓ˚࿔ not proofread!

wc: ᯓ˚࿔ 1.8k

You've always loved gaming. Growing up, you would sit on the couch and play games, commentating on everything and talking to whoever would listen about what was going on. You even talked when nobody was around to hear, sharing your stupid thoughts with your imaginary audience.

Then, one day, your mom suggested you stream, and your heart nearly exploded—you'd been wanting to stream forever, but you were always scared of what she would say. Now that you had her approval, you were determined to make it work.

You started with no viewers, still talking into your shitty mic as you played your favorite games. Then, one night, a few people joined, and you chatted with them for the remainder of the stream.

"What games should I play?" You asked them, unsure what would get you big in the streamer world.

Most of them had replied with Mario Kart, and that's how you came to be where you are now.

Weeks went on, your small audience kept demanding Mario Kart, and you kept telling them, "In a little bit."

Secretly, you dreaded playing Mario Kart, seeing as you always lost to your older siblings, but you were finally willing to give it a shot.

You start the stream, just showing your face, and you let out a joking sigh, "Okay, chat. You guys have been asking me to play Mario Kart, so here it is."

Your chat exploded with cheers and excitement, and you can't help but smile at their enthusiasm—maybe this wouldn't be as bad as you thought.

You were slowly rising in popularity, becoming one of the top Mario Kart streamers. And that's when you caught the attention of one certain Jschlatt.

Popping into his stream for the first time in what felt like forever, you were pleased to hear his voice as he raged about how Ted was going to drag him to "Smoggy Los Angeles."

Smiling, you don't look at the chat, content just watching Schlatt's dramatic facial expressions. And then he cocks his head in confusion, squinting as he reads the comments.

"Who the fuck is Y/n?" He asks, and your face falls.

"Seriously, chat. Who is that, and why are you freaking out that they're here?"

'Sorry,' You type, 'I'm just a small streamer who plays a lot of Mario Kart.'

He reads your message, "Mario Kart, huh?"

'Yes, sir,' You reply, and Schlatt knows he has to watch you play, but he can't just enter your chat—he suspects it'll ruin your stream because you two clearly share an audience. And, for once, he doesn't want to be selfish and take all the attention.

So, he makes a new account—a stupid one named "mkmaster47."

You look at your chat—someone you've never seen has asked you a question, and you grow nervous at its contents.

mkmaster47: you any good at this?

Schlatt immediately hates himself for putting you down without even trying to.

You laugh nervously, "I hope so. I mean..." You sigh a little, fidgeting with your hands, "I get first most times, but that doesn't necessarily mean I'm good—"

A text-to-speech donation cuts you off. mkmaster47: "Sorry," It begins to read, "Didn't mean to make you nervous, was just asking a question."

You feel your heart rate slow down, "Well, are you any good at it, Mario Kart Master forty-seven?"

mkmaster47: i'd say I am.

You laugh a little, and Schlatt decides it's his new favorite noise, "I'll have to take your word for it."

And Schlatt spends the next hour of your stream watching in awe as you win every round.

He began tuning in religiously; it was just for entertainment—that's what he told himself. But, deep down, Schaltt had grown fond of you. Your annoyance when you got hit with a shell or got passed right at the end, and your joy when you win—he could never get tired of it.

"Chat," You smile, "I finally got the DLC for the original tracks," You practically squeal out of excitement.

mkmaster47: what was your fave ttack growibg up?

You smile as you read the name, giggling at the typos, having grown fond of this mystery person.

"Mk," You begin, and Schlatt lights up at the nickname you've given him, "My favorite track when I was growing up was definitely Mushroom Gorge. It was the only one I could beat my siblings at. What was yours?"

He tells you his childhood favorite, and you smile, "That was one of my least favorite tracks. I sucked at that one. Also, what's up with the typos, Mk?"

mkmaster47: tipsy

"Tipsy, huh? So I'm gonna take a guess and say you're twenty-one or older?"

mkmaster47: yesd maam

You laugh, shake your head, and turn back to your game, "'M gonna see if I can still body this track."

A text-to-speech comes through, "I'm sure you can, pretty girl."

And then your chat explodes.

"WHAT???"

"PRETTY GIRL? I SHIP SO HARD!!!"

"OH THEY'RE IN LOVE!"

Your face warms at the pet name, and you try to hide your smile, "Mk, you flatter me."

Schlatt watches as you flawlessly finish the race, coming in first place each time.

mkmaster47: have you evrr playrd with a lro streamer?

mkmaster47: pro steamer

mkmaster47: fujxc

One of the things you've come to adore about Mk is how much he makes you laugh, "No, I've never played with a pro streamer. I don't really know any streamers personally."

And Schlatt knows exactly what to do.

mkmaster47: i know a few

You cock your head, "Do you, now, Mk?"

mkmaster47: mhm

"Yeah? Like who?"

mkmaster47: tedjamin nivison is a close friuend ofg mine

You shake your head, "Liar."

Your chat is going wild, but you're only interested in what Mk has to say.

mkmaster47: not lyingf

"Prove it."

Silence, and you know you've caught him in a lie. But then your phone dings. It's a Twitter notification.

Tednivison mentioned you in a Tweet @/Youraccountname: How dare you call mkmaster47 a liar

Your eyes go wide, "What the fuck. Mk, who the fuck are you?"

And then you get radio silence from him the rest of the stream, leaving you to wonder.

You stayed up way too late trying to figure out who your mystery person is.

"Is it really Schlatt?" You had mumbled to yourself about one billion times. It would only make sense, right? Schlatt is a master at Mario Kart, Mk only started tuning in after the whole debacle with Schlatt, and he's close friends with Ted. But so much doubt crept into your mind. Why would Schlatt watch your shitty streams? Why would he spend so much money on donations for you? And why would he would he call you 'pretty girl?'

You're tired; you stream anyway.

mkmaster47: you look tired

You quirk a brow, "Shouldn't you be hungover or something?"

mkmaster47: i didn't mean it in a bad way. I just think you should rest if you're tired. Don't stress yourself out with this job. It'll catch up with you in the long run.

"Yeah? And how would you know, Mk?"

mkmaster47: I'm a streamer, doll.

You begin to sweat—is this actually Schlatt? Or are you psyching yourself out?

You gulp, "Yeah? And who might you be?"

mkmaster47: Hmmm... I'm not sure if I should tell you yet.

You roll your eyes playfully, smiling as you say, "Okay, Mk."

You play race after race, coming in second or third each time, and you curse yourself. You feel so self-conscious, knowing Schlatt might be watching you.

"Chat, I think I'm done with Mario Kart for the day. Let's just chat."

mkmaster47: What you wanna talk about, doll?

You try to hide your smile at the pet name, but your chat catches on.

Oh, they're in love.

SHIP!! I SHIPP ITTTTT!!

y'all are trending on twit😭

You check Twitter, and surely, the tag: "Y/n and Mk" is trending; you internally scoff, "This is getting out of hand."

mkmaster47: so, what? you don't wanna be in love with me?

Your face heats up, and your chat flames you for your coy smile, "I never said that," You sigh, "But... I do have a small crush on somebody."

Schlatt feels dejected. Of course, you have a crush on somebody, but he decides to dig deeper.

mkmaster47: and who might that be?

You shake your head, clicking your tongue, "Not gonna get that information out of me."

Your chat is going off, once again, the same iteration of "How could you not tell us?" And, "I feel so betrayed."

"You guys do know that I keep things to myself most of the time, right?" You giggle at the responses, and Schlatt finds himself grinning so hard his cheeks hurt.

After about an hour of talking, discussing Mario Kart, asking your viewers if they would be okay with you playing some other games, and not so subtly flirting with Mk, you decide to end your stream.

You're tired and stupid, and you decide to get a little high. You've been staring at your phone for what feels like hours; it's been about three minutes. You decide to open Twitter, and you feel out of control as you tap the button to start a message.

You: Hey, are you, by any chance, mkmaster47?

He reads the message but doesn't answer, and you panic.

"Why would I do that?" You mutter under your breath because, obviously, it's not him. Why would it be him? So you're rethinking everything—how disgusted Schlatt looked when people in his chat started talking about you, how he's never been the type to be outwardly affectionate, how stupid you are to think it could be him.

You turn your phone off and sigh, slumping down in your bed. You're unsure of what to do—you've made a complete fool of yourself, and you just hope Schlatt doesn't bring it up anywhere.

But then your phone dings. You grab it feverishly, unlocking it to see what the notification is.

Schlatt has replied, and you think you're going to implode.

Jschlatt: Maybe.

That's all you get. A simple "Maybe."

You: Maybe?

Jschlatt: You're good at Mario Kart.

You read the message, face dropping, as your heart rate spikes.

You: So you're him?

Jschlatt: Yeah. I am, pretty girl.

You: Prove it.

Jschlatt: Doll, you ask me to do a lot of proving.

You: I'm just shocked that you've been watching my streams for months.

Jschlatt: I've grown quite fond of you. Too bad you've got a crush.

Schlatt frowns at his own message, reminded of what he can't have.

You: I have some good news for you.

Then you have Schlatt nervous. He sits in suspense as he sees the typing bubble.

You: I've got a crush on you.

He smiles, whooping as he reads the message.

"Fuck yeah," He mutters, then he smirks with a plan in mind.

Jschlatt: Prove it.

Your jaw gapes.

You: No fucking way you just asked me to prove it.

Jschlatt: I did, doll.

You go on to prove that you do, in fact, have a crush on the man you've been crushing on for years.

Jschlatt: Simp lmfao.

You: I'm rolling my eyes so hard right now btw.

Jschlatt: I'm head over heels for you btw.

AHHHHHHHHHH streamer!reader my beloved

[infiniteko]

You are the only person so far who seems to know what you’re talking and is well studied so I decided to sent this ask for you. It will have a little venting, but nothing too extreme or long also if you don’t mind I’d rather speak in a not non duality way because I wouldn’t know how to formulate my sentences without giving power to the physical world in a sense, and I’m not exactly looking for enlightenment in non dualism it’s just a question about this whole thing that has been going on on tumblr and other communities about manifestation and non dualism.

I’ve been on this journey of manifestation, law of assumption, non duality etc etc for a year now and the main thing that kept popping up in my head was “is this concept true?”

The concept that I’m talking about is: “we are the creators of our reality”

Honestly, this journey has brought me a lot of suffer because I’m a natural overthinker, skeptical, a tad pessimistic and extremely self judging. So I would often feel dumb and stupid for believing I could actually change my WHOLE life and manifest things that would be seem as actually absurd and impossible.

This experience of seeing so many times people saying “we are limitless” or “everything is malleable” “you can get anything you want” has dragged me into this rabbit whole of full peace of mind and hope and then being totally ripped apart by negativity, pessimism and skepticism.

I’m honestly tired and I really, really, really need to get out of it, so you are my hope of weather I should continue my journey to get a better life or finally have a closure on this whole world of manifestation, shifting realities etc

Is it really possible? I’m asking this with my whole heart and soul. It is possible to experience this reality shiftings, changes of physical appearance, revise past and all that?

I really need to put an end on my suffering and move on with my life and I rather know the final answer now instead of wasting my life on things that won’t happen and just end up more frustrated in the future.

Can we change our 3D world (I know you said there’s no separation, but as I said I can’t speak in a non duality way I’m sorry) or we just have to accept we can only control to a certain point?

Is it true that if I’m not meant to be rich no matter what I do, I won’t? That no matter how hard I try I could never “attract” a specific person? Is it true that the only thing I can do in this life is find peace by accepting that certain things are meant to be and never changed? Is accepting that I am not limitless like as all those bloggers, teachers, Neville Goddard claimed I am?

I’m sorry if this ask is heavy or if my words were harsh somehow. I don’t want to put a responsibility on your shoulder, I just really need to find peace and I need a final answer.

Thank you!

Here's the thing Anon: No one can help you but yourself. As harsh as it sounds, IT is what IT is, i'm not sugarcoating anything, it's a bit long and wordy so read carefully.👁️📿

In tibet we have these sayings:

1. ཝ་གསུང་ཞོད་དུ་གཅིག་སྤྱོད་དུ། "You can offer a handful of grass to the cow, but you can't force it to graze."

2. མཐུད་སུམ་བསྡུས་ཀྱི་སེང་གེ་མ་དམ་ཅོ། "You can present the scriptures, but you can't enlighten the mind."

Even though i tag my stuff with "#nondualism" and a lot of people associate me with it, i don't follow any concept in particular. I only point you into the direction of "THAT". What you do with it, is your choice. You said you've been on a "journey" with lots of concepts like LoA, Manifestation, ND. Ask yourself, what exactly has been keeping you from actually turning within into silence instead of gathering one concept after another? Who decides that something is "impossible" and "absurd" like you said? I know you already told me that you'll talk in concepts but i still have to ask, are the limitations you have set for yourself REALLY fundamentally a thing? Do they exist if you aren't aware of such limitations?

Emptiness

NO concept is true, untrue or real. No words are true, untrue or real. I could tell you "no, Non Dualism or "AWARENESS" is not true. You can't change your life" but that's going to have a negative impact on you, wouldn't it? Why is that so? Those words don't prove anything to you. They are just words.

EVERY word is empty by nature, we give meaning to them. If i told you "བདག དངབ བསམ ངས་ཡང་ཡིན་གསལ" could you do anything with that sentence? No, because that sentence has no meaning to you.. you don't speak the language. Whatever I said, is meaningless to you. But if I translated it in english, you would be able to understand because you speak english and give it meaning (-> what was once meaningless and empty, now has an illusory meaning given by you). Got it?

What I'm trying to say is that it is important to understand that words have no meaning whatsoever BY NATURE and because they are meaningless BY NATURE, we can tell you whatever we want to, it is up to you alone what you're going to do with that. Does that make any sense to you? I hope i got my point across on how we give meanings to every empty word.

We do the same thing with different situations.

A stormy day can be the worst day ever for you but for someone else, it's the best thing ever.

If someone told me my content is trash, i do not care. If someone told 18 year old Koda her content is trash, i would've wasted a thought or two on that statement. If Dechen (my boyfriend, co-admin) read that we're spreading lies he would've written an essay telling that person to shut up & move along 2 years ago, but now he'd ignore it because he couldn't care any less. Now, everything is meaningless for everyone. I can decide if I want to be affected by those words, or not. If i told you "Everything's a lie" , what are you going to do then? Are you going to abandon everything just because I, someone you find "reliable", said so? If that's what you would do, why? What made you attach so much importance to a random "person"?

Is it true?

"Is it true that [...]"

