#companies ONLY care what they can get away with and how CHEAP they can get away with it

[darkwood-sleddog]

been talking about it a lot on my personal blog, but the whole AI as a replacement for creative work makes me feel sick to my stomach and i just needed to share my feelings with the wider audience i have on this blog. like physically it makes me feel ill.

[mrsparrasblog]

You're Losing Me Pt.3 POLY 141 x Reader

TW: angst, mentioned rape, mentioned drug abuse, violence, alcoholism, crying, manipulation

prev part first part. next part

Wrapped around with a blanket, you lay on the couch singing all the breakup songs you know, pathetically. You didn't talk to your friends, called in sick at work, and haven't left the apartment since it happened. The only thing you had was Winston, the Taylor Swift vinyl on repeat that Johnny gifted you, and a cheap red wine that tasted like ass. You ordered some pizza so that something else keeps you company. When the bell rang, you didn't bother to put on a nice outfit. You went out with your tangled hair, your puffy swollen eyes, and Simon's ratty t-shirt that you couldn’t bother to throw away; it just smelled like comfort to you.

You were surprised when you saw, instead of the delivery guy, Kyle in front of your house. He looked so unlike Kyle. He didn't have that cheeky smile you loved, and his clean pretty boy aesthetic was gone. His white shirt was full of blood, his jaw bruised, and your heart broke. That was your man - was.

"Do you want to collect your stuff?" You asked, it hurt you so bad to ask, but you needed to be strong. You didn't want to be like your mom who stayed with your Dad despite how often he cheated on her. You were strong and independent before you met them, you can reach this again.

"Babe, please."

"Don't do this to me, Kyle," don't make me love you, don’t make me forgive you.

"Can I see at least Winston?" He asked, and that was a thing you couldn't deny. It was his dog too after all. You remembered how you rescued him together from a dog shelter. Everyone else would have said no, but Kyle loved animals just as much as you do. So you adopted that corgi, and you can regret many things but not your loyal dog.

"Come in," you said, not bothering to apologize for the mess.

When Winston saw him, he jumped immediately on Kyle, and this made you smile for the first time in days. "What happened to your face?"

"Got in some fights around the base."

"Kyle, you never get into fights with coworkers. Look, just because we're not a thing anymore doesn’t mean you need to sabotage your own life. Things like breakups happen, and I'm sure you will find a lovely girl." Your heart ached just thinking about them with another girl, all sharing and loving how they loved you.

"Don't want anyone else."

"Kyle."

"I mean it, I love you, and not just a bit. I know you're the right one. Tell me what you want, and I'll do it. Want me to quit the military? Easy. Want to punish me? Hurt me? I don’t care. Want to never touch me again? Fine, I'll live my life without sex just to have you. Want me to marry you? Done. Why wait? Do you want me to kill that slag? I'll do it. You don’t understand it; there is no such thing as too much for you. There isn’t a thing I wouldn’t do for you."

You were too stunned to speak, but by the look in his eyes, you knew he meant every word of it. He really loved you. But how could you trust him again? And John, you knew Kyle loved John, maybe not as much as you, but you were no one to separate them. That wasn’t fair.

"Let me clean the blood from your nose, Kyle." You stood up, ignoring the things he said, and went to the bathroom, grabbing alcohol and one of Kyle's spare t-shirts, inhaling the scent as you sobbed into it.

"Love—"

"Let me clean you."

He picked you up, sitting you down at the sink, where you slowly cleaned his wounds. Your breath felt heavy every second you got near his lips.

"Tell me you don't love me, and I'll never bother you again."

"Kyle, I can't lie to you."

You cleaned him and gave him his new shirt, but you couldn’t let him leave.

"Kyle, I love you, but I love all of you so much that I can't let you choose between me and John. You love him, I know that, and it's okay. I understand."

"John didn’t cheat on you; it was Johnny."

"Don't lie to me."

"I'd never lie to you. He just knew we couldn’t live without you, and you know how selfless he is."

"I thought he cheated." You started to sob again. "I screamed at him, told him how much I hate him, and he wasn’t at fault." You felt like a monster for your feelings.

"He understands."

"How does he hold up?" You knew John was never someone who shared your feelings.

"Locked himself in the office, drinking for days, doesn’t even speak with me."

"Let me fix this."

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

John thought he was hallucinating when you went into his office with the spare key you had. It was too good to be true to see his angel again, but you weren’t real. He needed to stop drinking.

"I'm so sorry, John," you said over and over again, walking towards him, where you sat in your reserved place, on his lap, and slowly removing the glass out of his help. "I'm sorry, John. I don’t hate you, I’d never hate you."

"Cheated on you, deserve it."

"I know it was Johnny."

"Lie."

"Kyle told me."

"Oh."

"Can you forgive me, John?"

"Of course, lovely," he laled and smiled.

"Let me get you in your room, okay, and sober you up." He nodded, and you brought him to his room. You still weren’t sure what to do. Will you forgive them? Will you forgive Johnny?

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

"Lea mah room, slag," Johnny screamed at the medic. He had enough of her and her manipulative acts, how she went into his room and touched him in training. It was enough.

"Don't be so harsh; I'm your girlfriend, after all," she smiled. She was sick fucking delusional.

"Youre nae mah burd ah tellt ye this often enough," he pressed his hands together, his knuckles white from rage. If he was a worse man, he’d kill her on the spot. But he needed her to make a mistake, so there would be proof of her lying.

"Not so aggressive, Johnny, this isn’t good for our baby."

"Are you mental? There is no fucking baby. You raped me three days ago. Aren’t you supposed to be a medic and know how this shit works?"

"There will be, and then we'll be happy."

"You're sick. This will never happen."

"Oh, there will, or you know I could tell anyone how you raped me and dared to kill me after your girlfriend found out."

"No one will believe you."

"They will."

And there was a knock on the door. He left her in the room, telling her it was probably only a rookie. He was surprised when he saw you. Even though you looked broken, you were still the most precious thing in his life. He wanted to hug you, tell you the truth.

"I know it was you, Johnny," you started to cry you never thought Johnny would do such a thing to you."

"Hen, please."

You hugged him tight, which caught him by surprise, but he held you through it. "Tell me why, Johnny. Please, let me know what I did to deserve this." His heart broke with every word you said. He desperately wanted to explain to you that you could never do anything wrong in his life, but the shame ate him up. Would you understand? Would you believe him?

"Tell me you won't do it again, Johnny. Tell me you regret it, that it didn't mean a thing. I'll forgive you, please, Johnny."

"Look, hen—" But before he could finish his sentence, the medic left the room wearing only one of his shirts.

"What are you doing here? I thought you’d broken up with that bore."

You noticed the shirt, the ruffled hair, and the bracelet you gifted Johnny that she wore. "Johnny, why is she wearing your shirt? Why does she have my bracelet?"

"Love, don't believe—"

"Oh, you're not only a bore, you're also dense, aren't you?"

That was enough to finally break you. You walked away, screaming at Johnny that he should leave you alone, running into Simon on your way out.

"Luv?"

"Stay away from me, Si," and he respected your wish, giving you the time to heal you need. He finally found Johnny in a screaming match with the medic. When she saw him, she gave Johnny a peck on his cheek and left with a sly smile.

Johnny was never a man to cry until that day. He didn't know how his life went so downhill in a few days.

"Johnny?"

"Go away, Lt."

"Johnny, tell me what's wrong."

"You wouldn't believe me. No one would."

"Let me decide that. Let's get you in your room and talk." His heart broke seeing Johnny like that, and he knew whatever it was, he would fix it for him.

[yandere-fetish]

Yandere Patient X Female Reader

Part One

warnings: disrespect, rude, slow burn

Yandere Patient is a highly dignified CEO on his way to one of his many companies from the vast countryside. He's reading the newspaper and catching up on the latest magazines, detailing the latest hot topics and debates. The indifferent expression paired with wire framed glasses only made his handsome face more attractive.

The driver comes to a stop at a stop sign while looking both ways. There's no one around. He turns right to drive towards the city.

Yandere Patient reaches for a small drink out of the mini fridge, then the car jerks.

*SKIIIRRRTT*

*CRASH*

Yandere Patient is knocked out as his legs are disfigured in a gory way. The pain was unbearable, but Yandere Patient was in no condition to feel the pain due to the concussion. His eyes flutter shut as the driver is crawling out the front seat, attempting to check on his master.

Yandere Patient scowls at his uncle's suggestion. He doesn't need anyone to take care of him. He doesn't need an extra person supervising the way he moves or watching his every breath.

Yandere Patient didn't need a babysitter. He's a damn grown man, for God's sake!

"They're not a babysitter. They would live in the servants quarters and tend to your needs. Just treat them like a maid. They would only aid you when you need them to—"

"*scowls* And I won't need them!"

"*sigh* Nephew, there's just some things you need to understand in life, mainly that there's no 'I' in 'team'. You cannot do everything by yourself."

"Tch. Watch me! *wheels away in his new wheelchair*"

"Jenna, *sighs and stares at a picture of his sister* what am I going to do with this kid?"

This is where you come in.

You show up at noon, ready to meet your newly appointed patient after hearing so many coworkers complain about how aggressive and snarky this patient has been since joining their agency as a client.

You really hadn't wanted to take this patient under your wing but since the agency was willing to fire anyone who didn't at least try, so you had to.

The sooner you come, the sooner you can leave.

So, here you are, standing on the doorstep of a luxurious mansion with a thirty-foot driveway. You'd never dream of living in a place such as this, let alone working in one.

Funny how you'd be doing both for a while.

When the door opens, you're greeted by a tall and broad-shouldered with a friendly smile. He welcomes you in while telling you, in detail, about his nephew's accident and his.. preferences.

At first, you're shocked and confused, but nonetheless you agree.

"I'm (Y/N) (L/N) from True Home Care. It's nice to meet you, Mister—"

"*scowls and ignores you* I thought they sent the last one?"

"Now, now, nephew. She's come all the way here. The least you can do is try her out for a day."

"I told you and that cheap company that I don't need anyone's help! I'll be fine on my own!"

"Just give her a chance. I'm certain it'll work out this time—"

*glares at his uncle and wheels away*

"*sighs* I apologize, Mrs. (L/N). He's moody, as you can tell. He should come around with some coaxing."

"I.. I'm sure he's not very open to strangers. I'd feel uncomfortable opening my home to one, especially several. And it's Miss— I'm not married. *smiles*"

"You're not? *clicks his tongue at the thought of an idea* I apologize again. Let me show you to your room for the time being."

It's been a a week since you first arrived at Yandere Patient's home. You've quickly become used to your room that's the size of a living room with a comfy as fuck bed to go with it. The 65" TV was definitely a nice addition, and let's not get started on the en suite bathroom and the walk-in closet.

To say you were happy was an understatement.

Now, though, you had wished you were still in your comfy bed instead of in the kitchen, gathering Yandere Patient's favorite tea.

In the sitting room was Yandere Patient and his uncle. They were once again discussing your presence in the mansion, as if you weren't in the other room. The loud noises made you flinch from time to time, but you just reminded yourself that whatever happens will happen. You've done your job well and that's all that matters.

When you're finished with the tea, you serve Yandere Patient, silently keeping yourself to the side while the two argue again.

After the uncle strikes a nerve into Yandere Patient, he walks out of the house. Yandere Patient is so pissed that he slams his hands on the table, making the teacup jump. You flinch as Yandere Patient fists his hands, his muscular arms flexing in anger as he suddenly begins to try to stand.

You're too late; Yandere Patient is all ready on the floor. He slams his fists into the hardwood, bruising them severely.

You're careful to go to his side, helping him up. Yet, the moment you touch his arm, Yandere Patient automatically shoves you away from him with a scowl.

You end up running into a sharp, marble vase table with nothing on it, luckily.

"Get the hell out of here! You're not wanted, nor needed here!"

"*on the verge of tears* You know what? Fuck you!"

"*bewildered at your sudden back talk* What..?"

"You think I want to take care of some selfish, inconsiderate twenty-some year old brat who only calls his uncle when he has a problem? I'd rather lay on my back and give birth to a child to take care of instead of someone like you! If it wasn't for the high pay, I wouldn't even be here taking this damn abuse! I work damn hard everyday to make sure your needs are met, and what do I get in return? Verbally ridiculed and now physically abused! I don't give a mother fuck if you're rich, handsome, or have power; my job is to take care of you and to only take care of you! If I wanted to care for a whiny and stubborn man, I'd go online and get myself a boyfriend!"

*stares wide eyed at you as you're huffing from anger and pain*

"Now, let me help you get up and to the bath so that I can take a fucking break, Sir."

