#people suck way more than they used to suck

[tinystepsforward]

autocrattic (more matt shenanigans, not tumblr this time)

I am almost definitely not the right person for this writeup, but I'm closer than most people on here, so here goes! This is all open-source tech drama, and I take my time laying out the context, but the short version is: Matt tried to extort another company, who immediately posted receipts, and now he's refusing to log off again. The long version is... long.

If you don't need software context, scroll down/find the "ok tony that's enough. tell me what's actually happening" heading, or just go read the pink sections. Or look at this PDF.

the background

So. Matt's original Good Idea was starting WordPress with fellow developer Mike Little in 2003, which is free and open-source software (FOSS) that was originally just for blogging, but now powers lots of websites that do other things. In particular, Automattic acquired WooCommerce a long time ago, which is free online store software you can run on WordPress.

FOSS is... interesting. It's a world that ultimately is powered by people who believe deeply that information and resources should be free, but often have massive blind spots (for example, Wikipedia's consistently had issues with bias, since no amount of "anyone can edit" will overcome systemic bias in terms of who has time to edit or is not going to be driven away by the existing contributor culture). As with anything else that people spend thousands of hours doing online, there's drama. As with anything else that's technically free but can be monetized, there are:

Heaps of companies and solo developers who profit off WordPress themes, plugins, hosting, and other services;

Conflicts between volunteer contributors and for-profit contributors;

Annoying founders who get way too much credit for everything the project has become.

the WordPress ecosystem

A project as heavily used as WordPress (some double-digit percentage of the Internet uses WP. I refuse to believe it's the 43% that Matt claims it is, but it's a pretty large chunk) can't survive just on the spare hours of volunteers, especially in an increasingly monetised world where its users demand functional software, are less and less tech or FOSS literate, and its contributors have no fucking time to build things for that userbase.

Matt runs Automattic, which is a privately-traded, for-profit company. The free software is run by the WordPress Foundation, which is technically completely separate (wordpress.org). The main products Automattic offers are WordPress-related: WordPress.com, a host which was designed to be beginner-friendly; Jetpack, a suite of plugins which extend WordPress in a whole bunch of ways that may or may not make sense as one big product; WooCommerce, which I've already mentioned. There's also WordPress VIP, which is the fancy bespoke five-digit-plus option for enterprise customers. And there's Tumblr, if Matt ever succeeds in putting it on WordPress. (Every Tumblr or WordPress dev I know thinks that's fucking ridiculous and impossible. Automattic's hiring for it anyway.)

Automattic devotes a chunk of its employees toward developing Core, which is what people in the WordPress space call WordPress.org, the free software. This is part of an initiative called Five for the Future — 5% of your company's profits off WordPress should go back into making the project better. Many other companies don't do this.

There are lots of other companies in the space. GoDaddy, for example, barely gives back in any way (and also sucks). WP Engine is the company this drama is about. They don't really contribute to Core. They offer relatively expensive WordPress hosting, as well as providing a series of other WordPress-related products like LocalWP (local site development software), Advanced Custom Fields (the easiest way to set up advanced taxonomies and other fields when making new types of posts. If you don't know what this means don't worry about it), etc.

Anyway. Lots of strong personalities. Lots of for-profit companies. Lots of them getting invested in, or bought by, private equity firms.

Matt being Matt, tech being tech

As was said repeatedly when Matt was flipping out about Tumblr, all of the stuff happening at Automattic is pretty normal tech company behaviour. Shit gets worse. People get less for their money. WordPress.com used to be a really good place for people starting out with a website who didn't need "real" WordPress — for $48 a year on the Personal plan, you had really limited features (no plugins or other customisable extensions), but you had a simple website with good SEO that was pretty secure, relatively easy to use, and 24-hour access to Happiness Engineers (HEs for short. Bad job title. This was my job) who could walk you through everything no matter how bad at tech you were. Then Personal plan users got moved from chat to emails only. Emails started being responded to by contractors who didn't know as much as HEs did and certainly didn't get paid half as well. Then came AI, and the mandate for HEs to try to upsell everyone things they didn't necessarily need. (This is the point at which I quit.)

But as was said then as well, most tech CEOs don't publicly get into this kind of shitfight with their users. They're horrid tyrants, but they don't do it this publicly.

ok tony that's enough. tell me what's actually happening

WordCamp US, one of the biggest WordPress industry events of the year, is the backdrop for all this. It just finished.

There are.... a lot of posts by Matt across multiple platforms because, as always, he can't log off. But here's the broad strokes.

Sep 17

Matt publishes a wanky blog post about companies that profit off open source without giving back. It targets a specific company, WP Engine.

Compare the Five For the Future pages from Automattic and WP Engine, two companies that are roughly the same size with revenue in the ballpark of half a billion. These pledges are just a proxy and aren’t perfectly accurate, but as I write this, Automattic has 3,786 hours per week (not even counting me!), and WP Engine has 47 hours. WP Engine has good people, some of whom are listed on that page, but the company is controlled by Silver Lake, a private equity firm with $102 billion in assets under management. Silver Lake doesn’t give a dang about your Open Source ideals. It just wants a return on capital. So it’s at this point that I ask everyone in the WordPress community to vote with your wallet. Who are you giving your money to? Someone who’s going to nourish the ecosystem, or someone who’s going to frack every bit of value out of it until it withers?

(It's worth noting here that Automattic is funded in part by BlackRock, who Wikipedia calls "the world's largest asset manager".)

Sep 20 (WCUS final day)

WP Engine puts out a blog post detailing their contributions to WordPress.

Matt devotes his keynote/closing speech to slamming WP Engine.

He also implies people inside WP Engine are sending him information.

For the people sending me stuff from inside companies, please do not do it on your work device. Use a personal phone, Signal with disappearing messages, etc. I have a bunch of journalists happy to connect you with as well. #wcus — Twitter I know private equity and investors can be brutal (read the book Barbarians at the Gate). Please let me know if any employee faces firing or retaliation for speaking up about their company's participation (or lack thereof) in WordPress. We'll make sure it's a big public deal and that you get support. — Tumblr

Matt also puts out an offer live at WordCamp US:

“If anyone of you gets in trouble for speaking up in favor of WordPress and/or open source, reach out to me. I’ll do my best to help you find a new job.” — source tweet, RTed by Matt

He also puts up a poll asking the community if WP Engine should be allowed back at WordCamps.

Sep 21

Matt writes a blog post on the WordPress.org blog (the official project blog!): WP Engine is not WordPress.

He opens this blog post by claiming his mom was confused and thought WP Engine was official.

The blog post goes on about how WP Engine disabled post revisions (which is a pretty normal thing to do when you need to free up some resources), therefore being not "real" WordPress. (As I said earlier, WordPress.com disables most features for Personal and Premium plans. Or whatever those plans are called, they've been renamed like 12 times in the last few years. But that's a different complaint.)

Sep 22: More bullshit on Twitter. Matt makes a Reddit post on r/Wordpress about WP Engine that promptly gets deleted. Writeups start to come out:

Search Engine Journal: WordPress Co-Founder Mullenweg Sparks Backlash

TechCrunch: Matt Mullenweg calls WP Engine a ‘cancer to WordPress’ and urges community to switch providers

Sep 23 onward

Okay, time zones mean I can't effectively sequence the rest of this.

Matt defends himself on Reddit, casually mentioning that WP Engine is now suing him.

Also here's a decent writeup from someone involved with the community that may be of interest.

WP Engine drops the full PDF of their cease and desist, which includes screenshots of Matt apparently threatening them via text.

Twitter link | Direct PDF link

This PDF includes some truly fucked texts where Matt appears to be trying to get WP Engine to pay him money unless they want him to tell his audience at WCUS that they're evil.

Matt, after saying he's been sued and can't talk about it, hosts a Twitter Space and talks about it for a couple hours.

He also continues to post on Reddit, Twitter, and on the Core contributor Slack.

Here's a comment where he says WP Engine could have avoided this by paying Automattic 8% of their revenue.

Another, 20 hours ago, where he says he's being downvoted by "trolls, probably WPE employees"

At some point, Matt updates the WordPress Foundation trademark policy. I am 90% sure this was him — it's not legalese and makes no fucking sense to single out WP Engine.

Old text: The abbreviation “WP” is not covered by the WordPress trademarks and you are free to use it in any way you see fit. New text: The abbreviation “WP” is not covered by the WordPress trademarks, but please don’t use it in a way that confuses people. For example, many people think WP Engine is “WordPress Engine” and officially associated with WordPress, which it’s not. They have never once even donated to the WordPress Foundation, despite making billions of revenue on top of WordPress.

Sep 25: Automattic puts up their own legal response.

anyway this fucking sucks

This is bigger than anything Matt's done before. I'm so worried about my friends who're still there. The internal ramifications have... been not great so far, including that Matt's naturally being extra gung-ho about "you're either for me or against me and if you're against me then don't bother working your two weeks".

Despite everything, I like WordPress. (If you dig into this, you'll see plenty of people commenting about blocks or Gutenberg or React other things they hate. Unlike many of the old FOSSheads, I actually also think Gutenberg/the block editor was a good idea, even if it was poorly implemented.)

I think that the original mission — to make it so anyone can spin up a website that's easy enough to use and blog with — is a good thing. I think, despite all the ways being part of FOSS communities since my early teens has led to all kinds of racist, homophobic and sexual harm for me and for many other people, that free and open-source software is important.

So many people were already burning out of the project. Matt has been doing this for so long that those with long memories can recite all the ways he's wrecked shit back a decade or more. Most of us are exhausted and need to make money to live. The world is worse than it ever was.

Social media sucks worse and worse, and this was a world in which people missed old webrings, old blogs, RSS readers, the world where you curated your own whimsical, unpaid corner of the Internet. I started actually actively using my own WordPress blog this year, and I've really enjoyed it.

And people don't want to deal with any of this.

The thing is, Matt's right about one thing: capital is ruining free open-source software. What he's wrong about is everything else: the idea that WordPress.com isn't enshittifying (or confusing) at a much higher rate than WP Engine, the idea that WP Engine or Silver Lake are the only big players in the field, the notion that he's part of the solution and not part of the problem.

But he's started a battle where there are no winners but the lawyers who get paid to duke it out, and all the volunteers who've survived this long in an ecosystem increasingly dominated by big money are giving up and leaving.

Anyway if you got this far, consider donating to someone on gazafunds.com. It'll take much less time than reading this did.

[charmac]

How are you feeling about S17? I'm getting reaaal worried that it's going to be terrible. No Glenn in the writers room? A crossover episode?? Rob's gradual transformation into pondslime??? Help

Pondslime 😭Lmfao

I'm feeling more than fine about 17, really truly. I don't think anyone should be worried at all.

I think sometimes my interactions with Glenn come off a little more serious or abrasive than they really happened in real life (because we have to shout due to how loud it is in the bars), and my immediate transcription is just to get people *information*, which really doesn't convey tone.

For example, reporting that Glenn said "you don't want to know" in response to me asking for any teasers (as to plots this season) was met with a lot of "oh so this season is gonna suck" on Twitter, and that could not be further than the truth (sorry to the people I split-react blocked for saying that lol). In hindsight I get the reaction, because written out it's a response that can be easily misinterpreted and reads as potentially concerning, but know that when Glenn said "you don't want to know" he looked like this:

And when I was genuinely just asking for script information (regarding writers of individual scripts after he mentioned they had broken already) and mentioned Nina (Inflates) and Ross (DTAMHD), he gushed about both of them and then said, transcribed word for word, "It's been a good room, I'll say this it's been a great room. It's been an all-star room, it's been...like, breaking the stories this year has been really fun. [Me: Yeah?] Yeah. [That's great, that is great to hear.] It's been really fun."

So the idea of "no Glenn in the writers room" is really much more akin to Season 16 than 13/14. He was there to break stories (meaning he was in the room when they were brainstorming plot ideas and when they settled on which plots would be turned into scripts) but Rob and Charlie are taking the brunt of writing their (RCG's) scripts because of Sirens. This is the same thing that happened with The Gang Goes Bowling. Glenn's name is on the script, but Rob and Charlie wrote the majority of it while Glenn was shooting Blackberry. (I remember originally being convinced it was a mistake Glenn was listed as a writer for Bowling, lmfao). And Glenn is definitely still contributing, will be on revisions for the non-RCG scripts, and will classically change or improv whatever he thinks is best for Dennis when he's on set (see: the Risk E. Rats script).

Also, I know the crossover is concerning to a lot of people just given the nature of it, but as of what we know right now it's only on Abbott, so it's really just as if this season's The Gang Cracks the Liberty Bell or The Janitor Always Mops Twice took place on a different show instead of ours...

I promise promise promise Glenn was clearly holding his tongue for good things coming up, and Friday night very much restored my confidence that Season 17 will be good. (But..if you don't think Glenn has good contributions to Sunny or understands the agenda, then sorry this response probably sucks lmfao)

[mermaidsirennikita]

I gotta say this is also very unsuprising casting when you think about it. Like as soon as the shock had worn off I was like...yeah of course she cast them.

Oh yeah, it does make sense because Emerald isn't about what's good for the project, Emerald is about what makes Emerald happy. Which is why I fundamentally can't get into her creatively.

Because of course, any creative has their aesthetic, their sensibility, their work. And I respect that, as a creative.

But you also have to kill your darlings. And we think of that in the writing sense most often—cut that sentence, that scene, that chapter if it doesn't truly serve the work. Scrap the whole thing and start over if it's truly not what it should be.

I'm a STRONG believer in that, to be fair. Brutal. Maybe too much so? Lol. Or I'd have a book out by now.

