#and unreliable place for jokes and whatever

[thegranddewru]

🤔

[gunclaw]

𝐃𝐄𝐀𝐋𝐄𝐑'𝐒 𝐏𝐀𝐘

" so, you're tellin' me you took a liking to one of your clients and took him back to yours for a little extra ‘product’ ?! "

𒄬࣪݁ ˖ geto suguru x dealer!reader

contents. smut with some plot, no sex just eating out (hottest thing a man can do), petname (doll), mention of drugs, use of drugs, not proofread, eng isn’t my first language, bit of fluff here and there ✧ w.count 1.1k

a/n sorry this was a late post, i've been holding it for sooo long because writing smut is not easy for me. anyways, this was the most requested on my poll, requests are still open in my inbox !

also in the story i was supposed to mention that c.meth increases your sex drive buuuttt i forgot so..

+ i appreciate any reblogs and likes 💛

THE TRADE-OFF | 2:09PM

ᡴ੭ your apartment was only could only be so 'big', cramping you up, object between object along your boxes of carts. it was a mess, clothes everywhere and probably even some specs of white powder from previous clients. i mean who could blame you? you were only trying to juggle between a job and studies; to which you barely cared for anyway.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀your parents would be disappointed, sighing at the sight of your marks in contrast to the others in your batch. they wouldn't say anything specific — no — they would just ask how were doing, if something was distracting you; and something was. when you got into the business, it was only out of necessity, money was running low; now you do it out of habit, running back to the drugs you produced to test and sell.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀test and sell. that's all you had to do. no need to interact with your buyers, no need to give them more than what they ask for, - who is that benefitting? - and definitely no need to be staring at them longer than demanded. you hadn't meant to do it on purpose; gripping the pack while you stared at that loose string of hair in front of his face. where had this man been hiding?

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀"uh, sorry was that not enough?" he awkwardly pointed accordingly to the couple tens in your hand, still tugging at the plastic bag of crystal. "miss?" he leaned closer, trying to snap you out of whatever trance you were clearly trapped in. it took you a couple blinks, but you were out — finally — and gave him the drugs in exchange for sixty (even though it costs well over a hundred, especially since it was c.meth).

⠀⠀⠀⠀he waved goodbye, saving you from that god awful embarrassing encounter. you often forgot what was considered a good time to speak, this post-shame event certainly not being one of them. "I've got more back at my place," your finger leads behind you, unreliably locating your dorm, "its on the house."

⠀⠀⠀⠀"can't deny a smoke with a pretty lady," he turned back and smiled slightly, trailing behind as you walked (desperately trying to brush of the fact that he just complimented you). the whole time you two followed the rough concrete pathway towards your dorm, it was silent. "ah, you aren't trying to kill me are you?"

⠀⠀⠀⠀you shook your hands, as well as your head, denying his (obviously sarcastic) joke, "n-no! i would never.. uhm." in response, he only chuckled, looking at the way that comment strung you nervous. nearing your dorm, you had realised how messy you left it; you were sure that if the guy stepped inside, he would only be met with cups and dishes in every corner of the room, — and what's worse — was how hot the guy was. in an attempt to distract him, you overloaded the poor guy with questions.

⠀⠀⠀⠀"what's your name?"

"suguru."

"uh huh, first or last?"

"first."

"what's your last?"

⠀⠀⠀⠀"geto- what exactly are you trying to do?"

⠀⠀⠀⠀finally getting a hold of the glass structure, designed for the crystal, underneath a pile of untouched textbooks, you threw one in his hand and continued searching for the other. "aha!" your hand shot up, clutching the twin bowl pipe, unaware of how much of a loser you looked (especially with the checkered pattern lied across your unbuttoned shirt; acting as a jacket)

PAYMENT | 6:27PM

how long had you two been wasting away on your thrifted couch? how long was this going to last? you examined his every move: following those sleepy eyes when he made even the smallest remark about your looks. he laughed, smoke dragging out his mouth. fuck, he was hot. at this point, you didn't know if it was the drugs talking or if was just, you. "sooo, how are you going to repay me?"

⠀⠀⠀⠀what was that? a fucking joke (not a good one definitely)? "thought it was on the house, doll," he took another hit — this time from your own pipe — as you palmed your forehead, "why? you looking for something else?" he blew the smoke onto the crevice between your head and shoulder. it was definitely the drugs talking. his tongue reached your neck, sending a cold shiver down your body while he lapped and sucked.

⠀⠀⠀⠀his body shifted on closer, the smell of his musk, vanilla cologne emitting from his hair. imagine how devastated your parents would be if they found out your time to time 'hobby' led to this? he was gentle with you, caressing your jaw while you felt his own creeping down your body. his unoccupied hand took out the tie in his hair, letting down the manbun that drove you crazy in the first place.

⠀⠀⠀⠀this wasn't like those wild-going porn scenes you would see online, no this was far, far more intimate (at least in your eyes). What was it about the way he touched you? Was it how confident he was; expertly navigating his way down your body? He had you clawing at his scalp, mouth crossing against your warm skin as he unbuttoned those nerdy, skinny jeans of yours.

⠀⠀⠀⠀he knelt on the carpeted floor, flashing you a comforting smile and staring up and down between your face and soaked panties, before pulling your sense of cover down. at some point when you closed your eyes or when he smiled, his lips started placing small kisses around your cunt; making you fully unravel, contorting your face at the feeling. it didn't help when he drew in your clit and soon, started dipping inside you.

⠀⠀⠀⠀"mhh.. want you suguru"

⠀⠀⠀⠀"no doll, this is only for you. not me" he mumbled, sending vibrations to your bundle of nerves. you tried to close your thighs at the sudden sensitivity, but his hands kept them open; the tip of his fingers digging into the fat of your cutis. geto wasn't the type of man to study bills and divide it with you to the dollar, you could tell he would look after you; spoiling you rotten and finishing it off with something like this.

⠀⠀⠀⠀he was driven inside, his tongue pushing against the rigid but gummy walls of your pussy until he finally found your sweet spot. the way you arched towards him was a pointer, or maybe it was when he felt how you clenched around him. he curled his tongue, shoving it deeper each time he writhed inside you.

⠀⠀⠀⠀oh my god. "f-fuck geto!" you had made an effort to push his forehead back and (fortunately) failed. his lips were glued to you, sweat from his cheeks accumulating and sticking to your legs. uncontrolled moans were escaping your throat as he pressed firmly against your g-spot and executing that last straw. you had been far gone from him; shaking as you released on his palate.

⠀⠀⠀⠀"you alright?" for some reason, there weren't any lewd thoughts in your mind. it was ust him and the way he made you feel so good. you came to the conclusion that it wasn’t the drugs, and that you has been absolutely infatuated with your client, suguru geto.

[fishsticksloser]

I hope you’re having a good day and that your mojo runs strong ✨

Do you suppose we could have some mild angst comfort where the reader is a witch and (gently but firmly) confronts Donnie about his indifference towards magic? Like, they understand that mystics just aren’t his thing, but the way he kind of treats it like a joke or tries to explain it with science bothers them, because magic isn’t just something they dabble in, it’s their lifeblood.

Please, and thank you 🔮

Magical Intervention

Donnie + gn!reader

Warning: witch!reader, slight angst, Donnie apologizes, swearing, super short ngl

A/N: December is here... Feels weird...

Donnie had always kind of made fun of your magic. He always tried to explain away your spells with science. You hated it. You didn't even know why he was like this, his brothers couldn't tell you either. So you eventually got sick of it and decided to ask him about it.

You grabbed a spare chair and roll up to him. "Can I help you?" He asks, turning to look at you for moment before turning back to whatever he was working on.

"I actually wanted to talk to you about something." You answer, fidgeting a little. He looks intimidating, resting bitch face, goggles down, covered in oil and soot. Can anyone really blame you?

Donnie frown a little, lifting his goggles to look at you. "Okay?"

"Why do you hate magic?" You question simply.

Donnie raises an eyebrow, his eyes narrowing with a mix of annoyance and disbelief. He tilts his head to the side, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "Oh, please do enlighten me. Why would I, the great Donatello Hamato, have any disdain for the mystical and whimsical world of magic?" He scoffs, crossing his arms over his chest. "Simple, my dear. Science is the epitome of reason, logic, and understanding. It follows a set of rules, laws, and principles that can be tested, observed, and replicated. Magic, on the other hand, is nothing by smoke and mirrors, a mere illusion designed to deceive the feeble-minded. Why would I waste my time on something so... Unpredictable and unreliable when I have the wonders of science at my fingertips?"

"But it's who I am. It's in my blood." You reply, sitting up and frowning at him. "Science to me is like magic to you. My family is full of magical people, including me."

Donnie's eyes widen slightly, surprised by your words. He takes a moment to process what you've said, and a hint of curiosity flickers in his expression. He leans back in his chair, arms crossed over his chest, his voice a mix of intrigue and skepticism. "Well, if it's in your blood, then it's part of who you are. I suppose I can understand that. But you must understand that my faith lies in the tangible, it what can be measured and understood. Magic, to me, is enigma, and unexplained phenomenon that defies the laws of science. It challenges everything that I believe in." He pauses, his gaze meeting yours. "But I won't deny that there might be more to it than what I can comprehend. After all, the world is a vast and mysterious place, is it not?"

"Of course it is. And I know I'll never be as good with science as you are. But... I wish you'd stop treating magic as a joke and explain away my abilities with science." Your gaze stays locked with his, explaining gently. "It makes me feel like you think of me as a joke."

