#if this is shit blame it on the fact that i probably should be asleep rn

[sphylor]

hi its almost 3am i was feeling sad so i made Dewdrop feel sad instead enjoy:

It's such a natural part of life, the comings and goings of others. Even in the pit, the realm of eternal damnation, eternity can be very fleeting. Dewdrop knew this. He was well aware that not everyone would stick by his side forever. The thought used to bring him comfort. He used to hold that idea in his chest like a glowing flicker of hope. Hope that the people who tormented and hurt him would someday pass through and out of his life forever and would never be able to reach him again. Just as a river flows from source to mouth and then out into the sea. 

It didn't matter then that he was being left behind because it was in his best interests. It didn't matter that the concept of impermanence brought about other comings and goings that caused him more pain as they moved on than when they came through. He knew the pain would pass in time too. Just like everything else. Even when the day came for him to move on, it still felt like he was standing still whilst everything moved around him. And he told himself he took comfort in that. It was familiar, all he had ever known, and so clearly he should be taking comfort in it. 

For a while, though, Dewdrop’s tumultuous existence was graced with a fragile permanence. Suddenly, there was nothing he wished would pass through his life. He wanted things to stay the same. He found himself clinging to the people around him, his new home, his very essence and being. Clearly not tight enough… The first time in his life he had ever dreaded change led to the most upheaval and hurt inflicted upon him yet. An uncontrollable storm surge of misery that flung brackish water and daggers of debris back up the river channel, bursting its banks and flooding the surrounding land. 

Everything changed for Dewdrop. 

He soon found himself lighting the flame in his chest once more. He hadn't even noticed it going out, he hadn't needed it at the time. But now he needed something familiar again. Something safe. And though the flame was no longer a candle, though it was now a raging inferno that burned him inside out and left nothing but charred flesh and agony in its wake, it was still a flame. It was still familiar, he told himself as he felt his skin burning up with fever. He found comfort in expecting the things he dreaded the most, he whispered to himself on those dark nights where all he felt was searing pain. He didn't care if he got left behind. He lied to himself as he lay alone in his bed.

Of course, since then people have come into his life and stayed for a while. They doused his fire and healed his wounds. Grew flowers over the scars and wafted away the memory of smoke and ash on the gentle breeze. But a flame still burns in Dewdrop's chest. It is smaller, granted, smaller than it has ever been. But he hasn't forgotten it. He still curls himself around it and tries to find safety in its dark light and cold warmth. Everyone and everything will pass through his life, he reminds himself, there's no good in wishing for things to stay as they are. It is inevitable that he will be left behind. 

Sometimes, though, he snuffs the flame and sits by the lake pooled in his heart. He'll stare at the still surface of the water, how it ripples and laps at the shore but the water never truly moves anywhere or changes. And sometimes he'll wish that someone would sit by him just a while longer. And when he looks up into the endless oceans in the eyes of the water ghoul who sits beside him, he wonders if finally he has been the one to flow down the river and come to rest in the sea. And sometimes that thought is enough to forget about the flame reigniting itself once again in his chest. If just for a while longer.

[bellewintersroe]

Max Verstappen X HornerDaughter!

Part 6- here’s the LINK to part 5. Thank you for all your support! Only a small chapter, but 100% more coming, just you wait… When Red Bull fail to establish their dominance in Singapore, it seems nobody can get off of Max’s back, despite the fact he’s happy for Carlos and the McLaren boys on the podium. All the doubting gets to his head and in the end there’s only one person he turns to for support. Leni secretly freaks when she realises her and Max keep getting closer… Taglist: @ironmaiden1313 @callsignwidow @fangirl125reader @norassimpingzone @roseseraj @eugene-emt-roe @copper-boom @its-elias-world @cassiopeiia24

“But is Max Verstappen really happy for Carlos Sainz, or is that just a cover up?”

“Max- Max how do you feel? Should it have been you up on the podium today?”

“Max how does it feel that the Red Bull dominance has been broken?!”

“We’re sensing some tension lingering around Max Verstappen today in Singapore after he takes 5th place. It was an astonishing race for Carlos, we can’t quite say the same about the man who has been dominating the 2023 season!”

Poor Max. It was no wonder the poor guy just wanted to get out of the media’s eye. He was so happy for his friends on the podium, he was still confident and self-assured, but the media kept portraying him to be some kind of villain that was spiteful for his own close friends. Even Checo, the media harassed to shit, but Max seemed to take the brunt of it.

No matter how happy he was, it wasn’t enough for the press who constantly accused him of being a brat, or pissed off about the race. I was positive there was nothing Max could do to please them, so when he headed back to his hotel in peace, I was disappointed, but not so surprised.

Me on the other hand, after four drinks in I’d twisted my ankle and ended up limping back to my room, the kind receptionist from downstairs offering me an icepack. It was pretty boring sitting alone in my room when everybody else was out, even my whole family was somewhere but I’d drunken too much too quickly and paid for it soon after.

That’s when I thought of Max. He too was in his room, probably asleep after such an exhausting day. In my tipsy mind I lifted my phone up, glancing through our previous texts. I’d not responded to his last message which was just a simple not explanation of why the RB’s didn’t work so well on specific types of circuits. I’d seen him in person and felt too awkward to text when we were in the same proximity.

Snapping a picture of the ice pack over my ankle I sent him a bunch of pissed off emojis, feeling playful.

Leni: don’t drink Prosecco it fucks you over It wasn’t so long later when Max actually responded. I was surprised it was so quick, but god- I wanted him so bad. I felt like having him, especially now, so soon after a break up would be a little sour for everybody around us, never mind that my own dad was his team principle.

Max: wtf Leni how did you manage that, are you ok?

Leni: hahahaha don’t even ask I’m good, are you?

Max: yeah just pissed off with all the media today. I don’t want to see a single person else. I cringed at his words. Yikes. That was my invite gone. Rereading my messaged to make sure they made sense, I sent a simple message of; Leni: I don’t blame you

Max took a while to respond after that. I was actually falling asleep, my eyes feeling heavy until the buzzing of my phone aroused me quicker than I could process.

Max: unless you wanna come chill with for a while “Oh, Max. I don’t know how you deal with them. They make it out like you’re gonna start a war with Carlos just because you didn’t get a podium, once.” I sat on the edge of his bed, continuing to hold the ice pack to my ankle.

“Exactly, and I don’t know why!” He paced from one end of the room to the other. “They like drama.” I pointed out.

“True, but…” Max plopped himself on the hotel bed. “I feel fine for Japan, I’m confident, but when you’ve got millions of people doubting you it gets kinda irritating.” I winced slightly at his words. Max usually didn’t be so open about his feelings with this side of the media, I knew truthfully he never really give two shits what they thought, but when people were constantly at him I was positive he must’ve found it jarring.

“You’ve also got millions supporting you again.” I responded as he smiled gently. “Yeah. I know that.” His voice was gentle, grateful, he sounded humble. It was a side to hum media didn’t like to show, especially in drive to survive.

“I know I will be.” I shrugged, glancing over to see him smiling down to his sweats. It was a miracle to see him something other than jeans. “Thanks, Leni.”

“Or maybe I’ll switch teams completely and start going to the Ferrari garage.” Max threw a pillow at me in response.

“Dick.” I snickered, scooting further up onto the bed to rest against the headboard, besides Max. There was still possibly the largest gap between us that I’d ever witnessed.

“Could you imagine what my dad would say?”

“I don’t think he’d be too happy.” Max smirked. “Neither would I.”

“Really?” I gazed over his expression. He was still smiling, indicating he couldn’t have been too serious. “Yeah, I mean, you’re part of our team. If you’re not there it would be weird.”

Hours passed and soon we’d both retired under the covers, watching the TV in a comfortable silence. The alcohol that once streamed through my body had fallen stagnant and I was feeling more nervous than when I initially arrived into Max’s room. I stole a glance at him, his eyelids were heavy as he watched the movie, something I hadn’t paid attention to in a good hour.

The gap between us had closed slightly, and I felt myself overthinking more and more about how soon it was to be in this position with him. Friends do this, right? As long as there was no physical contact, as bad as I wanted it, it would be fine.

So the minute I felt Max’s hand brush against the bare skin of my elbow I felt myself completely freak, fidgeting my legs and accidentally kicking my bad ankle. “Ow, fuck. I kicked myself.” I pushed myself up, pretending to be completely and utterly blind to how close we were laid previously.

“Are you ok?” Max too, pushed himself up. I pushed the covers off me and glanced at my slightly swollen ankle. “I’m fine, just… hurt.” I winced, lowering it off the side of the bed.

“Oh- you can stay… if you want.” Max muttered, sounding a little nervous. My stomach grew butterflies, my heart felt like it exploded and as badly as I wanted to say yes and jump on him- something was stopping me.

“It’s okay. I better go to bed, thank you though.”

“Want me to walk you back?”

“30 seconds down the hall?” I giggled as he shrugged like it was obvious. I realised how rude that sounded, to turn down his offer. “It’s okay, thank you though, Max. I would stay but Blue is there- and if I don’t come back, you know, it looks a little…”

“I get it. Then they all start asking questions.” Max agreed as I offered him another smile. “Yeah. Exactly.” I turned my head a way, hesitating to actually turn around and leave. Max stood besides me at the door and to avoid any other form of intimate interaction I avoided eye contact at all cost.

By the time I’d got back to my bedroom I’d well and truly wanted to top myself. Well done Leni, well fucking done. That could have been one of the most finest moments of my life, not!

[izvmimi]

cw: catholic christmas and church rituals. reader is at church. yami is not catholic. bad sense of humor. reader is a noble implied to be from a big family.

“Hey so when’s this shit gonna end?” Yami whispers unceremoniously in your direction from the church pew, just three rows from the front of the altar, and you can feel your stomach turn as you look around, trying to gauge whether or not the other attendees to mass heard, or possibly, most terribly, the priest did. However, the priest seems unaffected even if he does hear Yami’s harsh tone of voice and continues his droning homily, and you let your hand rest on Yami’s knee squeezing it tightly.

“Are you insane?” you mouth back to him through the corner of your lips, as though he were no better than one of your many siblings. “Lower your voice.”

Yami breathes out through his nose in a huff and crosses his arms over his chest. A small part of you wonders if him interrupting the mass is really that much of a breach - after all, he’s already wearing a tank top to one of the most important religious holidays of the year, and smells of a recent smoke, even though you are clad in your finest dress of reds and golds to herald the birth of the Christ child, the shimmer in your dangling diamond earrings practically blinding when it catches the light of the many lit candles throughout the church. Despite this, you’re not necessarily the most lavishly dressed, although to Yami clearly you are the most beautiful of the bunch - the royal women in the pews ahead of you are similarly luxurious in their appearance, hands folded in their laps gracefully while their other halves stifle their yawns, stoic faces to suggest piety rather than abject boredom.

Asta, like Yami, is uncouth enough to yawn loud enough that you can hear it, unlike the men of the royal family, and while his partner (and your friend) shoots him a look just short of exasperation, you find yourself stifling a laugh. Yami has the nerve to give Asta a similar look of disrepute and Asta frowns back at him. You see your friend stiffen up, and you can tell she’s considering that she should have left Asta and just sat at the front with the rest of the royal family rather than tolerate her boyfriend’s country behavior. She nudges him quietly with her elbow and Yami lets out a low chuckle, not as easily suppressed as yours.

“I don’t even blame him, there’s no reason this should last this long every single year.”

