#like i used to write that way and there's nothing wrong with that but its uh pretty bare bones?

[sinisterexaggerator]

Hancock x F!Reader [ A03 ]

Summary: You are important to John Hancock; there is a radstorm brewing. As a skilled and reformed scavver, you’re after a part for a decommissioned lounger—it belongs to Doc Amari’s famed Memory Den.

Hancock's tense; he should have gone with you, but it’s not too late to search you out. He would be glad to have you home safe in his arms, only things don’t always go as planned, nor do you go unpunished for your negligence.

Explicit: NSFW / 18+ for PWP, PiV sex, fingering, cunnilingus, dirty talk, whump / hurt and comfort, angst, gun violence, light bondage, praise, light sub/dom undertones, edging, use of chems, alcohol, foul language, and canon-typical violence and behavior. Other worthy mentions include fluff, romance, a worried and protective Hancock, and love confessions.

Notes: I am normally a Star Wars writer. This is my first time writing for Hancock, and my first fic for the Fallout fandom. I see Hancock as multifaceted, which I am having fun exploring. I have many ideas, but one fic can only contain so much! I used a few lines of dialogue from the game because they stuck with me T__T. I will also most likely try my hand at Nick Valentine at some point, (and maybe even Coop), but this ghoul stole my heart.

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Feedback appreciated. Like? Reblog! <3 Requests accepted!

Eyes as black as tar pits searched the ground at his feet, though no answers would present themselves, the cold, grimy filth of the Commonwealth something he could relate to on an atomic level. Flecks of barren soil and bits of detritus vaulted upward in a stagnate aggregate of dust, cavalier leather boots—having seen better days—leaving a swirl of varied particulates in their wake.

Hancock paced, the Mayor of Goodneighbor impatient as a hungry mole rat, the man left to stalk before the door that led to the Financial District. A dreary, dark green pall signaled to anyone with brains that there was a storm looming on the horizon, and yet you had not returned.

“Where the hell is she?” a raspy voice asked its sparse audience, two ghouls dedicated to his cause doubling as bodyguards, though if he felt safe anywhere, it was here among his brethren.  Besides, it wasn’t his safety he was worried about, it was yours, and he wasn’t afraid to convey his feelings to the whole of town.

“Startin’ to get antsy. Gotta hand it to her, she’s got me sweatin’ like a whore in church over this. Hope she’s havin’ fun at my expense.”

Scavenging was lucrative, or it could be if you managed to score the right loot. You had to know where to look, or where not to look; danger was always in the cards. It was a game Hancock didn’t like to play, and especially not now, not when lightning streaked the sky, rain clouds pregnant with radiation threatening to burst open like a feral’s head looking down the muzzle of a sawed-off shotgun.

He knew what it was like to be forced to scour the bare bones of buildings, filching anything that was ripe for the picking. A single find could feed a man for weeks, and places like Goodneighbor just didn’t just build themselves. People needed things. Lucky for them, Hancock was able to provide. It was his one claim to fame—his rep was solid—but he didn’t look down on you for being one to scout for buried treasure.

“She’ll turn up,” one of his companions offered. It was a piteous attempt to console him, Hancock all but ignoring his dismissive comment. He felt his concern was obvious, yet his bedfellows were none of their business. Either way, he brushed it off like a decent man instead of snapping like he wanted to—the guy’d done nothing wrong.

Thunderclaps echoed through town, the first of many droplets pelting his marred face, the ghoul’s faithful tricorn not doing much in the way of shielding him from the dirtied water that had begun to trickle down onto its weathered surface.

He rued allowing you to go out on this wild-mongrel chase to begin with, not to say that you weren’t capable. What he might say is that you’re too good for this world, too good for him, but that hadn’t stopped him from falling head over heels.

You weren’t anti-social like most of your kind; you had a good heart, gave paying customers fair deals, and somehow you had kept the ruins from tarnishing your cheerful outlook; you sported a chipper disposition even at the worst of times.

In other words, you were his little ray of sunshine; Hancock had no qualms with telling you that to your face. And things as precious as you were to him? They needed protecting. It was becoming more obvious by the minute that he should have done the job himself.

“If this is her definition of ‘fast,’ we’re going to need to have a little chat to clear a few things up. Should have fucking gone with her, don’t know what I was thinking,” fried vocal cords scratched out, words tinged with worry as he made his way to the reinforced slab of steel that was Goodneighbor’s single entry point, not counting the alley behind Rexford.

“Maybe you weren’t thinkin’ at all, John…” that little voice inside his head nagged at him, reminding himself at every turn of the ways he’d failed, this on the verge of being one of them.

“Want us to look?” the other rejoined, aware you had been sent out on a job to find a replacement circuit board for Doctor Amari, as one of the memory lounger’s had been marked out of service. The doc would pay you well; everyone’s gotta eke a living somehow. Hers was made by sellin’ a man’s own memories back to him, and yours was made by sellin’ spare parts.

Didn’t mean he couldn’t have skipped out on his Mayoral duties for one evening, Hancock mentally scolding himself, his sentiments leading him toward the need to kick his own ass.

Quick, adept and clever, he had no doubt you could pull it off, but you were used to traveling in a group, used to back up and a lookout. You had willingly ditched your crew and settled here for him, making Goodneighbor more or less your permanent home. He couldn’t help but feel like he was ultimately responsible for you and your well-being—so far, so good. He’d be damned if anything happened to you on his watch.

The coming radstorm was starting to sound like a stampede of angry Brahmin. Not even those of his ilk should be out in this mess. Technically immortal, sure, but not immune to accumulating all that bad stuff brewing in the atmosphere; he was comfy right where he was, but not without his lady by his side.

Their self-elected leader ignored the question, reaching into the confines of his red frock coat to unveil the firepower hidden just out of sight. His break-action, double-barreled 12-gauge had most of its stock removed for easy concealment; he knew better than to step foot outside Goodneighbor without packing heat.

“No, you might say this is a personal problem. Not to say she wouldn’t make a damn fine Ghoul,” he stated with deadly calm, kicking the door open with reckless abandon despite his unflappable demeanor, not caring what awaited him on the other side.

“I’m going with you, ain’t safe,” words spoken over harsh winds, a breeze not in the least bit refreshing having descended upon the Commonwealth as Hancock slipped out into the mounting tumult, both men following close behind. Truthfully, he was grateful for their loyalty.  

“Suit yourself, but don’t go gettin’ yourself killed. Would defeat the purpose of a search and rescue, ya feel me?”

A question not needing a response, he ventured forward, running headfirst into the growing tempest, chaos reigning overhead in the form of a blinding light show.

Hancock called out for you, yelling your name over the deafening commotion that was going to get worse before it got better, not about to go home empty-handed, even if it took the whole damn rest of the night. He hoped you were smart enough to know when to quit, or that you’d taken those Mentats he’d stuffed in your pocket on the way out.

“Get back here, scavver!”

Footfalls echoed in the dark, brisk in pace, inky, depthless eyes narrowing as the ghoul searched out the source. He had taken no more than half a dozen steps before he was forced to witness you at a full-fledged run, two burly raiders belting out insults and expletives hot on your trail.

It all seemed to happen in slow motion, but he was stone-cold sober, time standing still as you dove into Hancock’s open arms.

“There’s my girl,” the scoundrel purred into your ear, sinewy limbs enshrouding you as the sound of gunfire and discarded ammo casings nearly went unnoticed. Hancock let his own weapon fall to the ground to accommodate you, your pursuers dispatched like the trash they were. The members of the Neighborhood Watch who had accompanied him outside the walls made short work of both men; they deserved a drink and some chems on his dime.

