#Rotten Written

[warped-paranoia]

you won't get a kiss when you're done

[spiderman-into-the-sapphiverse]

The Last Wish Puss in Boots 🤝 Lego Batman

singing a self-congratulatory song as an introduction in their solo movie to establish their self confidence before they have a shattering identity crisis later on

[cerise-on-top]

Hi, love your writing. it's so good 💚💚

Could I request some HC for LV + Graves who have an S/O who has three cats that love to sleep on top of them?

😸💚

Thank youuuu! That's very kind of you! This ask actually inspired me to text my friend again and ask her for some cat pics since those critters are just so goshdarn adorable!! I wish I had a cat! I once had a tortoise, though, and she was just the most lovely and adorable little thing out there! I loved her so dearly! Anyway, thank you for the request!

Alejandro, Rodolfo and Graves with an S/O with Three Cats

Alejandro: He gives off quite some canine energy, so there’s a chance your cats won’t like him too much. That, of course, you can try to combat by having him feed them. Either way, if they like Alejandro, then you can expect him to be all over your cats, always talking to them, petting them, picking them up, kissing them and what else it is you do with a cat. He loves your little kitties and would kill someone for them. Although he’s more of a dog person himself, he doesn’t prefer dogs by much, so he can really go either way. When he sees just how cuddly your cats are and when they take a nap on his chest while he’s watching TV with you or something, he will not hesitate to pet the cat, scratch the little fella behind its ears and try his best to make them purr. He loves the sound and the vibration, it brings good vibes and makes him just as content as the cat. The rule that one must not move when a cat is sleeping on top of them holds true for him. If he needs to use the bathroom while one of your cats is sleeping on him then he’ll just have to endure until it wakes up. But if he’s content as well, then he might just cuddle the cat, or your cats even, and take a nap himself. While he’s not usually one for napping, he will when he genuinely can’t move because of your lovely little felines. If your cats let him, he will give them big hugs as well. Is so smitten, he’ll buy them some toys and play with them, if he has the time. And if your cats are too lazy to actually play, then he’ll pick them up and lovingly scold them for being so unmotivated. Meows back at cats too.

Rodolfo: He gets along well with just about any animal. While he’s not scared of them per se, he does have a healthy amount of respect for them and won’t just walk up to your cats to give them pats and kisses and hugs. He will comply if your cats walk up to him because they’re curious, but he really doesn’t want to annoy them or worse, end up with him getting scratched. While he may not meow back at your cats either, he will talk to them as though they’re regular human beings. It’s somewhat funny, he takes them seriously and will, in a deadpan tone, tell them that there will be no more snacky treats for the evening. No matter how annoying your cats might get, he won’t budge. His decision is final, so there are no more snacky treats. He quite likes the thing where if you scratch a cat’s butt, it will move it upwards. Loves doing that to your cats, it’s funny and endearing to him. When your cats are sleeping on top of him, then he won’t particularly budge either. He’ll pat them, but he will also move them if he really needs to use the bathroom. No privileges for your cats this time. However, considering he is, more often than not, pretty tired, he will pretty much always take a nap with your cats if he can. The pressure on his chest is comforting to him, plus he gets to feel something nicely warm and furry on top of him as well. However, he sometimes moves in his sleep, which might wake up your cats, which might wake up him. It’s a never ending circle, but if he can, he’ll just sleep with your cats in his arms. Take a picture of him like that and he’ll try to take embarrassing pictures of you as well with your cats.

Graves: He is definitely more of a dog person, since those are strong and reliable. A cat will meow at you in the dead of the night because it knocked over its water bowl and can’t turn on the faucet on its own. Honestly? He always has something to complain about. Your cat pooped again. It knocked over the food bowl. It farted in his face. Things like that. He means them, but the way he says those things is sort of just funny. Imagine a 40 year old man having beef with a cat. He has very little shame when it comes to scolding your cats. At first, he will use his human words to get them to listen. But as soon as he realizes they believe it’s snuggle time, he will meow at them, making the situation even worse. However, every time you hand him one of your cats, he will take it from your arms and cuddle it a bit. Every time one of the critters walks up to him, demanding attention, he will pick it up and carry it around a bit. Sometimes in his arms, sometimes he just slings the cat over his shoulder and keeps it there. It’s sort of funny, he might pretend to really hate them, but he would never yell at them, only be stern and tell them to not be so gluttonous. When your cats are sleeping on top of him, he does not move an inch. He would never admit it, but they are your shared furry babies and he, like any American, would shoot anyone who ever tried to hurt you or them. Takes naps too when he can, or when nothing of interest is on TV, but he prefers getting to hold something instead of having your cats lie on top of you. You can take pictures of him to show him that he really doesn’t hate your cats as much as he pretends to, but he will always claim you photoshopped it, despite knowing fully well that happened.

