raisedbythebox

[inkydoc]

🍃🍂🍃🍂 autumn is here 🍂🍃🍂🍃

just some random cozy outfits and a hint of ✨️spooky✨️ from Charles :3

[pseudowho]

Motherhood had altered your 'turn-ons'; not that you lusted after mankind as a whole-- Kento was enough.

His cologne, split with the smooth tang of sweat on work-ripened skin. His hands, alternately gentle and rough, peach-handling or blade-wielding. The authority only the world saw; the authority only you felt.

Dressed-up, dressed-down, undressed, dressing you down, undressing you. Breaking you only to reform you with gold, tied with red thread, whispering you to completion in the dark sacred night.

So (you corrected yourself, as you watched Kento jog after your daughter at the indoor play centre) motherhood had not altered your turn-ons; it had added to them. Stacking high now, you considered the tower of your adoration was just as likely to be stable, as unstable; its endurance or toppling entirely at Kento's mercy.

The arrival at soft-play was a sensory nightmare-- one of many you could tolerate as a mother when you wouldn't have, before.

Obnoxious children's music blared, cut by screams and shouts and cries and calls and whirls and swirls of kids darting and weaving, watched and unwatched, by helicopters or the disinterested. The cocktail was potent, spiked. Your headache started behind your left eye.

Kento saw you. He was unfairly loaded at his own insistence, with change-bag and snack-bag and car keys and your daughter, planking and chattering, a possessed surfboard beneath his arm.

"Sit down-- have a coffee." Kento rumbled, low and slow, unclipping his watch into your cupped hands as you began to argue. "You've had her all week. You need a break."

"You've been at work all week, Kento, you need a break--"

"Don't argue. You know it's not the same. Sit down. Have a coffee."

He lied to you for your benefit; you could feel the bone-deep weariness of him, surely needing a day of sofa-bound naps over a day of childrearing. Alas; parenthood. And he would continue to take bullets for you, even to his own detriment. You knew this. You had planned ahead for this.

As you peered down at your phone, smiling at an eagerly awaited reply, your daughter piped up, bouncing on little toes, her pigtails bouncing too.

"'lide, daddy. Let's go fast. Faster. Race you."

Kento hummed, smiling. "Slide, you mean?"

"I said it. 'lide." Your daughter moved to dart to the towering play area, a flash of lightning into a maelstrom, and you caught her. Kento was distracted, looking into the swarm of other peoples' children, oddly, as he looked at a swarm of Curses. You whispered into your daughters' ear as Kento slipped his boots off.

"Hey, missus, listen."

Your baby girl perked up, sweet and conspiratorial, goofy-teethed and dimple-cheeked, whispering back.

"What is it, mummy?"

"I've got a surprise for daddy. So don't tell him...come here, mummy needs to whisper."

Lips at an ear; tiny hands clasping over a mouth, fizzlepopping with excitement. A long finger against lips; a little finger against lips. A secret pact.

"Are you ready, young lady? I'll get you in three...two..."

Kento reached down for your daughter, his hands clawed, a wolfish grin on his lips. Your daughter knew what it meant; she shrieked with panicked laughter, bolting. The monster formerly known as 'Daddy' dashed after her.

The coffee was shit; you didn't mind, instead hyperfocused on how Kento and your daughter would dip out of sight into the rainbow maze, only to reappear minutes later, with Kento looking more ravaged each time.

On the first loop round, Kento looked unfazed, unruffled, still clipped in his t-shirt and jeans. You simply admired the sultry half-smile he offered you, and the cling of fabric to his thick biceps, before he swept after your daughter again.

On the fifth loop round, flicks of hair escaped over Kento's forehead, the veins on his arms prominent from throwing and tumbling and monstering. He panted, his muscle so much heavier to carry than your birdlike daughter's personal load. Kento's playful growl, running after your giggling daughter, was deeper; huskier. You squirmed, sipping your shit latte.

On the eleventh loop round, a fine sheen of sweat misted Kento's forehead, a flush dashed on high cheekbones. His broad chest heaved, and he stretched his arms back, cracking his neck from side-to-side, with a groan usually heard only when he exerted himself above you, for less wholesome pleasures.

With furrowed brows, Kento prowled the bottom of the slide, and your daughter shrieked, scrabbling to get away from him as he lunged. Your daughter was bicep-curled up to Kento's face, laughing uproariously at his ferocious tummy-raspberries, before being set free, once more, for the hunt. You could not cope, aching, desperately hoping you had the energy left to sweat for him at the end of the day.

By the twenty-first? twenty-third? twenty-fifth? loop round, Kento jogged to a heavy halt, his shoulder blades taut as he bent double, hands braced against his own knees. You heard him panting, cursing under his breath, one long rusty groan. It was all too much-- Kento needed a break. You were unhinged and unsupervised. Surely there had to be some relief--

"Yo, Mrs.Nanamin! Am I late?"

A vision in peach, Yuuji flopped into the chair opposite you, with hands in his pockets and man-spread with a square-jawed, boyish grin. He stood taller than Kento, now, a full-grown man...but still shrunk beneath Kento's chastisement and lectures.

"Right on time, Yuuji. Are you sure you don't mind? It's all a bit..." You looked into the raucous soft-play, searching for words, "...feral."

Yuuji beamed, ruffling his own hair and kicking his shoes off. "Nah. I was gonna go to the gym anyway, but this seems more fun as workouts go."

You called out to your daughter as she reached the bottom of the slide, and Kento looked up, sweating and exhausted. "Baby! Your big brother's here!"

A gasp of thrill from your daughter, and Kento was all but forgotten by her as she pelted towards Yuuji instead, leaping into his arms. She slapped his scrunched cheeks, aggressively overjoyed.

"Big brother-- big brother-- big brother--"

"Yeah yeah, little sister, little sister-- c'mon squirt, I'm gonna getcha! Hey-- Dad--- uh, Nanamin! Gotta go!"

Kento watched his children run away with dewy eyes, his body still thickened by exercise and heavy breaths. You bit your lip as Kento approached, eyes half-lidded as you drank him in. You watched his Adam's apple bob as he gulped back water and gasped, husky with relief.

"God, I love that boy." Kento rumbled.

You melted to see Yuuji reach the bottom of the slide with your daughter on his lap. "Yeah...me too."

"He's saved my life...three times, now."

You laughed, your eyes dipped, tugging Kento to you by the hem of his t-shirt and beckoning him down with one curled finger.

"Think you'll still have some energy later?" You whispered, your breaths mingling with promise.

Kento's eyes narrowed, glimmering, his nose kissing yours. "For that? Always."

[mystra-midnight]

Language of Lust

summary: a botched hunt means that you need a refresher in latin thankfully sam is there to help.

warnings: mentions of a panic attack. forced orgasm. multiple orgasms. overstimulation. anal sex. unprotected sex. squirting. creampie.

words: 3.2k

notes: so a while ago i saw a post about being dommed in another language. and honestly it unlocked a kink i never knew i had. that post spawned this idea. please ignore the latin translations if they aren’t correct as i used google to translate. :)

In the days following the botched demon hunt, the atmosphere within the base had become tense, and that meant the three of you had been at each other's throats. It hadn’t mattered how many times you’d apologized or promised to do better next time, how much pie you’d bought for Dean, or that you’d cooked Sam's favorite meal twice; nothing had fixed it.

In truth, you all needed some space.

You most of all.

That panic attack came out of nowhere and left you completely shaken. Even a week later, you were hyperfocused on the details of it—the way the walls of the room had shuddered and groaned as you spoke the ritual words, making dust and old cobwebs fall around you. When you thought about it, your heart would race so fast and slam against your breastbone so hard that you could have sworn it started to crack.

The ringing in your ears had been a deafening crescendo, and your eyes had been a waterfall of tears even when Sam had knelt in front of you and pulled you into his chest. You remembered the sound of his voice and the beating of his heart as he whispered to you soothingly until the tears finally stopped.

You still didn't remember much about what had actually happened, but you knew that the demon had gotten away, and you knew that Dean was pissed and Sam was disappointed. Neither of them needed to say it out loud.

So for the past few days, you've busied yourself with whatever task you could find to take your mind off the entire situation. Dean had very much done the same; you hadn’t seen him since this morning, when he’d come back to grab a few things and then left again.

You knew that Sam was somewhere in the base; you’d seen him in passing a few times, but the two of you hadn’t spoken more than a few words to each other.

Normally, that would have upset you. You hated fighting with the boys, but you were feeling better and in a relatively good mood today.

You sigh as you step into the kitchen after showering to wash the sweat and anxiety from your skin. Your hair is still damp, and you're dressed in one of Dean's old shirts and a tight pair of bicycle shorts. Sam entered soon after, dressed just as casually. He looked entirely undisturbed by the events of the past few days.

"Hey," you say in passing, trying to sound as casual as possible.

"Hey yourself," he answers with a smile. For a moment, there was silence between you, but even that was short-lived. "You got the words wrong, you know," Sam says, leaning a hip against the door frame while he stares at you with arms crossed. He didn't sound angry, but it wasn't like he needed to say it; you knew you'd gotten them wrong.

Your head snaps around to stare at him, eyes narrowing at the fucking audacity he spoke with. Was that really what he wanted to say? "Yeah," you answer, your expression souring and your mouth in a tight-lipped scowl. "I figured that out from the silent treatment." You shrug your shoulders, trying not to let the hurt bleed into your voice as you turn away and busy yourself straightening a piece of paper on the table.

"Silent treatment?" He asks, pushing off the wall to come towards you. "No one is giving you the silent treatment."

"Sure you’re not," you scoff in response.

"We’re not."

"Then where is Dean? He’s running off doing his own thing because he’s pissed off at me for ruining the hunt, and it’s been two days since you said this much to me, Sam." You huff, clearly annoyed, as you cross your arms and glare at him. "No one learns from the silent treatment, Sam. Sure, I messed up. I know I did, and I’ll learn from that. The two of you don’t need to be assholes about it. But whatever, live and let live."

He walks briskly towards you, and you step back, not in fear but because the raw emotions in his eyes stun you—lust and dominance mingling beautifully in the depths of his iridescent orbs. Sam doesn't stop when you back away; instead, he walks until the small of your back is pressed against the edge of the table, and then he cages you between his arms, palms pressed flat against the table top.

"S - Sam?" You stutter when his lips pull into a smooth smirk. One of his hands grabs you by the hip, his fingertips biting into your skin just a little bit too much, and he pulls you against him, painting his body firmly against yours.

And then he’s kissing you, and you kiss him, and whatever anger was on your tongue dies.

Sam does not waste time and pushes his hand into your bicycle shorts, the material so tight that it fits you like a second skin. He wants desperately to rip it down your legs and feast on your pussy, but he shows remarkable restraint.

"If you wanted more lessons," he says between heated kisses that muffle your little gasps when he starts to rub his fingers against your clit. "You just needed to ask, sweetheart." His other hand grasps your jaw hard with his thumb and forefinger, pushing into your cheeks so that you were pouting when he kissed you again, pushing his tongue into your mouth.

