#anyway i failed that final. it was so fucking funny. i failed another final because I missed some important test material

[ra-vio]

Art summaries by month are hard for me because I tend to do most my drawing in one month as opposed to around the year

[istoleyoursk1n]

Hi can you do halsin Gale and Astarion with a very explicit and flirty paladin s/o who looks super stoic and serious please?

Like they’re there standing stoic and menacing and then whispers in their ear the dirtiest pick up line ever?

Like I think they’d have a funny reaction!

Feel free to refuse ofc! Thanks anyways!

•❅───────────✧❅✦❅✧───────────❅•

How would Halsin, Gale, and Astarion react to a paladin who looks stoic/strict only for them to be an explicit and flirty?

(Damn, reminds me of my PaladinLMAO)

.

.

: ̗̀➛ ASTARION

“Oh, darling, and just when I thought you were as dense as a brick wall. I never could have guessed that beneath all that was a cheeky little flirt. All that dirt coming out of such a filthy mouth, you ought to have someone clean it out for you, my sweet.”

He was the one being the flirty ass at first, hitting on you in every teasing way he could think of with the hopes that perhaps someday he’d get a reaction out of you for his own amusement.

You never seemed to comment on his “advances” at first, you remained as stern as usual with little but a side glance to offer.

Probably got personally offended each time his usual charms failed but he was persistent. More so because he wanted to prove that he could truly seduce even the most stoic of hearts.

He made it his personal mission to make you crack, but along the way, he may or may not have fallen for you. Regardless, the realization absolutely horrified him.

Perhaps he just has the worst luck ever or you finally started to begin your master plan of turning the tables against him but nevertheless, he wasn't prepared at all for what you had in store for him.

He was already taking quite the liking to you, so the moment you began whispering such depraved yet smooth words into his ear, he was shocked and speechless for the first time in years.

His mind was practically breaking apart as you laid out every filthy thing you had in mind. He truly couldn't tell if this was utterly fucked or if he was somehow into it.

You would be the sole reason a tint of color finally appears in his otherwise undead skin. The tint being a bright shade of red of course.

He goes from being startled, angry, confused, flustered and then eventually hitting you right back with a little pick up line of his own once he’s finally calmed down.

Now both of you end up teasing and flirting with each other as sneakily as possible, both of you trying to outdo the other in terms of who could fluster whom the most.

: ̗̀➛ GALE

“I…oh gods, love, you truly don't understand the things you do to this heart of mine. Of all the weaknesses I could have possibly gotten, you are one I’d welcome with open arms. I have stood proud amongst a Goddess but for you? I’d fall to my knees.”

He was slightly intimated by you at first by how stoic you appeared to be. You seemed like a person who’d prioritize business and work above all else, repelling anyone with nothing more than a glare.

He wasn't even sure how to approach you, he was already admiring you from afar but he feared that you would have never felt the same. Not when it felt as if your heart was locked within walls of stone.

He tried to shoot his shot once or twice, but they were always met with a few words of acknowledgment or even worse, a mere nod.

As much as he wished to simply move on from his utter fixation on you, he can't help but pine. You’re something he's grown to truly desire in ways he could hardly express.

However, one way or another, every little attraction he’s felt for you thus far is revealed by him. Completely exposing just how smitten he truly is by you and perhaps that single moment of true vulnerability is what finally made you snap.

Pull him close and abruptly whisper every depraved fantasy and dirty pickup line you've thought of just for him and he’d die. I mean, melting right then and there into a puddle of shame.

For a man who talks too much, he suddenly becomes oddly quiet, his eyes wide with a certain gleam of helplessness that makes him look all the more exposed to you.

For once in his life he’s stuttering his words, barely even able to hang onto a sentence without having to take a moment to breathe or silently whimper out in a mix of embarrassment, confusion, and frustration.

Dropping one of your pickup lines would be just enough to have this man in a chokehold. Truly. It’s one of the only ways to actually silence him.

He’s not one for pickup lines but he’d try his damn best to voice out his admiration for you similar to how a poet would describe their one and only muse. Through each sweet whisper, you dare utter, he falls deeper and deeper in love with you.

: ̗̀➛ HALSIN

“My heart, I beg of you. Each word, each whisper, even the soft tingle of your breath against my skin- you are a walking temptation that I so longingly wish to taste. My blood runs wild when you are near and I fear what I may do to you if you if you continue on.”

He was hardly bothered by the fact that you seemed a tad bit uptight. He has met far too many people similar to you and he’s learned better than to judge someone based on appearances alone.

Doesn't change the fact that he was in fact attracted to you.

The thing is, he respects you too much to ever make a move. At least, not for a while. Most conversations you’d have with Halsin were of the friendly sort at first, prioritizing the mission at hand before anything else.

However, in truth, the way his eyes practically brightened and his breath ever so subtly quivered when you approached was something you could have slowly picked up on.

He eventually slides very discrete hints about his attraction toward you, simply testing the waters to see if you would reciprocate. However, he truly never expected you to actually take the bait.

Before he could even properly make a move on you, you were already whispering every one of your sweetly depraved desires into his ear, catching him completely off guard.

He knew that there must have been more beneath your hardened exterior but he would have never suspected this. But is he complaining? Absolutely not.

But do be careful when and where you decide to whisper such things to him because you may or may not be seconds away from being utterly ravished by one bear of a man against the nearest surface.

Do so in public spaces where it's safe to tease him, giving you the freedom to watch as his breath heaves and his voice breaks just by the smoothened words coming out of your dirty mouth.

Nevertheless, he’s absolutely obsessed with your little flirty remarks, said remarks being enough to fluster him instantaneously. All the lovers he had taken in his life and yet he had never met one who could madden him as much as you do.

•❅───────────✧❅✦❅✧───────────❅•

[goldsbitch]

Hypochondria

part 2

Fate decided to play a little game and set up a disastrous dinner. Pulling heatwaves back and forth to prove that the path to hell is paved by good intentions.

warning: non-linear time line

21:10

"I'm sorry, but do you guys know each other?" she asked, with a tone of annoyance barely hidden behind a fake smile.

Lando froze once again, like he had many times that evening. It was not his fault. His soon-to-not-be girlfriend set this seventh circle of hell up. How was he supposed to respond to that?

Y/N hesitantly responded. "No, of course not. I mean, I've only worked with the team here for few weeks anyway."

Her words got buried in the stare down between Anita and Lando.

"Seems like you do, by the amount of questions you're asking" she said directly at Lando, fully ignoring Y/N at that point.

"If I had known her, I would not have had to ask questions, right?" he responded, failing at letting his sassy side dormant.

"Is that why you never ask me any questions? Because you know me?"

He bit his tongue. Lando was trying to be good.

Anita made her signature "I knew it" smile once again, which finally set Lando off.

"One asks when they want to hear an answer."

20:13

He was not late, right? Only thirteen minutes. It still passed. And judging by the quick glance he gave at the table, Anita brought a friend. She does that often, he had no idea why.

He felt like a ghost watching his own life sometimes. Just sort of floating around, letting things happen to him. It was easy with his status. As if racing was the only time he really cared.

As he walked over to the table, lost in his own head, life gave him a pretty big slap to wake him up. Next to Anita sat the one and only, who had haunted his dreams and reality for decades by now. Frozen, as if his blood decided to start flowing in the opposite direction, he blinked as he watched the two share a laugh as Anita showed something to the girl on her phone. Seamlessly, as if they weren't defying the laws of Lando's universe. It was like that one time when two girls he kissed on the same time found him, having no idea what he had done with the other. Strange panic, excitement laced with guilt. It was that, dialed up to infinity.

A day had barely passed since he first saw the mystery girl in real time. Without giving him any time to absorb that information and decide what to do with it. He was getting angry, everything was going wrong. The painful truth hit him - he would fuck it up anyway. As he always does. Feeling like a dried piece of fruit, he got back to walking over to the table of doomed dreams.

He had no plan going in. Well, no, he did. But he had about five plans that strongly contradicted each other. But god, destiny did not even give him time to breathe.

12:29

Another car flashed unbelievably fast right next to their station. She watched them with awe and slight terror in her eyes. Funny how the desire for a little thrill in the driver's lives makes them willing to risk it all. She understood this desire, but never shared it. Safe and sound on the ground, that's where she was happy.

Happy was probably overreaching. These past few days were flowing in a blur, somewhat missing her.

It's been only a few weeks since she joined the formula medical team. A strange choice frowned upon by almost anyone in her life. She was just out of school, finished her degree and was set up for a perfect career in some decent hospital. But no, the prospect of waking up everyday at the same place was the definition of horror for her. Her university years felt like torture.

Her free spirit caused few issues in her past relationship. House with a picket fence was not something she considered an option. At least not for another ten years or so.

There she was, sarcastic as ever because how else are you supposed to deal with a chronic pain. Well, pain was an exaggeration. More like muscle fatigue, on occasion sharp pains in random places. Nobody knew why or what caused it. This search for answers was what got her to study medicine at the first place. Still, years after, no answers. So she just lived and hoped not to die randomly one day.

This was the downside, the one she shared with the public. What she did not share, as it seemed not that important, was the irregular waves of pleasure she felt, usually late at night. Self induced orgasms, is what she concluded once she finally experienced one. What was there to complain about? Nice way of spicing up the day without even trying. If it weren't for these, she'd probably be more active in seeking out the real deal. Ever since her break up few months ago, it was a full on dry spell.

She was a little bit lost after school. Formula track was an interesting distraction.

/

Heatwave. It hit hard as the sun blazed into the track, as if the goal was to burn the whole area down. There were many instances of people crashing down and having seek medical attention. A busy day for Y/N. She loved it. Rushing around like a busy bee, helping around and chatting with all those interesting people attending the race. Lots of beautiful people. Some extraordinarily.

In front of Y/N was one of those heavenly looking people. Apparently a girlfriend of one of the drivers. Cheerful looking model, who apologized about seven times for being there. Y/N gave her some magnesium, gave her some advice on how much water she should drink and checked her basic stats.

"You're all good. Make to sure to relax, don't drink any alcohol today and you'll be fine," Y/N ended her examination with a smile.

"You're amazing, thank you! Can I snap a photo of you for my story? I'm happy to tag you," she winked, suddenly looking all better now.

"Thank you...Um, happy to take a photo, but no tags. I have enough stalkers already," she tried to get out of the slightly awkward conversation with a joke that did not land.

"I do too, awful, right?" she replied, in full seriousness. Y/N smiled, hoping a new patient would arrive soon while she let her search for the right light. Few too many snaps and fake smiles later, they both sat in the ambulance nearby the track.

"I think you're free to go. Of course, stay here as long as you feel like you need to," Y/N said to her, while filling a general medical report.

The girl shifted, looking more than fine again. In the corner of the eye, Y/N observed how she kept shifting and looking for her phone.

"Is everything all right?" Y/N asked, unable to stop herself.

"Um, I was sort of hoping my boyfriend would come to pick me up here. It would look really good."

Y/N smiled. "I imagine it would also feel good, right?"

"Yeah," she said, not in a tone that would suggest she felt any butterflies. She looked stiff.

Y/N took a deep breath, not sure why her mouth let those words out. "Whatever happens in the ambulance, stays in the ambulance, you know? Just throwing it out there in case you want to share something..."

A weak smile appeared on her face. A glimpse of realness. After few moments of obviously thinking it through, she allowed herself to speak freely. "Promise you won't tell anything to anyone..."

"I swore an oath one time, I think we can apply that to this situation." The medics were always told to provide excellent service to these people. Sometimes, it involved a little psychology as well.

"I'd love to be with someone who would drop anything to pick me up when I'm sitting in an ambulance. But, I feel like that's not coming anytime soon. He just...He just does not see me."

It was easy for most people to get raw in the closed safe space of an ambulance. Y/N had already heard many similar stories, despite being on this job for only few weeks.

"Does he make you happy?"

"Um...Not really. The sex is good. And the life that comes with him..." she seemed to loose herself in her thoughts.

"You should trust your gut. It's probably pointing you in the right direction," Y/N replied, trying to not push anything.

"You're probably right. He's the best thing around here, so why complain. Thanks! You're really the best. You sure you don't want to be tagged?" she asked once again.

"Sure, go for it," she said, hoping this would finally get the girl out and gave her the instagram info.

She felt an immense wave of embarrassment as she read the comment about how amazing she was.

//

Lando felt a very familiar stroke of humiliation - well, he did not, but he knew who did anyway. Anxiety was not uncommon.

He was done with practice for the day and was staying behind with the engineers to further analyse. He ignored his phone for a while, only finding out his girlfriend had to go to the medics after she came back to the McLaren garage.

His first thought should have probably not been about a wasted opportunity.

"Hey, sweetheart, how do you feel now?" he said while holding Anita's hand and trying to find traces of her feeling unwell on her face.

She felt a bittersweet punch, obviously him checking up on her while she was gone not passing through his mind.

"Yeah, all good now. We have some good medics over here. I took a photo of them, so hopefully they'll get some boost online."

"Oh, can I have a look?" he said with an obvious interest. She smiled, hoping it was because he cared about her. She gave him her phone and saw him freeze for a moment.