“John,” you breathed out, smiling up at him, eyes sparkling with mirth as you held up that piece of scrap you were so proud of. His name off your tongue was musical, a warm sensation spreading through him like wildfire, better than drugs—it was a high he would never come down from.

“I—I got the part,” you spoke softly, your tepid breath tickling the remnants of a disfigured ear.

Hancock almost shivered.

But oh, no. He wasn’t about to let you off that easy, not when he’d felt that pang of anxiety and the sickening feeling in his gut like someone had shanked him with his own knife. He held you back by the shoulders, breaking your embrace, his face taking on a displeased, stern shade.

“What’s wrong with you, huh? Makin' me all kinds of nervous. Scarin’ me half to death. And some might say I don’t look too far off.” He breathed in nice and slow, exhaling through exposed nasal cavities, Hancock emitting a sigh to emphasize his disappointment. “Can’t be doin’ things like that, or you’re liable to give this old ghoul a—”

“—Sunshine?” His heart sank, as if the universe was out to prove he had every right to worry, Hancock’s attention inexplicably drawn to the red staining your fingers—it neared the color of his coat. You only now seemed to notice, that radiant light swept from your beaming face as you acknowledged the presence of your own blood on your hands; no wonder it had been so hard to take those last few steps.

“I didn’t mean to,” you whispered, eyes blown wide as you apologized for upsetting him. You would collapse into a heap, the adrenaline that had carried you home seeming to dissipate all at once—at least your fight-or-flight response had done its duty.

---

“Move over, out of the way. I ain’t askin’ twice,” Hancock seethed, the distraught man’s threat to bowl over anyone who stood in his way not to be taken lightly, though his tone was traitorously even and his despondency well-masked. He stormed the Old State House, ascending the spiral staircase to the second floor, carrying your limp body to a tattered red couch.

Refuse and empty Jet inhalers, along with half-drunk bottles of alcohol and boxes of Mentats, were all swept aside, Hancock throwing open cabinet doors and dislodging drawers in his haste.

“Oh, you’re really in it now, aren’t you, sister? Just had to make a few extra caps!” he chided, the ghoul’s husky voice rising in volume as he took to another part of the room.

Having not yet succumbed to blood loss, you were barely cognizant as you fought to stay awake, your beloved Mayor nothing more than a blur of motion and splotches of red as he systematically searched every nook and cranny for the syringe that would save your life.

“Hang on, dollface, you’re not dying today. Not if I have anything to say about it—and you know how much I love to run my mouth.” Hancock spoke to reassure you and himself, filling the silence with something other than the curses he wanted to dish out every which way to the wind. You couldn’t help but to smile again despite your predicament, eyelids drooping as you thought about the idea of sleep.

“There you are,” he growled, your vision starting to glaze over, though you were aware Hancock had come back to your side. His scarred, yet deceptively handsome face hovered inches above your own; it was an acquired taste you had no trouble in accepting.

“This is gonna hurt, but it’s better than the alternative,” he provided in short warning, withered fingers fumbling to unbutton your top, exposing first your sternum, your ribs, and then your belly.

“Shit, they got you good,” Hancock grumbled, your hand rising to cradle his jaw as he had peeled back the flaps of fabric to inspect the wound in your side. You were surprisingly calm, thinking that if today was your last day on Earth, at least you had been blessed to experience his company. 

“I’m glad it’s you here with me,” your voice, meek and mild, declared. Hancock hesitated for one precious second, caught off guard, but pleasantly so.

“Don’t go gettin’ sentimental on me! Ain’t like these are your final moments or nothin’,” he assured, an audible tremble causing his words to waver, voice rising in pitch. He went on to stab you without ceremony, the needlepoint of a stimpak and its revitalizing medicine at once injecting itself into your damaged flesh and pulsing through your bloodstream.

You moaned in pain, hips arching as you lifted slightly up off the cushions before you settled once more, allowing yourself to finally relax as Hancock watched the regenerative process take hold, much to his relief.

---

You awoke, finding yourself supine atop a mattress, with Hancock crossed legged on the floor beside you. He had brought it down from upstairs, wanting you to have somewhere more comfortable to recover; the drifters weren’t using it, but he was sure he could scrounge another one up should the need arise.

The door was shut, the rest of the room empty, the man teetering off the edge of a high he wished he could prolong; he had pumped himself full of all those things that made him feel better. Riddled with guilt, he had imbibed both chems and alcohol, his body slightly swaying from left to right as he could not sit entirely still, yet he was too far off in his own head to notice you had come back to him.

You shifted, realizing he had draped his frock across your body to act as a temporary blanket. This simple gesture caused a flutter behind sore ribs, biceps activating so that you might push up and rest on the flat of your palms.

John was idle, near-dead to the world, eyes closed as he kept up that gentle rocking, back and forth, as if lost in music or in deep meditation. You only desired to watch him, studying the intricate, striated patterns of his ravaged flesh, gazing over the hollow of his once human nose, and admiring his sullied, foppish tunic that was a part of his infamous ensemble.

While some might consider him a monster, he was a being of light. He had superficial, obvious flaws, but he was no more guilty of sin than anyone else in this day and age. He was a beautiful soul, inside and out, and your opinion was the only one that mattered to you. Hancock always tried to do the right thing—it’s what drew you to him—even if that meant taking out a few loose ends. 

Your heart stirred, natural chemical processes taking hold that would prompt you to touch him, your hormones dictating that you wanted this man carnally.

The ghoul’s eyes bolted open as you shuffled forward on your behind; you set his coat aside almost reverently, folding your legs like his, knees brushing as you leaned forward to kiss his wiry lips. Soft flesh against textured skin, rough in comparison, felt no less wonderful, Hancock groaning out a throaty sound of appreciation as he slowly shut his eyes again.

That was all the encouragement you needed, pressing closer, crawling onto Hancock’s lap as his hands found the meat of your ass to give it a squeeze. “Someone’s feelin’ better…” he quipped, allowing himself to lie back on the floor. His smile was lackadaisical and content, his touch roving to your thighs as he gazed up at you, noting you were tugging off your already unbuttoned top to reveal your shapely breasts.

“How’d a guy like me get so damn lucky…” he drawled, Hancock’s normally assertive way of speaking temporarily replaced by a calming cadence—it was dreamy—his indolent tone arousing your most base instincts.

You didn’t answer at first, thinking you’re the one who’s lucky. You had wanted and needed a change of pace, not happy with the way your business partners were operating, willing to bring death to others in order to get what scrap they could. You only took things from the ruins, or from those who deserved to be robbed, the idea of senseless violence proliferating thanks to people like your ragtag group something you decided you couldn’t live with.

You’d come to Goodneighbor looking for work; Hancock had been willing to give you a chance, and you didn’t disappoint. After a few heady conversations and risqué flirtations at the Third Rail, you had wound up in his arms—a place you found yourself never wanting to leave.

“I could ask you the same question,” you finally muttered, grazing his mouth, kisses repeating, small pecks placed from one side to the other in a physical show of adoration. The ghoul laughed a wry, salacious little laugh, head turning to allow for this impromptu bout of affection, stretching one arm out behind his head to act as a pillow as he relished the attention.

Then, his smile faded, the chem’s effects lingering like background radiation, less intense than before—the high lasted mere minutes if that, his faculties gradually returning. The hand left free gingerly touched your side, just below where he had administered the stimpak hours earlier. Concern was apparent in glistening eyes, so dark and lovely, starry pupils reflecting the faint luminescence of his surroundings.

“Not lettin’ you out of my sight again,” he promised, every shred of levity fleeing to be replaced by austerity, low, somber notes causing a visceral reaction as the onset of something warm and fuzzy spread throughout your core.

“Bein’ out here with me? Means you don’t gotta work, but I should have had your back, sunshine. Ain’t got no excuse.”