Yami says this as if he comes often, but this is his very first time ever coming to midnight mass on Christmas in the first place. He’s doing it solely for you, his soon to be wife, and while you appreciate his efforts, the Black Bulls cape doesn’t cover his shoulders enough for him to look at least appropriately dressed.

You don’t answer immediately because the homily ends abruptly, and the priest begins the call and response. Yami doesn’t know the words at all and grumbles something nonsensical, while Asta says the words incorrectly despite having grown up in a church with a fierce crush on a nun, a fact his partner is clearly not above getting riled up about.

The four of you kneel and clasp your hands, and rise, and kneel, with varying synchronization, you always in time with your similarly high class friend, the men you have chosen to love keeping up poorly. You imagine the third of your group, daughter of the noblesse who had the sense to pair up with a man similarly of high status is probably not faring as poorly and shoot her a glance across the church only to see that she and Leopold are clearly fast asleep.

Disastrous.

The clock strikes closer to midnight and you can tell Yami has refused to kneel or stand anymore, and you decide not to look at him lest a foul expression gives him a reason to get up and leave. The Eucharist is passed and Yami raises his hand to refuse the cup from the person before it, as if he were refusing beer, and you quickly cut in to take the goblet from the offerer.

He didn’t refuse the bread.

You turn to your friend who is mortified on the account of just being around to witness Yami’s behavior, and consider hissing that at least he isn’t going to be the potential father of her children.

Midnight strikes and the members of the congregation are called to sing to herald Christmas morning.

Your friend links hands with yours, and your other hand goes to Yami. He’s polite enough to rise this time, and watches you as you sing from the side, and perhaps at that moment he understands what it means to be at peace.

Your voice is lovely, he thinks.

The way you look up into the high ceilings of painted glass, then let your eyes settle on the crucifix; the way your eyes close as your heart lightens.

Yami has always thought of religion as a silly exercise of the bourgeois, a way to differentiate yourselves from the heathen masses with complicated ritual after complicated ritual, the guise of piety to cover your excess and cruelty, and yet…

As he holds your warm hand now, he might understand.

He cannot understand the entirety of your love of religion or your love of the world, but he’ll try to, as those things that move your heart have learned to move him also.

And thus he tries his best to raise his own gruff voice to sing.

And when you turn to him, to smile just at him, it’s all worth it.

—

Your friend whispers something about her repressed fear that Asta would burst into flames the second he crossed the church barrier and you can’t help but double over in laughter as you clear the church. Your other slumbering noble friend finds her way to the two of you and rests on your shoulder.

“Did you have a good nap, princess?” you ask.

She looks sheepish but Leopold is quick to wrap his arm around her shoulders. They match in brilliant hues of yellow, red and gold, and she smiles brightly, warmed by his demeanor and his smile.

“We were simply resting our eyes and feeling the sermon.”

“Of course you were,” your royal friend teases before she blows kisses to you both, then takes Asta’s hand to join the rest of the Silvas, Noelle having beckoned them over to save her from her siblings.

“Merry Christmas!” they wave as they walk off, Asta quick to adjust the hem of his partner’s fur coat as best he can.

“Merry Christmas!”

Many Christmas Eves you’ve spent in the home with your gaggle of siblings, poring over gifts that were meant for them and not you, cookies to set out for Santa of your own solitary labor (you’d often let the help go spend time with their own families) and your father’s many mistresses inspecting every corner of the home to check for dust or something inconsequential for you to be blamed for.

But this Christmas you are surrounded by love, and you are loved.

Yami’s arm wraps around your waist close as you head back to your happy home, and perhaps this Christmas, you’re thankful you decided to give him, of all people, your heart.

[snootlestheangel]

The brain rot is attacking me so I’m sharing the love

GazRoach but with Asexual Roach

Yay, more brainrot!!

I'm going with the idea that Roach is a burn victim and so he sometimes he has issues feeling comfortable in his skin (cause I just cannot unsee him as such because of all the beautiful art and writings I've seen depicting him as such). This has nothing to do with his asexuality, he was ace before the accident!

(also somehow fucked up the formatting and deleted two whole questions and the answers so like sorry if the first few questions are kinda rushed. I was mad at myself cause I had already written the answers just to immediately delete them)

Who was the one to propose? Gaz. It was the cutest, sweetest, most beautiful thing and Roach refused to stop hugging him.

Who stressed more over wedding planning? Roach probably. He wants Gaz to have the best wedding ever, but Gaz couldn't care less about the circumstances, just the fact he gets to marry his best friend :)

Who decorated the house? Gaz has style and it definitely started out as him, but Roach keeps bringing in little knick-knacks so eventually, there are rooms where guests can tell Roach had a hand in it's decor

Who does the cooking? Both can cook pretty decently, so typically they take turns. However, Roach often cooks more than Gaz. I don't know why, I just feel like Roach, even though he's a menace, can really whip up some gourmet shit.

Who is more organized? Roach, actually. Gaz is plenty organized, as a result of years being in the military and needing to keep his shit tidy, but Roach is the actual organized one. Yeah, he's bug boy, bugs have very complex systems and maintain those with diligence. -Roach's motto

Who suggested kids first? Gaz, probably. They don't think they ever will have kids, but Gaz is the one to ask about it first.

Who's the big cuddler? Gaz, but sometimes he gets banished to the floor when Roach feels constricted.

Who's the big spoon/little spoon? Gaz is little spoon. Whatever you do, don't imagine Roach burying his face in between Gaz's shoulders after a really tough day and just holding onto Gaz like he's his very lifeline (he is), and don't picture Gaz humming a little bit cause he knows the vibrations calm Roach down. Don't imagine them falling asleep like this, don't imagine Gaz staying in bed well past the time he should all because Roach is sleeping so peacefully, still wrapped around him.

Favorite non-sexual activity? Everything. They're such adrenaline junkies, despite their traumas, and like to push each other. They're actually working on Gaz's absolute terror of heights, bit by bit. Gaz wants to be able to ride a roller-coaster again without having flashbacks :')

Who comes home drunk at 3am? I don't see either of them being really heavy drinkers like this, if I'm being honest. Unless Soap is there and offers to drive both back to their place, neither really gets drunk.

Who kills the spiders? Gaz wants to kill them but Roach refuses to let him. Bugs are friends :) *Roach is very much committed to the bit*

Who falls asleep first? Gaz. I feel like he's so normal about things like that. Like he can just easily fall asleep, whereas Roach is laying there thinking about that ant he stepped on earlier.

A head-canon? Roach, being a burn victim, has a pretty tough time every now and then feeling like he fits in his skin. It doesn't help he's definitely got some Sensory Processing Issues, and so sometimes he really wants to claw off his skin. His burns do cover a good portion of his torso and upper legs. Sometimes when people give him a hard time about being ace, cause we all know there's those assholes, he just uses the excuse of his burns to make them uncomfortable. He came out ace well before the incident, but we all know he's not been taken seriously until he started blaming it on the incident. The two are still pretty intimate with each other; Roach loves when Gaz applies the creams/meds to his scarring, mostly cause the whole time Gaz is whispering praise in his ear, saying how proud he is, how pretty Roach is, etc. Not to mention, some of the places are hard for him to reach, and there's scarring up near his crotch (which is incredibly uncomfortable on Roach's bad days when he's reminded a lot of his skin isn't technically his own and he's overtly aware of the sensation of Gaz's hands on him), and so sometimes there's a lot of reassurance on both sides, from Roach saying he's good to keep going, and from Gaz to say "just a bit more, Bug, okay? You're doing good" Roach adores Gaz's physique, and is constantly photographing him; there's so many photos of Gaz in all sorts of different circumstances. The fall/cozy sweater pictures that are scattered around the flat, the ones of Gaz in the snow, or shirtless in the bright summer sun just looking like he's thriving. There's a secret stash of all of the nudes Roach has taken of Gaz. They're all so artistic and beautiful and non-sexualized photos of Gaz just simply ~Existing~ and those photos are Roach's most prized possessions. Roach just loves when Gaz isn't wearing clothes in general, and he's definitely stealing all his shirts so Gaz has 'no choice' but to walk around shirtless. Roach's favorite time of year is gray sweatpant season cause he gets the perfect view of Gaz's hips, the lines leading down and disappearing underneath his pants, the way Roach can still see the very minute dimples on Gaz's lower back, just visible above his pants.

Do they have any "rituals"? Only the process of applying creams/meds to Roach's burn areas. Gaz puts on a whole theatric basically to help put Roach into a good mood, and Gaz has to have the right playlist, the right stuff to cover the rather unpleasant scent of the medication cream, etc. (this is kind of a stressful thing for Roach, he's still pretty sensitive in certain areas/easy to trigger cause the trauma is still relatively fresh)

Who has the most patience? Gaz, most definitely. He's still glaring at you if you're annoying him, but it'll take a while before he ever loses his cool. Roach is just feral :D

Gif that sums up the relationship?

The silliest of sillies :)

[trans-duckling]

A Slow and Tender Love: Decision

For a while, Kurenai looked as if ready to hit him with one of the several toys Mirai had.

“Why are men so stupid?” she sighed.

“I blame the testosterone.”

Obviously, his friend didn’t want an answer to the question, judging by the glare she sent him the next second. They were sitting in her living room, Mirai sleeping in a soft blanket just a meter away from them. She looked peaceful, and the Hatake wished to be her, without any worry in his mind.

“Look, Kakashi, I’m going to give you my honest opinion, because that’s what I did with Gai” at the mention of that, his head lifted up in surprise. Just as he was about to open his mouth, she interrupted him: “No, I won’t tell you what we talked about, the same way I won’t tell him about this conversation. I’m not a delivery hawk, you have to figure out your shit alone.”

Great.

“Answer me this” Kurenai continued after a minute. “What is that you want with Gai? A sexual relationship like the one you had before?”

“It wasn’t just…!”

Except that it was. The Hatake didn’t even need the judgmental look from his friend to know that saying otherwise would be a lie. If he separated the relationship he had with Gai in their rivalry and… anything else, most of their activities together —eating, talking about each other, exchanging advices— were done during a challenge. Which meant that the rest was just sex.

“I just… Don’t understand what is suddenly the problem” he all but mumbled. “We had a good thing going, an easy thing—”

“Easy for who?” Kurenai rudely intervened. “For you? Because it meant that you didn’t have to think too much about it, or put a label to the relationship?”

He dutifully shut up after that. His friend sighed.

“Kakashi, if what you truly want is just a sexual relationship with Gai, he already gave you his answer and you should respect it. However, if you wish for more…”

But, what did more mean?

Looking around, the Hatake tried to imagine how that conversation would be if Asuma was still alive. He would probably be sitting on the ground next to Mirai, eyes fixed on her with a love smile and for the first time in a long time without a cigarette in his lips. Or maybe he would be at the kitchen, preparing dinner. Later, once Kakashi left, Kurenai and him would sit on the sofa and enjoy a movie while their daughter slept in her crib. And, when one of them fell asleep, the other would carry them to bed.

Was that what Gai wanted? Was that what he wanted?

Having someone to hold or be held by in bed. Knowing that Gai would be at home with dinner ready for when he came back from the office. Or having his ninken running towards the door when Gai came back from a mission, glad that he was back because he was a member of the pack. Just… Whatever they had before but… more.

His heart skipped a beat.

“I think you have your answer, Hatake” Kurenai smiled.

