#which objectively is a song that sucked

[soap-brain]

all this rap discourse is really funny bc it looks like nobody is considering the stance of "rap is bad bc i don't like the way it sounds"

[undermostcorgi]

the media which consumes your entire soul at age 12 will forever be a part of you. this is an unavoidable consequence of living and you have to accept this fact. no matter how old you get, no matter how long it has been since you last saw its smug face peeking out from the bushes as it follows you, no matter if you think you have outrun it for good and that you're finally finally safe and you hardly even remember it exists anymore and your brain knows a few brief moments of true peace, it WILL catch up to you in your moment of weakness. and listen you don't want to hear this but sometimes this is necessary for your mental health. you will on instinct want to reject it and run away again but sometimes. sometimes you just need to watch that old show or listen to that silly song or read that weird book again as an adult and it will hurt you a little bit in various little ways but it will also heal you a little bit. you can call it nostalgia you can call it connecting with your inner child or whatever you want but just listen to me it WILL HAPPEN TO YOU TOO AT SOME POINT AND YOU HAVE TO BE PREPARED FOR THIS (i am forcibly dragged off the stage by security)

[tiredmaster]

Honour Bound from the Death Note Musical has NO business hitting so fucking hard. The use of traditional instruments shows Soichiro is a traditional man who values work and family as he 'should do,' but also is conflicted over putting his family or work first. The use of light as a motif of what you 'factually see' vs how light can be manipulated to make you things that don't exist or how you can't actually trust what you see. His defensiveness, his sorrow, his hatred to L, and hatred for himself for potentially raising the very thing he wants to destroy. It's also such a calming but desperate song because SURELY Light can't be Kira!! Then him realising that even if Kira was Light, what would he do? Would he accept it? Would he keep denying it? Would he protect his son or the law first?

Also Soichiro kinda dilf in the musical ngl.

[halfricanloveyou]

i think we should make ‘be normal to people who don’t like whatever piece of media or art you’re obsessed with’ into a normalized concept.

i think we should go even further and be normal to like…people who HATE what you’re obsessed with instead of vague blogging about them. even if they only hate it based on a surface level and don’t wanna give it a chance.

it’s always ‘let people like things as much as they want’ but for some reason ‘let people dislike things as much as they want’ is unforgivable.

[kitten4sannie]

ateez and corruption kinks… that’s it I just had to let that out into the void

communion

pairing: priest! yunho x nun! reader (fem)

summary: priest jeong wishes to share another communion with the most beloved member of the monastery.

wc: 1.1k

warnings: for the love of god (lol) if sacrilegious smut isn’t your thing do NOT read this,, however if it IS wellll i got something good for you <3, wine drinking, but like, in an unconventional way lmao, nasty perverted dom! yuyu, subby cock hungry! reader (can we blame her tho?), implied sex slave training, oral (giving/receiving), deepthroating, finger sucking, cum eating, implied toy usage (the toy is um….well…a religious object…)

a/n: oh nonnie idt you realize what you’ve unleashed with that ask ^^ there’s nothing i love more than corruption 🖤 physical, emotional, psychological ughhhh,,, anyways writers block and some shitty real life stuff have been taking turns beating me up the past couple months so i thought this might be a good escape for me :3 i hope you enjoy <33

p.s: i’ll be posting two more fics with a corruption theme very soonnn,, one features perverted bsf wooyoung and the other involves frat boy sannie 🫶🏼

song rec: take me to church - hozier (i mean come on….)

No matter how dark the communal church grew in the late hours of the night, the bright light of the moon still shone through the fragmented mosaic glass, now casting a myriad of gleaming crosses across your face and body as you sat on your knees upon the altar. You raised your hands up to begin worshipping your Lord in the way you were taught by Father Jeong, gingerly opening his robes to unveil the point of your focus.

Yunho lifted up a ceremonial bell and rung it once, his robes pooling around his feet, watching as your thighs squeezed tightly together underneath your heavy garments, your shaky exhale fanning over his exposed, twitching cock, finding the unyielding look of pure lust inside your eyes to be so beautiful he could shed a tear. Over the many, many communions you’ve shared together, it seemed that the bell reminded you of your loyalty to him and to your shared savior, of the pleasure you shared all in the name of God.

He pushed your veil off to expose your hair, before he placed his large hands on either side of your head, his long, slender fingers wrapping securely around it. “And, what do we say now, Sister L/N?” he asked softly, as though he were testing you, dragging his tongue over his top set of teeth, letting out a few heavy breaths.

“O’ Lord, for which I am about to receive, is truly your most precious Body and your life-giving blood, which, I pray, makes me worthy to receive for the remission of all my sins and for everlasting life,” you recited your prayer like many times before, the wetness between your thighs everlasting, watching Father Jeong let go of your head for a second to pick up a chalice of wine from the ceremony table behind him.

Yunho held the gold chalice just above his waist, growing that much harder as the dark liquid began to pour down his long, curved length, spilling off of his sticky tip and dripping into your open mouth. “The Blood of Christ…” He watched you swallow it all down, like the obedient servant you were. Something this sinful simply had to be holy, didn’t it? He swallowed down the abundant saliva that filled his mouth. “Ahh?” he voiced, like he was waiting for you to say something.

“Amen,” you sighed out, licking the remnants of wine and pre-cum from your lips, your trembling fingers clasping around his bare hips.

“Amen.”

Yunho then thrusted forward until he hit the back of your parched throat, eagerly dragging you back and forth along his sizable cock, using you like the faithful cocksleeve you were, the repetitive sounds of squelching, gagging, and muffled moaning sending delightful shivers down his spine, much like the sacred hymns did to him every morning during mass. “Sister L/N, your throat has molded to the shape of my cock, has it not? Bonding with me all these long nights, over and over, it’s like you were made for me, and only me. Tell me, Sister, does taking the Body of Christ down your throat make you feel closer to God?”

You let out a stunted, pleased moan, blinking a few tears out of your dazed, half closed eyes, watching as a blurry version of Father Jeong brought his rosary up to his lips to kiss it. Due to being trained so consistently, you knew to relax your jaw and throat in order to take all of him without fail, your gag reflex nonexistent, simply drooling all over his long, heavy cock instead, much to Yunho’s delight.

“Oh, God, let His will be done….” He hunched over slightly, in order to pound himself into the back of your throat over and over, thick strands of pre-cum and saliva dripping from your chin and landing onto your previously pristine garments, his fingers closing in around your bulging throat to feel himself moving inside it. It was simply too much for the priest to handle. “So…nnngh–sovereign, so pure, this divinity…” Yunho expressed between heavy pants, suddenly pulling out until his twitching cockhead rested against your splayed out tongue. “Sister L/N, you must show me something heavenly so that I may fill you with the Holy Spirit. Be quick, for I am at my limit…”

Licking the beads of pre-cum from his slit, you began to lift up the layers of your tunic until your bare cunt glistened underneath the moonlight that was casted over you like a spotlight, the edges of your skin glowing as though you were a real life angel, one that was sent down from above to tempt Yunho, especially now that he could see you in your most vulnerable state. “Father Jeong, please see what I’ve done for you. I’ve kept myself full…so that I may take you inside properly…”

It was then that Father Jeong fell to his knees before you, looking up at the slick heaven in between your thighs, before leaning in to lap up the abundant wetness from your lips, his hot tongue practically melting against your cunt as he ate you out like a starved man, spreading your open with his ringed thumbs. Maintaining steady eye contact with you, he slowly pulled the hood of your clit back to expose your weak point, wrapping his plush lips around it as he began to suck and lick until he had you trembling above him, your nails digging into the dense wood of the pews. “Cum before me,” he commanded, dragging his tongue along your fluttering slit up to your throbbing clit until you let out a beautifully broken cry.

You spread your trembling thighs open just enough to allow what was filling you up the entire time to slowly come sliding out, both you and the priest letting out a similar gasp once it did. A thick, slick-covered silver cross landed inside Yunho’s open palm. He watched diligently as you lifted it up to his mouth, not even having to say anything as he sucked it clean. Without exchanging words, Yunho stood back and squeezed his throbbing cock, just as you lowered yourself back down onto your knees with a loving smile, watching with pride as he began to shudder, long spurts of his hot cum landing onto your tongue and disappearing down your throat.

“What a thing of beauty….” The priest swallowed hard, letting out a shaky breath. “You never fail to bring me close to our Savior, my dear,” he praised, reaching down to rub the remaining remnants of his seed over your swollen lips and onto your tongue with his thumb, pulling it away from your mouth and licking the last of his saltiness off of his digit himself.

“It’s all for the greater good,” you softly replied, slowly standing up and hiking up your now soiled garments, so that you could bend over the pew, spreading yourself wide, opening the gates of your heaven and giving Yunho access like every blissful night before. “Now, please allow me to bring you even closer.”

Apply for the taglist here ⇢ ♡

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general tags: @dazzlinglight @thefinerthingz3 @cosmiczen @choerryge @arusio @ethicalz @jinsonaz @kitty4hwa @purplechannie @jazzymoore @kodzukein @asjkdk @chanst1ddies @createyour0wnworld @roarmingi @simeonswhore @k0rean-big-mini0n @bls-luv-me @igotlockedout @fl0r4f4wn @miriamxsworld @woosmaid @kawaiikels @azcon @allofuswantgwinam @breezy-simp @eastleighsblog @singularity777 @san-realblkwife @kawennote09 @feuille-et-pain @slut4hwa @owjohny @hijeongguk @lilramennoodle @leo-seonghwa @staytinydegenerate @greenymar @baguette-atiny

© kitten4sannie, 2024.

[chuulyssa]

── ★ 𝐈 𝐌𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓 𝐇𝐀𝐕𝐄 𝐓𝐎 𝐅𝐔𝐂𝐊 𝐇𝐄𝐑 𝐎𝐍 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐇𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐖𝐀𝐘 !

𝙨𝙮𝙣𝙤𝙥𝙨𝙞𝙨 — bsd men and public sex scenarios

𝙜𝙚𝙣𝙧𝙚 — smut

‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎──‎‎‎‎─ tw intended lowercase, public sex, exhibitionism, edging, begging, use of pet names (doll, love, angel etc), praise kink, cockwarming + fingering in fyodor's part, voyeurism + choking + nipple play in nikolai's part

𝙨𝙩𝙖𝙧𝙧𝙞𝙣𝙜 — dazai, chuuya, fyodor, nikolai x reader

𝗗𝗔𝗭𝗔𝗜 is always ready for sex, whether it be in the comfort of your bedroom or the last seat of a movie theater. you cannot physically count the number of times you've asked him to dick you down and he has cooed in reply, pulled you into a random corner, ridden your panties to the side and pried your legs apart with a smile. that, however, doesn't mean there aren't times when you have to beg for his fat cock. he is quite a nuisance, even when the two of you have to make it quick, locked up in a public room. he enjoys watching you flailing your arms around in a silent tantrum, unable to moan or groan or whine, afraid of being heard by others.

“now now bella,” he says in a sing-song voice. “if i give it to you now, and you end up being so loud that the others hear, it will be bad, won’t it?”

he watches you rub your cheek against his bare cock, throat dry from the hardness which he refused to let you suck.

“i’ll be quiet, i promise,” you say. “please please, can i have it?”

“you always say that, dolly,” he strokes your hair lovingly and you lean into his touch. “but we both know you never keep your promise. i would like you to hush for me, alright? we can be as loud as we want at home, but not here, hm? the president is in the next room; it’s a very important meeting, okay?”

you nod vigorously, and he chuckles.

“ah now you know i’m weak for those eyes,” he pulls you up and sits you nicely on his cock all in one go, clamping a hand over your mouth as your eyes widen at the forced penetration. “we’ve got an hour, baby. let’s make it nice and slow, yea? don’t want anything to spill or make a mess, hm? easy now, doll. ride me like a good girl, but quietly.”

𝗖𝗛𝗨𝗨𝗬𝗔 doesn't mind pissing off mori in ways more than one. he cannot recall how many times he's fucked you in his own office in various positions, and so messily too, just to see his boss's reaction. he, unlike dazai, doesn't have to be quiet though. it's his building, he can do whatever the fuck he wants, shove his cock down your throat wherever he wants. but he likes to go at a tantalizingly slow pace. he knows he can take his time. he's not gonna get 'caught'. his subordinates know better than to intrude on his business. it's just you, spread-eagled on the table, and him, rutting his hard cock inside you.

“you like it, yea? then why don’t you say it?” he groans in your ear. “you can tell me whose pussy this is, can’t you? why don’t you say my name, doll? whose girl are you?”

“y-yours, all yours,” you hiss and he gently pushes your face back into the mahogany table, the smell of fresh wood and sex clouding your senses.

“what’s my name?”

“chuuya–”

“chuuya what?”

“port mafia executive chuuya nakahara and the owner of my body,” you breathe. he's taught you to say that whenever he asks you that.

“good girl,” he says proudly, smile faltering for a second as he adjusts his pace. “you gonna come, baby? i can feel you. come, come on this cock, we’ll let it get on the floor and table, just to have some fun, yea?”

you widen your eyes, and he chuckles, gloved hand coming to pinch a nipple.

“no objections. mori's office or not, i decide what i do with my pussy.”

you shuddered. he's not afraid and it's seen. because after all, who's gonna fire him?

𝗙𝗬𝗢𝗗𝗢𝗥 isn't always the one to initiate sex, much less one in public. then again, your numb cunt and shaking legs are testimony of how well he does when he decides to. public sex for fyodor meant shoving you by your hair down on his cock, pretending to be interested in the ramblings of fukichi while you were sucking him off under the table. when he feels he has to reward you for good behaviour though, he allows you to perch on his lap, your panties shifted to the side as he nests his cock deep inside your warm pussy, offering his ideas while the others don't bat an eye at the unusual approach of the mastermind.

he drums his fingers on the table, sliding them down to pinch your clit. your eyes widen, neck snapping around to look at him as he continues to look ahead. from the corner of his sly smile, he mutters, “i’ve told you to stop moving so much, havent i, angel? or would you like to leave the meeting? i wouldn’t mind either way. you’re distracting a hard-working man.”

you frown at him. “i’m not moving around–” your angry whisper is cut off by a finger slipping inside your already filled cunt, stretching it out even more. you hiss loudly, fist clenching around his cape.

