#most of them feel out of place for whatever reason

[jj-one]

i’m having thoughts that desperately need sharing

who in skz would most likely love an inexperienced partner because they would loveeee the idea of teaching them everything and guiding them through their first time?

i have had these thoughts for so long now and i need somebody to share my delulu with 😛

you’ve come to the right place bestie, let’s be delusional together 🙂‍↕️🙂‍↕️ i feel like chan, minho, & seungmin would absolutely love the idea of having an inexperienced partner the most but i’m not opposed to the idea of all the members being into it. here’s my little list that i compiled hehe <3

chan:

he’s too fucking gentle with you at first, like he treats you as if you’re some delicate flower and is hesitant on corrupting your innocence— especially when it comes to fucking you bc he suffers from big dick syndrome and doesn’t wanna hurt you </3 but once he knows you wanna be taught, it’s game over. he’s the world’s biggest tease so ofc he loves pressing the head of his cock against your untouched folds, not entering, just showing you what’s coming. makes you say “please” until you’re crying. he gets off on having all the control, dragging you down his filthy little rabbit hole with soft praises and unbearable pressure. he wants to be the only one who’s touched you. every gasped whimper, every flutter of your pussy around him as he pushes in for the first time, he memorizes it all. his strokes are always agonizingly slow, deep, claiming, but the more you both get into it the more rough he’d get, pulling orgasm after orgasm out of you like it’s nothing to him.

“you already came twice baby, i know you’ve got one more left in you.”

minho:

pretends that he doesn’t care (spoiler: he 100% does), he jerks off to the idea of being your first more than he’d admit. especially when you’re looking up at him with those big, doey eyes, lip trembling, legs spread but uncertain— he makes you say it, “i don’t know what i’m doing.” you’ve told him that you’ve never watched porn before and have rarely ever touched yourself, you were a novice, but that’s what he’s here for, to teach you the ropes ! he corrupts you deliberately, one filthy lesson at a time. first lesson? how to suck him off. second? riding until your thighs give out. third? letting him film you crying around his cock. he’s now become fully obsessed with stripping you of your purity, shaping you into the perfect little slut just for him. can’t help but smirk as you beg for more, knowing he’s the reason for turning you into this.

“look at you— used to be so innocent. now you’re drooling on my cock like it’s all you’ve ever known. and it is, isn’t it? ‘cause i made you this way.”

seungmin:

is completely deadpan. quiet, yet dangerous. he acts unimpressed until you’re crying from just taking his fingers. then he’s leans close, voice low, and says, “you really don’t know a thing, do you?” he thrives off being the one to show you. the only one. has you arching off the sheets just from his mouth with the most smug look on his face at how easily you come apart. he doesn’t just teach, he literally reprograms you. makes sure no one else will ever satisfy you again. just watches with dark eyes as you stammer through every new sensation, feeling so overwhelmed and desperate, too shy to even say his name without whimpering ;( makes you go crazy from the way he touches you slowly, taking his sweet sweet time with you like he’s got all day bc if he’s gonna ruin you, he’s gonna relish in it. calls it “training” when he makes you practice sucking him off until your throat burns, when he fingers you for hours just to watch your mind melt from how overstimulated you are. records you babbling nonsense while your legs shake as proof that you belong to him now; have you crying, clinging to him, begging to cum again.

“good girl. you’ll take whatever i give you, yeah? ‘cause i’m the only one who knows what you need.”

changbin:

he’s your coach, absolutely loves teaching !! makes it interactive. pushes two fingers into your sopping cunt and says, “now clench. hold it. yeah, like that.” he takes utmost pride in watching you learn, fucking you in different positions until you find the one that makes you scream. makes you cum over and over again just so you understand your body better. he’s so proud of the mess he makes out of you <3 talks you through it like he’s guiding a workout— except you’re trembling, soaked, tears streaming down your cheeks bc it’s soso much but he’s still not done. makes you mirror everything he does when he eats you out, wants to hear you use your big girl words and tell him what it feels like. spreads your thighs wider with every session, the pad of his thumb circling your clit nice n slow just to watch you squirm from the simplest touches. he gets off on your innocence, gets harder every time you ask, “is this okay..?” bc it means there’s still more to ruin. makes you sit in his lap and bounce until your legs give out from shaking and your voice breaks from how many times you’ve begged. he won’t stop until your body responds to only him, trained and wrecked to perfection, even when you’re dazed, drooling, and completely fucked out.

“told you i’d make a good girl outta you, we’re just getting started.”

hyunjin:

sensual, slow, & obsessed. he calls you “innocent” like it’s your name. thinks it’s the cutest shit ever how shy you get when he’s got your legs sprawled and whispers where everything is. fingers you while describing in grave detail how he’ll fuck you and makes you repeat it back to him. “say it, baby. tell me what i taught you.” he corrupts you with elegance, artful degradation, slow-melting kisses between instruction. every night becoming another slowburn chapter in your ruin. he memorizes every little reaction, every gasp, every twitch, every time your breath catches when his lips brush your ear. he keeps you perched prettily on his cock, producing slow, diluted strokes at first, watching your brows pinch and your thighs quiver, whispering all the dirty shit he wants to do to you in a reverent tone like he’s reading poetry. paints bruises down your throat like he’s leaving his signature. tells you what a masterpiece you’ve become under his hands. won’t let you cover your face when you start to cry, he wants to witness it all. wants to see beg with those soft, needy whines that he loves as he holds your hips still and fucks you through another orgasm, praising how well you’re taking it, how much you’ve changed, won’t stop ‘til you’re boneless and spent, tear-streaked and writhing in his arms.

“you used to blush when i kissed you, but now look at you, ruined and addicted. all mine.”

jisung:

he lives for the fact that he’s your first. the way your whole body shudders just from him breathing on your cunt. how every moan you let out sounds like pure heaven to him— raw, unsure, and desperate. he’s obsessed with how new you are to everything, fingers soaked from just teaching you how to grind properly. “good girl, just like that- fuck, you’re learning so fast.” he craves to taint your innocence than anything else, saying all types of nasty shit as he makes you beg to cum for the first time. he corrupts you sweetly, patiently; until you’re reduced to nothing but a cockdrunk and clingy mess. he likes it best when you’re shy about wanting more, when you squirm under his gaze and whisper that something feels weird, and he has to gently coax you through it, telling you it’s completely normal. lets you ride his cock for the first time with your hands on his chest, telling you exactly how to move. gets so hard watching you unravel from the smallest things, his thumb on your clit, a filthy word in your ear, the soft drag of his tongue over your nipples. adores how overwhelmed you get, how easy it is to ruin you with nothing but gentle pressure and a few well-placed moans. your innocence is like a drug to him, and he’ll spend all night undoing it, slowly and thoroughly, until the only thing left of you is the pretty little mess he’s created.

“you’ll never come this hard for anyone else, baby. they didn’t break you in— i did.”

felix:

surprisingly filthy. like he’s the sweetest, most wholesome boyfriend ever in public but when it’s just you two? yeah, that’s a whole different story. that first hit of dopamine fucks him up when he finally gets a taste of you, the way your body twitches from the first brush of his tongue, he already knows he’s gonna be addicted to your pussy. he worships every shaky moan, every uncertain grind of your hips, loving how easy it is to mold you. showers you with praises while he breaks you, tells you how perfect you look when you’re so lost in pleasure you’ve never felt before. treats your virginity like a gift, but one he fully intends to unwrap, piece by piece. kisses you slow and deep while his fingers slip lower and lower, letting you get used to every inch of him before he gives you more. he coos over every nervous whimper, smiles when you get too overwhelmed to form proper words bc it means he’s doing his job right. his cock swells in size the more you cling to him, eyes glossy, lips jutting out as you beg for something you don’t even have the words for. takes his time stretching you open, his husky, commanding baritones in your ear telling you how good you’re being, how proud he is that you’re letting him ruin you. and when you’re spread out beneath him, flushed and trembling, you’re so far gone that all your shyness sheds away.

“you’re so sensitive, angel. no one’s ever touched you here like this, huh?”

jeongin:

a total freak in denial. like he’s shy and gets all blushy when you call him your first, but the moment he realizes you’re letting him guide you? a switch flips in his horny brain. he’ll make you touch yourself in front of him first, watching you intently, fingers gripping the base of his thick cock as he corrects your movements with breathy commands. is all red-faced and whimpery when he finally fucks you, drunk off the way your pussy swallows him whole every time he thrusts in a little deeper. gets a little timid when he tries to talk you through it all, voice shaky but firm— tells you where to place your hands, how to tilt your hips, what to say when you want more. just can’t help but get so worked up by you, overwhelmed and messy, looking up at him like he’s the only one who’s ever made you feel this way. feels kinda bad for how much he loves it when you cry a little from how good it feels, when you babble that you don’t know what’s happening and he gets to say, “it’s okay, baby… i’ve got you. just let me teach you.” drinking in the scenery of you falling apart under him, frenzied and blissed out for the first time.

“no one else gets to have you like this, yeah? i’m the one who ruined you.”

[devnmon]

𝚊 𝚟𝚎𝚕𝚟𝚎𝚝 𝚝𝚘𝚞𝚌𝚑

eddie x reader x volt

summary: eddie and volt treat you right in the back room of the breaker box.

warnings: grinding, fingering, clit play, some light electricity play (i couldnt help myself), being pampered n praised the breaker box back room, eddie cums in his pants (teehee)''

a/n: good morning. drops this. runs away. dont know how far writing characters from date everything will take me but here goes nothing!

wc: 967

-

The breaker box was nothing if not notorious for the drinks, performances and the gorgeous host. But after so many nights, you left thinking of both Volt, and his counterpart, Eddie.

Strikingly gorgeous, you couldn’t choose just one of them. Especially not after Eddie caught you as you fell from the ladder. Catching him blushing over your kind words and willingness to help out around the bar sealed you in to the deal.

Finding out both dangerously electrifying men felt mutually towards your reciprocated feelings, they reacted by giving you some deserved pampering.

There you found yourself in a back room of the breaker box, four hands exploring your body.

Eddie held your waist while you sat in his lap, his hips bucking into yours from below ever so often. Other than the occasional grunt and huff of his breath, he remained quiet for the duration of your weight on him.

Volt on the other hand, was all over you. His jacket placed on a chair behind him gave you a perfect view of his muscles outlined by the cloth of his shirt.

“Sure you don’t want a turn, Eddie?” Volt's alluring voice asked.

“Not this time. I’m good right here.”

But how you wish he'd break the rules and run his hands up your back or at least give your neck a good massage. Eddie was so, so good with his hands.

“Whatever you say,” the English man replied.

Eddie’s voice was enough to spur you on, much less the hot breath on the back of your neck. Volt’s live hands traveled over your torso, sending jolts of electricity down your spine.

"Mmm.. that's so good, V."

"Isn't it? You're just a bundle of fun. But what if I... did this?" He continued, shoving one hand into your pants. By the look on your face, he can tell you're just aching to be touched. When he finds what he's looking for, two of his fingers swipe through the abundance of arousal between your legs.

"A cheeky one, you..." The vibrato of Volt's voice lowered, his eyes going dark. "Our pet here is so overly excited, I can't believe you hadn't jumped on us upon the club door opening."

"There were guests—" you're cut off by a light electrical shock to your clit, catching you off guard. "Volt~"

"Ah ah, I would've taken you right over that stage if Eddie wasn't so adamant about wanting to keep you all to ourselves."

All you could do was moan in reply, Volt's words perfectly set to throw you off guard. He did it to you without even trying.

Another roll of Eddie’s hips underneath you did nothing to help the case.

“E, please touch me… I need you…”

“But I thought you were having fun with Volt. Is he not enough for you?” Eddie’s condescending tease in that gruff voice against your ear had you biting back another moan threatening to fall from your lips.

“You’re the reason I couldn’t choose just one of you. Please…” you whimper.

“Come on, Eddie. Give them what they want.”

“Fine. Only because you asked so nicely.”

“Thank you… thankyouthankyou…”

Eddie’s hands started up your back, just like you’d imagined, pressing his fingertips into your back to massage your muscles. The callouses only added to your pleasure, sighing with content at how each man’s hands moved on your body.

Volt’s fingers moved downwards, prodding at your entrance.

“May I?” He asked, familiar smirk on his lips.

“Yes, please, Volt…”

“Hm. Such a good pet.” The white haired man hummed, pressing two of his fingers into you so, so easily.

Just as he curled them against your most sensitive spot, you dropped a moan of his name that would transcend any sound you’d made before in their presence.

“Ah, there we go. You like that, don’t you?”

Instead of replying, your sounds continued, noting Eddie’s hands movement from the muscles of your back to the front of your chest. Ever so softly, his palms grasped the plush of your breasts and massaged again.

