#i will write my own garbage and also consume it
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belong (nsfw)
─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───
Sumarry: Lucifer is always so very gentle with you.
─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───
A/N: Inspired by this fic, but I made it dark. Sorry?
TW: non-con
TAGS: #bathtub sex #aftercare #implied sexual content #non-explicit sex #post-coital cuddling #implied/referenced dubious consent #soul selling #pondering the nature of free will and soul contracts #sort of psychological thriller vibes but not really #dubious consent #deal with a devil #love bites #implied rough sex #light praise kink
─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───
taglist: @opheliauniverse @zephyr-is-tired @dumbasslesbi @bychrissi @scream-queenlover @muffintopxs @bigolgay @gwenslucifer @weemswife @yourhauntedhead @carnivorousflowers @softshrimpy @willowshadenox @syrenacrainn @weemssapphic @dianneking @imprincipalweemspet @kimiinou @ninelesbien @i-love-nerdy-stuff @eveymay @myzzjolanda @pluied-ete @brienneswife @gwenzone @principal-weems09 @inlovewithalcinadimitrescu @gela123 @emilynissangtr @gwendolinechristieiscute @h-doodles @winterfireblond @larissaoftarthweems @a-queen-and-her-throne @bikergurl5 @salems-spaghettios @theflashesoflove @catechristiesstuff @vendocrap8008 @billiedeansbitch @coffeemelko @lilfartbox1 @amateurwritescm @daydream-cement @kaymariesworld @sicklygrlsicklygrl @wh0re4women @rippersz @milfsloverblog
─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───
Sprawled against the Devil’s chest in a grand bathtub next to the fireplace, you don’t think it can get better than this. Their soft breasts pressed against your back, their nimble fingers tracing patterns on your chest and stomach, their warm breath on your neck. Their soft lips on the sensitive skin of your jaw, their hair tickling you, their touch gentle and caring. It’s all like a dream. The softest, sweetest, most wonderful dream — the kind that you have right before you ought to wake up.
Ah, it’s just what your sore and aching body needs.
The water is hot, and yet your lover’s touch makes you shiver. Gooseflesh appears on your skin. You wince when they caress a dark bruise their teeth left on your breast.
“Aren’t you a sensitive little thing,” they say, and the low rumble next to your ear causes another shiver to run down your spine. Their voice is lilting and melodious — sweet and delicious and oozing like caramel. Just for that voice alone, you’d do anything.
Anything is a dangerous promise.
They kiss the painful, throbbing love-bite on your neck. A sharp gasp escapes you.
“Tell me, have I been too rough with you? I forget how… fragile mortals can be.”
They’ve been less than gentle with you, that much is true. And yet, you can’t find it in yourself to mind. The pain brought with it indescribable pleasure. It left you aching and sensitive and marked with bruises, but pleasurably spent. However, you’re content to be pampered with gentle touch and a hot bath with fragrant oils and salts — you don’t think you could take anything more than utmost tenderness right now.
“You haven’t,” you say, and they chuckle into your ear — a low, deep sound, a puff of air against your earlobe.
“Liar,” they whisper into your ear. You can feel them smile against it. “Don’t worry, my sweet lamb. I intend to be nothing but gentle with you now that I’ve had my fun.”
Their warm breath on your ear has an intoxicating effect on you. You close your eyes and smile stupidly, leaning into them as much as you can, wanting to be as close to them as possible.
“Sweet thing,” they say and run their hand down your torso, down, down until they reach between your legs. You wince when they touch the bruised and abused bundle of nerves nestled between your lower lips. It’s painful, rather than pleasurable.
“Lucifer,” you say softly, and they make a little circle with their fingers. Your abdominal muscles convulse and you hiss. “Please, I can’t take it.”
“No?” they ask softly and plant a kiss on your neck. “But I am being so very gentle.”
They gently flick their fingers over the little bud and you buck your hips involuntarily. You try to move away from the painful touch, but there is nowhere to go. You are engulfed by their much larger body, by their gentle, but unrelenting hands. “Please,” you breathe, “I can’t.”
“The human body is wondrous thing. It entertains me greatly to see how much my touch affects you,” they say almost conversationally. They rub gentle circles, but even the lightest pressure makes you cry out in pain. However, hidden somewhere beneath the pain, distant pleasure starts to build. It grows in your lower belly, warm and steady.
Belonging to the Devil isn’t something one should take lightly.
“Sweet, sweet lamb — how you amuse me. It feels good, doesn’t it?” they whisper softly, their voice a soothing lullaby in your ear. “Tell me, do you wish me to stop?”
You open your mouth to say yes, but words evade you. “I can’t,” you say instead.
“Of course you can,” they say, saccharine sweet. “Do you want me to show you?”
No, you want to say, but the words don’t come. “It hurts,” you whine.
You’re hot — aching and throbbing, your lungs full of steam rising from the bath, hyperaware of their body pressing into your own, of their breath on your ear. They are inexorable, rubbing gentle circles, making you pant and whimper. The once distant pleasure emerges through the pain, stronger, clearer than before.
“Poor thing,” they coo, sugary sweet. “So sensitive, and yet doing so well for me. So obedient. Such a good girl.”
Their voice renders you dizzy and confused. What is it you wanted to say?