You have the notion to argue with him but are silenced when he pushes a finger through your folds, which are slick with desire and anticipation. You grab at his arm when he prods your entrance, making your knees weak. "Sam, I—" you start but are silenced by the stare in his eyes.

"In Latin." 

"Sam?"

"In Latin." He says it again, this time with more force, his words accompanied by a second finger being pushed into your tight hole, drawing a wanton moan from your lips. You’re not sure where this behaviour is coming from. Sam had never so much as hinted at liking you, but in truth, you weren’t one to complain—not when he was knuckles deep in your cunt.

Your fingers curl tightly around the edge of the table, nails scratching at the underside, knuckles white under the pressure. You tilt your head back beneath his wandering mouth, enjoying the warmth of his body hovering over yours and how he pulls your shirt up to expose your tits.

Sam trails hot, wet kisses down your neck, his teeth scraping over your racing pulse. He sucks a hickey on your collarbone until a purple-blue bruise forms beneath his lips. The entire time he’s pumping his fingers into your cunt. Lewd, wet squelching fills the room because you’re that fucking wet.

He forces your legs further apart with his knee so that you're perched on the edge of the table, feet dangling in the air. His mouth moves to your chest, his lips closing around your nipple and sucking hard so that it pops from his mouth with an obscene sound and stands hard atop your tit. And then he takes the other one into his mouth, flicking and twirling his tongue so that you had to fist a hand in his hair.

He whispers something that you can’t make out. His mouth is like fire on your skin, leaving little flames of arousal licking through your veins. And then his fingers hit that spongy part of your pussy that has you hurtling towards a climax instead of slowly building to it.

You can’t help the way your nails dig into his shoulders when you cling to him when your thighs tremble. You cling to him when the storm comes out of nowhere, sweeping you away on a cloud of bliss that has you throwing your head back. He feels your walls tighten around his fingers, fresh waves of arousal against the tips, and then he’s kissing you again, rubbing his thumb in circles around your clit to keep the aftershocks of climax trembling through you.

His mouth is hot, stealing the air from your lungs until they are burning, but you don’t mind because you're still coming down from your high.

The next thing you know, it’s been an hour, and Sam has managed to make you cum three more times, twice with his fingers buried knuckle deep in your pussy, scissoring them to send you teetering over the edge of oblivion. And then once more, with his mouth on your pussy, lips encircling around your clit and sucking so hard that all you could do was repeat his name like a heaven’s prayer.

You’re done, but he wasn’t, not by a long shot.

Sam spread you out on your back, laying you out like a feast, your skin flushed and tits heaving with heavy breaths. You feel the rough pad of his thumb rubbing circles around your clit, which is slightly swollen and much too sensitive, and you claw at his wrist to push him away. Sam just smiles at you and pins both your wrists to the mattress with one of his large hands.

"It’s too much," you whine, trying to pull away and wiggle your hips away from his fingers, but you’re trapped. And you love it as much as you hate it. Sam growls softly between his teeth, his thumb prodding through your slick folds and getting nice and wet before drifting lower to push against your asshole. Your breath hitches at the sensation, and your mind spins as he pushes his thumb inside, giving a few shallow thrusts to tease you.

"Hic tam arctus es, infans," he says, his voice heavy with lust and muffled against your heaving tits. His breath is hot against your skin, his teeth scrape over your racing heartbeat, and his tongue leaves your skin inflamed and glistening. There is a knot twisting through your belly, slowly pulling tighter as his thumb pushes in and out of your tight hole.

"Ubi vis me?" His words are lost in the haze of euphoria he’s trapped you in, as meaningless as the world around you has become. You were a slave to the sensations he embodied, desperately moving your hips to take him deeper. "Hic?"

"Sam," you whine, your voice straining as you struggle in his grasp. You need him; you need to feel your pussy stretching around his big, hard cock. You need to feel him buried inside you, fucking you into oblivion.

"Hic?" He says it again, twisting his thumb in a way that has you throwing your head back and bucking your hips desperately. You can feel him smiling against your tit as he mouths it, his teeth tugging at your nipple until your back arches.

Your breath comes quicker, little pants, when he pulls his thumb from your clenching asshole, the feeling exquisite and leaving you desperate for more despite the live wires of overstimulation snaking through your veins. Sam lets go of your wrists long enough to pull one of your legs up, laying the back of your thigh up his torso so that your knee is bent over his shoulder, and then he shackles them again, trapping you beneath him.

You move restlessly when you feel his thumb against your asshole again, except this time it's not his thumb, and your eyes go wide, a whimper falling from your parted lips. You weren’t a virgin, not at all, but this would be the first time you’d ever taken something so big in your ass.

There was no mistaking that Sam Winchester was a behemoth of a man. He’s tall, broad-shouldered, and strong—Hercules reborn. Everything about him is big. His hands, his feet, his thighs, and his cock. Everything about him is solid, cut from marble; he is beautiful. His cock makes your asshole sting beautifully as he pushes the mushroom head in.

Inch by glorious inch, he pushed forward, the prominent vein on the underside of his cock dragging along your stretched hole. "Jesus, tam stricta es," he breathes against your neck, but you still don’t understand. He’s slow, letting you get used to the feeling of his cock splitting you open with short, shallow thrusts, making you moan wantonly.

He loves the little things that you do, the simple things; the pleasure that sears through him as he stretches your tightest hole; the way you’re moaning like a whore, rocking your hips desperately against his, grinding against him. He starts moving with more urgency, drawing back so that only the head of his cock is fitted snugly inside, and then he’s thrusting back in with one stroke, hitting deep, leaving you throwing your head from side to side.

Your thighs quiver, and your toes curl. Sam fucks into you at a merciless pace, stretching you out and filling you completely, and the feeling of it is beyond words. It is beautiful and exquisite—pure euphoric bliss. It makes your pussy creamy with desire, so much so that your slick drips down your crack to mingle with his thrusts. That knot in your belly pulls tighter while your clit throbs and the muscles in your thighs ache. Your lungs burn because of how you’re panting, unable to catch your breath.

His fingers tighten around your wrists when you almost buck out of his grasp, the tips of them biting into your skin so that you can feel bruises starting to form, but you don’t care. You’re so close, so fucking close. His mouth is on your neck, his teeth scraping over your racing pulse, his lips leaving hickeys behind, and his tongue leaving your skin hot and wet.

You can feel the pressure building. Your pussy is clenching desperately around nothing, and you can feel your pulse beating in your toes, your clit, even in your fingertips—you’re that close to breaking. It feels so fucking good, but you’re fighting it because the pleasure is starting to border on pain and overstimulation.

And you’re lost in it, trapped as you are beneath him.

You crave that sweet release, the way fire will race through your blood, and the way your world will be scored with lightning. You need it as much as you need to breathe, but every part of you is alive. You can hear the blood rushing behind your ears; hear the beating of your heart as it slams into your breastbone; your eyes rolling back every time his hips snap forward, pushing every inch of him deep inside you.

"Venire," he growls against your neck, his breath literally burning against your sweat-slicked skin. You don’t know what he says, but the lust in his voice and the feral look in his eyes pull that coil painfully tight. You’re breaking—he’s breaking you. He’s got you on the verge of being fucked stupid, sobbing because of him and how good it feels, but he wants more from you.

"Sam! Sam, please, please," you plead, throwing your head from side to side, desperately trying to tug your hands free. You arch your back when he hits a spot that has dots decorating your vision, your tits thrusting into the air. You can’t figure out what you’re asking for. For him to stop or for him to keep going, it’s a blur.

Every movement of his hips has that knot pulling tighter—so tight that you might die. Your pussy is twitching, clenching around nothing, and you’re so wet that it’s shining on his skin every time he bottoms out.

"Venire," he says again, this time against your ear. Your pleasure-addled brain, so drugged with pleasurable pain and desperate for the release he’s forcing from you, only comprehends what he's saying when two of his fingers are shoved through your slick folds and into your clenching hole, his thumb finding your clit and rubbing harsh circles.

You struggle to close your thighs, tears streaming down your face, tits bouncing as he fucks you harder. His cock is stretching your ass beyond belief while his fingers ram into that spongy spot that has your vision decorated with stars. "I - I - I - can’t!" You manage to stutter out, hips bucking against his, your pussy clenching so tight around his fingers.

Except you can because that dam breaks with so much pressure that you scream. It feels like lightning has hit your body, sizzling through your veins until you’re thrashing beneath him, your thighs quivering violently, and your toes curled so much that it hurts.  Sam doesn’t stop, not even when your ass tightens around his cock to the point of pain. He just presses his thumb against your clit, circling, rubbing, and making you scream for him.

You feel a gush between your thighs, your pussy convulsing around his fingers as you cum in a fountain spray. Sam curls his fingers into your g-spot, scissors them, and pulls them from you to draw out as much cum as possible. If you had any brains left, you might have been embarrassed by the way you came, squirting so hard that it hits his abdomen and drips from the nest of curls at the base of his shaft, how it drenches your thighs and pools on the mattress beneath you.

But you’re gone, lost, and fucked dumb, only able to grunt as he keeps fucking you.

"Tam pulchra, infans, tam formosa, tam mihi dura venit." His own voice is trembling, and his balls draw closer to his body as the muscles in his abdomen tighten. He buries himself deep so that your ass is full and your pussy tingles. And you feel it as he grunts against your neck—feel the white-hot ribbons of cum filling your ass.

Sam keeps thrusting until you've milked him dry, and then he pulls out, drawing a pathetic, desperate moan from your lips because of the sensation. Having let go of your wrists, he sits back on his haunches. You lay there, your thighs still trembling, your mind lost. Sam watches the way your pretty pussy twitches and the way your ass puckers, and his sticky cum drips from it in fat globs.

"What do pretty girls say after being filled with cum?" He asks, his voice soft, his fingers pushing his cum back into your stretched-out ass so that you were whimpering and shaking again. You manage to peel your eyes open to stare at him, tears in them, your chest heaving as he shoves two long fingers into your asshole.

He speaks English this time so that you understand, but you are still slow to react, straining to close your thighs. He kisses you without warning, his tongue in your mouth, licking yours until you're clawing at his shoulders to keep him there, desperate for his kiss.

"Gratias tibi." You managed with a weary smile, and that was enough for him for the moment.

the translations ::

Hic tam arctus es, infans. - You’re so tight here, baby.

Ubi vis me? - Where do you want me?

Hic? - Here?

Hic? - Here?

Jesus, tam stricta es. - Jesus, you’re so tight.

Venire - Come/cum.

Venire - Come/cum.

Tam pulchra, infans, tam formosa, tam mihi dura venit. - So pretty, baby, so beautiful, coming so hard for me.

Gratias tibi - Thank you.