“You can have me on my back,” you playfully retorted, the simple suggestion unleashing a purr from the bowels of the ghoul’s throat. The idea of being a kept woman pleased you, but you were more interested in pleasing him.

“You better watch your mouth, or I can’t be held responsible for all those things I’m going to do to you,” Hancock countered. He talked big game, but he was still feelin’ shook. He didn’t want to risk getting too frisky on the off chance your body needed more time to heal; you were only human, after all.

“I’m shaking in my boots,” you simpered. Hancock was quick to snark back.

“I know that’s a lie, ‘cause you’re not wearing any.”

You gasped as Hancock flipped you without warning, pinning both your wrists to either side of your head. He drank in the smooth, supple flesh of your curves, hungry eyes making damn sure to get their fill.

He couldn’t stop himself, exploring the swell of a perfect tit, Hancock’s mouth becoming newly acquainted with the sensitive flesh of your nipple. He flicked its pert tip with the point of his tongue; you brazenly rolled your hips as you tried to contain the lewd sound that threatened to escape you.

“I double dog dare you, ” you tempted, not in the least bit afraid of what he might have in store.

Hancock didn’t take the bait.

“Don’t want to hurt you, love, but let’s say I give it to you nice and slow… Or as slow as I can give it; hard to keep promises, lookin’ the way you do,” he argued, ruined lips applying pressure as he began to suck, his growing erection gently grinding into the meat of your thigh.

“You won’t hurt me.” You shuddered as he pulled back, gazing into murky, otherworldly eyes, their glow hypnotizing. You half-assed a struggle, wanting to pull your hands free if only to touch him, Hancock chuckling mildly at your efforts.

“Don’t be so sure, ‘cause I got a hankerin’ for human,” his voice dropped emphatically lower, toying with you, his dire inflection sending tingles down your spine. Coming from a ghoul, most people would run the other way, but you knew from experience, Hancock had a twisted sense of humor—it was something you loved about him.

“Eat me,” you jeered, snapping your teeth playfully like some creature that roamed the wasteland, Hancock pulling his head back just enough to satisfy you, as if he had a nose to bite off to begin with.

“That’s the plan, sister,” he snickered, finally releasing his grip on your arms.

You took the opportunity to take hold of Hancock’s already tousled vest, guiding him down to meet your lips. Your fingers busied themselves with its unbuttoning as the ghoul had his hands full, cradling the plump, healthy tissue of your blushing cheeks in the crooks of his palms.

Hancock fed a grating moan into your mouth before asking a pointless question he already knew the answer to, not one to miss out on a chance to have his ego stroked. “Somethin’ about me.. turnin' you on? Don’t know why you’d go for this ugly mug,” he conceded, fishing for a compliment. 

“You. You turn me on,” you whined plaintively, “everything about you,” you confessed, furling your tongue around his, willing him to shut his trap long enough for you to kiss him properly. He aided in the undressing, whipping his sash off in one fell swoop, an idea blossoming only to come into fruition shortly thereafter.

“That why you’re actin’ so desperate for me?” Hancock laced that bit of ragged flag around both your wrists, constricting them once more, his own arm extending to tauten its hold. He wouldn’t give you the chance to kiss him the way you wanted to, cinching its loose ends around the legs of the coffee table just behind your head, giving it a good tug to make sure you couldn’t break free.

In reality, it would have been easy to wiggle loose, but he knew you were the type to play along.

“What are you doing?” you asked, feigning alarm. The ghoul only grinned a shit-eating grin, crawling backward across your lap to adjust to a better position for his next course of action. 

“Makin’ sure you can’t skip out on me,” he said matter of fact, a mischievous lilt to his voice, “gonna have to punish you for all that worryin’ you made me do.” 

“But, Hancock—” you protested, realizing he was barring you from the one thing you wanted—full access to his person, unable to grope and caress all those parts of him you were so eager to touch and kiss.

“—Hmm?” he hummed, the bastard having the nerve to stand. He left you in a recumbent position with hands tied, unable to do anything but gaze up at the seductive set of motions he was now subjecting you to.

The ghoul painstakingly unfastened the remainder of his buttons, wizened digits fondling each in turn, his manner suggesting something that for now would remain unspoken. Then, Hancock shrugged his vest off, allowing his arms to hang as the garment dropped silkily to the floor. It was followed by a festooned shirt, leaving the man bare chested and amused; he wasn’t sure you had blinked even once.

“Like what you see?” he asked lazily, tracing a line across his gaunt pecs toward his navel with the curl of a finger, black eyes glinting impishly at the sight of you jostling your wrists as you failed to liberate yourself.

“Yes,” you breathed out shamelessly, unable to deny the effect his little striptease had on you. This in and of itself was torture, finding his brand of punishment entirely unfair.

“Good,” Hancock crooned, doing the unthinkable as he vanished from view. He even went so far as to walk beyond your peripheral vision. Instead, you were reduced to listening out for him, the ghoul shuffling around somewhere behind you. 

“John,” you whined, sitting up and scooting back against the coffee table the best you could. You endeavored to crane your neck, hearing the clink of glass preceding other innocuous sounds, the gentle thud of Hancock’s boots echoing across the rotting floorboards as he made his way back around. 

“You can say my name all you want to, princess, but it ain’t gonna change a damn thing,” Hancock stressed, words clawing their way out of cracked pipes as he nudged your knees apart with his foot; he knelt between your legs, a dispenser of Jet in one hand, and a dose of Rad-X in the other. “Open wide,” he instructed. 

You should have known what he’d been after, the drug-addicted ghoul popping the lone anti-radiation capsule inside his mouth after dispensing a heavy spray of the illicit substance into his lungs; its potency was limited in his case, but you were easily susceptible to its high. 

You gratefully obeyed, wanting any excuse to be close to him, Hancock’s silver tongue molesting you as easily as it had persuaded you to listen. He deposited the pill into your mouth, kissing you deeply, your beloved Mayor giving you a shotgun of thick, odorous chems without so much as a single protest on your part. 

Your heart thrummed, Jet leeching its way into your bloodstream to trigger a bodily response via your nervous system. In the meantime, you had almost forgotten to swallow your dose of Rad-X, Hancock prompting you by trailing the full length of your throat with a single, sallow finger. 

He massaged it down, feeling for the activation of those muscles that would help ferry it along, his thoughts drifting to the memory of his cock once upon a time being slopped on by the wet whorl of your tongue. His prick had throbbed almost painfully, sequestered snugly inside your zealous gullet, the powerful suction of your hollow cheeks threatening to wrench his soul from his body, or it sure as hell had felt that way.

He was drawn back to the present moment by the look in your eyes, your pupils dilating to rival the circumference of dinner plates. You gazed at the man before you; Hancock pulled back the edge of your bottom lip, exposing your gumline, the ghoul snaking another of his fingers inside your partially open mouth. 

The slender extremity would bypass your blunt teeth, saturating itself in your saliva. Even in this state, you had the wherewithal to pucker up, intaking that explorative digit to the knuckle, your plush maw behaving like a deluxe pre-war vacuum cleaner. 

The ghoul shuddered, though keeping his cool intact, lost in the depths of your unwavering stare. He slowly slipped back out, releasing your lip for it to snap gently back into place, Hancock satisfied with the knowledge you had swallowed the pill.

“Look at you, bein’ such a good girl for me,” Hancock praised, speaking in a low, sultry whisper. You did not reply, your desire for the man at its all-time high, that warmth in your belly having spread to complement the unparalleled ache of your loins.

“Hancock,” you whimpered, once more tugging at the cloth that bound you. You felt delirious with longing, your heart racing as you saw stars, euphoria overtaking all of your senses. You pushed forward, halted partway by that fucking flag that had you fettered like some common criminal, too blazed to even think about squirming loose. 

