#i have so. much. content to cover in 20 days and im working at the pub again

[hella1975]

it's interesting how when i read the words 'christmas break' i see time off uni to be with family in the holiday season but when my lecturers read it they see 'time to study for four in-person exams in january covering everything we've done in the semester'

[mwebber]

Ooh now Im having thoughts: Imagine birthday sex with girl!Seb (post-2013)

like, imagine ME having birthday sex with girl!seb? i'd rock her world... i'd treat her so well she forgets she ever knew a webber. move aside, mark.

i kid, i kid. i wrote a passing mention of birthday sex in the universe, if you want to know what they were doing in/before 2011..

and things have changed quite a bit! mark's 47 now and thinking, for how much he's done in his life, he's not even 50 yet. girlseb is still seb--36, happily retired, and spending her days caring for the martian kids i've treated like a hypothetical plot point until now and don't care much to linger on.

anyway. birthdays get less spectacular as the years go by. this one is relatively quiet: cards and calls and texts from extended family and friends, and homemade cake from seb and the twins. there's a little too much frosting, but it reads "HAPY BIRTHDAY DADdY" so. the only way out is through.

that night, after the rest of the house is asleep and they're both settling under the covers to pass out after a long day, seb teasingly rubs mark's tummy and presses a kiss to his shoulder. neither of them are as trim as they were in their 20s, but they both like the way age shows on their bodies; the laugh lines on seb's face, the crow's feet by mark's eyes, the familiar and comforting feeling of solidness that comes when they cuddle no matter how they change. eighteen years is a long time to love somebody.

gone are the days where they'd fuck like rabbits any chance they had, so sex has become a much slower (and lovelier!), if less frequent, affair, at least in the last five to ten years. mark is almost surprised when he shifts in place and finds himself stirring. seb is--well, she's seb. less surprised, and more calculating when she slings a thigh over his stiffening cock.

"do you wanna," mark still mumbles, even as seb closes the small gap between them to cup his jaw in a gentle hand and kiss him properly. he tastes like mint toothpaste and home.

the story usually goes like this: mark rolls them over and fits himself between seb's thighs, and they rock against each other as quietly as possible so as to not wake the kids, and it's all very romantic.

the way seb pushes mark onto his back and climbs onto his lap now, it's like 2014 all over again.

she makes quick work of their underwear, tossing the articles carelessly to the side. it's just the two of them in their sleep shirts, then mark rucks seb's up to hold her by the waist and tug her over his hips. call him a freak, but he loves her tummy: the stretch marks, the looser skin, the physical evidence that they made a life together. he'd kiss her all over if he could.

as it is, seb has a plan. she reaches into the bedside drawer to grab the lube, and mark rubs his hands over her thighs, giving her room to work. handjobs used to seem uninspiring when he was younger--he's since learned to appreciate every little thrill seb gives him. she works him with practiced hands, her tongue poking out of the corner of her mouth in concentration like she's turning in a difficult chicane.

but then she smirks at him, and turns her attention away, and her eyelashes flutter minutely with the relief of finally touching her cunt. slowly, she eases herself to sit over the length of his cock, and spreads the lips of her pussy so he's nestled comfortably between them, sandwiched along her folds. seb keeps herself spread and bucks her hips experimentally. like this, the head of his cock pokes out tantalizingly every time she draws back, and rubs deliciously at her clit when she fucks forward.

it should probably seem like she's using him to chase her own pleasure, but mark can't feel anything except bone-deep contentment while watching her work. besides, she feels incredible. lazily, he worms his fingers between them to stroke around her clit, just the way she likes it.

of the two of them, seb's the one who's still got the stamina of a world-class athlete, and she knows it. she slows the pace, lets mark play with her pussy until he's so hard he's aching, before finally lifting her hips and guiding him inside.

even after all this time, the first stretch is mindblowingly good. she doesn't wait for him to bottom out before lifting herself and fucking down again--just rolls her hips on his cock the way he likes it, allowing her vision to blur as she operates on feeling and experience. her thighs burn, but miraculously hold.

mark doesn't much mind being a passive receiver when they make love; seb is sexiest when she rides his cock with abandon, lost in everything but the pursuit of her orgasm. but he knows that this is a gift, and that the best gifts are shared.

so he pulls her down to lie on top of him and flips their positions. he messily pushes seb's shirt up to her armpits so he can lick and suck at her tits while he hunches over and fucks her. her hands twine in his hair and pull him up--and then they're locked at the lips, superimposed on one another like they'll crumble if they let go.

seb squeezes around him perfectly when she comes. it's not long at all before mark follows, burying himself to the hilt and hiding his face in the crook of seb's neck to stifle his groans. when the white heat of his high fades away, he burrows closer against her, and simply enjoys the feeling of her fingers against his scalp.

"happy birthday," she punctuates the sentiment with a quick peck to his cheek.

"you too," mark says, and he's out before he can process why seb is laughing.

[bigjitsu]

Ok, ok, picture this: Pre-proposal. Big Mama and Lou Jitsu cuddled up in bed one snowy morning. There's a white noise in the bedroom, might be the ambiance of the city or the hum of contentment felt between them. The occasional gentle shuffle of skin against the comforter is joined by the soft back and forth murmurs of the couple laying below it as, in a bout of clinginess, Big Mama pleads her boyfriend to let her keep cuddling him instead of going to work, but he's got promotional stuff to attend or smth. He gently runs his palm beneath her top along her stomach and side. 'This is so much more fun and warmer. You don't have to go, I won't be mad at you,' Big Mama says sweetly. Lou Jitsu chuckles, 'I'm sure you won't, but my manager will be.' Although he can't blow off work this time, he humors the both of them and stays with Big Mama 15-20 minutes extra. The sound of her calm breath is worth the glares and hissing whispers asking why he's late Lou Jitsu gets from the event organizers. Though Big Mama accepts his absence, she misses him, and Lou Jitsu happily makes it up to her by cuddling with her later that day with nothing to prematurely tear him away. There's no lighthearted, sleepy arguing this time. Still, Big Mama drapes her legs around him just to make sure he stays.

This quote from the Addams Family is Big Mama and Lou Jitsu fr:

Gomez: How long has it been since we've waltzed?

Morticia: Oh, Gomez. Hours 💘💘💘

And then they waltz. That is so SpiderSoup, I swear.

omg anon im so sorry for the late reply! i was swamped and im finding im not really good at balancing my time, for which i apologize.

oh anon i am PICTURING ALL THAT AND LOVING IT!! see, you said snowy morning, and so i am picturing this through the lens of spiders not being able to thermoregulate and also entering a diapause phase during the winter.

what i'm saying is: sleepy, cuddly, big mama

and then the rest of the scene!!!! the soft murmuring under the covers, bouts of clinginess, wanting yoshi to stay, yoshi wanting to stay but needing to go its all just!!! its perfect. incredible. i love it.

He gently runs his palm beneath her top along her stomach and side. 'This is so much more fun and warmer. You don't have to go, I won't be mad at you,' Big Mama says sweetly. Lou Jitsu chuckles, 'I'm sure you won't, but my manager will be.' Although he can't blow off work this time, he humors the both of them and stays with Big Mama 15-20 minutes extra. The sound of her calm breath is worth the glares and hissing whispers asking why he's late Lou Jitsu gets from the event organizers.

no one can tell me this never happened multiple times it DID

Though Big Mama accepts his absence, she misses him, and Lou Jitsu happily makes it up to her by cuddling with her later that day with nothing to prematurely tear him away. There's no lighthearted, sleepy arguing this time. Still, Big Mama drapes her legs around him just to make sure he stays.

stop you got me tearing up!! yeah thats just, pulling him closer, thinking briefly, sleepily, that her other form might possibly have enough limbs to keep him there, but she doesnt need them, because yoshi just burrows closer, calm and content

Gomez: How long has it been since we've waltzed? Morticia: Oh, Gomez. Hours 💘💘💘 And then they waltz. That is so SpiderSoup, I swear.

anon how does it feel to be so absolutely correct about everything???? yes, thats them!! thats the dynamic!! god im having tHOUGHTS

[p1nkwitch]

He compartido 20.599 publicaciones este 2022

122 publicaciones originales (1 %)

20.477 reblogueos (99 %)

Estos son los blogs que más he reblogueado:

@nureyev-steel-institute

@chewbaccaaah

@fangirlingpuggle

@spongebobssquarepants

@lasalebete

He etiquetado 564 publicaciones en 2022

#lonelyeyes: 66 publicaciones

#peter lukas: 64 publicaciones

#tma: 60 publicaciones

#flurby gets an ask: 55 publicaciones

#the magnus archives: 51 publicaciones

#elias bouchard: 46 publicaciones

#myartf: 38 publicaciones

#flurby art: 37 publicaciones

#god au: 20 publicaciones

#yes: 18 publicaciones

Longest Tag: 139 characters

#but its just fun plus the way to find the soulmate is always the most interesting part concept wise and i utterly love it as world building

Mis publicaciones más populares este 2022:

5

A fic list of mine because why not! Pretty much all lonelyeyes my dudes i only commit to one sort of content and its bastard old man.

Buzzfeed Unsolved the strange life of Gerard Keay you like buzzfeed unsolved and Tma? I got you covered.

They are only human A twist in canon in which most of the pupulation are descendants of supernatural creatures. Lonelyeyes of course, but we can see the archive crew pov occasionally too.

Back to black a TMAxSCP foundation crossover, post s3. Elias and Peter get stuck in the foundation as subjects. Mind the tags please.

You spin my head right round, right round Peter is stuck in a timeloop repeating the day he dies over and over again.

The haunting of Mooreland Manor Ghosts and Peter childhood being even more fucked up than regular canon by a long shot.

Welcome to Wonderland Tma characters as wonderland characters, with the fun appereance of canon Jon as this is his somewhere else.

Time of your life Time travel shenanigans, in which child Peter and Jonah end up in the care of their adults selves, childish crushes gallore.

God damn you got me in love again Urban Fantasy lonelyeyes, with tatto shop/flower shop setting. Witch Peter and Eldritch monster Elias.

Oh Dear how do the seasons change when im with you A hades and persephone reimagination. It is a long work but a favourite of mine.

81 notas. Fecha de publicación: 3 de octubre de 2022

4

You know when an idea wont leave you alone till you do it? Well this is it. Poor Martin having to listen to these two.

I live for Peter dancing like a dad he is just adorable. Elias you little devil (affectionate)

87 notas. Fecha de publicación: 29 de abril de 2022

3

92 notas. Fecha de publicación: 28 de mayo de 2022

2

Honestly I like to think that the divorce thing started out as Lonelyeyes running a scam on the Lukas family. The Lukases never would have let Peter give Elias funding if they had thought that they were actually happy together, so they started dramatically pretending to be bitter and miserable and breaking up all the time so that Peter's family wouldn't suspect they actually had a good and loving relationship.

GHFFDK ANON I WANT TO HOLD YOUR HAND, this is the funniest and crafitiest idea ever.

Just the mental image of Elias and Peter sitting down one afternoon and planing how to potantially get the Lukas out of their trail so they can be happy in private is hilarious.

I have my own idea that they have fake divorces on a list, so that they can complain about something and write it down as a motive to split up while not actually doing it cause its too much effort.

But this? This actually makes the serial divorcee thing much more fun cause its a scheme to get the Lukas to fuck off from their business. Elias and Peter must feel so clever whenever anyone mentions the break ups, internally they must be laughing their ass off and thinking of their last date.

shgkfd this is a gift i love it, thank you so much for sharing this with me. I would love to do a one shot about it eventually cause it sounds hilarious. Bless you anon.

105 notas. Fecha de publicación: 27 de abril de 2022

Mi publicación más popular de 2022

The backgrounds for Elias and Peter's cellphones i used for @lonelyeyesweek

In case anyone wanted to use them

257 notas. Fecha de publicación: 15 de septiembre de 2022

Descubre tu resumen del 2022 en Tumblr →

[angelicpersonals]

Asexuality, Autism, Friendship, Rant

So tell me something am I crazy or does this smell like acephobia? Being told "Kinks are inherently sexual" when you explain your kinks are not and you dont feel any sexual attraction or desire period. Being told "Well I used to think I was asexual but I was just traumatized" constantly in a convo (felt like they were trying to convince me I wasn't. Same convo)

Being told I'm "vanilla" and "boring" or comparing me to a child's maturity for my kinks and sexuality. (again same convo)

Told me they "Walk on eggshells" and that they have to "suppress themselves" JUST because I don't want to listen to peoples s*x life or see full nudity NSFW content.

Literally why do a**holes like this

act like s*x is the ONLY topic in the world to talk about and is some personality trait rather than an act people do for pleasure / fun / love?

Act like ONE person not wanting that overly explicit TMI sh*t in DMS or in the servers THEY RUN means they are being oppressed? Like you don't know how it is having to FIGHT for the right to your boundaries EVERY DAY, JUST because you're asexual and people unsolicited try to force you into things that violate your boundaries then turn you into the bad guy for having them.. when people try to CHANGE your sexuality or erase it because THEY dont think you are because THEY decided this thing or that is sexual and refuse to listen to how its different for YOU. You who should know yourself better than anyone else.

What AM I fine with 1. Tasteful nudity in my servers this mean privates covered like BG3 censors.

2. Sexual jokes in my servers

3. Semi-NSFW jokes in Dms

4. talks about sexuality, even if it might include some talk about s*x if its for the purpose of helping someone figure themselves out ill allow it without a fuss. 5. NSFW Fanfictions

What I AM NOT fine with:

Privates in my servers or my DMS

Talk about someones s*x life in my dms or servers

Explicit talk that goes into TMI territory in my servers or dms where they talk about positions and crap they want to try or find interesting. I dont need to hear that, I dont want to know I have no need to know and its weird to try to talk about that with a friend you know for less than a year.

Other separate issues with the same friend:

Same friend: "I have autistic friends" Then proceeds to always assume sh*t, misunderstand me constantly, get upset at how I communicate, gets upset at me being "childish", patronizing, constantly acting like im a child or "too innocent for the world" Then the same friend: Makes me work my a** off for their trust because they never give a chance and are always looking for flaw, insist im out to get them by assuming im always trying to harm them over the tiniest and stupidest bullsh*t. Like reblogs.

THE SAME FRIEND: Gets in fights all the time, gets kicked from the GC turns on me angry at me for having to kick them when I had more people than I can count on both hands coming to me telling me they felt uncomfortable with the friend. (not the first time I got the complaints) friend assumes they are all out to get them. Same friend: turns and blames their actions on me publicly in that GC before they were kicked when they did it unprovoked after I went to them to just vent / advice, almost harming my friendships.

Honestly im feeling like...

Its hard to be around someone who is so quick to always snap (never apologizes for it either), comes off acephobic and makes me uncomfortable over my own sexuality, comes off inflammatory. Its tiring, draining, and exhausting like an energy vampire.

Once more incident and im honestly breaking it off because i've been patient and understanding as much as I can be. Nothing changes and crap keeps happening over and over again. I don't need yet another toxic person after I took 3 years wiping out the toxicity from my life after 20 years of pure NONSTOP sh*t from birth thanks.

[g0ldenstar]

I am very normal (not to un-anonymise myself but I wrote way too much just now), sorry to future you who has to analyse all that!!

I'd love to know how you'll be processing this data as someone who's done two years of uni work about research (mostly qualitative, and also not very good at classes lol) :D Also, what's the kind of scope you're aiming for with this paper, both sample wise and actual paper/word count wise?

Of course you don't have to answer any of these if you don't want to, I'm just very curious. Or DM me if you want!

Have a good day!

HI!!!! i just read your response (or what i believe was yours) and oh my god it was so well written and thought out and so SO helpful and informative! :)

ALSO i forgot to mention that im focusing on mcyt fandoms after mc’s revival in 2019. in my introduction/background information section of my paper i go into the whole history of mc’s peak in 2013, it’s slow decline up until 2019, possible reasons why mc was gaining popularity again, etc.

i am a first year uni student and this is my first time doing a research project! so i’m super new to the whole process and everything in general. my research class that this is for is fairly calm and mainly leaves the students with creative freedom for their paper (which is so nice and im so greatful for that), so as for sample wise i am not looking for anything huge or crazy! at this point im thankful if i had 3 responses or 300. i also don’t plan on doing any sort of statistical analysis for my survey portion so im not looking for my data to be normally distributed. as for length, the requirement is for 12-15 pages (apa formatting, so not including references and cover page), but so far ive written about 20 LMAO i talk a lot

i’m not extremely sure how i’m going to go about analyzing the data from my survey, i’ll probably end up having a section where i discuss the averages of each multiple choice/scaler question, then another where i discuss the open response portion. i’d like to really go in depth with participants’ responses though! i think getting fans’ opinions and just their general knowledge on certain events that i might be unaware of is so important to my project.

i’m also conducting a mixed qualitative and quantitative analysis on mcyt fanfiction and its relation to the set boundaries by ccs as well! it’s my kind of way to get the content creator’s opinions without interviewing them since that’s a bit out of the question for my project lol. also lmk if you want a more detailed explanation of how im doing that, i would go ahead and explain but its a LOT and this response is already super duper long

but thank you again for your response and your interest in my project !! i think what im studying is just genuinely so interesting and im so glad other people think so too. my biggest fear when choosing my topic was that it was too niche, but ur ask has made me think otherwise :))

[astrologista]

i hate to say it but all bruce does these days is whineeeee. which i feel like is antithetical to how i understand him as a character. like yes, he broods and he does obsess, but he doesn’t really whine unless some of the time if only alfred is there to witness it lol.

like, fr. i haven’t really been keeping up with comics, so maybe i’m off base with some of this, but here’s what it looks like from the outside

bruce’s relationship with dick is under-served or just basically ignored, when they do bring it out, it’s only for very quick angst fuel then right back to business like they don’t know each other at all

bruce accepting jason back into the family was rushed and handled by sub-par writing which didn’t support the emotional gravitas that said reunification should have involved. i’ve seen a lot of fics that did it way better than what they did. it feels shoe-horned. also, why is bruce tacitly rubber-stamping jason as batman-affiliated when he’s still using GUNS? like WHAT. how does that make any sense. do bruce’s emotional boundaries matter at all? does everything have to be jason’s way or the highway? bruce is notoriously stubborn. much as he loves jason, i can’t see him letting that slide IF this were to work. DON’T SKIP OVER THE IMPORTANT CHARACTER WORK. like, set up the foundations and then build on top of that. don’t just jump to the payoff and try to walk things back as you go! it’s lazy and shows where editorial mandate stymied good storytelling. and there are way more issues with it that i have than just that. of course i love to see bruce and jason caring about each other and getting along as much as the next fan but the way they chose to go about it raises SO many questions

tim who?

no tim has been flanderized so fucking bad. actually he’s been transformed more into the fandom-lite version of himself, which i do kind of hate. oh yeah, he’s with bernard now. WHOOP TEE DOO! the fans have been clamoring for that pairing for years i’m sure.

there have been an assortment of good-to-middling damian comics since the 2010s as at least some writers seem vaguely interested in that dynamic with bruce but for every 2 mildly tolerable issues they drop one that’s got fucking jack shit bonkers writing in it and relies on only the most tired of “U LIED TO ME” tropes. nothing will compare to the tomasi 2011 batman and robin run and that was like the single decent output of the new 52 and the best thing dc has released in years. i’m right

among the newer characters they’ve released, it’s sad that they never really seem to... stick? PLEASE INVEST IN SOMEONE. more duke! more harper! more LITERALLY ANYONE!

bring the fun back to comics. where’s the storytelling. decide whether you want to create a new shitty joker and/or riddler iteration, or a new army of jokers and/or riddlers and/or scarecrows. or just create a new poo poo shitty villain of the week who will age like milk. why not have one based on social media. that’s a new one that i’m sure no one will ever see coming.

STOP SOFT REBOOTING EVERY ISSUE. we know, you’re going to start the next new groundbreaking run, take everything back to basics so nobody is confused, bring on the new readers with this cool new jumping on point, simple just batman alfred and the joker with juuuust enough of a new “modern” twist to it to differentiate it from the thousands of other times you did this. great job dc. doing great. when you’re done with that let’s do another mass cataclysm event across 20 books. im sure people will want to collect all those variant covers.

and i love how there are SO many fics that do it so, so, so much better. jesus fuck. and fic writers aren’t even being PAID! we’re not even being PAID!!

so, yeah, i’m kind of done with comics for time being. i’ve been dabbling in anime and games again, getting back to roots, but so far, it’s mainly been independent web content free of advertisers, executives, editorial and other bullshit that’s caught my fancy lately. the artistic freedom is really needed to tell a good story now. the multiverse / soft reboot / re-configure the universe every year bullshit that marvel popularized has infiltrated, like, everything, as well as the netflix model of “let’s cancel immediately after season 1”. there is no buildup. there is no excitement. there is no story. mba’s and boardrooms do not understand “story”. they don’t know what creativity is. they know what numbers, profits, engagement look like, and they are optimizing for that curve. i do not know why they are shocked when that curve sinks lower and lower every year. i just simply do not understand.

im so mad. kevin conroy’s dead and we’ll never get something like b:tas ever again. media has been my life since i was a baby. so i have to find some kind of stories to try to enjoy even if i have to eke it out in the margins of society lol

[jealousygirl]

Something more pt.3

Masterlist

im also putting this on my wattpad (jaelousgirl)

repost it cause i've had 9 likes after 22 hours

sorry for bad english

peter parker x reader

The next day you woke up and looked at the phone on your nightstand. You turned the phone on and saw that it was 8:30 a.m. There was no way you were going to make it. Your apartment and the school were 20 minutes apart and classes started at 8:50 a.m. You immediately got up and ran to your bathroom. - You've got to be kidding me - you muttered under your breath as your toothpaste broke and exploded on the mirror. You combed your hair and put on some makeup, but not much, because you didn't have time. You noticed that on the fridge there was a note from your aunt, she always wrote them in the morning before going to work. You didn't really know what job she was going to, she wouldn't tell you and she never had a set return time, she always left at 7 am and returned in the evening. The note just said "Have a nice day at school, don't forget to return the painting to the buyer at 5 am, he'll be waiting for oscorp tower. kisses aunt Tina"

You grabbed a smoothie from the fridge and your backpack then ran out of the apartment. It was already 8:50 on your watch so you started running as fast as you could. Even in P.E. you didn't show such commitment to running, but now you were in a hurry to do math, which you didn't have to do, so you had to be there. When you arrived at your school, you noticed a boy you knew walking into the math room.

"I see I'm not the only one who's late: - you joked, catching up with the boy you knew from math and English class.

"Oh yeah, long night." - he smiled.

"Same," you connected the lines of your lips.

"Yeah i see" - He pointed his finger to his lips. And you covered your mouth with your hand. The brunet opened the classroom door and let you through first. As soon as you entered the classroom your teacher noticed you right away.

"Great Ms.Hardy and Mr.parker. 15 minutes late! Then to pull up your grades, you go to the board to 'volunteer'. You first Ms.Hardy." - he handed over the chalk and began dictating the content of the assignment.

Mr.Grayson was the worst teacher you ever knew. He didn't know how to teach at least that was your excuse for your poor grades.

"I don't know the answer."

"I know." - the teacher replied with a laugh under his breath.

"Can't you just give me another poor grade instead of laughing about it."

"Sit Felicia you get a 1 (or F, or 6 in German) "

You went back to your seat taking all the stuff out of your backpack and started looking at the boy who came with you. You knew that he would get a good grade, you noticed that he was good at science, not like you. You only understood history and English.

After a few minutes the brunet came back with a smile and sat a few desks away from you shrugging his shoulders. You just rolled your eyes and focused on your notebook where you started to draw some scribbles.

When the bell rang you immediately left the classroom and started heading to your locker where your friend Gwen Stacy was already standing. You had been friends since 6th grade when she gave you the answer to the Biology test and you gave her the answer to the History test. That's how you two became friends.

"Hey, I was waiting for you before this lesson."

"Oh im so sorry Gwen I overslept I had a long night last night." - You opened your locker and put your backpack in it.

"I see." - Your friend looked at the cut on your lip. - "Who did that?"

"Spiderman did." - You said in a whisper.

"Wait did u kiss Spiderman?!" - Your friend asked raising her eyebrows.

The blonde knew about your Alter-ego it was to her you complained about everything that happened on the missions. She was also the one who took you in at night when your father wouldn't let you in the house. Once you even defended her from an attack.

"Oh god Gwen no! He's probably at least 10 years older. We fought that much, nothing more." - You cringed at the thought of it and slammed the locker shut. - " Now I have to go to Chemistry class and maybe I can invent some sort of forgetting potion for what you just said." - You walked away from the girl and headed towards your Chemistry class.