After wheeling him into the bathroom and helping him undress, Yandere Patient is extremely docile and quiet. There's no protest or stubbornness coming from him, much to your relief.

Yandere Patient, on the other hand, notices how you skim over his body but you don't linger anywhere at all. He frowns, not really understanding why. Looking away as both of you help Yandere Patient into his wide garden tub, you silently tend to his needs.

Yandere Patient apologizes, to which you scoff at but accept his apology.

It's silent while you're helping him dry off and get dressed. Even while you're wheeling him to his bed.

But when you begin to aid him into bed, Yandere Patient notices the bruise from earlier forming into a nasty one.

Since your scrubs were moving to reveal your skin when you bend at an angle, he could see how clearly he had hurt you. Something churns in his heart at the memory of pushing you out of anger, embarrassment, and frustration.

Yandere Patient doesn't realize what he's doing until he's gently touching the bruise on your side.

"*flinches while standing up* What are you doing?"

"I didn't mean to hurt you.."

"It's.. it's all right. I'm not bleeding so there's nothing to worry about."

"*furrows his brows* It's not okay. I went too far. Let me make it up to you."

"Don't worry about it, Sir. There's nothing you need to make up for."

"I insist. I'll treat you to a meal, or a day at the spa? Girls care about their skin, right?"

"*smiles* It's not necessary, Sir. Have a good night. I'll be down the hall if you need anything."

*after you've left*

"I'll make it up to you, somehow.. someway."

Part Two?

[powderpinkandsweeet]

Loser Ellie again, this is my fixation now. Pt two to my previous post about Ellie living in the apartment below you.

It was usually quiet in Ellie's apartment so she could strain to hear what you were doing in your apartment above her. Footsteps, water running, and the soft hum of voices was all she was getting, so Ellie had to savor those moments passing you in the stairwell. The buzzing of what she assumed was your vibrator hadn't rumbled through your floor and her ceiling for almost a week, and Ellie was getting antsy.

Friday night, Ellie had come home from a night at Jesse's cross-faded off cheap weed and even cheaper beer. Her door clicked behind her and she ambled to the kitchen to satisfy her munchies. On the hunt for something crunchy and salty, she hears a noise. Giggling and stumbling steps can be heard from the stairwell. The uneven "click clack" of your heels and your sweet voice passed by her doorway. Another woman's voice was with you, but she couldn't recognize it. When the top step to the second floor creaked, Ellie took the opportunity to look through her door's peephole. Through a fish-eye view, Ellie could see you round the stairwell. You're stumbling, holding onto the bicep of the hulking woman beside you with a big smile and starry eyes gazing at your company. As you climb the next stairwell to your floor, Ellie lets out a sigh. She didn't miss the brute's hand on the small of your back trailing to cup your ass as she guided you.

She could only hope you were just friends, but the way the other woman had held onto you and the way you looked at her said something different. Maybe she was there for a drink? Coffee? Just to get you home safe maybe? Ellie had a bad feeling, but she couldn't pull herself away. She heard your light steps and the other woman's heavy steps move toward the bedroom, so Ellie trailed behind. Like she had done countless times before, Ellie pulled her shorts and boxers down her thighs.

You climbed onto your creaking bed frame and Ellie swears she had never heard you this loud through the drywall. You cried out in rhythm with the squeaks of the bedframe and the knocking of the headboard to the wall. Though muffled, Ellie could hear your "Ngh, ungh! Ah! AH! FUUck!" as your pussy was pounded. Ellie felt the burn of jealousy at how well the woman was treating you, but couldn't help to get off to the way you cried and screamed. Tears ran down her face and her teeth gritted to quiet her own moans. She needed to hear you come, and could only hope the bitch you had brought home could get you there.

All the sudden, your moans stopped. Snapping her eyes open, Ellie's eyes locked on the ceiling with her brows furrowed. She panted for a second until a familiar sound came through. The buzzing of the wand could barely be heard through your moans, but Ellie could hardly bring herself to care as your moans raised in volume and pitch. She couldn't see, but her imagination took over as she could envision your bouncing tits, your jaw dropped open, and a cock-drunk look on your face.

Ellie got just what she wanted, but it was bittersweet as you called out the mystery woman's name with your orgasm. "Abby, Abby I'm coming ohmyfuckinggod I'm gonna come. Oh fuck fuck fuck please don'tstopdon'tstopdon't stop," and then a long and drawn out grown spilled from your lips as you came. But that wasn't the end. "Wait, fuuuUck. I'm too sensitive Abby please. Just a second fuck." Ellie knew if she were the one fucking you she wouldn't stop until you squirted in her open mouth. In the aftermath, Ellie took the time and effort to clean herself up before passing out in bed. She hoped you would sleepwell. As she drifted off, she heard the heavy steps leave your apartment and the creak of the second floor step on her way downstairs. She worried about you being alone after such a rough session, but she slept better knowing that this "Abby" wasn't sleeping next to you.

[wilteddreamsofbaldursgate]

The Scent of Missing Buttons

Astarion centred || implied Astarion x gn!Tav || ao3 || Masterlist

Rating: M ; +18Word Count: +2.9k Warnings: prostitution, sex work, sex trafficking, PTSD, suicidal thoughts, no graphic description of sex act

He thought about his old brass buttons as he let the couple have their way with him. His doublet had thirteen buttons, if he recalled correctly. Six he had found on the floor. There was no way of telling where the others were. They had probably rolled under the bed or were lost in the gaps between the splintered floorboards. He would dare another attempt at retrieving them when these brutes were finally done with him. Going back to the master without either of them was simply out of the question. 

a/n: phew, that was hard to write. Don't forget to hug your vampire boyfriend today.

Neither the loud human nor the scrawny half-elf sitting on each side of Astarion cared about how witty or charming he was. All he had to do was sit still and smile while he endured the dirt-stained fingers messing up his carefully coiffed curls. The sweaty hand resting heavily upon his knee. The stench of days-old sweat radiating from their bodies.

Astarion gave the gawking half-elf a crooked smirk for no other reason than to loosen the building tension in his jaw.    

His marks usually came to him, and that night had been no different.

Astarion had noticed the couple looking over at him from the bar ever so often, giving him toothless grins while he’d pretended to sip on the cheap ale the tavern was pouring out en masse. 

Admittedly, the unkempt couple wouldn’t have been his first choice of company, but the night had been approaching eerily fast and Astarion could seldom afford to be picky. 

And so he’d met the couple’s shamelessly lewd looks through heavy-lidded eyes, giving them an inviting smile in return. 

It had taken them embarrassingly long to stumble over to his table, greeting Astarion with the stink of alcohol on their breaths. They must’ve started their night out drinking well before sunset—Astarion rather hoped to get it over with them fast.

Maybe they were already drunk enough to skip business and just follow him back to the master, he mused as the half-elf’s uncoordinated hand tried and failed to locate his groin. 

But then the human let go of his hair; Astarion could feel her sour breath tickle his ear and knew they wouldn’t let him get off the hook that easily.

He tried to subtly lean away from the human, but she was already dragging her coated tongue along his elongated helix.

Astarion shuddered in disgust.

“So much more sensitive than his,” the human panted. Her stupid delight was evident on her face as she indicated the half-elf who was barely an inch short of crawling onto Astarion’s lap.  

“You’re the prettiest thing we’ve ever seen,” she continued, mistaking Astarion’s visible disgust for arousal. Or maybe she was just ignoring his displeasure. 

“We want you.” 

All too easily, Astarion forced his well-constructed mask back over his features. 

Grinning, his fingers curled around the human’s bony wrist as he stood, pulling her with him.

“Wonderful, because I know a place where you can indulge in me all night long,” Astarion purred. “Somewhere quiet—just for the three of us…” 

The human giggled, though her partner eyed him with a slight hint of contempt.

“Our bed will do, filliken,” the half-elf mumbled as he manoeuvred himself off the bench they’d abandoned him on.

Astarion tensed.

Whore…

Even this piss-drunk mutt had taken only one look at him and known him for what he was.

Astarion had half the mind to bare his fangs, rip out the bastard’s throat. Decorate the dingy tavern with his innards. Paint the walls red. 

The human would come next. He would tear off her little ears and shove them down her stinking maw and, maybe, if he was lucky for once, some of the patrons were emboldened enough to drive a stake through his dead heart. 

From a distance, Astarion could hear the clock tower strike thrice and the master’s voice came to his mind.

Do not disappoint me again, boy…

The vampire spawn wet his lips, swallowed down his anger and lust for blood until they mingled with the soaring hunger in the pits of his stomach.

A moment passed. 

Astarion smiled. 

“Lead the way, then, darling.” 

The couple brought him to a cramped attic room right across the street. 

Dark mould grew on scratched windowpanes and it smelled as if the chamber pot hadn’t been emptied that morning.

Somewhere inside the walls, Astarion could sense a small colony of rodents scurrying to and fro.

He tried to focus on the erratic symphony of their heartbeats as he eyed the colourful range of fluids staining the sheets of an unmade bed.

It would be over soon—at least for that night. 

Astarion would deliver these two fools to the master in no time. Maybe he would even get a little treat for a job well done—a fat rat, or even a small dog, if he was being very good. 

And then he would rest in the shadows. Close his eyes to the buzzing city above, imagine the sun caressing his skin as it tenderly reduced him to ashes. 

The attic door slammed shut behind the human.

Astarion knew he would never feel the sun on his skin again, not even for the short moments between pain and salvation, because as much as he was a whore, he was an even bigger coward.  

He stood still as greedy hands began tugging at his clothes. 

The human giggled stupidly as her cross-eyed partner tried to undo the brass buttons on Astarion’s doublet. It was a rather pathetic sight, and before Astarion could assist him, the cursed half-elf ripped the doublet open. 

A curse ready on his lips, Astarion watched as his buttons went flying across the room. 

He doubted the master would afford him new ones any time soon; worse yet, he surely would be chastised for being so careless with his clothes again! 

Fuming inside, Astarion pushed the half-elf onto the bed and sank to the dirty floor where he crawled around to collect the buttons closest to him. 

“What a cute little pup,” the human laughed right above him. 

Her hand clawed at his locks again, and Astarion could feel humiliation merge with the seething mix of anger and hunger and hatred and disgust and—

Astarion pocketed whatever buttons he could retrieve, then rose to his full height.

The human’s hand fell away and her laughter stopped as Astarion crowded her against the rickety bed frame. 

She looked up at Astarion with round eyes. Perhaps, somewhere in the back of her booze-clouded tiny little brain, she recognised the danger she’d invited into her greasy bed. 

Astarion ran his knuckles along her jaw before his fingers curled tightly around her chin. She shivered. 

“Why don’t you two cosy up and just watch for a moment?” Astarion purred. “You like a good show, don’t you?”

“We like so much more than that,” she breathed, her eyes glassy with arousal instead of fear. 

Astarion almost scoffed. Stupid bitch.

“So much more you shall have.”

The human ran her calloused fingers over Astarion’s lean forearm before she eagerly joined her partner on their bed. 

The couple took in every part of his body as he undressed himself. 

They liked that he took his time because they didn’t know that, with every article of clothing that fell away, Astarion imagined ripping them limb from limb. 

A finger here. A foot there. The eyes that had seen entirely too much… 

Oh, how he hoped the master would make them suffer later. 

Allowing himself an honest smile, Astarion tossed his smallclothes atop the rest of his clothes and crawled onto the bed.

The doomed couple groped him roughly, drew their sharp fingernails across his skin. Used him. 

But that was quite alright; their night would end so much worse than Astarion’s. 

He thought about his old brass buttons as he let the couple have their way with him. 

His doublet had thirteen buttons, if he recalled correctly. Six he had found on the floor. There was no way of telling where the others were. They had probably rolled under the bed or were lost in the gaps between the splintered floorboards. He would dare another attempt at retrieving them when these brutes were finally done with him. 

Going back to the master without either of them was simply out of the question. 

Neither the wicked human nor the crude half-elf laying on each side of him cared that his well-timed groans were purely performative, that their touch made his skin crawl. All he had to do was please them, lure them away to their death. 

All he had to do was survive another night. Another year. Another century of nothing but pure shit.

How he wished it would end. Time was running out.  

Don’t you dare disappoint me again, you useless dirty thing…

The half-elf came first, then the human. It had taken them long enough. 

Astarion was quick to pull his shirt back over his head as the human watched him intently—he was sure she wanted another round. Good. This only ever played right into Astarion’s cards. 

The half-elf was a problem, though. He’d passed out the moment the last of his spend had added another stain to the nasty bedsheets. 

Astarion barely refrained from rolling his eyes; they would have to wake him, and that soon. They had places to be and daybreak was approaching fast. 