“Do you want me to stop?” they ask again and press harder. You cry out. They laugh into your neck — a warm gush of air and a sound of angel-bells ringing.
Stop, yes, stop — that’s what you wanted to say — but they rub harder and faster and then overwhelming, all-consuming pleasure washes over you. The intensity of it crashes and then ebbs and flows like a wave. You’re distantly aware of your own cries and the Devil’s soft words.
“See, my sweet dove? You can.”
But I didn’t want to, you think — a distant, hazy thought, something you can almost grasp.
They whisper soft words of encouragement into your ear, and their voice ebbs and flows not unlike the pleasure in your belly. You convulse and ache and grip their arm, and they shush you, hold you, and caress you.
It takes a while before the pain and the pleasure subside. You’re sore and achey and spent — even more so than before. You didn’t think it possible.
“I…” you try to speak.
“You…?” they mock you sweetly.
“I didn’t…”
“Didn’t you?,” they say, smiling into your neck. You can feel the sharpness of their teeth against your skin.
I didn’t, you want to say, but you aren’t so sure anymore. A pleasant, blissful sleepiness weighs on your limbs like a heavy cloak. You drift in and out of sleep as the Devil gently cleans your sweaty skin, rubs your scalp, washes your hair and peppers soft kisses over your abused body. Tender, beautiful aftercare — exactly what you need — and oh, they do it so lovingly.
It isn’t until you’re dried off and carefully carried and laid upon the bed — on the most exquisite and decadent silken sheets — that you find it in yourself to speak. You’re sleepy, so terribly sleepy, and yet you manage to ask what’s been on your mind for some time now.
“Lucifer…” you manage to utter, softly and quietly.
“Yes?” they ask as they settle next to you, pulling you close, wrapping their arms around your waist. They bury their nose into your hair and inhale deeply.
“Do I… have agency? Now, after the…”
They wrap a wing around you, shielding you and covering you as if with a blanket. “Of course you do. You can have anything you desire.”
They’re right — you do get everything you desire. And yet, what agency does someone — something — that belongs have? Is a plaything allowed to desire? And if it is, do they just end up desiring what their Master wants?
“Really?” you murmur. Your eyelids are heavy with sleep. A wonderful, warm feeling, and yet there is something underneath it. You can almost remember what it is.
“Name it and it is yours, little lamb.”
Yes, yes, it is true, you think as you snuggle closer to them. They’re warm and they smell like burning wood — comforting, like a fire that chases away the winter cold that wants to settle in one’s very bones. It’s true, you think — they always ask what you want.
It’s just that you always seem to want exactly what they do.
You want to ask something else, but it escapes you. Something on the tip of your tongue you can’t quite grasp. A question, a flickering light you can’t quite catch.
You sigh softly and drift into sleep — warm and safe in Lucifer’s embrace. Who knows, maybe if you stayed awake just a tad longer, you’d have remembered what you wanted to ask.
Indeed — selling one's soul to the Devil isn’t something one should take lightly.
─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───
#lucifer morningstar#lucifer morningstar x reader#lucifer x reader#lucifer sandman#lucifer smut#sandman lucifer#the sandman 2022#gwendoline christie#i will write my own garbage and also consume it
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Dear dream girl, I really want to be my dream girl but I don’t know where to start. I feel unmotivated most of the time and I only get a burst of motivation at like 3 am. I just what to glow and radiate good energy for myself and find/do what I like
Oh, So You Wanna Be a Dream Girl? 🎀
starting your dream girl journey
Congrats on choosing yourself and your tiara; I am so proud. Prepare to not be liked, to be judged, and to stand out. It’s lonely at the top.
*this guide is for starting the process, not reaching the end result because my version of my own dream girl is inevitably different than yours. bare in mind i’m not holding your hand. i’m nudging you in a good direction.
what is a dream girl?
a dream girl is a girl that has finally fallen in love with who she sees in the mirror. she’s the girl that she can depend on. she has her desired look and she’s on the path to self actualization actively. she’s aware of her branding. she holds herself to the standards she holds other to; and they are HIGH. her self worth isn’t contingent upon a love interest, amount of money, or social status. she’s simply that girl.
do some healing.
yes, i said it. healing. like i’ve said before, you cannot put glitter on literal garbage. that’s not even the slightest bit appealing. you’re gonna journal about your childhood, your biggest influences in life, your biggest fears and how you feel life has treated you. this calls for shadow work. shadow working really helped me figure out some of my toxic traits and how some of the things that were considered normal to me as a child have affected me in the long run. you’re also gonna write hypothetical letters to your loved (and not-so-loved) ones, including yourself. let it all out. say everything you want that person to know. around you or not, dead or alive. prepare to clam up, cry, get angry, feel anxious. good. you should. you feel clammy, hot and sometimes pain when your body is fighting off and healing from a physical sickness. now you’re dealing with the developmental, mental, and emotional parts. you’re doing yourself a disservice choosing to stay the same toxic, nasty, mean, or victimized person you’ve always been.
what do you want?
before you can start to even do the smallest improvements, you have to have a clear goal. or else you’ll just be running around in circles (heh) over grandiose blurry wishful thinking. ultimately resulting in you giving up and choosing to be basic bc it’s easier. what do you want out of life? how do you want to be treated? what do you want to do? what makes you happy? and most importantly, how do you want to feel? see, it’s more than just the frills and glitter. you have to know what you’re trying to get to, internally and externally.
grab a diary, adorn it with pretty little details and commit to it. pair it with your fav writing utensil. outline all of your goals. every single last one of them. you can categorize them, scale them from short to long term, easy to hard. it doesn’t matter. do absolutely what you want to do to make a concrete record of your goals that’s digestible for you.
what are you going to do?
