#just like good ol times WOOOO

[litrallytyrus]

Omg I haven’t been here quite a while but it’s fun to be back and seeing everyone else here too 🥹😭🥹

man firstly i have to say i am a huge fan of your username (tyrus users stay united forever 🤞) and SECONDLY you’re so right there is something so special and wholesome about this reunion of people who were all hanging out together during the andi mack/hsmtmts era …. like watching the Final Season of hsmtmts together as a collective little community is just like …… this niche tumblr period is ending for all of us, even for those of us that have already moved on! and that’s crazy!

[cherry-titz]

Hi friends! @1800titz here. This is my contribution to the collaboration, and I’d like to start off by saying that I am so, so, so beyond excited to work with the immensely talented @cherryjuiceblues!! Thank you for working with me Soph :’)

We have loads of goodies planned, and we’d like to kick things off with Mr. Hitchhikerry. (Sidenote: he’s a little late to the party, this WAS supposed to be a spooky piece for Halloween but SHDJDJCJDJD don’t worry about it. Life got in the way a bit, but he’s finally HERE so WOOOO). A little idea based on this reddit post. This one has great big warnings. DARK HARRY. VERY DARK HARRY. With a piece like this, I want to really emphasize: this is purely for entertainment purposes, and there is 0 correlation intended to the real Harry Styles <3 just a spooky faceclaim.

With that disclaimer out of the way, here’s some content warnings: dom/sub themes, choking, (light) spanking, degradation (and praise!) ((some good ol’ LET’S PLAY SIMON SAYS)). THE WOOF WOOF is for humiliation purposes only <3 GREAT BIG WARNING FOR A DISTURBING CONFESSION OF INTENT TO HARM.

Also, I writhe in my seat as I write, wanting to put in lengthy context of prediscussion and safewords and aftercare and everything important I always talk about, BUT. You’ll see. He’s an …interesting character and I tried to keep hitchhikerry true to himself.

PLEASE DON’T HOOK UP WITH STRANGE MEN YOU PICK UP ON THE SIDE OF THE ROAD AT NIGHT. PLEASE DON’T PICK UP STRANGE MEN ON THE SIDE OF THE ROAD AT NIGHT. Enjoy ٩(◕‿◕)۶ (WC is 11K)

She doesn’t do hitchhikers. 

Not figuratively, not literally. 

Y/N was raised outside of the scope of the seventies, post-Bundy and his hitchhiking antics, and since the evolution of serial-killer lore, she’s never been fond of a stranger hopping into her passenger seat and then cutting her up into itsy-bitsy parts to hang around his back garden like string-lights, or something. An ear there, a palm with crooked fingers there. Morbid stuff. 

Y/N doesn’t do hitchhikers, but she doesn’t think about that, hurtling down some back-country road, a poorly lit vale through a field of tall, boundless grass. It’s not the first thought budding behind her skull when she sees his silhouette through the shone of her pearly brights — a blip by the line of tall shrubbery — even a good distance away. And from her distance, he’s just a little blip in a cream, hoodless sweatshirt, feet planted into a bed of patchy grass. Her first sane thought, as she squints through her windshield, has to do with why someone would be out on this road, at this time of night, with no feasible form of transportation, and how. As her Honda nears and passes some fork off, a dirt bend of clearing into the winding field of nature, the man’s hitchhiking, signature thumb morphs into a wave of his arms, and his foot steps out, toying at the edge of the road. It doesn’t quite breach the threshold, but her speedometer decreases enough for her to catch baggy denim, distressed at the knees, and a slow wave of his arms, raised. He doesn’t launch at her car, forlorn, as she passes — thank Christ. But even then, his frame swishes by, out of sight, coated by darkness. She casts her gaze to the rear-view, and the image of him scrubbing over his face with an exasperated palm shrinks in size the further she gets. 

The young woman gets about a hundred feet before she nudges the break with her foot to a halt, sighing as the car settles with a subtle lurch. She makes another glance to the rear-view. Now, she can’t see him, not in the shroud of night, but she squeezes her eyes shut for a second, and then twists the wheel until the car curves. A tire slips off onto gravel and grass with the U-turn, but she steers herself back onto the road and drives into the same direction she’s just come from. 

He looks surprised to see her reverse, form pivoted toward the same headlights that’d just passed him with a crease over his brow bone. Y/N slows and breaks as she nears, absent-mindedly pressing a fingertip over the lock button on her door. TV Girl is still playing quietly from her car speakers when she cracks the window, stopped beside him across the road, and beckons with her chin raised just enough for her cadence to seep through the opening, “Do you need help?” 

“Yes, yeah, I—“ the man makes a quick glance towards the side of the road where vehicles would be incoming, a sharp turn of his chin, and then a step towards her parted window as Y/N twists over the volume toggle. “I just— my car broke down,” he raises an arm and points towards the dirt clearing that slips into the field, “I was coming this way, and my phone’s died—“ 

He pauses, shaking his head down at his converse, his voice a baritone croon with charming, foreign dialect, “I know this is so odd, and you probably don’t want a stranger in your car. But f’you could just order an uber or something, I could give you the cash for it?” the girl watches his ring-clad palm disappear into the front pocket of his denim hastily, only to retrieve a wallet, “—If that’s alright?” 

Y/N doesn’t do hitchhikers. 

And still, her pupils rove over the charming stranger, trailing from his soft dark curls, swiping over his lashes as his head ducks, down the slope of his nose, to the cushiony pink of his lips. Irises graze down his neck and catch a white tee under the collar of his cream pull-over, and they brush down his denim, to his battered, white converse. The young woman watches his hand stretch out, cautiously, a wad of neatly folded cash cupped by pads of fingers with short, yellow-lacquered nails. 

“No, don’t— …I can give you a ride,” Y/N tells him, her tone soft as her gaze wanders over his frame. 

A downward shift plucks at the corner of his plush mouth and his jaw flexes, a hesitant look shaping over his features, “It’s— I couldn’t— s’like a thirty minute drive, and I don’t wanna take you out of the way…”  

His large hand is still stretched out toward her, and she admires the cross inked over the back of his hand, on the fleshy area between his thumb and forefinger. Her brows pinch together, and the window whirs as the glass partition sinks. The girl raises her hand and points back with her thumb. 

“Are you going in that direction?” 

Wordlessly, the attractive stranger nods — a single dip of his chin. 

“I’m going that way, too. I can give you a lift.” 

Another look of hesitancy flits over the curly-haired stranger’s face, a soft, dubious touch to his facial features. He purses his strawberry mouth. 

“If you’re sure.” 

Y/N doesn’t do hitchhikers. 

And still, she slips her hand over the unlock button, and the doors click to signal unshuttering as the man culls his wallet and stuffs the cash back in, sticking that back into his jeans. She watches him wind around her car, his gait trailing behind, and her eyes follow his side profile, bathed in the red of the brake lights, through the rear-view. The passenger door slips open. She rolls her window the rest of the way up. 

“Thank you,” the man tells her in his low baritone, raking fingers through his curls as he slides into the seat beside her and shuts the door. 

He smells heady and fresh — expensive. But it’s not overpowering, by any means. A blend of tantalizing notes; cologne blotted in increments that mesh well with his natural musk. The pleasant scent is the first thing she notices when he climbs into her vehicle. The second is the sculpt of his side profile — lengthy lashes over the crest of his cheekbones, his nose, a plush, pink mouth, a stray curl splayed over his forehead. He’s a little older than her, at least by a handful of years; there’s this innate, aged quality to him, and she can witness it in the shape of his features, in the soft dusting of stubble over his jawline. Y/N catches glimpses of his side profile discretely as the music track shifts, eyeing the bob of his Adam's apple as he cranes his neck back against the headrest. The screen over the center console reads 1:02 AM. 

“Long night?” 

It’s a shit attempt at small talk, but the young woman turns the wheel in her palms, hopeful that the man is interested in something more than an awkward silence, sparsely filled with the mellow keys of electronic-indie leaking from the speakers. She heard him expel a breath more than she sees it in her peripherals, and as the car embarks on another U-turn, he tells her, with laughter suffusing his cadence, “Yeah. Yeah, s’been a long night.”

She does make out that he pivots a bit towards her, and his tone is earnest when he says, “But it’d be a little longer without you, I think. Thank you, again. Feels like I can’t say it enough.” 

Her mouth quirks softly. The young woman keeps a haphazard left hand on the wheel, vision bouncing from the poorly illuminated road ahead and the phone in the cupholder. The LED display lights alive as she swipes her thumb over the lockscreen and toggles onto the maps app, cueing him by nudging the electronic in his direction. 

“Um. If you could just type in the directions— I’m sort of shit in these parts, to be honest.” 

She casts a brief gaze toward him and sees a soft divot pinch into his cheek as the corners of his mouth crook up. His fingertips, warm and rough — calloused — brush over the back of her hand with the handoff, and then his thumbs are working over the screen before an address and a winding blue line of directions with an eta of thirty-four minutes teems the screen. 

“Hi, by the way,” the man says in his honey-smooth cadence, “My name’s Harry.” 

“Hi,” Y/N grins, shooting a bashful glance into the attractive stranger — Harry’s — direction, before fixing her irises up ahead. “I’m Y/N.” 

“Y/N,” the man parrots — God. She could listen to him drone on about the most monotonous topics in that voice. He doesn’t. Instead, he uses that same timbre again to say, “S’a pretty name.” And she has to ignore the flurry of butterflies that swarm her innards at the entirely innocuous compliment and the heat that suffuses her cheeks. “Are you from around here?” 

“Ish. Sort of,” she slows at a curve through the field. Her brows pinch, “I mean, I’ve lived here for a bit now, but I moved from Oregon.” 

“Oregon? That’s sick. Any particular motive?” 

Y/N lifts a subtle shoulder, because there isn’t. She pauses before she answers. “Dunno. Just needed a change of scenery.” 

Harry twists the ring over his pinky and nods down at the motion, lips pursed with intrigue, “Adventurous.”

The young woman’s mouth crooks, because he’s, evidently, from the opposite hemisphere.  

“That’s admirable,” the man motions with his chin. 

Her mouth is still smiley when she rounds another curve, in the opposite direction, and mirrors his dialogue, “What about you? Any motive?” 

“My motive?” his inflection is cheeky and playful, “You don’t think I’m a native?” 

The girl makes a wry sound of amusement; an obvious inclination of disagreement. The handsome man grins, all raspberry-tinted lips and friendly teeth. “Just …visited, and never wanted to leave,” he declares with little expansion on the topic. Simple, short, sufficing. 

There’s a little moment of lull between them when she straightens the car out and the track slips into the chorus. 

Harry shifts in the passenger seat and asks, in that same deep timbre she could sink into and drown in, “Where are you headed from?” 

Where is she headed from? Y/N blinks at the road ahead, digits flexing over the steering wheel. Truth be told, it’s a late hour to be out and about, especially in this deserted neck of the woods. Every cozy little farmhouse in these plains, distant beyond the fields of grass, has lights off. No other car passes. 

“I was on a …date,” the young woman tells him. 

Harry nods and swivels in his seat to face her a bit. “Good date?” 

Y/N pauses, the fragments of the story rolling around behind her skull. And truth be told, …it wasn’t a very good date. But it wasn’t a date to begin with. In all honesty, she’s not about to tell this attractive stranger that she’d driven forty minutes for a routine hook-up with an old tinder match, only to be stood up outside his door. 

He was a character whose path happened to cross with hers for purely carnal purposes, and their flings were like rolls through seasons, rendezvous blotted into her timeline where either had a smidge to make room. She’s not going to talk about that. It’s piteous, basically. The young woman doesn’t risk side-eyeing him. This man seems like he’s well off in that department, and she doesn’t want to discuss her shit intimate life and the way that Cody decided, last minute, that he was more interested in going out for miller lites with his buddies than entertaining the idea of sleeping with her. 

He didn’t even have that impressive of dick game anyways — that’s the brutal candor. It wasn’t that he had this particular lack of satisfaction guarantee, but the sex was okay. It didn’t tick all the boxes or leave her fulfilled, not in the real sense, but it was sex, and it was decent. Maybe the most brutal part is the way she’d driven all the way to see him, even knowing that the sex wasn’t going to be top notch. 

Apparently, her silence stretches too long, and the pause gives away the answer she mulls tactics over hiding. 

“Bad date,” the girl hears from beside her — it’s in this thoughtful sort of way, like Harry’s slotting puzzle pieces together in the lull.   

Y/N shifts her fingers over the wheel, the sound of skin sliding over leather meshing with the starting notes of a Cage the Elephant track. Her thumb toggles over a button on the wheel. She skips it. 

“No,” the girl responds, eventually, but she doesn’t even sound fully convincing to her own ears. There’s this high note to her cadence, and she hears it in her own waver of honesty. She wants to cringe up, a little, at the sound. “Not …bad. Just. Well, you know. What about you?” 

For the first time since she’d gotten back onto the road, Y/N casts her gaze to him. A glimpse, a twist of her chin, enough to take in his side-profile for a smidge of a second, more in a way to incite switching the topic and pivoting the point of conversation than the inconspicuous stare she’d made appreciating his features. The corner of his plush mouth curves up, and he makes a little sound; a puff of air through his nostrils like he’s bridling mirth. 

“Was my date bad?” Harry says, in this playful sort of way. Like he’s teasing her. 

“No— your— whatever you—” 

Y/N huffs. She rolls her shoulders back against the seat, a heat teeming over her cheeks. Why was she so nervous? Why did he make her so nervous? Harry makes another sound of amusement, the cushion of his lips unsealing to display straight white teeth. 

“I was at a friend’s,” Harry expands, opting to stop drawing out the teasing, enough for Y/N’s shoulders (that’d grown rigid) to relax a little against the seat. “Was actually having a good night, believe it or not. And then, you know.” 

Unfortunately, she does know. He’s sitting in her car, after all. 

“Do you know what went wrong with it?” she ponders. 

“Well,” Harry the pads of his fingers over the door, and it takes every fiber in her not to sneak a glance at the motion, not to admire the yellow polish, washed with darkness, dim in the car, “the check engine light was on for a bit, to be honest. But— no,” the man pauses with a little simper, shooting her a glance, “Cars aren’t my specialty.” 

They talk about loads of things — she learns all about his friends and the sort of outing they’d had (game night it’d been, Uno, and he’d beckoned her opinion on a debate that’d arisen — whether a draw four could be stacked onto a draw two). That had spawned another conversation on card games —

(“Is it like Go Fish, then?” 

“No,” she snorts, “not at all.” 

“Not at all?” 

“There’s a board and it’s— more complicated.” 

“There’s a board,” Harry parrots, shifting with his elbow brace on the center console like an armrest, “And it’s just, like. Cards, like, in a deck of cards?” 

“You’ve never played cribbage?” Y/N repeats in disbelief.)

She learns about his job, and his cat, and his collection of vintage vinyls. He’s amiable, and he answers every question she directs his way with this smooth sort of charm. He’s easy to talk to, and the span of the drive cuts shorter and shorter through intriguing conversation. But she leads the way for the majority of the inquiries. 

It’s not until they’re at the halfway mark before he asks his own, rather than redirecting one of hers. 

“Can I ask you something?” Harry drums his fingertips over the plush of his mouth, and Y/N struggles to fix her eyes back onto the road once she’s spared him a glance. 

It takes her a second to hum out an agreement, too. 

“It was a bad date, wasn’t it?” 

The girl expels a breath and drums her fingers over the wheel, casting her gaze onto the screen of directions. 

“It wasn’t even a date,” she confesses, “he was like—“ she blinks, lashes fluttering as exasperation at the reminder leaks through, “A tinder hook up, and we didn’t even end up hooking up.” 

Before he can interject, Y/N tacks on, begrudged, “He wanted to hit the bars with his posse of Mag-con wannabes, instead.”

And then there’s this sort of pause that has Y/N thinking that maybe she’s overshared. The man with the sun-polished nails isn’t an old friend she’s having a gab with, catching up on the phone — he’s a stray man she’s plucked up off some deserted road, and if he judged her for her choices, it’d kind of be justified. Namely, the one where she’d driven out in the middle of the night for impromptu cock. 