Donnie's expression softens, his eyes showing a hint of remorse. He uncrosses his arms and leans forward, resting his elbows on the table in front of him. "Look, I never meant to make you feel like a joke. I may have a tendency to dismiss magic, but that doesn't mean I dismiss you. Your abilities, your uniqueness, they are what makes you who you are. And I respect that." He pauses, searching for the right words. "I may not understand or appreciate magic, but I can recognize its significance in your life. And I... I apologize if I ever made you feel otherwise."

"I know you didn't mean to hurt me. I just... I've been wanting to explain it and let you know how I've felt." You sigh, feeling a weight listed off your shoulders.

"Well, I appreciate your honesty. It takes courage to express your feelings and I'm glad you did. Communication is key after all." Donnie nods, a faint smile playing on his lips. He stands, walking over to you, wrapping into his arms. "Thank you for giving me the opportunity to understand you better."

[difeisheng]

重逢

Fang Duobing thinks he sees him, one last time. All light and motion that doesn't stir the breeze, perched at the edge of Fang Duobing's bed, cloaked in white like the moon shining on his form through the window. If he would have dared to look upon him just a moment longer, Fang Duobing would have seen him smile. Warm like jade, set there like a sculpted figure. More distinct than the silhouette blurred on the back of Fang Duobing's eyelids when he curls away into the cradle of lingering sleep, the steady weight of Di Feisheng at his back. The weight that, still asleep with even breath though a dagger reflecting the stars lays beside him, tells Fang Duobing whoever he perceives cannot be any more real than a dream.

They're the only places the people he calls ghosts can ever find him.

Ghosts they are, ghosts they will remain, slipping through his fingers no matter how he grasps, and so Fang Duobing closes his eyes against the not-presence of Li Lianhua. Against hope he's too bone-tired to stoke back to life, whether in the world of sleep or waking. It's easier, in the darkness, where he can tell himself he's made his peace with absence and the world cannot fold itself around empty shape before him to deny it.

A breath falls against Fang Duobing's ear, more than A-Fei can be. He doesn't feel the bed dip with one's movement, but he does, more than hears, the faintest exhaled note of laughter against his skin. He does not open his eyes.

Something more deliberate than air brushes at his hair, stroking a loose strand out of his face. It's the puppetry of his own exhaustion and the wind, however his subconscious has chosen to make sense of it, Fang Duobing thinks. A dream, or an illusion, or whatever you might call this, is an unreliable thing. The joke is that you never realize as such until reality reclaims its place.

The amused laugh comes again, more whisper than can be wind. And then, in a silent night, more voice than whisper. "Zai jian, Fang Xiaobao."

He's too close, too easy to believe in, words at Fang Duobing's ear. Too easy to reach for with the soft touch to his forehead, a moment's impression of a kiss.

It is the teasing cruelty of it, the sting of the short-lived, that forces Fang Duobing to finally open his eyes. Only the moonlight is there to greet him.

Only he is there to call himself, for the thousandth time and with no other words left, a fool.

(They're not the last ones Fang Duobing hears that night, though he barely registers the rest. Later, caught on the precipice between sleep and the final ray of consciousness, bleeding away.)

(Despite that, he does know, with as much certainty as he knows he lives and breathes, whose voice it was.)

(He knows what Li Lianhua said.)

(Dui bu qi.)

~*~

In the morning, something lays cushioned in Fang Duobing's open palm. A hairpin, fine in detail. Two lotus pods, twisted together at the stems, down a curved, entwined line.

Seeds of rebirth. Restart. A signifier of a new life begun, and so the old, the dead, must have said their farewell. The weight of this pin, once worked through another's hair by his own hand, is far more than its delicacy in Fang Duobing's hold.

He realizes with a start, the sun dawning on a day like any other, where he will find Li Lianhua again.

When.

~*~

Not in this lifetime.

~*~

The knowledge is, in its quiet ache, a comfort.

[areebianights]

Our lives are nothing more than a joke to this broken system.

Students sacrifice everything—years of their lives, their mental well-being—just to get into these colleges and realize their dreams. But what do they receive in return? A result marred by corruption. Even when a woman finally achieves her goal and becomes a doctor, she is met with unspeakable violence, and the system that should protect her only adds to the brutality by attempting to hide the truth.

In this society, the weaker sections are being pushed further into the margins. We are placing our trust in a system that is utterly unreliable and unworthy. People from economically developed sections have the freedom to bribe their way to the "success" the hard working ones deserved. Men have the freedom to get away even if they indulge in the most heinous of acts.

What's the point of becoming doctors, engineers and whatever in a system where the only value that these professions give you is a prefix to your name. We don't need more people with white collar jobs. We need people who have a conscience. Who can speak, fight and be resilient in spite of all the unfairness and despair this world is filled with. I repeat it. We need people who have a conscience, not degrees. Fighting for justice is often labeled as idealism in this world. So be it. Even if uttering a single word against unfairness is being idealistic, we'll keep doing it. Until those words make books, until the efforts land us in whatever "punishment" they give to those who speak up.

But we cannot turn a blind eye to all of this. We have to speak. I know the world is almost hopeless. Full of despair. I find myself losing the hope that this world can still become a place where humanity exists. But if we start sitting with our legs crossed, lips shut and hands on top of each other, then "almost hopeless" becomes "totally hopeless". Maybe we cannot change the system as a whole. But we can resist it. We cannot fall prey to it.

In going with the flow, we are not being neutral, we are being complicit. We are assisting the system to grow like a parasite that feeds on our silence. A silence that means hopelessness.

And everyone who has stopped hoping to make this world a place worth living in is a person responsible for the way it is.

I said what I said.

[thevestigeofvanillaan]

Daddy's Girl.

"i wouldn't say i called it if i hadn't. but i called it when i said it was a sick joke"

karma akabane x spoiled!reader.

content: smut, mention of weed, smoking, getting high, innocent reader, corruption, "daddy", bully!karma, enemies to lovers ig, belly bulge.

hey guys!! first karma post. also first post on the new "EARTH'S GRIMEY CRIES" page!! i lately have taken interest in the color palette for cyan, blue, dark blue, and darker shades of red. "The Delicate Sound Of Thunder" live concert by pink floyd was an influence on this particular page design, and i love it. it's always nice that i can create a whole new page when i get out of room on my navigation centers, or when i want to. hopefully my sp fans aren't too upset that i want to write about other shows/people!! i'll be posting drafts and finishing requests soon.

karma is such an asshole.

to everyone, not even just you.

having not known him pained you as you thought he'd hated you for no reason other than you're a "taut daddy's girl who gets daddy's money". which was unreliable truth that nobody except select few in the entire school system knew. karma was one of those people.

he knows everything about everyone, it's terrifying, honestly.

"talk of that brat" karma scoffs as you walk over to talk to your tutor, nagisa, who'd oddly enough been on speaking terms with karma regardless of their differences and past experiences.

"nagisa, i got a b on our recent test, can you help me more in the future?"

"i don't see why no—"

"maybe if instead of buying you ponies, your daddy bought you an education; you wouldn't be in such a pickle, darling."

you sigh and walk away, assuming the help is useless anyway, and karma was right. you were just not bright when it came to academics because you were raised with everything a kid dreams of.

but he catches up to you.

"no hard feelings, princess?"

"no hard feelings? asshole. what is with you? can't you leave me alone?" you scoff and continue to walk, not bothering to eye him.

he sighs and jogs slightly to catch up with you. "alright– listen, i got an a+ on the recent test.. alright? let me help you."

"you? offering to help me? what kind of sick joke?"

"it's not a joke. come to mine at.. say seven." karma stops walking beside you to go find someone else to bother.

i wouldn't say i called it if i hadn't. but i called it when i said it was a sick joke.

you showed up at karma's doorstep at 7:00 PM, like he'd told you to. alarming detail being no cars in the driveway, where his parents cars are usually parked.

he'd opened the door. "hey princess. make yourself at home, you might be here a while." he invites you in with his usual sarcastic tone you hated.

"want like.. water? sorry it's not sparkly or whatever i don't drink that weird shit." he says as he grabs a glass and fills it with water, handing it to you.

karma starts to head upstairs and so you follow him into his room that's weirdly tidy and large.

karma was not poor, in fact his parents made the same money your dad did. just, karma took individuality when it came to money. decided to get a job at a young age and has been making his own money ever since and even bought his own car.

you didn't do that. you were always handed everything, so you grew up differently than karma. or at least with a different mindset.

"your room is nice." you compliment awkwardly to fill the silence as you just stand in the middle of the clean wooden floors.

"uh, are you gonna sit down or just stand there?" he tilts his head and chuckles, patting the spot right next to him on his bed.

you place your cup down on a table and cough softly even though you didn't need to, heading over slowly and sitting down fairly far from him.

but that distance didn't stay when he scooted closer anyway. "so! what's the score ya got on the test?"

"hey wait. why do you make fun of me all the time? for.. being fortunate i guess."

karma stays in silence for a moment before laughing. "you.." he pokes your chest and doesn't look into your eyes as he talks. "you aren't the fortunate one. your daddy is, and you take advantage of it.. that's what i make fun of."

you look down at his hand that lay still in your lap and grab it with your own hand. "i never got to know what it was like to be a teenager because my dad was strict. he used money to keep me away from the public, sex, drugs, parties, everything. that's not my fault."

he doesn't say anything for a couple seconds before he looks into your eyes. "huh. so you have never done any of that?"

you nod 'no'.

"hah! baby do you have a lot i need to teach you. to hell with the stupid test that we already did." karma laughs. "you've never even gone to a party?"

"nope."

"shit. you're such a virgin." he laughs and you look down in embarrassment. but he brings a hand to your chin and makes you look back up at him. "hey, no need to be embarrassed. hey let me help you."

"help me with what?"