*fabulosity by kimora lee simmons*
compare your dream reality to the one you’re currently experiencing. what is she doing that you aren’t? that’s it. do that. anyone can read blogs about the process and other people success stories but those posts aren’t gonna change your life unless you get up and go for what you want. i don’t know what exactly you desire out of life. you do. so you have the instructions for this journey. the first part was easy, this is simple but not nearly as effortless. it’s up to you and not anyone else. you teach others how to treat you. improvements you can make include better: hygiene, self talk/treatment, outward energy, work ethic, discipline, health, consumed content, relationships, looks, habits.
the work
it’s time to apply yourself. get up everyday and actively work towards your goal. be kind to yourself. take yourself to the doctors. get active. eat right. find your passion. DO THE HEALING.
everyone’s journey is SO different so i’m just going to do a quick rundown of the importance of each of the ten facets of your dream girl journey (that build upon each other. ie; looks do not benefit you when your hygiene is insufficient):
*these facets are loosely based on maslow’s hierarchy of needs
health - are you taking care of yourself? please treat yourself how you would your loved ones. you’ll be surprised how physical issues manifest mentally, and vice versa. get adequate sleep. take baby steps if need be. some of these adjustments may be huge to you. be gracious with your journey.
consumed content - everything you engage in is your diet. the company you keep, food you eat, music you enjoy. you get the idea. do you feel light and ready to take on the day? or do you feel drained and sick more often than not. make some adjustments wherever you see necessary.
hygiene - extremely important. stick to a routine for your hygienic needs. you should have rituals you engage in everyday. don’t forget that your health and hygiene go hand in hand. oral and feminine hygiene is so crazily important. please don’t neglect yourself. i talk about my routines in detail here.
habits - daily habits are so crucial to your lifestyle. adjust these and consciously break your bad habits by supplementing your life with equal and opposite habits.
self talk/treatment - simple. be kind to yourself. hold yourself accountable for flaws and mistakes while loving yourself enough to be patient with the journey of improving.
outward energy - be very aware of the vibes you’re permeating. again this is so a huge determination of how you will be treated and how you will live your life.
work ethic/discipline - it’s gonna take serious accountability to escape the desire to stay comfortable. you have to tell yourself that you deserve *your desired end result* so you will *make specific change/adjustment.* it’s that simple (again simple doesn’t mean easy).
relationships - if you don’t like the way you’re treated by those in your life, those relationships need to be reevaluated. you can make some trims on your circle, have some honest conversations, or adjust your behaviors (because sometimes, YOU are the problem).
passion and career - in order to feel fulfilled in life, we all need a purpose. discover yours. incorporate your passion into your daily life.
looks - develop your signature and hone in on it. looks are very important to your perception (self and public). check out this guide to help with this part. however you wanna feel is how you should display yourself.
be a dream girl!
you’ve discovered all the facets of creating your dream self and reality. now it’s time to apply what you’ve learned. start showing up in life in the fashion you want to be seen in.
that’s it! the rest is up to you!
- xoxo, dreamgrlarchive 🎀
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Never Say Never
Chapter 1
Pairing: SingleDad!StevexReader
Summary: You are a 32 year old single mother, raising your seven year old son on your own. After being widowed at 30 and going out on awful dates with disgusting men for the past month, you have decided that you're giving up. You already had your great love. One person can't possibly get lucky enough to have two in their lifetime. But then your son starts playing baseball and the coach might just change your mind about that.
No posting schedule. With also writing Everybody Hurts, I don't want to make promises and fall behind. I'm a working mom with a hectic life and don't always have time to write every single day. I've been wanting to write this Steve book forever and once I got the first chapter down, I couldn't wait to share it.
18+ only for eventual smut
Word Count: 4.3K
“No, Janice, it’s absolutely hopeless. I am telling you. I’m done with dating,” you sighed as you wiped the crumbs off the table and into your hand from Eli’s after school snack.
Making your way to the garbage can, you brushed them in. Grabbing the empty cup of chocolate milk, you popped it into the dishwasher, trying to stay on top of things so you didn’t have to do a last minute clean-up when all you wanted to do was go to bed.
“You can’t just give up,” your friend urged. “Come on, girl. You’ve only been on a few dates so far. I know they’ve been duds but the right guy is out there. I know he is.”
“I really don’t think he is. I’ve been on four dates in the last month and they have all been awful. And I only went on those dates because you’ve been pushing me to put myself out there, might I remind you. I was perfectly content with my life the way it was. The only guy I need in my life is my son. I’m telling you. Good guys don’t exist.”
“Except you know that’s not true because you had one.”
Your heart stuttered in your chest at the reminder. That familiar pain that tightened its hold until you felt you couldn’t breathe. It didn’t matter that it had been two years. Any mention of Justin’s name and you were instantly sent straight back there, struggling, fighting for air you couldn’t find, descending into the pitch black of despair that had swallowed you whole for far too long.