“Please,” you begged, lips reaching for his. Hancock evaded you, trailing a divot devoid of cartilage across your sateen cheek, directing it toward your lovely, intact nose. 

“Please, what, sister?” he ruthlessly teased, watching as your tongue tried to skirt his teeth; its vertex barely met its goal. Still, Hancock would return the gesture with a sweep of his own, flitting his against yours, inhaling deeply the scent of Jet off your breath as he was suddenly consumed by an almost feral need to taste your neediness—it was nearly palpable. 

“Please.. touch you? Please kiss you? Please.. fuck your pretty little hole?” he asked in a derisive tone, though his movements were languid, Hancock in no rush to oblige you, even as his veiny hands glided over every inch of your sleek skin.

“Is that what my little ray of sunshine wants?” the ghoul taunted, moving to unbutton the clasp at the top of your pants, then pinching the pull of your zipper, teeth parting to reveal clean cotton. You were nearly embarrassed by how damp your panties were, the chems only making your arousal ten times worse; Hancock wasn’t helping matters, a lecherous moan reaching your ears as the man slid back and realigned himself, bending forward to bury his face in the moist outline staining your skivvies.

“Shit, you’re so fucking wet—” he marveled breezily, “—is it all for me?” Hancock rasped, nipping you through the fabric, a desiccated finger tucking itself into its elastic hem. Hancock dragged it down just far enough to expose your sweet-smelling sex, the ghoul’s tongue slithering easily between slick folds. 

You inhaled a disjointed gasp for breath, voice cracking as you cried out in ecstasy, Hancock having barely swiped your thrumming clit. That alone was almost too much, your hips bucking beneath him of their own volition as you pleaded with him to keep his promise.

“Don’t tease,” you sighed, naked breasts rising and falling with every labored breath. Hancock’s eyes traveled up your fine as fuck body before meeting your gaze, a twisted hint of a smirk tugging at the corner of his ghoulish mouth. 

“That’s exactly what I’m doing,” he snickered, fingers grasping the entirety of your waistband to help you shimmy off your bottom layer of clothes. Your hips wriggled all too desperately, overjoyed to finally be free of their constraints. 

“But that’s not fair!” you entreated, unabashedly spreading your legs in the hopes of providing him a suitable meal, ready and willing to be devoured if you could only convince him to take the plunge.  

“And why not?” he asked in all seriousness, nuzzling into the lush flesh of your labia as his silky tongue entombed itself, gathering your moist heat from its source. He dipped back out to your chagrin—you had inhaled sharply in preparation only to be left disappointed—Hancock licking a stripe to the cusp of your throbbing bud. 

“Because I’ll die,” you replied, overexaggerating, writhing in bliss, albeit temporary; Hancock seemed out to drive you mad, retracting once more to glance back up at you, reedy lips downturned in a disapproving frown. 

“No, you won’t,” he asserted, voice taking on a sobering, sincere quality; even if you were being hyperbolic, after the events that had just transpired, Hancock didn’t find it funny, resolving to dine on you good and proper, as if it would be the thing to save your life. 

“I—” You were cut off mid-thought, lightning crashing thunderously outside, the ghoul introducing two coarse fingers into your clenching cunt as the radstorm raged on. Hancock’s neck sank low as you arched your hips, the flat of a thick tongue bringing you toward rapture as he succinctly lapped your clit in delicious combination, playing you like some Old World violin. 

“Aren’t you glad you’re trapped in here with me instead of out there cookin’ alive?” Hancock asked offhand, digits curling to find the seat of your pleasure, warm, wet muscle dancing slow, precise circles across your sensitive nerves. You halfheartedly yanked at your bindings once more, wishing for nothing more than to ravish him like a woman starved, deprived of sustenance. 

“Yes, yes— please, just like that,” you answered, urging him on, the man encouraged to keep at it, long, languorous strokes titillating you toward release.

Then, he simply stopped, fingers glossy upon exit, Hancock sucking your slick clean off with a scarecrow smile, tilting his head like a curious animal as you bemoaned your plight, left to suffer on the edge of an orgasm. 

“Relax, I ain’t through with you yet,” Hancock remarked, lifting himself up to a seated position on his knees. You whined indignantly, made to watch as he unbuckled and unzipped his own pants.

The rogue stood completely, giving you another show, kicking one boot off after the other before slinking out of the rest of his clothes. 

You took a moment to admire him, skin pockmarked with scars, deep pits of tissue missing where cells had inevitably healed all too quickly, John a mosaic of gnarled, misshapen flesh and keloid. Yet he was so handsome, charming, and cavalier, the man leaving nothing on but his tricornered hat, returning to his previous enterprise by way of interring his roiling tongue into your aching center. 

“Oh, John,” you murmured, voice hushed, the man’s thumb working itself concentrically atop your little pearl. 

For once, he was quiet, his strokes inside you meticulous, the nearly silent room filled with a plethora of obscene sounds as he feasted on you like a Yao guai over a fresh kill. Just a little attention was all it took, nails digging into the palms of your tied hands as you twisted beneath him, vocalizing loud enough you were sure the whole State House would hear.

A shiver rocked you to your core, riding out your climax for as long as you could stand it. You were unable to push Hancock’s head back even if you wanted to, the ghoul finding a new way to punish you, continuing to stimulate your already oversensitive clit. 

“Hancock, please—” you begged him under different circumstances, the ball of your foot gingerly pushing against his blatant hard-on. The ghoul finally let up just enough to chortle dryly, obviously nonplussed.

“Done already? Thought we were just gettin’ this party started,” he flouted, sitting up properly, probing fingers caressing the curve of your slit as they trailed upward, ghosting over your navel to tweak your nipple. They didn’t stop there, reaching just behind you to nab a cigarette off the edge of the coffee table, your expression giving away your confusion as he struck a match to ignite the end.

“No, John— you’re supposed to fuck me!” you berated, another devious little chuckle let loose from wilted lips. The ghoul inhaled a deep drag of nicotine laced with radiation, though the amount contained therein was so trivial he didn’t bat a lash—not that he had any.

He gazed at you through a thin veil of smoke exuded from eroded nasal passages—a short burst of pressure from his lungs propelling it outward—a freakish sight to some, but you had grown accustomed to it. 

“So, that is what you want,” Hancock digressed, snubbing the end of his cig on the floor after a few more laggard puffs. The Jet was wearing off, Hancock having already sobered completely, its side effects leaving you feeling used-up and exhausted. Hancock had forgotten what it felt like to come down from such an intense high; you pouted pathetically up at him.

“Baby,” you whined, immediately capturing Hancock's attention. He dropped the act, eyes softening around the edges, colorless voids somehow the most expressive you had ever seen them.

“What is it, sunshine? Feelin’ all right? Need somethin’ to take the edge off?” he asked gently, concern present in his tone, the ghoul finally being kind enough to reach over your head to free you from your bindings. 

“I need you,” you implored, your speech sounding childishly irritable, tired, heavy arms lifting to wrap themselves around John’s neck; you couldn’t help yourself, having been prohibited from touching him for what felt like hours, when in reality it had only been a short length of time. 

“I’m all yours,” Hancock vowed, whisking a stray strand of your hair away. A soft kiss was pressed into even softer lips; the man was two sides of the same coin, like night and day. Part of you prayed you would never cross him, his temper volatile, like an active volcano lying dormant until such a time the right conditions were met, inevitably causing an eruption. 

But he was also kind, genuine, and a good person, only wanting to make the Commonwealth a better place; he held within him a righteous anger, and for good reason, determined to stick by him through thick and thin. 