[demonslayerswap]

Question. Would you guys be interested in other Demon Slayer aus I have thought of? I don't intend on delving too deep into them, but I have some I'm rather proud of and this seems like a good place to share.

[wizardofarles]

unpopular capri opinion of mine no one asked for:

i don’t give a fuck about erasmus and kallias. nothing on this earth could make me give a fuck about erasmus and kallias. in fact i actively dislike erasmus and the way he’s written :/

[lazloemporium]

I was finally able to draw (sort of) that short comic that's been on my mind since the second chapter came out. (it's just a quick scribble but it still shows my feelings for that tall red-haired thief)

The second chapter made me fall in love with this game even more. The atmosphere, the characters, the graphics and music… it would take ages to describe how much I got into this story. Until Keir's third chapter, I'll have to settle for other LIs, fanart, and chatting with the (great, by the way) community on discord,

So thank you @RottenRacoons for this beautiful story, I can't wait for more awesomeness from you.

[I just noticed that I made a typo (Vasper/Vesper) - lesson for the future: don't write descriptions when you're tired]

[plush-rabbit]

Heartbreak and Whispered Confessions

Request: Knock knock! Can i request a reader who was cheated on and Dabi, their best friend whos in love w them , makes it all better? The reader is totally heart broken and asks Dabi to 'make it all go away' and he does so by gentle fucking and confesses his feelings that way?

I feel like a deviant asking for smut lol

Word Count: 3.3K

A/N: You feel like a deviant?? Have you seen what most of my things are when it’s smut?? You have nothing to feel ashamed of here

-

You aren’t really sure when your friendship started with the infamous quirk user. You tried to think back on it, but all that you can come up with are memories when he’s already made himself comfortable at your place- eating and drinking your groceries, using your good towels to clean himself and leaving them covered in bits of ash and blood. All you know is that he made himself comfortable in your life and now you’re laying in bed, trying not to cry on his chest, but failing miserably. 

“I thought he liked me.” Your voice trembles, and you cling tighter to his shirt. “I feel so dumb.” Your voice cracks and his arm that is wrapped around you only tightens.

“You aren’t dumb.” He says it so earnestly, so quickly that you want to believe him, but it only worsens your tears.  

“But I am,” you cry, body shaking and tears staining his shirt. “I should have seen the signs.” You take in a shuddering breath that leaves your chest feeling hollow. You cling tighter to Dabi, trying to bury yourself into his chest, wishing and hoping that his ribs would pierce him and swallow you whole and the tears on your pillowcase would only serve as a reminder as to who you once were.

Silence is spoiled by your cries, and his heart beats into your ears. “Want me to go kill him?” You give a smile, but you know he isn’t giving a playful threat- you know that he’s serious. “Fuck, I’d just burn his dick off if you think killing him is too extreme.”

You can’t help the laugh that escapes your lips. Your tears start to slow, and you still cling to him.

Perhaps this is cruel of you. You have an inkling of a feeling that Dabi may possess some deeper feelings for you- something that goes past just a good friend, and more into a romantic sense. But you need this right now. You need him to just make it all go away and hold you. You know that he would be kind to you, that he wouldn’t dare do anything too rough to you unless asked. 

Bile burns in your throat and you think that you’re going to go to hell for leading him on like this. He’d never forgive you, and you wouldn’t blame him.

His hand is on your waist, his index and middle finger on your skin where your shirt has risen and the other two the waistband of your shirts. With his other hand, he leads you to his lips, kissing you softly. He tastes like smoke and alcohol, a horrible, bitter combination but on his lips, he tastes like the finest wine, an ambrosia only meant to be tasted in a dimly lit room during late night.