[astralnymphh]

dogwalker!ellie inspired by this by @beforeimdeceased because it has been leeching my brain nonstop ever since it was published.

i've felt the lull to tread a new story idea— something sweet, romantic, humble, and penny plain. and gosh, the blurb aforementioned really has me thinking about this trope. i already thought of a possible title cause im that much of an idea generator— an ode to sunflowers.

but mmm, can you imagine dogwalker!ellie evolves into dogsitter!ellie? quaintest little scenario. let me paint the picture; bright neighborhood, elm trees spread along the patches of grass adjacent to the sidewalk, sun spilling through greenery gaps, mourning doves chattering amongst their flock, a cloud here— cloud there, a prosaic day ran through a picturesque world. you cross paths with ellie on her usual route day–by–by, excluding the weekend, so you know her character. how she walks, how she talks, how good she is with a dog, how much of a dorky satyr she is. doesn't even live here. she's just there to dogwalk, or less often, housesit for this elderly lady— like today.

so while on your promenade upon this silvery gray sidewalk, you weren't surprised to see the usual gilding of flaxen hair near to the ground — followed by a head of earthly auburn at the raise of an eye. what surprised you is her asking of, "so, if you're free, maybe you'd like to.. come over? got a house all t'myself." and her cute little hand gestures she did— awkward, but adorable, bending at the knee and pointing behind her with a thumb, wide orange–slice smile and unforgettable dimples.

you were at a crouch, combing a lend of fingers through the dogs locks, gazing up at her with a cloven–open mouth and hard staring pupils, as if you were planning up an answer inside your noggin— realistically you were too hyperfocused on counting all her freckles, they're just so.. there.

"fuck— I shouldn't have asked that, mhhph," she flicks her head up, wrenching her eyelids and pinching the bridge of her nose with paired fingers, stuttering, "you're probably pretty busy anyway and I—"

"I'll go."

"don't think you'd wanna stay in a house with a messy.. slobbery— wait what?" she unscrews her eyes, catching the rise of your crouch, to now standing.

"he's fond of 'pretty girls', yeah? he shouldn't mind being around two." chirped you with a sigh flowing off the last word, cocking your hip to one side and giving the most slickest smile, ever.

now ellie is the one blushing her ass to smithereens, flusher than a cherub, yet— scoffing, impressed. that was entirely too fucking smooth, hmm?

let's just say.. staying over at that elderly woman's home was the best decision. wink wonk TRIBBING wink wonk. ✮

[foone]

Growing up in a family with a couple autistic hyperfocusers and a bunch of avid readers and one Normal Guy and then a (now-adult) baby sister with a major learning disability has completely ruined my ability to have any idea what "an average person" knows about.

Like, we've got one person who hasn't even seen a single minute of the Lord of the Rings films, and another has a degree in English literature and did an entire semester on the works of Tolkien. Which one of these peoples is more "normal"? I have no idea!

Or that post of classics puns from Twitter:

How many of these jokes does the average person get? Do they understand Icarus and Medusa but not Orpheus and the joke about "Nobody"?

Anyway it's sometimes a problem because I can (and will!) explain anything at the drop of a hat, but I often am unsure about where to stop.

Like I'm trying to explain how you run Doom on Crabs. Do I need to explain how logic gates work? How transistors work? How computers work? Where do I stop talking and leave it unexplained? Because if I don't rein myself in, I will explain the whole stack from top to bottom and we'll be here all day.

And it's one of those cases where there's not an answer, which I feel is a common bind for people on the autism spectrum to be in. So many of these "don't get social cues" type problems are not because we don't know the answer, in the sense of just being ignorant of what it is, it's that the answer is "it depends on the situation".

Like the question of language formality, or swearing. How much should you swear, if any? There isn't an answer, because it depends on the context. How much is acceptable wildly changes from a hangout with friends to a work meeting to a courthouse to a church.

And similarly, "what does the average person know?" cannot be answered singularly. I explain different things more or less depending on if I'm talking on Tumblr or mastodon or a discord server, because of course you would.

I expect Tumblr to know more about trans issues and fandom, and I expect mastodon (at least the corner I hang out in) to know more about x86 assembly and floppy disks.

But even knowing that and having some success at doing it, there's still some tension because it's the kind of question where the answer is something like "I don't know, you'll have to play it by ear and pick up on subtle social clues" and BOY IS THAT NOT A TYPE OF SITUATION I'M GOOD AT!

[roguekhajiit]

TW: Transphobia

I had my first ever encounter with a transphobic member of the LGBTQ community this week.

At work on Monday, I overheard some co-workers discussing Transgender Day of Visibility and how President Biden issued a statement acknowledging Trans Day. Since it just so happened to occur on the same day as Easter this year, my very close-minded co-workers took that and Biden's statement as evidence that Trans people are trying to take over Easter!

Now, I consider myself to be Non-binary (specifically Demi-girl/Agender), but I tend to fly under the radar, which is very helpful since I live in a very, very red state. It doesn't hurt that my normal sense of personal style is very casual and all black. So, I can wear traditionally "men's" pants, and no one pays much attention to me, which is the way I prefer it. I hate anything that draws attention to myself.

So, I bit my tongue and hyperfocused on my work. Then, when I went home, the non-binary gremlin in me just couldn't be contained anymore; I opened Reddit and made a post about how no one is going around trying to steal stolen holidays.

Now, I was fully anticipating pissed off Christians to rain their uninhibited fake outrage down onto the comment section (which happened) but I wasn't anticipating a self-identified 60 yr old gay man to come into my comments saying things like, "Why would you put a Trans holiday anywhere near a religious holiday knowing every seven years it's gonna land on said holiday" and "As a gay man I believe that the one part of our community is stifling the rest of us."

Tell me you're transphobic without telling me you're transphobic.

Now, since I can't just ignore the sheer inaccuracy of his math; according to Google from 2001 to 2100, Easter will only land on March 31st 5 times. Five times in an entire century. The last time Easter was on March 31st, it was 2013. So, 11 years ago, or over a decade ago. No one gave a shit in 2013 that Easter and Trans Day were on the same day. But let the president acknowledge it in a statement and everyone loses their fucking minds.

So, why would you avoid celebrating something important in your life on the off chance that it might coincide with someone's religious holiday? Of course, you wouldn't. If your birthday is on Christmas, do you no longer have a birthday?

"Next, why wouldn't you place it in the month of pride then each day of pride month could have a different day celebrating each letter of the lbgtq+ community."

Yes, that is what Pride Month is for, celebrating the diversity of the LGBTQ+ community. But are you gay only in June?

But sadly, even some in our diverse community isolate and vilify trans individuals just like what this old gay dinosaur is doing. For 15 years, a vast majority didn't know or even give a shit that Trans Day existed. That is until a president acknowledged it.

"May I point out there's no gay holidays that coincide with Yom kipper or Ramadan."

True, Yom Kippur and Ramadan don't coincide with any "gay holidays," but Shavout is directly in the middle of Pride Month. Any outrage there?

"So just piss off the Christian's so they have one more thing to hate us for. I find many in our community asking for acceptance while giving none, just my opinion and nothing more."

How very accepting of you to say, my lord.

"Maybe it's time we all in the gay community and cis people give the whole year to the Trans community."

But they aren't asking for the year, or even a month. They just want one day that is their own. And even members of our own LGBTQ+ community can't even give them that.

"I'm gay so I can't be transphobic."

Your statements say otherwise. Just because you're gay doesn't mean you are absolved of your transphobia.

Perhaps it's time we stop placating these dusty ass old gay dinosaurs and call them out on their hateful thinking. Their "I got mine" attitude only harms our communities. Just because you won the fight for same sex marriage doesn't mean you're safe. The fight for equality is never-ending.

More and more of us are having our rights stripped away right before our very eyes. Roe v. Wade has already been overturned, and they aren't going to stop there. They never planned to stop there. They are very methodically chipping away at our rights. Right now, they are focusing their efforts on the trans community, slowly outlawing their very existence. And while they have you distracted by that, they are quietly overturning same sex marriage laws. Your rights aren't safe and never will be safe as long as we have members in our communities who subscribe to this kind of thinking.

[starboybutler]

Lights Up (Ch. 1)

summary: john egan, sophomore, sees a cute boy in class and gets serious about his education. (not)

word count: 3148

warnings: objectification, drugs, sh, non-con (all briefly mentioned), blowjobs, john egan is kind of an asshole

notes: first chapter of my college au fic! this went through like. five rewrites before i was happy with it and even now i still kinda hate it. but!! i hope you guys enjoy!

chapter two | chapter three | ao3 link

here's some art for this chapter!

john egan was not made for college in the slightest.

he enjoyed the experience– the parties, the friends he made, the experimenting with almost every drug in the book– but the academics? not so much.

he wasn't even sure how he got in, honestly. he did all the paperwork when he was high one night, and he gotten a letter saying he was accepted. his momma was so happy for him.

he had skipped class a lot, opting to go out and meet up with a dude he matched with on tinder instead and fucking his brains out in a shady alleyway and ghosting him the next day. when he did attend class, he would sleep through it and miss almost everything his professor said.

he was bad with his assignments too. he never turned them in on time, always promising his professors via email that he'd get it turned in by the end of the week. and when he didn't, he'd just leave it be.

that's the thing about college though– unlike high school, there was no one to breathe down your neck to tell you to do your schoolwork. they expected you to fend for yourself because you were an adult now.

john honestly never had a reason to go to class. until last week.

here he was, in god knows what class listening to his professor drone on about square roots…something like that. did he even sign up for a math class?

whatever. all he was focussed on was the pretty blonde boy that had found a seat right in front of him. he had sleepy blue eyes and pouty pink lips that put every woman he’s ever seen to shame. his hair fell in ribbons over his shoulders, shiny and soft looking. he couldn't take his eyes off of him.

he showed up last week without a word, hair in a messy little ponytail and dressed up in a frayed jean jacket and leather pants. john was so happy he decided to show up to class that day. the minute that blonde beauty walked in, he perked right up, immediately gaining an interest in this particular class.

that entire day, he watched as he wrote line upon line upon line of notes, muscles in his hand moving dutifully.

god.

john had started waking up and walking to class everyday, even opting to get here early just to watch the new boy set up his little work station. he had plenty of pens and pencils and scratch paper to take notes on, but this week he seemed to have finally invested in a laptop for his notes instead– which was a shame, because he had pretty handwriting.

despite a week passing, he had only just text curt about the new boy today, telling him every little detail he’s remembered.

curtie 🖕🏻💚

‘hello???? you’re just gonna say all this and not send a picture???’

curtie🖕🏻💚

‘you’re evil’

bucky huffed out a little laugh.