And it's not that you didn't like Spiderman, yes he was your rival and sometimes you flirted with him but it was only out of boredom. The man was muscular, so you thought he might be handsome, but you didn't know if under that mask there wasn't some 30 year old slob, so you preferred to stay only with flirting.

When the bell rang for the last lesson, you literally ran out of the school to catch the bus. As you ran out you ran into one of the worst people you could meet right now, Flash Thompson you hated that guy.

"God Flash I'm so very sorry" - You tried to overtake him however he blocked your path with his arms.

"Oh don't worry princess, you can compensate me." - The boy laughed and looked at his two friends standing next to him.

"That's a really interesting suggestion Thompson, however my bus will be leaving soon." - You followed the bus already closing its doors.

"Wouldn't you like to hear my proposal first as an apology." - He looked at you linking arms.

"Ah shit and you left." - You cursed under your breath.

"Hey! Princess it's not appropriate to say that to a girl." - The boy grabbed your chin mid-sentence. This was also noticed by the boy in your math class.

"Hey Flash leave her alone!" - he shouted a few feet away from you.

You however broke out of the boys grasp by punching the boy. "Leave me alone please." - you looked at the boy. At that moment a familiar brunette walked closer to the four of you.

"Oh after all I know you liked it, we can implement it at my place too." - With a dorky grin he said towering over you.

"You are disgusting" - Peter said.- " Who raised you?" - He covered you with the boy's back.

At one moment you could only see the back of the brunet's jacket, and at another moment you could see these two beating each other up. You immediately tried to break up the fight, but could not, so you shouted to get their attention. The men turned their attention away from the fight and looked at you. You started to "push" Peter toward the street, only to turn around to tell the bald boy that he was pathetic.

"I could handle myself." - You said to Peter catching eye contact with him.

"I know you would have been able to handle it, however, the flash wouldn't have given you a break. Nice attack by the way." - The brunet replied fixing his hair.

"Now look at you, you're bleeding." - You lightly touched the blood running down the nose of the boy in front of you.

"I think I can handle it." - Peter wiped away the flowing blood slightly.

You talked to the boy for a moment more then thanked him and said goodbye as you walked back to your homes.

[thicksimpx]

Prologue| Ch 1 | Ch 2 | Ch 3 | Ch 4 | Ch 5 | Ch 6 | Ch 7 | Ch 8 | Ch9 | Ch10 | Ch11 | Ch12 | Ch13 | Ch14 | Ch15 | Ch16 |

Summary:  Leaving the soul society for “research” - desperately looking to find answers, anything that’ll help him take down the Spirit king.. that is until he meets “HER” - She has him enamored, desperate and most of all curious… there’s something about HER

"Sometimes we do bad things for the people we love. It doesn't mean it's right, it means love is more important"

Warnings : 18+ , mature content, mature language, possessiveness , stalking , murder/gore, rough penetration, creampies , fingering, masturbation, cam girl y/n, Lots of Psychology lessons 😂, violence, public sex, unrequited love.

Tuesday August 24th_ 7:30Am

(Aizen POV)

I'm so glad I invested in tints. Carefully I watched as a big breasted woman and three small children in unforms exited the home numbered 41 pine st. Is that you Tashawna? I continued to watch as she ushered the children into the same black BMW that was parked outside of Y/n's home. She looks a little older, maybe she's his mother. I tried to be rational. There was no way my sweet y/n would go for a married man.

Just then , Devante comes running out behind them grabbing the woman by the wrist and pulling her in for a hug. From her body language, she didn't seem to fond of him. He whispered something in here ear, tilted her chin up and kissed her. What a dog. I frown and snap a picture of the kiss they shared. Once they split he smacked her on the ass and the both got into the car driving off.

Reaching into my pocket I pulled out the small envelope and double checked to make sure the pictures of Devante and my sweet girl were in it. Of course not showing her face. I could never get her involved. Once confirmed, I waited another 20 minutes just to make sure they were gone and not coming back.

Slowly I got out of the car and crossed the street to their home. I walked up the few steps and peaked through a window incase they had a dog. I didn't see anything. Going to the door I reach my hand out to grab the door knob to turn it but it wouldn't budge.

"Who are you?" I turned around to see an elderly woman standing in the yard next door. Must be the neighbor.

Putting on my best smile I turned to her "Good morning ma'am I'm Matthew. Do you know if this family is home?"

"Why should I tell you?" She said in a sassy tone.

Annoyed, I decided it would be best to keep my composure so I continued to smile "Well I am from Child protective services, just to ask some questions"

"Oh great!" The elder woman spoke "Those children are angels. It's the couple that bothers me. I hear them yelling and screaming at each other all times of the night. They have no respect." She sighed taking a seat on her steps. "But no they aren't home. They drop their kids to school and then go to work. Sometimes I bring them back if they're late to get them when I pick up my granddaughter"

"I see. " pulling out my phone to check the time. Fuck. I have a class to teach at 10. Im loosing too much time talking to this hag. "Thank you so much. I hope you have a great day ..."

"Mary.. my name is Mary" she smiled.

"Well then. Have a great day Mary" I turned to leave. As soon as I exited the yard the smile on my face fell. I got into my car and resting my head on the wheel. SHIT. SHIT. SHIT! I couldn't deliver the envelop with that hag watching. Mission 1 failed. I sigh as I pull out of the space and drive to my next location. — (Y/n POV)

8:00am

Fuck!" you yelled, tumbling out of bed  while accidentally dragging the covers with you. You quickly turned around to throw it back onto the bed, and you realized Devante was nowhere to be seen, "Big dick bastard."  You mutter to your self in the mirror. Shrugging it off you look at the time picking up your phone you play music on your speaker taking your time.

"And I feel like sometimes I cry 'Cause I feel so good to be alive And there's not a doubt inside my mind That you're still here, right here by my side," You sing along with the music. You were going to Atleast be 30 minutes late but you didn't care yojr apartment was only 10 minutes from the campus. Besides, You only had one 3 hour class on Tuesday and Thursday. Once it was over you could do whatever the hell you wanted.

— Finally making it only 20 minutes late, You took a deep breath before pushing the door open, and sure enough, the first thing you saw were your classmates. The lecture hall was filled, surprisingly not a head was missing.

"Take a seat, I'll deal with you after class."

For the last two and a half hours of class you didn't process shit your professor said. senior seminar had to be your most boring class. You spent the class time texting your friend group chat with plans after class was over. As soon as it ended you slipped out with a group of students before he can see you and penalize you for being late. —

(Aizen POV)

Finally done with this lecture I hear a ping from my phone. Glancing at it, it's a Instagram notification about Y/n. She just posted a picture at the green lady. She was five familiar faces, two guys and three girls. She looks amazing. The six of them having brunch together.

She won't be home for a while and I'm done with classes for the day. I have some time before office hours start... maybe even enough time enjoy some coffee from the Green Lady. I smirk packing my things up and heading out.

Casually walking in from the corner of my eye I spot her. She was talking and laughing with her friends. Her smile is so beautiful. I picked a booth not to close but not far enough to not hear their conversation. I close my eyes until the waiter comes. Just listening to her speak is breath taking.

"Oh hello professor Aldridge!" Said a squeaky voice blocking out my sweet y/n. Ready to snap I open my eyes and internally groan.

"Hello Kelsey.. you work here I see" I say eyeing her revealing uniform

"Yup, what would you like?" She asked leaning a bit too close.

Clearly my throat I give her my order and she smiles brightly skipping to the back of the restaurant. I look in the direction y/n's table was. She's not there. Where did she go?! I internally panic a bit. When did she leave?

Annoyed I rest my head back and run my fingers through my hair. From my peripherals vision I see a group walking past out the window. It's her.  There she was, looking so ethereal and angelic, an effect furthered by the sunlight radiating upon her. I wish I could take a picture. Staring out the window I notice there was a slight problem. I grit my teeth . It's getting annoying seeing other men touch what's mine. One of the fuckers she was here with grabbed her and put an arm around her waist.

I need to know where she's going...

I stand up to leave.  I don't have time to waste. Unfortunately Kelsey comes back with my coffee. "Oh did you not want this any more Professor?" She ask in a baby voice. I want to slap this chick. Defeated I sit back down and take the coffee.

"I'll be right back with your food" she winks and skips away again. I feel sick. This fool is flirting with me. Some god must be punishing me. Putting my face in my hands all I can do is think about Her.

Don't worry...  I reassure myself taking a sip of the coffee. you'll see her later.

"This shit is disgusting" I say putting the cup down.

------

Thicksimpx© 2021. Do not copy, claim, modify or translate my work without my permission. thanks 😘

[justintaco]

top ten anime! i feel like i remember the last one and im curious to see how things have or haven't shaken up

idk if I ever did a last one, but fine jeez enough people asked.

My criteria changes with these every time. I'm trying to go with what shows had the most impact on me or were the most memorable, regardless of objective quality. A lot of these aren't even rated 10/10 on my MAL. Any show with multiple seasons I'm just listing as a combined whole.

10) Yozakura Quartet

I have complicated feelings about this show. I don't think I've changed my number rating on anything else as often as I have with YZQ. There are objectively bad things about this show, and they apply to the manga as well. The fanservice is almost utterly needless and distracting. The story is on a time limit yet things constantly meander and detour into filler.

Yet despite all that, it's a show I can't stop thinking about. I'm not one to be taken in by flashy animation. Good animation does not equate a good show, it just means a good budget. Yet YZQ is one of the few shows that just stunned me over and over with the smoothness of the animation and smartness of the direction. The last episode of the Tsuki ni Naku OVA is still one of the most jaw dropping episodes of anything I've ever watched in my life, and that was years ago.

It's Suzuhito Yasuda's passion project more or less, even though it doesn't sell very well, and I can't help but respect that. The characters are cute and all likable. Even the villains turned good guys just always fit snugly into the cast perfectly. The powers and fights are fun and I hope Tatsunoko gets off their ass and adapts more of it. Message me if you ever want to check it out, the viewing order is a bit odd (or check it here).

9) Haruchika

There's a lot in Haruchika that you can find in plenty of other shows. A loud excitable protagonist, a snarky deuteragonist at her side, a high school setting, and a concert band. A lot of people actually tried to put Haruchika in competition with Hibike Euphonium when they both aired. But they're completely different shows.

It's hard to describe the charm of this show without just using the word charming again. Chika is just one of those characters that I could watch all day long. She's more than just energetic and a little dumb. The show goes out of its way to establish a dichotomy between her and Haru. He's extremely smart but has trouble getting along with others, while she's pretty brash but has just immense emotional intelligence. She's always kind, comforting, and ready to be there for her friends. One of the best lines in the show is Haru telling Chika that he may have solved all their friends' problems, but she "worked out everyone's hearts." They're a good duo and the chemistry between her and all the new friends she makes is fantastic.

Beyond that, some of the topics this show covers with grace are just, almost unmatched for something of this genre and lightheartedness. Being adopted, loss of a loved one, disabilities, PTSD, unrequited love, depression, and isolation. It's just one of many shows everyone should check out and give an honest chance.

8) Bubuki Buranki

I'll try not to rehash all the stuff I posted about before but, Bubuki Buranki is just a fun, earnest, and enjoyable show. It was SANZIGEN's 10th anniversary show, so it was made without money in mind and just the raw passion and love of creativity on display warms my heart. The studio brought on some really big industry names and I can't imagine it was produced at anything but a loss. Yet they made 2 seasons despite financial setbacks, simply because they promised themselves and everyone watching that they would. So much about it inspires me, from the actual content of the show to its production.

There's some clunky humor at times and some of the ideas can feel half-finished and get discarded over time. But there's so much it does right that every time I dredge up my old posts with like 20 notes I just wanna grab all my followers and tell them, just check it out, please.

The action is stellar, the setpieces and backdrops are phenomenal, the music is incredible, the voice acting performances are masterful, the mech designs are so fuckin cool, the characters are diverse and come from all over the globe, they're lovable in their own ways, and even some of the villains make you want to care about them. This was the best-looking CG animated show before Houseki no Kuni aired. Some of you reading might not have even realized it was CG based on that gif, because it's so smooth that I didn't even realized until partway through the first episode. Give it a try, cause I'm never going to shut up about it.

7) Macross Delta

This may come as a surprise to some people, but I'm not really that much of a fan of idol shows. I have tried but cannot get myself invested in big name classics like Love Live or idolm@ster. Music shows just need that extra bit of spice for me, and Macross Delta brings it.

Macross is obviously known for this, but the blend of music and space fighter jet mechs just works extremely well. Delta respects both premises equally, giving equal weight to a performer's power to touch hearts and minds that it does to a soldier's power to both hurt and protect. Freyja and Hayate respect each other and everything that makes the other who they are.

As you might expect, Macross Delta's music is extremely high tier and for myself, there was not a single song I didn't immediately love. I have not stopped listening to the music since the show first aired until today.

Beyond that, the characters are extremely good. Freyja is easily one of the most charming and lovable female leads in all of anime, complete with lovingly crafted expression work that brings her to life. The animation is very well-done from simple conversations to dance numbers. Check it out if you want a wonderfully entertaining scifi music adventure.

6) Re:Creators

Re:Creators is another show with flaws. I don't agree with everything the story does. Some things I actually really dislike. Yet, when I started it while it was  airing, the premise grabbed me. I told myself that there were several things I wanted the show to do with it, and sure enough, it hit every single one of those marks like it was reading my mind.

I think a pattern with a lot of anime I like is whether they feel confident in their premise. I think even a bad show can be elevated if it commits to what it wants to do. Re:Creators is about, well, creating. Everything that happens feels straight from the hearts of people that have put blood, sweat, and tears into creating art. The directions it goes with meta-commentary on creating just boggles my mind. So many episodes went in directions I've just never seen other anime even attempt. It's hard to explain without absolute spoiling the twists and turns.

The directing, music, acting, animation, and overall presentation of Re:Creators is really good, a show that honestly should be experienced in the highest resolution you can find. I also think it’s a must-watch for anyone that has ever wanted to write, draw, animate, or do anything of that nature. 

5) Zombieland Saga

Zombieland Saga is one of the funniest shows I’ve ever watched. It is one of the most entertaining shows I’ve ever watched. It’s rare that a show comes along that manages to continually exceed your expectations episode after episode. 

As I mentioned, I don’t take to idol shows very easily. ZLS has tremendous strengths with its premise, characters, music, and humor that I think will make anyone enjoy it, even if they don’t like idol shows. It is first and foremost a very fun and enjoyable show. I have more trouble breaking down why comedies are great, so forgive me here, but, check it out with an open mind and I think you’ll have a fantastic time. 

4) Durarara

I’m thankful that DRRR’s strengths are so obvious because that makes this entry easy for me. DRRR is one of the best told stories I’ve ever watched. The ability to juggle dozens of individual characters with individual motivations, scatter their stories and daily lives across episodes and entire seasons, narrate them all from different perspectives, slowly weave them all back together again, and have it come out satisfying every. single. time. is nothing short of masterful. It’s a show difficult not to binge, because you always want more of the story, you always want to see how it all fits together, because it always will, and it’ll always satisfy you. It’s a long show but worth every single minute spent on it. 

3) Chaika The Coffin Princess

Chaika is a show near and dear to my heart. I’ve spent a lot of time trying to find another fantasy show that would make me feel the same way. There have been gems, but there is only ever been one Chaika. 

This show has everything I could ask for from an adventure anime: A cast of characters with incredible chemistry, thrilling action, interesting worldbuilding, a beautiful aesthetic, gorgeous music, really good humor, and an engaging story. It touches on deeper themes of war, peace, love, injustice, belonging, and friendship. But at the same time, the basic elements of the anime itself are so easy to enjoy without ever giving those themes any thought. It is simply fun and entertaining, but if you look for that depth, you will find it. 

This is easily one of the best anime made by Studio Bones, and despite a forcibly shortened second season, it’s an absolute gem. Any fan of Chaika is a friend of mine.

2) Gatchaman Crowds

Gatchaman Crowds is the greatest superhero story ever told. A show that has made me a better person, a person who wants to believe a better world is possible, we just need to take care of each other using things unique to each of us. Governments will not save humanity, superheroes will not save humanity, technology will not save humanity. Only by trusting in, loving, and helping one another will we ever survive. It all sounds too optimistic, but optimism is our only hope. You cannot try and make things better if you do not believe they can get better.

Hajime Ichinose is a wonderful, intelligent, unabashedly weird, incredibly loud, naive, and optimistic hero. She perfectly demonstrates that optimism isn’t simply sitting around and hoping things get better, it means taking action, breaking down barriers, acting unconventionally, ignoring precedent, and most of all, never losing hope. There will be setbacks, people will do bad things, you will fail sometimes, but do not let the world break you down and never lose sight of why you should help others: It’s the right thing to do

Gatchaman Crowds is a show worth watching, and worth watching again and again. It’s not only entertaining but fills me with happiness, determination, optimism, and motivation. Whether you check it out because of my mushy ramblings here, or because of the stellar characters, animation, music, and action, or you never check it out at all, always remember: When the time comes to help someone, just do it. That’s What Heroes Do.

1) Monogatari Series

The Monogatari Series is disgusting, perverted, violent, often triggering, verbose, extremely long, confusing, weird, difficult to watch, and difficult to recommend. It is also my favorite anime series of all time. It is both writer Nisio Isin’s and studio Shaft’s magnum opus. I have not seen an anime with so many serious flaws yet such powerful strengths that the good outweighs the bad so incredibly. 

I don’t like all of Nisio’s works, I don’t think I even like most of them. I think some of his works are downright bad or boring. Yet the absolutely overwhelmingly excellent character writing on display in Monogatari has earned him my eternal respect. I struggle to find characters written with such weirdness and yet such depth and emotion. Every new arc brings out a new facet of every character involved.

The writing is highly elevated by Studio Shaft’s adaptation. If there is one anime you could call “weird,” this is it. It’s directing is almost nonsensical at times, interpretive, bizarre, unnecessarily complex, frankly hostile to the senses at points, and yet it makes for an entirely unique experience. There is frankly no other anime on Earth with the same feeling as Monogatari. 

I already know Monogatari isn’t for everyone. There are parts I hate, parts I wish I could rip out or rewrite. There are parts that make me uncomfortable to think about. But I accept it for all its flaws. It’s made me laugh and cry and feel excited and think deeply about myself. I wouldn’t be the same person without it.

=================================================

Watching any one of these will make for a great experience. Any person at all that needs help with watch orders or getting into them can message me any time of day. 

[straighttohellbuddy]

too much time together {Corpse Husband}

Summary: Friends-To-FWB-To-Lovers. They/Them. In 2013, you start a YouTube channel as a way to pass the time and keep yourself entertained; you decide you’re going to provide earnest, family-friendly reviews of trashy, Mills & Boon-type erotica novels, not that you think much else will come of it. In 2016, you get lost down a YouTube rabbit hole, and stumble across a relatively new creator who narrates Creepypasta stories in a surprisingly soothing voice, and your three-in-the-morning-brain decides to send him an encouraging tweet, not that you think much else will come of it. At the start of 2019, you and your best friend decide to move in together in a little apartment in LA, not that you think much else will come of it. And on Halloween, 2019, after living with him for the better part of the year, the two of you hit the town together... You know, after everything that’s happened, you should definitely have expected it when something else ended up coming of this too. 

{ p l a y l i s t }

A/N: 21,848 words. reader is implied to be early-20s when the fic is set. this took a little longer to finish, but that’s because it’s a little longer in total! if you already live in LA, i’m sorry. this is too many words im sorry it took so long. this caused me psychic damage because i hate editing my own work. but i’ll do it again in two days i guess. but also i do really really love this one, and i always love to hear feedback!! as always, if this, or any of my other fics, ever get to corpse himself im going to delete this entire blog. no backups. yeet.

pop culture references: Scream (1996), Community, Arrested Development, John Wick, Bojack Horseman, SCP, Among Us.

Warnings: mentions of erotica but only ever the title, no detail or description. “christmas holidays” are mentioned, but the reader and their family are never implied or stated to be affiliated with any specific religion. mentions of COVID. uhhhhhh cat costume.

Citrus Scale: 💚 LIME 💚

Taglist: @slashersdream​ @divine-artemis @realmejay @lovemelikepercy​ @balla-deer​ @miniritzcrackers​ @loraleiix​ @ppopty​ @easygoingtheatre​ @insanedeathwish​ @siriuslystupid @losvertown @janiathecat​ @wineandionysus​ @moonlightsimp​ @allylyew @chokingonflxwers​ @sicnesa​ @xxniksxx​ @mishisamess​ @preciousskye​ @yashinosakura​ @meleekabenjamin​ @whatamievendoinghere01​ @lxurxn-02​ @liljennyx3​ @the-fusionist​ @benjaminka​​ @lilysdaydreams​ @a-lonely-bic​ @letsloveimagines​ @melmachh​ @tama-chan-suneater @shio-yuki​ @fairywriter-oracle​ @easygoingtheatre​ @pixelbxtch​ @dreammoutlouddd​ @abysshaven​ @mediocrearistophanes​ @tsukishimawh0re​ @inkbyajm​ @jordiee95​ @honkcorpse​ @kaiihaan @takenbyheartstrings @mrtony-stank1 @dangeroustreebread @xibrokensunriseix​ @corpseglider​ @artsyally​ @ellsbells2143 @machine-gun-casie

----

What began as the idle thought of a bored teenager just over six years ago had somehow managed to develop in a fully sustainable career as a YouTuber, much to your surprise. It had started in your childhood bedroom, with a terrible webcam balanced on a stack of textbooks that you probably should have been using to study, and a book you’d borrowed from the library out of sheer curiosity, ignoring the judgmental look the aging librarian gave you the entire time she was checking the book out for you. Warrior’s Woman, published in 1990, with Fabio on the cover, all flowing golden hair and his oiled up, perfect physique, one hand clutching a sword, the other, holding a beautiful woman. If anyone you knew found out the type of content you intended to produce, the thoughtfully worded and earnest critique of the hastily written erotica that you’d already put the time into writing, you would probably die of embarrassment on the spot. 

It’s a niche online you don’t think a lot of people have tried to fill, so you think maybe this could be you. Reviewing pulply erotica with the same gravitas as literary classics was something you just found inexplicably funny. You’re young and bored and blessed with a strange sense of humour and a webcam, so you have no idea where any of this will end up leading you.

In late 2015, only a month before you message the person who would change your life forever, one of your reviews blows up, bigger than any video you’ve ever produced; you’d been reviewing the work of the prolific and infamous author, Chuck Tingle, for a full year now, in amongst the rest of your content, but for some reason, the entire internet decided that your in-depth review of I’m Gay For My Living Billionaire Jet Plane was exactly what they needed in that exact moment. It brought subscribers, it brought recognition, it brought DMs from Chuck Tingle himself talking about how he watched all of the reviews you’d posted about his work, and that he likes your style. Then he followed you. And he still follows you, and likes your tweets, and retweets your videos about his books, and sends you copies of his latest work; you’re on a first name basis, and a semi-professional acquaintance, of infamous erotica author Chuck Tingle. That’s the one that really winded you, that made you realise that this is no longer a joke, though looking back, you find the humour in the irony of that. YouTube was no longer an idle thought or a way to kill time; making content that makes you happy might just be a viable career.

In January of 2016, it leads you to your best friend, not that you realised that at the time. You’d gained something of a following in the three years that you’d been on the platform, creeping up to four-hundred-thousand subscribers in that time, somehow not having run out of terrible erotica to review, though you did branch out quite early on to encapsulate romance as a genre, as well filming as a few more trendy videos to capitalize on the algorithm, though your heart would forever belong to the trashy stuff.

Which is why, when considering your content in relation to Corpse Husband’s, the fact that you consider him your closest friend is kind of hilarious. When you first came across his channel, he’d only been posting for six months, narrating creepypastas and producing horror-based content, and while it wasn’t your usual style, you’d managed to fall down the YouTube rabbit hole to his videos, binging them while waiting for your own video to finish rendering. 

Even in the time that his channel’s grown since then, the overlap in the Venn Diagram of your shared viewers is would be barely a sliver, but that didn’t stop you, the night you’d discovered his channel, with only a few thousand subscribers, from tweeting at him at three-in-the-morning about how you appreciate his content and delivery, without thinking much of it beyond wanting to encourage a smaller creator. 

When you wake, it’s too more than a few unexpected notifications, including a DM from @corpse_husband himself, thanking you for your kind message and support. While you send back a kind sentiment, you’re internally panicking, sitting at your computer and just kind of staring at the publish button for your latest video, now that it had finished uploading and you’d added your description and tags. Is it weird that the YouTuber who’s about to publish a review of The Billionaire’s Forbidden Conquest is throwing their support behind a small-time creepypasta YouTuber? Maybe he just didn’t know? But he must know, or at least suspect, hell, your Twitter bio was ‘getting paid to find the treasure in trashy erotica’. 

