#decision making statements in c

[oidheadh-con-culainn]

sometimes when i have a flare-up it is not in fact because i was not pacing myself. it's more like

like. i was pacing myself but i was at maximum and then something unexpected came up that i couldn't avoid so it pushed me over the edge. or i was pacing myself but i slightly misjudged where my threshold was this week and got it wrong. or whatever

do not assume the risk was not calculated. 99% of the time it was and i am allowed to take those goddamn risks

but also the 1% is just called Being Alive and abled people get to do it all the time. why shouldn't i

[valeisaslut]

⭒࿐COLLIDE - c. two

credits for the fanart: nramvv - edited by me

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐓𝐖𝐎 𝐖𝐄 𝐋𝐎𝐎𝐊 𝐇𝐎𝐓𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐎𝐍 𝐓𝐇𝐄

𝐅𝐑𝐎𝐍𝐓 𝐏𝐀𝐆𝐄.

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⚢ pairing: Rockstar!Ellie Williams x Popstar!Reader 𖥔 ݁ ˖

⭒ synopsis: One TMZ headline later, and the internet is in a full-blown meltdown. You should’ve known that sneaking out of Ellie Williams’ hotel at sunrise was a disaster waiting to happen. Now the whole world thinks you and Ellie are dating, and there’s only one way out—lean into the chaos. A fake relationship was never part of the plan, but if anyone can pull it of, it’s the two of you… right? 𖥔 ݁ ˖

⭒ word count: 6,8k 𖥔 ݁ ˖

⭒ content: unserious and chaotic as HELL lmao, fake dating, mostly dialogue, memes and brainrot stuff, LOTS of cursing, pet names, fluff if you squint, use of y/n, modern au, smoking weed, mention of cigarettes, alcohol and drugs, afab!reader, multiple part series, likes and reblogs are deeply appreciated 𖥔 ݁ ˖

TMZ EXCLUSIVE: Y/N’s MYSTERIOUS WALK OF SHAME… STRAIGHT OUT OF ELLIE WILLIAMS’ HOTEL? 👀🔥

Los Angeles, CA – Buckle up, internet, because today’s tea is so hot it might spontaneously combust. Early this morning, global pop sensation y/n was spotted making a very interesting exit from The Four Seasons—an exit that screamed, “I made some choices, and I’ll be dealing with the consequences (happily) later.”

Let’s paint the picture: baggy jeans (very much not hers), an oversized tee (suspiciously familiar), last-night heels, and, most importantly, the kind of walk that suggests she just lived through an... experience.🔥

VIDEO ATTACHED: y/n stepping out of The Four Seasons with the posture of someone who just discovered new life-altering truths about herself.

And now, the cherry on top? The hotel in question just happens to be the same one where rock’s reigning heartbreaker and The Fireflies' frontwoman, Ellie Williams, has been staying during the band's sold-out tour.

Yeah. Let THAT sink in.

THE NIGHT BEFORE: PURE CHAOS

Last night, the musicians were first spotted together at a private club in West Hollywood, and the energy? Dangerous. We’re talking intense eye contact, whispered words, and a proximity that had no business being that close. 👀

Sources inside the club (who, let’s be real, were probably staring way too hard) claim the two were “all over each other the entire night.” And then, like clockwork—both gone. Together.😏

PICTURE ATTACHED: y/n and Ellie at the bar, drinks in hand, leaning in so close they might as well be sharing oxygen.

Fast-forward a few hours, and one of them is leaving a luxury hotel in borrowed clothes, while the other is nowhere to be seen. Hm...

THE INTERNET: INSTANTLY UNHINGED

It’s not every day that the two of the most famous artists on the planet accidentally break the internet with a single walk of shame. It took exactly 0.2 seconds for Twitter—sorry, X—to collectively lose its mind. #YNxEllie shot to the top of the trending list faster than lighting, and the reactions? Pure, unfiltered, internet gold.

Some fans are calling it the rock-pop crossover event of the decade. Others are in full denial, muttering “it’s just a one-time thing” like a prayer (lol, sure). And then there’s the fanfic writers, who are already on their second chapter about this very moment.

Meanwhile, our two leads? Radio. Silence.

No wry Instagram stories. No cryptic tweets. No emergency PR statements. Just Ellie, cool as ever, casually liking a meme about getting your clothes stolen from “the girl you spent all night ruining.” 😭🙃

SO, WHAT HAPPENS NOW?

We wait. Impatiently.

Is this just an iconic but questionable decision? Will y/n post a cryptic thirst trap in retaliation? Will Ellie respond with an even more cryptic Instagram story? Or are we witnessing the birth of music’s next power couple?

One thing’s for sure—this is a story we’ll be watching very closely.

Stay tuned. 😏🔥

What do YOU think? Drop your theories in the comments below! ⬇️🔥

────────────

❤️ 10M — 💬 287,54k

@: this isn’t just a hookup. this is the lesbians Super Bowl. 

@: tears in my eyes. full body worship. standing ovulation. whatever it’s called.

@: “mysterious walk of shame” NAH SHE CLOCKED IN, DID OVERTIME, AND LEFT WITH A RAISE 💀

@: not her texting the driver like “can’t feel my legs send help” 😭 icon.

@: someone check on the poor girl ellie this wasn’t a leave her paralyzed challenge

@: THE SECOND PIC. YALL. THEY LOOK SO GODDAMN FINE I’M CHEWING DRYWALL AND DRINKING THE DUST 😩

@: i need them to either hard launch or drop a sex tape at this point because my soul is restless

@: this is the most lesbian thing I’ve ever seen and I was THERE for korrasami and caitvi.

@: i just KNOW Ellie’s strap game goes absolutely feral and that walk was all the proof I needed #cravethat #scientificallyproven

@: pop mother got her back blown OUT

@: #elliehititrawandnowshestrending

@: they are either deeply in love or just HORRENDOUS at sneaky links. either way, I win.

@: tmz trynna act like we don’t instantly recognize Ellie’s entire wardrobe on her lmao

@: she defo picked those on purpose and you can't convince me otherwiseeee

@: the way we all clocked those clothes immediately like homegirl has worn that same fit 67 times this year and counting

@: Ellie dresses like a divorced dad at Home Depot but somehow y/n wearing her clothes is the hottest thing I’ve ever seen

@: one-night thing my ass. drop the collab album. drop the wedding invites. drop the baby name.

@: I have no idea what's going on but I support them!

The studio is cold. Too cold.

You lean against the massive soundboard, eyes heavy with exhaustion as the producer fine-tunes the levels on your latest track. The bass hums through the speakers, deep and rhythmic.

You got home, showered, and walked into the studio like nothing happened. Like you weren’t still replaying everything in your head—the heat of her hands, the weight of her body, the way she— Nope. Not going there.

The only thing keeping you upright is sheer force of will and the coffee clutched in your hands, now lukewarm but still packing enough caffeine to keep your legs from betraying you in front of the expensive equipment.

But something feels off.

Nobody is looking at you.

Nobody is saying anything.

The thing is, your team is never quiet. They talk about everything—schedules, brand deals, what the fuck you’re eating for lunch—but today? Nothing. Just silence.

Not a single offhand comment. No teasing about the all-nighter you clearly pulled. Not even a glance in your direction.

Your producer is laser-focused on the track, nodding along like it holds the meaning of life. Your sound editor keeps his eyes glued to the screen, like looking anywhere else might kill him. And your assistant—sweet, terrible liar that she is—won’t stop sneaking glances at her phone, then at you, then at her phone again, like she’s watching a train wreck in real time and trying to figure out when to break the news that you’re the train.

Slowly, you set your coffee down, reach for your own phone, and unlock it, already feeling the creeping dread claw up your spine.

The second your screen lights up, it’s over. Notifications flood in. X. Instagram. Texts. Group chats blowing up like a damn stock market crash. Millions of mentions. Your name trending in bold, blaring letters.

And then you see it.

TMZ EXCLUSIVE: Y/N'S MYSTERIOUS WALK OF SHAME… STRAIGHT OUT OF ELLIE WILLIAMS’ HOTEL? 👀🔥

You suck in a breath—a sharp, audible gasp that cuts through the eerie silence.

Your assistant makes a tiny, distressed sound. Your producer visibly flinches, finally daring to glance at you. Your sound editor—wise, blessedly silent—just pauses the track.

Your fingers move faster than your brain, scrolling in blind panic. Pictures. Too many fucking pictures.

The first one is a grainy, low-lit shot of you and Ellie at the bar—bodies too close, drinks in hand, faces inches apart. The kind of tension that crackles even through a shitty phone camera. The next? A ruthless side-by-side comparison of Ellie’s Instagram post from last week. Same shirt. Same jeans. The exact ones you walked out wearing.

And then—because the universe is a cruel, twisted place—the final nail in the coffin.

A video.

Of you.

Sneaking out of her hotel.

You hit play, and instantly regret every life choice that led you there. Because why the fuck were you walking like that?!

Not just suspicious. Not just guilty. But the kind of unsteady, post-life-changing-experience walk that has the entire internet foaming at the mouth, legs barely cooperating like you just left the scene of a particularly intense crime.

Your soul exits your body, ascends to the ceiling, and refuses to come back down.

Your phone starts ringing. And you already know who it is. For a brief, fleeting moment, you consider launching the damn thing across the room.

Because of course it’s Rachel.

Your manager and professional-life mastermind. The woman who negotiates your million-dollar deals before breakfast. And, apparently, the bane of your existence right now.

You push through the studio doors without explaining a damn thing, the cool air outside hitting your face like a slap. Your head is pounding, fingers digging into your temples like you can physically massage the embarrassment out of your skull.

Your phone still vibrates in your hand. You don’t even have time to brace yourself before answering. The second you do, her voice explodes through the speaker.

“OH. MY. GOD.”

You flinch, yanking the phone away from your ear like it might physically protect you. It doesn’t. She’s still yelling, still fully spiraling, and honestly? She has every right to. Because you’re trending. Hard.

And not for your music.

“Before you say anything—”

“ARE YOU SEEING THIS? My phone has been BLOWING UP since 6 AM. Do you understand what you’ve done?!”

You sigh, shifting uncomfortably. Here we fucking go.

“Rachel, I’m so fucking sorry, I never meant for that to happen I didn’t know there were paparazzi outside the hotel! I—”

“THIS IS PERFECT.”

“—know I fucked up”

You pause mid-spiral. Blink. “...Wait, what?”

“You heard me! This is GOLD. This is EVERYTHING. Your fans are losing their minds, the internet is eating this up, and you know what that means?”

“…That I need to delete my existence?”

“That this is going to take both of your careers to the next level.”

Your head is spinning. “Whoa—slow down. The fuck you mean?”

Rachel lets out an exaggerated sigh, like she’s explaining shapes to a toddler. “You need to be interesting. She needs damage control. You both need the press for the upcoming albums. This relationship is everything you need.”

“Relationship?” You nearly choke. “Rachel, we just hooked up. It was a one-time thing, nothing else.”

“Oh... just a one-time thing?”

“Yes!”

“Okay.”

She says it so casually you instantly know she’s about to ruin your life.

“Then fake it.”

“WHAT?”

Your soul leaves your body. Again.

“A fake relationship!” She repeats, like it’s the most normal suggestion in the world.

“Oh my god. No. NO. That’s—that’s fucking stupid!"

“Oh, come on, girl.” Rachel groans. “You would be shocked to know how many celebrity couples are fake. Like, 90% of them, and people still eat that shit up like it’s their job. It’s the most effective PR stunt in the history of PR stunts.”

“I don't care! Even if it’s fake, I don’t wanna be in a relationship with her!”

Rachel, clearly unimpressed “Be so fucking for real right now.”

“Listen” she continues, slipping into full Hollywood mastermind mode. “It’s the perfect rockstar-popstar trope that people are gonna LOVE. Some staged dates, some Instagram stories, show up to a few award shows together, write some songs about her for the album—blah, blah, blah. Then, when you both get what you want, you drop a statement about breaking up on good terms because of ‘busy schedules’ or ‘long distance’ or whatever. Boom. Done. Headlines. History.”

You exhale sharply, dragging a hand down your face, but you can already feel her words getting to you.

“Okay…that does sound kinda iconic...”

You hear her scream.

“BUT” You snap. “I seriously doubt she’s gonna be on board.”

“She has to be. That girl needs to clean up her image immediately. If she wants to keep her career afloat, she needs to say yes." Rachel doesn’t miss a beat. "Honestly, it even benefits her more than it benefits you.”

You press the phone tighter against your ear, your free hand rubbing over your face over and over again as if that’ll somehow erase this chaos unfolding in real-time.

But honestly?

What could go wrong?

So you exhale sharply again.

“Fine, fine. We’ll… debate it.”

“PERFECT! Tell me how it goes!”

There’s a short pause, just long enough for you to think—maybe—this conversation is about to take a serious turn.

And then—

“…So, how was she in bed?”

You nearly drop your phone. “RACHEL.”

“What?! It’s a valid question! I mean, I saw the walk.” A beat. Then, way too smugly “People are even making edits of your limp.”

Okay.

This is officially the worst day of your life.

“We are NOT doing this.”

“Oh, we are ABSOLUTELY doing this.”

You groan, squeezing your eyes shut. There's no escaping this.

“Was it life-changing or life-threatening? Did she break your back or fix your scoliosis?” 

You stare up at the sky, silently begging for divine intervention. None comes. So, with the weight of someone who has lost everything, you exhale.

“…she made me see fucking Jesus.”

Silence. A beat.

Rachel screams so loud you nearly throw your phone at the window.

“I FUCKING KNEW IT.”

“HANGING UP NOW.”

“NO WAIT!—DID SHE—”

“BYE.”

You slam the End Call button so fast it’s a miracle your screen doesn’t crack.

Blissful, beautiful silence.

For exactly three seconds.

Buzz.

Rachel: COME BACK WE ARE NOT DONE.

Buzz.

Rachel: do I schedule a chiropractor or a priest? 😭

You turn your phone off. Permanently.

It was late, the kind of night where the city hummed low in the background, neon signs bleeding color into the streets.

And Ellie Williams was trying to have a normal band practice.

Trying.

But it was pretty fucking hard when Jesse and Dina were staring at her like she’d just announced she was quitting music to become a full-time televangelist.

She adjusted the strap of her guitar, already irritated. “Can you guys, I don’t know, say something instead of fucking looking at me like that?”

“Oh, we’re just waiting...” Jesse said as he leaned against the drum set, taking a slow drag of his cigarette and grinning like the absolute menace he was.

Dina, perched on an amp, smirked. “Yeah. Just giving you a chance to come clean before we bring out the receipts.”

Ellie scoffed, trying to play it cool. “What receipts?”

Dina wiggled her phone in the air, smirk widening. “Seems like you’ve been very busy, rockstar.”

She barely resisted the urge to roll her eyes. “The fuck are you both talking about!?”

Jesse and Dina exchanged the look. The kind that made Ellie’s patience thin by the second.

Jesse sighed dramatically, putting out his cigarette on the plato like he was about to drop the biggest bombshell of the century. “Alright, since you’re playing dumb—”

He pulled out his phone with the enthusiasm of a man whose sole purpose in life was witnessing Ellie’s downfall. 

“Lemme just read the best part real quick—” And clearing his throat like he was about to give a Shakespearean performance:

“‘Global superstar y/n was spotted leaving Ellie Williams’s hotel early this morning after a rumored all-night rendezvous. Fans immediately noticed the pop star's unusually relaxed wardrobe choice—’”

Dina whistled. “‘—baggy jeans and an oversized tee, both belonging to a certain someone who was seen wearing them just last week—’”

Jesse shook his head, flipping his phone around. “Nah, this is crazy. This is some Oscar-worthy shit.”

Ellie groaned the second she saw the TMZ photo—you stepping out of the hotel in her clothes. And then there was her, leaving an hour later, hoodie up like it could shield her from literally everyone, rubbing the back of her neck like some dumbass who just realized they fucked up in a romcom.

She looked guilty as hell.

He zoomed in on her face, laughing. “Yo, you look like you just realized you caught feelings.”

Dina snorted, scrolling through her phone. “Oh, they are EATING this shit up. Listen to this” —dramatic inhale— “‘They are either deeply in love or just horrendous at sneaky links. Either way, I win.’”

Jesse howled. “‘Someone check on the poor girl—Ellie, this wasn’t a ‘leave her paralyzed’ challenge.’”

Ellie groaned. “You guys—”

“OH MY GOD.” Dina gasped. “SOMEONE JUST MADE A SIDE-BY-SIDE.”

Jesse leaned in. “Caption?”

“‘WHAT IN THE SCISSOR OLYMPICS. GOLD MEDAL PERFORMANCE.”

He collapsed against the drum set, howling even harder. “Nah, this is crazy. You really let her walk outta there like that?! You KNEW what you did. You knew EXACTLY what you were doing.”

Ellie covered her face with her hands. “I hate it here.”

Jesse was thriving, nearly bouncing on his feet like a kid on Christmas morning. “Dude. You bagged y/n. Like, THE Y/N. Pop princess herself. That fine-ass woman writes songs so good they make people crash their cars.”

Dina nodded solemnly. “I crashed twice to ‘Stay.’”

Ellie shot her a look. “First of all, you shouldn’t have a license.” Then at Jesse “Second, can you fucking NOT? We just hooked up. That’s it.”

He just snorted. “Yeah? Tell that to the 40 million people who liked the tweets about it.”

Ellie groaned so loud it could’ve been mistaken for a death rattle. “This is so fucking bad.”

Jesse ignored her, grinning like an absolute menace. “Like, do you even understand the cultural impact of what you’ve done? This is like—” He gestured wildly. “—punk rock meets Billboard Hot 100 hookup of the century!”

Dina smirked. “And judging by the way she was walking? You bodied that shit.”

Ellie scowled. “She was wearing heels all night!”

Dina arched a brow. “So were you gonna say that, or are you just making that up now?”

Ellie opened her mouth. Closed it. Dragged a hand down her face.

Jesse cackled. “Yeah. That’s what I thought.”

She was this close to walking out.

Then, like a gift from hell, her phone started buzzing.

Your name flashed across the screen. Gasps.

Ellie panicked, immediately shoving it in her pocket.

Dina’s jaw dropped. “Did you just—DECLINE Y/N?! Are you fucking STUPID?!”

Jesse shook his head, dead serious. “No, no. Let her cook. Maybe she’s playing hard to get.”

Ellie groaned, yanking her jacket off the chair and making her way to the door. “Practice over. I hope both of you trip over a flight of stairs and eat shit all the way down.”

“Aw, so sweet of you!” Dina beamed. “We’re gonna start picking baby names as soon as you leave.”

Ellie didn’t even look back—just flipped them off on her way out like a parting gift.

The door slammed shut loudly.

A beat of silence.

Then, muffled through the wall—

“AND JESSE STOP SAYING LET HER COOK THE MEME DIED MONTHS AGO.”

“SHUT THE FUCK UP NO IT DIDN’T!”

Ellie had barely stepped out of the studio, muttering “Fucking kill me” before calling you back. As soon as you answered, she was quick to be the first one to talk.

“Before you say anything—this is not my fault.”

Your voice came through immediately. 

“Ellie.”

Tone flat. Dead serious.

She hesitated. “…Yeah?”

“I’m pregnant.”

Ellie stopped dead in her tracks. Like, full-body malfunction.

Her entire fucking life flashed before her eyes. Marriage. A house. A tiny baby wrapped in a flannel onesie. Joel crying at the babyshower. Dina and Jesse as the weirdly invested godparents.

Silence.

Then—

“Oh, fuck off!”

You howled with laughter. “Not even a little panic? All I got was a one-second existential crisis?”

“Dude. Biology exists.”

Though, if she was being honest, you had her for a solid half-second. She could already hear Joel clearing his throat, preparing for his father-of-the-bride speech, could already see Jesse and Dina clicking through a PowerPoint titled "Ellie Williams: Accidentally Domesticated—A case study."

You scoffed “See, this is why you’re no fun.”

“This is why you're deranged.”

“You love it.”

“No. You need therapy.”

“I have therapy. On Thursdays. Shoutout to Linda.”

Ellie pinched the bridge of her nose. “Did you actually need something, or was this just a drive-by psychological attack?”

“Oh, you know. Just the minor issue that the entire fucking internet thinks we’re dating?”

Ellie groaned, unlocking her car with a beep. “Technically, we could just ignore it—”

“Ellie.”

“…Yeah, yeah. What’s the damage?”

“Well” you started, voice syrupy sweet, “Not only do I look like I did the world’s sluttiest walk of shame, but people also figured out those were your clothes. And, fun fact! They say you dress like a divorced dad from Home Depot.”

“Yeah, I saw.”

“No, I don’t think you understand the severity of it.” Your voice got increasingly dramatic. “People have shipping spreadsheets. They have theories. Someone made a Google doc analyzing our astrology compatibility. Ellie, we are trending #1 WORLDWIDE.”

