#not that I necessarily want that but just that it feels kind of inevitable at this point since we’ve hit a wall here

[giantkillerjack]

Uh-oh! You are like, SOOO awkward!!

You're so awkward that it is occasionally mildly uncomfortable for people!

You're so awkward that sometimes people are confused by you and then there are awkward silences!

You're so awkward ...... that ultimately no one is harmed!!

Oh damn!!! What a vile crime you have committed! What an unforgivable thing it is to make a fellow human briefly confused!

Why, if *I* were ever briefly confused and kind of uncomfortable as a result, I'd be devastated.... by the absolute net zero change in my happiness and health! - From which I might never recover!! Yes indeed! No punishment can ever be enough for you!!

So you better absolutely hate yourself for it.

Better be SO MEAN to yourself about every single missed social cue so you don't forget your horrible crime! Meaner than you'd ever dream of being to someone else for the same thing! This is YOUR responsibility!

You need to show the world that you KNOW you are bad by punishing yourself constantly! After all, think of all the people who BENEFIT from you punishing yourself! - No, really! Think about it! Think about who benefits from your pain.

Think of alllllll the definitely-good people that your definitely-necessary self-torment definitely helps! I mean, you can't just cut off their definitely-life-sustaining supply of your suffering, right?? Sure, everyone else has a breaking point, but you're probably the only person in human history who doesn't, right? Best not to question it probably. Sure, it's a symptom that billions of people with trauma have had, but who knows? You could be a one-in-seven-billion exception. Anything's possible!

Instead, better just accept that idea that bullies carry like guns in holsters - the idea that people who have trouble with social cues deserve to suffer. Better carry on the burden they placed on you until you drop. Aid the cause of the callous by enforcing shame and suffering upon yourself extra hard; try your best to do their work for them. They're very busy.

Better not recognize that you need patience and kindness to heal from your trauma. Better not find out that it was trauma rather than personal weakness filling your head with self-hating thoughts. Better not find out it wasn't your fault.

Better not find out that awkwardness is not inherently harmful or unkind, and, in fact, the people who act like it is *are the ones enacting harm and being cruel.*

Better not get righteously angry when you realize just how much unnecessary damage this has done to you. After all, if you get mad, you might realize you deserve better. You might even feel brave enough to DEMAND better! You might build boundaries that keep you safe! You might make other people think they deserve to feel safe too! And we obviously can't be having that, so...

Better not show yourself even a little kindness a little bit at a time.

Better not make a habit out of it after all that practice.

Better not get confident.

Especially if you can't first wipe out every trace of awkward. (And you probably never will. Because people who experience absolute social certainty at all times tend to be insufferable assholes that enforce the status quo. And you just don't have the stock portfolio for that.)

Better not be confident and awkward because then you might confuse and delight people

- you might accidentally end up making other people feel less shame for their social difficulties

- you might make isolated, traumatized, and shy people feel like they deserve to be included in social situations

- you might even make them feel they can be themselves around you

- you might start loving the effect you have on a room

- you might enjoy conversations more

- you might forgive yourself and bounce back from shame more easily and frequently

- you might come to enjoy some of those moments of harmless confusion you cause because NOBODY expects the Confident Awkward, and that can genuinely be an advantage in social situations

- you might stop apologizing so much.

- you might find that socializing is like a video game: it requires practice but also a safe space for it to be fun and positive.

Or if you can't become assertive and confident, better not remain awkward and shy and quiet, and then love and forgive yourself anyway!

Why, it would be carnage!!

In either scenario, you run the risk of finding out that it's not your fault that safe spaces full of kind people can be really hard to find, create, and nurture. You could end up building a skillset that helps you do those things if you're not careful!

If you start giving yourself even the tiniest amount of grace at a time, you will find that you've accessed a gateway drug with extreme long-term side effects:

- You might realize that it was never your fault that it took so long to like yourself.

- You might realize that you were always worth talking to, even when you didn't like yourself and communication felt impossibly difficult.

- You might realize that you'll still be worth talking to even if communication becomes harder as you age and/or experience disability.

- You might come to know that you deserve to be heard even on bad days when words come slow and blurry.

You might discover that you were always deserving of kindness, first and foremost from yourself.

So. As you can see, it's FAR too much of a risk to start granting your awkward self free pardons for your many heinous and harmless crimes. Better to just leave it there.

[deathgatesideblog]

Haplo/Marit has SO many rights

[insanechayne]

~ ~ ~

[orcelito]

me struggling thru the generally happier chapter bc of Circumstances

i just cant wait to finally let loose. dig my claws in like i havent gotten the chance to yet in itnl. i wanna it

[sardonic-the-writer]

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐁𝐨𝐲𝐬 𝐖𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐀 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐓𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐌𝐚𝐭𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐬 𝐓𝐡𝐞𝐢𝐫 𝐄𝐧𝐞𝐫𝐠𝐲 𝐖𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐈𝐧𝐜𝐥𝐮𝐝𝐞

↳ includes: billy butcher, hughie campbell, frenchie, mothers milk, kimiko, and soldier boy

↳ warnings: canon type violence and happenstances. hinted to take place during season three at some points.

↳ notes: sorry butcher is in here so much. he's the kind of guy that can't shut the fuck up, so i feel like he's always getting in everyone business no matter what

↳ song: rock me like a hurricane—scorpions

masterlist | commissions | carrd

𝐁𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐲 𝐁𝐮𝐭𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐫

• He has mixed feelings about you

• On one hand, you’re a great team player. Always making sure the job gets done, willing to put yourself on the line for the team, one of the most willing to kill a supe in a snap—second only to him—and always managing to make shit up on the fly whenever something inevitably goes wrong on a mission. Butcher has seen you fend off an entire team of armed Vought men before with nothing but a well timed lie and piece of pipe. That’s not something to scoff at, even if he does anyways

• But on the other hand, he has a feeling that you were just as much as an annoying shit as he acted sometimes

• “Sorry to say this guys—“ You said one night through the food in your mouth as Chinese takeout sat on a dirty table in front of you, curtesy of M.M and his pocketbook, “—but I think I’d betray you all for a fortune cookie. I’d betray my country for a fortune cookie.”

• "You say that like we ain’t already betrayin’ the cunts, sunshine.” Butcher eyed you from across the room as you nicked Frenchies own cookie from him while he was staring off at Kimiko for the tenth time that night

• “Too right, Butch.” You grinned like a shark at your idiotic nickname for him, and he ignored you as you did so; like he always did

• He definitely appreciates your enthusiasm behind his plans. Unlike Hughie or M.M, who despite working in the business of taking down supes seem to be hesitant about doing too much shit, you don’t seem to have a very strong moral code. That’s not necessarily a good thing in anyone’s eyes except for Butcher’s, who knows that he can always count on you to have his back in whatever situation he manages to squeeze himself into

• “Thanks for comin’.” He grunted at you while vomiting into a toilet, green bile spewing from his mouth. Butcher’s eyes burned with the urge to let out a laser beam, and he did so for a moment, splitting the porcelain throne we was leaning over in two

• “Want me to hold your hair back for you, honey?” You didn’t even miss a beat to start making fun of his situation, which made Butcher growl at you even from his current position. Despite your sarcastic demeanor in the moment, and the way he had just scorched an unexpected hole through the shitty bathroom, Butcher knew you’d help, no questions asked. And that’s exactly what you did, grabbing whatever he asked you to as he gave you a run down on the latest solo mission he had been attempting to get by with on his own

• “Jesus, poor Gunpowder huh?” You mused as you crossed your arms and leaned on the sink above him. For a moment Butcher thought you were granting the dead supe a bit of sympathy before he saw the glint in your eyes. “If the last thing I saw before I kicked it was your mug, I’d probably wanna get it over with yeah?”

• “Do me a favor. Go grab the toaster in the other room an’ take a nice bath with it, would ya?”

• “You first, Butcher.”

𝐇𝐮𝐠𝐡𝐢𝐞 𝐂𝐚𝐦𝐩𝐛𝐞𝐥𝐥

• The two of you are like peas in a pod. Two very weird, very cautious peas in a pod

• Even if Butcher is beside himself with annoyance at having another, as he put it, “soft cunt with a morality complex,” join the team, Hughie couldn’t be happier that someone seems to share his values on supes, on Vought; on the world, really

• In the first season or so, the two of you would probably spend a lot of time in between working with everyone else in the field to come up with a way to take Vought down the right way. Eventually,as we all know, that later falls apart, but it exhilarates Hughie to know that there’s people out there like him that want to try and put in the effort for things like that

• “Yeah, so if we can get one more witness about the Termite incident to come forward and testify—“ You bit your pen between your teeth and nodded as Hughie waved his hands over a stack of papers and talked at a million miles an hour, somehow understanding each and every word.

• “—then we could finally take a supe down legally. And that would make way for a whole round of others; Hughie you’re a genius.” You finished his sentence for him, slapping a hand down on the table with a grin as Hughie smiled. Somewhere in the distance someone snorted wryly, no doubt having heard the entire conversation. You had no doubt it was Butcher, but that didn’t matter to the either of you with how happy you were at the revelation. No matter how temporary it would turn out to be

• Hughie finds himself trusting you quite a bit. He can get attached pretty easily, so he finds himself willing to do anything to back you up—within reason of course. He still has some semblance of sanity left

• Listens to Billy Joel with you! Doesn’t matter if you all are coming back from a mission covered in blood—once it was whale guts—he will stick one earbud in and leave the other out for you as he presses play on a mix. More than once the others have found both of you passed out and snoring as the faint sound of Billy Joel plays through the headphones

• “Think we should wake them up, mon amie?” Frenchie tilts his head as he looks down on the both of you. Hughie chest rises and falls with a softness he couldn’t afford on the regular. You were positioned far away from him to have your back to him, somehow keeping your end of the earbud in as you drooled

• “Nah, let em sleep. God knows they need it.” M.M shook his head with crossed arms, the sight reminding him of better times

• “Oi! Stop ogling at the knackered sods and come help me with this, would ya?”

• “Fuck you, Butcher.” M.M said with a sigh, leaving the room to go and help anyway

𝐅𝐫𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐡𝐢𝐞

• He fucks with you so hard

• I mean, come on, someone that’s as excited about making bombs as he is? Someone that is willing to understand French? To shit talk everyone else to their face—especially Butcher?? He might have to marry you on the spot

• Please learn French. He will literally beg you to start. Conjugates, vocabulary, even a simple ‘please’ and ‘thank you’. Anything at all. Will absolutely not judge you for your horrific accent or pronunciation if you have any

• Bomb lessons on the side, too. If you already know the basics, or are a pro, it’ll be a lot more breezy, but he’s willing to start from scratch. It’ll be nice to have a partner to help him with his creations on the team for once, and even better since he likes you

• The two of you, and Kimiko obviously, are practically joined at the hip. What I said about the shit talking earlier was real, too. All of you use different languages or sign to voice whatever you’re thinking. It’s nice to be able to speak your mind freely, and there’s the added bonus of not having M.M give you that sharp look of his, or Butcher calling you names. Anymore than usual, that is

• “What do you reckon the three of ‘em are always on about?” Butcher took a swig from his drink. He was sitting next to Hughie with a beer on one of their down days as the younger man typed away on a computer. He was watching you Frenchie and Kimiko from across the room as you all signed at each other with giant smiles on your face. Frenchie would speak occasionally, but all that came out was his mother tongue, and your face would pause for a moment as you let your brain process what he was saying. Then all of you would break out into another round of grins, something that Butcher had to deadpan at

• “Probably planning a coup.” Hughie answered Butcher without even looking up from his screen. He knew who he was talking about anyways. It wasn’t hard to guess thanks, to the occasional loud exclamation from Frenchie as you signed something particularly risqué or funny

• Butcher flitted his eyes away in annoyance from you all after he recognized the word ‘cunt’ in the passing conversation, along with a sign that was clearly supposed to represent him

• “I think at this poin’ I’d prefer tha’.” He grumbled into his cup, and all of you laughed

• “Cheer up, Butcher. At least Frenchie isn’t teaching them how to make homemade cherry bombs again.”

• “Shut up.”

𝐌𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫'𝐬 𝐌𝐢𝐥𝐤

• Finally. Someone other than him can be the voice of reason in the group

• It’s tiring being the one to hold everyone together all of the time. It might help if Butcher wasn’t so much of an ass, or if Hughie didn’t feel the need to derail every plan with thoughts of his own, but M.M knew that wouldn’t be happening anytime soon. So he’d take any help he could get with reigning everyone in

• Definitely bonds with you over your shared habit of wearing band t-shirts to meetups or hideouts. I’d like to imagine that at one point the both of you show up wearing the exact same one, and it goes exactly how one would expect

• “Same shirt.” M.M notices one morning, pointing at your torso with the initials N.W.A written over it. He’s smiling, and so are you as what he’s wearing in turn dawns on you

• “Same shirt!! Hell yeah.”

• Fist bumps. Fist bumps galore, man. The two of you fist bump a lot. To punctuate sentences, drive a point home, agree on stuff—anything. It’s your own way of communicating with each other without having to bat an eye

• It’ll take M.M a while, but eventually he’ll start to really open up about missing his family to you. Beyond just showing you pictures of his daughter at soccer practice, I mean. If he trusts you enough to have his back in a shoot out, then he trusts you with this

• At one point, it goes farther than his (regrettably ex) wife and daughter, and eventually branches out into what he’s willing to tell about his dad and brothers. You feel like you know all of them by the time he’s done, and that only makes the typewriter story hit harder when he finally decides to reveal it

• Let’s just say you were pretty willing to jump Soldier Boy on M.M’s half the first time you were left in a room with them

• “Just one swing I swear—“

• “He will literally beat you into a pulp.” M.M deadpanned, doing his best to avoid looking at the other imposing figure in the room as he clasped two hands on either of your shoulders

• “Listen to your friend, sweetheart. Would hate to have to scrub my hands clean of any of your blood. Getting under the fingernails is always hard.”

• “See what I mean, just one punch that’s all—“

• “No.”