He did. And it was troublesome. Because acknowledging it also meant to give himself a chance to something that, until then, he had only observed through others’ eyes —Minato and Kushina, Kurenai and Asuma, even some of his students now— or read about in books. It was scary, even for a high skilled shinobi. But, after everything, he thought that he deserved an opportunity. And Gai did too.

Half an hour later, when Kakashi entered his house, he walked straight to the bookshelf next to bed. His collection had grown quite a bit during the last few years, mostly due to presents from his students or friends. And no, not all were erotic novels. In fact, just as Gai had pointed out, he had a rather large amount of romance books. So, he took out his favorites, found a paper and a pen on his desk, and started to work out some ideas. 

[hel-phoenyx]

Ocean-damn it.

I hate those dreams. I hate them, no matter how sweet they feel on the tongue when I wake up, or how they linger softly on my skin. I hate thel, because there are nothing but dreams, and when I wake up only thing's left is the bitterness of knowing I would, I will never have that in real life.

I get up, goes to the mirror and splashes a little water on my face. No salt this time. I don't mind the feeling on my skin usually, but tonight I am far more sensitive.

Sun is not even up and my heart is already beating like crazy. What warranted that godsdamned dream, I don't know, and I don't wanna know. I'll just do like I did with all the others. Try to forget them.

My hand hurts where I don't have it anymore. Maybe it's because I felt it in my dream, playing with ginger locks or brushing against scars that are not mine. One other reason to believe it won't ever happen.

It's gone. With my childhood, my dreams and my hope, and now, my love.

Ugh, I won't be able to fall asleep if I continue brooding over past mistakes. I probably should go somewhere and train or dive in the ocean to recover, so Domi doesn't sass me on my dark circles.

Or she could try, and I'll remind her the name I heard her moaning back then when I accidentally stumbled in one of her self-care moments. Not that she hides it, but well, as usual, the only one that can't see shit is the owner of that name.

A soft groan makes it's way out of my mouth, probably my cue I should distract myself before Kaizarz decides to come and haunt my thoughts like he already does every waking moment.

Time to make my way out. I jump by the window, walk a little on roofs, before finally reaching grounds. You could say using doors is far more practical but I don't want to risk seeing anyone and especially my king. Or worse, a guard reminding me I am of royal blood and can not, should not, go out at night. It happened more than once.

What a farce. All of them want the good King's blood to die with him, because we are a threat to the very reign of the one I love. Ironic. Far more ironic is the king himself seeing me as a threat for many other reasons and the fact I really can't blame him.

The ocean is right ahead, my old house just a little bit further. We once stood here to say prayers, just him and me and the dead. Today there's only me and my aching infatuation.

He notices everything about me. How I worry, how I can't trust anyone that gets too close of him, how I easily bring people near me without even knowing it, falling in love with and making fall in love with me the worst people possible, the people he cherishes. How I ache for a world more simple, with far less rules and blood and legacy. Only thing he doesn't notice is the obvious, my whole being, my whole universe, revolving around him.

For ocean's sake everyone noticed and even before me why can't you-

I undress, and go right in the sea. The cold, salty waves stick to my bare skin but I don't care, I just let my body adapt to the rhythm of the ocean, my element, my power.

My eyes close and I hope they will only open on water and calmness, not these faces I can't love for I am the spare, the one that doesn't fit.

I know damn well he would give up everything for me. I am no fool. I was, once, and paid the ultimate price.

The only thing I want from him is the thing he's ready to throw away to offer me everything else, the only gift he won't bring me.

Why would you give up everything when all I ever wanted from you was to witness your happiness?

[deadbydad]

Vance Hopper x Finney Blake - Jaw/Neck Kisses

This is a request from @vanneyiscanon, I hope you enjoy!

Finney Blake loved a lot of things.

Whether it be his friends, sister, baseball, or space, the blonde loved all of those things because they were important to him.

But there was one thing that was more important to him.

Vance Hopper, who happens to be his boyfriend.

People would think that Finney would be lying of he told them that he was dating the bad boy who has anger issues, and the blonde couldn't blame them he was surprised when they first started dating.

But he had come to learn that they just misunderstood Vance.

The taller male was gentle and kind with Finney and treated the younger male like he was worth gold, which the older male thought so.

The two boys were currently hanging out at Vance's house, away from the freezing weather outside, and Finney was close to passing out due to how tired he was. The tests that the school gives the students should be a crime because of how long they are. And they're on stuff that the kids hadn't even learned yet.

The shorter male was always tired though and he blamed it on the insomnia, but the fact that his boyfriends bed was so soft and comfortable wasn't helping him stay awake.

Finney blamed that on Vance, since it was the taller males bed, plus he was wearing the other blondes shirt.

Which was super warm.

Vance in general was warm, if you asked Finney. Just the way the older male looked at him was enough to make the shorter boys face heat up.

His boyfriend was attractive, okay.

Finney must have spaced out at some point because he felt a gentle warm hand rest on his shoulder, causing the male to jump and let out a small yelp at the feeling.

"Oh shit, sorry babe didn't mean to wake you up." Finney turned around to glare at the taller male behind him who must have gotten out of the shower due to his curly hair being all wet and water droplets on his neck.

God Finney got so lucky with this man.

"I wasn't asleep," Finney stated as he sat up and stretched, "I was just resting my eyes." The blonde gently kicked the other males leg when he heard his lover let out a snort.

"Pretty sure that's the same fucking thing angel," Vance chuckled and making Finney roll his eyes at the statement.

There was a comfortable silence between the two boys, Vance had eventually laid down and pulled Finney close to him so that the shorter males back was resting against his boyfriends chest, the older males arms wrapped around his lover.

Finney sighed and pressed himself closer to the warmth he called his boyfriend that was currently humming a song into the skin of his neck, what song Finney didn't know but he's probably heard it before.

The male yawned.

"Tired," Vance asked as he lifted his head from where it was resting.

"A little," Finney replied with another yawn, "but I'll be fine." The male let a smile appear on his face when he felt his boyfriend once again rest his face and nuzzle the crook of the younger males neck, pressing a few soft kisses on the pale skin.

"Do I have to make you fall asleep, Finney Blake," the taller male teased into the younger males neck causing Finney to shiver.

"Try your worst Vance Hopper," Finney teased back as he turned his head so he could press a kiss to the taller males jaw and let out a squeak of surprise when he felt his boyfriend push him so he was laying on his back before kissing him hard.

Sighing against Vance's lips, Finney wrapped his arms around the other males necks and brought him closer to his lover so their chests were touching, Vance eventually finding the shorter males hand and intertwining their fingers.

Both pulled away for air but still held each other as if they were afraid to let the other one go.

"Is your plan on trying to make me fall asleep is just by kissing me," the short male asked as he pressed another quick kiss against his lovers lips.

"That was the plan bunny."

"Lets test that plan then love." The two males crashed their lips against each others once more.

Let's just say the plan worked.

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

I hope that people don't think I'm sexualizing anything because I'm not.

They just kiss a lot okay?

Anyway, @vanneyiscanon requested this one, I had a lot of fun writing this and I hope you enjoyed!

I am taking requests!

[nowoyas]

Edible Arrangements 36

First - Prev - Next - M.list - Ao3

A/N: I'mma keep it real with you chief I didn't feel like editing so I didn't. enjoy this in all its raw glory and experimental bullshit. I'm having fun with POV stuff. suffer. <3

I will probably be returning later on to edit this more properly!

Summary: [name] finds somewhere to stay. The world moves on.

Warnings: man I never know what to warn for. this whole chapter is basically an out of body experience complete with ✨conflict✨though so watch out!

Word Count: ~3800 words

Hitoshi does not know what happened, but he has a sinking feeling that it wasn’t good.

For one thing, [name] is asleep on his couch with a duffle bag he’s never seen before at their feet. For another, they look like shit. For a third thing, he can’t get into contact with Izuku, and [name] hasn’t answered any of his questions since they got here. In fact, they’ve hardly said much of anything, just stared at him, dead-eyed and confused.

All the explanations had come over text yesterday.

Can I stay at your place for a while? I can’t stay here anymore. It’s not safe.

It must be because they were so shaken up from the attack, right? He can see Izuku explaining how unsafe it is around him, with the way the guy’s been blaming himself for every so much as paper cut that [name] sustained since they met. And given the guy’s history with serial killers, it’d make sense.

Maybe [name]’s just upset by that.

Except, that wouldn’t explain why their eyes are so dead, why every time Hitoshi has tried to ask them a question, they’re somewhere far away. He doesn’t know where to take it, but it’s been a full twenty-four hours and they still haven’t made a move to even eat anything.

They’re just laying on his couch, staring at the ceiling.

So, Hitoshi brings them food. He recalls them mentioning how they liked spaghetti once, so spaghetti he brings. They’re still sprawled over the couch, so he sits on the other side of the coffee table and stares. “Are you going to eat?”

They make a weird half-shrug, restricted by the sling. His heart sinks at the wince they give. “I don’t think I’m hungry.”

It’s the longest sentence they’ve said since they got here.

“You should eat something. You need your strength to heal that stab wound.”

“Stab wound…?” they echo, a tilt to their head.

“Yeah. You don’t remember being stabbed?”

They turn to meet his eyes at last, and not an emotion reads on their face. They shake their head just slightly.

Oh. That is what we in the business would like to refer to as a “problem”.

“Will you eat something?” he tries again. He hates to do this, especially to someone like [name], but if they won’t eat…

“Not really hungry,” they reply, more firmly this time.

The fact that there is almost no change in expression is horrific and jarring. He’s not even sure his quirk has actually taken hold on them until he commands them to sit up and they listen perfectly.

“Eat the food I gave you,” he orders, feeling a pit settle in his stomach as they begin to obey before he even finishes. “Be careful to chew it properly and not choke on it.” He hates using his quirk. Hates the guilt it churns. Hates the control. He knows it’s a deep-seated thing instilled in him from years of shitty living, but he can’t help it. The hollow expression on their face as they eat is just too much.

While they eat, he slips into the other room and pours a glass of water. Sets that in front of them, too, and when they’re done, he orders them to drink it slowly.

When at last the glass is drained, he releases his quirk. Again, he’s barely certain that it’s worked—they have the same empty look in their eyes. When he brainwashes someone, he thinks of it like temporarily shattering their mind.

And here [name] is.

Sitting on his couch looking absolutely shattered.

“Does it hurt?” he asks, mostly in an attempt to figure out whether they have their autonomy back.

They give another awkward, wince-y, half-shrug, seeming no better than before.

Well.

At least he got them to eat.

~

To say that things are fine would be an inaccurate assessment of the situation at hand.

See, [name] isn’t picking up their phone or texting anyone back, and people have been texting them a lot. They’re only eating when Hitoshi brainwashes them and forces them to, only drinking when he does the same. If anything, the situation seems to be worsening—he’s not sure if it’s his quirk or their condition, but what was at first able to be “eat the food” becomes more and more complicated each time.

As their phone blows up (charged only because Hitoshi made sure it would) Hitoshi sits with his dinner and theirs and tries not to think too heavily about the past week.

“Are you going to eat?” he asks, like he has the past several days.

They shake their head. “No.”

He’s growing better at telling when his quirk washes over them. Part of him wants to think it’s because they’re getting better—just slightly, their expression when under his influence and their expression when just staring at his ceiling are drifting apart. He wants to believe that. In fact, he does believe that. [name] is getting better. Their condition is improving.

If they were responsive, maybe they’d catch him lying to himself. He settles in for the work he's about to do:

"Pick up the fork."

