#writing my own shitty poetry

[navysealt4t]

yes i wrote a fic as a goodbye to my show that just ended no u can’t bully me

[allthewrds]

Hello six months, Good bye dignity

I hate the fanaticism with which I love. I hate the fact that I give my all to a person before I know if they really love me or if they are using me. I hate that I don’t know if I care that I am being used. I hate that this is a trait I have. I don’t know how to end something that I desire and feel I need so deeply. Not without feeling as though I am ruining my own life. This is a disgusting thing. It’s all about the heart and yet it feels absolutely heartless. I don’t even know if it is worth trying to fix. It’s working, but  not truly, not for me. I try to say how I feel about certain things, but he doesn't hear me. Or he does and he ignores me. That is pain. I don’t know if he does not care, or if he is so wrapped up within himself that he simply does not realize he is dismissive, but I do not care. It pains me. I tell him something and he says sorry but his behavior does not change. It stays the same, and the pattern repeats. I am stuck in this pattern, and so is he, but it has no effect on him. I wish that I did not care. I wish I could go a day ignoring him and focusing on myself, but I can’t. I try to go an hour and simply can not. I am too focused on him. I put my everything into what I can give him. I think about him more than anything else. This cannot be healthy. I struggle with this, and he seems to think nothing is wrong. He does not care. That is a brutal accusation but one I feel I must wager. Even now I can not break away from him and what he is to me. I want him to be nothing to me, or I want me to be something equal to him. And yet neither of those things are near possibilities. I’m writing as though it will change something. It will not. All it does is perpetuate my own self struggle. It would be so easy to talk to him about it for a upteenth time, but it would do nothing. So I do nothing. Except feel pained, and cry, on our sixth month anniversary. Hello six months, goodbye dignity. 

[t0rturedangel]

╭ . . . 𝚆𝚎𝚎𝚙𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚊𝚗𝚐𝚎𝚕 ੭

𝐀𝐂𝐓 𝐎𝐍𝐄, 𝐒𝐂𝐄𝐍𝐄 𝐎𝐍𝐄 ; ♰ ৎ﹕𝘸𝘩𝘦𝘯 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘷𝘦𝘯 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘰𝘶𝘳𝘴

Okay, before I start- i know that hazbin hotel has a lot of good ass songs, and I want to make own little custom songs but I cant write songs for shit however I can write poetry (not well but I'm trying) so instead of writing songs for you, I'll write shitty poetry that does not rhyme. Also sorry if my depictions of love aren't good- i have literally never been in love before, and if the ending is rushed, I'm not used to writing so much in one setting

➷ ＰＲＥＶＩＯＵＳ ＳＣＥＮＥ | ＮＥＸＴ ＳＣＥＮＥ

There once was an Cherubim angel,

so gentle and kind,

perched upon a cloud

You sat on a cloud, smiling to yourself as you watched over all the different angels talk to each other about their duties- heaven was perfect, no- no not just perfect, heaven was a utopia. No angel can do any wrong, it is only virtue that existed upon these clouds and you were among these creatures of purity, you were one of god's creations just as all the other's were.

The clouds around you were soft, almost as if they were made of the soft silk your robes were made of, they were formed to bring comfort to any angel that came in contact with them and while all angels were already joyful, the clouds merely helped them stary from sinful thoughts.

She waited for another angel,

a Seraphim named Lucifer,

a friend, so close to her

You wondered though, were was lucifer? He was always about yet you didn't have any idea on where or how to find him. In all honesty, you found Lucifer to be amazing- his ideas, imagination, creativity bought stars to your eyes (figuratively, you had no iris or pupil- your eyes, more specifically your sclera, were a soft yellow colour with white swirls decorating them), to you his words were so brilliant, other angels couldn't even begin to speak or think the way he does.

He always came up with new ideas, new creations him, you and the other angels can create- can look after and love. You couldn't help but indulge in his chats with you- adding onto his ideas in anyway you can and while you personally thought your ideas weren't as amazing as his, to Lucifer your ideas were flawless- he always said that.

Lucifer was brilliant, he truly was- you could never understand why the other angels despised his thoughts so much.

Perhaps, the cherubim was in love,

perhaps she enjoyed Lucifer's company

much more beyond just meer friendship.

Okay, you needed to slow down- you were always thinking how great he was, maybe you didn't just like him as a friend... just maybe you liked him a bit more. Though, that way of thinking should stop soon- after all you have angelic duties to do! there is no way you can just abandon them just because you adored Lucifer....'s ideas.

You took a breath and got on your feet, spreading your wings (you had four wings, two on each side) so you could take off and start your work, however when you were jus about to begin to fly a figure rushed to you- wrapping their arms around your torso.

The seraphim appeared,

all smiles and glee

he held his friend closely

with tender, with care

Lucifer came out of no where, though his presence was welcomed warmly by you : who held him back just as tight. " Luci! " you grinned letting go of him, he had gotten there just in time- it was almost like he knew you were about to fly off, " [name]! Ha ha! how are you? " he asked holding both of your hands- a dorky smile engraved onto his face " Where have you been? I was worried " that was half-true, there was no evil (what even was evil? you didn't know, it doesn't exist not yet ) but there was a high chance that Sera was telling him off again.

" How sweet, but don't worry I'm alright cherub " he brought your hands closer to him- something that grin he held could only grow as the seconds passed by, seeming like he wanted to say something " Luci- I know that look in your eye, you've being creating again! Tell me everything ", your own smile began to grow as you squeezed his hand.

" You know me too well! Okay, so i was thinking of trying to make [ creature ], sounds cool right? well guess what else! " and with that he began to ramble about his ideas once more, with you chirping in some of your own ideas which made Lucifer sound even happier.

The two angels were at peace,

within the company of each other-

did they love each other?

would they dare say it?

You flew around with Lucifer, laughing together while yelling out some nonsense that seemed to only make sense to you and him- just you and him. Though your fun was quick to end when the two of you reached the tallest cloud in all of heaven and the two of you- both out of breath- fell onto it. " That was fun! " you chuckled, still trying to catch your breath " yeah! I loved that " was the reply, then silence fell upon the two of you. Though it wasnt awkward silence, it never was when it came to [name] and Lucifer- it was comforting and peaceful.

Though this silence was broken quickly by you. Over the last few weeks, months you were coming to understand your feelings towards the seraphim, and while you could easily deny them- to avoid them and focus of everything but that but you just couldn't, you sucked with feelings especially hiding them! and plus, how could you live if you didn't tell Luci how you felt " Luci... I " love you, those words were suddenly lodged in your throat and you couldn't let them be said- be heard why did that happen, you were sure you could say them- hell you said them before to people who you see as family!, "sorry what i meant was I- " loved you for so long now, I love you and I don't think I can ever stop loving you " loved that too- it was so fun! "

She couldn't say it,

she was too scared to tell her dear Lucifer

of her true feelings... though did he feel the same?

What was wrong with you? You couldnt say it, why? You loved Lucifer- there you admitted it in your mind but you just cant say it to him. You sighed and stared at your mirror- looking over your face, your long hair (angels all had long hair, it was one of the things that they always cared for and almost showed off)

Of course he did,

how could he not?

he loved her more than anything

she listen to his ideas, she added onto them

she never hated them, never judged.

but then, the high order formed the earth-

Adam and Lilith.

" [name? " Lucifer walked over to you, a smile on his face- though he always smiled, this smile seemed different in a way but you couldn't place your finger on it however that did not stop you from returning his smile " Luci! hey! " you grinned as he stopped just in front of you " [name]? do you know the two humans? " " Adam and Lilith? " " yes! Me and Lilith... are in love!"

...

he.. he loved the human Lilith? The one who ran from Adam (you heard of this from Sera, and while you acted disappointed you agreed with Lilith's decision of leaving Adam, you would have too), he found her and fell for her? .. how? she hasn't even existed for that long! How could you possibly fall that quick? it was impossible right?

It took you a few seconds to compose yourself so you can smile for Lucifer, though it didnt feel right " That's... brilliant Luci! I'm so happy you found love- how does it feel like? " and with that question you bared the suffering of listening to Lucifer, the one you loved, gush about Lilith, and you were almost envious of Lilith- almost hated her, you never met her and now dear god you probably don't ever want to. You had lost your Lucifer to her, though... you suppose he was never yours.

and with that,

those confessions of requited love

would forever be sealed away,

locked behind their grinning lips

though the perish of love was not their only problem.

Lucifer went too far,

he created evil through the second bride,

she bit the apple, she took the fall

and Lucifer and his love was to blame

though you would not let him be punished alone.

You too were part of this.

" No! " You screamed as you ran to the shaking Lucifer's side, almost trying to shield him from the anger of the higher order of angels. " Leave him be! He has done nothing wrong! " you defended him, still caring over your friend. Nevertheless, the angels did not listen to your words in the way you intended- they saw this as a further act of aggression from you as you also had a part to play in coursing dear Eve into biting the apple from the tree of knowledge of good or evil, you lead her to the tree, plucked the apple with Lucifer in tow and let her bite it. Now you and Lucifer were being punished, Lucifer getting the harsher side of it.

The angel was thrown to the depths,

to a world name named Hell,

where the only side of humans Lucifer was granted to see,

was the side he created.

You were also punished to fall,

tho to hell was too much they said

so you fell the half way

now for ever trapped in a dead land-

forever banished to be alone.

𝘴𝘵𝘰𝘳𝘺 𝘳𝘦𝘮𝘪𝘯𝘥𝘦𝘳 ⠆ ⸺ @reverse-soe @jellibean2018 @aliazy @sugarrush-blush @littledolly2345 @immahuman @marsilis

[barbwritesstuff]

The Goodreads Choice awards has happened. It included a 'romantasy' category and no 'graphic novel' category. I take that as permission to make up my own ridiculous genres as I tell you about what I read in 2023.

Obviously, 2023 is not finished yet, but I'm doing a reading challenge at my library, so I don't think I'll be reading stuff I want to read for the rest of the year. Just stuff my librarian friend thinks its funny to make me read.

I've read 65ish books. Here are the highlights sorted into easy and normal groups.

Scifi books in which the main character spends 99% of the book wandering around a horrifying cave:

I enjoyed both of these, but Piranesi was a joy to read.

Vampires:

Empire of the Vampire was wild. House of Hunger was horny. Dowry of Blood was both of those things.

Ace books:

Disclaimer: I didn't actually like Loveless or Let's Talk About Love very much but I know a lot of people did, so I thought I'd include them here.

Vanilla surprised me because I don't normally like poetry but it was really good. Heartbreaking, but good.

Memoirs by people way too young to write memoirs:

All of which were funny!