𝐊𝐢𝐦𝐢𝐤𝐨

• It’s honestly great for her to be able to hang around someone that feels the same way that she does. Maybe it’s how silent you are that really draws her attention at first, but Kimiko really grows to appreciate you as a member of the team

• Probably gets a lot of joy from having a friend like you. She constantly asks to do things like have you watch movies with her or to do ‘sleepovers,’ which are really just the two of you crashing on the main room couch together

• She never got a chance at a normal childhood or friends, so you and Frenchie are the closest she gets to a peace of mind

• Not even a question about it, she’s making you learn her sign language

• Will stare at you for days on end, saying nothing but everything at the same time until you agree to learn. Once you do, it’s all over. She gets the biggest most happiest look anyone ever seen, and there’s no turning back from that

• “Kimiko, what are you doing. It’s two in the morning.” You groan at her from under the thin covers of your bed, doing your best to ignore her hands as they fly about. It’s the childish equivalent of ‘if I can’t see you, you can’t see me’

• ‘No time to sleep. We have to go over stuff before the mission tomorrow. It will help us communicate.’ She was unnerved by your lack of enthusiasm. If anything it only spurred her on more, shaking your bed and pulling at your covers as you groaned. Even with the progress you had been making with signing over the past few weeks, your knowledge was still a bit shaky, and being half asleep didn’t help, so you only caught a few words. Enough to know what she wanted, however

• “Go away, Kimiko.” You whined. The shaking stopped, and for a moment you thought your request had worked. You were more than happy to fall back into whatever dream you had been having beforehand

• Then you heard the rushing of feet and a large weight slammed onto your legs

• “Goddamnit!—“

• Frenchie found the both of you the next morning; Kimiko looking bright eyed and bushy-tailed while you were practically falling asleep from where you sat. It was a teasing point for you over the next two weeks

• Between you, there’s moments like that where, despite Kimiko’s silence and your habit to keep your thoughts to yourself, nothing ever goes unseen or unsaid. The two of you know each other like the back of your hands, and sometimes you wonder if you’d even need her sign to communicate

𝐁𝐨𝐧𝐮𝐬: 𝐒𝐨𝐥𝐝𝐢𝐞𝐫 𝐁𝐨𝐲

• If the saying ‘this town ain't big enough for the both of us’ could apply here, it absolutely would

• It’s almost ironic how bad Soldier Boy handles another version of himself. You’ve got just as much snark and anger as him, and it pisses him the hell off. Constantly.

• Maybe it’s because you didn’t fan boy over him as soon as he flashed a few cheesy lines that keeps his disdain for you boiling, or that you didn’t keep your distance when he threatened to eradicate your entire bloodline if you didn’t stop running your mouth at him

• “Need help with that?” He cocks a brow at you one day, watching with poorly hidden annoyance as you struggle to tie a knot in your shoes for the fifth time in a minute. The offer isn’t serious, and even if it was, he has no doubt you wouldn’t hesitate to kick him in the face if he bent down to tie your shoe for you

• “Need help taking my dick down your throat?” You parroted back at him while raising your voice in a false-happy tone. Finally you get the shoestrings to cooperate, completely missing the way Soldier Boy glows in a harsh warning at your attitude

• “Ladies, ladies, you’re both pretty.” Butcher calls from the room over, no doubt tired of the bickering between the two of you that had been nonstop for the past few days. “Let’s get a move on before one of you decides to claw the others bloody eyes out, yeah?”

• The fact that you’re not even a supe just ticks him off more. Only a few people have ever pushed his buttons like this, most of them being supes, and they always ended up being nothing but red paste in the next few minutes

• You make sure to point it out to him several times that you’re just acting like he always does, making sure to don a shit eating grin when he clenches his fist at your comment

• Please for the love of everything that’s holy tone it the fuck down. Some people may say that Soldier Boy has no self-control, but it sure is taking a whole lot of it not to kick you in the crotch as hard as possible

• “The feelings mutual.” You deadpan at him when he eventually shares that fantasy out loud. He knew full well that if you even so much as tried that, you’d end up with a broken ankle and your front pinned to the closest brick wall, but he had no doubts that you would go for it anyway

• Seriously. How has he not murdered you in your sleep yet

[billfarrah]

One of my favourite things about Young Royals and its characters is how much it romanticizes being utterly ordinary.

Stories often focus on characters who are exceptionally good at something or who are more ambitious than the average person. Even in the teen shows I’ve watched, these young characters always seemed to have their dream career and dream university figured out at a young age and I could never relate to that because I had none of those things figured out as a teen. It always felt like pushing this narrative that teenagers need to have their entire lives figured out before their brains are even fully developed.

None of the characters in YR seem particularly ambitious and in fact, the main character’s journey is a story of anti-ambition. When he is introduced to Simon, it is precisely Simon’s ordinariness that draws Wille to him. Sure, Simon is a very talented singer, but it’s never indicated within the series that he has dreams of being a pop star. It’s just something he likes to do. Simon is motivated by very ordinary things - he wants to do well in school so he can have better opportunities for himself, he wants to take care of his family, he wants to hang out with his friends and play video games. He’s a dedicated student but not necessarily valedictorian. It’s not his ambition that Wille is drawn to but his integrity and kindness and warmth.

Wille had a chance to be extraordinary - to be Sweden’s first gay king - but being extraordinary has never been Wille’s ambition. Wille’s ultimate goal and dream within the series’ narrative is to be free to make his own decisions and live his life as he pleases. He just wants to kiss his boyfriend and get drunk at parties and live his life one day at a time instead of spending every moment of his life preparing for an inevitable future he doesn’t want. In the end Wille is extraordinary not for his ambition, but for his bravery to reject the expectations thrust upon him and throw himself into the unknown and see where it takes him. Wille had a whole future in front of him as crown prince and future king - he’d never have to work a day in his life and would have people advising his every move - and he rejects that. This lack of ambition is not portrayed as a moral failure, but a necessary step in Wille’s journey to personal self-discovery and fulfillment of his own desires. His desire right now is simple - be free with Simon, but that doesn’t mean his dreams end here forever. He deserves peace and tranquility after all the trauma he’s been through without having to worry about where or who he’s gonna be in a few years. He deserves time to just exist.

None of the characters know where they’re going when they drive away at the end. We as the audience don’t know what careers if any these characters will find themselves in, but that’s also not important to this story. The series is saying you don’t have to have everything figured out when you’re 17 and you don’t have to do something just because your parents think they know what’s best for you and even if you don’t know exactly what you want to do, that doesn’t mean you don’t have the agency to know what you don’t want.

It’s not a moral failing to want the simple things in life or to be ordinary, and I love that Young Royals celebrates that. It shows the beauty in simple moments that feel revolutionary to a person - touching the person you love, forgiving someone and making amends after a hardship, whooping with your friends in a car as you drive into the summer and celebrates them. Ultimately these are the moments that make life worth living.

[killerlookz]

hiii!!<3 if you’re thinking abt writing for joost, can u pls write some thing abt an established relationship fic based off the song birds of a feather by billie eilish if u can! love ur writing!

Hi anon! thank you sm for the request <33 this song is so sweeeet omg!!! also... technically an established relationship, but i do recap how reader and joost met :-)

Birds of a Feather | Joost Klein

description: gn!reader reflects on all the special moments in your and Joost's relationship following an unexpected proposal.

content: so insanely cheesey! sorry! pure fluff! + lots of crying (mostly happy tears) literally the most tiny smallest sexual reference this fic contains rpf, do not continue if that makes you uncomfortable

word count: 2426 (this was supposed to be under 1k words but i got soooo carried away)

/I don't know what I'm crying for / I don't think I could love you more/

Shaky fingers fiddle with the cold metal looped around your ring finger. Your hand flexes outward, watching as the light from your window reflects onto the small stone. Something warm rolls down your cheek- a solitary teardrop, caressing the skin of your face. Your hand reaches up to wipe away the tear, but it's too late, you can feel more welling up near your waterline, any sudden movement now would send tears streaming down your face. You look up, your eyelids brink rapidly in an attempt to prevent the inevitable waterworks.

You hadn't seen an engagement coming- in all the years you'd been together, it still seemed like a milestone that had felt so far away. Until Yesterday.

You and Joost had been nearly inseparable since just about the moment you had met- A nervous 20-year-old studying abroad in the Netherlands for your second to last semester of university. You sat on the stairs outside of the apartment building that stood as your temporary housing for the semester, on the brink of tears, your randomly assigned roommate had been a real piece of work. You were on your third argument that week alone, and, saying you were fed up was an understatement. You contemplated at that moment packing your things and just going back home.

"Gaat het?" (Are you ok?) A voice calls out, a goofy-looking blonde standing at the bottom of the stairs. He looks vaguely familiar, you think you may have seen him in the elevator of your apartment once or twice.

You furrow your eyebrows at him, "Ik spreek niet veel Nederlands," Using one of the few Dutch phrases you knew to tell him you don't speak Dutch. You shake your head, kind of hoping he would get lost, not wanting to be bothered.

"Ah," He nods, "Do you speak English?"

You stare at him for a moment, unsure if you should lie, after all he was a stranger but something is telling you to tell him the truth.

"Yeah," You sniffle, attempting to remove any emotion from your face.

"Are you okay?" He asks again, this time you understand.

"I'm fine," You weren't exactly searching for a deep conversation about your current struggles in someone you didn't know.

"People who are fine don't usually sit outside their apartment building crying."

You bite your lip, contemplating engaging the kind stranger in what was ailing you at the moment. You sigh, having a feeling he would probably keep pestering you if you continued to insist you were feeling in a way you actually weren't.

"It's just my roommate-"

Two months after your first encounter with the blonde man at the bottom of the stairs, you were standing in front of a mirror, doing a final check of your outfit before going on your first date. You had learned his name was Joost, he was 21, and lived in an apartment two floors above you.

He was unimaginably kind, with a wit unparalleled by anyone you'd ever met before, and truthfully, he was very cute- so when he had initially asked you out, you couldn't get a "yes" out fast enough.

It seemed a little inconvenient, given that you only had one more month left in the Netherlands- but he knew this, and didn't necessarily seem like he had been looking for anything too serious. Besides, it would be nice for you to have a good connection with someone outside of the people you saw in your classes.

There's a knock at the door, and your feet are quick to start shuffling under you, you're practically running to go open it.

You stop for a moment as you get to the door, letting a deep breath fill your lungs to capacity, before letting it out, whipping the door open as you do so.

Joost is standing behind it, a smile plastered on his face, hands behind his back. He's dressed up, now that you thought about it, you never really saw him in anything other than a sweatshirt or t-shirt and some jeans. It was a pleasant change- a white button-up shirt and some dress pants even if both articles of clothing had been obviously wrinkled.

"Hey," He greets, removing his hands from where they rest behind him, revealing a bouquet of flowers in an outstretched arm, "These are for you- I didn't know what kind of flowers you liked so I sort of just guessed." He's unsure of himself, in an entirely endearing way. He was trying.

"For me?" You grin, "Aww, Joost!" You take the flowers from his hands, "Let me go find something to put these in."

A month later you're sitting on Joost's couch after what you assumed would be your last date together. Your study abroad program was ending in three days, and you'd be returning back home.

There is an air of sadness that surrounds you, one that you hadn't expected to feel- you'd only known the man for three months, yet somehow it felt like you were leaving someone you had known your whole life.

Gentle fingers grab onto your jaw, Joost is turning your head to force you to look at him.

"You know," He starts, "I've really been enjoying our time together."

"Me too," You agree, a small smile peaking onto your face, you try not to give way to the sadness you were feeling.

"And," He says, "Y/n, I really like you, and I think if I don't ask you now, I'm never going to get the chance to ever again."

"What?" You perk up, your heart suddenly beating much faster, your breathing quickens, unsure of what he's going to say next.

"Well- I- what I'm trying to say is, do you want to go out with me? Like- officially- like dating." His voice is trembling, you'd never seen him so anxious before.

"Joost I-" You sigh, the reality of your situation crashing into you harder than it had before, "I'm leaving soon- we'll be hours away, when am I going to see y-"

You're cut off by Joost's lips crashing into yours, your thoughts suddenly disappearing the second your lips connect. You're entirely overwhelmed with emotion, every wire in your brain is fried, this move was an utter surprise, up until this point your relationship had been entirely chaste; the furthest you'd gone was sharing a hug at the end of your dates. Still, you kiss him back, your hand finding its way to his shoulder, tugging at it, begging him to come closer to you.

It had been seven and a half months since you had last seen Joost, but the two of you had talked at length each and every day during that time. By now, you had finished your degree in University and were ready to really start your life.

You could remember the cheer of excitement on the other end of the phone when you told Joost after a month of job hunting you had secured a job in the Netherlands.

"Does that mean you're coming back here?"

"Yeah, the job starts at the end of next month ."

A month and a half didn't necessarily give you much time to plan things out to the extent you would have liked, but Joost was more than ready and willing to help you out.

He had posited moving into his apartment- but the suggestion while sweet- was quickly thrown out. It wouldn't have been an ideal commute to your new job.

So the two of you got on to looking elsewhere, he had been kind enough to take the time out of his days to go to apartment showings for you near where you'd be taking your job, keeping you on Facetime as he viewed the places.

Eventually, you had found one you absolutely fell in love with, in perfect distance from the job. The problem had been- it was quite a ways out of your budget. You were heartbroken, it had basically been your dream apartment.

Joost, always swift with solving problems, suggested that the two of you move into the apartment together, that way he could cover the rest of the rent that you couldn't afford. And while you were over the moon about his offer- you worried about what living together would do to your relationship, the two of you had known each other for less than a year- would living together be such a great idea?

But as you're standing in the doorway of your bedroom on the first night being in your new apartment, staring up at Joost, who's leaning against the door frame- you just know you made the right decision.

A careful hand glides across your cheek, resting at the back of your neck,

"Thank you for coming back," Joost muses, gently massaging the spot where his hand resides. You lean into his touch,

"There was no other option" There's an undeniable twinkle in your eyes, admiring the man who stood above you, tired and messy from a long day of moving.

"I've been waiting to tell you this in person," His grip on your neck suddenly becomes still, rigid, "And- even if you don't feel the same yet, I just wanted to say that I love you." He's talking fast, simpering after he finishes his short words before resuming the gentle massaging motion of his thumb against your neck.

The breath is almost entirely knocked out of you- he loves you.

The words just about run out of your mouth, "I love you too,"

"You do?" His pupils are blown wide, "You love me too?"

You nod fervently, never having meant a statement so immensely in your life.

Joost is leaning down now, his head tilted so his lips can perfectly interlock with yours. It is possibly the hungriest kiss the two of you had ever shared, with the obvious implication of love now behind it. If Joost hadn't snaked his free arm around your back, you probably would have fallen straight to the ground, your legs tingling with excitement.

He pulls away, looking into your mostly empty bedroom, a smirk appearing on his face,

"What do you say we christen that bed I spent all day putting together?"

Five years later you're still living in that same apartment, the once-empty space now fully decorated with beautiful memories.

And now, the most crystal-clear memory sparkled in your brain, almost as bright as the ring itself. You'd been crying in intervals since then- since it happened since - You replayed it in your head.

"Do you remember when we first met?" Joost's fingers interlock with yours as the two of you walk down a familiar street- You were unsure of why Joost had insisted on taking you here, to the town where you both had lived when you met.