Out of nowhere, he was staring into the eyes he longed to drown in. He never got a look this close at her. Not his girlfriend. The awkward smile he understood as if it was his own. It was like being taken over by a tidal wave. He knew everything about her, except her name. It was all really overwhelming.

20:15

Lando should have connected the dots. Anita was a bubbly friendly person, of course she would invite someone who had helped her, over to dinner, in case he himself does not show up due to some unforeseen circumstances. He sat down, without saying a word. "Oh, you're here, amazing!" Anita greeted him with a light peck on the cheek. Lando almost flinched away, physical contact with her suddenly feeling wrong. He kept his eyes down on the table, all of this being a little too much. "Lando, meet Y/N."

Finally. A name to a face. Strong sense of relief and excitement washed over him. Of course it was that name, it suited her vibe completely. The best name. He finally looked up and locked eyes with her for the first time. She was already looking at him and visibly gulped as finally joined her.

These few seconds before the silence got broken were more like hours. They both studied each other like astronomers who get absorbed by the beauty of a distant comet. One they'd only read about and one that's finally passing the sky in their lifetime.

"And Y/N, this is Lando-"

She knew his face, of course she did. But never paid much attention to it, as he served more like a concept, than an actual person to her. Sitting across from him however brought a sense of understanding. No wonder everyone liked him and many people obsessed over him. He was gorgeous, electric. Y/N was grateful for the table that put a physical barrier between them, as the urge to touch him to test if he is real was overtaking her brain quickly. Like a siren luring her to jump into endlessly deep water. She had a hard time believing that she would refuse. Her one and only thought was that a person like that is born once in a century.

Except that's not exactly true. But unbeknownst to her, they were soulmates. She was destined to be eternally delusional about him. He was fated to dance around her until the end of time.

"-my boyfriend."

Anita's words cut through like knife. Both of her dinner partners shifted, as if she had splashed them with cold water, and returned back to reality. A great cloud of guilt sat on the fourth empty chair, which the waiters forgot to take away, invisible to Anita, but smiling evilly at Y/N and Lando. And they hadn't even said a word to each other yet.

[rotting-butterscotch]

so uh i just rewatched community for the 3rd, and possibly the last, time, and I'm gonna rant about it, especially because it's being taken off Netflix this month.

Community is literally the #1 best fucking show on this planet (with Brooklyn 99 and The Good Place being a 2 and 3), and no one can tell me otherwise. The writing is so fucking beautiful (except the writing of the romantic entanglements within the group, but im sure the fandom knows that already), and can be so funny yet heartbreaking at the same time.

Let's take "Geothermal Escapism" for an example (which to point out how amazing the writing is, has never failed to make me cry at the end of it). The symbolism of the hot lava game, the fact that Troy had to play into the whole "clone" thing just for Abed to be able to cope with him leaving (which proves yet again how much Troy and Abed do for eachother, and yes that *is* one of the reasons I ship trobed, but let's not get off-track more than we already have lol), the group saying all their good-byes at the end, and the way those good-byes characterize them so perfectly, it's literally a masterpiece of an episode.

And the fact that the viewers as a whole were supposed to just forget all of that the next episode baffles me, like make up your mind Dan Harmon, are you gonna make the best show of all time or ruin it by shoving jeffannie down our throats at the last episode???? (sorry, went off track)

Anyways, back to the writing: it's beautiful, but can be so dumb at the same time. Like, another example: "Emotional Consequences of Broadcast Television", a.k.a. the finale, which not only kind of does a call-back to s1 Jeff and Abed (Abed being ready to let go and embrace the future, and Jeff being so against it), but omggg the symbolism towards the end, where Jeff has driven Abed and Annie to the airport, and he's hugging them good-bye, and Jeff goes in for a second hug, because yet again he's afraid of change, and you can tell Abed is confused, but he goes with it anyways, because he gets it (actually I'm making this point based off of a comment under a compilation of Jeff and Abed, but whatever).

Jeff and Abed in s6 is literally Abed and Jeff in s1, and not only then, but literally everywhere in the series, you can tell how alike they are, how their traumas and troubles are so alike, yet they dealt with it differently, one with acceptance and one with denial.

And another point about how the writing can be so dumb sometimes: how can you literally point to jeffannie being an illogical and impossible ship, and literally have both members of this ship finally realize how unhealthy it in the *same* episode as is that ship's kiss scene?!?! Like, how does that make sense.

Anyways, my conclusion to this rant is: there's no conclusion lol, I just wanted to barf out all of my thoughts on this show onto here (and these aren't even all my thoughts on this show lol), as incoherent as they are. I'll miss this show so bad😭😭.

[aphroditesmoon]

as strange as it seems

xavier thorpe x selkie!reader

summary: when your pelt was stolen from you as a joke during carnival night, xavier comes just in time to rescue you.

a/n: xavier warriors, I hear your call, I respond. anyways this is pretty much stupid and insane bcs I absolutely love selkies (they are basically seals that can turn into humans using their pelt) you can google if ur confused.

°°°

There was nothing funny about this. You place your pelt by your side and the next thing you knew, it wasn't there.

A pelt is something very personal to a selkie, and everyone knew that, this went beyond a mere prank.

Now here you were transforming into a fucking seal in the woods alone because, of course there's no body of water near you to dive in.

This is fucking stupid, I have leaves stuck on me, I'm going to throw up, you gagged, which came out as a loud squeaking yelp.

Your angry internal seal monologue was interrupted as you hear loud footsteps running towards the woods.

You stay behind the tree as Rowan enters with Wednesday Addams following him.

It was bizarre what was going on, one moment she was trying to speak to him, and the next, he had her pinned on the tree.

You squeaked in fear, causing him to drop her, suprised. Their eyes glance at you behind the tree for a second before a largely built monster lunges at Rowan and devoured him.

Wednesday's movements only froze for seconds before she sped her way out, leaving you squeaking for help.

The monster's gigantic disgusting eyes stared right into your little sea-lion soul.

Hopping out of the woods was inefficient but also your only choice, so you hopped like a giant bunny as the monster attacks you from behind, grabbing you in one hand and ready to squish you into pieces as your eyes widen and you squeal for your life.

Your panic was halted as a small arrow shoots through his head, it wasn't strong enough to kill him, but enough for him to drop you.

"Stay away from her!" A voice you know too well, shouted from your right.

A wolf lunges at the monster, pushing him back, before a few more of them joins in the bloodbath.

You yelped as you feel hands pull you up to their chest, Xavier grips you to him as he runs out towards the fair, where Wednesday and Enid stands alongside Weems who was already phoning the police. Too much of this evidence can't be removed nor be denied.

She rushes Xavier to go back to the school and he obeys immediately with the other students.

You see him with your pelt slung on his shoulder before he rushes you two back.

The car ride was worse than almost being killed. The way he kept glancing at you, biting his lip from laughing, and immediately failing when you squeaked at him angrily.

"Im- sorry, it's just, I- I mean look at you -"

You squeaked again and slap his hand that tried to squish your slimy face.

Your boyfriend has a way of making you melt and also wanting to shove his face in a bucket of acid.

But god you'd miss that face if it was ever ruined.

He insisted on you transforming when you've reached your dorm so he can carry you up and indulge watching you in your seal form whole repeating terrible seal pickup lines and receiving slaps on his face that he takes too easily for your liking.

When you finally get the opportunity to be back in your human skin and clean yourself from the dirt, you feel relief washing over you, despite your boyfriend's attempt to make you laugh, you were still in a state of shock.

Xavier's own fear was not subtle either, as much as he tries to hide it, and his insistence on sleeping in your dorm that night was only another confirmation.

You swore you'd see nightmares of the monster in your sleep that night, but wrapped in his arms and feeling him press a kiss on your forehead, you woke up the next day with nothing but him on your mind.

[fandoms-and-salt]

My thoughts on Hazbin Hotel's villains, because I think they have a problem

Valentino

Val is just. where do i even start.

His introductory scene is largely comedic and makes his freak-out over Angel just living somewhere else the butt of the joke. The same scene conveys that he is already losing control over Angel and can’t do anything about it, since Angel is ignoring his calls, and Vox convinces him that ignoring this blatant misstep is the better option. This is an okay scene (i even found it funny), but it’s a bad villain introduction. Especially a villain that we are meant to take seriously and, from the perspective of the main characters, fear.

(There’s also an inconsistency with Angel in ep1-2 feeling free to ignore Val’s calls and messages, but in ep4 he is stumbling all over himself to please Val)

His introduction had to be made from the point of view of one of his victims to set up a proper tone of menace to him, instead of making it from the point of view of his fellow overlords, who view him as a whiny dumb piss baby. This scene would be okay a lot later down the line, in my opinion, when we are already familiar with what a despicable dangerous asshole he is, and the characters (Angel Dust) begin to step up to him more. We see his facade crumble alongside the main characters to reveal who he truly is without all his power and control - a whiny sex-obsessed loser.

There's also an issue of us not really getting a scale of his power. This guy is portrayed as an extremely forward hot-tempered dumbass, who has to be verbally guided to make a better strategic move than a “just kill and rape everybody”. He freaking licks the princess of Hell, talks down to her like she is one of his porn actresses, and physically assaults a person under her care right in front of her, and she is supposed to be someone more powerful than him, and he should know that.

This guy can’t manipulate and strategize for his life, so to compensate for this (and make his rise to power more believable), he needs to have some truly impressive physical power. And tearing apart some character offscreen and wielding some guns doesn’t cut, bc basically everyone can do that in hell, what makes him special? Show off how his vaping powers can really fuck people up, poison dozens, hypnotize them, make them addicted to him! Make him so uniquely dangerous that he doesn’t even need to be smart and cordial to rise to power!! Otherwise, how the hell we should believe that he owns the whole porn industry of the Pride Ring, including legally owning his workers, if the show puts more focus on his stupidity and lack of tact than on whatever power he has?

Like he is meant to be our main antagonist and threat, alongside with his TV boyfriend, until the angels come back in the finale, don’t just waste them away on lame jokes.

Speaking of which.

Vox

I like Vox. I like his voice actor’s performance and the voice effects and filters that they give him to reflect his mood. I feel like he had a better introduction than Val (which is not a high bar to clear): it showed that he is pretty smart, strategic, and image-conscious. With this and his heavily implied power to hypnotize and stalk people through his tech, the fact that he is in power and the threat that he poses are much more believable.

Anyway, this gets completely wasted 10 minutes into the first episode he appears in, when he gets verbally floored by Alastor. And he cried about it right after. And later in the same episode we see him fail again at another one of his schemes, bc he chose the most incompetent spy ever. Once again, silly comedy shatters any kind of illusion of threat that the villains might pose. Which also leads me to..

Alastor

Who is not really a villain, and this is kind of a problem. He really could have been a great threat and an antagonist, but i really don’t believe they are going to go in that direction.

Alastor is a very OP character and is the one holding power and control in basically any interaction he is in, including the villains. And since he is an ally of Hazbin Hotel, whose goals (the details of which we are not aware of) partially align with theirs, he completely fucks over any kind of tension regarding anything that might threaten the Hotel or it’s residents. Because you can just throw Alastor at it and make it go away. Because the writers just can’t have him lose.

And we don’t have any reason to believe that he would just refuse to help, because so far? He does whatever Charlie or Vaggie ask him to do. He might be a smug dick about it, but he still does that. He even agrees to film a TV commercial (twice!) despite his vocal hate of such technology. Furthermore, he has to make a deal with Vaggie so they don’t have him do something like this again (granted, this scene might hold some additional implications in the future, but so far this is all the context we got). Why can’t he just refuse to do things that he doesn’t want to do?

Which they could have fixed if they made his power more limited. Either by reducing the scale of his power so he is at most on the same level as the villains,

OR have his presence and help be limited. Make that the characters often can’t access him for help or he just. refuses to help them. He even says that he is here to have fun and watch them suffer, so wouldn’t them struggling to, idk, get rid of Sir Pentious, for example, be entertaining for him? Or balance out his help with instances where he causes conflicts and problems on purpose. Beyond just him annoying Vaggie for comedy’s sake.

And if any of this is what they are actually going for, then you need to make it a point to the audience that yes, this guy is powerful, but don’t expect him to productively help with any of the narrative threats and problems.

And lastly,

Adam and the angels

I don’t like Adam. He is annoying as hell and his jokes are drawn out and not funny at all. The logistics of him being an angel when he is Adam and when he acts like this, give me a massive headache that is related to a whole other topic i’ll need to make a separate post about.

Despite all this, Alex Brightman is doing a great job selling how utterly insufferable he is. His song is also pretty good, one of the more memorable ones in the show. And he (and the angels by extension) is also the most menacing and competent villain on the show so far. ...Do you see my predicament here?

Granted, this is not a very high bar to clear, as established with. the other ones. For example, in contrast to the pilot, we are only told about how dangerous and deadly the exterminator-angels are. “[Sinners] never managed to kill one of us [angels]” “In the latest extermination, [angels] killed the highest 18% percent of our [sinner] population” etc etc. We don’t see the angels killing anybody on screen, we barely see the aftermath of the extermination.