"Nice and slow?" you asked, bringing the conversation full circle, ushering the ghoul down on top of you as you laid back, gazing up with heavy-lidded eyes. He searched your face, as if double-checking for something, needing to know beyond a shadow of a doubt that nothing was wrong—you were only sulking. 

“You got it, sister,” Hancock replied coyly, the fullness of a finger returning to you as he tested the waters; you were still so unbelievably wet. It was a stark contrast to the dry, desolate landscape that stretched for miles just beyond his little town, the ghoul humming in gratitude as you kissed him once again. 

You wasted no time, slipping your hand between the depression of your bodies where hip meets hip, his weight a warm, inviting presence that comforted you like nothing else. Your fingers toyed with his variegated shaft, thumbing a bead of loosed pre-cum to moisten its tip; Hancock moaned lustfully as he buried himself deeper into the column of your throat, teeth raking tender flesh, barely withholding the intention to bite.

“I’m thinkin’ you must be the single best thing to ever happen to me,” Hancock confessed in a dulcet whisper, voice quavering with emotion as you carefully escorted his cock inside you, one delicious inch at a time. Jagged breaths found their way into your ear, distorted, ribbed flesh, more than adequate in length and girth, stretching you open, a subdued sound of longing and relief birthed from parted lips. 

“I love you,” you blurted out, unable to keep your feelings at bay, any and all movements ceasing before they had wholly begun.

You had closed your eyes; they fluttered open, fear wheedling its way inside your heart as Hancock gazed at you in silence. You cursed yourself, having never before expressed such a sentiment out loud, unsure how the man would take it, or if he even felt remotely the same—all signs pointed to yes, but you refused to be presumptuous. 

Then, he pushed up into your tight cunt with one slow, smooth stroke of his cock along your anterior walls, stimulating your G-spot. Pleasure radiated through you as you emitted a stilted breath, Hancock cradling your cheek, resting his forehead against yours to stare penetratingly into your eyes.

“Took you to be smarter than this, but I feel like I’ve been waiting my whole life to hear you say that,” he breathed against your lips, slipping a motile tongue into your mouth, wanting to desperately deepen your connection. 

You readily accepted, your own tongue writhing and contracting in unison with his, heart beating fervently behind a wall of blood and bone. Your fingers clawed and grasped at his narrow shoulders and the tendinous flesh of his back, exploring every inch of your ghoulish lover, from head to jutting hipbone.

Hancock drove his cock into you, back and forth, keeping a steady, equal rhythm like the beat of a drum. “Why now?” he asked, voice tempered, each pump of his thick prick inside you unhurried and sensuous.

“Nearly dying may have had something to do with it,” you jested in-between indecent, muted moans, Hancock’s deliberate pace driving you toward orgasm. The arm not supporting his weight curled tightly around you. He clutched you to his chest, and you wrapped your thighs around his waif thin waist in return. 

“Mmn.. that it?” Spindly fingers moved to grip the back of your head, digging into tufts of your hair; your back bowed to support you in joining with him more fully, Hancock massaging your scalp as he massaged your insides, debauch, rich sounds filling both your ears.

“And because I have nothing to lose,” you reluctantly answered, breath picking up speed as you pushed back against firm, rawboned pectorals with the palm of your hand; you had the intention of arranging yourself at just the right angle to please— a simple slant of your hips would make things all too easy.

Within moments, you came, pinpricks of light overwhelming your senses. You were elated, as if your consciousness had been overtaken by a nebulous cloud of love and electromagnetic radiation, a soul set adrift in a swirling haze of thoughts, feelings and emotions that would amalgamate into something beautiful—it caused you to cry out a sound of intense, heartfelt bliss. 

Your mind went blank, only registering that John had simultaneously shared in the experience. It would take you both a moment to calm.

Then, you squeezed Hancock tightly between your legs, a signal for him to not withdraw, but to stay awhile, the tension in your body settling as you laid back down.

“That’s where you’re wrong, sweetheart.” Hancock would smother you with his scant weight, caressing the point of your chin, his thumb snaking across your bottom lip. He gave a faint exhalation of breath, the concave outline of his nasal cavity grazing the convex shape of your nose; it tickled.

“Nothing to lose but each other.”

[save-the-villainous-cat]

Hello! Could you possibly write a villain that saves hero from a very unfortunate situation. Maybe hero isn't very accepting at first, whether villain forces it or they end up accepting is up to u. Lmao I need some hurt comfort 😭 ty <3 if not it's okie

tw: mention of suicide

"You're a fool if you think I'll let you do this," the villain said. They took the vial from the now totally trembling hero and grabbed their enemy's jaw. "What on earth makes you this is our only solution?"

"'They said...they would let them go if my body..."

"Since when do you listen to anything a criminal has to say?" they asked. The villain could tell the hero was burning out like a candle with no wax left. They could tell the hero was getting fed up with their job and the responsibilities but they would have never thought it to be possible that the hero was willing to sacrifice themselves in such a meaningless and undignified way.

"It's the only way to save those people. The agency agreed, so..." The hero swallowed and the villain could see the tears gather in their eyes. "...so the medics gave me this. It's supposed to be quick and painless."

"Yeah, fuck that." The villain let the small vial fall to the ground and crushed it under their boot. To their surprise, the hero didn't seem to care at all but the villain supposed they had other ways of getting more of it anyway. "The terms of surrender include you presenting yourself on a silver plate. You have to use that to your advantage."

"It's not very advantageous to be dead," the hero said. "They have fifty people. Fifty. Fifty in exchange for one. If you ask me, that's a good deal."

"Not when that person is you," the villain said. They sat down on the couch in the hero's office. The hero wouldn't have called them if they had been sure and confident in this solution. Instead the almost hysterical call had made the villain's blood boil. "Come on. Help me out here. They want your dead body on their porch so they will let go of all these hostages? What a pathetic demand. Play with that. Use that."

"I don't know how," the hero said and when the villain stared at the desperation behind their eyes, the villain realised that this maybe wasn't the time for a challenge but rather for encouragement. They weren't good at the latter but they supposed they'd give it all for their enemy.

"You have to make them think you are playing their game. Deliver something to them to lure them out of their cave. Maybe it's a fake? Maybe it's actually your body your medics can make look dead? And then once they believe they have won, you sink your teeth into them," the villain said. "But giving up just like that?"

They shook their head, clicking with their tongue.

"Believe me, it's better this way," the hero said. "I am a burden to the agency, they will gladly get rid of me."

"You are challenging the agency because I challenge you. There is nothing wrong with trying to improve. Even a seemingly perfect institution has its flaws."

The hero didn't answer, they just stared at the liquid on the floor and the shards. The villain closed their eyes, thinking.

If the hero was so determined to save these people and willing to give their own life for them, they needed to realise that their death would provoke more sacrifices. On average, the hero saved 10 to 20 people a week. Statistically speaking, if no one took over their job, it wouldn't matter at all if the hero saved these people. Quite the contrary. Without the hero, there would be a fair amount of bodies.

But the villain didn't want to say that. It made the hero sound like a machine, like a thing that needed to operate in order to establish peace in the city. The hero wasn't replacable like that.

And above all, that wasn't what the hero wanted either.

"Come here," the villain said and the hero did walk over to them. These days they were cautious of every step they took. The villain was reminded of a time before that. When both of them were younger, both of them ambitious and eager to fight for their beliefs. The hero used to be so full of joy, a fire within them that was contagious to the villain. They were reminded of a hero that was never ready to give up.

"Sit down." The hero did. Right next to them. The villain leaned back, one arm on the backrest while they lounged. Admittedly, they had thought often about the hero and this couch. But they would never say that aloud. "When I met you, I thought you were going to be an easy target. I thought you were one of those jobs were I would barely have to lift a finger. But you were everything but. Your resistance is astonishing."