So you publish your video, and the two of you keep messaging back and forth without mentioning it, which you’re not quite sure how to feel about, but then you tweet out a link to your video, and he likes it, and there’s a strange sense of disappointment that fills you. It’s not shame; you cast aside shame when one of your old high school English teachers sends a link to your viral Chuck Tingle review, mentioning that you made some good points, but it definitely is disappointment, that this potential, new YouTube friend will actually watch one of your videos and decide that you’re too weird to deal with. 

But he keeps messaging you, keeps talking to you, follows you and you follow him back, and you like each other’s tweets and keep chatting and - you’re friends now, actual friends who talk daily. An unexpected development, but not unwelcome. 

From the outside, it appears that there is a single tweet about how you appreciate Corpse’s content, and yes, the two of you follow each other, and occasionally like each other’s tweets, but at a glance, you’re acquaintances at best. Which, much to your mutual amusement, couldn’t be further from the truth.  A being friends for several months, it’s not uncommon for you to send gleeful messages in the middle of the night the minute you get emailed your digital copy of Chuck Tingle’s latest book. Corpse, in turn, usually manages to respond with cautious horror when asking about the title. 

It’s Slammed in the Butt by My Smartphone's Missing Headphone Jack this time, and he’s quick to respond with ‘horrifying, that is going to be the worst book i ever read cover to cover’.

Okay, he is right about that, but that’s only because he sends through either the best, or the so-bad-its-good ones. But even now that you’re no longer doing as many erotica reviews, he still reads the ones you do choose to review. In a strange and silly way, it warms your heart to be able to ask his opinion about a part of the book that you’re stumped on, and for him to come back to you with his own thoughts, understanding the text, and the seriousness with which you approach it.  

[you say that every time]

[and every time you surprise me with how ridiculous they are]

[i did like Kissed on the Weiner by My Own Weiner tho]

[you don’t have to keep reading them just because i’m reviewing them]

[i never said i didn’t enjoy it]

[also i know you always read whatever r/nosleep link i send you so its only fair]

Talk quickly turns from your respective sets of YouTube content, to your other interests, to just shooting the shit about life, talking all night about everything and nothing. You realise probably too late that he’s become one of your closest friends. Not that anyone else knows that, or would even suspect.

He had talked you through your channel’s identity crisis of Spring, 2017, where, after briefly collaborating with UK-based Film-Adaption YouTuber Dominic Nobel on a series of long-form video essays on the three Fifty Shades books, and then-two movies, playing to your strength of erotica analysis and his of adaption analysis, you’d since moved on to analysis and critique of pop culture through incredibly long-form video essays. 

After a a year and a half of chatting daily, and texting back and forth, both finally convinced that neither is catfishing the other, you’re glad to be able to put a face to a name, and finally visit each other in person. Unlike you, he’s never put his any real identifying part of his identity online beyond his voice, so to be granted the privilege's of getting to see him in person, you’re more than grateful knowing how much it means he trusts you. The only thing that comes close to surprising you is just how handsome he is, which you don’t dwell on at the time.

An Instagram Story post from @yourinstagram’s archive, September 2017:

[ID: A photo of a pale man in a dark button down shirt, the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. His face is cut out of shot. He is holding a take away coffee cup in one hand, and flipping off the camera with the other. Behind him is a street with cars going past on a bright, sunny day, and stores lining the other side of the road. 

It’s captioned ‘don’t mind that he’s camera shy, just glad he’s finally here!!’ in orange text, with a thick, yellow squiggle behind so the words can be read clearly. There is a large starry eyed emoji [🤩] in the top left and bottom right corner.

There is no-one tagged in the post.

End ID.]

At the end of 2017, you hit your first million subscribers.

So in early 2019, when you mention wanting to move to LA to be closer to the industry, Corpse is the one to suggest that you look for a place together. It’s cheaper with two people, both of you understand YouTube in a way that non-YouTubers just don’t, so there’s already an implicit understanding there that you wouldn’t get with most other people, and really the alternative is either living someone expensive but terrible on your own, or try and figure out share-accommodation with strangers. Both alternatives are woefully unappealing, so you crash on his sofa in the cramped share house he was looking to get out of for a week while you look at places around LA together. 

With sights set on a modest two bedroom apartment, you come to see that there are rather slim pickings; even with two people paying the rent, looking for somewhere livable was difficult in a place like LA. Right from the start, you had kind of been resigned to the idea that you might have to live like rats in some out of the way health-hazard that would barely pass a safety inspection. 

Finally, finally, you feel like you catch a break on your last day in LA, checking out a place at the edge of the CBD that technically three bedrooms, though the kitchen and living room are only divided by a kitchen island and the flooring changing from vinyl to carpet. All three of the bedrooms are a little on the small side, but livable; Corpse leans against the doorframe while you’re peering out of the window of the master bedroom, suggesting that it could be your shared office, both of you taking one of the small bedrooms instead of fighting over the bigger one. Already you think you start planning where you think the furniture should go in this glorified shoebox of an apartment that you’re already a little invested in. It fits within your budget, the location is pretty good, and it even has a bathtub. After your visit to the apartment with the realtor, and a frank discussion about how it’s realistically the best place you’ve looked at so far, you lodge your application, and are thrilled to be picking up the keys two weeks later.

Pairing down all of your belongings had been difficult, but once you’ve consolidated everything, brought them to your new apartment, and lugged them all up to your floor, you can’t help but feel freer. Windows open, boxes stacked throughout the house, both yours and Corpse’s, you’re excited to be able to call this space, in part, your own. There were only four pieces of furniture you’d brought from home, your bed, your drawers, your desk, and your fancy gaming chair that you’d bought because it was comfortable, all wrapped in towels to prevent damage, bungee-corded to the trailer you’d hitched to the back of your car. Corpse, it seems, is mostly in the same boat, judging by the fact that the two of you, and a very kind stranger, lug all your furniture up together, never more grateful for elevators than you are today. That left everything else, and everything communal, up to the two of you to source nearby, through thrifting, or Facebook marketplace, just grateful one of your friends who lived near by was able to gift you a sofa that had been sitting in their garage since they’d upgraded. It’s a little worn around the edge, but comfortable and spacious, easily filling up the cozy living space. 

Once you’ve almost finished unpacking, and the sofa’s in place, and the TV, the only thing you’d both agreed to splash out on and get new, was all plugged in with all it’s various consoles wired up, you flop back onto the sofa, heaving a loud sigh of relief, exhausted but pleased as the place began to feel more and more like home. Laughter escapes you, breathless, disbelieving, bright; you’re home, finally.

“Dude, we’re actually here!” You call out to your new housemate, equal parts joyful and relieved. When last you’d left him, Corpse had been in the office, wedged in beneath his desk, swearing quietly as he was hooking up his monitors.

“Home sweet home,” his voice holds the faintest hint of distracted irritation as he calls back. When you peer over the back of the sofa to investigate, he’s still in the office, holding one of his monitors aloft as he’s scowling at the back of it, “did the port fucking disappear?” You hear him mutter mostly to himself, and you decide to leave him too it, sprawling out and rewarding yourself with Netflix.

There’s still a few scattered boxes and a suitcase for you to unpack by the time you’re both calling it a day, but  it’s nice to be able to eat take out for dinner, and watch TV in a place you can call your own, enthusing to Corpse about the house, about the things you know you still need to get, about how thrilled you are to be with here with him, how good it is not having to worry about where you were going to be living in a few months time. It feels like it’s taken forever, but he’s just as glad as you are to have finally gotten here.

An Instagram Story post from @yourinstagram:

[ID: A boomerang video of Y/N sitting up, and then flopping back onto their bed, repeated. Y/N is smiling widely. The duvet is patterned and looks very soft. It’s captioned ‘FINALLY HOME’ in white letters, backed by dark blue, and there is a gif of the words ‘HOME SWEET HOME’ in pink and yellow sway in the left hand corner.

The song playing is Whatever Forever by The Mowgli’s, specifically the lyrics: But it's alright / It's getting better all the time / It's alright / Yeah, it's alright / And when the sun comes up / Like it always does / It's whatever forever.

End ID.]

Even now, three years into your friendship, it still amuses you to no end knowing that absolutely no-one on the entire internet seems to suspect that that friendship even exists. It’s not that you wouldn’t love to let the world know that the two of you are close, but it’s more about protecting Corpse’s privacy as best you can, and you’re more than happy to oblige him in that. Before posting anything that’s related to him, you always run it past him, though usually that’s just photos, making sure he can’t be identified in any way, never any videos incase you miss something, or someone recognises his voice; your fans are aware of your mysterious friend-now-housemate, but thankfully no-one has connected him to Corpse Husband. 

Now, here you were, watching Season 2 of Community with him on your shared sofa as research for your next video, content and full from dinner, empty takeout boxes scattered on the kitchen counter.

“What’s your working title again?” He’s asking about the video you’re apparently researching by watching the series, settling further into the sofa. Clearly he’s intrigued, gaze fixed firmly on the television as one of the characters goes into labour in the middle of an “exam”, despite the test appearing to just be drinking, for whatever reason. 

“Season 4 of Community is Not That Bad and Dan Harmon Needs To Sit Down,” you rattle off easily, tipping your head to the side, “I’m thinking of working something about Chevy Chase being a dick in there, but maybe I’ll just put that in, like, the thesis or the thumbnail.”

“And this is...?”

“Season 2,” you tell him, not looking away from the TV, even though you catch him turning to you out of the corner of your eye.

“Shouldn’t you be watching Season 4?”

“I’ll get there,” you assure, huffing a laugh following it with a vaguely dismissive gesture, “and I mean, I have already seen it probably too many times,” you turn to look at him, chin pressing to your shoulder, expression faintly amused, “you telling me you don’t want to watch the best two-part, season-finale, paintball-game in all of television history?”

“Alright, I’ll shut up,” he grins, raising his hands in mock defense, “didn’t realise what was at stake if we skipped ahead,” and he’s turning back to the sitcom right as the Dean of the school goes into high-pitched hysterics. 

There’s still boxes by the television stand, which itself looks too bare for your liking beside the empty bookshelf that had been crammed next to it, by the window. Tomorrow, you’ll unpack more of your things, discussing the common space while lining up pop vinyls in front of the TV, both yours and his, and the bookshelf will fill with DVDs and books and figurines and trinkets, and before you know it, you’ll look around, heart in your throat when you can see both your fingerprints across the parts that make the apartment feel like home.

“I can’t believe you have physical copies of some of these,” Corpse’s grinning is all teeth as he’s leaning down, studying the titles that fill one of your shelves on the bookshelf. The one closest to eye level is completely reasonable, novels and books and notebooks, as well as a few sundry items; the one you’ve claimed at shin-height, however was the physical copies of erotica you’ve already reviewed.

“I can move it into the office, I’ve been meaning to get a decent backing for my videos; would make sense in there,” you hadn’t thought much about it when you’d put them up this morning, but in hindsight, you realise you probably should have; your collection of terrible erotica isn’t exactly the most tasteful living room décor. At present, you’re putting away cutlery and plates, pausing only to frown, “sorry, I know I should have asked, it’s not exactly polite to have it all out -”

“Don’t apologise, it’s fucking hilarious,” he snickered, straightening up and giving a quick stretch, his own morning having been filled with unpacking too, “it’s not like you’ve got actual sex toys on the shelf, I don’t give a shit.”

“Do I look like Cr1tikal to you?” You asked flatly, though the corners of your lips quirked into a smirk, to which he actually laughed, conceding that, yes actual sex toys on a communal bookshelf was a far more Cr1tikal move to pull. 

“How do you feel about the layout of the kitchen?” You ask after a beat, changing the topic as you’re pulling your final stack of plates from the box labelled in kind, squatting down to put them with the rest of the tack. Corpse takes a deep breath, joining you, peering into the cupboards.

“I'm sure you know what you’re doing; kitchen layout doesn’t bother me so long as I know where everything is,” he conceded, leaning his hip on the counter, “you need a hand in here or am I okay to follow your lead on where to unpack the last of my shit?” 

“I think I’m right, so go for your life,” you said, huffing a pleased little sigh as you closed the cupboard door on the last of your crockery, “if you wanna start with the box by the microwave that you’ve labeled mugs, I’ve put my mugs and glasses in one cupboard, over there by the sink,” you informed him, stepping back until you got to the corner of the counter, upon which you sat, watching him pull out a collection of mugs. “Baking stuff and weird cooking things are in the cupboard by the oven, cleaning supplies are under the sink,” you rattled off, “cutlery is in the top draw, and utensils are in the second; plates and bowls are...” you frowned, leaning over to open the cupboard by your left calve, double checking that you had, in fact, just put your plates in there, “here.”

“Organized as hell; God you’re good,” he crouches by the cupboard, throwing you a thankful smile before putting his own mugs away. It’s... comfortable, so much more comfortable than you’d been anticipating this early on. For just a moment, you’re caught up in the warmth and familiarity, unselfconsciously rambling about a few things you still wanted to pick up for the apartment, some more decorative than functional, but damn it, it was your first apartment, you were allowed a useless knicknack or two!

He’s listening quietly, putting away the rest of his kitchen things with your familiar voice as the backdrop. For a moment, he pauses amid putting away bowls, watching you frown, ankles knocking softly against cupboard doors absentmindedly as you were trying to remember the words dish rack, since the apartment didn’t have a dishwasher, and he can’t help but smile, quietly enjoying being able to witness your distracted ramblings, rather than just hearing them over the phone. Finally you look to him, catch his smile, the fond amusement in his eyes, and your voice dies in your throat.

“What?” Softly now, you’re tone betrays your sudden selfconciousness, as if only aware that you were babbling after the fact.

“Dish rack,” he offers instead, as if to prove he was listening, and your expression lights up, delighted and thankful, already over your momentary doubts.

“Yes! That’s what we need!”

An Instagram Story from @yourinstagram:

[ID: Image One: A very close shot of Y/N’s face, their features filling the entire screen, making a distressed face. It’s captioned ‘welcome to IKEA i am afraid’, in bright red letters across their forehead.

Image Two: A photo of a large, strangely ornate dish rack in an incredibly modern display kitchen in IKEA. The photo is a little bit blurry. ‘i think this is a modern art piece??’, again in red, the text angled to align with the black, marble counter top.

Video: Y/N zooming in on the price for a pale counter top marbled with rose gold, whispering ‘Okay but why am i considering buying a marble counter top?’

Image Three: Another very close photo of Y/N’s face, this time looking distinctly unhappy, captioned, ‘every time we see a new display kitchen my housemate reminds me we’re renting’ in red, and ‘now i’m only allowed to passionately imagine remodeling our apartment’ in bright blue over their eyes. 

Image Four: A photo of a man standing in the outdoor furniture section of IKEA in a black jean jacket, white t-shirt, and black jeans, holding a little, potted succulent in one hand, the other hand blurry and mid-gesture. His black nail polish is chipped. He takes up most of the frame; his head and shoulders are out of frame, and his legs below his thighs are also out of frame. There is a poll included: Should I Remodel Our Apartment? The options are: [Listen to Ur Heart!!] or [Listen to Ur Housemate 😞]

End ID.]

Within the hour, your Instagram DMs are blowing up with people demanding to know who your housemate is. Your final addition to your story for the day is a completely black image, simply with white text telling people that your housemate wants privacy so you’re not going to be telling anyone who he is. 

“The internet thinks you’re hot,” you’re not sure why you feel the need to inform him of this, tone matter-of-fact. There’s still IKEA bags filled with homeware sitting on the kitchen counter in the dark while the two of you are on the sofa, you having stretched your legs out across his lap while he was playing Spiderman on the PS4, using your shins as an armrest. Not looking up from the overwhelming amount of DMs you hadn’t opened, many of which seemed surprised by how attractive the faceless picture of your new housemate was, you tried to keep your tone light and neutral; they’re right, of course, you happen to think Corpse is handsome, but you’d rather keep that to yourself. After a moment, however, you can’t help yourself, “if only they could see your face.” 

“Is that a compliment or a drag?” He asks wryly at the sound of your still neutral tone, and he casts a glance at you, at your face illuminated by the television and your phone.

“Wouldn’t you like to know,” this time your tone is teasing, finally looking up in time to see him shaking his head with exasperation, but still wearing a fond grin.

“Fuck you,” he snipes through a laugh, but you give in, leaning forward to press your forehead to his shoulder for a beat, a moment of connection, of solidarity, before you sit back, enjoying the quiet atmosphere, and his company. The words are different, but the tone, the teasing, the banter, its all too familiar for the both of you at this point. 

It’s so easy to live with him that it almost takes you by surprise. The limited space had been a concern, but it becomes second nature to move, to exist side by side, to respect the other’s privacy and working schedule, while still looking forward to spending time together. Arguments arose, of course, most commonly about chores left for too long, but then you’re agreeing on a schedule, and agreeing to communicate, to bring issues up instead of letting them fester. At first, you worry that it would take some getting used to, but then he’s reminding you that it’s your night to wash the dishes, when you’re in the middle of editing a video, and you propose a compromise, asking if he could do them tonight if you promised to make dinner the following night to make up for it, without a second thought, and he agrees easily. It’s understanding. It’s easy. It feels as natural as breathing to fit into each other’s lives, as if you’d been there all along. 

“Do you guys ever think about how Arrested Development had Charlize Theron guest star in like, six whole episodes, playing a mentally disabled woman, where the entire joke was that she was so pretty that the main character didn’t realise she was mentally disabled when he asked her to marry him? It’s pretty fucked actually, and that thought lives rent free in my head. I still, to this day, cannot believe Charlize fucking Theron agreed to that. 2005 was wild -”

In the middle of your first take of the opening for one of your videos, a few months into the living arrangement, Corpse can’t hold in his laughter where he’s editing one of his videos on the other side of your little, shared office space. Your composure cracks, and your gaze flicks from the camera, to him, lips twisting into a smile against your will.

“Dude, I told you you’re only allowed to be in here while I’m filming if you promised to be quiet,” you implored, not that you could be too mad at him. After a beat, he looked up from his own screen, trying and failing to suppress a grin.

“Charlize Theron, really?” Is his response, “Atomic Blonde, Mad Max Charlize Theron?” As if there were any others. You shrug, helpless, pulling up her IMDB page and confirming as much, going on to mention that at that point, her biggest role had been in The Italian Job. It takes him a moment to consider this before asking what your video was about. At this, however, you go quiet, looking to your screen, to the word document and bullet points sitting in front of you.

“I don’t actually have much of a plan,” you admit, “I just kind of have a lot of opinions about Arrested Development and I’m gonna kinda throw them at the wall and edit the footage down to whatever sticks,” it comes out a little sheepish, but when you look back up, you’re surprised to see his smile widening.

“Okay, alright, yeah I’ll get out of your hair,” he huffed a laugh, already pushing back from his desk, “I don’t wanna mess up your shit by laughing,” he conceded, putting his computer to sleep, absconding quickly. It’s a small gesture, but you’re grateful, and your heart swelling at the implicit compliment he’s given.

“I’ll buy you dinner as thanks,” you promise sincerely, to which he gives a snort, telling you that no thanks was necessary, “I’ll buy you dinner afterwards anyways, since it’s my night?” Your grin was all teeth. 

“Deal.”

Even so, as you return to filming, you’re pretty sure you can hear him laugh through the shitty, thin walls of the apartment. Though you don’t stop your rambling, you can’t help but smile.

Tweet by @yourtwitter:

[ID: new video. housemate thought it was funny but i think he’s biased.

(Thumbnail of of George-Michael and Maeby from Arrested Development in wedding attire looking surprised, cut out against an orange background, with the words ‘Mitchell Hurwitz Explain?’ in white text over them. There is a large play button in blue and white in the middle of the thumbnail, to indicate that it is a link to a video.

1.3k comments. 2.1k retweets. 90k likes.

Link: It’s Been Fifteen Years And I Still Don’t Know Why Arrested Development Is Like That | Your Channel Name

why did season 4 & 5 double down on the creepy stuff??

twitter: @yourtwitter 

🔗youtube.com)

End ID.]

Being around him becomes second nature, always in each other’s business, always aware of whatever projects the other is working on, always hyping each other up. Beds against the same wall, rooms side by side, you're practically desensitized to seeing too much, to knowing too much about one another at this point, but despite the lack of privacy, the abundance of respect goes a long way.

And okay, you’re not oblivious, not to how much you like him, nor to the fact that if you don’t keep a close eye your feelings, they’d run rampant, out of control, turn into something that could jeopardize the excellent living situation you’d found yourself in. There’s a reason he’s become your best friend, so it wouldn’t be surprising if that fondness developed into something romantic, but you’re not going to chance it. You don’t want things to get weird. 

But staying platonic turns out to be pretty easy, and in time, you even find yourself relaxing into it. Contact quickly went from awkward and accidental, to casual and familiar; leaning all over each other, flopping onto the sofa, over whoever’s sitting there, draping yourselves over one when the other asked for an opinion on something they’re editing or working on. Quickly you both seem to just come to consider the other as furniture, though the implicit and fondness in it all makes your heart warm when you think about it for too long.

Despite the fact that you’ve finally started making friends and networking with other LA based creators the way you’d intended to upon first moving here, Corpse has really begun to feel like home... You don’t think too hard about that either.

“Come on, man, it’s Halloween!” Leaning in his doorway, you’re freshly showered, wrapped in a towel, and imploring him to come out with you for the night. He flicks an amused glance at you where he was sprawled out on his bed, looking at his phone.

“And?”

“I cannot believe you don’t wanna go out on the town, get all dressed up and shit,” you groaned in the face of his apathy, thumping your head against the doorframe. To this, he finally clicks his screen off, giving you his full attention.

“With what costume?” He asked flatly, amused by your exasperation.

“I’ve been asking you about this for weeks, dude, week,” your eyes widen as you look to him, “and every time you tell me maybe, but tonight’s the night; yes or no? I’m throwing together a costume, I can help throw together a costume for you. Are you in?”

“Halloween’s a shitshow, especially in LA, do you really want to go out tonight?” It’s his last ditch attempt to get you to change your mind, knowing full well that when you set your mind to something, you usually follow through.

“It’s my first Halloween in the big city, so yes, I do want to go out tonight,” you explained, “but if you wanna stay home, I respect that, okay? I’ll leave you alone,” hands raised in surrender, you concede defeat, about to head to your own room before you hear Corpse’s deep sigh, acting as though he was incredibly put upon, finally getting to his feet.

“I never said I wouldn’t go out, just that it’s a shitshow; go find yourself a costume,” but he was grinning, making his way over to the clothes piled on his chair to see if he could cobble together something resembling a costume. You celebrate in the doorway for all of five seconds before skittering to your own room, brimming with enthusiasm, eager to connect your phone to the Bluetooth speaker in the living area, blasting a playlist for you to both get ready to.

“Do you have any fake blood?” Is not what you expect to hear him call out when you’re half dressed, elbow deep in your shirts drawer. 

“Why?”

“I’m being one of the dudes from Scream, I need fake blood,” he called back. It takes you a few moments to scour your belongings, but you did, in fact, have a small bottle of fake blood that had been used as part of a skit for a video a while ago. 

“Yeah, lemme get a shirt on, I’ve got some,” with the fake blood aquired, you triumphantly fish your black button down from the bottom of your shirts drawer, only to frown upon seeing how wrinkled it was. How had it taken you this long to realise you need an iron? Whatever, that’s a problem for another day. With that thought, you pull the shirt on anyways, making quick work on the buttons, and grab your old, black suit jacket and the fake blood. 

“Murder victim or Scooby Doo and Skeet Ulrich?” You stick your head into his bedroom, only to find it empty.

“What?” You can hear his confused laugh from the bathroom, following the sound as you explain.

“Are you being a murder victim, or are you evil Scooby Doo guy or Skeet Ulrich?” A smile plays on your lips as you approach the bathroom, it’s door wide open. He’s in front of the mirror, trying to concentrate on parting his hair, but pauses as he spots you in the mirror. 

“Skeet Ulrich; Billy,” he clarifies, before his gaze flicks back to his own reflection, “evil Scooby Doo guy,” he snickers under his breath, mulling over your words. For the barest moment, you allow yourself to admire him, wondering how a simple white t-shirt and blue jeans could look so flattering on someone. 

“Do you have a black tie I could possibly borrow?” You finally ask, catching yourself, and trying to find somewhere, anywhere else to look; you settle on the bottle in your hands.

“I think so?” 

When you look back up, he’s looking at you in the mirror, curious, as if trying to read your expression, divine your thoughts.