"Is it true that [...]"

"Is it true that [...]"

Who are you asking? Me? Why? Do you want it to be true or untrue? Since all words are meaningless and empty by nature, is there a difference between the words "true and untrue" or is it the same "Emptiness"? You alone make your decisions. I can point you towards "IT" but 'you' are the one who's going to recognize "IT" or not. I have nothing to do with that descision.

Read whatever you want to. Practise whatever you want to or don't. At the end of the day, you alone give meaning to the meaningless. You can define emptiness but that doesn't change its Nature which is "emptiness", "nothingness" whatever-ness.

Definitions

"I'm an overthinker, skeptical and pessimistic."

What made you come to that conclusion? In order to answer that, i assume you have to think and list all moments in which you were overthinking, skeptical and pessimistic but are you able to answer that question without thinking? If you aren't thinking, WHAT or WHO are you? Are those thoughts you define yourself by, real in any way or are you just aware of different behaviors and define them as "overthinking, skepticism, pessimism" after thinking about it? Could you define yourself for me, without thinking? Try it.👀

Enlightenment?

You said you are not "looking for enlightenment" from ND , what exactly are you looking for then? Only a "person" can get enlightened, but there is no actual "person" here. What is, is. All concepts only POINT you to one direction -> "IT". Some, like advaita vedanta, are more direct than many limited & watered down versions of ND people now call "Law of Consciousness or Law of Assumption "with extra steps" on tumblr or twitter. In my humble and illusory opinion, it is nonsense but does it matter?👁️

The non-existent "I"

"Is it true that if I'm not meant to be rich no matter what I do, I won't? That no matter how hard I try I could never "attract" a specific person? Is it true that the only thing I can do in this life is find peace by accepting that certain things are meant to be and never changed? Is accepting that I am not limitless like as all those bloggers, teachers, Neville Goddard claimed I am?" -> define and show me the "i" you keep talking about. Do it without thinking. If you ponder on it long enough on a deep level, you will instantly answer your own Questions and the "i" you are talking about. Define and show me your doubts without thinking. There is no person to believe in anything, no person that is actually doubting, no person that is actually here.

「You can mold clay into a pot but that doesn't change the fact that it is clay and will always be clay」

[mayashesfly]

Thinking about Young Vox sending Alastor fan letters to his radio show when they were both alive.

Alastor was having a bad day after a particularly feisty prey of his messed up his best suit. In hindsight, he should've changed clothes before commiting to his act. However, he didn't have the time and now he has to go to work being seen with subpar clothing by his supervisors.

Not that it matters much to his listeners, no no of course not. After all, radio was still the best way to express ones self even when there were rumors popping out about those rudimentary picture boxes. So he doesn't need to worry much about his appearance for his audience.

However, he still doesn't want there to be any rumors about his home life because of his subpar clothing. Noone needs to know what happens to his personal life after all

As he sits in his station, he readies the script he already prepared and the catalog of songs he was going to broadcast before going on air.

He keeps the smile in his face and in his voice as he performs for his beloved audience. Even when a part of his mind wanted nothing more than grit his teeth as he remembers the small puffs of laughter and snorts when his coworkers saw his clothes.

Truly, it was too bad none of them were as bad as his usual victims. He would've already killed them otherwise.

As the music segment began, he started shifting through the pile of fan letters he acquired. Most were unimportant or junk mail much to his chagrin. But there were a few written by his beloved fans that warmed his heart upon reading them, regardless of how brief or convoluted.

A certain letter caught his eye upon seeing it came from New York of all places, a rather long journey compared to the other letters. The fame of his radio show was rather local after all.

Curiosity piqued, he picked up the letter before carefully opening it.

His eyes widened upon seeing it mention his ethnicity. He swore he didn't say any of the sorts during one of his broadcasts but still- rather than find disgust or any filthy words of the sorts, he found admiration and appreciation.

"It's hard acting like someone else just for your safety. But it makes me happy that I'm not alone in feeling this way"

The letter had said, penned under the name Vincent.

Vincent.

What a lovely name.

He said his mother was of German descent and had told him stories of a "kobold" of sorts among other things his mother had taught him.

He smiled upon being reminded of his own mother.

Before the letter said that his radio broadcasts never fail to put a smile on his face. Happy to hear another's voice with such a compelling delivery of words and stories.

And his heart swelled with pride.

It was a bit humorous, if not slightly concerning, with how much information he can glean from a single letter.

It had warmed his heart nonetheless.

And he found himself smiling more naturally as he finished the music segment and started to offer acknowledgement and appreciation for the fan letters his audience has given him.

Somewhere else, within a cold empty house... a lonely boy smiled upon hearing those words.

"Thank you for the wonderful words you've send me"

"It has really warmed my heart knowing I am not alone"

[separatist-apologist]

Never Not Mine

Summary: Elain Archeron has been betrothed to the seventh born son of Autumn for as long as she can remember. With her family's reputation in the balance, Elain is resigned to her fate.

That doesn't mean she has to like it…or that she has to make it easy for him.

Chapter 1 | Read on AO3

Feyre and Nesta come to Autumn the night before Elain’s wedding, tanned and a little blonder than normal. It was too late to intervene—Elain had already been fitted for the dress she’d wear tomorrow and was, essentially, under lock and key. No guards, but an endless parade of servants that seemed to pop up any time she tried to leave the room.

Elain knew that was Lucien’s doing. He’d been sleeping on the sofa she now sat on each night, keeping watch so she didn’t try to escape and vanishing before she woke up. They’d barely exchanged a sentences worth of words since she’d foolishly climbed over the balcony.

“How are you feeling?” Feyre asked as Nesta paced back and forth. If she told her sisters the truth, they were likely to do something foolish. Something that got them all in trouble. Nesta was already trying to angle out of her marriage and didn’t need Elain mucking that up. 

“Excited,” she lied, catching the way Nesta’s eyes narrowed. “And nervous, of course. We barely know each other.”

“Is he kind?” Nesta demanded, crossing her arms over her chest.

“Yes,” Elain replied, not bothering to add that he was rude in equal measure. 

“All mother talks about is how handsome the Vanserra’s are,” Nesta said with a dark scowl. “I see nothing special about them.”

Feyre shrugged. “They’re not ugly.”

“They’re hardly beautiful, either,” Nesta argued. If Feyre said the sky was blue, Nesta would argue it was gray and if Nesta thought the Vanserra’s were ugly, then Feyre found them to be impossibly beautiful. They had always been that way, leaving Elain to mediate.

“There is a charm to them, certainly,” she agreed, not taking any particular stance. “I am acclimating well. How are things at home?”

“Dull,” Feyre said as Nesta opened her mouth. “I paint and Nesta plays piano and we wither away, waiting for our turn to be good, dutiful wives.”

“They’ve banned arranged marriages in Summer,” Nesta said sharply, her tone rife with implications. Run to Summer, she seemed to say. As if Summer would risk a war with their neighbors simply to harbor her. 

“Perhaps other courts will follow suit,” Elain said noncommittally. It was too late for her. Tomorrow she’d walk willing with Lucien through a priestesses temple, watched by her family and his as they pledged fidelity and honor to the other. It was a farce and one Elain was committed to seeing through, now. If her sisters managed to escape their own prescribed fates, she wished them well.

But there was no more escape for her. 

“Have you seen anything?” Feyre questioned. Elain bit her bottom lip.

Yes, she wanted to say. How did she explain that what she’d seen was a particularly steamy affair with the man she had sworn she wouldn’t touch until she was forced to. Elain refused to think about it lest Lucien scent the accompanying arousal that always followed and got the wrong idea.

Visions were imprecise, a snapshot of what could happen and not necessarily what would. A wrong turn, a different word spoken and the entire world rearranged itself. 

That did nothing to remove the image of Lucien without his clothes shifting over her, or the expression on his face—

“Elain?”

She blinked. “No, nothing. I haven’t looked, though, either.”

“Well, maybe you should tonight,” Feyre suggested. Elain only smiled, certain she did not want to know what the next day had in store for her. Let it remain a mystery, even from her. If she saw herself beneath him, she’d panic and never make it down the aisle. 

There was something she wanted, though, and Elain found exactly how to get it later that afternoon. Cadmus poked his head in, expression guarded.

“Lady Elain?” The second eldest Vanserra looked the most like his father, his red hair browner, his russet eyes lacking some of the ringed gold the rest of his brothers had. Even his features were those of the sharp elegance of the High Lord rather than the softer edges the Lady bore. “How are you?”

“I…” A dagger glinted off Cadmus’s belt, silver hilt inlaid with vibrant rubies. “Can I borrow that?”

Cadmus looked down at his body, hands hovering over the weapon. “My dagger?”

Elain made her eyes big and round as she bit her bottom lip, and hoped Cadmus was no better than the males back home. “I don’t know how to use it, if you’re worried for your brothers safety”

“What’s to know? Stick the sharp end in anything soft,” he said with a wry smile before unstrapping the hilt. “If you do stab my brother, try not to kill him.”

Elain blinked. “Just…just like that?”

“It’s become almost a tradition to provide my new sisters with a weapon to use against my brothers. I’m starting to think Vanserra’s like to be threatened.”

She frowned. “It’s not like that.”

“For you, maybe,” he chuckled, watching as Elain quickly hid the dagger beneath an ornate pillow. “If you’re frightened, though, you could tell me.”

That was curious. “Why? What would you do?”

“What any good brother would do. Knock him around like he’s a youngling again, and hope his good sense returns to him.”

“That’s…unexpectedly kind,” she murmured. 

“We’re nearly family, right?” he said gruffly, glancing back toward the hall. “Anyway ah…don’t kill him. And uh…if you need any help, ask Arina. You know, for plausible deniability.”

“Right,” she agreed, holding back the urge to laugh. The Vanserra’s could be so unintentionally funny when they wanted to be. Absently, Elain wondered what Nesta would make of Cadmus. Nothing positive, she decided.

Nesta was supposed to marry a High Lord, which was a tragedy given how she hated all of them. Maybe all men, truthfully—Elain had never once seen her sister betray any interest despite the numerous men who had been interested in her. 

Elain hid the dagger beneath her pillow once Cadmus left, just in case Lucien decided to try anything. Elain knew she was likely going to have to let him touch her, but if he tried anything she didn’t like, she’d whip the dagger out just to remind him that he might be married to her, but he didn’t own her. 

It made her feel a little better, though only marginally. As she made her way through the palace, Elain found servants hanging floral arrangements and cleaning every surface for the upcoming spectacle. Everything smelled like cinnamon somehow and if Elain was braver, she might have made her way to the kitchen to see what they were cooking.

If she was braver still, she might have asked to help.

Instead, Elain emerged into the gloomy afternoon with a heavy sigh. It felt like the world was mourning, too. She intended to meander through the apple orchard again, kicking the rotting fruit on the ground with the toe of her boot until she didn’t feel so angry anymore.

Instead, she found Connall and Tanwen standing off to the side, flanked by two smoke gray dogs, each holding a rather large axe. When they saw her, their eyes lit up.

“Baby sister!” They called in unison, making their way toward her. “Want to smash some pumpkins with us?” “Smash some what?” she repeated as one of the large dogs wound its way through her legs, sniffing at her clothes with curiosity. 

“Pumpkins,” Connall said, russet eyes glinting with mischief. 

“It’s an old tradition,” Tanwen added. Of the two, Tanwen was taller and built more like a warrior. Connall was slighter, with a prettier face and hands that didn’t look like they’d done a hard day's work in their life. Tanwen’s hair was longer and braided off his face while Connall sported a shaggier look that seemed like it was popular with whoever he was courting.

With a face like that, Elain guessed everyone. 

“Smashing pumpkins is a tradition?”

They nodded solemnly. Connall added, “Whenever the Forest House is overrun, we come out here and destroy the heaviest looking pumpkins we can find. C’mon, join us. Beats sulking through the grounds.”

“I wasn’t sulking,” she replied, though she fell into step between them. 

“Sure you weren’t,” Tanwen said, elbowing her gently. “I’m sure you are merely contemplating the marital bliss you’re soon to find with little brother.”

“I don’t know how to swing an axe,” Elain admitted. Connall’s smile sharpened.

“We’ll teach you.”

The pair, accompanied by a dog she later learned technically belonged to Arina—Apollo—and another that Tanwen was fond of—Artemis—made their way toward a sprawling pumpkin patch. Elain was fascinated as Tanwen and Connall picked out three large pumpkins, hauling them each one by one before dropping them at her feet.

“Ladies first,” Tanwen said, cheeks ruddy from exertion.

Elain considered them, before pointing at one that was still a little green and covered in warts. Connall picked it up for her and set it atop a tree stump before handing her the smooth, wooden handle of the axe.

“Hold it like this,” Tanwen began, positioning himself behind Elain so his arms were wrapped around her. Warm, callused hands covered her own as he positioned them on the handle.

“Pull it back like this—not too far or you’ll drop it and hurt yourself. Use the power from your thighs, okay? And then swing hard—”

“What the fuck are you doing?!”

The three turned and Elain realized Tanwen and Connall must have known Lucien was nearby. He looked furious, though it was hard to take him seriously with Arina skipping merrily at his side.

“I’m debauching your wife, what does it look like I’m doing?” Tanwen said, throwing a rather charming wink in her direction. “She doesn’t know how Autumn Court females treat a male on their wedding night—”

A snarl ripped from Luciens throat before he settled himself, running a hand through his windblown hair. “Shut your fucking mouth.”

“Am I not allowed to be here?” Elain demanded, pointing the axe at her soon-to-be husband. 

“Lucien’s just grumpy—”

“I’m not grumpy,” Lucien interrupted as Arina laughed, hands clasped in front of her body.

“Your sisters gave him a good dressing down.”

“It was pretty funny,” Eris Vanserra chimed in, wrapping an arm around his wife's neck to kiss the top of her head. “Nesta Archeron has a barbed tongue and no sense of propriety.”

“That’s not true,” Elain protested, interested in what her sister said. “You’re thinking of Feyre.”

“It was both of them,” Lucien grumbled as he rubbed his jaw. “I thought the ladies of the Spring Court were sweet.”

Elain took that moment to swing, her sharpened blade slicing easily through the pumpkin. Tanwen whooped as Connall and Eris laughed and Lucien…Lucien merely watched, his expression unreadable. 

“Who told you that?” Elain asked him, dress covered in pumpkin guts. 

It felt good, though, in that moment, to wipe the look off his face. She was sweet. 

Just not for him.