“quieten, printsessa, or i might have to send you away. you’re not being very good now. i’d like to have a word with you after the gathering departs. in private.”

you scowl and turn back to staring at a wall in front of you, when you feel his finger escaping your soaking cunt. sighing in relief, you barely anticipate the slight jolt of his hips as he forced his cock deeper inside you for the fraction of a second before bringing it back in place.

your eyes wander frantically to see if anyone noticed the act. nobody did, thankfully, or maybe they had learned not to intrude on his business. either way, you will pay the price for boredom in the next thirty minutes.

𝗡𝗜𝗞𝗢𝗟𝗔𝗜 is similar to dazai when it comes to enthusiasm related to public sex. he's into voyeurism, a bit much for your liking, but he swears by your name he won't do it if you don't like it. but you don't miss the way he casually lifts your skirt up to check your ass out, or how he sticks a finger inside your cleavage line to harden your nipples. he has always wanted to be free, and what defines freedom more than sex in the back of his car, where the windows are open and any passerby can hear the commotion, wild and alive like never before?

“but kolya, we have to be quiet, we can’t just–”

“hush, my little birdie. do as i say and you won’t be in trouble,” he lays you down comfortably on the seat before proceeding to bang the shit out of you. your meek attempt at stifling your moans by covering your mouth is unsuccessful, and highly futile, he thinks. “now why would you do that, my dove? why would you not bless my ears with your heavenly sounds? let me hear them, dove, please.”

“kolya–”

“yes yes yes love, just like that,” he coos praises into your ear. “but you can go louder, can’t you?”

his mouth sucks on one of your nipples, begging you silently to give him more, to say more.

“please tell me how i make you feel, dove. i might die.”

“so good, kolya, so good.”“yes dove, now can you tell the whole word how i make you feel? please? for me?” he fastens his pace to force moans out of you, hand reaching to your throat to make you say his name. “want the whole word to know you love me, dove. that you’re mine. all mine.”

and his demands grow sinister by the moment with threatening consequences.

“whoopsie, no dove you’re gonna have to keep it in for now. can’t let you come unless i see you beg for it, now can i?”

it was always a long night of satisfying sex with him.

[correctproseka]

Ensekai really really fumbled the bag in Mizuki's storyline by using they/them pronouns and i can prove it

Ok so, ill start this by saying this does NOT mean that Mizuki's gender can't be "nonbinary" or that they cant use they/them. In the end it'll just mean that most of the characters would not know that at this point in the story and all views on mizuki, trans girl or nonbinary are objectively correct so far.

That ensekai fumbles translations is something we all know, the event names for example, a huge one is going on as i write this. Why the fuck is it not pandemonium like everywhere else??

Other fumbles we can't really blame ensekai for, song translations, as weird as they can seem, are chosen by the voca-p themselves

(even if they make it sound way more aggressive)

But on the stories? I complain a lot, they make the characters not look as gay, sometimes change their personality slightly and.

Sometimes. It kind of nearly ruins the story, which is Mizuki's case.

So, WHY did ensekai do that, and why is it different on jp?

Well, for starters, japanese does not have pronouns in the same way english does, they DO need to use pronouns instead of . "Mizuki said mizuki wanted this" every single time, so no pronouns, for a rhythm game is out of the question.

And they thought that they/them was a second best choice.

In japanese games and anime, people tend to see a gender funky character and immediately go for they/them, for one. But also not really the only reason.

The reason might have been the two usages of pronouns in japanese.

Introduction and character reference.

So, to introduce themselves, Japan uses a few pronouns such as atashi, watashi, ore, boku... Boku is a masculine leaning pronoun, and the one Mizuki uses. Its not the most masculine (from the ones i said, that would be ore) and in cases can be considered gender neutral, and sometimes, rarely, girls use it. Mizuki is one of these girls.

Another one is Rui, who's the only one to know Mizuki from middle school, calls them "Mizuki-kun". -Kun is ALSO male aligned but can be used gender neutrally, but there's also a difference here. Rui calls EVERYONE -kun, Shizuku, Saki, Emu. You name it. He uses -kun for everyone. So thats not a valid reason.

Another question you can have is: did ensekai ever use a different pronoun for Mizuki?

And the answer, surprisingly, is yes. Before niigo knew mizuki irl there's two times they use she/her.

Which really sucks, because that would mean Mizuki uses she/her online, but ws soon as they meet her, its now a they/them? Without any conversation about it? And if we assume there WAS a conversation about it...

Then WHY THE HELL is Mizuki scared of telling their secret, when they have already done it in this scenario?

Thats not the case, niigo clearly thinks Mizuki is a girl- a cis one at that- currently.

In a way, the only people who would make sense knowing Mizuki's pronouns is the Kamiyama people (not Ena), they're the ones that know how Mizuki is at school, they're the ones that know her secret.

And yet, if Mizuki uses they/them, even the bullies respect it. And if she doesn't use they/them, then that means An and Rui of all people misgender them. Its a mess.

So not only does it breaks the immersion, it can also mean that either the bullies are not transphobic (really, if they didnt want to LOOK like they're transphobic is it that hard to avoid pronouns?? They're paid for that come on), or that the PLAYABLE CHARACTERS are.

Mizuki being so scared of saying her secret when everyone uses they/them for her is honestly. Fucking bad story telling. If they wanted to have made Mizuki's gender a secret there's a lot more ways they could've done instead of they/theying Mizuki in the story. Such as marking the gender as "unknown" or just. Leaving the story as is, people would be dumbasses and make them think mizuki is cis? So??? Let them be wrong when the time comes. This way it pretty much ruins her events.

And thats not saying Mizuki cant use they/them, but at thid point the characters would NOT know, the point that Mizuki tells the secret is the point they should know.

And.. in the end. That makes the fandom worse.

Jp does not have fights on which gender Mizuki is, they do not care. Its Mizuki and they like Mizuki for who [Mizuki] is as a person.

Meanwhile the en fandom gets called transphobic if the headcanon is a transgirl and also if the headcanon is a nonbinary transfem. It makes no sense and is only worth to make fights happen.

[spideysbruh]

short n sweet

a/n- just pretend okay

~

liked by tchalamet, melissabarrera and 4,615,777 others

y/n please please please tonight!!

view all 87,716 comments

tryinyn DONT TELL ME HES IN THE MUSIC VIDEO OMFGGGGGG

florencepugh spicy!!

tchalamet best set ever all because of you

snoozeyn when timothee is nominated for an oscar for this >>>

timsgf it's a music video he can't get nominated. and it's a shitty one at that, he was the best part

snoozeyn aren't you like 60?

wallowsyn WAIT WAIT WAIT

@chalametupdates just tweeted- Timothée and Y/n behind the scenes of Y/ns new music video!

@ynscurtains replied- BEST MV EVERRR

@timmysgf replied- I wonder how he feels about his girlfriend sexualizing herself for streams

@horroryn replied- HE'S NOT GONNA DATE YOU STFU

liked by tchalamet, sabrinacarpenter and 6,177,388 others

y/n please please please!!! enjoy the video, bitches. the actor in this one is super sexy

view all 98,717 others

rachelzegler that actor is really good!

y/n ik I'm so glad he auditioned

tchalamet superrrrrr sexy

y/n wow full of yourself much?

tchalamet I was talking about you 😔

pleaseyn timmy as a crazy ass criminal is just too awesome

goodgracesyn "men suck" and whole time she's dating timmy LMAOO she's so real

liked by tchalamet, rachelzegler and 3,387,827 others

y/n short 'n' sweet is all yours tonight

view all 91,277 comments

tchalamet and you're all mine every night

mystyn I CLAIM COINCIDENCE ALREADY

ynsheadphones im so curious ab what the love songs ab timmy sound like

rachelzegler my favorite album ever

liked by y/n

timyn his comment 💀💀 so down bad

y/n just posted a story!

caption- damn maybe he should've released an album

liked by y/n, kidcudi and 6,716,773 others

tchalamet this beautiful girls album released today. bed chem is objectively my favorite, also juno.

view all 101,177 comments

supergraphicyn juno omg he's a freak

shortyn LISTEN TO GOOD GRACES AND LEARNNNNNN

y/n who's the cute guy in the white jacket- oh wait he's sitting next to me rn nvm LOL

tchalamet liked

daylightyn bed chem.. lucky girl

tchalamet just posted a story!

caption- date night 😍😍

liked by haileybieber, tchalamet, madisonbeer and 5,717,888 others

y/n so.. what's everyone's favorite ?

view all 103,287 comments

exesyn WHO MADE YOU WRITE DUMB AND POETIC

ynsdune BRO ITS SHAWN I SWEAR

tchalamet how does it feel to be this generations Shakespeare?

y/n liked

sabrinacarpenter I wish I made this wtf

y/n you've got it in you!!!

@companyyn just tweeted- WHOS THE CUTE BOY IN THE WHITE JACKET BITCH WHICH ONE

@beetleyn replied- also what fucking accent is she talking ab

@yn replied- idfk I needed a rhyme 🤷🏽‍♀️

@byeyn replied- HELLO!?!??! HEY GIRL

@infiniteyn replied- she's so fucking funny help

@laurieslaurence replied- he speaks french too so maybe that's what !!

@celebnews just tweeted- weeks after her new album released, Y/n L/n is seen happily with her boyfriend Timothée Chalamet. He was taking several pictures of her on a disposable camera. They stopped to say hi to fans and were apparently very kind and interactive.

@beliebyn replied- the way you started that scared the SHIT out of me omg never do that again celebnews

@comearoundyn replied- likely thing for them to do

@lovelyyn replied to @comearoundyn- what does your @ mean 😭😭😭😭

@modernyn replied- and we'll probably never see those pictures he took 💔💔

@mariasyn replied- ON TOP OF THE CHARTS AND LIVING HER BEST LIFE

liked by tchalamet, haileesteinfeld and 7,726,277 others

y/n to celebrate one month and all the love yall have given me, i wanted to release two other songs that i wrote after i finished the album. hope you enjoy!

view all 121,188 comments

povyn BUSY WOMAN IS POP PERFECTION

paulsoneandonly oh goddd here we go, more shitty music 🙄

sweetyn I'm still not over coincidence girl WHO would do that to you

timsgf slim pickings is a crazy song to write when your bf is timothée

shortnyn can you shut the fuck up and get out of her comments for ONCE

liked by tchalamet

ynslipgloss I DIDNT WANT YOUR BITCH ASS ANYWAY🗣🗣 🎶

liked by y/n, florencepugh and 5,727,827 others

tchalamet my girl is on top of the world

comments on this post have been limited

y/n not us being goofy 🤣🤣

florencepugh my bestest friends !!

liked by rachelzegler, tchalamet and 4,817,132 others

y/n i am so grateful i could cry 💕💕✨️

view all 87,727 comments

rachelzegler you deserve it all and more my lovely

tchalamet forever proud of you pretty girl

bearyn remember when she was excited over her getting 100k views on her video 🥺😭😭 and now she's getting MILLIONS

ynsucks all thanks to her boyfriend

fuxkyn is she serious w this shit, she uses timmy for likes???

amyyn he posts her all the time too, so now what?

liked by tchalamet and 7,276,277 others

y/n vmas 😳😳😳

comments on this post have been limited

tchalamet i love you w so much of my heart that none is left to protest

y/n are you shakespeare

tchalamet nah i just made it up right now

liked by tchalamet, yourfriend and 7,727,266 others

y/n if you think they're looking at you... they're looking at me. happy anniversary my love 🥰💕💕

view all 120,187 comments

rachelzegler IM DEADDDDD

tchalamet happy anniversary my angel girl

timmysgf rude asl

laurieslaurence istg its the same person behind these accounts

timsgf what no

ynswaterbottle LMAOOOOOOOOO

lightupyn her old lyrics 🥺🥺😭😭

liked by y/n, zendaya and 8,277,265 others

tchalamet i ❤️ my talented girlfriend

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horroryn HE SAID FUCK ALL YOU HATERSSSS AHHH YALL MAD

y/n why not uponeth me?

tchalamet liked

bedchemyn BYEEEE

tomholland2013 we need a double date soon!

modernyn MY PARENTSS

y/n I love you my darling boy

*

[star-suh]

A Night to Remember

Hong Seunghan x Male reader

cw: top needy seunghan, stripper reader, idol au, frottage, protected sex, cum eating, nipple play, fingering.

an: idk if it's bad timing to post this sawrry, it was already scheduled.

—

seunghan was tired, he was thankful he debuted in such an amazing group but the though schedules, rehearsals, the recording songs process, learning choreography and fansigns have drained his energy. he was walking down the street at night when he saw a neon sign that caught his attention “interesting..” he muttered and entered the place.

it was a pretty place, with good lighting, velvet curtains, relaxing music and a bar with some curious liquors and cocktails. “hello how can i help you” a masculine voice echoed in seunghan's ears, he turned out and met the man “umm.. sorry i.. i was just walking and saw the neon sign. it made me curious so i entered the place” he says bluntly.

“oh ok i understand” the man with a butler like suit responds “in this place we offer a space so that men who are tired of everyday life can relax, either drinking their favorite umm drink” he laughs “while the music at a low volume calms them down. also if they want something more entertaining and spicy there is a special striptease service, this can be private or public as the client prefers” he spoke clasping his hands “so what do you want sir?”.