“Dabi,” you whine, tears springing to your eyes. No. You can't do this to him. No matter how pathetic you feel, you can't do it to him. You don’t want to lead him on. Thinking of what he would look like- sad and betrayed, too much like you at the moment- you can’t do this to him. He hums in response, kissing at your cheek and pressing feather light kisses down to your jaw. 

“What is it, doll?” His breath is hot on your neck and your heart is beating against your ribcage, and you think you might be sick. 

You do like him. You’ve always found him attractive, and his snark and cruelty was something that you enjoyed because you would fight back and he wouldn’t get his feelings hurt. But he was a villain- a killer and one that was a mental breakdown away from incinerating himself to ash and bone. A villain that if you did ever pursue something, it could never be more than fling. You couldn’t ever marry him or show him off to your loved ones. You couldn’t go to a restaurant with him and sit down and enjoy a nice meal. You could take a walk in a park without putting a target on both your backs.

He calls your name, and his hand is still on your waist. You think you should put a stop to this right now, but you’ve never seen him above you. He looks pretty, and whether it's the muddled mind and teary eyes, he makes your heart skip a beat.

“What if you hate me after this?” You know what he’ll say- ‘He could never’ or some meaningless words that would contradict themselves when he came to.

“Sweetheart, you could use me and toss me aside, and I’d still find some way to sneak in here and you’d still give me a home cooked meal.” You try to interject but he shakes his head. “You’d let someone like me fuck you, if all you want to do is use me, then I’m okay with it.”

You furrow your brows. “Someone like you?” You ask, wanting to pry deeper. He’s never been one to talk about himself, always moving the discussion into something that’s mutually liked, but never about his day, even if you pry.

“Patched up and smelling like smoke everywhere I go,” he says impassively. “I got my charm, but it isn’t enough to bag someone like you.” You give him a look. “Sweet.” His head tilts to the side as if to think of more to tell you. “Homey.” 

“I like having you around,’ you blurt, trying to make him feel better. “You’re a dick, but you care.” You pause, pushing yourself up and he backs up, his weight on your lap. "You care enough to pull down the pants of someone and burn their crotch, at least. No one has offered that to me before." You stay silent and he looks at you. Slowly, your hand lifts, and he watches it, following the trail until you cradle his face. “You being patched up isn’t a negative, you know?”

“You’re the only one to think so,” he muses, tilting his head ever so slightly to your palm. 

"I don't want to sleep with you just because. I- If we are going to sleep with each other, I want it to be special. Not because I'm sniveling and crying over my ex."

His chin rests on your shoulder, and he's lighter than you would have thought. His hands snake underneath your arms and rest flat against your back, and he’s pulled so close to you that you can smell him- the heat, the sweat, the little bit of soap that he used. He’s so close to you and you knock your head against his, closing your eyes. “You think you'd ever be ready, then?”

It isn’t fair to lie to him, so you don’t answer. You want to sleep with him, you’d stake your life that it won’t be something that you would regret, but you don’t want to use him.

You feel the air that blows across your neck. A chill runs down your spine. “Let me take care of you-” his hands bunch up the back of your shirt- “please. You won’t regret it.” 

“I know I won’t,” you mutter, wrapping your arms around him. 

Chapped lips press against your neck, leaving lingering kisses from the start of your neck, rising above to under your earlobe, and you clutch tighter onto him. You feel his hands slide down your back, arching underneath your shirt, leaving a burning sensation in its wake. You feel the coarse tips of his fingers drag against the side of your stomach, the warm metal that glides over you, the rough feel of his wrist and forearm that scratch along your body and make you stand just a bit taller. You feel it all when he touches your breasts, when he pants against your neck, and you whine when his fingers squeeze and twist at your nipples.

Cushioned by the back of his hand, he cradles your head, and lowers you until his knuckles kiss at your pillow. He’s above you, and he doesn’t waste a moment to kiss you, to slide his hands down your body and lift your shirt over your head, kissing down your lips, kissing at your cheek and jaw, to your neck where he kissed you before and down to your collarbone. He lifts up his gaze to meet yours and with your breath held, you can’t look away from him.

“If you wanna stop, all you gotta do is tell me, okay.” He seals his words with a kiss pressed just above the rising swell of your breast. You release your breath, and kisses at the peak of your breast, rolling his tongue over your pebbled bud and pulling it back in between his teeth. 

“No, no,” you breathe out, “I wanna continue.” 