‘i don't know if you've been told this, but taking pictures of people you don't know is weird.’

curtie 🖕🏻💚

‘ITS FOR SCIENCE’

‘NO curt’

curtie 🖕🏻💚

‘FINE. i’ll just come over there’

“oh god,” john sighed, letting his head fall forward onto the table in front of him, slightly embarrassed. he loved curt to death, but he acted like he was in heat sometimes- like he just couldn't help himself around a good looking guy.

he peeked at the boy again. today, the boy was dressed a little less flashy than the previous days– only wearing a simple white shirt and gray sweatpants.

he was hyperfocused on his laptop as he soaked up the professors words like a sponge, typing his words into a well organized word document with quick, nimble fingers. his glasses slid lower on his nose, making him take a hand away from his keyboard for a split second and push them back up to the bridge.

john was hypnotized by every movement of his. he seemed so calm, collected– calculated. he seemed like everything bucky wasn't. he was the type of boy that john had always fantasized about taking home and corrupting beyond repair.

fucked up, yeah, but the thought of taking this pretty, smart blonde beauty to bed and making him scream and yell and forget everything nerdy he was typing until he could think of nothing but john’s name– bringing him to filthy, low down clubs and having him take all kinds of things and then fucking him in his car while he giggled, just happy to be there…

god, what an image he created for himself.

“issat him?”

“christ–” john sputtered, startled as curt’s voice suddenly sounded in his ear, arm suddenly slung around his shoulder. “didn't think you were actually comin’.”

“you know me, bucky.” the boy smiled, eyes fixed hard on the blonde, scanning every single little detail. “i hear about a hot guy, i just can't help myself. it's a curse.”

“i gotta get you spayed or something,” he joked, tugging the shorter boy’s hoodie so that he was sat in the chair next to him. “siddown.”

they spent a good while just staring, before curt broke the silence with a filthy whisper in bucky’s ear.

“think he'd be down for a threeway?”

“curtis.”

“what? man, god knows what you're thinkin’ i’m just brave enough to say what i’m thinking out loud.”

“yeah, in a class full of people,” he hissed, flicking curt on the side of the head. “keep your voice down.”

“what's your deal?” curt huffed, rubbing at the spot john had struck him bitterly. “you’d be flirting with a guy this hot by now. it's like you're scared or something.”

“i’m not scared– you're just bein’ too goddamn loud.” john said, elbowing him in the side sharply. “besides, he seems like the shy type- so i’ll have to get him to warm up to me before i can even suggest anything, y’know?”

“ughhh,” curt groaned, falling back dramatically and clutching his chest as if he were dying. “i dunno if i can wait johnny-boy. i wanna devour him like thanksgiving dinner and lick the plate clean.”

“i know you do.” john mumbled, rubbing at his temples. “just try and be patient, yeah? don't you got other boy toys you can sleep with in the meantime?”

“none as good lookin’ as him.”

“down boy.” john teased. “i got this. just give me a week and we'll have him in our dorm.”

curt huffed and stood from where he was seated, shoving his hands into his loose pockets. “alright, but i’ll be damned if i wait a day longer.”

and there he went, striding out of the classroom like he owned the damn place, pants falling low on his hips because he'd lost his goddamn belt somewhere the week before. that boy was more of a mess than he was.

class came to a close, and john sighed and picked up his bag nonchalantly. he had been brainstorming a way to even approach the guy, seeing as he looked like the quieter type. he had a nagging feeling that if he tried to just go up to him and strike up a conversation he'd freak him out a little bit.

he must've spaced out. when he came to, the room was empty, save for the professor organizing his haphazard work space.

“i know you aren't gonna ask me any questions about the lecture, egan,” the frumpy old man said, glaring up at him. “you know where the door is.”

“gee, thanks.” john mumbled under his breath.

he turned to leave, bag slung lazily over his shoulder, only for something glimmering under the fluorescent lights of the room to catch his eye.

he turned to look at the object. it was a pair of glasses.

he practically jumped over the table to get to where the blonde was sat previously, taking hold of the thin-framed specs in his large hand.

perfect.

he dashed out of the classroom, hoping he could still run into him somewhere outside since class hadn't ended that long ago. he made his way into the hall, which was fairly vacant, and scanned for him almost frantically.

there.

he was standing near the exit door, fumbling through his satchel for something– and john hard a fairly good idea of what he was looking for. he took a deep breath, straightened his back and walked towards him, shoving the bifocals in his pocket.

“hey,” he started, obviously scaring the blonde a bit as his eyes shot up from his bag, meeting john’s. “lose something?”

“oh, uh,”

he looked caught off guard, but his face remained surprisingly stoic. the only tell that he was nervous was his stiff posture and twitching fingers.

“yeah, lost my glasses. think i left ‘em somewhere.”

god, his voice was deep– smooth and soft with a hint of a southern twang.

his plump bottom lip twitched slightly as he took his hand out of his cluttered handbag, letting them rest at his sides. he fidgeted with nimble fingers, picking at a loose string that stuck out from his frayed jeans.

he was so much cuter up close. john could really get a good look at all of his features– his sleepy eyes, his soft hair, his straight nose, the freckles that dotted his cheeks, and the musky, sandalwood-vanilla scent that wafted off of him. john wanted to devour him.

he pulled the aforementioned glasses from the pocket of his basketball shorts, presenting them to the blonde. “y’mean these?”

the blonde perked up.

“oh, yeah,” he said, quickly taking them and sliding them back onto his face, missing the way john jumped a little as their skin made contact for a split second. “thanks. must’ve dropped ‘em.”

“nah, left them in class, actually,” john informed, nodding back to the door of the now barren math room. “saw ‘em sitting on the table, so i picked ‘em up.”

“uh, thanks,” he said, hands moving to clutch at the strap of his satchel. “how’d you know they were mine?”

john chuckled and gave his most charming smile, cocking his head to the side slightly, just to add to the charm a bit. “couldn't forget a cutie like you sittin’ in front of me.”

the boy turned his head away at the words, but john didn't miss the way his cheeks flushed a soft, sweet shade of pink. he couldn't help but smirk.

his neck tensed, letting john see all of the muscles in a way that made him want to sink his teeth into him right then and there. he didn't miss how his shirt was cropped slightly either, a little bit of skin showing as he reached to scratch at the back of his reddening neck.

gotcha.

“oh. uh, well…thank you.” he mumbled, a nimble finger running up and down the faded strap of his satchel. “nice of you to return ‘em.”

“of course. who wouldn't? i’m sure everyone would want an excuse to talk to you,” john replied, smiling wider. “what’s your name?”

“oh– it’s gale.” he said, gathering himself and making eye contact with john once more. “gale cleven.”

“nice to meet you, gale,” he crooned, holding out a large hand. “i’m john egan. friends call me bucky.”

“nice to meet you,” he said softly, a slight smile crossing his face as he took john’s hand, shaking it firmly. “bucky.”

“good boy,” he said seamlessly, watching as gale’s face went a pale pink once more. “how about you grab a drink with me? i’ll consider us even for the glasses.”

“ah, i’d love to, but,”

he faltered, and john’s heart sank for a moment. he must've overstepped.

“i don't drink. even if i did, i’m 19, so i can’t legally get a drink at bars.”

john shrugged, playing off his miscalculation as he released gale’s hand. “a’ight. how about a bite to eat then?”

gale went quiet, lip twitching once more as he mulled over john’s offer. bucky worried his bottom lip with his teeth in anticipation.

“not today,” gale exhaled. “gotta study, y’know. but i’m free tomorrow?”

“okay. i’m counting on you to keep your word on this.” he purred, flashing him a sly wink as he walked past him, out the door. “see ya tomorrow, gale.”

—---------------------

“so, did you ask him?”

“curt, didn't i say a week?” john huffed, shucking his shirt off and tossing it aside. “you're real impatient, you know that?”

“he's hot.” curt said urgently. “god, if i got a chance to talk to him i’d–”

“i know, which is why i didn't let you talk to him.” john laughed, sitting on the edge of his bed. “you’d scare him off and he'd probably report us or something. it’s happened before.”

“no one's reported us.”

“yet.”

“whatever.” curt sighed, crossing his arms like a petulant child. “did you at least get a name? what color are his eyes? what’s he smell like?”

“gale. gale cleven.” john recalled fondly. “he’s got big baby blues, and he smells real good. like those ridiculously overpriced colognes you love so much. god– his voice is so deep too, curtie.”

“...gale sounds like a chick’s name.”

“curt.”

“what, it does!”

“and you think you’d be able to get him to agree to a threeway? with a mouth like that?” john huffed. “you're such a shit talker.”

“it’s not on purpose, i promise.” he said with a bratty roll of his eyes. “i just think honesty is the best policy. ain’t that a core value or sumn?”

“it is– but not if you’re thinking of telling a cute blonde guy you wanna fuck that his name sounds like a chick’s name.”

“are you gonna tell me it doesn’t? honestly?”

“you just–” john pauses, lips pressed into a flat line. “you shouldn't say it.”

“so you agree!” he cackles, falling back with the force of his raucous laughter. “oh johnny, you're such a hypocrite.”

bucky all but pounced on curt, relishing the little yip that came from him as he was pinned against the shitty little dorm mattress. john’s hand was gripping the front of his hoodie, lifting him up slightly so that their faces were inches apart, breath mingling with one another.

“you've got such a smartass mouth, you know that?” he hissed, staring curt right in his crystal-blue eyes, which were wide with an obvious mix of arousal and fear.

this is what curt got a kick out of- riling bucky up and making him manhandle him. this wouldn't be the first time they had gotten carried away in their little friendly bickering matches, only for john to end up on top of or inside of curt. it was a little arrangement they had. they’d known one another since elementary school, and they'd only grown closer as they grew up.

curt was there for bucky throughout his worst– the drugs, the relapses- he’d seen john at his absolute worst, and he stayed right by his side.

he'd also seen curt at hit lowest, dirty and covered in blood and other fluids that were from men that curt didn't want to name because he was sure ‘they didn't mean it’.

so much they've been through together. so many nights they've spent curled up together- crying, screaming, or just silent.

“yeah?” the boy exhaled, erection poking at the back of bucky’s thigh insistently. “why don't you shut me up then?”

he didn't need anymore permission. bucky pulled his half-hard cock free from his loose basketball shorts, shoving it roughly into curt’s mouth, laughing cruelly as the boy let out a little whiny sigh.

“didn't even gag. how many cocks you suck this week, huh? how many men you let violate your pretty mouth?”

another whine, tears gathering in the corners of his eyes as he began to lick and suckle at his cock weakly, hands grasping at john’s thighs.

the words were harsh, but he knew it’s what curt liked. he loved being talked about like he was an object- a little plaything for john’s personal gratification.

he rolled his hips forward, smirking as curt gagged slightly at the nudge of john’s cockhead against the back of his throat. spit was running down the corners of his mouth, creating a pretty, messy little picture below him.

“fucking hell, love your mouth.” he sighed, settling into a slow rhythm, savoring the feeling of curt moaning and whimpering around him like a pitiful little puppy. “love when i get to take you like this. you think gale would fill you up like this?”

a downright filthy groan left curt’s mouth at that, nails biting into the plush skin of john’s thighs. bucky laughed throatily. tugging at curt’s damp curls until just his tip was in the warm chasm of his mouth.