"How could I ever forget?" You grin, "Feels like just yesterday I was crying to some strange Dutch boy about my roommate issues."

"And how you told me, you never wanted to see the Netherlands again?" His words are slow as he looks deeply into your eyes, glimmers of adoration shining from every feature on his face.

"God, I was so dramatic- wasn't I?" You look away from him, scoffing as you look down at the pavement, thinking about your old self, looking back on it- it was a stupid decision to let one person ruin almost two months of your life, but back then it seemed like the biggest deal in the world. "Funny" You shrug, "The decision I made to talk to you on the day I was most certain I was just going to pack up and leave forever led me to making the Netherlands my home." You shake your head, "I don't know what would have happened if I hadn't met you on that day, but I don't think there's a reality that exists where we aren't together."

"Don't make me cry," He chuckles.

"I mean- I don't mean to be all sappy, but it's true- if soulmates are real, I can guarantee you're mine."

He's grinning now, you'd been so lost in your thoughts you barely noticed where the two of you had ended up, back at your old apartment, right in front of those very steps the two of you had met on.

He's pulling you up the stairs, and needless to say you're confused about this trip down memory lane.

"I think it's only appropriate that I do this here," His voice is low, and he's blinking more rapidly than usual. His hand slips from yours, and falls into his pocket- you watch anxiously for his next move. There's something in his hand now, and he's slowly bending down onto one knee.

The tears start nearly immediately, before he says a single word, you're cupping your mouth with your hand

"Y/n," He looks up at you, through the lenses of his glasses you can see there are tears in his eyes too, "Wil je met me trouwen?" (will you marry me)

"Joost," You choke out a sob- "Yes, Yes!" Your whole body is full of a tingling sensation, and your heart feels like it occupies more space in your chest than it did before, swelling with an overwhelming amount of love.

Joost grabs your trembling hand, caressing it tenderly with his thumb before slipping on the ring. You let him hold your hand for a moment more before you're pulling it away, desperate to see. You outstretch your hand in front of you, looking at the glimmering stone that sits on your finger. A visual confirmation of what had just happened.

He's barely stood all the way up before you're reaching for him, knocking into him with an embrace so energetically that it nearly knocks him over. As he catches his balance he wraps his arms right back around you, pulling you into him.

If you were to have gotten any closer, the atoms that make up each of your bodies may have actually fused together. Though you wish you could, despite how you fully braced Joost's body it doesn't feel like enough you want him closer to you.

Still, you're so warm in his tight embrace, letting out choked tears of joy against his chest.

A gentle kiss falls on the top of your head, followed by your favorite words to hear out of Joost's mouth, "Ik hou van jou." (I love you)

You shut your eyes, basking in the moment, you could absolutely get used to hearing those words every day for the rest of your life.

/I'll love you 'til the day that I die / 'Til the light leaves my eyes/

[geeky-politics-46]

Party For Two

Smut - Explicit content - NSFW - 18+ only!

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Summary: You and Bucky discuss what he wants to do for his birthday and what he wants as his present.

Warnings: Smut (NSFW) - 18+ ONLY - vaginal sex, unprotected sex, oral sex, light dirty talk, pet names, language, creampie, Bucky in his underwear needs a warning all its own

You could seriously just watch Bucky walk around in his underwear all day and be happy as a clam. You've told him before, and you'd tell him again. That he should just not wear clothes when you two were spending the day at home. 

It didn't matter if he threw on a shirt. Some days, having his arm and his scars completely visible bothered him. Sometimes he had phantom limb pain and needed the arm off completely, prefering to cover his scars as you tried to help with the residual nerve damage in his shoulder and back. 

Shuri did a lot, but she couldn't rewire the mess of his nervous system Hydra had left behind. Despite your assurance that you loved every inch of him, you would never push him to do something he didn't want to do. Some days were harder than others and you made sure he felt safe and loved even on his worst days. So your main rule was just no pants.

A man in his underwear should not turn you into this much of a hot horny mess, especially when you get to see him totally naked regularly. Although Bucky was an incredible specimen of a man.

Even now, you could see his lips moving, but your brain could not process the words he was saying. Not when those tight boxer briefs made his ass look like you could just bite into it. Not to mention how they perfectly cupped his bulge. The way you could just slightly see his cock and balls jiggle as he walked. It felt dirty but still kind of sweet. 

It made you just want to play with his cock. Not necessarily in a hand job sexual way, but just hold it and pet it. Tell him how pretty and perfect his cock was. Gently massage and rub his balls and kiss all over him. He did have the prettiest cock. 

You also loved how much he blushed whenever you told him how pretty his cock was. The old-fashioned boy from the 1940's was still taken aback by such words coming from your pretty little mouth. Even if it was a genuine compliment he still wasn't used to hearing a sweet pretty thing like you talk so openly about liking cock. Especially his. Especially when he wasn't already balls deep inside you.

Bucky agreed to the deal on the condition that you also wore no pants. You were allowed to throw on shorts or pj's on occasion, but only ones Bucky liked. Usually, you just went for an oversized shirt. 

Honestly, the two of you became quite the pair of hermits or homebodies. Your happy place was your apartment. Just the two of you, and Alpine, of course. You had all settled into your little domestic routine quite well. You couldn't help the little contented sigh that left your lips.

It was then that you realized Bucky had stopped talking and was staring back at you, trying not to laugh at your deer in headlights expression. You were caught red-handed, staring at him again. He couldn't be too mad about you not listening if you were gonna look so cute when busted.

"You know I think you have a bigger staring problem than I do, babydoll."

You could feel your cheeks blush as you both dissolved into little giggles. You knew he wasn't mad, but you still apologized anyway once you composed yourself. 

"I'm sorry, Buck. You are just too sexy sometimes for my brain to do anything but stare at you. I kinda like you, ya know." 

You gave him a teasing smirk punctuating your statement. Saying I love you was still new to the two of you, but Bucky would say it over and over the first few days. You couldn't help but tease him about it. All out of your own love for him though, and he knew it.

"Well, if you had been listening, you would know that Sam is inevitably going to try to throw me some sort of birthday party. He's been dropping hints for days, but if he asks please tell him we already have plans. I don't care what, but I really don't want a party." 

Of course, that's right. Sam had been after you about trying to do something for Bucky’s birthday. Sam wanted to go out and do something bigger. You knew all Bucky wanted to do for his birthday was be alone. It was hard for him think about all the birthdays, all the years, he had lost. He wanted to mark the day by enjoying the life he had waited so long for. 

He had waited so long to be at peace. Even though he still had missions to go on and work to do in the field, and in his own head, he felt a stability that he had always dreamed of. He had an apartment. Even if it wasn't the most put together. He had a pet. Alpine the fluffy white feline rescue who has helped him just as much as he helped her. 

Most importantly, he had you. He had an amazing girl that he wanted to settle down with. Create a home with. One day marry and have babies with. Assuming he could. He really didn't know if Hydra had done anything to affect his fertility. He didn't really want to know. For now, the 2 of you and Alpine was enough though.

That was what he wanted to celebrate, and he wanted to celebrate it by staying in with you. Just you, take out, tv or movies. Then, of course he planned to cash in his birthday points on dirty noise-complaint-getting loud sex. Some people may think it sounded boring, other than the sex part maybe, but that was exactly what he loved about it. 

You could see him planning out the evening he really wanted in his mind. He always joked about not wanting anyone else in his head, but he did love that you seemed to be able to read his mind. 

"What if I tell Sam that we are having a party and he just isn't invited? That it's a party just for two. Just you and me. I'll even let you pick dinner." 

He pretended to think about it as he walked over to the side of the couch you were on. Reaching across the arm of the sofa to help you up onto your knees so he could wrap his arms around your waist. Letting yourself slide up his muscular chest and link behind his neck. A mischievous smile curled up on his lips.

"I like the sound of that. I do still want cake though. Are you planning any party games?" 

You nodded at his request. Oh you were planning on cake, ice cream, whipped cream, chocolate syrup. Basically, any sort of dessert that could be enjoyed in both appropriate and inappropriate ways. 

"Well cake is a given of course. I'm sure we can find all sorts of creative ways to enjoy it too. As far as games, I do have a couple things in mind. Tell me how do you feel about naked Twister?"

He grabbed your waist a little tighter and growled a little at the idea of the two of you bent into all sorts of compromising positions. His blood starting to rush to his groin as you toyed with the hair at the nape of his neck. 

"You know, I may need a little practice. Why don't we have a little practice party right now? Just so I know what to expect on my birthday." 

You smiled and shook your head at him, he knew you were a sucker for that look he got when he was feeling frisky. The crooked little grin, the way he would bite his lip, and the way his pretty blue eyes would sparkle. It was like your lips were pulled to his by a magnet. Moving closer on their own volition. 

Not that you mind of course. Your thoughts had already been in the gutter from watching Bucky strut around the house in those tight boxer briefs. Now you knew his was there too. The feeling of his bulge hardening against you, confirming that and making you wiggle your hips in anticipation.

He pulled back so his lips were barely touching yours, eliciting a needy little whine from you. You wanted more of him. You always wanted more of him. His hands started to slide down your low back to cup your ass cheeks, bending his knees a little so he could get a firm hold on you. 

"Mmm, can smell you, babydoll. You smell so good. Know you taste even better though. Taste even sweeter than that birthday cake will. I want a taste, baby girl."

He almost effortlessly scooped you up off the couch, your legs quickly swinging to wrap around his waist. Alpine had abandoned the couch to go hide under the table the minute you two started getting lovey. So without fear of stepping on her tail he practically sprinted to your shared bedroom, plopping you down unceremoniously onto the bed before lunging so he was on top of you. 

His lips hurried back to connect with yours in a frenzy of playful, passion filled kisses. Letting your hands wander up and down each others bodies, rubbing and touching any bit you could grab. Slowly working to get your hand down to rub over his cock. Straining against the soft fabric of his underwear. Still getting harder as you massaged him. 

You pulled your lips away from his so you could admire his cock in your hand. Even though it was still hidden behind the dark fabric, you couldn't help the way you licked your lips and moaned at the sight. He was just so perfect and thick. You knew the serum hadn't changed his height and size near as dramatically as Steve, but it did effect his muscle mass. You had a little bit of a hope that it had made his cock this thick. Otherwise those girls in the 40's wouldn't have survived.

"Starting to think you might be a little obsessed with my cock, babydoll." 

He teased you as he started kissing and sucking at your neck. Letting you enjoy your view as he let his hips occasionally roll and rut into your hand. You hummed in agreement as he began teasing his vibranium hand up and under your shirt. 

"Can't help it, baby. It's just so fucking perfect and big. Fills me up so good. So much better than any of my toys. Plus I kinda love the man it's attached to." 

He nuzzled his face into your neck before you felt him grin against your skin. He whispered an "I love you too baby…". Suddenly moving quickly and knocking your balance out from you as he in one smooth move threw off the shirt you were wearing and rushing to get your panties off just as fast. Leaving you suddenly naked underneath him. 

"... I'm also kind of obsessed with this pretty pussy. So I guess we're even." 

His body dropping to the bed and your legs thrown over his shoulders as he descended on you. Wet kisses along the crease of your inner thigh, just shy of where you desperately wanted his lips. Jumping to the other side and letting his warm breath dance across your dripping sex.

You could feel his bright blue eyes on you as he placed his first long lick up your slit. Making sure to cover every inch from your tight light hole up to your clit. Stopping to place several small kisses and kitten licks on the bundle of nerves. Hearing your breath already starting to falter.

Bucky loved eating you out. It wasn't something he remembered doing more than maybe once or twice before you, and he can't remember enjoying it nearly as much back then as he did now. Maybe he was more selfish back then. Maybe those women had just been less secure and open about what felt good. Women being so vocal about enjoying sex was pretty taboo in his day, but the way you reacted to his mouth on you made him obsessed. 

Each time you moaned as swirled his tongue around your clit. Each time you would grind against his face as he thrust his tongue inside you. Each time you would pull his hair as rubbed his whole face farther into your wet cunt. It all made him want to spend the rest of his life wirh his head between your thighs. Not even caring that he usually ended up so worked up he would start humping the mattress underneath him in an unconscious effort by his cock to get some sort of attention. 

He didn't even want to stop after he heard you whine and moan his name when you came. Why would he stop when he had the opportunity to lick up even more of your sweet nectar from your orgasm? No, he only stopped when he had his fill of  feasting on your cunt and your cum. Leaving you teetering on the edge of overstimulation. 

"Definitely my favorite treat. Hell fuck the cake, I just want your pussy as my birthday treat. What you think, doll? Can I have your pretty slutty little cunt as my birthday present? Can I eat it and play with it and fuck it whenever and however I want?" 

By now he started working his way back up your body as you clung to sheets arching into his mouth as he moved. Pressing your breasts against his face as he reached your chest. Greedily encouraging him to take one of your nipples into his mouth as his metal fingers pinched at the other. The contrast of his warm mouth and the cool vibranium making your skin prickle into goosebumps. 

After switching sides, making sure to give both perky pebbled nipples the attention they deserved, he made it back up to your lips. Kissing you once before nipping at your lower lip playfully. 

You had already wrapped your legs around his waist, trying to pull his pelvis to yours. Your fingers now tangled and tugging at the fabric of his boxer briefs trying to get them down. Desperately trying to get his cock free so you could feel him against your still soaked and needy cunt. 

"I'm waiting for an answer baby, tell me and then I'll take these off. Fuck you nice and hard. Can I have your perfect tight little hole as my birthday present? I want to spend my party making you scream and cum all over my cock." 

The sound of his filthy birthday wish pulled a deep groan from your chest. You wanted to spend his party doing that too, and what the birthday boy wants the birthday boy gets. You let your body go lax so he would be able to easily position you however he wanted you as you answered. 

"Yes, Bucky, holy fuck yes! My pussy is all yours, birthday boy. Use it however you want, James. All for you." 

"That's my good girl." 

He got back up on his knees and shimmied his underwear down and kicking them off. You eyes glued to his cock before it even sprung free from the fabric. A whimper falling from your mouth when a dribble of pre-cum dripped from his swollen flushed cockhead onto your low belly. A string of fluid running from his cock and starting to make a mess on you. He knew by the look in your eyes that he had you in the palm of his hand. So you promptly obliged when he told you what he wanted next. 

"Spread your legs farther, babydoll. Pull them back and hold onto your ankles for me. I want to see every little bit of my present." 

Quickly you worked to fold yourself in half as best as you could. Opening you up even more to Bucky’s gaze. His eyes raking over your body as be stroked his length a few times. Stopping only when you started to wiggle your hips, trying to urge him to touch you.

"Impatient, aren't you baby?" 