What we do see is the panic and helplessness with which most of the hell population treat the exterminations, including Charlie. We see Charlie struggling to convince Adam of her plan, barely able to talk back to him, which sells Adam as the more powerful in the interaction. We see Adam not showing all his cards to Charlie, like the fact they are planning to completely wipe out the whole Hell/Pride Ring, showing that he is not completely stupid despite his whole deal (well, there’s implied to be some kind of plan here, but i’ll talk about my problem with the logic in another post).

Otherwise, we don’t have anyone else to compare with him, since Charlie is the only one who interacts with angels on-screen. But all of this so far gives a suitable illusion of how dangerous and powerful the angels are. But what will happen if angels are faced with our all powerful Tumblr Sexyman Mary Sue? Will the universe let Alastor lose and then collapse in on itself? Or the other obvious option?

Anyway, in conclusion, Hazbin’s villains are not very good so far. Their main problems are the fact that the writers can't properly establish their threat and lever of power, or they undercut this with unsuitable comedy. Also, they don't know how to use their OP main character, so they won't ruin the stakes of the story.

[joannasteez]

crying, laughing, loving, lying - australian merlot

pairing: roman reigns x angel (black oc) warning: no warnings. first date fluff. this is an alternate universe work of fiction, so no wrestling will be mentioned. authors note: this will hopefully, be followed by other pieces that show the progression of angel and romans relationship. get ready for hallmark movie realness. music inspo: crying, laughing, loving, lying by labi siffre word count: 3100

some restaurants are made for first dates. for habitual blind daters too skittish to reach beyond that hectic first circle of hell limbo called first base. the 'will it now? won't it finally?', of it all. this ceaseless punishment of lovelessness. and angel thinks that it's all more shitty than bullshit anyways. love is simply an accompaniment and not the whole damn tune. a cappella's are more fascinating anyways. love is more of an accessory. something like bracelets or anklets. a thing to put on that dresses up life a little more prettily. but there is a trouble to it. the labor of coordination far less rewarding than it's worth. and what of the fruitlessness? the defilement and scarcity that rottens the garden. a few ruined by many and now she's at her tenth blind date since the new year, already familiar with the taste of fucking bile.  

"you need someone". 

but she doesn't. because need implies the failure of survival without it and if after every date her stomach churns—with a fear that she refuses to acknowledge—then that wasn't something she wanted anyways. definitely not something she needed. 

but here, amongst white table cloth, she waits. 7:39 pm. slightly too early to be upset because he, whoever he is, isn't late yet. but she wishes very openly that he will be. it'd just be a strike against him. something that eases the guilt of ghosting him when he inevitably asks for another date. and please don't mistake the self assuredness for a too big ego, she just knows these things. it's based all on common occurrence. they bring roses because "all women love roses", dragging their feet in eased and so damn smiley despite being five, ten or even fifteen minutes late and it absolutely grinds her fucking gears. cleanliness is next to godliness but fuck it punctuality is too. he will come with a rose and he will be late and he will ramble about himself and he will stare at her cleavage and then imply that him paying the bill grants access to spreading her open and then the inevitable lump of bile. 

it was a song she'd heard and a dance done a thousand times and her head hurt from the thundering bass and her feet from trying to keep pace with such terrible rhythm. 

angel wants to leave. wants to finally grant herself the relief of no guilt by stepping away before the burden of ridding her tongue of the bile. 

but she can't, because he's here now. sitting down with no rose. 

what the hell? 

and he is beautiful. a huge mountain of a man. herculean with a directness to his eyes that makes it appear as though he is staring through her skin and into deeper, more vulnerable parts. heat scorching fast over nerves and bones till she grows warm and its concerning. because angel has gone on first dates with beautiful men before. sat with them, spoken to and at them, laughed with and at them, dined with them, but for some gut churning reason, this, feels different. the temperature of the atmosphere is warm. the life in his eyes, inviting. 

and for the love of God he doesn't have a rose and it makes angel laugh. small and to herself. 

he sits. confused and amused in that awkward way. where the idea of a joke itself makes you laugh, not privy to hooks, punchlines, sinkers and the like. 

and for the first time in a myriad of failed dates, angel is taken by his voice. a dark symphony. pitch low and smooth. strong and double bass like. 

"can i get in on the joke?"

she wants to shrivel into and like a ball. because it wasn't necessarily funny. it was more so the absurdity of the situation. of course after much complaining and internal deliberation she would be sent someone that would stick her foot in her mouth. at least in regards to the romantic gesture of giving roses.

her throat clears. "sorry, it's just...it's kinda weird. it's nothing". 

he squints and it feels like a hole is tearing through her skin. peeling away till its settling warm into veins.

"if you leave me in suspense i'm gonna make you feel like shit about it". 

"is that a threat?"

"more like a spoiler".

and now the laugh is bright and clear. nothing hidden and inward about it. and he loves the sound. wouldn't mind if he could hear it a few more times tonight. her sarcasm more laden in her words than the surprise of them.

"because you've never practiced that before". 

"in a mirror once or twice, but i got you all giggly so tell me whats funny". 

angel sighs. "you didn't bring a rose and for whatever reason, men show up to first dates with roses", waving her fingers away to express the un-seriousness of her amusement. "it's just a thing". 

"like... the bachelor". 

"yeah", snorting. "sure, like the bachelor". 

his fingers, long and thick and just downright massive, rub into his beard. mulling over her words with a bout of sincerity that she doesn't think she's seen in a while. like some actual consideration, and not a half-assed pulling together of thoughts into words to make conversation for the sake of filling in the silence. 

"never really approached it like that. it seems more like a burden than anything y'know?", his eyes slipping over the bottle of wine you ordered before he showed, before its doing the same to your face. "flowers do the dying thing and then what? just something else to throw away. feels odd". 

"i mean, theres ways to preserve them". because of fucking course she would say this, after making a fuss about always getting flowers. but it was just that weird thing, trying to see the upside in a situation. to heal the downtrodden idealism of it all. "but i agree with you". 

"sounds like you want a rose". 

"i don't. i just-...". she sighs. flustered. "can we start over".

and he smiles. at her awkwardness and her eyes and the crinkle in her brows as she gathers herself. 

"of course". 

eyeing the bottle of wine again, his hand reaches out to you. 

"roman". 

and it fits. encapsulates his everything. name and the air of him reminiscent of old statues built with marble and brow sweating patience. an easy demeanor inherited from stoic warriors of old. fine silk looking hair and a jaw she's sure she can cut against if not for the thickness of his beard. 

she takes his hand and shakes. thumb over his veins and wrapped up in the strength of his palm. 

"angel".

"are you?"

they both smile. teasing eyes and a playful air. 

"sometimes".

he hums short. the song of it uprooted from his chest. hand slipping away from hers but the impression of it leaves a stain on her skin. where his fingers squeezed in the midst of a mere cordial shaking. and his eyes are not shy. taking hers to hold steady and uncompromising. and never has a man held her gaze so well, not since-

"you been here before?"

and it is only the shame of so many dates in such a short amount of time that leaves her tongue dry and her thoughts partial to lying. "uhh", her eyes sweeping over the menu. "no. i haven't". 

"any allergies?"

"used to be pescatarian a while back but i stopped. why?"

"i don't want you to surprise me with a closed airways cause i recced you something with peanut oil". 

"you've been here before?"

"a few times". 

"on dates". more like a statement than a question. 

he's busy looking over the menu, like he's seeing it for the first time. "dates, work stuff, a night out. it's a cool spot. convenient". he takes the wine bottle, opening it to pour. humming in delight as he nose takes to smell. "you've been here before though".

"what?"

angels heart sinking way down till it's falling steady out of her chest cavity and into her stomach. taking something similar to a rolling tumble as it goes and it feels devastatingly awful. being caught in a lie has never been a smooth easy ordeal and the urge to get up and leave runs rife under her skin. prickling in a manner that taunts her till her cheeks grow hot white. she wants to hide and suffer in the silence of her own shame. and he's a complete asshole about it, because he lets her simmer into a scorched heat, struck and wordless as a grin plays through his lips. picking up the wine bottle once more. his fingers wrapping about it easy and familiar. 

"when i said your last name for the reservation, the waiter called you by your first. which means she knows you, because you've been here a few times". his lips smiling. much more amused than worked up by your little white lie. sipping the wine to taste again. "that and the wine. first-timers spend too much on wine. the merlot here is decent enough". 

a forced chuckle toughens up. angel sooting the bridge of her nose with a thumb. un-fucking-believable. "this is fucking embarrassing". 

"it's good wine though. cheap as shit but it's pretty good".

"look", she starts. a deep sigh before she makes the effort to meet him. his brown eyes soft still. void of scrutiny. amusement waning but still nothing of judgement. and the niceties unnerved angel. most men didn't take too kind to lies in such a formally romantic setting. it made for awfully fierce energy that led to a frigidness she hated to maneuver. not that she was a habitual liar, but still, it worried her. "i didn't mean to lie... well... i did but-"

"it's alright. i get it. i used to be the same way".

"a liar?"

"embarrassed". 

and she knew exactly what he meant without him having to say it. because this probably wasn't his first date of the new year either. the wait staff were probably familiar with him too. his familiarity with the taste of the restaurants stock of merlot making perfect sense. he'd probably, once upon a time, given his fair share of roses. the what do you do for work spiel and the sometimes awkward dance of wanting more after the first date and wrongly reading what he thought were obvious suggestions that a woman wanted him physically. and sometimes thats all they wanted, or at least that's what angel thinks, because some of her dates just wanted sex. no strings or some strings and then it got tangled and messy. always too damn messy. but he was over the shame of cycling through to find "the one". angel had yet to get there. 

she clears her throat. thumbs twiddling together. apologetic as she looks to him. "i'm sorry anyways". 

roman's silence is heavy. his eyes slipping over her face. noting the details that exist in their guilt. but still even in this, angel is a beautiful woman. thick lashes and slightly hooded eyes. cheeks high and plump. her lips full and surely kissable. especially when she takes them between her teeth in what he's sure to be her nerves overworking themselves with all his staring and his wordlessness. his smile warm and easy again, turning back to the menu. he's had enough of making her feel like shit anyways, for it dampened the mood far too much and he rather you smile again and for as long as they date lasts. 

"forgiven and forgotten. the real litmus test is how you take your steak". 

"who said i wanted steak". 

"one, you owe me for lying".

she gasps. lips pulling up and her knee knocking softly into his. "you said forgiven and forgotten". 

"and two", he continues, chuckling. "you said you were pescatarian, meaning you gave it up cause you realized that grass ain't green".

"why are you reading me so well right now, this is crazy". 

"wouldn't be good at what i do if i couldn't".

her mouth purses over the wine glass to sip at the sweetness of the merlot, waiting for him to continue. and when he doesn't she finds herself more interested in hearing a man talk than she ever has in all her time of dating. 

"which is?"

"i teach and coach". 

"okay", her eyes play and rolling. "don't leave me in suspense. be more specific". 

and here the fierceness of his features round out to a softness. but surely it cant be those few sips of wine, suddenly freeing up the tight collection of his resolve. the slightest dusting of pink at his cheeks and his mouth smiling smaller. humility bracing him harshly just before her. it was more obvious to her now, he hates talking about himself. 

"sports history and college football", barely meeting her eyes. the menu suddenly becoming so very important to him. his throat clearing as his palm reaches to rub up against the thick hair of his beard. " 'm not a head coach or anything, just for the defensive line but its...", and finally he looks to her again. "it's cool". 

"don't say just like that. it down plays your passion. i like passion". 

the sincerity melting a warmth into him. the air feeling less suffocating for the both of them now as they share a smile. 

and the dinner goes smoother than angel had expected. the food cooked immaculately  and the wine warming her belly. his passionate talks soothing to her ears and his jokes funnier. the knock of his long legs turning into less of an accident and more of a playful teasing. and by the end of their steaks they're both closer than they started, leaning in to hear more of each others voices. his freckles an endearing scatter against his cheeks. the slick lick of his lips as he talks catching her eyes and by the end of her wine glass she comes to the arresting realization that he's doing it on purpose. slowly but surely ingratiating himself through small touches and that hostage holding stare. 

angel, afraid now, feels a disappointment weighing in her. the ending of it all , this little world of quickly built intimacy, nearing quicker than she realized. both of them perusing through the dessert menu. more than slowly to stretch the time.

"you a dessert guy?"

he sets down the menu. her voice bringing him in again. "fuck yeah i'm a dessert guy. they make a bomb ass bread pudding here. best i've had". 

and maybe her eyes are suggestive. and maybe they sharpen to pierce through him a little more fiercely and maybe her knee knocks into his when her lips part to speak. but angel does well about pleading the fifth, even with herself. 

her eyes looking up through her lashes as she flits them from the menu to him. and she can track the trailing of his gaze straight to her plump lips. "you've never had mine". 

"is that an invitation to taste test?"

a shiver breaks over her skin. an undulating warmth at her cheeks. she pushes her menu to the side. 

"y'know pastry emporium? the shop on 4th and everling?"

roman's brows jump in an instant, before they pull together. the sudden realization exciting his nerves.

"thats yours?"

"half of it. i co-own".