But anyway, it applies to every type of creative work, imo. You don't cast someone because YOU like them, particularly in an adaptation of a work as iconic as Wuthering Heights. You cast them because they are right for the role.

Heathcliff and Cathy, especially Heathcliff, are two of the most groundbreaking and influential characters in literature of the past 3 centuries. Heathcliff's lack of proximity (for his era) to whiteness is particularly central to the role, and I don't know anyone who seriously takes this work apart and isn't like... actively racist... who interprets Heathcliff as white. It's so crucial to his character that he is "other" in his society.

It's just TRULY a shame to me that she not only cast someone as subpar as Elordi, but someone so, so white. Like, I wouldn't want a white actor I love to play Heathcliff. And this is a fabulous role for a man of color, too.

The last adaptation did cast a man of color, but it was frankly not a very high profile project and not well done.

(I also think it would be compelling to cast a man of Roma descent OR a man of Asian, specifically South Asian descent because the text literally uses a contemporary term for Indian men to describe him... Though Nelly also speculates that he has Chinese heritage, and there are definitely some implications that he could be descended from presumably African enslaved people. The latter I could definitely see being an interpretation when you factor in the speculation that he's Mr. Earnshaw's illegitimate child. I think there's always this idea that "catch-all" terms were probably being used to describe Heathcliff's appearance, but I've thought for a while that I would personally most love to see a Roma actor or a South Asian actor play him.

But like. Literally any other than a white guy.)

This will be much more high profile, with way more attention, and it just really sucks that Emerald decided to use it to push one of her faves. It tells me that she has very little respect for the text. On what planet would anyone, even in the 1800s, look at Jacob Elordi and think that he was anything other than a white guy.

And again, I think Margot is way too old to play Cathy, and honestly doesn't read in any way as Cathy to me. I say that as someone who, again, considers her a very strong actress when she's in her element. I just. Ugh.

[andy-wm]

AYS Behind the scenes: behind the paywall

Now that the Disney+ episodes are complete (sob), my attention is firmly fixed on my mailbox as I wait impatiently for the AYS photobook and QR code.

I was always going to buy the Jikook photobook, even though I doubt there will be much we haven't already seen in the episodes. But the inclusion of the QR code was the clincher.

I must admit, Hybe locking up the behind the scenes for AYS was not on my bingo sheet.

Making behind/additional clips available on Bangtan TV would have been more in line with their regular MO. We don't generally have to pay for what really amounts to outtakes.

Okay, yes, we have to pay for behind cuts of Run BTS, but the actual episodes are free. With everything else the behind clips are included when you buy the series (I'm thinking of BV, ITS, and concert boxed sets).

In fact I can't think of any other time a behind/ bonus clip hasn't been available to fans who pay for the main content.

Maybe it is because Hybe was only contracted to deliver 8 episodes to Disney+ and the price was fixed. Maybe they saw an easy way to make the series more profitable.

We know they will take any opportunity to lighten our wallets.

But I think there's more to it

Let's talk business:

If Hybe wanted to make money from this, having the sale point directly on Weverse would make more sense. That way anyone could buy it any time without having to buy the photobook as well. Even if they charged just a few $$ for these extra clips, the return could be substantial over time. Long tail products can be very lucrative and Hybe clearly knows this - they have heaps of old footage for sale on Weverse. Since they're hosting the content already, it makes sense to keep that 'buy now' button active and let the dollars trickle in.

So why reduce the potential pool of buyers? Why limit this to those who buy the photobook??

Well, let's consider who is going to buy the photobook?

Who is going to fork out US$28 plus postage for a keepsake of these two on their third honeymoon?

I doubt OT7 ARMYs would buy it. Even ARMYs who bias JM or JK - if they aren't part of the SGMB they probably don't want it either.

Solos sure as hell don't want it - they are probably wishing the whole thing never happened... sucks to be them haha

Who really wants to see these two living their best lives together?

We do!

And by we, I mean Jikook supporters.

People who want to see more of this:

and this

And this

We are the people who will buy this photobook (and probably never look at it more than once, let's be honest)

But let's get back to the topic at hand....

The photobook/behind combo seems like a chicken/egg situation to me.

Which came first - as a concept - the photobook or the behind clips?

Did they decide to offer a photobook, and then think of adding the extra footage to make it more appealing?

Or vice versa?

Did they decide to make the behind clips, and think of the photobook afterwards?

Hard to say, since behind clips have always been a thing and recently Hybe is putting out photobooks for everything.

But I think I have a fair idea

Consider the price point for this photobook - it's the same price as most of the others produced recently: +-US$28.

AYS photobook & behind is the same price as the Photo-Folios, Tae's Type 1 (magazine version) photobook, and the Beyond The Stage photobook

🗣 So they aren't charging any extra for the behind footage?

No, they aren't. They're basically giving it to the buyers of the photobook as a gift.

🗣 Could they be making money off it?

Yes, the could.

Long tail, remember?

Looking at the profit-making potential, it makes WAY more sense for Hybe to offer the behind footage on Weverse for a few meagre dollars and... wait for their ship to come in...

See what I did there? hahahhaha (laughing by myself)

They really aren't making any money off this!

how unlike Hybe...

So why go to the effort of setting up QR codes and putting it behind a paywall? It costs money to host content this way. They are in fact SPENDING money to bring us this footage.

Not only through the hosting costs there are also production costs to consider.

Wouldn't it make more sense to just freely share it with ARMY via Bangtan TV? Or not release it at all?

Yes, it would...

So there's only one logical answer...

Hybe has chosen to make the content available - but also make it just that little bit more difficult to access.

This whole exercise seems to be about releasing additional footage without releasing it to the general public. It's being shared specifically with those of us who support them.

Does that mean we'll see slightly more personal content?

Maybe it's a little more revealing of their undeniable bond and their hot chemistry...?

Whatever they contain, these behind clips are definitely for a limited audience - and purposefully so.

The only reason for it, that I can think of, is to safeguard Jimin and Jungkook from too much scrutiny and criticism - from within the fandom (unfortunately) and outside of it.

We will find out in a few days I guess.

In the meantime, I'm camped out by my mailbox

[esggs]

swipe that nose like a credit card – Higuruma Hiromi

[softdom! reader x sub!Hiromi, 650+ words, smut/fluff, cunnilingus, mentions of bj, body insecurities, soothing said insecurities, please I love people with big noses]

You move your hips from his face to your new seat, his chest. Hiromi, lips suddenly detached from your clit, looks up, sweating, panting, blushing, and confused.

“Are you too tired, handsome?” What? Hiromi’s brows curl with dismay. Has he not been pleasing you well enough?

His words come between breathless heaves (he’s spent a decent amount of time buried under your cunt by now). “Am I doing something wrong, ma’am? Tell me.” His hands try to pull your plump ass onto his wet chin again. But from the look on your face he quits immediately. “Please?”

“Have you forgotten?” Leaning down to him, you let him bury his face into your boobs, squeezing and sucking, how lucky he is. You can barely hear his muffled voice: “Please tell me, ma’am, I’ll please you as you wish.”

He needs punishing. His paradise of boobs cruelly leaves him as you lean back again, even though his hands remain cupping your tits. To be fair, it’s not as if anything more than cloudy lust fills his head right now, you can’t really blame him for not remembering. Your hands tighten in his hair till he’s moaning from the pain and humping up into the air. 

You run your wet tongue up the bridge of his strong nose. “Shouldn’t this be fucking into my pussy? How could you make such a mistake, pretty face?” 

He gulps and nods. “I’m sorry, ma’am. I’ll do better this time.”

“My sweet love,” you praise him as he softly nips the insides of your thighs, sinking two fingers into your cunt, the stretch slow and delicious. He pulls your hips to hover just above his trembling tongue, awaiting further kind words before he pushes heaven up into you.  “Love you, Hiromi. You’re perfect, aren’t you, baby boy?”

His fingers part inside your hole, leaving a space for his tongue to lick inside for a moment, collecting your nectar-slick, before drawing them to massage your clit with. You jolt at the sweet sting, his broad hands keeping you locked onto his face, the light stubble of his jaw grazing your delicate skin. Hiromi works up wave upon wave of sharp pleasure till you break. Till you fully take control. Till you grab him down by the hair and are riding your orgasm out on his nose.  

“Use me, ma’am.” He groans out, barely an inch from cumming himself watching your boobs bounce, your face twisted, lost in the way his broad nose grinds against your swollen clit again and again and again. 

You cry out when you reach your high, your cum dripping over his nose, lips and cheeks. If he tries to sneak a taste with his tongue, you don’t notice. You gently climb down from his face when you’re fully done.

“You know, babe, I was so insecure about my nose back in school.” Hiromi laughs tiredly. A warm towel in your hand, you clean him up, lots of kisses and praise peppered in between. His cock will be sucked off in a bit, if he so wishes, and his arms will be cuddling you to a deep sleep soon. “My friends made fun of me, say it’s too big, you know? That was just how it was like back then. To think you love it so much now…”

You trace the bridge of his carved aquiline nose. Some idiots made fun of this? “I’ll beat your friends up, okay? They don’t know shit about anything. It is big, I don’t know anything about ‘too big’. And thank God that it’s big, because it fits your face perfectly–”

“– and your pussy too.”

“I’m trying to be sweet, Hiromi. Your nose is great because it’s your nose. Nothing more or less than that. Everything on your face, regardless of what other idiots think, is beautiful because it’s you. Does that make sense?”

“Yeah,” he laughs again as you playfully bite his ear. “You love my nose, got it.”

masterlist

a/n: i was lazing in bed not wanting to get up and then i thought 'i can write higuruma getting bossed around' and i immediately got up.

[0o-junebug-o0]

MORE AUTISTIC FEM! READER X SPENCER PLEASEEEE maybe her getting overstimulated at a bar with the team? or at the store? i neeeeddddd more of them!!

Bad Time at the Bar

here you go!! tho it's gn!reader bc gender didn't really come up, hope you don't mind!

genre: hurt/comfort

cw: autistic!reader, explicitly autistic spencer reid, overstimulation (and not the fun kind), meltdown (which reads a lot like a panic attack bc that's what my meltdowns are like), internalized ableism and autism viewed in a negative light (spencer talks to reader about it and provides reassurance), completely gn!reader (reader is not described at all)

wordcount: 1.3k

There are too many people. The smell of sweat and alcohol hangs heavy in the air and burns your nose. The room is saturated with noise. Drinks clinking on tables, music playing, people talking. Your head pounds and you regret not bringing your headphones. You thought you’d be fine. Whenever you’ve gone to the bar with the team in the past, you’ve never needed them. Someone bumps into you and the constant unexpected contact causes panic to build in your chest. There’s not enough room. Everything feels like it’s closing in on you.

You suck in a breath through your teeth, gripping your bottle of beer so hard you’re surprised the glass doesn’t shatter. You chew on the inside of your lip until you taste blood, but it does nothing to soothe your quickly growing panic. 

You look around frantically, your eyes so wide you feel like they’re about to burst. Finally, you spot Spencer. He’s gathered around a table with Derek and some strangers, talking animatedly about something. You stagger forward, nearly tripping over your own feet. People slam into your shoulders and chests as you try to move and you can feel the burn of tears welling in your eyes. The tears cause the already painfully bright lights to reflect directly into your eyes so you blink hard and wipe them away.

Your whole body shakes and you desperately try to raise your hands to cover your ears but you’re still holding your drink and there’s not enough room and it’s embarrassing. You can feel your heart pounding throughout your body and your limbs feel like they’re going numb.

By some miracle, you manage to reach Spencer. You stumble toward him, reaching out and clinging to his arm. He startles and turns to look at you. Immediately, concern rushes over his face and he takes your drink and passes it to Derek before gently grabbing your hand. As quickly as he’s able, Spencer guides you through the bar toward an exit, using his own body to force people aside and away from you despite his dislike of germs. 

He holds open the back door and you practically fall into the alley. The door closes and immediately the smells, lights, and sounds lessen. You sink to the ground, pressing your hands against your ears now that there is no one but Spencer to see you. You curl your knees to your chest and stare with wide eyes at the ground. Each breath you take is a rasping, heaving mess, and a distressed groan forces itself from your throat with each exhale.

You feel like you’re dying.

Spencer crouches down beside you, sitting with his legs crossed and leaning against the wall, and you immediately press your body into his. You curl your legs beneath you and lean awkwardly in a way that hunches your back and presses your forehead into his knee. You squeeze your eyes shut and you can feel the way your tears soak his pants.

Spencer drapes himself over your back, using his body to provide the grounding pressure he’s learned you need in times like this. He wraps his arms around you and squeezes tightly. You let out a broken sob and slam the heel of your palm into the side of your head.

“Hey, hey,” Spencer mutters, gently taking a hold of your wrist. 

You shake your head. You need to hit. You need it. And there’s no way to redirect.

Spencer releases your hand and you move it to thump it against your chest.

“Okay, that’s better than your head,” Spencer says to himself. He squeezes your body in intervals and the varying pressure helps ground you. Slowly your sobs lessen to sniffles and hiccuping breaths and the hand hitting your chest falls limp against Spencer’s leg. 

“You’re okay,” Spencer mutters, rubbing his hand up and down your arm. “You’re going to be alright.”

You sniffle and move your head to press it against his stomach. 

“Hi, sweetheart,” he says softly. You can hear the love and care in his voice. “You feeling a bit better?”

You hum and nod against him.

“Do you need some more time, or do you want to go home?” he asks, keeping his body pressing against yours in case you still need the pressure.