His tongue darting out to lick his lips, still swollen for having his face buried in your pussy, before a faux pout crossed his face. Cooing lightly at you as he started slapping his cock on your sensitive cunt. 

"God you look so fucking good when you get all needy for my cock baby. Saw you get that look in your eyes earlier. Knew that smart little brain had stopped thinking of everything but my cock. It's all yours baby." 

He placed his tip at your entrance and slowly started to push his hips forward. Sliding himself into you one inch at a time. Letting you feel every little bit of stretch he gave you. The feeling making you both moan in pleasure. Stilling in place once he had bottomed out inside you. 

"Fuck darlin', that's the prettiest thing I've ever seen. Look so beautiful getting fucked with my bare cock baby."

You gave him a seductive look and bit your lip. 

"Happy early birthday baby." 

With that, he gingerly drug his hands from the backs of your heels all the way down to the backs of your thighs. Gripping onto the flesh there and bracing you for his next move. Bucky slowly started to pull his hips back and started building speed with his first thrust back in. 

A feral look in his eyes as he watched where his cock was impaling you. Hypnotized by the sight. The image of your pussy stretched tight around his cock. The way his cock shined, wet with your arousal. It tipped him over the edge when he started hearing the wet squelch of your pussy as he thrust into you spurring him on to fuck you harder. 

The headboard starting to thump against the wall under the force of Bucky’s thrusts. A litany of swears falling from both of you. Your moans and squeaks as he pounded you accented by the sound of his full balls slapping against your ass. Each of you getting closer to climax with each sound the other made.

When he could feel his balls starting to tighten and he knew he was close to blowing, he let his flesh hand dip to rub at your clit. Smearing your wetness around to make his action smoother.  

After a moment of him touching your clit he found the perfect speed and spot. Feeling the fire start burning in your belly you let your eyes roll back in your head. 

"Oh fuck Bucky, right there! Don't stop, baby please don't stop!" 

His hips only sped up even more at your reaction. 

"Oh don't worry, dollface. I'm not stopping until I make a mess in my birthday present. You want that babydoll? You want to cum in you pretty girl? Let me hear it baby." 

Few things could throw you over the edge quite like Bucky when he talked dirty. It fueled that fire in your belly and sent it boiling over. As you came undone on his cock you practically cried for him to cum inside you. Your pussy squeezing and fluttering around his cock, practically milking him.

"James!!! Cum in me please, fuck I'm cumming for you baby. God you make me cum so good. It's your pussy daddy. Fuck it and fill it please, please!" 

By the time you had finished cumming, you felt his cock start to throb as he climaxed. Your body still jerking from your own orgasm with each stream of cum you felt him shoot into you until you were nearly overflowing. 

After a few minutes of basking in each other's afterglow, Bucky eventually pulled out of you with a groan and rolled over. Promptly grabbing you up in his arms again and pulling you over to cuddle. Pressing kisses into your hair as you drew little patterns on his chest. 

"If this is what I can expect for my birthday party, then happy birthday to me indeed." 

You gave him a wicked grin as you looked up at him. 

"Oh no, Buck, this was just practice. Remember? Your actual birthday party is going to be even more fun."

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

Back to main masterlist

[zweiginator]

I had a thought about professor!patrick

(I’ve never sent in a request before or even an idea so I pray this is articulate)

What if he finds himself attracted to a really dedicated student. She’s put her all into college and has a drive and ambition he hasn’t seen in years. He tries to screw with her by giving her a B but instead of running to him crying like he’d assumed she has a collected conversation with him about how she know he’s just trying to get in her pants and he’s shocked at how easily she called him out on his bullshit. She leaves telling him to grow up and stop trying to go after vulnerable young women or she’ll report him (not knowing that Head of the Department Tashi was one of those women.) he’s undeterred, of course, and just wants her more. But instead she switches to a different class and avoids him everytime she sees him one campus.

This is where I struggle continuing the idea- what if to blow off steam and forget about the whole thing she goes to a college bar. She meets someone a little older but he’s nice and seems like a total munch. So they head back to his house and hook up and oops- it’s literally the new professor she just transferred to so she wouldn’t be in this exact situation. Professor Art Donaldson.

IDK I just feel like this would be such a messy and fun situation but this idea in my head will no go further past Art and I’m curious how you think this could go.

cw: scumbag patrick??? perhaps

the rumors about dr. zweig are like a game of telephone; they're plentiful, but they get skewed along the way. at some point, the gossip muttered into students' ears was a true statement. but then everything got so convoluted and nobody is seriously going to believe that professor patrick zweig is secretly a porn star. i mean, jesus. so it has the same effect as crying wolf. patrick has had scandals. he has had many missteps in his career due to his own inability to control himself and his urges. but all the tall tales about him are so ubiquitous that it belittles the credibility of each and every story.

but it seems like each year, patrick lusts over a student of his. that's the most widely believed rumor. each year, a bright young little thing piques his interest. causes a tent in his pants. and each year, he'll try to find away to lure her in. maybe through requesting a meeting during office hours, maybe by riling her up so much during a class discussion that she inevitably snaps, and he needs to see her directly after class for a chat.

you had never heard first-hand accounts from any of these alleged girls. but by the way dr. zweig's eyes lingers on the cleavage of girls who bend over to pick up a dropped pen, or up their skirts on a particularly windy walk to the political science building--it kind of adds up.

and as the professor's TA returns your graded essay at the beginning of class, a big red B circled at the top, along with a see me after class scrawled beneath--you wonder if you're next.

now, it's not necessarily a bad thing. there was never any talk about a lack of consent. it was truly just an issue of power imbalance. of him sniffing out pretty young girls with daddy or authority issues and reeling them in with his masculinity, his green eyes and strong arms.

after class, you go to his office. and he urges you to sit in the chestnut leather chair across from his own. but you shake your head and pull your essay from your bag.

"a B?" you ask. a simple question; you needn't say more. you have never gotten anything below a perfect score in this class. it didn't make sense.

"it seems that's the grade i've given you." he's curt with you. maybe because he thinks you'll beg for him to be nice to you. you'll beg for him to affirm your intelligence. you'll beg to do anything, anything to get your grade changed.

"i'm just wondering why." you shrug. "and i'm also wondering why i needed to come here to see you."

patrick again is insistent on you sitting down. you finally do.

"because your quality of work has decreased to a B level." a swallow. a straightening of a stack of papers. "is everything alright? are you struggling?"

how fucking dare he.

"no. im fine. in fact, i would say i grasped these topics more than any other section of the course."

patrick takes his glasses off and rubs the bridge of his nose. "it's possible you were too cocky about it. that you didn't delve as deeply as you should've and that rendered your understanding of the information as largely inadequate."

"even coming from a perfectionist like me," you start. "a B is not 'largely inadequate'.

"i think for you it is."

you stand up. frankly, he's being disrespectful.

"listen," you adjust your bag on your shoulder. "i know the game you're playing. we've all heard the rumors. i know that i'm an A student and that this--" you wave the paper. "is A-level work."

"i don't follow."

so he's acting stupid.

you lean forward. there he goes again with the wandering eyes.

"i know this is your schtick. to get girls to sit on your lap and beg for better grades or extensions or whatever it is they want from you. and i know it usually is easy for you to get whatever you want. but i'm insulted that you think of your best student as a means to get laid--and i'd tread lightly. i can easily go to the head of the department, or the dean."

patrick furrows his brows. "i have no idea what you're referencing." he clicks his pen. "and you're smart. you know you can't go to them without proof. and from what you're telling me about these 'rumors'"--he uses air quotations. "they are all based in speculation. and they are just that--rumors."

you slam the door.

and you do go to the head of the department. not to report professor zweig, but to request a class change. you tell her that it would work better for your schedule to be in an earlier section.

she emails you back quickly.

I can switch you to a 9:00 AM lecture on Mondays and Wednesdays. We have a new professor of political science starting this coming Monday.

Best,

Tashi Duncan-Donaldson, PhD

you smile at the response.

and that night, in an attempt to cool off from the day's abnormal events, as well as the immense stress of midterms--you go out.

you go alone, which is unlike you. you also go to a bar further from campus. you're more interested in keeping yourself company. maybe flirting with no strings attached.

and maybe patrick was wrong to assume you would fuck him--but he wasn't wrong about his belief that you're attracted to older men.

and as you stir your cocktail, a broad-shouldered man with kind eyes and salt and pepper blond hair sits next to you. he smells like peppermint gum and whisky.

"a pretty young girl sitting all by herself? everything okay?"

you roll your eyes playfully.

"real original."

"well--the second part of my question still stands." he tilts his head back to finish his drink. the ice clinks against the glass and you notice he has no wedding band.

"i'm alright. just needed to be alone and decompress."

the man puts his hands up. "hey--I can leave you alone if you want."

you shake your head. "we can be alone together."

"sure we can." his eyes flicker to your lips. you notice how strong his arms look. his posture is perfect. he's soft-spoken but confident. and he's so fucking hot.

"i'm art by the way." he extends his hand and you shake it, but neither of you pull away.

and it's easy to sit in silence. to break it only once every few minutes to say whatever's on your mind. he's a good listener; he tilts his head and nods and makes piercing eye contact--the kind that makes you coy.

you down a few more drinks and so does he. you start to talk more, and you move closer and closer to each other. you're in a booth in the back corner, so nobody can quite see--not that anyone's looking.

so it doesn't faze either of you when you end up on art's lap and he's feeling you up like he's a fucking teenager again. his rough fingers roll your nipples and he's never heard prettier moans. he tells you that against your ear.

you pull him into you. your tongue is more forceful than you thought possible as you push it into his mouth. but his is stronger, and he licks inside you. he's sloppy and drunk and desperate and your hands fumble with his belt.

the bathroom. he gestures to the door and you follow him.

and he doesn't fuck you. not the traditional way, at least. but he pulls your legs over his broad shoulders and he eats your pussy until his hair is ruined by how hard you tug on it. until your lips are bitten and his are soaked in your cum. his fingers are too and he pushes them into his mouth and then into yours.

you yank him forward by his belt. it's his turn. but he shakes his head and points to his watch. it's nearly one, and he has to go. on a thin paper towel, he scribbles his number.

"for next time."

and you think about him a lot that weekend. you don't know the correct etiquette to text or call him, so you don't. not yet. but you program his name into your phone. art. you don't know his last name.

on monday you're still thinking of him as you sit in the front row of your political science class. you want to make a good first impression on your professor. it's 9:02 and you tap your foot against the ground because they're late.

and then the doors swing open and a blur with a briefcase strides over to the grand desk at the front of the room.

"sorry everyone--i'm frazzled. it's my first day as you all know--" he writes his name in messy letters on the chalkboard.

he smiles at the class. it falters when he sees you.

it's bad enough that you hooked up with your professor. it's worse when you read the name on the board.

Dr. Art Donaldson.

[itsclydebitches]

Hazbin Hotel: Let's Talk About Cursing!

Trigger warning for lots of cursing in this post (obviously) and discussion of canon abuse scenes

As I delve further into the Hazbin Hotel fandom, I’ve inevitably come across a variety of people who dislike the show for an equal variety of reasons. One criticism I’ve seen with some consistency is in regards to the cursing and yeah, I get it. That’s not going to be everyone’s cup of tea. However, the repeated claim that the cursing is only there as a—failed—attempt at bad, lazy humor got me thinking about why I personally liked the cursing, and why I think it serves a greater purpose in the show.

Now yes, some of the cursing does function as an arguably simplistic joke. The most common setup I’ve noticed is one that leans into a contrast in tone/personalities. We see this a lot with the polite, comparatively timid Charlie as she navigates her distinctly vulgar domain.

Charlie: “Hi, mister!” Demon: “Go fuck yourself!”

The entirety of “Happy Day in Hell” plays with this contrast, setting up Charlie’s slightly skewed, but significantly optimistic perspective of Hell. We are shown again and again how her lyrics are contradicted or twisted into something less innocent through the visuals: a “revealing” street where it’s “hard not to stare” has BDSM going on in a nearby window, Charlie will “open the door” for her people and then literally does so... for a guy who’s already dead. (Or, you know, temporarily out of commission until he heals, or whatever demons do when they’re ‘killed’ by things other than angelic steel.) The entire point here is to contrast the happy, skipping girl claiming that there’s a “warm, fuzzy feeling” in the air with the actual environment of unchecked fires and decaying limbs. And yes, that can be amusing. Not necessarily for everyone as humor is highly subjective and dependent on context, but distilling this contrast down to the shock of a polite greeting getting a “Go fuck yourself!” in response is a kind of entertainment. Especially when Charlie’s reaction adds another layer: for me that’s a very funny—and currently relatable—expression.

We can potentially make the case that this humor format overstays its welcome, but I personally think the show does a good job of keeping Charlie’s cursing both simple and comparatively rare, so that when she is put into these contrast situations the humor lands better. The best example I can think of in the latter half of the show is Susan. There we get the whiplash of polite, trying-to-get-these-people-to-like-her Charlie reaching a breaking point to become “FUCK YOU, YOU OLD BITCH” Charlie. It’s a moment that builds off of the earlier surprise of the courteous Alastor calling someone an “Ornery old bitch”—while Rosie is trying (and failing) to find a nicer way to phrase this.

However, as stated above I think the cursing serves more of a purpose than to just be funny for (some) viewers. Beyond those who simply find cursing distasteful, I’ve seen a fair bit of, “This is so stupid. No one even talks like that!” going around.

Except... I do? I talk like that.

See, I like cursing. I was born to former hippie parents and grew up playing MMOs, so cursing was something I became pretty acclimated to. Personally, I’m glad I was because I’m fascinated by language and cursing—for better or worse—is an integral way that many people communicate. I was taught to see cursing not as the Bad Forbidden Thing You Must Never Ever Do, but rather as just another form of expression, something to be used in moderation and under specific circumstances. Once I became an adult I already understood how I wanted to curse and when it was appropriate to do so. People at work are often shocked when I tell them I curse a lot because no, of course I’m not doing that at my job. That isn't considered professional in this space. Among my friends though?

We can sound a lot like the Hazbin crew.

Undoubtedly the most common curse in the show is “fuck” and its variations, which very much tracks with my personal experience among other people who curse. In fact, it’s so ubiquitous that it barely counts as a curse at all in some groups. It’s more of an easy, accepted way to add emphasis. Vaggie’s “What the fuck was that?” about Alastor’s commercial is a perfect example. She’s pissed and simply saying “What was that?” doesn’t carry the same weight, no matter how angry she may sound when she says it. Vox’s long “Fuuuuuuuck” at the end of “Stayed Gone” conveys an emotion you just can’t capture any other way. No dialogue at all would create a fundamentally different experience of Vox’s feelings and another non-cursing response is just gonna hit different. Not necessarily bad, just different.