"i'm stoppin' by there all the time and i've never seen you". 

and the tiny world they live in has just become slightly smaller. their existences dancing on the edges of one another for who knows how long before this faithful night of teasing smiles and blood sweetening sips of australian wine.

"i don't mesh too well with the front of house stuff". her knee taking a soft slow lean into his. and maybe the styling and placement of the tables and chairs are purposeful. for moments like these. "but i can make an exception". 

"you better". his lips spreading wide and his smile bright. nothing bashful left in his expression as its overtaken by the prospect of seeing you again. "cause you owe me a taste test". 

and for once there is no threat of bile to stain her throat, or even the cringing anticipation thereof. and when they're both finally, hesitantly ready for the bill, he takes the responsibility without words. fitting his card into the leather book. appreciation swimming to settle gently in her belly along with the sweet merlot. he tips well too, and his fingers catch soft against her palm, leading her out of the restaurant and into the balmy night spring air. the urge to stick to him creeping in her skin. but the same seems to exist for him because he stands just before her, eyes circling the city, searching and thinking, before they find her face. a small smile on her lips as she looks to him expectantly. his touch grows firmer, as if he's just come to the end of a pending decision. fully taking her hand as he begins to step. 

"walk with me". but theres no inflection that implies a question. more of a statement that softly wills her into following. 

his hand as warm as his smile and gentle even in its size. he strolls easy too, to help her keep up with the wide steps he takes. 

but even beyond the easy going tenderness of him, angel has never felt such a stillness in her nerves before. the city she's seen a thousand times suddenly appearing brighter and less overwhelming. the usual droning no longer a harsh symphony. the pitch and pace less grating. and maybe it's silly, because he's, despite his teasings and his suggestive eyes and interesting conversation, still a stranger. still a man with a world of a life she knows so little about. filled with hopes and dreams and secrets. but that feeling nags still. nestles deep under her skin as it attempts to force out the hesitancies. 

roman leads her to the front of a flower shop and her eyes play at rolling. 

she tries to pull him away from the entrance. "we spoke about this".

"we did". 

his smiling melting her resolve to mush. so bright and unapologetic in how it spreads. he takes her hand tightly, pulling her into the shop. 

he orders one rose exactly. giving it to her after he's paid for it. 

"why?", she asks. trying to fight the rising heat in her cheeks. 

"because i think deep down, you want it. you just don't want it to feel like an obligation. and this right here is all off the cuff. im sure of that”.

and angel's belly flutters. that cliche appearance of butterfly's. 

tagging: @333creolelady @harmshake @theninthwonder @gomussy @spritelucozade @venusesworld @thesamoanqueen @empressdede (if i forgot anyone who wants a tag for roman centered fics, my apologies! just remind me for next time)

[junggunz]

WANT U ft. samuel seo | 🔞

summary: you finally call it quits for real after realizing your relationship with samuel was too turbulent to handle in the long run. but even after breaking up, it seems like you don't want to completely remove him from your life.

cw: samuel x fem bodied!reader | SMUT | cautious dubcon warning because reader and sammy have both been drinking | tiny crumb of plot | established relationship | toxic relationship dynamics | angsty | poor coping mechanisms | public sex (in an alley lmfao) | p in v | creampie | all characters featured are 18+

wc: 3.2k

an: killing two birds with one stone. part two of my silly little song fic series. i forgot when it was requested tbh but i had an anon who wanted a scenario that included reader being pressed against a wall aka 壁ドン lol i hope you don't mind i picked samuel over gun- anywho here's the playlist that goes with this series.

"Been waiting for so long to finally be strong but here you are."

It had been several months since the two of you split yet Samuel was sending you texts every so often to see what you were up to; almost as if he was checking to see if the heart he broke was still shattered on the floor where he left it. 

The peak low point of your breakup was when he would drunk text and call you every weekend, insisting that he regrets his actions. Unsure if he meant it or if he was just talking out of his ass, you still gave him the time of day because you were just as fucked in the head as Samuel; you honestly liked the idea of him missing you and begging you for clemency even though you knew you wouldn’t take him back. 

All of the vehement screaming matches. Fits of jealousy from both of you. Playing the blame game. Giving each other the cold shoulder rather than apologizing. And the worst part of it all was that the two of you could never see eye to eye long enough to be able to work through these trivial things. Every single petty argument just had to turn into an exchange of obscenities and questioning the other’s intelligence. Though the relationship was highly volatile, there was a mutual understanding that you both cared about one another and held some deep rooted insecurities; but that excuse wouldn’t cut it if you two were to be together for the long run. 

As much as you wanted things to work out, you couldn’t beg Samuel to change. You were too busy trying to sort out your own emotional baggage; the last thing you wanted to do was try to get someone else to realize the error in their ways if they wouldn’t even listen to you or always remained taciturn during conversations and made you feel like you were talking to yourself. 

Desultory attempts at dating around later on and trying to take your mind off of Samuel prove to be futile as you find yourself feeling more hollow than usual. Perhaps you weren’t as healed as you thought; craving the emotional intensity Samuel pursued you with from the start couldn’t have possibly been healthy. 

Even with all the stupid fights you got into, he never failed to make you feel wanted. And on top of that, the make up sex was good enough to make you forget why you argued in the first place.  

“Isn’t that your ex?” Your friend whispers to you while your little clique was out at a tiny little pub, enjoying some soju and various drinking foods. 

“The joke was funny the first couple times, but it’s getting old now.” You say dismissively with a small laugh— but you find your bleary eyes darting around anyway— to verify whether or not she was taking advantage of the fact you were drunk and trying to mess with your head.

But lo and behold, you spot him at a table by himself. It was inevitable that you would run into him at least once given how small the city seemed sometimes. What’s more surprising is how he doesn’t have any company to share the gold colored tin kettle presumably filled with makgeolli and the few bottles of soju in front of him. 

You recognize the sullen expression he wears on his face as the look of contemplation. Conflicting emotions start to argue for a spot in your mind. One part of you was pleased to see him looking so miserable; the other feeling the urge to comfort him since enough time had passed for you to forget you said you hated him. 

Though you know very well that if you approached him now, there was a fifty-fifty chance of you getting into an argument with him; you can’t help yourself when you abandon the table you sat at with your friends to fill the empty seat across from Samuel. You had consumed enough alcohol to be able to dismiss this as a drunken mistake; but you know exactly what you’re doing.

“Sammy, you shouldn’t be drinking like this by yourself.” You call to him, your tone coming out more affectionate than you intended. But, oh well—you could blame it on the alcohol if he called you out for it. 

Lifting his eyes to look at you sitting before him, his face doesn’t light up the same way it used to whenever you would speak to him. Right after your breakup, he always appeared just fine when he showed up to your doorstep drunk out of his mind. It seemed that now, the realization that things were actually over had kicked in and drained all life from his face.  

“It’s not your place to be concerned about what I’m up to.” He tells you somberly, averting his gaze to the half empty bowl of makgeolli in front of him and reaching for the kettle to refill it. 

“You used to be really adamant about trying to talk to me. I’m giving you the chance now and you’re gonna be cold to me?” You ask, feigning offense and pouting slightly. 

“It’s loud as hell in here. If you wanna talk, we can talk somewhere else.” Samuel replies, swiftly standing up from the metal chair then making his way over to your side of the table to grab you by the arm; lifting you up from your seat and dragging you off to who knows where. Stumbling haphazardly behind him, you find yourself outside in the dimly lit alley between the pub and the business next to it. 

“Why are you talking to me now? Could you sense that things were going to shit for me or something?” The sharpness in Samuel’s voice alone was enough to make you flinch. 

When paired with him glaring at you as he backs you up against the  wall, caging you in his arms, it has your body instinctively shrinking from how intimidating his demeanor is. But you’re not actually scared of him. Not in the least bit. His tall height and all that ink covered muscle means nothing to you when you know how frail his ego is. If you really wanted to, you could devastate him with just a couple words. 

“Oh, so you can bug me for months on end when I’m trying to get over you but I can’t return the favor?” You scoff with a slight roll of your eyes, crossing your arms over your chest. “I just happened to see you tonight and wanted to make sure you were alright.” 

“Weren’t you the one who said you hated me and wished I got launched off into space?” He retorts with a dry laugh. “You’re so—”

“I know what I said and I meant it in that moment. Now, things are a little different because I’ve calmed down.” You cut him off, knowing very well that it was one of his pet peeves. 

Jaw clenching in frustration from how easily you get under his skin, Samuel bangs his fist against the wall behind you to relieve some of the agitation boiling up within him. You could practically see the steam coming out of his ears from how agitated he was getting. If you had been someone else, you would have gotten a full ashtray to the face or a swift kick in the gut. However, as the soft spot he had for you hadn’t completely faded away, he can’t bring himself to tell you off for the minor infraction. Even with him knowing that you interrupted him on purpose. 

“What are you trying to accomplish right now? Pissing me off? Making up with me? What do you want?” Samuel fires off, voice rough and impatient as he stares at you; his eyes trailing from your face down the familiar silhouette of your body. 

“If you look at me like that, you’re gonna make me think about other things.” You tell him, a stupefied giggle falling past your lips while you gaze up suggestively at him. 

Samuel’s eyes shoot right back up to look at your face, the ditzy smile on your face telling him all that he needs to know about where your head is. Hands slipping from the walls, they land on your shoulders to press you firmly against the structure behind you.

“Yeah? Have you been thinking about how no one is gonna be able to fuck you like I can?” He asks, voice dropping to a whisper as he leans in to whisper in your ear. “Because I think that’s the only reason why you would speak to me again.” 

The truth is harsh and it sounds even more brutal when Samuel says it out loud. Knowing you too well, there’s no reason for you to lie to him unless you want to get into a verbal altercation with him and sour your currently elated mood. 

“Please? Just for old time’s sake.” You plead him cutely, batting your lashes at him while your fingers skitter along the hem of his pants. “I haven’t slept with anyone since we broke up.” You confess, knowing that the admission would at least tempt him into giving in.

Mulling over your words for a bit, Samuel’s eyes bore into yours. He’s uncertain. He doesn’t know if he would be able to feel satisfied with just one more night with you. He’s always been easily enticed by you; with the addition of alcohol gently fogging his judgment, that feeling is magnified at least a hundred times. Self restraint is usually something Samuel doesn’t struggle with. But the memory of how wet and warm your body felt around him has his control wavering. 

All it takes to get to him is you making the first move, closing the distance between your faces until he meets you halfway; pressing his lips against yours. Hands crawling up the sides of your neck, Samuel cups your face roughly; the pads of his fingers digging into your cheek. Behind each kiss there’s a shared sense of hunger and perhaps even longing. Soft lips slotted between yours, every suckle and nip makes your body buzz in desire. Remnants of alcohol linger on Samuel’s tongue as the tip slips past your open mouth while you’re moaning wantonly. So drunk on the taste of him, all your inhibitions leave you; not even bothering to double check if your current location was secluded enough for you to be carelessly reaching under your skirt to slip off your panties. It's a muscle memory thing for you when you sneakily tuck the flimsy fabric into Samuel’s pocket. 

His hands trail down your figure slowly as if trying to get familiar with every dip and curve—but Samuel knew himself well enough to know that you made yourself a permanent home in his memories. As his palm smoothes over the slope of your ass, the absence of a pantyline beneath the thin material of your skirt causes him to pull away from you. Looking at you curiously, he’s met by a cheeky grin as your smaller hand guides him under your clothes to feel the pent up sexual frustration that’s spilling out of you now. With how obscenely wet you are, Samuel feels barely any resistance when he dips two of his fingers into your heat. Feeling just how riled up you’ve gotten just from kissing devours the last morsel of patience Samuel has before he’s hastily undoing his pants and lowering them just enough to pull his cock out, eliminating the remaining space between your bodies and swiping the tip along your folds.

“You missed this, didn’t you?” He taunts, tapping the head of his cock against your swollen clit. “You wanted me so bad that you’re letting me fuck you in this dingey alley.” He laughs mockingly, eliciting a small mewl from you as you buck your hips up against his.  

“Don’t tease…” You murmur softly, sneaking a glance at him out of fear you would fall for him all over again. Bracing yourself for what was to come, you loop your arms around his neck, gazing between your bodies as you’re entranced by the sight of your arousal thoroughly coating him.

Muttering something under his breath that goes unheard by you due to the sound of your heart thudding against your chest, Samuel’s hands latch on to your thighs; wrapping them around his hips before he pushes forward into you. Chest tightening, he grits his teeth as the tip of his cock dips past your tight entrance; the unforgettable warmth consuming him and filling him with the sense of being home. The sudden intrusion has you gasping in surprise, but the pain laced pleasure is so intoxicating, you find yourself trying to take more of his length inside of your needy little hole. Even as tears well up in your eyes, clinging to your eyelashes, it doesn’t stop the shaky plead to be fucked from tumbling past your lips. 

No build up. No more condescending comments. Samuel wastes no time thrusting into you animalistically, his full balls slapping against your ass. At this point, the only thing he has in mind is releasing months of frustration on to you as he continues to fuck you with the intention of making you regret breaking up with him. Head falling back with a slew of vulgarities, your wet walls clamp around his size; your cunt refusing to relinquish its vice grip on him. It only fuels him to go harder, grunting as he ruts into you so harshly that you have to cling on to him and lock your ankles around his lower back out of fear of losing connection. 