Books about white people being shitty to Asian (specifically Chinese) people in the entertainment industry with ambiguous endings and a huge amount of research into the industry on blast:

Yellowface is for you if you like Hbomberguy's latest video. Seriously, those two go together like a fine wine and a good cheese. The Whitewash was also fantastic and so under appreciated.

Books that made me want to quit my job and become a ridiculous but stylishly dressed criminal:

Seriously. Rogues included a step by step guide on how to become a wine forger... and I was tempted.

HISTORY:

Okay, so Babel isn't really history, in that it's actually a magical dark academia, but it's tied into historical events, and made me look up some history, so I think it counts. The wager was the most exciting history book I've ever read. I was so invested in the lives and deaths of these silly scurvy-ridden seamen.

There are other books I read and enjoyed but I can't think of funny categories to put them into, so you don't get to hear about them.

Anyway. That's it. Read books.

Also, get a library card if you can. I practically live at my local library and have learnt so much from reading.

Here's last year's post if you want more books...

[britneyshakespeare]

i told the editor-in-chief i wanna leave bc i just can’t bear having another man i don’t know describing his penis to me and his pelvic thrusts. i told her i wanna leave and she hasn’t responded to my email.

[kingconia]

POMEFIORE WHEN THEY NOTICE THAT THEIR S/O HAS SHITTY FRIENDS

Vil Schoenheit.

— It takes some time from him to realise it. Not because he is stupid or anything, but he is always so busy, spending time solely with you, and you always say good things about them, so;

— But as soon as he spots you with them on some school event, he starts to understand something is really wrong. Why would they say all these sarcastic remarks? Especially, if you seem to be uncomfortable? He is furious;

— At first, he will have a talk with you. He just needs to make sure that you understand how toxic they are, and that they are really-really wrong. If you don't see that, or for some reason agree with them, he is sad and disappointed in himself for not noticing it earlier;

— ”Ah, my sweet potato, how could you think so bad of yourself? Just look at yourself in the mirror for a minute! Look at how charming you are. How I love every part of you...”

— Starts praising you more often! He is quite reserved on the public, but he clearly tries to do something good for you. Might pull out a complements on your ear quietly, when you see each other in school;

— ”Oh, who is this pretty lady is?” ”Ah, I am sorry that I bumped in you, darling. I just couldn't tear my eyes from you...”

— Once again, as Vil is busy and aloof, he will not call your fake friends out personally. But he will make sure that some measures were taken. And that they know that their single word against you will cost them so much. Especially, if they are from Pomefiore;

— Live, laugh, Vil Schoenheit.

Rook Hunt.

— Oh, of course he knows that. Rook spends half of time hunting down objects of his interest, but most of the time his eyes glued to you. Even if you don't realise;

— He hears everything. And he sees everything, too. There is no way to fool this man;

— He is immediately furious. But Rook's rage is different from most of the people; his rage is quiet, cold, and slightly... Delirious. But no one can hurt you, physically or emotionally, and he makes sure that others will know that;

— Firstly, though, Rook needs to make sure that you are not affected by their attitude. Whatever they are shitty for—making toxic remarks about your appearance, leaving you out constantly, or something else—Rook will make everything better;

— This man is literally kissing the ground you are walking on. No insecurity under his roof! No-no. If you ask him, he surely can become your servant, even. But you don't, so he continues to adore you in his own ways;

— But that I mean writing poetry about you and declaring it publicly, so everyone would now how loved you are. Gifting you small—or not really—tokens every day. Writing little notes of what it reminded about you. Ah, he can even spoil you with food and sweets! Anything you want, really;

— And regarding your friends... He will take care of it personally. In his own ways. Which can be extreme, but don't worry! They are alive, just frightened! But at least they apologised, right?..

— ”Don't worry, ma belle catastrophe. I will always keep you safe!”

Epel Felmier.

— He is quite observant, and you spent a lot of time together, so, of course, he notices that something is really wrong;

— He can't believe his eyes, though, when he realises how your friends threat you. For him, you are the most supportive and kind person in the world, and perfectly charming. He can't understand how anyone could ignore you, let alone brush you off constantly;

— Epel fully concentrates on fixing your mental state. He knows how bad it feels, to be dawned by insecurities. And he is not a perfect speaker, but he tries really hard to explain you how he sees your situation, how bad are your friends are;

— He is aware that he is not that impressive and scary as others, which means he can't scare off your fake friends. But Epel is smarter and more cunning;

— He uses what he has to make your friends pay for what they had done to you, uwu!

— He either will make sure that Rook or Vil will do something about that—he might dislike his house and housewardens, but, hey, they are useful—or ask to help his other friends. I mean, just pulling in this Jack would be already enough, but if anything, he has these two idiots from Heartslabyul to do something with it. You will not even notice! He is with you all the time, after all;

— ”Please, never forget that you are not alone anymore, and never will be! I am here for you.”

[kivino]

Platonic!Task Force 141 x Eastern European!Reader

Word Counter – ~1.9k

Summary – a compilation of headcanons about how reader’s Eastern European background would affect interactions with Task Force 141 during an undercover mission together.

Tags/Warnings – Gn!reader, Eastern European!reader (obviously), Platonic!TF141, fluff, mostly.

A/n – RUSSIANS DNI (this is a personal boundary, so I ask you to respect it, if you don’t like it just scroll past this post). Very self-indulgent. Just showing more love to my fellow Eastern European readers. Since it is mostly based on my own experience growing up as a Ukrainian, I’m sorry if certain things don’t resonate with you! This whole thing was made for fun and fun only.

So, let’s assume our beloved Task Force needs to go undercover to get some information on Makarov and his merry band of goons. Obviously, they can’t do it without at least one team member, who is familiar with the way of living in Eastern Europe. So, naturally, Laswell introduces you to them – born and raised there, ready to help them and stop your sworn enemy from escalating an already pretty shitty situation.

“So, allow me to introduce your new team member for the duration of this mission” Laswell nods to the door when you walk in, saying your name and callsign, already catching some looks full of curiosity from Task Force 141.

First thing they noticed about you? Resting bitch face for days. Who needs a mask when you have a death stare that will give the heebie-jeebies to most if not all of your teammates? However, they feel even more taken aback when you suddenly greet them with a warm, welcoming smile and a firm handshake, not a trace of that sour expression on your face.

One would think that you’d spend hours preparing four of them for the mission by teaching them language, helping to memorize names and faces of contacts, Makarov’s trusted allies, and potential targets. Naturally, you did your job, but those precious hours were also spent with you standing next to a whiteboard, ranting about the politics and societal issues of your country, explaining certain national jokes, and teaching them swear words or poetry you studied at school. But hey, they’re not complaining (maybe a little).  

They were skeptical about this whole deal at first. However, there was a shared understanding between the four of them that they needed to do whatever it took to stop the spreading of Makarov’s influence and diminish his resources in other countries. With time, however, they’ve found things that made their life in a completely new environment a bit more enjoyable and interesting.

Soap would pick up on your native language the fastest out of the Task Force. Under all these jokes and goofiness Johnny’s a smart guy, inquisitive as hell too, which makes a pretty good mix. He’d try to write down how you pronounce things in his sketchbook, dedicating pages upon pages to making a small vocabulary of what you say, searching up the translations of words any chance he gets. Convinces himself that it just helps him to get more into his new way of life, and not at all because he likes seeing you all excited when he slips a word in your language somewhere in the conversation.

“So how do you say it?” he points to the sentence, messily scribbled on the page with the ballpoint pen he slipped from Gaz. There is a slight frown between your brows – the word looks unfamiliar, more like gibberish than something in your language. You can practically feel the gears in your head screech and come to a halt as you drill Soap’s handwriting with your eyes.

“Oh, wait. You made a mistake here. No wonder I have no idea what this is.” You quickly take the pen and scratch the right version of the word on the paper, while Johnny chuckles at your brutal honesty. He doesn’t say anything though. Some time passes and you’re already correcting other words he wrote down, explaining the right way to say them. And you can feel a pleasant warmth spread in your chest when you can see Soap’s utmost attention directed at you.

Johnny can’t help but feel that moments like these were somewhat of a way to bond for you two. He’d jokingly offer to give you some Scottish classes each time you playfully flick him on the forehead for a word he pronounced wrong. He never expected you to take him up on the offer until the five of you got stuck in a countryside safehouse and essentially had nothing to do while waiting.

On the topic of Eastern European countryside, Price is not an old man by any measure, man’s not even forty yet, but it would grow so massively on him that it’s concerning. When you finally got a good, reliable contact that gave you some useful information you had to lay low for some time in a safe house not far from one of many Makarov’s places where the next weapon deal would be held. And while you waited several days for his people to show up there, obviously almost all of you were bored out of your minds. Not Price though. The man went exploring. Of course, taking you with him (he only wanted company on his small journey through the cozy countryside, don’t blame him).

Soon enough, during your walk you two come across the abundance of berry bushes and fruit trees everywhere, and while you pick something to munch on from them constantly, Price only scolds you. You smirk in response, giving him a handful of ripe mulberries, your lips and fingers now a dark red color from the juice.  

“It’s going to rot if nobody eats it. People who plant these trees would rather someone enjoy them instead of fruits just falling on the ground, getting squished, and going to waste.” And Price takes note of that with a small smile. Soon enough the two of you find a spring the whole village uses, a willow standing tall beside it, providing shade for you two to rest, chat a bit, and cool yourself off with fresh water. The fact that there are not many people around also doesn’t miss him. It’s quiet and peaceful, Price finally feels like he has room to breathe with his whole chest.

“You know, I could get used to a life like this.” Price finally mutters, enjoying your simple, comforting presence, walking along the river shore, and hearing the distant sounds of a train passing through the village. You look at him with understanding in your eyes, as you see the tension in his shoulders finally slipping away. Your captain relaxes, which is a pleasant change of pace from the frown on his face that you got used to.  

All five of you had to live in the same apartment in an old panel building closer to the edge of town. Not the best place to live, but a good opportunity to blend in with the locals and find leads on Makarov’s criminal “friends”. More than once you’ve found yourself sitting together with Ghost on the balcony that creaked with each blow of the wind, in complete silence while he was smoking some cheap cigarettes that smelled more like burnt paper instead of tobacco.

“Can I join you?” Your voice is a quiet rasp, as you lean against the doorway, pushing the mosquito netting to the side. You couldn’t sleep. Not when the whole world will go down the drain if you fail your mission. Not when it’s been a month already and it felt like you were still right where you started.