"I am not that person anymore."

"You are," the villain said. "That's why you called me in the first place. Usually your defiance turns into raw action every enemy should fear. But today, that defiance was a simple phone call. You said you wanted to say goodbye but I don't believe you. You were asking me for help. Deep within, you were afraid of the idea of giving yourself up like that. Somewhere deep within, you yearned for defiance, even if someone had to help you a little."

The hero didn't say anything at first. Now more than ever, they seemed to listen to a criminal. The villain knew that putting any more pressure on the hero might cause them to crack. They still had to be careful.

And it didn't even matter if the villain was right. They just had to make the hero believe that they were.

Usually, the villain used manipulation to get closer to their goals but they supposed for once in their life, they could use manipulation for the better. For the hero.

"If you want to give up, that's fine. Get another vial. Make it all stop. But I know that is not who you truly are. You wouldn't have swallowed that poison even if I hadn't come. You just wanted an excuse," they said. "I truly believe you would drag yourself through hell just out of spite. It's in your nature to defy. It's in your nature to protest. To use nails and teeth if you have to."

They took the hero's hand and squeezed.

"Giving up has never been an option for you. You will never allow yourself to quit." They let their thumb run over the hero's skin. "But you didn't need me to tell you all this, did you?"

"I did need you to tell me this," the hero said. They looked exhausted. But definitely more determined. "I don't know if you're right. I don't know if I would have taken the poison."

"I do," the villain lied. "You are stronger than you realize."

Now, the hero smiled softly.

"You really think that?"

"I do," the villain said and this time, they weren't lying. They leaned over and took the hero's chin anew. They turned the hero's head until they were eye to eye. "Thank you for calling me."

The hero's eyes dropped to the villain's lips but the villain knew this wasn't the right time.

They let go of the hero, their heart beating hard in their chest as the adrenaline rushed through their veins.

"Let's save some civilians, hm?"

[maryrouille]

Tips for good studying

I must admit that I am shocked at how helpful the post about Toxic romanticization of studying was for you, so I decided to expand it with a second part. Here I will talk a little about examples from my own experience with studying.

1. Take small steps

Even tiny, but keep moving forward. I know it's a very clichéd phrase, but it really works. Especially in the case of very complex theories or extensive material. Then it is worth starting by understanding the basics and expanding this knowledge based on the information that we can best learn first. This way of learning looks like creating increasingly wider circles around one dot (which was our basis).

My practical advice: when I learn very difficult things, I start by finding starting points and writing them down on a small piece of paper (e.g. names or dates). Then I try to combine it in any way possible. When I find connotations, I look for more information about them, which I transfer to a larger piece of paper. This creates charts of varying levels of connection and complexity.

2. Clearly divide time for studying, rest and fun

Of course, studying can be fun, but sometimes we need a moment to relax and do nothing. It's good to divide these moments, which will allow us to either focus completely on work or on rest. Combining learning, especially the kind that is a burden for us, with some form of relaxation makes both activities ineffective. And we still get tired of all this.

My mistake: the countless times I've worked on something and wasn't happy with the results that day. And the evening came, and instead of letting go and resting, I tried to combine "relaxation" with further work. It ended up that I didn't do anything productive, nor did I enjoy a glass of wine or a movie that I watched because she stubbornly tried to do something else.

3. Stimulants are always harmful

In this case, stimulants can be understood in many ways. It may be coffee, alcohol, nicotine or even illegal things. Culturally, we don't see anything wrong with another cup of coffee when we need to concentrate. Or another cigarette, or champagne when we need to relieve stress. However, it should be remembered that all these substances affect our perception and brain functioning to a greater or lesser extent. And isn't it great and healthy to know that we can achieve a lot without these boosters?

My weakness: as I mentioned earlier about a glass of wine, It's nice, but it doesn't help me study. However, I read undemanding books with a wine in bed for pure pleasure.

4. Take care of your neurons

First of all, you need to understand that our brain is responsible for studying. And the brain is an organ and our will is not always enough for its proper functioning. We need to take care of our neurons so that they continue to develop and expand their connections. How to do it? In addition to maintaining overall health, you also need to get enough sleep, have access to fresh air and sun, discover and experience new things and take care of your diet.

My tip: discovering something new every day seems to be an extremely difficult challenge, but it may just be tiny things done in a different way. Changing the place helps me gain a fresh perspective when studying. Sometimes I go to another room, sit by the open window, move everything to the floor or go outside.

If you have any examples of mistakes, good advice or similar problems with studying, you can share them below. There is nothing better than exchanging experiences and having a joint discussion that can bring new solutions to problems!

[minniesmutt]

Jeongin/Seungmin - Friends by Chase Atlantic

Chan/Minho - Slow down

☾ ━━━━━━ 𝐟𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐝𝐬

☾ ━━━ PAIRING: I.N X READER ☾ ━━━ CONTENT: COLLEGE!AU, NON IDOL!AU, FWB TO LOVERS, ALCOHOL, ORAL (F. REC), ORGASM DENIAL, UNPROTECTED SEX, PULL OUT METHOD, MENTION OF A CREEPY GUY ☾ ━━━ WC: 1K ☾ ━━━ NOTE: the other three will be published later ☺️ ☾ ━━━ send me Chase Atlantic songs and a member to write a blurb about ☾ ━━━ 18+ work!! minors and ageless/blank blogs DNI! you will be blocked, put an indicator on your blog somewhere that you are 18+ before interacting with this work/blog

“Hiding from me?” Jeongin asked from behind Y/n.

“Don’t know what you’re talking about?” Y/n turned around to greet her friend. Smiling at him

“Really? You were pretty cozy with what’s his face not too long ago.”

Y/n’s face dropped. Her friends attempt to get her off Jeongin simply because they think he’s too good for her. Though she felt like there were other reasons. But right now, no one was there to pull her away and dump her on another guy.

“Sorry,” Y/n sighed

“Why are you sorry?” Jeongin was a bit upset, yes. The two of them weren’t officially together but it felt like it was going that way. Now he was confused.

“Never mind, it’s nothing.” Y/n shook her head.

“Come on.” Jeongin offered her his hand.

Y/n took his hand and followed him away from the crowd of the frat party. Finding a free unlocked room. Just to talk about it.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, sitting on the bed with her in front of him

“Nothing,” Y/n said

“Y/n. Talk to me. Since when do I judge?”

“It’s nothing. We’re not officially together anyways, does it matter who I hang around.”

“So us fucking and going on dates means nothing to you? You’re saying we’re just friends?” Jeongin asked

“I’m not saying it doesn't, just why should it?”

“Y/n, the guy was eye fucking you, and you were visibly uncomfortable. What’s going on?”

“My friends think you’re too good for me…” Y/n finally relented

“Y/n, in the most respectful way, your friends suck.”

“I know. But I don’t know how to get them to back off. It’s easier to just go along with it…”

“Y/n, please stop listening to them on things that they aren’t involved in.”

Jeongin took her drink and set it down on the nightstand next to his and pulled her down on his lap. Y/n straddled him and wrapped her arms around his shoulders while he held her hips. “Sorry…”

“Don’t apologize. It’s their fault for putting you up to this.”

“I haven't seen you as just a friend in a while by the way.”

Jeongin smiled and leaned forward, “Good. Because us as friends has never made sense.”

Jeongin leaned in more and connected their lips. Y/n’s eyes fluttered closed as she leaned into his touch. Lips molding together as she cupped his face. A moan escaped her as he grabbed her ass.

“This means you’re finally all mine?” Jeongin asked between kisses

“Haven’t I always been?” Y/n asked

“Didn’t feel like it for a moment.” Jeongin moved his lips down to her neck, sucking on the skin.