“i think i'm gonna order a drink and a private striptease show please” seunghan answered pulling out his wallet to pay. “over here” the butler hands him the drink and signals a room for him to enter “our stripper will be coming here soon, wait for him please”.

the liquid in his glass was already about to run out when the door opened, and there appeared a boy in a lustful devil costume. he had a collar from which a red tie hung, bracelets on her arms and a black thong that lefts nothing to the imagination, he also has a big spear on his hand. 

“who's this naughty man waiting to be punished” cockily says the guy provoking a smirk to appear on seunghan's face, already loving the show.

y/n started doing a lap dance on seunghan, letting him touch every part of his body, groping his ass, playing with his nipples. every touch form seunghan leaving a burning sensation on y/n's skin. the man taking control of the situation unbuttoned the collar leaving only the tie on the dancer's neck and moving the thong slightly to the sight he toyed with y/n's hole noticing there's a plug on it “damn i wonder who is the naughty one here” he expressed.

a path of kisses that started from y/n's chest ended on his mouth with a desperate kiss between the two of them, their tongues fighting for dominance and exploring each other's mouths. seunghan pulled out the plug and started to finger the rim, feeling how warm it was, he then unzipped his pants pulling out his thick meat, slapping it against the hole. “so desperate for me” y/n looked down on seunghan kissing and sucking his nipples “i have a lot of accumulated stress that i need to release” he snickered.

y/n's hand reaches for the nearest drawer looking for a condom “here big boy” y/n hands the latex object to the top who quickly rips the pack and rolls it down his shaft.

y/n sank down the other's cock enjoying every inch of pleasure the top gave him. they stay still hugging between them while waiting for y/n to adjust to seunghan's size. then y/n's hips started with the up and down motion, squeezing that juicy throbbing cock “shit” sighed the guy “i really needed this. thank you so much for helping me”. “you're welcome” the stripper says, kissing him seconds later. 

seunghan thrusts were sloppy, he was just focused on feel all the pleasure he could, forgetting about everything and just living the present “such a good stress reliever” he blurted out, teeth biting y/n's nipples. the other was a moaning blushing mess, it's true that this was his work but something with seunghan just make it somewhat more special, like he's being gentle but it produces the same pleasure or even much more than those who fuck y/n rough. “yes right there baby, keep fucking that spot”..

y/n started playing with seunghan's chest, toying with his nipples, feeling every crevice from his abs. “are you gonna cum handsome” the stripper asked and the other male just nodded and went straight to kiss him. seunghan locked his arms around y/n accelerating his thrust wanting to release all the tension that has been built during the whole session. y/n can feel the cock throbbing inside him, pumping all the sperm inside the condom but still y/n could feel the warm sensation of the liquid.

when seunghan pulled out the condom was bulging with a ton of semen “this cannot be wasted” talked y/n, removing the condom from seunghan's shaft and then slipping the content directly into his mouth and swallowing it with some of it dripping down his mouth and sweaty chest “yummy” smirked the stripper while a speechless seunghan looked at him “hold on, you haven't cum yet” the top said, “it's ok, as long as you are satisfied” y/n just smiled.

“no come here” seunghan forces y/n to straddle him joining both cocks and started to rub them both with his big hands “let me give you back some of the pleasure you gave me” he whispered, moving his hands up and down. both cocks came at the same time looking like a fountain of sperm flowing down the shafts and seunghan's hands, both males moaned in unison riding their highs while catching their breath. y/n grabbed seunghan's hands and lick them clean. sharing a last kiss y/n waves a goodbye and leave the room.

y/n was already leaving work and was about to start walking towards his home when a “hey” made him stop, he turned around and found himself face to face with seunghan again. “oh hey” a flustered y/n scratched his neck “what are you doing here?” he questioned. “i was waiting for you to come out and i.. i just wanted to know if you're free tomorrow. i.. i want to invite you to a night at the amusement park” he was trying to hide his flustered state but failed miserably.

on the other hand y/n was just as flustered as him “umm.. haha sure, here” he handed his phone to seunghan so he could save his number there “see you tomorrow i guess” y/n smiled, making seunghan smile too.

[fruitsofbeingafraid]

is it just me or are a lot of the songs from beyond beyond beyond reqlly reminiscent of old crane wives songs?

most people have made the connection between river rushing and steady steady- this post explains it super well- and most people know that scars is a response to never love an anchor, but i feel like there's more.

higher ground feels like a pretty obvious connection to me: rockslide or sleeping giants. all 3 are about big changes in your life and feeling them coming, and all 3 use avalanche metaphors.

another obvious one in my mind is mad dog and the hand that feeds. both are canine metaphors to describe how much it sucks to be living in our capitalist society. the difference is the hand that feeds is about actively fighting against it and mad dog is about feeling trapped within it.

arcturus beaming and new discovery just feel connected- and thinking more about it, it makes sense. both are about continuing with your life despite being hurt and wondering what's in your future.

i also noticed lines in red clay that are reminiscent of keep you safe. the repeated "take a deep breath and turn to be brave/harvest the fruits of being afraid" really reminds me of the "no amount of waiting will make you, make you brave. no amount of fear will keep you, no amount of fear will keep you safe."

i have less concrete ideas about the rest of these but predator could connect with once and for all. they're both about being stuck in an unhealthy cycle of making the same mistakes.

say it and easier could connect too, but this one feels less solid- the crane wives have a lot of breakup songs. the reason easier sticks out to me as say it's parallel is the first lyric in say it: "did the real me corrupt the fantasy" which links to "if i was someone else, would it be easier".

bitter medicine could be paired with allies and enemies- the lyric "the words i speak are wildfires and weeds, they spread like some awful damn disease" fits right in with the message of bitter medicine- that the singer can't control what they say and doesn't want to hurt people.

HOWEVER. bitter medicine could pair with metaphor for this same reason- they're both about not trusting your own words, and putting up a fake persona to be more likable.

i'm currently undecided on songs for black hole fantasy and time will change you. the moon will sing is what i'm currently considering for black hole fantasy but even then, it's only because both songs compare a lover to a celestial object.

anyway, i did NOT mean for this to turn into an essay. i hope it was somewhat coherent! if you have any insight please share it i would love to talk about this. i may be just a little bit hyperfixated.

[hobiespick]

Heya! I was wondering if you got any headcanons for Sam Winchester x werewolf! Reader, except, reader can actually turn whenever she (or gn if you want) wants, and the only real thing a full moon does is force her to be in her werewolf form (aka force her to keep the wolf teeth and claws out for no reason)

The thing that should not be

Pairings : Sam Winchester x reader

a/n : FOR THE LOVE OF GOD, HI, HELLO, IM SORRY IT TOOK SO LONG I SUCK SO BAD, IM SO SORRY. My requests aren't open (yet) but its not even your fault I should have 100% specified that, but this is my first ever ask and ur also one of my favourite moots and I didn't want to dissapoint so here are some fuckinf cute Sam x Werewolf!Reader. I felt the carnal need to write a metric fuckton of context before getting into the actual headcanons (which are very long I have no idea if they can be considered as hcs) so the reader gets beaten up by earth-shattering plot purposes :3. Sammy juicy headcanons start when you see the '🧿' emoji if you don't wanna read the context (melodramatic sigh). And yes the title of the fic is based on the metallica song :). as always, enjoy my shitty thoughts <3

Warnings: angst with comfort (no don't clap it's fine, omg ur makin me blush); guess who joined the cool kids club and uses "____." instead of "Y/n"; literally a flash of gore, shitty dad(s), fake death, mentions of suicide, Sam looks at you and goes DO YOU WANT M-; Dean being himself; reader is also a hunter and has been raised like that (fml); Dean makes a twillight refrence; reader is frankenstein coded in the most nuanced way, Mary Shelley please don't haunt me; Dean is very happy to have a bestfriend/sister :)

word count: 8,102

- Okay, so for starters, the fact that you aren't actually a monster (you don't get the urge to kill or wreak havoc) is actually a supernatural miracle.

Your parents haven't talked to you since you called them the night you were hunting a werewolf and told them, horror-struck between sniffles and voice cracks, that it bit you, and you’re going to turn, and you’re horrified, and you’re going to drive home to put a pistol in your father's hand and hopefully stop you from turning in the thing you shouldn't be.

Your father replied, after successfully not saying a word besides "Hey, kid-" before getting cut off by you and your hiccups. He sank his teeth into the inside of his cheek, enough to draw blood.

"You are not to come home; your mother won't bear to see you like this."

Your father objected before telling you you can finish the job by yourself; you always have.

He abruptly ended the phonecall like you weren't his daughter, more like an annoying salesman. You don't know what he'll say to your mother after that call; that was the hospital, and you tragically died? "Died a hero.." Your father would say when he described another hunter's tragic passing at the dinner table—paranormal tragic passing. So paranormal that your mother had knocked on wood and prayed it wouldn't get you or your family.

So you don't call, It's really me, dad. I'm fine, I figured it out by myself. How could you? after him suggesting it's better to kill yourself than take a shot at finding a solution together? You would rather have him believe you're dead. Or at least cry with you; it's okay, honey. come home; it'll be okay, spend the last days at home, please-

The last word you get from him is a text message you are too quick to open on your flip-phone to see the next day. When you rub at your eyebags after tracking down a witch, the witch. It was the second day when everything about you felt off; you were squemish, anxious, and haven't left your motel room all day. if you get this—the message read, "if you get this?!" if you get this, if you get this, if you get this—your brain repeats it over and over, taking the words apart and tattooing itself that phrase, because it held much more meaning to it than your father probably didn't intend; he would hear it if he read it before sending, you thought, that little 'if' haunting and tormenting like a damn demon. if you haven't already killed yourself; if you haven't already turned into something that took my daughter, my pride and joy, away from me; if you haven't already died–

- speaking to you like he's directly referring to the disease in your veins. Your brain moves on and reads the next ridiculous waste of your attention. I wanted you to know I told your mother that it was the hospital I was talking to yesterday, calling that you’re dead, house fire, so no remains to pick up—Damn, you know him or what? Even your fake death is stripped away from it's respect—"no remains to pick up"—like a toppled statue, a monument of what was once a hero (in dad's old-fashioned monster-hunting world), shattered and insignificant, no longer breathing or living, if you ever even had. Or a tree struck by lighting, again, "no remains to pick up" no meaningful remains or genuinely nothing, just a memory of another young hunter who died 'tragically'. You could imagine your tombstone with an even dumber epitaph to match it and an empty or nonexistent grave lying six feet underneath for closure. Your eyes move on, there will be a funeral with no grave, of course, I just wanted you to know that your mother and everyone else is devastated, we miss you, sugar. I love you, kid. Your father had overestimated your suicidal tendencies, and the way he didn't try to save his daughter in order to not go against the rules and possibilities of hunting only showed you how much he loves you.

So you track down the witch. You barely make it to her doorstep when she opens it with a too reassuring smile, saying your name and that she expected you, even going as far as offering you tea after opening the door and letting you in, to which you declined. You're not an idiot. But you do sit down, forced, when she, Willow Thorne, won't have you, a guest, standing up, a whole damn hunter being forced to sit down and accept being treated kindly like you deserve. When you walked in, the entire image of a satanic worshipper who sold her soul to demons and hexed everybody—that you betted all your life savings fitted the description of Willow shattered and laughed in your face.

Her home was filled with plants hanging and resting in every corner she could place; various crystals were sitting in cute porcelain plates like candy, candles of different colors on a bookshelf filled with books like The Language of Flowers, Astronomy for Beginners, and Sigils. Even more crystals, bigger and taller ones on a purple tablecloth. The house is adorned in shades of dark purple, violet, green, and warm colors. This home was a whimsigothic musem that would send your thirteen-year-old self into a shrieking, excited mess. Your parents never let you own crystals or a tarot deck; they were too afraid you'd turn darkside one way or another. well, mommy, daddy, if you could see me right now with lycanthrope blood pumping through my veins.

Willow Thorne is a wiccan type of witch; she does not receive her power from demons; she receives her magic from nature and probably practices her witchcraft the way she sees fit. This doesn't help build back the distrust you were trained to have in her. You flinch when you feel a tail curling around your bouncing leg; you glance down, and your eyes are met with a black cat's green ones—this must be her familiar—the little words on his purple collar reading 'Creek'. She gives you another flash of her warm smile and starts talking about her cat. This can't be real. Your every instinct screams that you should take her down or that she will take you down. Your options shrink the longer you stay. You keep a hand anxiously fiddling with your belt, thinking about the gun in your waistband. She's deceiving you with honeyed words and unassuming appearance; who the fuck knows, maybe the cat is manipulating you too. Throwing up would be the calmest reaction you could have right now, because the thoughts in your head started going at each other's throats and doubting in this situation could get you killed. Thoughts like, fuck her, her cozy house with purple witchy twitchy girl interior, and her affectionate black cat she mentioned she rescued when nobody would because of superstitions—you curse in your head, you're not actually upset at her although you do not let your guard down, you're upset at yourself for being so easily coaxed into trusting her, it's all too easy, and it is intimidating you.

You're pretty sure you're gonna rip your vocal cords out of frustration and an overall feeling of overwhelmingness; everything seems to piss you off today, even more than usual. How are you good?! All bright and beaming with nothing but positivity. You're not supposed to be good! I have believed all my life you aren't!..are you like me too? A thing that should not be? Before breaking down and crying about your situation, and if you did, she would make you that tea and rub your back with her hand that radiated ease and made you slump your shoulders with relief.

Before you get other fun thoughts like Am I on the wrong side of the war? You start discussing bussiness since you forgot that's what your here for. Even if your eyes water like a little kid after being scolded for something they didn't do, your voice is nowhere near close to sounding like one. You demand a cure, bargaining for a deal to stop the lycanthropy metamorphosis you feel taking over little by little and make you human again. If she can't, you have a gun with silver bullets in your trunk and your will written out, but by now it probably has no significance.