“Blood?” You brighten your expression, holding up the bottle and making eye contact with him in the mirror. A smile graces his lips and he thanks you before he got back to the task at hand. Pulling on your jacket, you wait in the doorframe, double checking the fake blood was in date. Once satisfied with his hair, he turns, takes the bottle when you offer it. Then a pause; he pulls out his phone, and searches up a reference photo, taking a long few seconds to frown at it. Then, he lifts the bottle to his cheek, tipping it, as if to pour it on directly despite looking rather uncertain. 

“You want a brush?” You can’t help but smirk. Thankfully he stills before any of the liquid can touch his skin, a little sheepish.

“Probably.” 

There’s assorted arts and crafts supplies scattered around the house, in boxes, on shelves, a junk drawer with more than its fair share of sundry, tangentially-related craft items, so you know there’s bound to be a small paintbrush somewhere.

Returning with paintbrush in hand, you hand it over, and sit on the lip of the bathtub, mostly ready and now waiting on him for the final piece of your costume. He’s grateful for the brush, of course, but the moment he looks back at his reference photo, he frowns, and then looks, once more, to his reflection. Moving on instinct, on silent understanding, you stand. Like a whole conversation has occurred without a word being said, he reads the question, the offer in your eyes, in the mirror, and turns, holding out the brush.

“Sit,” you nod to the bathtub with a faint smile, taking the paintbrush and the fake blood. He snickers, but sits obligingly on the lip of the tub, giving a quiet, amused thanks. Taking a moment to study the reference image carefully, you sit beside him, straddling the lip of the tub to get come at him from a better angle.  

“This stuff’s gonna stain your shirt,” you warn him, voice soft as you uncap the fake blood and dip the paintbrush in. 

“It was ten dollars,” he shrugs, unfazed but just as quiet. At that, you nod in understanding, and lean in, paintbrush against his jaw. Occasionally you’ll look to the reference image he keeps aloft, making sure you’re getting it right, the whole world shrinking down to the two of you in this bathroom, the red of the blood glistening in the light, free hand coming to rest against him, to keep him still and secure. 

“Who are you?” The moment breaks with his voice, with his hand reaching out to carefully tug at the hem of your black suit jacket, with the smile he’s trying very hard to suppress lest he ruin your work.

“John Wick,” you’re trying to remain carefully focused, until he outright smiles, and all of a sudden you realise just how close you are to him. He’s watching you out of the corner of his eye, he’s watching you, and he’s smiling in that way he sometimes does, like when he’s listening to you ramble, or when you look up from editing a video, only to realise you’d been whispering the words along, trying to figure out which take was working better, and he’s smiling at you like that. The fingers of your free hand twitch involuntarily, and all at once you’re far too aware of your body, of your proximity, of your hand in his hair, gentle where you’re holding his head still. But you don’t move.

“You okay?” His smile is shifting to a look of concern; he leans his head back just enough for you to feel the pressure against your hand, to try and bring you back from wherever your mind had gone, to try and ground you.

What’s different now? You’ve been this close to him before, had little regard for each other’s personal space for months now without feeling your heart beat in your throat. Focus.

Blinking quickly, trying to clear your mind, you take a deep breath, flashing a smile that doesn’t quite reach your eyes as you get back to your work. But you don’t actually answer him. What would you say? It doesn’t seem to matter, however, because the moment he feels the paintbrush against his jaw, he lets his gaze drift around the room, away from you, tapping his foot to the music. Once his cheek is done, you move your hand to rest at the back of his neck, gently nudging his jaw with the handle of the paintbrush, which he rightly takes as his cue to tip his head to the side.

“Thanks,” a single word leaves him, quiet and appreciative, spoken into the golden light of your tiny bathroom. It all feels too close, too quiet, too intimate. 

“Any time,” you breathe, though it comes out distracted, desperately attempting to stay focused on the task at hand, and not at how you feel like you’re burning at the contact. But he can grin now, without fear of ruining your work, and the sight is somehow cathartic, like it’s telling you he doesn’t feel moment the way you are, like he knows the world beyond this one room hasn’t disappeared like it has in your mind, like he’s taking this all at face value. So you smile in return, pausing to dip your brush in the fake blood again, breaking your concentration for the barest moment, a moment to breathe, “you look good,” you tell him, because it’s true, though you’re not quiet sure why you said it out loud. 

“You’re one to talk, all fuckin’ black suit,” he mutters with a smirk, gazing at the wall, something unexpected and strangely appreciative in his voice, in the slight grin he wears. These words will play on a loop in your head for a very long time, of this you are certain, able to form a good response.

“Thanks for agreeing to come out with me,” you say instead, finally adding the final touches by his collar. 

“As if I’d let you go out on Halloween in LA on your own,” comes his response, surprising you enough that you sit back, concern written all over your face.

“I don’t want you to go if you don’t want to; you shouldn’t be going just for my sake,” and you reach out to flick the last splatter of fake blood against his collar before you can finally move out of his space, out of the moment that had held you captive.

“Hey, no,” he backtracks quickly, reaches out, snatches the hem of your jacket and pulls you back, “I’m happy to go, I just... I wasn’t expecting to.” 

You take time to digest his words, the implications, offering him the bottle of fake blood, telling him he can use the rest on his shirt. Instead of stepping up to the mirror, he steps into the bathtub, which confuses you until he starts liberally applying fake blood down the left of his shirt, and the excess falls harmlessly, waiting to be easily rinsed away when he was done. Smart.

“It’s cute you’re worried about me,” is how you finally answer, aiming for teasing as he offers you the now-empty bottle. When you meet his gaze, however, he’s wearing an  expression that practically screams ‘yeah, fucking obviously’. Tonight is really not doing great things for those feelings of yours you keep trying to keep in check. 

You pull the hairdryer out from under the skin in an attempt to dry his shirt faster.

It’s criminal how good he looks covered in blood. Damn it. Once dry, he leaves, and you take to frowning at yourself in the mirror, feeling like something was missing from your own costume, but not quite sure what.

“Keanu’s got a solid, black beard as John Wick, doesn’t he?” You finally put your finger on what had been bothering you, what had been missing, when you catch sight of Corpse returning in the reflection of the mirror, the black tie he’d promised you in his hand. After a moment of thought, he makes a noncommittal sound, but nods, and holds out the tie expectantly. You take it, putting it around your neck on instinct, holding both ends in your hands before you come to a disappointing realisation, “Man, I don’t remember how to tie one of these, it’s been too long.” Without another word, he takes the tie and obligingly begins folding the thin material, tying it for you in a moment that feels altogether too intimate and familiar, applying the same amount of focus as you’d given to painting blood onto him. So you talk, fill the silence with words to give your brain something else to focus on that’s not him, so close, again. 

“How long have we lived here? Like several - almost nine months now? And tonight’s the first night I’ve worn a shirt that needs ironing - we don’t have an iron, by the way -” you’re rambling, but at least this time you’re aware of it, this time you mean to.

“Mascara?” Corpse offers out of the blue, eyes still on the tie, which snaps you out of your babbling. In the face of your obvious confusion, his hands still and he looks to your face, then deliberately down to your chin, as if considering, “to make you look more like him, fix up the whole beard situation,” then is gaze is fixed back on his hands, back on the tie, as he tries to remember where he was up to.

“Wouldn’t it look kind of shitty?”

“Up to you; it’s your face,” he says amicably, nimble fingers moving, reaching up to pop the collar of your black dress shirt, tucking the tie beneath it, and flattening the collar again. His hands are on your shoulders for a second too long, thumbs beneath the downturned edges of your nice, black dress shirt, and you give a faint thanks, hand coming up to rest on the knot of the tie as you turn away. His grip drops and you meet your own gaze in the mirror, expression unrecognisable, even too yourself, confusing and far away and why was tonight so different? 

The knot of the tie, like a visual representation of the lump in your throat, grounds you as you hold it, bring you back as your his words, his touch, the smile he gave you, they echo through your mind and chip away at your delicately balanced self control. The little, rational part of your mind is still lamenting that you’re an asshole for even entertaining any nonplatonic thoughts, reminding you insistently that they’re a slippery slope, but the smile in his voice - all fuckin’ black suit. It would be weird to ask what he’d meant, what that smile, that tone, that look when you catch him looking at you for a second too long, what any of it meant, but if you’re wrong, if you’re imagining it or - it would be weird... Right?

“You’ll look cool as hell either way.” Beside where you’d been zoning out, caught up in your thoughts, Corpse is looking at himself in the mirror, fusing with his own hair as it refused to sit right despite the gel he’d applied. 

And you’re back in reality, in the moment, slowly unfreezing as you finish getting ready, leaving his space and this moment in time so you don’t become stuck there.

Ultimately you decide against using mascara on your jaw, knowing it would be too much of a hassle at the end of the night, but he was right, and you still looked cool as hell in spite of that. 

Corpse does, however, agree to be your cameraman for the impromtu photoshoot you have in the alley beside your building, showing off your costume for an Instagram post you’ll make tomorrow morning. Or afternoon, depending on when you wake up. 

“One more,” he calls out, waves you over, confusing you for all of five seconds before he’s got an arm wrapped around your shoulders, pulling you in for a final photo, this time with him as well. It’s a little blurry, but your surprised smile is joyous, bathed in the rose gold of the streetlight, as is Corpse’s, toothy and sincere and affectionate, leaning into you, squished together to fit in frame. When you send it to him at his request, he grins brightly at it, “fuck you did a good job on that blood,” he mutters, and quite against your will, your heart sinks, realising that must be what he’s smiling at. 

“It’s a nice photo,” you keep your tone light, “I think I’m gonna have to print it out and frame it,” you’re mostly joking as you pocket your phone, setting out from the alley in the direction of town. As you exit, however, Corpse casts you an amused that you miss, a few steps ahead of him, though you don’t miss hearing it in his voice.

“Go for your life; it’d be pretty funny if the first photo of us we put up around the apartment is from Halloween.”

For a moment, you’re frowning, considering, trying to scan through your memory; that couldn’t be right, surely you had a photo of the two of you up together in the apartment somewhere... When you voice this, however, his answer actually surprises you.

“It’s the first photo where you can see both of our faces at all,” something about the way he says it is careful, and you’re not quite sure why, but something about that catches in your mind, turning fond.

“Guess I’ll definitely have to frame it then,” you look over your shoulder at him, wearing a smirk, “delete all digital copies; that’s top secret information, a classified document, only one allowed in the world.”

“I wouldn’t go that far,” his eyes are on the sky, at the two or three starts visible through the light pollution, but the grin he wears betrays how endeared he is by your antics. 

It’s easy at first, to lose yourself in the lights, on the dancefloor, sticky, a world of neon and garbage, shared breath in cramped clubs, amongst the costumes like a modern day masquerade. Like something out of a movie, everything’s always moving, almost too fast for you to keep up, for your mind to keep up, for your mind to remember the turmoil had been going through, alongside your heart, only hours ago. 

Happily tipsy, you flirt with strangers, letting them shower you and your costume with compliments as you happily respond in kind, dragged out for a dancer, each touch feeling unfamiliar, feeling wrong, but you push that feeling down, willing yourself to connect to the frantic and freeing energy the dancers around you were buzzing with. 

It’s easy, at first, until you catch a glimpse of chatting and smiling with a girl decked out like the lead singer of an 80s hair metal band, and it’s as though you’ve been splashed with ice water. 

The cute boy dressed like a sexy nurse that you’d been talking to asks if you’re alright, bringing you out of your thoughts with his gentle hand on your hip. Without thinking, you ask if you can kiss him. He’s enthusiastic, all lips and teeth and tongue and so eager to have his hands on your hips, your ass, your back, your sides, and you think that maybe maybe you were just touch starved, that maybe this will make you feel better, feel something that isn’t like you’ve just been winded, that isn’t an ice-cold sense of unreasonable jealousy. 

Yes, you kiss him back, holding his face, carding your fingers through his hair, eyes closed, mind searching for something familiar to find in him, to latch onto, to make this feel right instead of so terribly, unexplainably wrong. But he smells too much like sweet cologne that you’re not used to, and is unfamiliarly cool to the touch when you realise you miss Corpse’s warmth - Fuck.

Then your phone buzzes. You break from this man, this stranger, gasping for air, stumbling back like you can’t quite believe what you’ve done, a strange kind of guilt surging through you, coming to sit heavy in your gut. When you look over, the girl is by the bar, but your housemate is nowhere to be seen.

“Everything okay, babe?” The sexy nurse is all wide-eyed and sincere, concerned like he’d done something wrong. You look up from your phone in a sudden guilty panic, apologies tumbling from your lips, though he waves you off with an easy smile, assuring you that what happens on Halloween stays on Halloween. Whatever he’s implying, you’re pretty sure it’s nowhere close to the situation you found yourself in, but at least he’s not mad or disappointed when you flee from the building. 

[if you’re going home with him idk text me at some point when you’re at his place to lemme know you’re safe??]

[im heading home]

Suddenly on the street, amid the costumed crowd crawling from one club to the next, stumbling and laughing and clinging to one another, you find yourself momentarily terrified of being recognized, knowing that if you called out to Corpse, he too might be recognised, which was the last thing in the world either of you wanted. All you knew was that you needed to find him, needed to make sure he knew - he knew what, exactly? 

“Billy Fucking Loomis!” You holler at the top of your lungs as a last resort, shoving your way through the crowd, getting strange looks for your frantic nature, as you headed in the direction of your apartment.

“From Scream?” A pretty girl dressed up as Barbie stops you, in all shiny, pink, plastic, she’s a little tipsy with a gaggle of friends who seem surprised, seem a little embarrassed that she’s stopped at all.

“My friend’s dressed like him,” you elaborate, a little breathless. Taking this in stride, she looks you over for a moment, considering, before making the split second decision to help, hollering Billy Fucking Loomis at the top of her lungs too, much to her friends’ collective embarrassment. She didn’t seem to care, standing her ground, and looping her arm through yours while her friends tried to tug her along, apologising to you for being a bother. You, however, couldn’t be more grateful, heart swelling at this stranger’s kindness, yelling alongside her until -

“You’re so dramatic,” you hear a familiar affectionate exasperation after a short while of calling, and Corpse emerges from the crowd. The sweet Barbie’s face lit up at the sight of him, reaching out with her free hand to pet his cheek.

“Billy Loomis! You were right!” She grins at you, sounding a little dazed, a little tipsy, but glad to have found him, before she looks Corpse in the eye, her tone turning forthright, “you did a good job, Billy.”

“Thankyou, Barbie,” he says, smiling in a way that was kindly bemused, to which she lights up, thrilled, but finally realises that her friends have left her; you thank her for her help, and she assures you it was no trouble, before disappearing into the crowd towards the club you’d just left.

“You called?” Corpse’s tone was gently expectant, and suddenly you find yourself at a loss for words, feeling foolish for panicking; you could have just gone home quietly, it’s not like he wouldn’t be there.

“The buddy system,” your voice catches up before your mind does, words spilling from your lips, “as if I’d let you leave Halloween in LA on your own,” you hear yourself parroting his earlier words back at him, thankful to see the tense set of his shoulders ease. Okay, yeah, when you hear yourself say it out loud, that makes sense.

“You’re so dramatic,” his accompanying eye roll and sigh was betrayed by his outright grin, as he turned to head back through the crowd towards home. You follow, hot on his heels, refusing to let the point drop now that you’d committed to it.

“So you’re allowed to worry about me but I’m not allowed to worry about you?” 

“You don’t need to worry about me,” he shrugs easily, as if it was a simple truth and not a terrible double standard. 

“That’s so not true! What if you got stabbed?” 

“You think I’m going to be stabbed on Halloween?”

“Anything could happen on Halloween,” the words leave your mouth before you really think about them,but he goes all quiet and contemplative without a real response, “you can’t stop me from worrying about you.” You huff, making sure he could still hear it above the noise of the city, the cars, the crowd all around you. When you glance at him, if only to gauge his reaction, you catch the tail end of a smile on his lips. 

“What about your sexy nurse?” He changes the topic quickly, and to your credit, the dismissive tone you take, and the way you stick your nose in the air manage to not betray the fact that not five minutes ago, you’d been panicking about the fact that he’d seen you kissing a stranger.

“Harmless fun, he understands that what happens on Halloween stays on Halloween,” you say without much thought, “and like I said, I couldn’t just let you walk home alone.”

At least this time he laughs.

And back at the apartment, you find you’re still buzzing from the night, even as you pull off your John Wick ensemble and changing into the most comfortable clothes you own. Corpse is in the shower when you emerge from your room, his tie in your hand, so you flop onto the sofa, turning on the TV. 

Scream isn’t on Netflix, but John Wick is, and you’re ten minutes in, barely aware of how you’re compulsively wrapping, and re-wrapping the tie around your hand, when you hear the shower turn off, and he emerges a few minutes later, haloed by the steam and the golden light from the bathroom, hair towel-dried, and bright pink stain on his cheek. The moment you spot it, you actually wince and feel like a fool for not considering that the fake blood could possibly stain skin too.

“I know,” he says with flat resignation, “good thing you’re the only person who gets to see my face.” He huffs a self-deprecating laugh, but you still can’t help but apologise, offering his tie like it’s compensation. Taking the tie, he assures you he’s not actually bothered, and heads into his room. 

Tonight had brought so much more than you’d been expecting, and you were still trying to wrap your head around it all, barely paying attention to the movie, barely even registering when Corpse rejoins you, sprawling out on the sofa beside you. 

“They didn’t have Scream, but they have Scream 2 if you wanted to watch that,” the words come out distracted, barely putting any thought into them as your mind was still a million miles away, attempting to place all rogue feelings from the night into the boxes they’d metaphorically escaped from. Corpse didn’t seem to care about the movie one way or the other, eyes glassy as he absentmindedly rubbed at the pink stain on his jaw.

“Some of the stuff that happened tonight... it’s still not exactly making sense to me,” he says carefully, tone neutral. It brings you out of your thoughts, anxiety spiking in your gut as you make a noise of confusion, “I texted you just after I left the building, right, and you managed to catch up to me only a few minutes later, which, honestly surprised me,” these are all general observations, so why did it feel like he was working up to something? Shifting to a more upright position, he’s looking at you now, all bright-eyed and alert, “you know you could have just caught up with me back here, you didn’t have to yell through the crowd for me.”

“It’s not like I yelled your actual name,” you muttered, keeping your eyes focused on the TV, not quite sure if you liked where he was going with this.

“Which I appreciate,” he acknowledges, but then takes pause, hesitates, “actually it’s nice that you, like you said, you worry about me. You don’t have to, but it’s sweet.” You dip your head to him, mostly to confirm that that was just as true now as when you’d said it half an hour ago, however you can still feel a but coming, and he does not disappoint, “but you must have just bolted from that poor, hot nurse, and he seemed pretty into you, just to make sure you caught up with me, on the off chance that I get stabbed on my way back.” 

“Sorry I don’t want you to get stabbed?” Tone defensive, you can feel yourself growing antsy and flustered as he puts together the pieces you’d really hoped he’d ignore, “your point?” Finally you look at him, at his almost cat-like smile, the way his eyes are shining in the light of the television; it feels like you’ve walked into a trap.

“No real point,” he shrugs after a beat, letting the moment drop, finally looking to the TV, letting it drop. A few moments of quiet follow. You can’t look away from hom, wading through the implications of his words, his tone, that smile, like you’d been caught red handed without anything incriminating leaving your mouth. There’s a tension in the room, you can’t be the only one feeling it, but you have no idea what’s going through his mind so each breath you take feels dangerous. 

“Glad you felt so strongly about the buddy system,” he breaks the silence, sitting back on the sofa, so carefully casual, “I mean, I know it’s not my place or whatever, but part of me ’s glad you didn’t go home with someone else,” in an instant, everything in your mind changes, and you look back on the night with absolute clarity. He leans his head back against the sofa, turning to you, smiling with almost lazy confidence, like he can read every thought going through your mind, like he knows every stray, traitorous thought you’d had about him, like he’s just taunting you, waiting for you to finally catch up, to make the first move, “probably selfish, considering how good you looked -” 

Mind a mess of feelings and desires, you close the space between you, kissing him hard, moving together, into each other’s space almost desperately. So terrified for so long to want this, to want him, there’s a part of your heart, your mind, that is overwhelming relieved, content and sated, drunk on the feeling of him holding you close.

“I just really don’t want this to get weird or complicated,” you warned him, having found yourself in his lap, arms around his neck, “if things don’t...” but you swallow that fear instead of saying it out loud, “I like living here. With you.” You tell him, as serious as you can muster, and his eyebrows raise, amusement sparkling in his eyes. 

“It won’t get weird,” he tells you, just falling short where he tries to be solemn, “just appreciating the fact that my best friend is incredibly hot, and taking advantage of the fact that we live in close proximity, nothing complicated,” which is a whole new set of words for you to process, but honestly, shoving your current feelings into that same box for the time being is easy. If he doesn’t consider this romantic, then that works for you, no broken hearts, nothing getting weird or complicated. Before, you’d been in each other’s space more than most people would probably be comfortable with already, so this is just a new level of familiarity.

“That works for me,” you smirk, leaning in, lips on his throat, pressing a soft kiss to the sensitive juncture where his throat meets his shoulder, before adding, “anything can happen on Halloween.”

An Instagram post from @yourinstagram:

[ID: Three images. All three are of Y/N in a full black suit, with black shirt, shoes, and tie to match, against a nondescript grey, brick wall. 

The first image has Y/N with one hip cocked, looking at the camera with an eyebrow raised, one hand behind them, while the other holds a yellow pencil almost like it’s a cigarette.

The second image has Y/N with one hand in their pocket, the other coming up as if to scratch their nose, looking at something to the left.

The third image is of Y/N smiling widely, as if mid-laugh, posture relaxed while they’re fixing on of their cuffs, looking at whoever is behind the camera. 

End ID.]

Caption: the one you send to kill the fkn boogeyman. (swipe for john wick in the au where the dog doesn’t die)

📷: my housemate, Billy Loomis from Scream (1996). edit: no i don’t live with skeet ulrich wtf it was my housemate’s halloween costume 😂😂😂

“Why is your mattress nicer than mine?” You ask amid a yawn the next morning, stretched out comfortably on your side in Corpse’s bed. The bed’s usual occupant gives a half smile at the door where he’d just come back from the bathroom.

“No idea,” he smirks, sitting on the edge of the bed, taking a drink of water from the bottle he keeps by his bedside, pale morning light cutting through the sliver between his blinds and across his thighs. 

“Now I know,” attention caught by that single stripe of light, you reach out, palm coming to rest on his thigh as your fingers splay out against him in the light, I might have to trade beds with you,” you mutter, though it seems like an afterthought, fingers tapping an inconsistent tattoo against him in the light. 

“As if that’s the only option you have,” tone sarcastic and knowing, his voice finally draws your attention away, back to him, to see him watching your hand until your fingers still. He looks back, gaze meeting yours; he offers you the bottle. You blink quickly at the implication in his words, but take it.

“If you start actually seeing someone, you’re going to need a bed of your own,” you point out, taking a large drink of water. For a moment, you both ruminate on this, and once you’ve recapped the bottle and handed it back, he leans back against you, horizontal across the bed and your hips.

“Well if that ever becomes a problem while we’re living together, we can fight to the death for my bed,” he concedes, grinning up at the roof, and then to you. Something tightens in your chest at his words. 

“I think I can deal with sharing for now,” you can’t help yourself, poking him in the side, mischievous grin of your own twisting the corners of your lips, though the look in your eyes in undeniably fond.

“Deal with,” he mutters, clearly just playing at being offended by your wording, squirming at your prod, but after a beat, the room is filled is a pleased silence. It’s broken quickly by your snort of laughter, asking if he’s comfortable as you wriggle your hips beneath him, and he, acting as though simple movement is a chore in itself, heaves a sigh and flops down beside your proper. There’s something blooming in your chest, equal parts unfamiliar and hopeful, but you both drift off until well into the afternoon. 

When you wake, he’s no longer by your side, but the television is making muffled noises you can hear through the wall, a video game you can’t place from sound alone, and you luxuriate in bed for a few more minutes before getting to your feet. There’s your clothes, on his bedroom floor, the sight of which has your breath catching in your throat, a feeling that persists even as you pull them back on, even as you leave his room, even as you see him on the sofa playing videogames like nothing happened. 

It’s like floating through a hazy unreality, not sure if everything that happened happened last night, or if this is all some pleasant dream. 

“You winning?” Even to your own ears, your voice sounds far away. 

“Hard to tell at this stage,” Corpse answers easily, like it’s the most normal conversation in the world, still focused entirely on the game, that even now, as you see it, as you watch him play it, you can’t place. Is it new? Maybe your processing’s just a bit off today, a lot has happened in a very short space of time.