LUCIEN:

Lucien tugged at the golden cuffs on his maroon jacket. He was deeply uncomfortable and somehow sweating despite how early it was.  He hadn’t slept at all the night before and given the noises coming from behind the door that they were about to share, Elain hadn’t either. It hadn't been crying, exactly…but something akin to mourning had been happening. It occurred to him that perhaps Elain had her own Jesminda that she missed.

Lucien couldn’t bring himself to care much. Instead, he perched himself in a tree outside the palace, closed his eyes, and prayed. 

Bring her back to me. Please, I’ll do anything. I’ll give you anything.

Easy words for a male who knew the Mother would not indulge this request. Lucien would have traded anything to see Jesminda right then. To hear her tell him it was going to be okay and somehow, someway this was all going to work out in their favor. He wanted to feel her hands on his face, her mouth slanted against his. He wanted to bury himself inside her and sob into her shoulder as he told her about the nightmare he was living.

And to do so would be the ultimate betrayal of the love he felt for her. To see her was to condemn her to death. She was gone, and Lucien knew she wouldn’t come back, and if she did, he wouldn’t touch her. Wouldn’t acknowledge her.

Wouldn’t look at her.

It didn’t stop him from pretending anyway. What kind of male was he, he wondered? His wife was inside preparing herself to marry him and he was outside wishing she was someone else. Daydreaming about another female. Would he think of Jesminda as he betrayed her later that night? 

Lucien half hoped Jesminda hated him. He certainly hated himself.

Lucien remained outside until Eris tracked him down, dressed in a deep brown jacket and cream colored pants. His brother swung himself easily into the tree, grunting softly as he sat on the opposite branch. “Brooding?”

It was almost comical. It was a scene they’d played before, only in opposite roles. Lucien had once gone looking for Eris the day of his wedding, finding him in the same tree likely with the same look of frustration on his face. Eris had wanted a way out, too, and he’d known what was waiting on the other end for him was his mate. There was something to work toward, at least.

Lucien didn’t care what Arina said—he didn’t believe he could love someone as deeply as he loved Jesminda and not be mates. 

“Just thinking,” Lucien said, wishing Eris would mind his own business. 

“You’ve got ten more minutes to find a last minute loophole,” Eris warned. “Though, I think you should marry her.”

“Of course you do.”

“She’s better than the females at court. Do you want father to pick one of them?”

“I want him to let me choose my own wife,” Lucien snarled, unable to keep his anger down.

“Love is for the lesser fae,” Eris said, ignoring the fact that he was in love with his wife. That was merely luck, Lucien supposed. “You are simply a cog in fathers political machinations. You know that.”

“Why not Tanwen? Or Cadmus?”

“Because Elain is a second daughter with no magical ability, unlike her sisters,” Eris reminded him, a cold edge creeping into his voice. He ought to have known better than to look for comfort from his brother. Eris had done his duty no matter how little he’d wanted to, giving Eris a mate and Beron a foot in the solar courts. “He needs sons he can marry off to all his most important nobles. Count yourself lucky that isn’t your fate”

“Is this luck?”

“Elain is nice,” Eris reminded him. “She’s not scheming and you’re unlikely to find her in Tanwen’s bed.”

“Are you sure about that?” Lucien asked, a surge of jealousy flooding through him. He didn’t want her, and yet didn’t want anyone else to want her, either. She was merely off limits. If he could have, he’d have ordered them all not to speak to her, either. 

Swinging his legs out of the tree, Eris landed smoothly back on solid ground. The world was mocking him—after two weeks of rumbling thunder and moody fog, the sun had come out blazing, igniting the world in a golden glow. 

“I’m certain. Now get down before father realizes you’re missing and takes the lash to your back on your wedding night.” Lucien considered it only briefly, but ultimately chose to join Eris on the ground, heart thudding painfully in his chest. 

Eris didn’t look at him at all, adorned in a crown of burnished leaves similar to the one Lucien wore. As they stepped back into the Forest House, Lucien felt the full weight of it for the first time in his life. Never had he ever felt more like a High Lord's son, the weight of his responsibility and duty dragging behind him like chains wrapped around his ankles.

He was drowning, and it didn’t matter. Lucien followed Eris through the labyrinth of halls toward the adjoining temple that spiraled deep into the ground, housing their family jewels and a private library you need permission to enter. Lucien knew on any given day, Arina would be down in the dark reading by faelight. 

Priestesses historically were not welcome in Autumn. Beron found them too scheming, but feared angering the mother by shutting them out entirely. His solution was using daughters of Autumn, deemed unlikely to marry by their families, and making them priestesses with fathers that had a vested interest in curbing their ambition. Housing them in the palace allowed the High Lord to keep a watchful eye on them via his wife, who was charged with overseeing the priestesses along with the ladies at court. 

Now the head priestess stood at the end of the temple, adorned by multicolored light from the stained glass behind her. Rows of benches held their families, though Beron sat behind the priestess on a throne built specifically for him, lest anyone forget the true power of Autumn. 

Elain was waiting in the atrium just outside, dressed, hilariously, in a fluffy gown of white lace and pale pink ribbon. Her hair was piled high atop her head, as if someone with a grudge had decided to try and make the beautiful Elain as unappealing as possible.

It was working, too. Lucien couldn’t help his barking laugh when he saw her, the sound echoing off the vaulted ceilings overhead. Elain turned, eyes wide with horror that melted into irritation.

“Be quiet,” she hissed, shoving the traditional red ribbon of Autumn against his chest. His brothers filed in behind them, not daring to make eye contact or otherwise react. 

“Who did you piss off?”

“This was my mothers wedding dress,” Elain informed him, chin held high in the air. “And the traditional bridal clothes of Spring.”

Lucien only shook his head, thinking of how lovely Arina had looked draped in red. There was no point in starting his marriage by telling his wife she looked awful, but…well. Lucien wondered if Elain felt beautiful right then.

“Come on,” he murmured, offering her his arm. Elain took a breath, eyes glassy, but otherwise nodded her head. She had more conviction on her expression than Lucien felt, and it was sobering. This was happening, he realized. Under the watchful gaze of not just his father, but the High Lord of Spring, Lucien was marrying this stranger. Lucien could barely breathe, couldn’t think as he stood in that beam of light, eyes trained on Elain without actually seeing her. Elain seemed to be employing similar tactics, repeating the words when demanded but otherwise standing utterly still.

Something was building, some emotion Lucien thought must be radiating out of him. It wasn’t fear and it wasn’t hatred, though it felt somehow like both mixed together. Holding the ribbon in his hand, Lucien began winding it around their wrists until the long sleeves of her ugly dress pushed upward, pressing them skin to delicate skin. 

The scene of Elain invaded his senses once again, making him dizzy. He needed fresh air, to get far, far away from her. Elain looked up at him through dark lashes, their eyes connecting just as the priestess pronounced them married. Something solid slammed into him. 

No, not slammed.

Snapped.

Lucien stumbled backwards, forgetting for a moment they were still tied together. Elain came with him, falling into his chest and oh, he wished she wouldn’t touch him just as his traitorous body ignited with pleasure.

Touch her, smell her, taste her—

Lucien righted Elain, trying to apologize but unable to get the words out. If he spoke, he might just blurt the truth out. 

You’re my mate.

If Elain knew, she was doing a far better job than he was hiding it. Her expression was one of confusion but not of recognition. If she didn’t know, good. There must be some way out, he reasoned, even as every other part of him rebelled at the thought. The Mother was mocking him. Elain Archeron was mocking him, with her beautiful face half lost under the weight of her gown and hair. Who had done this to her?

Lucien wanted to kill them.

“Are you okay?” Elain whispered, ignoring the crowd promptly descending upon them.

It wasn’t a lie when he said, “No. I’ve never been less okay in my life.”

And it was all her fault.

ELAIN:

Elain wanted to cry. The Lady of Autumn had done her best to try and make Elain look presentable, but it had been her mothers wishes to see her dressed like a traditional bride of Spring—the sort that had fallen out of fashion centuries before. She could still hear Lucien's barking laugh in her ear and the look of disgust on his face once he’d tied that ribbon around them.

It shouldn’t have mattered, truthfully, but Lucien had looked every inch an Autumn Court prince and she…she’d looked ridiculous. Embarrassing. Only her mother was happy, which seemed to be the only thing that ever mattered. Who cared if Elain was suffering internally so long as everyone else got what they wanted? 

Stomping from the great hall, where a lavish feast in her honor had been prepared, Elain made her way outdoors into the sunshine. It was only there that she began pulling pins out of her hair like a petulant child, tossing them to the leaves with reckless abandon. 

Why couldn’t she make peace with what was happening? Everyone else in her position had. Arina and Eris were in love, her parents were in love, the Lady of Autumn and the High Lord…tolerated each other. And Elain couldn’t even muster that. 

She hated Lucien with a passion that clawed at her chest and threatened to strangle her. She didn’t want him to touch her, not like this. Not when the sight of him cringing away as he disentangled himself from her and promptly walked away without so much as a reassurance that things would be okay.

She’d left him downing a cup of wine and imagined he’d be so drunk he was incapacitated for the night. That was a good thing, right? So why did it make her feel so awful? So ugly, so…so unwanted. Cast aside by everyone, loved by no one. She wanted to curl up somewhere and wait to see how long it took them to notice she was missing.

Elain turned her attention to the forest, determined to march right in. She bet Lucien noticed when it was time to do his husbandly duty. Then he’d be missing her. That's all she was good for anyway, right?

Elain didn’t make it two steps before someone stopped her. It wasn’t Lucien or his brothers, nor was it her sisters or anyone from the Spring Court. The male standing before her oozed darkness, with shadows trailing after him like a cape and eyes so vividly blue they looked like twinkling, violet stars.

Elain took a step back on instinct. “You shouldn’t be here,” she said, knowing exactly who stood before her. She’d never met him, nor his father, though she had heard the rumors about the High Lord of Night. They said he’d killed Tamlins father.

They said Tamlin killed his. 

Rhysand didn’t need to wear a weapon to seem lethal. Tall and powerfully built, she was certain if he wanted to, he could end her right there. His lips curved upward into a smile and too late, she remembered the people in his court were rumored to read minds.

“I hear congratulations are in order. Married to little Lucien…how delighted you must be.”

“I…” Elain trailed off, heart hammering like a jack rabbit. 

“I don’t think I’d leave my new bride to wander the grounds,” Rhysand continued, jamming his hands into his pockets absently. “But perhaps the males of Autumn are more…liberated…here.”

Elain’s mouth was dry. “Can I help you with something?”

Rhysand cocked his head, a lock of blue black hair trailing into one of his eyes. “Can you help me?” he asked, pondering this question with faux concentration. “I suppose you can. I’m looking for—”

“Rhysand!” Eris Vanserra barked, crunching onto leaves without ceremony. “Decided to show your ugly face for once? Or will I find your spy lurking in my woods again?”

“There’s no need for hostility,” Rhysand purred, eyes trailing behind Eris toward Feyre, who’d clearly been trailing Eris. “I’ve come to speak with your father.”

“Does Elain Archeron look like the High Lord of Autumn?” Eris demanded, his annoyance plain.

“She is far lovelier, I’ll admit, though your father has his charms—”

“Stop talking,” Eris muttered, nodding his head toward the doors so Rhysand would follow. Elain watched the High Lord of Night even when Eris’s fingers curled around her wrist, dragging her back inside with him. Rhysand was looking at Feyre in her spring green gown, hair half braided off her face. There was something curious about his expression—as if he’d never seen a female before and wanted to study her.

Feyre wrinkled her nose back, betraying her unguarded disgust before turning on her heel and flouncing back inside and to Elain’s surprise, Rhysand chuckled. He didn’t know how skilled Feyre was with a weapon, training in secret with a sentry she’d once been friends with before Tamlin found out and had him sent to the border. It was too late, then. Feyre was a menace with a bow and arrow and not horrible with a sword, either. No one could control her and in truth, not many tried.

Elain wondered what Tamlin would do with a wife that liked to stalk the woods for monsters. Monsters like Rhysand, Elain thought, wondering if Feyre hadn’t sensed his presence and come looking for the disturbance. She half wanted to see the showdown, if only to watch a High Lord get trounced by a noble's youngest daughter.

Feyre was nowhere to  be found by the time they all landed in the Great Hall. The once lively feast fell silent—even the musicians stopped their playing to watch, wide-eyed, as Rhysand strolled into the room. His eyes slid over the long tables piled with food, the people stopped mid-dance, and those that sat at tables holding goblets, drinking until their fair skin was ruddy from wine.

He grinned when he saw Beron. “Sorry I’m late,” he said, not sounding very sorry at all. Beron looked murderous, though he stood quickly while eyeing Eris trailing just behind. Elain watched as Cadmus fell into step beside his elder brother, the two flanking their father when he came down the elevated platform that held the throne he’d been lounging on. Everyone tried to pretend this was merely business as usual.

The music restarted and chatter resumed as Beron and Rhysand made their way out of the room, but Elain knew every immortal ear was straining to hear what was whispered between them. Why now, she wondered? Tamlin was gripping his goblet so tightly Elain could see the whites of his knuckles and Nesta’s eyes danced with silver flames, arms crossed over her chest.

Elain started to make her way to Nesta to ask when Lucien caught her attention. He was drunk, she realized. Stumbling forward, he grinned broadly not at her, but at someone behind her. Elain didn’t turn to see the female he was making eyes at, unwilling to even acknowledge how humiliating his behavior was. 

“You reek,” Elain hissed, catching Lucien by the arm and turning him around. “Go drink some water.”

“Telling me what to do already?” he asked, eyes strangely glassy as he looked down at her. There was an intensity to his expression she didn’t think she liked. It was as if he was undressing her with his gaze. 

“Yes. Water. Now,” she hissed quietly enough that no one but Lucien could hear.

“And if I say no?” he challenged. Elain wanted to cry. 

“You are not the only one experiencing misery, Lucien, and yet am I out here making a fool of you?” she demanded, hating the way her voice cracked beneath angry tears. “You could at least keep it behind closed doors.”

Lucien considered this. “You’re right. I…” he swallowed, sliding his hand over hers in the crook of her elbow so she had to join him as he went for water. “Sit down and eat something.”

“I’m not hungry.”

“Do it, or I’ll feed you from my hand like a baby bird,” he threatened, pulling out a chair from a neglected, empty table. Lucien dropped beside her, gulping down icy water as Elain picked food from a platter in front of her and spread it over two plates.

“Here,” she said, pushing a plate toward a wide eyed, strangely ashen looking Lucien.