“Knock yourself out” the man shrugs, patting the stool near him. You shuffle your bare feet on the newspapers that were laid out on the balcony floor, plopping down on the seat, your eyes immediately getting glued to the view, enjoying the breeze that seeped through the open window. You two sit in silence for so long, but it doesn’t feel awkward, quite on the contrary – weirdly calming and serene.

After that night these nightly smoke breaks became a sort of tradition for you two, a way to wind down after a long day. Ghost would nod towards the balcony, a silent invitation reserved only for you. Regardless of whether you’re a smoker or not, occasionally he would offer you a cigarette from his pack or a hit from the lit one. A gesture of camaraderie.

“Thought you’d be more talkative.” Ghost’s voice sounds gruff after the whole day working your asses off just to discover the lead that you had was absolute bullshit.

“And I thought you weren’t a type for small talk.” You grumble in return, just as annoyed about coming back to this dingy apartment with nothing.

“That I am” He lets out a low chuckle, flicking his cigarette into an ashtray in his hand, avoiding eye contact with you.  

Kyle found himself liking your cooking above everything else. The way he would eat anything thrown together in a hurry by you was quite flattering. So soon enough you offered to teach him how to make some of your favorite national dishes, and he couldn’t say no to your offer. So, you decided to start easy – picking out the fresh ingredients. And where do you go to do that? Not a grocery store, no way in hell. The market filled with tons of people is the place you need. A lot cheaper than your usual supermarket too.

The number of times you got discounts for fruits and vegetables on the market from older women just for Gaz’s pretty eyes was insane. He would just blink at you with confusion written all over his face anytime you glanced at him with that smile and refused to explain why you spent a lot less money than expected on the fresh vegetables. At some point, Gaz even questioned his ability to count before you told him just not to worry about it since you got a “very special bargain”. And, obviously, Kyle was the one carrying the plastic bags filled to the brim with fresh produce.  

“You know, your version of the dish is not half-bad,” You say, licking the spoon and giving Gaz a wide smile, which he immediately returns to you tenfold. Spending time like this with him was a pleasure. Each minute spent together made you loathe even thinking about the time when you’d have to part ways and you won’t be able to teach him your cultural cuisine like this anymore.

“Well, I have a great teacher to thank for that.” Gaz gives you a charming smile, so glad to finally have a distraction from the constant looming presence of Makarov in his thoughts. Right this moment he caught himself thinking that he was happy they had you here with them. It would be a lot harder if not for you supporting and guiding them through everything. He felt…thankful.

You’d bring the whole Task Force to different cafes that serve your country's most famous dishes, but Kyle would be the one to enjoy these outings the most, barely raising his eyes from the plate to participate in the conversation.

“Wow, are you in a hurry or something? The food won’t run away from you.” You chuckle, while Kyle ignores the odd saying coming from you and continues to eat with the huge appetite he had ever since this undercover mission started.

However, nothing lasts forever, so after finishing their business with you, getting all the information they needed, and “cleaning up the mess” Task Force 141 bids you farewell, returning to their usual duties. Saying goodbye is never easy, even if you knew each other just for several months you still got attached to them, just like they grew very fond of you (as much as some of them hated to admit that). But hey, they promised to visit you after they finish up with Makarov. They promised. And the four of them keep the promises they make.

taglist - @mockerycrow @stridersdiner

check out my masterlist for more fics or send me a request!

[azullumi]

“are we…” ; kazuha, ayato, alhaitham, & tartaglia

details — here on another agenda of listening to songs, reading the lyrics, realizes how it would sound so good on a fic, and boom! slapping it on a character i think would suit it; basically, songs and tropes as some genshin men

characters — alhaitham, ayato, kazuha, tartaglia (w/gender-neutral reader)

tags — a sprinkle of angst, some of them are out of character, nothing happy is going on (my life relates to it) ; headcanons/scenario

words — 1558

note — getting back to writing so sorry if this fic seems shitty, i’m trying to get my style back by reading the fics i wrote. also i’ll be mostly writing in lowercase now bcs i’m typing on my phone

waiting ; unrequited love — kazuha (bags by clairo)

“can you see me? i’m waiting for the right time.”

kazuha settles on a boundary between you two, standing close behind it, afraid to take a step and cross. and though he was a man who had no fears and wouldn’t let anything hold him back from attaining what he wants, he was scared of going past the boundary as if he would be treading the path of misery once he chooses to do so.

there is always the urge to touch you, the desire to feel your skin underneath his fingertips and unbeknownst to him, his hand would act on its own—he would reach out, his fingers stopping close to your skin before immediately taking his hand back once the realization of his actions had sunk inside his head: “what is it?” you have asked him upon noticing his actions and he could only shake his head before saying, “there’s something on your hair.”

he has this strong sense of denial whenever he does something for you or says something to you, reasoning the flowers that he gives from time to time as an act of friendship and appreciation or the poetry that he creates with you in mindbut he keeps hidden was just because you were too beautiful to not have your being expressed in words and written in poems—

—and every single day, in each morning that he wakes up, he strongly believes that his feelings for you had already dissipated into thin air as if it never existed in the place but only to see your stupid smile and mesmerizing eyes and having himself fall in love again. oh, the amount of times he convinces and tells himself that he’ll avoid you from then on only to have himself basking in your presence later on: “this is the last time,” he tells himself.

there are only two states he would end up in if he decides to go further the line, without you and with you, and he wasn’t stupid to not know that he’ll only have the former happen to him.

he would rather have you close to him and yearn for you despite being so near than the heartbreak and admiring you afar.

“it’s not like you’re in love with me or anything, right?”

toxic ; unhealthy relationships — alhaitham (cry by cigarettes after sex)

“saying you’d wait for me to stay, i know it hurts you.”

you don’t have a toxic relationship with alhaitham nor did you have a healthy one but instead it was miserable, simply one-sided. however, it wasn’t like that at first, he wasn’t like this at first when you two would decide to start over again and create a fresh new page of your love story only for it to end in the same way.

he was good, was great, was wonderful—was. you don’t even know how it got to this point. how did the gentle and sweet murmurs of love and compliments turn to endless shouting and fights at every chance you two get? alhaitham, despite already having raised his voice at you on several occasions, had never raised his hand at you but nevertheless, it doesn’t make anything less hurtful.

“let’s just stop this, i’m tired,” it was clear, it was obvious that the only solution for this wretchedness was to simply just stop and end everything, to cut yourself off him but it doesn’t seem to happen. alhaitham, who possesses such great knowledge and intelligence to know the answer to nearly every problem, never seems to understand that. moments of begging, of asking for forgiveness, for a chance that you always give him, that you always provide him outright, seemingly served and topped with the syrup of your tears and blood.

he only loves you when he’s about to lose you, you know that. you weren’t blind but perhaps you were dumb with that but he loves you then, right? if he really does love you at those moments, then perhaps he did love you right from the start and he just never realized it—it was an endless cycle of gaslighting and making a fool of yourself, finding the reason and making logic out of his actions and words.

it was hard to lose him, you were too used to his presence always guiding you, helping you, and encouraging you that the moment you lost him, you just never seemed to know anything—like a child that was just taken out of the womb, you knew nothing, even yourself. it was a clear fact that you were nothing without him and without you, he was nothing.

“what happened to us, alhaitham?”

convenience ; arranged marriage w/ one-sided feelings — ayato (you’re losing me by taylor swift)

“i wouldn’t marry me either, a pathological people pleaser.”

it was a marriage of convenience—oh, how you hated the word itself. it feels like a painful slap on your face whenever you hear it being used along with the word marriage, one that would leave a burning mark on your skin.

ayato tried to be a good husband, he tried, really. even when he would come home late, he would always have something to give you. despite not having that many conversations and seldomly seeing each other outside the dining room and bedroom, he would still treat you rather kindly and gently, even when you spend most of your nights alone in a bed that was too large for one, you never felt lonely (perhaps you do, you just don’t want to face it because then you’ll realize that your good husband wasn’t good at all); “i apologize, my dear. here, i bought you something on the way back.”

perhaps all of those acts of kindness and sweetness are his way of saying sorry but what’s there to say sorry for even? was it because he failed to arrive for dinner every time or was it just the whole marriage experience overall?

everything was built on convenience, the only time you two would talk to each other is when it’s needed and the conversation you two will have would end rather shortly and the only time he would touch you in a way that makes you feel loved and cherish—making love—is when it’s convenient for him; you were just never a priority, not anything of importance in his life.

what hurts even more is that ayato isn’t even doing any of this because of a boundary that you two had made but rather there was really nothing in between you two, nothing, not even a speck of dust could be found in the distance you two had.

ayato wasn’t even in a state of turmoil, he wasn’t in a position wherein he had to choose something, to sacrifice, to risk something, it’s just that you were there—you were convenient and not because he chose to choose you over anything else. you were easy to woo, easy to hold, easy to fool.

did he really lose you when he never even wanted you to be his in the first place?

“isn’t this convenient for the both of us?”

pleasure ; one-night stand turned to friends w/ benefits— childe/tartaglia (k. by cigarettes after sex)

“we had made love earlier that day with no strings attached, but i could tell that something had changed how you looked at me then.”

it was simply a relationship that was born out of pleasure; created with the foundation of desire, lust, and need. formed in a single night to escape the reality of the misery of your own lives and consistently being nurtured like a seed that was dropped into the soil and naturally taken care of by the rain and sun—it all seemed natural, him inviting you out for dinner, enjoying your time with his stupid jokes and flirty remarks that is luring you to another night of passion just to wake up with a note and a cold bed the next morning.

and there are times you wish to disappear from his life, to stop whatever you two have, and simply just release yourself from his grasp and though he also wishes for the same, childe always holds onto you so tightly as if he never wants you to leave, as if he always want you to stay even if he knows that he’s hurting you, even if you’re just hurting each other; somewhere deep inside his bones, in the crevices of his mind, he doesn’t wish to see you with someone else other than him despite the fact that he wants you to be happy; “stay with me,” he had told you as he kissed and held you.

but childe was a romantic, he always shower you praised in and out of the bed, he was sweet to you; a gentleman with his words and actions. he was lovely, so breathtaking, so poisonous and it wasn’t hard to love him. and he was well-aware of how your gaze seems to linger at him, how there’s something swirling and drowning in the depths of your eyes, and he was well-aware of what it was. and yet, he chooses to ignore it—was it for the good of himself? for you? either way, he can’t have himself falling.

had you known that night with him would end up in this way, you wouldn’t have taken his rough yet gentle hand on that night.

“what’s there for me to stay for?”

© azullumi — do not plagiarize, copy, repost, nor translate any of my works.