"Now put a bite's worth of food on the fork."

"Now put the end of the fork holding the bite of food into your mouth."

"Remove the fork from your mouth."

"Chew the food in your mouth."

"Swallow the food in your mouth."

He won't lie. The fact that he has to do this is... bad. He's not sure how to fix this. Depression wouldn't put [name] in a state like this. He's not sure what would, but he knows depression.

He checks his phone, in between instructing them to eat.

Mina to Hitoshi at 7:43 PM

Mina: hey have you heard from [name] at all?

Mina: they're not picking up or texting back and I can't get ahold of izuku

Mina: I am one missed call away from breaking down their door

Hitoshi: yeah, [name]’s been at my place

Hitoshi: for like the past week

Hitoshi: I’ve been trying not to pressure them but honestly you should get over here

Hitoshi: it’s bad

He sends his address and goes back to work. “Pick up a bite’s worth of food with the fork in your hand.”

Like that, he works, making sure that they chew and safely swallow every bite. When Mina arrives, it is with Tsuyu, and they nearly push their way into the apartment.

“How bad is it?” Mina demands. “Actually, don’t answer that. If they’re not responding to texts it has to be bad.”

“They’re not going to respond when you talk to them yet,” he explains as he leads them in and closes the door tightly behind them. If he had been worried about security before [name] got attacked, he had become neurotic about it ever since they showed up to dissociate on his couch. “I’ve got them under my quirk.”

“Why? What are you doing?”

He rubs the back of his neck as they find [name], sitting on the living room couch with fork hovering above plate. Unresponsive.

“It’s the only way I can get them to eat anything. If I hadn’t been brainwashing them into regular meals, they’d be suffering starvation by now.” He glances their way, directing a command. “Put the fork on the plate.”

They obey, robotically, and he releases them from his hold.

Hazy eyes roam over the room a moment.

“[name]…?” Mina calls.

“Mina, Tsuyu,” they croak. Just the slightest light returns to their eyes. “Finally someone I recognize.”

A chill settles over the room, or maybe that’s just Hitoshi feeling it.

“Someone you recognize…?” Tsuyu says. “[name], you’ve been living with Hitoshi for a week. Are you saying you don’t recognize him?”

A tiny, tiny nod. “Do you know how I got here?”

“No? How?”

“I was hoping you knew.”

Okay, the talking is progress. The information, however, is damning.

“Are you saying you’ve just been quietly sitting here not remembering who I am for the past week?”

A nod.

“Shit, [name], why didn’t you say anything?”

A half-shrug.

Mina and Tsuyu cast him worried looks. “They don’t remember you?”

Yeah. Maybe this is bad.

“Okay. We need to figure out what happened to them. [name], hang out here and eat something.”

They don’t respond as Hitoshi leads the girls away.

“Alright. So obviously something happened.”

“They’ve been like this all week?”

He nods. “They texted me out of nowhere asking to crash on my couch for a bit because they couldn’t stay at Izuku’s anymore. They didn’t give any indication that they were like this, and they just kind of showed up at my door with a duffle bag. I figured Izuku was getting too worried about their safety and asked them to hide out somewhere for a while.”

Mina wraps her arms around herself. “Tsuyu, do you remember when [name] and Tenya broke up? Er, when Tenya enthralled them?”

She nods. “This is worse. Much worse.”

“So what, do we think they were enthralled again?”

“They’d be double-enthralled. Between forgetting their childhood friend and whatever they would have forgotten this time, that’s a huge stress on the brain.”

“I think we need to bring in Neito on this conversation,” Tsuyu says.

“Really?”

“If [name]’s been enthralled again, there’s a few candidates,” she explains, eying him warily. “No offense, but you’re one of them. Neito can copy [name]’s quirk and tell us for sure who is and isn’t involved. I’m calling him.”

So they call him. And they wait. And when Neito arrives, he’s quick to stand in front of Hitoshi after brushing a hand against [name] in passing. “What am I asking him?”

“Ask him whether he enthralled [name].”

He jolts in shock. “Enthralled them? You think they’ve been enthralled?”

“It’s our running theory. We’ll update you on what we know once we know it wasn’t Hitoshi.”

“Alright. Hitoshi, did you enthrall [name]?”

“No. I have brainwashed them with my quirk repeatedly over the past week to force them to eat and take in water, though, because I believed that they wouldn’t eat otherwise and I was worried about their health.”

“He’s clean. How do you know I didn’t enthrall them, though?”

Tsuyu tilts her head. “We still have [name]. We’ll ask them.”

“Yeah. Tell me, Neito, did you enthrall our friend?”

“I’ve never enthralled anyone.”

Mina drags him into the living room a moment. “[name], is this guy glowing to you?”

They shake their head. “He’s clean.”

“Great, thanks!”

“[name] says he’s clean. So where do we go from here?”

Neito hums thoughtfully. “We need to start by determining what they’ve actually forgotten. You said that they didn’t know who Hitoshi was or how they arrived here, right?”

“Right.”

“Then we’ll need to speak with them. Figure out what memories they’ve lost. That’ll help us narrow down who did this to them and why. Once we’ve got our list, we’ll start with the questioning.”

So they sit down, a circle around the catatonic [name], and begin to ask questions.

“How are you feeling today, [name]?” Neito starts.

They shrug. He reaches out to touch their arm.

“Can I ask you to answer me verbally?”

“Why?”

“No reason.”

“Liar.”

He laughs. “It’s just so we can figure out what’s going on with you. We think something happened.”

“Your guess is as good as mine.”

“You don’t remember?”

“No.”

“What do you remember?”

“I lost my job. I wasn’t going to be able to pay rent next month.”

Mina looks about as pale as a pink girl can get. “[name], that was months ago. You lost your job in August.”

The others share a look as they blankly tilt their head. “What month is it? September?”

“Honey, no. It’s February.”

There’s a long moment where the four of them get to watch as they process the statement.

“Why aren’t you lying to me?”

“Why don’t you know what month it is?”

“Hold on, if [name] thought it was September, then…” Neito looks up from his notes. “[name], do you remember who I am?”

“We haven’t spoken before. You’re That Guy in my ethics course, though. You’re always arguing with everyone.”

“We both passed that course already. We’ve been… friends…? …for months now.”

Mina darts out a hand to cut in. “Hold on, doesn’t this mean… [name], what can you tell me about vampires?”

“They’re fictional monsters. They drink blood and turn into bats. They’re like, classic horror novel creatures.”

This time, everyone feels the chill settling over the room.

“[name]. Do you remember Izuku?”

They furrow their brow, tears springing to their eyes unbidden. “Who’s… who’s…”

The picture of them falling apart is something out of the Renaissance, an artful deconstruction of their emotionless state as the falling tears turn into a stream.

“[name], honey. Talk to me. Why are you crying?”

They shake their head, scarcely able to breathe through the tears. “I don’t know. I-I don’t, I don’t know! Don’t—don’t talk to me about that person. I don’t know them, I don’t like how that name makes me feel, don’t don’t don’t—“

“Hey. Hey, it’s okay. Let’s take a few deep breaths.”

As Mina crouches in front of them and begins talking them through the breakdown, the others share worried looks.

This is a big problem. One that demands answers.

~

The first doorstep the [name] protection squad ends up on is Tenya’s the next day.

“Are we really sure it’s him?” Tsuyu mutters as they approach. “I don’t think he would do this.”

“He’s the one with a history,” Hitoshi replies smoothly. “Too bad Neito’s quirk can’t copy [name]’s that long. This would go much faster that way.”

He reaches up and raps on the door firmly, quickly.

“It really is a nice house. Didn’t realize he was such a rich boy.”

After a few moments, the door opens. A woman stands there—shorter than Tenya, but with the same glasses, the same face. Short, bobbed hair. “Can I help you?”

Neito steps forward. “We’re looking for Tenya. It’s really important that we speak to him right away. Is he here?”

“Why, yes. I’ll go get him for you. What’s this about?”

“Something’s happened to [name],” Hitoshi replies.

“[name]? That sweet kid? Why, we haven’t seen them since something happened between them and Tenya after the two went away for college. Is everything alright? Tenya’s stopped talking about them.”

“Everything’s fine, Mrs. Iida,” Tsuyu says. “We just really need to talk to Tenya.”

She nods and disappears into the house. Minutes later, Tenya is there, staring them down with worry.

“What happened?”

“You tell me,” Hitoshi demands. “[name] doesn’t remember anything. They’ve been catatonic on my couch for a week and I’ve been having to brainwash them into doing the basics of eating, drinking, and using the restroom. Do you have any idea how hard it is to instruct someone to change clothes with my quirk without looking at them in the meantime?”

“What?”

“They’ve been enthralled. They thought it was September. They don’t know who I am, or who Neito is, or who Izuku is. We asked and they had a breakdown they couldn’t understand. Let’s make this quick: what the fuck happened?”

“Keep your voice down,” Tenya says firmly. He slips out the door and shuts it behind him. “I don’t know, exactly, what happened. What I do know is that I had nothing to do with it.”

“Great. Very helpful and not suspicious at all.”

“Really! If you’re so worried about it, you should speak with Izuku. See what he has to say. He’s the one who made it very, very clear that he was going to do everything to protect them.”

“Are you saying Izuku was the one who enthralled them?”

He pulls his best polite smile, not reaching his eyes. “I’m saying that I was not, and that Izuku had great concern for their well-being after they were attacked by the serial killer that targeted him. Is there anything else you needed from me?”

“No,” he says. “I guess not.”

They leave him on his doorstep with a mission in mind.

~

The rage only builds as they approach Izuku’s doorstep. Hitoshi knocks on the door, this time with hard, accusatory knocks. Mina is dialing his number as Hitoshi knocks.

The phone is not answered. The door is not answered. Mina calls three more times before she just starts shouting.

“Izuku, open the fucking door!”

Izuku doesn’t seem to understand why he opens the door, but he does. He stands there, looking like absolute shit. His shirt is stained, bags under his eyes dark enough to give Hitoshi’s serious competition, hair unwashed and unbrushed. He stares at them with dead eyes as the yelling begins.

“Tell me it wasn’t you who enthralled them.”

He doesn’t reply. Doesn’t look remotely surprised, either. Any defense he had is gone in that moment, until all there is is to rip him apart for this shit.

“Are you serious? We’ve been working our asses off trying to get [name] to have all their memories back, and you fucking undid all of that? Do you have any idea how much you’ve wrecked them? Do you have any idea how much they’ve fallen apart? Do you have any idea how fucking stupid you’ve been?”

And Izuku takes it.

“You know, you made [name] really, really happy. They’ve been happier since meeting you than I’ve ever seen them. We asked if they remembered you while we were trying to figure out what happened to them, and they broke down crying on the spot! It took forty-five minutes to calm them down.”

And Izuku takes it.

Neito steps up to the plate, too: “You know, I have been doing my utmost to avoid making assumptions going forward. Ever since I've been turned, I've been trying to convince myself that we can be good people. I've been TRYING to convince myself that we can live without hurting other. So what the hell is this?” He has a threatening tilt to his head, fangs flashing with each word.

And Izuku takes it.

Hitoshi is the one to finally step forward. "You're not going to say anything? You're not even going to try to convince us that you were not the one who did this?"

He lets out a bitter laugh and takes it.

"It would have been better if they'd never met you. They might have been happy, but if you could see them like this? It would tear you apart."

Nothing.