“I—I’ve eaten already,” he said, gingerly moving the plate further from view. “You’re kind to offer, though.”

He was so strange, she decided. If he didn’t want to eat, he could suffer, then. No one could say she hadn’t tried, though. Elain began chewing, lost in thoughts of Rhysand just outside the forest grounds and her family that would vanish before the night was over. Her stomach tumbled as she thought about what the night had in store for her. Perhaps if she closed her eyes tightly it would be over quickly without a lot of fuss.

“Was there another male?” Lucien asked abruptly, interrupting Elain’s considerations. Looking at him, she found that same burning intensity from a few moments before. She didn’t think she liked when he looked at her that way.

“What?”

“Back in Spring. Was there a male you…preferred?”

Elain shook her head, though she wanted to ask why it even mattered? She was here, wasn’t she, wishes be damned? 

“None?” 

“No, Lucien. I’ve been set aside for you my entire life.”

“Sure, but…” he rubbed the back of his neck. “That didn’t mean you had to…”

Elain wished a hole would open beneath her and swallow her up. Surely he wasn’t implying that he wished she’d been with someone else mere hours before he was about to be with her? If she’d been less of a lady, she might have launched herself across the table to throttle him. 

“Please do not worry about it,” she implored, desperate for this conversation to end. “Let’s just…lets just get through this afternoon.” Lucien eyed her dress again, but kept whatever comments he had to himself. “Fine.”

His reluctant compliance was better than expected. And Elain would take what she could get.

LUCIEN:

“You’re acting strange,” Arina said, catching Lucien in the hall on the way to his new bed chamber. His old one had been cleared out without ceremony, and he’d bet if he went to Elain’s room, he’d find her folding his clothing like a good little wife

“I’m not,” he lied. Lucien was desperately trying to avoid his brother and Arina, if only because he was afraid that might see him and just know somehow. Or smell it, more likely—the way he could currently smell the mating bond Arina and his brother shared wrapped around her like a lingering perfume.

It smelled like sex. Lucien hated it. It was like a warning pushing up against him, reminding him that she belonged to someone—a male who might rip Lucien’s throat out, should he feel like it. Elain seemed oblivious to what was happening which was the only mercy Lucien could find in their miserable situation. How long could he keep her in the dark before she realized? Before she felt the pull, the urge to touch him, too? Before someone scented him on her and told her? 

“What’s going on?”

“Besides being actually married to a stranger, nothing at all. I, for one, have never been better—”

“Don’t use that tone with me,” Arina snapped, clearly irritated. “There’s something else about you.”

“I’m just…” Lucien ran a hand through his hair in frustration. “It's my wedding night, Arina, and my wife hates me. Put the pieces together.”

“I doubt she’ll be upset if you put it off.”

“Or she’ll run and tell her father to get out of the marriage,” Lucien retorted, though truthfully, Elain simply didn’t seem like the vindictive sort. His mind drifted back to lunch, watching as she put together two plates as his mind warred. On the one hand, the part of him driven by instinct had been screaming and clawing for him to simply accept it from her, thus cementing the bond before she ever had a choice.

The other, more rational part of him, wanted to throw that plate across the room before cursing at the Mother for what she’d done. It was supposed to be Jesminda. It was Jesminda. Lucien’s heart beat erratically at the realization that all the times he’d laid with her and sworn she was his mate, when they’d laced their fingers and talked about when it might snap…all of it had been a farce. 

Lucien couldn’t stop thinking about Jes’s own mate. He was out there somewhere. Maybe she’d find that male and she’d realize what they had paled in comparison. Would she laugh a little at their silliness? How young they’d been, how foolish to believe what they had transcended the gods.

Lucien would have left Elain if Jes appeared right then. If she’d asked him—he wouldn’t make her beg—he would have left. Damned Elain, his life, his mating bond, just to see her again. And he knew that if Jes learned he had a mate, she’d bow out entirely. When the bond snapped, there was a finality to it. 

He was a mated male. He owed it to Elain to try and make things work, and maybe he owed it to himself, too. That didn’t mean Lucien wanted it, either. Gods, he didn’t know what he wanted other than to drink himself into oblivion and wait for some obvious answer to present itself.

“When Eris informed you that you were his mate, what did you do?” Lucien asked, interrupting Arina’s self-important lecture about being a good husband.

“I suffocated the air in the room until he got on his knees and apologized,” she said, eyes gleaming with amusement. “That’s different, Lucien.” Elain probably couldn’t nearly kill him—he’d been told she had no magic to speak of—but he imagined her reaction would go nearly as well. 

“Just…let me deal with my marriage my way, okay?” Lucien ordered, unwilling to be nice to Arina at that moment. Butt out, he wanted to add, though slipping into his bedroom and closing the door behind him was response enough. 

Inside was something out of Lucien’s personal hell. Elain rose to her feet when she saw him, eyes bright from what seemed to be some amount of crying. Her hair was unbound and artfully arranged around a night dress that left absolutely nothing to the imagination. Lucien blinked, frozen in place as his eyes moved of their own accord.

BETRAYER

“I—put on a robe, please,” Lucien managed, turning in a circle like some kind of animal. She was his. He had no claim to her at all. The competing desires threatened to unmake him. Lucien heard Elain sniff.

“Shouldn’t we…”

“Not like this,” he breathed, certain he would have felt that way even without the mating bond. “I—we could just…go to bed?”

“What about…you know?”

Lucien took a steadying breath and turned again, relieved to find Elain had wrapped a throw around her body. Her face had a little more color, her eyes a little less red. 

“If I offered to just…pretend…would you tell someone?”

“No,” she breathed with the saddest look of hope on her face. “I would swear we did.”

Oh, thank the Mother. “Then we’ll turn the lights off, get into bed, and in the morning go about our business as if we did.”

Elain nodded, dropping the blanket gently to walk to their bedroom. Lucien nearly choked at the sight of her from behind. Mother spare him, she’d be the death of him. Lucien didn’t need to like a female in order to admit she was appealing and Elain…Elain was just as pretty from behind as she was from the front. His eyes slid down her spine, landing on the soft curve of her waist, the flare of her hip, the sway of her ass. 

Cauldron damn him.

Elain turned as Lucien steadied himself on the frame, wondering if sleeping beside her was a good idea at all. Servants talked—and everyone was nosy. If he was caught sleeping on the sofa, his father would know and put Lucien in a deeply uncomfortable position. Lucien wouldn’t put it past his father to demand to watch. He’d like enjoy knowing that he ruined every other coupling they’d ever have.

“Don’t look at me like that,” she warned, holding up a trembling finger. Was he looking at her in some particular kind of way? Lucien was certain he wasn’t. Still, he merely crossed his arms over his chest as he eyed his new wife. 

“I was lost in thought,” he said, forcing himself to look only at her face. As if that made things any better. She was so heartbreakingly beautiful it made his teeth ache. She’d always been beautiful, which had warranted the space—if he spent too much time in her presence, he might find he liked her, and liking the woman who’d been forced upon him felt like giving in to his fathers demands.

Or worse, admitting Beron might have been right about him. 

Elain still eyed him warily as he crossed the room, grabbing a pair of linen pants neatly folded in a drawer that had her scent all over it. In the bathroom, Lucien splashed cold water on his face and ordered himself to get together. The mating bond was making him stupid. He didn’t want her…and yet he did. Physically, anyway. Lucien wondered if he could get away with escaping to one of the nearby cities for a few weeks just to clear his head long enough to stand in her presence. 

He returned to find Elain dividing the bed in half using pillows. “That’s not necessary,” he mumbled, reaching over her to toss one to the floor. “And obvious.” “I don’t want you getting any ideas,” she replied in that prissy way of hers. 

Lucien bared his teeth. “Trust me, lady. My only idea is sleep.”

“I thought all males wanted—”

“I’m not an animal,” he growled, fully aware he was a liar. “I don’t relish the thought of forcing myself on someone, wife or otherwise.”

“And if I never want you?” Elain asked, eyes narrowed to slits.

“I’ll tell all of Pyrthian you are terribly infertile and I’m a martyr—”

Elain launched a pillow at his face. “You’re not funny.”

Lucien flopped into bed, one hand thrown over his face. “You wound me.”

“I don’t believe anything could wound that over inflated ego of yours,” she responded. Lucien was learning that despite her meek appearance, his wife had a sharp tongue. He rather liked it, if only because it absolved him of any guilt he might feel for his own remarks. 

“I’m sure you’ll figure it out,” Lucien said, settling against the pillow. “You could tell me, you know. If there was another male.”

“There wasn’t. There isn’t.” There was something bitter about her tone.

“Never?” he questioned, his curiosity making him stupid.

“Never.”

“You’re not…?” Shut up shut up shut up— “You’re not curious?”

“Stop talking, Lucien.”

“If it were me—”

“I know where you’re going with this, and I’m telling you to stop while you’re ahead,” Elain gritted out. “Find someone else, if you’re feeling frustrated, but don’t try and frame my lack of experience as an opportunity.”

“Cauldron, Elain, I wasn’t…” But he was. Lucien knew it was a bad idea. If he got himself in her with the mating bond pounding in his chest, he was likely to take things too far, to do something he regretted. He couldn’t help himself no matter how badly he wanted to, and her proximity was clouding his judgment. He tried to pull up an image of Jes, but his mind shifted to Elain in sheer white lace and the rosy pink of her nipples—

Lucien rolled over, frustrated more with himself than anything else. There was no way he was going to sleep, no way he trusted his dreams not to betray him.

Not for the first time, he wished he was dead.

But maybe it was the first time he’d wished for it the loudest.

And the gods did nothing.

[ya9amicide]

Redamancy [BTS]

chapter one

♡ info ♡ k-pop masterlist ♡ next chapter ♡

summary: Hybrids were accepted in society to a certain degree. To some, they are for entertainment. Used as sex and money tools. To lock up and abuse whenever and however they please. Something to have control over. To others, they are companions. Just like regular animals are used for therapy or simply companionship, hybrids are too.

To the rest, they are just like everyone else. Someone with their own life who deserves the same freedoms as your everyday John or Jane Doe. Wren is one of these people. She hates the idea of owning a hybrid. She has nothing against those who own them for medical or companionship reasons. Just the rest.

But, when a ragtag pack of seven mismatched hybrids somehow ends up in the woods behind her home, she takes them in and does the one thing she never thought she would do. Own them. But, she also does something she didn't even think was possible. She fell in love with each and every one of them.

pairing(s): ot7 x ot7, ot7 x oc

warnings: none

Most hybrids come from Asian countries because of the ethereal beauty they possess. For most, that is the only asset that keeps them alive. The way most of these hybrids end up in other countries is if they are sold to someone and brought there. Now, the entire world has hybrids mixed into its population.

Being a writer, I always get asked why I haven't written anything about hybrids. For a fantasy writer, it's like the jackpot of writing material considering they actually exist and all the information I would need is right at my fingertips if I want it to be.

It's just something that never sat right with me. I don't know everything and the only way to know everything is to speak to one myself. I don't own a hybrid. I won't own a hybrid. I have nothing against people who own them as long as they are treating them with care. But, I just don't feel comfortable interrogating someone for the purpose of a story.

Hybrids have very unique, very personal aspects to their lives that other people don't have. It would be like asking the deepest most personal questions about someone's life. It's unfathomably uncomfortable.

Luckily, I can escape the demands for hybrid content when I'm teaching. Teaching Greek mythology to college students has its perks in that regard. Which, leads me to where I am now, wrapping up my lecture for the day.

"Alright everyone, don't forget your homework for the weekend." Some students groan at the back of the room. I stand from behind my desk, walking around to the front where I lean against it with my hip. "Yes, yes, I know. Just be thankful you get a whole weekend for it, your other professors probably wouldn't be so nice. Now, any questions?"

Two hands raise in the air and I call on the first one to come up. "How many sources did we need to cite again?"

"At least three," I say. "You can use more if you'd like, I have no issue with that. However, I hope I don't need to remind you which types of websites aren't credible sources?"

Everyone shakes their heads and I nod, calling on the next person. "Will there be any time to come in to ask questions about our papers before Monday?"

"To come in, no. Unfortunately not. However, if you'd like you can email me with any questions you have or just send me a draft and I can read it for you and give you feedback that way. I will try to get back to you asap if I can. Just please do not email me Monday morning or late Sunday night as I will be asleep and it will be too late for you."

When I finish speaking everyone shuffles in their seats. "Any more questions?" When nobody else speaks up, I lean upright from my position in front of my desk. "If that's all then you are all free to go. Have a good weekend." I receive goodbyes from almost every student as they leave. Once the last one does, I shuffle all of my belongings together and leave the room, locking the door.

On my way home, it starts to rain. It's been in the forecast all week but it was only supposed to be a slight drizzle. This, however, is a torrential downpour. Pulling into my driveway and parking, I brace myself to make a run for it. There's no way I won't get drenched.

Walking inside, I toe off my shoes and drop my things by the door before going upstairs to change into warm and comfy clothes for the evening. Walking into the kitchen for food, I pass the large, sliding glass doors that lead to my backyard and the woods behind my house.

Cereal for dinner sounds good. With a bowl of dry cereal in one hand and a glass of milk in the other, I make my way to the living room. On the way, I pass by the glass door again. Lighting strikes, lighting up the yard and the woods in the distance. In the treeline, I almost swear I can see an animal. It's not super big, but it's not small either. Surprisingly, even with the woods bordering my house, not many animals make their way out. so, seeing one now is slightly odd.

I set my food down on the coffee table and move back to the kitchen, making a plate of food for...whatever is out there. If it's in the woods in a storm like this, it must be hungry. Sliding open the glass door, I set the plate down on the porch under the awning and move back inside where I sit on the couch with my own food and the tv playing in front of me.

I'm around two episodes into the show I was watching when I hear footsteps on the back porch. They're small but loud enough for me to hear through the rain which has settled down into a soft drizzle. Standing, I make my way to the door, trying to keep my steps light and my posture open so whatever is out there doesn't feel threatened by me.

When I'm close enough to see what it is, I find a German Shepherd right before it shifts and a man is left in its place. My hand reaches out for the door handle when he sees me. His eyes widen and he scrambles to pocket all of the food and make a run for the woods.

I quickly open the door trying to stop him. "Wait, please! You don't have to go." He freezes in his steps, halfway off the porch. "I- I can give you more food if that isn't enough. And some water too if you want?" He's thin and pale and shaking like a leaf where he stands. "Please?" My voice is soft, I'm afraid if I speak too loud he'll run away. "I just want to help."