"you ever wanted to get high?" karma asks, opening a drawer before taking out a pen. "this makes you tired, jus'so you know. your daddy cool if you stay the night? because baby you'll be out."

"mhm." you nod and bite your lip, shifting the way you're sitting in excitement. you always wanted to get high but never had the chance.

"you're ampy. guess my little innocent girl's not gonna be so innocent anymore, huh?"

my? you'd wonder about what he'd meant. but you didn't care because it made you feel good; at least in the way you took it.

he holds the pen up to your mouth. "breathe in.. then.. breathe in again. that's the only way i can really explain it to you."

and with that you took it to your mouth and did as he told you. "take another hit. but that's it, this can be strong and i don't know your tolerance, baby."

after you take another, you watch as he takes his and after that, it starts to hit you. the room starts moving into .5 and it's all zoomed out. it's cool, nothing like you'd ever experienced before.

you start to giggle.

"mhmm. you okay, baby?" karma asks and you nod, moving closer to him.

"uhuh. hey. what's next?" you ask, crawling into his lap and laying on him in tiredness.

"what do you mean, what's next?" he asks, rubbing my arm and conforting me. this was the sweetest karma had ever been.

"well you said— you said you were gon' teach me stuff. can teach me bout sex. take it from me?" you didn't even know what you were saying, or that it would affect you tomorrow. and you didn't care.

karma chuckles lowly and lays me down. "you're tired, can see it in your eyes."

"fuck me to sleep." you sit up and grab at the hair at the base of his neck, pulling on it before pulling his face into yours, kissing him softly. "please— all i wan' right now is you."

he takes his hands and parts your legs and rests himself between them, laying you back down to lean over you as he kisses down your neck, playing with the hem of your shirt.

through your shorts you felt the bulge inside his jeans pressing against your clothed core. you wanted it so bad. you take your hands to his face and pull him back up to kiss your lips.

whispering into his mouth "please, need you so bad.. karma."

now that he knew you knew what you were doing and with who, he went feral. he took off your shirt and unzipped your jean shorts.

you trace his jawline with your fingers and admire his pretty face as he removes his own clothes.

not long later his tip is pressed against your entrance. "are you sure you want this, baby?"

with one nod he thrusts into you painfully and your back arches as you moan loudly. he doesn't give you time to adjust as he starts thrusting at a quick paste.

your moans are loud and you scratch at his biceps and his back as tears prick your lash line.

"fuck karma— please.." you moan as he uses his thumb to play with your clit as the rest of his fingers press down on your lower abdomin, creating intense pleasure. the bulge in your belly was felt on his finger tips.

"oh, baby moan louder.. let my neighbors hear who fucking owns you.."

"fuck!! ugh—karma please please please please fuck harder." you moan out loudly, pushing him down into your chest and locking your legs around his waist so he can't pull out.

"baby don't do that.. im gonna cum soon." both hands go to your thighs so even if you tried to take them off you couldn't because he holds your legs firmly there, against his own command. "you're— real tense!" he squeezes his abs in a groan from the throat. "you're gonna cum?"

"mmmmhmm." you whine and nod, tears streaming down your face with all the pleasure.

"fuck im gonna breed you all good.. fill ya full with daddy's cum, yeah? you're mine, you know that? huh? tell me you're all mine." he groans and whines at you in a needy voice that makes your orgasm peak.

"all yours–! 'm cummin'!"

"god yes, cum with me baby." he groans and you release together, heavy breathing and leftover moans fill the room as they echo against the walls.

karma pulls out and falls beside you, who's about to be sleeping mind you.

"hey wait, don't you fall asleep. knew indica would get ya like this.. it always does with first timers." he sighs and gets up, grabbing a towel and walking back over to you, half lidded and looking up at him with dried mascara tear stained cheeks.

karma smiles softly at your expression once he knows you can't see him, rubbing the towel on your thighs and everywhere between your legs. he grabs a shirt and helps you sit up, putting it on you and grabbing your panties, that he also puts on you before laying you back down.

he lays beside you and you drag heavy limbs to snuggle into his chest and side. "thanks.. for all this. guess im not your little innocent girl no more."

"you're still my girl.. told ya that, didn't i?" he says and you giggle softly, nodding into his chest. "good, so.. you're my not-so-innocent little girl now, huh?"

[rreskk]

HEADCANONS: dating North Yankton Trevor (fem)

TW: angst, smut

-The Midwest was an… interesting time for Trevor. His unreliable nature of starting fights between “gangs”, drug hustling, doing these small-job heists that would have his mugshot printed on every surface in towns, his head being wanted on a stake by the authorities. He was constantly aware and paranoid as there wasn’t a lamppost without his “wanted” poster, alongside his best buddy, Michael.

-He’d use your home as a safe place, and this causes break-ins by warrants, gang-members, people who want Trevor dead. One time you were having sex on the sofa to warm up since the power cut out, and the front door was slammed open.

-This meant you spent the majority of the time sleeping around in motel rooms whenever you were to see him. This avoids your address being the main centre of his whereabouts. But this does strain your relationship. Due to his constant move around, you grew distant as you couldn’t keep up with these new motels and “jobs” he was doing.

-So arguments were common, especially over the phone. The daily “you promised you’d come” by Trevor and your repetitive “I couldn’t. You know that”. Face to face arguments were common as well. Trevor would get fiercely upset when you’d turn up to see him after weeks of no sex or calls. He’d cry, smash things up, snort drugs, sob in your arms until it was all calm. By all means, you spent most of your “hook ups” trying to comfort Trevor and his borderline personality.

-He’s very vocal about you to his crew-members, and sometimes they can be assholes about it. Whenever you go out, he’ll be high and drunk on whatever, laughing alongside his friends as they’d objectify women, hire some hookers who would strip and give them all lap dance. While Trevor wouldn’t accept a lap dance, he’d always drunkenly beg for you to do one in front of everyone so he could “show you off”. If you decline, he’ll get pouty and moody, giving you snarky looks and smoking more drugs out of spite.

-When he wasn’t around any bad influences, he was the funniest and sweetest guy ever. Constant cuddles and dirty jokes that would make you ugly laugh. Trevor would take you out to small diners and you both would rush home to undress and fuck after the sneaky squeezes of your thighs and breasts throughout the dinner.

-Sex would be very involved and needy. The Midwest is always cold and somewhat snowy, so he’s desperate to feel your warm body against his. You’ll find that he uses your tits as pillows and face warmers out of everything. When he’s fucking you stupid, he’d be hiding in between your breasts like his life was depending on it. Hence the constant rashes from moustache and bite marks from his teeth. Because he does it constantly, the marks are beginning to be permanent, scarring you lovingly.

-He would accidentally leave bags of drugs and illegal cash around your house when he does stay over for some nights. You try to end this habit but he always forgets to bring them with him when leaving. This would mean you’d have to travel 2 hours out from the town just to meet him in some shady corner from where he’s staying with his guys. And whenever you weren’t there to support him, Trevor would always look like a horrid mess when he’s out with his buddies for jobs. Uncut mullet, scruffy facial hair, eye bags, new cuts and bruises.

-Trevor doesn’t understand your disgust when he hangs around with his crew. Being so drugged and loyal to his unlawful friends, it definitely causes mishap in your relationship. Michael seems okay but the way he introduces Trevor to new ways of ruining his life, you grew out of favour, causing many arguments between you and Trevor.

-This meant that your relationship was off and on. Breakups after breakups, making up and fucking, a few weeks together and being this happy family, then weeks to almost months where he’s away doing god knows what. Every time you attempt to cut him off completely, he always lures you back with his charms and promises to change. It’s all lies but because he’s so dependent on you, leaving him would put him in an even more suicidal mindset. You wouldn’t bare the idea of losing him, so you’re trapped in this cycle.

-Trevor does attempt to change whatever may be bothered you. Whenever you are invited to hangouts, he’s by your side and (almost always) persuades some sort of alone time in the public toilets… Having you bounce up and down on his cock while he’s calling you “the one and only” and moaning loud enough to make his buddies know. This was his way of reassuring you that he’s always thinking of you.

-You’d know nothing much of his background, even with the amount of time you’ve known him. Trevor refuses to talk about his mother, and he certainly expresses deep hatred when talking about his biologically father. You assumed his mother was quite a figure to him as Trevor, unconsciously, would call you mama and mommy during sex, when he’s close to his climax. Due to his vague answers, you have researched to your ability and made assumptions that he suffers from traumatic mother issues. And you’d mention this during arguments, causing some real problems in his trust.

-But at the end of the day, Trevor refuses to lose sight of you. Even though he’ll spend months on end out of the state, he always returns on your doorstep with this cheeky grin and grabby hands. So you welcome him with open arms since he was someone special to you, despite his assholeness…

[queenofbaws]

Goddamn it Queenie, thanks to your tags on my unreliable narrator post now I have a plotbunny about how Varric and Hawke lie constantly but never lie to each other about anything /important/ and I do not have time to write this, but if I must suffer with the burden of this idea then so you you. Mwah.

klsdjflksdjfk WAAAUGH now i have a plotbunny too!!!!! 😫 screaming crying throwing up ksdfjskdf i'm slowly chipping my way through a vhawke thing right now and OH i do not have time to feed this particular plotbunny, but i am suffering in the burden garden right alongside you, friend, ahhhhHHHHH

because SERIOUSLY, hawke and varric are The Biggest Liars but the way that they lie is so different************* and i am OBSESSED with the ideaaaaaaHHHHHHH

varric deals in half-truths, building shiny pearls around itty-bitty grains of reality. he gives people just enough of what actually happened that they believe him as he talks his way through whatever mess he's in. just enough that they don't stop to question what parts he's leaving out, or WHY. just enough that if anything seems odd or out of place, they can shrug it off as embellishment or artistic liberty and roll their eyes instead of picking it apart the way they probably should.

hawke, on the other hand, tells the truth with the tone of a liar, and that's how she gets away with so much. she learned a long time ago that when you joke about everything, everything becomes a joke, so she smirks and she titters and she winks at the right times, and it becomes impossible to take any of what she's saying as the truth. if you admit to something you did in a sarcastic tone of voice while waggling your eyebrows, did you really admit it at all? can you ever believe someone that committed to the bit?

varric is very good at getting people to believe him; hawke is very good at making people doubt her. but they always see right through each other - there's no bullshitting a bullshitter, no lying to a liar, and even if they have everyone else fooled, well, they recognize too much of themselves in each other to fall for their crap.