Some semblance of coherence slips back into your system when you feel the bumpy texture of the wall starting to make your back ache and you try to keep your noises to a minimum. But nevermind the discomfort of the rough surface of the wall beneath you rubbing up against you. It hurts more to know that Samuel wouldn’t be going home with you after this. All you can do for now is bask in the moment; feeling every inch of him filling you up and hitting every good spot just the way you like it.   

“What am I gonna do with you? Why don’t you get that you’re made for me?” Samuel growls into your ear, hips continuing to buck into you aggressively with sharp, precise thrusts into your gummy walls that make your cunt gush more arousal. “So…fucking perfect for me.” He rasps out in a shaky voice, the blunt tips of his nails dig into the meat of your thigh as he continues to slam into you.

It’s not right, but the possessive talk has you squeezing around him. Your guts twisting in excitement as his thick length works your sopping pussy, thrusting into you at spine-breaking pace. Whimpering from how hard he was squeezing your thigh, you could feel his fingertips leaving their marks on your skin. 

“P—please, don’t stop.” You croak, letting your head fall forward onto Samuel’s shoulder; making the mistake of burying your face into his shirt and getting yourself drunk on the smell of him. Once you realize what you’ve done, you pull away again with a small sniffle. It wasn’t abnormal for tears of pleasure to stream down your face whenever you had sex with Samuel, but in this context, there was a high chance that the tears were provoked by some other emotion. 

“Oh, baby. You should know I don’t plan on stopping until I make this tight little pussy cum all over me.” He tells you, his breath tickling the side of your face before he presses a gentle kiss on your temple that contrasts starkly against the manner his hips move. 

It’s so unbearably hot between your bodies, even under the cool night air. It only contributes to how lightheaded you feel as you feel your climaxing building. Samuel’s eyes happen to glance down below to your point of connection and he sees the white ring of cream you’ve oh so adoringly left around the base of his cock. A wave of satisfaction washes over him upon seeing the mess you’ve made. And he’s even more pleased when he feels your walls pulsing around him, signifying you’re about extremely close to orgasming.

“Look at me.” He commands you sternly, movements unfaltering. When you don’t heed to his demand, he delivers extra rough snaps of his hips into you. “Look. At. Me.” He repeats, each syllable punctuated by the ruthless thrusts. 

Reluctantly meeting his eyes, his expression is softer than the last time you looked at him. Behind all the carnal lust, it’s impossible to miss the affection lingering in his irises and so many different emotions overcome you at once. It feels like there’s a disconnect between your mind and body—your head is scrambling to find out what’s going on while your body is tensing up, euphoria slowly taking over as bright colors decorate the edges of your vision. 

“Ohhh—fuck!” You yelp, feeling an orgasm strong enough to render you brainless ripping through your body. Trembling in his arms and gazing at him like he was your God, the telltale signs of your climax had always made the veins in his cock throb like crazy. 

“See? If you weren’t made for me, how come just looking at me is enough to make you cum?” Samuel murmurs against your mouth, kissing you softly and relishing in the salacious moans you emit between licks across the seam of your lips.

Now able to chase after his high, he searches for it in the deepest part of your pulsating walls. Despite your sensitive pussy trying to hold him in place, he thrusts into you almost violently; his thick size spreading you open and imprinting its shape into the slick walls. As Samuel fucks you through your orgasm, rearranging your insides as he pleases, your mind is long gone and ventured off into space. You may have been brought to orgasm from looking at him, but the sight of you in your post orgasm haze was what brings Samuel to his finish. A guttural groan rumbles in his throat as his thrusts become sloppy and vicious before hot white ropes of his seed paint your insides. Holding himself deep within you, he fills the deepest part of you and your body milks out every last drop eagerly. 

Taking a few silent moments to even out your breathing, the two of you eventually part; your legs unwinding themselves from Samuel’s body before you hastily pull down your skirt and he fixes his pants. The tension between the both of you is so thick, you think you should at least say ‘goodbye’ or something to cut through it but the words get caught in your throat. Seeing that Samuel had already moved to lean on the very wall you were just fucking against and was lighting up a cigarette let you know that he had nothing to say either. 

With how many times you told him you never wanted to speak to him, this should have satiated you; but when you make your way back to the bar to rejoin your friends, the itch to unblock Samuel’s number on your phone starts to nag at you.

[necros-writing-stuff]

Foxes and Minxes: Collabo'ween Day 21

GN!AFAB!Reader/M!Teacher!Bailey

Warnings: Me being very British with everything referenced here (sorry); Alcohol; Gloryhole; Hints of Yandere Reader; References to bullying; Condoms; Bailey POV and he feeling guilty; Only pronouns for reader are they/you.

Word Count: 4010

Notes: This is the telepathy mixed with teacher prompt! Bailey is not the telepathic one, though, and I kept it subtle methinks. It's also just fun to think of where Bailey might have ended up if he hadn't become the caretaker.

His paycheck is late. Again. Leighton has been holed up in his office all day yelling at delinquents, telling Bailey to come back later every time he'd popped his head in. The first round of students had set a bin on fire in the cafeteria. The second had been encouraging someone to moon passing cars at the gates. The third had popped River's tires. 

Sure, the kids here were usually shitheads, but to this level? It had to have something to do with graduation coming soon - they were all in their final year of Sixth Form afterall. Most of them being 18, but not fully grasping that they were adults yet and that they could be arrested for what they had been up to. 

Some of them were in his class: economics. Or rather, missing from his class today. They'd been put in the isolation room to write out lines at desks with screens on them so they couldn't talk to each other. Bailey had been in there once or twice as a kid, hell, Winter had been the one to put him in there a few times. Strange that they were now colleagues. Strange that Winter hadn't applied to be head of the school (or at least deputy) after all these years. 

As it was, with the shitheads mostly missing, his class was quiet. Sixth Form classes were smaller than the secondary education classes, the other teachers who had to handle both levels had it worse. Typically UK schools have all of the desks pushed into larger tables to facilitate group work and to make larger use of the room's space, but with how bad the students are here all of the desks had to be separated to discourage certain behaviours. 

Right up front was his favourite. A shy kid, huddled up with their notebook. He couldn't tell whether or not they were doing the work or absently doodling while their mind wandered. He didn't care either way. They'd finished their exams, the only reason they were still here in class was because they all had to be until they walked out with their grades or failed and were pushed out anyway. School policy. One that severely annoyed everyone who wanted a free period to wander around. 

His favourite kept mostly to themself, barely interacting with the others even though they were silently chatting amongst themselves or watching the documentary he had put on to keep some of them occupied. Only educational programmings allowed. Yet another school policy. God, it was miserable here. He'd be watching Breaking Bad otherwise, all of these students had hit 18 so he wouldn't get in trouble from parents about it. But no, instead he'd had to throw on some bullshit scaremongering thing about the dangers of ecstasy pills he'd found on YouTube. 

Funny thing, growth. Back when he was their age, he'd have bullied his favourite. He was as much of a little shit as the rest of them are today. Now he finds solace that at least one of them paid attention. And they'd be gone soon, replaced by another bout of insufferable 16 year olds who would be eager to push him to his limits - only to find that he knew their games and wouldn't be putting up with them. Same old song and dance every new year. 

Which is why he wanted his fucking paycheck. He goes home bordering on having an aneurysm every night, the least he can have in return is his rent money. He's not late, not yet, he'd saved up enough to have reserves, but it still felt better to have it. Plus, he'd be able to get himself a takeaway tonight. That Chinese place he likes is open on a Tuesdays. Some egg fried rice, noodles, chicken curry, those salt and peppered chips. A lovely break in his recent health kick he'd been on. 

Bailey sinks into his seat, sighing at the thought as he chews on a pen cap. His favourite looks up from their notebook, their eyes passing over him quickly before going back down. Not a new thing. They're a jumpy little thing like that. He'd bumped into them once and they'd whimpered as though he'd struck them. Kinda reminds him of all of those videos of foxes just squealing because they can - so he'd nicknamed them after the animal.

He's not a stranger to the signs of an abusive upbringing - the bullying couldn't have helped either. But he's not the one to offer support beyond letting them use his classroom instead of the library. They could go to Doren if they wanted a shoulder to cry on. 

The bell rang then, the students mostly springing up and rushing out to head to the cafeteria. His favourite was stayed put until everyone else left. 

"What you got today?" Bailey reaches under his desk, fetching a box from his bag and his homemade panini with it. Ham, lettuce, and tomatoes filled it up. 

"Same as usual," you respond with a small smile. Which means…

Bailey catches the Yorkie when you throw it over to him, and in return he tosses a bag of Maltesers. That's your usual deal. You bring the Yorkie, Bailey exchanges it for whatever sweet snacks he has that day. Whichever parent it is that always packs the bars for you clearly hasn't clued in to the fact that you've grown sick of the chocolate. Luckily for you, though, Bailey could inhale a whole four-pack in ten minutes. 

And with it not being a class, that also means he doesn't have to abide by the 'educational' videos only rule. At least, that's the excuse he'll tell Leighton if he's caught putting on fucking Hannibal. 

But it's a nice time, eating with his favourite as they watch the show over the lunch hour. Sure beats the fucking staff rooms. Bailey might just quit if he has to hear River complain about that Whitney kid again. 

It's quiet again (save the chewing), but this time it's a comfortable quiet rather than the eternally tense silence of a classroom full of kids a moment away from doing a crime to lull the boredom. 

Little Foxie relaxes now that they're alone, your shoulders sloping and your eyes focused rather than shifting. Poor damn kid. But, not his circus, not his monkeys. He won't see you again after next week anyway. 

"Which exam do you have left?" 

"Just physics. I'm dreading it, though. Sirris kinda does best with biology, so I've had to teach myself quite a bit. Just wish Leighton would hire more teachers - Winter's started nodding off in class apparently." 

Yeah, you aren't wrong there. Overworked, underpaid. And that's what separates you from the other student. That empathy you have for others. How you've held onto it for this long despite the torment of your peers never fails to amaze him. 

"I'm excited to head off to uni, though. It'll be way different than here and I won't have to be around people I don't want to see." There's hope I'm your tone. 

"What'd you pick again?" Bailey can barely speak intelligibly with all that chocolate stuffed in his mouth. Like he's ever been one for good manners though - and it seems to entertain you enough when you smile at him.

"I'm still not sure. Psychology's an option, but creative writing or even zoology sound cool, too."

"Zoology? Didn't know animals were your thing." 

"I started thinking about that after that field trip to the forest last month. You know how Winter is trying to find all of those ruins but there's the bears and stuff that could hurt him? It would be good to work to keep people who work there safe by taking care of the animals. Oh, and the fact that they're extinct everywhere else in the UK. They're important." 

Eden would disagree, but his old friend would keep to himself so long as he was left alone out there. 

"That, and well… animals are honest, you know? I don't have to worry if they'll be bad like people. They'll let me know what they want, I just have to learn the body language." 

Bailey snorts, finishing his Yorkie as he nods. "Aye, good point there. They say never work with kids or animals, but I used to work at the dog pound when I was your age and wrestling screaming huskies into the bath tub was easier than these lot." 

You return to being pensive, head cooking to the side. "How many of them do you think will go to uni?" 

How many of them will you have to avoid, you mean, judging by the nervousness that eases back into your voice. 

"Not many. They'll be the better ones who do anyway." 

No more chatting after that. There's not much more to say - you don't exactly go into personal stuff with your students. You've covered what was appropriate to talk about, and that was enough. That's how it always is. It's how it continues in the week to follow, until you graduate. 

He'll miss you. Just a little bit. The chocolate coated apple you leave on his desk with a thank-you note with a voucher for the local Chinese place is a nice touch, too. Did he even tell you he liked that place? He can't remember, but probably. 

Bailey knows why he harbours such feelings toward you. You're the kind of kid he'd hope to have if he was ever unlucky enough to spawn. 

"Good luck, Foxie," he whispers to himself as he eats the apple - and what do you know - it's melted Yorkie chocolate. Maybe you should have added confectionary to your list of things to study. 

A bittersweet heaviness settles in his chest, causing Bailey to rub the area as he frowns. Your note didn't have a social media handle, and now that you'd graduated you could add him on there. He'd like to keep an eye on your progress, but if you'd rather not then he understands. It's a new start for you, and he was a part of a difficult past even if he'd tried to offer safety in the storm. 

He still couldn't help but feel left behind. And not for the first time, he thinks. 

Dwelling on his sorrows won't do, though. It's better to get your demons out before they dig dens: so to Darryl's club it'll be tonight.

Bailey stays to fix his classroom up and get everything he needs for the summer. The kids left screaming for joy - his work hasn't stopped just because it's a holiday. He'll have to check his units and adjust all of his educational bullshit. 

His flat is small, just a single bedroom and a joint kitchen and living room, but it's enough. He guesses. Bailey's younger self would kick him in the balls for ending up here instead of as some big-shot lawyer or whatever he'd had in his head back then. 

Chucking his box of work shit onto his coffee table, Bailey pushes his dark hair back out of his eyes and heads to the shower. He can afford to spend half an hour in there, Leighton had sent the paycheck over. Its just what he needs, the scalding water loosening his muscles up and getting any sweat off of him from the summer heat. 