You tap his leg twice.

“Home?” he asks sweetly.

You nod, and Spencer sits back. The sudden lack of pressure makes your body feel weird, and part of you wants to drag him back down. You decide against it, knowing that you’ll get used to it quickly and that Spencer will hold you again when you get home.

Spencer carefully guides you to your feet and, keeping an arm wrapped around you, leads you out of the alley and down the street to his car. He opens the passenger side door and you climb in. 

“Will you be okay for a minute or two while I run back in to grab our stuff from JJ?” Spencer asks.

You nod and do your best to smile at him. Spencer smiles back and closes the door. He locks the car and jogs back toward the bar. 

You sigh and wrap your hands around your stomach. Guilt and embarrassment coil painfully in your chest. You can’t believe that just happened. You should have been fine. Why this time? Why the one time you didn’t bring your headphones? You groan in frustration. Why couldn’t you just be normal? And Spencer. You feel so guilty for dragging him away from the rest of the team and the fun he was having to deal with you.

There’s a soft click as the doors unlock, then Spencer opens the driver's side door and climbs inside. You keep your head bowed as he closes the door and reaches into the backseat to set down your stuff. 

You see him still out of the corner of your eye, and then his hand rests gently on your shoulder. “Hey, what’s going on?” he asks.

“I–I’m sorry,” you mutter weakly.

“For what, sweetheart?”

“For this! For everything!” you cry. “You–you were having fun and I ruined it! You should have to deal with this!”

Spencer says your name softly and, when you don’t respond, he whispers, “Please look at me.”

You slowly raise your head, wiping away the tears streaming down your cheeks.

“You have nothing to be sorry for. I don’t care what it is I’m doing, if you’re upset or need help, I will always drop everything to be there for you. And it’s not ‘dealing with you’, baby. We’re partners. It’s our job to take care of each other. You can’t control when you get overstimulated or have a meltdown.”

“But I could have!” you insist. “I didn’t bring my headphones because I thought I’d be fine like every other time and then I wasn’t! It’s my fault I freaked out like this. I should be able to handle it.”

“There is no ‘should’. Having a meltdown will never be your fault. And I know you know that, because you would never think these things about me when I have a meltdown.”

Your jaw drops. “Of-of course not!” you stutter, taken aback.

“Then why is it different for you?” Spencer asks. “Why is your autism bad but mine isn’t?”

You open and close your mouth for a moment, unsure of what to say.

Spencer doesn’t speak.

“I–I don’t know,” you eventually admit.

“It’s because it isn’t bad. I understand why you might feel that way or why you feel guilty about making me deal with it, as you say. But I help you because I love you and care about you and because I want to. Just like you help me because you love and care about me and want you. And I will always choose to help you and be there for you, no matter what, no matter how ashamed you may feel. Okay?”

Your chin wobbles, and soon tears are streaming down your face as you let out a wailing sob.

Spencer leans over the armrest to hug you, neither of you caring about the awkward angle. 

You pull back and wipe at your eyes. “C-can we go home, now?” you ask weakly.

“Of course, sweetheart,” Spencer says kindly.

“And then cuddles?”

“Always.”

_____

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[angelcakegirl]

ʚ recognize ! ɞ

fboy!leon kennedy x fem reader

wc; 2k

cw; smut (mdni!), p in v, unprotected, degrading, hickeys, re4r leon but in college au!!!, ooc leon(he's kinda icky), mentions of substances(alcohol n cannabis), i made leon a tits guy sorrryyyy

note; so sorry if this is kinda shitty im rlly sick rn n i wrote this at like 3am ;((( i rlly luv fboy!leon n just shitty leon in general so enjoy!!!<3

you hate leon is putting it real nicely. you loathe that man! he's a freak!! (in a literal sense too, he'll fuck whatever can breathe). to put it simply, he's a notorious man-whore around campus. sure he's attractive! but he's always rude, always judgey, and always horny. wouldn't be a shock if that man had a disease by now...

you were always a good girl. you tried to stray away from all the recklessness of life and focus on yourself, on your studies, and your future. the future meant a lot to you! okay?!

that didn't mean you could just stray away from any and all social interaction forever– as much as you wanted to. so you agreed to put on a slutty cop costume on the big night of halloween, and go to a party with your girls. you'd never turn them down! besides, how bad could that be?

so you sucked it up and went to the party. the place had blaring music, tables full of booze, and a few blunt rotations happening around the place. honestly, you never understood the point of doing this all at a party. would the alcohol not taste the same at home? would the cannabis not hit the same?? whatever, guess it doesn't bother you.

and the second you entered the place, there went all your friends now making out with random guys. really, this is why you didn't go to these places. same reason as before, why bother going to a party if you're just gonna end up alone? might as well just be alone in the comfort of your dorm! so you decide you'll just walk back. well, not yet. first make use of some of the free drinks lying around, then walk back.

so you pushed past the crowd of drunk party goers and make your way to the kitchen. pouring yourself a drink in one of those basic red solo cups. straight out of a party scene in an all-american college movie. as you took a sip, you suddenly felt someone push your head from behind with a finger, causing you to spill your drink all over your costume.

"hey! what the fuck was that for?!" you immediately turned around, preparing to scold whoever it was before rushing for the bathroom. instead, you're met with snickering from that stupid bleach-blonde boy. "you stole my costume." leon spoke with that same stupid smirk he always had.

you immediately scoffed. "excuse me?" and glanced him up and down. yeah, he was a cop too tonight. and obviously it was also slutty, but in attempts to get laid tonight. much different than your intentions! "so you spill my drink on me because of it?"

"yep." he said with a sly grin. the audacity! but whatever, you don't need unnecessary negativity. like, it's a fuckin' costume, get a grip bro? you push past him and make your way to whatever bathroom was available. albeit, it stunk of sex, but it works. you just gotta wash off so your shirt won't get all sticky, then leave. simple as that.

that was until you were met with a bit of banging on the door. probably two people out there waiting for their chance to get in, were people really that desperate for sex? just go home!! but no matter how many little occupied!'s you yelled, the knocking was persistent. okay, maybe someone needs to throw up or something? you unlock the door to let them in, only to be greeted by the one who caused this mess.

he swiftly shut the door, locking it behind him before coming to stand by you at the mirror, cleaning off your shirt. he immediately begun his stupid snickering again, "that look's worse than before." as he nodded towards your shirt. you wanted to kick him in the balls and tell him off, but he was honestly right on that one. the stain only got bigger, due to more liquid just being added. "whatever, this is literally your fault." yeah, like you care to hear his opinion!

he only continued to smirk at you through the mirror. goosebump inducing, really. he looked good but you had to remind yourself to stand on business! "you seriously think i care about a stupid costume?" he laughed a little more. "you look great tonight, princess. not as great as me... but still great." ...what the fuck were you hearing right now?

"you think i look good yet proceeded to ruin my clothes? doesn't sound very believable, leon." he looked at you as if you were the stupidest person in this room right now. "how else would i get you alone if i didn't?" he continued to grin at you. okay! you had to be going crazy at this point! "okay, so you did this to be alone with me and... why?"

leon shrugged, "you look hot and your tits look big." great. here you thought you were gonna get a good answer. yeah, no way this was happening! you immediately scoffed and went for the bathroom door knob, "bye!" but he stopped you by your wrist. "nuh-uh, you don't go anywhere yet."

you turned to face him and honestly... he was looking real sexy right now. but no! that had to just be your girl hormones talking, cause no way. he looked down at you with a straight face, before slowly beginning to smirk again. that stupid smirk might as well be his resting face at this point. "so, ya' gonna let me hit it or what?" honestly, you'd never agree to this!... you think. maybe it was the lighting in here making him look more appealing than usual, or the sexual music playing right outside the door, or the fact that it's been a hot minute since you last got off but... yeah, you caved.

as he took your small, embarrassed nod as his yes he was quick to press his lips to yours. now both moving in rhythm together as if you were made for this. he was quick to introduce tongue, making out with you as you dug your nails into his shoulders, but he couldn't have that. he pulled back, allowing you to catch your breath while his much stronger hands went from your waist up to your wrists. grabbing them both and pinning you to the bathroom door just like that, before bending down to press wet kisses down your jaw and neck. letting you whine and groan all you want. honestly, the melodies you sung went straight to his dick.

you tipped your head back, allowing him to more access to your neck. and he took this as his go to start sucking down on the skin, painting you with a few hickeys which will be embarrassing walking out the party with later. as you continued to let out a few strings of whimpers from the assault on your neck alone, he begun to snicker against your skin. "relax, girl, barely done anything yet." however, he wasn't complaining for sure. the sounds were one big ego boost to him and again, a giant boner booster as well.

his last hickey was placed right on top of the plush of your breast, which your low cut costume showed off anyways. thank god pushup bra's exist! he was quick to swing you back over to the counter, letting you watch yourself in the mirror. "s'gonna bend you over this counter like the slut you are, yeah?" if anything, he was the slut here! he chuckled over the clicks of his belt coming undone. "can't even recognize you right now." you'd much rather just not speak. mind too foggy with lust.

he easily ripped your little fishnet tights off you. whatever, they were from the dollar store anyways. and slid down your pink panties, chuckling when he saw the wet stain within them. "aw, all this for me?" as he sneakily tucked them into his pocket. as he freed himself from his pants, he nodded towards your shirt in the mirror's reflection. "take that off. wanna see those tits bounce." always swore you'd never listen to a man, yet you were quick to do what he said. he grinned when he saw them out. quick to give one a little slap, just to see them move around a bit.

he swiftly grabbed both your wrists in his one hand, noticeably very big. pinning them both down to your lower back. "it's a shame neither of us got handcuffs on us, huh, cop?" he joked as he pushed you over, using his other hand to push your skirt up to reveal your sopping wet cunt. he let his cock head glide against your folds, collecting some of your arousal on it. even rubbing his tip against your clit just for your own sake which sent jolts of pleasure through your body.

when he finally pushed himself in, you immediately gasped feeling that burning stretch. no wonder he always had girls on his dick, this thing was huge! real thick, too. he gave you a second to adjust, before slowly pushing in and out of your cunt. feeling your velvety walls stay nice and tight around him.

the feeling was all too much. moaning out, you let your head drop forwards to hang low as he started up his thrusts. which earned a tsk tsk from him, his free hand which weren't holding yours moved from your hip to your jaw, now holding your head up to make you watch yourself in the mirror. "need you to watch, can you do that for me, pretty girl?" you were fast to nod through moans, his words alone were giving you a clit hard-on.

he quickened his pace of thrusts. his talk continuously degrading, but with such sweet names in the mix. "taking this cock good, huh?" he spoke through little grunts. "like such a good slut. ye'made for it, baby." really, you shouldn't have gotten as tight as you did upon hearing that. feeling your walls squeeze against him did a number on leon, causing the blonde to throw his head back momentarily. "fuck– it's like she's sucking me in." he moaned out. and as in she, he obviously didn't mean you.

the room was filled with the lewd sounds of skin slapping and the squelching sounds your cunt made for him. that, plus both your moans, of course. maybe be a little grateful that the party music outside was loud enough to cover this all up, okay? he continued his thrusts, noticing the way you were getting closer. he's done many girls before, of course he can tell by now. his hand snaked down from holding your head up, to your clit. (but also giving your tits a quick squeeze as he moved), where he begun to rub you just in the way he learned majority of the girls he slept with liked. that, paired with the way his cock head kissed your cervix did a number on you. "you like that, baby? gonna cum all over this dick?" you made it very apparent that you in fact loved it actually, by the way you moaned his name and writhed for him.

as your orgasm began to topple near, leon found himself getting close too. really couldn't help himself, your tits in the mirror were just to mesmerizing. when he was really close, balls heavy with cum, he began his dirty talk again. "gonna cum inside this pussy, yeah?" he grunted. "like she's made for me, take it all." the sex was just all too good, and you were being sorta a pushover right now, so you really didn't care at this point!

his words pushed you right off the edge, as you began to writhe and cry out while you creamed around his cock. he took this as his cue to finally cum himself, throwing his head back in a low groan as he filled your cunt. "oh, fuckk yes–" he moaned out as your babbled through your orgasm, calling out his name and his only. that shit alone got him going as well.

as you both came down from your highs, he let go of you. quickly getting his pants back on. "well, i gotta bounce," he said in a hurry.

at least he did the you the courtesy of pulling your skirt back down. "hasta luego!" he shut the door again, leaving you in the bathroom of a party, out of breath, with his remnants spilling out your cunt. how fucking rude.

[scintillyyy]

the thing about transforming jack & janet to be worse than they are in canon is that as a hypothetical i do think it can be interesting if it's done thoughtfully (despite all my normal bitching) (i would also be more interested if there was a lot more dick & tim in this scenario but i digress) (also, why doesn't mandated reporter dana ever get hit with the bad parent stick. i love her, but also. share the love here!! if you're gonna transform parents worse, let's at least remember *all* the parents to transform them.) and listen, sometimes people want their specific blorbos in angsty overwrought situations. i get it, i truly do, actually.

unfortunately. tim drake fic without there having to be a line making sure to mention that he was neglected & his mom didn't want to spend time with him is a needle in a haystack. like. even if the fic in question has no reason to be bringing them up. like they have nothing to do with anything there. but there they are, being bad parents. even if they're dead & tim has to be sad and angsty about them it's always a made up "that one time janet didn't want to spend time with her son", not like. you know. the time she got poisoned to death when tim was only 13. or the time tim tried to pull a boomerang out of his dad's chest with his bare hands. and that ubiquitousness of them sucking in 1 particular way that *always without fail* has to be mentioned even if they're dead and not the focus of the fic is what gets tiring (especially when there is genuinely a ton of canon based angst and happenings that are super interesting to explore or could be used instead for angst with literally no change to the fic that you never ever see in favor of "janet's a misogynistic caricature of a refrigerator mother"), not that people want to imagine and explore scenarios where they suck a little worse.