“I’m yours In. Not just your friend,” Y/n moaned before he pinned her to the mattress

“‘M gonna make sure everyone knows,” Jeongin said.

He pushed her shirt up and grabbed the hem of her panties. Pulling the fabric off her legs as he made his way between them. Kneeling on the ground as he threw her legs over his shoulders. His pretty lips wrapped around her clit. Y/n bit her bottom lip to cover up her moan, even though she doubted anyone was going to hear her over the music.

Jeongin’s tongue worked its magic on her. Playing with her clit and insides just right. His fingers joined the mix not long after. Spreading her open for him as he sucked on her just the way only he could. Y/n took hold of his locks, trying to ground herself. “Innie,” Y/n moaned

Jeongin hummed in response as she started twitching against him. He knew she was close and pulled away from her, standing back up. “Wha…”

Jeongin just smiled at her as he leaned down and kissed her. “That’s for earlier.”

“Sorry,” Y/n mumbled

“No more listening to your friends about us, okay?” Jeongin said

“Okay,” Y/n agreed, “Can you fuck me now?”

“I don’t have condoms.”

“Don’t care. I’m on birth control.”

Jeongin kissed her cheek before standing up again unbuckling his pants as quickly as he could. Y/n pulled him back to her lips as he pushed the denim material down. Y/n palmed him over his boxers as he moaned into her mouth. Y/n smiled as she pulled him out of his boxers, pumping him a few times before Jeongin took over and lined himself up at her entrance. Slowly pushing in, both of them moaned into the kiss before pulling their lips apart

“How did we not do this before?” Jeongin asked

“We weren’t dating before,” Y/n said

“We’re dating,” Jeongin smirked

“If you're in me without a condom in calling you my boyfriend.”

“I can get behind that, girlfriend.”

Y/n moaned as he bottomed out in her. Jeongin kissed her neck as he sat in her for a moment. Trying to regain his composure before he came too quickly. After a moment and her begging him to move, he pulled back. His thrusting pace started slowly and gradually building. The music from the party below sounded so far away.

Y/n grabbed the back of his shirt as he bit on her neck. Licking the area and mumbling a quick “mine” against her neck. Y/n whimpered into his ear with each snap of his hips into hers. His thrusts getting to just the right speed did her.

“Close. Innie, please let me cum,” Y/n begged

“Fuck. Cum all over me. Please, baby.” Jeongin moaned

Y/n moaned in his ear before he pushed his lips onto hers. Swallowing her noises as his hips keep their pace. She gripped him tighter as her orgasm washed over her. Gripping the back of his neck and shirt as she rode out the high.

Jeongin managed to keep his pace through her orgasm before they started to stutter. He pulled out as soon as he felt her relax. Pumping his cock with his hand before his cum hit the bed between her legs.

The silence took over for a moment between them as they caught their breaths. “Can we leave? Go home?” Y/n asked

“Yeah.” Jeongin agreed and helped her fix herself and pulled his pants back up.

He found some tissues and cleaned the cum off the bed before they left the room. Weaving their way through the crowd to go to one of their places.

☾ ━━━━━━ M.LIST    TIP JAR

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© 2024 MINNIESMUTT. DO NOT COPY, REPUBLISH OR TRANSLATE MY WORK ANYWHERE

[bmpmp3]

sorry to be a bit of a hater but i do wish youtubers weren't so scared of making their videos just like, "reviews", whys everything gotta be a "video essay" all the time. every day my recommendations are filled with 40 minute videos titled "_____: An Underrated Masterpiece" where the first like five minutes are reading the wikipedia definition of "masterpiece" in a somber voice with dramatic themed text on screen. please just tell me how good or bad you think something is and use the rest of the runtime to explain why. you dont need to put on all these airs

[discjude]

Yeah this is about right (as always my thoughts are in the tags so there's actually kei content there lmao)

[opens-up-4-nobody]

...

[localgardenweed]

About to lose my shit over my shitty Algebra teacher cause i think he’s the devil incarnate cause he doesn’t respect kid’s 504 plans, there is this kid who may not always show up to class on time for some reason im not sure why but they try their best to catch up and work hard and they asked to send over and take the recent test they missed in a certain classroom and he was like “No you cant, you have to show up tomorrow in here to take it” when literally in their 504 plan says they can take it in that room no one can force them to take it in their classroom, but DOES HE CARE??? NOOOOOO. I think he was just trying to be tough or smth god knows what cause he has a huge ass power complex like dear god dude we get it you were a army guy but is yelling at teens really what you wanna do to feel that high of power again?? The kid then complained to the school and he got a ass whooping but sadly not fired and then the next day was pissed as hell and took it out on all of us 😍

he doesn’t care to actually help students at all, he just gives up on them if they don’t understand the first or barely the second time and tells em to basically fuck off and find someone else to explain it and i get it teaching is hard you might not be able to get everyone to understand BUT ITS LITERALLY HIS GO TO RESPONSE WHEN YOU DONT UNDERSTAND SMTH IN HIS SHITTY RAPID FIRE EXPLANATION WHEN HE JUST JUMPS FROM THING TO THING WITH NO VISUAL OR EVEN SENSE CAUSE WTF HOW DID YOU GET THAT ANSWER HELLO?? SLOW DOWN?? We were going over the study guide and he started doing a question and then realized half way it was “too hard” to do on the board so he gave up and kept going to the next question and a kid at my table who didn’t do that part pf the study guide cause they dont know how asked “Can you go over that please i don’t understand it” and his response was “im not going over it just to fill it in” and the kid said “im not asking to just fill it in im asking cause I DONT KNOW HOW TO DO IT” and guess what. HE DIDNT DO IT HE JUST IGNORED THEM AND KEPT GOING. YOUR STUDENT IS ASKING FOR HELP AND YOU AINT DOING SHIT. HELLO??? AND THIS ISNT THE FIRST TOME HE ALWAYS PULL THIS SHIT ALL THE TIME, GOD FORBID YOU ASK A QUESTION MORE THAN ONCE THATS TOK SCARY AAAHHHHH.

I hope all his classes fails and they fire his ass cause omg there has never been anything positive said about this man that isn’t from favorites/people who already are godly at math. The average student who’s had him HATES HIM.

Im really debating like cussing him out Thursday after my final cause i cant just walk away and act like it was a okay class no he needs to get fucking humbled at least see what he does is harmful and shitty and douchey. I dont care if i get in trouble im not gonna go down like this so many kids in that class have struggled cause of his ass not doing his job. And sure some of there are rowdy and sure some are a bit off task but that doesn’t give you the right to abandon them. If i ever kicked my own bucket he would be 5 of my 13 reasons why.

[moodr1ng]

one weird and annoying effect of me spending so much time on mainly american social media and watching all these american shows and movies and reading books by american authors and having all these online friends from america etc etc is that like.. when i write i no longer feel like i can set my stories in france? like, bc i write in english it feels like i need to set my stories in an english-speaking country, and the us is the easiest one to set up (i think in a way it kinda feels like the "default setting" of western media?). i feel like if i wrote a book set in france itd be weird or confusing to people, and also im always bugged bc like.. the stuff i write in english cannot be directly translated into french, like it doesnt correspond 1:1 to french sentences, and so if i set a story in france im always bugged bc i think "but that cant be what the characters are actually saying, because theres no equivalent to this in french". so i end up setting a lot of my stuff in the us, except ive only been to the us once and not long enough to get a good impression of what living there is like (not to mention ive only been to nyc), so i also feel like when americans read my stuff theyre gonna immediately go "huh? thats not how things are here. this author is a hack who cant do research." .. so then sometimes i set my stuff in fictional countries or in an ambiguous impossible setting which mixes stuff from various english-speaking countries + france, but then that makes my story immediately less grounded. this is such a big issue that it blocks me from writing entire stories i wanna write bc i just cant even begin to put them somewhere 😔

[shaxxophone]

There’s a really alarming trend in fanfic where people will write smut about gay men….but will make the man that they traditionally view as the bottom, trans.