“hah….thought he had a chick’s name? bet you don't really care. you’d still moan for his cock like the whore that you are, huh?”

curt’s tongue licked at the weeping head of bucky’s dick, shuddering at the taste of precum drizzling over his pink little tongue. his chest was heaving with each breath he took, eyes almost rolling into the back of his head as john forced him to swallow his cock once more.

“want me to cum down your throat, curtie? gonna imagine that it’s gale?”

a garbled word that sounded like ‘fuck’ escaped the shorter boy’s throat, his nails scratching down his thighs and leaving bloody little marks that would be hard to explain– but he didn't care. his thrusts got sloppier, more frantic as that familiar warmth built at the base of his spine.

“shit–”

he pulled free from curt’s throat with a filthy wet sound, jerking his wet cock as he spilled all over curt’s scrunched up face. his cheeks were pink and wet with a mix of john’s precum and his own spit, which made such a beautiful little picture as his spend was added to it.

they both sat there panting for a bit, before curt shoved him in his chest.

“i said down my throat, asshole.”

john just shrugged, smirking crookedly. “i hear cum is great for your skin. just trying to keep you looking young.”

curt shoved him again, enough to make him stumble off of his chest and onto the floor, which made them both laugh.

“god, now i gotta shower again,” curt huffed, wiping at his face with his hand. “god, you're such a dick.”

“you're welcome,” bucky called out as curt shuffled off to the bathroom, shooting him the finger as he closed the door behind him. he was left laying there, cock still wet and messy with curt’s saliva as his eyes drifted shut. images of gale, spread out below him, flushed and fucked out flashed prettily like a homemade porno behind his eyelids.

tomorrow, he was gonna win that blonde boy over no matter what.

taglist: @mooodyblue @lauvmyself @kaiistheguy @slowsweetlove

[warcoaxed]

On Wearing Your Heart On Your Sleeve

Or: the disjointed post where I diagnose Q!Forever with BPD-like tendencies in regards to Q!Philza.

Anything from this point forward is about the characters only.

continue reading under the cut!

1. On Brunim's entire existence.

One of the first real moments we got with Forever were his interactions with Philza and how he quite instantly got attached to him. While quite comedic at first, this later spirals into straight up obsession.

The basis of this obsession is Brunim Neets, or Forever's ex-husband who's very much not on the QSMP & bears a striking resemblance to our Philza.

It's quite easy to see that Forever is rather attached to Brunim, to the extent that he occasionally believes Philza is Brunim who simply lost his memories.

This leads to the conclusion that Brunim is quite literally Forever's FP ( Favourite Person. )

[ For the uninitiated, an FP is a person who someone with BPD relies heavily on for emotional support, seeks attention and validation from, and looks up to or idealizes. ]

Philza, who Forever uses as a replacement for Brunim, turns into one of Forever's main motives to do things, to gain his attention and love. This also makes Philza one of Forever's FPs, albeit an unhealthier one.

2. On Festa Junina & Forever's relationships.

Festa Junina was another turning point, where Forever entered a relationship that was just to make Philza jealous. Forever has a tendency to impulsively enter relationships and exit them just as fast.

Forever as a character is often categorized as airheaded, but that's very much not true. His emotions are very much a double edged sword, and can act as a source for his strength but also make his interpersonal relationships fall apart.

His stilting of Maximus' feelings is a result of this, where he gets so hyperfocused on Philza, he somewhat ends up using Maximus.

He has a pattern of unstable and intense interpersonal relationships characterized by alternating between extremes of idealization and devaluation. This can be said to be true in regards to both Philza and Brunim.

3. On the fear of abandonment & The Wedding (?)

Forever misses Brunim & there is no denying it. It's evident in how much Brunim is mentioned by him, to the extent that even Richarlyson pokes fun at it.

It's quite fair to assume that he feels a little abandoned by Brunim, with them being ex-lovers and Brunim very much not being around on the SMP.

And when you bring Philza to the equation? The Philza who very much wants to leave, the Philza who very visibly doesn't want this?

In comes the Frantic efforts to avoid real or imagined abandonment.

The wedding canonically happens while Philza is either tripping on drugs, or simply in his head (have your pick,) where Forever builds a shrine around them, declares them married and then proceeds to try to (badly) gaslight Philza into believing that they got married in Vegas.

His attempts at gaslighting are laughably pitiful, but they're incredibly desperate and frantic. It's almost like he thinks that if he can convince Philza that they're married, he wouldn't leave.

4. On Splitting and the Proposal.

Splitting refers to the difficulty to accurately assess another individual or situation. It can lead to intensely polarizing views of others, for instance, as either very good or very bad. A person typically splits unconsciously or without realizing it. Rather than seeing people in their lives as complex human beings with good, bad, and in-between characteristics, they may apply intensely polarizing or exaggerated labels. To them, their partner may be the “worst partner in the world” one day and the “greatest partner ever” the next.

The real turning point in Forever & Philza's relationship is the proposal following Cellbit & Roier's wedding. Their dynamic between then could easily be described as teasing, but this when things got very real very quick.

Forever asked for Philza's hand in marriage and got rejected ( very harshly at that- Thanks, Phil .)

This lead to a rather drastic reaction from Forever, where he ran to practically throw himself off a cliff, only for Philza to chase him down and stop him. What follows is a rather interesting conversation where we can watch Forever's high-held opinion of Philza practically plummet, where he later proclaims that he never even loved Philza, and how much he wants Philza to explode ( his words, not mine. )

It's almost like a switch has been flipped, with how he goes from happy to very upset, to determined to be president out of spite.

Not as obvious as others, but this can point to a persistently unstable self-image or sense of self.

There's probably more I could speak about this, but this is all I can say from the top of my head. Feel free to add things, I enjoy spitballing all kinds of things!

[pelorsdyke]

ronancetober - day three: horror movie au [happy death day]

Nancy’s head is throbbing beyond belief, her mouth drier than she’d like, and she can feel an arm draped over her back. She’d never really been a “party girl,” not until the last semester of senior year of high school, when her entire life had exploded.

She’d stopped fucking Steve shortly thereafter, at least, and it’s that that makes her carefully open up one eye to try and assess the situation. As long as she isn’t in his dorm, Nancy can’t find it in herself to care whose goddamn room it is.

It isn’t Steve’s. Small victories.

There’s a few film posters on the walls, a record player balanced carefully on the desk amongst stacks of books and papers, and Nancy examines it all from her spot on the bed. There’s something familiar about it, but for the life of her, she can’t place what it is, and it irks her. It’s not until a soft huff sounds behind her that Nancy realizes exactly where she’s landed.

“Nance?” Comes the sleep-heavy voice of Robin Buckley, her philosophy 101 classmate. Nancy takes some relief in the fact that Robin sounds just as confused as she herself feels. Her classmate’s arms are warm and comfortable, a respite from the pain of Nancy’s hangover, but now that’s she more awake and aware, her instincts kick in. Nancy runs.

“Hey,” she says, aware of the placating note in her voice, “I have to get going— early morning and all. See you in class, alright?”

Robin is still blinking up at her when she slams the door behind her.

Her mother is calling— that’s not something Nancy is remotely interested in dealing with at the moment— probably to wish her a happy birthday, but the call will, as usual, quickly devolve into some condescension about how Nancy never calls. She directs it to her voicemail.

Nancy hates her birthday— it’s part of why she’d gotten so wasted last night— and how it always reminds her of spending the day with Barb, back at home. She’s not planning to celebrate at all today, honestly. She’s got no plans, despite the bill of goods she sold Robin as she ducked out. She might as well go distract herself and hang with Jonathan, at least see if that’ll stop her brain from hyperfocusing on her terrible life.

—

In the end, much as she loves him, spending the day with Jonathan does little to reset Nancy’s bad mood. Instead, she ends up lost in her head for the majority of it all, working herself up despite his best efforts. He offers to have her come back to his dorm, trying to entice her with the offer of a joint he’s stashed in his dresser, but Nancy can’t find it in herself to take him up on it. She tells him to enjoy himself, manages a wry chuckle at his lopsided grin as he assures her he very much will.

There’s something fitting about shuffling home to her own dorm alone, in the dark. The campus is quiet, save for a few sparse groups of tipsy co-eds, and Nancy feels herself finally relax for the first time that day.

And then she hears it: a scream.

Immediately, Nancy breaks out into a run. She’s lost a lot of her own sense of self-preservation, but she’ll be damned if she leaves someone else hanging out to dry.

No one is standing there— or laying there, in the fetal position, or anything— when Nancy rounds the corner. She cautiously takes a few steps further into the darkness, moving toward the sound. “Hello?” She calls, hearing her footsteps echo around the campus’s tunnel. On second look, while there may not be someone there, there’s certainly something— a small ceramic figurine, sitting in a sliver of light. Nancy squints. It’s a birthday party scene.

“Okay, this isn’t funny!” She calls, stepping further into the tunnel. “Steve? Carol? Tommy, this stinks of your shit.”

When she gets close enough, Nancy kneels down before the figure. It’s fucking creepy. Baby-faced figures sit around a cake, party hats pale and pastel in the way only old ceramic can ever be. “Jesus Christ,” she mutters, but as she reaches a finger to touch it, Nancy’s heart jumps to her throat.

There’s someone behind her. She’s certain of it.

She stands, staring down the figure as she turns to face them. They’re masked, a black hoodie covering the majority of their figure, and Nancy feels a small shiver go down her spine. The mask is that stupid fucking baby again, the horrifying mascot of the college.

“I’m not scared,” she says, loud and certain, though there is some private part of her that disagrees. “Whatever this is, some kind of joke or something, it’s not fucking funny or scary or whatever you’re aiming for. Just go home.”

The figure remains still.

“Did Tommy put you up to this?” She asks, falling back on her best guess once more. “Tell him you accomplished your goal, whatever the fuck it was, and leave.”

There’s another beat, and then the figure, as if agreeing with her, disappears around the corner.

Satisfied, Nancy continues her trek through the tunnel, assured no one is actually in danger. She can still feel the hair on the back of her neck standing up, though, and she finds herself turning every few feet, waiting for the baby-faced stranger to come running back into the tunnel. Nothing happens, and it strengthens her resolve some as she reaches the end of the path. A noise catches Nancy by surprise, but as she turns one more time to assess the situation, the only thing in the tunnel is still that stupid birthday figurine. She wants to kick it into pieces. Still, she turns back, determined to just head back to her dorm.

She feels stupid for not considering it sooner. The sound of two feet landing on the ground is Nancy’s only warning before the stranger is on her, not at her back, but face to horrifying cherubic face. It’s got a knife, Nancy realizes, and the best thing she has is the tote bag she tossed her wallet and keys in on her way to see Jonathan. Still, Nancy scrounges up some remaining amount of self-preservation from wherever it’s hiding in her body, and runs.