Ellie ran a hand down her face. “This is so fucking stupid.”

“Someone said—direct quote— that this is ‘the lesbian's Super Bowl.' ”

She paused. “That one might be true tho.”

“Oh, cut the bullshit.”

Ellie grinned, leaning back. “Alright, so what’s the move? Damage control?”

A pause. 

“Well…” you said, voice a little too careful, “my manager thinks we should… lean into it.”

Ellie’s eyes narrowed. “What does that mean?”

Another pause.

Then, your voice, even softer now. “Can we… talk in person?”

Ellie immediately clocked the hesitation. “Why do I feel like I’m 'bout to get scammed?”

“You’re not! I just… I’d rather explain in person.”

She exhaled, running a hand through her hair. “…Fine. Where?”

“My place.”

Ellie frowned. “Why yours?”

“Because there’s paparazzi crammed outside the Four Seasons, dumbass.”

…Fair.

She exhaled. “…Yeah. Alright.”

“Cool. I’ll send you the address.”

A beat. Then—

“…Wait” Ellie muttered. “How the fuck did you get my number?”

Silence.

“…Contacts.”

Ellie’s brows furrowed. “What does that mean? Who—”

“Doesn’t matter.” you cut in, then cleared your throat. “Anyway. Can you, uh… give me my dress back? It was custom.”

“Yeah, about that…”

“…Ellie.”

“It might still be on the floor.”

A sharp inhale. “You little shit.”

Ellie smirked as she pulled out of the parking lot.

“On my way, pop star.”

Ellie had barely knocked twice before the door swung open.

And there you were.

Standing in the dim light of your penthouse, arms crossed, drowning in an oversized hoodie and sweatpants. Your hair was slightly messy, like you’d been curled up somewhere before she got here, and your skin glowed just right under the soft, golden hue of your apartment lights.

“Hey”

“Hey”

She exhaled, stepping inside as you shut the door behind her. She barely had time to take in the space before she realized—this was money.

The penthouse stretched wide, the kind of design meant to make people feel small. Floor-to-ceiling windows showcased the city skyline, headlights cutting through the night far below. The furniture was sleek, modern—gray couches, glass tables, designer pieces that looked both expensive and comfortable. A grand piano sat near the window, it's lid closed and a guitar leaning against it, used enough to make Ellie smirk.

But it was the small things that caught her eye. A candle burning low on the counter. A glass of wine next to a notebook cracked open on the coffee table, filled with lyrics. Scribbled, messy. Some lines scratched out, others rewritten in the margins.

“Jesus” she muttered, shoving her hands into her pockets. “Could’ve warned me I was walking into a fucking palace.”

“Says the millionaire.”

Her eyes flicked to you—leaning against the counter, arms crossed, mouth twitching like you were amused by her reaction.

She huffed.

“So.”

“So.”

The silence stretched, just a little too thick. A weight neither of you wanted to touch.

Then, finally, you exhaled.

“My manager thinks we should fake date.”

Ellie snorted “Yeah, no shit.”

“She says it’ll be good for both of us.”

She hummed, sauntering over to the couch before sinking into it like she owned the place. Her legs spread wide, hands rubbing over her jeans, shoulders sinking into the cushions. She looked up at you, unreadable.

“And? You wanna do it?”

You hesitated. “I don’t know.”  Your fingers tapped against the counter, your teeth dragged over your bottom lip. You looked… conflicted. “It’s just—ugh. The thought of staging something like this is so gross.”

You exhaled, tilting your head back. “Pretending to be into you in public? It just feels—”

A beat.

Ellie raised an eyebrow.

You hesitated.

And there it was. The shift.

“Pretending?” she repeated slowly.

You scowled. “You know what I mean.”

Ellie tilted her head, gaze flicking downward—brief, barely there—before dragging right back up like she knew exactly what she was doing. 

“Do I?”

Your skin flushed, irritation prickling down your spine. She was too comfortable—slouched on your couch like it was hers, fingers drumming against her knee, wearing that look. That lazy, lopsided smirk that made your stomach clench and your heart do backflips.

You muttered. "Cut the bullshit."

Ellie watched you, green eyes sharp, the corner of her mouth curling like she already knew what you were thinking—like she could see straight through you. And maybe she could.

That was the problem.

Because this wasn’t just some business deal, some harmless PR stunt. 

This was Ellie fucking Williams. 

A menace. A woman who flirted like it was her second nature. Who carried herself with the kind of reckless confidence that made people love her and hate her in the same breath. She was sharp, fast-mouthed, and annoyingly charming when she wanted to be. She kissed like she had something to prove and fucked like she knew she was amazing at it. 

She was the kind that didn’t just leave bruises—that left marks.

And now, you are supposed to pretend to be hers. In public. In pictures. In interviews. She’d make it look effortless, like every lingering touch and stolen glance meant everything.

Meanwhile, you’d have to grit your teeth and pretend she wasn’t already under your skin—pretend you don’t know exactly how this will end.

Ellie’s voice pulled you back.

“We can set rules.”

You blinked, exhaling sharply. “Rules?”

She nodded, resting her elbows on her knees. “Yeah. Lines we don’t cross. Shit we don’t do. Make it easier.”

You considered that. It did make sense. Setting boundaries meant this wouldn’t spiral into a complete disaster—just a controlled one.

“…Fine.”

Ellie grinned, tilting her head. “Great. Rule number one—no catching feelings.”

You scoffed, pushing off the counter and taking a sip of your wine. “Oh, trust me, Williams, that was never a problem.”

What a goddamn lie.

Ellie chuckled, dragging a hand over her jaw before settling back into the couch. She watched you a second too long, eyes flicking over you like she was deciding whether to call you on your bullshit. That fucking grin still lingered—lazy, amused. 

She was enjoying this.

You exhaled slowly, setting your wine glass down with a quiet clink. “I got my own rules.”

“Let’s hear ‘em.”

You leveled her with a look. “No strings attached.”

Ellie blinked, then snorted. “Starting off strong.”

“I’m serious,” you said, arms crossing. “No getting weird about anything. We do what we have to do in public, but behind closed doors, it’s our business. No jealousy, no possessiveness.”

Ellie tilted her head, her smirk growing. “So basically, we can do whatever we want?”

You hesitated.

A fraction of a second too long.

Then nodded. “Yeah.”

There was a shift in the air. Subtle, almost imperceptible, but there. Ellie’s eyes dragged over you—slow, measured, her expression unreadable.

“…Can we still fuck, though?”

Your face didn’t waver, but your stomach clenched, a tiny, unwelcome knot forming deep in your gut.

“Yeah. But it doesn’t mean anything.”

The words landed firm, like a line drawn in the sand, but even as you said them, they felt a little off. Like something rehearsed, something you were trying a little too hard to believe.

Ellie let out a low chuckle, shaking her head. “Jesus, babe. You’re ruthless.”

“You got a problem with that?”

“Not even a little.” She stretched out, arms draping over the back of the couch, looking maddeningly at ease. “Just didn’t expect you to be the one setting that rule.”

You rolled your eyes but didn’t argue, because deep down, you weren’t sure what would piss you off more—her calling you out on your bullshit, or the fact that she might actually be right.

Ellie hummed. “Fine. No strings attached. What else?”

You rubbed your temple, thinking. “Public stuff needs to be controlled. If we’re going to be seen together, it needs to be intentional.”

Ellie nodded. “So, no sneaky paparazzi pics of us at, like, McDonald’s?”

“Exactly.”

“There goes my dream of getting papped in the drive-thru with you.”

You ignored that. “Next—if one of us wants out, we end it. No bullshit.”

Ellie’s smirk softened slightly. “Fair enough.”

The mood had shifted—just a fraction. You weren’t sure if that was a good thing or a warning sign, but at least your shoulders didn’t feel as tight anymore.

You reached for your wine again. “We also need a reason.”

Ellie raised an eyebrow.

“For why we’re suddenly together,” you clarified.

She considered it for a moment, then shrugged. “Easy. We met through mutual friends, started talking, made it official recently.”

You nodded. “Good. Vague, but believable.”

Then Ellie grinned. “So when’s our anniversary?”

“I’m breaking up with you already.”

Ellie threw her head back, laughing. “Damn. Cold as hell.”

You just smirked, watching the wine swirl in your glass, but the humor faded when Ellie leaned forward slightly, her gaze a little sharper now.

“So, just to recap,” she said, voice steady. “No feelings. No jealousy. We can fuck, but it doesn't mean anything. And if one of us wants out, we’re out.”

“…Yeah.” You swallowed, the weight of it settling between you both. “...Are you actually okay with this?”

Ellie leaned back into the couch, dragging a hand over her jaw.

Was she?

She’d done PR stunts before—appearances, interviews, the occasional fake chemistry for cameras. But a fake relationship? That was a different level of commitment. A different level of risk.

At the same time… she wasn’t exactly in a position to say no. She needed something to get the media off her ass. Headlines about bar fights, reckless behavior, and being a bad influence were piling up like a rap sheet. A carefully controlled narrative—a shiny, clean distraction—might be the only thing that kept her from burning out entirely.

But then…

She looked at you.

Drop-dead gorgeous. Smart as hell. Sharp tongue. A little mean in a way that made people want to prove themselves.

And yeah, sure—this was fake. But Ellie wasn’t fucking stupid. Fake or not, this was the kind of shit that got under her skin, settled in deep and refused to leave.

She’d made plenty of bad decisions before, walked into things knowing exactly how they would end, knowing they’d chew her up and spit her out. That was the thing about trouble. It never felt like trouble in the moment. It started as a game, as a deal, as something simple—until one day, it wasn’t. Until it had its teeth in her, until she was in too deep to pretend she didn’t care.

And this?

This had all the makings of that kind of mistake.

But she still exhaled, still ran a hand through her hair, still met your eyes without hesitation.

“Yeah” She sighed “I’m in.”

“Alright,” you murmured, swirling the wine in your glass before taking a slow sip. Then, with a smirk just shy of reckless—

“This is officially the worst decision of our lives.”

Ellie leaned back like she had all the time in the world, legs spreading wider, her grin all sharp edges. “What you mean? This is already the most stable relationship I’ve ever had.”

You scoffed, reaching for your wine again. “That’s not exactly comforting.”

Ellie shrugged. “I don’t know what to tell you, babe. The bar is in hell.”

You closed your eyes for a second, exhaled, then took another long drink. “God help me.”

After a few minutes, Ellie reached into her jacket pocket, pulling out a pre-rolled blunt, twirling it lazily between her fingers. She glanced up at you, a grin tugging at the corner of her lips.

“You smoke?”

You raised an eyebrow. “Seriously?”

Ellie shrugged, biting the tip of the blunt. “What? It’s part of the rockstar lifestyle.”

You scoffed. “And I’m the popstar, so technically, I should be saying no.”

Ellie pulled out a lighter, flicking it open with a metallic click. “Live a little.”

You exhaled. “Fine. But if TMZ catches me high, I’m blaming you.”

Ellie grinned, bringing the lighter to the tip of the blunt, the paper curling as it burned. She took a slow, practiced drag, holding it deep in her lungs before exhaling smoothly, the smoke swirling toward the ceiling. Then she passed it to you.

You hesitated for a half-second before bringing it to your lips, inhaling. The burn was familiar, settling in your chest before you exhaled, watching the smoke dissipate into the dimly lit room.

Already, the tension from earlier—the ridiculous fake-dating rules, the push and pull of whatever this was—started to fade into something looser, easier.

Ellie watched you, her smirk deepening. “Damn. You’re not new to this.”

You took another hit before passing it back, lips quirking. “Told you. I just have a better PR team than you.”

Ellie chuckled, shaking her head as she took another drag.

Somehow, the conversation had spiraled.

You were both slumped against the couch, trading the last remnants of the blunt back and forth, locked in a heated debate over whether or not you’d survive a zombie apocalypse.

Ellie scoffed, waving a lazy hand. “C’mon, you wouldn’t last a week.”

“Excuse me?” You sat up, pointing at her. “I would absolutely outlive you.”

“You literally have, like, five personal assistants. You don’t even carry your own bags.”

“So? That doesn’t mean I can’t fight!”

Ellie raised an eyebrow, amused. “Alright. How would you kill a zombie?”

You blinked. “...Guns?”

Ellie groaned, shaking her head like you had just personally offended her. 

“What?!”

“You’d run out of ammo in, like, a week.”

You crossed your arms. “Okay, smartass. What’s your genius survival plan?”

“Baseball bat. Blunt force trauma. Reusable, no reload time.”

You wrinkled your nose. “That’s so gross.”

Ellie shrugged. “Yeah? So is dying.”

You huffed, sinking back into the couch. “I’m sure that if I were in a zombie apocalypse, I’d be the immune one.”

Ellie rolled her eyes, flicking the blunt towards the ashtray. “Oh, shut up. I'd be the immune one. And the main character.”

You huffed, dramatically flopping back against the couch, exhaling a long, exaggerated sigh. Ellie grinned, stretching her arms behind her head.

“All that contract negotiation made me hungry.”

You snorted, swirling the last sip of wine in your glass. “You literally agreed to everything in under five minutes.”

“Exactly,” Ellie sighed. “Exhausting.”

She pulled out her phone, scrolling. “What’s the most unserious meal we could possibly order right now?”

You barely had to think. “Taco Bell.”

Ellie’s face lit up. “God, I fucking love you.”

You shot her a dry look.

“Platonically. Obviously.”

You rolled your eyes, watching as she tapped aggressively on the app. “What do you want?”

“Crunchwrap Supreme, two Doritos Locos Tacos, and a Baja Blast.”

Ellie blinked. “You didn’t even hesitate.”

“I take my Taco Bell order very seriously.”

Ellie hummed approvingly. “Respect.” She added your order to the already absurd amount of food in her cart and checked out.

By the time the Taco Bell arrived, you were both fully slumped into the couch, heavy-limbed and loose from the high. Ellie tossed the bag onto the coffee table with zero grace, nearly knocking over your very expensive candle.

“Jesus, be careful” you muttered, steadying it.

Ellie unwrapped her burrito with a crinkle of foil, smirking. “What, scared I’ll ruin your rich-person aesthetic?”

You leaned back, exhaling. “Yeah, actually. I have a brand to uphold.”

Ellie huffed a quiet laugh, shaking her head as she took a bite. The two of you ate in a comfortable lull, the only sounds coming from the low hum of music playing from your speaker and the occasional rustle of food wrappers.

In that moment, you felt something you hadn’t felt with anyone in a long time—at ease. Because being with her was effortless.

No need to pose, fake a smile, or worry if your hair was in place. You could just exist. And there was something dangerously comfortable about that, something weirdly domestic. Like slipping into a rhythm you hadn’t even realized you’d been craving.

Ellie spoke suddenly, pulling you back, like the thought had just slipped out before she could decide if it was worth saying.

“So, why’d you start doing music?”

The question landed between you like a weight, unexpected and heavy.

You paused, mid-bite, blinking at her. She wasn’t even looking at you—just lazily pulling apart her quesadilla, like she hadn’t just cracked open something raw and unplanned.

You swallowed, shifting slightly. “I don’t know.”

A beat.

“It’s the only thing I was ever really good at.”

That got her attention. Her fingers stilled against the tortilla, her eyes flicking up—steady, unreadable.

With a quiet sigh, you set your food down. “I mean, growing up, I sucked at everything else. School, sports, whatever—I just never stuck with anything. But music?” You tilted your head, feeling the thought click into place. “That made sense. I liked how it made people feel. You write something, and suddenly, some stranger out there feels understood in a way they didn’t before. Like, for three minutes, they’re not alone.”

Ellie’s chewing slowed, her gaze lingering. “Yeah.” Her voice had dropped, more thoughtful. “That’s kinda the whole point, huh?”

You hummed, watching her. “…What about you?”

She hesitated, then leaned back into the couch, stretching like she was trying to shake something off. “Not that different, honestly.” One arm draped over the backrest, fingers tapping idly against the cushion. “Joel was always into music. Taught me how to play guitar when I was a kid, and it just kinda stuck ever since.”

Your head tilted slightly. “Joel Miller? That’s your dad, right?”

A nod. “Yeah. He’s—” She paused, choosing her words carefully. “—intense. But in a good way, mostly. He gives a shit. Probably more than I deserve.”

Your brows knitted together. “That’s a weird thing to say.”

Ellie let out a quiet chuckle, but it was dry, almost automatic. “Nah. Just being honest.”

Something about the way she said it made your chest feel tight.

You thought about pushing, about pressing your thumb against that tiny crack she’d let slip, but something told you she’d just deflect, maybe make some stupid joke to steer the conversation away.

So, instead, you sighed dramatically, letting the moment pass. “I think I’m too high for all this deep shit.”

Ellie huffed out a laugh. “Same.”

You grinned, swirling your drink. “Okay, new topic—what’s your favorite song?”

Ellie tilted her head, thinking. “Dunno. How’s that one song of yours go? That’s that me espresso?”

The room went still.

You blinked.

Once.

Twice.

A deep, soul-crushing betrayal settled in your chest, a wound so profound it might never heal. Your breath caught, fingers gripping your shirt like she had physically stabbed you.

Ellie, still chewing, barely spared you a glance. “What?”

Your hands trembled. “That’s Espresso.”

Your voice dropped an octave. Near-feral.

“BY. SABRINA. CARPENTER.”

Ellie paused mid-bite, brow furrowing. “Wait… that’s not your song?”

Your jaw dropped. “Are you out of your fucking mind?!”

Ellie shrugged, unbothered. “I mean, y’all sound kinda similar.”

You shot up so fast from the couch it screeched against the floor. “I HOPE YOUR AMP SHORT-CIRCUITS MID-SOLO.”

Ellie’s laughter rang through the room, loud and unbothered. “Jesus. Touch some grass.”

The first thing you noticed when you woke up was the weight of an arm draped over your waist.

The second was the godawful dryness in your mouth, the kind that only came from bad decisions the night before and even worse hydration choices.

Squinting against the morning light, you shifted slightly, trying to piece together where the hell you were. Your head ached, limbs heavy, the air still thick with the scent of weed.

And then, as you turned your head—

Ellie.

Dead asleep beside you.

Face buried in the couch, hair a disaster, breathing slow and steady. One arm thrown over your waist like it belonged there, her entire body half-pressed against yours, radiating warmth. Her tank top had ridden up slightly, exposing just enough of the tattoos trailing down her back to make your already-dysfunctional brain short-circuit.

It should be illegal to look that good while sleeping.

You swallowed hard, painfully aware of the way her fingers twitched slightly against your stomach. Desperate for a distraction, you forced your gaze to the rest of the room.

The coffee table was an absolute crime scene—wrappers, crumpled napkins, open sauce packets, empty Baja Blast cups, and one lonely, half-eaten quesadilla clinging to life.

You groaned softly, rubbing your face, before muscle memory had you reaching for your phone.

And that’s when the real nightmare started.

Rachel (25 Missed Calls, 17 Texts).

Your stomach immediately twisted into knots.

Dreading whatever mess you’d apparently caused, you clicked the messages.

Rachel: WAKE UP Rachel: WAKE UP WAKE UP WAKE UP Rachel: CHECK TWITTER RIGHT NOW.

A cold dread crawled up your spine.

With the kind of slow, creeping horror usually reserved for slasher films, you opened Twitter.

And there it was.

Trending.

#y/nandEllie

#HARDLAUNCHOFTHECENTURY

Your entire body locked up.

“What the fuck?” you croaked, voice barely functioning.

Next to you, Ellie shifted, groaning as her arm tightened around your waist, pulling you in just a fraction before she mumbled into the cushion, voice thick with sleep, “Why’re you talking?”

You didn’t even process the fact that she was literally holding you because you were too busy trying not to pass out.

Instagram. You need to check instagram.

And then you saw it.

Your most recent story.

A photo of Ellie.

Sitting on the couch, head tilted down, scrolling on her phone. Messy hair, tattoos on full display, one leg tucked up like she owned the place. In front of her? The entire ungodly Taco Bell order. Wrappers, bags, napkins—absolute devastation.

And the caption, in bold, unhinged letters:

she eats like a mf frat boy but somehow still looks hot. life is unfair.

One hundred million people have already seen it.

“FUCK!”

Ellie shifted again, her fingers skimming your stomach as she let out a sleepy groan. “Dude” she mumbled. “What now?”

You turned to her, shoving the phone directly in her face, voice pure horror.

“You let me post this?!”

She blinked at the screen. Then blinked again. And then, as if the universe hadn’t already humiliated you enough, she started grinning.

It was slow at first, creeping across her face, her shoulders starting to shake—before she full-on lost it. Ellie fucking cackled. Like, sleep-rough, chest-shaking, burying-her-face-in-the-couch dying.

You smacked her arm. “THIS IS FUCKING SERIOUS!”

She barely lifted her head, still grinning like an absolute menace.

“We smoked another blunt, got drunk, and thought it would be funny.” She stretched lazily and patted your thigh, voice rough with amusement. “So, I guess we’re official now.”