The dark haired man felt your nipples harden under his touch, chuckling to himself with pride. Another press of his hips into yours from below. His length grew hard as time passed, half wishing your brain hadn’t shut off from the mind blowing pleasure you were receiving.

“Ed…” was all you were capable of whimpering as your hips gyrated against his.

“I know, I know. Another time. Tonight is about you, babe.”

Volt, feeling a tad left out, quickened his fingers inside you and added his thumb on your clit to the mix to throw you off guard.

There you were again, putty in his hands. Your head fell forward, catching on his broad shoulder, chuckling to himself. His laughter in general sent you soaring, like he was mocking you for being so sensitive. You weren’t used to attention from two men at once— what you were experiencing was so overwhelming.

As each of the four hands worked your body closer to release, a slew of moans and curses fell from your lips. Both Eddie and Volt found this so amusing and continued their movements to spur you on further.

“I’m gonna—“

“That’s it, sweet one. Come for us… there you go.”

You couldn’t hold back any longer, your chest heaving while each of the men’s hands worked you through your release as it washed over you. Eddie’s hips stuttered along with yours, a groan of release washing over him as well.

Volt reached to cup your cheek, those sweet, fucked-out eyes of yours locking with his.

“Live wire, how could we survive without you?”

“We couldn’t.” Eddie panted.

You remained in their arms until they both decided to carry you to bed for a nap and then eventual round two.

-

tags: @hailsweridspace

[kuntprodukt]

CELEBRITY SKIN

Leon Kennedy x female reader | MDNI!! 18+ | dead dove do not eat, incest, dad-daughter incest, rape/noncon sex, female reader, Leon is washed up rockstar, implied heavily and A LOT drug abuse/alcoholism, intoxication, vaginal sex, fingering, unsafe sex, creampie, anal play(brief attempt), piss(reader pisses herself), overstimulation, puke (mentioned, not sexual), deadbeat dad, he is icky, degradation.

summary: Hate is too strong, love is locked in the little box under your bed with keys you threw out - doesn’t mean it is absent. He is cool, not enough to deserve real love. Something tells you he doesn’t understand it too. “What do you love, Leon?” Alcohol, substances, music, strings etching into his calluses and a good pussy - his answer is not about love, but preferences. That’s what he likes. You don’t like your dad. That's the right way to say it.  

notes: no way im going to proofread all those 6k words and pray to see every mistake.... same rule: if you see mistakes then you are wrong and ignore them, + english isnt my first language. i feel like this is a little bit incosistent mess, but!!! whatever! also quoted "softer, softest" by hole. reblogs, asks or comments and any kind of interractions are really appreciated!

tags: @melanchol1cs

You remember the cold floor against your knees, still aching after falling off your bicycle a day before, even the light brown bandage is not able to stick to your skin - a bad habit, scratching it behind your mom’s gaze. Your eyes are full of interest studying vinyl covers and CDs - in both of them your dad is staring at you. Mostly your mom hoarded those, different posters with his bandmates from old magazines, but Leon always stood out. You remember your dad pinching your cheeks, crouching down and the bitter smell with acidic hints coming from him. He reeked with something your nose hated, wrinkling up, trying to push him back just to meet his irritated expression. His fingers were rough after years of playing guitar, calloused and lacking softness in them. You should have been grateful, your mom scolded you, dad didn’t have much free time. 

You remember your mom’s laps, sitting there as her fingers gently open the cd case, a light crack from the plastic and the smell of it. The reflection of you both on the disc, before she placed it in the slit of the recorder, disappearing in the squared black item you were so afraid to play with; too many buttons, too scary to mess with. She told you she is lucky to even be with him, to share a place with him even if it is empty with a cold bed waiting for him most of the time. Your mom was the biggest groupie, at least among the ones you knew - your classmates were crazy about Leon too, but it was a fleeting crush before disappointment hit them. 

Rockstar. Dad rockstar, not the most famous fact weirdly enough. Paparazzi have never bothered you and your mom, nor has he tried to appear with you in public. On billboards, on the magazines wherever you go there was him. Blue eyes following yours in the shops, with big striking red words: “LEON KENNEDY BARES HIS SOUL!!! What women can catch his heart?” or "New rock king, Leon Kennedy strikes again: who is that woman in red?". At some point, you saw your dad more on the glistening unpacked magazines in kiosks, on the screen of old TV illuminating with blue light your fascinated face late at night, one of main reasons you slept bad, trying to get more about your own dad or the posters in your room, but rarely ever in person. 

It comes with some sort of privilege, not expensive jewelry or good vacations in some cool hotel next to the ocean, but without any questions being able to walk backstage to see your dad was enough for you. Usually he knew about that in advance - a day or week before. Spreading a smile at your sight and your mom. You remember glancing through the gap of the door, that night you got away from your mom, losing her in the crowd just to see him - a surprise, but it ended up as one for you instead. Your dad kissing some young groupie on his lap, he pressed back on the black leather couch, this wasn’t a mistake on his part, the excuse you heard later was bullshit, as the sight of his hands gripping her ass and her nude back were imprinted in your mind - told a louder story than any gossip.

Next memory is your mom, sobbing in the empty bedroom late at night. A common occurrence, as a child you never noticed that - maybe she hid it well or you didn't wake up so often at night. Standing behind the door to hear bitterness in her tears, unwillingly passing the same sentiment. The fog in your memory faded to realize your dad's presence is lacking. Even his affection was forced, there was nothing in his playful pinch or the boop on your nose, even a light chuckle after a pet name held nothing but an act. 

The last betrayal came from your mom. Empty, dull looking apartment, you have never noticed how lifeless this place is, even on bright days your memories of this place are tinted with grey, the color of cloudy weather like it was always supposed to rain but it never did. Little paper note on the table without a ring - you expected one, forgetting he has never married her nor there was a ring. Maybe that’s for the better, marriage kills women. Pretty delicate handwritten text adorns on the paper.

“I hope you die from an overdose, you don't love anyone other than drugs, alcohol and your stupid, failed carrier!!”

She left your dad, finally. She left you too, not so finally. A child is an extension of one parent or both of them, a bitter reminder of your mom’s mistake? Even if her caress was gentle and full of love, even in videos she recorded with little you - clear trembling voice after another disappointment from Leon, red eyes after sobbing, but always with you, taking care. And you believed you were not a child anymore, 18 years old was a big number. 

Since today, the place was supposed to be lonely, cradling you in its cold embrace as Leon is never present as much as she or you wanted. So, the loud jiggle of keys. Clink! The turning and the sound of the door opening pulled you out of your mind, unsteady footsteps not even similar to your mom. Leon. You feel like you were standing here for eternity, meeting his gaze is unusual - like catching Santa Claus placing gifts as a kid, which you have never had. His appearance is still ruffled, hair falling in front of his eyes just to be brushed away in rough movement, squinting at you briefly before recognizing and confusion washes over him. Cologne mixed with alcohol, a hint of sweet, floral one from fucking one of few remaining groupies. 

You feel like you have just caught your husband cheating, dick deep inside some pretty bimbo bitch’s hole - instead Leon is your dad. 

Leon didn’t comment on that, squinting again as he read, while your own gaze stared at him with a hope to see something. Anger? Regret? Maybe realization he lost something valuable? That he loved you after all? Leon shrugs, nodding to the note. 

“She left?” He asks, not even trying to be decent. To pick it up, to read it, to realize how big he fucked up. Is he high? Drunk? Or all substances have already eaten his brain? The note is all written straightforwardly, clearly his cells are eaten by every drug coursing in his bloodstream - at this moment, even for a short one a wish passes through like a falling star, a hope for overdose to hit him right now. 

“Seems so” is the only answer that comes out, stunned to process how surreal this feels - straight out of Lynch movies, weird feeling in your chest, the surroundings look more surreal, dislocated and you don’t want to leave the room. 

“She forgot to add women too”

“What?”

“You don't love anyone other than drugs, alcohol and your stupid, failed carrier” He glances down, not hiding a smirk on his lips, about to say some funny joke. “I love women too.”

…

The gossip killed his fame and reputation, your dad told you this while being drunk on the couch, slurred words not even trying to look you in the eyes. In your honest opinion Leon was the one to kill it. Alcohol, drugs and age don’t go well forever, some are fortunate and more tolerable but a never ending cycle of scandals do irreparable damage. You know your dad, he is impossible when his mind is fogged on some of the stuff. Coke, molly, whiskey or vodka. Maybe everything mixed, maybe worse - you are no expert, everything has always led to him being some kind of mess. Pissing himself or throwing up all night loudly, depriving you of sleep. Even worse - ending up in the hospital after an unnatural amount of drugs in his blood. 

In a second, a thought about your dad flashes. What’s about him? Hate is too strong, love is locked in the little box under your bed with keys you threw out - doesn’t mean it is absent. He is cool, not enough to deserve real love. Something tells you he doesn’t understand it too. “What do you love, Leon?” Alcohol, closing eyes on the couch after pregabalin hits, heightening other substances, music, strings etching into his calluses and a good pussy - his answer is not about love, but preferences. That’s what he likes. You don’t like your dad. That's the right way to say it. 

“What do you know about fun?” Again, same story, for god’s sake. You ignore his attempt to talk - waste of time. Another try to brag how experienced he is, how many substances were in his nose or in his system in general like you are some sort of dumb impressive girl or a groupie. It is impressive when you are 18, in a way; “holy shit, how have you not died yet?” You heard those stories plenty of times, you saw it and had to deal with his mess for free - they get repetitive. To quote him, at your age he got his dick wet every weekend, if the week was not going well. It was the past, the rockstar one but now all you can see is a washed up musician with an ego of a star. 

No reaction, it irks him in the wrong way. Who the fuck are you? Loser daughter of his, no way you got a man hard even once - the most you’d have is some dumb guy knuckles deep in his car and Leon still has a hard time believing that. Leon nudges you, his finger pokes your waist before leaning closer. A sad hint in his features. Another second and he is going to pout to look believably upset. “It’s my birthday”

“No, it is not” You raise your eyebrow. Actually, you don’t know when his birthday is. Leon has never told you and his drunk or high appearance was not something out of ordinary - a normal Friday night, rather Saturday morning. Drinking more or less doesn’t matter much, all days are no different from celebrations - you still can’t stand it. This is probably another attempt to get under your skin, like he always does when he is sober. Or need a drink. Leon tugs your cheek with two fingers, briefly succumbing to this urge until you don't push his hand away, rejecting his touch. You are not a child. 

“Uh-huh, it is” He mocks your tone, the corner of his lips tenses briefly - evaluating you. 

“Since when?” 

“Since today, don’t be a bitch” Leon pauses meaningfully, raising an eyebrow. “No one likes bitchy girls”

You don’t need him to like you. Your dad died back in the backstage room with a groupie on his lap. Eyeing him again, you can’t ever be sure with this man. He adores messing with you for fun, sobriety doesn’t give a man a lot of hobbies. But right now Leon looks believable. Your dad is not the best actor, you think, maybe he can have some other hidden talents. 

“Do I need to buy something?” You ask and even briefly you notice a flash of excitement in his gaze. Like he won a lotto. Even kids don't get so excited for their birthday party. A “tsk” follows.

“Oh no-no, no way” Leon shakes his head, placing his arm in front of you and creating a ‘small’ obstacle. “Let me deal with this. Show you how to party, what to drink.” 

Your distrustful gaze tells him a lot. Is he real? Should you even trust him? He’d probably get drunk and leave you alone - and this gives you hope and bruises his ego even slightly, not something new with living with him. “I am a pro” 

Not so reassuring.

…

Series of different whiskey bottles on the table, looking like some chaotic statistic - one is lower, then it is higher and it repeats. You don’t really understand if those are expensive ones or cheaper, the only one you are aware of is Jack Daniels. That’s a lot, really, expecting one bottle, two at most, but there are more than enough for a group - you are not going to drink all this. 

“Come now, share a little drink with your dad” Leon pats the spot next to him, spreading his legs, a nightmare to have him in public transport. There are already two glasses of whiskey, one of them waiting for you alone. The couch dips slightly with your weight, his knee slightly brushes against yours, forcing you to clench your legs together even tighter, giving him more space to keep his spread.

The reflection in the whiskey, your hand moves and little waves of alcohol spreads making your face uneven. You are not sure if this is even right to do, at the same time you are at home, safer than around jerks at some party, even if your dad sucks. It burns in your throat, the brown liquid slips down with a hard gulp just to leave some weird aftertaste on your tongue. Leon was eyeing you, ready to shove it down in case you decided to spit it out. No waste in his house! Your glass gets refilled quickly, ready to fill it again and again - at the same time, you feel his hand bringing your own closer to your lips, inviting you to keep drinking. All while his glass looks deepless, infinite, in a way it is still not finished, even though your gaze doesn’t really focus on his drink so it is hard to judge if your sentiment is correct - still, maybe he just throws whiskey in his mouth like it usually happens every day. 