His hand burns against your flushed skin as it slides down your body, curving over your breast, and over your stomach, curving it towards your hip, and holding you as he kisses at your bitten nipple, pursing his lips over and suckling in your bud. You suck in a sharp breath, feeling it dry the roof of your mouth as he sucks on your teat, moaning against your heated skin. The hand on your hip trails down your pubic area, moving under your shorts and underwear, sliding against your bare sex, to touch at your throbbing bud. 

You arch under him, muffling a whine through closed lips. His index finger rubs around your clit, teasing the bud and sliding his finger down to your slit. Your sex sucks in his finger, and your hands twist at the sheets under your hands. Another finger only makes your hand jolt and go to cup his scalp,  knitting your hands in his hair.

Panted breaths and the wet sound of your cunt and suckling from your breast mix into a lewd sound that makes the shells of your ears burn vehemently. You can feel his fingers squirm inside of you, testing and teasing just what it is that has you moaning and pushing your chest into his face. Your nails scratch his scalp as you pull him closer, your walls throbbing around his fingers that curve and push deep inside of you.

“Dabi-” you voice croaks- “Fuck, Dabi,” you cry, a hand trailing down to his cheek, where he’s already moved onto the other breast.

Lips press against the side of your hand, and he returns to kissing at your breast. “What is it?” The tip of his tongue rolls around your hardened bud. “Come on, use your words.” He lifts his head up, his fingers pulling out of your cunt. You can feel your slick stick your panties to your cunt. “Huh, what is it?” There’s a soft look in his face that makes him look younger than he is, concern knitted in his brows, and you only squirm when he places the hand with his wet finger over your hip.

Your hands cup his face and squish at his cheeks. “I want more.” You pull him close to you, kissing his lips, softly, and then teeth clashing, and it’s needier, desperate, kissing until your chest feels tight, and you're rubbing yourself against him. Even through the clothes, he burns hot, warming your body and having you flinching when his staples sear at your skin. 

The lack of fabric makes your skin chill, and the wet that leaks and stains your sex and inner of your thighs, makes you feel more exposed. He, however, does not follow your lead, and stays kneeled before you, his hands only going to fumble with the button and zipper of his jeans.

You frown. “You know, if you wanna stop-” you pause when he shakes his head.

“No, it’s not that.” He looks away from you and you can see blood rush to his face. 

His arms and face are patched up, and you’ve seen his legs before, but never his chest. You’re sure that his body is also covered in staples. There’s a twinge of hurt that quickly subsides when you recall his earlier words about getting to be with someone like you. 

The tip of your tongue wets your lips, teeth biting at your lower before you speak. “Dabi-” he looks at you when you say his name, and you come to the realization that you’ve been calling him a nickname the entire time- “I want to be with you. In like a sexual way, and I don’t want you to wear clothes or anything. Like I want to be with you.” You look away, leaning forward, your hands sliding down your legs to hold at your ankles. You look at him, forcing the urge to turn away and hide your face, ignoring the way that heat has settled in your chest and face. “I want you, Dabi.”

Neither of you speak for a moment. And he moves towards you, lowering his face until it’s leveled with yours. “You want me?” 

You nod with a smile. “Yes-” you let go of your ankles and spread your legs, a sliver of your cunt peeking between your thighs- “I want you.”

With his lips pressed against yours, your hands and his bumps, trying to remove the clothes, breaking apart for just a moment, before connecting together once more. He holds the base of his cock, and it slides between your folds, rubbing his cockhead against your hardened clit, and down the slit, and with a final look to you for confirmation, he pushes himself inside. 

With a sigh of relief, you close your eyes and let out a moan, encouraging him to move. He moves tentatively, and you call his name, rising on your forearms to watch as he moves his cock in and out of you, seeing and hearing the wet noises that play from your cunt. You can feel the slap of his sack against your skin, and your mouth waters, your face flaming and hands curving around his neck. 

“Shit, Dabs,” you murmur, “next time I’m sucking your dick.” You regret not doing so beforehand, and while you’re not opposed to taste yourself, you know that he’s just into burying himself in you.

“So there is a next time?” He asks through gritted teeth and you nod. “Aw, fuck!” He moans, moving his hips at a faster rate. “You’re so wet, wet for me.” 