You smacked her again.

← 𝑐ℎ𝑎𝑝𝑡𝑒𝑟 𝑜𝑛𝑒 | 𝑚𝑎𝑠𝑡𝑒𝑟𝑙𝑖𝑠𝑡 | ���ℎ𝑎𝑝𝑡𝑒𝑟 𝑡ℎ𝑟𝑒𝑒 →

taglist (tysm for supporting, hope you enjoy <333): @st0nerlesb0 @willurms @vahnilla @mancyw1214 @rxreaqia @laceyxrenee @antobooh @tittielover-420 @annoyingpersonxoxo @haithone @lofied @sunflowerwinds @xojunebugxo @reidairie @piscesthepoet @elliewilliamskisser2000 @pariiissssssss @mxquelo @elliesbabygirl @xx2849 @kiiramiz @mikellie @brooks-lin @kaykeryyy @lovely-wisteria @marscardigan @elliesanqel @lovelaymedown @gold-dustwomxn @ilovewomenfr @seraphicsentences @mascspleasegetmepregnant @raindroprose23 @creepyswag  @jujueilish @elliesgffrfr @kirammanss @liztreez

࿐♡ ˚.*ೃ I HAD SO MUCH FUN W THIS ONE LMAOOO. I went so full out with brainrot memes i realized how much i need to touch some grass. I did like 30 proofreads, but there might still be a few grammar mistakes here and there—sorry in advance, english isn't my first language and I will be happy to receive constructive criticism!.

Please leave a comment if you’re interested in being on the permanent taglist for this series!

see ya'll soon, stay tuned ;)

[httpsserene]

first off, CONGRATS ON 3k!!!! I’m so proud of you!!!! I have a couple requests pls don’t think you have to do all of them. My first one is from the kink list rating and it’s Daniel Ric, Max Verstappen, Charles Leclerc, Oscah Pastry, and Franco Colapnto with the orgasm control kink :)

#3k vday celly

🧽🪣 would you like a complimentary car wash? — send me any five (5) drivers and one (1) kink from this list, and i will rank the drivers in order of who i think is most to least likely to participate/avoid, or love/hate that kink !!! each driver will have a small blurb written xxx

༊࿐ ⊹ ˚. tysm for the love ash !!! would've liked this to be out on monday but my flu has made me incredibly delusional :) anyways, you already know i'm going to do all of your requests ;p

⌕ 3k v-day celly nav | all 3k requests | main nav | table of contents ↻

𝐦𝐭𝐥 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞𝐥𝐲 𝐭𝐨 𝐡𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐚𝐧 𝐨𝐫𝐠𝐚𝐬𝐦 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐫𝐨𝐥 𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐤 fem!bipoc!reader x mv. 1 | dr. 3 | cl. 16 | fc. 43 | op. 81 cw under the cut.

explicit language. oral and vaginal sex. light bdsm & d/s dynamics. the mildest blasphemous phrase used at the end of charles' blurb.

𝐦𝐨𝐬𝐭

Oscar knows that his quiet, polite, and kind personality tricked you into thinking he’d behave similarly in bed. It surprises him too; his desire—his ego, truthfully—growing uncharacteristically insatiable as he watches you sob and beg for a release you know he’s not going to allow. Is it the way your expression twists in frustration when he intentionally keeps his well-practiced fingers away from your clit? Is it the way your body trembles in mourning of the little death that disappears when he pulls his mouth away from devouring your pussy to paint the bronze skin of your inner thighs with the imprint of his teeth? He doesn’t know if it heightens his satisfaction, or if it becomes the entirety of his satisfaction. It matters little to him, he thinks, as he forcefully thrusts into you to feel your desperate walls squeeze and flutter tightly around him, to hear your gasping moans transform into needy whimpers. He pulls out on the precipice of your shared peak, and his guttural moan drowns out your shattered wail as he deprives you both. His dick throbs sharply as it bobs against his abdomen, a dribble of precum jutting from the slit against his sweat-slicked, pink-flushed skin. He continues to ignore the aching of his cock, leaning down to murmur his apology against your lips while he brushes away your tears with gentle thumbs. Oscar is genuinely apologetic for denying you in such a cruel manner, but he’s going to do it a couple more times before he lets either of you cum.

You’ve turned Charles into a masochist. When you made him suffer through a thirty-minute blowjob and didn’t let him cum until he almost hyperventilated—he thought it was a one-time thing. Two weeks after that, you woke him up with a handjob, releasing him as soon as his muscles started jumping, an obvious sign that he was nearing his climax, ignoring his brain screaming, “that’s hot.” He reached down, attempting to finish the job, but you slapped his hand away, tutting disapprovingly and telling him that you decide when he gets off. He nervously giggled the statement aside at first, thinking you were joking. In hindsight, he’s delighted to know that you were serious. He doesn’t know how long you’ve had his hands tied behind the back of the desk chair you pushed him down on, nor can he remember how many times you’ve brought him close to the edge before ripping it away. If it were up to him to choose when he gets to cum, he’d make himself wait until morning. But, it’s your decision. And, you remind him just how cruel you can be when you overwhelmingly focus your attention on the head of his cock, rapidly working him toward completion. You pull away at the last moment and through blurry eyes he sees your smile widening as the streaks of his spend shoot across his chest, the orgasm simultaneously unsatisfying and substance-less—he loves it. Charles chokes on his breath as he pleads for you to give him a real orgasm, his dick still erect and pulsating, begging you for more. He cries when you inform him that he doesn’t get to cum for another three days. He can’t suppress the desperation that starts to tingle at the base of his skull—but God, does it feel heavenly.

Daniel is aware that he plays too much, and you’ve told him so multiple times. He’s a jokester, his personality light-hearted and bright, always searching for opportunities to make you laugh. It seems like those traits were slightly mistranslated when it comes to how he acts in bed. He’s an unrelenting tease, his grin sharper and wider as he dangles your climax in front of you like a carrot tied to a stick. Something about watching you realize that he controls your pleasure is immensely gratifying. It helps that he knows you’re only pretending to hate when he edges you; you can’t hide how the dripping wetness of your cunt has stained his mouth with your flavor and how the dregs of anything he couldn’t greedily swallow puddled on the bed sheets beneath your ass. That doesn’t mean he likes it when you flip the script on him. He can admit that he finds it hot as hell when you use him for your satisfaction, but he thought he was having a stroke the first time you got yourself off by riding him and leaving him high and dry. Admittedly, he does understand that it made the handjob you gave him (not even five minutes later, by the way) exponentially better, but damn. You didn’t have to give him a taste of his own medicine if you wanted to retaliate against his endless teasing. Daniel’s fine with you occasionally edging him if he eventually gets to cum during one of the rounds you have; however, don’t even think about leaving him with blue balls for more than a few hours. He’s a sensitive man at his core—you’ll make him cry. You don’t want that, do you?

Max is certain that his purpose on Earth is to drive fast and to fulfill all of your intimate needs (sexual or not).  So, when you suggested trying out orgasm control, he agreed to give it a chance for you. And, to put it bluntly, he doesn’t get it. He’d rather have you screaming, sobbing, and shaking under him because he’s pushed you to the point of overstimulation from making you cum too many times and not too few times. He’s driven to satisfy you; he’s not motivated by torturing you with denial, he wants to hear you slur your words as you beg for him to give you a break when he’s fucked out the feeling from your legs and all rational thought out of your head. However, that doesn’t mean he has the same opinion when you’ve been acting bratty; edging you until you remember your manners sounds like the perfect punishment, in that case. Thankfully, he puts quite a lot of work in to make sure you don’t have the opportunity to be a brat—he happily spends most of his time pampering and treating you like a princess. If you really wanted Max to edge you or ruin your orgasms, he’d do it—but, personally, he thinks overwhelming you with pleasure is much more enjoyable for both you and him. He’s a service dom, not a monster.

Yeah, Franco is going to need you to leave your bullshit at the door. It makes absolutely zero sense to him; why should he waste his time holding back one orgasm when he can at least do it twice? Three times, if he’s horny enough. Four times, if you’re going to keep making eye contact with him. You get the point. It’s an insult when you really think about it: are you trying to say that he’s not capable of making you climax multiple times? Is that a challenge? That’s fine, he’ll prove it to you. The first round will be in the car, then against the front door, then on the kitchen island, then on the dining room table, then against the living room windows—fuck it, he’d find a way to fuck you on the ceiling. Franco’s young, he has the libido and stamina for multiple rounds of varying lengths. There’s no need to force each other to last longer when he has a battery in his back like The Energizer Bunny. It would seriously piss him off if you tried to kick him away from between your legs as he was about to make you cum on his tongue. He will sit up and cuss you out for it, but not for long—he has to return to finish his meal that you so rudely interrupted him from right as he was going to lick the plate clean.

𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐭

© httpsserene — do not reupload. photos in header from pinterest. mdni divider by @cafekitsune.

[amourane]

hate the way you smile

pairing: theodore nott x fem!reader

genre: fluff, angst, comedy, e2l + childhood enemies??

w/c: 4.7k

summary: from the second you met theodore nott you knew that your life would be torturous and that the boy would never leave you alone but maybe forever isn't so bad with theodore nott.

warnings: none just a lot of bickering

a/n: omg this one is a bit long but i finished it!

From the moment that you met Theodore Nott at the bright age of five you knew you would hate him forever. Maybe it was the way he would sneer at you with distaste or the way he would mock you for being a big crybaby whenever he took your toys. All you knew was that you simply loathed his presence.

Your families had been friends and they had initially thought that you and Theo would get along since you were both the same age. What they didn’t expect was the young boy to rip the heads of your dolls and proceed to mock you for crying your heart out. Yet even with all of your constant bickering your families still met up every holiday, bringing the demon child with them to torment your life.

Since that day your childhood was filled with cruel laughter and the mischievous eyes that would watch wherever you went.  At age seven, Theodore Nott found it appropriate to fill your bathtub with toads causing you to shriek out in terror when you opened the bathroom door, and him, to run away with glee at your horrified face. At age nine, he thought it would’ve been funny to surprise you by dumping a bucket load of pumpkin juice all over you and he cackled at your expected screams of anger. What he didn’t expect was for you to retaliate by smashing a tray of cauldron cakes into his face. 

Needless to say the war between you two started way back then and it had continued, the only difference being that now you both were more mature and civilised and there was no room for childish pranks.

“Suck my cock you mangled prat, I hope you trip and fall to your death you insignificant shit goblin!” 

At least so you thought.

You made a move and lunged for Theodore Nott’s throat as anger flared in your eyes. No one paid mind to the scene that was unfolding before them afterall it was a common occurrence for the last six years. 

“You enchanted my hair green!” You shrieked as you shook the brunette violently. “Are you out of your mind Nott? I thought we agreed we wouldn’t mess with each other’s appearances, what happened to that?” 

Theodore simply smirked and you felt your fury bubble inside you. He tilted his head to the right and acted as if he was actually pondering your question. If you could you would have been breathing flames as you felt yourself grow more livid as every second went by. 

“Hmm…I like your hair L/n, really suits the whole vibe you’re going for, don't you think bella?” Theo flashed you a wicked grin as he reached out to twirl a lock of your hair between his fingers. You slapped his hand away.

“And what vibe am I going for Nott? Please enlighten me since you apparently are the one making decisions for me.”

You should’ve just walked away. You really should’ve just cursed him out and gone to Madam Pomfrey for some sort of remedy instead of staying and entertaining whatever shit-faced idea he had come up with. The moment you saw the smug smirk that spread across his face and the dangerous twinkle in his eyes you knew he was going to spew some absolute bullshit. And you were right.

“Well obviously it’s a statement declaring that you’re mine, why else would you dye your hair to match my house?” The Slythering feigned disbelief, clutching his hands to his chest innocently. “But Salazar, I didn’t know you would be so bold about your feelings towards me bella.”

You felt heat rise and settle on your cheeks as you tried to come up with a colourful comeback to wipe the stupid smirk off his face but the words die in your throat. It was against your will but you could feel your face growing hotter as he continued to stare at you with that flirty glint in his eyes. Your brain spluttered to a stop and you scrambled desperately for something to say.

“Fuck you Nott.” You seethed before storming away with your hands balled into fists. You could hear the whispers of students and you could feel their stares as you stomped to the infirmary, determined to find some way to get your hair back to normal. 

Theodore Nott was the biggest pain in the arse you knew and he had never stopped being one. You still remembered when you had received your letter to Hogwarts and he had scoffed at the sight asking why Hogwarts would want a half-wit like you. Needless to say your parents weren’t surprised at the cries that erupted a second later from both you and him.

Throughout your years the two of you had become known for the obvious tension and pure hatred you harboured for each other though it did seem to lean on your side a bit more than it did to his. It had been the same for the first three years, bickering, pranks and whatnot. Then fourth year came and the scrawny boy you once knew had magically grown much taller and his face had lost a lot of the baby fat it once had. All at once Theodore Nott became one of the most sought after boys in Hogwarts and it only made you loathe him more. It made his ego triple in size and it made him much more flirty towards everyone but you seemed to be his number one target. All you wanted to do was to take your wand and puncture that bloated head of his.

Though his appearance changed he still was the boy you knew since you were a child and whenever he smiled you could see the same boyish grin he had way back when he was five. He had always been the same but now he just had a much more pretty face to disguise the fact he was a blithering idiot.

Theo watched as you stormed off, his smile never once leaving his face. He loved to mess with you purely to see the visceral anger that radiated off you every single time. The way you would try to stare him down but the action proved useless as he was much taller allowing him to simply look down smugly. It amused him to see how your reactions never changed. 

Ever since you were five you held the same expressions: whenever you were mildly irritated by him you would chew on your bottom lip, whenever you were pissed your eyes would double in size and you’d look like a fire-breathing dragon, and whenever he made you upset you would stare blankly without a word. He’d only ever made you truly upset once and when seeing your face he knew he would never do it again because even if the two of you bickered and fought he would never hurt you.

“Sometimes I think you’re secretly dating because you should see the way you’re daydreaming hopelessly while staring at L/n’s retreating figure Nott, you look like a bloody imbecile.” Draco slapped Theo’s back startling him out of his own thoughts. He scoffed after realising what his friend was implying.

“Oh Salazar’s balls I think I’m going to regurgitate my breakfast. You’ve gone insane if you even think for a second there’s a chance I fancy that creature.”

Laughter erupted from his friends and they continued to mock and tease him obviously not being mature enough to handle the situation with grace.

“I would rather shag the giant squid than date L/n and I’m sure the feeling is mutual.”

Mattheo hummed to himself and smirked. He placed his arm on Theo’s shoulder. “Well then can I ask her out? She’s real hot and I think she’d be interested.”

“L/n might be stupid Riddle but she wouldn’t ever go out with you or even give you the time of day. So don’t even think about doing it.” And with that he left and his friends exchanged knowing glances before bursting into another fit of laughter at their friend’s own obliviousness.

//

This was so not your day. 

Never in your life had you forgotten to hand in homework yet one silly slip up had cost you to spend your free afternoon in detention. It wasn’t your fault you had mixed up the dates on when the transfiguration homework was due. 

You begrudgingly opened the classroom doors, finding a seat to sit down for the next hour. At least you were able to catch up on some other classes while you were in detention otherwise you thought you would’ve gone mad. You looked around the classroom save for Professor McGonagall who had already greeted you when you walked in there was no one else there. 

It hadn’t even been a minute when the doors burst open to reveal a very tall and very smug Slytherin.

“Mr Nott, glad for you to join us, find a seat please.”

Theo's grin faltered as his eyes locked onto yours, a flicker of confusion dancing across his features before it was swiftly replaced by his trademark smirk. He made his way toward you, closing the distance until there were mere centimetres separating you from him.

“Now L/n, Nott, I have important business to tend to so I assume the both of you are mature enough to sit through this detention. I hope that I don’t hear about any incidents when I am gone.”

It was as if your nightmare had all of a sudden come to life as you watched McGonagall leave the classroom. You tried to protest but it fell upon deaf ears as the professor had already left the room, leaving you stuck with your nemesis.

You whipped your head to face the brunette, irritation flashing in your eyes. Why had he chosen to sit next to you when there were plenty of other seats available? The classroom was far from crowded, yet here he was, invading your personal space with his mere presence

“Why are you sitting next to me Nott?”

“Why can’t I? Do you happen to own every seat in this classroom?” He teased. “I didn’t think you did, so I’m going to sit where I want.”

You grumbled under your breath at his stubbornness, getting up to pack your things. “Fine, but then I’m moving.”

Before you could make your move, Theo reached out and grabbed your arm. “Hey slow down, I have a perfect seat right here.” Your irritation flared at his audacity, and you shot him a scathing glare as he gestured to his lap with a smug smirk. “Why don’t you-”

“Nott, if you seriously propose that I sit in your lap I will hex you to oblivion.”

“Okay!” Theo held his hands up in mock surrender, his expression feigning innocence as he cocked his head to the side, the smirk never once leaving his face. “Stay here, I won’t bother you, I swear.”

You eyed him cautiously, your scepticism evident. You weighed the options before you reluctantly sat back down. “Fine.”

A quiet hush befell the classroom and all that could be heard was the scratching of quills on parchment. That is until you were interrupted by a persistent poking sensation that disrupted your concentration, each jab of the quill more annoying than the last. You clenched your jaw as you tried to ignore Theo but you knew he wouldn’t stop until you gave him attention and there was no way you were giving him the satisfaction of reacting. So he continued to poke and poke and poke. 

His incessant poking finally pushed you over the edge, prompting a sharp hiss of irritation from your lips. "What?" You snapped, unable to contain your frustration any longer.

“What are you doing here?” 

If there was a competition for incompetence Theodore Nott would sure have won first place.

“Detention obviously.”

“Oh you know what I meant, why are you in detention? Did you do something stupid? Wait, you do that all the time I forgot.” You rolled your eyes, resisting the urge to roll them right out of your skull. "Tell me, bella," He continued, his voice laced with faux innocence. "I don't bite."

“Forgot my homework.” You reluctantly mumbled under your breath, feeling all too claustrophobic at how close he was to you. “Not that big of a deal.”

“Oh but it is.”

“What does that even mean, Nott?” Your eyes narrowed. Theo’s face twisted into a playful smirk and he was so close that you could practically hear his heart beating.

He chuckled, undeterred by your hostility. "But it's not like you to forget your homework," He teased, leaning in closer. "There must be something distracting you. Perhaps... thoughts of me?"

As if on instinct your hands reached out to push the unbearable boy away from you and you immediately got up at his incredulous words. You saw the way laughter bubbled and slipped from his lips, mocking you which only added more fuel to the evergrowing fire.

"In your dreams, Nott," You retorted, your voice laced with venom as you rose from your seat, your movements quick and determined. "I would sooner volunteer for a Dementor's kiss than waste a single thought on you."

Theo’s smirk only widened and his eyes gleamed with mischief. "Oh, believe me, the feeling is mutual," He quipped, his voice dripping with amusement as he rested his chin on his palms, his gaze never wavering from yours.

You huffed out an angry breath before picking your stuff up and stalking to the opposite end of the classroom. Luckily, he didn’t follow and you were left in peace for the rest of the detention.

//

It had been a week and a half since your detention yet Theodore Nott hadn’t approached you once since. In fact, you hadn’t seen him around school a lot, not that you were paying attention of course. It was just weird. Usually his face would pop up in front of you multiple times a day yet he was nowhere to be found. You had even lingered around the Slytherin table at lunch to see if he would show up but he never did. 

There was this sick feeling in the pit of your stomach. Even though you did despise Theo you had known him since he was a kid and he never was one to skip lessons much less disappear for over a week. Even his Slytherin friends didn’t know where he went.

That is until today. The moment you had walked into the dungeons ready for your Potions lesson you spotted him. There was a part of you that hoped you would see him today, after all he was your Potions partner. But there was something wrong. His face looked gaunt, pale, sapped of life and his eyes were merely blank as he sat unmoving. His usual demeanour was replaced with one of hollow emptiness.

“Where have you been Nott?” No response. You frowned as you looked at him, he seemed to not even hear you. “Nott? Have you suddenly become deaf?”

“It’s none of your business.” He snapped voice obviously laced with malice as the words cut through the air. The sharpness of his tone caught you off guard, a twinge of hurt gnawing at the edges of your consciousness despite the fact you both had said worse to each other.

You chose to ignore the fact that Theo was obviously in a sour mood and sat down beside him, unpacking your things. There was nothing special about the lesson, nothing that you needed to particularly pay attention to. Not that you did since you were too focused on trying to figure out what was wrong with your partner. Theo didn’t look okay, not in the slightest. He seemed exhausted and his sluggish movements proved you correct as he diced the various ingredients. 