Much to your disappointment, she—Willow—insisted you called her, tells you she cannot take away your curse, but she can soothe it a little, keep it in a cage locked deep into your subconscious. In exchange, she could ask for fucking anything in the world, but she wants loyalty.

"Define, loyalty." You ask through gritted teeth, yeah, that will stop the tears, definitely, great intimidation skills, _____ .

"I'm talking about respect, mutual aid, when it all comes down for me, when I get threatened by a hunter, I want you to be there. I need you to have my back." She admitted, studying your eyes trying to reslove the conflict in them, anything that could give her hope. You couldn't explain this to anyone, ever, Yeah I almost turned into a werewolf once but my witch friend did a ritual on me, so i'm all good now.

Willow is now sitting on an ottoman facing her couch, where you're sitting. Her hands fidget with her bracelets until she clasps them together, and she is leaning towards you. Her gentle tone is imbued with gentle authority that commands her mutual respect without making her overbearing. Keeping steady eye contact, she is discussing serious matters with a serious tone like she should. You can't lie, it catches you off-guard, it herds you in the corner and softly shakes your shoulders, forcing you to listen.

You'd be every synonym in the dictionary for the word 'idiot' if you hadn't accepted this deal. You shake hands, and the warm smile she wears causes a domino effect, making you do the same, even if you had been crying.

It's a funky ritual. She makes you lay on the couch while she lights all sorts of candles; she closes the curtains even though it's already dark so light cannot come in. The only light present is the salt lamp in the far corner and the numeruous lighted candles. She even has to kick Creek out of the room, much to the cat's protests outside the door. They slowly come to a stop as he finds something that's more interesting than whatever ritual his owner is cooking up with a guest—that he feels drawn to for whatever reason. You feel nervous, and she feels nervous too, because you are. Willow reassures you and tells you that after it ends you will pass out for a while, but that's fine because she says you can spend the night if she isn't pushing it.

The celling becomes your newest fascination, and you study every small bump and gray spot in order to distract your mind from... well, thinking. Not for the ritual, but for reassurance, she lies and says you have to hold her hand. Her warm hand against yours seems to punch out of your lungs every doubt whether this will work or not and the sadness your father produced with an unfatherly amount of bluntness and cold parenting that was the verbal equivalent of stabbing your spine and twisting the knife, but you can't pull out the knife, well, you can try, but it will hurt even worse and it will infect spreading yellow or purple marks around it–. She—her hand—has the ability to make you breathe again without feeling like you have leg irons around your neck dragging it down and hands squashing your lungs to bits. She speaks incantations in what you know is latin and instructs you to close your eyes. You swear you hear a candle stop burning in the process—something you can't physically hear, but you had. You can make out a few words (your ears keep ringing and something is happening because you hear her voice; it's distorted and weird, but she told you, strictly, not to open your eyes, so you don't). Words like: lupus-wolf, tollere-take away? You're not sure on that one; that's what three straight days of crying might do to one, mutare- which means change. Okay, that was a nice distraction now what el–

You feel the imprint of a huge dog-like paw pressing into your Adam's apple and cutting off your breath. She obviously takes notice by the way you're writhing and choking and swatting away at nothing—something you're trying to fight even with closed eyes, but there is nothing there. Your palm doesn't make contact with anything. Quickly, Willow chants something you're too busy choking to catch. The pressure on your throat dissolves, and you can breathe again. She calms her own breath and squeezes your hand. When she doesn't feel you squeeze back, she remembers that you're supposed to pass out after the spell. Willow drapes a blanket on you and goes off to order something to eat. When she opens the living room door, Creek doesn't hesitate to run in and settle on your chest. The cat purrs as he patiently waits for you to wake up.

You wake up fifteen minutes later with the smell of food flooding your nostrils, stronger than it has ever been before. It's almost like it's sitting right under your nose. You open your eyes, and the smell has a color, and you can clearly see how it snakes its way in from the kitchen into the half-open door. Your nails feel heavier than usual. This is hopefully a fever dream. But the food isn't here, nor is Willow; you can hear her humming a song in the kitchen, Voodoo Chile by Jimi Hendrix.

The weight of the shadow on your chest brings you back to earth, and you run your hands through his black fur with closed eyes as your head falls back onto the couch. The feeling of fur on your fingertips feeding to your serotonin levels rising. Creek seems to know what it's like to be disowned by your own father and forced to have a fake death in order to 'die' in a way that won't make your mother think you were cursed, or worse, that the whole family is now. Creek notices you're awake and gets off you, but not before making biscuits.

"Thanks, Creek." You mumble before pushing yourself up in a sitting position with a groan.

You can feel the rich, velvety, dark green rug beneath your socks; you would have appreciated it properly if you could actually see the details woven into it. Your eyes keep focusing and unfocusing like they're getting adjusted, and the room doesn't seem so dark anymore. God, how long did you pass out? As you tried to gather your thoughts (if the spell was easy on you enough to actually leave some), memories of the ritual came flooding back—the chanting in latin, the flickering candle(s), the punching smell of herbs, the murder attempt from a wolf spirit/ghost?! who the hell knows anymore? Now you were wide awake, and everything felt different. If it weren't for the fucking ritual that was just performed on you, you would've blamed the faint ringing in your years, shitty eyesight, and banging headache on a terrible hangover or a cold so bad it would make your throat ache for the tea your mom would make you when your immune system failed you. She promised she would teach me how to make it. Your grief echoed to you.

You rub at your temples at thats when you notice why did your nails feel heavier than usual. You had fucking claws, well, not animal claws, but they are honorably elongated and sharper than they had ever been. As you looked up from your lap, your eyes fell on a mirror.

A tall mirror leaning on its back legs, with black edges and details on the rim, you would again appreciate if you had the ability to see a single thing in the distance.

Your eyes widened, mortified, seeing yourself. It looked like one of your parents's worst nightmares. Something out of a dream your mom would have—a nightmare so nasty and vivid she would be forced by her paranoia to get up and check that you're still in bed sleeping soundly.

Your eyes were no longer the familiar color you have seen in the mirror or in old photos of your family members you've grown to love. The shade wasn't even close to yours; crazy how one small change made such a big difference in your appearance. Your pupils were slitted vertically, shrinking only to dilate a little once again, getting adjusted. You slowly got up on foal legs and fell on your knees in front of the mirror. Even if you didn't think it was night because you weren't seeing darkness, the light of the moon shone down on the mirror and floor thanks to the now open curtains. That's when your vision stopped unfocusing and finally cleared.

You were now looking at yourself. It felt incredibly alien and familiar at the same time; you looked at yourself every day, whether it was the mirror in your bathroom at home, a crappy motel one that faced the bed (which you cover up with a scoff each time), or a reflection in the car of your vanity mirror checking yourself before going in a precinct, pretending to be a reporter (the things middle-aged pigs would confess to a doe-eyed girl from the press..).

You gently pulled the corner of your upper lip only to reveal your enlarged and sharpened front canines. Your hand fell and instead went to cover your mouth in order to muffle your sobs. You must have done a horrible job because the second you slapped the hand over your mouth, you heard Willlow gasp as if she felt it too.

She drops the food she was unpacking and runs in, taking a moment to calm her heaving chest in the doorway; her hands were holding it like an earthquake had shaked her up; even her round glasses had slipped and rested on the tip of her nose.

"_______, you woke up!" she exclaims cheerfully. "I was just—how do you fee-?"

She kept stuttering and cutting herself off. Willow didn't need to say anything else; she saw the tears welling up in your eyes and felt the same shock you did from the kitchen.

🧿🧿🧿- later on, you have to bump into the Winchesters one way or another

- and it's exactly on a full moon when this time the ball isn't in your court and you don't get to decide whether you turn or not.

- your claws are sharp, your eyes have changed their original color completely with your pupils vertically slit, and your teeth (conveniently) remain the same; only a few of your front canines are enlarged and sharpened.

- as for senses, it's downright spectacular.

- you can hear deer stepping on tree branches, foxes running, and owls hooting when you're driving by the forest

- you smell how many people are in a room

- you have night vision (yes, your eyes to the flashy thingamajiggy when someone blinds you with their flashlight).

- as a hunter, you already know that your claws and fangs can rip out a human heart.

- ironically, as this whole situation is, you hunt alone on the principle that you don't long for companionship as some lycanthropes do.

- you've turned into a literal killing machine with no instinct to kill, so hunting with others is off the table since at the first sign of a threat (they think you are one, but you really aren't), a hunter exterminates.

- you meet the Winchesters on a ghoul hunt

- you have taken the case before them, but when you couldn't get anywhere with identifying whatever evil being was tormenting the locals with their mere presence, you thought about ditching it since it doesn't look like your type of thing and took the consideration that maybe humans were fucking around this time.

- so when you heard the FBI are in town investigating the case (detective Page and Plant), you placed that town in your rear view mirror; they got it covered..right?

- but something didn't feel right- it wasn't the shame of leaving a case with your tail between your legs (pun intended) with the weak motive, 'Maybe humans are really fucking around this time.'

- something wasn't right, so even if you were tired, you abruptly stopped the car and went over your research spread out on the flat of your closed trunk

- the slits of your eyes dance over the words on your laptop, your papers, and an old lore book you fought tooth and nail for. When you realized it's a ghoul you're dealing with, you turned the car around and went over every speed limit like hellhounds were scratching at your tires. It was your job to not let anybody else get hurt or someone else's grave be violated

- as the light of the moon shined down on you and your wild eyes looked back at you from the rear view mirror, you knew you couldn't have anyone see you, you had to be invisible

- *time skip* (as much as it pains me 'cause i am a sucker for details :))- you swoop in time to save the Winchesters

- and if they weren't tied up, they would've started fighting you too, because why was there a whole ass werewolf fist fighting a ghoul?? John trained them like Spartan warriors, but nothing prepared them for something like this.

- so they sit there like:??????

- they watch you take out a fucking ghoul all by yourself

- the head of the ghoul's person they're impersonating rolls onto the floor. You have to remind yourself it's not a real person; it's an evil spirit who kills to feed

- by the time you wipe the blood off your face, smearing it a bit in the process, and cut the ties holding the hunters loose, Sam is unnable to look away from your slit eyes adorned by a strange color that strangely suits you

- literally hearts in his fawn brown eyes like you still don't have blood on your face and you aren't trying to catch your breath; also, you took a nasty punch to your cheek, and he's pretty sure it's gonna leave a bruise, but he totally doesn't care, why? why do you ask?

- by the way Sam is scrunitizing you, and oh yeah, Sam is scrunitizing you, you're sure you're gonna have to ditch since you've been in this situation before and you know how it always ends

- there was no 'explaining yourself' to hunters when they saw you under the full moon or when they saw you change because you had to.

Before you can even open your mouth they have their methaphorical pitchforks sharpened and torches lit up, prepared to slaughter you, and if you're honest, you can't even blame them for it because you would've done the same.

- Dean rubs his wrist with his right hand; the imprint of the rope is still fresh on his skin like a tattoo. Sam focuses on not choking when you catch him staring.

"Who the hell are you?" Dean thinks out loud. You take a big lungs-exploding sigh and give a shot at introducing yourself since they seem more civilized than most hunters are

- Sam geeks out about you

He doesn't question you because he is suspicious (he has the right to be but surprisingly isn't). He has to feed his noisy, information-hungry brain or he will spontaneously combust

- "Are your senses even more enhanced during the full moon, or are they the same?"

- "Can you smell when somebody is afraid? Like the hormones from their pores?"

- "Is it annoying to always have super hearing? Like has it ever caused you to be..I don't know.. Anxious? It did?" He mourns over you, trying to imagine himself in your situation but possibly can't.

- "I'm really sorry you had to go through a whole..change all by yourself, but it just shows how strong you are, some don't even make it 'til the end."

- After you were done explaining to Sam (to which he gladly sat himself down and listened) how sometimes you genuinely consider you're inevitably going to become what you hunt and how in the beginning you and your senses have butted heads, how you had no idea how to go through it without having panic attacks because the click of a doorknob was sensitive to your hearing like a veteran was scared of fireworks, how you accidentally ripped a motel door off its hinges, a result of you being slightly irritated, still getting acoustumed to your abilities. Dean would go.

"..Do dog whistles work on y–" Before getting an elbow in the ribs by a glaring Sam.

- more shit Dean would ask you for the sake of his own little curiosity

- "Is 'bitch' even more offensive now?"

- "Who do you think would win in a fight? You or Jacob Black?"

- "What do I smell like? Y'know, since you can pick up on scents and alldat."

- Dean calls you Cujo

- It's the one nickname you can get behind, asking him what he thought about the book, and he's like, "Oh, I watched the movie, but i know a little. Sammy used to rattle on and on about his books when he was younger."

- if you think about it, an alais doesn't sound so bad in theory or practice while hunting.

- it's secretive, the boys don't need to divulge your real name, and it's actually high-key kickass (I literally watched Cujo just so I know what I'm talking about, a.k.a. the second reason why it took a millenium and a half for me to post these; the first reason is that i suck)

- Dean is thrilled to get to call you that- he gets this fucking smirk, like a dad about to drop the worst joke ever made on everyone, you and Sam brace yourselves for what's coming with matching eyerolls-

"Let's fuck em' up, Cujo."

- "Cujo, dude, you're just itching to raise a little hell right now, aren't you?"

- "Uh- a bacon cheeseburger, soda, yo, Cujo whaddya want? My treat >:]."

- "Cujo, put on that song you were listening to; I had it in my head the entire hunt." (I didn't mention the genre or artist bc I like to imagine Dean listening to everyone's fav category; ex. I imagine Dean screaming bikini kill lyrics whenever i'm sad)

- if you thought the 'canine/wolf' teasing stopped here, you're so painfully wrong

- Dean made you a mixtape, because that's his love language apparently, with only songs that are about werewolves

- I feel like it took him a longer time to find a suitable title than the songs themselves

- he has all of the possible picks on a piece of paper that stays in the pocket of his fifty pound leather jacket.