[goodday-goodmorn]

Rahhhh it’s Christmas and i’m back! Today’s feature (feature? Should i start calling them that? Sounds kinda cool-) is the amazing @charliemwrites, specifically a little drabble (unedited as always), based off of their Keeper/Kept AU. Not thier most recent stuff- (I think it’s Neighbor Johnny or the Woof Woof series-) You know what? Just- Here. Everything they write is gold <3

Anyhow, i present: Domesticity and Devotion

“Oh to be a wild bird…”

You sigh, chin in your palm as you leisurely stare out at the window.

“Or a stray cat.” You muse, watching as one of the kitties of the neighborhood walks along outside.

“Those fuckers have it good. No shitty job. No rent to pay. Just free pets and wandering the world… and if someone’s being a dick they can hiss and bite all they want.”

You hum, reaching for your drink and sipping on it leisurely.

“I don’t think I could survive in the wild though.”

You say after a moment, realizing how you’re cuddled up in your blanket and sipping on your wendy’s lemonade, the TV playing some random comfort show and your laptop open as you halfheartedly play Papa's freezeria.

“Can barley survive in domesticity.” You mumble, glancing towards the envelope on the kitchen counter that you got this morning about a rent increase.

You sigh.

“Maybe in my next life i’ll be lucky enough to be reborn as some rich white ladies cat. Those fuckers are livin’ better than me that’s for sure.”

————

This is not what you meant.

When you wistfully wished to never have to step foot into the capitalist hellscape that was life again- that was not an open invitation for you to be whisked away against your will.

Apparently though, the 6 foot giant of a military man named Simion Riley, heard it as one.

Because now here you were, pampered and cared for like a bloody sugar baby or pure breed persian cat. Kept at some random location and fed and groomed and meticulously attended too.

All against your will, mind you.

However it’s hard to complain because well- you’re living life good. This realization, of just how good you have it- hits you when you feel yourself getting genuinely angry at the shitty romance novel you were reading.

The Male lead was treating the MC like shit- and the MC was letting him get away with it!

You feel your face physically grimace. To calm yourself down (because you are getting genuinely heated when she lets him shove her to the damn floor over asking him for a drink-), you set your i-pad down.

(It had been a gift; something sort of like a kindle, where you could only read books and listen to music. You weren’t sure what Simon did to it exactly- but it wasn’t just published books you had access too, comics, original works, poetry, you could get all sorts of reading stuff on here.)

“This mother fucker-“

You mumble to yourself in disbelief, shaking your head before huffing and picking the device back up. You’re close to cheering as you read the MC’s internal dialogue about wanting to bite his ass- (Truely an MC after your own heart- they were one of the main reasons you were still reading this shitshow-)

And yet, what does the main character do?

They get the drink for themselves and then let him snatch it from their hand and down it.

Nope. You’re fucking done. You’re fumin’ now, irrationally angry on the MC’s behalf because they’ve been putting up with this guy for fifteen chapters now.

The audacity of men- oh my god. You can’t believe this guy.

“Who does he think he is?!”

You grumble and then just for your own purposes you yell—

“Simon!”

Predictably he is at your side in a moment, dropping everything for you.

You have your arms crossed, as you say, “Go get me a drink.”

He tilts his head slightly, eyes crinkled just a tad at your strange mood but doesn’t deny the order. Simply asks,

“Cold or hot?”

“Cold.”

And with that he’s gone, returning with a fresh glass of ice cold lemonade, complete with a little lemon slice on the rim of the glass. You sip it, set it aside and cross your leg, tapping your forehead.

“Give me a kiss.”

He doesn’t hesitate for a moment, gently kissing your forehead.

“Kneel.”

His eyes are crinkled now with a bit of amusement, but he drops to his knees easy. Gently holding onto your soft thighs. (Always so gentle with you.)

“Course, pretty.”

He mumbles low, head tilted up to you in a question, “Need me to take care of you?”

You hum, absentmindedly messing with his hair and ignoring the way the question sends a slow pool of warmth into your tummy.

“No.”

It’s decisive. You’re practically preening with satisfaction at his actions.

“You can go now.” You say and like that, he gets up. Not a complaint on his lips even when you notice he’s got a raging boner.

“Wait!”

You call and he pauses, looking at you with a questioning hum.

“Kiss me again.”

And he does so, this time a soft gentle kiss on your lips. When he pulls away he mumbles an ever softer-

“Dinner will be ready in 10.”

You nod and pick up your tablet with satisfaction curling low in your gut. (For the duration of your reading all you can think about is how Simion would never.)

————

“And another thing-!”

Simion is absentmindedly (as absentmindedly as Simion of all people can get anyway-) rubbing circles into your back as you rant. You’re sat in his lap, coaxed into sitting there after he asked about your day.

So obviously you started to babble about the book you were reading, which turned into a whole rant session about how stupid the Male lead was.

“That stupid idiot- that moron- you wanna know what he does simion?”

He knows it’s a rhetorical question. You’re gonna tell him anyway. Still he hums to show he’s still listening.

“This bastard shoves them into the ground. To the ground! Can you believe the it?”

He shakes his head lightly with a tsk.

“Exactly. God and then when they get the drink he has the audacity to snatch it from their hand and down it in one gulp before they can even say anything.”

You shake your head, so far into your little rant you don’t realize how much you’ve made yourself comfortable. Sitting in his lap fully, ranting to him like he’s an old friend. Your tongue is loose with comfort right now. And that must be what possessed you to say—

“Me personally? I could never. If you ever pulled that shit— God i don’t even know what i’d do but it would not be pretty

You close your eyes with a nod to yourself at your own words. Not aware of the way Simon’s eyes seem to soften. Not until he gently kisses the top of your head.

“Never.”

He says it so quietly you almost miss it. (Feverintly. Reverently. Like the very idea is absurd.)

“If i ever do something like that you run and break into my gun cabinet and bloody shoot me.”

And god his voice- he’s 100 percent fucking serious. Suddenly you feel warm and small in his lap, utterly tiny compared to the sheer size of his devotion for you.

It’s all you can do to mumble out a weak.

“Good.”

And the rest of the night is spent with you reading the rest of the book together. When the MC finally is able to get rid of the Male Lead, it is a joyous occasion that ends up with her absolutely clocking the guy in the face with a champagne glass. Which then leads into a curious conversation with you and ghost about how much damage that would actually do.

It’s a good day.

[purple-scrunchie]

More Heathers Headcanons bc they're rotting my brain

Heather Chandler:

absolutely dogshit at croquet. Only plays to knock other people out

mostly Heather

*slaps roof * this blondie can fit so much anger

has a deep respect for Duke but sees too much of herself in her (and therefore as a threat) and doesn't know how to deal with that healthily

Has an older stepsister she's only met twice

They write each other letters and they're quite close

refuses to let herself or any other Heather date the football team (she says "we don't date the help")

secretly likes her friends but doesn't know how to go about telling them she loves and appreciates them as people

her love language is getting people matching earrings for their birthdays

Heather Duke:

ex dance kid (iykyk)

wrote emo poetry in 7th grade (she burned it all last year though)

queen of malicious compliance

knows a shit ton of card tricks

is not allowed to shuffle the deck on poker night

she knows what she did

queen of telling scary stories (has made Heather, Heather, and Veronica sob like little babies before)

had a photography phase too

still has loads and loads of undeveloped film left over in her closet from this

her dad used to take her fishing and she secretly still loves it

Heather McNamara:

hates swimming

hates water in general

This girl only drinks milk it's a problem

Has literally everything you could ever need in her bag

once mistook her mace for her sunscreen

never again

ex theater kid (she was really good but then got busy with cheer, which took priority because her parents said so)

used to want to be an actress

now she wants to be an equine vet so she can get paid to be a horse girl all day

Not stupid at all, just has a selective attention span

broke her arm when she got thrown off a horse in 3rd grade

Veronica Sawyer:

has all 3 Heathers in her contacts as 'Heather'

she knows what's from who based on the messages

her bag is so damn disorganized she's basically Mary Poppins

we're talking everything from extra snacks to industrial-grade superglue

wanted to get a tattoo but her parents said no

she got JD to do it for her anyway (it's a really shitty rendition of her childhood cat, JFK)

lives off peanut butter & jelly sandwiches

still falls for the toothpaste in Oreos prank

bit her nails until Heather got her that nasty anti-biting polish for her birthday last year

Jason Dean:

red sox supporter

owns a tattoo gun

owns a real gun too

and a signed baseball bat (too bad he can't read the signature)

should not own any of these items

best friends with the movie theater clerk

uses this to see so many movies for free

the definition of "I know a place"

likes to walk around in the woods

just fuck around and throw rocks and shit

He told Veronica that if he ever goes missing that's the first place she should check

[slobstation]

when i’m sad i love thinking about the Potters and Apollo in my Marauders era x Percy Jackson world…

effie, monty and apollo

in every fic i read the Potters are early risers so im spreading that here,

they say goodmorning to their Part-Time-Sun, Full-Time-Babydaddy.

winter solstice? y’all better know they fucking stay up all night on winter solstice. they probably write shitty poetry

i bet they say cringey flirty things at the sun sometimes and then cringe because their retinas don’t approve of admiring the sun.

Apollo visits them and you can’t tell me other wise.

they talk to Apollos other children on Iris calls sometimes when James calls, and have a few visit them during holidays when they want ^^

^ they are also respectful of other people Apollo is/was involved with !!!!

when apollo visits they have poetry contests.

family game nights!!

KARAOKE!!!! FUCK YEAH. FUCK YOU IF YOU DISAGREE.

They grow hyacinths

James grows them at camp as well because OBVIOUSLY.

James wore a chunky sun costume for some Halloween’s, like maybe as a baby a little onesie with an sun.. WAIT HE HAD SO MANY OF THOSE. FIGHT ME.

feel free to share your own, a penny for your thought if you will (i will not be giving you a penny.)

[pennyserenade]

The Hollywood Hedonist Method

pairing: dieter bravo x you, dieter bravo x reader rating: explicit (oral sex (female receiving), pinv, unprotected sex, light dirty talk (a little degrading), sex in public place (?), soft dom!reader, soft dom!dieter tags: references to drugs, talk of suicide (not serious), a self pitying dieter bravo word count: 2.9k+ summary: dieter's movie is bad and he looks to you for a quick fix to a long problem. a/n: is this the most inspired piece i ever wrote? probably not but i did have a lot of fun writing it. i wouldn't say this is my usual writing style, but i'm trying something new on here and i hope you like it. if you'd like to be updated on when i post my writing, follow my writing updates blog @belovedinfidels

He fingers you on the black marble countertop, his mess of crushed ambitions transformed suddenly into a hardy joie de vivre as you accept his tongue into your mouth. Salacious stories be damned: this is better than any page six bullshit could cover, his strong body settled between your widened legs, his long fingers curled in the warm comforts of your body. He breathes you in, drinks you up. 