You were in the middle of stirring the cauldron when Theo dropped a dandelion root in the mixture causing it to bubble and spit. The concoction spilled onto your hand and you shrieked at the sudden burning sensation that seemed to consume your hand in flames. The sensation is unbearable, a sharp, burning agony that seems to penetrate deep into your very bones. By now the whole class had stopped to look at you not fully registering what had happened. You turned to Theo, tears threatening to fall from your eyes at the pain but he stood there frozen, an expression you couldn’t decipher on his face.

“Theo-”

"Fucking hell, L/n." He spat, his voice dripping with disdain. "Would it kill you to not be such a clumsy moron? You could've hurt me as well. How can you even call yourself a witch?"

His words were sharp and spiteful. Through the many years of knowing Theodore Nott he had never blamed you for something he did. He might have been an incorrigible prick but he would still apologise if he had ever hurt you genuinely. But as you looked at him you couldn’t recognise the cold harsh look he gave you and you bit back your tears. You wouldn’t cry in front of him. 

Despite the fact your hand was in pain you felt something tighten around your chest and it made the air around you feel thick as if you couldn’t breathe. You stood up angrily, opening your mouth to snap back but your vision starts to fade, black spots invade your senses and that was the last thing you remember before you tumbled to the floor.

You woke up a few hours later as you felt the sun shine on your face. You blinked, disorientated, as you tried to get used to your surroundings. The familiar walls of the infirmary materialised and you felt some ease at knowing where you were. Confusion still gnawed at your mind as you struggled to piece together what had happened. How had you ended up in the infirmary? And why did everything feel so hazy, as if viewed through a foggy lens? 

Your gaze drifted to your hand, the source of the searing pain. And there, wrapped in a pristine white bandage, lay the answer to at least one of your questions. The memory flooded back in fragments, disjointed and incomplete.

Theo's careless mistake, the scalding mixture splattering across your skin, the sharp cry of pain that had torn through the air, all of it came rushing back with startling clarity.

“Miss L/n you’re awake!” Madam Pomfrey’s voice cut through your thoughts and you saw the woman make her way towards you hurriedly. “That was a terrible burn you had, lucky I had some burn-healing paste on me otherwise you would have had an ugly scar.”

You were still a bit dazed, trying to piece together how you even managed to make your way here. You distinctively remembered collapsing to the floor but that was where your memory stopped and it refused to give you any more.

“Sorry Madam Pomfrey but do you know how I got here? I really can’t seem to remember.”

“Oh dear.” The nurse frowned at your condition. “Mr Nott brought you here. He’s been here the whole afternoon. He's only just popped to dinner. I'm sure he’ll be back. Merlin, the boy did look worried.”

You resisted the urge to scoff at her words. Theodore Nott, worried. Not a chance. He probably only brought you here because Slughorn insisted, and he couldn't risk getting on the professor's bad side. No, you highly doubted he cared about what had happened to you.

The memory of his harsh words repeated in your head like an echo that refused to go away, a reminder of his indifference to your situation. And yet, despite your efforts to brush it off, a bitter laugh escaped your lips. Why were you even upset? After all, the two of you were experts at hurling mean insults at each other. It was practically a pastime. 

Rather you should have been mad at the fact he was the one who caused you to get this injury anyway. If it wasn’t for his stupid mistake you wouldn’t be in this predicament. Then again, you remembered his movements, how his usual nimble fingers were fumbling the ingredients, how he stared at the pages of his book as though they were in a foreign language. Something wasn’t right.

“You’re awake.”

The words startled you and you spotted the Slytherin boy approaching your bed as his face held the same blank expression as before. He sat down beside you and your eyes narrowed. You shuffled away, not wanting to be near him.

“I’m sorry.” He murmured quietly and the words caught you off guard. “These past few days just haven’t been the best and-”

“That’s your excuse?” You bristled at his pathetic apology, hoping that you had misheard what he had said. “You mess up our potion resulting in me getting hurt and then hurl insults my way trying to blame me for what happened. And you think simply saying ‘I’m sorry’ is enough? Using the excuse of having a few bad days as your way out?”

He stayed silent allowing you to continue.

“Theodore Nott, you always were an idiot.” You spat, the words tinged with disappointment. “But I never expected you to be such a heartless prick.”

As the final syllable fell from your lips, a heavy silence settled over the room, punctuated only by the shallow rise and fall of your breath. You held Theo’s gaze and as you studied him you noticed something you had failed to notice before. The dark circles that marred the skin beneath his eyes, the redness that rimmed their edges. The weariness that had been etched into his features. 

“I went home.” He finally said, breaking the silence with his words. “Father sent a letter saying it was urgent, that I needed to return home at once.”

You felt yourself deflate and your gaze softened. Theo and his father had never been on the best terms and ever since his mother died they drifted apart even more. Suddenly his attitude made sense and you felt the guilt seep into your senses.

“Turns out his urgent matter was that he found himself another potential wife. Some poor woman to endure his torture and he wanted to happily announce it to his son. He burnt all of my mother’s belongings and if I hadn’t stopped him he would’ve gotten rid of her grave as well.” Theo scoffed bitterly and you saw the way he was trying to stop the tears from falling. “That bastard calls himself my father but not once in his life has he ever cared about me.”

A heavy silence enveloped the both of you as you sat not uttering a word. You knew that he had always struggled with the strained relationship with his family. The death of his mother had resulted in Theo being distraught for weeks as he relived the nightmare whenever he closed his eyes. 

“I’m not going back there. I’m never setting foot in that house ever again.”

You placed your hand on his shoulder as you tried to offer some sort of comfort. His eyes locked with yours and you saw how his tears glistened as they fell silently. You felt ropes tighten around your heart and you squeezed his shoulder gently. It had been a long time since you saw Theodore Nott cry. It was a rare sight but that was what made it that much more painful.

“I’m so sorry, I didn’t know.” You whispered. “I honestly…I’m so sorry Theo. He really doesn’t deserve a son like you. You’re incredible, you know that? You might be irritating and loud and downright infuriating at times but he doesn’t deserve you because you’re amazing Theodore Nott. And, Merlin, if I’m saying that then it must mean a lot because we both know my word is golden.”

You offered him a small smile and your heart warms when you see one tug at his lips too. He looked away for a second and you saw his eyes land on your bandaged hand and he winced.

“I really am sorry for messing up our potion. I didn’t mean what I said, you’re a brilliant witch Y/n, you always have been. I was just being a prat, I’m really sorry.”

“It’s fine, it’s honestly nothing bad. My hand will probably already be back to normal, I heal quickly you know.” You paused as your smile faltered and you chose your next words carefully. “If…if you don’t want to return to your house, you can always go to someone else's.”

Theo chuckled as he shook his head. “No one is going to accept me into their house without turning me into my father.”

“I will.” 

Silence. Theo looked at you, confusion clear on his face but your gaze was strong and he could tell you had meant what you had said. You felt yourself flush at his stare and you realised your hand was still on his shoulder and you quickly removed it.

“Accept you into my house I mean. My parents love you and you know they haven’t been on good terms with your father ever since what happened. We would be more than willing to take you in.” You watched as his face contorted into expressions that you couldn’t formulate. “That is if you promise not to fill my bathtub with toads again.”

Laughter fell from his lips, cascading like a melody. He lifted his hands to wipe away his tears that had been streaking down his face. His eyes no longer held the blank emotionless look but rather a certain warmth that you had missed seeing. Your grin widened upon hearing the sound and you found yourself joining in.

“At least you look pretty-”

Your words were cut off abruptly as Theo leaned in, his lips capturing yours in a sudden and unexpected kiss. You froze, unable to comprehend what exactly was happening as disbelief rippled through your body. His hands found their way at the back of your neck and you feel his thumb caress your cheek tenderly. You were still in shock when he pulled away and the last few words of the sentence you were about to say tumbled out of your mouth.

“-when you cry…”

You blinked as your mind tried to grapple at what had just happened. Theodore Nott had just kissed you. Theodore Nott, the boy you had despised since you were five, had just kissed you. He kissed you. Kissed…you. Immediately, your body erupted into flames and you felt your face flush hot at how close the both of you were.

“Your body temperature has risen extremely quickly.” Theo teased and you felt yourself grow even hotter.

“Shut it.”

“Like you’re actually a human radiator.” He continued undeterred by your glare.

“Nott if you don’t want to lose your head I would advise you to shut up.”

Theo grinned and you felt your heart stutter at the sight. “Oh so now I’m back to being Nott? What happened to Theo?” He said his name in a high pitched croon in an attempt to mock your voice and you smacked the backside of his head which only encouraged his laughter.

“You’re actually going to be the death of me.” You groaned as you slumped back down the bed, pulling the covers over your face as a feeble attempt to hide yourself from the pretty Slytherin.

Theo poked your arm and you peeked out to find him staring at you with a bright grin on his face. 

"Don't worry." He reassured you, his voice light and teasing. "I'll make sure to stay by your side forever and ever, like a blood-sucking parasite."

“How romantic.” You drawled as you rolled your eyes, trying to maintain a facade of annoyance as you retreated under the covers once more.

“Aren’t I just?” 

You ignored Theo’s playful whines for you to let him see your face. Your heart threatened to break out of your chest as you tried to calm yourself down. But even so, you were unable to stop the grin that spread across your face. Maybe, just maybe, forever wouldn't be so bad with Theodore Nott by your side.

[sunshineyrosie]

all the ways i resist you (and all the ways i don't)

summary: you and silco are arguing, has the couch in his office always been this uncomfortable?

pairing: Silco x reader

w/c: 3.2k

notes: established relationship, angst, couple arguing/fighting, smut ahead!!!, angry sex, biting, fluff at the end, they’re stupid and i love them, your honor

read on ao3: here masterlist

You shift again, the couch groaning beneath the movement.

Frustration burns in your chest as the stiff armrest refuses to offer even a hint of comfort. It’s never felt this miserable before—so lumpy, so unyielding—but tonight, every imperfection of the old piece of furniture feels magnified. The room feels colder than usual, as if he’d kept all the warmth with him when he stayed behind in the bedroom.

It should be easy to ignore his absence, you should be able to easily fall asleep out of complete spite. After all, you’ve napped here countless times, waiting for Silco to finish his work. It had never mattered that the cushions were uneven or that the legs creaked beneath the slightest movement. His presence had always been enough to soften the discomfort—the muted hum of his thoughts and the rhythmic scratch of his pen lulling you to sleep.

The blanket you always use—the one draped over the back of the sofa as if waiting for you—offers no consolation. It fails to warm you like it normally does, fails to soften the reality of your own decision, instead punishing you for your pride, for your need for a dramatic exit from the bedroom. 

Silco is usually the one banished to the couch when tempers flare—when neither of you are willing to yield, mutual stubbornness clashing like fire against steel. You don’t fight often, but when you do, the silence that follows becomes its own petty battlefield, neither of you willing to be the first to surrender.

Tonight, though, you had been the first to walk away, with the intention of making a grand exit—storming from the bedroom with sharp words lingering in the air, making sure he felt the weight of your absence. It had felt right in the moment—a dramatic exit, fueled by righteous indignation and the fire of your wrath.

Now, hours later, as a spring from one of the old cushions stabs into your side, you’re regretting everything. Just not enough to swallow your pride and turn back.

It had been a stupid fight, you know that much. But this was about principle now, about proving a point. (No matter how ridiculous that point had become.)

The room is unnervingly quiet, save for the distant hum of the Undercity beyond the iron-clad window. The world outside is his domain—he reigns over it with a brutal certainty, a man who’s mere presence commands respect, who’s voice alone can strike fear. He does not tolerate defiance. He makes and breaks men without blinking.

And yet, here you are—curled up on the sofa in his office, stubbornly clinging to your pride, proving once again that in all the world, you are the only person in this city allowed to contradict him. 

He usually loves that about you. Usually.

The couch is miserable, the silence unbearable. And worst of all—you suspect Silco knows you regret it.

You feel him before you hear him—the measured steps, the slow exhale. Despite everything, your body reacts with an involuntary awareness as you pretend to be asleep. You can feel the deliberate way he stops behind you and waits, as if giving you a chance to abandon your act before calling it out directly.

“You’re being ridiculous,” Silco mutters, voice low and edged with exhaustion. “Come back to bed.”

You keep your breathing slow. Even. The furniture creaks beneath even the smallest of your movements and you can feel a cramp forming in the side of your neck, but you remain stubborn.

He scoffs. “You’re a terrible actress. I know you’re awake—you snore when you sleep.”

The sheer audacity of that statement causes indignation to flare hot and immediate within your chest. “I do not!”

His chuckle is low and laced with something infuriatingly smug. “You do. It’s adorable, in fact.”

“That’s a lie.” You huff, still refusing to turn over.

“If it were a lie, you wouldn’t have responded.”

You glare into the darkness, gripping the blanket tighter, refusing to let him win that easily.

“Scoot in,” he orders. 

You don’t move. 

A pause—and then, without hesitation, his hands find your waist, firm and impatient, and practically shove you deeper into the couch. The motion forces a startled gasp from you, but before you can protest, he’s wedging himself in behind you with infuriating determination, fully committing to this absurd act of retaliation. 

The heat of him is immediate—solid and unyielding as his chest presses flush against your back, his breath skimming the nape of your neck as he attempts to fit into the impossibly small space. The couch groans beneath the added weight, protesting as he tries to adjust his position into some semblance of comfort.

You don’t need to turn over to know how ridiculous he looks—you can already picture it. The way his long legs dangle awkwardly off the edge, one foot braced against the floor in a desperate attempt to balance, limbs bent at angles that cannot possibly be comfortable. 

His arm, trapped between your body and the back of the couch, twitches slightly as he tries not to completely lose circulation, but he doesn’t get up. He exhales again, slower this time, settling into the discomfort like he’s decided that if you’re going to be stubborn, he’ll be worse.

You should be annoyed, livid. But instead, you feel a slow, childish satisfaction creep in.

It’s petty. It’s immature—the satisfaction of knowing that, for all his effortless power—for all the ways people shrink beneath his gaze, how his name alone commands obedience—he is entirely, utterly helpless against the sheer, humiliating inadequacy of his very own couch.

You had stormed out for dramatic effect, meant to exile yourself with purpose, meant to make a statement. And now? Now, he has turned your exile into his own inconvenience.

Serves him right.

You shift just enough to make it worse for him, hearing the faintest grunt of irritation in response. 

"This is ridiculous," he mutters.

"You should’ve let me sleep, then." you hiss, voice barely above a whisper.

The silence stretches, thick with lingering irritation, neither of you ready to let the fight go.

Then, a low, pained groan from the man behind you.

"Has this damned couch always been this uncomfortable?"

You don’t bother hiding your smirk. "Wouldn’t know. It usually belongs to you after a fight."

Silco exhales sharply through his nose, clearly unimpressed. "I’m starting to think I’ve committed some kind of sin against my spine."

"You have," you agree. "It’s called arrogance."

He huffs, adjusting once again behind you as if any amount of repositioning will make the couch tolerable.

(It won’t.)

You could tell him that. But you say nothing, because you are far too pleased with the way he’s struggling to fit.

“I’m still mad at you.” You murmur.

“Likewise,” Silco replies without hesitation.

“We’re still fighting.”

“Obviously.” He grunts.

"I’m still not talking to you," you declare.

"That’s fine," he mutters. "But this arrangement is beneath us. Separate beds will not be tolerated."

Even though he can’t see you, you roll your eyes at his dramatics. It’s hardly the first time you’ve slept apart. Hell, most of the time, it’s his fault—either because of stubbornness, or business, or whatever else keeps him locked away in his office long past midnight. He acts as if the nights he’s spent locked away in his office, wrapped in work and silence, have never existed.

And yet, here he is, declaring it like some unbreakable rule.

Another pause. His body shifts behind yours, adjusting to the sheer impracticality of squeezing himself onto the ancient couch. You should feel victorious about it, should relish the way the situation is entirely his fault for insisting on being here instead of leaving you in peace.

But you don’t feel triumphant. Just restless.

Still, he’s warm against your back—his breath slow, steady, making it impossible to pretend you’re unaffected.

Because no matter how stubborn you are, how much you want to cling to your anger, you simply cannot ignore the way his his body molds so effortlessly to yours despite the sheer impracticality of the sofa beneath you, the way his slow, even breathing betrays exhaustion, causing goosebumps to spread across your skin.

Even as your irritation simmers, there’s a part of you—the smallest, most insufferable part—that can’t help but notice how well you fit together, even here, even like this.

You shift slightly, just enough to make him even more uncomfortable.

It’s petty. It’s immature. But still, it makes you feel just a little better.

You lie there, feeling his body press against yours, the warmth of him seeping into your skin. The silence between you is thick with unspoken words and lingering anger. But as the minutes tick by, you become aware of something else—a growing hardness pressing against your lower back. You freeze, your eyes widening in disbelief.

"You cannot be serious right now," you mutter, exasperated.

He hums softly, a low vibration against the back of your neck. "What can you mean?" His voice is laced with amusement, which only serves to irritate you more.

"You cannot seriously have a hard-on right now," you groan, stabbing an elbow to his side in an attempt to dislodge him, but he only presses closer, his arm tightening around your waist.

He shushes you gently, fingers tracing light patterns on your belly, just below the hem of your shirt. "Quiet, now," he whispers, his breath hot against your ear, "you're not talking to me, remember?"

You can feel the frustration rolling off of him, mirroring your own as he continues to touch you. You both know your fight was stupid and petty, but it seems neither of you are willing to back down yet.

“Still mad at me, I see.” you mumble, your voice laced with a mix of desire and annoyance as his fingers trail lightly over your skin, sending shivers down your spine. He takes his time teasing you, his touch maddeningly light as he explores your body.

Silco scoffs in response, not stopping his ministrations. “Oh, I’m mad alright. Mad at you for being so stubborn, so infuriatingly proud.”

His lips are on your neck, kissing, sucking, marking you as his. You can feel the heat radiating from his body, the hardness of his cock pressing against your bottom, but he makes no move to rush, perfectly content to draw out your torment. 

His touch sparks a familiar heat that spreads throughout your body despite your best efforts to resist. You feel him inch higher, brushing the underside of your breasts. You suck in a sharp breath, trying to ignore the way your traitorous body responds.

You’re still mad at him, so mad, but your body doesn’t seem to care. It’s all too eager to respond to his touch, his kisses. He cups you fully, his thumbs brushing over your nipples, causing you to shiver at the stark contrast of his calloused fingers against the soft, sensitive skin. You bite your lip to suppress a moan, trying to hold onto the frustration that keeps slipping away with every stroke of his fingers, every nip of his teeth.

His hands are skilled, knowing exactly how to touch you to drive you wild. He rolls your nipples between his fingers, pulling gently, sending jolts of pleasure straight to your core. You squirm, trying to press against him to ease the ache building inside you.

His cock is hard and insistent against you, and you can feel his desire even through his anger. He wants you, despite being mad at you. You feel a sense of satisfaction in that—a primitive, feminine pride. You drive him just as crazy as he drives you.

His hips begin to move—a slow, deliberate rutting against your backside, the hardness of him unmistakable through the thin fabric of your sleep clothes. You can feel every inch of him in the way he grinds against you, stoking a fire that you can’t ignore.

“Silco,” you whisper, voice hoarse with need. “Please.”

He chuckles, a low, knowing sound. “Please what, my dear? You’re not supposed to be talking to me, remember?”

You groan, your body arching back against him, seeking more friction, more of him. “You know what I want,” you manage to bite out.

His hands leave your breasts, trailing down your belly, teasing the edge of your sleep shorts. He kisses a path down your neck to your shoulder, teeth grazing your skin, leaving marks that will linger long after the night is over. You feel your pulse racing, your body aching with need. He’s taking his sweet time, the bastard.

His fingers dip below the waistband of your panties. You hold your breath as his fingers immediately find your center, wet and ready for him. “My, my…Is this all for me?”

He doesn’t wait for a response as he begins to circle your clit, his touch feather-light and driving you mad with need. You push against him, urging him on. Silco obliges, sliding his fingers inside you, his thumb taking over the torment of your clit. You moan, eyes fluttering closed as you give into the sensation, your body moving with his, taking everything he offers.

His rutting becomes more insistent, his own breath coming in ragged gasps. You can feel his desperation, his need, and it only serves to heighten your own pleasure. You’re close, so close, body wound tight and ready to snap.

“Come for me,” He growls close to your ear. “Let me feel you fall apart.”

And you do, your body convulsing as wave after wave of pleasure crashes over you. He rides it out with you, his fingers slowing as you come down from your high. “More, Silco, I need more.”

“Tell me what you want.” He grunts, his cock still hard and ready against you as he pulls you close. “Be specific.”

“Your cock,” you beg, grinding back against him, desperate for more. “I want your cock.”

He shimmies your sleep shorts down frantically, fingers brushing against your skin, leaving trails of fire in their wake. He positions himself at your entrance, but doesn't push in, just teases you with the head of his shaft.

"You're so wet for me," he murmurs, his voice laced with smug satisfaction. "So ready."

"Stop teasing," you snap, your voice a mix of desperation and annoyance. "Just fuck me already."