[dootznbootz]

As someone who is also really uncomfortable with the Zeus/Odysseus art trend, I completely understand where your coming from!

People’s treatment of Odysseus’s assaults in general makes me really upset. Just the other day I saw a comment on a post saying that “Odysseus wasn’t loyal to his wife yet expects her to be loyal to him” and not once in the replies did I see someone mention that he was literally assaulted. It’s absolutely gross and makes me hesitant to go deeper into the fandom.

I remember being so frustrated when the snippets of “There are Other Ways” came out because so many people were making Hamilton jokes and talking about how he always talks about his wife yet cheated. When in the song it was so clear he was being coerced which is yknow, not a form of consent. I couldn’t even listen to it because it made me so uncomfortable, and even now with the full version out the fandoms reaction to it overall have soured me to it. Which sucks, because I do think it’s a great song.

Also I don’t even think Epic completely erases Calypso’s assault? At least, I think it’s left ambiguous enough during the time jump that people can come to their own conclusions. Specifically when Calypso says “Soon into bed we’ll climb and spend our time” just really gives me the impression that something else happened.

I suppose in the snippets we’ve seen of “I’m Not Sorry For Loving You” it seems like Odysseus and Calypso are on slightly friendlier terms, but I don’t think that negates the fact she could’ve assaulted him. And I’ve always took that song as pretty manipulative on Calypso’s side, with Odysseus more so trying to placate her. But that’s going into theory territory.

And even if he isn’t SA’d in Epic it’s pretty clear he doesn’t want to be there!! Same with Homer’s Odyssey. It’s so infuriating to see the cheating narrative be so widely spread when that is just not what happened.

Anyway’s sorry for the long rant, but I wanted to say that it’s nice to see you take Odysseus’s SA seriously. It’s not something the fandom does enough.

It's okay for the long rant. Sorry I took a bit to get to it but I wanted some "soft chatters" for a bit before I tackled this one :)

"Just the other day I saw a comment on a post saying that “Odysseus wasn’t loyal to his wife yet expects her to be loyal to him” and not once in the replies did I see someone mention that he was literally assaulted. It’s absolutely gross and makes me hesitant to go deeper into the fandom."

I completely understand you with this stuff. ;~; I used to go through Odyssey tags often as I LOVE possibly finding new people to follow and fun things but too many times I would see shit that pissed me off. ;~; I've honestly kind of just stuck to my mutuals that I trust tbh. And honestly, there's soooo much shit of people just straight up not understanding the context/culture/meaning/etc. of the Epics and just taking it at face value and not understanding the meanings. :/ I'm no expert, but I also have analyzed and researched quite a bit on my own to try and get the full picture. I think in order to truly enjoy the Odyssey, you need to just... really soak shit in, you know?

When Calypso, that lovely goddess,  tried                           to keep me with her in her hollow cave, longing for me to become her husband,                                  or when, in the same way, the cunning witch Aeaean Circe held me in her home filled with a keen desire I’d marry her, they never won the heart here in my chest.

(Book 9, Johnston)

Odysseus tells this to the Phaecians. They are strangers that he will likely never see again and who are isolationists. Therefore his story that he told probably won't be "spread" to others so he can probably say whatever. So he doesn't have to worry about "Penelope hearing a different story than the one he told to her" if people wanna argue about how "Oh well, he didn't tell Penelope about the 'affairs'"(He tells her everything as well btw.)

He could literally say "Oh yeah, I had the time of my life!" but he doesn't because that's not true. Odysseus has no listed concubines, I just literally don't see him as the type of guy who's really into that.

And while yes, he would be devastated if she didn't "stay loyal", he does sound like he'd be understanding. He asks his mother in the Underworld if Penelope had gotten remarried to "the finest of Achaeans". And we all know of Odysseus' words of "when Telemachus has a beard, feel free to remarry". Even when first "rejected" by Penelope in that she didn't hug him when he sat across from her, he was incredibly hurt but asked for a separate bed. He literally could have had it where Penelope takes a different bed and he takes their luxurious/fancy one because he has the rest of the household on his side.

But he DOESN'T!

Because he adores her for fuck's sake!

Funny enough? I have the weird reaction of like, weirdly searching out "Good" animatics as it was a weird reassurance of "yes, people see that it's wrong." as while holy fuck. so many stupid, awful jokes about "Say No to This" in the comments (I have learned to just stay the fuck away from youtube comments on Odysseus shit. :') ) but like, seeing and HEARING how yes, this was fucked, was weirdly really nice for me. yeah, it took a lot of digging but there's a few "There Are Other Ways" that I love. Literally, both are unfinished wips and they're still my favorites. If you can, please give these two a watch and some love for the creator.

This was back before we heard the full song and it's still very good. How he's on guard until she "magics" him and the colors change. After that he kind of moves like a "puppet" but he's still resisting as best he can.

This one is literally still sketches but it's my absolute favorite. Oh my word. The body language, PENELOPE FLASHBACKS!!! Showing cute bits of Penelope's character and how awful this is for him. (Penelope is so cute. She puffs up her cheeks to make him laugh!) How he really is scared that he'll have to go through with this in order to save his friends until all his past trauma floods back and he just can't. It's lovely.

And yeah Idk how to feel about "I'm Not Sorry For Loving You" :/ I don't know how it'll be yet, maybe there's something in another song that shows Odysseus' real feelings or whatever.

And with just the whole cheating thing, yeah, it's really upsetting to call what is blatant assault "cheating". As wild as it sounds, Odysseus' story has been more relatable for me than any other stories like this, even modern ones. I've spoken a bit about it before but yeh, victim blaming at its finest. I find him and his story and his love for Penelope slkdfj very relatable. It's honestly really nice to write about in a sense..

(I'm pasting this from an old post of mine but yeh)

I have never had a story that felt like how it actually FEELS. The "aftermath" and "regaining life". It's hopeful and feels really good. It's been years since "everything" but it just felt nice to see "Everybody has the chance to get better." Even Nestor, Helen, and Menelaus, while still dealing with their traumas, are doing a lot better now. And after literal hell, Odysseus got to be with his family and loved ones again. He can start living again. It's why I'm just...idk passionate about this? I'm not a murderer or a war veteran but I see myself in him. Hopefully, y'all see me as nicer though!😂(plus, let's be honest, the Odyssey is romantic af and OdyPen is right up my alley as well >:D )

I really hate the whole "he's a guy so therefore ____" whether it's used as a "Boys will be boys. they can't help themselves" usually aimed at female victims or a "Men always want sex. they cannot be victims.". It's fucked up and used against ALL of us. :( Doesn't matter if it was history. People, no matter the era, should never be put through "Are you Victim™ enough?". He is one.

Idk the Odyssey means a lot to me. I hope it's okay I take some liberties with my fanfics as it's nice healing through him :D I AM kind of using my own experiences and ideas and it feels nice. I don't think Homer necessarily meant for this but eh, anything that helps is good :D He's a war criminal that I relate to.

[vintageseawitch]

to everyone who is still not going to vote for Harris or will vote third party because of Gaza: please say with your whole chest that you want trump to win. we're living in the real world & it sucks but it's between the two. just say that you're perfectly okay with Project 2025 being implemented. just say that you're fine with mass deportations, another Muslim ban, people being sent to camps, people getting serial numbers, millions of women at risk for reproductive reasons, more oil drilling than ever before as they deny climate change. tell anyone you care about that is worried about any of these things that you are okay with all of this happening. no matter who we get, things will be happening over there. if you don't want to help your own house, how can you possibly help anyone else's?

"if she loses, just know it's because of her policies. they should have chosen a better candidate." THIS IS SUCH A COPOUT. we're going to have someone in charge of our military one way or another so they are ALL warmongers!! y'all have no fucking clue how this government works!! you're not marrying your candidate & to wait for someone perfect means you never live in the real world anyways.

it won't be entirely your fault if she loses, but if you're working harder for her to lose it's not good. just say that because we live here, we ALL deserve what we're gonna get, & that's including you because you're going down with the rest of us.

there's this thing called "being concerned about more than one thing" & another is telling everyone vulnerable around you that your principles matter more than other real people. where is the anger for Congress. for trump meeting with netanyahu & violating the Logan Act to do that. there's so much at stake in this election. who would you feel safer to protest under? whatever, y'all think they're "the same." we won't get your votes? odds are, a bunch of y'all will get deported anyways should he win. good luck.

[alphajocklover]

So I just finished my 3rd year exams at university (hopefully I did well enough to make it into a 4th year and go for an Master's of science) and as soon as I get out near the crowd to celebrate a guy bumps into me and I broke my phone. I was ready to give him a piece of my mind until I saw he was pretty built, he must be on some university team for something. He felt awful apparently and he gave me his old phone as an apology. It came with this InstaJock app thing on it. I dunno what it is but I kinda wanna load it up...

Another instance of a jock giving someone a phone with InstaJock already downloaded on it. Another instance of someone doing something with InstaJock that doesn’t make any sense. I know it’s unprofessional to say something like this, but this is driving me crazy. Why would a jock give away their phone? If they wanted to turn you into a jock like them, they’d just send you the app! If they wanted to give you a new phone for real, they’d have wiped it before giving it to you. I guess it's possible they forgot, but InstaJock is super important to the users that get transformed into jocks. Even with how stupid jocks can be, I doubt they’d forget about the app that literally changed their life. So… why?

I’ve mentioned in some of my earlier Instajock posts that someone has been messing with people using this app. Using it in unconventional ways to mess with people, spreading false information about the app, and even making knock offs of the transformative app. My first thought was that it had to be The Master. Not the Doctor Who villain, to those who get that reference, but someone I introduced to you all in a recent post. He’s the creator of Instajock and the mastermind behind my Uncle’s transformation and kidnapping. He’s an incredibly powerful figure in the Transformation Community, even more than I’ve told you. Most people who know about transformations are scared to mention him, even other TF Reporters are, and most powerful people or groups who work with transformation either do business with him or stay out of his way. But… I don’t think he’s the one behind this. He likes to mess with people, play with his victims like whoever is behind this, but if he wanted to do that he could just add features to the actual InstaJock app. He had no reason to do things in such a roundabout way. Which makes me think… it’s someone else.

Whoever is doing this has an intimate knowledge of the app, so It has to be someone involved with InstaJock, someone besides The Master. Maybe someone who works for him? Even he couldn’t have programmed the entire app on his own and added in the magical elements without help. Plus he isn’t one for upkeep, so he’s probably having someone else run the site for him. They also have to be someone with a lot of nerve to mess with The Master, maybe someone who they’ve hurt personally. On top of all of that it’d also have to be someone the jocks would listen to. Maybe someone who worked on InstaJock that The Master fired, a former employee?

I can’t be sure of who's behind this yet, but I do know that whatever they’re trying to do with you isn’t good. When you press that app, you won’t just be turned into a jock like a regular InstaJock user. It has to be something… special. Something that would benefit, or would at least interest the person behind this. Maybe you’ll turn into a copy of the jock who gave you the phone, become their perfect twin? Maybe something else will happen entirely. I can’t be sure.

If it’s not too late, send me the phone immediately. I can put it somewhere safe, and I might be able to protect you from whoever's doing this. If it is too late… Well I hope you enjoy whatever happened. Being transformed against your will sucks, but being a jock can be fun, even if it isn’t your choice.

**3 stories in one day, all InstaJock? I must be on a roll! I hope you guys liked this one! There are still more mysteries and more transformations to discover! Stay tuned!**

[take-it-on-the-run]

The End

Wally Clark x Reader

Two people died on September 23rd, 1983. One laid out on a football field before hundreds of people, and the other left behind on the cold floor of the boy's locker room.

Word Count: 1.7k

Tags: Sexual assault, semi-graphic depictions of SA, including: almost direct aftermath, reader is naked in the beginning, mentions of blood, and implied loss of virginity via SA, flashback to SA; death, reader's death is overlooked, ANGST

Characters: Wally Clark, Reader, Dalton (OC)

Read it on AO3!

A/N: The Doors title. Hey ya'll. I cannot believe the love I've been getting on this page, and it's driving me past my writer's block more than anything. With school starting, I can feel the academic anxiety kicking in, but I use my writing as a coping method when I can. This story has very intense topics (as stated in the tags) and is not meant to idealize any topics in any way. This was inspired by @general-fanfiction's Hopes and Fears series (GO READ IT RN), and @whoopsyeahokay's October Sun series (ALSO GO READ IT RN). If this story is well received, or I just feel the urge to, I'll probably turn it into a series (bc this sucks as a one-shot). As always, please heed the warnings, and read only if you're comfortable.

Wally Clark Masterlist | School Spirits Masterlist | Main Page Masterlist

Blood was everywhere.

It slid down your legs and dribbled onto the cold floor of the locker room. Every inch of your skin felt like it was too tight for your bones, and all you wanted to do was reach down your throat and rip out your heart.

Copper flooded your mouth. The tang brushed against the back of your chattering teeth, and all you could think about was how you wanted to crawl to the nearby shower and let it run until one of the coaches found you and dragged you out.

It wasn’t supposed to be like this.

Move. You told yourself. All of your limbs ached. Nothing felt real.

You didn’t want this to be real.

It was supposed to be kind. Gentle. An act out of pure love.