But you couldn’t let it consume you, not anymore. You knew what you needed to do. Remembering your therapist’s words, you didn’t fight it back, letting the pain wash over you for a moment. Accept your emotions. It’s okay to feel them. Let them come, acknowledge them, and then move on. Don’t get stuck. Forward motion. Always forward motion. Remember the 3-3-3 rule when it gets overwhelming.
Your eyes roamed through your kitchen, searching for three objects. The box of Scooby snacks that Eli had, the smiling face of his favorite cartoon dog looking up at you. The tulips on the table that you'd picked from your garden two days ago, bringing a little spring into the house. The bright painting to the left of the fridge that Eli had made for Mother’s Day last year, his handprints creating bright yellow and orange flowers, with the words If mothers were flowers, I’d pick you.
You felt yourself returning from the dark, your chest loosening as you closed your eyes, focusing on sounds now. Your son’s feet moving across the floor of his bedroom, a lawnmower running a couple houses down, the low rumble of a motorcycle driving down the street.
It was working. You wiggled your fingers, rotated your ankle, rolled your head around on your shoulders. 3-3-3. Three sights, three sounds, and three movements. And just like that, you were back. Hand on the table, you slowly sat down in one of the wooden chairs you'd so lovingly sanded and refinished the summer after you and Justin bought this house, opening your eyes. You were centered. You were okay. You were moving forward whether you wanted to or not.
He was gone. There was no changing that. And as much as you'd wanted to curl up and die after it happened, you knew you couldn’t. You had Eli, this sweet little soul who depended on you, who was hurting too, and you had to be what he needed. You had to pull yourself out of your grief to be the stability and strength he needed. Fake it until you make it, right? That had worked for a while until it didn’t.
“Hello?” your friend’s voice called through the receiver. “Hey, are you okay? Is it happening again? Do I need to come over? Come on. Just say something, honey.”
“No. No. I’m okay.” Your fingers pressed gently against your forehead, wondering if it would ever get easier. Everyone said it would and sometimes you could even go hours without thinking about him but when you did, it would all come crashing down around you. He’d left you alone, alone to care for your son, alone for eternity based on the dating pool out there. “Sorry. I just…I’m fine.”
“You sure? Because I’ve already got my keys in my hand and I can be there in ten minutes.”
You smiled. Of course Janice already had her keys in her hand. She was your lighthouse in a storm, your safe harbor, your source of encouragement and support. She’d been there to pick you up when you could barely lift your head. She’d been the one to convince you to go to therapy. She’d been the one to come over and cook dinner for Eli, playing games with him, amusing him so he wouldn’t notice that mommy was falling apart in your bedroom on days when you just couldn’t find the strength. Janice was your lifeline and you had no idea where you would be without her. You certainly wouldn’t be the functioning human being you were right now.
“No. Really. I promise you, Janice. I am fine.”
“Okay…but you know I’ve always got you. Just say the word, girl and I’m there. Anytime. Anything you need.”
“I know. And I love you so much for it.”
“I love you,” Janice stated. “You’re my soulmate, you know.”
You laughed, “What about Matt? I don’t think he’d appreciate hearing you say that.”
Your friend snorted, “Oh, he knows. It was part of our vows. Didn’t you know that? He took this woman and her best friend on the day we got married. He’s aware of his place in my life and he’s okay with it because he loves you too. Also, he doesn’t have a choice because he knows I’d get rid of him before I’d ever let go of you if he tried to make me choose. You’re always my first choice.”
Matt would never make her choose. Janice had met Matt a little over a year ago and they had just gotten married in July. It had been a beautiful outdoor wedding on the beach. You'd been the maid of honor. Janice hadn’t even asked you, not really, just rolled her eyes when you asked if she planned on it and said she didn’t have to ask because it should have been assumed. Eli had been so handsome in his little tux as their ring bearer. You had fought back tears throughout the day, memories of your own wedding day ripping you apart. But you'd held it together, reminding yourself that this was your friend’s day. You were supposed to be overjoyed for her, not wallowing as you tripped down memory lane.
You loved Matt and the feeling appeared to be mutual. He was perfect for your best friend. He was the rational to Aly’s crazy, the simple to her complicated, the organization to her chaos. He was absolutely crazy about her and every single one of her little quirks, including her intensely close friendship with you and Eli. He’d been openly accepting of you being their third wheel from day one.
They’d only gone on five dates when he offered to take Eli to the batting cages for a few hours so the girls could enjoy an afternoon. When Eli got back, red-faced and shiny, a huge smile on his face, you had given your friend a look that said everything without you having to speak. It said hold onto this one. And your friend had been smart enough to do just that. They were already talking about trying for a baby and you couldn’t wait to plan a shower and shop for all the cute little baby things. To be Auntie, to cuddle a sweet little one against your chest again, to inhale that delicious newborn smell.
Everyone always said it went by too fast. You'd thought they were crazy when you were in the midst of sleepless nights and a screaming baby, feeling it would never end. But they were not joking. Your sweet little baby, with his head of downy blond hair, just like his father’s, had somehow become a little boy in what felt like a span of seven minutes instead of seven years. You found yourself willing time to slow down, to let you keep him little for just a while longer, but it just kept racing ahead, leaving you frantically trying to catch up.