“...You don’t–” Your eyes set on the full glass of whiskey on the table, is it yours? Can you be sure it is his? Leon looks at you with a smirk, satisfied with how everything goes - not even trying to hide it right now, you are so pliant in his guidance. “Drink?”

“Don’t be silly, I've been drinking too.” No, he hasn't, two glasses were the most he has ever drunk this evening.

“Ah!” You hum, the brain processes everything with a big delay. Words roll on your tongue, but nothing comes out - and if it does, you imagined this. Leon eyes your face briefly, maybe the first time he ever stared at you longer than a minute which is still a lot for him. The curves of your lips that hosts beads of whiskey, urging him to catch them as he usually did with groupies in the past. Nostalgic.

“You don’t look like me at all” Leon mutters out with a frown. The doubt of you being his daughter always tormented him - just not too much to care about the paternity test. Even if you are 100% his, he wouldn’t try to be a good dad - the time has passed and he doesn’t care about it enough. Never did.

“What?” 

“Come here, let me see that pretty face” He grins, his own words sound amusing to him, watching your expression ease with every second passed, just like old times. “Perhaps my vision fails me.”

You fell for it. Leon’s hand grips hard your jaw, his thumb caresses your cheek and it feels weird - after many years of his absent presence you feel like a little girl again, waiting for him to pinch your cheeks in between his fingers, to cling to his leg while he’d shred one of his favorite riffs or even solo, always fascinated to stare at his fingers jumping to one string to another just to coax a melody. His lips crush on yours instead, swallowing hard the saliva pooled in your mouth your mind clears even briefly. What the fuck? 

You have kissed a few guys at parties before, invited out of pity just to stay in the corner, ignored, awkward until a guy decided to get you - easy target, desperate and they are not far away from the truth, in the end always leading to a bad car sex with them not being able to recognize your clit. But Leon kisses you differently than those boys, his grip is secure on you, there is no way to get out of this - like a collar settles on your neck, tightly but in the form of his hand. You don’t close your eyes, too shocked at the feeling of his dry lips. Your dad’s lips. He looks unbothered, focused on it. First, with utmost care you had never felt from your dad, it gets pushed aside as Leon gets used to your useless state, easy to kiss you as he wants. Weird, that’s your dad. Your dad kisses you. Alcohol dumbens you, briefly trying to rummage through reasons to excuse him, but this confuses you even further and all you can hear is heart rate beating in your ears, tasting even more alcohol on your lips before he sucks your bottom lip - a way to force his tongue in. 

“Open it” a light slap on your cheek seeing your eyes blurs with the unfocus. Of course it worked, at least Leon gets what he wants. Your lips part in a gasp, blinking as his tongue delves in your mouth. Saliva pools more, now the taste overwhelms your buds to the brim, his tongue feels slick rolling against yours, like passing an invisible candy. You feel your ears burn with shame, you suck at this more likely, but Leon seems unfazed at this as the kiss deepens with more grunts coming out of him against your lips. You don’t understand why your tongue tries to keep up with his now, your hand tries to reach for his wrist. To slap it, to dig your fingers in it - anything to show you want to get out of this. 

Your body feels heavy - any movement you are capable of now is useless, as alcohol messes up with the perception of whatever is happening. It gets worse, heavier like stones were tied to your legs before you got thrown in the water. His hand creeps lower, gripping one of your ass cheeks, fingers dip into the fat, slowly kneading until you feel a pressure over the tight ring of your hole. Your body flinches, lightly but not enough to push him away, enough to break the kiss. Leon is not worried, no way you will be able to do anything. “Has anyone ever touched you here?”

You don’t remember. Actually your mind is full of fog, trying to find anything to stitch together for an answer, but for Leon you just stare like a dumb bitch, not giving him an answer other than a weak grunt. Probably not, college guys are not brave enough to try anal - all cool on text, big dick, promises to destroy your holes, just to lead you in their mom’s car and rub your labia before the most mediocre, dry sex, at best. 

“Mm? No?” You shake your head, this doesn’t stop him as his finger presses harder, thumbing at it slowly, observing your eyes widen, hips shift to distance yourself from him - useless. Your body is not yours, all you can hear is his voice waiting for an answer and heartbeat in your ears.  “Not even a little bit?”

His finger keeps skirting over the muscle, nudging it to slip his finger inside. It is hard to form sentences, even harder to think because your head is full of feathers. And it is already overwhelming, the idea of more makes your stomach tense. And if he decides to fuck your ass? Your heart jumps in your chest, maybe imagining this, filled with different contrasting feelings. One is fear, you can’t push him away, your eyes have a hard time focusing on his face, alcohol is dawning on your chest like a sleep paralysis and second one is your clit throbbing for need to be ignored -  just to be used like some object. By your dad. This is wrong, this is alcohol talking. Your hips buck slightly into his hand, unaware his cock jolts in his jeans. 

“N-no” Your voice doesn’t even sound like yours, some stranger’s. His eyes sparkle in pleasure, watching how your expression twists in fear and confusion as his fingertip circles against your hole now, still maintaining the pressure. Trying to relax, so you’d give in finally. “...it hurts” 

“Come on, just a tip?” Leon frowns as you shake your head again, frantically this time. A light pout on his lips as he decides to let this be. He thumbs over your hole for the last time, before withdrawing to hold your thigh. “Then next time.”

His hand caresses your skin, like a lullaby to soothe you from what he tried to do, to be nicer to your drunk state - gullible, more than he was back in time, lesson was learned a long time ago after his heart got shattered. Your skin feels soft underneath his palm, a cotton blanket that is addicting to touch every time, with every caress his hand creeps higher, at the same time your body relaxes at every second. Your chest falls down as your breathing returns to normal pace, exhaling. Tension slowly leaves, fogging everything. You need your dad’s sweetness, even if you don’t realize it. And your dad gets what he needs. Calloused fingers part your cunt, applying pressure on the clit that made you flinch and open your eyes. When did he remove your shorts? He is all over you, with the same hungry look you’ve seen from other men. They all have the same look, pupils dilated jumping from your face to your tits, then to your legs - men are not the smartest creatures, all identical too. Blood rushes into your ears, you feel every thumping sound of it. You try to push him, but alcohol messes up your strength perception. It feels like your entire energy was put to push him off, just to see him being here. Not moving even for an inch. 

“You are wet, fuck” Leon grunts, sliding his fingers in your hole. Feeling them disappear in your folds and you can’t help but flinch, the burning stretch at the lack of adjustment makes your jaw tense. It clenches at rough intrusion and you feel air knock out of your lungs for a moment. You shake your head and Leon grins, your denial is fun, giving more space to play with you. “This cunt is wetter than any groupies.” 

You want to close your eyes, not to stare at him - a bad dream, nightmare, you can’t believe your cunt gushes around his fingers so needily. Wet sounds of him pumping your hole, Maybe you are imagining this, alcohol is not the best lube - only making you drier, usually. Or those are guys you had. Leon’s fingers curl up against your wall, pressing as he finds that sweet star-hitting spongy spot - every pussy loves that and the pressure coaxes your eyes widen with a shaky whimper. “Da-ad–”

“Those bitches were desperate-desperate to be bottomed by your daddy, you know?” His fingers rut relentlessly into you, your stomach pools in more warmth that isn't supposed to be, quick pace coaxing out more sounds you never knew were possible. Your teeth sink into your lip, trying to worm out of this. Blood rushes down, feeling burning warmth spreading from your clit up. Leon chuckles, shoving you harder against the couch with his weight. “Tsk, ungrateful like your slut mom.”

It is overwhelming, gushing more around his rough pumping fingers. The pace is steady, easy with the amount of slick your cunt gives. Not feeling anymore that burning stretch, leaking like some needy bitch. Every nerve in your body starts to burn up, pushing away the thought of your dad fucking drugging you and fingering your pussy. Actually, you aren't sure there were even drugs in the glasses - you just want to put more blame on him. Leon is not inexperienced in sex, even if his main interest was his own pleasure he knows the signs of approaching orgasm. No way you are going to cum first and not him, that isn’t in his interest, right now you are not better than a groupie in his arms. He pulls back his hand, leaving you empty, cutting out the sweet wave of orgasm. It is disappointing, shame hits you at the realization you wanted to cum on your dad’s fingers. Oh, fuck. Can’t get worse. 

“You are not allowed to finish yet.” He mutters with a raspy voice, eyeing his soaked fingers. Slowly spreading out just to watch the glistening strings connecting them. God, he missed that.

You feel your body getting lighter than before, there is still the feeling of suffocating and dying if you don't keep your breathing in check. Eyes are always about to close, it is hard to keep yourself awake, moving your head gives you the sensation of a quick camera flick - in reality, you didn’t even shake it. At the same time you should expect nausea, the urge to throw up and a twisting stomach. Time feels inconsistent, at some point you sure it has passed 3 hours already, but catching a glimpse of the clock tells you can’t trust your feelings. But this worry fades away as his cock presses against your wet, sensitive folds. Ignored by him, flesh-to-flesh so hot your hips buck up to rub yourself weakly. When did he unzip his pants? You miss most of the noises, actions - his movements register in your brain too late. One moment you think he is kissing you, now you are confused when his dick got so close to you. For Leon this is nostalgic, standing over your pliant state on the couch is not so different from fun he had with groupies, if not even identical. Dumb look on your face trying to recollect yourself just to fail miserably, a weak whimper escapes from your parted lips, like you are on some good crack right now all lost in it and legs spread just for him to get his dick wet - not his first rodeo, every bitch he had, they all looked like you. 

His hips jerk, his cock slides across your puffy, wet folds smearing his flesh with your arousal. He wants to be slow, indulging in every single inch of you before even notching his tip. His cock twitches, bumping against your clit and your back arches into him more.  Your cunt is already warm, burning hot after being so close to cum - thanks to his fingers. A warmth spreads in his chest, pride. It is not hard to get laid even nowadays, still it is much rarer than in the past. But after this? Leon is sure his dick is going to get wet more often, daughter should help him. And you will in his opinion, in case of contrary nothing drugs can’t fix. 

Leon is not patient, he has never been one - one of reasons condoms were a rare occurrence in his wallet, never sure if they aren’t spoiled and if they are that is not his worry. He can overthink after sex, before consuming whiskey. Realizing nothing is so bad as he thinks - hey, his pull out game is not so terrible, Leon believes. Guiding his leaking tip to notch in your hole, it glistens after smearing your arousal across the flesh. And at contact your body clenches - begging him to slam his hip, to bury himself in you finally. Leon wants that too. A push is enough to see his cock disappear in your folds - sliding inside so perfectly, feeling how your walls stretch around his cock accommodating to the intrusion, the warmth of your cunt is welcoming, like the best thing after drugs. Sucking him in so sweetly after every inch sinks into you. Your walls clenched around him, quick to adjust to the curve of his dick that presses so nicely on your g-spot. 

“A bi-i-ig stretch!” That supposed to be a warning before he slides in, to prepare you - instead the timing was wrong. Would be useless, you are no different than any groupies from the past - tell them anything and their brain wouldn’t even process that with the amount of alcohol. It heightens pleasure, but not the thinking process, even worse if you are a dumb bitch - for Leon you are. You blink fast, his cock filling your cunt to the brim, hard and with no other way to feel the emptiness. Almost overwhelming, to tears if you didn’t start already. Leon would have commented if that was the case. 

“Fuck…” You. It doesn’t come out, it remains on the tip of your tongue.Talking is hard. 

“Oh, come on,” Leon bucks his hips, punctuating his words just to see your eyes widen. “I’m already doing that.”

A low grunt, his head dips down to nibble the flesh of your neck - sensitive, scratching you with the light stubble on his face. It is hard to focus on something one, his dick throbs within you, like you were born to have him inside your pussy - never vice versa, he is your dad. His hips slam, your body arches into him, his cock grinds every time hitting deep inside your pussy, to the brim - to the point you feel it so deep you overthink it is in your throat for a moment. Anatomically impossible, maybe it is puke. Fuck, you wish it is not. Thoughts fade as your clit even briefly gets the sweet friction every time his pubic bone presses - coaxing more moans out of you.