Standing up proved to be hard, and it was like no one was able to hear you screaming out for help. Filtered out by the people flooding the halls, hustling to the big homecoming game going on that night.

The tiled walls provided little help as you brought yourself to a standing position, walking slowly as you felt your feet brush against the pile of your shoes, pants, and underwear on the floor. The touch stopped your heart, breaking a new tier of hate and regret across your body.

He said he loved me.

You turned on the shower, cranking the knob to the hottest setting, knowing that the water wouldn’t get anywhere near warm. Water slid harshly over your body, and you felt it pelt against spots of dried blood on your thighs.

You wished you never come to this stupid football game.

You wished you weren’t as ignorant, or as gullible, or as love-blind as you had been in the past three months.

You wished you never met him.

His face felt bitter and sharp in your head, poking and prodding, as if trying to stick the memory of his hands on you for eternity.

Time passed irregularly, no one came in or out of the locker room, and you were sure that the football game had to have reached its end by all of the cheering and yelling you heard outside.

After using all of the hot water in the gym wing, you slowly walked to the lines of lockers, trying even glimpsing in the direction of your clothes. tried to open every locker until one popped open, revealing a pair of grey sweatpants, a sweatshirt, a muscle tank, blue gym shorts, and a matching varsity jacket with #57 stitched on the arm.

You grabbed the matching sweatsuit, balling it in your arms and silently apologizing to the boy you’d never return the clothing to.

He probably won’t even notice, you told yourself.

You turned the corner around a line of lockers and you could swear you were going crazy. A bare foot poked out from behind the last line of lockers, limply tilted against your pile of clothes, painted a chipped wine red.

You blinked hard, looking down at your own chipped wine-red toes, and you clutched the clothing you stole to your naked body. The cotton was soft compared to the cold tile bracing against your feet, and you brought your eyes to look back to the pile of clothing on the floor.

Bile pooled at the back of your mouth as you hesitantly stepped closer to the foot that hadn’t disappeared. You’re going crazy, you told yourself, but the more and more you stared at the limp, pale body - your limp, pale body - whose features were more of a brutal mass than a face, the less it was going away.

You barely made it past the urinals and into an open stall before you dry-heaved into a toilet.

You were dead.

You couldn’t be.

As you zipped up the stolen hoodie and sweatpants, you tried to remember it all. Kissing under the bleachers before the game, him asking you to come with him while he grabbed something from his gym locker.

Every agonizing second you asked him to stop, to stop pressing you into the lockers because one of the locks was digging into your back; his decrepit hands sliding at your waistline, pushing and prodding past the fabric of your clothes.

Nothing would come up from your stomach.

Could ghosts vomit? You asked yourself, slowly standing to your feet and walking back over to your dead body.

Conversations started to flood the hallway, every muscle in your body coming briefly to attention before you flew out the door and screamed into the rushing crowd of students.

“Hello?” You called out, reaching your arm into the crowd, only to watch it get run through like something out of Star Wars.

Your body became hot, and even though you knew deep down that no one could see you, you pushed your tears back down your choking throat and felt your cheeks heat up with shame.

You walked into the crowd, who was thinning out the further you got from the hallway. Your body tensed for a moment, seeing the lights of police cars and ambulances pulling up to the school. Expecting to see the paramedics rushing toward your body, you waited for them to split the crowd, to start heading toward the school, but they were bolting the other way.

Straight toward the football field.

This school has to be fucking cursed.

One of the players was splayed out on the field, his head gently being lifted as paramedics were tugging his helmet off his head. The football team from whatever school yours was playing against was sitting on the bench, whispering and pointing to another one of their players who was talking to a police officer further down the field.

57.

The number sewn on the jacket hanging among the clothes you stole stood out against the dark blue of the player’s helmet. People gasped and a woman cried out as the paramedic set the helmet aside, revealing the face of the school’s resident golden boy; a dark bruise crawled up his neck, and his mouth guard slid between his lips as his limp head hung unnaturally over his shoulder.

You walked closer, straight through the forming line of police officers, and looked into the field. At the edge of the bleachers, waving his arms around and yelling into a silent group of people, stood Wally Clark.

Wally Clark is dead.

Just like I am.

You took off running, the activity coming easier to you when you were alive.

Alive.

“Wally!” You called out, and the football player snapped his body to your voice, his eyes wide and seeming relieved that someone was talking to him.

You stopped, resting your hands on your hips as he hopped down from the bleachers.

“What’s happening? Why- why is no one talking to me? What did I do?” He asked, skipping the formalities. He came to stand on the field before you, the football gear he was wearing sending a rush of debilitating shame through your body.

You faltered for a moment, his face flashing in your eyes before you rubbed your face back to reality.

“You didn’t do anything, Wally.” You managed to push out, pushing your eyes anywhere but on him.

“Then what is happening? I feel like I’m going crazy, one minute I’m running with the ball, and boom- I’m at the bleachers, trying to get my mother to talk to me and she won’t even look up at me. I know she’s pissed at me about going on the bench, but I mean I got back in the game, and now I’m guessing coach is pissed at me on insisting to get back in and-”

“You’re dead.” You cut off his rambling, forcing yourself to meet his face without looking away after a second, “I mean, I think we’re both dead.”

First, he smiled. Like what you said was some kind of joke. After you said nothing, he started toward the sidewalk, where his mother was now alongside a stretcher being lifted into an ambulance. You could see the tears on her face from where you were, each step you followed Wally, the easier it was to see her sorrow.

Then, as he was following his mother, he suddenly was gone, like he was plucked off the Earth by God himself.

That was until you turned to see him standing on the football field, right where his body was previously lying, tugging at the roots of his hair.

You hovered your foot, leveraging that if you stood on the sidewalk, you would be slingshotted back to the men’s locker room.

You decided to trust your gut and instead talked to Wally.

“I can’t be dead, I mean, that would mean you’re dead, and I literally saw you in the hallway this morning,” Wally said as he paced in a small area before you, “and I know for sure that I saw you because you were hanging around Dalton’s locker, which was weird because everyone on the team thought he had some college girl or something he was hanging out with-”

You didn’t register some of the words he was saying, instead you tried to control your thoughts from ripping you back to your last moments on earth at his name.

“-I mean, do you even know how crazy this sounds?”

You took in a shaky breath, wiping your hands over your face to poorly conceal any emotions that unwillingly spread onto your features, “Yeah, but that’s the thing, Wally. I am dead.”

Saying you were dead for the first time out loud was a lot heavier than you thought it would be.

You’re pretty sure that if the insanity of Wally being killed hadn’t overridden your brain, you would be somewhere huddled up and screaming for some greater power to give you eternal rest.

“What? That’s not possible, I mean, the people you were here with would’ve noticed you were gone. Dalton would’ve noticed you were gone.”

You didn’t want to give his name as much power as you did, but your body tightened up hearing it. You didn’t correct him, instead opting to stare at the dark woods on the far end of the field, your eyes burning once more.

“Y/N,” you were a little surprised that he knew your name, and even more when he stood in front of you with the most gentle expression you’d ever seen, “what happened after school? How did you die?”

[inawickedlittletown]

Just Let Me Adore You (BuckTommy) -2/6

Summary: What if…instead of Chimney taking the role of interim Captain of the 118, Tommy is asked to take on the role.

Or, what happens when Buck meets Tommy in S2

Words: 3.4k

Notes: Title from Adore You by Harry Styles

Read on Ao3

Part One

-

Part Two

After growing up in Hershey, chocolate factories didn’t impress Buck much. He’d gone to the Hershey factory a few times on school trips and it’d been fun the first few times. Buck wasn’t even sure if it was his proximity and how often he had that chocolate as a kid, but he really wasn’t all that fond of it. He’d also had some great chocolate down in South America that made anything American pale in comparison. Not a lot of people knew it, but that was where cacao beans came from. It wasn’t Mexico either like some though, but Ecuador. 

The Seymour Chocolate Factory wasn’t even one he’d heard of and he kinda figured the chocolate probably wasn’t even that good, though they did leave with a small bag of chocolates by the end of the call. The call came about a guy that had fallen right into a chocolate vat while on a tour. 

As they were walking up, Buck heard Tommy say to Chim, “this would be the moment the Oompa Loompas give us a musical number.” 

Buck had no idea what he meant, but there was no time to ask for clarification. 

None of them had any idea how to get the guy out of the chocolate vat until, after a few failed attempts, Tommy pulled out his phone. They all eyed him. 

“What? A good Captain uses his resources. In this case, Bobby probably knows more about chocolate than anyone I know. Unless one of you has a better idea?” 

He wasn’t wrong. Bobby’s advice worked and between all of them they had the teacher out and then on a stretcher. 

Buck held himself back as they walked out and wound up next to Tommy. 

“That was a good call, getting Bobby on the phone.” 

Tommy smiled at him, crinkle eyed and gorgeous. Why was he so good looking? More importantly, why couldn’t Buck stop noticing? 

“It wasn’t like he was going to get flushed out or sucked up in a tube,” Tommy said. 

“What are you talking about?” Buck asked. 

“Willy Wonka,” Tommy said. 

“Who?” 

Tommy stopped and turned to look at him, making Buck almost run straight into him. 

“Okay, I’d understand if you never saw the original movie, but you have to have seen the remake? Johnny Depp was in it.”

“Uh, no,” Buck said. 

“It was a book,” Tommy said next. “Roald Dahl. Oompa Loompas? The kid that got turned into a blueberry?”

Buck stared at him blankly. 

“This means nothing to you, does it?” 

Buck shrugged. 

When they finally made it out, the ambulance had already left, Hen having gone with it. Chim and Eddie waited by the truck. 

“He’s never seen Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory,” Tommy announced as if Buck had committed some kind of crime.

Buck was used to missing movie references. Chim had long given up expecting Buck to get what he was talking about. Buck had always been that kid that couldn’t sit still long enough to get through a movie. That and all the time he spent outdoors doing daring thing after daring thing. Not to mention that his parents hadn’t been big on tv time. 

“He’s never seen much of anything,” Chim said with a laugh. “Him and his sister both. You’d think they were raised in some commune, but instead they’re just from Pennsylvania. I’ve taken on the task of introducing her to some classics.”

Buck shrugged his shoulders. “So, what exactly are these oompa lumps?” 

“Oompa Loompas,” Tommy said. “And you won’t understand until you watch it.” 

When he turned to Eddie, Eddie just shrugged at him, but he was grinning in that way that meant Eddie was too amused by the whole thing to help. Chim mimed zipping his lips closed. Looking at Tommy just got him a shake of his head. They also banned him from looking it up and on the way back to the station, Chim even grabbed his phone out of his hands even though Buck wasn’t going to google it. 

“I can just look it up when I get home,” Buck told them. 

“Or you could watch it,” Tommy suggested. 

“Only if you watch it with me,” Buck shot back, not sure exactly why he said it.  

Tommy didn’t respond at once and Buck felt like he’d gone and put his foot in it. But then, “Yeah. Alright. If only to make sure you actually watch it.”

—

He tried to invite Chim and Eddie over to watch Willy Wonka with him and Evan, but neither of them was interested or available even if they did want Tommy to let them know how it went. Hen had also turned him down in favor of a date night with her wife. So, Tommy was on his own. Due to Evan’s living situation, he also had to host. So at least they got to use his living room with his big screen tv and sound bar. 

Evan showed up with pizza, beer, and a veggie tray. He looked a little nervous even after Tommy invited him in. He watched as Evan took in Tommy’s house. It was very much a work in progress and Tommy had been doing most of the work on his own, so it was taking him a while to get through all of it. He expected it would be at least a year or two before he was finally satisfied by which point something would need to be repaired or repainted. 

“I like your place,” Evan said. 

“Really? It’s a bit of a half finished mess.” 

“But one you’re clearly putting time into,” Evan said. “And you’ll like the end result because of it.” 

“Well, lucky for us, one of the things I did finish is the living room.” 

It was the thing he’d tackled right after the kitchen — which technically wasn’t even done — , the upstairs bathroom, and parts of his bedroom. He needed a place to relax and wind down after long shifts. So, it had become a priority. Tommy led Evan there and cleared off the coffee table for the food. 

They sat down side by side on his couch and Tommy grabbed the remote. 

“It’s an older movie,” Tommy informed Evan. “I think you’ll like it, though.” 

Evan got into it pretty quickly. He did ask questions like about the bed the grandparents shared and Tommy mostly just told him to keep watching. Tommy was more of a romcom re-watcher, so he hadn’t actually watched Willy Wonka in years. Still, it was more fun to get Evan’s reaction to things. He’d forgotten how eccentric and weird the movie was and watching Evan react was everything. He expressed so much and laughed with so much surprise that it was absolutely endearing. 

“Those are the Oompa Loompas!” Evan exclaimed when he first saw them, giggling. “I get it now.” 

By the time they finished the movie, Evan had turned to him with a big grin. “Okay, that was actually pretty good, if a little odd. You said there was a remake?” 

Tommy nodded. “Yeah. It’s different, but still good. Wonka is completely different. The whole vibe is different.” 

“Might have to check that out,” Evan said with a smile. After a pause, “We could have another movie night?” 

“That’d be nice,” Tommy said and he meant it. 

Evan stayed a little bit after the movie, discussing the more ridiculous aspects of it. Then, somehow, talking about what Tommy would be tackling next on the house. 

“I did construction,” Evan offered. “I can help out if you ever need a second hand.” 

The thought of Evan working with him to put new flooring down or to sand and stain his cabinet doors was far more appealing than it should be, but he nodded and thought that he wouldn’t actually ask Evan for help. He might not survive it if he saw Evan dressed down and sweaty doing physical work in Tommy’s own home. 