"You get that, don't you? This has nothing to do with them being assaulted and everything to do with the fact that your pathetic ass left them broken into pieces and unable to even understand why. You haven't been the one having to force them to eat for the past week. You haven't been the one having to sit them down and use your shitty quirk that you hate to instruct them through every single bite because they can barely conceive of the steps needed to eat anymore. They're going to need a full-time caretaker, to say nothing of the fact that they can't attend classes anymore. They can't remember anything they're learning! They can't do shit! Because of you."

"I am protecting them," he hisses. "What do you know about that?"

"Protecting them? Are you fucking kidding me? You can't protect shit like this. You're not a god. You're not even armed. You're sending them out into the world with no memories, no will to even eat, and no idea what they're being protected from. You can't protect anyone. If you would just ask for help for once in your fucking life, your parents would be alive and [name] would be here, where you could do anything for them. You're useless on your own. It's time you figured that out, doctor."

Hitoshi jolts back when Izuku stalks towards him, eyes ablaze. "You have no idea what you're talking about. You think you can even begin to understand what this is like for me?" His fists are clenched, green sparks wrapping around him. His quirk. The first anyone here has seen of it. "You don't know a damn thing about what you're talking about. You didn't watch that man slaughter your parents."

"You're right. I didn't. But I've watched [name]. For a week. You know I have to teach them how to do the most basic things? You know you erased me and Neito, too? You know you probably erased Tenya, again? How do you think he feels knowing that he's lost them again?"

"At least Tenya understands what it means to love someone so much you force them to forget you entirely! If someone any of you loved and cared for got dragged into this, you'd—"

"News flash, asshole! You are not the only person on this planet who cares about them! You are not the only person on this planet who wants them to be safe! You are not even the only person in this conversation who wants to protect them. We all want that, and now we're stuck with a friend who's completely catatonic, doesn't remember half of us, and barely remembers how to breathe, and you're acting like Tenya would be on board with this? The difference is, he learned from his mistakes! He has spent every second of his life ever since he enthralled them regretting the moments they don't remember him. Understands? He learned! You, on the other hand, haven't learned shit! You're sitting here determined to repeat history and fuck all of us over for the sake of your petty revenge quest!"

Izuku's voice drops into a low growl. "Petty? That man has killed hundreds of people. Were their lives petty? Were my parents? Is [name]'s life petty to you?"

"What about their mind? Their personality? Clearly that didn't mean shit to you."

The glare of Izuku Midoriya is a powerful thing. His rage is enough to knock a grown man over, if he directs it, and, based on the state his front door is left in when he slams it, it's enough to send four adult humans to the ground. The door itself is barely on the hinges anymore, holding on more out of willpower than anything.

They help each other to their feet, and when it's clear Izuku won't hear them out any longer, Hitoshi turns on his heel. "If you need us, we'll be fixing your mistakes. Don't bother thanking us."

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[thewritersaddictions]

Prompts List

Pick from this list of many prompts. To send in requests just click 🦝 Give me a number and a few details. Let's have fun with this prompts list!

"Your hair is so soft..."

"It's too cold! Come back!"

"No, I'm not letting you go. It's too early to get out of bed"

"C'mere, you can sit in my lap until I'm done working."

"I'm not going to stop poking you until you give me some attention

"Shh, you're safe. I won't let you go."

"What? Does that feel good?"

"Just pretend to be my date."

"He/she did it." "No he/she did."

"I think I'm in love with you and I'm terrified."

"It's not a double date. We're just third and fourth wheeling."

"No no - it's alright, come here."

"I'm not going to leave you. You're never going to have to suffer by yourself again, I promise."

"Look, I know we don't know each other that well, but I'm still worried about you. No one deserves to be alone."

"If I could, I would kiss away all of your scars."

"I think I might be falling in love with you."

"Your lips are so soft. I could kiss them all day."

"It's not bad to cry. In fact, I think it makes a person stronger."

"Mmm... you're warm."

"You're so cute when you're half asleep like this.."

"I've had a rough day and honestly all I want right now is a drink and someone to cuddle with..."

"No, you can't get up! You're my prisoner for today."

"Shh, it was just a bad dream. Just a dream okay? None of it was real."

"You know I'm/we're always here for you, right?"

"Please talk to me about it."

"You have something in your hair... um-do you want me to get it out?"

"I remember practicing how to ask you out in the mirror.."

"I would've had breakfast ready, but you were sleeping on my arm and I didn't want to wake you."

"I know I've kissed you like, ten times, but just like another ten, please."

"Are you wearing my shirt?"

"Wanna, like- I mean, it you're not busy... we could get lunch? Or even just coffee if you don't have a lot of time?"

"So I was driving past a pet store and couldn't help but wonder how cute an animal would be like in our home."

"Let's just stay in bed."

"We live together. You can't blame this on anyone else."

"You're beautiful, you know that?"

"Shooting star. Make a wish."

"It's beautiful, isn't it?"

"Wow, you're hot."

"I want to marry you."

"I want to take a shower so you should probably join me. It'll save water."

"You're just not the same anymore.."

"It's midnight! Where the hell were you?"

"What the hell is your problem?"

"Why do you run away from your problem all the time?"

"You can't keep it all inside, you know?" Bottling it up won't do any good."

"Hey, I know you're hurting.. but, you're not alone, okay?"

"I hate you! I'm sorry it took me so damn long to realize that."

"You lost your chance."

"I'm sorry if I gave you the wrong impression."

You can'y just lose your temper like this every time you get a bit upset."

"calm down! You're scaring me!"

"Don't look at me like that."

"Were you ever going to tell me?"

"I'm done trying to help you!"

"Sorry doesn't fix anything."

"You didn't call. You didn't text. Nothing."

"It isn't up for debate."

"I don't know what's wrong, okay? I'm just… really tired."

"I'm fine. Stop asking."

"I'm not leaving until you tell me what's wrong, and don't try lying to me."

"I hope someday you get a taste of your own medicine."

"Pack your shit and go. Get the fuck out of my sight!"

"Is this how little you think of me."

"I can't do this anymore… not with you."

"Are you happy now? Huh? DOES THIS MAKE YOU HAPPY?!"

"You said you'd always be ther efor me… so how did this happened? Why weren't you there?"

"Did it ever occur to you that you're hurting me too?"

"I don't need help! I just want the pain to stop!"

"We can be friends instead."

"I tried to move on, but nobody is you."

"Do I look like I've moved on

"I don't remember a fight or a rason, so what happned? Why did we break up?"

"Can I at least buy you a coffee? For old times sake."

"I can't take the loneliness anymore."

"I feel like everyone just forgot I exist."

"What are you talking about? You're married."

"Maybe I'm meant to be alone…"

"I gave you your chance, and you just used it to stab me in the back."

"I've been alone for so long…"

"But you promised."

"Isn't this, like illegal?" "Probably."

"You're really drunk right now. I don't think you're gonna remember any of this." "No, i'm not drunk at all. You're just blurry."

"I have a feeling we should kiss." "Is that a good feeling or a bad feeling?"

"yeah, well, I shut everybody out. Don't take it personally. It's just easier. "

"You're jealous, aren't you?" "I'm not jealous."

"Were you ever going to tell me?"

"I can't beliece you dragged me into this."

" Bite me." "Eat me" "Kiss my ass."

"You think I'm dumb enough to fall for that stupid move."

"You have to tell me why were committing a felony before we do it. Not that that's going to stop us, but at least I'll have all the facts. "

"You weren't supposed to laugh! I'm so embrassed."

"I vote today is a pajama day."

"You aren't supposed to laugh! I'm embarrassed."

"It's a real shame nodody asked for your opinion."

"There's been some real friction in our friend group lately. I sugget an orgy to save out friendship."

"I saw that, You just checked me out."

"Are you stupid or stupid?"

Posted on: 01/21/23

[notverynymphetlike]