And anyways, this all feels a bit surreal — the beginnings of a therapy session with a stranger who’d hopped into her sedan for a lift, filling the void of a psychologist in a great, big leather armchair.  

Except Harry sounds earnestly disbelieving when he says, “You’re kidding.” 

She purses her mouth and readjusts her fingers over the steering wheel. “He sort of …canceled when I was already at his door? Forgot to text me that the plans changed. That’s what he said.” 

“What a dickhead.” 

“Mm,” Y/N hums. 

“He’s a moron for passing up the opportunity,” Harry tells her. It’s not in an awkward way, or anything creepy, either. He’s got this air to him, she finds — an ability to make a comment like with effortless delivery of charm. He’s not even looking at her when he says it, only risking her a brief glance that she catches in her peripherals. She still side-eyes him from her seat in surprise, the edges of her mouth curling up bashfully. 

“M’serious,” Harry says, dimples pinching into place beside the upturned-curl of his plush mouth. 

And the thing is, Harry is so friendly. He’s kind, and interesting, and despite the way Y/N had assumed allowing for his presence in her car would be the world’s greatest chore, she’s pleased to be in his company. 

That’s why she lifts a wry shoulder and tells him, “The sex was bad anyways.” 

The man’s face pivots to face her, then. “Yeah?” he coaxes for expansion in his molasses-slow croon of a timbre. 

“It was just a little boring.”

“Boring?” 

“Not— maybe not boring. Just, you know. There was nothing…” Y/N drums digits over the steering wheel, “I don’t know.”

The man beside her clears his throat. 

“Was he a missionary in the dark type of bloke, then?” 

“Yes,” she responds, almost instantly. Because missionary in the dark is, perhaps, the best way to describe Cody’s sexual nature. Down to the T, practically. She can’t fathom how many times she’d lay there, hoping he’d switch up into something different, something where his hands weren’t resting shallowly on the bed sheets beside her shoulders, something where his face wasn’t tucked into the crook of her neck, his mouth biting back everything but soft hisses of air as his hips rocked at an mediocrely slow pace. 

Harry’s mouth quirks. 

“But not even that, it’s like. He wasn’t bad at foreplay, or anything. It wasn’t the best. But, you know. It was all sort of… plain.” 

The young woman pauses before she continues with an apathetic, one-shouldered shrug, “And there’s nothing wrong with plain. It gets the job done, and, you know. That’s what some people like.” 

There’s a shift in energy, from there. It’s subtle, but Y/N can feel it, and she wonders whether the morph is a one-sided experience. It happens with the honesty of the context, with the way she swears jade winds over her figure from beside, with the rasp of his voice beckoning something playful. 

“But that’s not what you like.” 

Y/N takes a second to answer. “No.” 

“What do you like?” 

Maybe that phrase is where it hits her. Where she recognizes that the subtle shift in energy is not one-sided. Not by any means.

Y/N risks a haphazard glance into his direction. 

“Not …that,” the girl laughs. It’s a nervous, giggly kind of sound, but it’s not because of him.  

It’s different now, she thinks. He’d been so timid at first — all bashful gazes through lashes glimmering under the beam of headlights, hesitancy shaping his features. Friendly dialogue — alluring, but curt in anything beyond friendly. This is different. This is blunt and forward. This is his eyes raking over her, this is his tongue swiping out over the plush of his pink mouth, this is his dimples peeking as the corners edge up.

“What do you like?” Harry asks again, a note of flirty, lighthearted amusement to his smooth cadence.  

Y/N sighs, the corners of her mouth tipping up. “I don’t know. Oh my God. Why are you interrogating me?”

Harry laughs. His brows rise, and he tips his chin down so the green sparkles at her. “You don’t know what you like?” 

“I don’t know,” she huffs, good natured. And then she gives. “Something… rough. Something exciting. I don’t know, pull my hair, make it hurt a little. Don’t… lay there in the dark and…” her speech morphs into giggles, “Groan into my ear about how tight I am while I’m laying there like a dead fish.”

Y/N doesn’t know how she ends up pulled over in some deserted parking lot. She doesn’t know how her headlights end up off, how the stranger’s hands sew into her hair, how his lips mesh softly with hers, hungrily. Well. She does know, but she doesn’t care about the details in between. Because he’s hot, and he tastes of mint, and the tips of his fingers press into her scalp and tug a little when they brush through, when he slips a palm over the nape of her neck through the work of his cushiony mouth. It’s thrilling, and it’s sexy, and it’s dangerous, she thinks, but that thought becomes clouded and pushed back to the dells of her mind. 

“Such a pretty little thing,” Harry murmurs when they disconnect, fingers splaying over her cheeks. Her heart hammers in her chest, and his irises trail after the motion of his thumb, bumpily dragging over the side of her lips, all the way to her cupid's bow. That same pad of his thumb pauses and tugs, drawing her bottom lip down to show the slightly parted seal of her teeth. 

And then he’s taking his thumb away and nudging the tips of his index and middle finger, coaxing, “Open your mouth, open your mouth.” 

The pads of his digits meet the tip of her tongue and prod in, brushing over her taste buds, until he’s tapping onto the center of the muscle and crooning, “Stick it out. Tongue out for me.” 

A little hum escapes her, plucking at her vocal chords when she complies, only for him to trace further with his fingertips and nudge until he strokes the back. He holds them there and makes a little motion with his chin and a soft tut when her irises stay pinned on him, glazing with a sheen of watery protest at the depth of the intrusion. 

“Ah— don’t you gag,” he tells her softly, every syllable of every word coated with these notes of dominance that almost seem …innate — like the headspace is a pair of shoes for him to slip into with ease. 

It’s filthy, it’s so filthy — this stranger’s fingers in her mouth, this man she’s never seen a day in her life, a complete, nameless stranger, not even an hour prior, prodding into the warm wetness behind her lips. And her, following his aimless direction, just to please him. She doesn’t gag through the way his fingers crook, her tongue twitching and her throat bobbing, her sight growing blurry with the coating of sheen. It’s worth it, immensely, when Harry hisses out a soft curse and groans softly, his brows pinched. 

It’s worth it when he takes his fingers away, and Y/N’s jaw is coated with her drool, when her tongue is still out, when Harry says, in this soft, strained voice, like it’s praise, “Christ, you’re a filthy thing.” 

She finds that this impromptu rendezvous sort of gives her whiplash. She’s parked in some empty parking lot with her lights off, and an alluring stranger’s just untucked his fingers from her mouth. Maybe someone would deem this a new low — having a shag with some hitchhiker she’s scooped off the side of a back-country road. But he’s eyeing her like she’s prey, and he rolls from one action like pages flitting and flipping in a book, and every detail keeps her on her toes. She can’t keep up. Y/N pants wetly, like she’s not sure whether to slip her tongue back into her strawberry mouth, because she’s not. 

Not until he swipes another thumb over the tip of the lax, twitching muscle and beckons, like he’s a little amused, “Aren’t you?” 

Slowly, her tongue retreats, and that’s when his hand slips and cups over her throat, and that’s—

Her pulse thunders like it’s straining to beat out from below her skin, and Harry adjusts his grip, that same, wet thumb drawing short, slow lines over the point like he wants to test the race of her heart, like he wants to know that the pattern has skyrocketed since his palm has made homage over her windpipe. The man hums, pupils trailing and lingering slowly. 

“Tell me—“ Y/N shifts in her seat, spine straightening out against the cushion, and something wracks down every individual knob when his blown gaze pins her the same way his palm pins over her neck, “Tell me you’re my filthy plaything.” 

The press of his hand isn’t harsh by any extent, not until she parts her lips to answer — that’s when he nudges a little firmer. A little harder. He cocks his head at her in this condescending way — like her stifled sound of surprise entertains him, like the subtle, almost unnoticeable jolt of her eyelids, widening, pleases him. Judging by the slight quirk at the edges of Harry’s plush mouth, it does. 

Her tummy coils with unanticipated desire. This feels almost scary. This feels like traipsing over a rope, like teetering over dangerous territory, and the sudden spike of adrenaline only has her thighs clenching together harder. Because this is sweet Harry, the friendly hitchhiker, in his cream sweater with his nice smile, and his charming dimples, and his loose, clean curls, with his warm palm cupped over her throat and the pad of his thumb digging into her pulse. He looks fucking hungry. 

“I’m—“ her statement’s muzzled by the press of his hand, an increase in only a slight increment. It’s enough to wrest a garbled sound from the back of her throat. He tips his head. 

“What’s that?” 

“I’m your…” she pauses when he presses harder, again, and this time’s enough to have her feeling lightheaded, her bleary eyes wandering over his face and every muscle of her face battling the light flutter of her lashes. She thinks a dimple peeks from his cheek. Harry lets up.

Y/N siphons breaths like her lungs have been deprived for ages, and not just partly for the timespan of a short fifteen seconds. Still, his palm is glued over the front of her neck — just there. His thumb strokes over her pulse gently. 

“I’m your …filthy plaything,” the young woman confesses in this pathetic little voice that’d have her ashamed in every other setting. But in this one, it doesn’t. 

Arousal creeps through every fiber of being, instead, crawling through her arteries and settling into her veins like a twisted, dark goo. It thrums through her and sinks through to the trench of her tummy, frothing as chills teem down her back. He’s got this glint in his eye, like a dance around a bonfire in the deep of the night — but it’s just a stray street light that casts its shone as a spotlight when he ducks forward a tad, just enough for it to. When he tips forward, his gaze growing half-lidded, lower and lower the closer he gets, it feels like he starts to siphon every breath from her own mouth as his cushiony lips ghost over her cupid’s bow. Even for the smidge of the second it takes for their mouths to mesh again, it feels like the movement is in ultra slow motion. 

The mold of their mouths together, this time, feels a lot less like she’s got her hands on the wheel — the first time had been almost testing, sweet — something soft that’d shifted into something headier, something firmer. This feels like something he guides, something he takes the clear lead in, from the pace of his hungry lips to the exploratory nudge of his tongue against the seam of her own mouth. Her fingers flex over the center console aimlessly, palm straying, and fingertips catching on a part of his cotton sweatshirt. They twist into the fabric softly when Harry’s tongue strokes over her own. A hand settles onto her thigh. It’s not her own.

“Get in the backseat,” he hums into her open mouth, squeezing over her flesh when she doesn’t immediately comply. He’s got this way of dulling her reflexes, crumbling the semblance of her mind to mush, and Y/N is convinced it has more to do with his touch than it has with the time of night, despite the way exhaustion wears at her tired muscles. “Get in the fuckin’ backseat.” 

When her arms strays and she reaches for the door handle, though, he squeezes at her thigh again, and hums out a displeased note of disagreement. “Not like that.” 

Bemused, Y/N shifts in her seat. A glint of something playful glows in the jade when Harry tells her, “You can find another way, can’t you, pet? Go on.” 

Y/N sits in confused silence for all of three seconds before the man sits back a tad and cocks his head, irises flashing towards the backseat with a playful, little grin quirking at his lips. Like he’s suggesting. 

It takes her longer than three seconds to clamber into the back from the driver’s seat, through the slot over the center console, but it satisfies Harry, evidently, judging by the way he palms over the globes of her backside through her stretchy mini-skirt. It’s not very graceful, and if she was less aroused she’d probably find it in her somewhere to be a bit embarrassed, but. She doesn’t. She wriggles over the cushion, instead, settling back. 

Harry has smarter ideas. He toggles the gear on the side of the passenger seat and sets the whole top of it back, like a makeshift day-bed, and scoots into the back of the sedan through the opening. And there’s not much leg room — not for the two of them, not with the whole back of the seat splayed — and there’s not much room for their heads, either, but they manage to squeeze back, and he’s gripping onto her shoulders and twisting her on his own whim before the young woman has a chance to shift around, herself. 

“Get—“ the way Harry manhandles her with a grip on her hips, (once he’s got her slumped, at least somewhat) — with ease, like he’s flipping a page in a book rather than rearranging her whole position in the cramped space of a sedan backseat — that lights something fiery in the pit of her belly. “Hands and knees, baby,” Harry tells her, grunting softly while her limbs scrabble over the pleather. He pulls her back into him, by the hips as she’s physically molded into it, parroting, quieter, “hands and knees.” 

“Itsy bitsy skirt… so easy to just—” Harry hums, this sort of mischief to his cadence — and it becomes blatantly obvious, the reason for it, when his digits creep under, from behind, and his colossal palms hitch it up, “Oops.” 

She’s wearing tights under it. They’re not the fleece-lined kind, despite the bite of chill in the air outside, but they are there, and Harry spans the pads of his fingers over the barrier like he doesn’t have plans to discard them the practical way. 

He doesn’t. The man stripes a fingertip down her core, from behind, over the fabric and the faint hue of cheeky purple that peeks through, and makes this devious sound of mirth when her whole body twitches. And then he draws the same fingertip back up, in the same line, and nudges a bit. 

“What am I gonna do with you?” Harry coos. The third, slow drag has her arching her hips back. “Hm? What am I gonna do?” He takes almost a thoughtful second, tongue peeking out to swipe out over the cushion of his pink bottom lip, before Harry splays his palms over her bum, “Pretty girl… pretty arse…”

And it’s so calm — he’s so calm, so casual, so nonchalant — Y/N doesn’t even sense it coming until he sighs, and then he’s digging the tips of his digits into the nylon, stretching it from her core, and just tearing. Casually. Nonchalantly. The sound of fabric ripping apart coaxes her jaw to slip open, and her pupils stick to the inside of the door, unblinking, as he just tears, and tears, and tears. 

And she’s not even upset, is the thing. She’s not irritated that this stranger’s just torn the crotch of her tights apart — she can’t be, not when he hums devilishly and strokes over her core, a layer closer. Maybe that’s pitiful. Maybe that’s sad, that she’s so fucking horny that she doesn’t care that her tights have been split open with no prior discourse on the topic, but this direction of impulse — the way she’s not even able to try and guess his next move, it kindles something hot and hungry. 

And if she ever has Cody to thank for anything, Y/N thinks maybe it’d be that he’d inspired her to shave and slip on a pair of decently attractive underthings. 

“These are pretty, too,” Harry tells her, thumbing at the crotch of the thong, just over one side. The young woman gives this dreamy little sigh and arches back up into him further. “What d’you want, sweetheart? Want me to give some attention …here—“

Her spine jolts when he nudges the pad of his index right up against her clit, lightly, over the purple fabric, “Maybe? Is that it? Eager girl.”

He draws a featherlight circle over it, and then another, and another until her thighs are trembling. The tip of his digit taps. She nudges back, and he takes it away altogether. An amused sound slips from his mouth.  

“Say please,” Harry demands. 

Y/N jumps as his fingertips trail to her inner thigh, crooking and tickling in the line they draw. 

“Please.” 

Again, he makes a disapproving tut, and Y/N rolls her cheek onto on a forearm, tucked over the seat. 

His eyebrows climb up his forehead, and his fingertips drift up and down the back of her thigh, drawing closer and closer where she needs him most with every lap. Each word is covered with notes of firm dominance. “Not like that. Like you mean it — like you’re pleading.”

Y/N mulls over the words, her heart thundering. 

“How d’you beg?” 

It takes a second for his words to sink in, but then when they do, she croons out, softer, more desperate, “Please.” 

There’s a soft sound of a breath being expelled, the seat crinkling quietly as, she assumes, Harry sits back on his haunches, head ducked. Like it’s not good enough. Her tongue traces out over her lips and she beckons, “Please, please,” each plea prompting a spiral of unfamiliar humiliation — glazed with arousal — to unfurl. 

“Please, please, please—“ each word emphasized with a rock back of her hips. And finally, he touches her. 

His palm cradles a cheek, and he doesn’t sound even slightly impressed. Instead, his voice comes out exasperated when he tells her, “That’s not convincing. You’re desperate. You want something — you need it, you’re pleading.”