She runs like she’s never run before, but she’s neglected to do the math on how difficult it is to navigate a campus full of trees, fences, and random bulletin boards in the pitch black. Nancy’s foot catches on a ring of rocks around some plants and she falls. The college’s blue emergency lights taunt her from her position on the ground. She looks desperately around, but the assailant is nowhere to be seen. Nancy has only a moment to wonder if that’s better or worse before a stick cracks just behind her head, and she peers up to see the terrible large eyes of the mask staring back at her.

There’s something about the position that makes her so immediately, achingly aware she’s about to die. She barely has time to scream as the knife comes crashing into her.

Nancy jumps out of her skin at the sensation of a familiar pillow pressed beneath her cheek. What the fuck? She sits up immediately, pressing a hand to her chest where the knife slid between her rib bones. It’s not until she hears grumbling behind her that Nancy becomes aware, once more, of the shape of Robin Buckley at her back.

“Nance?” Robin asks, and her voice sounds just the same way it did yesterday. Last time. Whatever. Nancy flinches. “What’s wrong?” She adds this time, gentle and achingly sweet.

“Nothing.” Nancy hurries to reply. “Bad dream. That’s all.” Still, she follows her instinct, rushes out the same way as before. “I have to get going— early morning and all. See you in class, alright?”

Robin is still blinking up at her when she slams the door behind her.

[lazy-universes]

Hey, it's been a while. I hope you and Buttons are okay. 💙

every once in a while i get asks like this and please don't worry!! here's some highlights of the past couple of months:

we're thoroughly sickly sweetly in love

all of our friends think we're disgusting

buttons decided to get another degree (why not)

i got promoted at my job and now oversee the entire public law department at the firm

we have two cats together

we are planning on getting married by next year or so

i came home from work one day to find out buttons had placed a PIANO IN MY LIVING ROOM. we live in an old apartment complex with no elevator. she had a piano brought up THREE FLIGHTS OF STAIRS

every 2/3 weeks or so i have religious commitments and have to buy flowers for offerings so i also buy her different flowers until she figures out which one is her favorite and i can buy those instead

buttons derives great pleasure from buying what she calls "food waste lootboxes". it's this system we have of buying near expiration or aesthetically unpleasant foods for cheaper. so far this has yielded: 16 beetroots, too many potatoes to count, 6 cabbages, 120 eggs (organic!), 72 strawberry yoghurts (buttons hates strawberries) and a whole lot of weird ass imported groceries that just pile up in my pantry

i learned to cook many new dishes to get rid of all that food. my gyoza dumplings have become quite sought after at the office

buttons ditched medicine practice but remains a registered doctor to file my prescriptions when i forget them

when i leave for the office in the morning i put on red lipstick and leave a kiss mark on hidden parts of her that won't show on her zoom meetings

she says i take up too much space in the bed but this is a LIE i keep chasing after her at night and she keeps evading me slippery bastard

every day i wake up in the morning and she has left notes on the refrigerator. the other day she informed me a candidate broke a chair on another candidate's back during a debate in são paulo. often enough she just says cutesy stuff to make me smile

anyways life's been good!! she says the energy to write fanfiction and to mess around with her robots is one and the same and she's quite hyperfocused on the robots atm. but we've never been happier!!

[brf-rumortrackinganon]

The second way the content game has changed is that you have to have stuff to post and promote. Only the incredibly popular people or the incredibly beloved people - the Angelina Jolies, the BTKs, the Kensington Palaces of the world - can get away with not posting for weeks or months at a time and it won't affect their follower count.

Meghan can't do that. She doesn't have the popularity, the fanbase, or the breadth and quality of work to be posting on any kind of regular or consistent basis. She wants to be at that level of fame, she believes she's at that level of fame, she's gaslighted some people to believing she has that level of fame, but she knows she can't convince all of us and the risk of non-believers "corrupting" believers is too great for her to chance.

This is, like your entire post, is dead on. Every one of the seven members of BTS are now fulfilling their mandatory military service. They are not allowed to promote anything and they are STILL adding to their follower #s. Narc M thinks this is the world she lives in and won't do sm bc it will prove she is nothing but a wannabe.

Yup, exactly. And we know she so desperately wants to be in this world because why else do we (still) get these paid promotions about Aquazurra shoes using pictures from 5 years ago?

Someone in the comments on the other social media post pointed out that Tiktok is where it's at these days. For the younger generations - Gen Z and Gen Alpha - absolutely. But most of those people don't have the disposable income to buy what Meghan merches to make her a super-influencer. The people who can afford that stuff right now are the millennials and Gen X -- and most of them are on Instagram. There's plenty on Tiktok, don't get me wrong, but most of the demographic Meghan is going for predominantly uses Instagram. That's why she's still so hyperfocused on Instagram for her social media at the moment.

I think we'll see Meghan back on social media if there's a divorce, but it's going to be very basic influencer-type social media. She's still hustling like it's 2015 or 2016 and she's got a prince to catch, but the game has changed. It's 2024. You gotta hustle for the attention, and it's not just celebrities and lifestyle bloggers she's competing with now - it's literally everyone. I don't think she quite understands that just yet.

[hotcat37]

Meeting the family (38) would be so nice, with overly protective mikke in your deaf jere AU <3 thank youuu

this was the last prompt left in my inbox I'm glad I managed to do them all 💪💪 Fun fact I wrote the deaf! Jere AU before the Euro tour so Mikke was still very behind the scenes and not outspoken on socials and that's why his English is way too good in the AU☠ I wish I could retcon it because I love Mikke's rally English like Jere's but I don't feel like rewriting all his dialogue scenes 😭

38: meeting the family

Bojan hopes he doesn't come across as too weird or awkward. He's usually a smooth talker, a natural charmer, but right now he's practically trembling in his seat out of nerves. Jere beside him is much more relaxed, which makes sense given that they're in his childhood home sitting at the kitchen table with his parents. The deaf Finn isn't just relaxed though. Jere is happily wiggling in his seat, unable to contain himself, overjoyed at having the people he loves most finally sit together in one room.

The wiggly movements coax a genuine smile out of Bojan. But he quickly startles again once he catches Mikke's eye. That X-ray gaze is hyperfocused on him, staring right through the Slovene's soul. It still unnerves Bojan. He can't say that he feels like the older Pöyhönen hates him or anything but it is glaringly obvious that the blonde is still not entirely on board with this whole Bojan dating his little brother thing.

Which, okay, that's on Bojan for having hurt Jere. It's been several months since then but it still seems fresh on Mikke's mind. Understandable. Jere has been through so much in the past 26 years so Bojan doesn't blame the photographer for being suspicious when it comes to who his brother dates.

Jere's mom and dad are less outwardly hostile, constantly moving around and yapping about whatever so Bojan in turn doesn't feel as harshly judged.

"So, tell me Bojan, how you meet my son?" Jere's dad pipes up eventually, still lighthearted, eyes not as soul piercing as Mikke's. At least for the time being.

Jere rolls his eyes at the question, quickly typing something in Finnish on his phone before turning the screen towards his dad. Whatever the text says makes the older man burst out laughing.

"No, no! I just asking. Is not....interrogation!" The way the word gets completely butchered really does effortlessly remind Bojan that these people are definitely blood related. "Bojan not mind me asking, yes?"

"Not at all!" Bojan squeaks out, so desperate for approval that even he himself cringes at it. Okay, he's a (somewhat) grown man meeting his partner's parents, not the damn president. This feels much more important than any political meeting, though. "Uhm, so, I was running late for my first day at school. Or, well, I couldn't find my classroom. So I go up to Jere and ask him if he can help me."

He glances at his lover while recounting the tale, encouraged by Jere's cheeky grin. It really was a funny first meeting in hindsight. "But he didn't have his hearing aid in at the time and I couldn't figure out that he was deaf!"

Jere's mom briefly interjects in Finnish, presumably a small lecture towards Jere for not wearing his hearing aid in public. The youngest Finn just shrugs in response. Bojan dares to continue once Jere's mom urges him to share more of the juicy story.

"So I got a little mad because I thought he was ignoring me and being an assh-a jerk." The Slovene tries not to flinch at the twitch in Mikke's eyebrows. "A-and so I tap him on the shoulder and God when he turned around I just-kinda lost my words. Like his beautiful face just completely stunned me."

While Jere's parents coo in delight, Bojan turning several shades redder when the realization of what he just said sinks in, Mikke pulls a funny face. He seems rather unimpressed by the wholesome love at first sight thing.

"No way you immediately fall in love with Jere's face!" Mikke squints his eyes in suspicion as if somehow even Bojan finding Jere attractive at first sight is off putting.

Jere makes an irritated little noise, tapping at his keyboard with such attitude that Bojan can't help but giggle a little. The text is in English and Bojan is secretly smug about the fact that Jere clearly wrote this to defend his Slovene's honor disguised as a typical jab the brothers tend to take at each other.

You just jealous cuz no one fall in love with YOUR face 🙄🤯

The message triggers a chain reaction of bickering, which soon includes the parents as well, Bojan surrounded by broken English and fast paced Finnish he can't make sense of. But in all honesty, he's never felt more at home while meeting someone's parents.

[naamahdarling]

Getting old is fundamentally stupid and unfair. Dad's the same fucking guy he has always been! Unbroken continuity between the guy who used to prank people with powdered root beer in their swim trunks at the public pool in the 50s and the guy who would pick me up by the wrists and ankles and sling me onto the big bed every time he got home from work in the 80s and the guy who taught me to drive in the middle of the Tallgrass Prairie. and the guy who has supported me my entire life. Like, same dude. Literally same dude. Zero difference, none. And someday not far in the future probably, he's just gonna quit, and like, you never stop growing and learning, just the other day I thought man, I'm really getting the hang of closing the dryer door just right and I am over 40 and I have really mastered the art of shaking out two ibuprofen and stopping the gas pump on the dollar and like do you understand, do you understand that this process never ends, ever, and when we die there are still unplumbed levels of proficiency for literally everything we do because we are the exact same people who were children who didn't know how to spell our names? And that is my dad right now with endless potential and a finite life and jesus christ it's so strange and unfair and stupid. Like fine I realize things have to die or they would get awfully crowded but that's a hell of a long view to take when it's you or someone you love. So now I'm just really confused because it all makes absolutely perfect sense of course but it's also just antithetical to what makes us individual people so I can't tell whether or not I'm okay. So I'm mega-hyperfocusing on my stupid OCs and drawing a bit and in the meantime every single other thing is falling by the wayside. I can't mail these packages, I can't thank people who have sent money, I can't list things for sale, I can't fundraise so we can get through this really rough patch, I can't clean anything. All my bandwidth is going towards this thing that isn't going to resolve anytime soon. They keep moving his surgery date and the date he can go home, but they do it by two days, three days, so there's never a fucking break, you can't trust it, you can't relax and iron out a schedule. It's like...AGAIN, he might have surgery tomorrow so today could be the last time I get to see him, and we have done this like three times now. I know there's very good reasons but I'm really tired of it. And Dad is going absolutely nuts cooped up in there.