You lie down, rolling your hips against his, and it’s you and him, your body twisting and turning, trying to meet his thrusts. You can feel your cunt throb, the walls clenching around him. He moves at a quick pace, hungry and desperate, far removed from the man who shied away from you just a bit ago. He’s pushing himself deep in you, nails scratching at your unmarred skin, mouth suckling on bits of you, hopeful and begging to leave a mark, whether it be a bruise or teeth indents. 

“Fuck,” he lets the vowel slur out, stilling himself inside of you. “Fuck, you feel good.”

Your leg is lifted into the air, and you can feel him hit you deeper than before. The top of your head is tilted back, and you feel pressure build against the lower part of your stomach, hands grip at the sheets, while his hands hold your leg in the air, and he’s looking down to you.

The eye contact is far too intimate, far too much; you know that he’s looking at your expression, reveling in them, and you can’t pull away from his gaze. The pressure is building, you feel like you’re going to burst, and the room is growing hot, hotter than before, hotter than it ever has, and there’s warmth on your thigh, and you know that some remains of his handprints will remain on your skin. You can’t think, your mind too foggy to form anything coherent other than for him to just keep going, other than for you to slur out for him to not stop. 

Your leg falls back onto the mattress, and you’re spread, with your knees bent, having him rock his body into yours. While the other position had you feeling everything, you like being close to him, having his  forehead resting against yours, with him just being so close to you, feeling the weight of his body heavy against your chest.

“I’m gonna-” You squeal, squeezing your legs around him. You're careful to let your hands rest over his sides, to avoid his scars, so when you dig your nails in, the remainder of you is clear and not overtaken by a deeper hue of purple. “Dabi, fuck!” You let out a moan, muffling yourself by wrapping your arms around him, and pulling him close to you, hiding your face into the crook of his neck, careful to not bite him. 

“Where do you want it?” He asks, his voice whispered against your ear. “Where do you want me to cum?”

His face is warm, and slick with sweat when you pull him aside, kissing him and nicking his bottom lip with your teeth as you try to kiss him. “Inside.” Another shudder overtakes your body. “I want you inside, please, please,” you beg, holding him down your legs. “I don’t want you to leave me, Dabi. I want your cum,” you slur out, the words mumbled through his lips. 

“Fuck, fuck, fuck!” he curses continuously, kissing at every inch of your skin that he can. Your name is moaned into the room, and it sounds far better coming out his mouth than it ever will of any other. His hips stutter into yours, slamming into you deeply, and pulling out shakily. His face is buried into your shoulder, his pants wetting your shoulder. You can feel his seed slip when he thrusts into you. A kiss is placed on your shoulder, before he lifts his head, your hands going to cradle the side of his head, bringing him close to you, slipping your tongue into his mouth. 

You let out a whimper when he pulls away from the kiss. “I want you,” he says, eyes shut tight. “I don’t want you to leave me,” he cries, pushing his body against yours. “I want you, I want you,” he repeats. “Only you,” he murmurs, holding you close beside  him until his cock stops twitching inside of you. 

He doesn’t stop repeating that it’s you that he wants, that it’s you who he wants- needs- to stay with. He gives you soft kisses against your shoulder, peppering over where he’s bit you, cooing when you run your hands through his hair and kiss at his crown. Pulling out of you, he rests beside you, panting and running a hand through his hair. The bed creaks under his weight as he turns to you, his eyes wide, and he leans over, pressing a chaste kiss against your lips. His mouth parts open, and he’s about to tell you something, only to close it and reopen it, telling you goodnight. 

The man beside you is still an enigma to you, someone who you only know scraps about, and for better or for worse, you think that you prefer it that way. You turn to look at him, and his back is turned to you, and you don’t take it to heart. His back is soft under your fingertips, and you run the pad of your finger over his scar, long and winding across his body, a hue of purple and raw underneath you, and you feel every bump, every part of him, and you so selfishly never want to stop touching him. You want to feel him, to memorize his skin so even if you grow old, you’d know how he felt when he slept beside you. 

You curve your hand around his body, and kiss the nape of his neck, letting your lips linger, until you begin to decorate his neck in small, swift kisses, fluttering around to every inch of skin that you can reach without straining your neck. You worry that this is the only time that Dabi will ever let himself just be beside you, to actually sleep with you, and you want to trap him with you, to keep him locked beside you, because you can never predict who he is, and what he will do. You want to protect him in such a childish way, to never let harm come to him, to take the pain and cold from him, to shield him from the outside world. You could stare at him all day and never grow bored. You want to love so selfishly. His hand covers yours, and you smile against his skin, pulling yourself closer to him.