Astarion gave the human a crooked smile as he put on his breeches. 

“You’re very skilled, handsome,” the human said, taking the bait.

“Likewise, darling.”

She returned his smile as she untangled herself from the bedsheets and sat on the corner of the bed, never letting him out of her sight. 

Astarion slipped into his doublet. So far, he hadn’t spotted another missing button.

“Why don’t we repeat that—there’s a place I’m dying to show you. If we leave now, I promise you it will be unforgettable…”

The human’s smile widened.

“No.”

No?

Astarion wet his lips.

For a moment, he thought he’d misheard. 

No.

It wasn’t like this hadn’t ever happened before. But because it had happened before, Astarion’s hands began to tremble ever so slightly. 

No meant trouble.

No meant failure.

No meant punishment.

“You see, we don’t fuck the same thing twice,” the human said, that arrogant grin still plastered across her hideous face. 

And then she tossed Astarion some coins—laughably few coins at that. They wouldn’t even buy him some cheap ale from across the street.

Astarion was too stunned to catch the coins. They rolled around his feet before they dropped to the floor with a final mocking clink.

He stared at the dirty change, even spotted one or two of his lost buttons among them.

“Pick them up.”

Astarion’s eyes met the human’s, who licked her lips. 

She wanted him to crawl again. Like a dog. Like trash. Like the rat in a cage that he was. 

Astarion turned and fled from the attic room. There was nowhere to go, though; the city’s dirty streets only lead to one end.

The clock tower struck five times. Far in the distance, the sky turned indigo. 

There was no time to find another victim, Astarion knew, as he prowled the shadows.

But he couldn’t return empty-handed, either. 

Astarion considered dragging some passed-out drunk from the next alleyway back to the master. It wasn’t too bad a plan, wasn’t it? 

But the master liked his playthings sharp. He wanted them to be aware of what he did to them. He so delighted in their screams.

And if those poor fools couldn’t scream, Astarion’s screams would have to make do instead. 

In fact, they were the master’s favourite. 

Come to me, boy.

“Shit. Shit. Shit!”

Astarion should’ve gone down on all fours and crawled at that bitch’s feet; begged her to come with him.

He was a fool. He was so fucking stupid. He deserved any punishment the master deemed fit. 

He couldn’t do anything right.

Astarion shot another look over his shoulder, fearing to see the sky having changed colours again. 

But instead of being painted with dawn, the sky… tore open?

People started to scream. They ran from the flying ship that had appeared out of nowhere. Its tentacles chased after them, picking them off the streets one after another. 

Astarion should join the fleeing drunks and alley cats, he thought. 

But, really, what could be worse than what was waiting for him at the master’s feet? 

Astarion stood still; he could be very good at that. 

And unlike the master’s punishment—unlike the nightly humiliation that was his cursed existence—it was over in one blissful moment.

Neither the annoying wizard nor the nosy cleric sitting on the opposite side of the dying campfire cared that they were interrupting Astarion in his plan of bedding you. That night, he’d already endured yet another long-winded retelling of the young warlock’s heroic feats. Listened to the prickly warrior loudly sharpening her blade. Suppressed a laugh at the fiery tiefling’s silly joke. 

He wanted to be alone with you. Look at that cute little smile that had only needed one glass of watered-down wine in order to grow this wide. Subtly close the empty space between you and him sitting side by side on a smooth wooden log.

He wanted to breathe in the herbal fragrance of your soap without anybody watching.

The first thing Astarion had ever noticed about you was that, even covered in the blood and grime of your enemies, you smelled nice.

It had taken him days to figure out that the pleasant scent surrounding you didn’t emit from your washed hair or reasonably clean clothes. Once Astarion’s raging hunger had been sated enough, he’d even understood that it wasn’t your delectable blood that made his head spin.

No, your subtle yet unique scent simply lingered as naturally on your skin as the sunlight did on Astarion’s face these days. 

It was just you that smelled good, and it slowly drove him mad.

Astarion’s plan was simple enough. All he had to do was please you, weasel himself into your bed and good graces. Only then was he as safe from the master as he could possibly be out here in the wilderness. 

But you just had to make this difficult; you didn’t fall for his charm and flirtations. Instead of swooning, you just frowned at him whenever he tried to seduce you—and gods was he trying. And failing.

If he were to lean over and bluntly propose sex to you right then, he was sure you would reject him. The very idea of both excited and terrified him at once.

The wizard and the cleric only excused themselves when the sun’s first golden fingers started to part the night sky.

Astarion watched them vanish into their respective tents, finally leaving you alone with him. 

He stole a glance at you and found you already looking at him. 

Maybe this was his chance. Astarion couldn’t afford wasting another night, not when the master was breathing down his neck at any given time.

“And what are we two pretty things going to do with the rest of the night, darling?” 

You scoffed. “Night? It’s almost morning.” 

“Ah, you’re quite right, of course. With the right company, one can lose track of time so easily, no?” 

“Indeed,” you yawned. “Now let’s get some rest, Astarion. We have a long day ahead.” 

Astarion wet his lips. 

Shit.

What was wrong with you? 

What was wrong with him? 

If he couldn’t even get his stupid little plan right, then maybe he deserved his master’s wrath. 

Astarion picked up a crooked branch and poked around the fading embers.

If you didn’t want his body, then what use did you have of him? He was just some idiot. A whore nobody wanted to fuck. He was—

“Oh!” You exclaimed, suddenly. “I forgot!” 

Astarion, trying to not let his growing desperation show on his face, watched as you excitedly produced something from your pocket. 

You scooted closer to him; your knee brushed against his thigh and your smile grew as you looked up at him. Instinctively, Astarion breathed in your scent.

Then you opened your hand, revealing thirteen buttons. 

The rising sun reflected prettily on their golden surface.

Astarion tensed.

“What’s that?”

Your cheeks reddened, looking as if you’d just scrubbed them clean down by the river. 

“Your doublet—it doesn’t close properly, doesn’t it? So I thought, well…buttons.”

When Astarion neither reached for the buttons nor said anything, you slowly let your hand sink.

“I could sew them on for you,” you offered sheepishly. “I’m sure they’ll look very nice on you.”

Throwing his now broken stick aside, Astarion rose to his full height.

“I don’t want them. Go to bed. We have a long day ahead,” he said courtly before he all but fled to his tent.

The sun burned on Astarion’s skin but didn’t reduce him to ashes. He never was afforded any luck.

He watched you walk far ahead of him, leading your companions through the woods. This far back, he could barely catch your lovely scent. 

Not for the first time that day did he wonder what those buttons you’d offered him would’ve cost him. 

Wouldn’t any price have been worth it?

Astarion had been a fool again. 

He should’ve just thanked you, watched your quick little fingers close the chasm in his chest with nothing but some thread and pretty buttons. After that, he should’ve pressed a lingering kiss to your cheek. Take you into his arms.

That’s what he wanted to do, if he was being honest.

But he hadn’t done any of this. His doublet was still shoved to the very bottom of his pack and he hadn’t looked you in the eyes all day.

Because as much as Astarion was a whore, he was an even bigger coward.

That was all to him there was.

The vampire spawn looked over his shoulder but couldn’t see much of what lay behind. 

The golden sun was too bright in his eyes.

As usual, all he could do, though, was endure.

Tag List

@spacebarbarianweird @bardic-inspo @kawaiiusagichansan 

[hemipenal-system]

this thread is fucking long and the cut is in an awkward place just bear with it please

so werewolves are a stock horror villain (and the posts directly below this one are about that! go look at them) and don’t get me wrong i love werewolf horrorsmut but i want to see more of:

werewolves who just aren’t scary in any way. like sure the shift may be scary. they may look kinda scary. but they’re just people like everyone else even if they are more ruled by instinct than the average human. i think stuff like that is a nice way to explore what it means to be a person and how humanity can be a fluid category, especially when the werewolves in question are transgender/disabled/personality disorder coded.

like i want some wholesome shit about werewolves who can’t even pass as ambiguously human. they’re just very overtly werewolves: massive sharp, snarling bundles of taut muscles and sinew, 8, 9 feet tall, who are very capable of snapping and killing everything around them

but don’t. because they’re treated well and loved even though they’re not like everyone else. and it doesn’t matter that they aren’t, because they are like everyone else even if they’re not. i know that sounds a bit confusing on the face but i mean stuff like:

- “oh yeah no worries, Sharon from accounting’s a wolf too! no no we love her! remember when we went to topgolf for that company outing? they couldn’t find any clubs in her size so she outdrove us all with clubs a foot too short it was hysterical!”

- “all right you should be scheduled for this week! next two weeks are the same? no right of course not because you need moon days. yeah that’s totally fine i will get that in to HR and you should be all good!”

- “is- no it’s fine- is it ok if i stay shifted in here? the pain is less bad when i’m shifted. no i have no idea why lol. you’re sure? the shedding is ok and everything? aww sweetie i love you too!”

- “i mean, hip dysplasia is normal in wolves your age, and you had fairly active teenage years, so it happens. it’s not anything to worry about though, i’ll get you in contact with a fantastic physical therapist! no she specializes in wolf patients. she’s great at what she does, i promise. i’ll get you a month of painkillers but over-the-counter should work alright too. take these, go to therapy, and if it’s still doing that in a month come back and we can try something else.”

- “hey, baby, look at me. i know people are staring at you. you don’t need to care about them. you have just as much right to be here as they do. just ignore them.”

- “no i’m absolutely not mad at you! you can’t control that happening! no it was a full moon what the fuck were you supposed to do? look, i can replace the couch you mauled and the TV and vases you broke but i can’t replace you getting hurt because you tried to stave off the shift. we’ll go shopping for new ones together, ok? and we’ll get some cheap shit you can break for next month and a couple steaks for you to fuck up. i promise i’m not mad- hey get off me you big lug stop fucking licking me your mouth tastes like couch cushions…”

- “it’s actually so real to be worried about hurting your human partner in bed. you won’t hurt her, dude, i’ve known her for years you should be more scared of her than she is of you. they make, like, these rings. it’s like a silicone spacer- no it goes on your dick, idiot. it’s so you don’t like fuck into her cervix or whatever. supposedly those help? idk if they come in wolf sizes though.”

show me the negative stuff, too. show me:

- werewolves who muzzle themselves in cities even though it’s only a first quarter moon because they’re scared they’ll snap and hurt someone even though that fear makes them so careful around everyone they never would

- wolves who have moon trackers on their phone because they need to know when they’re going to get forced into a shift so they can get away from everyone because they don’t want to get violent but they can’t control it and the last time they were around someone she ended up in the hospital. she’s really understanding about it and they’re friends now but it doesn’t make it feel any less horrible

- wolves who get asked every single fucking time they get nice dinner, “so do you want your steak cooked, or what?” by waiters who think they’re funny but really aren’t

- werewolves who walk on eggshells in public because they know if they make any minor mistake or show any aggression whatsoever the pundits on the news will talk about “a werewolf snarled at my kid today. i mean i try to be trusting but you never know with those people. they have those fangs for a reason is all i’m saying.”

- werewolves who are scared to shift in public for the same reason as above, because they know how they’ll be perceived if they show people they’re a wolf

- werewolves who can’t find wolf doctors in their area so they keep going back to human doctors who don’t know how the fuck to treat their unique health conditions and when they complain about this they get a flippant “have you tried a veterinarian?”

- werewolves in therapy because their last relationship was with a human who sucked and it was really bad and that trauma has manifested as resource guarding and reactivity issues and it’s causing problems at work

i love this stuff. i want more. i also cannot write conclusion paragraphs to save my life so this is the end now. thanks for reading all this if you’re reading this.

😊

[asunnyh]

∿ ░᪶⃗ 🌱៹┊ what's their favorite love language?

cw: fluffy, kinda silly, gn reader

characters: wanderer, heizou, cyno

wanderer ;; physical contact

I swear, give this little brat a hug that lasts a fucking lot.

hear me out: he >> loves << physical contact, but hates to admit it. After you started date, he has showing himself ...clingier? at first, you could only look at your hands shyly grabbed by his, he didn't dare to look at you face almost dumping in a stranger who was just passing by, when you asked out from curiosity, all he said was "You're so dumb you'd definitely lost yourself in this crowd, you should be thankful! besides, I don't want to have to waste our time to look for you" in a higher tone.

( you also notice how he said "our" time, instead of saying his own time, almost like the time he spend by your side is way too precious, but he would never admit it out loud)

by the time you find out he only take your hand in public because he could use that excuse, but always search out for it when you're both just chilling in the couch or doing any casual active, of course, if you make the same mistake than before and asked out, he'd pull it away saying it wasn't intentional.