You leave him to his videogame, and you fix yourself lunch before heading into the office to work on the script for your next video; a critical analysis of the colour design of all the movies in the John Wick series. John Fucking Wick, you had chosen that costume specifically because you were working on the video and it was at the forefront of your mind, but now it’s all you can do to spend a full twenty minutes looking at Keanu Reeves face at the top of your working document. It just feels like the cherry on top, like you’re expecting for the actor himself to knock on your front door at any minute, to offer a candid interview, a handshake, an acknowledgement of his character being partially responsible for you sleeping with your best friend. Because of course Keanu Reeves would know that already. At this point, it wouldn’t surprise you. 

Finally, you start typing.

“Batteries died in my remote and there’s none in the junk draw, I’m running down to the store to get some; you want anything?” Corpse pops his head into the office when you’d thankfully managed to focus on your work. Holding up a single finger, your intense gaze leveled at your left monitor where John Wick was currently killing his way through the Red Circle club, you typed out the final line of note you’d been working on, and pause the video. Pulling off your earphones, you make a noise of confusion, and he repeats his question from where he’d been waiting patiently in the doorframe.

After a beat, you ask for a drink, and he nods in agreement. When he comes back, however, you’re leaning back in your chair, arms crossed as you glare at your monitors, John Wick’s tied up, lit by gold flood lights in a scene that’s otherwise greens, greys, and reds. You document is on the right, little typing cursor blinking demandingly at you.

“I hate this movie,” you tell him, unprompted as he sets the drink down beside your keyboard, “thanks.”

“Everything okay?” He asks carefully, looking to the movie, and then skimming your notes. He sets the drink down, and you thank him absentmindedly, mind on your work.

“There’s a mirror maze in the next one, why did I think this would be a good idea?” You groaned, “like I knew there was a lot to cover, but fuck; I’m dying, dude,” a defeated little sigh escapes you, leaning your temple against Corpse’s hip where he’d been standing by you, his hand resting on your head in solidarity.

“Anything I can do to help?” He asks, and you hesitate about just dismissing him, because actually, perhaps... In a move that almost seems to surprise you both, you stand abruptly, pushing your chair back, hands coming to fist in the collar of his shirt. 

“If you wanna help distract me, I’d greatly appreciate it,” you’re gauging if this was okay, if this was how things were now between you, with your voice low, no way for you intent to be misconstrued. In answer, he kisses you hard, taking your face in his hands, breaking only to murmur ‘absolutely’ against your lips in a way that has a shiver of anticipation running down your spine. 

“I’m never going to get any work done again, am I?” It’s dark outside, by the time you get back to your script and not particularly looking forward to it. You’re half tempted to just crawl back into his bed and fall asleep there, call it a day.

“Any time you wanna be rescued from your work, say the word,” he actually winks at you where he’s perched on the arm of the sofa, just in sweatpants - is this really the reality you’d lucked into?

“The option’s always there for you too,” you assured, grin growing wider, “there’s two of us in this, I’m not just fucking myself here,” reminding him so bluntly actually gets him to laugh, “just keep talking to me dude, let me know where you’re at and what you’re up for, and this will be simple and mutually beneficial,” you smirk.

“Deal,” he’d nodding, before tipping over to fall onto the sofa, legs hanging over the arm, “go finish your script, I’m not going anywhere,” and the easy, teasing tone of his voice has that unfamiliar yet hopeful warmth stirring in your chest.

Now that your nerves have settled, and you’ve made peace with this unexpected reality you’d found yourself in, it feels as though you’re more focused than you have been in a long time when you sit back down at your computer. The drink he’d gotten you has warmed on your desk in the time that’s passed, but you don’t really care, relaxed, happy and ready to work. 

Later that night, or well, in the wee hours of the morning when you finally get to bed after stopping halfway through your analysis on the second movie, you realise you’re not quite sure where to go from here. Corpse had gone to bed a few hours ago, you weren’t sure if you were allowed to crawl into bed with him. His mattress was really nice, but it feels different from everything that’s been established so far; there were sill boundaries you needed to discuss. you sleep in your own bed, still not sure what boundaries they were yet. He doesn’t comment on it the following day, nor does he seem bothered. 

Still not quite sure what it all means, and how it all works, you keep mostly to yourself for a few days, expecting him to make some sort of move since you’d been the last to initiate anything. Casual closeness and kind words aside, nothing really happens, and you start to fear the first day had been a fluke. 

“Did I do something wrong?” Over dinner, four full days after Halloween, you finally voice your concern while watching Bojack Horseman. When you look to Corpse, however, tearing your gaze from the screen, he’s looking back at you with confusion.

“No? What? No.” 

“We haven’t...” your voice trails off, leaving the way you’re gesturing emphatically between the both of you to fill in the blank. His eyes follow the movement, before he looks to his dinner, frowning, thoughtful, “did I do something wrong? Are you not as into it as you thought you’d be? I wouldn’t be upset if -”

“No!” He’s quick to clarify, his smile not entirely hiding his vague chagrin, “I just want to make sure you’re doing what you want to do.”

“I appreciate the sentiment, but I mean, I did tell you that I’d keep you informed as to how I’m going; did you really think after everything that happened, I’d want you less?” You couldn’t help the smirk that graced your lips, setting your mostly empty bowl on the ground, “I just didn’t want to seem,” after a beat of hesitation, your smirk turns to something more honest as you admit; “greedy.”

“Greedy?” Like the concept amused him, like of all the things you could be worrying about, that was it?

“I’d already asked once, I figured it was your turn,” and though you laugh, it’s a little too honest. 

“I told you, just ask,” he responds easily, lightly. He’s looking at you like that again, expression fond but pupils blown wide and you know you need to finish this conversation up quick, because you’ve both missed out on three days because you didn’t think to communicate -

“Same goes for you, I told you that.”

“You really mean that?” He sounds a little hesitant, to which you can’t help but smile at the strangely gentlemanly nature it implied about him. Shifting closer until there was no more space on the sofa between you two, you take his own empty bowl, putting it beside your own.

“I mean it,” you murmured.

“So instead of assuming the worst like we were kind of doing for the past week, we just ask,” he’s turned to face you now, one hand gripping your thigh securely, the other coming to gently lift your chin to look him in the eye. It’s as if he delights in the sudden flustered surprise written all over your face at the dramatic shift in tone, in mood, excitement flooding through your veins, coiling in your belly, “sound good?”

“Sounds good,” you agree, soft, and he’s cupping your cheek, smiling at you with a look that’s so affectionate it kind of takes your breath away.

“So this is me, asking; we can go back to Bojack if that’s what you want -”

“No fucking way, are you kidding me?” 

It takes him almost a full ten seconds to stop laughing in order to kiss you, not that you entirely mind, knowing that you can make him laugh is one of you quiet joys in life. 

It’s frightfully easy for you to adapt to this new normal, to draw comfort from the warmth of his touch, to feel your heart grow warm with his lips, his smile against your skin, feeling more at home in his bed than in your own. More often than not, you wake up beside him, even when nothing had really happened the night before, it starts to feel weird to wake up alone. In the moments before his eyes open, before his gaze meets yours, before reality finds you, you pretend this is more than it is, like it could be your happy ending. Too hopeful by half, your tired heart reminds you, so you yawn and stretch and sit up out of your fantasy, into reality. 

Sometimes you wonder what the difference really is, because with every day that passes, it starts to looks more and more like just a relationship, the way he looks at you, the touches that you share, they may have been platonic at first, but there’s something so intimate, so gentle, things that happen without you even thinking about them. When you call him over to proofread a paragraph, he touches your face in a soft, wordless greeting, mostly focused on your screen, but instinct takes you over and you’re quick to press a kiss to his palm, his fingertips against your jaw. Or when you’re washing the dishes after dinner, he’ll drop a kiss on your shoulder, by your temple, as thanks. A kiss on the forehead is to be expected, if one is going to bed earlier than the other. The domesticity of it all is suffocating and wonderful and so incredibly frustrating.

Three tweets. One from @yourtwitter, one from @corpse_husband, and one from @toomanyfeelingsforyt .

[ID: @yourtwitter posted two images of themselves in stereotypical e-style makeup; eyeliner hearts on their cheeks, carefully overdone blush and highlighter, sharp winged liner, lipgloss, and a black and white striped, knitted sweater. They are lit in a pale white light, while the wall behind them is lit by a LED strip light set to purple. The images are similar, with only slightly different poses and expressions, the first looking off to the left, contemplative. In the second they’re looking directly into the camera, a single eyebrow raised.

Caption: housemate’s at the store post forbidden procrastination makeup.

@corpse_husband retweeted Y/N’s tweet with the caption: what - and i mean this with complete sincerity - the fuck.

@toomanyfeelingsforyt commented on @corpse_husband’s retweet: @corpse_husband @yourtwitter coming in clutch with the REAL most ambitious crossover of 2019. not what i expected this tuesday afternoon but two very weird parts of my little simping heart are happy. now i want a hour long video of y/n analysing the creepypatas corpse has read

End ID.]

Around the end of December, most of your family is given time off from work, as if corporations in America think the whole world stops spinning for Christmas; whatever, it’s a good enough excuse as any to see your family. Both you and Corpse are heading home for a few weeks, but there’s a strangely hollow feeling in your chest in the days that lead up to the departure. It won’t be long, not really, only be a few hours away, you can visit each other if you really miss each other that much. 

“It’s not long, only two weeks,” your voice is a murmur in the morning light, curtains drawn but golden light still leaving some of the bed sunwarmed despite the Winter chill. Bags already packed, and clothes waiting in a neat pile on his dresser, you know rationally you should get up, you should go.

Corpse is quiet, carefully tracing your features with his fingertips, feather-light touches against your brow, your lips, the bridge of your nose. There’s a smile at the edge of his lips, so focused on geographically mapping your face through touch that he register that you’re speaking, but not what you’re saying.

“If you’re desperate, you can always come visit, crash on the sofa,” tone still light, you don’t dare raise your voice above a whisper for fear of shattering his almost perfect moment. Turning, you rest on your side to face him properly, and his smile widens just a little, fingers gliding delicately along your cheekbones, to ghost around the bottom, then the shell of your ear. As you consider your own words, however, you frown, only to feel his touch against the creases in your brow, “actually, I’ll already be sleeping on the sofa, my bed is here,” you jab your thumb at the wall, to your own bed in the room next door, “I’ll find you a camping mattress or something,” looking back to him with a grin, you watch the way his eyes follow his fingers as they trail to your temple, and then up across your hairline. 

“How tempting,” his voice drips with sarcasm, though the smile hadn’t vanished from the corners of his lips, in fact, it grew wider. There’s a response on the tip of your tongue, a kneejerk reaction to the tender moment, to break it, to stop it in its tracks before your heart gets ideas above its station, but just this once, you let yourself breathe, to take in the moment and enjoy the reality you’d found yourself in. 

But you can’t look him in his eyes, because in this moment, this single, saccharine morning, you’re terrified as to what you’d see there, what they’d mean for your poor, still quietly pining heart. How is it so easy for him? How can he look at you like that and not even entertaining something more than just being best friends who sleep together? For just a moment, a quiet shame clings to your heart for wanting more than all that he’d already given so freely.

So you sit up, out of his space, out of the golden bubble of your fantasy, and it’s suddenly so cold. It’s a fight to go against your instincts, to not lay back with him, but it’s a fight you win, so you stand, and begin to get dressed for the day. He doesn’t stop you. His gaze is on the ceiling, hands behind his head while he’s wearing a smile so content it makes your breath catch in your throat when you glance at him. In this moment, he is serene and perfect, and you want nothing more than to go back to bed. 

Everything you want in this moment is everything you know you’re not allowed to have, and it’s all wrapped up in your best fucking friend, stretched out in the bed you’ve come to share, sleepy smile and messy hair, who looks at you with so much god damn affection in his eyes.  

“Drive safe,” he tells you, “shoot me a text when you get there,” it’s such a simple phrase, full of so much implicit care that it almost stings, and all he’s doing is sitting up to drink some water as you hover in the doorway. 

Acting on instinct, you cross the room to him quickly, taking his face in your hands and kissing him, heart in your throat, tenderness upon your lips, I love you, you dumbass, I love you, echoing through your mind, terrified to say the words out loud. He’s surprised for a moment, but kisses you back, one hand still holding his waterbottle, the other finding it’s place on your waist. For one glorious moment, it’s all unspoken intention, your hands in his hair so desperate for him to hear what you want to say without speaking a word. 

There’s something new and electric about this kiss for both of you, it takes your breath away when you step back, eyes wide with shock at the sheer audacity you didn’t realise you possessed. Even he doesn’t seem to know what to do, flushed, just staring at you, unreadable.

“That- uh, that was -” you stumble through your words, feeling more foolish for every moment that passed, “see you in two weeks,” you blurted out, “sorry.” And with that, you absconded from the apartment altogether, leaving him in his bewildered silence. Half an hour into your drive, he texts to ask if everything’s okay. You respond with a single thumbs-up emoji. 

Space will be good for you, you consider, blasting your favourite playlist as you zip down the familiar roads home, it will help you reset, recenter yourself. 

Day by day, your feelings are settling; the constant exposure to him had been overwhelming you, you’d decided. Perhaps, when you get back, you’d have to call it quits on the whole ‘benefits’ part of your friendship, because before that, before Halloween, you were doing fine. But some little part of you hisses that it’s not a crime to want, that he’d kissed you back that morning you’d left, how alive you’d felt and the look in his eyes, bright surprise and affection, and how do you know he doesn’t -?

What a dangerous, double-edged sword you carry with you, not wanting to assume he wants what you want, but so clearly assuming that he doesn’t. But you argue that one is preparing you to be let down, the other is giving you hope that may then break your heart. Better to be safe than sorry, right?

At first you’re okay, it feels like your mind is settling with each day that passes, rational thoughts outweighing the desires that you’ve thought of as irrational for so long. Messages between you and Corpse are as light as they’ve always been, neither of you bringing up what had happened in those moments before you’d left the apartment. It feels like it did in the beginning, up until the early hours of the morning, camped out on the sofa with your grin lit only by the glow of your phone screen, struggling to stay awake but not wanting to miss a thing. If people ask why you’re yawning for an inordinate amount of time the next day, all you do is shrug, and say something dismissive about your job often meaning you’ll have fan interactions at weird times.

With those around you in person, you keep things light, holding conversations with those who think they know you well, who don’t have the faintest idea why you get that faraway look in your eye, who will turn around and make a remark about when you’re going to get a real job, and your blood boils. 

No-one around you understands. 

You miss Corpse for more reasons than you’d initially thought. As your first week home comes to an end, you hit a point of diminishing returns with your feelings, and slow but surely, with the snide remarks around you and a gaggle of people who used to know you and like to think they still do, missing him is like an itch, like you can feel something hollow, something missing, just behind your stenum. 

Running away from your feelings did not appear to work at all like you’d hoped, and much of your second week away was spent devising increasingly ridiculous plans to deal with your stupid crush on your housemate who you’re kind of in love with. The best you can come up with is moving out so you don’t have to be constantly in close proximity to him. It hadn’t gone beyond an idle idea, no thought to put into the logistics of what it would mean, not when your heart wasn’t truly behind it.

So you type out [i love you] but delete it before you can even finish the message. So you type out  [i think we should go back to being just friends], and feel selfish for not sending it. So you type out [i miss you], and your finger hovers over the send button but you can’t bring yourself to press it. Before everything had happened, before things got messy, before you’d even moved in together, you’d been able to send it without a second thought. It’s natural to miss your best friend, but it’s too messy now, there’s too much left to interpretation. So you delete it too. 

Two tweets from @yourtwitter:

[ID: @yourtwitter: SO EXCITED to be heading back to my little apartment, ive been FEVERISHLY writing video ideas on my phone wishing id brought my laptop

@yourtwitter: also WEIRD that this is like the longest the housemate and i have been apart for since moving in together. 2 weeks. miss that mf. also miss sleeping in a bed and not on a sofa 😅

End ID.]

You knew you’d be the first one back, but that doesn’t make having the apartment to yourself for a whole day any less weird. It’s as thought you’re a ghost, haunting the lift you once lived; you take a bath but don’t remember how to properly enjoy it, buy enough food to make yourself dinner but still end up ordering takeout, and watch TV without really registering any of it. For a while there you consider unpacking your suitcase, only to decide against it, proceeding to go back and forth on the decision before going to bed, stomach in knots about seeing Corpse again tomorrow. Sleeping in your own bed, you’d thought you’d gotten used to sleeping alone over the past two weeks, but it’s different here. 

This is the exact definition of weird and complicated, and you just miss being able to spend time with your best friend without worrying.

The next morning comes after a night of rough sleep, and you stay in bed until you hear his keys in the door. Alternating between scrolling through social media on your phone in an attempt to distract yourself, and staring up the ceiling trying to figure out what you were going to say, the decision you’d come to was eating you up inside.. Now or never.

When he calls out to you, you yell back that you’ll be out in a moment, but you can’t bring yourself to get up, laying in your bed, staring at the ceiling, unmoving. After a few minutes, he knocks. It’s so gentle but you can feel it in your chest where you’re sitting up, staring at your hands. You make a noise, but don’t actually say anything, which he takes as an okay, pushing the door open.

Rationally, you know you’re being foolish for angsting over this all so much, but a four year friendship hangs in the balance, and you don’t want to say the wrong thing.

He leans against your doorframe, so effortlessly cool and casual with his arms crossed, eyebrows raised and concern in his eyes. You’re pretty sure he’s going to be the death of you. 

Silence stretches between the two of you, both waiting for the other to start. 

“I’m sorry,” you finally mutter, gaze dropping from him to your fidgeting fingers.

“Why?”

“For making things weird,” after a beat of hesitation, you amend, “for me. I’ve made things weird in my own mind, and I’m sorry.” Finally, you manage to speak the words that had been haunting you, but can’t even bring yourself look to him, to gauge his reaction, “I’ve really been trying to get my shit under control, and I never want to make you uncomfortable, dude, because aside from all of this, I’ve really liked living with you.”

“Y/N.....” His voice was so soft, fucking hell.

“But I’m being honest, because you’re my best friend and you deserve that... So, honestly, I think I’m in love with you and I don’t can’t stop, so I’m gonna move out.” The words come out in a rush, voicing the half thought idea that you seem to come to peace with as you say it out loud. You press your fidgeting hands to your knees as hard as you can manage, focusing intently on your duvet. 

“Do I get any say in this?” Is not the response you were expecting, nor was the warmth in his voice, and there’s that unfamiliar, hopeful warmth in your chest, that’s growing more familiar by the moment, “because it’s taken me, like, a full month to finally be able to put all the shit that’s going around in my head into words, and I’d really prefer if you didn’t move out.”

Moments that feel like eons stretch out between you, that hope in your heart blossoming brighter with each beat of your heart. 

“I like living with you, okay? And hanging out with you, and- and of course I like fucking you, but...” then he sighs, and finally you look to him. He’s still in your doorframe, face all scrunched up and forehead pressed to the cheap wood, like he was worried about saying the words out loud, “I sound like a sap,” he muttered, as though almost to himself, but then he’s relaxing, deep breath, and looking to you with a expression of gentle honesty, “I like... falling asleep next to you, ‘cos it means I get to wake up next to you,” he admits quietly, feeling too honest by half, averting his gaze, “and I wanna keep doing that for... for as long as I can, you know? I like us. I love you.”

A moment passes, then a second, then a third, while he waits for you to react somehow, while your world, your understanding, had shifted very suddenly to something new and bright. 

And it shows on your face.

“All that worry was building up in me about where I was gonna live, and if we’d still be friends, and- and it was all for nothing!” You’ve never been so overjoyed be wrong, as sheepish as you were pleased. It got him to laugh, straightening up, off of the doorframe as you pushed back your covers and made your way to him. 

“I love you too,” you tell him, feeling as though you were finally able to breath as your wrapped your arms around his neck, “I missed you so damn much, dude,” taking a moment to admire him, knowing now that all the feelings you’d been attempting to hide weren’t for nothing, something about the way he smiles at you just hits different. 

“Believe it or not, I missed you too,” he smirks, one hand cupping your jaw, so warm, like his hand was made simply to hold your face, your smile, his thumb brushing your cheekbone.

Oh, you realise with sudden clarity when he kisses you, it finally feels like you’re home.

An Instagram Story post from @yourinstagram:

[ID: A video of Y/N lying back onto a bed, wearing a grin and wiggling around as if to get comfortable. The room is different to the one seen in most of the other videos that have previously featured in their Instagram stories. The duvet and pillows are dark, and we see a brief flash of unfamiliar art on the wall. Halfway through, they look at something off camera and laugh. The words ‘you would not BELIEVE how much i’ve missed this mattress’ are in the bottom left, in white, standing out against the bedspread. 

There is no sound from diegetic sound from the video, however there is a song playing over the top; Whatever Forever by The Mowgli’s, specifically the lyrics: And when the sun comes up / Like it always does / It's whatever forever / You know we're falling together / And when the sun comes up / Like it always does / It's whatever forever / And it just keeps getting better.

End ID.]

The rest of the world all goes to Hell in 2020, so you’re not quite sure what it says about you or Corpse when your lives don’t change all that much. Of course you buy masks for grocery shopping, but being a career YouTuber has afforded you both the blessing of already working from home. Creating content from your desk, your home office, is what you do, besides having a few kind hearted and generous fans subscribing to your patreon, so quarantining in and of itself wasn’t too difficult. 

Bu the time recommendations are replaced by actual laws, you and Corpse have officially been dating for several months, with more than a few months of mutual pining preceding that, and the year anniversary of the two of you moving in together has already been and gone, the two of you isolating yourselves together without even realising, simply by virtue of your careers. Amid the jokes of living like hermits that are occasionally thrown your way, you know all too well how lucky you are to find yourself in this situation.

And yet, somehow the public still doesn’t know that you and Corpse are more than just online acquaintances. At this point, you’ve got to admit, it’s kind of funny. Since officially getting together right before New Year’s, your mentions of him online have changed to the tongue-in-cheek ‘ex-housemate’, which you have never once explained. All you know is that every time either you or Corpse read it, you can both read the implied ‘current boyfriend’ that you’re not quite ready to admit to the world. 

It’s an overwhelming year from the moment it begins, and the strangest part happens to be both the most wonderful and terrifying, as you get to watch in real time as the entire internet falls in love with Corpse too. One day he’s playing a simple little game set in space, the next, his followers have doubled, then tripled. Corpse plays videogames with some of the biggest names on the platform, with more reach and influence than you could ever rightly comprehend; you’re not even sure they can comprehend it, it’s as if they have no idea the effect their exposure will have on the creators they interact with. 

Eventually the idea of turning your room into a recording studio, and second office space comes up. You’re not adverse to the idea, you’ve been living in his room essentially since the two of you got together, but his room is just as small as yours is, and so the conversation quickly turns from converting just your room, into converting both the little bedrooms into an office for you each, to be able to record and stream similtaneously without the other needing to clear out, finally using the master bedroom for it’s intended purpose. It takes a full week and a half to get everything moved and sorted, soundproofing Corpse’s former bedroom to make it as much of a sound studio as the space and your abilities allow. Suddenly, the music he’s been working on sporadically in the time that you’ve known him comes to the forefront, with the means to produce his work becoming more accessible. 

Success didn’t come to him overnight, but more and more, it’s starting to feel like it did. Each morning the numbers climb higher and higher, staggeringly quickly, almost too fast to keep up, followers, song streams, subscribers, messages, potential collaborators. The eyes of the whole world have fallen on the man without a face. With love comes hate, jealousy turning to anger and resentment, but with no basis for their dislike beyond that.

“I didn’t fucking do anything,” he all but growls, hunched over his computer, exhausted, eyes shining in the light of his monitor, “nothing! They just -” sometimes he caves, googles himself, searches his name on social media, and though there’s a million comments that praise him, the ones that stick are the ones that feel the need to talk shit about him simply for daring to make a name for himself. Despite knowing how much it hurts, he does it anyway, out of some morbid curiosity. Swearing under his breath, he pushes himself back from his desk harder than is probably necessary -

“Where the fuck do people get off saying shit like this?” So mad it’s practically as if there’s steam coming off of him, he paces the living room where you had been playing videogames, furious as a caged tiger. 

“If they had a valid fucking reason, then fine! If I’m an asshole, fine! But you know what? I’m not, I’m fucking trying here!” He’s all gnashing teeth, fingers flexing and unflexing, vitriolic with good reason, though it hurts your heart to seem him all worked up and exhausted. 