He chuckles, but obliges, just barely—pushing in slowly, inch by inch, drawing it out, ensuring you feel every single inch of him. You moan, your body clenching around him, but you refuse to give in completely. You refuse to let him win that easily.

"Still mad?" he asks, his voice a low rumble in your ear as he moves, slow and deliberate, driving you insane.

"Very," you manage to bite out, your body moving with his despite your best efforts to hold back.

He smiles against your neck, biting down hard with jagged teeth, nearly drawing blood. "Good. I like it when you're feisty."

"Please," you beg again, quickly becoming desperate. You can feel the way he stretches you, fills you, and it's simply not enough. You need more. “I need—"

"For someone who's not talking to me, you have a lot to say, my girl."

Before you can shoot something back, he bottoms out all at once, hitting that perfect, sweet spot that takes all intelligible thought out of your head. You moan—a long, low sound of pure pleasure, clenching around him as he begins to move, drawing out your pleasure and torturing you in the best possible way.

"You feel so good," he murmurs, his voice a low growl. "So tight. So wet. And all mine."

His fingers find your clit, teasing you. You moan, your body arching back against him, seeking more friction, more of him. He obliges, his touch becoming more insistent, more demanding.

He slips the fingers of his other hand into your mouth, and you begin to suck on them instinctively, your eyes fluttering closed as you give in to the sensation. He groans, his member pulsing inside you as he feels your mouth wrap around his fingers.

"You like that, don't you?”

You offer a muffled moan in response as his fingers work their magic. He pulls his fingers out of your mouth, only to trail them down once again to your breast, circling the wet digits around your nipple.

He continues pounding into you, his anger and desire a potent mix. You can feel your orgasm building, body tensing as you climb higher and higher, but he's not ready to let you go over the edge, not yet.

"Silco," you cry out, your voice a desperate plea. "I’m close, I—”

He shushes you, finally giving in to what you've been begging for, his cock driving into you with a force that leaves you breathless, clenching tightly around him as you finally, blessedly, come undone—soaking his front in the process. He follows soon after, his cock pulsing inside you as he finds his release, his body shaking with the force of it.

As you both come down from your high, he pulls you close, his body wrapping around yours possessively. You lie there, spent and satisfied, mind a blur of confusion and desire. You're still angry at him, still frustrated, but in this moment, none of that matters. All that exists is the two of you, entwined and breathless, a tangle of limbs and shared pleasure.

He presses a soft kiss to the back of your neck—a silent apology, a silent confession.

"I can't sleep without you anymore," he admits quietly, his voice barely a whisper—so soft you almost don't hear it. His voice is vulnerable, raw, and honest in a way you rarely see from him. “I need you with me. Even if we're fighting."

You know he wouldn’t say it if you weren’t facing away from each other. He wouldn’t be able to say it in the light of day, where he’d have to see the admission reflected in your eyes, where you could take that vulnerability and hold onto it too tightly.

You smile and snuggle back against him, your heart aching with a mix of tenderness and frustration. "I feel the same.”

He kisses your neck again, a soft, gentle kiss that contradicts the intensity of what you just shared. "We'll resume our fight in the morning," he promises.

Despite everything, a ghost of a smile tugs at your lips.  Warmth curls in your chest—not forgiveness, not surrender, but something quiet. Something sure.

Neither of you make a move toward the bedroom. Instead, Silco settles deeper against you, still inside you, trapping you in the mess of limbs and bad decisions. His arm curls around your waist, anchoring you together.

The fight isn’t over. The unresolved tension still lingers, settled between you, waiting for its second act. You aren’t ready to let it go—aren’t ready to say sorry.

In the morning, when the sun rises, you’ll resume your fight with sleep in your bodies. You’ll pick up the pieces of the battle, of the stubborn pride that neither of you are willing to cast aside quite yet.

But tonight—tonight, you just sleep, your bodies entwined, anger temporarily forgotten, as you lie on the stupid, lumpy couch, your hearts beating as one. 

And for this moment, it's enough.

if you've read this far, thank you from the bottom of my heart!!! i truly treasure all comments, reblogs and feedback. please share your thoughts below <3

[artist-issues]

“At least it's not ferociously attacking God quite as directly as Steven Universe did…”

Not that I’m surprised by this statement, but can you elaborate on this? Kinda intrigued by your thoughts on Steven Universe.

Okie dokie, you’re not the only one who has asked me about this, so I suppose I’ll poke the hornet’s nest. 😅 I haven’t talked about this before because I assumed that everyone who wanted to hear my kinds of opinions on stories wasn’t watching or interested in Steven Universe.

It’s like asking vegetarian if they enjoyed a turkey dinner. The turkey dinner was so obviously not made for vegetarians to enjoy, so why would the vegetarian even bother analyzing the turkey?

But I think if some people are asking me why I think Steven Universe is anti-God (of the Bible) its because maybe they don’t know what the turkey is. Not completely. (Maybe not you, because like you said, you’re not surprised by my comment.) So I’ll explain my thoughts on Steven Universe.

If you’re just following me because you liked some stuff I posted, but didn’t realize that I’m a Bible-believing Christian and don’t want to hear about it, unfollow me now. Because I’m going to talk about some hot button issues here and the trolls will come out.

Steven Universe is really well-done. The jokes are funny, the writing is believable, the characters have great chemistry, great design, the concept is fascinating, the slow build-up and reveal of the plot elements is great. But when you watch the throne room scene in the last episode of Season 5 “Change Your Mind,” it’s alarmingly clear how much the whole show is not just settling for defending and championing the LGBTQ+ worldview—it goes all the way to attacking what Christians believe, on the other side.

Anything that’s pro-LGBTQ+ is doing that by default, but this show goes out of its way to do that.

You have to understand: God created and designed us. Deeper than that; He created and designed romantic relationships, and invented marriage. He didn’t just create love—He is love. So when humans come along and do what we’ve always done since the fall, and say, “I’d rather define what Your thing is and how it works for myself, God,” it’s not only an incredible slap in the face, it’s an attack on God’s actual identity—and it’s destructive for us and the people around us. Like a fish insisting it can breathe oxygen.

But Steven Universe goes beyond that. It knows that the Christian worldview is it’s biggest opposition. It digs right down to the heart of the worldview-battle. LGBTQ+ worldview says, “I should get to love what I want and be who I am, because I’m me. Love is love. (By which I mean, any action or relationship I choose to call love is love, because I’m the one calling it that.)”

Biblical worldview says “No, wait, you shouldn’t base your decisions on you alone; what you want changes day to day, and you’re broken, so you can’t ever be satisfied based on what you want—the Bible says God made you for something, and you rejected that, and it broke you. You’re not how you’re meant to be: even what you want and what you think love is is twisted up and can hurt you and others. But if you submit to God He’ll help you, He’ll fix what’s broken and give you new life by making you how you were supposed to be: He’ll live in you and through you.”

Are we beginning to get the picture?

See, the whole thing with the opposing views between LGBTQ+ and Christian people is as old as time. It’s not a new debate. It’s Satan and Eve in the garden. She says, “This is not how God said things should be,” and Satan says, “Are you sure that’s what He said? He knows if you do this thing, you’ll be like Him. You’ll be god: you’ll get to decide ‘how things should be’ for yourself.”

He lied and said that disobedience would satisfy her. That she knew what her own heart needed better than the God that made it did. That the very act of being imperfect would make her godlike.

And then Steven Universe comes along and says “if every pork chop were perfect, we wouldn’t have hotdogs.”

And has a cast of created being characters who’s imperfections (Garnet’s forbidden “love,” Pearl’s obsession, Amethyst’s insecurity) are supposedly “the best thing about them; what makes them who they are.”

And has a main character who used to be a part of the god-like creator relationship, but used her power to come down to earth and completely change who she is into a fully different person.

And has a godlike Creator character who claims she “doesn’t need” her created beings (just like the God of the Bible) but they all have a little part of their creator in them so she has to repress their imperfections; she holds them all to a standard that’s impossible to reach called “perfection” and punishes them when they don’t meet it even though it hurts them to try; she expects them all to do what they were created by her for; she fixes them when they can’t meet her standard by shining her light through them and making them extensions of their Creator.

And has a main character who argues, fights back, tries to stop her, and is answered with lines that sound surprisingly like what LGBTQ+ people hear when Christians argue with them: “you’re only making things worse; you’re just deceiving yourself; even while you resist it your actual light can’t help shining through,” etc.

White Diamond just wants everything to be perfect. Like her. She just wants her created beings to “be themselves.” But what she means is, be how she created them to be.

And she’s the bad guy. She’s playing God in this show, and Rebecca Sugar is saying, “If God is telling us that can only be happy by being perfect, as He is perfect, and doing what He created us to do, then He’s wrong. Our imperfections are what make us special—unique—individuals—free—and there is nobody who has the right to take that freedom away from us, not even out creator!”

And you know what?

If God were like White Diamond, like Rebecca Sugar believes Him to be, Steven Universe would be right.

But He is NOT.

God is not a dictator who forces us to conform to a standard of perfection and then smashes us when we don’t meet it. He is a King who made us perfect to begin with, and we rejected him, because He allowed us to do that. He knew that true love was love that had to be chosen, and He wanted us to love Him by choice, so he gave us the option. But Rebecca Sugar doesn’t understand—there was never “Choose God or Choose Yourself.” There was only, “Choose God or Choose Nothing.” There was nothing except God. Then He created everything. There is no version of reality where you have something better than God, or even slightly less good but different, to pick. You’re not jumping from one ship into a smaller one, but at least it’s yours—you’re jumping from one ship into a void, and then complaining that there’s no other ship. That’s humans. That’s not God. / White Diamond didn’t make her creations perfect (Amethyst) and she didn’t make them for love. She made them for power. That’s not the God of the Bible.

Even when we did choose to try and love ourselves instead of God, and therefore warped our ability to perfectly love at all, He didn’t smash us. True, everything fell and was cursed, which is exactly what He warned us would happen if we chose it, but it was a natural consequence of breaking ourselves. And then He didn’t leave us that way. He didn’t give up on us. And He certainly didn’t just zap us, snap His fingers, quick-fix it and turn us all into robots who are extensions of Him, who say they love Him but only because it’s His voice puppeting us to say it.

No. He came to us, chose to give up His life at the exact point on the timeline when Romans, masters in the art of slow, humiliating, torturous death, would be the ones to carry out His crucifixion, and saved us Himself. Through the sacrifice of His own life. And even then, we still have a choice. We get to choose to accept that incredible self-sacrifice when we don’t deserve it, and be given new life and a relationship with the Creator who knows us and loves us better than we can love ourselves or receive love from others—OR we can just keep stubbornly insisting that our slavery to the opposite of what God wants is somehow freedom, and our twisted versions of love are genuine, and we’re not broken, and die like that. Die broken creatures who lived their whole lives stomping their feet and screaming “I’m not a creature, I’m a god!”

White Diamond sacrifices nothing, because Rebecca Sugar doesn’t know the God of the Bible. She just knows her idea of Him. She’s never actually gotten to know Him. If she had, she’d learn how silly and twisted her idea is.

Because you know what, yeah, if every pork chop were perfect, we wouldn’t have hot dogs. But people aren’t pork chops. And hot dogs have flavor (not better than pork chops) but they are awful for you.

Christians aren’t perfect cuts of meat with no individuality or flavor. Just because we all know and love the same God doesn’t mean we have no personalities. It just means we don’t think so freaking much about what we are, or who we get to be, or what we like and want. Jeez, what a self-centered, narcissistic, self-obsessed way to live. She plays Steven like he’s this wonder-child, innocent and full of heart, who encourages his friends to love and keep trying. But honestly?

This is very pretty animation but it’s not real. Steven looks happy hugging Steven but self-love doesn’t ultimately get you that.

That’s all based on the premise that what he’s encouraging them to do is actually good, and will make them happy, and will help them love better. And it just won’t. Not in real life. That’s not how any of this works. Self-love is just self-obsession. And that is a sure-fire way to hurt you, and everyone around you.

You’ll never be free by choosing to run to a worse master. You’ll never be satisfied with your crappy attempts at loving yourself, because you were made to be loved flawlessly and forever by someone who is Love Himself.

And choosing to identify with your imperfections doesn’t make you uniquely you. It just makes you exactly like every other human being marching in the same line since the Fall.

White Diamond’s not relational. She’s up high and distant. That’s not God. He made you to be in relationship with Him. He loves you, totally and perfectly, and He proved it by sacrificing for You.

So yeah. That’s the problem with Steven Universe. Come get me, SU fans.

[bladekindeyewear]

Why are all of John's friends trying to gaslight him constantly? He was proven right about Candy and yet they all still treat him like he's nuts. Especially Jade.

But John ISN'T right. The Candy timeline being a "funhouse reflection" doesn't justify his proposed assertions and actions. I went into deep detail about that in my liveblog post, person by person. Just about all of the adults are wrong in important ways (besides Karkat), and are proving themselves wrong in that very conversation-- but John is the MOST wrong, the furthest from the point of this story, the most obviously suffering from his shortcomings as a person.

You get the sense you may have missed something.

This line, as everyone is standing over him, isn't just a joke about what's going on behind them all... as I covered in my liveblog post, it's a key statement about the core mistake John is making. About how ever since he arrived on Earth C, he's been looking for "true meaning" everywhere outside himself when it has to come from within.

ROXY: john did you listen to a single fucking thing i said to you JOHN: yes! JOHN: like, okay, you were right. JOHN: this place IS real.

In their argument in this update, Roxy and John alluded to their home conversation toward the end of the Candy Epilogues, when John was trying to insist that everyone's actions made no sense and that this timeline didn't mean anything... and Roxy dismantled his assertions. That just because the Candy Timeline was so strange and intentionally read at first like poor fanfiction -- likely because it was born from CALLIOPE'S fanfiction, the Meat version of Callie wearing the Ring of Life who is constantly said both in the Epilogues and Homestuck^2 to have been drawing events on her walls that sound suspiciously like the events of Candy -- that doesn't mean the Candy story, that a noncanon fanfic, isn't real or doesn't matter. Just because some of the events seemed absurd from John's point of view, OUR point of view, didn't mean they didn't have underlying reasons... right down to Yiffy's name as we discovered in this update from Karkat's insight that Jade was naming and treating Yiffany like the child she imagined she'd have had with Dave without his involvement. Just because it's not the "original author's" method of characterization doesn't mean that fan characterizations hold no worth, that fan stories hold no value.

John is right that all the former heroes in the Candy Timeline (besides maybe Karkat) have made a great many HORRIBLE decisions, giving in to their insecurities and neuroses and past trauma. But his solution is to ditch all the consequences of their "fanfic" story, consign it to the trash bin, and instead pursue "relevance" as if a new adventure, as if something more "Canon", would would be best for everyone... mainly himself. That allowing fanfics to be real, or making a difference in their own world despite their flaws, is "too much freedom".

JADE: john... this is what i mean. JADE: you have no idea what it is you actually want, do you? JADE: being happy to you is just chasing after whatever it is you dont already have. JADE: and we know how that always turns out. JOHN: what does THAT mean? JADE: it means, john, that you're going to drag harry along on this big awful adventure and then, itll end! JADE: and even assuming it ends well, he might get what, one good year with you? JADE: maybe two? JADE: until you get bored and angry and avoidant all over

JADE: john... JADE: you cant actually believe everything will be fine if we just leave, right? JADE: no matter where you go, john, youre still going to be... this. JADE: i wish saving you WAS as easy as snapping our fingers and going off on some other adventure, JADE: but well never be 13 again. JADE: and... looking at you in that old outfit makes me nauseous. JADE: you were right, a lot of the time i dont like it here, and i DEFINITELY dont like whats happened to us. JADE: but its our own fault, and now its all we have left to work with.

Jade proved herself one of the "craziest" ones here in this update, with us seeing the real reason she chose a name as absurd and offhand-Dave-Strider-joke-like as Yiffany Longstocking, and in particular with the way she wants to CONTROL her child to live the life she THINKS is best for her from Jade's own experience, living a "normal" life vicariously through her, rather than letting Yiffy live the life she actually WANTS to live. She deserved Yiffy's final, parting "FUCK YOU!".

But the point she's making about John here is TRUE, and is even more important.

John has been constantly defining his self-worth by adventures outside himself, listless and depressed and UNCOMFORTABLE in his own being, thinking that happiness and fulfillment and satisfaction is something he has to go out and find on some sort of story quest. His time in Sburb was the only time the world around him was doing the heavy lifting of convincing him that he had meaning. But he was never comfortable JUST BEING HIMSELF. Never confident in BELIEVING in himself, by himself. Quests and chasing goals given to him were only ever temporary patches over his own insecurity, his feelings of wrongness in the very act of existing as the person he is.

"no matter where you go, john, youre still going to be... this."

"You get the sense you may have missed something."

John is so wrong, so horribly inconsiderate to everyone in this update, so insistent on the next dose of adventure even if it means consigning the entire timeline to the trash bin, because he is MISSING the key thing that would actually make him really, truly happy. Confident, fulfilled. Satisfied enough to live for OTHERS, like his child, more than just for himself.

Which is why the update ALSO gave him a GLIMPSE of what he was missing, what he needs to find INSIDE himself -- not outside -- in order to love himself.

And what he needs to find inside himself... is HER.

June Egbert would love herself enough to start truly living for herself and others. To believe in herself enough to show herself off so confidently in the stage's spotlight, to know she's a Hero beyond her prior inner doubts. The dead version of John in the Meat timeline seems likely to become her first, but the lesson is the same. John keeps trying to look for a way to "escape" his problems, causing all sorts of issues and insensitivity because he can't escape himself, and this is the true key to the self-acceptance he's been avoiding.

That's been the slow, steady, Andrew-blessed drumbeat that's been building in the background ever since the beginning of the Epilogues. It wasn't just a Toblerone wish, that was only the final excuse. Andrew had been talking obsessively with others about this repressed-transfem interpretation of John throughout Homestuck ever since fans brought up the idea before the Epilogues, before the Toblerone, and HS^2 and Beyond Canon's writers (and the Epilogue's cowriters) have all been standing with Andrew on this idea. The fact that Candy was so "weird" and non-canon was never what was actually making John "miserable" for so long. He's still projecting blame for his unhappiness onto that idea instead of seeing the truer way to be herself. It's been hinted at and reiterated throughout the new stories, and confirmed by its authors:

That's just the biggest key to JUNE'S issues, though, not everyone else's. From now on, all the heroes who were left behind in Candy -- possibly with help from those in the Meat Timeline who believe in them -- WILL SAVE the Candy Timeline from dissolving into the ether.

ROXY: john... i know things didnt work out the way you thought they would but we cant just up and fuck off???? ROXY: i feel it in my gut, we can save this place, we have to!

Together, they WILL prove the overarching theme that our drive to create fanon and fanfics and fan characters, that the wild and disagreeing interpretations on what could happen next (or what could have happened) that live on after the story in the reader's hearts, that the versions of these CHARACTERS that live on in our hearts, matter just as much or more as the grip of plot relevance and "canon" by a tyrannical author. That being trapped in a "story" necessarily tortures them for the sake of dramatic impact and that the characters deserve to be freed from its clutches. The overall message of the original "Homestuck" -- it's in the very NAME -- was that the heroes had to ESCAPE THE STORY to find true happiness instead of simply winning by its rules, by a tyrannical storycrafter like Lord English's rules. Homestuck's original ending was too strangely executed to spell out that lesson for most people. Homestuck's sequel is making that message EXPLICIT so none of us who stick around will miss it.

And Beyond Canon has been REALLY good at convincing me that they're going to pull that lesson off RIGHT. :D

[centrally-unplanned]

If you find yourself asking "what even is the Biden campaign strategy", think back and realize you have watched zero of the dozens of ads he has released, listened to zero of his speeches, read zero of his statements from the White House, and so on. 100% of the information you get about Biden is from at best viral clips or w/e, and otherwise its other people, who do not work for his campaign, doing commentary, analysis, and probably memes and dunks. How would a candidate even begin to campaign to you? You don't want them to, you don't care.

Which is correct by the way, for you its all pointless. You actually should just look at his policy platform and make a decision in a day on whether or not it matches you enough. Or more importantly skip that step and vote for Biden no thoughts head empty because his opponent is Donald Trump this is not a debatable proposition why waste any time on it.

But hopefully that makes you realize A: how difficult campaigning is at all now, and B: how different a life the kind of people who *are* undecided about this are from you such that campaigning on them can actually reach them.

(And a bit of C: how inadequate the current political system is vis a vis the idea of consensus formation & civic engagement, but for another time)

[scoops404]

Can I be super boring and just give you sickfic as a prompt? 👀 (I wrote dickfic like 5 times which also works for me lmfao) Bonus points if George is sick hehe

Hi Honelle!! Here is a little slice of a sick fic. Sorry I used it to prove I can write something under 1K, but Chelsey thinks she's some kind of Machiavellian manipulator and so, you understand, I simply had to. And this prompt seemed easiest. 724 words.