If you enjoy minimum physical contact, be sure he will do it for as much as he can. but if you also love physical contact, that's way more interesting to him, specially if you are the one who starts hugs. he will complain a lot, mumbling how clingy you are, but not letting you go after he got what he wanted.

After the first hug he will try to get more, leaving "hints" of it... which consist mostly him protest you don't give him enough attention, not as much as he deserve as a superior being and all. if you do get the "hint" and hug him, he gets easily comfy into it, but still sharp saying you took too long.

if you don't (or just want to tease him, which I don't judge) he will pout in a fake-angry expression. the first time it happened you could only laugh, finally giving him the hug.

just be sure to have the acknowledge he won't let you go so quickly, don't matter what

heizou ;; gifts

okay, this one I got really in between gifts and words of affirmation, but since I'm like, 100% he is a words of affirmation person, I'm sure he'd love you to give him gifts.

hear me out once again: it doesn't mean he likes expensive stuff, he actually couldn't care less, but having something, the smaller or cheaper it is, to remember of you is just too much for his lovesick heart.

if you like to make little gifts, like flowers of paper and all (you're probably a "marry me with paper rings" person btw) he definitely got a box or a special part of his desk just for the things you gave him. there are one of this in both his house and in his office, so he could always remember of you whenever he wants.

if you're a traveler tipe, he misses you a lot (and will make sure to be specially clingy when you arrive) and always put some of the stuff you gave him closer, always in his field of vision.

and last, if you just enjoy buying stuff for him, cheap or expensive, he will keep at least one of it close to him all the time you're not by his side, if it happen to you don't be at Inazuma or don't be able to see him at least once a week, once you got the chance to visit him he will, all the time it happened, be with a plushie, a colar, a ring, even a blanket you gave him, anything to make him feel like you're by his side or at least loving him whenever you are right now.

( I even got a specific one shot about it )

cyno ;; quality time

Is not like wanderer or heizou aren't into spending a good quality time you you, they are, but cyno is specifically attached by it.

you see, he is always too busy with his work, you can't blame him, but yet is quite hard to don't miss his company. he always tries his best to make every second with you stay recorded in his memory, to always recall once things gets too bad.

it doesn't necessarily mean to get a date every time he comes back home to you, sometimes he is too tired, and in these cases, you just chill in bed, enjoying each other presence; if you're a physical touch available person, you could rest in his chest or the other way around, whatever is fine by you, but you would hug until you both fall asleep in each other arms, cyno would sigh in relief and comfy before finally getting some well-deserved rest.

"...I love you" he whispered.

When you get the opportunity to go in a date, he makes sure to spoil you the best he can, stick with you (literally or not, depends on you) all day if it's possible. not necessarily talk, just enjoying the day by each other side, without any pressure, just chilling and if you're up to, he would obviously, play some card games by the end of the day (who wins get a kiss)

[sadhours]

scumbag blues • battery acid

gator tillman x f!original character

previous chapter • masterlist

cw: 18+minors dni, unsolicited dick pics/videos, mean texts, drinking, kind of smut??? Gator tries

Daisy’s depressed. She’s been turning away clients left and right. The money from Roy keeps the bills paid but it’s tighter than before and her pops has noticed. Says something about it when Daisy’s cooking him lunch.

“I don’t know why things have taken such a turn, Daisy,” he sounds stressed. “We haven’t had a single guest in two weeks.”

“It’ll turn back around,” she assures him, “always does.”

Her mothers voice rings in her ears. Same mantra about how women have to take care of things. How women have a magic money maker between their legs and they’d be fools not to take advantage.

Her phone vibrates in her pocket, she pulls it out and looks down at the notification. Gator. Hasn’t had the guts to block him like she should. She slides it open and is met with a photo of his cock. Hard as hell. He’s on his bed, she can see his cargos bunched up around his ankles and his combat boots. He’s sent You can’t quit me, baby along with the photo and she hates the way it ignites a flame in her stomach. She locks her phone and shoves it back in her pocket, resuming the can of tomato soup she’d been heating up. She wishes Gator would just give it up. There’s plenty of other women for sale in this county. But she knows he likes her. Their sexual chemistry is undeniable. And she’s certain Gator hasn’t been with any other woman. Yet, she doesn’t even know how many men she’s been with. It’s unfair. She can’t quit this. And that’s what Gator deserves, so she’ll have to quit him.

She butters up the bread for grilled cheeses, determined to get out of this funk and start taking clients again. Her mother would tell her she’s pathetic. Gator’s always been a client, he started out as such and it’d be laughable to think they could be more. It’s a god damn pipe dream and they both know it.

—

When Daisy reads his message but doesn’t respond, Gator gets furious but his cock is still hard. The arousal mixed with the anger facilitates in a bit of harassment on his end. He records himself jacking off, mumbles about how he knows she wants him. How she’s gonna watch it later and play with her pretty pussy. Which he fully believes. Records himself cumming, muttering, “Wish I was cumming in your tight hole, baby.”

Again, Daisy opens the messages and doesn’t respond. And now that Gator’s cock is softening, the anger takes over and he sends a handful of messages.

Whatever, bitch. Ur not even pretty. Just fucking easy.

Ur used up.

Probably should get tested. God knows ur fckn infected. Nasty slut.

Fuck u bitch

Then, Gator realizes these won’t help his case in any way so he sends another.

I’m sorry. Just miss u and I ain’t good at controlling my temper

The last message never delivers and Gator’s feeling like a pathetic loser with his cum drying on his stomach. Cleans himself up and grabs his keys. He needs to get as drunk as humanly possible. Fuck, he doesn’t care that it’s only noon. This pit of dread filling him needs to be released and alcohol can dull it. The Esquire Club opens at 10 am. He’ll be with like minded company. And well, if it’s two blocks from the Inn, that’s just a coincidence. He isn’t hoping that Daisy’ll wander in desperate for money. Definitely not.

The place is dead when he gets there aside from a couple of dudes rambling about sports. Gator doesn’t keep up with football anymore. Too bitter about high school. He would’ve been scouted, out of this shithole and never would’ve touched Daisy Way if that prick hadn’t busted his ankle. Swears if he ever sees that fucker again, he’ll kill him.

The hours drone on, Gator filling his belly with cheap whiskey and countless beers. Is absolutely stumbling around when the sun goes down. There’s girls in here tonight. Ones that know Gator’s the sheriff’s son, girls that touch his biceps and ask if he’s ever had to shoot anyone. He tells grandiose stories, fibbing on the extremities. Yeah, he sees a ton of action. Yeah, Gator’s a fucking badass. He’s a fucking winner.

He gets one of the girls in the bathroom, a brunette with heavy makeup and a short skirt. Has her leg propped up on the graffitied toilet. Limp dick in his hand as he tugs it, pleading internally for it to fill out but it just fucking won’t. He knows it’s the whiskey, his whole body is fucking numb. But he can’t help but think that if this were Daisy bent over for him, he’d be hard as a rock. It’s pathetic and it’s weird, but he grabs hold of the girl's hair and tugs her head back so he can grunt into her ear.

“You want me to fuck you, Daisy? Huh?” he laughs, “Want me to stretch you out so bad?”

“My names not Daisy?” the girl replies, confusion dripping in her voice.

“Shh,” he hisses, pulling on his cock and focusing on the fantasy, trying to will his dick to life. Nothing. He balls his fist up and slams it against the stall, “Fuck!”

He shoves his flaccid length back into his cargos and barrels out of there. Leaving the girl stunned and exposed. He’s a fucking loser. If he goes by the Inn, it’ll be pummeled into his head what a fucking loser he is. Somehow, he winds up at Faye’s apartment building. Hits the buzzer. Over and over until he hears her sleepy voice.

“Who is it?”

“Faye, it’s me— er,” he hiccups, “Gator. Can I come up?”

“Gator, it’s the middle of the night,” she sighs, “I don’t think it’s a good idea.”

“Please,” he whines, hates how pathetic he sounds, “I have nowhere else to go. I won’t be fucking weird. Okay? I just… please, Faye.”

A beat of silence. Then the buzz and a green light. Gator tugs the door open and stumbles inside, looking down the hall until a door opens. Faye steps outside, rubbing her eyes and she’s wearing a long, flowy nightgown. She lets him inside and because of his intoxicated state, he clings onto her and fucking cries. Like the pathetic loser he is. But she wraps her arms around him.

“Gator, what happened?”

“I’m… I’m such a fucking loser,” he sobs, “I ruin everything.”

Faye squeezes him tighter, rubs his back soothingly. “Oh, Gator…”

She pulls back and puts her hands on his face, “I’m gonna make some tea. Sit on the couch and we’ll talk about it. Okay?”

She’s so good. So pure. So sweet. Gator hiccups and nods, moving to rub his fists against his teary eyes. Then he trudges to her living room, waiting for her to return.

[nonotnolan]

Cuerpo Inc: After Hours Perk

“Look, dude... I know you’re not really Jake.  The sooner you drop the act, the sooner we can have an actual conversation between us.”  I tried not to any trace of fear reach my smile as Jake’s neighbor continued to stare me down, his arms folded across his chest.  Thomas was right, of course-- Jake and I had swapped bodies with each other a few hours ago.  I wanted to take advantage of the pool in Jake’s suburban backyard, and he wanted to take advantage of my downtown apartment to have a few nights out on the town.  It wasn’t specifically against the rules, but since the office frowned upon non-work swapping we had promised each other that we were going to keep it on the downlow.  Did he know about Jake’s job?  He probably knew about Jake’s job..

“Why would...?  Thomas, my man... it’s the weekend!  Why the hell would I swap bodies over the weekend?”  I gave him a playful shove on the shoulder, like I had seen Jake do to so many of our coworkers back at the office.  “I spend enough time during the work week swapping bodies with people so that my company doesn’t have to pay for airfare.  After a solid week of swaps across the country, I’m gonna be spending the weekend in my own body, thank you very much.”

Thomas simply shook his head at me.  “Yeah, I dunno, man... being Jake’s neighbor, I can’t help but notice a few things.”  Jake had warned me that his neighbor on the other half of the duplex was weirdly nosy, but this was a special kind of intrusive that I hadn’t prepared myself for.  “It seems like Jake always swaps bodies with someone on Fridays, and he doesn’t swap back until Sunday afternoon or so.  Not everyone who wears that body is as good as pretending to be Jake as you are, stranger.”

His benign acceptance of Jake’s body swapping habits was starting to make me question just how often Jake was swapping bodies outside of work hours.  Jake swore that he only swapped once every few months, but there was no way Jake’s neighbor would be this suspicious if that were true.  “I’m not pretending, it’s really me in here!” I said, laughing as I slapped my chest for emphasis.  There really wasn’t any reason for me to double down on this lie, but... telling Thomas the truth felt like giving up, and I wasn’t about to take that loss.  “I’m Jake, dammit!  What do I have to do to prove it to you?”

“Take your shirt off,” he said, staring me down with a shit-eating grin.

I couldn’t help but laugh.  There had to be a catch, but I had no idea what it could possibly be.  Better to try and just bluff my way through it.  “You’re such a weirdo-- you know that, right?”  I peeled my tank-top off over my shoulders, trying to mimic the body language I’d seen Jake use before.  I wadded it up and tossed it over my shoulder, making sure to maintain eye contact with him as I did so.  “Are you happy, now, Thomas?  Do you believe me?”

He just smiled at me as his shit-eating grin got even wider.  “Quite the opposite, stranger.  The HOA around here gets very angry about partial states of undress, so the real Jake wouldn’t go shirtless unless he was behind a fence.  So.  Let’s head over into Jake’s backyard so we can talk about this further.  What is your name?”

“Gah, fine.  My name is Ethan,” I said, shaking my head.  Not that it really mattered that Thomas had figured out that I was lying, but it still felt weird that he cared so much.  I made my way toward the gate, and gestured him through.  Jake’s backyard had a nice, tall wooden privacy fence to keep the pool hidden from view, and there was a patio area with a few plastic beach chairs set up near a cheap outdoor table.  I’d expected Thomas to be gloating-- it’s what I would have done after calling out someone’s lies like that-- but instead he was typing away on his phone.

“Is this you?” Thomas asked, holding up a picture of a guy in a suit.  More to the point, it was a photo of me wearing a suit.