*IN MY OPINION IN MY OPINION IN MY HYPER-OBSESSED-FANFIC-WRITER OPINIONNNNNN

[flying-thing]

Kiss Me in the Rain

This is a SoapGhost fic for Call of Duty Modern Warfare 2. No one requested this, but my heart yearns for more angst, and as such, here we are. This is all based on the new Ghost skin in the war zone part of the game that I've never touched.

I'm not typing out Soap's accent.

..............................................................................................

Playlist:

Work Song - Hozier

My Love Mine All Mine - Mitski

So My Darling - Rachel Chinouriri

Atlantis - Seafret

Here With Me - D4vd

Romantic Homicide - D4vd

Dark Red - Steve Lacy

Advice - Alex G

The View Between Villages - Noah Kohan

..............................................................................................

CW: major character death, broken promises, gore, unreliable narrator, angst, domestic fluff, zombies

Word Count: 3457 (Unfinished and not edited!!)

-------------------------------------------------------

It was no surprise when Price told Simon and John that it was close to the time in which they needed more supplies. They were the scouts, after all, and it was their job to go scavenging. They still had a few days before they needed to leave, and as per usual, the two were enjoying their time together until they needed to leave.

Simon walked out to the garden the team had started a few days ago, and he found John watering the plants. It was a lot easier for sprouts to come out when there weren't birds and squirrels to steal the seeds from the soil. It has become oddly peaceful since the outbreak, nobody to disturb your slumber, no wars to fight, and barely anything to worry about. Recently, the 141 have been looking for any type of farm animal so that they can fully sustain themselves without needing to leave every month or so for supplies. Everyone has taken to reading books, whether it be to pass the time or to learn how to do certain things. Price has figured out how to build buildings— after some much needed practice. Gaz has learned to make soap and cook delightful food (when there was actual food to cook), and Soap has put his demolition skills to good use in that he can make things that create electricity and even plumbing. Simon has become very interested in gardening, interestingly enough.

Everyone had a place, and the routine worked. The rest of the world was plagued, but here in their little home? It was perfect. Most of the soldiers left when the outbreak happened so they could protect their families. The rest died when the undead broke in. Simon wonders sometimes what it would be like to be dead. He fantasized about it a lot when he was younger, but now that there was little to live for, life was everything to him.

Before he got too lost in his thoughts, John walked over to him. "What's happening in that brain of yours, Simon?" He asks. Simon snaps out of whatever trance held him, and he shook his head. "I don't know how to explain it, but it's nothing exciting. What are you doing out here?" He counters, earning a grin from the scot's face.

"Just trying to find out why you enjoy this so much, and I think I've just about figured it out."

Simon looks at him amused. "And what is the reason?"

"I said 'just about,' not completely," he jokes, making Simon laugh. He did that more often now that he barely wore a mask anymore. John was fascinated with how expressive he was. Crow's feet at the corners of his eyes, the barely-there blush on his cheeks, the corners of his mouth lifting. Apparently, when he called Simon gorgeous in his mind, he said it outloud, and it made the taller man smile more.

"You flatter me too much, Johnny. Do you want to know the reason I enjoy it?"

"Would you tell me if I said yes?"

"Probably not."

John scoffed playfully and shook his head, his eyes closed with the gesture. "Has Gaz made dinner yet?"

"He's about to, I think. He's excited for everything to start growing so we don't need to live off unseasoned and almost expired canned food."

"I'm in the same boat with him. Cannot stand what we're surviving off. Beggars can't be choosers, I suppose." John said solemnly.

Simon quirked an eyebrow. "Did you learn that phrase from Price?"

The comment earned him a punch to the shoulder, and Simon just chuckled again. "I've been around you English folk longer than you think, bastard." His words held no venom, and Simon rolled his eyes. "Thanks for watering everything, even if you didn't find answers to your questions."

John looked up at him and nodded. "I'm glad you found something you enjoy. I don't need to understand it."

It was always a change of pace from when Simon was tearing himself apart to find out the answers to unspoken questions he had about himself to John wholeheartedly accepting him, no questions asked. He'd slowly started adopting the mindset of not needing to know everything for there to be understanding. Johnny really rubbed off on him, he supposed.

"Price wants us to leave tomorrow. We need more food and blankets. Winter might be harsh, and we still don't have a heater that works," Simon said, changing the subject.

The shorter man nodded before chuckling. "Can you imagine us bringing back mattresses? That'd be feat."

"We would probably need to bring the four of us for proper backup. There's a mattress store in the mall we go into sometimes," Simon said. John thought for a moment before nodding his head. "Project for another day."

---

Simon got his and John's clothes while the latter got the shower ready. The routine was comforting for Simon after their 'normal' was all discombobulated. He had folded the clothes as neatly as he could before walking into the shared restroom that was slowly fogging up the broken mirror. He set the clothes on top of the closed toilet seat and made sure their towels were still where they were supposed to be.

"The water's just how you like it, Si," Johnny said, peaking his head out of the curtain. He had always looked at him like he was the most precious thing he'd ever seen, and it was sometimes overwhelming for Simon. He didn't deserve this. But he had it, and so he would enjoy it until the world decided it was time to tear them apart.

Simon only smiled as he undressed and put his clothes next to the pile Johnny had already made before getting inside the shower with him. John made room for Simon to feel the warmth of the water. His eyes closed for a moment as he basked in it. When his eyes opened, Johnny had some of the homemade shampoo in his hand and Simon leaned down so he could wash his hair.

Soft moments like this made him feel all warm inside, and he never could resist melting into his lover's hands when he'd held him. They took their time in washing each other, not wanting to waste a single moment together. The water was still hot when they finished and they dried off and got dressed. They spent the time in a comfortable silence, both having acknowledged that no words needed to be shared.

After they climbed into bed, Simon wrapped himself around John. He wanted to tell him about the feeling of dread he felt but got lost to the sound of John's heartbeat. John rubbed Simon's shoulder with his thumb as they laid there.

"I have a bad feeling about tomorrow," Simon said. John hummed. "Do you know why?"

Simon shook his head. "Just feels like something is going to go wrong."

"We haven't had an incident in a while. We cleared out most of the hoard that went through the city," John said, trying to clear the other's worries.

"Maybe that's the problem," Simon said. He'd never been scared to go out on a mission. The zombies were no more a threat to him than a soldier would have been. A little less if he thought about it.

"Promise me you'll be the one to kill me if I get bitten."

"What are you talking about? You're not going to get eaten. Stop talking like that," John said.

"Johnny, I need you to promise me. I don't know what I'd do if I was the one who hurt you in the end," Simon says, sitting up to look at him.

"I will protect you, Simon. I promise that if push comes to shove, I'll kill you. I'm not going to lose you to a damn biter though, you hear?" John said, pulling Simon in for a light kiss.

John sat up with him and cradled Simon's face in his hands, his thumbs gently wiping away tears that Simon hadn't even realized were falling.

"Don't cry, my love. It's okay."

"I don't understand why I'm so upset," Simon said. "But I just can't stand the thought of hurting you. You're so dear to me."

"Don't get too sappy on me," John chuckled, trying to lighten the mood. "I love you, Simon."

"I love you too, Johnny."

John's eyes widened, and Simon didn't think he'd ever seen his face get so bright.

"Well, you can't die now. Not when you're finding your voice. I'm so proud of you, Simon."

"It's all because of you."

---

Beep beep be- click.

John clicked off the alarm clock with a sigh. He sat up and rubbed his face before turning to look at Simon sleeping peacefully. His light brown hair is laid across the pillow, and his mouth is slightly agape. His hair had gotten longer as he had not cut it in a while. It looked so soft and John couldn't help but carefully run his fingers through the other's locks. The action woke him up and he opened his glossy eyes to see that it was only Johnny there.

"Good morning," he said, his voice gravelly with sleep. "Morning," the other responded. John removed his hand and allowed Simon to do a full body stretch and yawn before sitting up as well. He leaned on John's shoulder, his cheek smushing up against it.

"You're like a cat, Simon. It's sweet," John said endearingly.

"I blame you for making me soft, Johnny," Simon mumbled, making him chuckle.

"We should get up soon. Gaz ought to be making breakfast by now."

"Let me go to the bathroom first," Simon said, getting up and stretching again, yawning as he scratches his stomach.

John followed behind him and then to the cafeteria after, sure enough hearing Gaz making noise in the kitchen.

They walked up to the window in the wall and watched the man do his thing. "Good morning, Gaz," John says loudly so he hears him. He looked over and grinned. "Morning, boys. How'd you sleep?"

"I slept well enough. Simon's still waking up, if you couldn't tell," John answered. Gaz nodded.

"Breakfast is almost done, if you two want to sit down. I'll bring it out to you."