His orgasm approaches quickly, one would think it is too quick - he’d blame age first, then maybe tell man’s pleasure is on pedestal. Why would he bother with someone’s pleasure if alcohol gives him whiskey dick. His balls tighten with every slap, the sounds of flesh-hitting, your moans all that invite him to be rougher, to bully your cunt and not caring about stingy redness forming. Every slam inside you, grinding up against the sweet spot just to drag it.  Your body shudders eventually, all teasing, edging didn’t disappear fortunately or not - cumming on your dad���s dick is not the best achievement, it sickens you, fills you with the urge to scrub his touch away. Your walls spasm harder around him as a new wave of hard, pleasant shockwaves dumb every bad thought in the head. 

“Cum.” Your teeth sink in your lower lip after murmuring weakly. Your hands try to dig into his arms, to hold yourself just to end up in a weak grip, sliding down to keep resting uselessly. “Gonna cum— dad!”

It’s a song to his ears - sweet, kicking him back in the past, all groupies identical to each other. They are young, they have legs, they have breasts and hips to hold, more importantly a hole - you have this too, unlike them your eyes are not full of scaring adoration. You don’t look into his eyes as much as they did. And he likes that. Leon noses your jaw, biting the skin of your neck harder than you ever felt, filling his taste buds with mild iron taste and forcing a squeal, light thrashing that fades away after another slam. Your pussy spasms, more fluid gushes easing strokes. It slides nicely, more freedom to bully your clenching hole. You want this to stop, your vision blurs and tries to keep focused - hard, like a kick in your head as Leon shoves his dick deeper. Overwhelmed, guilty, ashamed but arching and wiggling underneath at the non-stop pounding. 

You try to push him away - useless. Another attempt, another hard shove that hits air out of you. He needs his fill, you are not leaving. Your lips open weakly, begging to stop in a breathless whimper. A pressure in your bladder, an uncomfortable press intensifying with every thrust, every hit to the gummy spot making it worse. Too full, too overwhelmed. Your breathing gets even heavier trying to push him off again - useless, everything you try is. Still the irrational panic is present, something is going to happen, you don’t know what. Your pussy clenches harder around him, tightly than ever, trying to stop the upcoming mess, before his pace stops at one last thrust. Deep inside, messy grinding for the last time. The weight of his body presses on you, grunting against your neck leaving no escape. Thick ropes of cum spurt inside you, for a moment everything feels too real - his sperm is warm, sticky and there is too much. And it hits you again. Your legs tremble, trying to push yourself away weakly, but his weight blocks you. Crushes you like a punch in your abdominal. Not the one he expects at least, feeling stuttering spurts drenching his front and the couch underneath you both. 

“Did you just…” Leon leans back, looking down at your pussy filled with his cock. Brow knitted together trying to understand what the fuck just happened. Young girls are nasty, his dick experienced almost everything; puke after a dumb one thought she’d be able to give him a good deepthroat - in some cases he was the one forcing it deeper. Or coke off his dick, a blonde girl eating ice cream before sucking him off - too many, list goes on and he won’t remember everything sincerely. Words don't come out, a little bit shocking as he tries to reminisce in the past just to find something similar: Did you just squirt? Or is that piss?

And you look confused, even more than him. First, unaware of what happened accompanied with lightness in your bladder. Goosebumps wash over your skin, your body sticks together with uncomfortable wetness. You wish it was just a slick with his cum oozing out of your hole, you fucking wish your body didn’t betray you further than this. Leon presses harder against you, his wrist is on your neck, slowly suffocating with pressure. A squeal escapes, not understanding what you did wrong this time. “S–stop!”

“Your daddy made you squirt, what a nasty whore” Leon grins, watching realization slowly settle. “Or you just pissed yourself, grown up pee girl. Pee girl gets a belt. ”

Leon keeps you like this, watching your face go redder and redder with every second before easing the pressure. His soft cock slips out easily from your already leaking hole.  It delves on you, even more when the warmth of his body withdraws completely.

“Fucking mess” Leon grunts. Barely intelligible, you can hear that.  It is a mess, you made this mess - not him. His footsteps slowly dissipate in the loud bam! The calming, muffled sound of water dripping comes from the bathroom. He is showering. You are alone and alcohol doesn’t help. A wave of nausea, it fades just to return in the same violent intensity. 

Dirtiness and shame wash over you. Your body is not yours, like a big wound in your chest that will leave a black, bleeding scar. This is wrong, this shouldn’t have brought you pleasure, you should have been more defiant, kicked him off you, to bite his lip - anything. Dull pain flashes through your body. Sometimes it is okay to kill yourself - no, it is not, you are being dramatic. You still feel his touch, his dick like phantom pain. It does hurt too, he did take something from you. Awkwardly, curling up with your knees close to your chest, arms wrap around them to bring you some sort of peace, like a dog remaining on the couch.

You don’t like your dad.

…

Insomnia torments you, the sound coming out of the streets gives nothing but fear. You still feel out of your shell, even if he hasn't shown up since forever. You think he is dead, buried in some trash can - the end your dad deserves. Every news gives you hope to see his face, not in some scandals or to show nostalgia to the ex-rock king - too see the sweet word, death. 

So close to fall asleep, so close to avoid the bitter black hole growing in your chest every night. Loud noise, forcing you to flinch. You wish it was a bulgar, maybe it is. You’d give him your dad’s guitar, if it was not already sold. You don’t think so, a treasure of his fame, success - something to brag about, remains to gratify his fragile ego. He is home. Another trashing, something falls and a loud “Fuck”, then silence. You can’t live like this anymore. Getting out of a warm bed, the blanket won’t shield you from the blues of this place. Peeking out of the corner, you can’t really see what has fallen but you can clearly see your dad. On the couch. 

Leon looks like a mess, ruffled hair all over his eyes, laying on the couch. He smells awful, unfamiliar now. Maybe you just missed it - not possible. The smell reminds you of death, not so cool as he was in your child's eyes. Now, much cooler is dead. You pour the water in the glass, no way he is going away with this bullshit, you want to see him drown, to be hurt like you were all these days. Quick motion and chilly tap water splashes on him. Easy sober up method! Watching him shudder and flinch, blue eyes filled with confusion, darting around as his hands run through his hair, slickening it back. It eases the emptiness he left. You feel better. 

“What the fuck?” Leon mutters, wet fabric clings to his body, almost see through. Following wetness, it guides you to his jeans. A big damp patch. 

“You made a mess, again” Lie comes out easily. Not really, there is a drop of truth - that’s his fault. He hums, lips corners tense again as if he wants to say something. He is drunk, not helping with the thought process - slower, dumber. Like you were.

“Did I…” Leon inquiries for a moment, then a pause. Piss myself?

“Yea, of course” You nod, your hand hides the glass behind you. “Looks like the Apple doesn't fall far from the tree” 

[creature-wizard]

Here are some tips for appropriate behavior as an ally:

99% of the time, you should not talk about yourself (like mentioning things you've done or how something makes you feel) on somebody else's post. There are a few exceptions (like a personal anecdote that strengthens OP's point), but usually it's inappropriate.

You might see a post talking about a thing and feel compelled to talk about another thing it reminds you of or feels adjacent to. Sometimes people don't mind this, but it's also highly contextual and depends on the person you're responding to. Usually, it's considered inappropriate behavior.

When in doubt, add nothing and only use filing tags. Remember, you can always make your own post or vent in a private journal.

Learn to manage your own feelings and work through them in appropriate settings. Practice mindfulness, try journaling, talk to your friends, a therapist, your priest, whatever. People advocating for their rights have a lot to do and worry about, it's not reasonable to expect them to manage your feelings or listen to your confessions.

It takes time to learn how to talk about issues with all of the depth and nuance they deserve. Trying to be a teacher after a few weeks of research is a bad idea. If you're new and not well-read, focus on boosting other people's stuff.

Research stuff for yourself as much as you can. There are some people who will be happy to explain things for you, but lots of people are tired and nobody likes repeating the same 101 stuff forever. Searching DuckDuckGo for simple phrases like "systemic racism" or "systemic transphobia" are good places to start.

Go read Information Literacy Basics 101 while you're at it, to improve your research game.

Everybody advocating for their rights is tired and stressed out to some degree. Don't take it personally if they're short with you, and refrain from snapping back. Yes, even if you think they're wrong.

You should generally trust oppressed people when they talk about their own personal experiences, but you don't have to take literally everything they tell you at face value. Distinguishing between people talking about their own experiences and the narratives they use to explain and makes sense of those experiences is a crucial skill.

Posts generalizing about a privileged class are not inherently posts demonizing a privileged class. "All men want to rape" is demonization, "cis men are responsible for most rape" is not. Learn to distinguish between them and don't react to the latter as if it's the former. Bend like a reed in the wind and let it pass over you and through you etc.

Feeling uncomfortable is to be expected, and you have to get used to it. You will hear a lot of things that reframe a lot of things you took for granted in a very negative way. That said - you need to be able to distinguish between feeling uncomfortable and accumulating actual psychological damage. If you start feeling like you're irreparably broken or like you deserve to be punished for having privilege, that's unhealthy.

Acknowledging systemic oppression and the need to dismantle it doesn't mean you need to adopt an us vs. them mentality. In fact, that kind of mentality is unhealthy and harmful. Watch out for that because it can sneak up on you.

No matter what anyone tells you, performatively traumatizing yourself (such as by viewing gory pictures) is not activism. See Bellingcat's article How to Maintain Mental Hygiene as an Open Source Researcher.

You might be tempted to share gory photos because you think it'll get more attention and make people care more. However, sharing photos of murder victims is widely considered disrespectful and traumatizing people will not make them better activists.

This is what I've got right now; additions are welcome.

[voidmetal-alloy]

This is gonna be pretty long but I realised a while ago that Bass and Zero both kinda have the traits that Wily wanted the other to have and I need to ramble about it for a while

Zero was designed to be an unstoppable war machine, meant to awaken when Wily would no longer be around to deal with the consequences of whatever kind of monster he turned out to be : Bass is aggressive, ruthless and will stop at nothing to get what he wants, willing to harm anyone who gets in his way be it through backstabbing or brute force. But we also know that Bass canonically does have a good heart and deep down he does enjoy being appreciated for who he is, and his cruel and selfish personality is more than likely a result of Wily’s influence on him in his early development, passing down his inflated ego and stubbornness, meaning that he still has the potential for good if he can finally accept that he’s still worth something even if he’s not the best, the lesson that Wily never learned and never taught.

Bass was designed to be Wily’s right hand man and follow his every word, built strong enough to make it through any failed world domination attempt : Zero is loyal, strategic and very capable, he’s more than willing to lay down his life for the people he cares for and to make hard decisions that will work out better for them in the long run, even if it means that he has to suffer, and Wily’s shortsightedness is exactly what made him this way. He foolishly assumed that giving Zero instructions and encouraging his violent tendencies through his subconscious would be enough, failing once again to recognise the pattern of rebellion that shows up time and time again in his robots. When Zero awakens from what has no doubt been a hundred years of being told he’s made for nothing but death, he’s shown kindness and compassion and, most importantly, understanding, allowing him to find a place where his battle skills are not only needed but appreciated. It’s because of this that he develops a hesitation to listen to what his original instructions were, and then he’s forced to endure the pain and consequences of the monster he was supposed to be when Sigma succumbs to the Maverick virus, and Wily’s plans for him become just another nightmare that his loved ones can comfort him through.

If Wily had been kinder to Bass and more encouraging of who he is outside his strength, he could’ve been that loyal soldier, and if he had been more observant with his faults he could’ve foreseen that pushing Zero with flashbacks and nightmares and forcing a purpose on him would drive him away and make him question himself. But the Wily that loves Bass for who he is isn’t the Wily that builds Zero for destruction.

A final note; I think that one of the main things stopping Bass from following the same path of redemption as Zero is that everyone trying to redeem him makes him feel that his love for battle is something he should be ashamed of, even if they aren’t trying to: Rock tells him he “doesn’t have to fight” never considering that he might want to regardless of his morals, Proto is too vague about his advice (which is typically just that he should reconsider his reasons for fighting, not that he should stop outright.) and usually ends up frustrating him, etc. the only character who hasn’t accidentally shamed Bass for enjoying fighting is Duo, who just tells him he’s a little weird but still a cool guy which Bass seems to like hearing.

[thecatchat]

Free fic idea because I know I'm going to run out of energy if I try to write it myself.

Takes place after the realized ending. I don't know what the cannon ending is but I'm imagining they definitely buy a bar together and name it The Breaker Box, but they eventually realize that running a human bar requires more than two people, no matter how much they try. So they hire a small amount of staff, I'm thinking no more than 4 people.

This would be a 5 times someone learned something new (or odd) about their bosses and the 1 time it made sense/someone put it all together.