It took me a bit to figure out when that photo had been taken.  “Yeah, that’s my body,” I said, staring back at Thomas.  I wasn’t sure why he had a photo of me, but I didn’t see much point in trying to lie anymore.  “Assuming it’s a recent photo, that was probably taken last Wednesday.  I swapped with a guy out in Milwaukee who needed to be local, and he needed someone who was wearing something a bit nicer than business casual.”  It was a part of my job as an Accountant / Host.  Since my job was 100% virtual, my workplace also expected me to swap bodies with anyone who needed to be local for an important meeting.  I’d gotten used to filling out spreadsheets while wearing someone else’s body a long time ago, but not everyone was used to Cuerpo Inc’s casual approach to body swapping.  Maybe Thomas was one of them?

“Just thought you should know, he’s using a photo of you on his Grindr profile,” Thomas said, handing me his phone.  Sure enough, there was my name and my face on a profile littered with peach emojis, declaring that I was a hungry bottom eager for a hung daddy.  Well, that explained why he had a photo of my body.  “Jake does this a lot,” he added.  “He’ll find a guy with a young face and a slender build, and then spend the weekend knee deep in gay sex.  So, when your ass hurts on Monday, that’s why.”

“I appreciate the warning,” I said, giving Thomas his phone back.  “I’m a gay man myself, so I’m not too bothered by it, but... it is the sort of thing Jake should have told me before we swapped.”  I have to admit, I was not expecting Jake to be into that kind of thing.  When he told me he wanted to spend the weekend out on the town, I really did just assume he was going to get super drunk in my body.  Jake usually carried himself as a man’s man around the office, talking about beers, sports, or his most recent fishing trip.  True, he never mentioned a wife, but I assumed that meant he got burned in a divorce or something.  A thought occurred to me as I looked closer at Thomas.

“I can’t help but notice that you also have a Grindr profile,” I said, slipping my hands into my waistband.  “Perhaps you would like to enjoy me for some fun out here by the poolside?  Seems like this fence would give us a lot of privacy...”

Thomas stepped forward, close enough that I could feel the heat of his breath hitting my chest.  “So let me get this straight.  I come here to warn you about Jake’s plans to have sex inside of your body, and you decide to... try and have sex inside of his body instead?”

I looked down at him, staring directly into his eyes.  “I suppose that is exactly what I’m doing, yes.”  It was my turn to stare at Thomas with a wide grin.  “It only seems fair, after all.  What’s good for my body must also be good for his.  And I can’t help but notice that you haven’t turned me down.”

He responded by placing his hands on my shoulders.  “Well, now.  I suppose I haven’t.  But do you really think it would be a good idea for me to fool around with my neighbor’s body while he’s not inside of it?”

I responded by grabbing one of his hands, and sliding it down to one of Jake’s pierced nipples.  “I just asked if you wanted to join me.  Who said it was going to be a good idea?”  

[flowering-thought]

Finally I can get the man that has plagued my mind off my brain and into my OC's. He's been in there banging around my brain for a week now and I can't get him out <3

Though his name took me a while cause I kept changing my mind 🤡

Not edited

WARNING - MINORS DNI

AFAB reader and reader is described as feminine and chubby/plus sized.

Yandere themes, gore, descriptions of gore, shitty attempt at medical care,

⋆｡˚. ੈ ⋆｡˚. ੈ ⋆｡˚. ੈ ⋆｡˚. ੈ ⋆｡˚. ੈ ⋆｡˚.

Dante Morelli

First Meeting + Headcannons

Dante Morelli is a man well-known and well sought after. Whether it's to fuck him or kill him that is. A major CEO of a tech company that's just a cover for the shady mob dealings they do.

Not even most of the employees know about it. It's well hidden and only known by the people apart of the mob itself.

Unfortunately, he doesn't keep anyone by his side. The way he was raised didn't allow for petty emotions and selfish thoughts. And even after the man, he calls his father passed he couldn't shake that at all.

But who knows what fate has in store for him huh?

Unfortunately, one late night after Dante wanders the streets after a dealing, he was caught by an enemy and gunned down. Luckily he managed to get away but barely by going down several back alleys and hiding near some old boxes and garbage left by neighbors.

He's bleeding out and he lost his phone while running. He should have installed a GPS in his watch but he didn't and he regrets it for sure.

His thoughts become mudded and cloudy, barely awake when he hears humming and what sounds like a bag dropping to the floor. He feels hands on his wound and his immediate response is, "Don't call anyone."

He can't risk the cops or anyone finding out about this. And he can hear the hesitation in the voice as what turns out to be you returning from a late-night trip to the grocery store.

You definitely weren't anticipating a man with a gun wound on his shoulder to even be conscious and when you heard his confession to not call anyone you didn't know if your conscious would let you leave him.

So despite the voice in your head screaming you to not drag him to your place, you did the opposite and used his other shoulder to prop him up and let his legs drag on the floor before you brought him up to your shady but cheap apartment.

Luckily no one saw you and you set him down on the floor of your living space before grabbing a med kit that totally wasn't stolen hospital supplies from your best friend...

But who cares cause stolen hospital supplies are helpful. But you look at the wound and grab a bottle of vodka you were saving for the same friend and poured it on the wound and your hands since you didn't have any gloves. You have decent medical knowledge and enough to know what to do and what not to do. So you look for a bullet and are glad to see it passed right through.

So you disinfect the wound further before attempting to stop the bleeding and closing the wound with a sewing kit you had in the kitchen for emergency fixes in your clothes.

You braced yourself for sewing into his skin and then tying it together to close his wound before wrapping it in gauze. There's only so much you could do so you got a spare blanket and pillow and got him comfortable on the floor. You didn't think it would be a good idea to move him too much.

You only knew that closing a wound and stopping it from getting infected and bleeding is the best option even if you have no fucking clue what you're doing.

And after a tiresome night, you pass out on the couch, wanting to make sure this stranger doesn't steal any of your stuff.

Surprised to say Dante was still alive after that. Seriously you fell asleep thinking about how to explain the dead body in your apartment. If things went south you were screwed.

Since you were finally off from work, as a daycare worker for children, you took the chance to make some tea for your extremely stressful night and now morning.

But as you poured the hot water into the mug and over the tea leaves you heard a groan and whisper of "what the fuck" coming from your living room.

"I take it my late-night patient is up?" You say jokingly, smiling softly as you decide to pour another cup of tea. You wait a couple of minutes for it to steep before taking the mugs and setting them on your coffee table where your "guest" sat up with an annoyed look on his face.

He wanted to ask what the hell he was doing here but when he noticed the pile of dishtowels and an empty bottle of vodka in a slightly bloody pile. You hummed the same tune as last night before handing him the mug of tea and sitting next to him.

"Stress release for a stressful night. If you want honey in yours I have some but I honestly hate honey so I'd suggest sugar." You said, making small talk like it was the most normal thing and you couldn't help but feel like this was a wattpad fanfiction you were living through right now.

Dante felt an unknown emotion rush through him before he took a sip of the tea silently. "Thank you for the uh, help.." He mumbled, taking the time to look at your small apartment, noticing some cracks and things that need to be fixed. He noticed the blood behind your fingernails and then looked at your face.

Something in him realized that instead of the awkward silence he should be compensating you for saving him and he felt guilt over giving you a hard time.

And it's rare for him to feel sympathy for anyone.

"May I use your phone?" He asked, looking right at you before you pulled it out of your pockets and handed it to him, "Just don't say I tried to murder you cause I swear I may have wanted to poke my finger in your wound but I didn't-".

He let out a light chuckle before turning his head and putting a number in to call. He heard his bodyguard answer the phone in a panicked tone and he told his bodyguard to come to pick him up.

After that time went by quickly and the tea was finished when there was a knock and a big buff man behind the door who looked like a kicked puppy who shat on the carpet...

When he left you felt like you could finally breathe. You sunk onto your couch and finally fell into a peaceful nap with sincere hopes to forget that you didn't just have tea with a man who you treated like a doll to sew up.

But unknowing to you, Dante felt a squeeze in his heart and a sure knowing that he had just fallen for a woman whose name he didn't even know.

⋆｡˚. ੈ ⋆｡˚. ੈ ⋆｡˚. ੈ ⋆｡˚. ੈ ⋆｡˚. ੈ ⋆｡˚.

Regular Headcannons

• Dante is 29 and was born on April 2nd.

• He's part Italian and honestly quite tall.

• He's not entirely good at showing his emotions. He had a rough childhood due to how his father raised him so he'd be a cold and ruthless mob boss when his father stepped down. Sadly even after he passed he couldn't shake the stoic mask he showed.

• But when he fell for you something in him couldn't help but smile so when he meets you again he shows this charming and adorable image. But the moment you're gone from sight he can't find himself feeling as warm and safe as you make him feel. So his smile usually falls when you leave and his subordinates quickly realize it.

• While Dante does have experience with women, he doesn't have experience with love. The amount of Googled date spots and how to win a woman's heart in his search history is honestly getting out of hand...

• He doesn't have many hobbies. He's rich but never sure how to spend the money so most of the time it sits away and goes towards bills and expenses.

• He does like taking care of plants. It was something he picked up as a child to cope with. He would talk to them and tell them all the positive things that he wanted to hear as a child and they thrived under his care. So his hobby grew as he became an adult so his house is filled with dark wood furniture and plants littered around wherever.

• He even has a greenhouse and an indoor garden space in his living room where he grows a tree in his living room. Somehow it makes him feel safe.

• Dante doesn't enjoy growing flowers so sometimes he buys some for himself just cause he thought they were pretty and would look nice in a vase he had at home.

• Cook? Why would he cook when he can just order something? Seriously it's not that he's bad at cooking it's just that he sincerely doesn't know how-

• Doesn't mean he won't look up a recipe to try and make you something for a special dinner date

• And as busy as he can get? He always sets time aside for you. And if you come to visit him while he's doing the "normal" part of his job he'll let you stay in his office with him and maybe sit you on his lap as a lovely stress reliever.

• But if you head over while he's doing the part of his job that he keeps far away from you, he'll send one of his subordinates to make you wait in a better area of the building while he finishes up busting someone's hands.

• He always cleans off before seeing you. He can't just see you while he smells like blood or has the disheveled appearance he does after dealing with someone.

• He doesn't ever want you to have to deal with it. Even though he knows you helped him he'd rather his own blood be on your hands rather than anyone else's.

• If he sees something while out near a shop or just randomly while scrolling through social media that he thinks you would like he'll buy it immediately.

• He's got so much money why not spend a bit of it hm?

• Soon after he met you he actually decided to send you gifts.

• it started out small like some tea leaves and sometimes it would be something else. One time you jokingly said, "oh mystery gifter can you give me a gift for my students?" And then next thing you know a stack of stuffed toys for the kids at your daycare center arrived the next day.

• At first you were freaked out but you grew used to it until you left a note by your door hoping to see who it was.

• when you found out it was Dante, he gave you the most adorable smile and said it was thanks for saving his life. He said if he could get to know you better he would be really grateful. You could of course deny but he'll still try to worm his way in eventually.

• And he understands not to send too many gifts as well. He just doesn't know how to properly express how happy and safe you make him feel so he gives gifts as a form of "payment" in his mind.

Yandere Tendencies Headcannons

• Seriously the wrong person to fuck with. He knows how to manipulate and blackmail but prefers violence and threats above all else.

• He loves you too much and he can easily manipulate your surroundings if he has to. And just like another man, we know he has people watch over you. He only trusts the men close to him so he gets one of them to watch over you and report your actions to him.

• But he doesn't want photos of you taken that aren't by him. Somehow he doesn't feel like anyone has the right to.

• And if a subordinate of his ever had the gall to disrespect you? Their dead the moment that shit spewed from their mouth. After that everyone knows better than to mess with you. But you do become a target of some enemy dealers. But that's also why he has his men watch over you.

• And his business never deals with drugs. Maybe some weed but never anything hardcore. They deal mostly in money, loans, organ harvesting, and certain contracts.

• But his job as a CEO of a tech company also earns him lots of money and while he's not too close to those he employs for the company since they are in the dark about the company being a front, he pays them well and makes sure they have the right bonuses and doesn't allow any power harassment.

• He can and will bug your apartment. He can't have himself worrying about your well-being all the time so it gives him peace of mind. And he likes it when you start humming or singing or just talking to yourself as you pace around your home with whatever task you're doing ♡

• But he does get easily lonely without you around, so at some point, he may begin pressuring you to move in with him. He just wants you by his side. He needs you.

He would have no problem keeping you by his side. There's no way for you to ever possibly escape him. So don't make him doing anything too drastic okay? ♡

[tarotchariot]

I would like to post something very off topic just to ensure others are careful with their pets.

If you have a pet that likes to eat/destroy things and they do so easily: Please take away any toys that include thread or string.

String/rope toys may seem very typical, normal and harmless. They are usually in many households as an easy,cheap option as well. However, there is deep harm that they can cause if the string/rope/thread is ingested.