"Make enough for me too," Price said, his voice carrying through the room. Gaz rolled his eyes. "No, I think I'll let you make your own food," he said sarcastically. It made Simon laugh and he covered his mouth with one of his hands.

"Don't think you'd want me messing up your space. You'd probably kill me if I set the kitchen on fire."

"Damn right, I would."

They all laugh and after a couple minutes, Gaz walked out with two trays with two plates on each tray. He sat them down on the table they routinely sat at.

"I found a hen in the woods yesterday, so I went and grabbed it. I need you to make a pen for it," Gaz said to Price. The three of them grinned. "So we get eggs more often?" John asked, earning an excited nod.

"Yes!" John exclaimed, doing a little happy dance. Simon laughed and shook his head. "Eat your food. We should leave soon."

"Aye, you're right, but we still need a list of what we need to find. You're also not even dressed yet," John said amusedly. "Neither are you," Simon quipped.

John rolled his eyes and grinned, eating what was on his plate. The four of them conversated for a while even after they'd all finished their food. It was calm; exactly what Simon needed after stressing all last night.

When they finally got dressed, it was about noon. Simon slipped on his vest and grabbed his knives and backpack. He waited for John to finish putting his boots on before walking out to Price's office. John knocked, and Price called them in.

"I've got your list here. It's the normal stuff with a few additions," the older man said, looking between the two.

Simon nodded and took the list from Price's outstretched hand. He looked it over before handing it to John, who put it in his bag. "We'll be back in a couple days then," Simon said, putting on his mask.

"Be safe, boys. We'll be waiting for you."

"Of course, sir," John said, putting on a mask of his own. They walked out of the room and saw Gaz waiting for them at the door. He hugged both of them when they got close enough. "Don't get lost, got it? We'll come find you if you don't check in properly, so don't leave us hanging."

John grins and fist bumps the man, holding their fists together. "We'll come back. Don't miss us too much, yeah?" Gaz nodded and looked at Simon.

"I'll keep him kicking," he said with a grin. "Good man," Gaz responded, giving him a fist bump too. He opened the door and watched them head out and down the road.

"How long do you think we'll be out this time?" John asked, his head slightly elevated to look at the tops of the trees. Simon hummed in consideration. "Four days. Only because we have a lot to get and ground to cover."

"I'll say a week then. Factoring in anything potential issues," John said in consideration. Simon nodded, "Makes sense. I don't think we will though. It's been a while since we've seen so much as a group."

"Better safe than sorry, hm?" John said playfully. Simon chuckled and shook his head. "Learned that from Gaz? Picking up all sorts of things, I see."

"What do you expect? I'm around you guys all the time. Bound to happen," John said, amused.

"We'll be at the city soon. I can see it ahead," Simon said, changing the subject. Since they left so late, they wouldn't make it in daylight and would need to set up camp and get there the next day. Walking give miles takes longer than one would originally expect. They were pretty close by the time the moon was a quarter of the way up in the sky and decided to make their border so they could sleep.

Simon threaded three lines of barbed wire around the trees where their camp would be; one close to the ground, one about torso level, and one in front of his face. After that, he pushed leaves closer to the wire so it would be easier to hear if anything on through. John made a small upside down fire in the meantime, putting down their sleeping bags and using their bags as pillows.

"Did you remember the spoons, Johnny?" Simon asked as he watched him pull out a couple cans of food. John looked around as he thought about it before grimacing. "I'll take that as a no. Good thing I remembered for you," he said, pulling a couple out of his own bag.

"I can't go anywhere without you, Simon," John said playfully, knowing full well that he would forget his sleeping bag if Simon wasn't there to remind him or grab it for him. "I know," the other responded, handing him a spoon.

They ate in a comfortable silence and watched the fire. When they finished eating, Simon took the cans and put them in a spare bag he had brought, putting the spoons in with them to wash them when they got to the stream on their way back. They sat next to each other, their shoulders touching.

"We should sleep soon," Simon said as John leaned his head on his shoulder. "You won't sleep, so I won't either," John said in determination. Simon chuckled and shook his head. "Sleep, Johnny. I'll watch over you."

The man was already asleep, much to Simon's amusement. He never could stay up like Simon could. He fell asleep a little after, laying them both down to get comfortable. Simon layed on the sleeping bag while John was sprawled out on top of him, his head on his chest.

Simon woke up to rustling and at first thought it was John moving. He soon realized that he would have felt the man move and opened his eyes to see a walker fallen over the wire. It was quickly crawling towards them and Simon grabbed the knife from his side pocket and slipped out from under John. He met the zombie halfway and he stabbed into its ear. It was a clean kill, if he did say so himself. The sun was decently up and thought it would be good to get up and go before it was super bright. Sunglasses are hard to put on over the hard shell of a mask.

John woke up from the commotion and shot up when he saw the dead zombie slumped at Simon's feet, thinking it was still alive. "It's alright, Johnny. Took care of it," Simon said, easing John's worries. "We should go soon, so get ready to leave."

He nodded and stretched before getting up and taking deep breaths to calm his adrenaline. He always feared Simon would get bit protecting him. He rolled up the unused sleeping bags and put them away while Simon undid the wiring. They both took a whiz before continuing their trek to the city.

They took their knives out just in case something came at them. Every now and then, they would encounter a runner and they were the worst of them. John opened the makeshift fence they'd made to keep the area contained. Ammo had been exhausted at the beginning of the outbreak and they didn't have much left. As such, guns were rarely used.

They'd never found other survivors. It was hard to live in a world like this and not many had good survival instincts. It really was a wonder the military fell so soon when they were supposed to be trained for it. Oh well, Simon supposed. More resources for my group.

Closing the fence, they ventured further in. "What store should we hit first?" John asked, his eyes scanning the area in front of them. "Necessities first. Probably the chicken feed since the store is farther away. We can work our way to the front."

"Makes sense. It would keep us out here longer though. I don't remember where the store is exactly."

"Neither do I. But if we want eggs, we need to hope we find it quickly and that it's even there."

John nodded, and they kept walking. "We should stock up on toilet paper as well. Maybe grab a thing of water until we get the well pumping properly."

"Should get some for our vacation."

"While this isn't a vacation I would want, it's funny," Simon mused. John stifled a laugh.

They spent most of the day walking down the streets until it got dark enough that they would need to find a building. They found one without a bunch of broken windows and it looked secure enough. They went to the door and carefully opened it, hoping it didn't squeak too much.

The windows let in enough light that they could see well enough. Simon walked over to the wall and banged on it a few times. The door was still open in case a crowd came and they could easily leave. The downside was that the noise could have attracted some outside. It would do them no good to be cornered. When nothing came and no sound was made, John closed the door. They scouted the room and found nothing. The windows were stable and the door leading upstairs was barricaded. As long as they secured the door leading out and stayed out of sight, they would be just fine.

They were unable to make a fire, much to John's dismay, but they did have an electric lantern still. Price was able to fix a solar panel onto it and now they could test to see if it worked. Simon desperately hoped that it would work like this, although he would never admit it. He wanted to be able to see everything if anything happened. That would have been his explanation. The real reason, however, is that he wants to be able to watch John. He didn't know how much time they had left and he wanted to see as much of him as possible.

It's not creepy. It's endearing, Simon thought. How many times will I see him before our inevitable deaths?

He broke free from his slightly morbid thoughts after seeing John grin at him with his teeth showing. It meant that he was pleased. That's good. It was moments like this that made him feel the urge to commit whatever crime he needed to just to see him smile all the time. Not that there was any structure anymore, but his point still stood.

With confirmation that it works, they turned it off. No use in wasting electricity when there was still light outside.

"Hungry, Simon?" John asked as he rifled through his bag for food. Simon nodded when he looked at him. “These are so much better when they're hot, but here you go.”

[joyswonderland1108]

This is for so-called OT7 Army

A gentle reminder that if you preach about being OT7 but refuse to vote for or support a member simply because of their solos, then kindly remove that lil 7 you dickhead.

Your hatred to solos should not be the decision maker for you because at the end of the day it is hurting the artist that you apparently love too.

You are free to root for whoever you want simply because they are your bias, you prefer them, you love them more, but using a lame ass excuse such as "I can't give akgaes the satisfaction of their fav reaching the top so i'll stay stubborn and support my fav or anyone that isn't their fav really"

Now please tell me how are those cunts who think like this even considered OT7?

Did i know beforehand that the same energy won't be returned if Jimin was to move to second place? YES VERY. I did mention it in a comment that if Jimin was to ever be in second place they would say "A lot of people didn't like the previous decision therefore vote for whoever you want". Also, If Jimin or JK were already in second place to begin with, tweets asking to focus on either one of them from supposed OT7 accounts wouldn't even exist.

When i tell you that my boys only have their solos and their OT7 stans to back them up and stand up for them, i'm not even joking.

I did see some other members stans who spoke up about this whole bullshit too so i would really like to thank them for reasoning with logic.

Some people wanted to get smart and qt or comment with SS from polls where "Army" voted the most for the option where they should just vote for the member who is leading in a category, but let me tell you why this is stupid.

First of all, you are dealing with a toxic ass fandom this should've already been the first red flag.

Second of all, this is just Twitter we are talking about, just a stan account(s), not some official page, not some official announcement that made it to the news. Many people don't follow everyone, many people are not as active on Twitter as other people, many people were just not on Twitter for some days, many people aren't even on Twitter, many people simply didn't vote.

Third of all, how do you even know if the votes are legit or not? Just because you seem like a nice person online how would i know if you didn't encourage your friends to vote for a certain category? How do i know if some people don't have 10 Twitter accounts they vote from for the same category.