The outfit he chooses to wear is simple, but it's tailored just right to make his body look it's best. Dress shirt in white, black slacks, Italian loafers, his woolen long coat. He doesn't put it on until he's eaten, though, opting to shovel pasta into his mouth with his towel around his hips. 

It's still bright when he heads to the club even though the hour is late. Bailey finds himself thankful for it, the setting sun keeping some warmth as he waits for the bouncer to thin the line out and let him in. 

The environment inside is energetic, music pulsing through the building as lights are focused on various dancers performing on the stages in various stages of undress. People sit around watching with drinks in one hand and money in the other, ready to throw the cash when they find a dancer that gets them going enough. 

Bailey didn't bring change. Instead, he's off to the bar, taking an empty spot and ordering a whiskey. Then, he waits. Tourists come to this town for the beach (and the underground sex industry), many of them in the club tonight. Many of them good looking and looking for a fuck without ties. Luckily for one of them tonight, so is Bailey. 

His eyes scan the crowd, trying to scope out some cute thing he can make eye contact with and smile at so they'll either come to him or he can go to them. Sadly, the club's occupants tonight seem to be mostly local. And he isn't paying for one of the dancers either - Bailey likes it here and he'd rather not end up banned and have to venture over to Briar's seedy little hole. 

With no luck, Bailey settles for watching the dancers and listening to the conversations of groups around him for a while as he sips his drinks. Yes, multiple. If he can't fuck, he'll get a buzz and go home feeling merry at least. 

That time closes in, his eyes feeling heavy before it even reaches one in the morning. Fucking hell, he's feeling his age these days. He's not fourty yet, but it's coming, and his back especially is feeling it. 

Placing his latest empty glass on the bar, Bailey goes to get up when something catches his eye. Red hair, pretty face, young. Someone he doesn't recognise. He thinks. He's had enough to drink at this point that he can't see the best - but what he can see he likes. 

Now it's just about getting their attention. 

Another drink is ordered - this time a virgin cocktail. He's had enough alcohol, he'd like to be able to walk home without falling over. Then it's back to lounging against the bar, staring at the pretty red-head and willing them to look his way. 

And willing. And willing. And… shit. Yeah, they're not interested. Plus, Bailey needs to piss. 

The crowd goes up in cheers as one of the favourite dancers comes onto center stage, everyone glued to their spots as the music switches to their routine's soundtrack. It fades away as the door to the toilets swings shut behind the dark haired man. There's barely anyone else in there, and the two that are hurry to get out to watch. 

Not wanting to risk having some creep take a photo of his dick while he pisses, Bailey stumbles into a stall rather than over to the urinals. He's surprised to notice a gloryhole in the side of the stall; the owners here don't like that shit happening in the open. And it's a bug fucking hole, too.

A deep sigh leaves his lungs when he relieves himself, his head falling back and his eyelids closing. 

The door squeaks open, footsteps echoing as they make their way over to the stall right beside his own. Swearing under his breath, Bailey keeps an eye out for a phone coming under or above the stall. The stalls don't save you from pervs with cameras, but it does mean you can trap them in the stall and threaten them until they hand the phone over and you can delete what they took. 

"Hey, sorry, I couldn't hear you out there." 

Bailey's eyebrows crease as he shakes his dick and puts it away. Are they talking to him? 

"Yeah, no, I'm in the bathroom now. What did you call for?"

Nope, not for him. Nice voice though, bit of an accent. Definitely not from around here. Could be his tourist. 

"I- really? Really? You promised I'd be able to stay out the full night! You always do this, you always-" 

Oh, yikes. Controlling partner, it sounds like. Bailey knows he should go, but to leave now while they're arguing? To interrupt it? That feels more awkward than to hide and pretend he isn't there until they leave first. 

That accented voice only gets more upset, causing Bailey to cringe and hold his breath. 

"No! No, I'm not doing this anymore. We're done, you fucking freak! Yeah? Yeah? Go ahead, burn my shit, like I care." 

Oh, good for them, he guesses. He can still hear the tears in their voice. Tears that evolve into sobs when they hang up and, by the sound of things, sit down on the toilet seat. Time to go, Bailey thinks. He'll be really quiet about it, though. 

Which he fails at. Immediately. His loafers slip against the tile and his fist flies into the wall. Bailey doesn't hurt himself, but those sobs cease immediately. 

There's some flashes of movement beyond the glory hole, flashes of red hair going past while Bailey remains completely frozen. 

"Are you okay in there?" 

"I should be asking you the same thing," he shoots back. "But yeah, I'm good. Caught myself." 

"Guy from the bar, right? You were looking at me." 

Ah, so they're avoiding the question. Fair enough. He can't blame them for not wanting to tell a stranger about the partner they just broke up with. 

"Yeah, sorry, didn't know you were taken." He grunts as he finally stands back up right, smoothing out his shirt and working on tucking it back in. 

"Were." It's whispered, accompanied by the shuffle of clothes. He'll leave them to it, he supposes. 

"I, ah. Good luck with your-" 

They weren't pulling their pants down to take a piss. They were pulling them down to press their pussy against the glory hole, giving Bailey a good view of it. 

"You have a condom? I'm free now so…" 

Bold little minx, aren't they? Forward with what they want, but responsible enough to ask for a condom. Which Bailey would have forgotten if they hadn't mentioned. 

"Yup," is all he says, the 'p' popping as his pants come down again. Fishing out the condom from his wallet, Bailey keeps the packet held between his teeth as his hands get to work. One wraps around his cock, the other pressing against their pussy and thumbing their clit. 

Such a cute giggle they have, such a cute little cunt they have. Just what he needs to keep make his day after all of the goddamn stress. He's clumsy though, the drink and the two different movements of his hands making his ministrations rough. Not that the minx next door seems to mind. 

He's quick to harden, ripping the condom packet open before rolling it down on himself. 

"Just spit on me, I don't want to wait longer." 

Fucking hell, yeah he can do that. Leaning down, Bailey rolls his tongue around in his mouth, gathering spit before drooling it all over their cunt. And he just can't resist giving it a lick when he picks up how good it smells. 

They laugh again, wiggling their hips so that his tongue teases their clit for a few seconds before he pulls away. Then it's right to what they both want. 

The angle is awkward, standing up so straight his back leans away from the wall as he presses himself in. Completely worth it when he feels how tight and warm it is - even around the condom they feel like heaven. 

Reaching up, Bailey tightly grips the top of the stall dividing wall to keep himself steady while he pumps in and out. Nice and slow to start, nice and slow to find the angle he likes and a rhythm that makes sense. He keeps his head down, watching himself sink in. Such a good sight to commit to memory. 

The minx starts whimpering, gyrating their hips to demand more from Bailey. Strange that the whimper seems familiar, flashing images of a certain fox-like ex-student through his head. And a flash of heat through his lower belly. 

"Fuck," Bailey hisses, shaking his head and trying to focus on the here and now. Completely inappropriate to think of you right now. He's never thought of you that way, and he won't start now. 

But then the minx whimpers again, leaving Bailey with the thought of his little Foxie bent over his desk, taking him rough and hard while they both watch the door from fear of being caught. 

You're gone. He won't see you again. It's not like he'll have to look you in the eye on Monday and face the shame of having had these thoughts. What's the harm in indulging in them when they make his skin feel so aflame? 

"Yes, Sir, more!" 

Oh that fucking helps. Sends his mind reeling about how nice you always were, how you knew what he wanted from you whether it was your behaviour, work, or conversation. It would translate into the bedroom, Bailey knew that much. You'd be such a good little one for him, on your back with your knees held to your chest so he could get a good view of what's between your legs. What he'd be tasting, savouring. 

"So good, Sir, so good," the minx whines, that one fucking title the sweet spot in it all. 

Bailey snarls, pumping hard and fast right into them, right into you, his brain stuck in a world where you're in his apartment, laying in his bed and clinging tightly to him while he makes your anxiety seem out of your body with every hit against the slick, gummy walls of your sweet cunt. 

It creeps up on him, electricity sparking up his spine as his balls tighten. Bailey hasn't come this close to finishing so quickly in years, a realisation that sobers him for a second. His teeth dig into his lower lip, but it doesn't slow down the building explosion that hits him. 

He loses control of his hips, feeling like they're being pushed forward by an unseen force as he buries himself into the minx, spilling spurt after spurt of his seed into the condom. It drains that burst of energy he'd had, his cock slipping out of the minx as he struggles to stay standing. 

"You okay in there, handsome?" There's no mocking in their voice, just amusement. 

"Shit - sorry. I'll finish you off, here-" 

"Nah, it's all good. My phone won't stop going off and if I don't answer that bastard really will burn my shit. I left my mother's necklace over there so I should head over." 

"Don't go alone if you can help it," Bailey grunts, putting his clothes to right again and disposing of his condom in the bin. Next door, he hears the minx putting their clothes to right as well. 

"Yeah, I'll grab my friend on the way out. She's probably out of money at this point anyway." 

Their stall opens, footsteps heading off. Bailey isn't long behind. 

Two seconds. Two seconds of seeing them clearly in the mirrors above the sink as he passes. Two seconds where he sees them fixing their hair - an obviously fake wig that he can make out clearly since the drunkenness has faded. Two seconds where he can make out their face in the bright light of the bathroom.

One extra second when you turn back, panic in your eyes at the knowledge that he'd realised who you are. The panic fades though. Instead, you're smiling in a way he's never seen you smile before. It's confident. Fox-like. 

"Or maybe I'll just head back home since there's no ex-boyfriend. Could go back to yours. Bet you'd like more of a taste, Sir. I'll even hold my legs apart for you." 

Bailey can't move. Can't chase after you and demand answers as you scurry off, your hips swaying in that outfit. Can't believe his cock is hardening again, and that you'd know just what he wants. Just like he'd thought you would. 

Why do you always know what he wants?

[blingblong55]

Wondrous Time- Johnny "Soap" Mactavish

Based on a request:

im gonna claim an emoji RN and it'll be 😻 so anyway drabble on when readers like super duper upset because she went on a terrible date and she goes and just rants and it leads to a gossip session with soap and at the end it turns out they've both been pinning for each other but they, or at least the reader, JUST found out abt their own feelings?

F!Reader, friends to lovers, fluff

Long ago, you met a man Johnny 'Soap' Mactavish, he and you had become very close, always calling or texting each other to rant or vent, as well as the many jokes and lowkey arguments you two had. This time, it was to talk about a recent date you had gone on.

Soap sat legs crossed, some snack in hand and a beer in the other. You were making your coffee in the kitchen because it would be a long talk. Once you sat down, you exhaled loudly.

"So it's that bad?" he asks, beer passing through his throat. You nod, wide-eyed. "The fucking worst!" you said, setting the coffee down. Every weeknight when he had days off, he'd spent Sundays with you. He told you of his failed dates or talking stages with other people, how cringy he'd have to act so they could get the idea he liked them.

"Okay....fucking tell me!" he was eager, not because he liked seeing you hurt, but because this man had motives to celebrate those failed dates. You crossed-legged on the sofa, looking at him, bitting inner lip

"So, you know how you told me that if a man valued me he'd come to the door for me?"

He nods, "Yeah..."

"This fucker honked! fucker didn't even text me, and I was like fuck it, okay.." you take a sip from your coffee, "and then, I get in the car, not even a 'you look pretty' or 'How are you?" NOTHING!" you exclaimed. God did he love it when you would overreact and recreate certain stuff that happened to you. He just nods, taking this information in.

"...We get to the place right...and as we ordered he goes, 'you'll pay'....like he didn't tell me the week before it was his treat!" Soap shakes his head. "So I do because a bitch was hungry and I was not going to get hangry...we eat and whatnot," another pause, "and fucker only talks about himself, not once could I get in a word. 'like this one time I-' and 'wait this reminds me of when i-' ugh!" you roll your eyes, meantime Soap admires this from his place. He chuckles as you try to impersonate such a man's accent.

After about two hours of talking about the date, he and you make jokes about the guy. Looking at his social media and adding more jokes that make you both cry tears of laughter. He pats or in a friendly way hits your thigh when he comes up with a better joke.

When you two had gotten tired from the tummy aches, you sit there and sigh. "At this rate, we will end up alone in retirement homes."

He nods, agreeing with such a statement. Days later, he was back on leave. Sent you a picture of him and some guy in a mask, the photo was blurry as the man in the mask tried to reach for the phone. You chuckle at the face Soap had when the photo was taken.

You watched a movie, "Love, Rosie", in which a man and a woman were close friends, one moves away, the other stays, for years that is how it was, until finally at the end they confess such love for the other. It made you realise one thing, Soap and you had a similar relationship, just not many feelings between the other, or so you thought. For years, Soap tried to make advances on you, always flirting but you were oblivious to it, one day he just settled to being your friend. He knew it was something valuable, having you there as his friend, a painful title, but what can you do.

You looked through photos of you together, the way he stared at you, friends don't look at the other like that, nor do they sit down, giving you their attention when all they want to give you is their heart. It was funny, going through so many heartbreaks when the other clung to hope of maybe being the one you loved. But he waited, he'd wait for years and years to have a chance with who he knows is the one he was meant to be with.