Your whiskey soaked tactlessness is divine tonight. It offers a heady respite from the impending dark cloud of his self doubt. He doesn’t even mind that you don’t realize how gloomy this shit makes him. He feels like one of those goddamn characters in Sunset Boulevard, switching between the dead bloodied man floating in the pool of his own ambition, and the frenzied, forgotten actress with the warm gun of delusion in her hands. He hates that he’s miserable over his fucking shitty movie, and he’s so hard it’s embarrassing, and a little confusing, and you’re beginning to squirm and he wonders if maybe his tongue might make you shake and—-

“Dieter!” 

You dig crescent shaped imprints on the pale, freckled skin of his shoulders. His tongue makes you shout–better than he could’ve ever hoped for. It’s the ego boost he needs. Plus, you’re so goddamn wet that it’s coating his chin and he’s only just got on his knees. That’s nice, too. 

He licks up to your swollen clit, tonguing it until you let out delightful little mewls and writhe beneath him. When you close your legs around his head, he lets out a moan. You taste like the closest thing to penitence he’ll ever get. He could eat your pussy all night if you let him. Really. There’s some things he knows for certain, some things even bad fucking movies and a deflating ego can’t rob him of, and his love for this is one of them. The act of spreading a woman apart and eating her like she’s ripe pickings from the Garden of Eden almost drives him to romanticism sometimes. He is sure he could write poetry about this. He bets your pussy’d look so pretty on a canvas. He’s never drawn a pussy from memory, but he’s gonna try it tomorrow and—

“Are you okay?” you rasp, looking down at him with a frown. 

Well, maybe it can rob me of this, he thinks bitterly. 

Your grip turns more forgiving in his hair, your fingers sympathetically pushing his locks back from his face. He comes up, his slick-glistened lips forming into what you suspect is meant to be a reassuring grin. It looks more like a grimace. You run a thumb affectionately over his cheek and he groans, pushing it off with his shoulder. He positions himself back between your legs. When you pull at his hair again, trying to get him to look at you, he winces sharply. 

“Dammit,” he mutters, dark eyes deep wells of glazed frustration. “If I don’t make you cum I’m going to jump out of the window,” he deadpans. 

You’ve always hated the kind of people who make you wonder what’s a joke and what’s not, because it’s a constant commotion of miscommunication. Life becomes a bad joke, a joke that is in constant need of explaining, and you’ve never liked that. Dieter is the sort that seems to be hanging on the edge of I don’t know, the kind who seems to be supplanting real answers for half funny, half serious ones. The uncertainty he posits is a product of the uncertainty he feels - you can tell already - but you’re not exactly enthused to decipher him for the rest of your life. 

You frown. You’d only met him under strobe lights not even two months ago, shouting over the music to get to know one another. He had tasted of stale cigarettes and early morning remorse, and he’d taken you in the women’s bathroom, pressed you against the bathroom stall, and fucked you with bruising intensity. Then he had written his number on the palm of your hand, and kissed you chastely on the mouth after it was all over. There’s no future here. You won’t be deciphering anything. 

“Sit on my face,” he implores. Dieter delivers the sentence like he’s asking you if he can hold your hand. His fingers grip at your thighs and his breath grazes the inside of your legs. When he presses his lips to the side of your cunt, you close your eyes against the sensation. He tongues the spot, laughing shakily as you ease underneath him. Your hips press forward and he takes it as acceptance. “Or don’t,” he says. His tongue teases at your lips, and you can hear the grin in his tone when he says, “I’ll eat you out like this. That’s just fine, too.” His tongue nudges into your opening and you gasp. Your hand finds his hair again. “But tell me you want it.” 

His lips press to the side of your pussy again. You gush involuntarily at the sound of a husky voice, at the way he hovers over you with the promise of more. 

“Mm.” You look down your body at him, making eye contact as he presses kisses closer and closer to your glistening clit. He nods his head at you, encouraging you as he begins twirling his tongue around the area. “Actors are so goddamn self absorbed,” you say. He nods wordlessly again, smiling against your skin. He doesn’t tongue your clit, though. You want him badly to take it into his mouth. To suck—

“Fuck, please,” you plead. “I want it.” 

His eyes glimmer. You feel his hot breath all over you, and can hardly stand the sensation of it. You want to ride his face, make him bring you to orgasm your own way. You nearly forget his sad, petulant attitude in your impatience. 

He takes your clit in his mouth, sucks eagerly as you stroke your nipple through the thin cotton of your dress. Dieter is greedy even in his giving, taking as much of you as you’ll let him. He enters a finger into you—a finger that goes in with an embarrassing ease—and then another when you moan lewdly into the enclosed air of this someone else’s bathroom. His face moves with your hips, letting you rock against the rhythm his own fingers set. You moan his name and he goes faster, and you feel on the brink of imploding. 

Your eyes close and you focus on his mouth, and the fury with which he works at your swollen clit, and you think of his fingers, and the way your cunt clenches around them, large as they are. As you cum against his mouth with an unapologetically guttural moan, he surprises you with the seriousness of his intent—how he does not look up at you or smirk against you, but works devoutly at building another orgasm up. You grip the edge of the sink and your head thuds against the mirror as it lolls back. The glass reverberates but neither of you care; your ass is gradually rising off the counter and his body is rising up, one of his legs kneeled on the ground and the other one hovering. He makes you cum again in a matter of seconds. 

In between your second and third orgasm, his belt buckle jingles open and he’s risen all the way up. He comes up for air, his chest rising and falling rapidly, and then he kisses you on the mouth. He’s wet with your juices down to his chin and he’s not afraid to spread the taste of you against your tongue. There’s a drop of pre-cum wetting the blue of his tight boxer shorts. You grab onto his jean loops and jostle him closer. He comes without protest. 

“You shouldn’t ask a man how he feels when he’s eating you out,” he tells you. His head is pressed against your chest and he’s looking down at himself, at the way his cock is strained in his boxers. He’s hard as hell. He looks back up at you with intense eyes. “It’s likely he feels pretty fucking good.” 

“Shut up,” you groan. You stuff your hand down the front of his open jeans and his neutrality fades into a smirk. His hips jerk as you palm him and he whimpers, desperate as ever. You fist his hair, driving his neck back so you can kiss along the column of his throat. “The movie wasn’t even that fucking bad,” you tell him. He laughs and you feel his Adam’s apple bob against your lips. You suck at the skin there. If he minds, he doesn’t say. His eye lashes flutter against his cheeks and he happily grinds against your hand. You think you could make him beg, if you wanted. You think maybe he wants to. 

You withdraw your touch suddenly and he whimpers, pupils blown wide with desire. He goes from confused to uncertain. “What?—“ 

“Ground,” you command. He nods curtly. 

He peels off his jeans and underwear on his way down to the cold, sterile tile, making no qualms about being bare ass naked on his employer’s bathroom floor. They are downstairs and they’re partying, and even if they weren’t he wouldn’t give a damn anyway. That’s the appeal of him, isn't it? It’s why the public buys the magazines and watches the movies he’s in. Dieter is a brilliant train wreck and they want to see. 

That movie they put him in was so goddamn commercial and so heartless, and so contrived. He hopes he gets cum on the black shower mat because of what they’ve done to him. 

“I’ve got no condom,” he tells you suddenly, remembering. This had been so spur of the moment. A hand on your knee under the table turned to a hand in your underwear and suddenly you were both up here. His face scrunches up, waiting for rejection. 

He supposes he could make do, maybe just ask you to talk to him while he masturbates this hard-on away. Are you into that sort of thing? He supposes it’s a little exhibitionist, and he knows that’s not everyone’s cup of tea but—

You don’t seem to give a shit. You straddle his hips and look down at him. You’re still a little loopy from your orgasms but confident in your approach-confident that he wants this badly as you think he does and goddamnit if you’re not right. He ought to be responsible and ask you the slew of questions responsible people ask before they bury their cocks into nice women such as yourself. Birth control? Have you fucked anyone else and do you think they might’ve given you something? When’s your birthday? Middle name? But he doesn’t. He breathes steadily beneath you, excited and so fucking worked up he’s afraid the first heavenly push into you might be the last one if you’re not careful with him. 

He doesn’t even know if you won’t tell the paps about this. Maybe you will. Maybe the price of this will be a magazine spread featuring a bad airport photo of him and the headline “DIETER BRAVO OUT OF CONTROL: L.A. FLING TELLS ALL.” And this L.A. fling will know all, will have everything to tell. In a matter of seconds he tries to decide what kind of person you are. He softens a bit, and you notice immediately, and that fresh Hollywood self pity is back and he softens some more.  

Before you can ask if he’s okay again, he heaves a telling sigh. “Too much or not enough drugs,” is his response. It was good while it lasted. What’s the worst that can tell them now? That he eats pussy to make up for his drug induced impotence on bad days? 

You look confused, maybe even a little wounded. No, you are wounded. He squeezes your hip as if to say “You did your best” and this hurt flashes more visibly across your face. Well. 

“Coward,” you tell him. His eyebrows raise to his hairline. 

“Hm?” he answers.  

You lean down, whisper it to him. “You’re a self pitying coward. It’s not the drugs. You’re making yourself miserable.”

“Listen—“ he starts indignantly, but you shake your head. Oddly, he’s getting stiff again. This has been the most embarrassing night of his whole fucking life—and perhaps the most telling. 

You look down between your bodies, pleased. “My theory was right.”

“Please,” he groans, “no more or I’m going to kill myself for real.” 

You laugh and it’s so genuine and that he laughs too, despite himself. You might be laughing at him for all he knows but it doesn’t feel like it. He decides once and for all, looking at you, watching you, that you won’t tell about this or about anything. If you wanted to, you would’ve already. And most importantly, he simply doesn’t want to believe you could be someone like that. He isn’t a coward. Not all the time. He takes a chance on you, here, now. 

“Are you on birth control?” he asks. You nod your head. “Have you been tested lately?” You nod your head again. He smiles. “Do you like me? Check yes or no.” 

You check yes — or at least he thinks. You kiss him tenderly, more tenderly than is good for him, and you both fall back into your hurried, lust riddled motions. You take his growing hard on in your hand and guide him into you. You lean your forehead on his and let him sheath himself inside of you. He goes slowly, wincing against the warmth of you squeezing around him. It feels so fucking good—dangerously good. He forgets about the stupid movie and the bosses down stairs and all that miserable shit about ruining their rugs.  