If the sniffles took steroids and then cross bred with whooping cough—that’s the type shit that’s got George holed up in his bed, miserable.

“You should have taken the Emergen-C I got you,” Dream says, not helping, while he sits on the edge of George’s bed.

“Stupid,” George croaks out. “Your fault.”

“Yes, which is why I knew you should have taken the medicine, you big baby,” Dream says back. He’d already gotten sick and recovered, transferring his germs to George with their crazy mutation. Somehow, he feels worse than Dream ever did. He’s sure of it.

“I don’t feel good,” he says because sometimes you just gotta get it out. His head feels like someone pounded a nail into it and his throat is sandpaper.

“I know,” Dream says, voice quiet and empathetic. It’s everything George wanted. He just needed someone to hear him and to really get it. Dream gets it. “I’m sorry you’re feeling bad.”

George doesn’t respond. It’s not the kind of statement that needs a response. He’d sat with Dream for hours while he was sick, watching videos with him and bringing him soup. Though he blamed Dream earlier for getting him sick, the truth is that it’s his own fault for not being able to steer clear.

“I should let you get some rest,” Dream says in that way that people do when they’re trying to end a conversation, to sneak out without saying they’re done talking to you. George doesn’t want rest. He wants Dream.

He wants Dream to stay here and make the time pass faster, make the germs explode and give him back his health and vitality, give him a distraction so he can think about anything other than his own sickness.

“No, I just—just stay with me, Dream.” He pats the mattress, not in invitation, but an order he expects to be obeyed.

“You want me here?” Dream asks like he has to ask, like he needs the clarification.

“Always want you here.” Would he admit that if he weren’t feverish and high on cold meds? Maybe. Probably not.

But here they are. He can’t take it back. Especially not when he really means it.

“Good,” Dream says decisively. “Because I always want to be here. With you.”

They turn the television on, the one that George got from Dream—the same way his fingerprints are on everything in George’s life, up to and including the fact that he’s here in Florida in the first place.

He doesn’t think about while they find a video for Dream to cast from his phone. He winds up choosing Technoblade’s Potato War video, something that never fails to make George smile.

“Are you comfy?” Dream asks, his voice a rumble.

George thinks about it. He could be more comfortable, but he doesn’t want to overstep.

“Just do whatever you need, George,” Dream tells him, reading his mind.

“Can I lay on you?” George asks as he moves his head to rest on Dream’s chest before he even gets an answer.

“Always,” Dream says, bringing his arm around to hold George close.

It’s… intimate. They’ve never sat like this together. Cuddling. It’s intimate and it’s nice and George loves it.

Despite the headache and the way he coughs into Dream’s chest, it’s the most comfortable he’s ever been in his life, like Dream was made to be his pillow and George was made to be a weighted blanket and together they were forged to fit perfectly together.

Somewhere around the end of the second video, George feels his breathing fall into a pattern of sleep. He’s on the cusp, sleep bringing up her hands to gently lull him down. But he’s not all the way there. He’s awake to feel Dream’s lips place a delicate kiss on his forehead. He’s awake to feel the way Dream’s staring at him, like he’s taking him in. And he’s definitely awake to hear him speak.

“I love you like this,” Dream whispers against his skin. “I love you always, but I love this too. Please never stop wanting me like this.”

And then, Lady Sleep drags him just another inch further down, and he falls unconscious with a smile on his face and a promise in his heart.

He won’t stop wanting Dream. Ever.

And tomorrow he’ll tell him.

[mischiefmaker615]

A song to inspire for Loki oneshot:

Villain - Song by Bella Poarch

Song Request/Inspiration: "Villain" by Bella Poarch

Rating: *WARNING* this may or may not be the darkest i've written ever, or in awhile. the demon has stolen my pen. please do not read if you are triggered because it is *grape* themed if you know what i mean. 

Summary: "I'll be the villain tonight" inspired. Loki misses his old self and Y/N just so happens to be the very one to inspire him.. unintendedly. 

The door made a quiet click, raising a brow from Y/N yet she still didn’t bother to turn around, holding the same disinterested expression as usual. It was probably yet another interrogator set to try to gain answers she still didn’t intend to give out- thus sending away anther failed agent back to the TVA.

This has been perhaps the fifth attempt now, some sessions lengthy, some short- but each agent that came in normally always left disappointed, or disappointed and bleeding. Which is why it didn’t take many sessions before the decision was made to keep her hands cuffed behind her while she sat in her chair. the table had to be removed as well, which had been made into a make-shift weapon with a simple kick.

It’s been nearly two weeks before the TVA finally got to the point where they had to bring in their newest expert, whom stayed by the door just behind her with his eyes practically burning a hole through her head.

‘’you’re not fooling anyone.’’ Her words came out calmly, not even bothering to turn around to face him with her eyes settled on the wall across from her.

Loki could be heard holding in a chuckle, his fingers laced behind his back while he continued to take in her form from what he could see. ‘’and why exactly do you feel like I am trying to fool you when we haven’t even started yet?” he challenged.

His eyes seemed to fall down, taking in the length and texture of her beautiful, loose hair. Her shoulders were tense and back, her pride and dignity definitely showing through her body language. The chair was thin, not so much comfortable and left a good view of her hips and hints of the shape of her ass even through her TVA jumpsuit. Somehow even that seemed to show off her shape in which he didn’t dare move in front of her yet.

These things took delicate time.

‘’it’s your vibe. Your energy is trying to make yourself scary, in charge, intimidating, but it’s just making you look far more like a..’’ she finally glanced over her shoulder, her eyes piercing his own but with the look of amusement and being totally unintimidated. ‘’pussycat.’’

Loki’s face had changed as quickly as he could to be unreadable, but he was sure she had already caught a glimpse of his admiring expression as she had glanced over at him. her vibrant e/c eyes almost had him captivated, hating how quickly she had turned back around before he could really get the urge to get lost in them.

‘’..so you used to work for them.’’ He said in a statement but it still sounded more like a question while he noted her term Mobius had called him once or twice before. It couldn’t have been a coincidence.

‘’indeed, files and all. you were quite the popular case at one point around here until you lost New York.’’ She failed hiding a smirk, glancing over her shoulder again but found he was already passing her side in a slow walk, his eyes trained on her while she followed his. ‘’I had high hopes for you, I truly did.’’

She was even more beautiful up close, her words of reminiscing intriguing him and succeeded in bringing back memories of that time where he had quite indeed brought a piece of Midgard to its knees at one point.. even if it was brief. Did she approve of it? She didn’t necessarily seem to scold him- not that it would have any effect on him.. that wasn’t like him anymore to care.. he wasn’t that god from before..

‘’you praise that version of me?’’ he couldn’t help but ask, curiosity quite quickly winning over his professionalism to stay on track and be the one to ask questions instead.

Not one person had willingly followed him, on his quest for New York. Why did she seem to be? No.. this had to be one of her tricks before she would strike. Most agents came out bruised or bleeding, there was no way he was going to fall for any of her.. female powers she may try, even if she had won him over the moment he had taken in her scent once the door had clicked shut.

Still, he did remember those days. How fun it had been.. to let loose, to act upon instinct and have his own control. Everything had been his, everyone had been listening, seeing, doing.. blood.. so much blood.. it was all necessary to get where he needed to be and having gotten to where he wanted to be had been.. exhilarating..

‘’it was the thought that counted. You hoped to help a failing race, you did it- briefly, or some part of it. And you knew how.’’ She told him carefully, her expression having changed to unreadable as his once he was fully standing before her, just a few steps away from each other. Her legs were spread, taking advantage of the outfit benefits of comfort if she had to be wearing it and he didn’t mind whats so ever.

It hugged her body perfectly where his eyes dared to dip down past her neck briefly before flicking back up as if she hadn’t noticed. She did. He didn’t necessarily care either, most of his gentleman ways warned him that he needed to stick to the job, and being presented a female, he had to abide by the delicate rules and be chivalrous. He was a prince after all, and strived in the ways he had treated many flowers in his lifetime with respect and gentlemanly care.. but something else in him had been reminded of his old ways..

The ways back in New York.. the part of him that was in control.. full control.. he could do whatever he wanted, control and take whatever he wanted.. how easy it could be for him to just do..

‘’aggression.’’

The word had her brow raised, having taken on a small glare after apparently noticing his wondering eyes and now labeled him as like one of the rest. ‘’excuse me?” she asked with halfhearted interest.

‘’you said I knew how, and I’m telling you.’’ He told her simply before his lips tugged up into a smirk. ‘’aggression.’’ He told her, his voice having dropped a bit lower and it would seem his expression had changed as well. ‘’humans end to only listen to harsher actions. It starts off as children- spare the rod, spare the lesson, as they are told. Then it follows them to when they are adults, words do count. Harshness gains attention, forms character and can be used to hold attention and order. My methods only followed your own, you people just tended to become.. sensitive over the past decades.’’

His skin tingled, almost like some buzz and adrenaline had entered his body while his fingers tightened in their hold behind his back. His long, brown jacket suddenly felt a bit tight while he mildly rotated his shoulders to release some of the tension. ‘’while we are on the subject darling, I do believe we have strayed away from the point.’’ He mockingly tsked, her body noticeably tensing while she sensed his vibes again.

This time it was different. She could feel the energy in the room getting thicker, darker almost where she felt her back pressing more into the chair- almost subconsciously trying to create distance from him. her eyes were careful while she watched him, face strained a bit while she pushed down any emotional indication while he stared down his nose at her. almost like they already had a conversation without words, she leaned forward carefully with the most serious expression she could muster.

‘’..I’m not telling you anything.’’

‘’as you’ve quite established with your own vibes, darling.’’ he smirked, having leaned down a bit to almost be nose to nose with her as she had challenged him.

What was happening.. he felt new.. fresh, like some part of him had come back alive after having been buried deep down once he had chosen this life in the TVA. Almost as if he was.. back in New York.. she, on the other hand, had quickly changed her demeanor- as much as she tried to hide it. It was almost as if she had sensed his change, how his old self seemed to have come back alive compared to the Loki version she had seen just a moment ago. Her tough exterior was not one to match someone who was serious enough to kill to gain property.

‘’but I’m sure there are several ways to get you to give me what I need, I’m sure the others haven’t thought of yet.’’ He smirked, his body having relaxed and clearly was in no hurry while he straightened to his full height.

There was a delicate green hue that had flashed within his eyes, raising suspicion in her own before she followed his gaze and glanced behind her. the single, small window that remained in the center of the door had a green glaze over it, the same color as the one that had been Loki’s eyes a moment ago and she knew by his awaiting smirk, he had something to do with it.

‘’blocking the view of the window won’t scare me variant. Unless you are trying to hide your own embarrassment from being another failed agent trying to get something out of me-‘’

‘’oh no darling, you are going to try to get something out of me.’’ He smirked, his voice having gotten darker and lust seemed to have taken over his gaze while he moved his hands forward to shed the jacket off his shoulders and placed it aside on the floor. The buttons of his shirt seemed to strain with the white shirt’s fabric with his movements, his toned muscles clearly being the culprit.

‘’what are you talking about?” she asked with a glare, her voice matching her expression while she subconsciously closed her legs with her eyes flashing at his muscles forearms while he rolled up his sleeves.

‘’you ask many questions for one who plans on not telling me anything.’’ He smirked. ‘’perhaps we’ve gotten to the good start sooner than I had thought.’’ He mocked before he straightened, hands in front of him clasped while he looked down his nose at her barely a foot away.

Her eyes rose, already leaning back in the chair where she couldn’t much accommodate without having to lean to the side a bit. Her body reminded her that getting up and away was an option, perhaps shooting a punch forward into his crotch was necessary, but her brain reminded her that if she failed to injure the god- who could take far more than the mortals she had been dealing with, the consequences could be serious.

It may have seemed that he could read her thoughts, because in the next moment, his hand shot out to her forehead, pressing his palm flat against her smooth skin before a zap seemed to have shot at her, throwing her head back in a mild whip lash while Loki raised his palm in almost a surrender position. ‘’I wouldn’t plan to hurt me if I were you.’’

Y/N’s moved her body to lean forward, almost looking ready to shoot out of the chair while the cuffs cut mildly into her skin with her fast movement ‘’what the fuck was-‘’

‘’a simple spell, the buzz and tingle will fade in a moment. Its for prevention, encase you try to do something stupid.’’

‘’so you’re afraid.’’ She sent him a small smirk, the only thing she could really do to try to gain her demeanor while she looked up at him. a protection spell.. she didn’t call any bluffs, she knew if he was willing to get to this point, than what he just did had to be real. If she tried to bite, kick, punch- cause any type of harm towards him, than there was no doubt the spell would inflict her pain beyond imaginable. That fear alone, was enough to block out any thoughts of attempts.

‘’no, but it’s usually best to rid of the nuisance if it can be.’’ He smirked before he kicked the chair out from under her, causing her to fall on her side, a yelp leaving her lips with the awkward position she was in with her hands cuffed.

‘’are you going to ask me a question or are you just going to be a dick?” she snapped, rolling to get on her knees with a wince and her eyes glared daggers up at him.

‘’would you be willing to answer the question darling or shall we continue with what I have planned?” he smirked, knowing she wasn’t going to dare ask but saw the curiosity and hesitation in her eyes while his eyes seemed to glow green again.

‘’ask.’’ She snapped, rolling her shoulders a little from the soreness while she sat on her heels.

‘’what is the location of Agent 615?” he asked carefully, narrowing his eyes while his hands rested at his knees, leaning down nose to nose with her as if speaking with a child.

‘’go fuck yourself.’’ She snapped, her own amused look flashing in her eyes where she eternally cursed herself for being stubborn. She couldn’t betray her commander, but she knew her answers could be adjusted to affect her punishment.. it was just difficult when she felt fear to whatever had overcome Loki. It would seem he was.. enjoying this.. so it seemed like, even if he didn’t necessarily show it on his face.

‘’I always could,’’ he shrugged, his voice calm while he stood up to his full height and raised a hand before waving it once in a shooing position.

The feeling of two slender hands on her shoulders with a firm grip was enough to make her jump, the being keeping her in her kneeling position before she quickly looked up. Looking down at her with the same smirk on his face, was an identical Loki- same clothes and everything as the one that stood before her. his grip told her she wasn’t going to move from this position and her body finally began struggling to get him off while her eyes moved towards the first one.

‘’what the hell kind of tactic is this- your trying to scare me into it?? This is against the TV-‘’

‘’what makes you so concerned with the TVA’s rules when you’ve broken and ditched them yourselves? Any tactic should be fair game since you are the one who supports such behavior.’’ Loki smirked, taking a small step towards her while she continued to struggle to stand.

‘’I don’t support this-‘’

‘’you support the old me, my darling. the one who demanded control, aggression, power, and order for this realm. Used all of them to gain it. Yet when it becomes quite personal, it is wrong? I don’t believe you have officially picked your side love. You need to be on one side with no foot in the other door. Now, I will give you a chance to tell me where agent 615 is, once you have given me the correct answer, my methods shall stop. Are we clear?”

‘’your sick-‘’ she spat, not exactly sure what tactics we was referring to before she saw his hands move down to the zipper of his pants.

‘’I feel more like myself than I ever have darling, and it is all thanks to you.’’ He sighed with the grin on his face, the other Loki moving a hand to grip the area between her neck and shoulder, keeping her down in a bruising grip while the other hand moved around to cup her jaw from under, raising her chin up with his thumb and pointing finger adding pressure to open her mouth.

‘’wait- I can be reasonable.. there’s a branch- one the TVA hasn’t-‘’

‘’remember darling, give me the location and my methods shall stop.’’ Loki reminded almost to calmly, his heart racing in acceleration while his eyes looked down at her through half lids with lust.

‘’the branch is- mmph!’’ her words were muffled when he slowly slid his cock into her mouth, pressing against the back of her throat before he paused, not wanting to block her airway while half her mind tried to fathom how impossibly large he was and how all of this could be happening to her.

‘’gods- you feel divine..’’ he breathed, his eyes fluttering closed while he raised his head to fall back, his hand moving to the top of her head to keep her still. Her muffles merely just sending vibrations against him, triggering him to rock his hips back and forth while his body shuddered with pleasure ‘’darling if you keep trying to speak, your only going to turn me on more..’’ he chuckled while he looked down at her with her glare and tear pricked eyes.

‘’are you ready to tell me darling?” he asked calmly though his body was screaming with pleasure and he’s hardly even moved yet. Still, she nodded which only opted to brush her tongue up against him and tighten his fingers in her hair.

‘’I am going to need a verbal confirmation darling, these government things are very specific.’’ It was almost as if his voice was trying to hold back a laugh, seeing the slight widening of her eyes while she made the attempt to speak, squeezing her eyes shut as he tightened her hold in her hair to prevent her from pulling back and doing so.

Her muffles may have sounded like she was giving him the actual answer, perhaps she was, the relief on her face seemed to confirm like she had and he sensed no lies within her. ‘’I do not believe I caught that darling, you are going to have to speak up.’’

There was a very mild pressure in her jaw, one where it would be easy to miss while her eyes nearly spoke for her. she was trying to bite him, her jaw aching with the attempts to try to fight the mere burning sensation in her jaw that prevented her from going through with it until she had to stop. It hurt so bad, her eyes squeezing shut to try to block out the pain that merely seemed to have her temporarily forget that Loki was face fucking her until she reopened her eyes while she felt a hand on her cheek.

He smirked down at her, as if knowing what she had been trying to do and the smugness of her failure while his hand stroked her tear-stained cheek. ‘’such fire and fieriness darling, I hope you still have it when I’m through with you..’’

He then suddenly removed himself from her mouth, granting her deep breaths of air while he took a step away and sat himself down in the chair that he must have magically called to be right behind him. she hunched over, ignoring the cuffs that bit her skin while she panted, feeling how the other Loki kneeled down behind her to gently run a hand in circles against her back, as if trying to sooth her growing hatred while she glared forward at the original.

‘’why?” she whispered, voice hoarse from what had happened while Loki smirked down at her in his manspread position, arms crossed and cock begging for release.

‘’you’ve made me realize just how much I’ve missed control. If I cannot have your world, perhaps I can settle for something else.. or someone.’’ His face then slowly faded to look at her seriously, leaning forward so his forearms rested at his knees while he almost seemed to look sickenly lovingly at her. ‘’you’ve made me realize it, and I have to thank you. You should be honored for the privilege, not many of my toys get to leave unbroken but I cannot control what happens to your spirt. I do believe, however, you are strong enough to last.’’

There was a relief suddenly at her wrists before a clink could be heard behind her. her hands instantly moved to in front of her where she rubbed the mild cuts now that the cuffs were off. Her eyes almost showed some sort of relief that it was over, that she’d be let go. That’s why the cuffs were off, wasn’t it? Loki seemed to recognize that look and merely chuckled.

‘’don’t get to excited darling, it’s merely a reward for your attempt to tell me what I need. But it’s still not properly given.’’ He reminded, sitting back in his chair while her eyes widened.

He needed the location still, and she knew he was serious enough where her mouth began to open in a mere mild panic to get the answer out.

‘’okay okay- he’s- mmph!’’ a hand was quick to clasp around her mouth, the other Loki pulling her back against him while they both remained on their knees, his body up against hers from behind.

‘’ah ah ah darling, I do cherish your willingness, but I don’t exactly feel like giving you up just yet.’’ Loki tsked while he raised a hand and seemed to wave it once in a ‘shooing’ motion before she felt a force engulf her body, dragging her forward towards him before her hands planted against his thighs, cock waiting just before her lips while her body tensed to stop from moving any more forward against him.

‘’p-please.. I didn’t mean-‘’

‘’didn’t mean to wish for the old me? But darling, if you didn’t, than why are you so wet?” Loki chuckled while her eyes widened, looking up at him while his eyes moved forward to cup her face and use his thumbs to stroke at the tears that began running down her cheeks.

‘’I’m not-‘’

‘’lying to the god of mischief won’t grant you any favors darling, if anything, honesty might make this a bit more enjoyable for you.’’ He warned, a hand moving up to plant itself on top of her head before he began pushing down, his other hand moving to cup her jaw. ‘’now open up.’’

Her eyes looked at him with everything she had to beg and plead, not darling to say it herself to grant him an open mouth but the pressure at her jaw was more than enough to force it open anyway. She felt his tip on her tongue, the butterfly jump feeling coming to the pit on her stomach while her nails dug into his thighs. ‘’I’ll t-tell you the location-‘’ she mumbled, words fumbling while inch by inch he added himself, the force in his hand never ceasing until he had reached the back of her throat and stilled.

‘’I am grateful for that darling, all in due time.’’ He smiled, his hand curling into her hair now while two slender hands came to hips.

Her body began to struggle, the burning sensation eternally thankfully not returning because it wasn’t an attempt to hurt him personally while her eyes squeezed shut. ‘’please-‘’ she mumbled, mouth full where it was barely audible.