- the titles are: Songs to transform into; The howlin' hits; Songs that will make you wag your tail—that one is crossed out because he knows you will make him eat the tape if he does settle on it; Love at first bite; and finally the one he settled for is Songs you can sink your teeth into. Dean smiled at his work, it didn't feel like a prank anymore it was more like a gift and he didn't feel any ugly emotion or insecurity try to pull him back into not getting attached to you.

The final touch was a note saying

"Hey, Cujo, thought you might want these howlin' hits whenever you need to tune the world out.

P.S. : Sam told me to add one of the songs, it's that punk stuff you like - Dean"

- The songs he prudently picked out are these : Of Wolf and Man by Metallica; Bark at the Moon by Ozzy Osbourne; I Was A Teenage Werewolf by The Cramps; Wolf Moon by Type O Negative; Witch Wolf by STYX; Run with the Wolf by Rainbow; Lycanthropy by G.B.H and others.

- you accidentally made a kid cry once- a ball was literally flying towards you and you caught it just in time, thanks to your reflexes

- instinctively, you turned around in time and caught the ball as your claws grew and sank into the inanimate object

- it's all "Nice relfexes, _____" praise from Dean and proud and shy smiles from Sam until the owner of the ball starts sobbing in front of you

- it's a kid, a boy with red hair, no older than six years of age

- but we all know Dean's charm is basically made for this

- so he handles both the kid and his mom (flirting with a milf all day, poor Dean)

- you keep apologizing to the kid and the mom, but Dean just waves you off; you don't understand his generosity until Sam tells you that you accidentally secured Dean's hookup for tonight.

- Since Dean is not coming, not until early morning, nor is he there to call you and Sam 'dorks', you and his younger brother take advantage of it.

- you guys have a movie night with the most random movies ever

- it is chaotic

- from rom-coms you switch to a world war II documentary, then you watch re-runs of House MD on tv.

- Dean stumbles in at like five something a.m. and takes a picture of you and Sam snuggling under a blanket while the tv light casts shadows of orange and cold colors on your defenseless expressions.

- but can somebody actually blame you? Or Sam, for that matter?

- honorably want to mention your body heat is also enhanced

- You and Sam were sitting with your sides pressed into each other

- you were radiating pure furnace body heat, how could he not be sleepy??

- but that's not the only reason Sam knocks out so heavily

- it's you he's sitting down with (relaxing for once in his life) watching a ridiculous episode of House with thirteen ads rolling every ten minutes accompanied by lazy talking as if you're not debating books only you and morally grey forty-year-olds read (where that Kansas drawl of his is much more audible and pretty), after a marathon of fatally random movies

- younger Sam who had trouble going to sleep/getting some shut-eye because Dean and John are out late on a hunt.

- Sam especially couldn't fall asleep because Dean wasn't there

- it was a different story when Dean was at the age where he couldn't hunt but he could use a pistol and take care of his little brother

- both of them in a relatively warm motel room, alone (since John fucked off to god-knows-where, to hunt a monster they are never to breathe in the direction of as a conversation subject.)

- little Sammy (age where he believed nothing could beat his older brother) could peacefully fall asleep knowing Dean stays up and watches over him like a hawke, reading comic books by the tv light

- where little Dean keeps chanting in his head what Sammy is supposed to do after eating his dinner.

- Watch tv or look at the comic with me (Sammy can't read yet), brush his teeth, then tuck him in bed.

- now pre-teen Sam can hardly sleep

- he is plagued/tormented by flashing images his overthinking big brain mades of a thousand situations where his family got hurt, if not even killed

- Sam's grip on the shotgun is shaking; it shakes even harder when John's bark booms over his shoulder, right into his ear.

- "Sammy, dammit, what are you going to do when a demon breaks through the door and me and your brother aren't there to protect you?!"

- but Sam isn't twelve anymore

- he's a responsible adult

- snuggled beside you and denying any eepy allegations you decide to accuse him of

- so, the heat you contribute, the soft speaking on the tv, the darkness of the room, you being there is enough to lull Sam to sleep

- studies show you feel sleepy around the people you trust ;)

- the position you two fell asleep in cannot be described in any other word than childish

- somehow you would catch two kids, sleeping over at one of the other's houses, knocked out, and snoring in the same bed after watching a horror movie

- on one of the two queens the motel room contributes (the one closest to the tv) you and Sam have made this fluffy nest full of pillows, a huge blanket, plus a random quilt Bobby pulled out of thin air and gave it to you when he heard you complaining about the petal-thin blankets motels have during cold ass weather.

- When you both lied down on the bed with your legs greedily streched out, backs pressed against the headboard, and your head is resting on the wall while Sam, magically, was still able to hold his up after the very long day all of you endured. You predicted one of you wouldn't survive being in each other's presence and make it out not asleep, and god, you hoped it was you.

- Sam's breathing slows down after a while of comfortable silence, and you’re sure he's dying until you spare one quick glance and see him, downright snoozing with his lips parted without a care in the world, ghosts and eerie phenomenons weren't bothering or needing him now.

- during all of the movies and documentary and fuckin lazy intellectual commentary nobody else would have the patience to discuss with you or Sam, he somehow migrated on the bed/nest with his side flush against yours, like a magnet to another; it was inevitable not to stick together, literally.

- your shoulder was now pressed into his forearm, your head no longer resting uncomfortably, and his temple is resting on the top of your head.

- but (unfortunately) you weren't hugging or anything- like a mirror or a copycat, Sam has his arms crossed, just like you, so maybe that's why you didn't wake up full on cuddling, that does sound good though your brain mourns

- When you do wake up, the only slight change you notice is that you're sleeping on your side..so is Sam. You're facing Sam's neck and chin, and up close and personal, you can actually count the too-sexy amount of moles he modestly posesses. His arm serves the role of a pillow underneath his head, and the other is resting with his palm down facing the mattress.

- with Sam taking up the entire attention of your senses, it takes an emmbarassing while for you to hear the shower running, Dean; did he see you both like this? Was he going to mention it? Your gut fills with a small dose of embarrassement, preparing you for what's yet to come, and it protests at that.

- much displeasure from your senses to your brain and your heart that wanted to breathe Sam in more as he (hopefully) breathes you out, you turn on your other side, unconsciously careful not to disturb Clifford over here, and you try to determine what time it is from your surroundings alone.

- the light blue sneaking its way through the dark closed curtains and the slight chill in the air points all arrows to seven or eight in the morning, you could go back to sleep.

- Dean wasn't just feeling gracious; he didn't and wasn't even planning on sparing you or Sam

- that day, when he separately gets the both of you alone, he has the exact same conversation with different but not so different people.

-"You should've seen the two of you this morning when I came in, two kittens snoring together, it was fuckin' adorable." Dean teased–

—Monday, 13:34 p.m. — as he tossed his clothes into one of the laundromat's washing machines, making Sam paralyze in his seat as his fingers started fidgeting with the edges of his hoodie.

"You did?.." He inquires, not knowing what exactly Dean saw just this morning. Sam only woke up a little after you went back to sleep. He swore his cheek must have burned a hole through the pillow with how hard he was blushing. You were so close. There was a good distance between the edge of the bed and you. So your back was flush against his chest. If you're wondering where his arm went, it was around your waist. Sam—your own personal seatbelt. He probably thinks it's his fault too. Dean never ceased to describe Sam as a 'cuddlebug'.

"Uh-huh" Dean hums a confirmation, acting casual, scarily casual. Sam feels the teasing in Dean's tone; it's there, but Dean is not fully teasing yet, like he wants Sam to confess something first after boiling in his embarrassement for long enough.

—Monday, 20:02 p.m. — as he pulled the Impala into the driveway of a fast-food place you were so invested in you even forgot the name of; you froze and looked at him, searching for any emotion that might give him away, but Dean was a brick wall, a slight very Dean siginificant parted lips smirk paired with squinted eyes over the wheel, carefully driving into the driveway. Even the car seemed to betray you in your moment of weakness because you swear the volume is lower than it was a few seconds ago. Ozzy Osbourne's laugh can still be heard from the speakers, even if it's barely audible over your racing thoughts or your hearing trying its hardest to pick up on Dean's thoughts. The rythym of the drums seems to sync up with your heartbeat, or the other way around, you're not sure. Over every little sound, there still seems to be a little silence to fit in. You swallow a lump in your throat.

"..We had a movie night, we just fell asleep like that, that's all." You mumble, and Dean starts to feel a little bad for letting you be a victim to his spotlight-teasing and giving you no shade to reprieve to or show his undying approval.

Somehow, you still worry if Dean believes you have ruined the dynamic, and now he's cornering you to tell you to stop it or something (overthinking anxiety worms are eating away at your critical thinking skills). You just worry about what he thinks of this. You still worry about the Dean who doesn't correct random people on cases who mistake you and Sam for a couple; the Dean who just has to leave some arsenal or luggage in the front, just so you are forced to share the backseat with Sam; the Dean who always has to group you and Sam in a category when he teases you both (Geeks, nerds, smartasses, etc.). Cupid works hard, but Dean Winchester works harder.

"Hey-, Cuj- Doll." Dean sputters, switching glances between you and the wheel.

This didn't go as he planned it would, and now he is facing the consequences. The way you shrink in your seat and the way you avoid catching his eye makes Dean feel like a douchebag. If he didn't know any better he would thinks he is, but then you would actually be able to read him like a book and tell him otherwise. You hear the desperation in his voice; your candle of hope comes back to life and lights up. Your head turns to look at him with pleading eyes. Please don't be angry, please don't kick me to the curb, let me stay in the backseat a little more. Dean lets out a shaky exhale that turns into a laugh; he runs a hand down his face. You've watched him do that every time he got jumpscared by the monthly spirit with unfinished business. It was something you imagined Dean picked up from John, the picture in your head so clear (at least from the pictures you saw)— a tired dad in an old squeaky motel chair with a whiskey glass in his hand doing the same motion Dean was doing right now. Dean would mimic his father's gestures to try to look more like him; he didn't have his brunette curly hair, his dark brown eyes, Sam did.

Dean never had his voice either; he only perfected his bark to match his dad's. Sam hated the way his reflection resembled his father, Dean was either jealous of him for it or couldn't wrap his head around as to why his brother hated being their dad, probably the latter. Dad, at least in Dean's eyes, was a hero, a figure to be admired and emulated. But Sam? He didn't even have to try. Sam and John were so alike that they clashed constantly like two stubborn stags locking antlers in a duel.

"..Dean?" You call him out; you had no idea what was going on in his head; it would be pretty damn nice if you could know. Dean shots his head up at the mention of his name.

"Yeah?—sorry, I just, you and Sam are just so—" He sighs. "it's about time you two crazy kids broke that touch barrier." He guffaws, slowly pulling up to the ordering kiosk.

A new song starts playing on Dean's "hot summa' nights driving" mixtape, Emmit Remmus by The Red Hot Chili Peppers, he added it when Sam said that's one of his favorites.

- do I need to talk about how much of an immense help you have been on hunts?

- you don't need to help out on every hunt despite Sam's disappointment and Dean's kid-like joy to have their friend help them out who is a professional/werewolf/hunter/geek, who kind of gets his references?? But you are geniunely so good it's funny to have the boys call you up and be like "..so we need help". They're happy you'll show up but there is still that lick of shame that taunts the Winchesters whenever they are forced to call for aid.

- this one time, you wanted to hug them after not seeing them for two weeks, and when you went to attack Sam, you heard his bones crack.

- your strength still surprises you and knocks other people off their feet

- it was so loud (atleast for you), you were sure you broke something

- Sam did nothing but give you his (killer) dimply smile and reassure you didn't do anything (even if he slightly grunted); while Dean whined like a kid saying (lying) he doesn't want a hug (you coaxed him into it eventually)

- Sam feels like he's not allowed to call you by your nickname, like he fears it's Dean's thing and not his

- so when he finally puts on his big boy pants, he's like, "Uhh–Cujo- 🧍‍♂️so get this.."

- all red and shy, trying to act casual, as if he doesn't wonder about the reaction you might have if he calls you other nicknames, like honey, sweetheart, even baby, or if he had the excuse to hold your hand, how would you hold it? Fingers interlocked or palms flat?

- Sam would also love to just marvel at your slit eyes; if he could he would take a picture and put it in his wallet; don't get me wrong if he had one where you were normal, he would cherish it just as much.

- Sam thinks your nickname is actually really cool (probably because it's a Stephen King reference, nerd), and you take that as a compliment. Sam is hard to entertain or please by his brother's antics.

- But he prefers saying your name

- there's something so intimate about the syllables rolling off his tongue so easily

- "_____, Are you okay? What is it? The soundproof earmuffs? I'll go get them." When everything, and I mean when every sound is just too much.

- Sam got them for you; he couldn't handle seeing you wince one more time whenever a car with a bad engine would pass by the motel (during a stressful hunt); its tires squealing under the concrete, making a faint sound for the boys, but for you so much louder.

- you know how pathethic it is to be affected by such small things when you're blessed with such powers? How can you call yourself a hunter when decibels, frequencies, and fucking tire squeals make you their bitch? You wish you could train yourself in a way that would make you less sensitive to certain sounds. It just adds to the reasons why hunters have the excuse or classify you as "the frail one" not only because you're a girl. When you used to hunt with your dad and sometimes mom, the amount of dog-shit comments from other hunters who had sons, were nothing but mysogynistic, curlish, and ruthless. "Are you sure the riffle isn't too heavy?", "Does she even know how to kill this thing?", "She's going to drag us down, do you want us to die?"— the type of comments that would make your dad shoot daggers into them, defend you "She's a goddamn ______, what do you think?", and whisper into your ear "Show em' what you're made of." and you would (stubbornly) listen to his advice to the damn letter after you almost mouthed them off.