“I don’t want to go to the party!” “I don’t want to go to the freaking party!” “I don’t want to go to the fucking party!”

The above represents three distinct characters to me and I think Hazbin Hotel gets that. Cursing isn’t thrown around randomly because something something cursing supposedly sells; it’s all linguistically logical. Characters curse when something surprising or bad happens, or when something unexpectedly good happens, when they’re angry, trying to be sexy, or they want to add that emphasis. That’s a lot of different situations where cursing can be useful and when you use “fuck” in your daily life a lot you become pretty desensitized to it. As said, for many it’s barely a curse at all. Which means that when you really want to curse you’ve got to up the ante. It doesn’t surprise me one bit that the two uses of “cunt” I can recall—a word that is generally considered far worse than “fuck” and makes a lot of people understandably uncomfortable—is used by two of the worst characters in moments that are meant to horrify the viewer:

Adam: “Can’t wait a whole year to slaughter those little cunts / I know it’s just been a week, but we’ll be back in six months!” Valentino: “When I say you’d better get that fucking cunt out of my studio, you say...?”

This horror is especially emphasized in Valentino’s scene. The creators know this word is coming up and deliberately build towards it. Angel is currently being abused and has been reminded that Valentino “owns” him. The above question is a part of a trio that Valentino asks (a standard structure in writing), wherein the third option is the outlier/most shocking of the three. The animation leans into that shock, with the music building and Valentino grabbing Angel to pull him close right on the word “cunt.” Perez even puts emphasis there because he knows that this is a significant word that will change our understanding of Valentino.

Despite having hit Angel multiple times and taunting him with the contract, this is the moment Valentino stops playing the ‘nice’ employer. This is the real him. No more fake compliments and endearments aimed at Charlie, no more fake comfort/intimacy aimed at Angel. That “cunt” conveys a hell of a lot about how Valentino really sees them and when you have a cast of characters who are already cursing on the regular, it takes a word on that level to do that kind of work. If Valentino had said, “get that fucking bitch out of my studio” it wouldn’t have had nearly the same impact because he’s the kind of guy who uses "bitch" even when playing ‘nice.’

Adam’s line from “Hell is Forever” does very similar work. The scene needs a word to align with the horrific reveal that another extermination is just six months away, that conveys Adam’s deep disgust for Charlie’s people, and that still catches the viewer’s attention even though he’s the character (I believe) who curses the most. Here the music drops and Adam is a little closer to speaking than singing; there's this shift because, like with Valentino, our perception of him is shifting. This isn’t just some egotistical idiot who wants to be called “Dick Master,” he’s the leader of an army coming to gleefully kill them. Framing a whole world of people—people Charlie loves—as “cunts” while treating their murder as a holiday that can’t come soon enough creates an, 'Oh shit. This guy is actually a threat' understanding that you can’t quite get with anything else.

On a smaller scale, cursing does other character work throughout the whole show. I watched a number of cursing compilation vids for this meta (that was a trip lol) and again, cursing is not thrown in randomly. Each character has a unique way of cursing that aligns with their personality and motivations:

As said, Adam curses the most in the show which helps sell his truly over-the-top, irreverent personality. Linguistically, the amount he curses also allows for some fun grammatical play. Lines like, “Fucking love putting my name on shit, shit’s the best!” help convey the versatility of cursing.

Also as said, Charlie curses a fair bit but she’s comparatively polite and her cursing tends to be a result of genuinely big emotions—like saying “Crap” when she’s shocked and falls, or “Shit!” when Adam locks her out of the room—rather than sprinkled into her conversations as a modifier. That leaves space to create those moments of amused surprise when Charlie really let’s loose.

Sr Pentious curses even less than Charlie which fits his secretly gooey center. He talks a big game at the start of the show, but he’s actually quite bad at being, well, bad (especially the Amazon version compared to pilot!Pentious). His idea of getting one over on Alastor is ripping a bit of his coat. He loves his Egg Bois and “doesn’t want to live” without them. He has no desire to go into battle without minions/a big machine to hide behind and, of course, he’s the first to be redeemed. He's too much of a secret sweetheart to curse a lot.

Interestingly, Niffty doesn’t seem to curse at all. At least, not enough for me to think of examples off the top of my head. Right now I’m inclined to read that as an extension of her lived experiences/design—the cute 1950’s housewife archetype who is obsessed with keeping things clean doesn’t [gasp!] curse—as well as a way to maintain her legitimate creep factor. As said, cursing is common among the hotel residents and is a way for them to linguistically fit in. Niffty, however, is positioned more as an outsider (despite how much they all obviously love her): she’s actually scary in a way most demons aren’t and despite how weird this whole world is, she stands out as someone no one else can make sense of (even Alastor). If cursing is normal, Niffty is a character who is decidedly positioned as not normal.

Angel curses a fair bit, though his irreverence is conveyed more through innuendos. Angel is great at verbally twisting others’ words (especially Husk’s) to give himself a conversational advantage:

Husk: “Go fuck yourself” Angel: “Only if you watch me~”

Husk: “You’ve come—” Angel: [very loud orgasm noise] Husk: “...to the right place.”

Meanwhile, Husk uses “fuck” plenty, but he’s also one of the few characters who use “bullshit" too. I wouldn’t say there’s anything particularly revealing about that choice, but just giving him a go-to curse that’s otherwise used infrequently helps make his character distinct in a cast of other cursing characters.

Vaggie occasionally curses in Spanish, showing us her heritage if she used to be human, or a distinct knowledge/verbal preference if she’s always been an angel.

Heaven, as the ‘good’ side, doesn’t curse as a general rule, which leaves room for cursing to do more of that silent character work. We’re reminded of the stuffy, overly critical beings she’s dealing with when Charlie receives the combined judgement of the court for saying, “Fuck yeah!” In contrast, we understand just how shocked St. Peter is to see a Morningstar when he lets out an unintentional “Fuck!” The angry vindication of Charlie’s “That’s what the fuck I’ve been saying!” lands harder after multiple scenes of very little cursing, and Lute’s “Some crack-whore who fucked up already? / He blew his shot like the cocks in his mouth—” helps set her apart as an exorcist + Adam's second in command: her shocking violence comes through in her word choice too; words that supposedly don't belong in Heaven.

In what’s arguably the funniest line in the whole show, Lucifer undermines his dramatic standoff with Adam by going, “You mess with my daughter and now I’m going to fuck you.” Beyond just cutting the tension, that fits his bumbling, oblivious personality perfectly. Lucifer is crazy powerful and can absolutely wreck Adam. He also has none of the classy intimidation that, say, Alastor displays when he tries to convey that. This is a depressed himbo who makes ducks in his free time and settles on, “Hey, bitch!” when greeting his estranged daughter. Of course he’s going to accidentally turn a threat into a promise of sex.

Which finally brings me to Alastor, someone whose cursing is already understood well by the fandom. He’s characterized as manipulatively courteous, using manners to both hide his true nature and draw attention to his power—’You’re so beneath me I’ll just calmly sip my coffee and politely ask who you are, despite the fact that we've fought multiple times.’ This is a guy who calls people “My dear” and unironically insults them with the phrase “wacky nonsense.” So when he curses you can BET it’s gonna have an impact. It sure did for me. I had to pause the episode after Alastor’s first “Fuck you” because it was so shocking to hear that language from him. And that’s the point! The scene wants that reaction from the audience. The "Fuck you"s visceral anger contrasting the fake laughs he and Lucifer have been giving, the quick-fire exchange that’s suddenly cut short by Alastor’s choice of a direct insult, the fact that he’s officially dropping the polite veneer they’ve both been indulging in and raising the stakes before Charlie intervenes, the loss of the radio filter that otherwise demonstrates his control over a situation... all of it screams, ‘THIS IS AN IMPORTANT CHARACTER MOMENT.’

"Fuck you” reveals that, for the first time in the show, Alastor is legitimately threatened by someone. Which makes sense given that, you know, Lucifer is the King of Hell. Cursing for Alastor isn’t normal, so when he does curse it’s going to reveal something about a guy who otherwise is obsessed with being unknowable. Having the King of Hell dismiss him is actually infuriating in a way Sir Pentious’ threats could never be and the exchange kicks off a rivalry that rattles Alastor in ways Vox’s never has. (Side note: is it any wonder people ship them? Character A making control freak Character B feel vulnerable is classic!) It’s no surprise to me than that the one other true curse we get from Alastor is, “I’m about to end your fucking life,” delivered to Adam who, like Lucifer, poses a legitimate threat and does end up beating him. I say “true” curse because calling Susan a “bitch” does similar work for him, but the takeaway is humorous rather than dramatic. It’s funny that the only people who can piss Alastor off enough to curse are the First Man/a powerful exorcist angel threatening his life, the literal King of Hell... and Susan.

So there’s a lot going on here, more than what many viewers might assume if they approach the show as just “stupid,” needlessly vulgar entertainment. As shown above, I don’t think the cursing is needless, especially given that, well... they’re in Hell. They’re sinners, supposedly the worst that humanity has to offer, so of course they're going to curse a lot. Does cursing mean you’re a bad person? No. Can you craft a hellish world that doesn't rely on cursing to convey a group's immoral nature? Sure.

Does it make sense that a writer would equate a sinful, irreverent cast with linguistic rebellion and would want to convey a certain vibe that, frankly, you just can’t get without dropping an F bomb?

Yeah, I think so. No one has to like that kind of creative decision, but it’s worth acknowledging it as a deliberate choice.

That’s all! Thanks for reading this fucking long post ✌️

[simp4wom3n]

The Quiet One Pt.I

Pairing: Tara Carpenter x fem!Reader

Requested: Yes/No ~ request @perfectartisanwerewolf

Summary: Ghost face's dramatic return causes many to point the finger at 'the loner' of Woodsboro High, Y/n, a horror loving, lonesome girl who appears to have an obsession with ghost face's first victim, Tara. ~ Word Count: 5.272k ~ Warnings: descriptions of being stabbed and blood, a lot of swearing

A/N: Hi!! first Tara fic and omg I fkn LOVED writing this although it got looooooong which is why i'm making this is 2 (maybe 3) part series. Hopefully you guys enjoy the first part and want more because, maybe its just me, but writing about horror is incredibly enjoyable. I love you all and enjoy <3

Pt1 ~ Pt2 ~ Pt3 ~ Pt4 ~ Pt5

"I dunno that y/n kid is weird. She seriously creeps me out." Amber spoke with a grimace, briefly glancing in your direction. Like every other day, you were sitting alone on your chosen bench, only a few metres away from the others, with nothing but the sound of your music playing softly through your headphones and the words of the book you had chosen to read accompanying you.

You used to try and be sociable, consistently putting yourself out there despite your introverted nature. You tried you really did. After many failed attempts and being met with nothing but resentment, you eventually just gave up, deciding that you were destined for solitude.

The only person who even acknowledged your existence these days was Tara Carpenter, the very girl you happened to have a massive crush on. Before you had shut yourself off from society, she was the one person who showed you any bit of kindness. You would often exchange small talk when walking between shared classes, or even on occasion try to sit with her at lunch, although that didn't last long - you learnt pretty quickly that her friends didn't enjoy your company.

Tara absolutely captivated you. It blew your mind that someone even looked at you without judgement, let alone have their eyes brighten at the sight of you. She was the one person who you felt safe around at school, the one person you knew wasn't just talking to you for a dare or some stupid prank. Perhaps that's why you fell for her as quickly as you did.

Whenever her eyes met yours, butterflies would erupt in your stomach and your heartbeat would increase tenfold. Whilst your time with her was very limited, every conversation you had, every laugh you shared, your feelings for the girl only grew.

Along with your cowardice, there was always something stopping you from telling Tara how you felt. Her 'best friend' Amber. You would have to be legally blind to not see that Amber hated you with her whole heart - you were clueless as to why though. Whenever you and Tara had been talking for 'too long', she would always swoop in and pull her away, leaving you once again alone.

It was one particular occasion that had changed you.

Pulling your headphones out of your bag on your way towards you bike, you were about to put them on before you heard a voice that instantly made your lips quirk into a smile. "Y/n hey wait up" Tara called after you, causing you to turn around and watch her run towards you. "Hi" you laughed as she finally reached you, slightly out of breath but with a warm smile nonetheless. "You seriously thought you could just go home for the holidays without saying goodbye?" she laughed in feign offence, causing you to chuckle awkwardly.

You hadn't necessarily been 'avoiding' her, you were just taking the easy route, knowing that if you kept talking to her, you were inevitably going to confess your feelings for her - something that you definitely wanted to avoid. She was the only friend you had. Sure, your heart longed for you two being more than friends, but to you, nothing was worth losing what you already had.

"Sorry..." you gave her a tight lipped smile as you fidgeted with your hands, all of a sudden feeling very awkward as your thoughts started getting the better of you. "No need to apologise" she smiled, "I just wanted to see you before you went home so... yeah... I'll see you next year I guess". She went to turn around and head back to her friends, but without realising it, before she could walk away, you had swiftly grabbed ahold of her arm.

Her questioning eyes met yours as she turned back towards you, your words caught in your throat as you try to comprehend what the fuck you were doing. "Sorry I... I just need to tell you something." 'Y/n stop it what the fuck are you doing', Your heart and your brain were at war with each other as you stared at Tara, who was patiently waiting for you to find your words.

"Ok... ok I'm just going to say it... Tara, I really, really li-" "Hey Tara! what the hell are you doing talking to this weirdo" Your face dropped as you caught a glimpse of who had interrupted you. Unsurprisingly, you watched as Amber walked past you and wrapped her arm around Tara shoulders.

You stood frozen. Your heartbeat ringing in your ears as you felt tears begin to well in your eyes. 'This cannot be fucking happening' is what was replaying in your mind as you turned away from the two girls, trying your best to hold back your cries. Tara remained silent, half annoyed at Amber for interrupting your conversation, but also confused as to what you were going to tell her.

She watched as you swiftly grabbed your things and unlocked your bike, obviously trying to get away from the situation as fast as you physically could. "Y/n wait-" she finally spoke before you cut her off, "See you next year Tara" she could hear a slight break in your voice as you hopped on your bike and quickly rode off.

You hadn't been the same since.

Ever since you returned for the new year, you had been avoiding Tara like the plague, knowing full well that if you talked to her she would ask you what you were going to say.

Your interactions diminished into short-lived glances. You were often so caught up in your own world that you wouldn't even notice Tara's presence anymore, despite her many attempts to interact with you. She was now left with only being able to watch you as you walk through the halls, and risk a quick glance to the back of the classroom where you now sat alone.