“Please— please—“

“Louder,” he scoffs, “Beg. Beg.” 

“Please,” she tries, desperation creasing her voice strained on the syllable, and Harry drags fingertips, airy, across her inner thigh, from bottom to top. “Please, please, please—“

And finally, something clicks. Something slots together, at some point, when she ditches the inhibitions and her cadence starts to border on a delirious sort of desperation. Finally, something works. 

“That’s better,” Harry says softly, swiping his thumb over her clit, “Much better.” 

She doesn’t pick up on that, though, and she’s still begging, pleading, quietly. Quieter, quieter, quieter — the words growing more sparse the longer he spends time honing on her clit, the firmer his touch becomes. 

“Good girl,” Harry coos, his fingertips latching up under the hem at the crotch of her panties, before he tugs, “Good girl. You ask nicely, and I’ll give it to you. S’that easy.”  

He slips a thumb against her gushing entrance and drags it down, tracing careful shapes over the bud of nerves, before he tugs down on the hood and emphasizes on the new exposure by reigniting the touch with the thumb on his opposite hand. Two hand task — very dedicated. 

“S’this all for me?” the man teases, pinching her clit, lightly, between the pad of his thumb and the side of his index. He sounds a little self-satisfied when he declares, quietly, “I’m flattered.” 

Her lips part as a silent, breathy moan wrests from the back of her throat. It happens when the pad of his long middle digit prods at her entrance and nudges in. The thumb on his other hand sweeps, side to side, over where she’d most sensitive, and he stuffs into her further. And they are lengthy — his fingers. She’d seen them drumming over the center console, and smush over the raspberry tint of his lips, felt them coat her tongue, and felt them press against her throat. They can reach further than her own, crooking against her spongy walls, curling when he adds a second before straightening out and scissoring for the stretch. 

“Christ, you’re gushing,” Harry says, and as if on cue, the pornographic squelch of his fingers working crowds the cramped space, “Jesus— d’you hear that?” 

Y/N buries her face in her arms to muzzle the little sounds of bliss that he pries from her mouth. It’s not until he’s proper fucking into her with his digits, the pad of his thumb dragging tight, little circles over her clit, that those sounds escape her. And when they start, they pour in a flood. Because he works so expertly, so deftly — from the pace, to the angle, to the way he hones on her clit with his other hand, and the filthy dialogue he spews in his honey-smooth baritone. It’s everything, everything, and it prompts the coil in her belly to circle and squeeze, tighter, tighter — a telltale prior to its inevitable snap. She clenches over his fingers helplessly.

But then he just— stops. 

The nudge of his digits skirts to a stand-still within her, and his thumb stops drawing circles, and Y/N just squeezes over him like a silent plea. He makes this sound — this mirthy, deviously pleased hum, like her displeasure at his pause amuses him. It’s pure sadism. 

It’s not until she rocks her hips a bit, a shallow, desperate kind of back and forth, that the amusement seems to slip from his tone. 

“Don’t—“ Harry tuts sharply, taking his thumb off her clit altogether to grip at her hip harshly, “Stay still. Naughty, little minx.”

And she does. She stays still when his voice gets hard like that. There’s a bit of quiet between his snap and the subtle freeze-up of her rocking. Soft breaths sew through the lull, but then he talks again, his tone a little nicer. 

“We’re gonna play a little game, yeah?” 

That’s …intriguing. Y/N shifts over the cushion. His grasp over her hip has softened considerably, but there’s still this humiliating heat that swarms her face at the fact that the crotch of her panties is still tucked against her skin, that everything’s out in the open, that Harry’s practically ogling in lieu of touching her. 

“It’s a bit like Simon Says. Except, when you play Simon Says, you hesitate a little, right?”

The man’s thumb presses back to her clit, and she buries her face in her folded arms. 

“And I don’t want you to hesitate. I’ll tell you something to do, and—“ 

His fingers sink into her, and her shoulders grow tense from the bliss. Y/N muzzles her groan. 

“You’ll do it. Sounds easy enough?” 

It does. It’s easy enough instructions, and when Harry pats at the same hip he’d been clutching over and beckons, “Hands back here,” Y/N obliges easily enough. 

Her cheek presses to the cushion, cool against the warmth teeming beneath her skin, and she lets him manhandle and move her splayed fingers to his liking, arms stretched behind. 

“That’s good,” Harry croons in his low timbre, the warm, lewd praise of it drawing chills up the nape of her neck, “Now spread a bit for me.” 

Y/N does that, too. Her finger pads nudge and press into her flesh, coated with the tights, and her digits crook as the tips dig in to splay — to follow his direction, to please him. And it’s shameful, a pinch in her shoulders as her arms reach back, fingers twitchy, imprinting into her own backside with little divots as she opens herself up for him to do nothing. But his satisfied little hum sends an unfamiliar sense of accomplishment spiraling through her veins. The way his warm palm rests on and pets over the back of her thigh along with it feeds something new and starving. 

“Good girl. There you go. See? S’easy.” 

Y/N makes a little sound into the seat, and her fingers flex as Harry pumps his own digits, a steady rhythm of in and out, paired with a hum from him that sounds absolutely pornographic. 

“Such a good girl,” the man tells her, fingers crooking, but the praise isn’t enough to muffle the bemusement that wracks her when he says in this devious hush, “Let’s try another. Bark.” 

Bark. 

It takes a second for the command to register past the immediate threshold of the pleasure curling in her belly as he strokes at her spongy walls. And when it does click together, his word settling past the membrane of bliss, her initial thought is that she’s definitely misheard him. Because that’s …sort of a ludicrous request. The young woman sounds strewn between groggy and muzzled when she cranes her neck a bit over the cushion and beckons with a confused hum. 

“Bark,” Harry repeats, “like a dog.” Simple and nonchalant. 

Bark like a dog. She’s midway through creased brows, a strained raise of her head, and a baffled what, before the man stills his fingers and takes a grip over her wrist, sliding her hand away. 

And then he smacks her, hard, with his palm on one side, in the same place where her digits had dug in to spread herself open. 

It’s loud, and it stings, and it sends a shockwave through her nervous system, strong enough to have everything buzzing on alert as her forehead pastes to the seat and the parted gap of her mouth struggles to mute a gasp. Maybe the most surprising part is that the hurt feels good, that the sting morphs into something else as it fizzles and ebs, that the hammer of her heart spikes this famished, unfamiliar arousal coursing through her when he doesn’t even bother stroking over the bruised skin. It’s definitely hard enough to leave a ruddy mark under the tights, and Y/N blinks down at the faux leather, wordless and a little gobsmacked. 

And then Harry sighs in this way that’s so …disappointed. And the calmness of his inflection, grouped with the irony of the harsh hit… that has a chill climbing up her spine. 

“That’s not how you play the game, pet.”

He says it in this eerily nonchalant note of disdain, like he’s not just casually tattooed the shape of his hand onto her backside with a blow. Like he expected better. Like it’s a little mishap they’ll gloss over. She doesn’t even realize she’s still got a vice clamped over his fingers until he shifts the digits in her, coaxing her core to flutter around him. Harry sighs again. 

“Did you forget the rules, baby?” he asks, cadence soft and basked in condescension. The man strokes over the heated skin, the same spot where Y/N is sure a subtle welt has peaked to the surface below the thin veil of the sheer tights, “I tell you to do something and you do it, right?” 

Her knees are starting to ache a little, a soreness settling into the joints, but she doesn’t even mind it when his fingers pump again, slowly. 

“That’s how the game goes. Right? I need an answer.” 

She makes a soft sound. A little sound that’s not protest. A little sound that’s not outright agreement. It’s a whimper into a void, but everything about him and his touch lights something alive in her. And she wants more. She’s dizzy off of it when she manages out a breathless, “Yes.” It’s a short word that comes out in a breath, like she’d been holding the air in her lungs. 

Maybe that’s why she’s dizzy. 

“Are we on the same page? Let’s try again, then. Bark.” 

Y/N shifts over the seat. The hand he’d moved has splayed helplessly to her side, and the fingers curl and uncurl as the weight of the suggestion hits her. Because that’s— it’s humiliating. It’s demeaning, and it’s strange, and the fact that he demands it has the tips of a fire licking up at her insides. The young woman makes an uncharacteristically pathetic noise. 

Harry sighs. 

The split second of hesitation is enough, apparently, for another slap, just as hard, in the same spot. It has her rocking forward and clenching over his digits again. Harry’s quick to correct her posture with a hand on her hip, guiding her back in a way that lacks gentleness. 

“I said, bark.” 

This time his voice is harder. Meaner. Y/N gives. 

She gives because the tips of his fingers prod at this heavenly spot inside her, because her skin smarts in a way that has her practically drooling, because she’s dizzy, and hungry, and desperate. Her thighs are quivering when she gets out a half-hearted woof, her lips shaping over the word like the task is a chore to get out. 

“Better—“ another slap, aimed lower onto the back of her thigh, has her hips jutting and the straight line of her spine twisting up, “—but not what I’m looking for. Try again.” 

She doesn’t even aim to please, is the thing, when her yelp overlaps with another smack. But it morphs into something surprised and deliciously pained, and evidently, it’s enough, judging by the way his touch smooths over the stinging skin.

“Oh, baby,” Harry tells her, his fingers stroking like he’s smudging the pink-tinge of bruising, “That’s pathetic.” 

And it dawns on her then, that there’s no winning with this game. When he tuts and tells her, absolutely patronizingly, “So desperate for it, she’s barking like a stray.” 

It dawns on her that she doesn’t want to win. She doesn’t care, because his filthy dialogue, as demeaning as it is, just draws her wetter and closer. As if to highlight on it, Harry crooks his fingers and tacks on, “You’re leaking all over the seats, pet.” 

And she is, she’s sure. It’s a dirty game he plays, and she loves every part of it and more. It has her writhing when he draws circles over her clit, it has her aching for more when he guides her hand back to her backside with a squeeze and a wordless coax to keep spreading. 

“Gonna let me fuck you?” Harry pulls the digits out, dirtying what’s left of her tights and smearing sticky wetness over the back of her thigh, “Hm? Gonna let me—“ his belt clinks as he unbuckles it, and then comes the soft sound of a zipper, its teeth unlatching, “—fill you up?” 

“Glovebox,” Y/N mumbles, hips shifting back when he pets at her thigh. 

His pupils flit, sticking to the back of her head, before they jump back down to his handiwork. Harry’s tone sounds absent-minded and mirthy when he asks, “What’s that?” 

“There’s condoms in the glovebox,” she expands, a little louder than her prior murmur, bracing on her forearms to cast her gaze back at him over her shoulder. 

And he looks rugged in this boyish, youthful way, then, is the thing. The corner of his mouth jolts, lopsided, and a stray tendril has flopped over his forehead. His hands are on the undone buckle of his belt, and his fly’s down, and he sounds absolutely amused when he says, “Are there?” 

There are. 

“You’ve prepared for this, then, have you?” Harry sets a palm onto her hip, squeezing as a dimple pinches into his cheek, “Condoms in your glovebox …like a proper dirty whore?” 

Coyly, she blinks, cheek nuzzled to the seat, and she watches him stretch his arm out for the glovebox as he knees away. 

“I’m always prepared,” Y/N settles on, softly.

The glovebox slips open. There’s rummaging — his torso turns to face it entirely, and then he gleans a shining, golden little packet, tucked between the pads of his digits. The young woman wriggles her hips. There’s this glint of fiery …something. Something playful, something lewd, something hungry in the jade, when he clambers back over, steadying himself with a palm on her tailbone. It coaxes her spine into a pretty, sharper arch.

“You do this a lot, do you?” Harry teases, “Pick up strange men, let them fuck you?” 

She hums in agreement as the man takes the little gold square, snug between his teeth, fingers working quickly, pushing buttons through slots and tugging his cock out. 

“Maybe I do.” 

He tears at the wrapper with his teeth. She knows, because his next words come out a little muffled. 

“Is that right?” 

It’s not. It’s so out of the norm, so far from the usual, but Y/N would be a masochist to string out the arousal that’d built between her thighs in lieu of letting Harry span his palms over the globes of her ass in the backseat. Harry, with his cheeky smile and his sunshine, short-trimmed nails. Harry, with his denim-tethered bulge dragging over the back of her thigh and his filthy tongue shaping crude dialogue.  

She doesn’t see him as he tuts from behind, but she can picture it; his palm cupped over the base of his shaft as he rolls the condom over and then presses the tip against her teasingly. 

“Wanted to be fucked like a dirty whore, is that it?”

Her “yes” stretches and ebs and splinters into a whispery hiss when Harry nudges forward and stretches her out. And then he’s beckoning for her hands, one hand splayed over her hip and the opposite coaxing at her shoulder, tugging and jolting in gentle nudges, mouth shaping over firm, “Hands, hands, give me your hands — behind your back— that’s— just like that.” 

Barred from scratching at the seats with his firm, warm grip binding the joints hostage, Y/N presses her cheek to the cushion. She slumps into his willpower, gives into him, the smush of her face sweaty on the cushion, jolting with every rock forward. The young woman clenches over him helplessly. Soft sounds slip past her lips, pried out by the nudges of his hips, over and over, again and again. Her fingers stiffen and flex, and the arch in her spine shifts when the head of his cock bumps that delicious ridge so deep in her — and it’s like Harry senses it, the way her entire body grows taut like a string. He goes at that too, prodding, again and again, until a whine plucks at her vocal chords. Every shallow jolt of his hips sends waves of paralyzing bliss licking over her insides. Every nudge forward has her slumping more. And when he talks, Y/N barely registers it over the rush of blood in her own head. 

There’s been little things that fall from his mouth — soft curses and hisses as he slides in, hums and groans when he bottoms out, readjusting his grasp over her wrists. Words, though — now he’s saying words. They’re still in that gentle baritone, this sort of luring croon. 

“Come on, baby. Come on — got a stranger’s cock in your pretty, little pussy—“ Harry’s voice catches on a strained note as he pulls out—

…A sigh as he rocks back in, “—and …you’re not gonna struggle?” 

A warmth stems from his grasp, behind her back, and as if on reflex, her digits crook and flex. The danger of the words don’t even register. Because, yeah, he’s right. She’s got a stranger holding her restrained, rocking up against her, and all that peaks in her at the filthy dialogue is a bud of deranged arousal. She doesn’t shoulder forward though, doesn’t try to pull her hands apart, doesn’t sag forward, not even a little, too concerned that even a minute shift will alter the delicious intensity of the angle. 

“Not even a little bit?” Harry tuts, grinding forward, one more time, slow, and then he squeezes over her wrists hard and picks up in pace. Just until he settles into a hard tempo of short, deep thrusts, and her shoulders are aching from the way he pulls her arms back. 

His words blanket her with this patronizing sort of humiliation — the kind that has her spongy walls pulsing over his length and chills erupting from the nape of her neck to the creases between her shoulder blades. “You make it so easy.”

So easy for a stranger to fuck her — so easy, pulling over in some desolate parking lot. So easy, letting him wrap a palm over her throat and stick his fingers past her lips. So easy, following his every command for the reward of his hips pummeling against her own. 

And it’s easy to get close with the way he works into her, tip bumping into a spot that sends waves of pleasure coursing through every millimeter of her nervous system. The kind that has every muscle stiffening to stone until the wave ebs. It’s so easy to lurch higher and higher, closer and closer, when his touch digs into her joints, rendering her helpless to his crude affections. When strained grunts and sordid words fall from his mouth, when his other hand slips from her hip and knots into the hair, at the roots, on the back of her scalp, only smushing her cheek into the seat with more pressure. 

“Fuck,” Harry groans, the pace of his thrusts stuttering as he picks up the tempo into something merciless, his digits flexing into her hair and his body weight sagging onto her frame. 

Every time his balls slap against her clit, teasing where she wants that attention the most, she feels the spring draw tighter, lips smushed to and gaping against the seat. And then he readjusts his grip, lets one of her hands free while he keeps the other pinned, and he coaxes, “Touch your pretty clit, baby. Make yourself cum all over my cock.” 