I want off this ride and I don't have a choice about being on it, and it may end with legal problems and a scrap with Social Security, so that's even worse.

I'm fine. I'm fine. I'm fine.

[starfruitgirlie]

guide for highschool to not suck

HEY GAMERS! I catch myself a lot looking at people younger than be and being annoyed or thinking "wow I know so much more than you" but when I was the age they were at I desperately wanted to be older and I wanted to know what I was doing and I sucked at life. Im 17 so I can only give life advice up to that point. I was absolute garbo at age 13-15. I was cringe, fowl, thought I knew everything, was experimenting with my identity and style, had acne, had access to the internet when I probably shouldn't have, the works. Instead of looking down on a reflection of myself I want to give advice on how to make things a bit better. Unfortunately, you can't avoid being cringe. However I was mentally ill and had adhd, and there are things you can do to make those things less sucky. (disclaimer I am not a professional and you should always reach out to a trusted adult or a therapist for help and not the internet!)

So highschool sucks it's awful it's absolute doodoo. I changed school districts so I went into my freshman year not knowing ANYBODY. I was also a cringe gender non-conforming queer kid with a bad haircut and bad fashion sense so I know what it's like to be picked on. so this is for anybody already in highschool or going into it or just wants to know what to prepare for.

I can't sugarcoat it highschool is so bad. It's not all bad, you can have nice experiences but ultimately it sucks because when your entire social atmosphere is insecure teenagers everything sucks. I just completed my junior year and I feel like I have made a lot of realizations just in that year alone. I'm not a senior yet so I'm just dipping my toe into college prep stuff so I am no where qualified for that so if that's what you want go somewhere else and if you get good advice tell me I need it. so this is starfruit's guide on how to NOT SUCK HIGHSCHOOL! (from someone with no friends and is lazy)

no one is looking at you as much as you think they are. I don't mean this as a "you're full of yourself" statement, it's an anxiety thing I still deal with. Embarrassing incidents are going to happen unfortunately. You forget deodorant, you have your period, you trip in the hallway, your pants rip, all the sucky stuff. There are going to be some assholes who laugh and make you feel bad but most people are going to understand. everyone knows what it is like to feel embarrassed and it won't be a disney-channel bully type scene if you mess up. even though social media doesn't show it, people make embarrassing mistakes and have accidents. It took some time, but I had to learn to laugh at myself and not take myself as as seriously. I don't spend my whole day hyperfocusing on other people or going out of my way to laugh at someone. It can be tough especially if you're as shy as I am but there will always be kind people who will offer help in situations like that. As you grow things will be less embarrassing. i am not at the point where that feeling is completely gone but I yearn for the day.

I was in my first AP class this year and at first I was super super self-conscious. I am a good student, but the people in that class made me feel stupid sometimes. They all took like 6 ap classes when that was my first one. reality check!! it doesn't matter. your future employer isn't going to go "So did you take 6 ap classes at once and get 5s on all of them?". highschool doesn't matter as much as you feel like it does. don't get me wrong, still try but be kinder to yourself. Don't compare your grades to somebody else's. A big part of this too is not asking people for what they got on a test even if you think they got lower. It's not done out of malicious intent, but I know for a fact a lot of good students ask other people for their scores to feel better about their own when someone answers a lower grade. When people ask I say "I don't tell people my grades, it's just a personal thing I guess" and people will move on. A big thing for juniors is the ACT. the day those scores came out it was awful. I had to delete instagram for a week when someone I knew posted their super-good score just to brag. everyone was asking what I got and everyone was comparing scores. "Oh I got a 34" and when somebody said "28" I heard "that's not that bad!". that is a phrase I hate. "it's not that bad!" SHUT UP!!! You can avoid this by not telling anyone your scores. the only people who know my act score are me, my therapist, and my parents. and I intend to keep it that way forever. I'm grateful that a lot of aspects of school come easy to me but this is applicable for students at any level. my grades don't make me any better of a person. What is important is to try your best and only compare yourself to yourself. if a C is your best effort, that's good! You tried and you put in hard work. school is not a true judgment of how smart you are what matters is you are trying and learning.

don't be on snapchat. my school used it for a long time to spread nudes and take pictures of alt people and make fun of them. and to also send threats. "what's yo snap" is not flirting. it makes me want to hit you with a metal bar. I can't really explain all that much but I just hate snap chat and I will never use it.

don't spread information you aren't sure is true. big and small highschools both can start rumors that get out of control. a kid who I never knew was talked about so much and the rumors kept spiraling I have no idea what is or isn't true. it's also just not that fun to talk about?? I mean there is a certain enjoyment in gossip but if you're just making fun of someone behind their back it's not cool and even if you're laughing in the moment that's not healthy behavior. and if your friends shun you for not wanting to do that and being uptight, get new friends.

ask questions. if you are confused in class, ask. even if it's a dumb question. I admit I have thought before "are you dumb" when someone asked a question but at the end of the day I'm just a hater and that person benefitted from hearing an answer and learned. if you can, email your teachers and go in during your study halls or lunch hour for individual help. I never would have passed ap calc without all the days I spent in my teacher's classroom during my lunch period.

set boundaries with your friends. you can still show your friend you want to talk to them and value their friendship and express you want to listen in class. also you're just annoying if you talk the whole time. that's the hater in me coming out I'm sorry.

stop following made-up social media teen rules you hate. that makes me sound old when I say that but I can't describe it any other way. an example of this is instead of asking for someone's snap, just say "hi I really like you do you want to go on a date and can I get your phone number?". have real human interactions. Just because Brady Smith and his friends always sit at that table at lunch doesn't mean you can't sit there if you get there first. just because it's "cringe" doesn't mean you shouldn't do it. Be polite. shake someone's hand instead of dapping them up or whatever the hell. high five unironically. read a book in class instead of being on your phone. it doesn't mean you're trying to be quirky. it just means you want to read a book and people who make fun of you for reading probably should be the ones reading.

which leads me to: read more books. doesn't have to be something profound like a classic. it can be shitty YA vampire love triangle. it can be the series you loved in middle school about dragons. it can be something super long and profound. it can be non-fiction, it can be manga, it can be whatever!!!!! just read!!! just because someone to your left is reading jane austen doesn't mean you can't read warrior cats.

this might be more of an american thing but participate in dress-up days. this helped me overcome a lot of my social anxiety. even if no one else is doing it, I am going to dress like a cowboy because god damn it, it is dress like a cowboy day. i guarantee nobody cares. There's this kid at my school that regularly shows up in different costumes and I think its awesome and I also don't care. It could be some random tuesday and I could see Goku in the hallway and go "That's weird" and go about my day. Dress like Goku. End up on the school snapchat story with popular kids putting comments over it with a skull emoji. be free. The same kid also dressed up accordingly for holidays. Kids like that make you smile and you remember them fondly. my sister had a classmate who brought a toy thor's hammer to school everyday. i guarantee people made fun of him but thats awesome dude. nobody cares and if they do they need to get their priorities checked.

do your work in class so you don't have to do it at home. it saves time and you have more time to be lazy. if you have to work at home make sure to keep a planner. It's not cringe you're just being responsible. write it down or it will be gone from your brain in an instant and it will be 3 am and you will be writing a last minute research paper and not remember how to do citations.

make accommodations for yourself at school. for me this looks like dressing comfortably even tho I want to be stylish. It's also always bringing my headphones to school to have music on so I can focus. There's no reason to make school hard for yourself, bring things you might need, you don't need to raw dawg the day.

if you can, utilize time before school and after school to get help. I know so many people are busy so this might be tough but most schools will have resources like saturday school or they open early and have teachers who come in to tutor. at the end of the day though, prioritize you over your grades. You should still try but if you need the day to play video games and sleep, play video games and sleep.

to sum it up: stop comparing yourself to other people, compare yourself to you. only you know what you've been through and your level of growth. it's easier to be a happy teen when you arent worried what other people think. I hope this was useful!!!! thank you for reading if anyone made it this far.

[sin-cognito]

Rarepair New Year 2024 ch7: Coffee/Wine, Streamer AU

SFW

Wordcount: 2388

Wine is just done pressing the seams flat open of his new project that he hears a timid knock at his bedroom door. He invites Coffee, his best friend and roommate to come in, and the other shyly steps into the room, holding up a remote control.

READ ON AO3

Wine is just done pressing the seams flat open of his new project that he hears a timid knock at his bedroom door. He invites Coffee, his best friend and roommate to come in, and the other shyly steps into the room, holding up a remote control.

"Hey Wine. So I was wondering if maybe you wanted to play together tonight? I was planning on playing that platform game that you like so uhh… Do you want to join?"

Wine glances at his project, an accurate reproduction of an antique jacket from the 1800's. He completely hyperfocused on it all afternoon and didn't see the time, and now it's already time for dinner so he's grateful Coffee came up.

He stretches his back and decides that he's made enough progress today and could use the rest of the evening to relax and have fun with his roommate.

"Sure, sweetie," he says with a smile, the nickname making the other blush. Aah, right, Wine needs to be careful with pet names for Coffee now. "Let's get dinner first and then I'll join. Will you be streaming?"

Coffee nods, following the shorter skeleton downstairs to the kitchen, where Wine begins getting dinner ready. Nothing fancy or complicated, but Wine does enjoy cooking so he takes his time making something tasty for the both of them.

As they eat, Wine listens patiently as Coffee rambles about how his new series of videos is doing really well. Wine is happy for him, truly, and really proud of how far Coffee's channel has gotten, and how much effort the timid skeleton puts into it.

Wine and Coffee first met in highschool, through mutual friends. Wine is two years older than Coffee, and would frequently help the younger skeleton with his homework and difficult lessons. Not that Coffee particularly needed the help, as his grades were above average in the first place, but the two just liked each other's company and studying together was a good excuse to spend every afternoon at one or the other's place. Then Wine graduate and went on to college, where he got to study fashion and how to make clothes, as his childhood dream was to become a designer one day.

He was doing well, but money was tight, so he looked for a roommate to share the bills with. Meanwhile, Coffee longed to have some independance, as his situation at home was complicated. Nothing abusive, but he'd always been over protected by his father and needed a place away from all the smothering. That's when Wine offered for Coffee to move in with him, which the skinny skeleton immediately accepted. By that time, Coffee was about to graduate highschool so it was perfect for him, since he was going to attend a local university that was two blocks away from Wine's apartment.

That's also roughly when Coffee's streaming channel began soaring. He loved playing video games, had always been playing them since childhood, and now he found himself away from his parents for an entire summer, waiting for school to begin again in September, and so he spent most of his summer days playing and streaming. He already had a small community from back in highschool, but now that he got to focus most of his time into streaming, he got better and better at it and his natural skills, especially with platforming games, made him stand out in a sea of streamers.

He gained about 50 000 subscribers in one summer, a record for the platform at the time. Now it's been two years since that summer, three if you count the time before that, and Coffee sits at a very comfortable 2 million subscribers.