“So, anyway, what was so awful about this one?” Janice asked, bringing you back to the present moment.
“Ugh…what wasn’t awful? He showed up to the restaurant already drunk. He kept trying to touch me, stroking my arm and placing his hands on my thigh. He kept slurring about how he was going to show me the night of my life. He ordered spaghetti and was eating it with his fingers, just picking up the noodles and dropping them into his mouth. It was disgusting. His hand was in a cast and when I asked what happened, he told me he broke it punching out the car window of his ex because he caught her cheating on him last week.”
“Holy shit!”
“Seriously! I can’t make this stuff up, Janice. It’s so bad out here. I don’t know why women even bother trying. From the guy who seemed okay until I walked into his place and he had the pile of toenail clippings on his coffee table to the guy who asked for the barista’s number while I was standing next to him to the guy who invited his ex so she’d see him with me to this guy, I’m just done. Maybe we only get one shot at real love in our lives and Justin was mine. Maybe that’s all I get. I mean, it was only ten years but a decade of happiness is more than some people get. Shouldn’t I be happy with that?”
“No. I refuse to believe that,” Janice argued. “You are far too amazing to spend the rest of your life alone.”
“I’m not alone. I have you and Eli.”
“Yes, but one day, Eli will be all grown up and move out and start a life of his own. And yes, you will always have me but do you really want to live in that house all by yourself? Don’t you want someone to fall asleep next to, someone to wake up next to, someone to rub your feet after a long day, someone to be your person?”
“You’re my person. Justin was my person.”
“Oh, honey…”
“Janice, I just…this dating site thing isn’t for me.”
God, it was so awful. With the birth of the internet, online dating was a fairly new thing. But when you weren't getting e-mailed dick pics or getting asked if you were looking for a booty call, then you were getting tricked by guys who acted like they were normal until you met them and found out they were anything but.
“Okay. So, ditch the dating site. Honestly, it probably wasn’t the best idea but Lauren was going on and on about these hot guys she’d met on there. She said it was like a pond full of fish and any woman could have her pick of them. I figured it would be worth a shot. At least, it would be a good place to start. I should have known better. It’s Lauren. She’ll hook up with anybody and gets bored way too easily. I am sure a different guy every night is exactly what she’s looking for. Maybe you just need to meet someone more organically?”
You sighed, “And how exactly do you think I’m going to do that between work and Eli? I don’t have a lot of down time.”
“No, I know, but maybe try to pop into the coffee shop more or the bookstore? I mean, you could do the bar but you’re more likely to find a sleaze who’s just looking for a one night stand or the guy with the tan line where his ring should be. Lord knows I’ve made that mistake more than once. But a bookstore, a coffee shop, the library? You might find a nice guy there, an intellectual who reads and writes poetry in his spare time. Oh! Maybe find your own Mr. Coulson.”
“Except I’ve actually been kissed and I am not a reporter and I definitely am not passing for a high school student,” you laughed, remembering how in love you and Janice had been last year in the theater. “And trust me, Michael Vartan is not teaching at the local high school.”
“Okay, fair enough. But don’t give up. You deserve the world, my friend. You deserve a man who looks at you like you’re the moon and stars because you are. I know he’s out there.”
“Janice, I…”
“Mommy! You have to take me to baseball practice, remember?”
Your eyes shot over to your son and then up to the clock. You'd completely forgotten. After Matt had gotten him into baseball, he’d begged you to let him join the little league team this year at school. You'd dreaded having to lug him to practices and games, giving up what little free time you had, but you could never deny your son anything. Their first practice started in fifteen minutes and now you were going to be late. Just one more reason for the mothers in this town to judge you and your inability to do it all as a single mom.
“Shit! Janice, I have to go. Eli has baseball.”
“Okay. Ohh, maybe you’ll find a hot single dad.”
“Oh my god. Good bye,” you huffed, hanging up. Your brain raced, thinking back to the paper that had come home with him about practices. What did he need to bring? “Okay, okay. Eli, go grab your mitt and I’ll fill up a water bottle for you.”
Your son raced off up the stairs and you groaned, knowing he’d probably be yelling down to you in two minutes that he couldn’t find it. You grabbed his bright blue water bottle, quickly filling it with tap water. Was there anything else? You smacked your forehead loudly. Cleats! You were supposed to buy him baseball cleats and you hadn’t.
“Mommy! I can’t find my glove!”
You closed your eyes, inhaling slowly through your nose before making your way to the stairs, “I’ll find it. Just change into your athletic pants and a long sleeve shirt. And grab a sweatshirt, honey. It’s kind of chilly out today.”
Eli sat on the floor, pulling his pants on, when you entered the room. Your eyes did a quick scan, instantly finding the glove, lying on the floor right next to his bed. With a small smile and a shake of your head, you bent down and grabbed it, tossing it to your son just as he stood up, all dressed and ready.
“Ready to go?”
“But my shoes. I don’t have baseball shoes!” he yelled, pointing at his feet as if you weren't aware.
“I know buddy. I’m sorry. Mommy forgot but I will stop tomorrow right after work and grab you a pair, okay?”