‘’we do not talk with out mouth full darling, but I shall allow your moans while it benefits us both.’’ Loki tsked, his hand in her hair pulling her up slightly before pushing her down, keeping a slow rhythm while the other Loki moved a hand in front of her to gently start rubbing between her thighs against the fabric.

Her legs began to shake, the sick realization to find out how wet she actually was while her throat took him easier the more and more he pushed her down. ‘’that’s it darling, rock your hips…’’ he whispered, his head having fallen back again with sweet words like she was into this.

The gaslighting fact was that she found herself indeed rocking her hips against the duplicates hand that rubbed her while the other hand held her hip, making thorough strokes with his fingers and palm against her sex. He brushed against her clit just right, following by brushing against her entrance while her jumpsuit seemed to feel like it was getting thinner and thinner the faster his movements got.

‘’gods you feel divine..’’ he breathed, leaning forward where his hand left her cheek, the other remaining in her hair. His free hand gripped the clone’s hair, the tight grip earning a growl from him but still, he remained silent while Loki pulled his head forward. His chest pressed against the back of her head, barely making her able to lift it up from Loki’s cock while the sound of wet mouths could be heard above her.

Loki’s hand continued to stroke at your groin, bringing your horrifyingly closer to your climax while he remained practically draped over you, making out passionately with Loki whom held his mouth firm to his while his tongue dominated his double, keeping his hand tight at the back of his head while the other kept her bobbing hers on his cock.

It was deeply erotic with emotions that could barely be able to be put into words until she finally felt her walls clench around nothing by the constant stimulation. She moaned around his cock, a rather involuntary action while her orgasm washed over her body, her eyes fluttering and her hands grasping at Loki desperately whom seemed to moan into his double’s mouth by the knowing knowledge of her climax.

Merley a moment later she could feel his hips rocking up quickly, his hand pushing her down with her eyes wide before he climaxed down her throat. It all went down directly into her stomach, her tongue hardly tasting anything by how far he was down her.

By the time his moans and pants subsided, her vision began to dance with the lack of oxygen and she began to squirm with no movement with being held in place. Loki’s hand between her legs had vanished, his body slowly lifting before she had a weird sense that his presence had disappeared, like his clone had vanished. The original’s grip was gentle, having untightened and now having a slowly stroke to her locks while she dared look up at his face.

His eyes were closed, a small smile at the corner of his mouth while his face was slightly pointed up towards the ceiling. With a small movement, she began raising her head, feeling his cock slowly slide from her throat and no movement from him to try to stop her. taking advantage of this, she straightened more on her knees and his cock left her mouth, leaving her falling back on her ass finally with deep breaths and a hand at her sore throat.

She didn’t know what to say.. she didn’t know what to do.. her eyes watched him carefully while he drew in a breath and opened his eyes, a soft smile on his lips while he leaned once again on his forearms against his knees. Her skin tingled while she to was coming off her high, sensitivity pulsing in her cunt while her hands shook and felt herself scooting back slowly away from his watchful eyes.

‘’do.. do you still need the location?” she whispered, not sure if he’ll stop her this time but was more than willing to give it while she watched his eyes slowly fill with that familiar green glow.

‘’we’ll try again tomorrow darling, you won’t remember this anyway.’’

Note: Another related one shot(s) like this is called "Heads Will Roll" and "Take Two" if you wanna check it out here.

DM a song for your own Musical Mischief One Shot :D 

Tag List: @foxherder13 @asgards-princess-of-mischief @fire-in-her-veinz @nervouseden @kathren1sky-blog @eleniblue @lokiswife-dark-fox-queen @queenofstarsign85 @slytherinqueen4life @soulpiercing

[qtboni]

Heyyy I love your writings so much I wanted to ask if maybe you could write a ghost x reader story with angst to fluff maybe where the reader gets tortured in front of him or gets kidnapped idk

╰﹒ 𝐀𝐓𝐑𝐀𝐏𝐀𝐃𝐀 !

PAIRING: Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley X Reader

C/W: fem!reader, angst to comfort, violent themes, kidnapped/captivity, restraints, choking/strangling, asphyxiation, death (minor), explicit words, inaccurate spanish dialogues, bit of canon divergence. w/c 3.4k

Ghost could only hear the ringing in his ears as a firm hand connected harshly in his head. "C'mon, pinche pendejo," A woman crouched in her knees infront of him, a snarky smile etched in her face. She looked like a predator waiting for her prey to break, and she had no intention of making it easy for him. "We were protecting a friend in the mountains. Someone attacked us there... Who?"

Valeria. Ghost concluded in his thought.

"Go fuck yourself." He grunted as a reply and averted his gaze elsewhere. It was clear he wasn't interested in giving out any information. His insulting statement made the woman's smirk to drop as an irritated expression took place.

"If I were you," Valeria replied, her thick accent sipping through. She snickered as she taunts him by tilting her head to the side, faking a pity expression. "I'd be careful with my words."

"Why would I, ya lil' fucker." Ghost hissed, his brows furrowing as he glared at her with a menacing expression. He tried to move his tied wrists and legs, but the rope was too tight. His frustrations boiled at the feeling of helplessness, the tight bonds threatening to cut off his circulation.

"Because?" She replied with a deep chuckle, her eyes gleaming with a malicious glint. In one swift motion, she grabbed him by his vest and forced him to look up at her. "I have your pequeña princesa right here." Her words were punctuated by a self-assured smirk, her expression daring him to defy her command. His muscles were tense, his hands curled into fists as he struggled against his bonds, the tight rope digging into his wrists and legs as he tried to break free.

'Princesa?' He thought, his mind racing to make sense of her word. But then it clicked.

You.

Ghost took a deep breath, trying to keep his composure in the face of her teasing. ’She's playing with me,’ He thought as he tried to keep a cool head, but her words and expressions were certainly having an effect on him. There was no way Valeria had caught you. He was sure you left with the team!

"So?" Valeria's voice brought him back to where he was. The woman infront of him smiled widely in a sadistic and disturbing manner, her eyes glinting with evil intent. "Tell me. Ask my question,"

"You're a fuckin' lunatic if you think I'll give up intel," He fought against his rising emotions, thinking to himself. She was just messing with his head for sure. But his heart beat at a frantic rhythm, each pulse hammering against his chest as he tried to maintain his composure. "Don't even fuckin' know what you're on about,"

Disappointed, Valeria clicked her tongue. But it was not out of annoyance, no. There was something sinister beneath her snobbish grin, as if she was toying with Ghost and was enjoying it. A series of sinister chuckling enveloped the dark lit room. He could see from the corner of his eyes that a leather roll was unwrapped in the table situated at the side, revealing a collection of various knives, razor blades, tiny tools that were nonetheless can convey damage to one's body.

"No?" Valeria turned away from him for a moment, locking eyes with one of her minions on her right. "Then, I suppose I have no other choice but have you believe me that I stick to my words, hm?"

"Fuck you," He spits even if his heart tightened with dread, thinking for the absolute worst. She's lying. You can't possibly be here. He watches as the woman turned back to him with the same wicked grin, gaze still piercing him like a dagger. "Sit comfortably, yeah?" She continued, speaking as if her decision was already made. She smirked as her words sunk in at Ghost, the thought of harm coming to someone else sending a chill down his spine. "You'll need it."

"I don't f-"

"Wanna know why, cariño?" She cuts him off with a mock, leaning even closer to him. She didn't give him a chance to reply back as her hands wrapped around his covered jaw, her touch causing the skin under to burn with a mental flare. Then she whispered into his ear, her words a slow and teasing drawl. "I'll torture her up real good, and make you... Well," She paused to consider for a moment, before a slow grin spread across her face. "You'll just have to see for yourself." A dark amusement flickered in her eyes, the thrill of his helplessness evident in her tone.

With a rough pat on his cheek, Valeria stood up, her expression serious and professional. "Tráela En," She ordered the men to her side, who immediately obeyed. With a quick glance back to Ghost, the men piled out of the room with Valeria, their footsteps echoing in the hallway outside.

With the men having left the room, Ghost thought of how he could try to escape the restraints that held him down. He wiggled his arms in an effort to free himself from the ropes, but they held firm. His eyes darted around the room frantically, his brain desperately working to develop a plan for escape.

Ghost tried to wriggle his tied up wrists free, but the ropes stubbornly held tight. He took in a deep breath, attempting to clear his mind in order to develop a strategy that could help him escape. He strained as he worked at loosening the ropes, his muscles straining under the effort, and still the bonds refused to budge. With every attempt to free himself, he was met with increasing levels of exhaustion. Time was his enemy here, the clock ticking steadily away. He continued to strain at the ropes, but still they refused to budge. His skin was growing damp with sweat, his breath heavy and raspy. He had to escape, he had to.

Ghost was too focused on freeing himself, his gaze glued to his bound hands, his thoughts locked in a desperate cycle. His focus on escaping the ropes made it impossible for him to notice Valeria entered, his heart racing as her presence suddenly became apparent.

"I was looking forward to this," a raspy voice purred. He snapped turned his head forward, his eyes snapping towards Valeria's boastful stance and... fuck, it's you. The familiar scarf, covered in dirt and dust. Its little ghost drawing, once vibrant and colorful, was now dull and worn, the image haunting him. Even the sound of the heart keychain strapped to your belt was enough to draw him out of his daze, the item bringing back a flood of memories of you.

This can't be.

—

"Yer fuckin crazy," A rough voice was heard amidst the throbbing pain present in your head as you were haphazardly thrown.

You winced as your body collided with what felt like cold asphalt, and tears of anguish welled up in your eyes. Despite the familiar voice you recognized, your covered vision made it difficult to make out anything. The sedatives forced upon you while in captivity made you dizzy and disoriented. As the sack was removed from your head, the full impact of your surroundings flooded your senses. The voices around you were loud and numerous causing white noise in your ears, their words indecipherable to you as your mind struggled to grasp your current situation.

"Don't fuckin' hurt her!"

A sharp yank on your hair jarred you out of your trance, forcing you to look up from the ground. The sound of your lieutenant calling out your name registered in your mind, forcing you to come back to reality. As your eyes met those of Ghost's frantic eyes behind his mask, your heart raced, your anxiety flaring up once again as you quickly assessed what was happening.

Valeria's grip on your hair grew tighter, a cruel and sadistic grin spreading across her lips as your pained gasp filled her with pleasure. "You were expecting someone else, weren't you?" She said to Ghost, her tone dripping with sarcasm and malice. She leaned in closer, her cruel glare inches from your face as she whispered into your ear with a mocking tone, "Too bad. Que te voy a matar." She chuckled, her breath tickling your ear as you winced in pain.

"Just give it up, Valeria," He gritted his teeth in anger. But she laughed, her voice echoing in the room as she turned to Ghost. She held his gaze for a moment, studying his expression. Then, she turned back to you, a cruel grin spreading across her lips. "Oh, you poor thing," she chuckled, her tone dripping with condescension. She softly carressed your scalp as if creating a faux sense of security. "Is this affecting you," She said to Ghost as she ran a finger down your cheek, the sharp pain of her nail digging into your flesh drawing a quick wince from you. "Or do you have anything else in your mind besides this?"

"Fuckin' leave her out of this." Ghost clenched his jaw, desperately trying not to show any more signs of weakness. He tried to stay composed as Valeria leaned in closer to you, her teasing smile growing bigger with every passing moment. He swore the nerves in his arms were bulging out of tense.

You winced at her touch, but you didn't dare to speak as your jaw locked and your muscles tense as you tried to ignore it. Valeria laughed again, moving a step back so she could face him again. "Oh, but I do love the way she look when she's in pain," she said, her tone playful as she studied your tears streaming down your face. "You really should have told me what I wanted to know." She chuckled, moving closer to you again, her hand moving in a gentle caress along his cheek. "It's okay, little sweetheart," she whispered, her voice full of deceiving sweetness.

She has a cruel glint in her eyes as she studied your expression. Her hand gently moved towards your cheek, then her nails started digging into your skin and you gritted your teeth, trying to hold in the cry of pain that was forming in your throat. "Speak, bitch," She spat on you, eyes narrowed with annoyance. You didn't respond, determined to close your mouth. Whatever this was, you're on your lieutenant's side. "No?"

It was only as Valeria let go of her grip on you that you realized how numb your muscles felt. Your legs felt like they were made of lead as you tried to scurry away, but the effects of the torture had left your body limp. Unable to move, unable to escape, you watched helplessly as Valeria went over to the side and grabbed something, the glinting object catching your eye.

You met Ghost's gaze and saw him return it, the terror evident in your expression as he silently implored you to try harder to escape. As if you were the one who has their limbs tied up. "How amusing," Valeria came up between you both, playfully swaying the sharp material in her hands. "It seems like our little friend is too strong-willed for our torture to affect her."

You weren't given the chance to react at all when the knife had already slit your arm. Everything went silent as the stinging sensation was too much to bear. You screamed out as the cold metal pulled out, leaving your blood to gush out of your flesh.

"You fuckin' bitch!" You heard Ghost yell out as he struggled in the chair, attempting to break free from its constraints. Your ears were greeted with the sound of the chair's loud creaks and groans. The noise seemed to echo through the room as he yanked against the ropes, his movements growing more frantic as the sounds turned into small shouts of effort. "I'll fucking kill you!"

"Give me información, pendejo." was all Valeria stated.

As Ghost's struggles continued, your weak and fatigued body could barely muster the energy to keep your eyes open, let alone attempt to help him. He called out for your help with more desperation, his shouts growing louder and more frantic as the knife sliced at your bruised skin again and again.

"S-Stop!" Your body was paralyzed with fear, your mind paralyzed in shock, unable to process what it was witnessing. You wanted to run, to do anything to make it stop. But all you could do was watch, your tears falling down your cheeks. Your body had betrayed you. "Please..."

"Valeria!" Ghost shouted, no, he tried to call for her to stop when your body convulsed as another wave of sobbing washed over you. Two strong hands squeezed your throat, your breaths coming out in shallow gasps. You tried to comply, but the words coming out of your mouth were so slurred and incoherent, it was impossible to understand. You felt like you were on the verge of passing out, your mind and body exhausted from the pain and stress of Valeria's torture.

"Let go!" You choked out the words between the hands on your throat, your strength fading. You tried to pry her off but Valeria's grip only tightened, cutting off your air. As you struggled, she pressed her hand hard against your face.

"Shhh," she whispered, her voice a cruel taunt. Your vision was blurring as your eyes rolled back, a hand over your mouth stifling your desperate screams. Her voice felt far away, as if you were under water.

"Let... please... let go..." you managed to wheeze out desperately. As you fought against the darkness in your mind, your strength waning, you felt your awareness fading away. You felt as if you were floating, weightless and free all over despite the cold temperatures of the air around you. You felt peaceful, your senses fading and your consciousness slipping as you lost your grip on reality, slowly surrendering to the embrace of the void, your world fading away.

As you began to slip away, the world around you began to dissolve into a blur. It was all splotches of black, the darkness slowly consuming your senses. In your distorted vision, you saw something casting a shadow over you. It was hard to tell what it was, but you tried to focus your eyes on it, your irises dilating in recognition. The blurring slowly faded away, your senses sharpening as you glanced over Valeria's shoulder.

There, the person moved quickly, seizing Valeria's arms, yanking her away from you and tossing her aside. He turned to her with a fury in his eyes, ready to throw hands. The world came back to you with a sudden jolt, your lungs inhaling deeply as your eyes popped open. The colors of the room and the chill of the air on your skin became tangible as you registered the sharp pain of the ground beneath you.

With your eyes squinting, you see how she smirked at him, her gaze confident even as Ghost's body trembled with rage. He stepped forward, grabbing Valeria by the hair and twisting it, using his full strength to force her to the ground. He yanked her by the hair across the floor, his grip tight and unforgiving. His eyes filled with hate, his body trembling with anger, as he slammed her face-first into the floor.

"How dare you," he spat, his voice hoarse and raw. "How dare you lay your dirty hands on her!" Ghost's voice was thick with rage and loathing, his words pouring out in a torrent of fury. But Valeria smiled coolly, looking at him dead in the eyes as he continued to pull her across the floor. She didn't try to fight it, allowing herself to be dragged, but Ghost didn't let up. He didn't release his grip on her hair, even as her body bumped and dragged across the floor.

Ghost pulled Valeria forcefully against the wall, pinning her against it as he kept a firm grip on her hair. She tried to move, to squirm free from his grasp, but he didn't let her. She grabbed the knife that was tucked into her belt, the blade glinting in the light, and tried to stab him in the back. Ghost caught the movement in his peripheral vision, and he quickly grabbed her wrist, twisting her arm in a painful maneuver. The knife dropped from her hand as she let out a cry of pain, the blade falling to the floor with a soft thud.

Ghost looked down at Valeria, her expression twisted into a smirk as she glared up at him in defiance. In that moment, he felt his rage flare, his emotions taking over. Ghost brought his face right up to Valentina's, his expression filled with cold malice and hatred. "What?" He asked, his voice a harsh whisper. "Did you think I *wouldn't* finish you off?" He grabbed hold of her hair with both hands, his expression feral as he looked into her eyes.

Ghost twisted Valeria's arm sharply, and before she knew it, he had her in a chokehold. He tightened his grip, his face filled with rage as he looked into her eyes. She struggled desperately, trying to fight him off, but Ghost's strength was overwhelming. He held on tight, slowly squeezing tighter and tighter, his grip tightening with each breathe. She coughed and gasped for air, her eyes filling with a mixture of fear and regret. And then, a moment later, she was gone. The sound of her body hitting the floor broke the silence as Ghost released his grip, letting her fall to the ground. His heart pounded in his chest as he stood above Valeria's motionless body, his breath catching in his throat.

"Lt..." You managed to choke out as you cleared your throat, trying to get his attention to you. Your hands were shaking, and you could feel your heart pounding in your chest. He slowly turned to look at you, eyes filling with sudden concern. As the pain and anger disappeared, he was overcome by fear and anxiety, the thought of losing you too much to bear.

He rushed towards you, his heart pounding in his chest. There was no hesitation, his arms enveloping your body in a tight embrace. His embrace was tight and firm, his body pressed up against yours with his warmth radiating from him and his breath filling your ears. The adrenaline pumping through his body still, and you trembled in his arms, clinging to him for reassurance.

"We need to leave fast, love," He murmured, absentmindedly calling you a petname, as he took notice of the bruises and bleeding cuts marring your body. Without another word, he lifted you into his arms, your body limp and weak, and carried you. "Not for long before those suckers come here,"

You hummed as a reply, too tired to form words as you rested your head on his firm chest. You felt him adjusting you a bit when his hand came in contact with the cuts you had on your arm and you hissed, body curling up to comfort yourself. "Sorry," he whispered, his voice gentle. He stayed close to you, letting you lean into him as your body trembled. The fear began to fade, and you felt his warmth surround you, his arms a source of strength and comfort.

As Ghost, with you in his arms, walked outside, you were both silent. The cold air and the rustling of your clothing movements were the only sounds you heard, the sounds of the outside world muted and hazy. Ghost's grip around you was firm and protective, and you felt his body against yours as the cold air brushed back your hair. There were no words spoken between you, the air filled with silence and Ghost's gentle breathing, his warm presence beside you.

Suddenly, Ghost's voice filled your ears and it sent your heart fluttering. "Swear on my word," He gently whispered in the volume of what he should only hear. The heat of his embrace still radiating around you, his arms still wrapped around you, protecting you from the world. "I'll never let you get hurt again."

[xxtha-blog]

Why Horrortale Sans is Definitely Evil

Horrortale Sans is evil. This is the opposite of a defence post, I am calling out this character and his many misdeeds! I do not know how people legitimately defend his actions or claim he’s just a normal guy who tries really hard not to eat people. I do not think we read the same comic. This is a comprehensive deep dive into why Horror is evil.

First a chronological look at Horror’s dubious actions. Not all of theses are evil and some have good justification as standalone events, but provide wider context for things:

1. He has to be convinced into helping repair the Core which he knows is broken, and has inside info he knows could help get it fixed, only when Grillby begs him to because as revealed on another page, the loss of the Core means “the fire eats at [Grillby’s] very soul like acid, perpetually burning him alive”

2. He spends a total of 12 months trying to figure out how to repair the Core but based on Undyne’s statements about how he rarely works, either means he’s a. Not actually putting enough effort into it (if we believe her and not Sans) or b. Not telling Undyne and Alphys how his work is going which is probably pertinent information for them to have (If we believe Sans, but want a reason as to why Undyne has that impression)

3. He finally brings her a solution to the Core after knowing he’s going to die (but if you want to be generous, maybe it was just really bad timing and he really did only needed a few more days to bring her a solution) and claims it’s a “long shot” meaning he doesn’t even know if it will work.

4. Undyne, thinking that is an insane plan, tells him she has a different plan. Sacrificing him to save everyone. Sans makes it clear he would never let himself die to save everyone.