Wine usually leaves Coffee alone when he streams, happy to be sewing away in his room. He likes to listen to Coffee play from afar, it's become his favorite background noise, and sometimes he finds that he can't focus on his work unless Coffee is playing. Wine doesn't share Coffee's love for gaming, but he does enjoy the occasional platformer. He's far from being decent however, but that doesn't seem to be an issue for Coffee, who loves it when Wine accepts to play with him.

It's endearing to Wine, who feels like he gained a little brother.

Except that's apparently not what Coffee wants. Two days ago, after spending the day together shopping (Wine had promised Coffee's dad to get his son out of the apartment at least twice a week for some fresh air), Coffee confessed his feelings for Wine, and asked him to be his boyfriend.

Wine was taken aback, he never thought that Coffee liked him that way, and he'll admit that he never viewed the younger skeleton as a potential romantic interest. But that was before he asked Coffee to give him a couple days to think about it, and ever since then, Wine had done a lot of thinking about Coffee in a romantic way.

He still isn't sure about how he feels. Sure, he adores the lanky bean, and cares about him so very deeply, but he has a hard time figuring out the nature of that affection. He's always thought it's because he views Coffee as the little brother he's never had, but maybe there's more to it. He came to this realization when the thought of kissing Coffee as part of a romantic relationship didn't turn him off. On the contrary, he was curious about it. What would Coffee's mouth feel like? Is he a good kisser? From what Wine knows, Coffee doesn't seem to have much experience with that, but he doesn't really know much about his relationship during his two last years in highschool, when Wine was busy with college.

It's not that Wine wants to kiss Coffee, that at least would be easy to interpret. It's that he doesn't not want to kiss Coffee. Like, if the younger skeleton was to grab Wine by the collar and pull him into a kiss, Wine knows that he wouldn't object, and might even reciprocate.

Not that Coffee would ever do something so bold.

So Wine hasn't gotten back to his friend about his answer as to whether or not he wants to be Coffee's boyfriend, as he still needs to figure the answer out in the first place, but he's at least glad that they can still hang out together like usual. He does have noticed that Coffee is giving him more space, and it's easy to imagine why. Coffee is very introverted and shy, and it makes sense for him to get extra anxious now that he's confessed his feelings for Wine. Then again there's also the fact that Wine is currently very busy with his sewing projects, so while he never minds when his friend asks him if he wants to join for a game, Wine is happy with the current balance they have.

He gets a few snacks ready while Coffee sets the stream up in the living room, which really has become Coffee's streaming room over time. Wine doesn't watch TV much, so he really doesn't mind. They get comfortable before Coffee starts the stream.

"Hello everyone," he greets his audience, his anxiety bleeding out of him with the force of habit. He used to get tongue-tied when starting a stream, but after a few years of it being basically his job, he has no trouble being calm and collected in front of the cam. "We have a special guest with us tonight, so please say hello to Wine."

Wine waves at the cam as he reads the chat's reaction. Everyone is wishing him good luck to win against Coffee, even though everyone knows it'll never happen. He doesn't think he'll ever get used to interracting with people in a chat, it's such a weird feeling. People are watching him but in the living room there's no one but Coffee. They're alone, but also not. It's weird. For the most part, he just ignores the chat while playing, and he quickly forgets about it unless Coffee brings it up.

A couple messages draw his attention however, as they read: so, u 2 an item yet? if wine streams does it mean they're together now?

Wine can't help arching a brow bone as he points them out to Coffee, who turns bright yellow as he sputters.

"Guys, no, please, don't!! I told you not to bring it up, why would you do that to me!!" He panics with tears in his eyesockets as he hurries to hide the chat, furiously typing a response. "It's so none of you guys' business, oh my stars!"

Wine thinks he gets what's going on, and despite Coffee's panicked outburst, he can't resist teasing him.

"What's going on, Coffee? Did you tell them about… you know what?"

He means the confession of course, and Coffee must know it, but the way Wine slightly cocks his head to the side innocently with a mischievous grin confuses the chat, who doubles down with theories about the potential couple. Coffee struggles to find the words to get everyone to calm down, his cheeks burning brighter than the sun, and Wine can't help laughing at the sight. Coffee is so easy to rile up, and he's so darn cute.

Still, Wine knows the limits of the joke, and he finally turns to the camera with a serious expression.

"Alright guys, I get that you're all curious about it, but please let us deal with it in private first, okay? Whatever my answer to Coffee is, it's between him and I, and we'll let you know when we are comfortable doing so, not before. Okay?"

He peeks above Coffee's shoulder to check the chat on his computer screen, where he hasn't completely hidden it, and sees a mix of supportive reactions and messages that can only be considered fangirling. He never thought even in his wildest dreams that people would one day speculate on his dating status, yet there he is. It makes him laugh more than anything, though the same can't be said about Coffee, who's curled up into himself, cursing the chat out. It's all in good fun though, Wine can tell.

"Coffee, let's just play, they'll stop once they see we're not interested in commenting about it at the moment," he says gently as he places a comforting hand on his roommate's shoulder, who finally uncurls and starts the game.

Wine struggles at the beginning, as it's been a while since he's played with Coffee and he forgot the controls, but it quickly comes back to him once Coffee shows him. They're in co-op mode ad Coffee leads Wine, giving him pointers as to what he's supposed to do. They work well in tandem and Wine has a lot of fun. The game is difficult so they (well, at least Wine) die a lot and have to redo the levels several times. It's a nice feeling of accomplishment once they get to the goal, Wine can't deny it.

The more they play, the more relaxed Coffee gets, until he gets into his 'hyper' mode, where he's overly excited about everything and starts talking a lot and becomes very tactile. Coffee doesn't enjoy much physical contact on a daily basis, unless when he gets into hyper mode. Then he'll be all cuddly with Wine and try to hug him all the time. It was very confusing at first for Wine, to see the timid skeleton go from practically mute and haphephobic to rap god slash cuddling machine.

"Wine, we did it, we did it!!" Coffee beams excitedly as they've just finished a new level they've been struggling with for the last ten minutes. "I knew you could do it, you're so amazing!!!"

Wine can't deny that he preens at the praise. He's aware that he's not a great gamer by far, but his meagre skills are enough to show Coffee a good time and that's all that matters to him. He loves watching Coffee's bright and excited smile, and he can't help hugging Coffee back and nuzzling his skull.

"It's thanks to you, buddy, and your instructions. I couldn't do it without you."

Coffees beams at the compliment, his cheeks flushing an adorable lemon color as his charcoal eyesockets start to sparkle and if Wine is to be honest with himself, Coffee looks very beautiful right now.

Between the euphoria of beating a difficult level to the dizziness Wine's overthinking has turned his thoughts into, to Coffee's beautifully delicate smile, something comes over Wine and takes control of his body, making him wrap an arm around Coffee's shoulders. Instead of being surprised by the sudden contact, the lanky skeleton just stares fondly at Wine's face, and it's the last straw for his self-control.

He bends down and kisses Coffee.

He feels Coffee tense and Wine freezes in the kiss, realizing he went too far, before Coffee relaxes and kisses him back. Their tongues dance together, hot and wet and eager. Wine even places a careful hand on Coffee's cheek, running his thumb across the smooth bone, adjusting the angle of their kiss. Coffee grips the front of Wine's shirt as he moans into Wine's mouth, a quiet sound that resonates throughout Wine's body.

It takes them a couple minutes before breaking apart, their hungry mouths still connected by a thread of saliva. Wine's SOUL beats hard in his chest. It's not his first kiss, but it's definitely the first one that has him feeling so intense and breathless. From what he can see, Coffee isn't doing much better, he's panting and flushed, his eyesockets glazed and fuzzy around the edges.

Niether knows what to say for a moment, until Coffee clears his throat awkwardly.

"W-Wine… The stream…" He croaks, his voice barely above a whisper, as he points at the screen.

Wine can't see what's being said in the chat, but by the way it's scrolling at the speed of light, he's got an idea.

Right then and there, he makes his decision.

"Heh, I don't mind them knowing," he purrs, hooking a finger under Coffee's chin and lifting his face up. "No need to keep them in the dark, let them know that we're dating now."

Coffee gasps before Wine pulls him into another kiss.

[nayvwriter]

⭐️ Have fun!

Mm, let's go with some stuff about when I thought of Hope's Renegades things. Implied major nexomon extinction spoilers and also fic spoilers below.

(sorry I rambled about a fic you have no investment in, I only realised after I wrote this entire thing)

Amelie being a Renegade? The same day I made the document for the fic, so the same day the fic progressed from a vague vibes-based "nexomon four protagonists au" to an actual idea. Hope didn't even have a name at the time, that's how early this was!

I'd come up with the premise of Renegades being like this, the idea that Ross Coco and Nora were going to be the Renegades of the protagonist, and the fact the protagonist was going to be very mute.

I briefly considered Storm for Hope's name, but by the time I started writing the second chapter I'd decided on Hope, partially because it made the title sound really cool (I hadn't had a title at the time, but I'd been considering some things). Also, I don't know why Hope-verse keeps having spoilery titles... Some people got it immediately, others did not.

A little over a week after properly starting the fic, I had four and a half chapters written and one posted. This would set the speed for the remainder of Hope's Renegades. How I planned, wrote, edited, and posted 138k in less than 5 months... I just hyperfocused the fic. Really hyperfocused the fic, like I'd never done before.

What Amelie does in the finale I thought of very shortly after that, before I'd finished writing chapter 5, in the middle of the night. Yes, I had in fact been planning this practically from the beginning. Yes, it was really difficult not to tell people, but thankfully for most of that time the only nexomon person I was talking to already knew because I tell her everything.

I was trying to foreshadow it as much as I reasonably could, short of psychic intervention, but when it's something as out-of-nowhere as that... there's only so much you can do. I've been focusing on Amelie a lot throughout the fic, but to expect her to not only redeem herself but to do that - I tried to establish it as a possibility (repeating the fact that Vados was vulnerable to his own powers multiple times, for example), but it wouldn't have seemed likely.

And I believe a little after thinking of Amelie's choice, I came up with the idea for the Sunset Arc, which I then made sure to build and plan towards.

Conversely, some of the things that seem like they should have been planned for ages actually really weren't.

Strawberry Cake, which happened pre-canon, was first thought of when I was writing the third arc (at which point I started referencing it whenever possible).

The turning point in Bolzen's revival was thought of on the spot as I was writing it.

So was Nora's realisation about Hope being more vulnerable to Tyrant sensors without their Renegades! I did purposefully say they weren't easily sensable when separated from their Renegades because of the Renegades thing, but I only figured out the implications for the Sunset Arc when Nora did. Which is probably why it flowed so well.

So were... a lot of things, actually. A fair few scenes that weren't in the chapters when I initially wrote them. A couple of chapters that kinda weren't, for example making the Mysteries Arc two chapters longer. A lot of directions conversations went, like Ada finding out about Ulrich. Characters just do things.

So Yeah. thank you for the ask!