“Do you like it when I’m mean to you?” you whisper, once he’s fully inside. He looks at you, amused, and shrugs his shoulders. 

“I don’t know. Seems like it.”

“Do you think you’d like if…If I was controlling?”

He hums against your shoulder, bringing your body closer to his. “How so?” he asks. He begins guiding your hips, lifting you gently off his cock and slowly back down. 

“Make you beg,” you say quietly. “Maybe call you names, if you want. Maybe tell you how good you are when I think you’re good.”He twitches inside of you and you smile. He smiles too. 

“Actors are so self absorbed,” he jokes.

“Your movie wasn’t bad,” you assure again, more kindly. He doesn’t respond. He kisses the place between your neck and your shoulder. You quicken the pace that you ride him in and he nods gratefully, sighing softly. His knees draw up and you reposition slightly, feeling him more deeply inside of you as you grind back down into him. 

“Do you want to cum?” you ask him. You drive your hips up, gripping onto the hands he has on your hips, making him move in your slow, teasing pace once again. He bites at his bottom lip and doesn’t respond. You stop moving. He flashes his eyes up at you, annoyed and aroused and vaguely infatuated. “Of course,” he breathes out. 

“Tell me,” you taunt back. You resist when he tries to move you back down and he groans, but you feel him twitch in you again. 

“I know you want me to fuck you too,” he counters. 

“Sure,” you nod, “But remember: I’ve already cum three times and you’ve cum none. I think I can withhold far longer than you.”

He can’t help but smirk. That’s not good enough for you. You want him far gone for you, incoherent practically. You rise off his cock completely and he lurches forward, groaning. “No!” he says. “I want to cum!” he says, pawing at you. “Please!”

You hover over his glistening cock and pout. “Didn’t seem like it,” you taunt, moving your hips over him but not touching. His lips part but no words come out. “I want it to seem like it. You’re a big boy, Bravo and you can use your words, can’t you? I hate a man who can’t use his words—who’s afraid to.” You lean down, close to his ear. “I hate a coward.” 

“I—I can use my words,” he stutters. His fingers brush against your hips. “Please, just climb back on me and keep riding me. I—I need that.”

“Tell me.” 

“Fuck,” he grunts. “I need it so bad.” 

You grab his cock, stroke it lazily. “Again,” you say. His face twists up in what could be either pleasure or pain and he says, “Please. I need it. Need you.” 

He’s as hard and desperate as he was before. You kiss him hard on the mouth and allow him to take over again, guiding you down onto him this time. He flips you over, lays you down against the ground, and drives into you. You gasp and he smiles like he’s won a prize. 

“Can I—“ he fills you to the hilt. “—is it alright if I…Can I cum in you?”

You nod your head. He looks at you and you understand he wants more than just a nod. “Yes,” you answer. 

It doesn’t take much more than that. He gathers up your legs, drives into you with one or two more inspired thrusts, and then he’s growing rigid against your body, hot spurts of his cum filling you. He exhales softly into your neck. You think he might apologize for a moment but he doesn’t. Instead he thanks you. 

“Feel better?” you ask. He nods. 

“Much,” he says. “Hell—I might really be starting to think that the movie wasn’t so bad.” When he looks at you, you can tell he’s kidding. 

“Well,” you joke back, “At least even the bad movies get you fucked, huh?”

[praisethesuuun]

this is my first time writing for him so pls be kind with me ////also, english is not my first language so I'm sorry for any mistakes

Buddha x poet!reader: sweet as lollipop

Type: fluff

Warnings: swearing

“And then I punched him in the face!”

“That’s wonderful, Lord Zeus” said Y/N sitting on one of the sofas of the room. They were sitting there for hours now, but the god wanted the job done by the end of the day. Listening to him non-stop was one of the hardest things in the world, especially if he never stopped praising himself. ‘Did he even do all those things? Probably not’ thought Y/N completely exhausted. They breathed a sigh of relief when Zeus realized what time it was, kicking them out of the room and leaving him alone in the middle of the hallway.

“Narcissist bitch, what the hell do I do now?”

Well, there wasn’t usually so much fun for gods like them: art and poetry were appreciated, but everyone always preferred the strongest deities like Hercules, Zeus or Poseidon. And now Y/N was on Olympus only to write about all the “beautiful adventures” the others made, but for what? Money? A god doesn’t need it. Fame? A lot of people already worshipped them. So why…why were they suffering so much? Exactly, for nothing.

Sometimes Y/N asked themeselves why couldn’t they leave and do whatever they wanted, but everytime they realized why; everyone on Olympus has a place, a part to play, and theirs was to be there and tell the true story of the gods. Only this way would humans have spread the truth.

But, of course, their job had his perks. Like that time Y/N decided to inspire their poets to tell the story of how Ares ended up trapped in a giant vase and how he managed to stay there for days. Needless to say that everyone was laughing their ass off on Olympus when they found out; or the time Y/N and Hermes spread the rumor of Aphrodite's presumed death. She was so angry!

Walking through Valhalla they stopped in the middle of one of the many fields of flowers. Y/N breathed a sigh of relief even though their tranquility didn't last long.

“There you are!” said a voice from behind them.

“What are you doing here, Buddha?”

Y/N hated that damn god. Buddha was always trying to get on their nerves, constantly criticizing them about how they’re not able to go against Zeus and get a life. The diety of poetry growled before answering: “If you’re here to tell me how shitty I am maybe you should go somewhere else”

Buddha laughed. “Wasn’t expecting such low language for you”

Internally he was really hoping to change something in Y/N’s existance: soon there would be Ragnarok and humans would need a guide, a foretaste of the end of humanity, a refuge in art. But Zeus kept Y/N in check and wanted to avoid giving any kind of help to humans, "for fun" he said, even if it was only cruelty.

“Why don’t you do something?” he said. “There you go. Please, I’m just tired and I don’t need another one of Socrate’s like speech…damn, that guy is even worst than you…”

“Just think about it, you’re not like Zeus, you're kinder”

“I’m a god, I’m made of stone”

“You can’t be: you’re a poet” and having said this, Buddha sat down beside them. He started sucking on his lollipop, his eyes lazily watched the colorful field. His head slowly bent to one side, getting close to Y/N's ear, his voice now a whisper: “Help us go against the Heavens”

Y/N's heartbeat stopped completely and their hands started to sweat. Betrayal. Were they even able to backstab everyone? Of course they were. All the days spent writing other people's bullshit, silly minors gods’ poems, hand cramps... Buddha was offering them a chance. The poet had to think carefully: Brunhilde and Buddha were already on humanity's side, it is impossible for the other gods to do like them, so they’re on their own. But even if they accepted, what would they actually change? They are only a deity of poetry after all.

Buddha stood up, rousing them from their thoughts. "Well, if you want to join the club of assholes, give me a ring, but decide quickly. You know very well that there's no more time"

He’s right. So why not give him the answer. “I’m in”

“What? Really?”

“You heard me. Let’s go destroy the whole Olympus”

“That’s the spirit!” screamed the other god picking them up and squeezing them as hard as he could, after all, this may be his only opportunity to do so. He was scared that he had made a mistake and that he might push the other away with that sudden gesture of his, but he relaxed when he felt the grip being reciprocated. Y/N was about to get a shot of life, that thing that they never really fully got.

The poet felt so strange: nobody even dared to touch them or didn't even cared. Everyone looked at their works, not the artist: that gesture so sincere made them feel like jelly and, for the first time after literal eons, they felt at peace. The god's hands encircled their sides, while one of them caressed their back. What they were doing was dangerous, too dangerous, and Buddha began to wonder if he had made the right decision to ask the other to join his rebellion. But he knew it has to be done.

“We’re gonna make it. I promise” thought Buddha with the other still in his arms.

Time seemed to stop for a few moments, the two of them existed and that's it. Y/N was considering their choice again, yet Buddha's encouraging squeeze erased all thought from them. Fate smiled at them and they did the same.

[squish-o-blair]

So I got bored and decided to compile all the lore revealed in the Sonic Twitter Takeovers.

I've highlighted in Green stuff that could be (or is) canon to the games (AKA stuff that's canon, isn't contradicted in canon, or isn't some meta joke), in red is stuff that definitely isn't canon, and the rest you can make your own decision on.

-This is just regular lore but "Ivo" in "Ivo Robotnik" is pronounced "Evo" it's supposed to sound like "evil"

-Eggman is a PC gamer

-Eggman might not be able to swim

-Eggman is in smash he's just super hard to unlock

-Eggman wants to take over the world because "It's Friday" (in other words it's implied that most Sonic games take place or at least START on a Friday.)

-Eggman can't get any bitches

-Eggman works out

-The Sega Saturn is Eggman's favorite Sega console

-Eggman's a fan of old show tunes and lullabies

-There's an Eggman empire lot in North Hollywood

-Eggman has a cat he calls "Biggy Wiggy"

-Eggman is fan of Tokyo Ghoul and Chainsaw Man

-Eggman is Youtuber Cobanermani456's father

-The Egg Pawns have names (one is named Fred)

-Eggman and Sonic hang out sometimes

-Sonic and Eggman are both streamers

-Roger Craig Smith is a fake alias used by Sonic

-Sonic shares a universe with Assassin's Creed and Sonic and Eggman once kidnapped Ezio

-Sonic's a shitty gamer

-Sega is Sonic's agent

-The Sega Genesis is Sonic's favorite Sega console

-Sonic's a fan of Mongolian throat singing

-Sonic is salty about reviewers who continue to bring up Sonic 06

-Sonic's favorite Sonic games are Sonic Boom Rise of Lyric and Sonic Frontiers

-Sonic's favorite movie is Chao in Space (even though he hasn't seen it)

-Tails hacked Eggman's Twitter account (which eggman stole from Sonic) via a "lonley robots in your area" virus

-Tails is a My Hero Academia fan

-Tails is fucking ripped

-Tails is a pro among us gamer

-All their gloves stay clean because of a special polymer that Tails made

-Tails is an Acapella fan

-it took Shadow until the aftermath of Forces to find the damn 4th Chaos emerald

-Shadow only uses Android phones

-Shadow is a Breaking Bad fan

-Shadow has killed a real life person and plans to kill more

-The Dreamcast is Shadow's favorite Sega Console

-Shadow's a fan of classic rock

-Shadow is a fan of anime (specifically Kill La Kill)

-Shadow eats coffee beans raw with a spoon

-Shadow is good friends with Big and Knuckles (more-so than Sonic)

-Shadow hates Capitalism

-Shadow donates his rings to charity

-Shadow shops at a convenience store named "Maria" and feels like if he can support some Maria out there, then he feels like he's making the world a better place

-Shadow has a soft spot for kittens and wants to open a cat orphanage

-Shadow's favorite movie is Chao in Space 3 (which he features in)

-Shadow is a fan of Infinite's theme

-Shadow writes poetry

-Shadow and Maria ordered pizza on the ARK that came from Earth

-Doom's eye is still alive, him and Shadow occasionally go out for dinner

-Shadow is the living embodiment of drip

-Shadow very heterosexually hypes up Knuckles a lot

-Shadow specifically tried to keep Sonic away from him during the final boss of SA2 because he knew Sonic would've fell to Earth too if he tried to rescue him

-Despite all the issues Shadow has with Sonic's methods and morals, he doesn't hate him

-Shadow is a bad cook

-Shadow is (or will be) legally married to @/RealShadowFan01 on Twitter

EDIT: the wedding's off :(

-Shadow is panromatic/pansexual

-Shadow volunteers at soup kitchens

-The Shadow Dark Chao seen in promo art and the IDW comics does in fact belong to Shadow

-Shadow and Amy are both huge Taylor Swift fans

-Amy's favorite Sonic game is Sonic Heroes

-Amy is a Fruits Basket fan

-Amy still visits Little Planet and makes jewelry out of gems found in Quartz Quadrant

-Knuckles collects rocks that look like animals

-Knuckles is a Lizzo fan

-Knuckles, Cream, and Vanilla are big One Punch Man fans

-Chaos Control is activated by literally just holding the emerald and shouting "chaos control" that's it, anyone can do it.