In the Time of Chimpanzees

Writing means a ton of self reflection. Half the point is putting all or some or none of yourself, and at least trying to know how much of yourself is there. I think I self-reflect a lot, people say I’m aware of myself and my shortcomings and what would’ve, could’ve, should’ve, or will fix them. I don’t do any of those things, and I don’t know how to force myself to. I don’t know how to force myself to do things I genuinely enjoy, like going to class with really good professors. I don’t know how to force myself to do difficult homework. I know I should. I know I should’ve gotten dressed and went to see a friend from back home I hadn’t seen since graduation at Market Wednesday. Knowing what I should do should be half the battle, that’s what tests are, they’re about knowing what to do, and then doing it. I was a big reader as a kid, apparently the library was cheaper than whatever other options, and it was fun to hang out with my mom like that as a little girl. Anyone who self-describes as “a big reader as a kid” has probably had a phase where they really wanted to be a writer. To write books and be known in history. Then it fades. Then I wanted to be known in history. Then I wanted to be a journalist a la Lois Lane and Vietnam and history and labor movements and helping people. Then that seemed impossible. I was told for years that I was smart. That I should do STEM. I looked around and saw that no one wanted to do chemistry so I figured the job market wouldn’t be as saturated. I did well in economics. My essays, when I turned them in, had a lot of voice and sources. My math homework was complete, science concepts understood. I don’t know what;s wrong with me. I really really don’t. It can’t just be losing structure. Losing almost everyone I’ve known and being thrust where I have to be outgoing. I’m good at being outgoing even if I don’t keep up with the new people. My last, turned in, writing assignment was filled with voice, no sources because it was about an experience I had, how would someone not have voice writing that, and comma splices. He told me to consider a double major in creative writing. Maybe I am depressed enough to be a writer. To write about the sunshine rainbow of what I should’ve been here. I want to make people happy. I want to make the world a better place. I want to live well. I want to know what’s wrong with me. If someone read my shit in a hundred years in an english class they probably could diagnose me better than a school lmhc or my mother. I’ve always thought that being pretty would make people less mean to me. That I’d get a seat at the plastic table. Despite the head bullshit, I am pretty. I’m 5’ and hit 108 on a bad day, but usually ~105. I’ve got a 25” waist, 34” bust and 34” hips. My face is fairly symmetrical, dumb eyes that look turquoise when I cry and green in the sunlight, and full lips. I know time will take the full lips. My teeth are gradually becoming more crooked and yellow, I don’t wear my retainer and I think falling asleep when I’m actually going to fall asleep is better than brushing my teeth. My nose could be smaller, it’s not a little button, but it’s straight and not huge. I’ve got cheekbones, and lost most of my baby fat. I naturally toe the line of dirty blonde and brunette, so once I got the go ahead from my mother, (she puts the blame on dad for not letting me dye my hair, she bleached her hair in high school her mother was a hairdresser for a hot second) I lightened my hair. It dreadlocks even more easily and I recently had to grip and rip a lot of it and then cut the dead ends. The last time, and only since hitting double digits I’m pretty sure, I went to a hair salon for senior prom. I asked about what kind of hair I had naturally and the lady told me a thick amount of fine hair, so right now I do still have a normal amount of blonde hair that now holds a curl. Being pretty, if I am, in fact, pretty, has not fixed all the problems I thought it would. Being outgoing and a spectacle has not fixed anything. Last night someone put my shoes in a garbage can and no one told me, not even the pretty girl I didn’t know who must’ve seen someone put the shoes into the trashcan by her. The spectacle of going down the stairs into the pool wearing a dress in ~65 degrees only made me cold and cost me $7 for half an uber, someone pawing at me, and having to walk half a mile at 7:30 AM. Everyone likes feeling wanted, and the easiest way I’ve seen to get that hit is to be confident and fucked. If you’re being fucked, that person wants you. My parents were good parents. They tried their best. I can handle a man a foot taller than me screaming in my face, a man half a foot taller than me screaming at his car, and get lovingly annoyed at someone getting really intense about football. I get upset and shocked when someone white says the n-word, I graduated high school with a weighted gpa over 4.0, and only needed 3 classes to finish a general AA. I despise the field of therapy, even though I know that’s what this is, me trying to figure out what’s wrong and what to do, I just don’t have someone analyzing and judging me. I know it can help people, but we have brain scan technology, if something is wrong with the brain, just do that. I always need proof for everything to a very obnoxious degree. I had a really bad cough where green phlegm was flying out earlier this semester. I accidentally hit my phone with it, and saved the spit for when I went to the doctor to get it checked out because even though the cough felt constant, what if I didn’t cough in front of the doctor. My mom got me an IUD the summer between sophomore and junior year because I went on social media at the end of freshman year saying this guy had fucked me, and covid hit sophomore year. I took trig that summer too. We’ve known, for about as long as you can know, that I have ADHD. I still haven’t been diagnosed. My kindergarten teacher had to give me extra worksheets because I did them so fast and was distracting everyone else. My first grade teacher had to come up with a new behavior system for me because I was too talkative. I get along really well with people who have ADHD and are good with their coping strategies, usually meds. I don’t get along well with other undiagnosed but ‘know they have it’ people. Like poles repel. I talk fast now. I don’t really think before I speak unless it’s a compliment, I might forget what I’m gonna say and that would suck. My father, when I was younger, wouldn’t wanna listen to anyone else at the table. That does include my mother. I don’t have any siblings. Just now, typing it out, I wonder how he would’ve been if I had a brother. My parents were super young when they had me, older brother wouldn’t have been possible, and at the time when it was the worst that I can remember was mid-elementary, so a younger brother would’ve spoken just as, if not more, stop and start and lackadaisical as I would’ve, and he didn’t even wanna hear about my mom’s studies while she was getting her master’s degree. Her master’s degree in a topic she was passionate about, and found interesting. Most people like listening to that stuff, unless you’re working a job you hate, doing a bachelor’s you’ve stalled out on because you had a kid with that woman and you need to support them. The only bright parts of his day back then seemed to be meeting dogs. And that was all he wanted to talk about. Unless a customer sucked, then we had to hear that story and about how the person was a fat idiot. I eat fast too. I still enjoy good food. I internalized what was probably only said once, and said to many many children who weren’t so affected later on “Stop talking until you’ve finished your food.” They might not even have said that word for word. I talk fast because I wanna say everything, I push every syllable out as fast as I can, I want them to come out all at once so that the person can respond or get back to whatever else they were doing. I hate taking up time. I hated being so dependent for rides in middle school in high school. I never wanted to ask to try out for teams or anything. I had a ‘girlfriend’ before I had a ‘boyfriend.’ I got home and told my dad. I think his reaction would’ve been the same if it were a boyfriend, a weird little ‘ok.’ Like that doesn’t really affect him, why tell him? I seek to prove my bisexuality, I don’t think that’s at all unique to any bisexual. Girls are just way way more intimidating cuz like I’m a girl I should already know what to do, and then getting rejected would suck so hard. I don’t care much if a guy says no, not if it’s in an unserious situation. Guys are guys, they’re a dime a dozen. As I go out more, I’m learning that rejection doesn’t hurt so much if it’s casual and you’ve only known the person for ten minutes, no matter their gender. I get mouth sores the same as my dad. Pineapple has been a known cause. Now he’s a musician and rips people off on etsy. He sets his own schedule and has always been a bit of an insomniac. A conversation that took place 2:30 my time, 1:30 his, was about me getting herpes from going down on a girl. It was over text and perfectly cordial. If someone tells me there’s something actually wrong, I deny it like hell. I feel fine. I’m not one of those. The ADHD thing being one until it really started affecting my grades.

[preaching-to-the-fire]

Preaching to the Fire (HH Adam x OC)

Chapter 3 - Hellbirth

Masterpost (info, tags, index) | [~2 100 words]

When Adam wakes up, he doesn’t know how long he’s been out. He knows one thing though : he wasn’t naked when he fell asleep.

He sits bolt upright with a jolt and reels as blood rushes back to his head. He presses a palm there and winces: his fingers hit a bump above his forehead. He must’ve taken quite a blow in the head. Lifting a corner of the blanket, he discovers with relief he still has his boxers on, at least. He’d almost find it funny how his first blame, his first shame, is still clinging to him, even now. Eden all over again.

But what he notices most, really, are the large bandages stained with brown spots, taped to his naked chest. For fuck’s sake, he thinks, this is starting to look like the start of a badly-written, thirsty fanfic — and he would know, he’s read all those about him.

He looks around: the same bedroom he was brought in a while ago — hours, days? He can’t tell.

There's a dim light on a night-stand next to him. A lava lamp. Ugh, this place reeks of the 70s. Carpeted floor, red and orange wallpaper walls he can barely see, hidden under layers of posters and shelves crammed full of vinyls. One corner of the room is an outright dumpster, in which he can make out a drumming set, mics, amps, all under years-worth of dust.

He feels weird. Like he’s s ick. But also hungry. No, not hungry, starving . He also feels heavy, so heavy, like he's gained several burgers-worth of weight in his fucking sleep. He gets up.

There are two doors in here. H e walks to open the first one and while doing so notices his wings feel unusually stiff. The door leads to the corridor he remembers from when he first arrived. Actually he can see the lift across the corridor. No hint of anyone's presence, be it the tiny demon he doesn't remember knocking out or the rat-girl who pulled him out of the streets — and into the sewers.

He closes the door and turns around. Fuck, he can't walk a straight line. His wings feel so stiff, it's hard to find his balance this way, not to mention his head feels like it's weighing a ton more than usual. He walks to the other side of the room, where the other door is, and casts a look at the instrumental mess on his way. He notices a few cases that might be guitars'.

The door leads to a bathroom, complete with a bathtub large enough to fit a whole band. But as soon as Adam walks past it, it's before the mirror that he stops.

He probably should be focusing on his many wounds, the fact that he's been all stitched up during his sleep, but to be fair the rest of him is just as alarming, if not more :

His wings. The feathers have blackened, as if burnt, with only golden rims to remind him of their past appearance. He's grown two bulges on each side of his skull that look an awful lot like horns. His ears have grown longer, so much longer and hairier, like that of a bull. His eyes are red. And he realises, the bandages are not just stained brown. They're stained in red blood. His blood.

Despite not responding just moments ago, his wings shiver brutally as he slams his palms on the edge of the sink and lets out a howl. One long crack crosses the mirror.

At the other side of the room, the door bangs open. Valska stands in the door-frame, ready to punch whatever's in sight.

“WHAT’S GOING ON?!”

“WHAT HAPPENED TO ME?!”

Adams stands by the bathroom door, only dressed in boxers, socks and bandages. His black and golden wings rest heavily against each of his shoulders, yet shivering like they want to flap open.

“What the fuck is THIS!" he screams grabbing both his bovine ears. "A--And THIS!!" he continues, now pulling on a wing. "What the-- WHAT THE FUCK!!!"

“Oh, that?”

Valska flattens a clawed hand on her chest, seemingly relieved. "For Freyja's sake, you scared the shit out of me! I thought something was wrong."

She walks up to the bed and puts down a pile of clothes she was holding, while Adam looks at her, horrified.

“Wrong? This isn't wrong enough for you?? What do you call this!!"

The rat demon walks around the bed to face him but keeps their distance, eyeing him, critical.

"Your new hellish form," she says as if it's the most obvious thing in the whole fucking world.

Adam is that close to screaming again. Valska tilts their head and her ears kinda drop.

“Oh maybe I should've brought a cake or something? I haven't celebrated a hellbirth in a while so you must forgive me. Also you killed my chef last night and I can't cook. Man, Pixar are damn liars about rats who can cook."

“Hellbirth-- What the FUCK?” His voice grows dangerously high-pitched. “Why am I like this? How does it stop?"

“Stop?" She tilts her head back up and shakes her head. "It's done already. You can't just stop it. You're a demon now."

Adam lets out a sound that is half a growl and half a laugh. He presses a palm against his forehead and says, low: “I can’t be a demon. I CAN’T be.”

Then he spins around to face them, towering them, having lost all control. Valska takes a step back just in case.

“D’you even KNOW who I am?! WHO made me?” he shouts, not caring about keeping his identity a secret anymore.

Valska brings her hands to her ears, wincing at the noise. “I kno—” But he spins right back around.

“I’m no fucking DEMON. I started mankind! ALL of it! This is all LUCIFER’s fault! That fucking SNAKE and his DUMBASS, rainbow-eating princess—”

“I know—”

“How do I go back to how I was?” he asks spinning back to them.

“… I'm afraid this is quite definitive."

“It CAN’T be.”

Valska snorts. “I can assure you all these years down here have taught me at least this much—”

“You DON’T get it.” His voice is cutting. Helpless, almost. “I am THE man, I was the first human on Earth and first human soul in Heaven, I am on top of everything, the beginning of EVERYTHING, I am--I am—”

His voice cracks.

“But now I'm just..." He glances at the mirror and his scattered reflection: all he sees are red eyes lost in black wings. "I'm hideous."

Valska lets go of her ears and opens her eyes wide in understanding and empathy as she watches the Adam bury his face in his hands. She brings her own before her chest and fidgets before she takes a few steps and rests a claw on his arm.

“Hey. It's alright," they says, their voice soft. Adam looks at her through his fingers. "Most people struggle with their demon form the first few months." She gives him an apologetic smile and shrugs. "But you'll be okay, you'll live. Isn't that the most important?"

Adam doesn't really know what to reply.

“And, hey, if it can help with the dysmorphia…” She hands him the pile of clothes. “Here you go.” On top of the sweatpants and faded t-shirt is--

--his mask.

“Sent my rats to get it.”

And finally it clicks:

“Wait. So you-- you’ve known who I am all along?”

Valska flashes a smile and lifts their chin, obviously proud.

“These rat brains are more developed than what they seem.”

He doesn’t smile. He looks down at the mask then back at them.

“… Why didn’t you kill me?”

She laughs as if she doesn’t quite understand. “You don’t know who I am?” she questions, shaking her head, voice stern, smile threatening him to give her a good answer.

“Uhhh I should?”

Her hair ruffles just a bit.

“Flattering. Nevermind.”

He lifts his mask to his face : half of it, the half Lucifer smashed with a single punch, has been glued back together with yellow glue, but the screen is unresponsive, black and silent instead. The other half is still working.

He looks down at them, wants to say something but they’re already talking:

“I always say, there ain’t nothing a good meal can’t fix.” And they hols a finger up. Then she looks at him. “Should I, uh, order anything for you while you change?”

Adam thinks. He vaguely remembers he’s hungry. He looks down at his mask. Shrugs.

"Alright," she lets out. "Pizza it is then."

She heads for the door and as she's about to cross it, she briefly glances back. The fallen angel seems... unlike himself, to say the least. Her ears drop a little as she realises she has nothing to say to cheer him up. She leaves the room.

Meanwhile, Adam notices small specks of golden blood still stain the rim of his mask. A sick feeling makes his stomach churn.

Outside, walking through the corridors, Valska takes her phone out of one of the pockets of her oversized, black overalls and opens her contacts list. She doesn't have to scroll too long. Not many contacts there.