Which leads me to the conclusion that making a decision based off of a fuckass poll in a social media platform is the most unreliable, most drama started shit ever. This is a HUGE fandom, but i'll take the numbers i used as an example with my friends: Let's take a group of 100 000 people, you made a poll for them, only 1000 of them got to vote on that poll before the timer comes to an end and the result of that poll is out. Tell me how on earth is 1000 people voting a reliable way to make a decision for the other 99 000 people?

Seriously, i hate how after all that these accounts start a victim fest the whole "I'm trying my best" and all the cries. Trying your best and avoiding tricky situations are two different things. Starting something knowing damn well whatever the result of it is will create drama later is absolutely unwise, don't just dive into doing something that you can't manage, if you can't manage a fandom with millions of people in it then please stop jumping on shit thinking you're doing a favor for everyone, you're just creating even more division and getting members even more hate.

For fuck's sake is it that hard for people to sit down and think carefully about shit before starting fires? Literally a whole useless ass drama when they could've just shut the fuck up.

Don't even tell me to vote for Jimin or for JK if they were the ones leading if you are NOT a Jimin or JK focused account because then even if one or the other is leading, saying it like that is still unfair to other members, unfair to other member's stans, unfair to people who never even agreed to a stupid poll or those who never even knew it existed.

Again. we are not blind, we see how shit unfolds and we (when i see we i don't mean solos) adapt to the situation, you don't need to fucking mention it, just stop creating chaos, stop creating division. We need a fandom cleanse, not more drama and more wars ffs.

Salutation.

[simpleeshea]

On the Clock!

C!Wilbur x Gn! reader

<Previous Chapter Next Chapter>

Chapter 6

Can't catch a break.

It's Thursday. I know I joke about hating Wednesdays... but Thursdays are truly the worst. As much as I hate putting things away on shelves, I hate working alone more. Darren is actually supposed to be working on Thursdays with me but he's a teenage boy, aka unreliable. But it's not like I can go find him and drag his ass into work. I don't blame him for not wanting to work. If I had the option to stay at home all week I would. You're only seventeen once, and if my parents would have made me get a job in the summer that I was seventeen, I would have rioted. Back then I had a stronger resolve. However... I think living on my own has dulled my senses to nearly anything. It could be all the drinking and smoking too though.

This was day one of two in the week that I had to work without Wilbur. But Thursdays were especially worse for many reasons.

One: Daxton never shows up on Thursdays. If he does then he doesn't actually help in any way. He just sits in the storage closet and gets high while I do all of his work for him.

Two: It's not Friday. At least on Fridays, I have the motivation because I know that it's the last day of the week I have to work.

Three: For whatever reason, the store is always super busy on these days.

My phone was sitting behind the counter on the charger that we keep for me and Wilbur to use at the store. My charger at my apartment broke last night so I was stuck with a dead phone on the way to work this morning. It was a miracle that I woke up on my own without my phone alarm.

The store was bustling with people walking in and out, the door chime ringing loudly to seemingly mock my workload. I could see slushie juice from the machine dripping onto the floor from the corner of my eyes while I rang up a customer's final item. I could feel my eyes begin to twitch annoyingly from the stress that working alone brought. I made a mental note to clean up the slushie machine and the floor below it when I got the chance later.

"How many of those can I get for this?" A shaggy-looking man placed down a handful of change on the counter as he pointed toward a package of snuff.

I cringed before asking "How much change is sitting there?"

"Can you not count?" He asked rudely.

"Can you?" I asked before I began to count the change to which he swooped it away from me and cussed me out under his breath.

I let out a small sigh but quickly got over it as I helped the next person by answering their questions about which scratch-offs I thought would be the best to buy. When I was trained for this position by Wilbur, he always told me to tell them the most expensive ones were the best. It wasn't like the customer paying more necessarily made me more money, so I wasn't sure why it really mattered, But I told the man the most expensive ones were the best nonetheless.

------

It was later in the day and I had finally gotten the chance to rest and check my phone. Apparently, it was still dead because I couldn't get it to turn on. I groaned loudly at the finally empty store before unplugging my phone and stuffing it in my coat pocket. I pulled out my chair and sat behind the counter with my chin slumped against the cool surface of the tabletop. I could hear the slushie machine whirling in the background. It had been a bitch to clean up earlier, my hands had gotten sticky and were annoying to clean off. My eyes floated across the store, eyeing the security cameras that weren't actually working and were only there for show. You'd think that it would be more dangerous working at a gas station in the middle of nowhere... but I guess that's why Manager Ken left us a gun right under the counter for our protection.

I turned in my chair looking at the swear jars. I opened up the lid to Darrel's jar and the one to mine and Wilbur's. I began to scoop out change from Wilbur's and began to place it in the stupid kids, doing the same with my own. I tried to make sure I put an even amount of mine and Wilbur's into David's jar but I knew it wasn't going to be perfect simply because I was too lazy to count up the change.

You couldn't blame me. It wasn't like I did this to every teenager that has ever worked with Wilbur and me... Just the ones that were assholes. Besides, the kid didn't work enough days to actually earn a swear jar. I'm surprised Manager Ken actually lets him participate. Maybe he thought it would have given him a chance to win... it doesn't really matter. It's just more quarters for the winner to collect at the end of the month.

Speaking of money, I needed to check and see how much I had but my phone was still dead as a doornail so I couldn't check my bank account.

Work was boring without Wilbur or his tall tales of a life his fictional self is living, a life with swords and armor, betrayal and explosions... many, many explosions. Or so I've been told. He hasn't mentioned more than a few since he began telling me about his book. I was excited to see where this story was going, and I wondered if the Tommy that Wilbur writes to is just like the one in his book. Someday I'd like to meet Tommy. Wilbur doesn't like to talk about him, or anyone from his past really, but he seems to care greatly for him.

----

I opened up a new charger and threw the trash on my apartment bed before diving for the wall port to plug my phone in. As I heard my phone chime to let me know it was charging, I sank into my bed. It was late and my eyes were slowly struggling to stay open. One moment I was awake and the next I wasn't.

I woke to the sound of my alarm the next morning and rolled over to look at my phone. I scrolled through all of the notifications before I noticed an email from 7 a.m. yesterday morning. It was from the coffee shop I applied for a job at. Anxiously, I clicked on the notification before inputting my password and stopping to read what had been sent.

Dear Y/n L/n,

We would like to ask you to return for a second interview at some point this month. It is mostly to discuss your available work schedule. If you agree to attend, you will most likely be getting the job; however, the sooner you apply to this email the more likely you are to fill in the position before someone else does.

Sincerely,

Star's Coffee and Bakery.

Please respond in the next 24 hours to confirm your second interview.

It had been well over 24 hours. I quickly typed up a polite response asking if a second interview was still available and hit send before rolling out of bed and heading toward my shower.

----

It was another long and boring day. This time though, I had Dexter to help out. I ended up leaving work earlier than normal today and leaving him to clean up and close for the night. I checked my email and I still didn't have a response. I sighed before pulling out my new box of cigarettes and opening it up. Maybe I wouldn't be so broke if I just quit smoking. I tapped around on my phone as I stood outside my apartment smoking my cigarette and reveling in the feeling it gave me for just a moment. I hated how short-lived the feeling was, which only egged me on further to smoke more. I was stuck chasing the feeling of some short-lived high, and I knew that I would be for the rest of my life. My thumbs padded through my phone before coming across a name in my contacts: Wilbur.

Y/n:

Hey.

I typed it out quickly before hitting send. I closed my phone and put it in my pocket expecting to wait a while for a response considering that it was late at night on a Friday.

My phone, however, dinged quickly in response.

Wilbur:

Hey.

What's up?

Y/n:

Nothing much really. I'm just super bored.

Wilbur:

Glad to know that you find me entertaining.

Y/n:

🙄incredibly entertaining

I stared at my phone in silence as I watched Wilbur's typing bubbles appear before slowly disappearing. I watched for a moment more, debating on whether I should say something else before Wilbur began to type again.

Wilbur:

Any weekend plans?

Y/n:

Dying inside.

You?

Wilbur:

Working like always.

Y/n:

Do you think we'll be working at that gas station forever?

Wilbur:

Me? Yes. You? No.

Y/n:

Why me no and you yes?

Wilbur:

Because you actually have goals and desires.

Y/n:

Surely you have goals and desires too 😂

I mean you are writing a book.

That seems like a goal

Wilbur started to type again but the bubbles went away. This time they didn't come back. I couldn't help but feel like I had said something wrong. I stared back at those messages for hours wishing that I had said something else to better the conversation.

Before going to bed I inevitably decided I should tell him goodnight because maybe he had read the message and got busy and forgotten to respond.

Y/n:

Goodnight.

I turned my phone over on its face for the night and snuggled up into my blankets before quickly falling asleep.

[animehouse-moe]

'Tis Time For Torture, Princess Episode 2:

While not many, I heard some voices express concern for the longevity of the humor and story of this series. Obviously that concern was for naught when you have a Smash Bros parody skit in the series about torturing a princess via food. Because of that, I want to express just how much variation and potential this second episode provides for the lifecycle of this series (while also showing off how damn good it is).

So first and foremost, the pair of new characters introduced in that clip- they aren't the only ones. Alongside this devilish duo of torturers (Youki and Inki), we've also got the Beastmaster Krall, and even the Giant, well Giant. Alongside Tortura, each brings a unique form of torture and extortion to their time with the Princess.

It adds a massive amount of dimension to the running jokes of the series, really. Food is no longer the sole avenue of torture for the Princess, and her ability to relate to the torturers and expose parts of her history through their interactions expands further as well. For example, we get introduced to another character from her past in this episode, the knight Jimochi, who may or may not be a little childish.