“I’ll keep that in mind,” he told him. 

—

Phone calls with Ali were getting exhausting. Buck had known what he was signing up for when he started dating her. She’d been clear from the start that she traveled for work and considering Buck’s own hours he’d figured it’d be fine. It was for a while. When she was in LA it was always fun. It was different from Abby and Buck liked that. Still, it always left him feeling a little left behind whenever she went off on yet another trip. She’d call, but it wasn’t the same as having her in LA. It wasn’t the same as being able to just see her whenever he wanted and that made it hard. 

When the time between calls started lengthening and lengthening, it almost even felt like he wasn’t dating anyone at all. One night they even had a discussion about opening up the relationship, making things more casual. Not that they were even necessarily talking about each other in any serious manner to begin with. 

“It’d be a lot easier on both of us,” Ali had explained. “You can be free to meet other people and so can I.” 

Buck hadn’t argued with her or known how to approach such a suggestion. Maybe he should have. It had just felt like if he didn’t she would just leave him once and for all. He tried his hardest not to think about her out there meeting other guys and maybe finding something better elsewhere. Someone better. For his part, he didn’t want to go back to who he used to be, so he didn’t even try to meet anyone else. 

It wasn’t until…but no, Tommy was a guy. Buck wasn’t interested in him like that. He wasn’t, right? He tried not to think about their movie night. How it had felt to sit on Tommy’s couch feeling his warmth next to him watching chocolate shenanigans and being perplexed by the whole thing and then also feeling Tommy’s gaze on him. There was just something about him. Buck felt like a magnet being pulled in by a force he couldn’t fight — one he didn’t want to fight. And that…that was scary. 

It was what found him knocking on Bobby’s apartment. 

“Hey,” Bobby said and motioned him in. “Want some water?” 

“Uh. Yeah. Sure.” 

Bobby’s table was covered in wedding stuff. 

“Am I here at a bad time?” 

“Not at all. What’s going on, Buck?” 

Buck sank into the chair. “Bobby, you gotta come back to work.” 

Bobby chuckled as he set down a glass of water in front of Buck. “I’d love to. It’s not up to me.”

“Isn’t there anything we can do? Can’t we like write letters or something? Talk to them?” 

Bobby shook his head. “I don’t think that will help, Buck. What’s going on? I thought Tommy was doing well.” 

Buck kinda panicked then because Tommy was actually good at being Captain. He was different than Bobby, of course, but not in a way that made Buck or really anyone on the team want him gone. Tommy was knowledgeable and his own expectations about how the equipment was kept and how everything was stocked. While he’d hung back a bit the first few shifts, after that he’d jumped right into action with them, knew how to balance being in charge and telling them what to do with also being part of the solution. Buck was more than a little impressed with him. 

 “No, no, he’s doing fine. He’s a good Captain. He’s not you, but he’s good. Way he handled that bombing the other day? Or the chocolate factory…I can see why he was picked to hold your spot.” 

“I’m glad you like him,” Bobby said with a smile. “So, what’s happening, Buck?”

“Ali wants an open relationship,” Buck blurted out. 

He could tell that he’d shocked Bobby, at least for a moment. He recovered quickly. “Is that something you want?” 

“Not really,” Buck admitted. “Or…well, I don’t know. You know it’s not unusual or anything and it works for some people. You know, some people think that people aren’t meant to be monogamous. I don’t think I’m too bothered by it like as a concept.” 

“But this is not a concept. It’s your life, Buck.” 

“Yeah. I know,” Buck said and it was entirely the problem. 

Okay, so it wasn’t like Buck didn’t know that he had a bit of a slut era. His Buck 1.0 days…Buck wasn’t ashamed of them. And maybe in that time he’d explored a bit. One thing that Buck had realized was that he could never do threesomes. They were complicated and Buck was bad about sharing. Jealous, even. 

Bobby stared at him and Buck stared back. If he could just share all his thoughts with Bobby without saying them outloud, it would actually solve everything. Not even just his Ali problem, but maybe the near obsession he was having about Tommy. 

“I don’t think the problem is the open relationship,” Buck said.

He thought about Abby leaving and how she had tried to tell him in a roundabout way that what she wanted was to be free from everything and everything included him. He hadn’t been in love with her, though he had loved her. Cared about her. Convinced himself he would have a future with her. Had he realized what Abby meant by Eat, Pray, Love, Buck was actually sure that he would have been upset. Then again, it wouldn’t have been some dragged out thing. 

With Ali…shouldn’t he be more upset? Shouldn’t he be angry and maybe even jealous because why was she bringing it up if she didn’t already have someone that she wanted to sleep with? Was this her roundabout way of saying that they were over? 

“I don’t think I should be so…so okay with it. Or not care,” Buck said. 

“Oh,” Bobby said. 

Maybe it was that she was gone all the time. Gone so much that Buck hadn’t had any time to get attached. Not really. Not in the way that mattered. 

“Then maybe this would work for you, if you were looking for something different,” Bobby tried.  

Tommy came to mind right away. Except that…he couldn’t do that to someone, least of all Tommy. Buck groaned, as if that were even an option. 

“Buck?” 

“What if…” Buck trailed off. He couldn’t say it. “No. I guess I should talk to Ali.” 

“That’s probably a good start. You know, I don’t have to be your Captain for us to have these talks.” 

“No, but it would be less confusing if you were,” Buck muttered on his way out and didn’t know if Bobby had heard him. 

—

He could see the devastation on Eddie’s face. The woman — his wife — was on the stretcher and from what Chimney had whispered to him and Tommy’s own experience she wasn’t going to make it. She was already dead even if it hadn’t caught up to her. Eddie didn’t seem to know it fully yet, but he watched as Hen and Chim worked on her. 

“We need to intubate,” Hen said from inside the ambulance.

Chim stopped her. “No.” 

“No?” Hen asked. 

Chim shook his head and his eyes met Tommy’s, before looking to Eddie. 

“Chim’s right,” he said. “I’m sorry, Eddie.” 

He could tell that Eddie understood. He’d been an Army medic, had worked as a firefighter long enough that of course he knew. 

“If they intubate,” Tommy said, “that tube may never come out. Right now, before they do that, just take a minute.” 

“He knows,” Chim said. “Eddie, I’m sorry…this is…come on, you can say goodbye to her.” 

There was nothing that could have prepared any of them to arrive at a call to find that the one person seriously injured — other than the driver — was the wife of one of his firefighters. 

Tommy gripped Eddie’s shoulder, not that it made much difference and then he watched Eddie climb into the ambulance. Tommy closed the door behind them and then turned around. 

“Hey,” Evan said. “Is she—”

Tommy shook his head. Evan let out a sigh and he pressed his lips together. He took a quick glance around. The driver had been loaded into another ambulance. The minor injuries had already been looked at. Evan let out a sigh and his eyes met Tommy’s again, looking a bit glassy. 

“We should go to the hospital,” Tommy said. 

“Yeah.” 

He wasn’t surprised when Bobby arrived, was glad to see him so that some of this burden wasn’t on Tommy. It was more than a job, these people were Bobby’s family and they needed him. Tommy wasn’t that for them and he wasn’t all that close to Eddie to offer the comfort that Bobby could 

Eddie left with Bobby, clutching a bag with her belongings and looking lost in a way that Tommy had never experienced for himself. 

They didn’t talk about it on the way back to the station and he told dispatch to take them off line for the remaining time left on their shift because it was only a few hours and they were all more than a little distracted. The 118 could go back online once B-shift took over. He found Evan in front of the tv, staring out into nothing. 

“Did you know her well?” he asked. 

“No,” Evan said. “Met her a few times here or there, but that was all. Eddie really cared about her, they were kinda reconnecting, I guess. She hadn’t been a part of Eddie’s or Christopher’s life for a bit. Now…”

“That poor kid,” Tommy said because he hadn’t even thought about Eddie’s son. 

Eddie had probably told him by now, had torn his world apart. At least Christopher would have a good dad. He would have Eddie there to grieve with. He would have a dad that cared and that loved him even if he never saw his mother again. 

“Yeah,” Evan said. 

Life was like that, made up of tragedies. 

The next time he saw Eddie, it was a few days later. Tommy had arrived early to do some paperwork and the last person he expected to see was Eddie. He was in civilian clothes at least, not that Tommy would have allowed him to work even if he’d gotten the uniform on. 

“Hey, Eddie, how are you doing?” 

“Alright, everything considered. Funeral’s in a couple of days.” 

He still looked lost. Like he was still out on that street looking at Shannon. 

“Well the last thing I want you to worry about is work,” Tommy said. “Take all the time that you need.” 

“Even with all those bombs showing up?” Eddie asked and shook his head. “No. I think I’ll need to work. I’ll need to be back so I can stop thinking about it. Stop picturing it.” 

It felt like a mistake. He didn’t want to say no and he didn’t want to make things harder for Eddie, and yet in their line of work there was no room for distractions. Distractions led to mistakes and mistakes in their line of work could be life or death. 

“Look, that’s…I’m not saying you shouldn’t come back at once. I just, I want your head to be in it. I want you to be in the right state of mind. Have you thought about talking to someone?”

Eddie looked taken aback. “What?” 

Tommy should have expected it. Guy like Eddie who’d been in the Army and who had probably not bothered to do any therapy after it, of course he didn’t think he needed it now. 

“The department has good grief counselors, Eddie,” Tommy said. “I won’t put any restrictions on when you can return, but I want you to see one…if they say that you’re fit to work and willing to do a few more sessions then that’s that.” 

Eddie looked like he wanted to argue, but Tommy was going to hold strong on that. He didn’t know what Bobby would have done in his place, but Tommy knew what Gerrard had done for a firehouse and a team that had lost one of their own. Tommy knew what Captain Reid at Harbor would do, too. 

“Are you serious right now?” Eddie asked. 

Tommy sighed. “Eddie, come on. I have a whole team to look out for here and this is not even really my house.” He lifted an eyebrow. 

“Okay,” Eddie said. “Fine. If that’s the only way.”  

“It’ll help, Eddie. I don’t…I’ve never been married, but I’ve lost important people. I get it. It isn’t easy and it won’t be for a while. How’s your son doing?” 

“As fine as he can be doing,” Eddie said. “My parents are here. My sisters. It’s helping him. It’s stressing me out.” 

“Parents are never easy. If you need to get away, give me a call. There are distractions that aren’t work, you know?”

[cindersnows]

i think as viewers we find it easy to sit back and judge each character until their motivations are explained to us in detail like with purple and king and chosen. even with victim its fairly easy to guess a portion of why she is doing this. and that's partially because avam is just made to be like that so all audiences can understand it and why the characters do what they do, and also partially because it's a little difficult to do more subtle storytelling when you can only express character feelings through their body language (and the body language has to be fairly exaggerated so that everyone can understand how the character is feeling).

so then as a result when we see green falling deep into the hole of social media it's easy to scoff and judge and say come on green, do better. we see it as him just getting too cocky again- look at green with his ego and his need to seem cool, he's sucking up to people again so he can get validation. and people understand that, they're even comparing his arc to purple, but they're forgetting to actually see things from his point of view.

like yeah. green was mean to yellow! and that was a kind of assholey thing to do, agreeing with people when they say yellow didn't do much. but like people do stupid shit all the time, especially to get approval. green hearting mean comments wasn't him on his villain arc, he probably barely thought about it. haven't you ever done anything without thinking or made a joke in bad taste. honestly it's a little ironic how quick people were to jump on him when he did something kind of mean, it reminded me of actual cancel culture! fascinating shit. we really are a part of the story.

anyways green started off as the weakest. he tries his best to be good at other things, first building, then music, but for some reason whenever he does well in something his friends get jealous or upset. (he pours himself into that thing and unintentionally ignore s or snaps at his friends--- its a repeating pattern at this point). it's mostly because their competitive spirit, something which is seen in a lighthearted manner but has gotten them killed or hurt on multiple occasions and i feel like they're going to have to address that at some point. whenever green sets boundaries, they're ignored, even if cg think they're just acting in the greater good.

hell, even purple, we've barely seen them interact after s3- who's to say purple wouldn't just scoff at him as well? she's already not very experienced with actual friendships (based on the way they just expected green to brush the betrayal off in parkour, they acted more like it was a small disagreement than a full on issue), so he may just assume this is how friends are.

basically the point of this is to say, no one ever celebrates his success. obviously he's competitive with his friends too, but having been at the bottom of the group from the start, he's visibly very insecure about this stuff, and having people attempt to kick him down during every success he gets (which he works very hard for) will lead to him needing validation from elsewhere. clearly, social media is supposed to give him this.

but like someone in the community pointed out, now he's appealing to hundreds of thousands of people instead of just 5 or 6. the praise is awesome, but seeing that people still have criticism of him just makes him throw himself into his work even more. it also probably functions as a form of escapism for him; he's so busy working, editing, writing, he barely even notices that his friends are avoiding him. it's possible he's purposely using youtube as a way to ignore his gut. anyways, blue's still willing to hang out and record with him, so what's the issue? (it's not as if blue is the least confrontational of the cg lol)

i have. been in this exact position. the moment you make anything, you're looking straight at the numbers. it becomes what you think of in the morning and during the creation process. you're skimming comments for keywords--- good, bad, more, less, etc. you listen even when you don't mean to. yeah maybe the guy was a little mean about one of my friends but ultimately it's just constructive criticism! it's not like she'll see this anyway. it's fine.

and yeah green needs to stop being so obsessive but i think he deserves to break down first. like what ash said--- he expresses his negative emotions the least out of everyone, he barely takes breaks, it's going to come crashing down. and i think when cg confront him about his behaviour he deserves to yell at them for the way he gets treated. it really hurts when all you are is the butt of the joke even when they mean it in a lighthearted way. if the arc just ends with green being knocked down a peg as usual, i will be very fucking upset because he's literally already at the bottom of the ladder, what more do you want?