Of course, all toys will usually have a typical guide to supervise and throw away when destroyed. However, with how messy rope and string can get when bitten or chewed, it may be hard to tell if they have already ingested it, or if you would class it as destroyed.

In my eyes, it is far too risky and the severe repercussions are not communicated effectively enough from these companies. In my experience, I would never have purchased one of these toys in my entire life for any pet, if I had known what it could do. Other toys are much more suitable.

If you do not like to hear about medical injury in detail, or are sensitive, or have had a bad experience - please ignore the rest of this post.

When rope/thread etc is ingested, it cannot be digested. It continues through the stomach and into the digestive tract. The digestive tract is of course an extremely soft and vulnerable organ. To digest and get food through it tends to make small movements to move things along. The string can become entangled in itself and very stubbornly refuses to pass easily. It then can create a blockage in any part of the system. This results in an inability to keep food or water, creating dehydration which can be fatal in itself as well as massive weight loss, vomiting, diarrhea(until nothing can be passed), lethargy and general pain/discomfort.

With all the movement that the organ makes, the string can tighten and become very taught. You know how tough rope etc can be if you pull it against something? For example people have cut meat with string.

If that string or thread continues to be moved it can become very tight and even cut right through the tract. Not just once, but twice, three times or more. It is beyond extreme pain that no animal should suffer. Not only that, there can then be leakages that could be fatal as a result of infection etc.

While of course we know to be generally cautious with our pets, sometimes we may not see things, our pets like to sneak behind our backs sometimes, and we can think something is harmless to the point we don't pay attention. Things can happen in 2 minutes of you doing a chore. There are many situations where things can happen. This is just to warn you that rope toys and similar can create unimaginable situations, especially when you aren't aware of what it can cause when it goes wrong. I highly recommend throwing rope toys away, but if you don't, ensure you are really watching that they're not sneakily eating any of it. I don't recommend leaving them alone with it for even a second.

You may think nothing has ever happened, so it's fine. But you can't 100% control your pet and because of that, something unusual may happen. Something severe. I urge you to be cautious, not to create fear in you, but to reduce it in the future potentially.

Thanks to anyone who reads this, I wish all of you and your pets good luck and amazing health.

[coraniaid]

For the AU game; Buffy S3 AU where either Faith shows up in Sunnydale earlier, Buffy stays in LA longer or both and Faith ends up taking some of Buffy's place by the time she does come back?

Trying to maximize Buffy's sense of alienation as much as I can...

In canon, we know that Giles spends the summer looking for Buffy, and traveling across the country chasing down rumours of any girl who might be the Slayer. And we also know that Faith spends some time (possibly/probably overlapping with that summer) travelling from Boston to Sunnydale, presumably slowly and mostly on foot. And even if her stories to Buffy in Faith, Hope & Trick aren't true [which they aren't], it's not impossible she'd have run into some vampires while doing this and that stories might have spread of a teenage girl fighting monsters and trying to avoid official attention or stay in one place for too long. So I think it's pretty plausible that Giles himself might have discovered Faith over the summer, while looking for somebody he hoped would be Buffy. For her part, Faith wouldn't necessarily be in a rush to trust a strange adult man, even if he did claim to be a Watcher, but I think if he managed to convince her that Buffy was missing she'd agree to come to Sunnydale to temporarily fill in for her (both because she was looking for Buffy herself to begin with and because she'd jump at the chance to prove she could be as good as any other Slayer).

Meanwhile for her part I think a pre-Dead Man's Party Joyce would not be at all content to let Giles just sign up a new Slayer, but would insist on checking that said new Slayer had a place to stay and -- when she found out that Faith didn't have any family of her own to speak of -- offering her use of the spare room at her house (not Buffy's room, of course, because Joyce would insist that Buffy was coming back any day now, but pre-Dawn they do have a spare room). [Even in canon Joyce is the only adult other than the Mayor to ever suggest Faith shouldn't be spending all her nights in a cheap motel, and canon!Joyce has her own daughter to worry about which this Joyce doesn't yet.] And yes, Joyce is basically just trying to prove to herself she'd do a better job if/when Buffy came back (though she wouldn't admit that to anyone, least of all herself), but I don't think Faith would need much persuading to move in to a real house or to try to impress yet another surrogate mother figure (and she would, I think, be even more willing to do that if she could convince herself this wasn't some act of charity or pity but just a transactional arrangement where she'd help Joyce look for Buffy). Neither of them would think of this as Joyce replacing Buffy even for a second, but Buffy herself might have quite a differen take when she did finally come back.

I don't think Faith would make much effort to impress Buffy's friends without Buffy herself around (Xander would be impressed anyway; Oz and Cordelia still wouldn't care). Faith wouldn't think much of their efforts to fight vampires on their own either, and would do her best to put a stop to that (Giles and Joyce would briefly unite to agree with her). Willow would simultaneously be furious at Faith trying to 'replace' Buffy and not doing enough to go and look for her and angry at herself for spending the summer learning magic with Amy and not being able to help Giles find Buffy (she tries to use magic to find the Slayer once and gets very upset when it can only point her towards Faith). Faith wouldn't go to school, but they'd still run into each other at the library now and then.

Buffy herself gets back from LA just a little later ... right at the same time that Kakistos shows up. Faith still plans on dealing with things by running away, but this time Trick manages to track her down to Revello Drive and Kakistos and company manage to kidnap Joyce. Buffy convinces Faith to face her fears (especially with how much Joyce being captured reminds her of what Kakistos did to Diana), they save the day (and Faith rescues Joyce) and things proceed from there much as they did in the show (except that now Faith is living in the spare room of Buffy's house rather than a motel).

All of this has less impact on canon going forward than you might think. Faith still leaves town for unnanounced 'walkabouts' at various points during the season; still gets furious at Buffy when she finds out about Angel; still accidentally kills Allan Finch and still defects to work for the Mayor. The only two lasting changes are that when Faith tries to hold Joyce hostage in This Year's Girl she is briefly distracted by the fact that Joyce didn't clear her room out (Buffy also noted this when she went home in The Freshman and wondered why her mom started use her room for storage), and in Season 5 if it ever comes up before they find out about the Key and the monks changing everyone's memories, Buffy, Joyce and Dawn get confused about where exactly Faith stayed while she was in town, since Dawn was definitely there all along and so they didn't have any sort of spare room to offer Faith.

[mangoisms]

i'll be the dangerous ledge (you be the parachute)

summary: in which you manage to have a meet-cute in your apartment building's laundry room with tim drake.

━ chapter one: short of breath | read chapter two

━ pairing: tim drake x f!reader

━ word count: 4.3k

━ warnings: none

━ masterlist

Rose Oaks’ laundry room is dead at eleven-thirty in the evening. 

You retract the thought as soon as it forms. 

No, no, not dead. Silent. Calm. Yes, that’s better. 

In Gotham City, it’s best not to associate things or people with the word dead. Lest you, you know, tempt fate. 

While it is true that Rose Oaks, your fifteen-story apartment building situated between Chinatown and the Upper West Side, is safer than the previous complex you lived in in Burnley — it has a doorman and everything, how fancy is that — you tend to err on the side of caution. 

Of course, you’re also contradicting yourself since you’re coming down to do your laundry at eleven at night and if your parents knew, they would be very disapproving. 

But no one is perfect. 

And anyway, you’re halfway done. You’re moving your clothes and towels from the washing machine to the dryers, pouch of quarters rattling around in the pocket of your hoodie as you go. 

Kneeling in front of the open dryer, you tense when you hear the door open. You peek around the dryer door, watching a guy your age — early twenties — walk inside with a laundry basket propped on his hip. 

Your eyes quickly catalog lean muscles, dark hair, and pale skin before you force yourself to turn around and finish tossing in the wet clothes bundled in your arms, detangling some of them as you go. 

When you stand, turning back to the wall of washers, you glimpse his back, shoulders stretching out a white t-shirt. 

You go back to the washers you were using, a couple feet away from him. He is dumping his clothes inside. All of them. You get it. You were raised to separate your darks and whites and bright colors but when you have to pay to do laundry, you cut corners when necessary. 

You only separated your stuff for a few months before you got tired of paying the extra dollar and fifty to run another load. 

You bend forward to pull out another armful of clothes, careful not to let the whole world see the few pairs of underwear there, then turn and go back over to the dryer to throw them in. 

When you step back to the washers, you glimpse the guy intently studying the back of the bottle of laundry detergent. Like it’s got the secrets to the universe and not just the instructions on how to use it. Another bottle sits on the edge. Wait a second…

You pull out another armful, cross the room to deposit it into the dryer, then on your walk back, you squint to get a good look. 

Oh, yup. Fabric softener. Yikes. You don’t even think that can be used with these washers? The cheap ones that last, like, two decades and don’t exactly rotate like a regular front-facing washer does but rather very aggressively spins. 

Like the cherry on top, he seems to be using the measurements on the cup, the ones that the instructions tell you to use but you shouldn’t because you don’t actually need that much detergent, the companies are just trying to get you to use more and thus buy more. 

Oh, you can’t look anymore. It’s just too much. 

You grab your final armful of clothes, toss them in the dryer along with a dryer sheet and close the door. You just need your towels now. 

The guy is doing the fabric softener now. You look away, opening the lid on the other washer.  

Inside the circular washer, your towels are plastered to the sides. You reach down to unstick them. See, this is what you mean. It’s just cheap. For such a nice building, they should have better washers and dryers. Or better yet — apartments with an in-unit set. But this one was in your pay range and only half a mile from the school, which did sway you. 

No matter. At least the laundry room is in the same building. Your old apartment complex had a separate building for it and you hated making that walk. 

You throw in your towels and a dryer sheet, then shut the door. 

Behind you, you hear a similar sound. 

You stick your hand into the pocket of your hoodie, where your baggie of quarters is. Opening it, you mentally count out twelve quarters. A dollar and fifty for each load and you have two. You also hate that. Having to pay. You’re already paying for rent and utilities, you have to pay this, too? All landlords suck but Gotham ones, you’re convinced, are even suckier. 

You slot in the quarters until it beeps at you. You press start, then do the same for the other one. 

You turn and catch the guy scratching his head, glancing between his phone and the frayed poster on the wall that advertises the app you can download and use to pay for the washers and dryers. 

The thing is, the app stopped working, like, two weeks ago. Previous encounters with others in the laundry room assure you that everyone else is experiencing it. So, you have to do it the old-fashioned way and pay with the dusty seldom-used coin slots. 

You almost prefer it. With the app, you had a minimum limit of ten dollars when reloading money and oftentimes you aren’t doing more than two loads. You hated seeing the money leave your account. 

More head-scratching. You take pity on him.  

“It’s not working.”

His head snaps to you. It is with something of a sucker punch that you realize he is cute. Gorgeous, really. Black hair falling over his forehead into blue eyes that blink at you. 

Your heart does a weird wiggly thing at his attractiveness. You’re no good with pretty people. No good at all. 

Ignoring the sudden bout of nerves, you gesture to the poster. “The app isn’t working, right? It hasn’t for two weeks now. Dunno when they’re gonna fix it. You have to use the coin slot.”

“Great,” he sighs, his voice a mellifluous tenor. 

He puts his phone away, then reaches into the pocket of his sweats, pulling out a wallet. 

“Who carries coins these days, anyway?” he mutters, making your lips twitch; the quarters do not magically appear by the way he closes his wallet, puts it away, then looks at the coin slot, deliberating. 

You don’t think anyone has ever stolen another person’s clothes. At least it hasn’t happened to you but you can’t speak for the other tenants in this building. Still, you wouldn’t run upstairs and just leave your clothes in there. Even for a few minutes. 

But it doesn’t really matter, anyway, in the end. You already know what you’re going to do. 

“Here,” you say, pulling out the baggie of quarters and opening it again, venturing closer to him. 

“You don’t have to —”

“Don’t worry about it,” you say, shooting him a small smile. “I wouldn’t want to leave my clothes here if it’s not on, either. Just one, right?”

He seems to accept his fate, nodding. 

You pull out twelve quarters like last time. 

“For the washer and the dryer,” you say when he opens his mouth to presumably protest. “Just in case.”

“I’ll pay you back.”

You laugh. “In quarters, too?”

Amusement shines in his eyes. His lips quirk. “If you’d like.”

“No repayment necessary,” you tell him. “Really.”

Collected quarters in hand, you extend your hand and he opens his beneath yours. Your hands brush as you pass them to him carefully, making sure they don’t fall to the ground. That would be embarrassing. 

“Thanks,” he says, sending you a grateful look. 

You nod and put your baggie of coins back in your pocket. “No problem.”

You turn away, making for the door, pleased to have helped. 