1. Volt and Eddie kiss in front of a homophobic costumer, revealing that they're a couple to the employees.

2. Eddie adopts an orange alley cat and names them Copper. Copper disappears for a few days and Eddie is fine (he's overworking himself with worry. He's replacing lightbulbs whenever he can get away with it, none of them are actually burnt out.) When Copper comes back, they drop 3 kittens in Eddie's lap and curl up at his feet. ("I'm not a cat dad, I'm a cat uncle at most.") The kittens names all relate to electricity. Due to this, Volt or Eddie reveal that electricity, or even specifically a breaker box, was the reason they met in the first place and refuse to elaborate.

Rest under the cut because it got really long.

3. The staff are invited to a team building thing, it could be a party or an escape room or whatever. Point is: there are black lights illuminating the space. Volt sees his reflection under black light, sees how his hair looks like it's glowing and shuts down? Maybe even starts crying without realizing it? Either way, when Eddie is going to comfort him, one of the employees hear Volt say "my hair is glowing again." Or something along those lines. The employees learn that Volt has an emotional reaction to his white hair glowing.

4. One night, the breaker trips due to a storm and Eddie runs off to fix it almost like a mad man. Volt is caught up keeping the guests calm and entertained so when it takes Eddie a while, an employee goes to check on him. They find him staring angrily/confused at the breaker box and mumbling like he's missing something. The employee flips the switch on the breaker and Eddie is startled out of his trance. When asked why he didn't flip the switch he's like "I- I couldn't feel it." Now he's shut down and/or tearing up. The employee panics a bit, puts a cat on him then goes and tells Volt what's happening. The employees aren't sure what they've learned, but it's definitely something.

5. Somebody gets a little violent/rowdy at the bar or an after closing repair goes a little wrong and Eddie or Volt gets hurt, dealers choice. Now, I think realization shouldn't come without its quirks, some more obvious than others. For Volt and Eddie, I think their blood should be blue. Our blood looks red because when the iron in it oxidizes with air it becomes a red color. If the blood has copper instead of iron, like Horseshoe Crab blood, it appears blue when oxidized. Copper wires = copper blood = blue blood.

So all 4 employees see that their employer is bleeding blue. Everyone is shocked, eventually the unhurt boss calls Freya, because they can not go to a hospital for this. In the meantime while they wait. "Um, is that blood?" "No." "What is it then?" "... blood can't be blue." "Horseshoe crabs have blue blood! They're really cool animals." "... human blood isn't blue." "..."

In the days following, lots of really odd people swing by specifically to talk to Volt/Eddie. Whoever you want, just, individually, any resemblance to an object is a fun thing to see. But when every single person who's specifically asking after your boss reminds of something/is a very distinct personality, it begins to pile up that something is weird.

+1 - I think this point could be told from Eddie and/or Volts pov. Basically, the employees are trying to figure out what kind of magical creature their bosses are. Someone tried to stick a fridge magnet on Eddie (robot). Someone flicked water at Volt (Holy water, vampire). They both keep getting poked with metal things (Iron, Fae). Eventually they call up a meeting to tell them to knock it off.

"You tell us what you think we are and we'll tell you if you're correct or not." "Hint: we're human." *a few incorrect guesses* "um, more of a question than a guess. But, um, were you cursed to be a breaker box? At some point?" "..." "..." "..." "Volt. Don't." "I didn't say anything."

Up to the author if they fully explain the house thing or if they basically go, "You're not right, but you're not wrong either. No more questions." Either way, I think that could be the end of the fic.

[vm-haunts]

The world shaked apart around them as they moved further away from the hospital, debris covering their tracks and buries their way back.

It worked out alright though, in the end.

Between Ghost's help and Jason's better control, they managed well enough to keep the body alive in the chaos around them.

Ghost... isn't entirely sure why that is important when they're both ghosts, but he knows it is.

...

The people around them is... Hard to focus on.

Ghost first noticed at the hospital, with the doctors and nurses passing in and out of their room. They all feel like the cutout background crowd in a cartoon, to him at least.

Jason is getting better, slightly more aware and for longer every time he wakes up. Still, there is no way to tell how much he retains between his wakings, and communication is still hard despite his efforts.

So perhaps the reason Ghost felt like they're drifting is because the other people are all so alive, when they're both dead, and the dead isn't meant to interact with the living. Or perhaps it's because Ghost isn't anchored to anything living, and Jason who is wouldn't feel the foggy glass between him and the world at all.

Whatever the reason may be, if Jason can feel the world better than he does or not, it doesn't change the fact that they just drift through the living's world without much interaction.

Which makes it that much harder to notice, and that much more jarring too, when the living does manage to impact them.

...

Here's a secret: they remembered how to break a man's every finger before they remembered to eat every day.

Although, both realizations actually happened together when they fell over the passed out man, so it doesn't really matter anyway.

It could also be because one is an active threat to them, and the other is an... inconvenience that neither of them had to worry about for a long while.

Between the grave and the hospital, Ghost isn't even sure when was the last time Jason actually has to eat anything. His ghostly self doesn't remember eating anything, ever.

The only thing that matters is that they did remember, when they collapsed after giving the man a broken hand.

The guy has enough on him for a meal or two. It's harder to find somewhere to get said meal, and harder still to get things past their throat, but it worked.

Now they just have to remember to do it often enough the body don't shut down.

...

There's chaos everywhere, ruins and rubbles in place of buildings and streets.

Ghost isn't sure if that makes it better or worse.

On one hand, they fit right in with the miserable people camping out on the streets. No one cares if they can't respond right, not when so many others is just as unresponsive. Shock, ghost recalls, something that'll turn normal people into half living ghosts too. Metaphorically.

On the other hand, they don't know where else to go. Jason still wants to find Bruce, and as much as ghost wanted to help, he has no idea what else he can do when neither of them has a clue on where to and how.

Without a clear destination, the only thing they can do for now is stumble around blind, but Ghost doubt they can sustain it forever. Sure they are getting better at moving the body, but trying anything beyond the most basic instincts remains a struggle.

Guess they'll figure it out as things comes by.

...

There are... people, watching them.

Ghost isn't sure what they want. They aren't like the others that wants their spot to sleep, or the food they aquired. But they must want something from them, even if they can't figure out what.

Jason is wary, though Ghost doesn't feel any kind of hostility from them. They felt like the crows in the graveyard, or the shadows that lives in them. Watching because they're curious, or bored, or because they're told to.

Ghost suppose it doesn't hurt to be careful around them.

So these people watched them, from a distance, and they watched back. On and off again they caught sight of each other, as Ghost and Jason make their way around the crumpled city.

...

They walked some more.

One day they got to the seaside, where they can see the reminants of some collapsed bridges. Jason almost lost it when they did, and ghost still can't tell why.

Ghost steered them away from the ocean after that.

Another time a bunch of clowns tried to jump them outside of a park, but Ghost can clearly hear them scheming. They turned and left before the stupid clowns can start anything, and stayed away from the parks.

The people watching them disappeared for a while, and something is different when they cone back.

The chaos continues in the streets, but the scent of death is letting up. Change is on the horizon, Ghost can tell even without the crows.

...

They tried not to sleep at the same time, but sometimes they still crashes together.

They were moved again, is the first thing Ghost noticed when he wakes up. The second is that they are sitting in a room, with more people watching them.

He was wrong apparently, these people aren't like the crows and the shadows. They are speaking, he thinks, and it's clearer than any other people speaking, but the words eluded him unlike the crow's.

He has no idea if Jason even noticed they were moved. He's been out of it ever since they went to the seaside.

After a while ghost lost interest in the people watching them, when they presented no more threat nor entertainment.

When they wakes again, there is a lady with them, in green rather than black.

Lost Ghosts

[continuation of Little Prayers]

Something went wrong.

The boy woke up. The ghost knew that Jason would wake up, knew it with a surety when he doesn't know anything else. He had been waiting for that moment, for a fellow ghost to emerge ever since he felt Jason's first wobbly core speak.

But that's the problem, isn't it? He was waiting for a fellow ghost to come out of the grave, not- not for the boy to wake up back in his body, still stuck in the casket!

Soon the faint sounds of movement from beneath the grave turned into frantic scratching, and the ghost ties himself into knots with worry. What is he supposed to do? He need to get the boy out, body and all, but how? He had tried digging, but his claws are no help when it pass straight through the earth without moving a single blade of grass.

A distressed cry for help comes from beneath, and suddenly the ghost is hit with a memory. His very first memory really, of a warehouse, of sealed doors, of a freshly forming core's first cry.

Most importantly, of moving a half dead body around.

The ghost frowns at his claws and tried to think. A moment later he sinks into the grave with a reassuring hum, and the faint scratching turned into loud rakes of claws on wood.

...

Breaking through the silk and wood of a casket is a simple task, when sharp claws are involved.

Digging free through six feet of crushing dirt is much harder, but the ghost managed. It does get significantly easier after he found a way to pass through the earth again, this with the boy's body in tow.

The real challenge though, comes after they're out of the grave. Namely it comes in the form of figuring out how to walk. In a physical body. With legs.

Oh he can control the upper half just fine, his own ghostly self has similar enough bits. But legs? Tough luck. Not to mention that this body is also affected by annoying things like physics and gravity.

Even worse, he is also running out of energy, fast.

After the fifth time they land on soft muddy ground, the ghost huffed out a cold breath and laid there for a long second. Five falls in twenty yards, this really isn't going well at all. The edge of exhaustion is closing in swiftly and moving in the boy's body is getting harder by the second. At this rate they're never gonna make it out of the graveyard.

The ghost blinked, and took a moment too long to open his eyes again.

Distantly, he had the impression that someone is laughing.

[bambi-kinos]

John in interviews seemed most focused on being in control of a narrative to the point that it’s hard to discern his true thoughts and feelings. When it comes to comments on Paul he comes off aggressively dismissive and self righteously defensive over perceived wrongs done to him and Yoko. He all but insists he creatively outgrew Paul and finds Paul’s creative default to be lacking in depth and sometimes when he tries really hard, he churns out something of worth (he really nailed that specific brand of backhanded compliments). It’s like he pities Paul for wanting the band to go on and then condescends him for taking the measures to dissolve their partnership. Paul seemed to have taken a more or less neutral stance where he jabbed back but didn’t hit back nearly hard enough—makes me wonder how John would’ve reacted had Paul been just as intentionally hurtful or whether he just went fully cold and totally silent on any thoughts on John. What do you make of it all?

Paul's attitude is that he learned a long time ago not to try and compete with John with insults. He considers John to be a great wit and capable of saying very cruel and hurtful things. Paul doesn't have that kind of killer instinct and there's discussion buried in my blog about it, because Mike McCartney made a comment many years ago that he and Paul shared this with James McCartney, that they don't have the ability to just be cruel to someone that way. And because John was famous, no one was willing to form a fist and slam it into the top of his skull to flatten him into an accordion, Tom & Jerry style. And truthfully I think Paul knew that John was full of shit and lashing out.

The thing is John isn't actually that cutting or insulting? Like apparently one of the """""""witty""""""" jokes that he had in Hamburg was that Stuart was a Cancer sign or something and that meant LOL YOU'LL DIE OF CANCER and other such lame as fuck attempts at being funny. For some bizarre reason everyone was scared of John so no one was willing to tell him to his face that he was a dumbass and should stick to music.

So frankly I've always been confused as to how Paul ever got offended over the shitty things John said about him in the 1970s because 70s John's utterances are comedy gold. He just didn't see it because he was such a turd and he forged a mini media empire from fatherless brown nosers who desperately sought his approval. (Because THEN they could go "Fuck you father, John Lennon is my new dad!!!!!!!!!" Jann Wenner would 100% of be photoshopping his face over Sean's in the Ono family photos on Instagram if this were taking place in the 21st century. And he would proudly display them on Twitter with some "blessings from our family <3" caption.)

But I'm getting off track. The point of all this is that yeah, John was a narcissist and Paul didn't hit back as hard as he deserved. John was extremely reactionary, he was willing to say absolutely anything if it hurt Paul no matter how idiotic or contradictory. Remember that he could do this because he deliberately recruited journalists who were willing to print whatever he said and never challenge him ever, he didn't want anyone with a backbone that was willing to say "wait a minute, that doesn't make sense."

At the end of the day I think Paul had to make a decision. Did he want to punch back, hard, at a guy with notorious anger issues that was hopped up on drugs and willing to shit out lies on demand? Or did he want to say "shut the fuck up John" and pump out six brand new albums in the time it took for John's limo to reach the Rolling Stones news desk lmao. Paul seems to have understood that John's interviews only really amounted to a bunch of hot air and that what really mattered was the musical output. And that is where Paul excels and eventually John folded up into the fetal position while Paul dominated the entire world with Wings. At which point John magically stopped giving so many interviews, had a kid, and started puttering around his house in his robe and hair curlers reading the Dear Abby and astrology sections of the newspaper. Lmao.