[forsakenmb]

The beds we make

Pairings - Tobias E. Rogers x Reader

Word Count - 5.2K

Warnings - stalker! Toby, non-con/dub-con, murder, mentions of death, violence, choking, implied-somnophilia, knife play, humiliation, bondage(?).

Darkness enshrouded every corner of your mind, like an endless void sucking you into its depths: as it did every night for the last six months. A constant and overwhelming sense that someone is watching your every move at all time, the itch in the back of your mind consuming you in your most vulnerable state.

Suddenly, a loud pounding rapped on the wood of your bedroom door, waking you from your restless sleep. Your heart stopped in your chest for a moment, another wave of anxiety rushing through your body, goosebumps rising on your skin.

Then, a familiar voice called out to you from the other side of it. “Are you still sleeping?” Tara said, knocking on the door again.

“I'm awake” you responded, your voice scratchy and uneven as you slowly disentangled yourself out of the blankets. Begrudgingly, you trudged to the door, unlocked, and flung it open to reveal Tara Allen, your roommate and close friend since your freshman year in college.

Tara is undeniably beautiful, her long dark hair and dark eyes matching the tan complexion of her skin perfectly. She's always been quite taller than you, her slender figure standing at the door looking at you as if you were from another dimension.

“You look like shit,” she laughs, examining the dark circles under your eyes, the restless look on your face.

“Haha” you laugh sarcastically, walking to your bed and plowing down onto the sheets, “Very funny” you said, shoving your face into the plush comforter that rested on top.

“We have to get going,” Tara said, tugging on your oversized sleep shirt. “Traffic is gonna be awful,” she groaned.

Looking up through your heavy eyes, you saw that the sun was just barely peeking over the eastern horizon, darkness still settled over the skies. “It's like 5:00 am,” you said.

“Exactly. It's like 13 hours away” She said, almost enamored. turning around and leaving the room.

Tara's parents had given her the keys to a small getaway cabin they owned so you two could have a ‘girls trip’ after midterms. With school and the constant feeling of being watched, getting away was what you needed. The cabin was located in the densely wooded mountains far from the city and covered in a thick layer of snow.

Flipping onto your back, you stared up at the ceiling, the room still covered in a sheen of blackness. Your anxiety was beginning to spike up again, washing over you like ice water. You sat up, looking out your window at the streets below, ‘No one can see you’ the words rang through your head like a church bell, the small peace rushing the ever-growing anxiety out of your mind for now. A groan left your lips when you stood up and made your way over to your dresser.

︶꒦꒷♡꒷꒦︶ ︶꒦꒷♡꒷꒦︶

“Wake up,” Tara said, one hand still on the steering wheel, the other reaching over and nudging your shoulder. “We're here”

A long yawn slipped from your lips, your brain slowly coming to consciousness. Looking out of the window, you noticed that the car had come to a complete stop in a parking lot.

The area surrounding it was densely forested. Pines, spruces, and hemlock trees covered the landscape, making it seem like you were hundreds of miles away from another living person. The different kinds arose above the ground, standing tall in thick columns.

A blanket of fluffy snow covered the ground and trees alike, more flurrying down from the clouds in a silent rain.

A little off to the side, you could see a pathway ascending through the trees and up the mountain, one that people used to hunt and trail along. The compact dirty frozen under the thick layer of frosty powder.

“It's a short hike from here” Tara said, slipping the key from the ignition and shoving it into the pocket of her coat.

Nodding in response, you zipped up your heavy jacket and tightened the laces on your shoes. The air was cold and frigid, like thousands of tiny needles puncturing your lungs as you stepped out of the vehicle.

“We're gonna have to drive to the nearest town for supplies” Tara explained, opening the backdoor and sliding her backpack out and onto her shoulders. “But we should be okay for tonight”

The weight of your bag was settled on one shoulder, the other hand carrying a small ice chest. The only sounds through the trek to the cabin was the ‘crunch, crunch, crunch’ of the snow beneath your feet, the rustling of branches in the harsh winds, along with the chatter of wildlife a whisper through the dense bushels of evergreen shrubs, winterberry, and hostas that littered the path, the gnarled underbrush covered in a pristine layer of sparkling white crystals snagging against the fabric of your sweatpants.

“Just up over this bend” she said, treading carefully over a patch of ice. The trail was becoming narrow, harder to see the longer you walked on. Approaching the bend, you saw a rustic cabin sitting on top of the hill, a small rickety porch sitting in the front, a large bay window next to the door. Dying vines had begun to reclaim parts of the exterior, crawling up the bricks of the fireplace only to die.

Snow began falling harder, blizzarding around you in millions of little clusters. The cold started nipping at your fingertips, turning them a bright red. “Let's get inside” you said, a shiver running down your spine.

The house looked uninhabited, an untouched layer of snow covering the porch. The screen screen door looked worn down, the mesh fabric peeling away from it and withering up. The wooden front door opened with a loud squeak of the hinges.

Inside of the cabin was almost completely barren, next to the door was a small dust ridden table. Walking down a short corridor to the living room, the only light coming from the windows lining the walls. At the end of the hall was a pair of double doors, leading out onto the snow doused back deck and into the yard, a winter wonderland.

The interior of the room only held a love-seat with a white sheet draped over the top of it and another end-table. Feeling along the wall for the lightswitch, nothing happened when you flicked it on.

Setting the ice chest down, you called out, “Powers out,” while walking further into the room.

“I probably have to reset the box,” Tara said, now walking into the living room. She walked to the fireplace next to which a silver box that hung on the wall, opening the box, she began flipping the circuit breakers. After a couple of silent moments, a low humming coursed through the small space as the light flickered on.

“The heat should kick in soon,” she explained, walking to a connected doorway. “Kitchen is in here” flicking on another light, revealing a small room. An electric countertop stove and a small mini fridge that sat underneath the counter on the wall opposite the threshold to the left was a countertop and a sink to the right, a small dining table.

“There's only one bed, but we can share it,” she said, walking back out into the hallway and to a closed room. Pushing the door open showed it was a bedroom.

A full-bed sat against the back wall, another white cloth decorated the mattress, a nightstand on each side, along with two massive windows and a dresser against the same wall. Two doors sat on the opposite sides of the room. “Closet and bathroom” was all she muttered before ripping the sheet off of the bed, throwing her bag down along with herself onto the mattress. The bed was adorned with pillows and a thick comforter.

Setting your bag down on the floor, you strolled back out of the room and to the backdoor. Stepping outside into the winter-woodlands, the sun was beginning to set, casting an orange and pink glow over the snow.

The wind was picking up, trees being jostled by the strong gusts hitting them. The chatter of animals was now gone, replaced by an eerie silence. Then, somewhere off in the distance, you heard the unmistakable ‘CRACK’ of a branch breaking underneath the weight of something, someone.

Your heart stopped, dropping somewhere in your stomach. ‘There's no one around for at least two miles’ the voice in your head refuted. Then, somewhere out of the corner of your eye, you saw a reflective orange glint, like eyes staring at you. Your body caught up with your mind, and you sprinted back into the house, slamming the door shut behind you.

Tara walked out of the bedroom, and a wary look covered her face. “What's wrong?” she questioned, walking closer to you.

“E-Eyes,” you panted, your breathing erratic and your heart beating violently in your chest. Taking a deep breath, you looked at Tara and said, “I saw a pair of eyes.” Tears began to bubble at your lash-line.

“It's probably an animal. We are in the middle of the forest” she said in a passive-aggressive tone, her eyes involuntarily rolling.

‘She's right’ the rational part of your brain thought. Taking long, deep breaths in and out, you could only nod and walk back into the bedroom, sitting down on the plush mattress.

A strong current of warm air began flowing through the rooms, heating up the chilly cabin. “Heats finally on,” Tara said, the edge in her tone letting on to her frustration.

Again, you could only nod, anxiety flowing through your veins, increasing your heart rate further. You know what you saw, but again the forest is full of different kinds of wildlife. “We should unpack” you stuttered out.

This time, Tara nodded and walked out into the hall. You stood up, picking your bag up from the ground and setting it on the bed.

The majority of the bag was just clothes and other miscellaneous items like an MP3 player and earbuds, a thermostat bottle, and a zip knife. The handle is a polished wood with gold colored stainless-steel trimming, the end of the knife curved upwards and into a hook. The sharp blade sheath in a washcloth, sealed with a rubber band. You bought it when eyes began watching your every movement.

You slipped the knife into the hoodie you sported and began putting away your belongings. Looking up, you saw the sun had receded; another bout of darkness consuming the world around you, threatening to eat you whole as well. The snow was falling harder than before, your visibility almost completely impaired. Looking out into the abis, your heart picked up, your pulse starting to quicken as your eyes adjusted to the dark, and what looked like the silhouette of a person became clearer and clearer. Coming closer and closer.

A gasp wretched itself from your throat, your feet scrambling to get away but tripping over each other instead causing you to crash to the floor.

Hastily getting up, you dash out of the room and across the hall to the living space, a hot inferno blazing in the fireplace, Tara cooking something in the kitchen, blissfully ignorant.

Turning around when you clamored into the room, she saw you hunched over, hands steadying themselves on your knees.

“Tara, there is someone out there!” You cried, tears running down your face.

Again, irritation was present on her features. A look of annoyance. “No one is out there” she blew off, crossing her arms over her chest.

“I'm telling you, there is” you stammered, “I-I saw it” More tears bled down your face, your entire body trembling.

“There isn't! I have put up with this for six months” she said, her voice rising alongside her anger, “I'm asking you for a weekend of peace” an ugly sneer spread across her face.

Stomping out of the kitchen and passing by you to the bedroom, Tara shoved her shoes on. “Since you insist” she started walking down the hall, “I'll show you”

Following closely behind her, you hadn't realized how angry she'd been with you. Rounding the corner, she threw open the door and trudged out into the snow and halfway down the slope of the trail, the snow falling heavier. Then, at the top of her lungs, Tara bellowed, “There is no one out here!” anger bleeding through her shriek.

You only went out as far as the last step of the porch, your shoes still on from your last excursions outside. “Tara, come back in!” You called back, voice trembling in uneasiness.

You couldn't see her, the snow falling too heavily from above, the wind hollering through the night, branched clashing together in a ferocious battle, and again she yelled out, “ABSOLUTELY FUCKING NO-” the sentence being cut off with a sickening ‘thud’, slicing through the air like a freshly sharpened knife. Nothing but the sound but rushing wind and a distinct ‘POP’ could be heard.

Your heart skipped a beat, catching somewhere in your throat. “Tara?” You croaked out, your tongue like a cement brick in your mouth. Stepping slowly off of the porch, you moved towards the apex of the hill to get a better view.

The thick clouds parted enough for a sliver of moonlight to peek through and let you take in the scene before you: Tara's unconscious- no, lifeless body laid face down on the frigid ground, the blade of an axe protruding out of her skull, her beautiful brown hair now black at the roots with blood as it seeped out around the weapon, her perfect tawny beige skin stained with red, painting the snow beneath her with blood. A person stood above her, a man.

Most of his face was hidden beneath a hood, but his lanky build was visible; the grayish-brown hoodie he wore was stained with blood, his jeans as well.

He stepped on her body, his boot-clad foot pushing it further in the snow then gripping the handle of the axe and ripping it from her head; the snow now staining crimson, the crevasse oozing more blood. The man's head slowly rose and through the light peering down from above, you saw a familiar reflective orange glint, and you knew he was staring directly into your fear-stricken face.

Tears crowded in your eyes, your breathing becoming heavy and erratic as you locked into a silent staring contest with the man who just murdered your best friend. The hand holding his weapon jolted in a fast motion, but did not come flying towards you like you had anticipated: still that knocked you out of your initial shock and you began barreling towards the treeline and into the snow-covered woodlands.

The forest was dark, a dense canopy of trees preventing any light from shining down, the thick underbrush cut at your ankles, low-hanging branches catching on your hoodie as you careened through the thickets of trees. Then you heard the thundering sound of heavy footsteps in pursuit, and you forced your legs to go faster to take you further away from this madman.

Struggling to breathe properly, you still kept running since you knew the moment you slowed down, he would be on you like a wolf and its prey. Suddenly the sound of whirling air flying by your head was audible before an axe was embedded in the trunk of a tree, pieces of bark and wood spraying out around it.

‘Faster! Faster’ your mind argued with exhaustion, as your legs struggled to flee. You'd never had to run for your life, not until now. A heavy cloud of fog began to roll in as you ran deeper into the woods, your vision even more impaired than before.

Zig-zagging through trees you soon realized you no longer heard his heavy footsteps behind you, but still you kept going further. The fog was getting too thick to see though turning everything around you into a misty haze, then the exposed roots of a tree caught your foot causing you to collide with the snowy forest floor and before you could think your body began rolling down a steep embankment you hadn't known was there.

Clawing at the solid earth to stop your fall was futile as the semi-frozen snow made getting an anchor difficult. Tumbling down the hill your speed only kept increasing, the steady decline seemingly going on to no end until suddenly your body stuck the trunk of a tree, cracking the side of your head against it; consciousness began to flee from you, the world around you being reduced to darkness but not before you felt the leering presence of someone standing over you.