Maybe the clues were all there, maybe you needed help finding them, finding him. But after nearly 9 years of friendship, maybe it was time to turn your best friend into the man you know you deserve, finally.

He returned back to you, talking about how he embarrassed himself at a bar while deployed because he thought a girl was finally into him. "Maybe I was delusional, but c'mon, you just don't play with me like that" he sits down.

"hey, when you said we'd be old and alone...would you ever visit me?" he asks, voice more serious. He had been thinking about you as well, looking at how your soft hands fit with his calloused ones, like a puzzle. "Just a thought of course"

"I see us...arguing over a meal" you chuckle. "I'm being serious, think we could ever be like the couple from The Notebook?"

Your favourite film, the one you cried in his arms to, "Unfair Johnny!" His hands rubbed your back, trying to calm you down, "C'mon bonnie, life happens, they loved each other, and they died together," and you cried even more. Forehead kisses multiply, "You've seen this over 20 times, it's always the same ending." he comments.

"Maybe this time she remembers him, maybe they leave that place and watch their grandkids grow." sniffles from you, head buried on his chest, voice muffled. He couldn't help but chuckle, "Oh you poor wee thing," his hand on your head, "life isn't about maybe's, do you always say 'maybe' to everything?" he looks down at you. "Maybe" you softly speak, "my poor little bonnie," he kisses your forehead.

"We'll die?!"

"No, no no, I meant...grow old together, maybe...even create memories like theirs..." in that moment, you knew what he was getting at.

"Maybe" you softly say.

A wide smile on him. The maybe's that could end up in letters he'd address to you, the nights he can hold you, watch movies and cuddle, have you hold his hand. Life is full of maybe's, but not with him, no, no more. It was filled with yes's and no's.

A/N: think it's pretty good...anyways...hope ya liked it!

isn't it just so pretty to think, All along there was some, invisible string, Tying you to me?

[chuuyasheaven]

~“♥︎𝐖𝐫𝐨𝐧𝐠 𝐧𝐚𝐦𝐞, 𝐡𝐮𝐧. 𝐏𝐮𝐧𝐢𝐬𝐡𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐞 !♥︎’’~

𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲; Some of Dazai reacting to you calling out someone else’s name drabble !

𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬/𝐏𝐥𝐨𝐭; Overstimulation; Edging; Spanking; creampie (i think); Mentions of “darlin(g)’’, “angel’’, “hun(ny)’’ , “love(ly)’’, “Slut/Whore’’; idk more..

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐞𝐫/𝐏𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠; Dazai x Reader

𝐅𝐫𝐨𝐦 𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫𝐬 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐭; First, i thought of it during math class lol. Maybe there will happen more and i didn’t type it in warnings...otherwise,,enjoy!

(I made this myself ! Did i eat?? *not like Dazai will in this fic hehe*)

𖢻 ~ Dazai Osamu ~ 𖢻

[ Dazai won’t like it. He’ll make sure you won’t do it again. ]

You were totally worn out. After something that felt like hours of Dazai edging you, you were ready to cry.

“Hey belladonna, do you think you could take one more?’’ he asked you. Looking up to him with glossy eyes, he felt his cock harden. Just as you tried saying “no’’ he started pumping three fingers into your pussy without any hesistation. There ! Finally,, the tears !

Dazai loves seeing you cry of pleasure, it weirdly turns him on. But since you managed so many rounds anyway, he might fuck you right after this. Coming closer to your release, Dazai said; “You can cum this time.’’ you knew now it’s time. Climaxing you screamed and you quote;

“Oh my ! Yes, Chuuya !!’’ arching your back.

Dazai stopped moving his fingers completely. Which you didn’t notice at first. Looking up while coming down from your high, you saw how dark his face went. Like my skin LMAO.

Getting kinda scared thinking you screwed up a bit by calling out his enemy’s name, you decided to apologize.

“D-dazai..i’m sorry i-’’ “Shut the fuck up.’’ he hissed, pissed. You really did go kind of far. When you try again, you felt your eyes get teary suddenly; “I-i’m really sorry..i didn’t m-mean *hic*..mean to, Dazai ! I swear..-’’ “Get on your fucking fours. I won’t repeat, bitch.’’ he interupted you again. Quickly doing so in fear of pissing him of more, you saw his face kinda lighten.

*smack*! ~

You felt the harsh smack against your ass, moaning in pain you try to look back but he-

*smack*! ~ -he did it again. He hit your ass again. This sharp like pain made your upper body fall into the sheets. Hearing sigh in a tone of dissapointment, you tried getting up again. Still shaking a little, he- *smack*~! -ed your ass the third time. Failing to hold yourself longer, letting your upper body fall into the sheets again. As Dazai wanted to smack you again, he heard your little sobs.

“Are you seriously crying now? Kind of patethic, my love. Thinking you could call out his name without a punishment? Truly patethic,,even funny in your state.’’ he said.

You didn’t look up to face him because you felt lowkey embarrassed to you. Dazai started laughing, confused you do look back while wiping away your tears.

“Oh my, let me get this clear. You call out Chuuya’s name out like a total whore and then can’t handle the punishment you should’ve thought of?? Hilarious, bella, really. But just incase so this will never happen again, i’ll fuck my name into your brain, got it? And be glad i didn’t just leave you here. Enough talking now.’’ Dazai stated, but you on the other hand? Oh no. He was already edging you for almost forever and the spanking made you even weaker..

But guess what???

He doesn’t fucking care.

He will fuck you until your passing out if it’s needed.

Dazai will fuck you stupid to hear his name out of your mouth before passing out from overstimulation.

“N-no..please..D-dazai! ’M sorry..! But i-i can’t handle another round please..!’’ you cried from exhaustion.

But guess what??

He doesn’t care because he won’t let you get away like that.

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

I’m also black so don’t dox me plz xx 💋

[theeminentlyimpractical]

ALRIGHT I HAVE SOME CROWLEY THOUGHTS that are LONG and UNHINGED buckle up kids //// MILD SPOILERS(?)

Essentially - knowing Crowley's angelic rank recontextualizes a lot of the first season. Hat tip to @moonyinpisces for inspiring this madness with their Pre-Fall Thoughts.

BLUF/shitpost TL;DR:

God machinated the not-pocalypse, including manipulating both our idiot angels (this is canon, fight me)

Crowley Fell out of necessity in The Plan, knows that as a higher ranking Angel and both resents God and still believes in Her Plan

When foiling the Antichrist initially fails, my man has a crisis of Faith, thinks God has abandoned him yet AGAIN, and is like WELP FREE WILL IS ON THE TABLE NOW BABYYYYY 

LET’S RUN AWAY ANGEL NO ONE IS WATCHING THIS IS MY ACTUAL SELF HELLO NICE TO MEET YOU

Aziraphale, having been a heavenly plebe*, still believes in the hierarchy of Heaven and blah blah blah

Crowley, still a Believer at heart, makes one last plea to the Almighty OR HE WILL RUN AWAY SO HELP HERSELF

My Guy is successfully manipulated by God into staying and also rescuing Book Girl’s Book

Great Plan fails successfully 

Oh. OH.

They survive thanks to another divine intervention.

Crowley muses on the ACTUAL Big One, which like, my dude, how do you KNOW?  👀

Aziraphale is entirely unaware of this whole process and is fully on team Free Will and is all “our bookshop” this and “our car” that; meanwhile

Crowley is now a full time existentialist and part time Sad Keanu because if his entire existence is predetermined, why do anything, including love?

*this also makes it super fucking funny that Aziraphale insists on standards. Crowley is quiet luxury. Aziraphale is nouveau riche.

ACTUAL META WITH CANON CITATIONS (yes the above is the short version):

I’ve always assumed that Crowley falling was part of The Ineffable Plan, similar to how it was necessary for Aziraphale to give away his sword. God accepts Aziraphale’s babbling excuses, and 6,000 years later the sword shows up in the hands of War. When he returns to Heaven, he is reprimanded only for losing his body - the sword has ineffably disappeared from Heaven’s requisition roles. He HAD give it away in order for it - and him - to play their respective parts in The Great Plan.

And that was thwarted only by Aziraphale and Crowley collaborating for the good of humanity, and (selfishly) for themselves, rather than angels and demons. For it to work, there needed to be an agent of the Ineffable Plan on each side.

We now know Crowley was fairly high ranking in heaven. Would he have had insight on the Plan, or some part of it? Or merely assumed, truly believed, as he still seems to, that they would all play a part? We also know he is somehow wrong about how the hierarchy of Heaven works - what if his error was in assuming his role in the Plan meant maintaining his status as an Angel? [EDIT GIVEN NEW INFO: seems plausible he went to God and asked for a stay of execution on the Earth, and he got it, whether knowingly or not.] And instead God sends him away to fulfill his role in Hell, when that comes to pass. It could be why he’s not too concerned with the day to day of demoning - it will all work out as intended, in the End.

Does he know, suspect, or just truly still believe that they were meant to thwart the Apocalypse, which is why he is so confident in their cockamamie scheme? And when that apparently fails, he feels betrayed by God again, because the Plan he felt entrusted with seems to have been scrapped. He rages: 

“For the record, great pustulant mangled bollocks to the Great Blasted Plan!”

That may be why he’s so ready to run off with Aziraphale in that moment. If the Plan is off, then he can finally make his own choices, and he chooses Aziraphale and freedom. Aziraphale doesn’t choose him back, and Crowley moves to run away anyway, with one final plea to God to not let this come to pass, a Psalm 22 of his own.

Crowley is the only demon we see who still seems distraught over his Fall, rather than out for vengeance. He resents God for damning him, but often seems to believe in Her ineffable game.  He still addresses his final pleas directly to the Almighty -

“God, you listening? Okay, I know you’re testing them, you said you were going to be testing them. You shouldn’t test them to destruction. Not to the end of the world.”

Only he never leaves, because of a fire started by a gust of wind and the sheet music for Her favorite musical. 

And then they do thwart it, and survive, thanks to Agnes’ note fluttering inexplicably right into Aziraphale’s hand. So many little details demonstrate divine intervention. 

So now what’s the Plan? Crowley was ready to run away when the Plan was off, but now? He muses on the nature of The Big One before they dine at the Ritz. He says it lightly, but how does he have this insight?

What, exactly, is their role in the Second Coming? Because, it appears, they do have one.

Aziraphale seems blissfully unaware of the divine intervention in successfully averting the Apocalypse. He is now All In on Their Side, finally feeling free. Crowley, on the other hand, seems painfully aware. My man had the full free will he finally grasped in that bandstand burned away in a bookshop fire. 

Do I think he necessarily knows their exact role in this? No. And they still have free will in the small things, naturally. But I wonder if we will see Crowley resigned to his (and Aziraphale’s) fate being predetermined, a foregone conclusion. So why do anything, including love, if in the end, nothing really matters. 

[aurumacadicus]

Hmm! Some thoughts. Idk where this came from or where it’s going.

—

“Was it funny to you?” Tony hissed, venom dripping from his words. He ripped open the drawers of his wardrobe, clawing through for his oldest clothes.

Steve let his hands fall to his sides, feeling helpless. “No,” he answered faintly, guilt curling heavy and sour in his gut.

“What a funny game,” Tony continued, throwing a shirt into his leather satchel with more force than necessary. “Let’s have Tony make a big fool of himself! Let’s let Tony think he’s got a chance to make things better and then whip the rug out from under him!”

“That’s not what happened,” Steve said desperately, because it wasn’t. It might have looked that way now, but it hadn’t been what he’d intended. “We thought your ideas were good, Tony.”

“Let’s let Tony think he has any fucking control of his life!” Tony shouted, throwing his hands up. “And then let’s let him find out we’re all liars and he was an idiot, that he’s just as stupid as everyone said he was—”

Steve finally stepped forward, grabbing one of his arms and yanking him around so he could finally make eye contact with him. His heart lurched when he saw the tears rolling down Tony’s cheeks, even as he continued to glare up at him mulishly, but he didn’t let it deter him, jaw setting before he whispered, “You’re not stupid. You’re not an idiot, Tony.”

“Don’t touch me,” Tony spat, jerking his arm free and taking a step back. “You don’t ever get to touch me again.”

“That wasn’t a lie,” Steve snarled, fighting the urge to advance him. “None of the times I kissed you or touched you were a lie.”

“I don’t believe that. You’re a liar,” Tony snapped back. “All of you are.”

“And you think we want someone who believes that about us to rule us?” Steve asked, finally letting some acid of his own into his tone. “You think you could rule us, when you know you wouldn’t have given us a chance if you knew about us?”

“I guess we’ll never know,” Tony said, voice flattening. He went very carefully still, the only indication he was upset the tears still falling down his face. “I’m leaving.”

“You don’t have the right to leave,” Steve reminded him sharply. “We’re to be married, remember?”

“I’m meant to marry a war chief from the northern tribes,” Tony said, emotionless. “Not you.”

“You know I’m the one the elders meant,” Steve began, heated.