It feels like we stare at each other for hours before he nods his head, barely enough for me to see but it's still a nod. "Okay, okay that's good," I say and lead him inside. "Let me get you a towel so you can dry off, you must be cold." I don't wait for him to respond before I rush off to get it. When I come back, he's in the same spot I left him.

"Here," I hand him the towel and watch as he wraps it around himself. Slowly, his shivering starts to calm down. "Do you have any preferences?"

He looks at me strangely, head tilting to the side. The ears on the top of his head flop to the side softly, the fur wet. "To eat? Is there anything in particular you want? Anything I should avoid?" He seems to take a minute to process what I asked him before he slowly shakes his head. "Okay. You can um...you can come wait in the kitchen while I get you something if you want."

He timidly walks in behind me and watches everything I do. I decided on soup. Hopefully, the warmth from the food would make him feel better. "Is it just you?" I ask timidly.

"No," he says softly after some hesitation.

"Are- are they close? Whoever you're with?"

"Yes."

I pause what I'm doing. Maybe I should make more soup..."How many of you are there?" How much food am I going to need to make?

He shifts uncomfortably. "Seven. Including me."

"Do they want to come in? You can invite them if you want." I avoid looking at him, continuing to make more food.

"What?" He sounds surprised and wary.

"Only if you want. I mean," I stop and chuckle slightly, "seven versus one? If I were to try anything, which I won't, I think you all have the advantage. Don't you think?"

He waited for a few minutes, probably trying to see if I was pulling his leg. "Okay." He slowly makes his way to the sliding door, I can feel his eyes on me, keeping me in his sight. Leaving the door open, he shifts back into a German Shepherd and lets out a loud howl towards the forest. Anything else beyond that, I don't hear because of the volume of the storm raging outside. It was around 15 minutes before he came back inside, several pairs of footsteps shuffling in behind him.

I freeze, gently putting down what was in my hands before slowly turning to face the group of hybrids in my home.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Forget-Me-Not 5

Warnings: non/dubcon, and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Characters: Loki

Summary: You return to your childhood home to put the past to rest.

Part of the Backwoods AU

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging.

You walk out of the bank, tempted to have your lunch at The Horn. You're certain they'd serve it up nice and foamy in a pint. Never the matter, you were never a drinker. Sins of the mother and all that.

You get into the front seat and sit for a minute, contemplating what to do. If you leave the land as it is, burn that shitheap down, drive off into the sunset, well, who will care about what some dead crone owed the bank? That's not how it works. You might think little of shared blood but a name is a name to the powers that be.

You shove your key in the ignition and turn. Your engine cranks and sputters but doesn't roll over. You frown. You just had it serviced before you drove out here. Oils filled, everything was tiptop, so the mechanic said. No lights, no dinging. You try again, twisting harder, but it doesn't catch. You let go as the car quiets.

A slap on the roof makes you jump and you look out the window at the figure right outside. Thor Odinson bends, grinning at you through the glass as he gives a wink. You don't believe in coincidences, especially not in Hammer Ford. You ignore him and give it another go; third time is the charm.

Nothing. Just a puff of exhaust and rattle. Fuck!

"Ah, don't worry, sweetheart," Thor raises his voice so you can hear him through the glass, "I'll take you 'round Vol's--"

"Fuck off," you hit the switch, ensuring the locks are down.

He laughs, "you know, I don't think I ever heard you speak before."

You shake your head and scowl, peering around. Several people watch but quickly put their heads down and continue on their way. Just like it always was. Fucking cowards.

"I see why he likes you--"

"Piss off!" You flip two fingers up in his direction, "now!"

"What? I'm tryna help you out. Sounds like your transmission," he taunts, "or maybe... you got some gravel in the gas tank. Shit, you know, that'll ruin your lines--"

"God! Would you just leave me alone?" You roar as you hit the steering wheel, "you and your fucking family."

"My mother gave me this cheque..." he reaches in his pocket and unfolds a slip, "has your name on it... and would you look at that? She left the amount blank."

You ignore him and grit your teeth. They think you're that girl who could be sold for a sixer and a couple bills. They don't know anything. They don't know you.

You reach over to the glove box and pop it open. You reach inside and take out the bottle of glass cleaner you keep there. You flip the lock up and he steps back, a victorious hum as you open the door just a hair. You aim the nozzle up and spritz him in the eyes.

"Is that clear enough for you!?" You snap the door shut again and thump the lock down with your fist.

He cries out and wipes his eyes furiously. You sneer as you watch him growl and his. He pulls his shirt up to mop at his face and finally stands, blinking furiously. He sends his fist into the glass, shattering it as you yipe. You shield yourself, reading for the next one, but he merely stumbles away.

"You've done it now," he snarls, "just you fucking wait."

"I will be," you holler, "just you come around and see."

He staggers away, groaning as he continues to fuss with his eyes. You watch him in the rearview before you lean back and stare at the lifeless meters in the dashboard. Rest in peace, mom, you left me a whole lot of shit, didn't you?

🏚

You grab the tire iron and leave your car behind. You have no other choice but to make the long trek back to your mother's shack. You get a few looks from passerbys on the main strip, their eyes lingering on the heavy tool in your hand. You're not stupid or weak like them. You're ready to fight back.

You keep your eyes set ahead of you as you crest the first hill. You always hated how this village only ever seemed to be up. You weave around the country roads and turn off into the trees as the sun dips below the treelines. You're tired and sore but not done. You still have a ways to go.

As you come through the canopy that opens to your mother's house, you feel the coolness in the air tingling in your fingers. The chill in your spine is from more than the late cast of a spring afternoon. You grip the iron tight as you stare up at the open door.

You swing around at the kick of a pebble. The iron meets only air as you twirl all the way around. No one's there. You back up, searching the trees. No, someone is there.

A snicker rolls up through the forest. It's him. He's watching you. You won't back down, not this time. You squint into the shadows. Where is that snake?

"Oh my, are we scared?" Loki's hiss crawls up your spine.

You spin again to find another void.

"Don't you remember our game..." he taunts. "Perhaps this time, you might win..."

"Go away!"

"Ten..." He calls out, "nine..."

Your heart races as your eyes tinge. You remember that girl, lost in the trees, listening to him count down, to his pursuit rustling through the leaves behind her. You feel the crash of the ground against your chest and the river water flooding into your mouth. You can't breath as you're trapped beneath another, rutting and ramming, snarling as he snickers in your ear.

"three..." you come back to the present, "two..." you whip around, "one!" You spin the iron and jab it backwards around your side.

He grunts and staggers back as you stumble forward away from his grasp. Loki falters as he grasps his stomach, a clot of red blooming on the inside.

"Shit..." he spreads the fabric, showing the gash. Not deep enough. You hold the iron tighter and raise it again. He chuckles and shakes his head as he looks up at you, "oh darling, you should know by now..." he smirks, "I don't play fair."

Suddenly, you're taken off your feet from behind, a thick arm around your neck and another around your middle. You thrash with tire iron only to be thrown away from the body behind you, hitting a tree so hard you're left breathless. You drop the iron as Loki moves to sweep your feet from under you and Thor brings his foot down onto your chest. You cough as you stare up at the brothers.

Everything stays the same in Hammer Ford.

[tallulah477]

Below the cut contains my thoughts and feelings about certain issues that I've seen recently that I feel like need to be addressed including hate/bullying, the new Neteyam & Lo'ak rp blogs, and the general fandom as a whole.

CW:// Mentions of pedophilia, predators, racism, and homophobia

Over the past several months, and especially over these past several days, it's come to my attention that we as a fandom need to make some things abundantly clear.

I was a silent reader for a long time. I love Avatar and this fandom with my entire heart and I wanted nothing more than to be an active part of it and member of the community, but the thing that stopped me for a long time was seeing how hateful people can be and I wasn't sure if I could handle it. Obviously, I decided that my happiness and sharing my love for Avatar and the characters with other people who love it as much as I do is more important than any nasty messages I might get and I couldn't be happier with my decision. I think I can safely say that most of us here in the fandom can say the same (although I'm sure the feeling of happiness comes with endless ebbs and flows for all of us).

That being said, the amount of sheer bullshit that I've been seeing on here is ridiculous.

The amount of hate messages that I've had to witness my mutuals receive is unacceptable. The amount of hounding as to why someone unfollowed this person, why aren't they interacting with this person anymore, why would someone write something like this, why won't you write this, is crazy to see. I've seen racist comments, I've seen homophobic comments, and I've seen people being called a pedophile wayyyy to often now.

This is Tumblr. We are responsible for our own media consumption. We cultivate our own media experience.

That means authors write what they enjoy regardless of content as long as they are responsible and tag the work correctly. You as the reader are responsible for heeding those warnings.

This means that if two people who used to interact or follow each other all of a sudden don't or someone gets blocked, it is no one's business as to why it happened. They don't owe you an explanation and there's no need to publicize drama. Do not go into their inboxes asking for details because all that does is feed the flames.

This is supposed to be people's happy place. Our safe space. And instead it seems like there's something new happening every single day.

At this point, we've all seen the rp blogs that have popped up. I'm not generally someone who enjoys rp so I didn't interact, but I saw a ton of my mutuals and others having a great time with them. Despite me not liking rp, it was exciting to see at first. A live persona of one of my most beloved characters interacting with fics that I love? Yes, it's definitely exciting to see!

But then it got not so exciting to see. The responses seemed solely sexual and out of character for Neteyam, a lot of them were really dark and borderline violent. I like dark fics, and I love dark Neteyam. But there are warnings to every dark fic and you go into them knowing what to expect. For a blog that's rp-ing a character that's not canonically like that, it was concerning to see.

We've had issues in this fandom in the past with predators. And despite us all being adults here (at least we should all be), you can never be too careful when it comes to the internet. I am NOT saying that the people running these blogs are predators, but certain things I've seen have raised some flags to me. Rp can be really dangerous when people don't know who's behind the character, especially if things are sexual. Since then, both blogs have created 'About Me' sections which I think is good. So that's something I appreciate.

However, we've also had the opposite problem in which minors interact with us and our content. It's a huge problem that we are constantly trying to battle because while seeing/reading sexual content can be harmful for those who are underage, it's can also get us into a lot of trouble for interacting with minors even if we don't know they're underage. When the accusation that the rp accounts were minors came out, they were sent asks to confirm. One responded respectfully and one, in my opinion, responded not so respectfully. If you are ever asked if you are a minor, don't get pissed about it. It's an important question and you should understand and respect its importance. Just clarify.

I'm saying all this not because I don't think people should interact with these blogs if you want to. It's 100% up to you and I know a lot of people were having fun with it. You're all adults, do what you think is best. And I do think it would be really nice to have more guys in the community, whether they rp or not. My issue with them is more about safety than anything else.

Now back to the hate comments. For any issues I might have had with the Neteyam blog (again, no hate, just my own thoughts), I only ever saw the Lo'ak blog being respectful. Yet, I still saw someone on their actual blog, not under anon, telling him "can't you just leave?". Under no circumstances is it okay to say this to another person. Any one who is an active member of this community who posts fics or the like KNOWS what its like to receive hateful comments like this and you think its okay to say something like this to someone else? No way. I'm sure you know what it feels like to get comments like that and you decided to be nasty to another person anyway. You should know better. Anyone who can say something mean to or about another person should be ashamed of themselves.

For as much as I love this fandom, this is insane that I actually have to say this.

Be kind. Be respectful.

And if you can't?

It's called the block button, people. Use it.

[pippin-katz]

I need a cast audiobook of RWRB. If no one else, then at least Taylor and Nick reading Alex and Henry. I need it in my life.

And in ACD fashion, here’s a few lists of lines/conversations from the book that I am desperate to hear them say. I want to hear them read all of the lines, but these are the ones that pop out to me!

Post Writing Note: These turned out to be way longer than I thought they were going to be 😭😂

Alex Lines:

Oh yeah, that was a wild night. Two whole keynote speakers. Nothing sexier than shrimp cocktails and an hour and a half of speeches on carbon emissions. - page 5

'Archnemesis' implies he's actually a rival to me on any level and not, you know, a stuck-up product of inbreeding who probably jerks off to photos of himself. - page 7

Jesus Christ, it’s like they can see into your soul. Cornbread knows my sins, Henry. Cornbread knows what I have done, and he is here to make me atone. - page 77

I always thought you’d kill me in a more personal way. Silk pillow over my face, slow and gentle suffocation. Just you and me. Sensual. - page 80

Shut up, shut all the way up, oh my God. - page 131

For fuck's sake, man, you just had my dick in your mouth, you can kiss me good-night. - page 145

What in the rich-white-people-sex-dungeon hell? - page 149

Bisexuality is truly a rich and complex tapestry. - page 194

Listen: I'll fly to London right now and pull you out of whatever pointless meeting you're in and make you admit how much you love it when I call you "baby". I'll take you apart with my teeth, sweetheart. - page 204

You don't get to sit up here and pretend like it's someone else's problem. None of us do. - page 209

i want to see a cage match between your grandmother and this fucking ghoul running against my mom. - page 221

I do think I got a gut feeling with you, I just didn't have what I needed in my head to understand it. But I kind of kept chasing it anyway, like I was just going blindly in a certain direction and hoping for the best. I guess that makes you the North Star? - page 244

Henry! Your Royal fucking Highness! - page 269

Really nice. Fuckin' ghost me for a week, make me stand in the rain like a brown John Cusack, and now you won't even talk to me. I'm really just having a great time here. I can see why y'all had to marry your fucking cousins. - page 270

I fucking love you, okay? Fuck, I swear. You don't make it fucking easy. But I'm in love with you. - page 271

I'll leave, as soon as you tell me to leave. - page 275

Okay, I'm into making history. - page 280

I completely fucking love you. - page 291

I'm there for whatever you decide you want to do, just, like, let me know if I need to start practicing gazing wistfully out the window, waiting for my love to return from the war. - page 296

AN INCOMPLETE LIST: THINGS I LOVE ABOUT HRH PRINCE HENRY OF WALES Note: just the entire list, I need it, but I'll point out some of the best ones anyway lol

9. How hard you try. 10. How hard you've always tried. 11. How determined you are to keep trying. - page 303

16. Your huge, generous, ridiculous, indestructible heart. 17. Your equally huge dick. 18. The face you just made when you read that last one. - page 303

20. The fact that you loved me all along. - page 303

God, I want to fight everyone who's ever hurt you, but it was me too, wasn't it? All that time. I'm so sorry. - page 303

Listen, I'm telling you right now, I will physically fight your grandmother myself if I have to, okay? And, like, she's old. I know I can take her. - page 312