Your dad believed in "Actions are sometimes louder than words." and all that adult crap, you were not as zen.

Your mom actually encouraged the sarcasm you have replied with in the past. The funniest memory your mother can recall is a story she tells at every gathering and every chance she gets to everyone, she praised you like crazy. When another hunter's son had the nerve to fuck with a twelve-year-old you. "Aren't you afraid of breaking a nail out there?" The boy sneered, puffing out his chest like a peacock. You stared at him with pure disbelief. "The only way I'm breaking a nail tonight is by kicking your ass, you cocky brainless jerk." You spat back, your mother and father were there and so was the boy's father; the gravity of the situation was on your shoulders, and their stares felt even heavier in comparison; intimidating him was 100% on the table. You felt like everyone had the same exact thought occuring them, an unspoken demand passed everyone there, even you: Do something. And you did. Your mother's jaw went slack; she doubled over, gripping whatever surface was near her and she started to chortle, with her shoulders shaking like never before. Your father was holding in a chuckle while massaging the bridge of his nose.

- Sam has to disagree with you whenever you complain about how your senses make you look or about the way you underestimate yourself. "What?! You can't be serious. _____, It doesn't mean you're weak. In fact, it makes you even more interesting. Everyone has an Achilles heel; yours is stronger because you're an amazing hunter who figured a way out. It makes you even stronger, I have no idea how you deal with this crap! Dean and I would've gone insane if we were in your shoes for more than a day."

- he is also forcing back his infamous (spectacular) bitchface

- he doesn't 'hold back' actually

- he geniunely cannot glare at you, not when you're like this. He can make a few exceptions, like when you join in Dean's teasing/joking (the silly rambunctious energy Dean carries around had, unfortunately, contiminated you or awakened yours)

- or when you start teasing Sam yourself, he shoots you a glare that classifies as nothing but hot (in your book at least), the kind of Sam glare that makes you flush knowing he doesn't mean it at all.

- Dean making you those fake ass I.D's like "Joan Jett", "Stevie Nicks", "Kathleen Hanna" and when you asked him to make more subtle ones he was like, bet. "Kelly Hammer", "Diana Bowie", "Laura Ulrich".

a/n: I wanted to apologize again for taking so long and for the unnecessary amount of context that literally nobody asked for. Uhh yeah and feedback would be very much appreciated<3, sava out *mic drop*

[wandagcre]

Sam’s Christmas kinks? pls 🥺

WARNING: temperature play, roleplay, use of gags, rope bondage, humiliation, spanking, face-sitting, overstimulation | 18+ men & minors dni.

you both didn't plan it really. or at least, you did not...

but it escalated to something frisky anyway! courtesy of sam doing the spanking and looking for miniscule excuses just so she can put you in her naughty list and spank you until your ass stings in mild pain and tender

at the couch, you're laying in your stomach at sam's lap. she softly ran her hand on your thighs up then your ass, hiking up your dress for tonight's celebration with your family

"know that song about 12 days of christmas? count 12 spanks for me, baby."

you miraculously pull through it and your ass hurts. sam only says 'treats come in later' but oh, you wanted to be fucked so bad. all you can think about while mingling is sam's touch...

sam knows all about it and was internally gloating at the thought. she's surely going to surprise you even more later

in theme for the christmas spirit, you have a nice and naughty gift boxes. nice contains something nonsexual, a thoughtful gift that moves your heart.

and naughty? contains an object for your bedroom activities – making your pussy twitch. you didn't think sam was into this — she gifted you a collar. it had her name and a bell right in the middle.

sam is super into the holiday spirit and she blew your mind how far she was willing to incorporate it in the bedroom!

"the bell? it's multipurpose, baby. it will help me know whether you moved when i strictly ordered you not to. and well... i also need to hear a reminder how exactly rough i'm fucking you with its relentless ringing along your screams."

safe to say you're soaked wet now at sam's teasing. you're hoping that you will survive this goddamn supposed wholesome gathering. you cannot wait to be railed by sam already as she deliciously elaborated.

"guess i am your gift," it was a silly get-up at first, but the glint of absolute delight in sam's eyes and her mouth agape as you presented the slutty santa claus outfit... it fueled the tension even more. it was so rewarding!

sam replaces the santa hat on top of your head with a reindeer headband. "there. much more fitting since i'm going to use you, riding you all night baby."

and sam doesn't stop there. she quipped, "thought you were my present. why don't i see a ribbon all over you?" and proceeds to tie you up with rope and a makeshift bow out of a ribbon she found lying somewhere else, placed on your mouth as a gag 😮‍💨

sam is so into it, you're laid down while you she makes you eat her out. riding your face until you feel all of her weight challenging your neck and mouth that is coated with her arousal 😵‍💫

she doesn't stop there, sam gets up and left you in confusion for few minutes. she comes back with a bowl of ice cubes, some aphrodisiac strawberries and teases you with it, trailing them over your now-shivering body

she didn't hear the bell make a sound. you stayed still as she wanted. "aw, my good girl barely moved?" you preened over the praise ;(

she targets your erogenous areas. she makes you eat some first but orders you to suck the strawberries before biting through them. then sam traces an ice cube on your neck and lower tummy

while tied up you can't do anything but squirm ahh ;( your brain is all fuzzy bc you wanted it to be over AND you didn't want to, at the same time

your nipples aren't safe either. the cold hitting you in such spot made you moan so loud and arch your back helplessly to which sam deviously chuckles at. it's so humiliating ;( but you wanted to be nice - a good girl for sam - so you refuse to complain, only whimpering in gratitude

sam takes a bite of the aphrodisiac strawberries too, removes the poorly made ribbon gag, and pulls you in for a rough kiss. the sweetness and distinct taste of sam that lingered in your tastebuds? both of you were so turned on and felt frenzied, sooo worked up

you're so turned on as sam wanted and you reason out how you have been nice and obedient. sam takes pity and finally takes care of your throbbing pussy.

"it's the giving season, after all. so, I won't stop fingering you until I think you had enough." you came for four times already and sam hasn't shown any signs of stopping just yet.

the collar on your neck won't stop ringing as she fingers you into oblivion 🤕 it was a rather moany christmas indeed ;)

[lynzishell]

The Past 💛 Atlas

I’ve finally reached a point where I can sit down and do some work on Ash’s game on my own. It took a lot longer than I thought it would. Not only because his workflow is incredibly chaotic, but also his design is incredibly complex, far more complex than anything we work on at Rainy Day, but it’s fun to feel challenged again.

I’ve spent every night this week in Ash’s living room while he walks me through everything he has so far, sorting out the design and the mechanics, his ideas for the worlds, characters, storylines, objectives, and so on. Yet, it feels like we’ve only scratched the surface.

We work well together, but we’re also easily distracted, often going off on random tangents and talking about everything from our families to school years and childhood friends to experiences we’ve had or want to have; we talk about how fun it would be to have our own indie gaming company one day, if only we could focus on the actual game for longer than an hour at a time.

Last night a song came on that inspired a whole conversation about music and all the songs we used to sing the wrong lyrics to, and some he still sings wrong just to annoy Lex. We started playing a game where we’d give each other a random word or category and the other would have to play a song they liked that fit. At one point I asked him what his guilty pleasure song is.

“Oh, I have dozens of those,” he said, “uh, but the first one that comes to mind is The Boys of Summer.”

“Your guilty pleasure song is an 80’s song?” I was shocked considering the amount of shit he gives me for the majority of my playlist.

“No no no no,” he shook his head, “I should clarify. The original sucks.”

“Of course you think so.”

“Obviously. Okay, but the one I’m talking about is the cover of The Boys of Summer by The Ataris.

“I like the name, but I have no idea who that is,” I admitted.

He laughed as he pulled up the song and told me, “You’re either going to love this or hate it. I’m not sure which.” When he pressed play, all I could do was watch in awe as he shamelessly enjoyed the song, complete with hand motions, air guitar and lip syncing. At one point he leaned in and sang directly to me, “But I don’t understand what happened to our love. But baby when I get you back, I’m gonna show you what I’m made of!” And then he spun away and started dancing to the chorus.  

Before I had a chance to think too hard about whether he was trying to tell me something through the lyrics, he pulled me off the couch to join him. We sang and danced with everything we had until we collapsed onto the couch, out of breath and wiping tears from our eyes.

When we finally calmed down, he pointed at me, “Your turn. What’s your guilty pleasure song?”

“Oh god,” I covered my face, “I can’t believe I’m going to tell you this.”

“Tell me.” He demanded.

“Dancing With Myself by Generation X. I can’t hear it and not sing and dance around my apartment like an idiot.”

“Oh, I have got to see this!” He sat up excitedly to find the song and turn it on… and then cheered when I began clapping my hands to the beat… and then completely lost it and fell over laughing when I sang along with my eerily accurate Billy Idol impersonation.

It’s become one of my favorite things, making him laugh. He has about a dozen different laughs from a rush of air through his teeth, to an infectious giggle, to a loud belly laugh… but my favorite is when he’s laughing so hard that no sound comes out aside from a series of clicks until he finally catches his breath.

It’s so easy with him, to get out of my head, to just relax and be myself.

Not everything is easy, though. I keep telling myself that eventually my feelings will fade, that it will get easier to just be his friend and nothing more, but if anything, it’s getting more difficult. Sometimes when we’re together, all I can think about is sliding my hand over to rest it on his leg, or to pick up his hand and interlace our fingers, or to reach up and hold his face, turning it toward me so I can kiss him. Not a day goes by that I don’t think about kissing him, his lips, his neck, that inch skin above his waistband that sometimes shows when his shirt rides up just enough, every part of him. Sometimes I let my eye contact linger just a little, desperate for him to give me a sign that he still feels the same way, but he never does. On some level, I’m grateful. It’s better this way. I’d only end up hurting him again.

I hear the front door open and close, bringing me out of my daydream and back to my computer screen. I look over what I’ve done so far to make sure I didn’t screw anything up while I drifted away.

A second later, I hear Dawn enter the room and flop onto my bed behind me and I glance at the clock, it’s only two.

“What are you doing here?” I ask.

“Finished early. What are you doing? I thought you weren’t working on Fridays anymore.”

“I’m not. It’s just a side project I’m working on with Ash.”

“Ooooh I see.”

I roll my eyes and change the subject before she can inquire further. “So, why are you on my bed? What do you want?” As I say the words, I’m overcome by the feeling that we’ve done this before.

“For you to take a break and go do something with me." I'm antsy. "I’m antsy.” Her words come out like an echo from my own mind and my whole body feels fuzzy for a moment.

“Have we had this conversation before?”

“No. I don’t think so.”

“Hm. I’m having the weirdest déjà vu.”

“Maybe you’ve been staring at that screen too long. We should get out and do something.”

“What do you have in mind?”

I’m open to suggestions. “I’m open to suggestions.”

Weird. This conversation, the song playing through my speaker, Dawn laying on my bed, me at my computer… everything feels so familiar. “Where’s your boyfriend? Why aren’t you dragging him out?” Even as I ask the question, I know I’ve asked it before.

“He’s busy…” Having coffee with his ex-girlfriend. “Having coffee with his ex-girlfriend.”

Okay, I clearly need some fresh air, and she clearly needs my support right now, so I save my work, lock my computer, and spin around to face her. “Oh, that’s why you’re antsy. Okay, I can take a break, but let’s go outside. We can go for a jog, that’ll get your energy out.”

“Fine, I’ll go change.”

Prev // Deja vu // Next

[chaifootsteps]

That person saying “people are projecting” is literally doing the same thing

the problem with loser, baby are the lyrics. They’re so confusing, and lack cohesion. I don’t like to shit on artist because making music is hard, but man -Sam H is not a good lyricist. It’s why people have been arguing for months about the message of the song. Some say it’s meanspirited and victim blaming, some say it’s uplifting and sweet. I think it’s the writers way of resolving the r*pe scenes people had to sit through. “Oh no the spider boi is getting r*ped, but look he’s singing a song and is all better now and is gonna get a cat boyfriend, don’t be sad”

let’s look at the scene objectively, angel trauma dumps husk and husk response is to sing a song that’s sweeping the problem it’s a “so what? We all eat shit, but let’s eat shit together :)” whats worse is that husk is a totally hypocrite episodes later guilt trips and judges Angel for almost relapsing and thinking he was gonna have sex with men on their finally day when in the song he was fine with angel being a “coke up dick sucking hoe”

We don’t know Angel enough to know how he would react if someone treated him gently, it’s a long stretch to try use hypotheticals on how you would react because everyone is different and have different answers, it’s just Head canon and projection. Which is what the fans did and a lot of them felt represented and a lot felt exploited. Yet stans act offended when people didn’t like loser baby or epsidoe 4 in general

And the thing is, we know exactly how Angel responds when people he's let past his guard (we know Husk counts as this because Angel spilled his guts to him) treat him gently. He doesn't respond poorly when Husk gently confesses how he became indentured to Alastor, and when Charlie apologizes sincerely, he accepts it even though he honestly had every cause to not. If Addict counts, we know that Cherri -- who knows him better than anyone -- sat with him while he cried after Val raped him, and that she means the world to him for it.

This idea that Angel is incapable of benefitting from a kind word, and therefore Husk was doing the right thing by calling him a whiny loser bitch with no real problems, is both wrong and disgusting.

[maybe-moonchild]

CHAPTER 4

summary: in which Peter can't stay away but he can't stay either. WC: 5.8k

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Congratulations, you have successfully managed to avoid Peter Parker for six whole days. 

Not like it’s all that hard considering that the two of you had managed to avoid each other all of high school and college. 

It didn’t stop him from plaguing your thoughts each day. 