You pause your game and get to your feet, quiet, still, and you catch his hand as he passes you in his pacing. Like moving on instinct, he wraps you up in his arms, tight, almost too tight, trembling with fury as he tries to steady his breathing, face buried against the crook of your neck. Chanting fuck like a prayer, the word going from disbelieving to furious, all you do is hold him tight in return, a moment of calm in the eye of the storm. 

“I need to go the fuck to sleep, this shit’ll kill me,” he snarls, furious at the world, but you don’t let him go. Slowly, you press your lips to his shoulder, and exhale a deep, slow sigh. After a beat, he mirrors you, and then takes a second deep breath, muttering fuck on the exhale. 

For a few more moments, you stand like that, his grip easing as he surfaces, just a little, to press a kiss to your shoulder.

“You want me to burn down Twitter’s servers?” You ask quietly, “I’d do it; fuck Twitter,” it’s mostly a joke. Mostly. But he gives a heavy but appreciative laugh at the very suggestion.

“Fuck Twitter,” he agreed, shoulders sagging, fight leaving him as he finally stepped back from you. Now instead of fury in his eyes, there’s just exhaustion; he looks like he’s about to collapse. When you urge him to go to bed, he agrees, sounding so defeated, meandering into your bedroom. He doesn’t even get under the covers, just falls asleep, sprawled out on the duvet. 

Some days, all you can do is be the stillness away from the demands of the internet, calm and fond when everything feels like it’s moving too fast. These in-between moments are the ones you treasure; amid research, and writing, and filming, and streaming, and editing, and making music, there’s pockets in time of peace, his head in your lap while he’s dozing off to a movie, your fingers carding through his hair. Or a little speaker filling the kitchen with music, cooking dinner, moving around the space with practiced ease. There’s a few moments before the timer goes off and so he takes your hand and pulls you in to dance in a moment that’s so saccharine and perfect it feels like a movie. Or you’ll wake up in the morning to his lips on your jaw, your neck, peppering kisses across your chest amid murmured reminders about a stream you’d promised to be a part of starting in an hour. An hour feels like an age away when it’s just the two of you together like this, so you assure him you’ll be there on time, kissing him proper in the meantime.

That’s another thing that’s new, that’s changed; occasionally you find yourself joining one of his Among Us streams if they’re down a player. You’re not into the gaming scene to feel like you can commit to a regular stream, or a Twitch account for that matter, prefering to stream directly onto YouTube, but it’s a fun game, and the people Corpse plays with are all perfectly lovely. However, apart from knowing that he invited you, they know little else about your relationship, right up until, in mid-May, you find yourself in the middle of a game as an Imposter, yourself and Corpse streaming from your respective offices, you find yourself caught in the middle of a lie after self reporting. You probably would have gotten away with it too, except Corpse knew you far too well. 

“How do you know they’re lying?” Cr1tikal asks during the meeting as Corpse claims you’ve self reported. The issue is that he’s right, you’re just mad that he’s almost definitely about to put you on blast, wincing visibly, already knowing what he was about to say before the words left his lips.

“Because that’s the exact same shit they pull when I ask where the leftovers are and they claim to have no idea what I’m on about - you knew I was saving those,” he accused you directly, much to the confusion of the rest of the living lobby. Whole face scrunching up, you lean forward in your chair, closer to the microphone, closer to your camera.

“Leftovers are fair game for anyone if they’re more than a day old,” you counter, not even denying it at this point, “and I told you I’d make more!” Instead of arguing that point, Corpse scoffed while the others were all wondering what the actual hell you were talking about.

“We live together,” the words come out without either of you seeming to consider if this was how you wanted to tell the world, followed by a beat of silence and then audible shock from the rest of the streamers, and chaos in your own stream chat, which both you and Corpse ignored for the time being, “which is why I know their alibi is bullshit.”

“Dude, I will come into your office in person and make you vote for yourself, do not test me.”

“You wouldn’t dare!” It may have sounded like a warning to anyone else listening, but you both knew it was a challenge. With that, you muted your own microphone and stood in a flurry of headphone cords and faux-angry gibberish. 

Barging into his office without any preamble, you push him and he wheel-y office chair out of the way to vote for himself in the game, while he practically cackled with laughter at it all. 

“Motherfucker, do not test me,” you said into his microphone after unmuting it, unable to hear the other’s responses seeing as you lacked headphones of your own, but judging by Corpse’s delighted expression, they were good. Muting his mic again, you leaned in to press a kiss to his lips, more amused than anything else by the events that had just transpired. 

“You bastard,” voice much softer than the phrase allowed, he snorted another laugh, and pulled you back in for another kiss.

“They voted you out,” he smirked. Looking over your shoulder, you see your poor little character sailing through space; of course they did. The screen confirms you to be an Imposter. The crewmates win. Corpse snorts, "knew it.” 

“Worst housemate I’ve got,” you announce once your back at your own computer; your chat is yelling, Corpse’s mic is muted but you can hear him laughing through the wall.

“Is this, like, a new thing? Didn’t you say you’d been living with a friend of yours, since the start of 2019?” Charlie points out, and pride quietly flares in your chest. Once his laughter has died down, Corpse unmutes to answer.

“Y/N is my friend -?” Which is both sweet, and the truth, but still you cough very pointedly. He tells you to shut it, but you can hear him grinning. For now, it feels as though you’ve disclosed enough, the rest of the truth would come out in due time if the world was meant to know. Charlie makes a noise of understanding, a new game starts, and the conversation is seemingly forgotten. 

Two tweets liked by @yourtwitter. One from @crpsbby and one from @greensnotsus.

[ID: @crpsbby: as if 2020 could not get even weirder, what parallel dimension are we living in where @yourtwitter and @corpse_husband are housemates and good friends??? for a YEAR AND A HALF HOW DID NONE OF US KNOW?????

@greensnotsus: catch me in the comments of every single ig post and tweet @yourtwitter ‘s mentioned their ex-housemate. What Do You Mean Chief? was there another and y/n literally was just never actually mentioning corpse? #secretthirdcorpsey/nhousemate

End ID.]

It seems like every single currently popular YouTuber has been suggested to be the #SecretThirdCorpseY/NHousemate by now. The meme’s evolved into coming up with the most outlandish dots to possibly connect to jokingly suggest who may be the housemate, your favourite of which was;

Closely followed by;

‘Markiplier: Lives in LA. Kitchen has 4 ovens.

Y/N & Corpse: Live in LA. I have not seen their kitchen so could very well have 4 ovens and also Markiplier.’

One just said that the idea of Cr1tikal living with you both was just kind of hilarious. You liked it. Corpse commented ‘what would win Charlie’s growing collection of dildos and fleshlights or Y/N’s extensive paperback erotica library?’. Predictibly, every reply to him was ‘why would they fight, Corpse, you know they’d fuck’.

‘Y/N & Corpse have wildly conflicting content and live together.

HBomberguy & Corpse & Y/N ALL have wildly conflicting content and .... ? who knows ? Coincidence? I THINK NOT!’

“How did you not see that coming?” Laying on the sofa, you were all but cackling as Corpse deleted his initial comment.

“I posted it at four am,” he shook his head in exasperation, “forgot for a moment how goddamn horny the internet is.”

In streams that you’re not in, other players who you’ve come to consider as firneds, will often ask Corpse to say hi to you for them. If he knows that you’re not to busy, he’ll call out to you, and you obligingly join him to say give a quick hi to the others, your chin perched on his shoulder. Sometimes you’ll join him for parts of his stream, keeping quiet, just enjoying his commentary the way the rest of the stream must be doing too. Usually it’s harmless, though sometimes if you’re in a certain mood, you can’t help but tease him. The others say hi, but you’re already by his side, in a seat of your own by his, pressing a kiss to his jaw; he calls out still, pretending as if you’re in another room, but immediately mutes himself.

“You’re gonna be the death of me,” he groans as you trail feather-light kisses down his throat. 

“You wanna unmute so I can say hi?” With a smirk on your lips, and voice as low and teasing as it is, he hesitates. Close as you are, you can hear the others asking if everything’s alright in his headphones. 

“You couldn’t have waited another five minutes for the stream to wrap up?” But he doesn’t sound mad, turning to you, pulling his headphones from his ears, hanging them around his neck, turning more to face you.

“I can wait,” you assure, suddenly shooting for innocent as you shift back from him. But there’s still one innocuous hand on his knee. Neither of you want to look away, want to admit defeat; your hand moves an inch higher, and you give his thigh a squeeze, desperately trying to keep your expression innocent. 

Corpse unmutes.

“Ah, goddamn, sorry guys,” his focus is still entirely on you, smile creeping across his lips, pupils dark and wide, “I think they’re burning something in the kitchen, I kind of need to run to make sure it’s not a grease fire or some shit -”

“Is that a possibility?” You hear from his headphones, too tinny and far away to tell who it is.

“More than you’d probably assume,” Corpse smirks at your quietly outraged expression, at the way you mouth ‘I hate you’. Everyone’s quick to wish him luck, but the moment his microphone’s off and his stream has ended, you’ve got your lips on his, eager and furious and amused in equal measure.

Now you can tag him in posts without worrying, the secret finally revealed, at least in part. Every other month it feels as though you’re listening to a new song demo, and then retweeting it and hyping it up the very next week, overwhelmingly proud each and every time, despite how the year feels like it’s going too fast and too slow at once. 

There’s never any hesitation when it comes to hyping each other’s work online, now both feeling free to comment and retweet each other’s latest projects as you see fit, from you hyping up his songs, to him retweeting when you drop a new video you’re especially proud of. 

Perhaps it’s a little cruel, the fact that you both find the internet’s collective confusion regarding your situation so funny, but for all you’ve been subtle, you also know that there’s been accidental hints about it’s true nature, it’s just that no-one’s thought to put two and two together. Even now, people were so focused on your differences that they couldn’t see the truth right in front of them.

Three tweets, one from @yourtwitter, one from @y/nseyebrows, one from @Corpse_Husband.

[ID: 

@yourtwitter posted: SORRY TO BE ON MY BULLSHIT AGAIN BUT I LITERALLY HAVE THE COOLEST AND MOST FUCKIN TALENTED EX-HOUSEMATE AND EVERYONE WHO DOESN’T THINK SO IS BOTH WRONG AND A FOOL @Corpse_Husband

(Thumbnail: A pale woman with black hair that comes down to her shoulders, and a fringe. She is wearing black cat ears and is looking directly into camera. She is wearing a sleeveless shirt with a hole in the middle of her shirt that shows off her cleavage. Her arms are tattooed.

@y/nseyebrows commented: get you a friend who hypes you up like y/n hypes corpse #goals

Link: Cat Girls Are Ruining My Life! - CORPSE

🔗open.spotify.com)

@Corpse_Husband retweeted @yourtwitter’s post with the caption: live in hype squad at it again 😂🖤 but also yeh stream cat girls are ruining my life!

End ID.]

It feels like a year has passed in only the blink of an eye; a few weeks ago, Corpse had released E-GIRLS ARE RUINING MY LIFE, the song had rocketed to the top of Spotify’s charts, and all of a sudden it’s Halloween again. 

“Does this... are we counting from last Halloween when we first hooked up, or when we came back after that two week break?” Laying in bed the morning of, you squint up at the ceiling as you consider the date. 

“Did you actually have feelings for me last Halloween?” Still half asleep and with his face mushed into his pillow, his voice comes out as a rough mumble.

“Yes.”

“Then yeah, I’d count this as a year,” and though his words have a fond warmth rushing through you, it takes you a moment to process the full implication of what he’s saying.

“Wait... were we sleeping together for almost two months while both pretending not to have feelings for each other?” You’re a little horrified at your collective foolishness.

“Hindsight’s twenty-twenty,” is his way of confirming, with a lopsided grin, confirms with a cheeky grin, propping himself up on his elbows to press a kiss to your lips.

“God we’re the worst,” you give a contented sigh, grinning, lips inches from his, “I love it.” 

As you let yourself be pulling into another kiss, deeper, more insistent, you know there’s something heartwarming about looking back on your antics, seeing how blind you both had been, yet still being glad that it happened; after all, it lead you to this moment.

“You’re insufferably cute,” he murmured against your skin, trailing kisses down your jaw, your throat, your chest. 

“I could be less cute, if it’s really that insufferable,” there’s a mischevious glint in your eyes, smile sharp as he comes to rest his chin on your sternum, looking up at you through his lashes.

“I’m sure you could try,” comes his smirked response. You’re about to play at being defensive, but suddenly, and for reasons that have entirely to do with his mouth, you find yourself at a loss for words; the two of you spending the rest of your the morning of your anniversary celebrating by not getting out of bed until noon.

That evening, there’s a Halloween SCP stream which you’ve agreed to be a part of with your boyfriend and a few friends, excited to be able to dress up, even if you have to stay inside. Even less people would know that Corpse was dressing up too, but it means that you have the pleasure of sitting in his lap on the sofa in an effort to apply eyeliner to his waterline, so you’re not going to complain. It’s not that he can’t, it’s more that you offered; it’s an intimate moment, his hands steady on your hips, and an implicit show of trust. 

“Who are you this year?” Yet again, Corpse is at a loss in the face of your all-black outfit. This year it’s a simple black shirt and jeans, and a nice leather jacket; you could be any number of things, but you’d finally decided to go and find the telltale accessory. It had arrived a few weeks ago, and you’d stashed it in the back of your underwear drawer to keep it a surprise.

“Not who,” facing away from him, you grin from ear to ear as you placed a headband with two high quality faux fur cat ears on your head, turning to him. He looks at your face, and then to your head, and then to the fluffy tail in your left hand that had a clip so it could be fixed the back of your pants. His eyes are wide, surprised, and you fiddle with the tail, twisting, trying to clip it to the back of your jeans, a little self conscious, “they’re a bit nicer than the party city ones we got a few months ago, and I mean, I figured if other people were going to see them on stream, why not invest in something a little higher quality, right?” Then, you turned back to him, refusing to be embarrassed; you looked cute as hell! “You know I do listen to your music, you know? And for the record, I fell for you before I ever put the cat ears on.”

He flushes a brilliant scarlet, surprisingly, as if every single one of the lyrics passed through his mind at once, then followed by every other song he’d ever published. 

“You’re going to be the death of me,” Corpse’s sudden laughter surprises you, and in the next moment, he’s crowding you against the drawers you’d pulled the accessories from, though you’re more than meeting him halfway, pulling him into a kiss, smirking.

“Sorry, I’m - uh, costume made me late,” when Corpse finally gets to his stream, starting a few minutes later than intended, he apologises to the stream. At this point you join too, keeping quiet, trying not to draw attention to your own late arrival.

“Wait! Are you in costume?” Sykkuno, already tipsy by the time you join, is delighted. Instead of an answer, you hear Corpse make a noise of consideration with no follow through, and you take that as your cue to announce that he’s a pirate. 

“And I’m a cat! Got a little, fluffy tail and everything!” You exclaim, you can’t help yourself, chipper, flicking at your expensive little ears to the delight of your chat, shifting in your seat so you could pull up and show off the fluffy, faux fur tail attached to the back of your pants, to which Sykkuno practically cheers, exclaiming that he’s also a cat. Your boyfriend is very quiet, and you’re not the only one who notices this.

“Ah, Mister Corpse ‘Cat Girls Are Ruining My Life’ Husband,” the smirk in Rae’s words is coming through so loudly that you can see it without seeing her at all, “you care to comment on any of this? What do you think of both Sykkuno, and apparently your housemate, being cats for Halloween?” 

Corpse uhhhhhhhs for what is probably too long.

“Cat-people,” you correct with a smirk, and whatever noise Corpse had been making for five whole seconds only gets louder and more insistent. 

“I’m gonna keep my mouth shut on this one,” though he sounds a little flustered, a little called out, and you know if you’d walk into the spare room he’d probably be blushing behind his monitor. This, of course, was deliberate on your part, but Sykkuno, who’d managed to earn a place in Corpse’s heart through sheer, sweet earnestness alone, was the accidental cherry on top. 

“I’m sorry if we’re ruining your life right now,” Sykkuno says without a hint of irony. Corpse practically chokes at that, and Rae makes a noise like she wants to follow up on his comment, but Sykkuno’s already thinking out loud, as the alcohol hits him a little harder, “it’s still so weird to me, Y/N, like half the internet would give their right arm to just talk to him, and you lived with him for a year before anyone knew.” 

Oh, this is the direction the conversation’s taking. Corpse coughs sharply; it’s vague, but part of you thinks that if the truth were to come out on any night, it would make sense if it were this one. Maybe he can feel that too. 

The game’s chat function was based on the player’s in-game proximity, so as many of the others in the stream ran off, it left Sykkuno, Corpse, and you, walking through the polygonal halls, chatting together.

“You jealous?” You couldn’t help but tease Sykkuno gently, who was quick to admit, in an tipsily earnest way, that he absolutely was. Without hesitation or reservation, and in a tone that was so gentle and fond it made your heart melt, Corpse was assuring him that they’d be able to meet in the future, “maybe I should be jealous,” you snorted, the words slipping out without much thought, “dude that was dreamy as fuck-” but Sykkuno was quick to shush you.

“Y/N, just let me have this,” he played up their well established bromance with a dreamy sigh, while Corpse simply laughed at the exchange. 

“Well if anyone was capable of stealing him from me, it’d probably be you, buddy,” you smile comes through in your words, fond and amused at the exchange. 

“No-one’s gonna steal -” Corpse started, tone amused but strangely earnest in a way that has you smiling, even as Sykkuno cut him off too, even as Lily and Toast rejoin the three of you, asking what’s happening, and Sykkuno, dedicated to getting his thoughts out, loudly shushed them all.

“Corpse, you haven’t seen me try; I’ll usurp Y/N and be the One True Housemate, it’ll be great,” Sykkuno played along, clearly not picking up on the full implications of your words, though you knew that Corpse had by the way he’d cleared his throat before speaking very pointedly.

“Actually I think they meant because we’re together,” he clarified for you. A beat of silence followed, the prelude to an explosion of noise; it felt like a cathartic release, to laugh at the whole lobby’s sudden confusion, and to hear Corpse too, snickering at the chaos he’d caused.

“You motherfucker,” your tone was so affectionate that in a single instant, everyone knew that he’d been telling the truth. 

“I wish you guys would just make an twenty minute video titled ‘the truth’ like every other YouTuber with big news,” Toast groaned, “or at least drop bombshells in streams I’m not a part of.”

“Or tweeted it,” Lily chimed in, but all you can do is grin wickedly.

“But then we wouldn’t get to hear or see all the live reactions,” you point out, gaze drifting from the game to your chat, smile widening, “yes, hello chat! He is telling the truth!” The rest of the group heard you as you said that, and Corpse has turned his microphone off, though you can hear him laughing from the next room.

“It’s been a full year, I figured we were allowed a little chaos as a treat,” when he comes back, that’s the only explanation he gives. 

“You’ve been together for a year?” Sykkuno hollers, and you’re the one to confirm; a year to the day.

“Happy anniversary,” Toast huffs, “I hate you both.” But his heart’s not in it, and you can hear the exasperated amusement in his voice before his character runs off, now leading the team through the halls.

From there, the game moves on, as does the conversation, with only the occasional, disbelieving mutter in passing, like some of them are still processing it. As the stream is coming to an end, you say goodbye to the rest of the lobby, and to chat. Logging off, and turning off your monitors, you yawn and stretch in the relative darkness, with only a strip of LED lights on behind you. In the sudden quiet of your own room, you can hear Corpse’s muffled, indistinct voice as he’s finishing up his own stream. Letting yourself into his space, you keep quiet, but drape your arms around him, cheek resting gently atop the headphones on his head, eyes watching his own chat, his own stream as it winds down. Without missing a beat or seeming at all phased, the hand that he’d had resting on his keyboard comes to hold yours, linking your fingers.

“Babe?” He asks, addressing you when there must be a lull in conversation. There’s no need to keep these sorts of conversations muted anymore. Judging by the tinny noise you can hear from his headphones, and the aggressive way Toast is wiggling on screen, not muting was a deliberate choice too.

“You wanna watch Scream after this?” You ask, tone light, and he snickers, fondly remembering last Halloween. 

“Fucking absolutely,” he agreed, raising your joined hands to press a kiss to your knuckles before going back to addressing chat, and the few remaining streamers, “you heard ‘em, I got somewhere much better to be than with you guys. Happy Halloween, later.”

And with that, he signed off. 

After stretch of his own, he stands, finally wrapping you up in a hug, so you taking a moment to relish in the warmth and security of his embrace. Right up until you feel a distinct tug on your headband, and realise with some amusement that he’s marveling at the cat ears that still adorned your head. Stepping back, you tip your head towards him just a little, giving him a few more moments to play with them.

“So is now the time I should mention that I got a custom collar with a little bell, or -?” 

“Really?” The word almost gets caught in his throat, like he’s embarrassed by how much he enjoys the idea.

“The only reason I wasn’t wearing it earlier is because I didn’t want you to expire live on stream whenever you heard the little bell ringing and would remember that I’m just in the next room,” smirk turning sharp, you sometimes can’t help the instinct you get to gently tease him, clearly with love in your heart, like you had for so many years. Moving your head and the ears out of his grip to look back at him, he doesn’t seem like he knows quite where to go from here, gazing into the middle distance, half lost in his own thoughts. 

“They were meant to be just for Halloween, but I think it counts as an anniversary gift too,” you continue, softer this time, less of an edge to your words as you reach up to straighten your headband just a little. At least that seems to bring him out of his thoughts, his eyes following the movement of your hands. 

“If I went back and told me from five years ago that I’d be in love with the person who reviews books like My Billionaire Triceratops Craves Gay Ass, I’m pretty sure I’d laugh at me,” Corpse tells you, but his expression shifts so quickly from contemplative to delighted, smiling so wide his eyes are creasing in the corners. A surprised, endeared laugh escapes you as he raises a hand to hold your cheek, the touch so tender it warms you to the very tips of your toes.

“But it’d be true,” despite your amusement, your voice is soft, leaning into his touch, thinking back on how nervous you were to message him back that first time, how you never could have known that one tweet would change your life forever. When you look in his eyes, see the adoration and gentle love there, you’re pretty sure he’s thinking the same thing. 

“It’d still be absolutely true.”

[2jaeh]

INSUFFERABLE l  KIM DOYOUNG 

GENRE: mature theme, slight smut

WARNINGS: choking, dom themes, cursing

asshole! Doyoung , enemies to ???

Words : 4k 

You’re put in a group project with the most annoying pretentious jerk your law class had to offer. Immediately Doyoung tries to boss you around but you being you, you weren’t taking his shit...soon enough he finds out he can dominate you after all...in a very different way. 

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

“Theres no fucking way...no fucking way” you groaned looking at your group project list, eyes narrowing on possibly the worst people within your course year. Slumping in your seat you half smiled at the girl who approached you, one of your fellow members from project hell. 

“Heyyy y/n I think we're in a group together” she grinned and took a seat next to you, flipping her red hair over her shoulder and checked herself out in her mirror covered cellphone. 

Dami was probably the most narcissistic person you'd ever met and being in law, it was definitely a common trait around here. Dami sat up and began tapping you on your shoulder frantically “He’s in our group! Kim Doyoung is in our group” the two of you watched as the dark haired man conversed with the lecturer, casually turning back to look at the table where you guys sat, in annoyance. 

“That guy is such a prick” a guy who slid in the desk behind you, Seungmin said and Dami nodded in agreeance as you all continued to watch him. 

“Ive never really spoken to him before” you cocked your head, “What’s so annoying about him?” 

This time another group member joined in, a quieter girl who normally sat in the back Jisoo, cleared her throat, “He is really bossy and only likes to do things his own way.”

‘Well he is about to meet his worst nightmare’ you thought knowing nothing pissed you off more than someone telling you what to do. 

The muffled conversations around you began to soften as you felt someone stand over you and drop a file on your desk. Looking up, you locked eyes with the one and only Kim Doyoung, dressed in his usual black slacks, black turtleneck and clear rimmed spectacles. He raised his eyebrow at you as if you were supposed to guess what he wanted.

“What ?” you challenged him, folding your arms across your chest and returned an eyebrow raise. 

Doyoung sighed in annoyance, his long slender fingers moved across the file and opened it swiftly, “I want you to do roll call” he said coldly. 

A lump formed in your throat. You felt like you were being talked down to, it was something that infuriated the hell out of you. He wasn't older than you, nor was he getting better grades than you but somehow he had a superiority complex. Dami quickly nudged you and you rolled your eyes, “Seungmin ?”

“Here!” 

“Jisoo ?” you placed a tick as you called out each name. 

“Dami, Jangjun…?” you looked around and noticed that the usually loud comedic relief in your classroom was nowhere to be seen. 