[tankgotstuckinthecircusgate]

this but carlo & moretti😔🤨 thats all thank you

[aletterinthenameofsanity]

Pick the next cover for my book!

As I am finishing up my Doctor Who fic series, I'm finally coming back to the poll I put to all of y'all lovely followers two months ago: what book I should self-publish next. The winner ended up being the pitch "ex-Chosen one Done With This Shit falls for her ex-rival (CARRY ON x COMMUNITY)." As a result, I have mocked-up three prospective covers/cover ideas for the book and I would love for y'all to choose which one attracts your attention/your interest the most. The blurb is beneath the photos for context.

Oh, and an alternate I made after I made this poll last night (comment if this is your pick, sorry I can't edit polls after they're made):

Here's the blurb:

The moment Chosen One Rachel Barsky finally kills her magical high school’s evil Headmaster, she’s out. No pressure, no politics, and certainly no more death tournaments for her. She ditches the Magical Realm for a far more chill Normie community college with her two best friends, determined to finally get some blessed peace and quiet—maybe even a good nap. It’s what she deserves after giving up her teenage years to a prophecy that nearly killed her more times than she can count.

But of course Rachel can’t catch a break. Her first day of classes, tragedy arrives on campus in the form of Daiyu Nightbane, Rachel’s archrival and the annoyingly attractive daughter of the now-dead Headmaster. Daiyu’s acting suspiciously normal, Rachel is pissed, and her friends are preaching forgiveness and peace. What gives?

Rachel expects to have to grit her teeth and soldier through the annoyance of her rival haunting her early retirement, but she quickly learns that expectations are never made to last. After an explosive duel that ends up with one of them knocked off of their feet, Rachel is forced to see a kinder side of Daiyu than she ever glimpsed during high school.

Over a school year filled with Shakespeare, lightning magic, and quite a lot of kosher BBQ, Rachel finds herself toppling head-over-heels into an unlikely romance with her rival while she struggles with nightmares, grief, and lingering questions from her high school years. Is it possible to finally make a life for herself? Can the Chosen One really have a happy ending with the golden girl that ruled the school?

@thanatosdetesreves @khruschevshoe @kayechanted @neshatriumphs @evelynhug0 @sillylittlecheeto @harrietmjones @jaceum @jacksope-lives @marchionessdebrannas @henrythepug @screechingdonutengineer @beeesworld @meet-me-behindthemall12 @neutral-wizard @elposting

[apocketfullofpoesis]

A poem is brewing in my ribcages. A moment allows a deep revelation. Paperwork; a touchstone for testing patience. More deaths will lead to more paperwork. It's never the right time. I'm never brave enough. Mother, how do you lie? You raised a daughter in your own image. How do you not recognise her anymore? How do you find her selfish? Strategic. If I tell you the tragedies I've been through, you'd laugh at yourself for being a fool. For overestimating me. You'll give me new names. You'll call me dumb. Strategic? You flatter me and you've no idea. The more you make it clear that you don't know me even a little bit, the more you're losing me. It's a proud loss. You owe me a fair play. You owe me an unfiltered display of affection. You owe me manipulation free motherhood. You owe me, me.

But you're a beginner at recoiling. I'm glad my father taught me to be grateful; to own up to my follies; to face being wronged and yet fix things by giving in first. As for you, you cannot hide your embarrassment in making things up. You're ashamed to realise a parent can be wrong because it's your first time either. You're ashamed to feel apologetic and so you do what you've always done. You play me. You try to turn the dutiful, lap-dog daughter switch on, so that you can keep her wrapped around your finger and use her as you like and break her again and leave her be, only to start missing her camaraderie and lift her up again. My tragedy is that i happily surrender every single time. And i wouldn't want it any other way. Love has always found me in places I'm scared to go. Love has always chosen me when I would be least expecting it.

The poem is reaching the paper. It is escaping your finger, mother. In twenty years, when my daughter asks about you and me, it will reach her too. How far would you lie then? How far your youngest ought to play the biggest heart and keep shut? How far would you keep lulling neglectance to sleep as your daughter looks for you? How far do I need to keep my blurry eyes down in order to obey you? How far would you keep feeding yourself with a false image of me? How far would you not recognise me? Because I'll raise a curious daughter with a loud mouth and observing eyes. And she'll want to know.