“But then I won’t be ready for baseball! All the other kids are going to have the right shoes and I won’t!”
“Eli, we don’t have time to stop at the store right now or you’ll be late.” You walked up to your son, cradling his face, your favorite face in the world. Cobalt blue eyes, so like his father’s gazed up at you, anxious about not fitting in, not having the right things. “Look, I will explain to your coach. I’m sure he will understand.”
“He’s really nice. He’s Jeremiah’s dad. I like Jeremiah. He’s my best friend. We play superheroes at recess all the time. He’s Superman and I’m Batman. And sometimes we swap lunches because his dad always packs peanut butter and jelly and you always pack bologna and sometimes we like to switch. I asked you if he could come over and play and you said maybe but he’s never come over. Remember?”
You winced at your son’s words. It came back to you, months ago, Eli asking if his new best friend could come over to your house. You'd said maybe, the answer you gave when you didn’t have one or you were too busy to stop and really answer him. Being a single parent was hard. It was exhausting, often leaving you feeling like there wasn’t enough of you to go around.
“I’m sorry, buddy. I shouldn’t have said maybe and then forgotten about it. I’ll talk to his parents about it after practice today, okay? Now, come on. Let’s get going so you’re not too late.”
__________________________________________________________
You barely had the car in park before Eli was jumping out, racing across the pavement, eager to join his teammates on the diamond. You made your way over, taking in the gathering of young players, the air full of energy and excitement. Bringing a hand up to cover your eyes against the glaringly bright spring sun, you watched as Eli ran up to a young boy with a full head of caramel brown hair.
That must be Jeremiah. Wow, that kid was going to be all the girls could talk about when he got older with a head of hair like that. Eli pointed at him with a huge grin and you gave your son a thumbs up, letting him know you'd seen. He would never let you forget it if you didn’t follow through on setting up a playdate.
“Aly! Hey! Eli’s playing this year?”
“Oh, hi Tracy,” you replied with a smile as Jackson’s mom walked up with a coffee in hand. “Yeah. Janice’s husband, Matt, has really gotten him into baseball and he was so excited to play.”
“It’s so good that he has someone to stand in as a strong male role model in his life. You know, with his dad gone and everything.”
Your teeth gritted, the smile you were working so hard to keep plastered on your face now painful. Of course. You couldn’t possibly be enough for your son. He had to have a man in his life to be whole. It didn’t matter that you worked your ass off to make sure that your son never went without. It didn’t matter that you'd had to step up and work even harder, take on the job of two people. It would never be enough.
“Yeah, we’re really grateful for Matt. He’s really great. Eli just adores him.”
Tracy leaned in, looking like the cat who got the cream, your faults as a mother forgotten. “Have you seen the baseball coach?”
“No. I…I just got here but I do need to talk to him. Eli’s become best friends with his son this year and he’s never going to let me live it down if I don’t don’t talk to him about Jeremiah coming over to our house to play.”
“Lucky you. I’d do anything for Jackson to come play at our house if it meant his dad would come over to play too.”
“Umm…aren’t you married?”
Tracy laughed, shrugging, “I mean, what Tom doesn’t know won’t hurt him, right? Seriously, wait until you see this guy. I am talking about grade A beefcake, honey.” She rolled her eyes, her head following, over to the right where a man was bent forward, pulling baseballs out of a bucket. “I just want to take a bite out of it. Have you ever seen anything so delicious?”
“Ooh! Are we talking about the coach?” asked Lilian as she idled up, her tongue running along her upper lip. “Have you ever seen such a delectable slice of cake in your life?”
You grimaced. No, they weren’t wrong. The ass that was currently up in the air, making it impossible for you not to notice, was quite nice. No. That wasn’t fair. There wasn’t a Georgia peach in existence that could outdo the one in front of you. He filled out a pair of jeans better than most women did. However, the way these women were drooling over him was pathetic. They were married. They were moms. And this guy, no matter how great his ass was, was a person. He wasn’t some piece of meat to be ogled.
“Well, thanks for pointing him out to me. I think I’m going to try to talk to him before he gets busy,” you said, eager to get away from these bored, spoiled housewives who were looking for excitement to fill their monotonous days. Striding over to him, you paused, realizing you had no idea what his name was. “Uh…excuse me? Coach?”
He straightened and turned and you gasped. Oh hell. The front view was even better than the back. Two eyes, the color of honey, peered down at you, coating you in their sticky sweetness, filling your mouth, making it impossible to speak. Jeremiah came by that head of hair honestly, this man's caramel locks falling effortlessly around his face. He smiled and it was even worse, lightning striking you where you stood. His entire face was pure sunshine, warming you from the inside out.
“Yeah?” he encouraged when you hadn’t said anything.
“Uh…oh…I’m so sorry,” you stammered, eyes closing, shaking your head. What the hell was wrong with you right now? “I’m Eli’s mom, Y/N.”
His eyes lit up with recognition, his hand running through those beautiful locks. Another lightning strike, but in an entirely different place, when you realized how large his hands were. Long thick fingers that had you thinking things you really should not be while standing at a child’s little league practice. Shame filled you as you realized you were no better than those moms you'd just judged. You simple weren't saying your thoughts out loud.
“Oh! Of course. Jeremiah talks about Eli non-stop. He’s been bugging me for months to have him come over.”