︶꒦꒷♡꒷꒦︶ ︶꒦꒷♡꒷꒦︶

The cold winds nip against your skin, a chill runs down your spine while you're rocked further into oblivion, cuddling into the warmth of the person carrying you.

‘Wait-’ you thought, eyes shooting open, and shoving at the chest of the man holding you before impinging with the snowy ground.

Scrambling to find your footing, a hand reached out and entangling itself in your hair while yanking back. A sob escaped your mouth, a wordless plea to let you go. Gripping at his wrists, you attempted to pull his hands away from you, but that only proved to anger him more: his digits curled further into your hair, pulling your head back as far as it would go.

“Y-You done?” His voice cut through the air like an axe, the sound sending shivers up your spine and more tears to your eyes.

Looking up at him, you saw an upside-down version of the man behind you; his hood was up still, messy chestnut hair spilled out from the top, his orange-yellowish goggles now hung around his neck, and dark soulless eyes stared back at you, a mouthguard hung from ear to ear, concealing the lower half of his face.

Reaching into the pocket of your hoodie, your fingers went and grabbed for the knife only to find it missing.

“Looking for this?” he jeered, pulling out your weapon, the cool metal of the blade shining in the moonlight.

“Let me go! ” You cried out, your fear now turning to rage at his words. ‘You done?’ as if he hadn't chased you through the woods, as if he isn't trying to kill you. “You're fucking pathetic” you sneered, more tears welling up in your eyes.

“I-I'm p-p-pathetic?” he chuckled, his voice dropping an octave, the grip he had on your hair tightened. “Says t-the o-one on her knees” then he laughed like it was the funniest thing in the world.

“You're disgusting” you grimaced, trying to pull away once again only to receive an emphatic tug, dragging you backwards onto the ground forcing another cry from you.

His hand left your hair, footsteps circling until he stood in front of you; crouching down so you were eye-to-eye, he reached out and gripped your chin and tilted it farther back. “You th-think I'm disgusting? That ‘fr-friend’ of yours is the the reason you're in t-this.” he growled, “But, I'll f-fucking show you dis-disgusting” he jeered, a deranged look in his eyes.

Uneasiness swirled in the pit of your stomach at the news, the surprise shown on your face.

His hand renewed its grip in your hair, aggressively pulling you up from the forest floor. “How about a game, hm” he said, a giddiness in his voice. “You tr-try and get ba-back to the cabin, if I don't c-catch you, I'll leave.”

“And if you do?” you questioned, your fear bleeding through into your voice.

“Well, I gu-guess you'll just ha-have to find out,” he said, the giddiness in his tone now replaced with something much darker, something much more sinister.

Your heart was thundering in your chest, your breathing heavy and erratic. You didn't need to find out, you already knew what he'd do: he'd kill you.

“I don't wanna play your fucked up game” you cried, knees threatening to give out underneath you. “You're gonna kill me anyways” now you were sobbing, tears streaming down your face, the cold winds chilling you further.

“Hey..” he cooed, his voice softening as if to comfort you. “I'm not go-gonna kill you” he said, his grip on your hair loosening “Not yet at l-least” then another sick bout of deep laughter filled your ears.

This time you couldn't stop yourself from collapsing to the ground, and sobbing into your hands. “I'm not playing this game, you fucking psycho!” you screamed, your rage and fear mixing together into a cesspool of emotions.

A sigh left him, almost as if he was disappointed. “F-Fine” he said, before the end of a blunt object struck you in the head and a familiar void spread around you.

︶꒦꒷♡꒷꒦︶ ︶꒦꒷♡꒷꒦︶

Cold calloused hands ran up your thighs, giving them a rough squeeze, then to your hips and doing the same. Your mind began waking up, eyes slowly drifting open only to see him in between your now bare legs, hands traveling farther up to the waistband of your panties before receding and repeating the action. 

His mouthguard was now gone, his eyes staring into yours. That's when you saw his full face; his skin a pale gray, snake bites adorning his bottom lip, and on the side of his face a large gash, one so deep you could see his porcelain white teeth from where you laid.

Your hands shot out, only to be stopped by a thick rope binding them to a headboard. “Y-You're finally aw-awake,” His grip on your thighs tightened, “Thought I'd have to fuck your unconscious body” he chortled, a wide grin spreading across his face.

Chills ran up your spine leaving goosebumps in its wake, another bout of sickness swirling in your stomach. Your legs moved of their own accord, kicking and thrashing about, hitting him on several occurrences until his hands gripped the back of your knees and pushed your thighs up to your chest, and held them there.

“What are you doing!” panic was laced in your tone, legs trying helplessly to get free.

“C’mon, I t-thought you were sm-smarter than that,” he sneered, settling one of his forearms across the backs of your knees, his now free hand sliding down the back of your thigh before traveling to your ass, giving it a harsh squeeze through the fabric of your panties.

Your leg shot out, connecting with his stomach causing him to fall back: in return a sharp slap was delivered to your face, a fiery inferno spreading across your cheek. Then he gripped your hips, his blunt fingers digging into the soft skin and flipped you onto your stomach, the rope cutting into your wrists and the headboard creaking lazily from the force.

His breath fanned against the shell of your ear, hips digging into your behind, pressing the bulge forming in his jeans into you. “I'm go-gonna fuck you s-so good, maybe you'll forget th-that your friend is the one w-who sold you like some wh-whore” he said through gritted teeth.

Tugging on your restraints to get free was proving unsuccessful, his hand slid down to your front, fingertips gliding up your abdomen and to the hem of your bra, playfully snapping the band. Your heart sped up, and you tried crawling farther up the bed only to be pulled back down by your hips.

“W-Wait” you gasped, squirming in his hold. “I-I don't know your name” it came out as a whisper, barely audible. Truly you knew it was a dumb question, but you just need him to slow down so you could think of a way out of this situation, to no avail.

A sudden burst of laughter filled the empty space around you, his manic cackles filling your ears. His breath fanned across your neck, “Toby” he said, his fingers back at your bra: they grabbed at the waistband and pulled roughly, breaking the clasp that held it together, the coolness of something sharp started tracing over your bare back.

‘A knife’ you thought. ‘My knife’ Now you were a crying, blubbering mess; weeps and wails escaping you as the weapon dragged across your back, to the strap of your bra and slicing through it, then repeating the action to the other strap. Your bra fell onto the bed beneath you, freeing your breasts.

The hand holding the knife discarded it, slithering its way across your stomach and up to your chest, grabbing and groping at the fat of your breast, pinching and twisting your nipple. A groan slipped from him, his hips rocking into your rear at an erratic pace.

His hand moved away from your chest, as did the hand on your hip. “S-So pretty, almost a sh-shame I'm gonna have to kill y-you” his words came out like venom, caused more tears to bubble up, and stream down your face.

“Please- I” was all you could manage, cries and wails racking through your body, you shook with fear, heart stammering against your ribcage.

“Please what, hm?” Toby purred, hands now dancing across the band of your underwear, fingertips just barely slipping in before retreating.

“I don't wanna die” you sobbed, head hanging low between your shoulders. You couldn't control your emotions any longer, your head was spinning and you thought you might pass out.

He cooed at you, a hand coming up and stroking your hair. “It's okay,” he whispered, “If you do good, we'll see what we can do” he began kissing and nipping at your jaw before murmuring, “How's that sound?”

As much as you hated him, your will to live took over and you weakly nodded. He continued kissing and sucking on your shoulder, his other hand slipping under the elastic band of your panties. He slid a finger through your folds, another deep groan was heard behind you. “Fuck, you're wet” he whispered against your throat.

His digits circled around your clit, rolling the bundle of nerves underneath the pads of his fingers, then sliding his lanky fingers through your wet heat and before long sinking into your slick cunt. Whimpers and uncomfortable whines left you as his cold fingers curled inside of you, before slowly pulling out and sliding back in, the palm of his hand teasing at your clit.

More tears crowded your vision as he drove his fingers in and out of you, “W-wait” you cried, pulling at the rope binding your wrists. The disgust in your stomach worsened as your walls squeezed around his fingers, the unwanted pleasure lighting your nerves on fire.

His hands retreated, the sound of rustling clothes filled the room. “You're doing so good, almost good enough to live” he said coolly, almost as if he wasn't threatening your life.

His weight settled back behind you, his fingers gripping the elastic band of your underwear, yanking them down to where your knees were planted against the bed. One of his hands gripped your hips, the other pumping his thick , veiny cock, then lining it up with your entrance. Pressing into you, the head of his cock slipped in your cunt, a dull-throbbing spread through your low body.

“Stop!” you sobbed, tugging at your wrists even as the rope began cutting into your flesh. You squirmed in his grasp, your hips trying desperately to pull away from him.

His hips slammed forward, pushing his cock further into you. “No” he said through gritted teeth, forcing himself the last couple of inches into you. “Y-You made your b-bed, now l-lay in it .”

Toby pulled out of you until just his tip remained inside, before ramming back into you. “Fuck, you're tight” he groaned.

It was like you were being split open, his cock sinking further into you with every thrust. Pain shot through your legs and up your spine, and sob tore from your sore throat. “Stop!-” you yelled, thighs shaking from his harsh abuse.

His hands disappeared from you, hips stilling as he grabbed at your hair and yanked back. “W-What the fuck d-did I just say” he snarled, his other hand coming up to your neck, the knife in it once again. “Now shut up, or I'll slit your fucking throat”

The hand knotted in your hair left, again gripping your hip and slamming back into you harder than before, the sharp blade still pressing harshly against your throat.

The pain began dwindling, pleasure blooming in its wake and twisting in the deep empty pit of your stomach attempting to consume you whole. A pathetic whimper escaped your throat, leaking into the air along with the lewd sounds of skin against skin.

The blade was withdrawn from the column of your neck, while he slowly pulled out of you, the hand brandishing the knife now clutched your hip along with the other and flipping you onto your back. “If-f I didn't know a-any better, I'd say y-you're enjoying t-this” he jeered, his lips curling upwards into a malicious grin while sliding your underwear the rest of the way off your body.

More tears slid down your flushed face, “No!,” you sobbed: shaking your head and tugging at your restraints with more fury than before, your hysteria creeping back in.

One of the hands on your hips snaked down to your cunt, rubbing lazy patterns on your clit. Electricity shot through your core and limbs, euphoria spreading throughout your body like a numbing static.

Then his cock tapped against your entrance, the head slipped back inside of you: a moan slipping free from your lips. His hips drove forwards, his cock stretching you out all over again before he pulled back and brutally slammed back in. More whimpers and moans spilled from your mouth like a degrading symphony.

He used your body like a toy, pulling you onto his length, then sliding you off until your legs were shaking and you were sobbing for him to stop.

A cold hand wrapped around your throat, cutting off your airways. “S-Shut up, and take it” he groaned, hammering himself harder into you. Your walls squeezed around his heavy cock, the head hitting against your spongy g-spot with every thrust.

Your stomach twisted with guilt and pleasure, guilty for feeling pleasure from this psycho, and for letting Tara die.

A knot in your stomach tightened every time Toby thrusted inside of you, incoherent whimpered and pleas spewed from your mouth as your orgasm raked through your body, eyes screwed shut and legs trembling around his waist. Toby's cock throbbed in your abused overstimulated pussy, hips driving himself into you roughly, then a warm sensation flooded through your walls along with the sounds of groans from the man above you.

His vicious thrusts slowed to lazily grinding into you, his heavy panting mixing with yours was the only thing heard in the small room, while his length stayed snug inside of you.

“I think” his voice was low as he spoke, his tone dark and malevolent. “I'm gonna have to keep you” and a low cackle was the last thing you hear before the end of something struck you in the head, and the world around you faded.

[nardo-headcanons]

Any AU or otherwise headcanons about Obito fren 🤗🥰

Obito, Obito, what do I do with you? Obito is an intruiging character, and the people who declare him an 'Incel loser' can respectfully suck my clit. I've never really written for Obito before, so please forgive me if this is a little OOC. big thanks to @danceofthexdragons for requesting.

Scientist!Obito Headcanons

The AU that has currently captured my mind is the scientist/researcher AU, and I already have a few ideas.

Obito Uchiha is a renowned physicist with a specialization in particle physics. His favorite particle is the neutrino, they intrigue him.

Once a bright young student, he believed in the principles of academia, the scientific method, everything. He wanted to explore the world and answer all its questions to humanity, his curiosity being his main drive.

As he entered high school, it was the first time he encountered someone as smart as him, if not even smarter. Rin Nohara. He, Rin and Kakashi all went into the same class and eventually took AP physics classes together, entered the same university and attended all the same lectures.

The dark side of academia caught up with him at the latest when he completed his doctorate. His then lab partner, Kakashi, had done everything in his power to publish the paper the three of them had worked on together. With the publication being Kakashi's main focus, far behind the mental health of his friends, he got credit for all the ideas, while Obito and Rin remained empty-handed.

Rin and Obito used to work in a lot of UV labs, and since he always sat next to her to shield her, it has led to one side of his face showing way more wrinkles than the others. One time when they worked on their next big invention, a teleportation device, one of the voltage regulators malfunctioned, getting them both caught up in an accident. While Rin almost instantly died, Obito got away with the right side of his body being scarred and shriveled up.

The shock and stress of the traumatic situation has made his hair turn white, making him a victim of Marie Antoinette Syndrome.

Even though he was deeply scarred, both literally and figuratively, he brushed it off as a single incident. But the longer he worked in academia, the plagiarism, the discrediting of female scientists and the publish-or-perish-dilemma of public research got to him, making him publish all his papers under an alias: Tobi.