Y/N makes it to the crest before he does. It’s her fingertips sloppily winding loose shapes over the bud of nerves, it’s his cock hammering down into her, it’s the pinch in her shoulder, and the way Harry’s grip grows harsher over the hand he still has pinned, the closer he gets himself. The way his digits are still flexed at the roots of her scalp, the way his moans and curses are garbled with pleasure with each pump. The way her helpless fluttering, when she tips over the peak, draws this long, sordid groan from him as he cranes his neck back. And then he slows, ducking his chin to watch below through slow thrusts. 

“Dirty girl, cumming all over a stranger’s cock,” Harry swipes with a thumb where the mesh, toying at the seam of her hole when he goes deeper, again, slow. 

And then his grip on her wrist gets hard again as his fingers flex, and he holds onto her hip and guides her in a steady-paced, back and forth bounce over cock. He chases his own releases, every motion rough, and full of control, and so brimmed with this unfamiliar hunger. She’s mush by the time his head tips back, and he gushes ribbon after ribbon into the condom. She’s mush when his grasp over her wrist grows lax, when he knees back clumsily on his knees, when he discards the condom, wrapping it into the confines of its wrapper, when he fixes her purple panties back over her crotch and strokes over the back of her thigh with an amused huff. 

“Alright?” Y/N vaguely hears Harry say from behind when she doesn’t instantly sit up, his voice bordering on amused. 

That’s. Yeah, Y/N thinks. She’s great. There’s still this rush of blood in her ears, and an ache in her joints that interweaves with the soreness of her muscles, but it’s all in such a good way. She makes a barely coherent hum of agreement and rolls her shoulder forward, planting her palms onto the seat to sit up and glance at the time over the display in the front of the car. It’s nearly three in the morning now, and it hits her then, that she’s so tired. She’s so tired, she feels like every piece of her energy had been strewn up and pulled tight on a rope, and now it’s all wasted away. 

Harry gets it. Or he seems to, at least. Sleep beckons her with a whispery croon and a soft touch. The corners of his mouth crook up, and he pats at her hip. 

“Hop up, pet. D’you want me to drive the rest of the way? S’just a little bit, now.” 

Y/N doesn’t do hitchhikers. She doesn’t let strangers into her car in the middle of the night from some empty road, she doesn’t fuck them in the backseat, and she certainly doesn’t let strange men drive her car to some unfamiliar location, only lacking being undisclosed from its visible street name on the GPS. Y/N doesn’t do any of that. But she nods weakly and lets their roles flip. She’s mid-raising the back of the passenger seat by the time Harry jogs around to the driver’s seat and slips in. 

In the rear-view, her reflection greets with her unshed tears and bloodshot eyes, mascara smudged below. He turns to face her and strokes a hand down her thigh. He picks the same hand up and sets it onto the gear-shift. Switches to reverse. 

The first thing he says from the front of the car, strawberry mouth quirking as his eyes direct to the back-up camera, is, “I’m sorry about your tights. I hope that was alright.” 

When they pull up to the motel, Y/N doesn’t ask questions. There’s only been a span of, maybe, ten minutes passed between the parking lot and their final stop of the night before Harry pulls into a parking spot and shuts the car off. 

He tells her, “This is my stop.” 

Y/N doesn’t do hitchhikers, and exhaustion wracks at every sinew of muscle in her body. She half-expects him to wordlessly hop out of the car. He doesn’t. The man fixes her with a smile, and says, “Could I get your number, maybe?” 

It’s not an odd request by any means, but if she weren’t so tired, maybe she’d ask more questions. Her pupils would wend over the shoddy motel sign, and the shit cars parked beside them, and she’d wonder what the hell they were doing parked in front of some abandoned-looking motel. She’d ask why this was his stop, and not a home. Instead, she pulls a napkin from her glovebox and digs for a pen. She scribbles her digits and hands them off. In the brush of the cool air, from the night, when she clambers out to swap spots with him, she wraps her arms about herself. When she takes a seat into the driver’s side, she expects him to walk away. He doesn’t do that either. Instead, she rolls her window down when he beckons, and Harry leans onto the car and tells her, “Get home alright, yeah?” 

It’s a miracle when she hobbles up the steps of her apartment complex, when she pries open the front door and crashes into her sheets. The blankets envelop her like a warm hug, and she doesn’t even bother pulling off her tights. 

It’s a week before she gets a phone call. There’s no texts, and the morning after, when she’s greeted with radio-silence, she thinks that maybe she’d dreamt the whole thing. 

Her tights, ripped at the crotch, prove otherwise. 

She’s in bed, days later, when her screen lights up with a call. It’s an unfamiliar number, and curiosity peaks before she swipes over the answer toggle. 

“Hello?” 

A gap of silence, a breath, and a familiar, smooth baritone on the other end of the line. 

“Y/N.” 

There’s a little sound of the bedsheets stirring as she freezes up. He’s caught her off guard. A little laugh plucks at his vocal chords, tinny on the other end of the line, like he’s amused by the stretch of lull. Her lips part, the corners of her mouth inching up as she hears a sigh from him that seeps in all the way to her eardrum. But she doesn’t have time to contemplate what to say or how to say it, because he doesn’t let her get a word in before he’s talking again. 

And his next words are not a playful jest at her lack of response, or anything friendly, really. In fact, the confession, said so nonchalantly, causes chills to erupt down her arms. 

“I was going to kill you that night.” 

The chills aren’t the initial reaction. The initial reflex is the crook of her mouth to morph bemused, the pinch between her eyebrows, and this sullen feeling of dread that twists up in her stomach. A laugh bubbles in her chest, because, what the fuck? 

But then he keeps talking. 

“Thought about draining the life from those pretty eyes the second you rolled your window down,” the voice on the other end sighs, and it’s got this sort of …reminiscent quality to it. Like he’s tracing the steps of the night back to its starting point. Reliving it when he tells her, “It’s such a thrill, you know. Taking that from someone. So intimate.” 

The young woman doesn’t make any sounds, kind of appalled by the sick joke. Because it is sick, it’s disturbing, and it’s a twisted way, at the least, to strike up a conversation if he’s …looking to do what they did again. This isn’t the Harry she’d met on that night. This isn’t the same one who’d worn the cream sweatshirt, and talked all friendly with this smooth, wholesome charm — this wasn’t the man she’d let into her car, this wasn’t the man she’d let do all those filthy things to her, in the backseat of her sedan. This doesn’t feel like the same man at all, and she wishes she’d been aware of the sick sense of humor to his character before she’d let him …violate her. Y/N’s just about to budge in with a disgusted comment, tell him off for calling her so late at night to mess with her, but he beats her to the edge of the gap, yet again. 

Except this time, he sounds sort of frustrated, and the phrase comes out like a scolding, the tone of his cadence firm and irate. “Didn’t your mum ever tell you not to talk to strangers? …Didn’t anyone ever tell you not to trust strange men on the side of the road? S’just …bloody stupid.” 

He laughs. It’s this soft sort of chortle she’d been so charmed by that night — it’s identical, except then, it was this sweet sound full of wholesome mirth. Now, it feels cold. Odd and detached. Surreal.

“But you… you made it so easy,” Y/N listens to every word that comes through the line, hanging onto every syllable of the empty threat as dread churns her stomach. His words from that night crowd behind her skull. You make it so easy. “So friendly, so sweet. Just wanted to chat on and on. I was going to kill you, and you wanted to have a shag—” 

Harry tuts. Her heart hammers behind her ribcage, and she only realizes that her breathing has slowed and that her grip on the smartphone’s grown white-knuckled when it shakes against her cheek. She’d let him drive her car. She’d let him get into her car, she’d let him lure her into pit-stopping in a deserted parking lot, she’d locked the doors, and dimmed the lights, and let him open her up with his fingers and his cock. And then she’d let him drive her car, and take down her number. There’s a moment of mortifying silence.

Harry sounds deadly serious when he tells her, “Don’t you ever pick up another hitchhiker.”

The line goes dead. 

Y/N calls back. The number she reaches belongs to a payphone, unanswered.

[mauvecherie-writes]

“hi, it’s nice to meet you.” : k.powers

warnings: none.

note: a good ole’ surprise fic that I wrote in a couple of hours since his video is now a viral TikTok sound 😂. support the page any way you can girlies 😘 like, comment and reblog. this was supposed to be less than a thousand words 🫠.

w.c: 1.2K

It has been two and a half hours since you arrived at the event.

For some reason, the promotors really wanted you to come so they went out of their way of booking you a flight from your city to Sacramento and booking you a very suite at the Kimpton Sawyer Hotel. They had even offered to hire you a private driver but even, a woman who often didn’t say no to free things, declined the offer.

Instead, you had messaged some of your friends who were in the local area who had informed you that they were attending the event so you joined them. The event was a pretty successful one for the community. Celebrities and influencers alike would come from near and far to attend because of the safe environment it had cultured due to their strict rules. The event was a space for lovers and to find lovers, consent was heavily promoted and had security constantly surveying the space and the biggest thing you loved when the flyer was sent to you was the insistence to use your phone less and just be present in the moment.

The event, SweetOne, was working to bring back the clubbing culture of the old days with their own modern twist to it. An event where egos were left at the door and people met each other on a human level to connect. You were enticed by that (the $13,000 check for your promotion to your 8.9 million audience and appearance for the night was also a little push.)

So here you were, engrossed within the atmosphere as your body swayed to Body Party by Ciara as your friends cheered you on. The liquor had sunk deep into your veins and you were really letting loose for the first time in a long time. Your sultry black and gold mini halter dress sat on your curves, adding onto the sensuality of your impromptu performance. The bangs of your curled silk press fell over your eyes like a curtain as you sang along to the erotic lyrics.

“Woooo! You go girl!” Your friend, Nikki cheered you on as she recorded you. You turned around and held onto the bars that had been a supporting act to your dance. With your hands on either side of you, your hips swayed side to side.

“My body is calling you.” You sang as your eyes opened and by chance, met the ones that had been tracking your movements all night. Behind the brim of his cup, he was intently watching you with a dark glint in his eyes that amused you.

Your glossed lips curled into a smirk as you turned away from the handsome man and then you brought your performance to a close with your friends shouting for an encore.

“Next performance comes with a charge.” You winked at them as you stepped away from the edge of the section.

When you sat down, you couldn’t shake the vision of him watching you. He was a sight, himself. Chocolate brown skin with dark freckles scattered across his cheeks, a neatly trimmed anchor style beard sitting on the sharpest jawline you’d ever seen with your own eyes. It was too dim to see his haircut but you knew that his hair was short. You were also digging the way that was dressed. The light grey sweater snuggly fit around his long torso, highlighting his muscles.

The thing that captured your attention the most were his naturally pink tainted lips, that he seemed to lick very often. God, you were smitten and you had not shared one word with the man.

“Excuse me?” Your attention was called out of your thoughts and you snapped up to meet the eye contact of a server.

“Yes?” You enquired.

“The gentleman from across the room bought you this drink as a thank you for the performance.” The server said. Your cheeks warmly flushed before you scanned the room and met his eyes yet again. He slightly nodded his head and gave you a slight wink. You turned back to the server with a smile.

“Can you go back to the gentleman and tell him I’ll humbly accept his thanks if he brings the drink himself.”

The server smiled, nodded and then left. You eyeballed them as they walked across the room and back to him. They spoke, he bent down to get closer to hear the server speak. He was tall … even more interesting.

Then, he took the drink from the tray and began walking towards where you were. You took a deep breath as his height became more apparent.

“Hi.” The richness of his deep voice vibrated through you and settled in the pit of your stomach. You were fucked - you were a sucker for a good voice.

“Hi.” You breathlessly smiled up at him as you crossed your legs, putting your carved legs on display to his ravenous eyes.

“You said you wouldn’t accept this drink unless I brought it myself.”

“Mhm.” You nodded your head as you held eye contact, hoping to not let your attraction seep into your actions. “We’ve been tip-toeing around each other for most of the night. Someone had to make a move.”

He grinned and his white teeth shone at you. “I’m a little disheartened that it had to be you to make a move but I like your boldness. I like it a lot.”

“So, sit with me then.” You scooted a bit to the side, opening a space beside yourself. He placed the drink on the table in front of you and then sat down. That’s when you truly took in the beauty of this man. From his full yet neat eyebrows, his tapered sides and most importantly, just how pink his lips were up close.

“That was quite the performance you put.” He commented. And despite the shyness threatening to grip your senses, you rolled your eyes - downplaying the intention of your actions.

“It was nothing. I was just feeling the music that’s all.” You shrugged your shoulders as you reached for the drink he had purchased for you - a French 75.

“Your sentence seems to imply that you could do more than what you gave right now.” His eyebrow inquisitively raised up.

“Well, we’d need to at least be exclusive for that kind of performance.” You boldly stated as your body turned with your legs leaning towards his body. He let out a one syllable laugh as his head fell backwards. His Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed. The length of his neck would be perfect beneath your fingers …

“So how do we get to that stage then?” He brought his head forward and turned to face you.

“Well, you can start by telling me your name.” He brought his hand forward, outreached for you to shake.

“Hi, I’m Keith. Nice to meet you.” You took his hand into yours and you couldn’t help but notice the difference and a shiver ran down your spine.

“Nice to meet you Keith. I’m YN.” You replied as you gazed upon his face. As he met your stare, the dark glint of desire was back with a touch of promise for more in them …

And your body and mind would be readily accepting of that.

————————————

reading list: @queenshikongo3 @dhlfastestlap @saintslewis @serpenttines-library @saturnville @hopefulromantic1 @cocobutterqwueen @bluesole16 @chaneajoyyy @emjayewrites @melodichaeuxx-lacritquexx @sapphireheaven @olyvoyl @lewisroscoelove @lh44adore @hellomadamebutterfly @scorpiobleue @qveenmelanink @tremendousstarlighttragedy @bekindbecoolbeyou @greedyjudge2 @itsapurrfectstorm @createdbylivingclocks @samiwzx @omgsuperstarg @peyiswriting @miyuhpapayuh @blowmymbackout @purplelewlew @henneseyhoe @perfecttrashface

[aerequets]

I really liked the scene you drew for the fanfic Once more with feeling. Do you have other fanfics recommandations? PS. I love your art :3

thank you! :D and yes of course i do 😎 i have this list (twiyor) from a while ago but i have amassed more than enough new faves to make a new one!

i will try to get a mix of fics w/ different vibes, and different lengths, as well as those that you may not have heard of before. most if not all of them will be twiyor tho, bc that's what i read most.

i'll put them under the cut!

FUN FACT i spent like 45 mins writing a list and SOMEHOW DELETED IT ALL. so this is take 2 😭😭😭😭 ANYWAYS

The Woman in Red by @nightofnyx8

rated M, 7/7 chaps, 47.9k words

this fic feels like a book to me if i was already invested in the characters. it revolves around yor, who gets an assignment to find out where a bunch of trafficked girls are being kept by the asshole of the millenium, vito cohen. it is also post reveal, post relationship twiyor. this fic has dark moments just by virtue of the subject matter, but none of it feels gratuitous if that makes sense? like every bit of violence lends to the whole picture. there are also some Steamy ™ twiyor moments, which are easily skippable if that's not your thing, but their whole relationship here is just written so well. the trust is there and the protective loid vibes are 👌 i m m a c u l a t e

Smoldering by @julphines

rated G, 1/1 chaps, 2.1k words

i freaking love the look into post reveal, pre relationship twiyor we get here. it's not overtly romantic but instead them getting to know each other. i especially love the details of them having to make themselves be vulnerable in some ways because they just aren't used to it. a really nice, in-between sort of fic :)

In Love With the Distance by Newt on ao3

rated T, 37/37 chaps, 21.5k words

this one is formatted as a collection of letters and i am OBSESSED. i think the author does a very good job getting the character voices down, and the fact that the progression in their relationship is clear despite being in this letter format will never cease to amaze me. it's also incredibly consistent and has cute 'ciphers' at the top that are used to disguise the letters. this one is also post reveal, and kinda follows what happens immediately after. some bits are outside the letter format, but for the most part, it's loid and yor writing to each other. love

La Vie En Rose by @jubileen

rated T, 1/1 chaps, 3.7k words

i love me a good ol 5+1 fic, and this one did not disappoint 😌 i especially liked how the thing that is being counted here (you know, the "five times x and one time x") is not explicitly stated each time. it's something that is as slowly revealed to the reader as it is to the characters, which is a nice touch. and there are more things you catch after a reread, which i am also a great fan of!