Garima Tripathi, from How Far Mother?

[dreamingofleon]

i always think about how brad did jennifer and i cry every single time they were so “perfect” together. the rise and the fall of a relationship that she was deeply in love with was destroyed by a selfish man. jenn was never the same.

[romanticatheartt]

I just want to say, bringing down another character/ship to praise your favorite one, doesn't make me agreeing with you, it makes me hate the favorite character/ship of yours and despise your childish personality... just saying :)

[themuseoftheviolets]

last line tag

thank you for the tag @quillkiller <3

"I was happy for you, when I heard you were getting married." Alphard says, and it's the truth, just not the whole truth.

He had been happy, yes, because he wanted Effie and Monty to be happy. But he was also jealous, because he wanted to be a part of that happiness.

But he could never marry Monty, and Effie could only marry one of them.

It was an obvious choice. Effie and Monty were meant to be together, to have a family and live a long, happy life together.

Alphard had never been meant for that. Instead, all that awaited him were the cold halls of a manor he never felt at home in.

np tags: @star4daisy @withtheoldstars

[nezumeanie]

☆ a s m o party night! *˚⁺‧. •̩̩͙*˚⁺‧.˚ *•̩̩͙ ✩. •̩̩͙*˚⁺‧. •̩̩͙*˚⁺‧. ˚ *•̩̩͙ ✩.

warnings: alcohol mention | drunk mc | a party scene, ofc (horrific!!!!!!) | but gn reader as always >_<)7 and maybe some typos i dunno

♡ you had never actually considered going to one of those “asmo parties”—spending so much of your time exhausted from devildom antics, swamped with language homework you couldn’t make sense of, and the overall overwhelm of your exchange, you just couldn’t find the time or energy to look into it. this particular asmo party, however, was going to celebrate his birthday making this asmo party even more asmo themed: everyone should wear as much pink as possible and glam themselves up as much as their pretty little bodies could handle. something about that made you feel giddy and annoyed at the same time, not really knowing whether or not it was a good idea to go.

♡ that night had been filled with an electricity you hadn’t been used to as well. unconsciously, you really wanted to impress asmo, and wanted to make sure you looked good in front of all the guests he loosely called his friends. maybe his sin was peppered in the air, you hoped people would look at you and know that you knew asmo in ways that they would never think to imagine, that you had seen him really cry or that you had even seen him with a bandaid over a pimple on his forehead (thought you hadn’t ever seen the actual pimple). that your proximity to him would incite anything in them: anger, jealousy, awe, admiration. maybe that feeling was new, maybe it wasn’t. the venue was dark with varying shades of pink and white neon lights, all sorts of beings were pressed together in a way on alcohol could make cozy, the sound of the music drummed deep in your chest making your own heartbeat unrecognizable. you wondered is this the right idea? since you would, undoubtedly, see asmo again in the morning at home and would wish him happy birthday then, instead of watching him turn over a new year at midnight tonight. he thought himself to be the whole world like this, it made you smile how strange he truly was.

♡ the only worry you had was whether or not you would get to see asmo at all! the air was hot and sticky, the people around were singing and yelling and laughing and all of their faces were unrecognizable to you. there’s no earthly way someone could have actually known this many people, but then you supposed asmo had thousands of years to make friends. or maybe he hadn’t. there was also a surprising amount of humans at this party which lifted your spirits slightly: there would be something other than demonus here tonight. worming your way through the crowd, you found the bar, the bartenders all wearing paper masks with asmo’s smiling face on them. definitely weird, definitely on brand. asking asmo number five for something from the human realm, they poured you something pink and shimmery and you downed it in haste. it definitely was not champagne. but you couldn’t ignore the warmth and…..and confidence it was giving you. you asked for another.