“I think Jangjun is late, i’ll text him” Seungmin sighed and pulled out his phone. You turned back to the roll call sheet and pursed your lips, “Kim Doyoung ?” 

Doyoung just looked down at you, sucking in his bottom lip and raised that damn eyebrow at you again. 

“You need to say ‘here’ do you not know how roll call works ?” you tested him and he rolled his eyes and sighed, “here.” 

You smiled to yourself, completely satisfied with pissing him off when your internal celebration was interrupted by an out of breath Jangjun, who threw his bag on the floor and took a seat on Dami’s desk. Doyoung looked at him disgustingly, and even though you too were obviously annoyed by Jangjun’s tardiness, was that reaction really necessary ?

“Be on time” Doyoung sneered and grabbed the roll call file making his way back to the lecturer. 

“Fuck Kim Doyoung is in this group ?” Jangjun groaned, sharing the sentiments of the entire meeting. You couldnt believe these were the people you had to work with for the week. It's like you could almost feel an outburst waiting to happen, whether it be from you or Kim Doyoung. 

Doyoung returned and took out his phone, not really looking at any of you as he spoke, “we should make a group chat to update each other on work”

The group hastily shared each other's details and Doyoung created the chat and pinned a set of three rules. 

The first was the group was strictly to be used for the project, no small talk or any other messages that weren't related to the project. The second rule was that no one talks about the group content in private chats as it will cause confusion among members. Lastly you weren't allowed to message after 9pm unless it was an emergency, a very serious emergency. 

“Dang is this the military ?” Jangjun snickered as Seungmin and Dami tried their best to hide their laughs. It was typical of people like Dami and Jangjun to not take anything seriously. Their families were well off and they were just studying just for a piece of paper you call a degree. Doyoung couldn't even hide his annoyance, not like he ever did but he seemed particularly pissed off today. 

“Look, just follow the rules and all of you get a free pass and then we never have to speak to each other again” Doyoung spat and made his way to the exit leaving the rest of you in utter shock. 

———

The first two days were utter hell as Doyoung tried to take control of almost every aspect of the project and frankly you didn't even mind because his business proposal was flawless, it was just the way he spoke to all of you that drove you insane. 

“Dami its not fucking rocket science all you need to do is make a clientele spreadsheet with the mock list the professor gave us” Doyoung didnt even lift his head from his laptop, unaware of the impact his words had on her. 

Dami pushed away from the desk and her eyes began to well up and before you knew it she was running out of the library, with Jisoo and Seungmin following quickly out of concern. 

“Nice move asshole” you rolled your eyes, continuing to work on your laptop. 

Doyoung peered up and pushed his spectacles up, “what was that?” 

“I said nice move asshole, do you intend to talk to your future clients like that?” He initiated a different kind of anger from you but you managed to keep your cool. Doyoung shrugged as if what he had said to Dami had not carried any weight and continued typing away. 

A few minutes of the members disappearance quickly turned to an hour and Doyoung’s nonchalance about the whole ordeal really ticked you off to the point of slamming your laptop closed and pushed back from the desk. 

Doyoung quirked his eyebrow at you, “Is something wrong ?” 

“Is something wrong” you mimicked him, “Jangjun hasn't come in today because you sent him on multiple errands, and you just made Dami cry over something so ridiculous”

Doyoung sat back in his seat and rubbed his temples, “They're all freeloaders, you and I are the only ones doing work, why do you care so much about them?” 

“Basic human fucking decency maybe?” you groaned and ran your fingers through your hair, “listen im not like them, i'm not gonna take shit from you”

“Sure”

“Youre a fucking asshole Kim Doyoung.” 

—-

You lay in bed and replayed that scene with Doyoung in your head multiple times. He was so unbothered by your antics nor did he care about anyone's feelings within the group. He was cold, heartless all he thought about was himself. His cold expression was practically engraved in your head, spending all these hours with him was really not your favourite pastime. 

Group 7 gc 7:00pm

KDY: I posted a schedule for tomorrow we will be working in pairs on the highlighted sections. 

You took a look at his document and groaned when you saw your name placed next to his. There was no way, no way in hell you want to work with him one on one. Not caring about breaking his rule, you pulled up a private chat with him and began expressing your concerns. 

y/n  x  KDY : 7:10pm 

Y/N: Hi, there's no fucking way in hell am I working with you. Change It. 

KDY: I said no private chats and no, I'm not changing it. 

Y/N: Wouldn't it be better for us to split and have the others actually DO work for once ?

KDY: I barely gave them room for error, we're going to be the most anyway and besides, I'd prefer someone who can handle...my personality. 

Y/N: …..so you agree..you are an asshole ?

KDY: I give people a reality check that's all..

Y/N: whatever makes you sleep at night...can I atleast choose our work venue because If I were stuck in a library again with you I might kill you. 

KDY: haha..

KDY: sure. 

Y/N: mango drop cafe, 10am. 

KDY: cool, see you then. 

‘Haha’. You had no idea why that text in particular riled you up. Did he find all of this amusing ? Was he making everyone's life a living hell because he enjoyed it ? You stared at his messages and somehow ended up on his profile picture. He was leaning against a railing dressed in all black with his hooded eyes concentrated on the camera lense, Your realization of how attractive he was came from the fact that you stared at the picture for a good 20 minutes. You wondered who took the picture, a girlfriend maybe ? You shook your head. He seemed too uptight to be getting laid. You sighed, closing your phone and awaited yet another day with the insufferable gorgeous man that was Kim Doyoung. 

You arrived quite early at the cafe but of course Doyoung was here before you, already typing away at his laptop, in his usual attire. You greeted the barista and placed an order for a chilled cafe latte before making your way over to him. 

“Hey” you said simply and took a seat opposite him in the booth. Doyoung’s ears perked up at the sound of your voice and made room for your books on the table.

“You're here early” 

“You're already picking a fight with me?” you said casually setting up your workspace. 

Doyoung chuckled under his breath and shook his head, “I just didn't expect you this early y/n it's not that serious.” 

You ignored his words and got straight to work, not in the mood to play his little game. You felt Doyoung look at you a few times. You weren't sure if it were to check if youre doing the right thing or he was just looking at you. 

“Well i'm done with my part” you stretched your arms above your head and yawned. 

“Yeah I'm pretty much done too, Do you want another cup of coffee ?” Doyoung offered pointing to your empty cup. You were taken back by his softer demeanor but quickly nodded, “uh yeah sure.” 

Doyoung returned carrying a tray of two fresh cups of coffee and a slice of cheesecake. Setting everything down he handed you the extra fork and placed the cheesecake in the middle of the table to make it easier to share. 

“H-how much do I owe you ?” You fumbled in your bag for your wallet. 

“It's okay, it's my treat” Doyoung replied, placing a piece of cheesecake in his mouth and slowly licking the fork clean. You gulped as his tongue darted out carefully licking the cream from the metal, not leaving any residue behind. You had no idea what the hell was going on but you felt hot, almost claustrophobic. 

“You're okay?” Doyoung asked innocently, unaware of what he was doing to you. 

“Why are you being...nice?” You questioned, knitting your eyebrows together as the man continued to act as if this was his usual behavior. 

Doyoung pursed his lips and placed the fork on the plate, “You want me to be mean to you?”

“No I just don't get-”

“I apologized to Dami and she told me she only overreacted because the guy she likes, Seungmin was there” Doyoung explained and removed his spectacles, “she was embarrassed to ask anyone for help, I paired them up for today.”

“Wait wha-”

“Also Jangjun works at the campus radio” Doyoung continued, “I had only found out the day we all met, I gave him tasks that will allow him more flexibility, that way he doesn't have to join group sessions often.” 

You blinked, unable to form any words in order to reply to Doyoung. Especially after he chuckled at your speechlessness, knowing you didn't bother getting his side of the story at first. 

“You were right y/n I dont have to be an asshole all the time, I just like to get my work done” He shrugged. You kept eye contact with him but somehow it felt as if he were still toying with you, waiting on your next reaction. He seemed like he played this game often, making sure he always had the upper hand. Doyoung seemed relaxed as he stared at you, taking another scoop of the cheesecake and slowly ran his tongue over his lips after his bite. What the fuck was he doing ? 

“Y/N ?” you heard a familiar voice come from the entrance of the cafe. Your attention diverted from Doyoung to the blonde haired boy who began approaching your table. 

“Jungwoo ? oh my God what are you doing here ?” You stood up and pulled him into a tight hug and pecked his cheek. Doyoung shifted awkwardly in his seat as he watched your exchange with the stranger. 

“I got off early from class about to go to Subway, are you still doing that group project thing?” Jungwoo looked over at your table and half smiled at Doyoung who tried to distract himself with his phone. 

“Uh yeah but i'm all done here I think, wanna hang out ?” you hooked arms with Jungwoo as he nodded enthusiastically. You turned around and scratched the back of your head, 

“So...uh”

“Were all done you can go, I have somewhere to be anyway” Doyoung smiled as you slowly began packing up your things. 

“Alright, see you tomorrow I guess” you bid your goodbye and headed out for lunch with Jungwoo. 

—-

You had just finished up your skincare routine and caught up with a few instagram posts when you noticed Doyoung had followed you. Sitting up in bed you scrolled through his feed curiously. Every post was aesthetically pleasing and he looked absolutely hot in every single one of them. He had to have a girlfriend right ? No guy posts pictures this good without women flooding his DMs. 

There was no harm in doing the same since he was in your class, you decided to return the follow and close the app. Suddenly your phone vibrated with a new message in your chats. 

Y/N X KDY  10:30pm

KDY: hey 

Y/N: aren't you breaking two of your rules right now ?

KDY: haha 

KDY: I didn't realize what time it was…

Y/N: ….anyways..is this about work at least ?

KDY: kinda… you left one of your books at the cafe. I have it with me. 

Y/N: oh… thank you.

KDY: no prob...oh I hope its not a problem I added you on ig

Y/N: no its okay we are friends I guess

KDY: haha I thought I was the insufferable asshole..

Y/N: you are...but not all the time. Look im sorry for saying shitty things about you. 

KDY: its all good. 

KDY: …….

Y/N: ..whats up?

You twirled your fingers as you watched the three dots from Doyoung pop up and disappear over and over again. What was taking him so long ? 

KDY: that guy….that you met at the cafe..is he your boyfriend ?

Y/N: Jungwoo ? no way we've been friends since high school.

KDY: oh..

Y/N:....why would you even ask that ?

KDY: curious. 

Y/N: curious about who I'm dating ??

KDY: A little. 

You frowned at your phone and noticed Doyoung had changed his profile picture to a selfie. The picture was..something alright. You bit down on your lip as you enlarged the picture, which showed a wet haired Doyoung with his head resting in his palm and his long index finger was placed between his plump lips. 

“Fuck y/n get yourself together” you gave yourself a pep talk before opening his chat back up again. 

Y/N X KDY  10.54PM

Y/N: fine if you can ask a question can I ask one..

KDY: go ahead 

Y/N: who do you keep thirst trapping for ?

KDY: ….haha thirst trapping ? 

Y/N: Yeah who do keep posting these hot pics for huh

KDY: …..

KDY: You think i'm hot ?

Fuck. Why did you word it that way. You groaned immediately regretting sending that message but something in you was so curious about him you decided to just risk it, what was the worst that could happen ? 

Y/N: well yeah, I mean I'm sure everyone thinks you're attractive, you seem to know it too. 

KDY: wow. 

KDY: I think you're hot too. 

What the hell was going on. You felt your face heat up and you placed your pillow in between your legs as you turned on your side. 

KDY: I was almost disappointed when I thought Jungwoo was your boyfriend, he's way too passive. 

Y/N: ...and what makes you think you know what kind of man I need ?

KDY: hmmm

KDY: first of, with that fucking attitude of yours..A dominate one. 

You swallowed hard as you felt a tingle in your stomach, squeezing your thighs together on the pillow to create more friction. 

Y/N: I could say the same for you. 

KDY: You may think youre dominate in many aspects...but when it comes to fucking..im the one in charge. 

God you hated how hot that sounded. He had you in the palm of his hand through text. You were a mess and he wasn't even the room to fuel it. You wanted him so fucking bad it was insane. 

Y/N: running your mouth doesn't equate to doing it you know...

KDY:.....

KDY: then would you like me to show you ?

Everything happened so damn fast. One minute you two were texting the next minute you were sharing your apartment location and Doyoung was on his way over. You scrambled to put on sexier underwear and do your hair, still in shock by the fact that Doyoung was on his way over to bang you. 

You jumped when you heard the doorbell and realized it was him. Opening the door you were greeted to a very different look of Doyoung. His hair was messy and reached his eyes. Instead of his usual black academic attire he wore a loose white vest that showed off his toned chest and arms, along with a pair of grey sweatpants. 

“Hi” Doyoung smirked, his eyes were dark as he scanned your figure. 

“Hi” you responded, leaning against the wall in the hallway and looked up at him. Doyoung slowly approached you, like a lion circling its prey. His slender fingers danced lightly along your body, drawing a line from your waist until he found your throat and wrapped his cold fingers around it. He bit down on his lip as he studied how perfectly his hand looked around it and squeezed gently, smirking after hearing a soft moan emit from you. 

“I want you to do as I say, any back chat from you will get you punished you got that ?” he brought his lips down to your neck and exhaled. 

You nodded in response but that wasn't good enough for Doyoung. You felt his squeeze on your throat once more and he used his hips to pin you against the wall, “use your words” he gritted his teeth. 

“Yes sir” you replied obediently, and felt him smile against your neck. 

“Good girl, and if i'm too rough let me know so I can stop okay ?” he replied, his voice changed and it was much sweeter and genuine than before. He placed a soft kiss on your cheek when you nodded and led you to the bed. 

Doyoung lay you on the bed, already stripping off his shirt and ordered you to undress yourself and rid him off his sweatpants. You bit down on your lip taking notice of how aroused he was when you palmed his member. 

Doyoung watched you through hooded eyes as you discarded his sweatpants and boxers. He softly patted your head and grabbed a tuft of your hair in order to make you look up at him. 

“Spit” he ordered, and held out his hand and you did as you were told. You watched as he lathered himself with it, moaning as he stroked himself. He was so damn sexy, biting down on lip and slowly pleased himself as you watched. 

“Do you want this inside you sweetheart ?” he cooed and placed a finger under chin. 

You nodded quickly, “Yes please” 

“What do you want me to do baby ?” He purred and hovered over you as you lay on the bed, breathing heavily as his fingers moved against your warm skin, tracing your curves, ghosting over your heat and returning back to your lips to insert a digit inside. 

Doyoung watched diligently as you sucked on his finger like the good girl he knew you were. He finally pulled his finger out and with one swift movement entered with his member before you could even respond to his question. You moaned as he quickly slammed his hips into yours, wasting no time in gaining a rhythm as you marked his back with scratch marks feeling as though you were on a high. 

Doyoung fucked you like a pro, wasting no time to switch positions and had you on all fours, slapping your ass before slamming into you again, that pretentious smirk forming on his face as he heard your whimpers asking him for more. 

“Are you ready to cum sweetheart ?” he asked, pulling you up as his strokes became slower and tugged on your ear with his teeth. 

“Y-yes yes i'm ready” you panted.

“What's the magic word ?” he growled as he grabbed your throat and slowed down his pace as you were nearing your climax. 

“Fuck youre so annoying PLEASE, please let me cum Doyoung fuck” 

Doyoung chuckled and picked up his pace until you finally climaxed and he followed shortly after, collapsing in the bed next to you. 

“You have such an attitude God” he rolled his eyes playfully, bringing the blanket over your bodies and grinned when you moved in to cuddle him. 

“I guess you will have to fix that some time” you yawned and wrapped your arm around his waist, “but I have to admit, maybe I do enjoy the insufferable Kim Doyoung bossing me around once in a while.”

[90calibre]

cait render credit        /       OKAY HI EVERYONE.       i’m preemptively making this post even though i’m not quite there yet but i’m very close and i can’t wait and i just wanna give back to the community,       so       !!       i’m doing a small giveaway to celebrate my milestone and to celebrate the revival of the league rpc,       and i hope it’s a long   -   lasting one because i’ve missed this place a lot and i’m glad that arcane has sparked its rejuvenation,       in not only myself,       but so many other people as well       !!       the holidays are also coming up,       so i wanted to do something small before then and maybe i’ll be able to do something else around christmas time to spread some holiday cheer,       because this year has been really difficult on me and it’d make me happier to bring some cheer to someone else’s life too,       in any small way 🥺

i’m going to be doing a small giveaway for graphics aaaaaaand a little bit of rp because i got a randomly padded paycheck       (       i don’t make much at all but this made me happy and i wanted to do a little bit of something to give back to people       ).

there will be three winners       !

first place.       your choice of graphics,       for a package       !       you can pick any three set of graphics,       including but not limited to a promo,       header,       icon border,       playlist cover,       twitch stream layout,       etc.       just ask and i’ll say yes  /  no to what i’m capable of       !       and if you play league,       i’ll gift you $15 worth of RP,       but this is limited to NA accounts       !       if you don’t play league,       you can have another graphic       !       

second place.       your choice of any two set of graphics       +       $10 worth of RP if you play league.       if you don’t play league,       you can have another graphic       !

third place.       your choice of any kind of graphic       +       $5 worth of RP if you play league.       if you don’t play league,       you can have another graphic       !

i’ll end this giveaway at the end of the month,       since that happens to fall on my days off from work and i’ll have the time to talk to people and try to work on things       !       i’ll try to be timely about these.

please check out my graphics blog for examples of my work       !       i have examples of commissioned works       +       templates floating around.

rules.

01.       you must be following me       !       new followers are okay to join.       if you happen to decide my content isn’t for you after this,       that’s totally okay       !       it’s mostly just so i can contact you with IMs or something.       BUT I REALLY HOPE U STICK AROUND AND MAYBE WE CAN BE FRIENDS IDK ?????? 02.       please no throwaway blogs       !       you can enter on someone else’s behalf if you want though       !       but please limit yourself to only one account. 03.       one  (  1  )  like and one  (  1  )  reblog will count for two entries. 04.       pls don’t be some kind of bigot 😭i will disqualify u  05.       if you don’t respond to my message within 24 hours,       i’ll redraw       ! 06.       um i can’t think of anything else        !       good luck everyone and thank u all for the support and the warm welcome back to the league community 🥺 thank you for supporting my graphics endeavors and encouraging me as well       !       if you have any questions,       feel free to send me an ask       !

EDIT !!!!!!!!!  if you happen to play ffxiv and not league,  i’ll sub the rp value for a mogstation item of the same item value or less !

SECOND EDIT!!!! the lovely @agaetir has donated $30 to bump each additional prize by $10       !!       first will now get $25 worth of rp,       second will get $20,       and third will get $15       !

[cuttinqlines]

IN THE MIDNIGHT HOUR II

                             IN THE MIDNIGHT HOUR II

(richard ramirez [ahs 1984] x reader | mainly implied xavier plympton x reader)

trigger warning; drug use, toxic relationships, mentions of abuse, toxic characters, xavier is portrayed as a major piece of shit for the first few installments, glorification of a serial killer, knives, etc.

disclaimer: i do not support the real richard ramirez in any way, shape, or form. this is simply based on the fictional version from ahs 1984. no disrespect is intended in any way. please, feel free to click off of the fic if you don’t enjoy this type of content. any hate will be ignored.

word count: 2,467

a/n: sorry this took so long. im a depressed piece of shit lmao. 

taglist: @kuollut-talven @felicityofbakerstreet @bitchcraft1398 

previous | next

IT HAD ONLY been a few days since your run-in with the self-proclaimed ‘Night Stalker’ yet it felt like years had passed. The memory of the event was constantly running through your mind, seeming to occupy your every thought. It was as if your mind was filled only with visions of dark hair and piercing dark eyes. It had gotten to the point where it was consuming you, distracting you from anything that wasn’t the thought of him. It was impossible to focus. You weren’t exactly sure that you wanted to. The part of you that desperately longed for the dark stranger to reappear and tear you away from your dilapidating life was overtaking you. You had almost wished that you would have given in to his demands that night. Almost. Something had been holding you back that night and something- someone- was still holding you back, tethering you to the place you had grown to despise.

Letting out a sigh, you stared at yourself in front of the bathroom mirror, attempting to shake away the thoughts that continuously plagued you. The ghost of a bruise still showed underneath your eye, barely noticeable with the makeup that you had delicately applied over it. You looked better than you had in the days before, but you still weren’t keen on leaving the confines of the four walls of your bedroom, let alone your apartment. You hadn’t left the house since that night. You were sure everyone thought that you were spiraling- He had probably twisted the story into that narrative. You turned away from the mirror, leaning against the base of the sink. It was time to face the situation at hand. You could already feel the silent judgment of Montana. She had told you so.  “Fuck.”

It shouldn’t have mattered that much to you- what everyone thought. It’s not like they had too much room to judge. They were your friends, sort of, but they didn’t rule you. They weren’t the end all be all. Still, you couldn’t help but feel nervous at the thought of facing them. It had been days of voicemails, knocks on the door, and missed phone calls. You had gone ghost. They wouldn’t have expected anything else, though. It wasn’t unlike you to disappear. You were used to disappointing everyone. 

After a few more minutes of anxiety and deliberation, you laid out a pretty white line, snorted it down, and got ready to head out the door. At the very least, you could show up to aerobics and casually run into everyone. By the time you got there, you were sure you could figure out how to gloss over all of the problems that kept on appearing. 

****

The Aerobics studio hadn’t changed much in your week of absence. The faces of the instructors were still plastered on the walls, yours still included much to your surprise. The chairs strategically placed throughout the lobby were occupied by young adults, laughing at something one of them had said. The ambiance was peaceful and you suddenly wished that you would have shown up for work in the last week. The thought quickly diminished as you thought back to the bruise that had been occupying your face. There was no way you would have shown up with that. You wouldn’t have given him the satisfaction. Stepping up to the front desk, you leaned against the counter lazily. 

“Hi. Do you have any classes with vacant spaces open for today, Janice?” You asked the receptionist a bit awkwardly, looking at the wall behind her as you spoke.

The woman looked up, purposefully making direct eye contact. She looked you up and down, judgement written all over her face.  “Yes. The instructor position for the class you teach at 6:30, (Y/N). If you want to keep your job, I suggest you get prepared for it and go teach it.” 

You couldn’t help but cringe at her tone. The attitude dripped off of it like poison. Truth be told, you had thought that you had already been fired. That is generally what happens after you drop off of the face of the planet for a week. “Right- I’ll just go ahead and get set up to start, then. Thank you.”

“You’re lucky that you showed up today. You’re really pushing it with your delinquent behavior. Shape up or ship out, sweetheart. This is the last time you’re getting exceptions. You’re really lucky that Montana covered your classes for the week. Now, get moving. It’s 6:20. Studio 3.”

Janice hardly gave you time to react, as she stood up and began to push you towards the direction of the studio. Her cold touch caused an unpleasant shiver to shoot through your spine. Your mind instantly drifted to your unwelcome house guest, though the shiver he gave you was not exactly unpleasant- You mentally scolded yourself for obsessing over the ‘Night Stalker’, before practically bursting into the studio. 

It felt as if a million eyes landed on you from the moment you opened the door. The never-ending stares seemed to burn holes into your skin. One pair of eyes, in particular, seemed to stare the deepest. Xavier. You flickered your gaze to meet his, the other people in the room disappearing into a sort of tunnel that consumed the sides of your vision. Your heart caught in your chest. You wanted to tear your eyes away, but there was something stopping you. Something about Xavier always seemed to hold you back. His gaze was pleading, an apology seeming to spill out of it. 

 “(Y/N)! I thought you were going to be out for a while! Xavier said that you were like super sick or something.” Montana’s voice rang out, casually. “So happy you’re here though. Teaching this class has been such a drag.”

At the sound of the young woman’s voice, your head instinctively jerked towards it. You plastered a pained smile onto your face. “Yeah- thanks for covering for me, Montana. I seriously owe you one. Being sick was a major drag. Probably worse than teaching this class of Cyndi Lauper obsessed boys.” 

The blonde let out a laugh. “Well, since you’re back, I’ll let you take this one. And maybe take your man out when you’re done. He’s been such a buzzkill lately.” 

Montana gave you a wink, patting your shoulder affectionately. With a final wave to you and Xavier, she slipped out the door and disappeared down the hall with a flash of blonde hair. Not wanting to waste any more time, or give Xavier the chance to talk to you, you flicked the boom box on and let the sound of Billy Idol’s voice fill the room. 