It's just a lot of groundwork and effort being put in place to ensure that the story remains fresh, funny, and enjoyable, all the while helping set the stage for character development and story progression.

Speaking of the idea of fresh, the Princess actually won a round of torture in this episode. Very inconsequential since she gave out the secrets anyways, but it allows viewers to accept the idea that the Princess has the potential to persevere and win out in various rounds against her torturers.

Past all of this though, Pine Jam's efforts remain sublime in terms of expression. One of my favorite things through these two episodes is the idea of Ex as an unreliable narrator, for example. Just look at the different faces of the Princess during his retellings of her adventures. There's plenty of variation vs the more consistent styling of the present Princess. Also, I find it interesting that the variation in her face largely comes from how Ex describes the Princess in relation to whatever story he's telling.

Of course, the composition is perfect at giving each moment the most emotion and impact as well. Really, all fronts of this production are so good that I just want to share the entire episode.

But, sadly, I can't, so I settle for what I can get across effectively here.

Yes, it's a rather short post, but there's only so much to talk about without creating a tangled mess of thoughts and opinions when it can be summarized with one paragraph:

'Tis Time For Torture Princess is proving to be another grand slam of a series from Pine Jam. Though a risk based on the adaptation of a narrative rather than an original like DIY!!, the team behind this series has provided incredible work on all fronts to make the most of a unique and refreshing comedy series. Frankly speaking, it's a must watch.

[factorialsotherfandoms]

XCOM AU, like 11/12 years prior to Felps getting defrosted. Read on for unethical military and prison systems! More unethical than usual! And massively unreliable narrator because jfc it's funny with the context this is actually Felps trying to sell Cellbit out, not help him. Still, it is genuinely the start of their friendship. Ish. It's where Cell decides to cling to Felps, anyway. Vice versa takes longer.

Cell has no idea how long it has been since the door to his cell last opened. After those fucking assholes abandoned him to die, the guards had found him. They threw him into the prison hospital, then into solitary, and he has not seen another person since. Food and water get shoved through a hatch in the door, but that is it.

He talks to his guards, sometimes - talks to, screams at, threatens… It is all the same really. They don’t respond, beyond an occasional yell for him to shut up.

They are not always there, either, but that’s to be expected - Cell has been thrown into the deep depths of the prison, and left to rot.

The first few months he threatened and snarled and plotted, but now… Something in him has broken, now, some part which once promised to fight and keep on fighting has torn away. He survives, because he is human, but it’s hard - so hard to plot an escape, when all he can think of is burning hunger.

It is a surprise, then, when one day his cell door opens.

And in steps a man Cell is absolutely certain should be dead.

But, then again, he probably thought the same of him.

“Oh hello,” Cell greets his old ‘friend’. His lips are genuinely dry when he licks them. “I wasn’t expecting to see you again. Come back for another round, did we?”

Slipping into the threats is so easy, though he has to wonder… Felps was rid of him, and the blackmail counts for very little now. So why, oh why, did the man come back?

“I have a proposition,” the guard says. “A way out for you, maybe.”

“Oh?” now that does spark Cell’s interest, though not as much as he expected. Whatever spark is still there… Cell has to put effort into fanning it, to remember who he is and how he acts.

More than truly interested in escape, Cell is /bored/, and bored is a dangerous thing to be.

The bite scars in his own arms are evidence enough of that.

“Right,” Felps seems… A little too cheerful about this idea for it to have merit, but maybe Cell can work with something. “What do you know about aliens?”

Okay, that? That was not what Cell expected. He has to give Felps some credit for a genuinely funny idea, and knocking him so far out of line. It’s a curveball, one which Cell fails to catch and leaves him struggling to make it back in time to catch the next.

“What?” he asks, leaning into the joke. “Are you going to get your little green friends to abduct me and do experiments? Don’t be ridiculous.”

Two can play at this game, and Cell does not have anything but his claws to kill him with. And he’d really rather not be stuck with the blood on his hands, when all he has to clean himself is an extremely unreliable sink.

“I’m being serious. Actual genuine flying saucers have been dropping aliens and these weird devices in major cities all over. Abducting people - but not just that, they’ve been bombing places, too.”

What.

“Felps,” Cell plays with the name on his tongue, watching the flinch as he does. “Felps, Felps, Felps - what have we learnt about lying to me?”

Felps does not reply, instead he tosses Cell a newspaper. It’s in English, but Cell can read it just fine. The front headline reads ‘ALIENS OVER NEW YORK’, with screenshots from security cameras showing… About what Felps described - small pink aliens, big eyes and all, chasing people down, and others trapped in some sort of gooey green netting. In the article itself are a whole host of other cities attacked, statements from the US Minister for Defence, smaller ones listing other countries who have suffered the same problem…

Page two is interviews with various conspiracy theorists, including some appropriately named Ohian fool.

Page three has two thirds taken up by a photograph of some mostly naked celebrity Cell has never heard of before.

He goes back to page one.

Reading over the article a few times, it looks too elaborate for an idiot such as Felps to have put together. Still, faking a functional newspaper is something he has seen plenty of people attempt. Either it is real or Felps has people with him, and Cell is not sure which option is more terrifying.

But how would he check…?

…

Felps probably has a phone. Cell isn’t sure if he can steal it - and if he does, he’s keeping it - but… He can try, right?

And, hey, Felps is being /cooperative/, so might as well ask first.

“Too easy to fake. Give me your phone - let me check the news sites.”

There’s a long pause. Cell did not really expect to be given it, but it is good to set the framework for an interaction down properly. Especially with something like this, where Felps is bringing up aliens and all sorts of crap.

He is getting ready for a fight, or Felps leaving, or something.

He is not ready for Felps taking a deep breath, walking to the middle of the room, putting a phone down, and stepping back away.

Cell… looks at it.

Cautiously, he approaches. Why… Why would Felps…?

It has to be trap, right?

…

It isn’t.

Cell picks up the phone and nothing explodes, and he opens it to find it working.

What a stupid, stupid display of trust.

And yet, Cell navigates to the internet browser anyway. He types in the name of one of the major news sites, and waits for it to load.

There, as headline news, it talks about alien abductions just the other side of the Argentinian border.

He tries another. It takes another minute or so and, this time, something about aliens attacking Berlin.

Foreign sites, other places - even conspiracy boards get checked. All agree, all match.

Cell does not know what to think. He… He doesn’t know what to do. This isn’t like the war, just a bloodbath of everyone against everyone where he fought tooth and claw for survival. This isn’t the streets, or the apartment he stole, and it’s barely even about the prison any more.

Suddenly, his very dark, very quiet, lonely cell seems so much better than anything outside it.

Something like fear settles in Cell’s dead heart. Carefully he places the phone back on the floor, and retreats back to sit on his bed.

Felps does not get up to take it again. He does not even look at it

“Oh,” he whispers, when he can find his voice again. And then, a little louder, “but, what the fuck does that have to do with me?”

“The government’s putting together a special task force - military unit, basically, but with its own science team and funding and shit,” Felps seems a bit distant as he talks. “They’re looking for people to do the actual fighting. I… Might have put your name forward?”

Fighting?

Cell knows how to fight.

Aliens, people, what is the difference?

But… Why would Felps give him an out so easy to escape from? Because he could. He knows battles, knows bloodshed like the claws in his hands. Get into a fight and it becomes so, so easy to slip out in the chaos.

His mind feels distant, but he still asks, "why would you even ask that for me? Aren't I too dangerous? I did nearly kill you, you know - and I ate those other men."

Felps makes the mistake of making eye contact. It makes it so much easier to see a conflction.

"Because I think you’d be a good match for it - you clearly have the skills, why not let you use them?" Felps tries to be nonchalant about it, but Cell can see the something more in his eyes. “Knife, alien, death. So long as you get some samples back to the lab, they probably wouldn’t even mind you snacking.”

That something is fear, or so Cell names it. Felps might be sat on the floor of his cell and doing everything to look calm, but Cell can see the touching and the twitching and the tapping. It only gets worse as the silence drags, and slowly, slowly Cell begins to laugh. The fear is… He likes the fear.

Or, at the very least, it is familiar.

"You're scared of me. You claim the high ground, but you're scared of me."

It’s not literal, though, the bed is definitely higher than the floor.

"Yes. But that doesn't mean you can't do good in this world, it just means I'm afraid."

Cell looks and assesses, and holds Felps in eye contact. No matter what he does, no matter where he looks, Cell… He can find hidden truths, more complicated aspects to the statement, but he… Felps actually believes that tripe?

Felps actually, genuinely believes that Cell has the capacity to do good, when all he has ever done is soaked people in blood.

Oh, the poor fool, thinking he can be better. Giving him a way out.

It is… Hilarious, honestly; Cellbit cackles, and it becomes a laugh, echoing and deadly in the silence of his cell.

“Me? Do good?” The laugh only grows more as Cell asks that and, perhaps he’ll keep Felps around, because this is a very very good joke.

… Cell sort of wishes it were true, but it is a very, very good joke.

“Why not?” Felps asks him, as though it is the simplest thing in the world to just /do good/. “Why can’t you do good, if given the chance to?”

Oh so so many reasons, not in the least that Cell has no fucking clue what he would do with it. His memories begin on that battlefield, desperately hungry and resorting to eating a corpse only to find it healing the gaping wounds all over him. Every second since has been paid for in blood and a pound of someone else’s flesh. Felps doesn’t understand that, and Cell is not sure he ever could.

"I'm a murderer, a serial killer, a cannibal - what makes you even think I'd even want to help?"

There’s hysteria in his tone. How dare he, how dare Felps - a man he as good as killed - believe he can do good? He’s seen the worst of him, how dare he say these things?!