“Well, that’s actually why I came over to talk to you. Eli’s been bugging me too and I promised him that I wouldn’t leave practice without setting up something with you. So…is there any time over the next week that works for Jeremiah to come play?”
“What works for you?”
“Any afternoon or evening is okay, as long as there’s no practice. But of course then Jeremiah would be unavailable too so that would be silly. And obviously, you’d be coaching so you know when there’s practice. But I, yeah, anyway, I work in a pediatrician’s office and I get off at three every day so that I can get Eli from school. So, I am available for a date. I mean, for the playdate. For the kids. To have a playdate. At my house.”
The corner of his mouth curved into an amused smile and you just wanted a hole to open up in the dirt and swallow you. Why were you tongue twisted like a fifteen year old girl who was trying to talk to the cutest guy at school? You were a thirty-two year old woman. You'd been a wife. You were a mother. You were a nurse. You were educated. You'd gone to college. You should be able to string words together to make a coherent sentence.
“How about tomorrow?” he asked and you noticed how his eyes flitted down to your left hand, your recently bare ring finger. You'd removed it a month ago when Janice had kindly urged you it was well past time. “I actually have a meeting tomorrow night and my best friend is busy so I have no one to watch Jermiah. If you wouldn’t mind him coming your way for a couple hours, it would really help me out.”
“Oh, no. That would be fine. What time?”
You did not focus on the fact that he needed a babysitter. You did not think about how it sounded like Jeremiah’s mom wasn’t in the picture. You definitely did not feel a thrill that made your stomach flip at the thought of what that could mean for you. Nope. No reason for you to care if he had a woman in his life.
“Four thirty? My meeting is at five. It shouldn’t take more than an hour so I should be there by six thirty.”
“Four thirty is great. I’ll make the boys dinner and I’m sure they’ll be more than happy to have a couple hours to play. No need to rush or anything.”
His head tilted, tongue tracing his bottom lip, one eyebrow lifting, “Or I could grab a pizza on my way over. You know, as a thank you for helping me out and everything.”
“Oh…” Your stomach twisted at his words, the drop on the roller coaster, plunging fast, fear and excitement colliding within you at the thought of him hanging out at your house. The two of you sitting at your kitchen table, sharing food, talking. Those warm eyes, like the earth when the sun comes up in the morning, staring into yours. “That would be nice. I mean, Eli will be ecstatic. He would eat pizza every night if I’d let him.”
“Great.” He flashed you that smile again and you swayed on your feet, completely dazzled by that flash of white teeth, the way his eyes crinkled in the corners.
“Daddy! Come on! Stop talking! We’re ready for practice!”
“Duty calls,” he joked, wiggling his eyebrows as he leaned in, his mouth so close to yours that you could smell the peppermint gum on his breath. “We’ll see you tomorrow?”
“Yeah…see you tomorrow.” You stood, frozen as you watched him make his way toward the group of second graders eager to start running around the bases. No, you definitely were not checking out his ass again. Nope. Definitely not. It suddenly hit you that you still didn’t know his name. Cupping your hands around your mouth, you yelled, “I didn’t get your name!”
He turned, grinning, “Steve! Steve Harrington!”
Chapter 2
#dad steve harrington#steve harrington#singledad!steveharrington#steve harrington single dad#steve harrington fanfiction#steve harrington x reader#steve harrington smut#steve harrington fluff#steve harrington x fem#steve harrington x you#steve harrington fic#steve harrington fanfic#steve harrington imagine#fluff#smut#fluff and smut#romance#second chance romance#second chance at love#widow#divorced dad steve harrington#slow burn
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hey folks who interact with creative works online! just a tiny PSA
If you don't like a character, that's totally fine! If you have a different reading of a situation in a show & have issues with stuff that's going on, that's also fine.
What is NOT fine is to ACTIVELY SEEK OUT fans of the characters you don't like and talk shit about them, the characters they have feelings about, or the content they've posted b/c you, Freddy McHatesalot really needs to tell everyone how much you dislike a...fictional character.
You are totally welcome to consume content in your own space in whatever way you see fit. It is disrespectful of the fandom space to try to drag other people into your space and interact with you if they don't want to. And dunking on a character in writings or art of them is fucking rude as hell to the person who put work into into the creation they made out of some feelings they were having.
Also. side note, it is possible to enjoy a character who is Wrong About Some Things or Isn't Doing The Right Stuff In The Right Situation. Sometimes it's possible to like a character and disagree with them, and shitting on people b/c you can't see what they see in a character is pretty trash garbage and is 90% of why I just make silly little art for me and my own silly feels and hope folks get a chuckle or some enjoyment out of it too.
#Behave better#and if you can't behave yourself I'm not going to play into your little hate roleplay#you can do that elsewhere while I enjoy the nuance in my media thankss#don't pull me or my work into your weird vendetta against fictional characters#I draw art for me and for anyone who is feeling like I am#to jump in and be like “this person is the shittiest & I hate them” on that creation is ummmmm#why I don't interact with fandom like I used to#b/c if people can't control themselves it spoils the whole pot#I don't like some characters and stories and ships#does anyone here who isn't a close friend of me irl even know what they are?#no b/c I don't find that worthwhile to spend my time doing#I don't fill my page with hate for fictional characters. I post what I enjoy and share it to put more joy out there in the world#sorry this is so long#I'm just fucking pissed b/c I thought we were past this bad behavior#and I'm too old too tired too busy and too stressed to have to put up with this shit. Grow up.