****

The entirety of the class went by uneventfully. Billy Idol’s soothing tone seemed to temporarily soother your anxiety, making it easier for you to ignore the pained glances that were becoming more and more inescapable. You left the music on as the class drew to a close, turning the volume down to a soft, but audible hum. You didn’t bother to look as everyone made their way to the door. Instead, you moved towards the front of the room, letting yourself face the large windows that looked out towards the city. 

You watched as people leaving the last few classes of the evening walked down the sidewalk, off into the night. Some faces were familiar, regulars that always seemed to be in aerobics class. Other faces, unfamiliar and new. They all seemed so happy, as if their lives were perfect. You wished that you could get a taste of that feeling. You continued to admire the citizens of Los Angeles, lost in your thoughts. Then, in a sudden flash, there was a single face that stuck out in the crowd. Unmistakable dark hair and piercing eyes that could have belonged only to the face that you could never forget. You locked eyes with the man, causing a sinister smile to appear on his face. He moved closer to the building. Your heart skipped a beat. He was headed towards the door. Your eyes were still locked with his, nothing could-

“(Y/N)... Can we talk about what happened the other night? Please… I didn’t mean for it to go so far.” Xavier’s voice hit your ears, soft and pleading. 

You broke away from the ‘Night Stalker’s’ gaze, slowly turning to face the man that you had once felt so strongly for. You leaned against the windows behind you, pressing your nearly bare back against the cool glass. Xavier took a few steps closer, leaving only a few inches between your faces. You couldn’t help but flinch as he reached out to tenderly touch your face. Hurt flashed across his face briefly, but his hand still gently came into contact with your soft skin. You let your eyes flutter closed and sucked in a sharp breath. “I- I can’t do this,” you whispered, hot tears pricking in the inner corner of your eyes. So many different emotions were running through your body. The urge to run away from him had never been so heightened. 

He grazed his thumb gingerly across your jawline, his voice dropping to a whisper. “I’m so sorry, Please. I just wanted it so badly and I thought that was the only way. And I didn’t want anyone to find out. The way you looked at me when you did- I lost it. I thought you would tell everyone. I thought you would leave me. I’m so sorry.” 

You had yet to respond to him when a cutting voice interrupted the scene unfolding before you. “Well, well, well. What do we have here?” The deep voice questioned, sinister laughter etched into his tone. 

“N-?” You began, eyes flickering open. You met the dark haired man’s eyes, looking directly past Xavier. He was already staring at you intensely, the usual smirk plastered on his face. 

“Richard.” He corrected, moving his eyes from you to the other man in your company. Xavier had moved away from you by this point, looking at Richard with a suspicious glare. Richard simply continued to smirk at him, looking more and more devilish as time passed. “My little angel, didn’t expect to see you so soon. What a pleasant surprise.”

“Okay. Who the fuck are you?” Xavier demanded, his hand wrapping around your forearm in a protective manner. You instinctively recoiled to his touch. You shifted your weight from one foot to another, watching as the two began to go back and forth. 

“I’m the devil’s favorite prodigy. It’s more like ‘who the fuck are you?’” The other man taunted. His eyes locked on the contact point of yours and Xavier’s skin. An unreadable emotion flashed across his face, but was quickly replaced with his usual infuriating smirk. “I’ve decided I’m here to collect her. Truth be told, it wasn’t originally in my master and I’s plan, but it seems like I stumbled in at the perfect time, with you harassing my girl.”

“Your-? (Y/N), are you fucking this guy? We get into one fight and you’re off giving it out to this creep?” The blonde questioned, his tone demanding and incredulous. His voice rose with every word that he spoke. He was red in the face by this point. You could tell by the clench in his jaw and the way his hand tightened around you that he was angry. The smug expression of Richard definitely wasn’t helping his reaction either.

You tried to ignore the fear that had begun to creep into the back of your mind, your mind flashing back to his closed fist accidentally ramming into your face. You looked up at him with your tear stained face. Words were failing you. You didn’t exactly want to say that Richard had broken into your house, pinned you against a wall, and sparked something inside of you that made you feel so many fucked up things. Was it really more fucked up than what you felt about Xavier after everything that he had done? You weren’t so sure any more. Xavier seemed to take your silence and lack of denial as a ‘yes’ to his questions. Disgust took over his face, his hand tossing your arm away as if it had suddenly turned into some sort of cursed object. 

He scoffed at you, shoving you away from his body. “I can’t believe you would do this to me. Maybe you deserved that.” He spat out venomously, angrily gesturing to the hardly hidden  bruise underneath your eye. 

You flinched as his hand raised. Something seemed to click into place for the dark haired man as he watched the two of you, your reaction triggering the darkest part of him. You hardly had time to react further, before Richard was in front of you. His left arm pressed back against your body, gently shoving you behind him. His right hand was adorned with his blade, ready to slash at the man before him. “You did that to her? For your sake, I hope you say no. I’d hate to have to kill you right here. It would really throw a wrench into the master’s plans and we both hate that.”

Your hand reached out slowly, tugging on the edge of this sleeve, beckoning his eyes to meet your eyes. He complied, looking over his shoulder quickly. You shook your head at him, a silent plea for him to drop it. He was already acting psychotic enough to have the police called on him and you were sure that would be the last thing that he wanted. He looked back to Xavier, who was staring at him incredulously. “Get the fuck out of here or die,” The dark haired man spat out.

Xavier gave you a pointed look, before shoving past the both of you and storming out of the studio. You knew he would show up at your apartment later, demanding explanations for the psychotic interaction that just went down. You would figure out a way to avoid that later. For now, your full attention was on Richard. He turned towards you, dark eyes studying the every feature on your face. His hand hovered over the side of your neck, before gently pushing your hair to the side. His fingers softly trailed down the side of your throat, traveling down your chest. Like a phantom, they grazed the length of your body, sending a shiver down your spine. Your heart skipped a beat in your chest. You softly bit down on your bottom lip, eyes staring straight into his. “You’re mine now, little angel. I’ll kill for you. I’ll die for you. But you have to be mine forever- That’s the catch. Will you sell your soul to the devil?”

“I will.”

[tuber-culosis]

I've been reading through a lot of radfem blogs and posts lately. and gotta say, i'm leaning a lot towards radical feminism. And im definitely gender critical.

but one topic I want to talk about in particular is the criticism of Islam.

Which I feel is totally valid considering the current state of mainstream islam and Muslims.

Mainstream Islam (is what you see on all social media, seemingly practised by a lot of Muslims) IS sexist. And homophobic. There's no use denying it, neither do I think I'm a bad Muslim for not supposedly defending my own religion. You have to recognise the flaws in your own system to improve and progress.

Then arises the question why am I still Muslim then/ why do I still practise Islam? If I recognise the way it is practised is sexist and homophobic, which are things I'm against?

The difference lies in my belief that "mainstream Islam" is much different from the root of Islam.

Many (read: a LOT, not all) modern Muslims have been influenced by ultra conservative movements that want to return Islam to the way they believe was practised during the time of the Prophet (pbuh), ie; some centuries back. This is propagated by the ideas of Salafism and Wahhabism that frankly, prevent progress, reform or any sort of growth in Muslim communities.

I personally have witnessed this in my own country, India, where women are increasingly wearing the hijab and even full body covering purdahs, not talking to the opposite gender, men not looking a woman other than their wives in the eye, etc compared to when my mother was a child, when almost all Muslim women dressed in normal comfortable clothes and there were no much gender segregations. (Gender segregation still existed to a certain degree due to conservative Indian culture ofc)

This radicalisation led to the development of ultra conservative Muslims who enforce sexist, homophobic and separatist policies in the name of God.

They claim to want to return to "true Islam" but they add so many unnecessary rules and regulations you have to follow in order to be a "true Muslim" that are almost so impossible to follow I can vouch I have unconciously broken like 50 of them in one day maybe. These "laws" are derived from:

1. The hadith

2. Arab culture

3. Poor translation of the Quran to fit these radical ideals.

Explaining each of these in a little more detail,

1. A lot of practising Muslims might come at me for this one, but I feel that considering the hadith to be a holy source of guidance and believing everything in the Hadith when there are so many contradictions and logical fallacies, is foolish.

For those who have no clue what the hadith is, Islam basically has the Qur'an, which is, as we believe, a holy book revealed by God to the Prophet (pbuh), which acts as divine guidance on how to live life as a good person. It has rules, suggestions, and guidance to take desicions on a lot of everyday matters we face. It was a godsend (hehe pun fully intended) to women, who weren't even allowed to own property back then. Muslims believe that the Quran is guaranteed againt corruption by God, as revealed in one of the verses. Therefore, to a believer, it is THE book to consult, and the verses will never change, no matter how many years pass. There's actually a really interesting way the Quran is coded, so people can know if it has been tampered with or not, if anyone is interested. But the bottom line is, for a Muslim, the verses of Quran cannot be challenged. There are various INTERPRETATIONS of said verses, but the core Arabic text is the same.

Now there is a secondary source of guidance in the form of Hadith, which is literature that claims to record things the Prophet (pbuh) has said in his lifetime. The problem I find, along with other hadith critics, is that it was compiled much later after the death of the Prophet. Muslims argue that these hadiths were passed down in a proper recorded chain of transmitters that can assure the message hasn't been altered or tampered with. The problem is, that the standard used then was just how reliable was a person's memory and how trustworthy they were, and they did not actually judge the actual content of the hadith. So even if a hadith hypothetically said "Kill all the disbelievers", (which, fyi, it does NOT) and it had a reliable chain of recorders, it would be accepted as "sahih" (trustworthy) hadith, even though it clearly goes against the guidelines of the Quran, where it says there shall be no compulsion in religion (which implies you cannot just murder anyone who refuses to believe/ believes another religion). If one actually examined the content of this imaginary hadith, it would be easy to see it's tampered with by people with or without malicious intent (for eg, it might've actually been "You can kill the disbelievers ONLY if they attack you and will not leave you and your family alone") or some may not even remotely be the words of the Prophet, as he only followed the Quran.

Also, the integrity of the Hadith isn't guaranteed by God anywhere in the Quran. To know more about this, I suggest you read this link , and this one.

So yeah, I take hadith with a (large) grain of salt. So I will not be including them in my discussion obviously.

Now a lot of these hadith have been fabricated, as established, or reflect something that was applicable specifically in that time and setting, seeing that the Prophet was an ordinary man who couldn't predict the future or know about all the different cultures of the world.

So even if the headscarf was a part of Arabian attire, that doesn't mean it has to be assimilated into our cultures now. Just because prostitutes used to pluck all their eyebrows out to signify that they are prostitutes (sex work is forbidden in Islam, because of the negative impact on women and society), doesn't mean that women are not allowed to pluck their eyebrows now.

Following these hadith blindly without considering for a moment that hey, these might be outdated, seeing it isn't meant for all time periods like the Quran, and half of these contradict themselves, maybe we shouldn't consider this as an authority on rules in Islam. Personally, I don't believe anything is forbidden that is mentioned as such solely in the Hadith, and not in the Quran.

But the staunch belief in all of these Hadith leads to micromanaging of women, and literally everyone else. Few ridiculous examples include:

women can't pluck their eyebrows

men can't wear silk or gold, and they need to grow beards

music and dance is forbidden (seriously???)

the Prophet married a literal child of nine years (no do not try to justify it as "it was acceptable back then". According to the Qur'an it wasn't. Girls had to be mature enough to reject or agree to marriages and literal children can't do that. There is plenty of research to prove that Aisha (ra), his wife, was at the very least 19 or 20. Again a case of unreliable and maybe purposefully manipulated Hadith. Scholars and people who uphold the theory that Aisha was 9, and hence, child marriage is legal are pedophiles through and through)

I feel that if anything, hadith should be considered with the authority of historical commentary, giving us more context to the times, and should never be blindly trusted just because a lot of scholars say it is a "sahih" (trusted) hadith.

Also a main feature of Islam is that you don't need an extra priest (no offence to religions who have priests) or a scholar to tell you things and intervene with God for you. You have a holy book, your own common sense and humanity, and you pray to establish a connection with God. Scholars are secondary OPINIONS who can provide insight from their knowledge and research to people who want it, but by no means any authority on things, just like hadith.

2. Arab culture and society, especially back the times that radicals want to emulate, was heavily patriarchal. Islam gave women rights and protection, but they were still limited by the cultural norms of that era.

What these people actually want is to return society to Arabic culture in that time period. (Exhibit A: the abaya/purdah for women and khandoorah for men. exhibit B: sex-segregated spaces)

Back then, women were expected to be caretakers and mothers, and men were expected to be the strong masculine protector.

Enforcing said cultural norms into modern day Islam is ridiculous. Saying that women rarely left the house back then, hence women shouldn't leave their houses now is the same as saying there weren't phones back then, so I shouldn't use one now. Would you ever give up your phones? So how about we do the same to women's autonomy and freedom? Adapt to modern times like regular humans?

If women were meant to stay at home, and meant to just rear children, and never meant to be seen in public, and never meant to be seen by the opposite sex, as extremists say "is God's will", then why is none of this found in the Quran? Do you seriously believe that God, describe multiple times as All-forgiving and generous and kind, would ever persecute women to such a fate? If you do believe that, then maybe you need to re-examine in the nature of God that you believe in. Also if you tell me the "it's for their safety" gimmick, I will flip out. It has been proved multiple times that a woman's dressing has nothing whatsoever to do with why men rape.

Sure, Islam advocates for modesty in dressing, for both sexes. Both are called to not stare rudely (many Muslim men seem to forget that part of the verse, strangely), both are advised to dress in modest, comfortable, clean and practical attire. Never once is anything remotely like "YOU'LL GO TO HELL IF YOU EXPOSE YOUR ELBOW, WOMAN". But the way modern Muslims enforce the dress code (some even going to the lengths of saying women shouldn't wear BRIGHT COLOURED CLOTHES, so as to not attract attention!!! I'm looking at you, Mufti Menk), you'd think that God says something much worse than that. Infact God pulls out Uno reverse, and encourages us to dress as beautifully as we want, especially when visiting the mosque.

3. A lot of English translations of the Quran come from Saudi Arabia. A country famous for its conservative practise of Islam. While the original Arabic text cannot be changed, a lot of these translations include information in parantheses that add "rules" based on the above mentioned factors, that a casual reader or a new Muslim who doesn't know Arabic will consider to be authentic rules of the Quran, extrapolated from the verse, and not extra additions that are often derived from hadith. A very good example of this is the headcover verse, which you can see in this link.

Even all the hostility surrounding homosexual people has been derived from cultural influences and one set of verses. From around 6000 verses, just a single set passingly mention homosexuality. Don't you think that if it truly were such a great sin, God would have explicitly forbidden it? Also why would he create such a natural variation in sexuality and then forbid it? Why isn't it forbidden for animals then? Is all-loving God that cruel to create this natural and healthy attraction in them and then explicitly forbid it when straight people get to marry and live life in bliss? (Please don't say that "God also created pedophilia, and that's natural, so by this logic shouldn't we allow that too?" because pedophilia IS NOT HEALTHY, AT ALL. IT'S IS A DISORDER. Unlike homosexuality) I'm also not picking and choosing things to fit my lifestyle, as some might say, as I am straight, and the only reason I support the LGBT community because I have basic humanity?? And they're humans who deserve rights and joy and freedom and acceptance just like the rest of us.

There have been reformed translations of Quran which examine the verse without prior bias against LGBT people, and they have presented an alternate translation, that the verse condemns sexual assault, which happened to be homosexual in the particular story. Check out this link too, which explains how closely examining the words used could change the meaning from one thing to another.

What I attempted to prove in this extremely long post is that the practise of a religion isn't necessarily the reflection of its true nature.

There are progressive open-minded people who believe in Islam because it gives them hope and solace. People who believe because core beliefs of Islam aligned with their own views and simple logic.

NOT to say there aren't religious bigots who will totally use religion to manipulate people into oppressing themselves or other people. There are, there are a LOT of people like that who call themselves "scholars". And there are a lot of people who follow these extremely harmful regressive version of Islam without critically thinking about what they are following.

I've seen a post discussing the meaning of the word Islam, which means submission to God. It said that it implies total submission, without questioning what we believe.

That is an argument used by both religious extremists to further their beliefs, and by the opposite side, who say the religion is oppressive.

I wish to present a view that Islam itself tells us to think critically, to use our brains to question everything and anything we believe. And then to arrive at our own conclusions. And if you're a decent, kind human, those beliefs maybe align with Islam (not saying that if you're not Muslim, you're horrible, that is not what I meant at all). And if the opinion between people differs, there's always logic and reasoning behind every rule that is presented in the Quran. Don't believe me? Here's the verse that tells people not to blindly follow their parents' religion. And here's a list of verses about critical thinking.

The reason we (atleast reformist Muslims) submit to God is because we questioned it, we came to the conclusion that Hey! This is right. I can submit to my Creator by, who is basically the consciousness that created everything and is the source of all goodness, love and strength, because the rules mentioned here make sense and they privde a moral framework for me to base important desicions on. They feel right. And there is logic behind everything written in this.

I don't mean to present Islam as an all-perfect amazing religion everyone should believe and that I'm right, everyone else, especially those liberal atheists who criticise my religion are wrong and WILL BURN IN HELL. I consider Islam a perfect moral framework, and that's my business only. Anyone can follow what they want and it's none of my business. In fact there is no compulsion in religion at all, and people who say Muslim or go to hell are wrong imo.

What I intended was to paint a picture of reformist Muslims who are still out there, who follow the religion because they questioned it. And not the religion as this stringent rule book we all have to follow down to a t, micromanaging every aspect of our lives and living in perpetual fear of hell, but rather this basic moral guide that teaches us tact, compassion and justice, to bring us closer to God spiritually. I wanted to show that the majority isn't always reflective of what I think is the true core of Islam.

I feel that many practises in the name of Islam are highly questionable and should be criticized, but I also want people to know that the people who seemingly represent the religion, are not representative of the entire mass of believers. That sometimes the practises you might criticize might have nothing to do with the actual religion, atleast according to some of us. It was also for fellow Muslims who might be in the same place I was a few years ago, questioning everything I had learnt was part of my religion.

This is also NOT to undermine struggles of people forced to follow Islam and its seeming requirements like hijab. This is not to claim that nope, every Muslim is fine and ok, and we're all peaceful progressive people. In fact I wish to do the exact opposite, to show that people who enforce oppressive policies in the name of Islam aren't actually backed by the religion and neither should they be backed by other Muslims. I'm also not trying to say no one should criticize Islam. Criticism helps us grow. Criticism is necessary to uncover oppression and eradicate it. So by all means, criticize.

I'm so glad I found the subreddit r/progressive_Islam when I did because it helped me a lot, and opened me to other like-minded progressive Muslims, who actively hope to counter the negative effects of Salafism and conservatism that is overtaking Islam.

So yeah, I think I covered almost everything I wanted to talk about and here's a final link that pretty much just states my position on things.

PS idk why this thingy is in different colours it just seemed cooler and less boring to read

[robincantfunction]

Hi! Can I request an Alex from Julie and the phantoms x fem! reader, where Alex and y/n are best friends with the prompt number 20 “have you seen my- hoodie… and you’re wearing it” please?

ALEX AND THE READER ARE JUST FRIENDS IN THIS FANFIC. IM SORRY FOR ANY CONFUSION, AND IM VERY SORRY IF I MADE YOU UNCOMFORTABLE <3

wow posting a fic more than twice a week? who is she?

requested: yes/no (requests are open)

warnings: fem!reader, like one swear word, a suggestive comment (lemme know if i missed any)

summary: the band are writing a song in the garage (the song i used is the ramblings of a lunatic)

a/n: thank you for the request!! i have to admit writers block really got me good for this, but i love alex so much!! this is kinda just a band x reader with an implied luke x reader (i hope that's ok!) but i kept the alex x reader aspect for the hoodie part :) sorry it took so long!!

they were all sitting down in the 'studio' as luke calls it, luke and y/n writing random lyrics in their notebooks whilst reggie mindlessly strumming his bass, alex was balancing his drum sticks on his nose and bobby was late. as always. y/n wrote as she hummed to herself, trying to come up with a rhythm.

I'm setting pen to paper again Lost my sense of home from the words that I've said But the thoughts have begun to ferment in my head And content manifest don't feel good enough for them

"have either of you got anything?" she looked up at reggie "possibly, writing a brand new song for just a few days time is a lot of pressure i have to admit" luke nodded. the two had been nonstop writing for what felt like forever, trying to create their best song yet.

So I Try and transcend my ego But don't we know It will never work Maybe I'll just descend to dirt Flirt with becoming food for worms

"well you two never dissapoint, i'm sure we'll get there" alex looked at her, to make sure she was ok. y/n got stressed easily, and was hard on herself and the lyrics she'd create. she nodded at him and the silent communication was understood. "i think i have some decent lyrics, but it really will need a good tune to go along with it, reg - alex?" their song writing process was always different depending on the situation. most of the time luke and or y/n would have a song practically done, chords in mind aswell, and then the others would build off it and add to it. but in desperate situations like this, y/n and luke would be on lyrics and reg, alex and bobby (when he turned up) would try and create a killer beat.

Would anyone listen to this The ramblings of a lunatic My mind does play an awful trick The ramblings of a lunatic Would anyone listen to this I'm running from my emptiness My brain is tired, my stomach sick The ramblings of a lunatic

in the background she could faintly hear a bass playing, and subtle taps on the drums. but when she was in the zone, when she got an idea, it was like the whole world went fuzzy, and all she could hear was the lyrics forming themselves.

Why has constructing sentences become like pulling teeth Wiping dental records clean Is the carcass even me? Is This catharsis Therapeutic plunge to darkness Or elaborating upon my mediocrity

as the door to the garage opened she got taken out of her trance. "hey guys, sorry i'm late-" "-i was just making out with cassie" she muttered, thinking no one else heard, but clearly luke did as he tried to stifle a laugh, ending up just covering it up with a cough. "i was with cas and lost track of time" y/n rolled her eyes "oh yeah no totally, we get it you were busy. might wanna button your shirt up properly though" this time it was everyone except bobby struggled to maintain their laughter. his face fell in embarrassed, that was a look she wouldn't forget for a long time. "seriously bobby it's fine" she smiled, although under her breath she mumbled "not like we're trying to write a song for the orpheum or anything". it started getting cold in the studio, so she got up and walked to alex's bag, knowing he'd have a spare hoodie she could nab.

Maybe this is a result Of me finally accepting That I'll be alone forever That I deserve forgetting It's a pointless endeavour And maybe it's upsetting But I've never felt more comfortable In the concept of things ending

she kept writing, although now very aware of her surroundings. after some time she noticed alex looking in his bag puzzled "have any of you seen my-" he looked up at y/n chuckling a little "hoodie... and y/n is wearing it" she smiled cheekily "sorry, did you want it back?" he shook his head "na it's ok don't worry. i was looking for pen and noticed it wasn't in there, thought i lost it" everyone chuckled slightly at the two. luke leaned over to say something only y/n could hear "looks better on you anyway" she blushed slightly, luke and her always had a flirty friendship. "ewww they're gonna fuck in a second- look he's undressing her with his eyes." alex deadpanned, making the entire group laugh, they always joked about luke and alex, but nothing had come of it yet.

Would anyone listen to this The ramblings of a lunatic My mind does play an awful trick The ramblings of a lunatic Would anyone listen to this I'm running from my emptiness My brain is tired, my stomach sick The ramblings of a lunatic

"y/n are you nearly finished with the lyrics? i think i might have something but i'll need to check to see if it goes with the style and stuff of the lyrics" she nodded, getting back to writing "yeah just gimme like 2 seconds"

Maybe this writer's block that I've been perceiving Is to stop me diving deeply into my internal being And falling into darkness below my surface tension Emotional suppression my coping mechanism 'Cause all my friends are dying, some faster than the others Lungs filling up with fluid, place face under the covers 'Cause all my friends are dying, some faster than the others I'm trying to distract myself from the fears that I've discovered

"honestly though can you guys believe it? we're actually gonna play at the orpheum! we're gonna be legends" luke was already hyping them all up "that's if this doesn't suck butt hole, and if i'm honest i'm not convinced" they all rolled their eyes "shut up y/n/n. you're thebest songwriter i know" luke smiled at her "yeah! just believe in yourself man! what's it about?" alex asked, already curious of the meaning behind the song without even hearing it "writer's block. and how i can ramble when i really need an idea. and other stuff i guess"

Would anyone listen to this The ramblings of a lunatic My mind does play an awful trick The ramblings of a lunatic Would anyone listen to this I'm running from my emptiness My brain is tired, my stomach sick The ramblings of a lunatic

Would anyone listen to this The ramblings of a lunatic My mind does play an awful trick The ramblings of a lunatic Would anyone listen to this I'm running from my emptiness My brain is tired, my stomach sick The ramblings of a lunatic