You see him again the following weekend. Same time. Eleven PM on Saturday night. Your laundry slash cleaning days. You like to wait until much later in the evenings; the laundry room can get busier earlier in the day, especially the afternoon. There is never a short supply of washers to use but the dryers can be a scarce commodity if it’s busy. You’d hate to have a basket full of wet clothes and no dryer to put them in. 

At this time, only a couple washers run and a few dryers hum. 

When you slip inside to move your clothes from the washer to the dryer like last time, Detergent Boy is already there. 

Except not with a bottle of fabric softener or a bottle of liquid laundry detergent but… laundry detergent in powder form? 

What is he doing, conducting some kind of experiment? 

You also wonder about the lack of fabric softener. Did that not go well? You thought it might not. Too bad. 

You wonder in general, about him. He seems rather… confused about everything regarding, hm, laundry. 

He looks over his shoulder at your entrance, lips ticking up when he sees you. That does funny things to your heart.

“Hey,” he says. “Is the app working?”

“Is the — oh. No. Still doing it the old-fashioned way.” 

You are briefly confused at the question, considering he was inside before you, though he hadn’t yet started the machine. Then you realize you are stepping in empty-handed and he must’ve concluded by that that you had already thrown your clothes into the washer and you are now moving them to dry. 

Huh. He is… observant. Or maybe it’s normal and you’re just too used to dealing with the short attention spans of your kids at school. It’s probably that. 

You are a teacher’s aide at the freshly-opened Gotham Pointe Academy, a middle and high school combined into one, funded heavily by Wayne Enterprises, located in the Upper West Side. You assist the kind but scatterbrained teacher, Ms. C, in sixth grade social studies. 

The pay is good, which is due to the aforementioned funding by Wayne Enterprises. WE seems to be on a public education kick recently, pouring money into not just Gotham Pointe but the existing underfunded schools in the city. 

You won’t complain. The state of many in-city schools is not great. Things are better in the ones in the suburbs, you’ve heard. And of course, private schools like Gotham Academy have no issues at all. At least when it comes to funding, anyway.

“I figured it wouldn’t be working yet,” he says as you go over to the washers, lifting the lid. His is a few over from yours. 

“Yeah, I have no idea when they’re going to fix it. The office says we need to talk to the app’s support but I feel like that’s a cop-out.”

“Oh, for sure,” he says, making you grin. “So, can I pay you back?”

“You really don’t have to,” you chuckle, lifting the wet clothes from the washer and turning to cross over to the dryers.

“It’s only fair,” he insists, eyes following you, making you a little more proactive in making sure he doesn’t get an eyeful of your bras and underwear in your laundry. His eyes are on your face but still. “How about I pay for your load? I know you already paid for the wash but I can do the dryer.”

No skin off your back. Why not?

“Alright,” you say. “Thanks. Appreciate it.”

You pause in your transport as he lifts a baggie of quarters out of the pocket of his sweatpants and quickly counts out twelve.

“It’s —”

“I know,” he says. “But that’s how much you gave me last time, so. Use it next week.”

You can tell he isn’t doing it to make sure he doesn’t owe you, but rather he really is trying to pay back the kindness you’d afforded him. It’s a warming gesture. Here in Gotham City, the citizens are wary at best and downright nasty at worst. You understand why. They are bombarded with attacks from literal clowns and other terrifying figures who do the things they do just for the fun of it. Then you have the gangs, preying eagerly on the desperate souls of this city, and with a corrupt government that gives little to no shit about its people, there is no shortage of desperation. It’s their fault first and foremost, you think. A government has to take care of its people; they work for them, not the other way around. And the police are equally as useless. 

But not all hope is lost.

No, you think, accepting the quarters from him with a grateful smile. Not all.

You get back to moving your clothes. He gets back to studying the instructions for the powdered detergent. Really, you think. What’s up with that? It’s not a money thing, you think, since living here is a tad more expensive than other parts of the city and anyway, you saw his phone last week — it’s the newly-released WayneTech phone that came out, like, a week ago. It’s on the market for upward of a grand, which is a crazy amount of money to pay for a phone. Your phone — WayneTech, because yes, they do have good tech and you like the interface, you’ll admit that — is several years old. In fact, a present from your parents when you moved here at eighteen to attend Gotham University.

You yourself are a strong proponent of the detergent pods. Don’t need to measure out your own detergent each time you do a wash. Just toss that bad boy in there and boom. That’s it. You have vague memories of your mom using liquid detergent before switching over to the pods, which you still use, naturally. If it ain’t broke and all that. 

It’s both a little difficult to withhold your questions about his changing detergent use, as well as squash down any impulses to inform him about detergent pods’ existence.

But you manage to hold your tongue. If not because he helped to pay your dryer load and next week’s washer load, then because you don’t want to push his limits. Kind as he may be, kind as you want to believe him to be, he is still a strange guy that you do not know. A strange guy who lives somewhere here in this building, too. 

No matter how much his behavior concerning detergent — laundry — mystifies you.

But of course, that only continues to get worse.

The next week, he is using… detergent tablets?

You didn’t even know detergent existed in that form.

This time, you cannot help but stare.

You coincidentally managed to align your times properly, so you have your basket of dirty clothes to be washed and he does, too. 

“What’s with the continued experimentation of laundry detergent?” you ask before you can stop yourself.

He looks at you, blinking, before you remember yourself and shake your head. “Sorry, you don’t —”

“No,” he says, a tad sheepish now. “No, it’s fine. I’m, uh…” he trails off, cornflower blue eyes flickering to his basket of clothes, then the tablets in a shifty manner.

Oh, wait…

“You… don’t know how to do laundry?”

“I know how to do laundry,” he says quickly, defensively, then grimaces. “I’m just figuring out the… schematics.”

Something about that, about the determined intensity on his face as he looks at the washer, makes you laugh. Really hard.

“Hey,” he protests.

“I’m sorry,” you giggle. “I’m sorry. I’m not laughing at you, I swear. I just —” it’s cute. In a weird way. In a way that shouldn’t be cute because come on, what guy your age doesn’t know how to do his own laundry? You are suspecting some wealth to his background, in that case. What with the expensive phone he had. Or just a guy who never did his own laundry and had his parents do it. 

But no. Despite that, it — he is cute, looking at you with a sulky expression.

You grin at him. “Genuinely, I’m asking genuinely, but what’s stumping you?”

He eyes you. There’s that familiar Gothamite suspicion. 

“Come on,” you say, unable to kick the grin off your face. “I wanna help. As someone who’s been doing her laundry the same way for the last decade, I can help.”

He sighs, crossing his arms. “I’m just figuring out the detergent, that’s all. I… didn’t use to do my own laundry and now that I’m on my own I’m trying to get it to how Al — the last person who did it did it. Haven’t been able to pin it down.”

“So, that’s why you’ve been experimenting.”

Pink settles high on his cheeks and he gives you a slightly petulant look. It’s ridiculously endearing. God, he’s cute. It’s not fair. 

You rub a hand over your smiling mouth. “Look, my advice? Just use these.”

You reach into your basket to grab the baggie of pods. 

“Hm.” He turns a critical eye over them. You bite your lip to fight off a bigger grin.

“Don’t have to measure anything,” you say, barely managing to keep the laughter out of your voice. “Just toss one — or two, depending on the load — in and you’re gold.”

“Interesting.”

You can’t help the giggle that slips out but he doesn’t seem so sulky about it now, his lips twitching too as he shakes his head at you.

“I’ve seen it at the store, you know,” he says, watching you set it aside and start throwing your clothes inside the washer. “I would’ve gotten there eventually.”

You have to laugh at that. 

“Well,” you say, laughter still in your voice as you set your basket aside and pick up the baggie. “You can try it out now, if you’d like. I thought I’d need to split my clothes into two loads but it fits.”

You glance at the washer, your thick coat taking up a lot of space. 

“Mostly, anyway. So.” You jiggle the bag with the two pods at him. “And I swear they’re straight from the container.”

He snorts. “I wasn’t even thinking you sabotaged them but now I am. Good job.”

“Hey, I have nothing against you! What reason could I have to mess with your clothes?”

“It’s Gotham. No one needs much of a reason to do anything.”

“Okay, Mr. Cynic.”

He chuckles and turns to dump his clothes into the washer, too. You pull out one of the pods and drop it in, then lean forward to change a couple settings for the wash, switching the water from cold to hot. A necessity, these days. God knows the kinds of germs the kids pass onto you. You started working with them last year in September and immediately got your ass kicked by a nasty head cold. You think your ears were clogged for a good three months after that. 

With it now being the start of February, your immune system is, like, juiced up. You’re fairly certain you are resistant to most, if not all, diseases. The CDC wishes it was you. 

You pass off the baggie to him and he pulls out the last pod. You nod approvingly and take out your other baggie from the pocket of your hoodie, counting out the quarters and slotting them in until the machine beeps at you. You press start and it whirs on. 

Next to you, Detergent Boy does the same.

Hm. You should get his name.

Just so you don’t have to call him that in your head. Yep. Not at all because you would very much like the name of a cute guy… And certainly not because you’re starting to think you do need to make a friend other than Ms. C and your coworkers… Your brother says it doesn’t count if it’s a person from work. And the kids don’t, either. Whatever. Spoilsport. 

You had friends in college but most of them left the city. High-tailed it for Metropolis or some other city that didn’t continue to break records when it came to crime and corruption. Which is fine. You get it. Sort of. 

“So, since you’ve apparently been checking out my detergent use —”

“Nooo, it sounds weird when you say it like that. I just noticed while we were talking, okay. Not to mention you kept staring at the instructions like they were the Rosetta Stone or something.”

He flushes and seems to decide to drop that topic so that he doesn’t have to respond or acknowledge those words. You grin. 

“Anyway,” he presses, rolling his eyes at the look on your face. “I think we should probably introduce ourselves.”

“We should, should we?” 

A voice in your head that sounds like your brother mutters, As if you aren’t dying to know his name.

You promptly tell it to shut up.

“Just so I know who to blame if my clothes get messed up. Or if the washer explodes.”

You burst out laughing. “You’re funny!”

He grins at you. It’s a nice look on his stupidly pretty face. “I’m Tim. Tim Drake.”

Oh. 

A lot of things make sense, suddenly.

But you shove that realization aside in favor of telling him your name. “Nice to officially meet you, Tim Drake.”

He echoes your greeting with your full name and you have to ignore the way the butterflies in your belly go a little crazy at hearing the syllables of your name on his tongue. 

Tim picks up his empty basket and so do you, the two of you wordlessly making for the exit.

“So, can I ask if you just moved here?”

He holds the door open for you. You nod in thanks and step out. 

He shakes his head in response to your previous question. “I’ve been here a while. Just haven’t, ah, been doing my laundry here.”

“You mean someone else was doing your laundry,” you say, unable to stop yourself from poking fun at him. A side effect of spending forty plus hours with preteens every week, you’re sure. 

He groans as you two come up to the elevator; he presses the button to go up. The laundry room is on the ground floor, towards the back of the building. Not in the basement or something, thankfully. That would just be the cherry on top of all of this.

“Hey, I’m not judging,” you say, shooting him a small grin.

“Really? ‘Cause it kind of feels like you are.”

Ding. The doors open. You two step inside. On the panel on his side, he presses the button for the fifteenth floor. On your side, you press the button for the fourteenth. 

The doors close.

“I’m not, I swear. I guess if I had some kind of maid —”

“Butler.”

You cannot withhold your snort. He rolls his eyes. 

“Right, right… if I had a butler or something, I wouldn’t do my own laundry, either. Although, it is kind of a hazard, so I’m not sure — oh, I don’t mean like that, shut up,” you say, flushing at the raised eyebrow he gives you. “My clothes are no dirtier than anyone else’s. They’ve just… got a lot of germs.”

It’s Tim’s turn to be cheeky.

“Riiiight. I bet they do.”

“I work with kids, alright,” you whine. “They’re germ monsters, man. It’s not as bad as kindergarteners or something, definitely not, but six graders still aren’t the epitome of health and cleanliness.”

He laughs at your tone. “So, you’re a teacher?”

“Teacher’s aide,” you correct. “Don’t have enough experience for that yet, no matter what PS 125 was trying to tell me when they offered me a job.”

He grimaces. “Their retention rate gets worse every year. I don’t blame them.”

“Well, I blame the city. Stupid government. Where the hell are my taxes going? Not to anything worthwhile, that’s for sure.” You shake your head. “Anyway. What about you?”