On the line, her first assistant picks up almost immediately.

“Hi there, Val.”

“Nicolas! Nikulás, my favourite assistant !" they smile, all teeth out in an exaggerated grin. "How's it hanging, luv?"

But Nicolas' voice is stern and definitely not as enthusiastic as theirs.

“Alright what did you do?"

Valska’s smile melts away.

“What! Nikulás, ástin minn, what do you meaaan? I'm just calling to check in on you! Just making sure my favourite person is rocking, as usual!"

“Val. I'm in the middle of supervising a recording session. What. Do you. Want. Or should I ask in Icelandic."

Valska can't keep a grunt from crossing her black-painted lips. She leans against a wall, one arm across her chest and pouts.

“If this is about your guest, we’ve discussed that already. I don't want to have anything to do with it."

“Nooo, it's all fine, he’s fine, everything fine. I don't get why you’re so touchy about this."

“Oh, maybe it’s because when Lilith comes back and she learns of what you're doing, we'll both be in gigantic trouble?"

Now, Valska's face has lost all playfulness. They lift their chin up.

“You worry too much. Besides, Lily isn't here and hasn't been in almost eight years now."

“Look. Peu importe. I don't want to fight over this again. Why are you calling?"

“Could you call the pizza thing for me and have them deliver to the flat?"

She can practically hear him roll his eyes.

“Right away. The usual?"

“Yeah. But! Uh, take another two. No, three. Make 'em complete. Like everything they can put on them."

A sigh.

“Anything else?”

“Could you, err.." starts Valska, ears dropping, tail whipping nervously. "Could you send in another imp? Please? Hæhæ."

“... ANOTHER ONE ?"

“I knoooow but the newbie sorta got, well... uh…"

“What did you do to him this time??!"

Valska's ears tense up and their tail whips the wall. "Nothing! Why would you assume it's me?"

“It's the fourth fucking imp I hire for you in the past two months Valska!"

They wince at their full name.

“Yes well that first imp had it coming.”

“Everyone has different music taste, you stupid rat!"

“She said Karimloo was a better Phantom than Michael Crawford to my fucking face. What was I meant to do??"

On the other end, Nicolas sighs loudly.

“Here's what I'll do. I'll send in another one and if this one doesn't last you at least a full month, you'll have to start hiring your own damn imps yourself."

“You mean call the agency myself and talk to people?" echoes Valska, dumbfounded, offended, hell, outraged even.

“My words exactly."

“Ugh. FINE."

They’re about to hang up on him when--

“How is he?" asks Nicolas, reluctant.

“Who?”

“Wh-- Qu-- The effing leader of the exterminations whom you rescued, who the heck would I be talking about?!"

“Oh. Kinda freaked about his new hellish form. I think."

“Alright," grumbles her first assistant. "Don't drop your guard. If he kills you it's your problem."

And he hangs up on them. Valska looks down at her phone, mouth open in disbelief, teeth growing sharper all of a sudden. "I get to hang up on you, not the other way around, you snail-eating baguette," she mumbles to herself as she walks away.

ástinn minn (is) - my love

peu importe (fr) - whatever

Nicolas (fr) - just don't pronounce the s

Nikulás (is) - nicolaos kinda

[moistvonlipwig]

🔥

disney 🥴

love the inexplicably huge fire emoji...anyway idk disney is whatever. i haven't seen most of them because i was only ever interested in the animal ones growing up. which i think my mom was glad about because she hated the princess ones too lmao. and then at school they kept showing us mulan so that was the only princess one i saw. i saw snow white in college for an animation class and i actually fell asleep during the dwarf sequence lol i was like when's the evil queen coming to fuck their shit up.

but broadly although i know there's been a trend lately of trying to claim that actually the feminist critics of the early 2010s were wrong and the disney princess movies were feminist and progressive all along...no they weren't lol. don't kid yourselves. (even the lion king which is a very beautiful film that i enjoyed very much has both the problems of its fascistic ideology and its promotion of the idea of a pristine, nebulous '''africa''' without people.) i think some of the newer ones have been fun but both the existence of "wish" (which i didn't see but rubbernecked via youtube) and the constant soulless live-action remakes tell me that fundamentally the mouse thinks they can coast along making absolute junk on the disney brand alone. unfortunately they are probably correct.

and tbf disney has made some shows i've enjoyed like my favorite marxist frog cartoon amphibia which slaps so hard and of course once upon a time which is not strictly speaking '''good''' but which does compel me and has interesting subversive elements (as well as deeply conservative ones). and i do think sometimes people assign blame to disney for things that don't really track logically (not to be a hater about a show for 8 year olds but a lot of the owl house's writing problems can in fact be pretty clearly attributed to the writers of that show, not to big bad disney). but generally i am against the mouse and i think we should call in a cat to eat it.

good songs tho 👍

[thecaptainsbunk]

yeah yeah i know this is the porn blog i stopped putting actual porn on a while ago, here have another body-focused rant i don't feel comfy putting on my main cause i'm shy about it

like...transness aside, body-image aside, i have a deep like..."knowledge" that i am inherently a disgustoid freak who must be not only horrible to behold but abhorrent to touch. This has not been improved by certain experiences where I was...mmmm...unaware of a boundary and crossed it (sexual/sensually). And then that one person who kept being asleep when they'd start shit and wake up mid-go of it and then would blame me for it. That particular person has given me quite a few hangups re: boundaries and my knowledge of them, to the point that i am terrified if my current partner shows any reluctance at all to touch me before doing so.

but like...i grew up and was told over and over to cover up, you're too "big" to wear clothes like that, that show that skin - it wasn't that I was dressing too provocatively, it was that i was too "fat" for the clothing. That no one would want to see me in them, so to change. I am a well-endowed person in the chesty area and growing up AFAB with the intention of being a girl the whole time (god i tried so hard), it was always "are you sure you want to wear *that* shirt?" "I think that's a little low cut, you should wear another layer underneath". Not to get into the policing of my pants and skirts when I have a...voluptuous derriere and i grew up in the era of crotch-high jeans and belt-skirts. There were no clothes meant for me on the racks, and i had jumped from "pre-teen" to "adult" sizes very quickly with barely a passing moment in the "teen" zone. I still tried because teen clothes were less expensive than "woman" clothes, and they were more my style. But there was nothing that fit me, not really.

My body was policed and rather than seeing myself as inherently a sexual temptation (because god did i want to be seen as sexual, even rather young - mostly because i just wanted to be *seen*) i was being taught that i was disgusting to look at. This was reinforced by the fact that when I *did* wear clothes I thought I looked good in, no one really...looked? Or cared? I was not interesting to anyone, especially not sexually (and if I was, no one was saying).

And this...persisted. Even once I had sexual partners, it was rarely that I was sought after for being attractive, it was more "oh this one will sit and listen to my bullshit" "oh this one is naive enough to believe my stories" "Eh, this one's close by and easy." Because i was starving for attention and affection and I would take what I could get.

I'll admit, my tastes were not terribly discerning when it came to whether or not i was attracted to the person, because i figured i could make myself attracted to them as long as they didn't find me repulsive.

i still feared them looking at me.

My big-E Ex and i would regularly just Be Naked at home, because he was clothes-averse, and he kept the house warm so I was uncomfortable wearing clothes. This was something somewhat familiar to me as my previous best friend (who i had recently parted ways with when I'd met said Ex) would also just meander about mostly nude and didn't seem to care how much I had on either. But living with the Ex was the first time I felt like maybe I could like how i looked mostly naked, and that maybe I was attractive too, since he never told me to cover up (there were Rules for what I had to wear if his mom came over, though he never had to put more clothes on than just his boxers).

The thing was is that he never really found me attractive. He found me inoffensive, probably, but like...he wasn't into how I looked. which...is vastly different to not *caring* how I look. But he also...complained that we had *both* gained weight after meeting one another, he was very upset that I didn't seem to lose the weight, either. (it is entirely likely the weight gain i was experiencing was due to both stress and the birth control I was on, this is unimportant however). We dieted. A lot. and then we'd stop, and then we'd start again. We did excercise as often as both our bodies could take it, but he often would become injured so that he wouldn't be able to do the exercise, or take care of the household chores, so I would pick up his slack, and would be too tired to exercise on my own, and i've never been a good self-motivator (this ends up being fine as it turns out I should not have been pushing myself that hard).

He mainly seemed interested in me, sexually, when I was actively attempting to lose weight. Whenever I stopped, and/or started gaining weight again (which did not necessarily happen just because i'd stopped, but often would happen while we were actively attempting to work harder at losing weight), he would just lose all interest in me entirely. We went months without more than chaste kisses when he felt obligated. Hugs were infrequent.

Luckily I was used to infrequent physical affection, due to the fact that I just really wasn't ever anyone that anyone wanted to touch. Not my parents, or my sister, or the rest of my family. I didn't have close friends who liked being physically affectionate - it might have been seen as gay, or too forward, depending on perceived genders at the time. I was always told off for touching, reaching out. Being seen. I needed to cover myself, to never be seen.

I would dress up every so often, ditching the shapeless, formless comfortable clothes and my mother would point out how i was wearing it wrong. I got used to people adjusting my clothes for me without my consent because i was so tired of getting told it was wrong and just let them fix it for me, because it was exhausting. I never fixed it correctly, it moved because i moved, and things rode up or slipped down because i was shaped the way i am shaped.

I was always in pictures to be shown as the "well at least we're smaller than *that*". both with my family and my Ex's.

If people wanted pictures of me at all.

Most of my pictures i have are selfies for a reason. And I am displeased with almost all of them - the selfies i mean. Also the reasons, but i meant the selfies.

I have a hard time looking at myself in a way that favors the way I look because well if no one wants to look at me or touch me, it must be because I look horrible - i don't know how, I...I don't actually hate the way I look, and I never really did? I was always neutral about it, mostly. I hated that i couldn't force myself to look the way other people wanted me to. I hated that the vision i would have in my head for outfits or pictures i took was inaccurate because i just have a hard time remembering how i look, and i never really learned how to dress myself (i was dressing how my family told me to dress and they didn't know how to dress my body type either, because i was the only one shaped like this).

objectively i am pretty well proportioned - something-something hourglass figure something something else. I'm not particularly heavyset, i'm not super thin. I'm - as stated - voluptuous and well-endowed in balanced areas, and i've seen many a classical painting that looks like my shape. My face is round which makes me self-conscious, but i'm working on that. I'm not...i don't think i'm bad looking. Which is why i figured someone might find me sexy.

but they don't. No one sees me in a sexual manner. i have been told approximately twice (by the same person) that i am hot, and they weren't attempting to get into my pants. And...that's it that i remember in recent times.

(It should be noted that the being called hot by said person was very flattering and i am still not sure what to do with this information because i don't understand it. This person is one of my current partners, and is the only partner who has told me i am attractive to them in any way - they just also happen to be like Super Mega Ace and thus do not mean it in a necessarily sexual way.) (if you are not this person and also find me hot, and especially if it's in a sexual way, please let me know. If you've told me previously i'm very sorry but i have literally blocked it out of my head because i either thought it was a lead-up and thus could not be trusted, or i considered it invalid due to other reasons. please remind me lol)

but like...i will flinch away from accidental touch not because i dislike being touched but because i am fairly certain people do not want to touch me. I will keep myself covered and warn if i'm going to expose myself so that others can look away from my horrific form, not because i care if they see me. Actually quite the opposite, not only do i generally not care if i'm half-naked, but i'd be flattered if people wanted to look.