The feel of his hand on your hip, fingers tightening when you’d tugged at the hair at the nape of his neck. The groans in the back of his throat you’d managed to coax out when your hand, with a mind of its own, slipped up the hem of his t-shirt. His toned abdomen, rigid under your fingertips like it was made by god himself-

With a loud groan, you slump forward so your head bangs against your dining room table.

It’s raining again, the steady hum ambient as you try to work on your upcoming calendar. You’d opted to put off starting your new job until the end of June. That way, you would have a five week long break from the end of undergrad until the start of full time employment. 

Some pop song played behind Katie’s door as she got ready for her night. You were spending Friday night safely tucked in at home. After how disastrous last weekend had gone, you wanted no excitement. Flash and Katie had been bummed about your refusal to join them at some club, but you were content to have a quiet night.

Your friends had taken notice of your slightly odd behavior but they didn’t pry. They chalked it up to an embarrassing one night stand that you didn’t want to relive. 

Oh, how you fucking wish it was that simple. 

It takes you a few moments to realize that the tapping on the window is far too loud and inconsistent compared to the droplets exploding on the glass. You glance up, doing a double take at Peter’s figure crouching on the fire escape. The grin he shoots you looks more like a grimace when you scramble up from your chair.

“Are you out of your goddamn mind?” you hiss, flinging it open to be met with the smell of petrichor and mist hitting your cheeks. “What are you- Did you climb up my fire escape? It’s eleven stories!”

Dark hair is plastered to his forehead, his gray sweatshirt nearly black with how much water it’s sucked up. Peter grips the window sill, leaning his inside so you can hear him better. 

“Yes. I need to talk to you.”

“You climbed up eleven stories? Up an old fire escape? In the rain… Just so you could talk to me?”

He nods once without hesitation, eyes wide as he hovers half in and half out. “Yes, yes, and yes.” Once he’s sure that you aren’t going to send him away, he pulls himself inside with ease. “But that’s not the point. The point is, I need to talk to you.”

You’re not quite sure you’re hearing him right. You have to be, because here he is, a puddle of water forming under his high tops and raindrops clinging to his cheeks. 

“So, you climbed-”

“Yes,” he interrupts quietly, eyes determined and stepping closer so you have to look up. “I couldn’t think of another way to see you. I needed to see you. Badly.”

Your mouth falls open to object but you can’t quite figure out what you would be objecting. What were you supposed to do? Send him back out in the rain to trek back down eleven stories and take the humid subway home? You weren’t heartless. 

And it wasn’t like you didn’t want to see him… at least a little bit. 

“Alright, alright,” you concede. As you hurry to the bathroom to get him a towel, you call over your shoulder, “Couldn’t you have- oh, I don’t know… Called?” Peter catches the towel with ease when you return, using it to dry his hair. You drop the other onto the floor and use your foot to soak up the water collecting under him before he stands on top of it. 

He rubs the back of his neck and shoots you a crooked smile. “Sorry.” When he folds over to pull off his sneakers, you nearly flinch at his proximity. At least you manage to hide the action by standing back up and grabbing his shoes. 

“It’s okay,” you sigh softly. It is okay. Just scared you half to death.

Peter slips off his wet hoodie and you take it from him so you can hang it on the shower to dry. His shoes find themselves where they belong on the welcome mat in the entryway. From his spot in the middle of the living room, he inspects your apartment like you had studied his. 

“Nice place,” he says offhandedly as he tries to determine which parts are you and which parts are Katie’s. It’s obvious to him. Anything new and expensive, that’s Katie’s. The furniture that looks a little more used like it was in good condition on facebook marketplace, that’s all you. It’s more than that too. Clearly you both agreed on the eclectic, mid century modern look you’ve managed to cultivate but the things like ‘stacks of books that also act as decor’ scream you. 

You open your mouth to thank him but he clearly isn’t there to discuss the furnishing of your apartment since he cuts you off. “I’m sorry,” he blurts out, eyes burning into yours as you come to a stop. “I just… I needed to see you.”

“It’s okay. What did you, uh, want to talk about?”

Be cool. Be fucking cool or youre gonna look like a total dork in front of him. 

Peter shifts from foot to foot, the words on the tip of his tongue, ready to fall. You come to stop in front of him that still allows for a good amount of space between you. 

“I need to explain. About the other night. And that night, senior year. And eight years ago…” It feels like all of your lives are crammed into the past week. There so much to explain, still fresh even if it all happened so long ago that it should feel like fading scars. 

Your brows furrow but you nod for him to continue. Peter nods back, trying to be less awkward than he normally is when he can’t hide behind a mask. 

“Why is Peter Parker here and why is he drenched?” Katie asks from her bedroom doorway. 

You and Peter’s heads snap in her direction, both of you taking a step away from the other. It certainly doesn’t help either of you seem like you’re not guilty of something. Even if you’re really only talking.

She raises an eyebrow at you when you don’t immediately answer. Thankfully she was less standoffish than she had been in high school since she got to the real world. 

“Because…” you say slowly, glancing at Peter who is no help by the wide eyed look on his face. “He is…”

“Bringing her something… from her moms,” Peter adds, peeking out from behind your shoulder to give her a wave. “Uh, hey Katie.”

Her perfectly manicured brow only raises higher, filled with skepticism. “And it has to be done at ten at night, because you have no free time during the day?”

Peter shifts in place, uncomfortable. Jesus, he was always the worst liar in the entire world. His eyes find the ceiling while his hands bury themselves deep into his front pockets. 

“Yes.” Scowling, or at least attempting to, you grab Peter's arm to drag him down the hall and towards your bedroom. “Now, if you’ll excuse us, we will be in here,” you call over your shoulder with a smug look in her direction. Once you practically shove him through the door and out of her sight, you peek your head out the doorway. 

Peter lets himself get pulled and pushed along, awkwardly following his own thoughts. He has a plan; things to say- no. Things to tell you! Important things he has to tell you!

Katie’s eyes drift from you, towards his shoes and jacket that somehow needed to be removed while dropping off something from your mom’. Pink flushes your face and her face only grows smugger while you hiss at her to shut up. 

It’s not that you’re embarrassed to be seen with him in your apartment. You never had been embarrassed by him even though Peter was so sure of it in high school. What embarrassed you was when you’d call out his name in a busy hall and he would give you a tight lipped smile, curt wave, and continue walking. That. That was mortifying. More to yourself than others. 

Katie will tell Flash tonight. Tomorrow morning, they’ll sing-song about you having a crush on him and wondering what time Peter actually left the night before. Your friends will unintentionally make you chase him off before he even has the chance to come back to you.

If… that’s… even what he wants… considering you up and bailed last sunday morning with a stupid note. 

Even after you slam your door, her laughter is loud as she retreats to her room to finish getting ready to meet Flash at the bar. Now, the two of you are alone. His presence is so strong at your back before you slowly turn around. 

“Wait, I’m getting water everywhere,” he says stupidly, stepping off of the rug so he can balance on one foot on the wood floor. While the entirety of what he is wearing is soaked through from his swing here, it's the water coming off the bottom of his pants and his socks that make a mess. 

“Oh shit,” you grimace, rushing to grab something he can change into. It takes some digging but you manage to find a pair of sweats and a shirt that Flash left here from a past movie night. “Here. It’s fine. Really. No harm.” 

The few minutes alone you both have allows you to try and get the panic out of your system. While he tries to remember his little speech, he has to try and pull off the wet fabric sticking to his skin in your bathroom. You pace. Your hands move from shoving your hair off your forehead to running up your face as you try to collect yourself. 

By the time he opens your bedroom door a little too abruptly, you're halting to a stop and trying to look casual. 

When he gets back, hair shoved out of his face with lashes that are still wet, arms looking far too good to belong to the lanky kid he was-

So not the fucking time. Are you insane?

“Sorry about the water. I- I didn’t realize how wet I was,” he says sheepishly and shutting it behind him silently. “Thank you for the clothes. Probably should’ve thought about that before running here in a downpour.”

Suddenly, the sound of silence is just as loud as the rain outside.

Clearing your throat, you cross the room to take his wet clothes from his hands. You toss them in your laundry so you can, at the very least, throw them in your dryer before he leaves. At the very most, you could wash… and dry them… if he intends on staying long enough. “It’s okay- really. It’s water. It’s not a big deal,” you reassure, hoping you sound less dorky than you think you do. 

Guess what, you sound just as dorky as you think you do. 

Peter stands there, unsure of what to say next. He’d come all this way and he wouldn’t let it be for nothing. Forcing down the nerves with a deep breath, he steps closer, his face determined like it had been when he showed up on your fire escape. His fists clench and unclench on his sides so he stops bouncing on his feet. 

“Yeah, I know. I just- well I need to talk to you. Sorry about showing up out of nowhere. I didn’t really…” think through any of my actions and just scaled your apartment building at ten o'clock at night and gave you a heart attack.

“It’s okay.”

You clear your throat again and try to relax. No more apologizing. “What did you want to talk about?” You try to sound casual as you fold your arms over your chest. No, actually you wrap your arms around yourself.

God damn it. He’s doing that thing- not puppy dog eyes exactly, but doe eyes. Big and brown, full of a million questions as he presses his lips into a tight line. You hate when he does that thing. You just hate it because as the two of you got older, anytime he’d done it, it made your face feel hot. 

Peter’s a grown man and he has no clue why the hell he’s still acting like a nervous school boy in front of the girl he likes. 

“I- uhm, I know that I haven’t been there for you at all these last few years– I haven’t been there for you since we were fourteen,” he admits, “and I wanted to say I’m sorry.”

The apology catches you off guard. The shock shows on your face and he rubs the back of his neck. 

“It’s okay.”

“No, it’s not,” he argues almost instantly, his brow furrowing as he stares down at you. 

When he opens his mouth to continue, his phone goes off. He reaches into his pocket and glances at it. He stares at that screen, for a little longer than is probably normal, and then looks back up at you with a grimace. 

“That was work. Um. It can wait.” he says awkwardly. Lie. Crime alert at the docks. It can wait. At least a bit. 

You nod slowly and can’t help the confused frown that won’t seem to go away. Work? Why would The Bugle be texting him on a friday night. Well, maybe they do and that isn’t actually a strange event for him. 

Peter’s phone returns to his pocket and he starts over with a long inhale. 

“Would you… would you like to sit? I have things I need to tell you.”

“Uh, yeah. Sure,” you say and gesture to the edge of your bed. He nods slightly, sinking down on the bed next to you. The mattress dips under both of your weight and you angle your body to face him.

Peter says your name, opening his mouth to start his long speech he’d been working on for the past six days since he woke up alone. He’d had so many thoughts eating his brain since he found his bed colt and empty. A beep from his phone makes him lose his train of thought. He ignores it with a shake of his head, turning to face you. 

“I want to be honest with you. About everything that’s been going on the last few years. What I’ve been doing- and why. But I understand if you don’t trust me,” he continues. “But everything feels different this time. Maybe just because we’re both older now.”

“Okay…” you breathe out slowly. When you shift in your spot and clasp your hands together in your lap, he does the same. 

“But it’s a lot of things. From eight years ago, and four years ago. Also from last week. About Fisk and why I took those files, all of it. I owe you answers and- I want to tell you everything.”

Another beep. 

It throws him off his disaster of a speech. Peter shakes his head like he can shake away the part of him swinging around New York. He’s here, not out there. This is where he wants to be.

“I need to tell you the truth,” Peter says. He scoots a little closer to you, reaching for your hands then second guessing himself and letting them card through his hair. “This is going to sound really crazy but I-”

Another beep. He sighs and pulls his phone out, glancing at it quickly. 

Apartment fire over in Brooklyn. Fuck.

“Really have to go.”

He’s already standing and looking for his bag by the time you realize what he’s saying. Your face falls which just makes the guilty look he’s wearing more prominent. “Oh. Right.”

Peter opens his mouth to say something before deciding against it. He can’t just blurt it out and leave. So he decides that he just has to do the leaving part now and the explaining part later. You follow behind him into your living room so he can collect his shoes and bag sitting by the front door. You’ll worry about getting the clothes he borrowed another time when he isn’t itching to get out of here. 

The idea that he’s itching to get away from you makes you chew on the inside of your cheek. 

“I… I really do have to go,” Peter says apologetically, “I mean it. I’m serious. I’ll make it up to you.” You nod slowly and lean against the wall beside him. The reassuring look you give him when he peaks up from tying his sneakers is uncertain. 

“But I promise, I’m going to explain it all. Tomorrow. I promise.”

He’s already backing up towards the window to your fire escape, but you nod. For some reason, it seems like an empty promise. 

“Tomorrow. Yeah.” You hope the words sound more light than they feel getting stuck in your throat. 

You don’t want him to leave. 

Not when something about it feels so final. 

Sounds of rain slamming against the metal stairs and the streets of Manhattan fill the apartment when he opens the window. His backpack is slung over one shoulder, one leg swinging outside. He waits for you to return the tight lipped smile he shoots you before he actually slips outside. 

It isn’t until the window is shut behind him that you realize he chose the fire escape over the elevator… again…

Shaking it off, you chalk it up to whatever in his life that is going on. Not like you know anymore. Not like he actually managed to give you anything but more questions tonight. 

For a long moment you wonder, like you have the past week, if he really is the Peter Parker you once knew. 

Or if Fisk was right. 

If he was someone else entirely. 

⋆ °｡˚🕷˚⋆｡°⋆

summary: oh, yeah. Shit hits the fan again.

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For a second, you’re sure you’re going to throw up. Your head is spinning and there is a pounding so deep in your skull, it makes you forget who you are. It takes a second to blink the black spots from your vision. It takes another second for you to manage to lift your head up. 

It takes even less time for you to realize that you’re completely fucked. 

There are only a few blurry figures hanging around the abandoned warehouse. Fisk is there, standing off to the side with his back to you. The top of Scar Guy's head is visible over Fisk’s shoulder as they chat. You think it’s Red Hat Goon and the Tattooed Thug from last week smoking cigarettes near a few rows of overturned shelves. 