"Don't be mean, Tara seems to like her so she can't be that bad." Wes defends you, evidently having some sympathy. Amber looks back at him with eyebrows raised. "Yeah, and look where that got her." "Amber!" "Dude what the hell!". A myriad of complaints came from the group's mouthes at the comment. It had been less than a day since Tara had been attacked by the new ghost face, sending waves of fear throughout the small town and sparking the so-called blame game to erupt.

When the news of her attack broke, you felt numb. You blended further into the background as you did your best to ignore the news. You wanted to visit her, make sure she was ok, talk to her, but you knew that even if her friends weren't protecting her like hawks, you would never build up the courage to go.

"What?! Have you not seen the creepy stares she gives her? And from what I've heard, she's obsessed with horror movies... most likely including Stab" She wasn't wrong, you did love horror movies, it was even one of the things that bonded you and Tara together, but you were more into the classics, choosing to stay away from new franchises such as stab - not that they knew that because, well, why would they.

"She has a point" Chad answers after a moment of contemplation, earning him a slap on the arm from his girlfriend. "What?! I'm just saying it would make sense" he pauses as he looks around the group, everyone giving him either a neutral expression or nodding along. "She doesn't talk to anyone, instead she just watches them, she is nowhere to be found when anything happens, and I can guarantee you she doesn't have an alibi for when Tara was attacked... It make's total sense"

"Look, I just don't think we should point fingers just yet. Everyone is a suspect so we can't trust anyone" Wes argues, earning another glare from Amber who rolls her eyes and grunts, "Sure, but don't expect me to help you when she's slitting your throat", before walking off.

You lived alone, residing in a sad little trailer in a small trailer park on the outskirts of Woodsboro. Months ago, your parents had packed up all of their things and left to an undisclosed location, for an undisclosed amount of time, leaving you alone and without any income, struggling to stay afloat in an ocean of bills and debt. Despite this, you rather enjoyed your life alone and away from the busy-ish streets of the small town - not to mention that the eerie location added to your horror movie viewing experience.

The only thing that connected your little 'community' of four people to the centre of town, was your neighbour, Dewey. The oh-so famous ex-sheriff Dewey. As much as you admittedly hated the fact that people knew this place existed because of him, you truly did love the guy. He was like a father to you. To the best of his ability, he tried to fill in the massive void left in your life after your parent's disappearance.

He was basically the only person you actually talked to anymore.

Everyday after school, when you would ride your rusted bike down the secluded and winding streets that surrounded your home, your first stop was always his trailer. Most days he would be waiting expectedly on his doorstep, greeting you with a smile as you ranted to him about your day.

He even knew about Tara.

He was the only person holding you afloat, and for that, you would do absolutely anything for the man.

That being said, your bike screeched to a halt as you pulled into the trailer park, instantly noticing an unfamiliar car parked outside of his home. 'Odd' you thought to yourself as you hopped off your bike, letting it fall to the ground before taking small and almost hesitant steps towards his door.

As you reached Dewey's truck, you heard the door open as two strangers practically fell out of it. You immediately ducked behind the truck as the door slammed shut behind them, attempting to peer around the side of the vehicle to catch a glimpse of who they were.

"Jesus" the man starts, "Yeah, he's way more fun in the movies". Your brows furrowed at the statement. 'What the fuck is happening' was your immediate thought as you saw them head to their car. "Ok... So what's next?" "The friends". You stayed hidden as they hopped in their car and drove away, still incredibly confused about the whole situation.

No one ever came out here.

Waiting until the car disappeared down the road, you reappeared from behind the truck and began walking towards his door. Just as you were about to knock, the door swung open and you were met with an obviously somewhat distressed Dewey. He looks at you, surprised before he sighs and moves past you, heading for his truck.

"Are you going to tell me what's going on or are you just gonna leave?" you call out to him, noticing the gun holstered on his hip as his steps didn't even falter as he walked hurriedly to the driver-side door. "Hello?!". Again no response. Deciding to run after him, you quickly jump off of his small porch and bolt towards his truck, managing to grab ahold of his door handle before he could reach it.

"Really? so we are ignoring each other now" He looks far from amused as he looks at you, a hint of fear in his eyes, causing your gaze to soften. "What going on?". He stays silent for a moment, contemplating whether or not to tell you. "It's about Tara." He starts, looking at you cautiously. "Her sister and her boyfriend came and asked for my help... with ghost face" "Ok... and your helping them? I thought you said you never wanted to go through that again" "Yeah well I don't, but I don't really have much of a choice" he finishes, pulling your hand off of the handle and opening the door.

You could see the mix of concern and fear in his eyes, whether it was for himself or for someone else you didn't know, but what you did know, was that if he was in danger, so were you - after all you basically depended on him.

"Well in that case... I'm coming with you" You stated firmly as you rounded the truck and quickly hopped into the passenger seat. "What! No you are not, get out and go back inside." "Not happening" you mumble as you fasten your seatbelt, choosing to ignore his words as you wait for him to start the car. "Y/n I swear to g-" "I said no!" You yelled, causing Dewey's eyes to widen slightly.

There was a moment of silence in the car when neither of you dared to speak. You sighed in relief when you finally heard him start the engine, fastening his own seatbelt. Just before he started backing out, he glanced at you, signalling that this was your last chance to get out.

You didn't budge.

As Dewey's truck groaned to a stop, you watched as Tara's sister and her boyfriend got out of their car and headed towards the door of a suburban home. You both stepped out of the truck before slamming the doors behind you, the noise of which caused their two heads to turn.

The sister looked at Dewey in a mix of confusion and relief as he spoke, "I have decided to temporarily assist you in your investigation". "Thank you" she replied, the ghost of a smile appearing on her face. Her eyes briefly shifted to you, stood behind Dewey as if he were a barricade, your face blank as you chewed on your lip in slight panic. She didn't question you though, she was just thankful that Dewey had offered to help, and if you were with him, she was all the more thankful.

As the four of you walked towards the door, you heard the boyfriend ask who you were, her reply being "I don't know". You understood their hesitation, I mean you were some random kid they had never met before who decided to tag along for a murder investigation so it wasn't necessarily 'normal'.

After the sister rang the door bell, you froze slightly as you watched Mindy answer the door. You suppose it was obvious that when Tara's sister said 'the friends' you should have caught on, but here you are looking like you had seen a ghost.

Sure, Mindy was always one of the nicer ones, or at least she had never openly threatened you or looked at you like you had committed some heinous crime, but that didn't make you any less terrified as to what was awaiting you inside the house you now knew belonged to the twins.

Hesitantly following the others, your head began to pound with the sound of your own heartbeat. As you entered the living room, you begged whatever was out there to let you disappear, turn into useless particles and drift away, because sat in front of you, was Tara's whole friend group.

The tension in the room sky-rocketed as all eyes landed on you. You felt like you were about to implode. Thankfully their resentful glares only lasted seconds before Tara's sister pulled their attention away from you, talking bout why she had brought everyone together.

Following Dewey, you reluctantly walked further into the room, slowly taking a seat next to him on the couch. With your hearing almost completely overcome by the sound of your own pounding heart, the words of Tara's sister, who you now know is called Sam, went in one ear and out the other.

You only blink back into reality when you hear Wes mention Dewey, "What about Deputy Dewey here? maybe he's the killer... no offence" "None taken, but what's my motive?" "You got stabbed a billion times, got dumped by your famous wife and crawled into a bottle. I think it's safe to say you're on the suspect list."

You don't think you had ever looked at someone so intensely, your eyes burning holes into his skull as he accused the only person you could ever trust. "That's bullshit" you couldn't help but call him out - sure his explanation made sense but it still pissed you off.

"Well what about you then". Your head whipped towards Amber's smug words, shock painting your features at her accusation. Your mouth hung open as she continued with a smirk. "I mean come on!" she laughs, "Your a horror fan right? So you love horror AND your a lonely freak who creepily stares at people for a hobby... Classic ghost face I'm telling you."

Speechless. You are absolutely speechless. Everyone's expected looks burn you as you attempt to find some kind of rebuttal, to say something. Anything. "I-I don't" "Where were you when Tara was attacked?" Amber interrupted.

You sucked in a harsh breath knowing you were home alone at the time, no one to back you up - not that anyone would've. "At home" you mumbled, Amber scoffing at you. "Alone I presume". You bit your tongue to stop yourself from cursing her out, eventually nodding hesitantly as your eyes began to burn with unshed tears.

"That's what I thought"

After the whole 'interrogation' process had left you on the verge of a breakdown, you had grown evermore attached to Dewey, following him around like a lost puppy. So, naturally, when the news of Wes' murder broke, you were right beside him as he approached the fresh crime scene.

It was safe to say that he was concerned about your insistence of sticking with him, that added pressure of keeping you safe weighing on him as he inevitably brought you into something that you should never have had to worry about.

You felt cowardly as you became Dewey's extra limb, following him around as if he was the only thing that could protect you - and the sad truth was that he was. You were his own personal fly on the wall, rather unfortunately overhearing his conversation that he had with Gale.

Your face was blank as you had remained zoned out ever since you had heard the details of Wes and his mother's murders, even the thought made you sick to your stomach. You didn't know much about ghost face and their history, but one thing was for sure.

This one was a fucking psycho.

You were broken from your gruesome thoughts when you heard rushed footsteps approach from behind you. Your eyes were quick to notice Sam's figure approaching, coming to a halt in front of Dewey and the deputy he was talking to, a panicked look covering her face.

"Who's at the hospital?"

Your heart sinks. Everyone’s eyes stare at the deputy, awaiting an answer that never came.

"Who's watching my sister?!"

Images of Tara being attacked whilst helpless and unprotected in her hospital bed flash through your mind, sending a paralysing shiver down your spine.

"I-I just heard about the sheriff" You hear Sam scoff in a mixture of disbelief and fear, turning around and running to her car. You muttered ‘Fuck’ before you quickly followed suit. For once Dewey was on your tail as you make a desperate dash towards Sam’s car, needing nothing more than to get there already.

You swing the car door open as you scramble into the back seat. Sam, still unsure as to who you are, gives you a puzzled glance before Dewey enters the passenger seat next to her. She just stares at him for a second, almost as if she’s in a daze, until Dewey snaps her out of it.

"What are you waiting for? Drive! Come on let's go!"

The drive to the hospital dragged on for what felt like hours. You had pushed Sam's call with ghost face back to a more-or-less distant thought, only tuning in when they mentioned Tara - the only thing you cared about.

The whole drive, you had been anxiously waiting on the edge of your seat, so as you finally parked outside the hospital, you rushed out the car door and ran towards the elevator.

Watching the floor levels tick by, the sound of Tara's whimpers echoing through the call filling your ears, you swallowed down your tears as you inhaled shakily, attempting to compose yourself for what you knew you were about to face.

As you approached Tara's floor, Dewey pulled his gun out of his holster and glanced back at you. "You ok kid?" he asked softly, his brows slightly creased as he noticed your seemingly panicked appearance. "I'm fine... let's just save Tara and get the hell out of here". Despite still being on the phone, Sam offered you a small, warm smile, clearly realising how much you must care for her sister.

"Or maybe I'm stalling for time, fuckhead"

The elevator dings and you watch as the doors begin to open. Through the growing crack you notice ghost face looming over Tara's helpless figure, your jaw immediately clenching at the sight. You flinch slightly as Dewey is quick to fire a shot at the masked figure. His aim clearly having deteriorated since he retired, he missed multiple shots as the figure dashed into a room for cover.

As ghost face disappeared into the room, you were quick to follow Dewey out of the elevator, immediately heading towards Tara. Just the sight of her tormented figure made you want to cry. Falling to the ground next to her, you were quick to cradle her head as you scanned her body for any new injuries.

Despite her bandaged hand having turned a bright shade of red, relief washed through you when you couldn't see any new wounds. If you thought the sound of her whimpers through a phone call was bad, this was utter torture. You attempted to compose yourself - although you would be lying if you said you weren't freaking the fuck out. Sam was quick to help Tara off the floor and towards the elevator as you comforted her the best you could.

"Tara... your ok... your ok come on" you whisper hurriedly, glancing over your shoulder to see Dewey helping Richie off the floor. You return your focus on getting Tara to the elevator, not noticing her glossy eyes looking at you dazed. "Y-Y/n... w-what are y-you d-doing here?" she brokenly asks, your eyes finally meeting hers.

You are unable to respond before you hear a large crash from behind you. The three of you quickly turn around, your face dropping in horror as you witness ghost face jumping towards Dewey. "Dewey no!" you scream as you let go of Tara and run towards him, the protests of the sisters falling on deaf ears.

Dewey's gun fires off a stray bullet as your hands grip onto ghost face's costume, successfully pulling them to the ground. You collapse next to the masked individual, only now realising you were completely unarmed and didn't really have a plan past this point.

'Oh fuck'

Your eyes widened in fear as ghost face jumps on top of you attempting to stab you in the chest as you push against them with all your strength. Dewey attempts to pull them off of you as you struggle to hold the approaching knife from impaling your chest. Not appreciating his attempts at heroics, Ghost face quickly elbowed Dewey in the face, causing him to collapse onto his back and his gun to fly out of his grip.

"No no no no" you whimper as the mask looks back at you, its rich black eyes staring through your soul. You wrestle in their grip as they wind their knife back before thrusting it into your torso. You scream as you feel your abdomen burn, the knife piercing your skin and lodging itself deep within your gut. Your shirt quickly turned a bright shade of red as the blood began to flow from your new wound.

You cry out in pain as the knife is viciously ripped out, your vision beginning to blur with tears as your body erupts in pain. You hear Tara screaming your name as the knife pierces your skin for a second time, your body simultaneously burning and freezing as you feel yourself slowly sinking into the floor.

And they keep stabbing you. Again, and again, and again.

Stab wounds litter your body as you continue to scream, each one becoming quieter as you quickly lose energy, the sound of blood gargling in the back of your throat now accompanying your helpless screams.

You could almost sense their smile from behind the mask. The anger behind each of their strokes increasing as they went to town on you, blood now beginning to slowly seep from the corner of your mouth.

Your energy was seeping from your body as fast as the blood that continued to pour from your eight stab wounds. You curl in on yourself as ghost face is finally tackled off of you, coughing violently as blood splatters into the pool of your own blood that had seeped across the floor.

You were barely conscious when you heard numerous shots ring out through the hallway, instantly waking you from your looming coma. Turning your head as far as you could in your dazed state, you saw Dewey rushing over to you with what appears to be an unconscious ghost face behind him.

"Y/n" he breathes, scanning your weak and bloodied figure. Sucking in a hesitant breath, he carefully picks you up, his hands already covered in your warm blood. You grunt in pain as you feel your wounds stretch and pull. Your head falls onto his shoulder, your entire body aching as he limps towards the elevator, passing a concerned Sam and Tara. Tara watches as your blood leaves a trail behind Dewey, already seeping through both of your clothes.