I'm just...aware that they almost assuredly do not want to do either of those things - touching or looking at me. and so i give them time to avert their eyes, or avoid undressing in common spaces, or move away from crossed legs that might touch mine, even if it means perching on the most uncomfortable edge of a seat, just so they don't have to worry that i've gotten my disgustoid cooties upon them.

i always have to double check that people are *sure* they want to give me a hug, not because i don't want it, but because i am sure they're just doing it to be polite, or to be kind, and they are putting themselves under duress to do so.

as soon as my partner showed even the slightest bit of reluctance at a hug when they were sad tonight, I feared I had asked too many times and pressured them to do it anyway. I feared that they were *making* themself deal with the laborious burden of hugging me because i had pushed or manipulated them until they had no choice but to do it, despite not wanting to.

i've...now mentioned it, finally, that this is how i perceive myself, and how i perceive others around me. I...will likely have to break it all down again, if they don't see this (it's possible, they're not nearly as online as me lol). because it's...it's important that they know that i am just...so broken inside. by the way i was taught (purposefully or not) that i was someone who shouldn't be seen or touched, because i was not pretty enough.

and i never would be.

[revisitingstoneybrook]

#9 The Ghost at Dawn’s House: Chapter 7

It’s a Dawn book but we’re still going to be subjected to a sitting chapter involving Karen telling one of her stupid ghost stories UGH

So Kristy’s babysitting, who else, David Michael, Karen, and Andrew. She blames Dawn for the fact that everyone's got the jibblies over the thunderstorm, though as it becomes apparent, it isn't just the thunderstorm, it's Karen too. Kristy just likes to blame Dawn for shit. Anyway, Sam and Charlie are at a party and Watson the Millionaire and Elizabeth are at some theater in Stamford, probably escaping to get away for at least a couple of hours from Karen. 

Kristy tries getting the kids to play Chutes and Ladders but the thunder freaks the shit out of everyone; we're told David Michael shrieks, and I'm imagining him shrieking like Ned Flanders.

Well, everyone's scared except Kristy, who's scared of nothing (except the BSC losing clients) and Karen, who calls everyone nitwits when the thunder rumbles.

Kristy decides to read a book instead and rolls her eyes when Karen suggests Ramona and her Father. Bitch, there is nothing eyeroll-worthy about Ramona and her Father! That's a classic! Karen wishes she was as imaginative and funny as Ramona.

Before Kristy can suggest something else, Karen volunteers a story. And we all know what story that is - it’s Karen, it’s either Morbidda Destiny or Ben Brewer. Kristy stops her and asks her if she knows anything not scary. Nope! Dawn says Karen never means to scare anyone...oh please. You seriously think Karen doesn't get a kick out of frightening everyone and being the center of attention? And sorry Kristy, David Michael and Andrew say they want something scary!

Kristy, anticipating what this means, says no scary stories and proceeds to tell the dumbest knock-knock joke instead. You know the one, where you keep saying banana until you say “orange you glad I didn't say banana?” Kristy thinks it's hilarious, the kids aren’t amused. She should have said “Smell mop!” after they said knock knock, that would have least been funnier. 

Kristy leaves to get some graham crackers and milk from the kitchen and comes back to find David Michael and Andrew terrified and listening to Karen. And Karen's in costume! She's wearing a witch's hat and a sparkly black mask and waving a wand around while she tells the story of Ben Brewer for the thousandth time. See? I told you she likes scaring them and being the center of attention!

Oh, and Kristy says “ew” when Karen says the headless ghost was going to transform Ben Brewer into a crazy person. So Kristy finds the mentally ill to be gross. I'm skipping over the story, you all have heard this more times than necessary. Kristy, surprisingly out-of-character here instead of gushing about how smart and funny Karen is, is being awfully snarky. She's even picking out inaccuracies!

“Karen,” said Kristy, “the last time you told ghost stories, you said Boo-Boo won't go on the third floor because it's under the attic and the attic is haunted.” Karen paused. “Oh,” she said. “Well, that's true. But Ben's room is haunted, too. So anyway...”

Louie and Boo-Boo then tear out of the room, and Karen screams that Ben Brewer is there haunting them because animals can sense the supernatural. Kristy tells her there's no ghost, even though she's scared too. Ok, a 7-year-old managed to frighten a 13-year-old? What? Andrew starts crying and they all say they want to sleep in Kristy's room with her, even Karen, who I guess ended up scaring herself.

Dawn says Kristy has this “mammoth new bed” in her bedroom. Mind meet gutter. In the morning, Kristy wakes up and all the kids are still there asleep in bed with her, including Boo-Boo and Louie. Charlie and Sam laugh at her, though they don't really have much room to talk.

[andhaveapleasanttomorrow]

i realised recently (as in, thursday or friday but i can't remember which) that i've been spending inordinate amounts of my time each day just mindlessly scrolling through reddit. and i think that the reason it took so long for me to realise what was happening was that it's just become another compulsion. i open reddit, i read each post i see, if it's interesting i open the comments and almost force myself to view the thoughts and opinions others have shared—even though i often don't actually care, or even very much do not want to read them. and i just do that for literal hours, at least three or four times a day.

i'm not sure where i'm going with this. i think i just felt...something...at having seen that you seem to be doing something similar (though i'll admit i'm extrapolating a fair amount of information from what you shared; a surface level, it simply reminded me of this recent realisation). i think it frightened me a bit because i saw it just as i was falling asleep (i opened tumblr for some reason that i can't remember now) and it seemed like some sort of set up. but i think it also felt comforting? despite the fact that if your feelings on this habit are at all similar to my own, you're probably just resigned to the fact that you keep doing it at this point. or maybe you enjoy it, idk. i don't know your mind.

i'm rambling. sorry. whatever. i'm just glad (and maybe a little wigged out) that i saw your post about it. and...i hope that we're both able to break this habit and find a better use of time because honestly i know it's not doing my mental state any favours, and i imagine it's probably not doing any for yours (though if i'm wrong you should definitely keep doing it. or don't. i'm not your boss).

anyway, there wasn't really a point to this ask. i just felt like sharing. hope it hasn't come off as annoying or rude. (also sorry you're going through it right now, all reddit browsing aside. hope things get better for you, or at least more tolerable.)

thank you for sharing :). I think it is probably a common issue. it's not much different than doing the same with any social media platform. something in my brain finds it a bit more forgivable because I'm reading words as opposed to image or video (although it's not like I use instagram, tiktok, etc anyways). but each comment ends very quickly (depending on the sub) and I can skip over stuff if I don't feel like reading it, so it's "easier" than actually reading, like, a book or something, which I don't think is good. I don't view it as a good use of my time. most of it does not really make me think about anything at all (again, depending on the sub). a large amount of reddit comments say basically nothing, or otherwise repeat what most everyone else is already saying, as much as possible the reason for the "thousands of words" comment is that I find it sort of baffling I can expend the mental energy to read that much but it's all going towards something with hardly any nutritional value. it's like chewing gum. engaging in the act of reading without actually receiving any information. sometimes it's cool because I find little communities I wouldn't have otherwise known about but maybe 80% of the time I'm just looking at empty bullshit that means nothing to me (and another fraction I'm looking at bullshit that probably actively harms me). I don't place the blame on reddit itself so much because I know if it wasn't this it'd be some other mind-numbing thing... think I need to get some kind of shock collar hope you can figure something out yourself but to be h I think trying to replace distractions with distractions is a vain pursuit I need to like, get up in the brainworks with a wrench and bang that shit out

[books-and-catears]

Avatar of Chaos:

Peace is longer an option (5)

Taglist: @tanspostsblog @kurisu55 @your-highness-lev @attackonhoseok @justeclem44

<- Chap 4 ll Chap 6 ->

"Are you sure you shouldn't just stay at the house today?" Solomon said on the phone. "Things are already getting heated as it is."

"Has someone come to threaten you yet?" You brushed out your hair nonchalantly, admiring your horns. How are they going to react to it? Their horrified faces will be worth the wait.

"Actually you know what? You're right. I want to stick around today. See what's been happening. In fact, you should come too, Solomon."

You could hear him smirk. Even he couldn't pass up an opportunity to witness the brothers' shenanigans.

"I'll be there shortly." He hung up and you tossed the phone and walked to the common room.

"MC! You're home today?!" Mammon wiggled around, suspended upside down in the air. "Help me down will ya?"

You didn't say a word. You simply stared at him. Staring as if you're suprised how he ended up there. Do you recognise this stare, Mammon?

"Oi MC?! Can you not hear me?! Oi!" Mammon suddenly felt the ropes on him grow tighter, pulling him higher. "Shit, what did Lucifer do to these?! MC seriously can you loosen these up?"

You stood there idly, your eyes never leaving his. Mammon felt an odd sense of dread. Did your eyes always look like that? "MC..."

"Oh don't bother helping him, MC! He really crossed his limits this time! He stole from all of us at once! Even you, MC!"

You turned around to see Asmo walk in. He draped his arms around you and pulled you away from his brother.

"I didn't take shit! And you found those things where they were supposed to be just a day later! Why won't you believe me?!"

Mammon's ropes came loose all at once and then ripped into shreds. He fell comically on the floor and rubbed his dizzy head.

"You should go sit down, Mammon." You helped him off the floor. He tilted his head back and closed his eyes, instantly asleep.

"What reason is there to suspect him if the stolen things were found, Asmo?" You turned your eyes towards the younger brother.

"Well maybe it's to incur praises and rewards! It's Mammon after all, what else can we expect?! You should have seen Levi, he summoned Lotan cause his favourite Ruri figure had gone missing!" Asmo waved his hand around dismissively.

"If we don't know what actually happened, then there is a probability", you put a hand tenderly on his face, "that you simply misplaced those things and blamed your own forgetfulness on Mammon too, isn't that right?"

Asmo felt bashful at your sudden proximity and leaned in even closer. "Oh MC, you know me too well to doubt me like this!"

"Then you wouldn't mind if I break your head in half and take a peek at your memories inside?"

Asmo's eyes widened. He heard your voice loud and clear in his head...yet your lips didn't move. You hadn't said a thing.

You simply nodded and moved away. And yet Asmo felt a burning chill at the roots of his hair. Like a sharp tug, threatening to rip his skin off his skull. It was only once - yet it lingered.

"Ahhhhh!" Asmo's squealed and fell back on the couch, rapidly scratching at his scalp, his long nails surely scraping parts of it off.

"Itchy is it? I'll help." You sank your fingers in his hair and his eyes closed on his own, his head lulling to the side, right on Mammon's shoulder.

"So this is the real reason you asked me to keep you away." Solomon clicked his tongue looking at the sleeping demons. "Because you can barely help your rage around them."

"Just do what you need to do, please." You clenched your fists and walked back towards the staircase.

"Your magical traces are all over the place. You really did a number on them, MC."

"I merely returned the favors I owed them." You said softly. "Come to my room after you're done. I'll show you how I did it."

Solomon nodded and cast his memory spells on them. When they'd wake up - it would all be a faraway dream, too absurd to be true.

"Satan, you're here." Simeon greeted him in Diavolo's garden.

"Indeed. I heard MC made an amazing suggestion for the school play. Are you writing the script for it?" Satan asked, taking an empty seat.

"Quite the opposite actually. We are simply writing prompts." Diavolo answered.

"Prompts? What is this play even about?" Satan asked.

Barbatos put down his cup. "An improv based on the story of the House of Lamentation."