He has no knife to clutch to, no sense to be found, but his fingers find the bedsheets and they try.

"You could say no,” Felps offers. “But then you’d still be here, and sooner or later someone is going to fashion a shiv, break into this cell, and kill you in your sleep - you’re not liked, you know?"

And Cell knows - he knows that. He wants out and at this point death is a perfectly good option.

But Felps…

How can Felps just offer him an alternative escape? He doesn’t… All this talk of doing good means nothing, when Cell has already proven that he /cannot/ be better, that he’s just a bloody corpsemaker through and through.

“Isn’t that what you want?” Cell asks, knowing he sounds as desperately confused as he feels. “Me dead? Seems like it’s a very complicated way to go about it, with this alien bullshit; as soon as I’m taken past this door I could kill everyone in the unit and flee."

“Or maybe you wouldn’t. Maybe you want to change.”

Felps does not skip a beat in answering and Cell…

How the fuck can Felps sit there and say he believes in him? How can he do that, how can he do that to him?

How can Felps offer him a change to be better, when Cell is already damned and runed and condemned to the bloodiest of hells?

Cell feels something inside him break, and a whine take over his tone.

"You believe in change for people like me?"

“Why not?”

And Felps says it like it is obvious, but Cell begs and begs him to understand - it is not obvious, not at all, or rather every reason why this is a stupid idea is! Because, because… “because I’m evil” Cell answers, knowing it true with his entire fucked up soul.

“Now, sure,” Felps shrugs as he says it. “But you don’t have to be.”

And Cell… Cell has no idea how to argue with that. All he can do is sit, and stare, and he can’t - his brain will not even begin to process the ridiculous nature of this situation.

It sits, uneasy, until Felps stands.

He picks the phone back up, and replaces it with a flask, and leaves.

… The door locks, and Cell realises… All he had to do was open it, until then - it was never locked when Felps came in.

He hesitates, and cautiously approaches the flask.

It contains nothing but fresh, black coffee.

[funsize-cenobites]

Personal Headcanon thingy,

Sniper is Australian just as much as Superman was American.

His folks raised him as an Aussie, loved him as one, taught him as one and he never knew anything else. Hes from New Zealand sure but no one knew him there, no one cared for him there, and he never knew. I don't think that qualifies him as a Kiwi past point of origin and even then when defining origin do you think he would think of a place he only went once to meet parents who were utter strangers and had been willing to let him and everyone else go just to sit in space? Or do you think he thinks of the parents he very clearly loves and values the opinions of even when they arent aligned with him?

I was reading an older lore post of @blubushie (irl Sniper fr fr) earlier about Australium and the Piss joke and deeper lore connotations and honestly? I fucking love this. I mean, obviously anything is possible in such a wacky irreverent fictional world- Australium exists AT ALL- but setting that aside for just a moment.. not every Aussie could be a Saxton Hale and on the flip-side its at least heavily (hehe) implied that even Non-Aussies can become like him through the stuff (Classic Heavy).

People vary wildly, genetics and physiology make this stuff so much fun to think about. Im willing to bet Sniper was just 'A sickly child' to doctors and adults in his life. He was just one of the semi-rare extreme cases of a "disorder" that afflicted some Australians, making it harder for their bodies to process or know what to do with excess unprocessed Australium. Kinda like Gluten and Lactose intolerances etc.

Some have to watch their levels to ensure their body has enough time to take it in and some don't absorb enough naturally and take suppliments. Sniper wasn't, as far as I remember, ever really properly accused of not being Australian, just different. [EDIT: I'm a fool, I forgot about the MOUSTACHES. I'm not removing any of this but know going forward I'm aware of it. Check the reblogs, it was really cool!] Im sure thats not uncommon, especially when one of the pinnacles is the likes of Hale. And as far as we know its not like Mr and Mrs Mundy were like... poisoning their kid. Its not like "True Blood Aussies" are the only people who can handle it. They were just raising him as their own and that means making sure he had access to it, in whatever form he could have it.

So even then I don't see Sniper as having 'Missed out' on being Australian or that hes clearly not one because he doesn't look like Hale or punch things. I don't really like that idea. Sniper's parents are old and look fine (aside from the being dead part) but they look like... normal old people. I headcanon that Australium effects people in the specific ways of boosting certain physical and mental aspects such as, Promoting longevity (Obviously) but could also manifest in other ways too like maybe:

A slightly faster than normal healing rate.

Various minor but notable resistances to naturally occurring hazards. (venoms and and extreme heat/cold the like)

Promoting the growth of muscle and the reduction of its atrophy.

Reduced need for sleep.

Quicker mental recall.

Markedly better vision/ Hand-eye-coordination.

You get what I mean.

I don't mean these are all extremely noticeable but they are noticeable at all.

Basically, I headcanon that it doesn't actually automatically make you into this buff beat-em-up brawler who only lives to punch people because thats a bit boring and also Saxton Hale is an impressively unreliable narrator who happens to be really into punching people and anything else that breathes.

Instead I headcanon that Australia truly flourished early under the influence of Australium because of increased lifespans and abilities which allowed for a lot of wiggle room and dedication to anything a particular person might be interested in. I headcanon that they place a lot of cultural worth on Trying Stuff Till Something Sticks and finding something you Love to Do/Study.

Theres a lot of stuff and cultural norms that have become stereotypes due to how a lot of outside views shaped their self-image upon learning about Australium (Like how in America its super super common to have cishet normative ideals for ones future even in childhood) but when you're not a mean little kid anymore and you find Your Thing (or Things) it doesnt usually matter all that much what it is. Usually in adulthood the weirdest thing you can be is probably 'Not Being Into Anything' like anything at all. "You cant even tell me about one book you read that you really liked? What?"

Sniper, is a crack shot, one of the best in the business. Because its what he got good at. Because hes Australian. And they're all good at something eventually.

[dailyoyo]

like. ok. ok. i was teh one who played jet set radio first. and was fixated on it. and i wasnt planning to make any rp tuppers until i played future so i had more to pullfrom for my characterizations. but mod pseud encouraged me to go ahead and do it anyway since we're just fucking aroudn. so i did.

and then we immediatley did a joke rp in the pre-established "sonic cast group chat" with yoyo and beat beig trolls who got in because of the server security being busted lately (long story). and bc we hadn't played future yet they were solely based aroudn what we dredged out of og jsr and like some shit on the (then-unreliable) wiki. and we kept throwing them in and im like 70% sure that was helping feed my hyperfixation enough to manage to play future. and we were like "lol whatever" and started lore blending bc its the leapusverse who cares.

and mod pseud was like "hehe i kinda wanna give leapusverse!yoyo a slightly diff design cuz we're canon blending and i wanna give more lv characters minor design edits". and so they did that. and also did that for beat. and we just had this lore that like. to try to shake off some of the negative attention yoyo got from the mr backpacks incident he changed his style slightly, so like, him starting with having the og jsr design despite being increasingly based on future yoyo is Still canon?

but then we started developing our actual jsr hc-verse more OUTSIDE the context of the leapusverse and we wanted to keep the changed designs esp cuz its an au and stuff so like. we did. and now we have this confusing thing where paradox!yoyo mostly just has og jsr!yoyo's design until like, either after the kidnapping or postgame (which actively conflicts with the leapusverse timeline because in that he only changed outfits after mr backpacks specifically which yknow DID NOT HAPPEN IN THE JET SET RADIO UNIVERSE). in case youre ever wondering why some stuff on this blog is like Definitely not og jsr canon but yoyo looks like his og jsr self thats why btw. paradox yoyo stop being confusing you suck

and all of it spiralled into this whole like. thing. thats like a little hard to call an au at points because its not THAT heavily au'd and is mostly just future-based in most places at this point but it is objectively an au. oh god i didnt realize how long this post got. oh well

first thing he ever said in the leapusverse for some reason

[hauscrashburn]

ok, see, but I love what they are doing in the new interview with the vampire. They've taken the concept of the Other and made it more explicit in Louis's Blackness and queerness; they've shown where it does not work, how it is a cudgel over his head. They've taken his self-loathing and rooted it in the ways in which the world told him he was less than human, and because of that, because of his grief, because of the ways in which he was denied his grief over Paul being valid (you did it; what did you say to him, Louis), the ways in which his anger is stymied, that the power of vampirism makes sense. and presented in a loving package, in the adoration, of one person. And Lestat validates Louis's anger (not that he needs it, but in this moment, in his crisis, he needs to be told he is not alone, that it all has meaning, that is all correct, that his life, and Paul's life, have meaning outside of whatever tiny box they've been squished into--that coffin comment was more than just a joke on Lestat's sleeping place).

it is a gorgeous, dark place, full of anger and vengeance. Lestat continues to get his on God via the priests and he offers Louis a path of his own. And he offers Louis himself. The adoration. The headiness of his gaze. A proximity to power (that Whiteness offers; Louis had his own form in Storyville). An affirmation.

And here I wonder if this is what Louis needs from Daniel. A recognition that the decisions weren't all wrong, that he was in the right, that his vengeance was just, that his love wasn't misplaced.

"Where did all of his love go"

also, I really love how they are playing with his unreliability. What is his truth and what is truth and do they meet somewhere in the middle? And I love how Daniel calls out the inconsistencies with the prior narrative but we also know Daniel is fallible. He told us himself.

It really is a brilliant show. It may be filling a hole in my heart that Hannibal left. And the podcast has a lot of interesting context, both in how they provide backstory, but the metatextual people they bring on, such as the Black horror expert and the queer horror expert. It's an intentionalty of it for me.

(also this entire show hinges on Jacob Andersen and he is killing it. just absolutely carrying every damn moment with perfection)