No one seems to have realized you’re conscious yet. 

Or that you’re at least somewhat conscious and trying to pull yourself the rest of the way there. 

You squeeze your eyes shut again, which helps chase away some of the nausea. At least adrenaline is kicking in quickly, working to ease your headache so you can think. Your wrists are duct taped tightly to the arms of the chair, nearly cutting off the circulation to your fingers and bruising the skin underneath. 

What did you do? What were you doing- bar. You were going to the bar. After Peter bailed, you accepted Flash and Katie's offer to meet them at the bar. It wasn’t like you had other plans anyway. You’d hurried to get ready, changing into a nice outfit, throwing on some makeup, and fixing your hair. Then you were hurrying to the subway… then there was a guy? No. There were two guys- Scar Guy. He showed up. Then a slamming pain on the back of your head and then…

Now you really wanted to throw up.

Scar Guy glances at you, noticing your open eyes and jerking his head in your direction. Fisk turns around with an amused smile. Smoke billows from the cigar in his fingers as he steps into the light.

“What a pleasant surprise,” Fisk says loudly. The other two thugs perk up, now paying attention rather than gossiping or whatever else criminals chat about. You tense in your spot, muscles rigid when Fisk comes to a halt in front of you.

“Pleasure to see you again. Shame it's so soon after our meeting last week.”

The most you can manage is to keep your head hung slightly, looking up at him through your lashes. You give your wrists an experimental tug and wince when the tape cuts into your skin. 

“Why am I here?” Your voice shakes more than you had hoped it would. 

Fisk just shrugs and takes a drag of his cigar, “Oh, a few reasons.” He exhales as he crouches down in front of you. It’s harder to hide your face now and even harder to hide the way your hands shake. 

This clearly isn’t his first rodeo because he knows the exact amount of time to let the silence hang in the air that it becomes suffocating. 

“You see,” Fisk continues with a sigh, “I’d hoped there wouldn’t need to be a repeat of this type of thing again- really, I didn’t. But now, Peter has proven himself to be an issue. I wanted a little reassurance in case he slipped up.”

Your bottom lip trembles and it’s really hard not to cry. At least in the limo last week, you’d had Peter by your side for the most of it, so you managed to keep it together. Right now, you were alone and very, very scared.

“And now here we are,” he says and leans down to blow smoke in your face. Tobacco stings your eyes and you turn your head. It manages to make Red Hat Thug chuckle and nudge Scar Guy who just scowls at him. 

An issue? Did he steal something else? Do something that yet again got him on Fisk’s radar and- fuck. Put you on Fisk’s radar now. 

Not just his radar. Put you in an abandoned warehouse, tied to a chair, and bleeding out of the back of your head. 

“Look, I don’t-“ you start but your voice cracks. You take a shaky breath and start again. “I don’t know anything about this. Whatever he did… I’m sure it was a misunderstanding-”

“Oh, it’s no misunderstanding. Peter stole something very personal of mine. Something I’m unwilling to part with.” Even though his voice is amused, his gaze is cold as he drags the cigar between his lips and stands up to his full height. 

“And in order to… motivate him to return it,” Fisk pauses and lets out another cloud of smoke towards you. “He needs something to protect. Or someone.”

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

Your heart drops all the way into your stomach at the knowledge that he stole something… again. Panic is pressing down on your lungs, filling your mouth and throat. It flows through your veins and is mixed with the congealed blood in your hair at the back of your head. 

You take a few shaky breaths, urging yourself to stay calm. To think. To adapt. 

“But he gave the files back to you.”

The crime boss smirks and the smoke from his cigar fills the space between your face and his. Fisk leans closer, you lean back and duck your head.  “He gave me copies.” He pulls away and his expression is hard and unreadable. 

“So, I’ve taken you as an insurance policy. To prove my point. If he wants to keep stealing my toys, I’ll take his and break them.” Fisk stares at you a long moment before he laughs, “I’d say your life is in Peter’s hands. Wouldn’t you agree?”

Suddenly, you don’t feel brave at all. Quite the opposite. You feel helpless and angry and stupid. Most of all, you’re scared. 

Horribly scared. 

It could be worse- in fact, it could be a lot fucking worse and you don’t doubt that it will be. 

Your eyes well up with tears because you really can’t help it. They follow Fisk as he approaches Scar Guy. There’s a gun tucked in the front of the thugs waistband but there is clearly no concern that he even needs to keep it out. Instead, he digs through your purse. 

“Please. Don’t do this,” you breath out, pressing your lips into a thin line as they tremble. Your eyes are pleading but you manage to keep some semblance of dignity since you’re not begging and crying. 

Fisk cocks his head towards you and raises an eyebrow. “Let me be clear, I’m not here to hurt you. If anything, I’m going to let you go as soon as I have those files. Don’t you worry about that.” 

“Of course, we don’t have the files yet. So if you’re not very cooperative,” Scar Guy grumbles, more distracted with digging out my cell phone, “who knows what could happen.”

You stare at the dirty floor. Hanging your head letting the cement blur in your vision. It doesn’t stop the panic from creeping in. One one hand, you’re panicked for yourself but, you’re also panicked for what’s going to happen when Peter shows up. 

If you try to speak, you think you might actually throw up.

Fisk's thick fingers close around your phone and he seems oddly interested in it as he scrolls through your notifications. 

“Well, look at that,” Fisk chuckles. “A missed call. From Peter. Imagine that, I’m impressed. It’s like he has a sense for this sort of thing.”

Red Hat guy drags a chair over, the sound of the legs scraping against the floor, echoing around the warehouse. With how hard rain is pelting against the metal roof, you know that if you screamed, not a soul would hear it. 

Fisk waves a hand towards you and Scar Guy advances. You flinch when he reaches for your arm but it’s not like you can actually move away. When he pulls out a pocket knife, you don’t care that you're stuck in your spot, lurching in your spot anyway. 

But all he does is cut the tape from your wrists. 

That’s when you finally realize that hurting you isn’t the plan. Not that Fisk won’t. He definitely will. 

But he is here to hurt Peter, and it makes the blood rush in your ears. 

You rub at your wrists, the skin red and faintly purple as you fold in on yourself in the chair. Fisk doesn’t even look up as he sits down a foot away. The only time he does is when he holds up your phone for you to unlock. With a glance between him and Scar Guy, neither of them even look slightly conflicted at the scene playing out like it was straight out of a mafia movie. 

So you comply because you’re helpless. 

That’s the point. 

You’re playing bait. 

“But he’ll definitely come when you call. So, unless you want things to get messy, you’ll let him know you’re in trouble.” Fisk gives you a cold smile and makes a show of pressing the call button. God, why didn’t you just delete his number eight years ago? Why did you put it into your contacts four years ago when you got a new phone but never intended on calling him?

Each ring makes you wince. The sound cuts through the quiet of the warehouse, shrill in your ears as you pray to a god you don’t believe in that Peter won’t pick up. Of course this is all Peter’s fault. None of this would be happening if he stopped managing to steal from Manhattan's biggest crime lords. You’re really mad at him for lying- omitting the truth or whatever he would try and call it. 

Was that what he was going to tell you tonight?

There’s only a few rings before Peter picks up, his voice coming through the speaker phone and making your eyes well with tears. Just the sound of the voice of the dorky kid from across the street makes your shoulders sag in relief  

”Hey,” Peter says breathlessly, the smile evident in his voice. “I was just about to call you. My uh, work thing just ended so… Well,  I didn’t know if you wanted to talk tonight. I said tomorrow- I promised tomorrow but I’m free now. If you are. If you’re free and want to talk.”

The urge to cry grows even stronger when you realize he wants to figure things out. That he still has your phone number or took the time to find it. Somehow, you manage to swallow even though your throat is painfully tight. 

Fisk’s hand clamps down on your shoulder, warning you to play your part. To play the helpless bait, begging for Peter to show up here and save the day. So he will fall right into Fisk’s hands along with the files.

Even though you are feeling more helpless and terrified than you’ve ever felt in your entire life, hearing Peter Parker's voice coming from your cell phone gives you a surge of bravery. When Fisk adds enough pressure on your shoulder to make you wince, you clench your teeth and glare up at him. 

A moment passes, and then another. 

Then, Fisk clicks his tongue. 

“Well,” Fisk chuckles, “I guess I have the wrong number. I hope I didn’t disturb you. If you’re doing something, I’m sure we can talk later.”

The silence fills the space between Peter and Fisk as your heart races. 

“Or we can talk now,” Fisk sighs, delighted in the weighted silence coming from Peter's end. “Probably better turn out for your little friend if we talk now.”

Peter grits out Fisk’s name so quietly that you almost don’t hear it. You probably wouldn’t have if your phone wasn’t being held right in front of you. 

“Let’s cut to the chase. I’ve got your friend but she doesn’t seem to want to talk. How about you come down here and you can ask her yourself how she is doing. I’m sure she’ll have a lot to say if you show up. Maybe she just gets nervous in front of an audience.” Peter goes silent and Fisk’s eyes burn into you, his cruel smile never wavering.

Just then he hears the faint sound of a click. 

You hung up the phone. 

The crime boss’s brow furrows in confusion at the line going dead, Peter’s name disappearing off the screen. Scar Guy makes a face, almost like he’s impressed at the balls you have in a situation like this. Even when you’re sitting there curled in on yourself with your watery eyes glaring at Fisk. 

You are not going to willingly play victim to put Peter in danger. 

“You did something stupid,” Fisk grits out through a sneer. The anger is practically palpable in the air, radiating off of him and white hot. You don’t look away even though his stare makes you want to squirm in your seat. 

Peter's name appears on your phone within seconds. He didn’t hesitate in calling back and he’s probably ready to reach through the speaker and kill Fisk. 

The crime boss inhales slowly through his nose and forces a smile, so tense, it might snap right off his face. “Sorry about that Mr. Parker,” Fisk chuckles as he collects himself. He stares at you for a long moment before turning to Scar Guy and giving him a nod. 

“I swear to god. if you hurt her in any way I will not even flinch as I-“ Peter growls into the phone before Fisk cuts him off. 

“She really is a fiery one, huh? Brave and strong. Refusing to say a word to get you here.”

You barely keep in a yelp when Scar Guy pulls you from the chair by your upper arms. You struggle in his hold, his arm looping around your neck as he easily shoves you down so you're kneeling. The cement skins your knees, stinging and embedding gravel and glass into your skin.

“I’ve got to say,” Fisk continues with an air of nonchalance that’s ironic compared to your fighting. “All she was supposed to do was shed some tears, tell you to get here and she’d remain unharmed.”

You know you brought this- whatever is going to happen- on yourself, but you desperately try to fight anyway.

Your arm is forced into Fisk's hand, the one not occupied by your cell phone. Fisk doesn’t even flinch when you try to wrench it out of his grasp. Scar Guys hold on your shoulders from where he stands at your back, keeping you in your spot. 

“Wanna know how she sounds when I break her arm?” Fisk muses. 

You barely have time to grasp what he’s said when Fisk squeezes; hard. The pain is instant, excruciating under his palm and radiating through your bone. You cry out. The sound is strangled from your lips, eyes squeezed shut long after Fisk lets up some of the pressure. 

Peter goes quiet. He’s frozen at the other end of the line as he listens to you in pain over the phone. There’s silence on the other end until finally, all Peter can manage is calling out your name. 

“Now, are you going to join us, or should we break her other arm too,” Fisk sighs like he’s now only inconvenienced. It seems he just needed to get the anger out of his system to remain collected. 

Then finally, after what seems like a lifetime, Peter speaks clearly, a new emotion in his tone. Rage. 

“Where the fuck are you?” he spits into the phone.

Vaguely, you think you think you can hear Fisk telling Peter where you are. You don’t know, it’s hard to hear over the sound of the blood pounding in the back of your skull in sync with the throbbing in your arm.

“We’re waiting,” Fisk says, and hangs up. 

“He’s coming, isn’t he?” Scar Guy asks like he's bored, his voice is deep and raspy. 

“He’s coming.” Fisk replies. The phone falls to the ground before you do.

[asparklethatisblue]

last week I saw a bat fluttering around my neighbourhood, which is amazing cause my vision sucks and I have astigmatism which makes it especially hard to see things near light sources (i see lights super blurry so obviously small black objects in the dark near a light source are harder to see)

and yesterday I was walking to the store, determined to try and spot a bat where I’d seen one before. And!!! One flew right past me super fast quite a bit away! Also I did see TWO bats flying around together where I’d seen the very first one a bit ago! They were so fast I could barely see them, but it was definitely two, and maybe they were doing some sort of courtship behaviour? I don’t know that much about it, but it’s definitely mating season. So I was stood in the most unlit part of a pathway, trying not to cry cause I was so happy. I wish I had a recorder to hear their songs, because males do sing to woo their mates, but the cheapest recorder i’ve seen is 200£ or so. I’m 90% sure it’s pipistrelles of some kind, because they fly extremely fast and acrobatic, and are really common in the UK. Just based on speed and location that’s the most likely species, but there’s more than one kind of pipistrelle. It’s cool though, because it’s one thing to know on paper what sort of environment bats enjoy, and what it looks like in real life. The bats I expected to see are in the most tree dense part of this entire area, the one that flew by me was more or less out in the open by a very well lit street! They don’t have areal predators at night, and it was past sundown, so maybe it is fine? I did read that very bright streetlights disturb then. But then again in America there’s bats that straight up live in the middle of a big city!

anyway. I think whatever caused the mental breakdown the other day is quieting down and I’m just happy there’s bats here! I doubt my landlord would let me put up a bat box, but that’s ok, I know there’s a few around here and even though I can’t volunteer to help with bats in general (i need a car, the region doesn’t have reliable enough public transport) I can still see them!!