Is it just me that feels really uncomfortable about this? Like, it feels both homophobic and transphobic? Just because you can babygirl-ify a man, doesn’t mean you should babyGIRL-ify him, right? Like….. just slapping on the title ‘trans’ just so you can write out your kinks feels… kind of ick, if it’s all you ever do, and you yourself are not a trans person or are not writing specifically about a trans character, cause i mean obviously a lot of fics will say ‘oh yeah X character is trans’ but does not touch on their transness at all, its obviously only about the body. And like, let alone the fact that it’s only ever the sub/bottom

I don’t wanna gatekeep porn, i am very much against gatekeeping what people write or read

But like. Kinda feels bad. Its not just me, right?

[hellofears]

having issues with men, the associations the instant distrust, which i dont like i dont want it i want things to be different, just all of it so much just the dynamic i have the relationship all of it the way the world is atleast online and having a younger brother. I wouldn't trade him for the world, I try and talk to him where I can and will continue to do so i adore him but i fear. i believe in him i want joy for him. I fear that his peers will feed him fckn brainrot and it scares me. not even just that he'll fall into that thinking that his fuckn upstanding that his unwillingness to follow ppl will hurt him. crazy shit at schools, like why tf r ppl dying kids young teens killing eaachother with knives? ??I don't want to loose him i don't want to see him loose who he is and the heart that he has i don't and i hope he rises above it all and will continue to. i feel like im stating what he has to be or smth but all i could ask for is his wellbeing, respect, humanity, that he treats himself well know what he deserves and has some sense of self, some gravity. I feel like shit sometimes for this aspect that i'm concerned that i just idk, i dont like the whole 'dont disappoint me' thing he owes nothing to me other than basic human decency and respect, hes a reason why i live but to i just that intrusive thought of there is no different the hell u think of is real about men to someone i hold so fckn dear to in a way show me their fckn fuckery its idk, like another? it'd hurt me, it'd hurt me bad.

i've never understood men or boys, amab, who go on about their connection or like protectiveness of their sisters of their mother but treat other women like shit like their familiars aren't women? you don't want to fuck them so its different? what is it like just whats the difference why does it have to pertain to you for you to care? do you care or do you see them as an extension? is it a personality trait for you? a 'lover boy' thing? a signal to women, women u imagine u want and is going to be 'ur woman' but u cant even like visualize them in a way that doesnt pertain to your sexual interests? a signal so people can say oh he loves his mother so hes good to go and prime? a 'mummys boy' ? are they not real women just because u dont feel that sort of way? talking about women that way with your friends? do i have to bring up the fact those same people could date your sister etc for you to care? those people could make the kids that surround your kids, your daughter. idk.

its like okay u want sex so u respect them less? did no one hear dont bite the hand that feeds you? what the fuck is going on. you cant fuck them so its all good? the demeaning-ness? lack of gravity, venom is just rapid, vapid

[starlooove]

I’m trying not to be a hater but that tiktok and comment section pissed me off so bad.

[heartbrake-hotel]

Ugh. You won't believe this. I'm sorry to bug you, but I just needed to vent.

I saw some idiot on twitter saying that when E met Priscilla he had an eleven year old girl living with him in Germany. They mentioned Scotty Moore said that in his book so I looked it up. What he said was at the time E met Cilla, he had an "even younger German girl" (his words) living in the house with his father and grandmother. Except...well, I can't find any proof of this; there’s no evidence nor mention of this girl (or how old she was) anywhere else in the book nor in any other books written about him. No proof he had anyone else like that living with him in Germany.

So I don’t think that claim is true. Where do people come up with this stuff anyway? How do you not get into an argument with these idiots? Because it's super annoying.

ugh, believe it or not, baby, im not surprised at all. but you could never bug me !!! 💖 sorry it took me so long to answer this, but rest assured i haven't calmed down about this any since you first sent it 😅

a couple notes‐ honestly, i'm inclined to believe scotty. NOT TWITTER to clarify lol.. eleven seems young for him even if you are looking to view e through the most unflattering light possible 😬 but it seems likely to me that he had another teenage girl maybe not uh. officially on the lease or anything but staying over most nights ! more than ONE even sounds plausible.. we all know that someone didn't like his bed cold.!

people who claim to hate elvis sure spend an awful lot of time reviling him on the internet, especially by regurgitating half-remembered anecdotal evidence without citing their sources. 🙄 on the other hand, it's also easy to fall into the trap of too-faithful elvis historian; by that i mean that the fact that so much of his life is documented sometimes makes us complacent in our belief that if it can't be verified by multiple primary sources that it must not have happened. but we can't always say, and getting too involved as if the historical accuracy of one particular proposed event is the end-all be-all of elvis fandom can get exhausting.!

i wouldn't be surprised to find out either way, that this was or wasn't true. but you're free to make up your own mind, and if it distresses you, then fwiw i think you Totally have a leg to stand on affirming it never happened, like you said !! ultimately, it doesn't have much bearing on right now- if you like elvis, this vague and nebulous criticism probably isn't the thing that'll make you stop liking elvis, and if you hate elvis, you're probably determined to keep doing that regardless.

regarding the twitdiots- while looking into this claim i found a lady on there who legitimately believed that agent elvis tells the true story of how e was experimented on and mind controlled into drug abuse by the government.. like she said That with her whooole chest. so i don't put much stock in public opinion over there 😂😂💀

i want to fight those people extremely often (they're not just on twitter, either- it seems to have died down a little praise GOD but especially in early days after the movie there was a wave of ppl on here who would put their elvis hate in the main tags. WHICH DROVE ME BATTY), but i come from the "don't feed the trolls" era of fandom. as much as id like to rip 'em a new one when they rehash the same two issues over and over and OVER again ad nauseum, i content myself with the fact that they're living a pathetic existence in which they actively choose to fill their life with something they dislike for... no discernable reason.?

no one who spends their time bringing up a dead celebrity at all opportunities just to bash them is actually open to a discussion. and i do think there is a discussion to be had- his life was certainly very troubled, and i think there are a lot of nuanced issues that benefit from being spoken about openly !!!

but i like to debate bc i like to WIN- so jackasses tend to be a waste of my time 😘

[mrpenguinpants]

The way you write makes me feel like that one meme with Saoirse Ronan, where she goes "WOMEN-", like, THAT magnitude of emotions. When I read others' works, I can call them heartwarming/cool/etc, basically, most I feel is "aw, that was nice!", but your writing not only is "nice", it is really damn interesting; you're not just telling a story, you're making me crave more, and be like "oh oh oh OH WHAT HAPPENS NEXT!?" and it is such an intense internal response from me that has never been awakened in me before, i just had to let you know. I'm sorry if it came off weird, in my defense i am weird as a whole. Cheers!

This wasn't weird at all, it was actually really sweet (❤´艸｀❤). I really like hearing other people's uh reactions? Reactions to what I write which lowkey sounds egotistical of me to say but it doesn't change the fact that it feels nice.

I totally get what you mean though, I look at my old word and think the same. It's not bad or anything, I'm not shaming my old work, but I can definitely see it as "wow that was nice.". I know I touched on it briefly but I feel like my writing has flipped where I'll make the scenario first and then put the character in. Not sure if that makes sense but I can't put my fics into a single-word headcanon like I could before.

[traitorsinsalem]

she dealt with asian family drama like no one else did and all the fanbase did was hate her

[minglana]

damn i rly do complain about everything LMAO