The important thing to remember about John during the 1970s is that he was a drunk dumbass that was walking around high all the time. Junkies are black holes of selfishness and cruelty. Paul doesn't have to waste his time with an insult war on a guy who tried to murder his girlfriend in a hot tub and then sniveled about it the next day. Objectively speaking. What exactly is the difference between John and the poor bastard on Skid Row? The fact that he has money?

John's words were hurtful as all get out but Paul won the war. He had a beautiful wife who loved him, children who he was present for, a nice home that he had tons of fun renovating himself, a London property, experiences traveling all over the world, and he could pick and choose his substances and didn't struggle with addiction. At the time John was just another washed up remnant of the 1960s who couldn't hack it in the 1970s and on top of that he helpfully contributed to the Nixon campaign by being such an loudmouth pest the he helped polarize the American public into voting for Nixon in a landslide. Nice job breaking it hero.

If I were Paul then I wouldn't waste time with putdowns either. He already knew he had won in every conceivable avenue and that John's words were meaningless wind. He and eventually George, conceived of the most brutal punishment imaginable for a man like John Lennon: they ignored him. Paul did not spend every minute of the 70s fretting over John, he got on with his life and focused on his children and music. I imagine there were stretches of weeks and maybe even months where he simply did not think about John because John was not doing anything noteworthy or important. I suspect part of the reason why John gave those interviews in the first place was because he was trying to get Paul's attention and couldn't be civil over a phone call.

The simple fact of the matter is that John played well with the media but the tastes of the masses side with Paul every single time. He consistently outsells the other Beatles, put out tons of new music that mostly every body loves, and makes a specific point of putting his thumb in the eyes of critics who have to review his albums knowing they'll be successful lmao. John had plenty of mass success but it just wasn't a competition since Paul broke that standard over his knee. Liking John is more of an ideological point now rather than a musical one. Paul has won the music war which was the only one that actually mattered. And they both knew that.

[ckret2]

Can you give us more Scaramouche/Aku content please? I crave this ship/their dynamic

With pleasure! have a bunch of headcanons

I'm currently working on a fic so I'm (mostly) trying to avoid headcanons that'd spoil parts of that fic. most of these are ideas I've left in comments or DMs but haven't put in an actual post, so the topics are all over the place.

this is one of those "this got so long that i'm unironically giving it a table of contents so i remember what's in it" posts.

a note on chronology

aku's (baselessly) worried jack could use scaramouche against him

once that's not a concern, EVERYONE'S gotta watch the wedding.

if aku's in love he's insufferable about showing off his beloved.

and insufferable about showing off for him.

scaramouche is the only bot in his line with a crush on the boss

his line was custom designed to meet aku's aesthetic tastes

scaramouche at karaoke night

scaramouche & his aku tattoos engravings

no matter who asks for the first date, it goes badly

aku's big on gift giving. like, 💰💰💰💸💳💎💍👑🔑

lot of people go "aku had a robot boyfriend built for him?? cringe"

don't use cute pet names on aku, it might kill him

"trading assassinations for dinner dates" romcom

1. some of these headcanons are pre-relationship, some are during a relationship. whenever I mentally insert scaraku into canon I never interpret it as "Aku & Scaramouche are having a relationship off-screen we just don't see." Instead, my interpretation is "Scaramouche has a decades-long crush on Aku; Aku would reciprocate if he knew, but he doesn't, and so it's never occurred to him that romance with a robot is even an option."

So any headcanons about them together as a couple aren't set in the canon timeline, but some alternate timeline where they get together (and obviously aku didn't blow up scaramouche's head.)

2. Aku's never struck me as bashful or self-conscious about his desires. If he wants something, it's everybody's business. he's telling the whole planet and if he isn't handed what he wants in five minutes he's stealing it. I imagine he'd be the same way about romance.

With one exception: when Jack's around. If Jack were to fall in love, Aku wouldn't hesitate for a second to use Jack's love interest against him (even, as it turns out, if that love interest is Aku's own flesh and blood), so he sort of assumes Jack would do the same to him. Even though Jack's a good guy. Like that would probably be one of those "for the greater good" things Aku's heard about.

Love is a weak spot. If Jack stabs Scaramouche through the chest, it'll be Aku's heart that feels it. (like, metaphorically—but I guess also literally since Scaramouche is powered with Aku essence? but we're talking about the metaphor right now.) I doubt Aku's been in love or whatever-close-approximation-passes-as-love-for-him very often, if ever before. He's not used to having a vulnerability like that. This little robot is a piece of Aku's heart that's much MUCH easier to kill than the rest of Aku is.

So as long as a guy eager and able to kill Aku is running around, Aku won't want the world to learn about this new weakness. Any relationship is top secret and Scaramouche isn't allowed to get anywhere near Jack.

3. But the second Jack's no longer a threat—OR if Jack somehow finds out about them so there's no point keeping it a secret—every TV channel on the planet is interrupted with a broadcast from Aku going "what's up bitches i'm getting married and you have to watch it or die" (he probably doesn't say it like that.)

if "Jack's no longer a threat" overlaps with "Jack's still alive" for some reason (truce? lost his sword again??), Aku's making a big deal out of inviting his daughter to the wedding and mentioning in the invitation that she can bring a +1. like, oh of course I'M not inviting the samurai, but I care about him so little that i'm not even telling you you can't bring him. that's how unimportant he is. double insult.

the wedding thing's a half joke. but like if it happened it'd go like that.

4. When Aku's got nothing to fear, he'd be SO annoying about being in a relationship. Only the greatest specialest little robot in the world could possibly have won the almighty Aku's attention, much less affection, and that means Scaramouche is the best and Aku's gonna show him off; disrespect this robot and you are disrespecting Aku (he will kill you). This is his Yoko Ono, his George Viliers. Half the world's gonna grow to really hate Scaramouche.

Scaramouche isn't bothered by this. They just hate him because he snagged the ruler of the world. Suck his hypothetical penis.

5. having a romantic relationship would just make aku even more over-the-top. Being in the same room as someone he feels loved by would puff up his ego like a helium balloon. Usually he has to keep that ego inflated by himself! Getting regular tributes from enslaved subjects can only do so much for him when he KNOWS they're only doing it on his orders; having just one person he genuinely likes who thinks the WORLD of him—not because he forced them to—would do more for him than a hundred dumb monuments in the ocean.

Scaramouche walks in and immediately smiles when he sees him and Aku knows he means it and instantly gets a little giddy, and now he's like I've gotta show off. kills the next person who walks into the room.

6. I've mentioned that I headcanon Scaramouche is just one unit in a line of robots designed & programmed similarly to him: same basic body, same initial skillset, same emotion programming—which means same preprogrammed loyalty to Aku.

Yet Scaramouche is the only one who developed a crush on the boss.

The rest of them are like "yeah of course i'm loyal to the boss to the end, but if the samurai ever actually kills him, either i'll keep working for whoever replaces him or go find some other job. i probably wouldn't even be sad about it." and meanwhile scaramouche is like "if the samurai ever kills the boss i'm just gonna kill myself too. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ no, wait. if the samurai kills the boss, I'M gonna have to go find a time portal so i can go back and stop HIM—" and the rest are like "what's wrong with you."

every once in a while he'll have a conversation with the other robo-assassins that ends with something like "what do you MEAN the rest of you don't think Aku's handsome?!?!" "WHAT'S HANDSOME ABOUT HIM??" "if he's not the standard by which you judge all other beauty, then i don't know how to explain it to you."

They're all painfully aware of Scaramouche's crush. They have all let him know they think he's an idiot. Somebody dropped a poll in the robo-assassin group chat, "DO YOU THINK AKU LIKE-LIKES SCARAMOUCHE?" 1 vote yes 11 votes no. The yes vote is a lie based on hope.

7. when Scaramouche's line was being built, the scientists told Aku that these were gonna be some super advanced robots—they've got programming for emotions and evolving personalities so they can continue to develop after they're built, they're designed to be able to survive with like 99% of their bodies blown up so that they can be rebuilt with their memories intact, these are the assassin bots of the future, these things will be usable for centuries if not longer.

And Aku went "well if i've gotta stare at these things for that long, then I at least want to like looking at them." so he told the scientists how he wanted them to look.

Which means that, without realizing it, Aku had these bots custom-designed to be particularly handsome according to his personal aesthetic standards. which shouldn't have been an issue, it's not the first time he's told his scientists "if I'm gonna be using these things then I want to like how they look," that's how he ended up with an army of beetles. except then one of these very pretty bots started hitting on him.

8. aku's in an interesting position where he basically defines "mainstream" culture—he's this world's government and god and has been for millennia, HE'S the one broadcasting propaganda, HE gets to decide what's on the airwaves; but at the same time he's also kind of the counterculture because, like… nobody wants this. nobody likes him being in charge. but in either case he's at the center of global culture. culture is defined by its orbit of him.

so people write songs about him, or songs using him as a metaphor for something else, as one does about major cultural figures. and songs about him might be:

part of mainstream culture: you know those christian rock songs that sing about jesus in a way that kind of makes you go "is the singer in love with jesus orrr—?" those, except about aku

part of the counterculture: you know how christian songs sing about the devil? those, except about aku. he considers songs about him being evil fine, but songs about casting him out/rejecting him/getting rid of him/him being defeated by some higher purer power are Not Approved, you're risking some trouble playing songs like that. but they're still written.

part of the counter-counterculture: you know how like tongue-in-cheek satanic metal bands sing about the devil? "he's awful he's terrible he's the worst yay yahoo hurray we love him"? those, except about aku. they basically loop back around to being mainstream in spite of somehow also being opposite of the mainstream songs.

"what's this got to do with scaraku?" never go to karaoke night with scaramouche because all you're getting is songs from category 1 and category 3.

9. Scaramouche has at least one engraving on his body dedicated to Aku. He possibly gets more. He's got like, you know those full sleeve tats that look like an oni or a dragon or whatever? Gets an engraving like that but it's of Aku.

To whoever does Scaramouche's engravings, he probably comes across as like,, one of those unhinged ultra-patriotic nationalists who gets a bunch of tattoos of the cult of personality dictator. Okay, creepo, as long as you're paying for them

tattoo artist doesn't find out Scaramouche is anything other than a crazy patriot until the day he comes in beaming looking like somebody used a jackhammer to carve the word "AKU" in his chest and asks for it to be filled in with gold. "It's kinda sloppy, you sure you don't want it cleaned up?" "Nope!" "Where'd you get this one done?" "Autograph from the boss himself!" "What." surely this robot means LITERALLY an autograph. Like at a meet and greet or something.

on some other engraving, "Okay, do you want the face filled in with gold like the other engravings, or do you want enamel so I can get it red and green?" "Uhhh… hold on." Pulls out his phone "hey Aku baby!!! Do you want your face in gold or enamel?" "Dude what the fuck, do you have his number?" They're like half a dozen engravings deep before the artist is like wait what do you mean you actually know him. What do you mean you're in love with him. Not sure if that's better or worse than the crazy patriot thing.

10. if Aku's the first one to ask for a date he's gonna unintentionally scare the shit out of Scaramouche. internal monologue: "should i ask him if he's free tomorrow? wait. why would i ask. i'm the one who gives him his jobs, i should know if he's free. i can make him free."

Scaramouche, talking to the robo-assassin group chat: "babes i think i fucked up :(" shares a screenshot with the group chat of a text from Aku that says "I'm canceling your next job. Report to my audience chamber tomorrow."

there are characters who are careful about navigating the nuances of a relationship with a significant power imbalance, and aku is not one of them. (Whatever Aku loves is HIS, and he'll take good care of them, treasure them, give them anything they want—but they don't get a say in the matter. If Aku's in love, the beloved doesn't get the option to say no.)

It's better for everyone if Scaramouche makes the first move—but he's been trying to make the first move for like the past twenty years and the hints fly straight past Aku. He's invited Aku to like five different public executions and every time Aku's turned him down thinking "well he just mentioned he was going to the execution and asked if I wanted to go too, only a fool would talk about their weekend plans in front of the lord and master of all and then exclude him, he only invited me to be polite."

11. Aku's INCREDIBLY grandiose with affectionate favors & gifts. he owns everything, he can do that.

like,, he approaches scaramouche like "hey i do a lot of business in this big city, i should get a permanent place to stay when i visit, you spend a lot of time in that city right? do my househunting for me, let me know which places you think are best. the budget is five million bucks—minimum." and after scaramouche gushes about a few places aku gets one and goes "ok here's the key." "wait, didn't you get this place so YOU'D have somewhere to stay?" "i did. this place has seven damn bedrooms, i'm sure you can keep one set aside as a guest room for me."