5. When a guard begs him to sacrifice himself to save his wife and children, Sans launches him into the stratosphere saying: “fuck off.”

6. Even though Undyne attacks him first, it’s actually Sans that takes out her head and eye first.

7. Sans brutally murders the guards who helped Undyne.

8. When Alphys, showing Sans that her plan has objectively work and he is not dead (bonus!!), Sans destroys the Core.

He destroys the thing that will keep him, his brother, and literally every person in the underground alive. Grillby now suffers eternally, and everyone will die a slow and painful death. This does not help him in any way, does not change the fact his head is broken, he does it purely out of malice. The equivalent of getting shot, surviving, and then nuking the town you were shot in. He does not take his eye back if you thought it was to take his eye back. It’s still in the broken Core.

9. He lobotomizes Alphys

10. He gets Aliza to become a cannibal

11. He tortures and maims Aliza (let’s her get cut in half by a bear trap, pulls her hair so hard it bleeds, let’s her freeze to death in a puzzle, sends her to Grillbys where she gets partially cooked alive, cuts her arm off)

Really great guy here.

Secondly let’s get some of the common defences out of the way:

1. Sans had a plan that would save everyone! Undyne was therefore making a bad decision by trying to killing him

a. Sans says his plan IS A LONG SHOT

b. Alphys explains Sans’s plan would have taken a lot of time and magic ie. time that would get a lot of other people killed

c. Undyne’s plan actually goes better that expected! What was assumed would kill Sans doesn’t end up killing him at all. Literally a win-win for everyone involved.

d. Undyne/Alphys’s plan works, and therefore objectively saved more people. 0 net casualties if Sans had a single ounce of humanity.

2. Sans worked really hard and Undyne betrayed him. Undyne should have told him first

Undyne doesn’t tell him because she doesn’t want to consider hurting Sans despite monsters dying. Moments before Sans shows up, a child dies in a mother’s arm. Then Sans explains his plan is to dismantle the Core, which ‘might’ work, and will take a lot of effort and magic to do so, which is time they do not have (it’s been 12 months. He has had 12 months.). He also blames Undyne for getting them into this mess and mocks her for letting people die. She then attacks him. They end up both losing half their head and eye in the fight, making them perfectly even. The core’s power is restored.

But, whether or not Sans feels betrayed or not is irrelevant to the fact that Undyne makes the most reasonable and moral decision in this moment and also Sans has kind of done everything in his power to not sell his idea and piss off the person he knows is considering killing him so big L on his part for that one.

It also does not in any way shape or form justify destroying the Core, which is probably the most evil thing you could possibly do in that scenario.

3. They both are at fault for the Core/Both Evil then

There is literally a world of difference between:

“Sacrifices 1 person who ends up not dying, to save everyone. Which succeeds.”

And

“Destroys the thing that will successfully keep everyone alive, thus dooming everyone including yourself to die a slow and agonizing death, because you are angry your friend tried to kill you in an effort to save everyone”

That’s not even including the 10 other things on my list that are definitely also evil, but I cannot take people seriously if they put these two things on some sort of a moral equivalence. Undyne is in the right. 1 person for everyone is a worthy sacrifice. If anything Undyne’s only flaw is waiting so long to do it.

4. (Unrelated to the Core incident) Sans is actually morally grey, he doesn’t eat humans like everyone else which is a complex character motivation

You’re right, Sans doesn’t eat humans. Instead he finds enjoyment in torturing them brutally, a much worse thing than eating to stay alive.

His fight with hunger is also entirely self-made. Both because it’s not morally wrong to eat another living being to survive (and it’s not cannibalism to eat a human as a monster) and because he is the reason this is still happening 7 years later. It is literally his fault he is hungry. There is no interesting moral conundrum here, he does not care about hurting people. He is just out of his mind.

In conclusion, Horrortale Sans is a deeply selfish and uncaring person. Whatever minor good deeds he does throughout the comic are so immensely overshadowed by his absolute depravity that they might as well not exist. He is the reason every single monster in that underground continues to suffer, including himself, and while in his mind maybe there’s some weird justification, no outsider observer should look at these actions and think, yeah, that was reasonable. Much less think Undyne or Alphys are somehow WORSE. He destroys the Core because he didn’t die after everyone is saved, solely to be vindictive. He does not gain anything by doing this. He doesn't even take back the eye he lost which is still in the broken core! He lobotomizes Alphys because he’s mad he looks like a freak. He murders people who wants him to help everyone stay alive. He maims and tortures children and no amount of not eating them afterwards makes that any less morally apprehensible.

None of this is meant to say you can’t like him as a character. It is just to explain why characterizing him as a poor lil guy who did nothing wrong, is a little… wrong.

i believe this is an extensive look into why Horrortale Sans is evil.

Thank you for reading :)

[caesarflickermans]

thg fans, we need to talk about the "rose map".

with TBOSAS, a new Panem map emerged diverging from previous map iterations. Fans have attempted to explain the stylistic difference as either a Capitol map or an in-universe artistic interpretation resembling a rose.

however, this map resembles a popular fan-made map. let's finally address this.

[image id: two pictures of a map. the first map has been made by a fan with its social media links included. the second map is titled "history of panem". the first map has several districts marked in a circular form moving inward toward the capitol. the second map is a similar design with the same shapes moving toward an inner centre. it's red colour makes it look like a rose]

Note the resemblance of the District placements and their shapes. District 4 and its island are especially noteworthy.

the original artist has spoken out today on a reddit post. this is their statement:

Hi, I'm aimmyarrowshigh who created this map, and I just wanted to thank you for pointing out here and when it was originally revealed that Lionsgate stole it from me.  They never contacted me to ask about using my Panem map (even though it is copyrighted as part of The Panem Companion) and did not give me any credit for its use. If they wanted to use it as the TBOSAS map, I would have gladly worked with them to update it to their design specs in exchange for whatever they paid their graphic designers and an acknowledgement in the end credits! I would have been thrilled! But instead, they stole it without any regard, and they're ignoring the Cease & Desist sent by my lawyers. (I am being aided by the legal team at the OTW.)  I am so disappointed by their decisions regarding this issue, from the initial choice to use it without just... asking... or even informing me... to their refusal to admit that they did such a thing. The fact that the graphic design company quietly removed it from IG after Lionsgate got the C&D, yet they still aren't going to give any credit or compensation for its use, is kind of depressing.  I think I can probably speak for any fan artist or meta writer in saying that having one of my crazy ideas made canon is super cool, and if they had asked me whether they could use my map design, I would have said yes AND probably been a lot cheaper than whoever they paid to steal it, just because I would have been so chuffed to see it in the movie. I'm kind of heartbroken that they didn't respect it, or me, enough to just... shoot me an email. You know? I know some people will probably reply and say "it's just a fanwork" or "you made it 13 years ago, get over it" or something like that, but fanworks are made out of pure love for the thing (in this case, THG) and Lionsgate took advantage of my love for THG to earn a little more money directly (on merch) and indirectly (in the movie itself). That's gross, imo. Just because it's a fanwork doesn't mean it isn't the intellectual property of the person who created it -- and especially in the case of something like this map, which exists specifically because it DIDN'T exist in canon at the time I created it.  Anyway, tl;dr: yes, they stole it, and thank you for pointing that out so consistently. 

what to do as fans?

boycott the "rose" map. do not buy the map / do not promote it / raise awareness / share this post.

uplift fan work. support fans / share & credit fan work.

supporty aimmyarrowshigh. buy or talk about the panem companion / share the original map.

[darcyolsson]

thoughts on the latest heartstopper updates..... i really love how nick and charlie's closeness is now more or less the main source of their problems. they're obviously really, really close, even for a couple, which makes sense for them! nick discovered a huge part of his identity because of charlie, and charlie went through both his own and his sister's mental health issues with nick as more or less the only person by his side who he felt he could fully trust. on top of that, they go to the same school, they share a friend group, and they're also on the rugby team together. they're basically a married couple at age 16. it's this thing that's always made them stand out in a positive way, which is also commented on by other characters (tori refers to them as the single unit of "nick-and-charlie" in solitaire, and in the n&c novella, aled simply says "you're nick and charlie" to convey that everyone feels like they are "basically soulmates" capable of overcoming anything together)

so it's soooo compelling to me that that closeness is starting to cause problems for them, at first with nick being unable to decide between going to a uni he genuinely likes vs one that would let him stay closer to charlie, but it's now also obvious that it's not just the big decisions that are affected by this. nick has to write a personal statement for his uni applications, realises has no idea who he is, and then the best he can come up with is "my boyfriend thinks i'm lovely". a few pages earlier, charlie literally confesses to only really ever being on the rugby team (for years! YEARS!) because it meant he got to spend more time with nick, despite it being a hobby he doesn't really enjoy. they're truly absurdly close and that's always made them stronger in the past (and it still does) but there's downsides to it too. it's time for them to grow apart, at least a little bit.

and in general i really like the concept of taking this closeness that's always been their best asset and turning it into the source of their problems (so so good. i love it.), but i particularly like how this is what the final part of their love story is centered around. moving away from each other instead of even closer, so they can find their own identities. we saw it with charlie quitting rugby to focus on his own passion of being head boy (a decision he would never have made earlier in the story), and i'm really interested in seeing how it further develops in the last chapter. nick-and-charlie as a unit has been long established, but figuring out who nick and charlie are separately will be even better for their relationship in the long run. and i think that emphasising that as the last step towards a happily ever after in this story that's always been about two people finding their truest love is just...brilliant!

[wei-ying-kexing-apologist]

Well, I was tagged in this reblog (linked for context because that post is wayyyy too long already and I’m prone to run on sentences) so I am going to respond to the part of this that @doublel27 quoted me on. 

I want to make some things clear before I start: 

Critiquing shows does not mean I always hate those shows, few shows are perfect, and for me it is worth discussing what a show did and did not do well. 

I do not care if people like the shows I do not like, and I do not care if people do not like the shows I like. It is extremely rare that people agree on everything in the same piece of media. Everyone is entitled to their own enjoyment of their preferred media and I guarantee you that Shan, Turtles, Ben, Twig, etc. etc. will say the same. Also, since you mentioned Twig’s post about We Are, please let me direct you to the episode of The Conversation where Twig, Ben, and NiNi talk together about their differing opinions on that very show. And in case you were genuinely concerned about Ben and Twig’s feelings on the quality of Thai BLs this year, you can stick around for the second half where they talk about Knock, Knock Boys! Hopefully that will assuage your fears.

Some of the issues I have with vague posting are (a) it can lead to confusion, especially in a case like this where, according to you, maybe boys do love posted a response to eight different people’s commentary simultaneously without attributing which op’s thoughts he was responding to at any point. (b) By bundling eight responses in to one post without @ ing people, it makes it seem like he has misinterpreted other people’s commentary or taken something in intentionally bad faith (c) other tumblr users in a fandom will let people know when an “unrelated post” makes commentary specific enough to be recognized as a response to someone else’s statements thus drawing them in to the conversation. It’s why I prefer to be tagged in responses to the thoughts I share. This is a public forum, whatever I post in here is able to be reblogged, tagged, or commented on. If I didn’t want people to interact with my posts…I wouldn’t post them. If you don’t feel comfortable tagging people who you are responding to, then at least acknowledge them in your writing. We love a cited source.

I don’t love policing language, but since you were more than happy doing it in your post, then I’ll say one thing here: the tone of maybe boys do love’s post does not read, to me, like it is intended to welcome people who appreciate that there is “not a single stance about what qualifies BL as good work.” It reads like it is “reminding” the supposedly eight people he is vague-posting about that they are being unreasonable in their expressed opinions. It especially does not read with the primary intention of welcoming others when Maybe Boys Do Love’s response to Turtle’s initial reblog was to comment on her “respectfulness” and Shan and Ben’s lack thereof simply because they blocked him on Tumblr. A thing which people do every day for any number of reasons. But I digress.

As for my part in your response, you referenced a statement from my tumblr post A Pause for Reflection: Part 2- Only Friends, Racism, and the Commodification of Queer Asians: 

“We all need to, but white Westerners especially, be extremely careful and introspective with the ways we are engaging with queer Asian media”

On the seriousness of this statement, doublel27, you and I are agreed. I think it is valid to state that this should apply to the decisions of writers, directors, etc. of BLs. And I also agree that preventing infantilization and removal of agency from writers, directors, actors, and audiences is a good addition. That said, I do not think critiquing media is in any way shape or form an infantilizing or agency-removing act. 

I do, however, think you are falling victim to the western paternalism/white saviorism you are so upset about by going on to a South East Asian woman’s post and chastising her about not speaking for a South East Asian audience when you are a white westerner?

Also, I think there I might be missing a step in your logical progression when you say “I’m of the opinion that what’s good for queer Thai television is not for foreign audiences to decide, ultimately. That’s for queer Thai people to decide.” It would amaze me greatly if this hypothetical monolith of queer people in Thailand were to be 100% in agreement about what constitutes good queer television. Personally I see your belief that no one outside of queer Thai people is allowed to critique queer Thai shows as actually undermining the legitimacy of this genre as a source of entertainment for audiences outside of just queer (in this case) Thai people. Media is frequently made with an intended audience in mind, but that does not mean people outside that target audience are barred from engaging with it. No one is saying “this is a bad queer Thai show and I am deciding that for all queer people” they are saying “here is what or why I did not like the decision they made about x,y,z."

If you are going to quote me, then I hope you also read the first half of my Pause for Reflection posts Taking Pause for Reflection- Part 1: Respectable Promiscuity and Only Friends where I talk about respectable promiscuity and discuss the ways in which respectability politics have resulted in “current LGBTQ+ political movements shifting away from highlighting sexual liberation as an aspect of queer culture, in order to make queer people more palatable to the overarching heterosexual society. And how that bleeds through in to the kinds of media that exist, the types of queer people portrayed within that media, as well as how often gay sex is shown, the type of gay sex shown, and the number of gay sex partners depicted. (Read: generally infrequently, generally vanilla, generally one).” Just so you are aware of where I stand in all of this and what people like Shan and myself are talking about when we critique the decision to remove sexual content from queer stories for the sake of storytelling or viewership.  

I haven’t mentioned this one in awhile but I used to talk a lot about my perception of queer content being able to be categorized in By, For, and About Queers formatting. For example, a film like Pariah (2011) is a story about a queer person created by a queer person with a narrative that feels like it is made for the enjoyment of queer people above all others (but of course anyone can watch).

^I think this was made by abl, who I am not tagging because I do not want to drag them in to this conversation, but whose image I still want to cite.

This is obviously subjective, and I’m not saying it should always be used, but I know some people can find it nice to organize things by categories. 

Again, this is subjective but I’ll give a short list of a couple of BLs that I personally would categorize as being For queer people- by which I mean it feels like a love letter to queer people, I can see something of myself and my experiences in it, and I would not be surprised if the primary intended audience was queer people:

I Told Sunset About You

The Miracle of Teddy Bear

What Did You Eat Yesterday

Koisenu Futari

Here is a short list of some BLs I would personally categorize under About queer people- that is, queer people are the main characters but the piece feels like the primary intended audience is not queer people:

Kiseki: Dear to Me

KinnPorsche

My School President

Spare Me Your Mercy

That does not mean the shows about queer people aren’t queer stories, but it does mean the intention behind the work is different. Which brings me all the way back to Spare Me Your Mercy since that’s what started all of this in the first place: 

Lux Sirilux in an interview before the show came out stated:

“Having NC would steal the attention of the story because what we were going to talk about was dark drama and euthanasia.”

She also says: 

“The characters are gay, but we don’t offer [fan]service in every episode or include NC (explicit) scenes."

(I got these statements above from this post by clariredaring who I am not tagging in this because I do not want to pull them in to this whole ordeal any more than they already have been).

Lux is absolutely allowed to make the decision to remove NC scenes from SMYM if she believes that it will detract from the vibe and the overarching theme. Sammon is absolutely allowed to approve and accept the removal of NC content from the Spare Me Your Mercy television show. No one is arguing that. (And I feel comfortable speaking for Shan here at the very least because we talk about shows a lot and I know what her post was actually saying as it relates to viewership). I already wrote a post about my feelings on this matter where I discussed why I feel that choice went wrong in this case. That does not mean anyone else has to feel that way, and I’m not forcing anyone to agree with me. And if people disagree with me, fine, they are welcome to discuss with me why they feel like the story worked as is if they want to and ignore me if they don't. (And literally as I was writing this a great example of someone disagreeing with me came through in this post by elimstillnotgarak who I will not be tagging in this simply because I don't want to drag someone who is not involved in this in to a very different discussion). But there is a level of disingenuousness that comes with the statement 'you should not say anything negative ever about the stories you have watched from cultures outside of your own.' I'm not saying this is the belief you hold, but I am saying that is how I interpret your statements about not speaking for a queer Thai audience.

And, as someone who has written multiple essays breaking down sex scenes in BLs, let me just say that I believe there is a fundamental difference between NC scenes and fanservice. I think there are instances where fanservice can result in positive changes (The Magnus Archives, for example, updated their ending after seeing how much fans were shipping Jon and Martin together and I think the ending was better for it) but I think there are a lot of times when fanservice actually does undermine the narrative. As for NC scenes, there are definitely ones that detract from the story at hand, and there are ones that I think people throw in as a bandaid in the hopes that they can get higher viewership (Playboyy and Battle of the Writers are examples of that imo) but I think there are a lot of times when NC scenes actually improve the narratives they are a part of expressly because they can tell you a whole hell of a lot about a character’s relationship and feelings to another person in a very short period of time. 

For me, I think Sammon and Lux here engaged in respectability politics operating under a belief that NC scenes between these queer characters would take away from the larger story they were trying to tell. And I think that the believability of the romantic relationship between Kan and Tew suffered for it. This is a show that already was written for a larger general audience because most of Sammon’s work places some medical mystery narrative at the front and center (which makes sense because she’s a doctor). 

And personally doublel27 I feel you are drawing a false equivalency between critique and infantilization and I would appreciate it if next time you quote me, you make sure you read the entirety of the post so that you can better understand that I will continue to be critical of people who submit to respectable promiscuity and make the choice to tone down the queerness in their story because they are worried it will distract the audience at large.

[gunsandspaceships]

Recruiting Peter in Civil War: a War Crime?

Today we are going to review this statement:

Tony “blackmailed a teenager to help fight his battles for him (Civil War) (which for the record, constitutes as a fucking war crime)”.

Part 1. Not a war crime: check my post about war crimes here. War crime is a crime committed during a war, by a party of the conflict.

MCU's “Civil War” was not a war. It was a conflict between a few people, that included one fight and a chase. The fight at the end of the movie between Tony and Steve with Bucky was not a part of this particular conflict, but a conflict on its own. From the government’s side, this situation was a law enforcement operation to capture a group of fugitives, where Tony’s side represented the law enforcement group under U.N. authority, not a nation’s armed forces.

The definition of Armed Forces: “the combined military, naval, and air forces of a nation”.

Source

In comics (Earth 616) it was indeed a war, but not in the MCU. That’s first.

Second, “Under the Statute of the International Criminal Court, conscripting or enlisting children into armed forces or groups constitutes a war crime in both international and non-international armed conflicts (ICC Statute, Article 8(2)(b)(xxvi) and (e)(vii)).”

Tony did not enlist Peter in the armed forces or the Avengers.

And third, “The bans on recruitment of children below the age of 15 enshrined in Article 77 of  Additional Protocol I, and in Article 4 of Additional Protocol II are also considered to prohibit accepting voluntary enlistment (P I, Art. 77 (2); P II, Art. 4(3)(c)).”

“2. The Parties to the conflict shall take all feasible measures in order that children who have not attained the age of fifteen years do not take a direct part in hostilities and, in particular, they shall refrain from recruiting them into their armed forces. In recruiting among those persons who have attained the age of fifteen years but who have not attained the age of eighteen years, the Parties to the conflict shall endeavour to give priority to those who are oldest.” (Protocol Additional to the Geneva Conventions of 12 August 1949, Art. 77 (2)).

Here we got to an actual error from the SMFFH filmmakers’ side. Before SMFFH Peter’s age at the time of Civil War was planned to be 15 (see directors’ and screenwriters’ commentaries). In SMFFH Peter’s birthday was set to Aug 10, 2001, making him 14 years old at the time of Civil War. We cannot use random date placements made by SMFFH creators to define serious stuff, and also use another movie’s filmmakers’ decisions that were made after Civil War. So we must go with the fact that at the time of Civil War Peter was 15 years old, as was stated by the creators of CA:CW.

Conclusion: Peter was 15 years old, and if he were recruited to participate in a war, it would not be a war crime. But, he also was not enlisted in the armed forces. And Civil War was not an actual war, but a law enforcement operation under UN jurisdiction. So, yes, Tony is not a war criminal. Again. Very disappointing.

If you guys have any other ideas of how to accuse him of war crimes – go ahead. I’ll check them all.