An Ever Fixed Mark by Spiraling (Stormwind13) on ao3

rated T, 3/3 chaps, 3.8k words

soulmates that share wounds!!!!!! need i say more?? ALSO, there's some GORJUS artwork in this fic! actually, the first "chapter" is just the cover page, and then in the third chapter is another illustration which is so well done! so that's a plus :) this fic has the nice ol heartwrenching mix of backstory and present for the characters, another plus!

this fic is restricted tho, so u gotta be logged into ao3 to read it 🙏

Love, He was Certain by toteally on ao3

rated M, 1/1 chaps, 3.2k words

this one is so funny and good to me bc loid goes head empty seeing fruit juice dribble down yor's chin KJFDHSJ i love when overthinking characters suddenly can't form a thought at the most mundane of happenings. ALSO the thing fics/books do when the title comes up and you're like OHHHH THERE IT IS!!! yeah that as well

Macabre Theme and Variations by @piracytheorist

rated T, 15/15 chaps, 66.6k words (lol)

WOOOO TIME LOOP FIC! yet another thing that i am a fan of :DD although HEED THE WARNING because there IS violence but there is also a happy ending. this fic follows twilight as he goes through the same day over and over again and tries not to die a horrific death forever. mans gets more trauma, BUT he also gets character progression and a happy ending so fair trade off right 🤔 (yes. the answer is yes)

anyways, this list is hardly even the tip of the iceberg. there's also my bookmarks which, at the time of writing this post, are at 354... most of which are sxf/twiyor.... so yeah LMAO obviously i couldnt put all of them into this post but definitely check those out. i've also got my own works if you're interested but hopefully this list contains fics you have not yet read, and that you will like 🙏🙏

(if your fic is on this list and you haven't been tagged + would like to be, pls let me know!)

[teeth--thief]

First time sending an ask in on computer (I think). Anyway... Was it a hiking trip?: Kind of! In short, I went to a summer camp (est. 1922), and I participated in multiple activities orchestrated by the camp. We backpack-hiked for 3 nights and 4 days to the highest point in West Virginia, at an altitude of roughly 4,800 ft above sea level. We also went caving in the Butler cave system, at 12°C. I also got AED, first aid, and lifeguard certified. Inaccuracies and other underlined things, from Kate Brown's book: In carrying out a routine experiment, they turned off the reactor's emergency SCRAM system, which was, in any case, too slow to prevent an accident. As the operators finished the test, they planned to take the reactor off-line for several weeks of routine maintenance. But on shutdown, the chain reaction in the reactor core went "critical," meaning operators no longer controlled it. Physicists at the secretive Medium Machine Building Ministry, in charge of nuclear weapons, had known that the RBMK reactor had design problems and was hard to control because of a positive void coefficient; the graphite tips of the boron control rods, inserted to slow down the chain reaction, caused the reactor to speed up momentarily. While I know "SCRAM" isn't wrong, it just kind of annoyed me... I don't really have a better reason for underlining it. But the next one, "critical"... that's just... not what that word means. At all. Just, categorically, 100%, entirely incorrect. And lastly, she either confuses the positive void coefficient with the control rod flaw, or she really, really messes up her wording? It's unclear and only half-correct, either way. The graphite portion of the rod never actually leaves the core, so there's no real "insertion" (of that portion), and its not actually the graphite that caused it to speed up, it was the displacement of water in the lower section of the core. Overall, she has seemingly surface level understanding of nuclear reactor technicalities. Obligatory disclaimer: This is all to my understanding, so I could be wrong. I do hope your baking turned out well, (though I'm sure it did), and I'm sorry your birthday was not favorable! I'm wishing you a merry, happy, and loving belated birthday from here. - R

Woooo, that sounds so cool! I had no idea that's something one could do, we don't really have camps like that here as far as I know, that's really neat! Congrats on your certifications!

Yes, you're correct. One good thing I can say about Kate Brown's book is this: thank fuck she did not write a Higginbotham-style book because THAT would have been a disaster... For as long as she sticks to information she actually finds out herself through interviews etc, it's fine... mostly. Until she tries to do some good ol' fear mongering, but that's a different story.

And yes, my baking did turn out well! So far, everything has been not only edible but also pretty dang good :) Thank you for the wishes! ♡

[sea-dwelling-wizard]

INTRO POST

about time i had one hehe

hello Tumblr! this blog is not meant to be anything specifically i just use this to fuel my passion for. like. everything that exists.

More under the cut :D

so... who are you

a teenage writer and artist (i try to be lmao)

she/her ig

im ace woooo :D

asks are open, i love random things in my inbox, please feel free to ask or talk to me about anything!

some things to know

my timezone is IST, please be patient

i might not be online that much because life

what i like

i like five nights at freddy's, vocaloid, death note, neon genesis evangelion, heaven official's blessing, genshin impact, and tons of other stuff :D

daydreaming

science, english, and math (sometimes)

coelecanths and shovelnose sturgeons

the colors blue and purple

i am very normal about books

summoning the ones below

about my WIPs!

beneath the waves, within this soul

atticus finds the abyss, a howling trench of terror, chasing after him again after his friends get kidnapped by his past abuser. he finds that there's more to this bottomless, dark trench than just what meets the eye--- the souls of those rejected by the moon goddess and a mysterious group of people claiming to know what happened to his friends.

this story has:

deep sea horrors

MERMAIDS. need i say more

sweet sweet angst

betrayal

tons of lore about the world the story is set in

a ritual

silent moments

good ol' happy (?) reunions

revenge

on this sunset shall i sing

the sun's been extinguished and everyone has their eyes set on apollo, the most powerful magic user of the realm. he claims not having extinguished the sun, but a bounty of 10 million tidelunn is set on him anyway. kla'rihn, the first protector, plans an expedition across the sea to figure out where the sun is.

this story has:

a terrible secret and a facade

a reluctant ally

some questionable decisions

a boat and the fresh, open sea

heavenly deities which somehow mess everything up

tons of magic

friendship problems

light-hearted humor

a possible love interest

mermaids, fae, nymphs, witches

these two books and another two books make the Heavenly Tetralogy! updates on these will be posted here along with some oc art weeeee

welcome to my blog, make yourself comfy!

[mcbenson25]

Can you feel it too? (Nash Wells X Empath!Reader)

Request for @i-dont-care-lol: Can you make a fic in which both of them are stargazing and bantering (ofc it's a wells so yeah) and then just comes to the topic of "hey ever had a crush on anyone" and Nash is like" no I don't do crushes" and the reader just doubts him too much when he tries to ignore that feeling (oops forgot to mention that reader is an empath) so and then he is all like "ok you wanna know then " and then kiss her, and just kind of relieved that her one sided crush isn't a one sided one?

A/N: I'm a terrible person. I got this request a while ago and I meant to write it as soon as I got it but *life* and *school* and *mental health* didn't let me. I'm super sorry. On another note I have never written reader being an empath so apologies in advance for my poor attempt on it. :)

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

"Woooo hoooooo! I win!"

"What no! You cheated!"

"Did not!"

"Did too!"

You rolled your eyes. You and Nash had borrowed Cisco's switch to play a good ole game of Mario Karts.

Or so you thought. Nash had taken a shortcut in the last race, taking first place from you.

"Shortcuts are not cheats they're just advantage points if you know how to use them," Nash said with a grin on his face.

"Cheater," you pouted with your arms crossed.

He chuckled as he leaned in, "You're just mad you lost."

"Am not."

"Are too."

"Okay kids! Uncle Cisco here wants his game back," came an amused voice from behind you.

You rolled you eyes and huffed in annoyance as you went to leave.

"Where are you going?" Nash called called out to you as he handed Cisco the game.

"Out," came your short reply.

Nash sighed as he ran after you.

"Are you upset just because of that?"

"I'm not upset," you answered is a frustrated tone.

Nash had caught up to you.

"Well it sure seems like it."

You let out a frustrated huff as you kept walking.

The truth was you didn't know why you felt upset. The entire day you had felt frustrated. You couldn't understand why if you had spent the entire day with the man who made your heart flutter.

"Where are we even going?" Nash asked as you started up the stairs of STAR Labs.

"To the roof."

"Why?" Came Nash's confused voice as you continued going up the long staircase, "And why couldn't we just have used the elevator?"

You gave a light giggle. "You'll see."

Nash couldn't help by smile at hearing you giggle. He had offered to have you tag along with him today because you were bored of being stuck in the lab all the time and not because he may or may not enjoy being around you. He glanced up at you as you reached the top of stairs, waiting for him. He smiled softly as he shook his head and followed behind you.

As you stepped out onto the roof, you looked up at the sky. The stars were out and shining bright. You let out a content sigh as you walked towards the edge of the roof, sitting down with your legs dangling over the edge. Nash sat down next to you, taking in the sparking Central City.

"This is nice," he commented as he looked up at the sky.

"Yeah, it is," you agreed with a smile.

There was a comfortable silence between you two for a few minutes as you both enjoyed the peacefulness of the night sky.

As Nash sat there beside you, he couldn't help but feel a sense of contentment wash over him. Being with you always had a way of calming him down and making him feel at ease, even when he was feeling nervous or uncertain. He glanced over at you, taking in the way your face was illuminated by the starlight, and couldn't help but feel a twinge of something he couldn't quite put his finger on.

You were watching the many bright stars along the sky, lost in thought. A sense of peace and calm washed over you.You felt safe, content, at ease.

You also felt...

Loved?

Your eyes widen in surprise. It couldn't be...

Could it?

No.

It must be your feelings that you're sensing. It couldn't possibly be his.

But yet-

"Hey, (Y/N)," Nash suddenly spoke up, breaking the silence.

"Yeah?" you turned to look at him, trying to hide the nervousness you felt.

"Have you ever had a crush on anyone?" he asked, his voice casual, as if asking what you had had for lunch.

You were completely taken back by his question.

"That definitely not random," you say trying to alleviate the sudden lump that had formed in your throat. Was it getting hotter?

Nash noticed the way your face had paled slightly and the way you nervously shifted on the spot. He realized his question may have come across as too forward and he mentally cursed himself for not being more subtle.

He tried to backtrack, "I mean, it's okay if you don't want to answer. I was just curious."

You let out a small sigh of relief and gave him a small smile, "No, it's okay. It's just that your question caught me off guard. And to answer your question, yes, I have had a crush on someone before. Why do you ask?" As soon as you said that you felt something bothering you, a prickling emotion that made you frown. Jealously.

You shook you head lightly. What was happening?

"What about you? Have you ever had a crush on anyone?" You asked, with a hint of defensiveness trickling in your voice. You were startled by it, about to apologize when Nash turned to look at you. "No, I don't do crushes," he answered nonchalantly, but his eyes said something else as you felt a wave of bottled emotion wash over you.

You're lying.

"What?"

You realized you had said that out loud as you met Nash's bewildered eyes.

You should apologize. You should leave it be. But you were convinced that what you had been feeling wasn't just your feelings.

Screw it.

"You're lying," you repeated, more confidently this time. "I can sense it. There's something you're not saying" Nash's eyes widened in surprise, and he shifted uncomfortably beside you. "I don't know what you're talking about," he said, his voice slightly strained. "Yes, you do," you insisted, turning to face him fully. "I don't know why you're hiding it, but I can feel that there's something more there. I've been feeling it all night. There's something you're afraid to admit."

Nash's eyes widened in shock, his body language betraying him. You could tell he was caught off guard by your accusation, but you weren't going to let him off the hook that easily. You needed answers.

"I don't know what you're talking about," he said, his voice slightly strained, his hands fidgeting nervously at his sides.

But you weren't buying it. You could feel it in your gut that there was more to this story than he was letting on. You took a step closer to him, your eyes locked onto his, and you spoke with unwavering conviction.

"Yes, you do," you insisted, your tone unwavering.

The atmosphere between you and Nash had changed. The easygoing vibe you both had been feeling was now replaced with something more tense and awkward. You looked at Nash, who was now avoiding your gaze. You let out a sigh, not knowing what to say. Maybe you had been wrong in confronting him like that. Maybe he really didn't have feelings for you, and you had just misinterpreted everything.

"I'm sorry," you said, breaking the silence. "I shouldn't have said that. It's not my place to push you to say anything you don't want to.

Another beat of silence.

You were overcome by a feeling of rejection and embarrassment.

"I'll go-"

"You're not wrong. There is something I'm hiding."

You continued to look at Nash, waiting for him to say something. Nash let out a sigh and turned to look at you.

"Okay, fine. You caught me," he said with a small smile, trying to ease the tension. "I have had a crush on someone before."

Your heart skipped a beat at his words. Was he talking about you? You tried to remain calm as you asked, "Who was it?"

Nash looked down at his hands and fidgeted with his fingers. "It doesn't matter now. It was a long time ago, and nothing ever came of it."

You felt a twinge of disappointment at his words, but you tried not to let it show. "Oh," you said, trying to keep your voice light.

Nash looked up at you, and you could see the hesitation in his eyes. "But, there is someone else I have feelings for," he said, his voice barely above a whisper.

Your heart felt like it was going to beat out of your chest. He couldn't possibly be talking about-

"It's you."

You looked at Nash, feeling a sense of happiness wash over you. "Nash, I..." you started, but he interrupted you.

"I know, I know," Nash said, looking down. "You don't feel the same way. I get it."

"Nash, that's not what I was going to say," you said, reaching out to touch his arm.

"It's okay-wait what?"

You smiled softly, scooting closer to him.

"I've had feelings for you for a long time now, but I didn't want to ruin our friendship by telling you. I always felt lots of different emotions and at first I thought I was going crazy but now I get why," you said shyly.

He looked at you, searching your eyes for anything that would betray your words, but all he found was warmth and adoration.

"I would very much like to kiss you." It was his turn to be shy.

You smiled as you inched closer to him. "Well by all means please do."

Without another word, he leaned in and pressed your lips against his. As you deepened the kiss, Nash's hands found their way to your face, pulling you closer to him. The kiss was soft and gentle at first, but it quickly grew more passionate, fueled by the unspoken emotions that had been building between you two for so long. As you finally pulled away, you rested your forehead against Nash's, both of you breathing heavily.

He grinned as he pressed another light kiss on your lips, contentment and love filling him, as he looked at you.

"Do you feel it too?"

You smiled and nodded.

"More than you know."

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

Hellooooo I'm back from the dead haha. I wanted to just let you guys know that its just been really hard to find motivation to write for a while and I was pretty depressed but Im doing stuff for me and moving out and going to classes so I feel much better. Hoped you guys enjoyed and im so sorry for taking so long.

Taglist: @khayrrilrainxwells @kirareaper13 @i-dont-care-lol @cursedfaechild @lovepeaceorelse @apsychopathiclllama @samandcolbyfan

[bunbeeplays]

The Lemon Legacy: Generation 1, Chapter 74 - Nailed It

It's been a busy time for Xander, constantly working on the restaurant. Today, Moses and Ian are helping him set up the instruments that the band, The Main Squeeze, bought. Ophelia isn't expecting the visitor that shows up at her door but it's a pleasant surprise, nonetheless.

Ophelia: Hey, what brings you here?

Drew: You better not have any plans. We're doing a spa day.

Ophelia: What? Really? You don't strike me as the spa type.

Drew: We've been planning band stuff out, I figured we both need an excuse to chill.

Drew: We can get massages, get our nails done-

Ophelia: Who are you and what have you done with Drew?