Even when on deaths door, the sound of Tara's sobs cause you to look in her direction, worry filling your glassy eyes. To your surprise she is already looking at you with a similar expression. You try your best to put a smile on your bloodied face, but at this point any kind of movement sends shocks of pain down your crippled frame.

You clench your eyes shut in pain as you feel Dewey put you down on the cold elevator floor- why was he putting you down?

"The head" he says as he stands back up. Fading in and out of consciousness, you struggle to comprehend what he is saying, looking at him through your drooping eyes. "What?", "You have to shoot'em in the head, or they always come back.". You watch as he slowly steps backwards out of the elevator. Your mouth falls open as it finally starts sinking in.

This wasn't happening. This couldn't be fucking happening.

"Dewey! Who gives a fuck?!"

"I do"

"Dewey! No!" you let out a blood curdling scream, using all of your remaining energy to try and keep the door open, only for it to close in front of you. "No!" you screamed again, you voice shattering as you slam your fist continuously into the door. "No no Dewey come back! Come back please! I need you please!" you begged, knowing all eyes were on you but not caring how broken you looked.

"Please Dewey... please..." you cried, eventually collapsing of pure exhaustion, a metallic taste overtook your senses as your adrenaline finally ran out, the world around you turning black.

As the world falls in around you, you catch a glimpse of Tara's distraught expression watching you from behind Sam who attempts to keep you awake, inevitably failing.

Bright lights sting your tired eyes as you slowly blink away your exhaustion. 'What the fuck' is your first thought, your mind blank as to how you ended up in... a hospital? You try to sit up in an attempt to look around, stopped when you feel a sharp pain shoot through your torso, causing you to grimace.

You exhale shakily as you collapse back onto the bed. Hesitantly, you reach your shaking hand down to pull up your hospital gown, revealing what can only be described as 'a shit ton' of bandages. "What the..."

"No...", it hits you like a truck. "No... no no no, this can't be happening". The steady sound of your heart monitor starts to beep rapidly. You begin to panic as you breath erratically, trying to disconnect all the useless wires that were connected to you in an attempt to escape this all to realistic nightmare.

Apparently hearing your struggle, Sam walks into the room with a worried look on her face. "Hey! y/n calm down... calm down it's ok... it's ok." She rushes over to the bed and takes your hands in hers. You were a stuttering mess, your eyes unable to focus on anything in particular as you tried to wrestle out of the bed, her firm grip stopping you from going anywhere.

Eventually her gentle touch grounded you, her hands stroking yours gently as she looked at you sympathetically - a look you appreciated but knew couldn't be good. "Wheres Dewey?" Was the first thing that came out of your mouth once you had calmed down. You noticed how her posture slump slightly as her eyes fall to the ground - that can't be good.

"He's fine right? tell me he's ok... please" you brokenly begged her, tears rolling down your cheeks as you knuckles turned white from the strength in which you were gripping her hands. When she finally lifted her head back up, her eyes brimming with her own tears, a whole new wave of pain erupted through you.

"No no no no no!" you sobbed, Sam instantly pulling you into a tight embrace whilst remaining careful of your stitches. "He was all I had" you cried into her chest, her own heart breaking at your words.

She allowed you to cry into her chest as she gently stroked your hair. It had been a very long time since you had experienced such affection, not sharing a proper hug since before your parents had decided you were a lost cause. It was a feeling you missed.

Despite never wanting to leave her warm embrace, you eventually pulled back, wiping your nose as you sniffled away the remnants of your tears. You slumped back into your bed, feeling nothing but numbness overcome your body. Sam just sat there with you for a while, offering you whatever comfort she could whilst you let everything sink in.

You had nothing left. Absolutely nothing.

Just as that thought crossed your mind, you heard something approaching from the doorway, causing you to raise your head slowly, expecting a nurse or something to be coming to check on you. Instead, you watched as Richie rolled Tara in on a wheelchair, the injured girl flashing you a small smile.

If you hadn't been paralysed by your overbearing emotions you would've returned the gesture, instead your eyes looked back towards Sam whose lips similarly showed a small smile. "We're getting the fuck out of Woodsboro... wanna come?"

You looked back over towards Tara, her sweet features still offering you a warm smile. Your heart swelled as something inside you told you that it was her idea for you to accompany them. Your eyes welled with tears at the thought, finally offering her a wet smile, chuckling despite your tears as you nod enthusiastically.

"I would fucking love to"

Tag-list:@nitchxhdc @emeraldevan @looseheartedlady @the-night-owl-blr @badassjaguar @txmxav @oh-thats-cute @blckrwidow @cacciatricediartemide @flaiire1805 @rainbow-love4ever @fall-08 @simp4nat @natashadeservedmore @livingforwaddams @alexkolax @ssinfulprayers @wifeyjennaortega

[twistedwonderlandimaginesblog]

Oh! Hi! Requests open! Can I request twst freshman bois, Ace, Deuce, Jack, Epel, and Ortho spying on twst MC who's out having their first date? They're all friends and completely platonic, they're just keeping an eye on their friend in case anything goes wrong since MC got asked out by an RSA student.

Ace Trappola:

Ace is just nosy, and he doesn’t exactly get why you’d want to date some from RSA, anyway. He tried to convince you that they could be using you for personal gain but that only seemed to hurt your feelings, telling Ace to stuff it before you went to get ready for your date. He didn’t understand why you had a reaction like that but since you were being stubborn he’d have to take it upon himself to keep an eye on you, rationalizing to Deuce that he has to do it because clearly your feelings had stopped you from seeing sense.

Deuce Spade:

Deuce didn’t want to invade your privacy and spy on you, but Ace put conspiracy theories in his head that he just couldn’t ignore. Deuce didn’t know if this RSA student had pure intent or if they intended to use you for some greater purpose, like hurting you simply because you attended their rival school of NRC. He couldn’t just wait around until you got your heart broken, he had to be at the scene to rectify the situation immediately, but it’s hard to keep his emotions in check. He ended up glaring at the person you’re with the entire time he’s secretly supervising, drawing unwanted attention as your date is suddenly sweating profusely for no reason they can explain.

Epel Felmier:

Epel has a bit of a competitive spirit in him, having to wonder why you chose an RSA student of all people to date. He doesn’t really think it bothers him until a ‘big brother’ instinct kicked in, suddenly making him feel on edge. As much as he tried to focus on other things he worried about how the date would go for you, and if that RSA jerk might be too aggressive with you… He followed you into town to quiet his anxieties, just wanting to see the person you’re on the date with to give him peace of mind. He didn’t think he’d end up staying the entire date, glued to his seat with an annoyed look on his face as he thought there was no way that RSA student was good enough for you.

Jack Howl:

Jack had said he wasn’t interested, not knowing why you even told him about your date plans. He started to wonder if maybe it was an ask for support, or a worry that you were confiding in him for a reason. He does remember what you said, including the date location, and he tries, poorly, to blend in with said location when you inevitably catch him. He pretended he didn’t hear what you said originally and that he definitely intended to come here on his own free-time, a shop that has zero things that are of any interest to him.

Ortho Shroud:

Ortho is set to kill. He’s not necessarily worried about you physically taking your RSA date on, but he did consider your emotional state in not hurting someone you liked (even if they deserved it). He’s very noticeable to you in public, so he tried to convince Idia to give him a stealth mode, a way to spy on you without getting caught and while still appearing intimidating. He keeps a close eye on your vitals and jots down mental notes for later when you get to talk, asking you all kinds of questions that make it seem like he had been sitting right next to you the entire time.

[authorred]

Astarion headcanons because it's been too long and I love this man | Astarion x GN!Reader

Preface: Astarion, as complex as he tries to make himself out to be, is really a simple vampire. There are many ways to make him yours, and all of them don't require rocket science.

THIS MAN DESERVES THE WORLD--also it has been like 8 months since I last posted but shhhh

Warning(s): None

Don't talk about his bite mark scars much, if at all. It doesn't necessarily bother him, but he'd rather not talk about it

If you're an artist of some kind and you draw him, he'll try to brush it off by acting grandeur and arrogant, but internally he'll be twirling his hair and blushing

If you draw what you believe he looked like before being turned he won't react the same way, but he'll stare at it (maybe to try to remember?)

It's no secret that Astarion has sexual trauma. I don't think he'd do well with hypersexuality or someone who wants sex a lot

I don't think he'd mind you being sexually attracted to him--he wouldn't blame you smh--it's not a deal breaker for him

Personally, I think he'd do better if any sexual attraction came second

Like he's said, he needs time to do anything intimate. Not that he'd never do it again, but every time he did it in the past it was for an ulterior motive (or against his will)

He needs a friend first, partner second

Show him he's worth more than his seduction and body

Moonlit night dates

Massage his ears when he sleeps on you

Kiss his wrinkles and laugh lines--softly, chastely

Handle him gently

Do not even think about adding a third to your friendship/relationship. Astarion has most likely never had someone to himself, that would definitely make him feel unworthy/not good enough

Making him slightly jealous might be okay but tell him you find it cute when he's slightly jealous, and you appreciate it. Assure him that it's okay.

After having his guard up for so long it's natural he'll feel uncomfortable being vulnerable--assure him

Assure him a lot. Tell him his feelings are valid and that he's not wrong for feeling x

When he loves you, he loves you wholly. Any sexual feelings he has will come way down the line

When they do, go so slowly. You cannot be impatient, otherwise he'll shirk away, and the relationship will change

I think Astarion would flourish better in a majority nonsexual relationship (sorry x, he's sexy af but his lore and boundaries are more important than his rail-ability)

Compliment him a lot--not anything superficial--compliment him. Compliment him like how you'd want to be complimented by someone you love

If you can, write him poems

If you're going to inevitably die before Astarion; when you start to age he won't love you less--he'll love you more

Your health will always come before his

If you're sick he'll take care of you for the most part

If you're in danger, even if you can handle yourself, your survival is always number 1 to him

Will sacrifice himself for you

Won't accept the opposite, but knows he can't stop you if you did

Would be devastated if you died for him

Genuinely would never get over it

I don't think he'd want to get married in the traditional sense but he would 100% want to do something to prove his commitment

FLOWER CROWN MAKE THIS MAN A FLOWER CROWN

Please just be so patient with him

Don't treat him like fragile glass, but don't be rough with him either

PROTECT HIM AT ALL COSTS

Hug him a lot. He needs it

[freyito]

ᴛʜᴇ ᴋᴏᴍʙᴀᴛ ʙᴏʏꜱ + ᴀ ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ ᴏɴ ᴛʜᴇɪʀ ᴘᴇʀɪᴏᴅ

✧ a/n: hi. hey. hello. guess what time it is. ANYWAYS. this ones for the bad bitches (gn) with uteruses who have a vendetta against them. i see you and i hear you and you are NOT alone (no geras on this one i genuinely couldn't think of anything for him srry)

🗒 cw: afab reader but gn terms (if any?), period talk, some of these i wrote with 3 days of no sleep so, not proofread

✎ wc: 2136

⎯Liu Kang

You'd think for the man that shaped the universe, he'd at LEAST think about getting rid of that week of hell. Just kidding. But when you joke about it with Liu Kang, he sincerely apologizes. With his full heart.

But, god, is he attentive. He’s gentle with you, like you’ll break at the slightest touch. Which you assure him you won’t. He gets you some ginger tea (or green if you don’t like ginger tea). He essentially condemns you to your bed (sorta) the entire week, he doesn’t want you putting any strain on yourself. Liu Kang will get you ANYTHING you ask of him, absolutely anything.

⎯ Bi-Han

Sure, Bi-Han can be rude sometimes, and he’s a damn workaholic. But I believe he would incorporate a menstrual leave within the Lin Kuei. Granted, he’s normally stressed as hell, but he doesn’t want any of his subordinates to even train under that stress. So he treats you with such tenderness unfitting from a man of his stature. He cares.

He kind of has a checklist he goes through when you’re on your period. Pads, tampons, tea, painkillers, water, tea, anything and everything, especially for the pain. He’ll get you snacks, as long as they aren’t too salty or sweet. Bi-Han doesn’t like to ‘gatekeep’ food from you, but he is worried that something too unhealthy will make your cramps worse.

⎯ Kuai Liang

We all know Kuai is rather attentive. While he can’t necessarily be empathetic, he’s sympathetic. Any little wince you make, he worries over. Doesn’t matter if your cramps are a 3 or a 10. He’s concerned over every little thing, every complaint you make he takes seriously. Even if it’s just a joke plea, asking him to make it stop.

But, seriously. Ask him, and he will do his best. He’s already got all sorts of pads, tampons, and cups. At least three different brands, too. He prepares like it’s doomsday. He has all your comfort foods stocked, and ingredients if it requires cooking. Who needs a heating pad when you have Kuai Liang, though? If you don’t mind, he’ll lay right on top of you, and warm himself up.

⎯ Johnny Cage

Holy shit, you don’t even need a tracker with Johnny. He KNOWS. It’s a little scary. But by god, does he prepare. Snacks? Check. Everything sweet, savory, spicy, anything you want. If you want nothing other than takeout for the week? He can handle it, his wallet won’t hurt a bit. Chores? Don’t worry about it, sweetheart. He’s got them covered for the week. He practically leaps at the chance to take care of you, even if you argue that it isn’t that bad.

Before you even start, Johnny’s massaging you. Trying to make you feel better. And somehow, he’s made the bed feel all fluffy and soft, the pillows have never been so perfect (except last month), and you feel like you can sleep easily during shark week. He spoils you during your period, too. Anything to lighten your mood. Silly little gifts, cute stuffed animals, the sweetest things that could make your teeth ache. He can’t say no to you, or whatever you ask.

⎯ Kenshi Takahashi

Much like Johnny, Kenshi catches your period before you do. It’s not telepathy, no, it’s the fact that somehow, your movements become a little bit more stiff, and you’re just a little bit sluggish. He treats you to a nice little dinner the day before, so you’re well-fed and hopefully have energy to deal with the start of the week.

And when the cramps inevitably start that night, when you get back from the bathroom, he rolls right over and pulls you into a hug. Before you fall asleep, he massages your lower back and waist. Kenshi makes sure there are fresh, clean, and warm sheets almost every night. Something to snack on, some water– in fact, he pushes water pretty damn hard for shark week– and a good amount of emotional support. As much as he can, he will do. 

⎯ Kung Lao

Kung Lao is admittedly a little lost– at least at the start of the relationship. He does all he can, and needs just a little guidance. Tell him directly what you need or want and he’s running off to get it. But, with a couple months, he’s gotten into the swing of things. All sorts of snacks stocked up, heating pads galore, and like seven different boxes of product.