-On the Planet Wisp, Hide and Seek is called "Don't be seen or perish" and whoever gets found is tossed into the volcano on Planet Wisp

-Yaker died once

-They physically can't take their gloves off

-The Sonic OVA is canon

-Mean Beans are living beings

-Grounder is canon

-Metal Sonic is a series of multiple robots and not just one that gets repaired each time (this probably isn't canon anymore)

-Infinite is still alive

-Infinite occasionally sends Eggman gay Sonadow porn

-Charmy runs a thrift store

-The stone tablet in Frontiers translates to sonic version of the Bee Movie script

-Sonic, Tails, Knuckles, Amy, and Shadow, all work in an unknown office somewhere

Things that exist in Sonic Universe (all of these could be red. You decide man idk):

-Twitter

-All forms of Sonic media (including games, comics, and TV shows) (they're retellings of Sonic's stories)

-Summer of Sonic

-Sonic Stadium

-Sega

-Undertale the game (and specifically Sans as a fictional character) and Toby Fox

-Game Grumps (specifically Jontron era)

-Tootsie pops (big day for tootsie pop Sonic fans)

-The Macarena

-Twitch

-Sonic songs (Escape from the City, Live and Learn, E.G.G.M.A.N., Believe in Myself, Infinite, and Vandelize are mentioned by name or referenced.)

-Cobanermani456

-Hulu

-Tyson Hesse

-Super Smash Bros (both as an event AND an in universe video game)

-SiivaGunner and GilvaSunner

-Hyper Potions

-Crush 40

-San Diego

-Apple

-Sega HARDlight

-Breaking Bad

-Sonadow porn

-Spike Chunsoft

-The Danganronpa Games (or at least V3)

-Etika

-North Hollywood

-Kill la Kill

-regular ass cats (not like Blaze, just normal real life cats) (also regular dogs)

-Alpharad

-Jacksepticeye

-Patreon

-Youtube

-Xbox

-Playstation

-Nintendo Switch

-The Completionist

-Gushers

-The "you know I had to do it to em" meme

-Tokyo Ghoul

-My Hero Academia

-Global Giving

-St. Jude

-Extra Life

-Hot Topic

-What does the Fox say

-Tee Lopes

-Tyler Smyth

-Sam's Procastionation Station

-Elsie Fisher

-Barry Kramer

-RubberNinja

-Sonamy fans

-Caddicarus

-Mario

-Among Us

-Colleen O'Shaughnessy

-Youtube

-Fadel Gamescage

-Lizzo

-Taylor Swift

-Elon Musk (implied)

[captainofthedauntless]

S/O's Hobbies HCs

This wasn't requested, but I wrote down the first little idea and then it snowballed wildly out of my control. Have some Bay Boys and how they engage with their partner's hobbies.

Like their namesakes suggest, these are Renaissance men, okay? They do a bit of everything (partially because they've always had a lot of time to fill), and they absolutely want to learn about whatever you do.

Donnie is naturally curious across the board. He wants to know a bit about everything all the time- and you happen to be his favorite subject to study! Even if your hobbies aren't his thing, he absolutely wants to learn about them.

He also loves to apply his own knowledge to them! If he knows something about it that you might not, he loves to offer it up- exchange of knowledge is this guy's love language. He's careful not to sound condescending, he's just excited!

If you're into woodwork, he's over the moon- he hates doing it himself. He'd much rather weld for three days straight than have to work with wood for any significant period of time. However, he does love dropping tree facts on you ("You know, this tree is actually considered invasive in parts of Europe.").

If you're into anything with a chemistry element, like cooking or baking (or makeup or traditional art), he's all about it. He views it all from a very chemistry-heavy angle, so he adores hearing and seeing your thought process and perspective. He knows how the ingredients you're using (or were used in your supplies) work together to create the end product, but he loves to learn about how you use them.

If you're any kind of performer, he loves seeing you practice! Please show him videos of your performances, he'll love every single second. He is your biggest cheerleader. He'll notice little details in your work ("I love how you said that line! Quick and angry but still speaking so clearly- that's so impressive, love." or "Oh!! That spin! Look at you go!" or "That note was perfect, sweetheart- I could listen to this all day.") and will absolutely study up on your art of choice so that he can better appreciate what you do!

Same with sports! He loves to watch any clips you have, even if they're from your friend's shitty eight year old camera that has about 12 pixels to offer. Don would absolutely do drills with you if you asked- pitch a ball, guard a goal, swing a bat, whatever. He likes trading warm up and cool down routines, too!

You're into mechanics? Machinery? He's so excited to compare notes. You love driving- or even better, being driven? Dates on the road. All the time.

If you write, he would love to read anything you'll give him! If you write nonfiction, he loves to see your thoughts and findings and keeps a little notepad of questions and observations to talk to you about. If you're a fiction person, he loves to find your voice in the descriptions and characters! He gets absorbed in the story- right up until he sees a phrase you use a lot around him, and he has to take a second to be all smiley because he loves you before he keeps reading. Poetry? He somehow admires you even more than he already did. Will absolutely ask you if he can print a copy of one of your poems to keep by his computers- it doesn't take long at all before he could recite your work from memory.

Please tell him all about your creative choices, no matter what your hobby is. Painting? Tell him why you chose those colors, that angle, that medium. Dance? Talk about why you chose that song and did that wave with your arm. Music? Explain why you switched up the notes in that cover you did, or why you chose the chords you did in that song you wrote. Writing? He wants to hear about every single scrapped concept.

If you have a performance or a game or a display of any kind, he's absolutely either sneaking his way to watch- even if it's through a window or skylight- or hacking into whatever camera he can.

If you give him something you've made- be it a painting, something you wrote, a sculpture, a bowl, a stuffed animal, whatever- it's going where he'll see it every single day. It's his prized possession. It makes him smile even when he feels like shit.

Leo's a big believer in the value of mindful hobbies. He uses his to relax (something that does not come naturally to him, especially these days), but also to keep his mind as sharp as his swords.

He's an even big believer in the value of you. He loves sharing his life with you, and cherishes any time you share yours with him- including your hobbies!

This acts of service bitch will do anything he can to help you out with your hobbies. If you're an artist with traditional mediums or makeup, he's offering to wash your brushes. If you paint on wood or canvas, he's happy to prep them for you. If you work with watercolor, he's emptying and refilling your paint water as often as you want. You're building something and need supplies or equipment held or moved? You mean, an excuse to show off help his partner? He's in heaven.

Any gear or equipment you use that needs to be cleaned, he's there and ready to help. However, he's careful to only help with permission- the boys all have a lot of respect for people's possessions and space. There weren't many ways to separate their things growing up, and even fewer things to separate, so (with some siblings-gonna-sib exceptions) they're all very, very good about not touching your shit. Leo specifically makes the comparison to his katana- if someone cleaned them without his permission, he'd be royally pissed. He's not about to do that to you. Just know that all you have to do is ask, and it's as good as done! (And it's done well, too. He'll pay intense attention to your instructions and follow them to the letter, taking his time and moving very carefully.)

He's a bit intense in general, actually. When you're showing him your work or your process, you have his entire focus. Nothing else matters. It's sweet, but it probably makes you trip over a few words while you're explaining.

He puts the constructive in constructive criticism. Critique is the key to improvement in his opinion, so he's definitely offering his thoughts unless you specifically ask him not to. A big part of Leonardo's life is wanting to be the best he can possibly be, and he does everything he can to help his loved ones do the same, including you! You whip up a meal? "This is delicious, baby. I think a little char would make it legitimately perfect." You're practicing choreography? "Looking good! Swing that leg just a little higher!" Writing? He's the perfect beta reader, if you really want to catch errors. He has a flawless eye for misplaced commas.

He loves anything to do with words, so if you're a writer, songwriter, poet, actor, whatever? He's delighted. He soaks up your work like a tree soaks up sunshine. Words have power, and you have power, and putting the two together means he's in awe. Will read and reread your work as many times as he can if you write. If you're a speaker- actor, spoken poet, whatever- he's front and center for every practice session you let him witness. Will take notes on his favorite moments and shower you in praise after.

He also loves music. Loves it. You play an instrument? The moment you're willing to share, he LIVES to hear you play. You sing? He's pretty sure he's actually falling more in love, and he didn't know that was possible. You're an avid listener? Please, please, please share your favorite tracks and albums and artists with him. Please have him over to your place- away from the noise of Don's work and Raph's weights and Mikey's Mikeying- and put on your favorite record and cuddle up to listen. Listening dates are one of his favorites- one of his favorite activities with one of his favorite people? Bliss. Add in some snacks and he's pretty sure it's what perfection feels like. (If you really, really want to make him happy? Listen to his music with him, too. Talk about it with him after. Tell him which songs you loved and how you noticed the beat in Song A matched the beat in Song B, and they felt like they belonged together.)

If you're an athlete, he's all about learning everything there is to know about your sport and your personal routine. He's a big fan of learning from as many different disciplines as possible, so he loves to hear about all of the little details. What stretches you do, what exercises you rely on, how you practice- all of it! He'll incorporate parts of it into his own routines if he sees benefits for his own body and abilities.