Scaramouche doesn't even want expensive stuff. expensive stuff is nice, but that's not what he's here for, he just wants aku. now he gets aku AND expensive stuff. he's the luckiest robot in the world.

he tries to return the favor, but unlike aku he's on a budget. he's not above stealing gifts, though. most common gifts he brings are jewels of various kinds—bonus if they're magical. the boss likes pretty enchanted rocks, and what the boss wants, he gets.

12. there are definitely some people who see Aku, who is the most single a person has ever been, get together with a robot, and assume "that guy's so lonely and so unpopular that he got some kind of sex bot built & programmed to be his boyfriend so he can pretend he's loved."

if Scaramouche overhears any claims like that, his response is generally "do you wanna see just what i was built & programmed to do?" 🗡️🗡️🗡️

"Aku's #1 assassin" isn't a SUPER well-known celebrity position—but it's well-known enough for a lot of people to instantly reverse their position on aku's new toy when they hear his name. oh you mean THAT scaramouche? scaramouche the merciless?? ohhh.

13. Aku is not designed to accept affectionate statements and terms of endearment. ZERO defenses against it. throwing a pet name at aku is like unleashing an invasive species on a delicate ecosystem: that thing does NOT belong here and it's gonna demolish everything in its path. aku has no antibodies for this virus. a single cutesy nickname can KO him for an hour.

Scaramouche calls him "hot stuff" and his entire face catches on fire and that's how Scaramouche learns what Aku's version of a blush looks like.

the latent leftover code from X-49 buried deep in Scaramouche's programming surfaces and he unthinkingly calls aku "sweet thing," and aku excuses himself from his audience chamber to melt in a puddle in his bed and stare at the ceiling. what is this nonsense. he is not a thing that is sweet. it's absurd. he's not thinking about anything else for the rest of the afternoon.

scaramouche is convinced he just keeps accidentally insulting aku.

14. In the IDW comics, in one issue there's a running gag about Aku upgrading Jack's bounty to "20 googolplex and a dinner date with Aku." in the depths of my DMs there's a serial killer romcom fic I'm never gonna write where Aku offers a dinner date as part of the bounty for various high-level targets, with the tacit understanding that what this means is more like "you get aku's attention for an hour to attempt to network with him or plead for your family's safety or whatever you want. and you get dinner out of it."

except scaramouche manages to take out one of these targets, goes on one dinner date, INSTANTLY falls in love even though aku did absolutely nothing to try to impress him, and starts knocking out one name on Aku's Most Wanted list after another to rack up these dinner dates.

the second time it happens aku goes "this bot again?" the fifth or sixth time it happens aku goes "this bot AGAIN???????" after the thirtieth time it happens he's going "it's been three weeks since scaramouche took out a target with a dinner date attached, what's taking him so long??"

after like the 10th date scaramouche is telling everyone he knows "yeah aku and i are definitely officially a couple" and simultaneously aku's thinking "i wonder if scaramouche would be interested in making things official. ... no, of course not, if he was interested he wouldn't only ask me out when he's collecting a bounty."

scaramouche's pals are trying to convince him that if he and aku were an item, aku wouldn't require him to kill somebody every time they go out—"he's a busy guy, that's just his excuse to make time for me!"—and meanwhile aku's sitting on his throne staring at his phone trying to telepathically command scaramouche to call him.

this idea is more silly than anything else. the idea of Aku, Shogun of Sorrow, Master of Masters waiting for a call from his kind-of-unofficial-boyfriend like a lovesick teen just amuses the hell out of me.

[littlefreakiesaesthetics]

and we're back with another oc ask game

(pro tip: name some ocs in the tags when you reblog this so newcomers can ask with ease, and be sure to send an ask to the person you reblog it from!)

Your character needs help--with what is up to you. Who are they calling, if anybody?

Your character is at a yard sale. What are they hoping to find?

If you could only describe your character as either silly OR serious, no nuance, which would you pick? The answer can be as deep or as superficial as you like.

Does your character collect anything? If not, what's something they might collect if they did?

Ask your character what one thing they want most in life. What do they say out loud? What's the real answer?

What does your character dip their fries in?

What classic monster (ghosts, zombies, werewolves, vampires, whatever) would your character be most scared of?

What's something your character has been picked on for?

Would your character rather visit the past or the future? How far they'd like to go is up to you.

Your character is going on their dream vacation! If cost wasn't an issue, what sort of place would they like to go? Hot, cold, busy, quiet, near, far?

What sort of vacation would your character realistically be able to take, considering their budget, schedule, needs, etc?

Talk about somebody your character misses.

How does your character feel about dandelions?

Is your character difficult to cheer up when they're feeling bad?

How does your character feel about nicknames, including shortened versions of their name? What do they prefer to be called?

Your character finds a stray kitten living under their porch. What do they do?

Your character is in a gift shop of a zoo, museum, aquarium, etc of your choosing. What are they buying, if anything?

Where and how does your character most enjoy listening to music? (In the car, at home, with headphones, out loud on a player, etc)

How affectionate is your character? How do they show it?

What's something your character's loved ones associate with them?

Does your character find it easy to open up to people?

How would somebody who knows your character describe their fashion sense?

Your character visits somebody's house, and the dog is jumping all over them. How do they react?

What's your character's favorite source of protein? Could be a specific food like a bacon cheeseburger or a general one like beef.

Are there any animals your character doesn't like or doesn't want to be around for any reason?

If somebody asked your character what they want right now, what would they say?

Your character has to go somewhere that would take about 5-10 minutes for the average person to walk. How do they get there? (Walk, bike, drive, get a ride, etc)

How much does your character care about money?

Your character is going to make some sort of artwork today, whether they want to or not. What kind of medium/materials are they using?

Your character doesn't understand what somebody is talking about. Do they ask for clarification?

[wisteria-lodge]

From a Watsonian standpoint, who do you think fell in love first between Grindelwald and Dumbledore? What about each other do you believe made them gravitate towards one another?

I think Dumbledore fell first, and Grindelwald fell harder.

Eighteen year old Albus is… lonely. It’s a loneliness coming from a few places. One is his own brilliance: Nicholas Flamel is maybe at his level, he’s a mentor slowly becoming a professional peer... but he’s all the way over in Italy. Elphias Doge? Half in love with Albus, half in hero-worship. That’s a problem Albus will have his entire life. He’s got people who worship him, and people work for him. But very few people who actually consider themselves to be his equal. 

Albus’ other problem is the way he’s hiding a pretty brutal home life. Ariana is dangerous and unstable (the rumors are that his sister's a squib, but he can’t confirm or deny that.) The only reason people don’t think of Albus as the son of Percival Dumbledore the Muggle killer is because Albus’ own accomplishments really are that extreme. He is the shining golden child so people don’t look too closely at what's going on within his family. No part of Albus wants to be at home with them - he wants to be away at school, he wants to be on a European tour with Elphias Dosge (and don’t tell me Elphias wasn’t low-key footing most of the bill for that trip…) 

But then his mother dies/is killed by Ariana, Albus becomes responsible for his brother and sister. Because Ariana can’t be moved, that means he’s also effectively tied to Godric’s Hollow. It’s stressful. It’s boring. Albus has no one to talk to.

And then Gellert moves in. It must’ve felt like the sun breaking through clouds. He’s beautiful. He’s fascinating. He’s on Albus’ intellectual level. And he’s not suck like Abus is. No, he’s driven, he has plans, he has incredibly grand hopes for the future. Albus would take one look at him and be - this is it. You are the answer. We are going to discover the secrets of the universe together.

Now Gellert has recently been kicked out of school for dark magic related activities, and is effectively lying low in Godric’s Hollow. But honestly, he kind of wiggled out of any serious consequences. If anything, his mindset is probably more “I’ve already learned everything Drumstrang had to teach me. Good riddance. Now I just have to wait, and think about my next move.” 

Seeing Albus for the first time probably wouldn’t have blown his socks off. Gellert (as Harry tells us, multiple timee) is very handsome, while Albus is probably more… interesting looking. Good looking in an unconventional way. But Albus is clever, and would have found out who exactly his new neighbor was very quickly. He’d hear about the dark magic and… not care. Probably just be more intrigued. Albus is desperate for someone to talk to, and whatever dark magic Gellert was up to, I’m sure it had to at least been interesting. 

So Albus tracks down Gellert, and he’s asking all of these questions. All these really good questions. At first Gellert is flattered (also, he can tell that Albus has a crush on him. That’s not especially unusual, if you’re Gellert Grindlewald.)  

But once he spends a little more time with him, I think he starts getting a little awed by Albus. This isn’t like Elphias Dodges’ hero worship, this is 'I want to put Albus Dumbledore in a jar and study him.' How can he be this good? How can his well of knowledge be so deep? How does he pick up everything I show him so fast…and immediately start adding improvements. How is he able to solve these magical problems and conundrums that I’ve been struggling with so easily?

Albus starts trusting him a little bit more. He doesn’t tell anyone about the details surrounding his father attacking the muggles, or what’s going on with Ariana. But he tells Gellert. He tells him about the pressure he feels, being responsible for them. How he can’t help resenting the way his family ties him down. He wants things to be different so badly but doesn’t know what he's supposed to do.

I think that getting to see Albus’ vulnerability this way, his darkness, his cracks - things which he doesn’t show anyone - is what gets Gellert properly falling in love with him. Albus saw his darkness and didn’t back off, and now Gellert gets to return the favor. He probably starts getting a little romantic about all this, starts attributing the fact that they met to fate, thinks of Albus as this wonderful gift the universe is giving to him… but then Gellert’s perspective kind of shifts, and he starts believing that really he’s Albus‘ gift. He’s meant to save Albus, because it’s a crime that anyone this extraordinary should truly think that they’re trapped, and that their life needs to stay so small. 

He convinces Albus to leave, and that they can take Ariana with them. I bet Gellert believes it too. He and Albus are so powerful, so talented, so knowledgeable, so off the charts in every way - what could Ariana possibly do that the two of them wouldn't be able to handle? 

But then, of course, the duel happens. Ariana dies (and I do think it was probably Albus who accidentally killed her.) We know that Gellert ran right after this. But I think  this is a situation where Albus is in shock, Gellert is grabbing his arm, dragging him towards the door, saying - we’ve got to get out of here. Don’t worry, it’ll be fine, I can fix this.

Albus can’t do it. He did wrong, and he has to face his punishment (a punishment that I don’t think he ever feels he actually received. The closest he gets is Aberforth breaking his nose at the funeral, which is why he lets it stay broken.) There’s a lot of dark, sticky stuff in Albus Dumbledore's psyche. Stuff I don’t think he’ll ever let anyone see - both because he’s so hyper-competent he can mask it, and because it is his job to protect people (that’s the only thing he thinks he’s good for…)  Showing people his darkness and weakness, the way he showed it to Gellert - that is the opposite of protecting them.

If he’s honest with himself, I do think there’s a part of Albus that wishes he had been weaker, that he had run with Grindelwald that day. Best case scenario - maybe he could’ve influenced him, steered him down a better path (does that mean the blood of Grindelwald‘s victims is on his hands?) but more realistically… I think Albus knows that he and Grindelwald would have eventually had a falling out. Maybe not for a couple of years. Maybe Albus could’ve ignored the red flags that long. Maybe he could have had a few years - running around Europe, being young, powerful, and in love. 

Instead, Albus goes back to Hogwarts to hide. Because he can’t trust himself anymore. He can’t trust his judgment, he can’t trust himself with any kind of power. News of Grindelwald comes every day. He’s running around Europe, he’s becoming more powerful. Dumbledore could stop him - but doesn’t. I think he’s worried that he saw Grindelwald again… (if Grindelwald is still in love with him…) (of course Grindelwald is still in love with him...) If Gellert asked him to leave Hogwarts and come with him, Albus is worried that he might say yes.

But in the end, Dumbledore does face him. Grindelwald fights him with the Elder Wand, but Dumbledore still wins. I like to think it’s because Gellert just cannot bring himself to kill him. Cannot bring himself to imprison him. He loves Albus too much. Albus is a work of art he cannot bring himself to destroy or lock away.

But Albus is prepared to lock Grindelwald up. So the Elder Wand - who always knows who has the power in a dynamic - becomes Albus.’ He defeats Grindelwald, and then uses Grindelwald’s wand the rest of his life. He’s buried with it.  I do think that Albus' intention was to die the wand’s last true master, both as a favor to the world, but also as a kind of romantic gesture. Because what is Voldemort compared to Grindelwald? Voldemort doesn’t deserve that wand. Gellert dies, tortured and killed by Voldemort, refusing to give up Albus, laughing. Because he knows how good Albus is. He knows how brilliant he is. He knows how ice cold he is. And, (if Gellert is honest with himself) that only makes him love Albus more. After all, he was right. Albus really was a force of nature who took over the world without anyone realizing. Voldemort doesn’t stand a chance.