“That was before you insinuated yourself in my life and made me think I had the choice not to,” Tony cut in, before he could get worked up and shout over him. He tipped his head back to meet Steve’s eyes. “You’re so mean,” he said after a pause, voice cracking, and Steve felt all the fight leave him at once. “You told me if I could figure out a way to force Hydra back without your people, you’d break the engagement. You didn’t tell me it was an impossible task.”

“I thought, if anyone could do it, it would be you,” Steve admitted quietly. “It wasn’t a trick. I thought you could do it.”

Tony shook his head. “Well, I failed, and now your people won’t respect me anyway.”

“They will if I tell them to,” Steve offered.

Tony just looked at him for a moment, frowning, before he whispered another wounded, “Liar.” Then he turned, lifting his arm to wipe his face across his sleeve, and went back to packing.

Steve hovered, feeling helpless, then dipped his head in agreement and turned to leave the room to give him privacy.

[androgynouspenguinexpert]

babe wake up androgynouspenguinexpert posted another character analysis from the train during her finals week because she's banned herself from drawing anything new

its time to tackle vega, because he's cool.

all of the characters carry a unique narrative theme or motif - the importance of self worth for gavin, impostor syndrome for asher, consent and control for marcus, etc. vega's theme is one of, if not my favourite: nature vs nurture, learned behaviour, and the morality of necessary evil.

vega doesn't start out as a moustache-twirling villain, but he's certainly hurting people for selfish reasons. however - the line between right and wrong starts to blur even across vega's first few appearances. as he points out himself later, vega has essentially created a closed loop of suffering to feed from. yeah, he got someone roofied and kidnapped, which is bad, but he's limited his victims to two people. ivan and baby. there's even a case to be made about baby's safety - ivan is volatile and incredibly dangerous (breaking either glass or ceramic with his bare hands???), but we never see him physically harm baby other than restraining them.

vega's age (pin this) has granted him an incredible level of experience and therefore intellect. he's probably the smartest piece on the board right now, save maybe for brachium (but he's sort of on a board of his own anyway). vega knows exactly what he is. he feeds on suffering and agony, and there's nothing that can change that. equipped with this knowledge, vega has managed to streamline the production of agony without really getting his hands dirty, and basically guaranteed the survival of both people involved.

then in comes caelum. he accidentally discovers vega's operation, and immediately runs to freelancer for help. vega proceeds to kick the shit out of caelum for snitching, and almost kills him. again, this is bad. i'm definitely not defending vega's actions here - but think of it from his point of view: he's set up a way of passively producing agony and is minding his own business. a daemon who is 24 (at time of writing) stumbles across this, and immediately threatens to shut it down as well as get him arrested. that's like a toddler walking in on a meth lab and running to the cops. vega probably could drop everything and relocate to avoid the department, but that would take a lot more time and effort than just soccer kicking the toddler over a fence. so he tries, and fails, because gavin steps in. gavin being able to overpower vega - despite being potentially hundreds of thousands of years younger - speaks to the inefficiency of vega's agony system, and he's smart enough to be well aware of that. agony (in a relatively nice part of california, anyway) isn't really a renewable resource like lust or joy are. harming someone, whether physically or otherwise, enough to fuel vega for any significant amount of time would either permanently damage or kill that person. that's not sustainable.

and then vega gets arrested. the human government asks a being probably older than civilisation to pinkie promise he'll stay in a little concrete box for a while. vega explains later that he doesn't believe in unnecessary violence - unless he decides that it is necessary, i guess - so he probably went along with his arrest fairly peacefully. there's another analysis in here somewhere about where (or from whom...?) the department learned its containment methods, considering they haven't really figured out aria yet.

but anyway - vega gets tossed into maximum security. and even from behind the ward, he's finding subtle (and less subtle) ways to stir the pot, especially with his new department-assigned therapist (another quick aside that's too good for the tags; did anyone else find it super fucking funny that vega's first real friend on elegy is his therapist?). i think vega feels neutral about elegy, leaning ever so slightly towards liking it, but he knows what he is. a demon. vega never was, and never will be, human. that's why he never audibly speaks (which is a fantastic detail) - he's rejecting the most basic form of modern human communication. language. yes, he knows english, but he's probably never spoken a single word out loud. vega's fear of daemons growing away from their roots is also why he starts testing for cracks in the warden's façade - he's worried that daemons are starting to assimilate a little too much. they're losing their identity as a separate species, and losing sight of the sacrifices made during the cacophony. and he's right - the cacophony has entirely faded into myth. his suffering and loss has now been turned into a fable; a cautionary tale about dealing with forces beyond our control.

next is the escape, which is both interesting and sick as hell. vega proves that he's not a fan of violence for the sake of violence by mincing some solitaires, tossing an unconscious warden over his shoulder, and escaping the detention facility. this is vega's first real selfless action. he definitely could have left the warden to the solitaires, but chooses to save them because of their compassion towards him. this shows a little of vega's internal struggle - he's never been around unconditional like, let alone love, because he doesn't need to. he needs to be unlikeable. manipulative. cutthroat. these are the things that keep him safe, but more importantly fed. we know from his imperium counterpart (who will eventually be getting a post of his own) that vega wants to be wanted. as much as he denies it and dodges the topic when it's brought up, vega is not intrigued by the warden because he can toy with them. he's drawn to them because they're willing to understand. they're hesitant, but for now they're giving vega the benefit of the doubt. he's never been given that before.

he also starts to wear down the warden's already fragile sense of morality with the kidnapped department officer. although his methods are very questionable, vega is correct again when he explains that he doesn't really have a choice. he won't hurt the guard, and the guard can't hurt him or the warden, but will keep spewing out hate that vega can feed on for the forseeable future. he's killing two birds with one stone as well - the warden is an inchoate. it's far easier for vega to track down (read: kidnap) one racist than to juggle the emotional intake of two people.

i don't think vega is just trying to break the warden out of their department mould for the sake of shenanigans, nor does he want to return to the glory days - vega knows that humanity and daemonkind are now inseperable after the imprisonment of the sovereigns.

he just doesn't want daemons - genuinely good people trying to make the best of a not fantastic situation - to lose sight of what they are. what they used to be. not anarchists, or pawns for the department. starchildren.

forgive me. i tend to wax poetic.

[slashisms]

Slashers First Time Seeing S/O’s Nipple Piercings

X

Minors DNI.

Michael Myers: Congratulations, you have his undivided attention, which is bad news. You should have locked your bedroom door. He would have barged in anyway and you would’ve had to buy another lock, but you could’ve delayed the discovery of his new favorite toy. You wouldn’t escape him for hours that night. Make your bras scarce or they’re going missing. He’s 100% Free the Nipple, enlightened by the sight of iridescent barbells running through your buds. Hope you like having your boobs pinched and twisted by his rough, massive hands. You complain that they’re sensitive, but he enjoys the noise you make because of it. It’s also his new favorite place to cum, don’t bother trying to stop him. Just stop protesting, it turns him on. He starts to steal jewelry from high end stores because you’re obviously concerned about metal quality of jewelry coming from Michael, who is frequently a dirty, bloody mess. You look up the engraving on a pair and the comma in the price tag seems like compensation enough.

Jason Vorhees: Absolutely scandalized. He didn’t even know people could put jewelry there! Practically faints when you describe the process. You let them stab you with a needle twice? Why?! The only one you’ll have to encourage to look at you. He’s suspiciously scarce whenever you’re undressing, so you may have ambushed him. You push your chest into his view and say, “Because they’re pretty!” He glances down at the gold jewel encrusted hearts encasing your nipples and helplessly agrees. He will not touch them, much too afraid to hurt you. Secretly loves when you play with them, especially while riding him. Confront him on his not-so covert glances (It’s adorable how he can’t manage to peek even with a mask.) and he’ll go missing, sometimes for days and come back covered in blood.

Bo Sinclair: He’s speechless, but not for long. It’s a sweltering day and you refused to be anywhere near a bra or put on more than a flimsy tank top. The sight of you bouncing down the steps, breasts swaying and encircled in two hoops had him trailing off mid greeting, eyes darting to your chest and face like he couldn’t believe his eyes. He never would have expected that type of piercing on someone like you, so sweet and shy. Because he’s a bastard, it doesn’t take long for him to start in on the sex shaming. You roll your eyes and make an offhand comment that if he ever wanted to see you with your top off, he better shut up. It’s almost funny, how quickly he not-quite apologizes. Unfortunately for many dead feminists, he seduces you into fucking on the table where you’re much more amenable to his filthy drawl when he’s got your legs on his shoulders, drilling into you mercilessly. If you cum when he calls you his “dirty fucking whore,” that’s no one’s business, but your own.

Brahms Heelshire: Let’s be honest, he saw them long before you knew he existed. He’s spying on you undressing before a shower, because he’s a pervert, but also British (Derogatory) so he’s repressed about it. Nice girls don’t pierce those places, he tries to tell himself. He fails miserably and jerks off furiously, picturing the sparkle of the opal butterflies sculpting your pebbled nipple. When he finally gets to touch you, he’s obsessed, constantly begging you to let him get his mouth on them. He’ll beg you to sit in his lap while he rocks into you, face buried in your chest and lips wrapped around your nipple. His tongue curls greedily over the jewelry, hips pummeling desperately into you until you’re both cumming. Then he insists you cock warm him, unwilling to stop sucking and biting marks into your skin. You will have to pry him off of you because he’ll whine pitifully and ignore your complaints about being sore. He’ll keep his mouth latched onto you for hours if you let him, grinding against you and playing with your clit. The man has a Mommy kink visible from space so if you’re willing to indulge him, he’s a insufferable brat. Good Luck.

Billy Loomis & Stu Macher: Literally fist fighting each other to get to you. [“Move, bitch!” Tiktok]. You watch, amused and a little horrified when they start shoving the other out of the way, trying to get their hands on you first. Your earlier reluctance as you looked over your outfit and the very obvious flower shaped jewelry poking through your crop top was completely unnecessary. The two of them are Peak ‘My girl can wear whatever she wants, I can fight” Energy and are constantly encouraging you to dress more promiscuously. They hadn’t been expecting this though, not with how polite and quiet you were. Despite being shorter, Billy gets to you first due to the vicious punch he delivers to Stu’s kidney. “Babe.” He starts, looking at you before stopping and glaring at your boobs, fingers crawling under your top and caressing the warm metal.

You notice Stu creeping behind you and put a stop to it, hyper aware of their intention to strip you. You regret your stubbornness twenty minutes later when they’re fondling you in public, grinning evilly when a passerby sees them and looks away. They’re fascinated. (And may have been on the fence about killing you before this. Now, you’re way too interesting. Congrats, I guess, you’ve got two killers wrapped around your finger.)

[thequeenofthewinter]

I Am a Writer

I had a whole thing planned for when I came back and finally started posting chapters again, but now that I sit here at my keyboard, I find words are failing me. (Funny, as what I do here is write.)

Anyway, let's get personal. Recently, I had taken a break from writing, slowing down and trying to find out what I was doing again. It was a difficult decision to take a break. While I really needed it, it took me too long to figure out that this was what I needed to do because I was afraid. Afraid that I wouldn't come back and that I would stop writing and that I wouldn't be a writer anymore.

In the two years I have been doing this, I found great comfort and even greater friendships, and I was scared that I would lose that, and then where would I be? Sure, I would be the same person, but writing had become such an important hobby to me and brought so much joy to my life that I couldn't imagine my life without it.

Cool story, bro, but why are you talking about all of this?

I don't pretend I know everything or that this blog is to give you some divine advice which will solve all of your problems. I'm not one of those blogs. However, I thought I would talk about it and share my experience with you because we don't really talk about those things. We post our accomplishments. We talk about how to write. We share our writing. But what about the tough stuff in-between?

You are not alone. I think sometimes we forget with the outward facing mask of social media (if that is even what the Hellsite can be called) that we all go through rough patches, and it's okay--and we can talk about it.

Recently, I had been talking to @oblivions-dawn @mareenavee @dirty-bosmer and @paraparadigm about a lot of these things as I have been trying to sift and sort through the question of: what the hell am I doing? (Thank you friends, your talks and support in general have been invaluable.)

I didn't know if I was going to quit. I had hoped not, but I had doubts in myself. What if this next chapter took forever? What if everyone left? What if I disappeared into the sunset and never wrote another word ever again? I had a lot of feelings and made a lot of assessments in the past month. A lot of them I had already known, I just forgot about them.

Taking a break is okay. You're still a writer unless you don't want to be, and the hobby will always be there for you to pick up again. Actually, taking a break has made the process better and helped me to reflect on some things, such as:

I am not a machine.

Taking more time is not only good for mental health, but also for the writing process.

You are not beholden to the original rules you set for yourself. Things change. (Going forward, I am saying "fuck off" to my schedule.)

It's okay to have these doubts, and I think we all have them at times.

I really do love what I am doing, and all writing is worth it if it brings you joy.

Learning and reflecting on writing are important parts in the lifecycle of writing in and of itself. You don't have to keep writing, and you don't have to be a machine to be a writer. You don't have to post. You don't have to keep a schedule. There is no "fear of missing out" on anything because it's all there and waiting for you when you're ready.

I'm ready.

I am a writer, and I posted my first new chapter after my break.

I'm really excited about what happens next.