Honor Boy will also sneak his way into whatever events you have, be it a gallery or a performance or a competition. If there's a shadowy spot to hide, he's there! If not, he's finding a secluded window. Failing that, he's not above asking Don for help with cameras. (It will be on the down low, though. He doesn't need Raph and Mikey making fun of him for the next six years for being too impatient to wait for the photos and video you'll share later.)

Give him something you've made? It's getting put in the safest spot he can possibly come up with, and he looks at it every morning. It becomes a part of his routine- brush teeth, stretch, look at wonderful gift from wonderful partner and think about how lucky he is. It's instant stress relief. You cared enough about him to make something, you trusted him enough to give him the result of your time and energy. He loves it and he loves you and he loves having another reminder of you in his space.

Mikey has the strangest, most eclectic bunch of information tucked away in his mind. He goes on YouTube journeys bouncing from one suggested video to another and has learned a little bit about all sorts of obscure topics, so there's a decent chance he'll surprise you with prior knowledge of your interests! Into history? He saw this crazy video about agriculture in India in the 1500s- he should totally pull it up for you! You're a welder? He's picked up some of the basics by hanging around Donnie, just enough to know how damn impressive your work is, and follow along with what you're saying. He knows an almost unsettling amount about the arts in general, too.

Dance, cooking, baking, music, painting, drawing, sculpting- hell, origami? He's done a little bit of all of it, and would love to learn all about your methods. He wants to see (or hear!) everything you create. He eats that shit up.

He's the loudest, happiest, most extra cheerleader you could ever possibly hope for. He will offer critique if you ask, but it's always always sandwiched by compliments- not because he wants to soften the critique, but because he genuinely thinks you're the shit. You're the next great master, his name be damned. Anything you do has notes of you in it, and he adores you more than he will ever be able to put into words (not for lack of trying), so obviously he adores your work.

You're a performer? He's the best audience ever, baby! He's fully focused on you, cheering as much as you can tolerate, straight up whooping when you do something particularly impressive. "Lookin' good, baby cakes!" and "Go off, cutiepie!" and "You're the next Shakespeare, sweets."

You make something? He's in awe. He's admiring every little aspect of it. Every stitch, stroke, flavor, whatever.

You make him something? He's is literally protecting it with his life. Anyone even looks at it wrong and he's ready to get rude. (Now, nobody's safe from him making them look at it. He shows it off every chance he gets. You're very lucky you make Mikey so happy, because otherwise Raph might start to dislike you a little for how often he has to look at it. Raph does make comments, though. "No more gifts until the holidays. I can't take any more show'n'tell sessions from this nitwit." Subtext? Mikey loves it, you make him happy, good job.)

Please let Mikey join in your hobbies. Out of all four, he's by far the most excited to get hands-on. Teach him to make your favorite recipes, teach him choreography, challenge him to matches in your sport of choice. Have painting dates. Trade mediums with him and teach him what you know- and let him teach you his! Have him help you build a table! Have jam sessions with your respective instruments! Whatever you're into, try and find a way to include him. He's gonna love you forever anyway, but that will really be the cherry on top.

Like Leo, he loves a listening date, so if you're into music please share it with him! His are much noisier, though. It's damn near a karaoke night, and he's probably dancing around like a dumbass and asking you to join him. (Please join him.)

You're performing, competing, showing off your work? He is there. He actually does not give a shit what Leo says about it, either. You'll see him, too. He'll be sure of it. He's sneaky and subtle and will be hidden from your audience, but you'll know he's there to support you, even if he has to text you a selfie from his hiding spot with a fuckton of emojis and words of encouragement.

You say you're "just" anything, and this guy is ready to go off. "Just" a beginner? Bitch, please. That's how everyone starts- and look what you're doing already! "Just" an extra? That's where movies get their depth! That's how plays feel alive! Extras give the story dimension, baby! "Just" backup vocals? First of all, you're upstaging the lead by miles in his book. Secondly, without you, none of that sweet harmonizing would be there! He's relentless and will convince you of your own amazingness or die trying.

Raph's quality time ass is a SUCKER for learning about your hobbies. He wants to hear you talk about them for hours. He wants you to sit in his lap and show him something you made and explain every little detail. He wants to watch you practice.

He's pretty private about his hobbies beyond martial arts and lifting, so he sees you sharing yours as trusting him with part of you. It means more to him than he's ever going to say unless you express a similar opinion- he feels too corny trying to articulate it himself. He's worried you wouldn't see it as being that deep, and he'd sound cheesy. But if you say it, he's agreeing wholeheartedly.

If you really want to make him feel loved, tell him about what goes into whatever you do. What inspires you? What does it make you feel? Why do you do it? Why that specifically? How'd you start? All the fine print details that make the hobby personal to you- share them with him. He wants to know, and he knows how personal his hobbies are to him, so you sharing that information makes him feel extremely special. He loves to connect with you like that. It's doubly important if you create from emotion- Big Red has big ass emotions and channels a lot of them into things he does, so if you do the same, he feels like you're got that much more in common. Like you get him even more than he thought.

He's the most subtle and relaxed about your hobbies outwardly, but never to the point of looking disinterested. You know him well enough to know exactly what that look in his eyes means- he's invested as hell and is downright studying whatever you're doing. He reads up on your hobbies on his own time, because he doesn't want to make a fool of himself by not knowing something "obvious", and tries to subtly slip that knowledge into his questions and comments. ("Why'd you go for the ladder stitch, babe?"). It's sweet- especially because he soaks up any information you give him like a damn sponge. He remembers more than you remember even telling him.

If you're into something he has some history with- mechanics, woodwork, knitting, athletics- he's constantly absorbing your methods. If you're observant, you'll start to notice little details done the same way you'd do them. Some of it is a conscious recognition of your knowledge and competency, and some of it is his subconscious absorption of you into every possible aspect of his life. Your metaphorical fingerprints are on everything.

If you're an athlete, he wants to work out together. He'll incorporate exercises that you do into his routines just so you can do them together. He loves it- not just because you're hot, or because it's when he feels the most attractive, but because he loves what you can do. He loves seeing your body at work. There's a level of attraction there, obviously, because he finds you exceptionally hot (even if you don't feel that way about yourself!), but a lot of it is very innocent love for what your body allows you to do. He loves movement, loves working out, loves being physical, and getting to share that with you is very special to him.

Your number one supporter. I don't care what you do. He may not get it, but he'll be damned if you doubt that he loves it, loves that you do it, and supports you with every ounce of his being. Anything he can do to help you do what you love, he's doing.

He loves to hang out while you do your thing. He just likes being in your space.

And, yeah, he's gonna be there for any exhibit, competition, performance, whatever. Consequences be damned, he's going. He'll only tell you beforehand if he thinks it would help you to know, though, and he probably doubts it. If you don't tell him straight up that you wish he could be there, he probably assumes it wouldn't help. He'll tell you after, though, pulling you in with his hands on your hips and "You were amazing out there, y'know that? I'm proud of you." and squeezing you gently.

If you make him something, he's going to try and play it cool, but he's like, massively impacted by it. Externally, he's "Thanks, baby," and slipping an arm over your shoulders and pulling you close. The only indication that he's a gooey mess on the inside is the way he holds what you made (like it's made of glass, of diamonds, like it's his actual heart in his hands and one wrong move would have devastating consequences) and the way his eyes don't drift from it for long (studying it, eyes all soft and fond and in awe, a lot like how he looks at you).

He'll rearrange everything he owns to give it a place of honor. It's treated with care and respect, and he stares at it at night and when he's having a rough time and it takes the edge off. It's like micro-dosing on you, on the love and joy you bring to his life, and it makes everything significantly less shitty.

[bull-shit-suji]

kuro modern au stuff that i word vomited into my notes app

kind of a Vincent summoned sebastian to save ciel so ciel doesnt actually owe sebas anything

amnesia? idk

single dad moment! except theres this other dad whos kinda find.. (cough agni)

i think vincent was like do NOT let ciel know ur a demon so sebastian keeps it a secret but he doesnt have a good handle on like. Humans. so he kinda does a bad job and ciel definitely knows that he's weird but doesnt say anything. will go out of his way to gaslight you when sebastian does weird shit because he thinks its funny

"hey uhh is your dad levitating?"

"no?"

"he's flying above the school rn"

"that's a bird"

u think suddenly being a butler is hard? have fun being a dad bitch

alois is there but thats complicated. claude and hannah are DIVORCED but on decent terms (i think claude is like. toxic alpha male podcast type guy) and claude sees alois on alternating weekends!

are they demons? i dont know

i think ciel and alois can be friends. platonically. alois would probably say yes if ciel wanted to be romantic but i Promise you he does not. they are just pals :)

im saying ciel has a crush on elizabeth because i can (she's not his cousin here). emo boy x sunny church girl. said sunny church girl has to ask the mcdonalds employees for the blue raspberry slushie they forgot to put in ciel's order because emo boy is too scared.

IM 13 EVERYTHING SUCKSSSSS

grelle is actually living her best life transitioned with anne so they are ciel's aunts on his late mom's side. i think grelle likes ciel. mom figure moreso than anne is.

ciel owns four bongs and definitely a vape or two. come on now

he's also probably got celiac and is lactose intolerant he is just a feeble boy i think

he listens to twenty one pilots. sorry! sorry.

ciel is goth alois is punk those r kinda just the rules

ciel is insanely smart top of the class this shit is easy for him.

yells at sebastian daily. figured out what happened with his real parents around the age of uhhhh 12 or 13? has been an absolute terror ever since

"it was really nice of your dad to bring cookies for the field trip!"

"i hope he fucking chokes on one"

"oh!"

sebastian and claude are pta rivals.

"is this lemon bread store bought? my, how... efficient!"

"you made these from scratch? i can tell."

"i've never seen an interesting looking salsa! very exciting."

ciel purposefully invites alois over constantly bcus it pisses sebas off. alois is Terrified of that man.

"go grab the chips from the kitchen"

"but... what if mr michaelis is in there?"

"mr m- you mean my dad? tell him he can shove a faucet up his ass"

"id rather die on the spot"

sebastian will yell at ciel and is maybe a little emotionally unavailable but he's trying!!! it's hard :(

does that Dad thing where he comes into ciels room and is like hey bud......... what r u up to..

ciel and seiglinde r also palls. the smartest people in school

lizzie is a JOCK. she plays softball.

alois is a theater kid come on now

ciel is best at writing and literature analysis, specifically fiction. enjoys history, language, and Some sciences as well.

nerd

au where myspace is still a thing ciel has a myspace account

he definitely writes shitty poetry

wants to major in business

alois is a glee and pitch perfect truther