Even if he is Tim Drake, adopted son of billionaire Bruce Wayne who owns the burgeoning Wayne Enterprises, a company that rakes in billions but at the very least turns over a decent chunk of it to the city. Even with that, Bruce Wayne has a fortune and you’re certain that extends to his son — his children. Especially since you can vaguely recall some incident where Tim was, like, CEO? Briefly. Very briefly. When you were in your teens, actually. He was, too, so your mom smartly said he was more than likely just a figurehead. No seventeen-year-old should run a company. Not even seventeen-year-old super-rich and equally-as-educated Tim Drake, you think. 

But your attempt at equality goes a little wayside as he coughs, uncomfortable.

“I, uh, am not working right now. Not full-time, anyway. I do some work for WE. IT and R&D.”

You laugh softly at his attempt at overcompensation. “Dude, relax. I’m not judging you. Well. I’m not judging a lot.”

“Thanks,” he says dryly.

You grin. “I just mean it’s nice that you get a choice. It should be like that for all of us.”

“Universal income?”

You point at him. “Tell your dad about it.”

Tim tilts his head thoughtfully. “It was brought up, actually, a couple years ago. The city refused. Said it would make people ‘lazy.’”

“Those bastards.”

He laughs and you decide you very much like making him laugh.

The doors slide open to your floor. 

“See you later, Tim,” you say, giving him a two-fingered salute.

His eyes crinkle. “Later as in when our cycles are done and we have to put them in the dryer?”

“Of course! Oh, wait, I have a question, just to, heh, cover our bases regarding your lack of laundry knowledge —”

“Oh, come on.”

You grin, pausing by the doors, keeping a hand pressed to them so they don’t close on you. “You are using dryer sheets, right?”

“Of course I am.”

A pause.

“Every time you put your clothes in the dryer, right?”

He starts jamming the close doors button, averting his eyes. “I’ll, uh, see you later.”

You step out, grinning. “We’ll make a laundry master out of you yet, Tim Drake.”

The last thing you see before the doors close is him smiling. 

reblogs are appreciated!

[flavorcrash]

Don’t you remember how we met?

I do.

The Chatelaine was a pub I used to frequent at least three times a week after whatever work I was given for the day. I’d been going there ever since I was legally allowed to drink. Vivianne knew me as a regular, but only by my face and name. Nothing else. She tried a few times to bring up conversation with me, but I tried not to indulge her. 

Maybe it was pity. Maybe that’s why she would try to talk to me. I always sat alone at the pub, picking whatever area wasn’t the most occupied. I was able to blend in that way. Despite my size people never noticed me.

And then there was you.

I had never seen you before in the pub, working with a bright smile on your face and those striking green eyes. You almost glowed whenever you entered the main room from the kitchen. People liked you. You were able to talk to them, get them to laugh, cheer them up, you always knew what to say to them just to make everything alright again. I never knew what jealousy was until I met you. I wanted your smile. Your gaze. Your presence. I needed it. There were a few moments where I had your attention. You would take my order and then give me my drink. You would try to talk to me but someone else would take you away from me… and you would look so disappointed.

You never pitied me.

I was someone to you. I wasn’t a burden or someone kicked to the curb that needed help. You actually saw me. Me. It was so overwhelming at first. I felt like I didn’t deserve it, the very light that you radiated, you shared it with me for once and I didn’t deserve it. But you did it anyway.

I tried to come to the pub more often. I tried to sit in places that were more accessible to you so we could be around each other more. You seemed to like that. Your smile looked like it got wider everytime we saw one another. But you were never allowed to talk to me. It wasn’t your fault though. The patrons were always beckoning your attention and as much as I can relate to their desire to have your presence… They didn’t deserve it. Neither did I of course, but… I didn’t care. I’m greedy. And you were mine. You didn’t know it, but you had to be mine. 

Our first conversation was nice.

I think it was a slow night for once. Something the Chatelaine seldom had. It was sort of a once every blue moon opportunity. You were tired. ‘My feet are killing me’ you insisted. Yet you were alive, so how did that make any sense? My confusion was funny to you. That sound. That small laugh. I wanted to keep it. I wanted a recording of it so I could listen to it every night. Or even better, I could have you with me and I could listen to you whenever I wanted. But then you left me again. I was alone in the booth, left to stare at the odd stains and markings in the table. The offensive carvings and writings people had left behind over the many years this place had been open. When you came back, there was a small thud followed by a sigh. You sat down across from me and placed a drink in front of me. My favorite. It was a cheap German beer that you always had on hand. Or rather Vivianne had on hand. She wanted to throw it out, not many patrons drank it, just me. But you kept it for me. I remember staring at you, confused and in awe that you were this close to me. Staring at me expectantly as you kept me company. No other patrons were asking for him, if anything there were barely any people left in the bar at that time. It was a few stragglers and then… us. 

“It’s on me”

You insisted as you had pushed the glass my way. The golden liquid in it spilled over the edge just a bit as you had overfilled it. You kept talking, rambling on about your day as I took the glass. You knew I could pay for it, I wasn’t struggling with my funds but you gave it to me anyways. Why? I couldn’t wrap my head around it… So I decided not to question it further, taking the drink and enjoying it while I could. You spoke so fast and you were so energetic, using your hands to help you deliver your message. Your mannerisms and body language were so charming. I couldn’t help but watch your lips as you talked, how despite the speed, you managed to enunciate everything so perfectly. You barely stammered or stuttered, you spoke with purpose. The times you did, you would do these silly things to help you remember the point you were trying to make. How you scrunched up your nose and frowned to yourself, snapping your fingers a few times until you got it. I don’t think I had ever felt that relaxed before. You calmed me down. I was always on edge, ready for something to hurt me, but you were so kind.

So can you blame me for being so greedy?

[plaguedoctormemes]

i'm not deleting my tumblr blogs but this whole debacle with the AI stuff is discouraging me to at least not post original content here and limit my time on social media in general. Also to be clear on my stance on AI, which I think is very much influenced by my background as both an artist and a professional graphic designer: I think it can be a very useful tool and I don't even necessarily inherently find it completely harmful. Some forms of AI are already well used and completely normalized, but I find most of the time generative AI as we know it is pretty harmful and its harms outweighs its benefits currently (largely grifts, scams and misinfo). It needs regulation desperately, but old cunt politicians are too dumb to really care about or understand how important the issue is right now. I do not believe that AI will simply peter off or crash. From a marketing standpoint, i feel like AI usage will cool off or become more specialized (like creating whole machines *just* trained on individual brands for personal use and whatnot) but I have no idea how far away that would be. I just believe there might come a time where everyone is over the "spectacle" of generative AI and will find it inaffective or inherently associated with cheapness. At least in the most base sense in advertising, it is generally much better to have your own photographs and original branded artwork as it proves authenticity. You can only see a illusionist do so many tricks before you're bored by them and expect them, and we're already getting to the point where even the average Joe is tired of hearing about AI and the future, and at least when it comes to art and writing i just... don't care? i don't give a shit about it. BACK TO TUMBLR: I'm aware that its likely that mine and everyone elses' posts here have already been scraped. My thing is that it's more the symbolism of Tumblr's "opt-out" choice: memorial blogs, inactive blogs, and so on are going to be scraped without consent. No banners or pop ups to notify users of this change, you either have to either HAPPEN UPON to see staff's post or see others talk about it to even know about it. Since the beginning of this whole AI boom i had no issue with AI data training as long as it's consentual and ethical, but obviously it most of the time isnt. Tumblr's method of rolling out this change was purposely underhanded. I'm never going to simply be "okay" or normalize in my mind the fact that big tech companies feel entitled to people's privacy- which i believe extends to our online lives. I don't think myself or anyone else should ever feel completely apathetic to the fact that people you don't know, that definitely do not need it, are making money off of you without your consent or knowledge. Just to be clear this isnt about what is and isnt "real art" or whatever for me. It's just a huge distraction from the main point, a big debate that will go absolutely nowhere. What's more important about it is that big techs and billionaires don't have interest in making the world a better place, they only care about eliminating our "distractions" that get in the way of them making money and accumulating more wealth. My solution: We need to make them deepthroat shotguns and machetes.

[sunshowersanddandelionwine]

YOU ASKED AND YOU SHALL RECIEVE

(this is going to be Long so prepare yourself XD)

Murderbot Diaries:

I have no idea if you've ever read the murderbot diaries books by martha wells (which, if you havent and have any sort of interest in science fiction PLEASE READ THEM THEYRE SO FUN) but the character of secunit is SO ghost coded its not even funny

for those unaware: secunit is short for security unit, which in the world of murderbot are partially artificial and partially human constructs created as cheap labor. secunits are considered property rather than people, despite being totally sentient. they are not, however, autonomous. secunits have a thing called a "governor module" that will essentially fry their brains if they do anything to go against the company/their client's orders. secunits can be repaired and reissued to new clients, so the whole thing is just super fucked up

anyway, back to the au. ghost, like murderbot, manages to disable his governor module somehow and is able to act completely autonomously. however, he's been so Fucked Up by you know... being a secunit, that he doesnt exactly know how to be autonomous or his own person, so he just. Doesnt. and he continues to protect clients as they come up, doing his best to hide the fact that hes able to act freely.

enter the 141 survey crew, who are his latest group of clients that hes been tasked with protecting. its a much smaller group than he's used to, only seven members compared to dozens and dozens, but that means he's the only secunit sent along which is for the better tbh. the members of the survey include laswell, price, gaz, soap, farah, alex, and roach.

for once in ghost's life, he's not treated as a looming threat or an inanimate object, but an actual person with thoughts and opinions of his own. and he Does Not Like This At All.

at least, not at first. but he finds his walls start getting eroded by these idiotic humans and their idiotic tendencies to make the worst possible choices. (especially a certain engineer with a taste for explosive materials, but thats neither here nor their)

of course, something has to go wrong, as it always does. there are two other survey teams on the planet - kortac and shadow company. and according to a message sent by one of them (not sure which yet lmao), something is hunting them.

and soon, the 141 is going to be hunted to

im trying not to directly copy the plot of all systems red (the first murderbot novella) so yeah!

Muzzled:

this is going under the read more because its getting too long lmao

cw for mild mouth trauma and general blood/violence

SO this one is fun.

ghost is still part of the 141, alongside gaz and price. he's a werewolf (obviously XD) and somehow, a mark gets the drop on him while he's shifted into his full wolf form

he wakes up in a tiny iron cage in a dank basement, with a burning pain across his snout, jaw, and neck. his captors managed to muzzle and collar him with pure silver, keeping him as weak and docile as possible. hes still fucking dangerous as shit, but this way they can at least handle him.

his captors, a group of hunter/poachers, have a shitton of other supernaturals trapped in the basement with him. they come down to gloat, and with them is a strange man. he doesnt talk smack like the others. he moreso tries to blend into the shadows and disappear. but ghost cant tear his eyes away from the bright blue eyes lurking in the darkness. or the thick iron band locked around his throat.

the man is clearly inhuman, but he cant - or wont - speak. hes tasked with taking care of the "feral wolf" (ghost) for the duration of his stay. from the precise wording of the orders, ghost knows exactly what the man in.

fair folk. something powerful, too, given the iron bands around his wrists as well.

days of ghost plotting his escape pass, and ghost and the fae start to come to some sort of wordless alliance. they take care of each other as best they can from their relative cages, finding solace in each other that they cant find anywhere else.

something happens later down the line, maybe gaz and price are getting to close to the operations, but the poachers decide that its time to cut their losses and skip town. they order the fae to "take care of the wolf". ghost's heart drops, because he knows that a fae cant disobey an order given by the keeper of their true name.

but in the poachers' haste to get things wrapped up, they made a mistake. they left the order unclear and open ended.

and the fair folk always take notice of loopholes.

the fae unlocks ghost's cage and releases him from the silver. ghost, rather than just go up and slaughter the entire organization himself, decides to be extra and lets loose every single other creature trapped down there with him. they all go and massacre the ring, but ghost doesnt. because the fae collapsed on the floor of the basement, dropping his glamour in the process. and the sight is grisly.

he's skin and bones, barely any muscle or fat on him at all. the iron ring around his neck and the iron bands around his wrists hang loose, showing the thick rings of scar tissue on pale skin. but the worst is his mouth.

coarse, rough thread seals his mouth shut, the wounds red and angry and irritated. locking the fae's strongest weapon away, keeping him firmly under the whims of his captors. he may have had the freedom of movement that ghost lacked, but he was as much a prisoner here as the rest.

ghost somehow manages to get them all out safe, and he finally gets the fae's name. his true name. not the silly little nickname he gave him in his head while watching him clean the basement day in and day out (soap).

for the first time in months, simon and johnny speak to one another.

there you go, hope you enjoyed! @bl-nk-sp-ce