You and me and history, remember? We're just gonna fucking fight. Because you're it, okay? I'm never gonna love anybody in the world like I love you. - page 312

Sería una mentira, porque no sería él. (It would be a lie, because it wouldn't be him.) - page 317

but i've kissed your mouth, that corner, that place it goes, so many times now. i've memorized it. topography on the map of you, a world i'm still charting. i know it. i added it to the key. here: inches to miles. i can multiply it out, read your latitude and longitude. recite your coordinates like la rosaria. - page 319

give yourself away sometimes, sweetheart. there's so much of you. - page 320

Zahra, you're my mean friend. - page 339

I've never... I haven't been through anything like that. But I've always felt it, in him. There's this side of him that's... unknowable. But the thing is, jumping off cliffs is kinda my thing. That's the choice. I love him, with all that, because of all that. On purpose. I love him on purpose. - page 344

For what it's worth, that is the bravest son of a bitch I've ever met. - page 347

My life is a cosmic joke and you're not a real person. - page 371

You are, the absolute worst idea I've ever had. - page 372

FIRST SON ALEXANDER CLAREMONT-DIAZ'S ADDRESS FROM THE WHITE HOUSE, OCTOBER 2, 2020 - pages 372-375 Note: just, the entire speech, the whole thing

America: He is my choice. - page 374

Henry Lines:

Hmm, I always liked Luke. He's brave and good, and he's the strongest Jedi of them all. I think Luke is proof that it doesn't matter where you come from or who your family is--you can always be great if you're true to yourself. - page 45

The turkeys are not going to Jurassic Park you. You’re not the bloke from Seinfeld. You’re Jeff Goldblum. Go to sleep. - page 82

You are the thistle in the tender and sensitive arse crack of my life. - page 73

fucking eyelashes - page 142

I shall just have to make it the best orgasm of your life. What can I do to make it good for you? Talk about American tax reform during the act? Have you got talking points? - page 196

How is a man to get anything done knowing Alex Claremont-Diaz is out there on the loose? - pages 202-203

They wanted something less fruity than the truth, but truly, what is gayer than a woman who languishes away in a crumbling mansion wearing her wedding gown every day of her life, for the drama? - page 205

Someone else's choice doesn't change who you are. - page 229

Most things are awful most of the time, but you're good. - page 230

The phrase "see attached bibliography" is the single sexiest thing you have ever written to me. - page 241

Should I tell you that when we're apart, your body comes back to me in dreams? That when I sleep, I see you, the dip of your waist, the freckle above your hip, and when I wake up in the morning, it feels like I've been with you, the phantom touch of your hand on the back of my neck fresh and not imagined? That I can feel your skin against mine, and it makes every bone in my body ache? That, for a few moments, I can hold my breath and be back there with you, in a dream, in a thousand rooms, nowhere at all? - page 242 Note: based on the parts of this we did get to hear Nick say in the film, I think this would kill half the fandom lol

When have I ever, since the first instant I touched you, pretended to be anything less than in love with you? - page 272

I never thought I'd be stood here faced with a choice I can't make, because I never... I never imagined you would love me back. - page 273

The Mail will write mad speculations about where I've gone, if I've offed myself or vanished to St. Kilda, but only you and I will know that I'm just sprawled in your bed, reading books and feeding myself profiteroles and making love to you endlessly until we both expire in a haze of chocolate sauce. It's how I'd want to go. - page 294

Here lies Prince Henry of Wales. He died as he lived: avoiding plans and sucking cock. - page 298

"Because I'm not like the rest of the men of this family, beginning with the fact that I am very deeply gay, Philip." - page 298

But the first time I saw you. Rio. I took that down to the gardens. I pressed it into the leaves of a silver maple and recited it to the Waterloo Vase. It didn't fit in any rooms. - page 300

I thought, this is the most incredible thing I have ever seen, and I had better keep it a safe distance away from me. I though, if someone like that ever loved me, it would set me on fire. - page 300

And then, inexplicably, you had the absolute audacity to love me back. - page 300 Note: I really wanted to just type out most of the page, but I restrained myself lmfao

I don't know if I would have chosen it yet, but it's out there now, and... I won't lie. Not about this. Not about you. - page 338

Bit short for a stormtrooper. - page 340

I've bloody well had it. I've sat about long enough letting you and Gran and the weight of the damned world keep me pinned, and I'm finished. I don't care. You can take your legacy and your decorum and you can shove it up your fucking arse, Philip. I'm done. - page 347

I've been as gay as a maypole since the day I came out of Mum, Philip. - page 353 Note: there's never too many times to hear the words "gay as a maypole" and the emotional infliction here is lot different lol

Both:

Am I offending you? Sorry I'm not obsessed with you like everyone else. I know that must be confusing for you. Do you know what? I think you are. Only a thought. Have you ever noticed I have never once approached you and have been exhaustingly civil every time we've spoken? Yet here you are, seeking me out again. Simply an observation. - page 18

This is idiotic. Let's get it over with. I'd rather be waterboarded. Your country could probably arrange that. Go fuck yourself. Hardly enough time. - pages 36-37 Note: yes, I know Nick read this part in his book-to-screen video thingy but it's not the same as having them both saying the lines fully in character.

What does Jedi have? Fuckin' Ewoks. Ewoks are iconic. Ewoks are stupid. - page 52

yo there's a bond marathon on and did you know your dad was a total babe I BEG YOU TO NOT - page 84

I'm going to die. I'm going to kill you. Yes, you are. - page 133

You were jealous. You want me. Yes, you preening arse, I've wanted you long enough that I won't have you tease me for another fucking second. - page 137

Hi. Hello. I'm gonna take your pants off now. Yes, good, carry on. - page 141

Ugh, you look ridiculous. Should I-- What? No, of course not, keep them on. Oh my God, what are you doing? I can't even look at you. No, Jesus, I just mean--I'm so mad at you. Just, come here. Fuck. I'm quite confused. Me fucking too. - page 150

I'm not... historically great at talking about things. Well, I wasn't historically great at blowjobs, but we all gotta learn and grow, sweetheart. - page 165

Bitch, you took me there. alskdjfadslfjad NORA YOU BROKE HIM - page 212

D'you know what I want? What? I want, to do the absolute last thing I'm supposed to be doing right now. Then tell me to do it, sweetheart. Fuck me. Well, when at Wimbledon. Just so we're clear, I'm about to have sex with you in this storage closet to spite your family. Like, that's what's happening? Right. Awesome, fucking' love doing things out of spite. - page 217 Note: I think this conversation could singlehandedly kill the fandom if we got to hear Taylor and Nick deliver these lines

Can't you ever just do one thing without having to be so goddamn extra about it? That is bloody rich coming from you. - pages 260-261

What do you want? I want you- Then fucking have me. -but I don't want this. - page 273

You seem... less pissy. You're one to talk. I wasn't the one who stormed the palace in a fit to call me an 'obtuse fucking asshole'. In my defense, you were an obtuse fucking asshole. - page 277

I honestly have never thought I deserved to choose. But you treat me like I do. You do. I think I'm actually starting to believe that. - page 279

What about you? What about me? Christ, Alex. The whole bloody time. The whole time? Since the Olympics. The Olympics? But that's, that's like- Yes, Alex, the day we met, nothing gets past you, does it? 'What about you,' he says, as if he doesn't know- Shut your mouth. - page 283-284

Hello, what was that for? I just, like, really love you. - page 286

What are you doing? I'm taking a picture of a national gay landmark. And also a statue. It's funny. I always thought of the whole things as the most unforgivable thing about me, but you act like it's one of the best. Oh, yeah. The top list of reason to love you goes brain, then dick, then imminent status as a revolutionary gay icon. You are quite literally Queen Victoria's worst nightmare. And that's why you love me. My god, you're right. All this time, I was just after the bloke who'd most infuriate my homophobic forebears. Ah, and we can't forget they were also racist. Certainly not. Next time we shall visit some of the George III pieces and see if they burst into flame. - page 289

If Alex from this time last year could see this. He'd say, 'Oh I'm in love with Henry? That must be why I'm such an arse to him all the time'. - page 387

Thanks for reading!! If you enjoyed this post & would like to support me, you can give me a tip on my Ko-Fi! ☺️

[magpod-confessions]

(loosely responding to a confession i saw a while back, but just a lot of stuff in general)

i don't like how the fandom is so quick to slap labels like 'sexist, racist, misogynistic, etc' onto anyone who dislikes a certain character. i know these things are very much an issue, especially in fandom culture, but it's really anoying when people will just throw those labels around just because people dislike a character that happens to be a woman of colour. because 1. people are allowed to just dislike characters 2. people can have perfectly good reasons for disliking minority characters that have nothing to do with them being part of a minority group

specifically i want to talk about preferring michael distortion over helen distortion. obviously michael is widely depicted as a white man, while helen is widely depicted as a black woman so it's easy to look at the general favouritism towards michael and shout racism and misogyny. but that doesn't account the numerous reasons people could have to prefer michael over helen that have absolutely nothing to do with helen being black or being a woman. So, I present several such reasons:

(now, to the people that are going to say "why are you comparing them?? they are different characters and you should treat them like it" first of all, why have you read this far. second of all, that does not apply here. these are not two seperate characters. these are two different interations/personas/whatever of the same being. comparison should be expected if not encouraged)

michael is more interesting than helen. becuase michael is the distortion when jon and the viewer know very little about the distortion and the fears, he gets to be more cryptic, he can hint at things and and be all mysterious and vague about the nature of himself and the world. helen on the other hand is the distortion when we have a much better idea of the distortions nature and the fears and how they work. thus, she has less opportunity to be cryptic and vague and mysterious, which , in my opinion, is one of michael's best qualities-and what makes him so loved by the fandom. helen attempts to be weird and cryptic like michael, but it's just very repetitive and boring because we already know how everything works and there is very little she can hide from us

michael is a more 'iconic' character. this basically comes down to, he's more quotable. he has his whole trademark laugh and all his great quotes "i am not a who archivist i am a what" "how would a melody decribe itself when asked" "does your hand in any way own your stomach" "there has never been a door there archivist your mind plays tricks on you" i could go on. i'm sure helen has some great lines as well but i don't know any off the top of my head, which honestly proves my point a little. anyway, helen doesn't have all that. probably becuase the writers didn't want her to feel too similar to michael but yeah. this reason is a bit basic but it's still true

michael is made to seem more important. I just want to clarify, what i mean here when i say a character is more importamt here, is that the podcast makes this character seem more important. they both had their effect on the storyline, but the show definitely makes one of them seem more important and influential (this reason encompasses a lot of things so i'm sorry if it gets a bit ramble-y) this kinda ties in with the michael being more mysterious thing. micheal is treated as this mysterious unknown character, a potential threat, an antagonist at some points. Michael affects the characters quite a lot, and jon specifically seems to dwell on him a lot. So despite having a lot less screentime than helen, he's built up to be quite an important figure. Helen is not treated as important by the show in the same way. by the time she comes along, the whole mystery and drama of the distortion has already happened, so she isn't that important. she becomes a little irrelevant to the plot, occaisionally popping in to bother jon. and that's what she's really framed as —an annoyance, a bit of a nuisance, but not that important or influential. especially in season 5, she becomes almost a comedic relief character. mag 187 is the exception to this, where she is very important for about one episode before being almost immediately forgotten about. her effect on the characters is made to seem important only in retrospect. michael remains relevant even after his 'death' because he plays an important role in jon's struggle with his humanity and his conflict over gertrude's morals. even though michael has very little screentime compared to helen, every bit of it is made to feel relevant and important to the overall plot. I AM NOT SAYING MICHAEL IS ACTUALLY MORE IMPORTANT THAN HELEN. YOU CAN LOOK AT HELEN'S EFFECT ON THE PLOT AS MUCH AS YOU LIKE. I AM SAYING THE PODCAST ITSELF CLEARLY MAKES MICHAEL SEEM MORE IMPORTANT. sorry i just want to be super clear on that

michael has a more tragic/serious backstory. we all know what i mean here. michael shelley being manipulated and decieved and betrayed and kept in the dark, to become a monster that's whole purpose was to do those same things to countless innocents—there's so much that can be drawn from that and it's so poetic and interesting. it's also relevant to the overarching plot of the podcast like i said before. and like i mentioned before, helen is treated as a more funny character, not as serious or tragic as michael. don't get me wrong, there is tragedy in her becoming but it is not explored in the podcast canon. you can definitely talk about the srious stuff of helen's character but it isn't as grounded in canon if you do. also michael's death seems more tragic because michael shelley was framed as super innocent and undeserving of his fate while helen richardson was canonically kind of an asshole (not saying she deserved it either of course)

helen replaced michael. this relates to what i said at the start of this list—helen is going to be compared to michael as she is literally his replacement. for one, that does set michael fans against her slightly already because she's complicit in his 'death' a tiny bit. but the real problem is, she's expected to live up to michael—while also being different enough that it doesn't feel like the same character—which i personally don't feel that she does. i think i'd like her better if she was her own character and hadn't replaced michael, and i think that's a big reason that many people that prefer michael don't like her as much. it's also a valid reason to dislike a character. also, this has absolutely nothing to do with her being a woman of colour in fanon. if she was another white boy i'd still probably dislike her when she didn't live up to michael standards.

that's all i can be bothered to write, i think i had more ideas but i forgot sorry lol. anyway, notice how none of those reasons had anything at all to do with helen being a woman or often being depicted as black? if michael had been a woman of colour and helen had been a white man instead, these reasons would still apply

anyway i spent so long on this i thought of a couple reasons someone might preferhelen because i still love her and i don't want to make it seem like i dislike her. i don't. i just prefer michael but helen is still definitely top5 tma characters for me for sure.

we get to see the distortion adapt to it's new identity as helen which is super cool (i do not understand why no one talks about this.like hello????? it's so interesting?)

sometimes it's nice to have a more funny character, especially the juxtaposition between the more dark stuff of the podcast and lighthearted moments between helen martin and jon in season 5

i like her more subtle manipulations and the whole 'fake friend' thing. i thought that was a really interesting concept and a good way of bringing something new to the distortion

anyway, i know that white-twink-favouritism is an issue within the tma fandom (and dare i say tumblr as a whole) but let's remember than not everyone who likes or dislikes certain characters or prefers one character over another does so because they are sexist or racist. there are so many different reasons for someone to dislike or like characters that have notihing to do with race or gender.

i notice this debate particularly with michael and helen and i agree there could certainly be an element of sexism and a bit of racism too (not racism so much because she is not canonically black it's just a fanon thing so racist people probably just see her as white idk) but i think most people have genuine reasons like these to prefer michael and should not be called sexist or racist for having preferences.