Drew: Come on, nonbinary people can get their nails done too! I just can't get those big ol' claws you like so much cuz my guitar strings would rip them off.

Ophelia: I'm in.

In the time they've been attending yoga classes at this spa, neither of them have ever taken advantage of the other services besides the pool. This will be a nice change of pace!

Drew: Sul sul! One wrench and a buffalo wing tea for the lady!

It also happens to be Night on the Town, so their drinks are free!

Ophelia: Woooo, Night on the Town!

Drew: It's like 11 AM.

Ophelia: NIGHT ON THE TOWN!

Drew: So Xander said after they get the stage set up, it's all done?

Ophelia: Basically, except a few finishing touches. He's been so secretive, I can't believe Moses and Ian got to see the place before me.

Drew: We'll have plenty of time to see it when we're performing there.

Ophelia: I'll finally get to see it tomorrow! I'm so excited.

Drew: You should be! That's why we've got to get you fresh in-game painted nails instead of CAS nails.

Ophelia: If you wanted to get your nails done, you don't have to use me as a scapegoat.

Drew: Hey, we're here for our 12 o'clock.

Rita: Ah, Mx. Padilla, hello! And that must be Ophelia.

Ophelia: You booked an appointment? What if I had said no?

Drew: I may be skinny but I'm not afraid to throw you over my shoulder.

Alex: Alright, prepare to be pampered, Miss Lemon!

It was sort of nice having her hands massaged before getting her nails done. Definitely worth the money!

She goes for something a little more glamorous than usual. Treat yourself!

Drew also likes their manicure, though they're not exactly the glam type.

Drew: Brings me back to my grunge days in high school. Sure hope there's a revival soon.

Ophelia autonomously put on a face mask before the two part ways for their massages.

Ophelia: A deep tissue massage won't hurt too bad, right?

Lana: Don't worry, Miss Lemon, I'm a trained professional. I did all my certifications online!

Ophelia spins into a robe and lays down on the massage table.

Lana: Now just relax and let me take care of those sore muscles.

Ophelia: Okay…

It feels nice at first… until the masseuse digs her knuckles into her spine!

Lana: Oof, this is a big knot.

There are parts of the massage that feel good… and there are parts where Ophelia feels like the masseuse is trying to fold her into an origami swan. Stop pulling her shoulder back like that, lady!

Ophelia practically hobbles off of the massage table.

Lana: Hope you enjoyed!

She certainly did not. She feels bad for not tipping but not tipping is better than chewing her out for jerking her around the dang table!

Ophelia admires her nails while waiting by the pool for Drew.

Drew: Watcher, I feel like a new Sim. How was that massage?

Ophelia: …Great.

Drew: Great! Let's slam down more free drinks and take advantage of the pool!

Somehow relaxing in that ridiculous pool floatie did more to ease her aching back than that dang massage did. Drew the party animal isn't used to sitting around, so they do a super splash in their lounger, which is something I didn't know you could do.

Ophelia, the wise and mature future matriarch of this legacy, does her own super splash in her lounger. Hey, this is their day to have fun, so she's going to have fun, damn it!

Ophelia: This was fun, Drew. I really needed this.

Drew: Glad to hear it, dude. I've gotta head home. Text me tomorrow about how cool the bar is, okay?

Ophelia: You got it.

Xander comes dragging in pretty late, and very tired.

Ophelia: Well hello there, Mister New CC Hair. Way to pick a haircut that's eerily similar to your other one.

Xander: I'm a pretty adventurous guy, but my hairstyle is one thing I'm content with, Lemon Cake.

Ophelia blathers on about her day as they eat a late dinner, and Xander nods and smiles along.

Ophelia: You okay? You've been quiet.

Xander: Just sleepy. Your nails look very pretty.

Ophelia: Thanks, sweetie. Let's finish up and I'll tuck you in.

Xander: Tuck me in?

Ophelia: Yeah, good boys who work very hard deserve to get tucked in.

In all fairness, she did tuck him under the covers. She just decided to tuck herself under there too.

I can't stand these two

[unsleepingtales]

Vulture Dimension Time I’ve got my ice cream let’s do this it’s our time it’s our year

Everyone’s outfit is Fantastic today

Some good ol fashioned summer fun

The vulture dimension is great right

They’re actually doing this. I keep thinking oh they’ll just do a normal episode but no they’re fully gonna do this but for however long it takes

That’s such a fair assumption gorgug. I would also think I had died.

Why did you do this to yourselves

‘It’s not gonna work any other way than the way I want it to’ this is so Brennan’s revenge

All that buildup <3

Trans joke trans joke

From the vibe they all had. Absolutely.

Love gorgug trying to do plot things in the vulture dimension

Oh Zac is GONE

Are these real

HOMEBREW ALERT: Feather of the Vulture King: Breaking this oily feather summons 1d4 vultures. They are not under your command.

I want these items so badly.

Cassandra glowed from that??

Oooh new battle board camera angle!!

It’s not yesterday! What a good motivational statement.

Devastating.

God he hit her for 20 dmg off a cantrip and she did 22 from a 5th level spell that really is devastating

Woooo hit himmm

Get off my lawn!

Gorgug has So much to be mad about here

(Brennan rolling too many dice)

One of my favorite things about dropout are the captions <3

Riz giving his silvery barbs advantage to Fabian after the bardic/least favorite friend exchange is. I’m thinking and feeling things.

Nat 20 luck check is incredible

Ally.

THIRTY NINE

NICELY DONE FABIAN

So… what happens at school now?

Go homeeeee get out of my house

What are you doing baby girl

Why are you doing this

Emily you HAVE a nose piercing. It’s not a septum but cmon.

DO YOU HAVE A WARRANT

Gorgug is so done I love him so fucking much

I am the exact same way when it’s been too long a day with too many things.

GET HIS COP ASS GORGUG

Oh the identify spell has a radio filter on now that’s fun

What’s threatening the existence of the school at the folk festival?

Riz art hiiiiiii

Siobhan’s outfit is so great

Red light??

Copperlilly caterpillar <3

Three cheers for stage tech arcana.

Like the 24 point stars from the book?????

Enchantment effect?

OH MY GOD

Rage effect. Fucking hell.

I so wish I could hear about spells being cast through concerts without thinking of uhv. Unfortunately I cannot.

Guys. Guys.

No! Eat it now! Don’t give him hot sauce mom!

Just fun videos to look back on

Nobody noticed Zac saying Kristen the rats can’t vote and that’s criminal bc it was SO funny

He frenched the vulture king

How good can a rat’s history check possibly beeeee

Ooooh Lucy was doing necromancy?

NO

There’s definitely not a rat world under the school 💀

Awwwww

Spot needs to be the next d20 plushie

Oh god

Oh nooooo

Gross

RIP Spot 💔

THAT TRAILER EDIT WAS SO CLEAN

ALSO WHAT THE FUCK THOUGH

She died so recently ok

Add it to the fucking pile

Fig’s dad is an archdevil I think she can afford wizard class

HELLO????

An unholy last rites. That’s so fucked.

Oh SHIT okay

Did Lucy’s party turn on her?

Holy shit that’s intense

Here there be giants?

Christ

Work a miracle Kristen

Who’s the fuckin turncoat man

God they’re so good at being teenagers

Kristen just literally saved someone’s soul. Good lord.

Saint Kristen Applebees.

Oh my god.

Holy shit! Nice job Kristen!

I hope they can reach Cassandra somehow. I honestly can’t tell if the resolution of this arc is letting them go or finding them through work and either one is beautiful but I love Cassandra and I want them to be okay.

Where do you live 😭

Oh godddd

They’re being really inconsistent with the days of the week and I can’t tell if it’s on purpose time quangle/exhaustion stuff or if it’s just a mistake. Like, the party was on a Friday night and then the next day was Sunday. The festival was on a weekend day and then the next day was also a Saturday. It’s bugging me.

Yeesh.

DID THE DIRT MAKE HIM MAD (am I overthinking this)

Consigliere of the geeks

Sklondaaaaaa

Devastating

I’m unbelievably wealthy and me and my friends just discovered the site of a double homicide #justgirlythings

Fabian is taking care of them and I love him so much for it

Please please please

YAYYYY PORTENT

Oh I just read such a nice fic about Adaine studying barbarian stuff with Gorgug <3

HE CAN DO THIS

Teddy bear of helpfulness holds concentration, would he be able to use that whole raging?

Gorgug Thistlespring my BELOVED

I felt weird about being mad 😭😭

But he doesn’t burn and pillage and murder! That’s not how the bad kids adventure

God porter annoys me

WOOOOOOO GET THAT MCAT

The Last Stand exam

oh god if Kristen gets moved to pass/fail what happens to the others

Oh fuck Gorgug

RIZZZZZ

HES THE ONLY ONE ALLOWED TO TAKE STRESS FOR OTHERS

Henry encouraging gorgug to build a time machine?

Oh thank god he’s still on the owlbears

I think I have to lie down. He’s me.

The fact that their relationships with their parents are suffering because of this is fucking heartbreaking

Bitch fuck all the way off ok

It’s fine it’s all fine everything’s peachy I love my life 🥲

Awwww is Aelwyn gonna visit Adaine at work

ALSO Cait May said Aelwyn’s art was based on her mini. Which means we’re gonna see an Aelwyn mini. Which I’m so excited for.

Glad to see Aelwyn is still Aelwyn

Oh nooo

CLAMFACE CUNTHEAD

CLAMHEAD CUNTFACE

What in the worldddddd

COTTONCANDY BITCHFUCK

Adaine Abernant and Siobhan Thompson I love you so so much

Yeah what does happen if Gorgug is affected by the rage magic.

It’s our time! It’s our year!

[blackberry-gingham]

All That Was

Vampire!Gambit x fem!reader

A little (early) Halloween special courtesy of conversation ideas from @samatedeansbroccoli

Summary: New Orleans may not be your home- but there was a time, and a man, who once made it feel so. Over time, he slipped away from you, and just when you thought he was at last gone for good- He came back to you changed forever. But... Is he really lost for good?

Tags: Angst (woooo boy), Vampire AU, blood/violence, some vampire lore and mythos usage but I'm sure you guys will be fine

Tag List: @greenheart99

---

New Orleans- A city of lights. Of music. Of colors and sounds and history and spirits.

Ever since you first arrived all those months ago, you found Louisiana to be hot and humid and little else but long days of work and lonely nights.

But you didn't always feel like this. That's what hurts the most.

Even with the coming of fall things have hardly seemed to change, but lately the weather has taken a rather sharp turn towards something cooler. At daylight, things feel almost comfortable now. At night, the lingering humidity turns to swirling mist in the roadside lamplight.

This is the thirteenth time you've missed your ride home- Each night seems to get worse and worse. Brushing the shoulders of uncertain strangers. Rushing past the shadowed alleys. Dancing around the light, trying to keep to safety. You have yet to meet an ill encounter just yet, and you have no designs to find one.

All you can do is pray it stays that way.

Your shoes tap harshly on the pavement up to your house. In truth, it's hardly more then a run down little shed. On the edge of town, it doesn't offer much safety on its own, but... You have to take what you can afford.

They say these very streets are home to the spirits of this ancient town. At first you scoffed. Superstition at best, and all that-

Now you know better.

Things go missing. Noises at night that you can't explain. Moving shadows. And if you look a little too long into those long, impossibly dark alleys... You can swear you hear voices. Whispering. They speak in a tongue you can't decipher, but your conscious tells you perhaps it's best that way.

On a night like this, a knock at your door is the last thing you want to hear- But the raps come softly, calmly. And yet somehow that makes it all the less comforting. Maybe it's been a long day. Maybe your curiosity got the better of you. Maybe you're just too stupid to be living in a city like this... But you at least want to catch a peak.

A small, cracked and beaten peep hole is all you have, but it's more then enough to make out...

Him.

You take a few steps back, sheer instinct alone taking over. Tap tap tap No... No you don't dare tangle yourself in this again. The knocks come again, a little more insistent this time, "Tsk tsk, come on Cher- Gambit hear you in d'ere", he laughs.

Fucker.

A click and a flash- the creature hisses, shielding his face from the sudden assault of light from your porch. Long and tall in that old duster, Gambit blinks and squints back at you. Five gnats zip around the buzzing porch light, the lifeless bodies of many before them trapped up under the plastic.

"Remy...", you address him cautiously. Even opening your door was giving him too much- "I thought we talked about this"

"Did we? Gambit got a bad mem'ry Cher, you know dat", he chuckles softly, feigning innocent ignorance. You don't answer right away. Instead you check one more time to make sure your defense is in place. It's a quick glance, but not fast enough to escape his notice.

Gambit follows your gaze up. You've painted your porch since the last time he saw you- a nice, haint blue.

He points his chin up in it's direction, "Who you tryna' keep out, a'nayway? Now don' tell me you went an' replaced ole Gambit already", Gambit cocks his head and searches the room over your shoulder, a thin veneer of playfulness covering the accusation.

A little too thin.

His maroon eyes glow in this low, murky night. They always do- But that charming little feature won't work on you. It's a trick. It always is with him.

You take a few steps back from the door, closing it off just that much more, "I think you should be getting on", you reply firmly- but not even your own resolution can keep the nerves out of your voice. Too bad too...

Weakness is a dangerous thing to have around a man like him. You know it all too well.

Gambit rushes to meet the closing door, seeming to forget about the ritual in place. He collapses against said force keeping him out- Like a glass window, separating the two worlds with an invisible field, the paint does it's magic. But oh- you'd be a fool to think that will stop him from his crusade, "Naw, now don' be like that! At least hear Gambit out!", he begs.

You slip the door to a crack, only enough to reveal a sliver of your face. Why not? He can't reach you anyway- a little final say surely won't hurt.

Right?

"There's nothing to talk about Rem-"

"Aw darlin', you know I wish you wouldn' call me that-", he interrupts with a pathetic plea.

A miffed huff escapes you first before, "And what am I supposed to say? Ga-"

"I always use'ta like when you'd say 'handsome'-", his black eyes seem unusually glassy. Large and wet as they look up at you in the night from under long, red lashes. His pitiful, forlorn gaze dares to break into a small smile once he sees he's gotten to you, "or 'trouble'- Hell, I'd take even red"

You hold his eyes in yours for a long while... Until you blink. And blink again. And shake your head. Anything to get that voice of his out.

Gambit drops lower and lower still, getting under your downcast gaze and into view. He shakes his head slowly, terrified of your answer, "Well wait, wait! Jus' let me in, all I wanna do is talk-", he's slid so far down, he waits on bended knees- pleading for you to hear him.

"...I miss you, darlin"

"Oh, go tell it to the others!", you snap back.

"Others? There ain't no others Cher, I-!"

You scoff, "No others huh? Is that what you told Anna-Marie?"

He pauses, a look on his face like he'd caught a slap. Gambit thinks for a moment, rising slowly to stand, "Maybe... but she don' want Gambit no mo'. Not like this-", he examines his hand. Far too pale, the skin is sick, all but translucent in the moonlight, "No one do..."

"And I'm supposed to feel sorry for you?"

Gambit looks away, dejectedly. Cleverly. Then finally, a moment of honesty, "Non. An dat's what I like 'bout you- You don' feel bad for no one", he laughs quietly, "Not less'n they deserve it, at least..."

He calms himself a moment, looking at you sadly once more with those innocent eyes and snake like charm, "You know, you was always my best girl, Cher... Dat ain't change"

You look away, a silent sigh escaping you. As though that simple act will be enough to dispel his hold on you, you push a little more, "So that's it, huh- I'm just your place to crash now?"

Gambit clicks his tongue- Perhaps he feels you are the one with the captivating spells, you think. After all, it would certainly explain the way he, too, is compelled to turn away from your guilt inducing stare.

"If'n you don' wanna see Gambit no mo', he understand. It's jus'... Things got real bad wit' da X-Men an' all-", He rests his forehead on the door frame, his eyes fixed on the white paint of your porch boards.