♡ the ‘countdown to asmo day’ was projected on a screen behind the dj, ten minutes and fifty-four seconds. how long had you been here? this whole thing suddenly feels really funny. you start to giggle with a sparkly drink in your hand. hey when did you order this drink? hehe. it tasted sooooo good though maybe someone gave it to you with a smile because you looked sooo pretty tonight? hehe. well, you knew better than to drink an open drink anyway. you blinked slowly and staggered backwards bumping bodies with someone, not uncommon. giggling again you turned to apologize. oh! you found him! asmo! he had a wide eyed expression. “what’re you doing here? and like this too?” he gracefully stole the glass from your hand and smiled. “you look gorgeous” he added. hehe asmo was always so forward wasn’t he? you could smell demonus on him, but you really couldn’t tell he had been drinking at all. and what sort of question was that? what other reason could there be to go to an asmo party? that made him laugh in a way that made you swoon in a way you normally wouldn’t allow. maybe he hadn’t noticed maybe he had. asmo told you he was flattered you came this time after many many months of asking you to attend one. wishing you two had walked in together to turn heads and gain gasps from his audience. somehow you were just sober enough to roll your eyes at such a statement, but unable to tell if it was bass or butterflies in your stomach.

♡ the ‘asmo day’ timer ticked on minutes went by that he stood and talked with you. you don’t remember when he had taken your hand in the conversation, whether to steady or you because he liked doing so you didn’t have the mind to wonder. your drink still in his hand like an accessory. anger burned in your chest inexplicably—why was he down here talking with you? shouldn’t he have been on stage taking in the excitement when the asmo-faced ball dropped down the miniature tower? you had been shouting over the music all night, so maybe your tone hadn’t changed when you said this. asmo kept on smiling at you, but his eyes softened. “i really wish i would’ve known you were here tonight.” he had leaned into your ear to say that. something in your chest burned again. what the hell is that supposed to mean? and shouldn’t he be up there hosting his party. he leaned in again. as much as this is an asmo party, the majority of it is mostly, he said to you, for show—the humans; the incubi; the demons; those sneaky, sneaky angels; they weren’t here for asmodeus, but for what he represents: unadulterated and limitless access to their deepest desires. asmo always found himself being incredulously honest with you, and here he was telling you that it wasn’t him they desired, but the desire itself kept them drawn to him. you blinked hard and he laughed. “unfortunately there’s no one else in the devildom who can host a party like i can, after attending an asmo party every other party will feel like a five year old’s birthday,” he spoke while waving that glass on the air, the glitter in it spun but not a drop sloshed out. “and besides, i’ve already gotten everything i wanted out of this party about ten minutes ago.” his smile morphed into a smaller, more intimate one. you couldn’t help but wonder if anyone else got smiles like this or if it was just for you. that shimmery drink hadn’t given you the confidence to ask him that.

♡ asmo was impressive, maybe you were truly seeing it for the first time. the atmosphere was both lighthearted and intense. all the bodies around found ways to flirt with each other, touch each other, give each other knowing looks before sneaking out of the crowds. you had even noticed a larger amount of eyes on you than usual and, without meaning to humble or self deprecating, you knew it was an effect of the party: the secret wants of someone bubbling beneath the surface of their everyday life was brought beneath asmo’s moonlight, unclothed, inspected, and accepted. encouraged, even. he looked over his unruly crowd with a pleasure of his own, something almost paternal in his eyes. you called to him again. the countdown had begun from thirty. when asmo turned to look at you, you noticed the way he looked at you. innocent. not that he thought of you in that sense, but that he hadn’t looked at you with the intention of eating you up. maybe it was that drink, but this really annoyed you. the crowd calling numbers annoyed you, the way people came and went touching asmo’s arms and shoulders and waist annoyed you, the fact that he felt like babysitting you in the crowd instead of putting on a show on stage annoyed you. also the way he trusted you with his secrets was starting to annoy you. half teetering, you leaned into his chest hoping to press your lips against his and to your bewilderment, he pulled away biting his own intensely. “you don’t understand it,” he panted “but i’ve really, really been holding back. because it’s you.” the look in his eyes where the ones you had been longing for. the countdown concluded in a series of cheers and applause, the crowd all pulling the ones nearest to them into lust filled kisses. only you and asmo stood staring at each other. the energy, the smell, his hand in yours, the look on his face…you leaned once again and said “did you really think you were the only one?”

[popsicle-stick]

listen i love jonathan f. harker as much as the next guy, but tumblr’s blorbofication of him to the level where everyone’s shook when he acts like the victorian he is has me in a bind

[rowanisawriter]

i am. downloading mass effect again