🗣️ if i remember right mod i know you prefer helen so disagree with me if you wish. I'M NOT SAYING MICHAEL IS OBJECTIVELY BETTER THAN HELEN I'M POINTING OUT REASONS THAT A LOT OF PEOPLE PREFER HIM. i'm not really here to debate whether michael or helen is 'better' i just wanted to point out something that annoys me a bit

oh my god you are so right anon. at the end of it all both distortions are just. the distortion. michael was more impactful to the actual story as a whole, being one of gertrude's assistants, but helen is also super important in jons journey into avatarhood. both of them affected how jon sees himself through this ( him seeing himself as a monster definitely is also from the distortion ) in their own ways , and while helen is more of comedic relief , she still is new. she's fresh. she is a blank slate for the distortion after having been michael for so long and that is so interesting , especially with how she feels at the very start after merging. - deceit

Agree agree agree. I love helen sm and I find her incredibly interesting (and well the disortion in general) and I do prefer her over Michael personally (partly bc im gay as hell), but I definitely understand why ppl love Michael sm. And yea I dont think ppl should be called sexism or racist over liking a character. Like theres a big difference between liking a character for genuine reasons and liking them bc you have a bias. Idk yea - Rosette

[valentine-writes]

Hello hello! Been downright dying over how much I love your AtSV work!! So I thought I would feed into it >:) If you're feeling up to it, whats been brewing in your mind about The Spot x reader? Take it platonic or romantic, either has so much potential for fun in my opinion and I guess I'm just interested in what ideas you might have?? Not a lot to work off of from what I'm asking but I hope you're able to have fun with it anyways ^^; Whether youre able to get to this request or not, thanks for reading! Love what you do :)

collision.

「 tws + notes: possibly ooc, unedited, he's kind of pathetic little meow meowified im sorry, first bit inspired by @//submurged-into-clouds !! <3 」

↳ ft. the spot

「 gn!reader, can be platonic or romantic <3 」

author's note: first, AUWJHEJSBS thank u so much!!!! im glad u like what i've written so far– and i am SUPER excited to write for the spot becuz im gon b real,,, there was a momentary lapse of insanity where i was scouring for any content of him at all. SO TY 4 UR REQ!!!! ( /)u(\ ) i hope this is ok!!! i got carried away and stuff so,, i hope this is at the Very Least coherent! leaned for platonic stuff with romantic undertones that intensify throughout so,, read it how u like ^_^

▸ we're going to start this by establishing that bro has literally No Friends anymore. you met him after the collider incident and by some miracle, some sort of mercy from a higher power in the multiverse– you ended up becoming friends with him

really, meeting him was an accident. wasn't supposed to be anything more– just him messing around with his new abilities and slipping into a random universe with no idea where he was.

and there was you.

just you. out, alone at night. just taking a walk– disrupted by someone falling out of a weird portal from the sky.

this is the day your paths crossed, the day your fates intertwined, the moment that your world collided into his.

to put more literally: the day he crashed into you very unceremoniously.

im now re-reading the title and remembering his backstory and giggling at my unintentional joke. he is not catching a break. even from me.

▸ after recovering from a random stranger from another universe tumbling into your own, you began to talk.

now– you don't remember how the conversation started, but you were glad to listen. the way which he rambled to you, words tumbling out of his mouth like they'd been on his mind for a while– you felt like he needed someone to hear him.

he's surprised. you're not bothered. not frightened. not even weirded out. but you're not indifferent. you nod along, you comment on things here and there– but you listen. you actually listen to him.

eventually, when he leaves, you're sat there for a moment. just frozen– processing whether that had really happened or not. you see the indent his body left in the grass where the two of you sat. it's evidence enough for you.

a few weeks pass and you're certain that you were just fated to meet once and never again. you were fine with this.

▸ until he randomly popped up in your living room one day.

yes, he had been actively trying to find your universe again– and as casually as he can be, is now peeking from out the portal he created, head leaning in to get a better look at you.

you're not sure how you can tell considering he has no face,,, but he's definitely smiling.

he waves to you, awkwardly, (noticing that you're just staring at him while not saying a word), "thought i would say hi, so– ...hi."

you blink at him tiredly. "dude, it's 6:30 in the morning–"

he's treating this like it's normal for people to just show up in your house. he missed you– and it's very evident.

▸ no matter what type of relationship you're in with him: you GOTTA set boundaries. being one of the only people who cares to hang around him anymore means that you're gonna be seeing a lot of him.

while he certainly hasn't completely lost grasp on the concept of privacy, it's definitely been altered by the fact he's got powers that allow him to pop up wherever he wants. he's just a teeny bit invasive.

"hello!" he'll greet, randomly poking his head through a portal he made to your bedroom.

on instinct, you throw the closest thing to you. he's just glad you reached for the pillow and not the alarm clock also at your arms reach on the bedside table.

definitely a good idea to remind him that if he wants to hang out, he should probably message you, and if he wants to show up at your house for whatever reason, he should give you a heads up.

he has nearly walked in on you changing. and has apologized a million times every time it's brought up. it fr keeps him up at night.

▸ everyone in his life leaving him def messed him up a bit. he can deny it all he wants, but he's terribly anxious that you're gonna grow tired of him and leave.

constantly like "oh my god what if they leave for someone who has a face" and itz like,,, boy,,,, stfu itz 3am

he needs reassurance, even if he never explicitly says. but you're kind to him. patient. you're pretty much an angel in his eyes.

which is why he feels comfortable texting u in the dead of night like:

(im gonna b real i dont even know why i have this image)

▸ he's dismissed by most people around him– but you've given him your time. you've shown him that you care. he's doing everything he can to be certain you'll still care for him.

the random waves of "oh no but what if they hate me" hit him HARD. especially if he hasn't seen you in a while, if you take longer to respond to his messages, if you haven't been answering his calls– bro will jump to a conclusion

"hypothesis: they dont love me anymore :("

☝️🤓 SORRY HAKJWOENDOEND he would NOT say that. im just clowning on him itz a part of my luv 4 him </3

needs to be needed. wants to be wanted.

eventually you have a long talk about this. he's got a bit of an ego after realizing how much power he truly possessed– but you gently encourage him to let it down. a simple heart to heart. and while you're certain these things aren't going to dissipate with a single conversation, you've let him know he doesn't have to deal with it alone.

▸ physical contact is a need for him. bro's touch starved. he likes linking his pinky with yours or just intertwining your fingers together. if you ever let him rest his head on your shoulder or hugged him he'd actually have to fight tears. he hasn't been given affection in a while :(

▸ he doesn't really feel like he has to hide anything around you. he really doesn't have much of a filter when you're talking to him which makes for some amusing conversation. he finds your laughter the sweetest sound in the world– he likes making you laugh :] it makes him feel like he's accomplished something

▸ the alterations to his body have caused some weird little changes that most people don't notice. one of them most noticeably to you– he'd cold. not frigid or like icy, but a lot colder than normal people tend to be.

you first notice this when you're hanging out in your bedroom. you're sitting on your bed, while he paces back and forth, rambling about another failed villainous act

(you haven't questioned his whole obsession with villainy considering that he seems pretty harmless with what he's been attempting– no matter how much he tries)

"and then– ohh, and tHEN THEY JUST—" you notice how he's gesturing frantically, exasperated, annoyed– and out of instinct to provide some sort of comfort (or at least calm him down) your hand grasps his wrist

there's a moment of silence.

his voice dwindles into a more soft, subdued tone, watching as your fingers wrap around his wrist. "wh– if you wanted me to stop talking, you could've just... just said or...."

his mind is going blank, trailing off at your touch. he doesn't remember the last time someone has held his hand or even brushed up against him without freaking out.

"you're cold." you comment, now taking his hand between both of yours, as if you were trying to heat him back up. you don't meet his eyes, simply staring at his hand.

"oh– yeah, yeah, it's just– a thing with now. came with the holes–"

the sensation of your hands gently squeezing his shuts him up. you raise his hand to your lips and gently blow hot air onto it.

your brow furrows, nose scrunching up. "you're still cold..." you mutter, more to yourself than to him. quietly, your gaze returns to his face.

"does that bother you?" you ask him, after a beat of silence.

he shakes his head. your hands let go of his– but he quietly reaches back to hold it again.

"hold on a second. why don't you try again?" he suggests. you laugh softly, knowing it's obviously just an excuse. still, you humor him.

[ashlingiswriting]

do i know you? chapter one

"that's mikey's girl." richie jerimovich x reader, past mikey berzatto x reader, slow burn chapter one, 3.2k words

two in the morning. he's on his stomach with moonlight fall through the window on his bare shoulders, the arch of his thick dark hair hiding his eyes in shadow. not even a gleam.

why do you keep calling me that? he says. used to be every now and then, like a joke, but now it’s just all the time.

it’s your name.

mikey’s my name.

michael’s on your birth certificate. that makes it your name.

everyone calls me mikey.

you lift an empty palm. and?

oh my god, don’t be so fucking mysterious, come here. c’mere. his hand's on your hip, clumsy. hey. talk to me. 

let it go, michael. 

when sweetness doesn’t get him what he wants, he reaches inside and produces more energy from god knows where.

don’t you ever get tired of being so goddamn mysterious? don’t you get fucking exhausted? from wheedling to kindling, you never tell me anything, just tell me one thing, okay? just one thing, what’s the big deal, straight shooter? huh? c’mere, hey. oh, now you’re not looking at me now? like what am i, a cop? i’m just fuckin curious, man, it’s my name, and if you’re—

okay! fuck! just. fucking calm down, i’ll tell you. i’ll tell you.

i am calm. he is. ruffled, but calm. he’s clean tonight, you can always tell the difference.

everyone calls you mikey. 

he turns over onto his back and lets the light reach everywhere. doesn't have to say a thing. his face is deceptively open, waiting, the full weight of his attention on you, and that's more than enough.

you say, maybe i don’t want to be everyone.

his face melts into that expression you love and hate in nearly equal measure, a little pitying, a little tender, completely fucking magnetic. he stretches out one arm across the tops of both pillows in mute invitation, and you know that you’ll crawl into his arms in a second, give in the way you always do.

oh, baby, he says. you’re not everyone.

yeah?

you've never been closer to him than you are right now, with all the red lights sped through a long ways back, and yet. and yet. you still can't read him. maybe you never will.

you say, then who am i?

.

.

.

when you go to the beef for the first time, you set yourself some rules. first off, don't talk to the staff. don't talk to the staff. don't talk to the fucking staff.

don’t stare.

don’t say his name.

and as soon as you get your sandwich, you gotta go.

there’s rules. that’s your excuse for breaking your promise: if you act like any other customer, what harm can it do?

well, this.

you’ve done a decent job of pretending you don't know enough english to converse, but you’re still trying so hard not to look at carmy standing behind the counter that you let your gaze drift, go unfocused, as you anchor yourself by two fingertips barely grazing the counter. waiting for your mortadella like all the other schmucks. suddenly, your drift snags on a sound, a certain note in the voice of the guy behind you, and you turn before you have any idea what it is. your heart jumps. of course he’s got a gun, of course he fucking does, and carmy’s trying to calm him with shouting and everything else just happens. 

you wedge yourself between the guy and the counter don’t you fucking touch him back the fuck up at least the crowd’s smart enough to scatter or hit the floor and you smack the inside of his wrist knock the gun to the side where at least the only ones who could suffer would be the wall or you. bang, stupid loud. flinch. the picture frame on the wall right behind you shatters and falls, sting in your arm don’t touch him but one more twist and the gun is yours now and the guy is running, running, gone. which makes you just a person getting gawked at by strangers while your mouth is running behind. don’t you fucking —

you thought you forgot how to get scared a long time ago, but that’s obviously not true. you notice it as you pop the magazine and shake them out with a metallic tinkle in your hand, then pull the slide to clear the chamber too. yeah, you're scared.

the bullets are slippery in your sweating palm, and it's early chicago fall and no enemies left, nothing to sweat about. you slip bullets in your pocket, don’t want to give anyone a loaded gun, especially not a fucking berzatto. the shop hasn't cleared, it's louder than ever, and you're not looking at anybody, just the gun, mind on autopilot. somebody's asking you if you're okay and you're pointedly ignoring them. you say, gimme the trash can, carmy.

he does.

do i know you? he says.

the gun lands in the trash with a thud, and only then do you realize your mistake. you can’t even look at him as your stomach drops. you just fucked it for yourself. this is gonna be the last time. you turn and try to leave quick as the line re-forms beside you. chicago, god bless, still wants their fucking lunch. what happened to the rules protecting you? what happened to—

she’s bleeding, don’t let her—

it’s richie who gets to you first, which is somehow worst of all. you don’t know how he does it, you were nearly home free, but now he's right here and you’re still not looking at him as his hand closes around your good arm. you’re not looking at him but you recognize the voice, matched it to his face on your first visit to the beef. the face you matched to many photos you've seen, most of them blurry.

hey, sweetheart, let’s just—

and that’s what breaks it for you. you lift your eyes and look at him dead on and bullshit with the ferocity you only get when you’re in the middle of losing something. you don’t want any of this asshole did you think i learned to disarm a guy in kindergarten what the fuck do you think is going on here unless you want this place to be fucking mob associated then get your hands off me wasn’t the c enough or do you really need cops up your ass too—

richie’s not as stupid as he needs to be, or he’s not as smart. 

sure, yeah, he says. that’s very impressive and shit but we’re already kind of a mob joint, we owe a guy three hundred grand off book and that’s not even a joke, this is chicago, baby, and you’re bleeding. just come over here and don’t be a pain about it—i got it carm—don’t be such a fucking pain, come on.

it’s the voice that does it, and not the way he’s manhandling you back into the kitchen, it’s not the same but it’s a cousin and you just really fucking missed this shit. even though your heartbeat has slowed, you’re still dangerously stuck in that place where it might rain any moment. 

you’re still fighting him but it isn’t much, kind of autopilot, run on. it’s fucking nothing don’t be a baby what do you think this is i’m not gonna die i’m not even gonna go to the hospital richie it’s like a couple pieces of glass who cares plus the cops are gonna show up and then what. 

in the kitchen you look around hungrily. this is the place. those are the stoves, the knives, that’s the fucking mop and all. feels wobbly. you’re not used to being sentimental.

i mean jesus i just wanted a fucking sandwich, you say.

we can make you a fucking sandwich.