His voice is quiet and low- too much so to be the man you know, "Dey say, there ain't no cure. Den dey say, they wanna keep Gambit for testin' an' ta watch. Wolverine just wanna kill him an get it o'er with- 'Too risky keepin' Gambit alive, he say"

When next he looks up, at long last- your eyes catch his in the Louisiana moonlight. He looks away one more time, almost abashedly, before returning with eyes turned up softly, "I din' know if'n I'd see you again- Gambit jus' thought... maybe one last time, jus' in case- You know"

You lean casually against the door frame. Perhaps, just this once, you can make a little time for an old flame, "How long have you been running?"

"Days... Weeks, more like. Gambit come all da way down from New York-", Gambit sniffs, but disguises it as a snort- even as he sharply swipes the tears from his eyes, "You don' know what it's like darlin'- Gambit been eatin'... Wild animals in the dead a' night-", he sniffs again, this time not giving a damn how he sounds-

His voice drops one more octave, low and wavering and forlorn. There was so much more he wanted out of life... From himself. With you. And now? Now he's cursed with unliving- An eternity as a ghost. A shadow in the dark. An infinity of time to mourn the old life of his... The one that, from now on, will go unlived.

"Gambit don' know what ta do... He lost Cher"

Strange really... When you first found out about this serial flirter of yours, you were quick to turn him out. If he wanted to be free so badly, who were you to tie him down?

And yet- he always came back to you.

Who can say why we do the things we do? Pity for the wicked. Forgiveness for the undeserving. Grace for the monster- You kept in touch. You saw him whenever he could slip away from the X-Men. He was so sweet on that Rogue woman... Like he could never let her go.

You thought for sure that the day he didn't come back, it would be thanks to her. Poor girl- you doubt she ever had a clue about you.

Once upon a time, he was gone for a long while... You were ready to let him go. To let her have him. To wish that red headed devil well and good riddance. Then, one fine fateful day- he came back. The damn fool actually came back.

Just as he always did.

Crashing up the steps of your porch. Skittering and hunkering into the deepest corner he could. Smoke billowing, burning off of him- like holy incense from a censer. The sun was half hidden behind all the clouds of evening- Hardly mid day at all, and yet... All you remember is the putrid stench of burning flesh and hair.

Oh how he begged to be let inside. And you, the bleeding hearted idiot- You invited him in.

In the shade of your home, he looked at you in a way you don't know you'll ever forget. The horror engraved in that man's face... His skin blistering and frighteningly pale. Open sores like a far gone addict. Gaunt cheeks and hands like a ghoul in the revealing light. His eyes were neither here nor anywhere, as they darted, full of fear, around the room.

God knows when he was bitten- but that was the day he'd finally turned. And the man you knew? The man your impossible heart dared to love- He was dead.

Then.

And now.

And for all the rest of his hollow life.

He came back often in those days. He'd disappear all night, and return at break of day. In a bizarre, twisted way- things were just as they used to be. Back in the beginning. Back when you'd first met. When you were still in love and you were his only girl-

But this was no fantasy. This was no walk down memory lane any more then this man, this... Thing- was Remy LeBeau.

Not anymore.

The dynamic had changed. The mood shifted- Before it had always been Thief and Citizen. Human and Mutant... Now? Day by trying day, it felt closer and closer to Hunter and Prey.

On the day he finally bit you- Well, you knew it was a long time coming. And nary one you should've been surprised for.

In the days after, you worried incessantly about infection. About becoming like... he was. The days past and he was long gone. Nothing. Whatever he had done, it wasn't to turn you- just to feed.

In the end, you think that was the part that hurt most.

Even when he's so far gone. So busy losing himself. Even through all that... He didn't want to hurt you- Not in the way he had been.

And in that moment, as you look down upon him- This creature of the dark. This pitiful monster. This hopeless sinner. You don't know what comes over you- be it a lasting, longsuffering inkling of compassion, or a wild, unchecked surge of foolishness, but...

You reach out your hand, just outside of the door's ritual barrier, to touch his face. Your fingers tremble, cold and aching, as you tuck them under his chin. At your insistence, he lifts his head up, and for a moment... You can almost remember why you loved him.

Unspoken words and the weight of unfulfilled hours and days and months- a lifetime, pass between you. For a long while yet, holding on desperately in some attempt to make up for the times that could have been. And all that while, Gambit watches helplessly as you stand from behind the safety of your doorframe.

"...Promise Gambit you be careful out d'ere Cher", Gambit move to kiss your hand tenderly. His lips are cool, and deceptively soft as they hide their sharp, keen fangs. He pulls away for a moment, only one- Hardly a breath apart, he kisses it again. Then again and again, one hand coming up to join the other in cupping yours.

And you let him. Damn you- but...

You let him.

Your fingers curl, as though deciding only too slowly how to react to this desperate touch of his. Gambit flinches in response, far too afraid to let you go- his lips drag languidly over your skin until one fang catches your knuckle. He growls and you dare not hope he means it playfully. Pointed incisors nip at your index- Never hard enough to break skin, but just enough to send those long forgotten shivers down your spine.

Gambit's hand crawls up your wrist, just as far as the barrier will let him. He stops just bellow your elbow, and in a show almost worthy of praise- His purple eyes meet yours, begging and yearning for just a few more seconds of you and you alone. Begging to adore you. Yearning to touch- if only you'll let him.

His lips close once more around your finger, sucking softly. No fangs, no teeth- just lip and tongue, as he savors this moment. He stands slowly, feeling your pulse beat inside his mouth. Even as he rises to try again, his eyes picking out yours from the darkness- your is mind clear. Numb.

Things always end the same with him... You've trotted this dance too many times. Seen all his tricks. Heard all his pleas.

Too many times to be phased by it now. This man, this monster. His gaze is hypnotic, even now with the dark, sickly ring of undeath surrounding them. But if you look closely... Just a little closer still... It's like you can see past it.

You know... his eyes are still every bit as vibrant as they always were. When he was alive. When he loved you.

Those eyes, oh but those eyes...

Your face inches out as the seconds slip by. From the safety of your doorframe, to the exposed outside. All sense leaves you, your mind consumed by that burning gaze. Gambit lets you go- Lets you come to him yourself. You press a slow, gentle kiss to his scruffy jawline floating nearby for a little too long. His skin is so, so cold...

And you? You're so, so fucking warm.

Gambit kisses you back. Once then twice. And again and again as you hang outside the doorframe.

His lips are coarse and nearly miss yours the first time around. When at last he connected with you, it was gentle. Too gentle for a creature like him- With the next and the one after that, they came more hungrily. More assertive. As his hands claw at the force holding him back from you, fingers raking desperately at an invisible wall as he drinks you in. Like he could never get enough...

After some time, he realizes he can't take any more of you- Not like this.

He pulls his mouth away, just for a moment as your breath fades to steam in the night, but never for a moment too long- He attacks again, a hungry assault on your lips from his. Gambit growls deep in his throat- a sound you can feel, straight down to your core.

Gambit leans back in, only to nibble on your lip. His teeth let you go, drifting down down down… Your chin. Your jaw. And then...

He growls again, but now... different. With a quality to it that you can't quite define. Low. Menacing. Threatening- Before you can open your eyes and inquire, his fangs sink into your neck.

You gasp, then shriek in pain as the hypnotic spell abandons you.

The first reaction is easy- you push him back, to no avail. He growls ravenously, tearing at your flesh. Lapping at your throat. All too quick, the edge of your vision turns an eerie black. Yet somehow, all the world seems too vibrant. Too far away. You push one more time.... but your strength leaves you by the second.

It's all you can do to get away- You put all your weight into falling back, his teeth ripping away more of you as you stumble back within the barrier of your doorway.

Gambit howls in dismay, watching with a growling panic as you crawl on the floor, pulling further and further away.

"Please!", he claws wildly, begging and pleading like a wild dog- like a craving addict, at the forces holding him back, "I'm starving!", he cries and cries, beating madly against the holy wall. You stagger to your feet- the shock almost matching your disgust as you watch the scene unfold.

A horrific frame of your dark door and the streams of moonlight behind- all merely focuses you in on this snarling, monster of hunger.

"Please please pleas-!", he falls to the floor, putting fruitless, but tireless effort into getting to your warm body. He scratches and snarls and wails- and as the seconds go by. As the madness unfolds. Every moment you're faced with the reminder...

The Gambit you knew died a long time ago.

You drag yourself to your feet- even now, a look akin to pity befalls you as your hand finds the back of your door. Gambit, or the creature that now posses his body, shakes his head desperately. "No... no no no-", he begs and claws and writhes against the wisps of your door as even the smallest shred of dignity and feigned humanity leave him in its closing.

"No no n-!"

When at long last, the lock clicks shut, the void is filled no longer by the gentle, polite knocks of before- but by the pounding. Hands and fists and bloody, broken nails upon your door. But he won't be getting in...

Not now.

Not ever again.

And as you walk away, your own hand up to staunch the bleeding of your fresh wound, all you can hear are his cries- over and over and over again, it haunts you. It follows you across the kitchen. Into your bathroom. Up to your bed. Over and over, in various shrieks and groans, until you can be sure you'll never hear the word the same way again-

"Please"

[saturn-sends-hugs]

ask game ask game asK GAME

hmm if you feel like it, maybe 5, 7, 13, and 23? :)

woooo thanks for asking friend!!

5. Favorite form of potato?

Chip. Love me some good ole potato chips. Not even the ones with like ridges or flavors or anything, just normal potato chips. (not to be confused with fries cause honestly I just do not like fries lol)

7. What animal do you look forward to seeing when you visit an aquarium?

oooo ok couple answers depending:

If they have like a mammals section with non-water breathing animals too, definitely otters. Like??? They’re just so?? Cute??????

LIKE LOOK AT HIM HES GOT HATS <3333333

But if it’s just fish, probably sunfish. They’re so big and flat and idk something about them just has absolutely spectacular vibes imo

also they’re huge.

13. First thing you’re doing in the purge?

Hmmmm honestly, I think I’d just stock up on food. Not good food that would help me survive or anything, I’d just get a whole bunch of comfort foods. All that stuff you want to buy but like do you really need it? Those nostalgic kids lunch kinds of things like animal crackers or juiceboxes or OMG FRUIT SNACKS wow i love fruit snacks, but yeah, I’d just get all my fun little snacks and hide out at home. Honestly, I think it’d be kinda nice to just get to chill at home for a while bshksjsksk (i say as though i don’t do that all the time)

23. Do you wear jewelry?

Yeah!! I don’t switch it up very often though, other than my earrings (which are these little rain clouds w gold details rn since they were a birthday gift :D).

I have these two rings from my mom that I’m just always wearing, and they’re really nice for when I’m just fidgeting with my hands honestly, although I swap the one on my left hand over whenever I play guitar and sometimes I forget to swap it back lol. Then I have literally just a plain gold necklace I always have too, cause idk its just nice to have a little something, yknow? (i would get into the backstory but i’m already rambling and it’s the most random thing lol) And ofc I have a nose ring, but uh… it’s fake for now lol. I’m allergic to cats and so obviously I have a cat, but sometimes my nose gets runny I just wouldn’t want to deal with a real piercing on top of that :/

[astraleras]

Well. It's 12:30 might make a post that's been simmering in my head for.... a hot minute

FFXIV x Guilty Gear AU, anyone? :3c

Currently I don't know how to plot this as its me just kicking my feet and giggling making designs for characters and fitting them into the world OK! Let us start with our party (Might not even be in the Seventh Astral/Umbral era!!)

I dont have much ANY tangible sketches for Sol but he's going to be a Xaela subspecies Au'Ra (Draconic features and that hourglass shape? Very Sol.) adventurer, who wields a Gunblade (making him a Gunbreaker!) He's not too far off Guilty Gear canon, most likely to be protagonist since references to the sun hahahah :) (Maybe Order Sol having the role that Ardbert had??!?!?!!?!?!)

Ky is an Ishgardian Elezen for sure, it just, works. And he fits being a Red Mage SOOOOO much (Lightning magic, cool sword/rapier and the acrobatics) The design below isn't set in stone it's just a maybe place holder, looks nice tho!!

Justice/Aria is also here. She is girlbossing so hard, I think she'll swap to Sage or maybe stay as a Paladin after her whole Justice alias is known since she can do that. Raen Au'Ra this time, so cool. I think Asuka might do his gay magic and muck up Arias memories (or not) Also design below woooo!!!

Axl, I am pushing the cat boy Axl agenda making him a Mi'qote, Seeker of the Sun since of course he is. BUT. He's a Reaper!!! His Voidsent is named Megumi hehehehe (Im so mean and cruel to him sorry Axl :() Also I-No is there too, she is a Miqo as well, but a Bard (They have the guitar from that one crossover, I think) look at how bad I am at drawing witch hats haha

Dizzy!! She's a mix between a Xaela and Raen Au'Ra!! Ponytail for the hair this time, she looks nice in a ponytail :) She fits being a SCH so, she be Scholaring woohoo!! The clothing is so badly drawn and just a place holder but you get the gist

This. This Venom design is so slay, he's a Viera AND a Dragoon, how homosexual of him!! I think the Assassin's guild would be up in Ishgard since maybe Slayer is Ishgardian, I don't know!! But look at this design, I'm so proud of my creativity (Should Robo-Ky be a dragon? Hmm....)

Asuka. Hyur, Midlander (since he's mid, KIDDING!!) Though, I might make him a Mi'qote later if I feel like it. He is a Summoner, he be summoning. That's it, it's an Asuka.

Raven :) there is no bird races in FFXIV. A pity. So, he's a Padjal, their cool and live for a while and I have a few Vieras already so ja. Black Mage since he is EVIL not really, just is good as magic and big ol robes, so swag.

Zato. Probably just going to make him a Hyur (Maybe Garlean???) since he is boring (affectionate) and he is a Dark Knight!!! I already have like two Reapers so yeah. Also big chunky armour, finally he isn't slutty lol.

THATS ALL THE PICS I GOT!!! HERES A LIST OF EACH CHARACTERS RACE AND JOB

Sin- Au'Ra/Elezen . Dragoon

Ramlethal - Mi'qote . Dark Knight

Elphelt - Viera . Machinist

Leo - Hrothgar . Paladin

Testament - Au'Ra . Reaper

Happy Chaos - Au'Ra . Machinist

May - Lalafell (From somewhere in Doma) . Warrior

Chipp - Mi'qote (Limsa, says he's from Kugane) . Ninja

Millia - Viera . Dancer

Johnny - Hyur . Samurai

Anji - Hyur (Doman) . Dancer

Jam - Hyur . Monk

Baiken - Hyur (Doman) . Samurai

Potemkin - Roegydn . Monk

Bridget - Viera . Astrologian

Nagoriyuki - Roegydn (somewhere from Othard, Gosetsu did it lol) . Samurai

A.B.A - Hyur . Warrior

Bedman - Lalafell . Summoner

Slayer - Elezen . Monk

Giovanna - Mi'qote . Monk

Goldlewis - Hyur (Highlander) . Warrior

Faust - Elezen . White Mage

Answer - Viera . Ninja

Yaaaay :)

[friendlyneighborhoodcapricorn]

okay so first outerbanks request here!!! woooo!!! it's also immediately dating headcanons lol- do you have any ideas for what dating john b would be like, in uh, that timespan of his father having been missing for a few months and then them starting to discover murders and shit? you know, the good ol' times. that we got to see like half an episode of :)

Oooh yes absolutely!!

No one really does spontaneous like John B, so expect a lot of unexpected dates. He shows up at your doorstep at nine in the morning and is like “hey, we’re going on a date” and there’s no use arguing.

Sometimes it’s just hanging out on the beach, sometimes it’s surfing (or him trying to teach you if you can’t), sometimes it’s driving around the island in the van (did that thing have a name?) or exploring the marshes.

Ganging up on him with JJ.

JJ very nearly threatened you when you started dating John B, by the way. Picture the protective older sibling speech but it’s given by JJ.

But he liked you too much to actually threaten you.

Stealing his shirts. It’s not like he’s really wearing them anyway.

Really, you’re the only one who can talk him out of particularly bad ideas.