The thing he goes straight to is, of course, Madam Bo’s food. He finds her food to be a great comfort, and hopes it will be the same. It’s hearty, so damn good, and hot. He’ll run to her place and back to yours every day if you want. Is it an excuse to get some for himself? No. Seriously. He’s hoping that it can help, even if it’s a little.

⎯ Raiden

Raiden is the sweetest thing. He dotes on you normally, but when you’re sick, it’s even more. And he does the same when you’re on your period. He coddles you, essentially. But not in a childish way, no. It’s just, any time you wince or groan or complain, he’s asking what you need, if you want space, if you want him to help, massage you, whatever.

All sorts of soups and teas are made, he’s got painkillers at the ready, and he’s still scavenging for ways to make you more comfortable. As much as he wants you to stay in bed, he still wants you to get some exercise, because he hopes moving will help a bit. He won’t force you to, but he ‘strongly recommends’ it. 

⎯ Zeffeero

Rain is surprisingly cuddly during your shark week. To him, it’s more about making you feel better than anything. Not that he can’t be cuddly, but physical affection isn’t normally his go-to. His normally royal and guarded exterior comes crashing down when he sees you, but more-so during your period.

Any free time he has, he’s got his arms around you, his head nuzzled into the crook of your neck. Even when you complain. It’s the pressure that he focuses on– which, on that note, he has like ten different weighted blankets. Take your pick, he won’t mind which one you use. Zeffeero makes sure you’re comfortable, treats you like royalty, really. If you want (as much as he wants to stay next to you and cuddle up to you), he’ll sleep elsewhere. All the chores? Done. Especially if your period wipes you out.

⎯ Tomas Vrbada

Tomas might go a little overboard when you’re on your period. Any time he can manage, he worms his way into your arms, treats you like true royalty. I mean like the whole package. Carries you everywhere, makes you whatever you want or request. Even if you mention it in passing, he’ll bring it to you. He doesn’t pass up the opportunity to pamper you, ever.

His main go-to is fresh baked goods. He’s a pretty damn good baker. If you’re okay with it, he tends to sorta drag you along with him anywhere in the house, as if the minute he takes his eyes off you, the cramps will get worse. But, if you want space, that’s okay, too! And don’t worry about laundry, dishes, anything. He makes sure you have a clean and fresh environment, to at least make your mental health feel a little better. Tomas has a routine, really. Cuddle up to you in your sleep, massage at your hips, make sure you have a heating pad by you and some water on the bedside table for the morning, and then he gets right to cooking before you even wake up.

⎯ Baraka

Oh, how Baraka wishes he could essentially smother you, hold you, do whatever he can physically to take away the pain of the cramps, and just reassure you. But he is blocked by his affliction, and the fear of himself. Regardless, he’s a little bit more clingy. In his own way.

He’s got a survival kit, essentially. Pads, tampons, cups, painkillers, painkillers, snacks and takeout almost every day, fresh clothes and clean sheets every morning. He knows what he’s doing. Baraka has an entire water jug by the bed, heating pad on standby, and one of your favorite snacks, as well. He tries to treat you the best he can, by some fancy food he was able to get at the market, or maybe a little gift.

⎯ Syzoth

Syzoth is also pretty clingy during your period. Considering his favorite past-time is wrapping himself around you, he works like a walking weighted blanket. He’s kind of hard to shoo away, cause he’s just so worried over you.

While most of his support and comfort comes from pressure and cuddles and all, he practically jumps at the idea of getting you your comfort food or just snacks. Something to tide you over. It satisfies a kind of primal urge within him, like hunting down food. Even if it’s just walking down the market and grabbing a couple of things.

⎯ Havik

Havik's a "what size pussy you wear" kinda guy. I apologize. In his pursuit for total anarchy, some things ended up lost on him. It’s not that he doesn’t know, it’s that sometimes the thought of his partner having a period evades him.

With some convincing though he’ll get you what you ask for. Sort of. He’s not necessarily welcomed in Sun Do or many Outworld cities due to his… reputation. But somehow, he manages to get you a couple snacks, painkillers, and pads or tampons (whichever you asked for), surprisingly! Just don’t ask how he got it. And don’t ask why his bounty was raised the next time you enter town.

⎯ General Shao

Shao wants to stay at home with you during shark week. He would, if he could. He wants to make sure you’re all comfy and secure and okay. He insists on changing the sheets the night before, because he believes it’s the very least he could do.

He will leave you little notes and try and make you some breakfast before he leaves, though. He focuses on the little things, because that’s all he feels he can do. And when he comes home, he’s more focused on you. Could care less if he’s injured, or just had a hard day. No matter how tired he is, he’ll find a way to try and massage and try and ease your pain. Half the time it’s done on instinct, he’ll be half-asleep, muttering something incoherent, running his hands down your back and massaging at the knots in the small of your back.

⎯ Shang Tsung

If you thought Shang Tsung couldn’t get anymore sappy… you’re WRONG. He becomes horrifyingly sweet, whenever you're sick or on your period. The minute you curl up or complain he’s on you, pampering you, saying stupid, sassy things like ‘awh, my love’. But he doesn’t do it to belittle you. He says it in a joking manner, because he wants to distract you. Laughter is the best medicine… or something.

The thing about Shang Tsung is that when he falls in love, he falls hard. And he (not so) secretly wants to pamper and spoil and treat you like royalty. And when you show any amount of hurt, even if you just make a face, he’s at your beck and call. You don’t even have to say a full word, he’s already got whatever you’ve said. He mainly showers you in gifts, because he really does want to try and distract you as I said. But he’s more than fine with simply sitting by and letting you complain, too. He kinda eggs you on, like hell yeah, take that verbal abuse, uterus!

⎯ Reiko

Reiko’s head of heels for you. And he melts in your hands. He’s a little bit prideful, so sometimes he tends to restrain himself around you. But, when you’re hurt in any sort of way, those walls fall instantly. He’s all over you, asking what you need, checking in on you almost every hour on the dot (when he can), and massages. So. Many. Massages.

He’ll return home from work, with some sort of treat for you, and beeline straight for the bed (or the couch, or wherever you are), and just curls up right behind you. He won’t say anything, but his hands will wander, massage around your waist, rub circles below your stomach, that kind of thing. He just hides his face in the crook of your neck and does whatever he can to ease your pain. Reiko isn’t really good with words, and it takes him some time to get used to what you like and your favorite foods to help. But, he’s very confident in his strength, and with that,– especially with his training– he’s pretty confident on the body and just enough pressure to apply to ease your aching body.

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[wisteriagoesvroom]

📚 10 f1 fics i've loved lately 🏎️

been thinking a lot about how to organise fic recs into some sort of sensible post, 'cus there are so many (great!) pairings and (delicious!) driver combinations, not to mention so many varying styles of fic and SUPER TALENTED WRITERS!!111!!

just gonna list a bunch in no particular order, with accompanying pics, so you can get a sense of the vibes.

'cus what is f1 rpf but all about the ✨ vibes?! 🏁

p.s. people are in this community making amazing stuff for freeee!! if you liked these please leave a kudos or a comment, it makes a writer's day 🫡 

let's gooooo--

objects in the mirror by linearity (@drivestraight) charles/max. 87k words (series), rated t then e

listen. LISTEN! charles to rbr is one of the best premises ever and i will read it in like a thousand iterations. but this fic. this fic series in particular cleared my skin, made me want to cut my hair into a bob out of sheer emotion. i would be remiss not to start with this one because its impact on my f1 rpf trajectory should be studied by science. you know when a story just jumps off the page and it's so real that it becomes your canon. a kind of meteoric inevitability. plus, i almost never cry at fics. but by the time the third act of this one hit, i just went -- damn, am i rly about to tear up at a f1 rpf fanfiction rn? (yes.)

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sawtooth by nottonyharrison (@nottonyharrison) charles/max. 40k words, rated e

max as a f1 engineer? for CARLOS at FERRARI? sign me the fuckkk up. first off, awesome premise. there's always going to be something so heartwrenching about "what ifs", especially in any universe where max isn't a racer. despite the change of circumstances, just... the sheer poetry of two characters who just inexplicably find their way to each other in any universe... 🤧 also this story nails racing scenes in a way that's so visceral, i feel like a fly on the damn halo with them. and, aside from the gourmet lestappen, carlos's whole thing in this fic is joyous! spicy! he's so unapologetic and vaguely annoying! hilarious! + the swimming pool scene lives rent-free in my head.

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salt skin by peachbellini (@strawberry-daiquiris) oscar/lando. 12k words, rated e

this fic is magic. literally and figuratively. (MERMAID LANDO???? MERMAID LANDO.) the kind of story that makes you gasp and melt a little bit. and made me want to throw my phone at the writer, 'cause it's really that good. the yearning, the metaphor for all that's monstrous, a boy who is lost (and the boy who he finds, is equally so). this is just beautifully written and a little quirky and so well executed. i think i put it in my bookmarks as "what if lando was a mermaid and it was filmed by a24" or something. pearl of a story.

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hockey!! shrimp colors :) by leafmeal0ne (@ocontraire) oscar/lando. 13k words, rated t

leaf meal one. i have only known you a week but if anything were to happen to you i would wreck everyone in the room including myself. in all seriousness, anything that leaf writes is brilliant. they're one of these writers who could do a throwaway line on the label of a ketchup bottle and i will probably scream about it. the precision, the way they switch up sentence structures, the freaking darcy-level regency yearning transposed onto a contemporary sports setting. i'd rec all of leaf's sports AUs and i'll probably talk about more in a future fic rec post. BUT. the hockeyyy one my GOD. the barely restrained violence, their mutual desire, the theme of finding your place... *wails uncontrollably*

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you almost unearthly thing by anonymous max/daniel, 3.7k words, rated g

max is a governess(govern..lad?) and daniel is the mystery man at the manor. this was a response to a request i made in the kinkmeme! (if you haven't read those fics go check 'em out, there are so many great ones, and not necessarily all rated e). this is a criminally underrated little story that has my favourite repressed feelings + people dancing around each other + gothic vibes + "what the hell is wrong with y'all in this tale" combo that i really adore. it's really well written and captures the atmosphere so well.

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the so-called narrative by antimonyandthyme (@antimonyandthyme) oscar/carlos, 10k words, rated e

i'm once again asking why there are only 7 carlos/oscar works in the tag. I'M ONCE AGAIN ASKING-- *is sedated*. *jolts awake* okay but for real this is a great story. hot, fake-friendship-to-situationship which so happens is one of my favourite places to be. also hello miscommunication/they're so weird about it/they both want each other but can't express themselves for shit/insane racer boys energy.

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and silver, and samarium by pink_mink (@on-softs) george/toto, 5.2k words, rated e

i profess i am not usually the biggest fan of A/B/O (altho!! this fandom has made me go BUT ACTUALLY HM at least a few times). and this fic freaking nails it, along with the twisted power dynamics between TPs and drivers, as seen through the lens of omegaverse. this story rattles around my head like a stubborn ghoul just from the style and prose and sheer audacity alone. george kneeling at toto's knees while he's working..... ohhhhhhhhh i was this close to calling my lawyers.

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algorithm by anney (@badboy-george) charles/max, 16k words, rated e

i LOVE, LOOOOVE a sci fi concept alright. love that shit, will inhale it like moon dust with zero regrets. and what a fantastic one this one is!! the premise is that the FIA can now statistically show the compatibility of drivers on the grid and it's very pacific rim-y drift compatible, mixed with the surreal vibes of eternal sunshine or HER or some such. it should be outrageous, but it really works. that's the beauty of a great fic right there.

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trajectory of trojan asteroids by redpaint (@redpaint) nico/lewis, 3.3k words, rated g

also one of the fics i first read when i hopped on board the f1 rpf train. the pain and poignancy just gets worse the more i learn about brocedes. you know when you're like "there's no way this was reallll" and then you're like "fuck, it was so real". then you get a fic like this that just encapsulates all that rage and loss and grief and upset, set against the starry vista of endless space. *clutches tablecloth* god.

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p.s please bear in mind that these recs are entirely subjective! i enjoy loads of f1 stories but these are the ones that have especially stuck with me for some inexplicable reason.

p.p.s if your fic is on here and you want it taken off for whatever reason, i'm happy to, no questions asked 💛

BYE for now / until part 2. (i also love talking to ppl about fics so pls feel free to send an ask or hit me up in DMs or whatever.)

xoxo, -- wizz

[tethered-heartstrings]

There is a very clear difference to how Hannibal commits violence against Will compared to others. Sometimes there is the air of him doing it for pleasure, but often it’s out of necessity, self-preservation. He killed Tobias and Antony to keep his secret, he fought Jack in “Mizumono” to stay alive. While it was “I need to do this”, part of it was “because I want to”, versus with Will it was “I have to”. He didn’t necessarily want to harm Will like he did the others, but he had to protect himself, whether physically from prison or emotionally from betrayal. But there is a hesitancy with violence towards Will because he cares about him. He knows he has to inflict pain, but he wants, needs, that pain to be survivable, tolerable, forgivable. There is a deep-rooted fear that Will may not forgive him. What if this act is the final straw and there is no going back.? Still, it’s a need that cannot be ignored, it has to be done. With tears in his eyes, it must be done. And the only thing he can give amongst all the inevitable suffering is a bit of kindness, a small touch of love. A little token of “please just trust me. Trust that I don’t want to do this, but I have to, and I would do anything else if I could.” Hannibal wants the best for Will and is burdened with dealing him the worst. A violence he knows too intimately, and he has no choice but to extend it to someone he loves. An ache deep in his core spread through a trembling, hesitant touch. One last good brush of skin before the spill of blood. A tuck of hair behind the ear and a plead from his soul that this won’t be the time he loses Will forever.

So when Will forgives him in the catacombs, it’s a relief that yes, he was forgiven, he didn’t lose him. But a bitter ache crawled up from his mending heart knowing he had to eat him, and it’d be final. There would be no Will Graham left to forgive him. The least he could do is extend that love once more. Tend to his wounds, hold him, pet his hair, feed him, make it so Will doesn’t feel too much pain. And when it all falls to pieces, he is left in limbo awaiting Will’s forgiveness, hoping against all odds that he could turn back time and go back to a place where they were okay again. But it was the final straw. Will didn’t want him. Will wouldn’t miss him like he’d miss Will. Years and distance separate them, but it could never fully rip them apart. Because at the end of it all Will forgave him. Wanted him. Chose him. Loved him. Despite all the violence and bloodshed and tears, it was all worth it if it meant ending up in each other’s arms. To be the last thing the others feels with no more time left to worry about forgiveness because he will have it for eternity.