well i don’t want it any more!

what is your fucking problem, richie says, but he doesn’t say it right. 

here’s the office door, here’s the office, here are the piles of paperwork that used to be the bane of his existence. god but you’re weak. and as richie reaches for a first aid kit hanging from a nail above the filing cabinet, you give in one last time and steal a photo that was taped just above the desk. swift swipe. first crime you’ve felt bad about in a long time, and also the first crime that’s felt necessary.

i don’t want a fucking sandwich, you say, without skipping a beat.

fine, richie says with the air of a martyr. sit down.

he all but shoves you onto a chair. you let him, but you’re not gracious about it either. you have to resist touching your back jeans pocket where you slid the photo in, to check that it’s still there.

ebrahim’s at the door now, bearing the first aid kit.

give me that and get me a trash can and both of your fuck off, you say, and you only get three out of the four things you asked for, go figure. richie stays.

you shouldn’t even be here, so you rush it, snap open the kit, go for the tweezers, pinch the first shard and yank it out with a wince.

richie, gore might be your top pornhub category but i don't see you tipping my onlyfans, so fuck the fuck off.

words having failed, you try ignoring him, but even once all the glass is out, he hasn’t fucked off. seriously, stop hovering, you say.

do i know you? he says, but not like a proper question. like he’s on the verge of making it a statement.

no you don’t, i’m just one very observant motherfucker. now fuck off, don’t you have salami to slice or some shit?

you’d straight up flee, leave it all behind, except now there’s carmy in the doorway running his hand through his mess of hair with those wide eyes, richie standing behind him, and god yeah you do see it. how could carmy ever be anything other than a kid brother?

you okay? carmy says.

it’s not like a scratch, it’s literally a scratch. it’s literally a scratch.

no, i mean. you know. he’s struggling for it, and bless him but you’re not helping him, not one bit. that is not your job.

richie says, if you’re fine, then why are you such a fucking creep, man. why do you know our names.

carmy smacks him without looking, back of his hand to richie’s chest. what we mean to say is thank you. thank you, and do you want peppers on y—

and that’s when he sees it, over your shoulder, the empty spot over the desk. 

the regret crashes into you so hard and immediate you think you might be sick. you never should have come.

carmy says, slowly, did you take mikey? and there it is. you think with a slice of biting clarity that this is probably why he never wanted you to come here, he probably saw this one coming from miles and years away. you had one job. you fucked it.

sorry, you mutter, and you take the photo out and put it on the desk, one last look, and then you’re dodging them on the way out. you’d have shoved, but carmy just stepped aside as you charged forward, too taken aback to fight, just as innocent as ever. 

but then there’s richie right behind you and he was never innocent. 

you’re charlie, aren’t you, says richie.

as you try to navigate through the kitchen whirlwind, you can feel it behind your breastbone, like a detonation. that old game, that old thing. charlie and tommy, secret agents. 

no, you say, too quick.

no but you fucking are, and there’s a note of triumph in it, he’s sure of it now, you can’t convince him otherwise. still keep trying, though.

that’s not my name, is just, how do i—how do you work here the place is a fucking maze i just want the door for crying out loud thank you marcus jesus christ.

behind you: who’s charlie?

that’s mikey’s girl.

fresh chicago air which means grimy smoke and wind and you’re in it and you’re gone, hands shoved deep in your pockets, bullets cool against your fingers. thank fucking god. just soon enough to not hear what carmy has to say about it. escape means you’ll never know. 

.

.

.

it’s a real short story: you were two fucked up people with two fucked up lives and even worse sleep schedules. you liked smoking at the same spot, sheltered from the wind by a crevice of the apartment building where you both lived. talking shit. one thing led to another. he was good with your rules and you were good with his lack of anything to bring you except, occasionally, himself. and that was it. you liked that story. it was a good one. simple. very nearly clean.

unfortunately, it’s made you incredibly easy to track down.

when you come down for your nighttime smoke, half-hoping you won’t get called that night, half-hoping you will, there he is, waiting for you outside the double doors: richie.

at the sight of him, you try to retreat, but he's still got a key card, must've been a spare that mikey gave him. he yells at you, stupid loud for the time of night, HEY, and holds up the picture. he really can’t be the stupidest man in the world, not quite, because that bait you'd always fall for no matter the gleam of the hook. 

wordlessly, you come back and you take the picture from him. you look at it for only a second before you realize you can't look at it anymore, not in front of him, so you just hold it in your hand, careful. the only photo of michael that you have, and a good one. he’s got a big grin in it, the classic, perfect, flop-haired and glowing.

my name's not charlie, you say.

yeah. you're a big top secret whatever whatever booty call, i get it, he says.

you can’t even muster the words to respond to that because everything feels too embarrassingly much, or too inadequately little. you just burn.

look, richie says, with what you might think is a pang of actual conscience if you haven't heard so much about him already. carmy just thought you would want the thing.

i do. there's a pause. neither of you quite expected you to say that, and neither of you quite expect you to say what comes next, either. or at least, not this simple. thank you.

i could text you some more if you want, he says after a second. not cool with silence, this one.

you shake your head. i cycle through old ass flip phones. because. you shrug and you make no effort at your lies. i'm just very clumsy and i tend to drop them and break them like once every two weeks, so there's no point in buying anything expensive.

uh-huh, he says dryly. makes sense.

the corner of your mouth lifts, and then you look away, willing him to fuck off your mind to fade out, or both. it doesn’t happen. he almost says something more than once, you can feel it, but whatever inside him hates silence, that thing isn’t as strong as his fear of saying whatever he’s got to say.

and your fear, it turns out, is not enough.

it's not my fault, you know? and now you're zero to a hundred, outright. why he...i mean, we broke up two months beforehand. so, like. i know you're all. i know everyone thinks.

and now richie’s still looking at you while you're talking, same as before, but there's a weight to his eyes on you that you don't quite want to squirm out from under. he's actually listening. that's the thing.

just, whatever it was, it wasn't me, you say.

there's a silence long enough that it starts to get bad, and then richie says, we never thought it was you.

what can you say to that? it's not believable but he's trying to be kind, so okay, you'll believe his blatant lies like he tacitly agreed to believe yours. it’s the type of kindness you give to a child and it sticks in your throat, but you force yourself to swallow. good manners.

you want to say thank you again, but you can't. you're not gonna thank him twice like some kind of asshole.

so you just look at him for a second, really and properly. he is michael, he's a piece of michael, he's a thousand stupid stories you both laughed over under streetlights for a couple years, annoyed and hated and felt for from afar. his hair is lighter than you expected and his eyes are bluer, he's a little shorter and there's a tiny mustard stain on the neckline of his navy shirt. this is it. another piece of the endless ending.

see you around, you say, when what you mean is the opposite.

but then he says, yeah, and you thought that was just a word, but you were wrong.

.

.

.

you were wrong and it’s actually really funny.

cause of course you go upstairs and you have your little whatever-you-call-it, up there with that picture, and then some leftover mac n cheese and the picture and the knowledge you can’t fall asleep, and the picture and going back downstairs because after all that a cigarette just makes sense.

motherfucker is chain-smoking in your spot. at least he has the grace to look vaguely embarrassed to still be there when you arrive.

jesus, you say, looking at the little heap on the flat-headed metal post that serves as the unofficial building ashtray. you’ve done worse than that, but that’s not gonna stop you from saying it.

ah, fuck off, he says in welcome, and then you pull out a pack and he pulls out his lighter. you, uh. you see the bulls the other night?

can we not talk? you say as the lighter goes click, withholding your cigarette like he'd give a damn.

he blinks, pauses.

yeah, he says. you hate the sound of his voice. it’s too raw weary, like he just came out the funeral wearing a borrowed suit. yeah, we can not talk.

only then do you let him light the cigarette.

no words after that, as promised. you’re very tired. he might be even more tired than you. you lean against the building, but he won’t do even that. every now and then, you look at him, and rarely—just a few times—you see that he’s glancing at you. but you always look away. at some point you become convinced that he’s gonna say something, or you are—something about the eyes—but weirdly that fear drains away after a bit and you’re back to comfortable silence, which feels different even if it sounds the same. 

he runs out of cigarettes pretty early on, but you’re so self-absorbed that it takes you a while to figure out that he’s not gonna leave. he’s just not. so you’re gonna have to be the one to do it. 

you push off the wall. night, fuck-o.

he laughs, and that’s it, that’s all, just a laugh, ragged at the edges. but you won’t forget it. 

come to find out, neither will he.

.

.

.

[ chapter two ] [ the bear masterlist ]

.

.

.

@garbinge, @narcolini, @drabbles-mc — if anyone else wants a tag, let me know.

[sadhours]

scumbag blues • battery acid

gator tillman x f!original character

previous chapter • masterlist

cw: 18+minors dni, unsolicited dick pics/videos, mean texts, drinking, kind of smut??? Gator tries

Daisy’s depressed. She’s been turning away clients left and right. The money from Roy keeps the bills paid but it’s tighter than before and her pops has noticed. Says something about it when Daisy’s cooking him lunch.

“I don’t know why things have taken such a turn, Daisy,” he sounds stressed. “We haven’t had a single guest in two weeks.”

“It’ll turn back around,” she assures him, “always does.”

Her mothers voice rings in her ears. Same mantra about how women have to take care of things. How women have a magic money maker between their legs and they’d be fools not to take advantage.

Her phone vibrates in her pocket, she pulls it out and looks down at the notification. Gator. Hasn’t had the guts to block him like she should. She slides it open and is met with a photo of his cock. Hard as hell. He’s on his bed, she can see his cargos bunched up around his ankles and his combat boots. He’s sent You can’t quit me, baby along with the photo and she hates the way it ignites a flame in her stomach. She locks her phone and shoves it back in her pocket, resuming the can of tomato soup she’d been heating up. She wishes Gator would just give it up. There’s plenty of other women for sale in this county. But she knows he likes her. Their sexual chemistry is undeniable. And she’s certain Gator hasn’t been with any other woman. Yet, she doesn’t even know how many men she’s been with. It’s unfair. She can’t quit this. And that’s what Gator deserves, so she’ll have to quit him.

She butters up the bread for grilled cheeses, determined to get out of this funk and start taking clients again. Her mother would tell her she’s pathetic. Gator’s always been a client, he started out as such and it’d be laughable to think they could be more. It’s a god damn pipe dream and they both know it.

—

When Daisy reads his message but doesn’t respond, Gator gets furious but his cock is still hard. The arousal mixed with the anger facilitates in a bit of harassment on his end. He records himself jacking off, mumbles about how he knows she wants him. How she’s gonna watch it later and play with her pretty pussy. Which he fully believes. Records himself cumming, muttering, “Wish I was cumming in your tight hole, baby.”

Again, Daisy opens the messages and doesn’t respond. And now that Gator’s cock is softening, the anger takes over and he sends a handful of messages.

Whatever, bitch. Ur not even pretty. Just fucking easy.

Ur used up.

Probably should get tested. God knows ur fckn infected. Nasty slut.

Fuck u bitch

Then, Gator realizes these won’t help his case in any way so he sends another.

I’m sorry. Just miss u and I ain’t good at controlling my temper

The last message never delivers and Gator’s feeling like a pathetic loser with his cum drying on his stomach. Cleans himself up and grabs his keys. He needs to get as drunk as humanly possible. Fuck, he doesn’t care that it’s only noon. This pit of dread filling him needs to be released and alcohol can dull it. The Esquire Club opens at 10 am. He’ll be with like minded company. And well, if it’s two blocks from the Inn, that’s just a coincidence. He isn’t hoping that Daisy’ll wander in desperate for money. Definitely not.

The place is dead when he gets there aside from a couple of dudes rambling about sports. Gator doesn’t keep up with football anymore. Too bitter about high school. He would’ve been scouted, out of this shithole and never would’ve touched Daisy Way if that prick hadn’t busted his ankle. Swears if he ever sees that fucker again, he’ll kill him.

The hours drone on, Gator filling his belly with cheap whiskey and countless beers. Is absolutely stumbling around when the sun goes down. There’s girls in here tonight. Ones that know Gator’s the sheriff’s son, girls that touch his biceps and ask if he’s ever had to shoot anyone. He tells grandiose stories, fibbing on the extremities. Yeah, he sees a ton of action. Yeah, Gator’s a fucking badass. He’s a fucking winner.

He gets one of the girls in the bathroom, a brunette with heavy makeup and a short skirt. Has her leg propped up on the graffitied toilet. Limp dick in his hand as he tugs it, pleading internally for it to fill out but it just fucking won’t. He knows it’s the whiskey, his whole body is fucking numb. But he can’t help but think that if this were Daisy bent over for him, he’d be hard as a rock. It’s pathetic and it’s weird, but he grabs hold of the girl's hair and tugs her head back so he can grunt into her ear.

“You want me to fuck you, Daisy? Huh?” he laughs, “Want me to stretch you out so bad?”

“My names not Daisy?” the girl replies, confusion dripping in her voice.

“Shh,” he hisses, pulling on his cock and focusing on the fantasy, trying to will his dick to life. Nothing. He balls his fist up and slams it against the stall, “Fuck!”

He shoves his flaccid length back into his cargos and barrels out of there. Leaving the girl stunned and exposed. He’s a fucking loser. If he goes by the Inn, it’ll be pummeled into his head what a fucking loser he is. Somehow, he winds up at Faye’s apartment building. Hits the buzzer. Over and over until he hears her sleepy voice.

“Who is it?”

“Faye, it’s me— er,” he hiccups, “Gator. Can I come up?”

“Gator, it’s the middle of the night,” she sighs, “I don’t think it’s a good idea.”

“Please,” he whines, hates how pathetic he sounds, “I have nowhere else to go. I won’t be fucking weird. Okay? I just… please, Faye.”

A beat of silence. Then the buzz and a green light. Gator tugs the door open and stumbles inside, looking down the hall until a door opens. Faye steps outside, rubbing her eyes and she’s wearing a long, flowy nightgown. She lets him inside and because of his intoxicated state, he clings onto her and fucking cries. Like the pathetic loser he is. But she wraps her arms around him.

“Gator, what happened?”

“I’m… I’m such a fucking loser,” he sobs, “I ruin everything.”

Faye squeezes him tighter, rubs his back soothingly. “Oh, Gator…”

She pulls back and puts her hands on his face, “I’m gonna make some tea. Sit on the couch and we’ll talk about it. Okay?”

She’s so good. So pure. So sweet. Gator hiccups and nods, moving to rub his fists against his teary eyes. Then he trudges to her living room, waiting for her to return.