A lot of your time with John B is spent with the other Pogues as well. Contests to see who canyons their breath the longest (unless you’re a free diver, JJ wins), lots of campfires on the beach or John B’s backyard, squeezing yourselves into two hammocks and hoping none of you move.

But John B makes sure to make time for just the two of you as well.

You can bet he teaches you how to steer the speedboat (if you don’t already know how). Takes out a whole day to do so.

You once spent a whole day circling through the marshes and towards the open sea, and only stopped when it was getting late. But you both knew the marsh like the back of your hand so you stayed and watched the sunset.

[mcwoomy]

i gotta ask about your dsmp coroika au. youve talked about having one. i gotta know

oOOOOOOOK THIS IS GONNA BE A LONG POST SO STRAP IN

so. heres the funny thing. it started from me listening to Casino Royale (swag song go listen to it) and my dumbass went 'hey this reminds me of emperor!' and thats where it all began

ight now time to bullet point my way through the characters

am i aware that i dont have all the members done? yes. yes i am.

- Hivemind as Dream: mainly did this bc 1. WHY DO ALL C!DREAM FANSONGS FIT HIVE SO WELL AAAAAA, 2. i have a design idea for him, and 3. idk why but similar vibes

- Fierce as GeorgeNotFound: (THIS ISNT FIERCEMIND OR DNF PROPAGANDA I SWEAR) 1. cottagecore/mushroomcore fierce make my brain go brrrrrrr 2. wanted to have the final fest squad as the dream team

- Jet as Sapnap: OK LISTEN I HAVE A REALLY GOOD DESIGN FOR HER AND ALSO ANIMATIC IDEA REASONS

- Justice as BBH: similar vibes and i may or may not have an eggpire design for them already

- Army as Awsamdude: 1. military vibes 2. listen i crave army angst ok

- Aloha as Ponk: HELLO ALOARMY SHIPPERS I HAVE COME TO YOU WITH A N G S T

- Gloves as Tommyinnit: feral lads. that is the only explanation im giving.

- Goggles as Tubbo: ah yes the good ol 'looks soft, could probably kill you'

- Vintage as Wilbur Soot: i have a design for them down in my head ans also *REVIVED starts to play in the background*

- Stealth as Punz: no clue lmao my brain just gave me the idea and i went 'yea ight ok'

- Rider as Purpled: MANY reasons but mainly 1. animatic reasons 2. design reasons 3. tbh i feel like he would be like a mercenary in an smp

- Double Egg as Fundy: also no clue but they do got the dumbass trickster vibes yknow

- Bee as Skeppy: VERY MUCH NO CLUE might change it later but idk

- Mask as Jschlatt: looks chill, can and will kill you if you mess with him

- Eging Jr. as Eret: haha designs go brrrrrrr

- Specs as Jack Manifold: ANIMATIC IDEAS, DESIGN IDEAS, SIMILAR VIBES, HELL I EVEN HAVE JACK AS MY SPECS VOICE HC

- Headphones as Niki: mainly to go along with specs as jack

- Bobble as Karl Jacobs: yea idk why i have this lmao *stares at my Turn Back Time animatic idea*

- Skull as Technoblade: ight lets see; monotone voice, skeleton mask thing, t a l l, has one thing that they obsess over (sugar for skull, potatos for techno), yep seems like theyre pretty similar

- Nana as Antfrost: damn the 3rd 'no clue lmao brain gave me this'

- Avi as Philza: did this to go with skull as techno

- N Pacer as Captain Puffy: ysee now this is shipping propaganda (yknow cause like, c!niki and c!puffy are gfs and i may or may not be a headpacer shipper-) also mom friends/therapist friends

- Hachi as Ranboo: wanted to make the agents as benchtrio

- Prince as Foolish_Gamers: kinda have a fantasy au thing and i looked at my fantasy!prince design, saw foolish, and went 'yea i know damn well who prince gonna be'

- Laceless as HannahRose: 1. flower aesthetic 2. i have an eggpire design 3. animatic ideas 4. i crave angst

- Junior as Slimesicle: very wholesome, and doesnt know tf is going on

- Emperor as Quackity: ah yes the reason why this au exists

AND THATS ALL WOOOO

so uh yea tl;dr: got an animatic idea, proceeded to make an entire au and assigned characters based on designs, vibes, and animatic ideas

[mr-and-mr-diaz]

OK a few questions this time:

1. Fave au for buddie

2 Fave fanfic trope for them

3. got any random little HCs for any of the 118 etc you wanna share?

4. If you could decided the next 'big event' what would you do, what kind of plots would you wanna see in it?

I'm back after a loooooooooooooooooong ass time at work so without further ado LET'S GOO!!!!

1. Fave au for buddie

My fav AU changes by the week, but a few favorites that will always pickle my cucumbers are: arranged marriage, royalty AU (especially if one is royal and one is not), ABO, shapeshifter, anything bodice-ripper style, and last but not least: although these aren't usually my preferred AUs this fandom delivers hardcore with some incredible works in the white house AU and singer au (Looking at you, whoever wrote that first one and @princessfbi you inspirational motherfuckers <3)

2. Fave fanfic trope for them

As far as tropes, ANYTHING AT ALL that is buddipher/ Buckley-Diaz family related makes me melt like butter in the summer sun, just a big ol' puddle, reaching shaky hands for the reblog button. Also anything hurt/comfort, whump, and fluff is really doing it for me. I'm also not averse to some kink (MAKE THAT A LOT OF KINK HOLY SHIT DID I FALL DOWN THAT RABBIT HOLE AS SOON AS I DISCOVERED IT ), any fic of Everyone Sees It But Them, and I think some salty folk might come after me for this but I prefer (continued under the cut to save your dash)

As I was saying, I prefer Top!Eddie and Bottom!Buck fics, it's just nice to see the physically bigger guy get taken care of every once in a while, since that's far more rare, that's my take. This isn't exclusive, mind you, but I read it in their interactions as their main dynamic. I also see it in the way they've so far interacted with their various het!partners: Eddie loves to take control and Buck loves when his partner takes control. (And those who are screaming that this is a heteronormative way of looking at buddie are simply incorrect--in every relationship, no matter the gender of the partners or how many partners, the partners choose the dynamic that works for them, always subject to change of course, and if the partners choose to switch back and forth all day every day or have a more fluid dynamic that is valid. And if they choose for one partner to be "more dominant" (in whatever form that takes) and one partner to be "more submissive" (in whatever form that takes) that is valid too. Accept no shame, take no prisoners <3)

Side note re: my fav tropes, you can spot my favs in my reblog habits: all fanart and most other fanworks get likes (I like a robust fandom with lots of loving support and open discussion, even if it isn't all my cup of tea) unless I SERIOUSLY disagree or dislike but shit that matches my tropes, butters my bread and ketchups my burgers, gets reblogs sometimes multiple reblogs--I believe in making the change I want to see in the world, and this is the tiny way I work to make it happen.

(I do make an exception though for artists (of all kinds of art--drawn, written, HCs, incorrect quotes, literally anything) who I think are sliding under the radar. Even If their works aren't 100% in my ball park I'll give a reblog so that they can be noticed by the fans who want exactly what they have to offer and otherwise might not find them)

3. got any random little HCs for any of the 118 etc you wanna share?

Hmmmmm personal headcanons..... Bobby is Buck's adoptive dad, I have believed that ever since he committed to raising Buck all the way in episode one, showing some of that discipline and not letting him get away with bullshit, but I was sold hook line and sinker when he was helping Buck get ready for his date, helping him with his bowtie that was POETIC CINEMA and I really hope they give us that moment again when Buck is getting ready to marry Eddie #ISaidWhatISaid

What else... nothing much else comes up at the moment, but ask again when the brain is less offline (or more online, whichever) and I ought to be able to scratch up more <3

4. If you could decided the next 'big event' what would you do, what kind of plots would you wanna see in it?

This one is SO HARD!! Like Tim said (yes, I also can't believe I am quoting the man, he is the devil but also he knows how to run a damn good show, smh) the amount of ideas for big events in LA is running low, HOWEVER having said that, I would love if there was an episode where the 118 was visiting Hawaii or something and had to deal with a live volcano or down in Florida dealing with a hurricane--the coping mechanisms would be two-fold: dealing with the disaster at hand as well as dealing with being in unfamiliar territory and I'd love to see them make it work and save lives, etc.

WOOOO this got long! Hope you enjoy!!

[not-siri]

I told y’all I’d do a pointless commentary on ”Tsst”. Let’s go. Controversial opinions and a bit of a hot take about Liane coming through. Oh, and it turns into another dumb overly descriptive analysis near the end. TW for a singular graphic image from the series.

Haha, good old Cartman. Back when he’d casually make some fucker dismember himself offscreen for insulting his weight. Stuff like this is the reason I think Cartman’s criminal record is worse than what we’re treated to onscreen.

Yes Liane, cry me a fucking river about your the out of control kid you made. 🎻

I love it when you can’t tell whether Cartman is trying to act normal for a hot second or just being a dick.

Cartman’s songs are always amazing, even if they’re just like ten seconds long and to make someone stop crying.

Nanny 911? You should know that’s not gonna do anything for this kid, Mackey.

A kid literally trying to restart the Holocaust? Nothing ol’ Nanny Stella can’t fix, apparently.

Damn why is Stella so THICC?

Bri’ish Carmen?

It pisses me off to fucking hell and heaven that a certain incredibly shitty YouTube puppet channel used this premise. Fuck the unnamed creators of the unnamed video in question.

Woah, how did Cartman do that? I wish I had the escape magic he does when I was a kid.

You’re right that you shouldn’t get on his level, Liane. Looks like Cartman taught you right to be respectful and obedient.

The virgin Nanny Stella getting called out for being a virgin by the, unfortunately enough, not virgin Eric Cartman.

This new lady is thicc too

Nah lady, we’re gonna see a new Super Nanny. Namely, one that eats her own shit in a mental hospital.

Is she wrong though?

WOOOO! The king is here!

Hell yeah, you’re the dog whisperer! Now go train that psychotic, obese fourth grader and his perverted, antisemitic mom!

Friendly reminder that Cesar’s technique also allegedly works on actual kids

Yeah Cartman, you’re just big boned. And later in the episode, your bones shrink.

Does she love you, Cartman? Eh, debatable at the time of this episode.

Cesar just brought out Cartman’s equivalent to fucking cocaine.

The only real reason to watch this episode:

He’ll be back, soon he’ll see, that he’s a dependent homeless little pussy (People who get the reference deserve all the Cheesy Poofs in the world)

Side commentary, I think if Cartman has anyone in that town who’s truly loyal to him in the current season, it’s Clyde.

Valmer. Sad when some huge bitch with small, detailed eyes from the real world knows Jimmy better than you, Cartman.

Craig is the best.

Proof that the vaccine didn’t make Liane artistic right there.

Yay another tsst pose.

Good for you with controlling him, Liane. Now since I’ve seen this episode, I have a reason to get mad at you at the end.

Thanks to the art style, we’ll never know what Cartman saw in that mirror. His own self being bossed around by his mother? A very slightly slimmed face? Some semblance of decency in his eyes?

See, Cartman could do well in school if he gave two shits. He’s not entirely inherently book-dumb.

Look here, Liane knows full well what a monster her son is. And she knows at this point in the episode what she needs to do to keep him on his positive path. This is important.

Cartman looks less fat now, and taller. I think he’s the second tallest fourth grader.

I see Butters’ surprise at his plan. From his experience, it goes the other way around.

Cartman is being really two-faced about his love for Hitler here…

While I don’t condone assisted matricide over her bossing you around, technically I imagine ol’ Jimbo would happily give Stan a gun. Also, just a few episodes back Cartman had a gun. Couldn’t he hypothetically just lend it to him? Basically, that line sucks.

Look at Stan’s eyebrows. This must be one of the few times he was the one most concerned about Cartman’s twisted bullshit rather than Kyle. Stan also has the best relationship with his mom of the kids in that room. Connection?

Just. This scene. It’s actually dramatic and perhaps telling of Cartman’s psyche and worldview. Now I’m gonna get mildly serious.

Cartman is trying to kill his mother. Usually, he only physically hurts/attempts to physically hurt specific people if it’s a) protecting his massive yet fragile ego or b) in a mutual physical fight. Why is he trying to hurt his mom?

Seemingly, because she’s not obeying him anymore. I wanna elaborate on this with a theory: he largely sees her in a twisted light- as not really a person, more a servant. A servant who mainly asks for his validation in return. As such, she is expected to serve his greedy, spoiled, unhealthy self and protect his enormous ego from the insecurities of everyday life (being fat, cruel, hated, etc). That’s the arrangement. (Hell, if he wholeheartedly meant what he was saying about how she apparently doesn’t love him anymore, then that’s his perception of a normal mother-son relationship.) And now the arrangement he’d been raised and gotten comfortable under was being taken away. Liane isn’t being validated by him anymore, she’s not protecting him in the aforementioned sense, and he’s changing away from his lifestyle of narcissism, cruelty, and laziness. Cartman doesn’t like that, so tries to end the whole shebang by offing the source of the now invalid, uncomfortable relationship. (A bit like what he attempted to do to Heidi in “Sons A Witches”... this kid is truly twisted.)

Or he just likes playing the victim. Or both. Idk

Then we see him wonder whether he really should. Maybe I don’t have the right to kill my mom. His suppressed, perhaps deliberately self-neglected conscience is coming out. I think that would have happened in a case where he would try to kill his mom even without Cesar’s help. And it’s just more proof that, technically speaking, Cartman is in fact not a sociopath.

But here’s where Cesar does come in next. Because of his behavior changing due to him, Cartman is so conflicted in the first place. (I think he quite possibly could have gone through with it if it weren’t for Cesar.) First, I’m gonna say that his “evil side” in this scene is a sort of metaphor. The joke seemed to be an allusion to some evil being controlling him usually, but it probably shouldn’t be taken literally due to its being a joke. Rather, I’d like to argue that it also represents the cruel, despicable Cartman we had gotten to know before this episode, who he really is so to speak. And his “good side” is popping up too, representing the decent, self-aware human being he could have been and we knew for about a minute.

We have his “evil side” telling him that he can kill his mother, because he can do whatever with her. And the “good side” is disagreeing, and saying things like maybe all these changes are good for me. Maybe… the world doesn’t revolve around me? And that idea is so alien, so impossible to Cartman’s self-centered, evil-dominated little mind that he nearly goes mad, and his “good” and “evil” are in war, seeing which side to him will prevail.

The next morning, we see which side won the war. A mother by the name of Liane Cartman is about to ask her son about a knife and paper towel roll in her bedroom, when she sees a calm, well dressed, self-sufficient little boy studying before his school day while eating a healthy breakfast, which he did all on his own. She tears up with joy, for that’s her son.

Liane then goes to see Mr. Millan, a man who had been helping her and keeping her company. She proudly told him about her child, and then asked him whether he would like to go on an outing with her. Millan rejects the offer, telling her that his job is done and that he must go back home, then leaves.

And happy fun validation-with-no-strings-attached times are over for Liane, and so is my ability to have a lot of sympathy for this woman. I already made several points and allusions to this point in the episode. You see, Liane learned something today. She learned that in order to have a normal, healthy child, she’d need to treat him as such. (Now here’s where my unpopular and very low opinion of Liane shines through next.)

But fuck all that, she needs her stupid validation. Fuck her son, fuck his chance at being a normal person, fuck his health, literally fuck the whole world.

Now, FYI I wouldn’t be as harsh on Liane with what she did here if it were just an eventual slip back into the old routine. Old habits die hard, I couldn’t fully blame her if that were the case. But given what she learned/knew and then so immediately and in such an extra manner (telling him they’ll go to KFC and she’ll buy two toys) it must be so deliberate that it hurts.

And I must emphasize, Cartman’s choices are still his choices. From an omniscient POV, Liane is just his Freudian Excuse. And while Liane is an enabler to the point of manipulation, it was still ultimately Eric’s choice to go back to his old ways.