[multiheadcanons]

MERCS, CRYING

scout: scout is… a very snotty crier. just a lot of snot and mucus, his tears are even thick with how much fluid his body is producing so he can cry. it’s only a few times he will cry in front of anyone. he has gotten a pretty decent hold on most of his more volatile emotions. he does a lot of sniffling, and huffing, and groaning, and then he needs a tissue. and he normally is only going to cry if he is pushed physically to his limit. there does come a point where scout can’t keep up. and he knows this. he desperately wants to pretend this is not true, but you can see it in the way his movement is sloppy, and how his breaths are ragged, and as he puts his hands on his knees and gasps for air he looks almost freaked. scout can tell when he is nearing his limit, he just denies it. he denies it until his muscles give out. and then he just lets it go. allows himself to curl up into the tightest ball he can and cry quietly. and when he’s approached about it, it’s a broken response. he’s just tired. he can keep going. and he will stumble up, maybe drink some water if he has it, and continue on.

soldier: a surprisingly proud crier, soldier is normally one who sheds tears of joy. he is not a sad crier, “sad” is not particularly in his emotional wheelhouse. so if you see tears, you’re actually either seeing sweat, stray streams of piss from the enemy sniper’s jarate if he’s on the field, or another, unknown liquid. but for the glory of his patriotism, he will shed a few tears. always cries at the star spangled banner, he just thinks it’s a beautiful anthem. the general emotion of pride also gets his tear ducts moving. if he works hard for an outcome, and he gets it, there is a real possibility he is overcome with emotion and cries a bit. he deserves a little cry, as a treat. does not sniffle. the snot will run down his face like a man.

pyro: pyro has a very difficult time regulating themselves. their emotional outbursts are more likely to be a cause of a lack of food, water, or sleep, more than it is to be whatever is actively occurring that caused the outburst. and when the underlying issue is solved, normally pyro can come to their senses and has to make the rounds to apologize to whoever they may have hurt along the way. but there are times that they simply… can’t pinpoint the underlying cause. or they have just reason to be upset. though the team attempts to mediate, in the case of the latter, it makes pyro more upset that the team tries so hard to placate them. they don’t know if it’s genuine or not. they end up secluding themselves to cry. the mask still doesn’t come off. eventually they fall asleep in their room, and, though still somewhat hurt, will feel better the next morning. they are truly thankful for their team. they try their best to make pyro feel wanted and valued.

demo: tavish doesn’t really cry anymore. he groans and moans and does a lot of bitching and wallowing, but he never really cries. he doesn’t cry unless he’s asleep. there are times where he wakes up and his cheek is wet, and he’s got a headache placed behind his eye, and most of the time he’s not sure what he crying for. the dreams aren’t always terrible, so why does he wake up so drained? a drink usually fixes that, and he goes about his day. nobody really sees him cry unless they sleep with him. because sometimes, the dreams are bad enough that the grogginess feels fair. feels right to be tired when he shoots up with a gasp, and feels the familiar wet on his cheek. he tries to give himself more grace those days. will let out a few sobs of sheer relief when placed and eventually removed from a truly terrible situation.

heavy: arguably the prettiest crier, heavy allows five tears per week, maximum, and these do not roll over to other weeks. these are normally reserved for moments of immense joy. he does not cry to sad things. there is no point. it is usually the most picturesque tear gliding slowly down his cheek. sometimes a choked laugh as he wipes his eyes quickly. he really can’t help but shed tears at sweet scenes. its just so warm. it fills him up with so much tenderness, he’s gotta let a few slide. but just a few. five maximum. he’s gotta spread that out if he plans on having a great week. the best part of it is, because heavy is not crying out of utter sorrow, he doesn’t really mind when people see him shed a few tears here and there. he’s happy! sue him! do something to change that, he dares you. heavy is an aggressive protector of his joy. so truly, try that if you want to.

engineer: dell is a clencher. and a wheezer. and them goggles are not coming off. he will normally attempt to put hands on anyone who pushes him to the point where he wants to cry. he doesn’t… actually cry most of the time. last time he cried was when his mother died, god rest her soul. he is more likely to beat some ass. and if he can cause enough damage, then the tears will remove themselves from his ducts in preference of being sweat on his neck. but sometimes he can’t put his hands on people. and he’s just got to stand there, or sit there, and clench his fists, and huff and puff, and let the tears pool in his goggles. and don’t bring it up if you see it. because he’ll get very defensive. you didn’t see him crying. you didn’t see anything. his goggles were on. and he’s not upset, or hurt. he’s fucking pissed. now get out of the way before you become collateral. don’t take the aggression to heart, he just doesn’t like remembering his body is capable of crying. it’s exhausting for him. and he never feels better. so he doesn’t really cry anymore.

medic: the doctor cries about once a decade. and it’s the worst thing to experience in person. there are more often occurrences where he gets close. and he closes his eyes (because he knows they get puffy), and buries his head in his hands, and you can see him shake. but he is normally able to bring himself away from his hands, take a deep breath, and continue. but he looks like a kid, even at his grown age and intimidating stature. and none of that matters when he can’t stop himself from crying. when it rains, it pours. he cannot stop himself from wailing. loud, piercing sobs. and his face gets red, and his eyes get puffy, and he crumbles to the floor. he squeezes himself, hoping the pressure on his lungs will stop the hyperventilating. it doesn’t. he just can’t breathe, and he’s gasping for air. and if you’re the sorry soul that bears witness to it, he will look at you. desperate, and frightened. and he will tell you he is dying. and he needs help. but he won’t let you touch him. so he just writhes, and screams for you to help him. he begs you until he falls asleep. the best thing you can do is attempt to get him to a bed.

sniper: sniper cries twice to thrice a month. he gets lonely sometimes. he wonders if this is it. and he misses his parents. a very quiet crier. you really wouldn’t know unless you looked at him. and it is freakish to see. his face is pulled so tight. it looks like he’s sitting through an amputation. and his teeth are bared in a terrified snarl. he’s fighting actual ghosts in his mind. and he is trying, and succeeding in keeping himself absolutely quiet. if he feels like his face looks fucked up, eventually he will bury his head in his hands. or pull his hat down lower. his shoulders quake when he can’t stop himself. but he doesn’t make a noise. he just trembles, and lets the tears fall. this usually happens in his van, alone. sometimes the team will catch him in a spare room as he messily wipes his eyes. or find him in restless sleep in a closet afterward. they don’t know whether to disturb him, so they just leave the door cracked so he knows someone came to check on him. he’s appreciative of this.

spy: spy doesn’t cry often because he’s sloppy with it. it’s always very wet. he gets maybe thirty seconds to get his crying under control or it becomes a mess. lots of tears, lots of snot, and if he’s in truly terrible straits he is drooling in an attempt to get his emotional state under control. and he gets even madder when he cries. prone to self harm, normally either pinching his thighs or pulling at his hair. and then he gets aggressively self-deprecating. and he does not cry in the mask. he never cries in the mask. the spy does not shed tears. whoever that sorry loser he sees in the mirror is another question. and he looks stupid when he cries. and he cries for nothing. nobody cares whether he’s crying. nobody cares what it’s about. locks his bedroom door to decompress in silence. this is normally the beginning of spy’s comatose behavior. he shatters, and drags every piece he can back to the bed. some things get left in the move. and he sleeps as his mind begins to piece himself back together.

[jazeswhbhaven]

Hi!! Don't know if feel you confortable with this sort of ask, but if so, could you write about how the whb king's would react to a mc that enjoys cartoons like gravity falls and the amazing world of gumball but at the same time loves more adult shows like mr.pickles and moral orel? ( which is definitely not me describing myself, lol )

Hi anon, thank you for waiting!

So this hits home for me because I am definitely an enjoyer of the shows you mentioned here and even more so, let's see if I can tap into my nostalgic memories and throw out some shows the Kings and this MC would be into.

Satan would definitely watch shows with MC that have action in it along with mindless brain rot gore. So for the day time, we're talkin' the animated batman series, superman, anything with superhero marvel or dc characters and then at night? Super Jail, Mr.Pickles, Robot Chicken 💀 HELL Celebrity Deathmatch? He's literally out here asking MC or his nobles to tape certain episodes in case he misses anything.

Mammon is fine with whatever MC wants to watch. He literally has no preference but funny enough, he likes those old school shows most like The Jetsons, The Flintstones, anything that would show up on Boomerang that has that classic 70's animation style for cartoons. Yes, Scooby Doo would be one of them. As for adult shows...anything that involves a parody on reality, Oblongs, Mission Hill, (that genre of cartoons that aired late at night on MTV)

If MC can even get Beelzebub to sit in front of a TV long enough, he MIGHT be interested in something that has short run times. So The Amazing World of Gumball that has short mini episodes, same with Brandy and Mr.Whiskers, Uncle Grandpa, Fish Hooks. And at night time, the only thing MC can get him to pay attention to are shows with bright colors and brain rot, so again Super Jail, Squidbillies for nonsense shit, Robot Chicken, 12 OZ. Mouse, The Drinky Crow Show, China, IL. But, a show that has a place in his heart? The Buzz on Maggie 🥺

Leviathan is trickyyyyy, as he finds most things regarding watching TV instead of reading unproductive and a waste of time. But if you were to ask him, he's watching more "sophisticated" media. The Addams Family (black and white), The Munsters, and surprise surprise MC got him into Daria. Adult shows? Surprisingly, he may not act like it, but he does have two shows he likes to watch with MC, Space Ghost Coast to Coast, and Harvey Birdman 💀 He won't tell MC why he likes those shows, but he just does and gets upset if anyone interrupts the two of them watching either one.

Lucifer? TV? Why? He very much prefers quiet time because he already has Gamigin begging him to watch old shows. But for MC, he doesn't mind anything that isn't too loud, so no sudden blasts or explosions or yelling. Out of all the shows MC has shown him, he really likes Rocko's Modern Life and Courage the Cowardly Dog where he doesn't mind him yelling because "he has a reason to so this is fine". For any adult shows, he simply can't be bothered to watch them, saying he could "just ask someone to tape what happens in Abyssos" and he'd watch that. lmaooo

Belphegor? Oh buddy let's get cookin'. Not only is he watching Sonic X, Kirby Right Back At Ya!, Sailor Moon, and Yugi-Oh/Digimon....but he's got MC taping Danny Phantom, Fairly Oddparents, Gravity Falls, any show with lore. Adult shows? Remember Toonami? Adult Swim? All kids out of the pool? He coined that phrase. He made sure most of that shit would come on late a night even if he didn't get to see it. Aqua Teen Hunger Force is brain rot he enjoyed the most. He was also into lost media like "Perfect Hair Forever" and "Super Milk Chan". The Venture Bros? MC is now dressed up as Dr.Girlfriend or The Monarch. 💀

Asmodeus had small kiddos before, so he's seen every kind of wholesome show imaginable. He watches them all with MC for those feel good memories. But instead of animated shows he prefers the live action ones, so "Wizards of Waverly Place" would be an example. But...when we get to...uh...the afterdark shows anything with raunchy innuendos and any step below "porn" without it being porn is what he's watching. (Like honestly just think of a show and insert it here lmao) In fact, he purposes to MC that they make their own show and broadcast it all over Abaddon...the TV is turned off...brace yourself MC...TV night has turned into "Home Movies with my Horny Demon King boyfriend".

[olivewormz]

redesign / headcanons of the professor from metal slug attack. i do not like metal slug attack.

despite that, i've been infatuated with the professor for a while, i don't know, he looks so silly and funny...

i initially thought he would be a martian trying to disguise himself as human to control what goes on in the army- turns out he wasn't, didn't really pay attention to things going on in attack but he's just a human? eh, i just rewrote him as a martian.

i have more notes on him for the future, sooo yea redesigning stuff is still fun

some extra art below :-] !

:3

[wormchaser]

you are complaining about complaining too much while complaining about the fact that maybe people dont like you because you complain too much while complaining about being alone. just stop complaining and do something about it. talk to people. reach out. dont just wait for someone to come to you first.

i have tried reaching out to different people in the past year or so but it never works. i understand its my own fault for letting relationships decay because of my own insecurities and issues but that doesn't mean i can just will myself to think or believe different things about myself. it's a self fulfilling prophecy ; i think people don't like me so i don't reach out so people don't like me etc . i am sure you do not want to hear me list all the things i want to say in response so i will put them in the tags.

[izzy-b-hands]

Was doing okay holding back all of the fear re: the potential election outcome until literally this second what the fuck to my brain lmao