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💕Now You See Me Part Three💕
I DO NOT ALLOW MY WRITING TO BE REPUBLISHED ANYWHERE OTHER THAN MY OWN BLOG WITHOUT MY CONSENT
18 + IF YOU ARE NOT 18 OR OLDER DO NOT READ OR INTERACT WITH MY WRITING. IT IS NOT INTENDED FOR MINORS. I AM NOT RESPONSIBLE FOR THE MEDIA YOU CONSUME.
Summary: You’re not as innocent as everyone thinks, just a little clueless and maybe a bit careless, and with zero filter Eddie’s crush begins almost instantly.
Because Eddie sees you… He sees you for you, and the minute you stumble into his garage at work, asking him to fix your bike he knows he has you wrapped around his finger and he’ll do everything and anything to get what he wants.
Warnings: perv!eddie, he’s gross, he touches, he sneaks peeks, probably some coercion, will lead to smut but everything reader does is consensual, “innocent” reader, fem!reader, slight little reader, slight age regression?actions traded for Eddie’s labor on the bike, alright were adding a piss kink warning to this, daddy!Eddie, implied subspace/littlespace (will update as I go)
💕Part Three💕
Eddie is all soft touches and gentle words while he helps you into his van to take you home. He stands on the step of the passenger side to help buckle you in, kissing you on the forehead before stepping down to round the front of the car. He plays music but keeps it quiet, and when you tenderly lean over to grab his hand his breath gets stuck in his chest and he has to clear his throat to play it off.
He lets you take his hand into your lap where you play with his thumb absentmindedly while looking out the window. Bare feet pulled up onto the seat, your knees up to your chest.
"Do you want me to take you to your place?" Eddie asks quietly.
"Yes please" you say quickly "B-but just for clothes... I-I want to stay with you for a bit longer if that's okay"
"Whatever you need princess" he says giving you a small smile.
He drives you to your small apartment just on the edge of Main Street, and doesn't ask questions about who pays for it while you're not working and you're thankful for it. You're in and out of your apartment in ten minutes, a backpack slung over your shoulder, and a baby pink stuffed animal clutched to your chest. A puppy, with a hot pink heart held in its mouth. You've also slipped on a pair of converse, the laces undone and Eddies hands tighten around the steering wheel while he watches you walk back to his van, hoping you don't trip over yourself.
"Sorry" you say bashfully, tugging your seatbelt back around you and across the stuffed animal in your lap.
"Both of you buckled up?" Eddie asks with a smile, and you blush, almost as pink as the stuffy. You nod and sink further into his passenger seat.
Eddies trailer looks as cozy and you would have expected, and even though it's small, it still looks like home. It's inviting, and none threatening, quite the opposite in appearance to the boy next to you.
"I don't know if you remember" Eddie starts while leading you up the few steps "I used to live with my uncle, but the old man is retired now, so I bought this piece of junk off of him, so I live alone, and wasn't exactly excepting a pretty girl over, so it's a bit messy"
You can tell he's a little nervous, and it makes you giggle, watching him zip around the living room quickly, attempting to collect as many clothing items, garbage, and anything else that's lying around before letting you settle in. "Okay my rooms this way if you wanna put your stuff in there?" he asks holding his hand out to you and squeezing yours it once while interlocking his fingers between your own and leads you down the short hallway to his room.
He starts kicking clothes out of the way, and hiding anything he doesn't think you should see but you don't focus on anything other than his bed. Crawling onto it and flopping down on your side while clutching your stuffed animal close to your chest. Your eyes close almost immediately but Eddie doesn't give you enough time to lull into a sleepy state before he's sat next to you with a hand on your hip.
"You up for a shower?" Eddie asks
"M'sleepy" you say with heavy lidded eyes, your voice is muffled from where your mouth is pressed against the stuffed bear.
"I bet you are sweet thing, but don't you want to get all cleaned up?" He tilts his head while he speaks, and the setting sun coming through his window filters through the strands of his hair like sheer curtains.
"I'm too floaty, I need to come back into my head first" you sigh, stretching your arms out over your head. "N'you made me horny"
He laughs through his nose. "I made you horny?" He said almost in disbelief.
"Obviously Munson" you said with an eye roll "I pissed myself in front of you, you think that's something I'd do for fun?"
"Could be" he shrugged, a sly smile that he tried to hide with a cough. "I don't know what you do in your spare time sweetheart"
"Bet you wish you did" you quipped with a smirk.
"Oh absolutely, but that's a conversation for a different time, c'mon up you get" he reaches for your elbow to tug you forward. You whine but let him pull you up into a sitting position. "Shower, and after I'll order food or something yeah?"
"Pizza?" you say with raised brows.
"If that's what you want then yes" he said with a smile.
"Okay fine, I'll go shower" you said with a pout and a sigh.
You grab a pair of the clean clothes you shoved into your backpack and your small bag of toiletries, hugging them to your chest as you brought them to the bathroom with you.
"There's clean towels on the shelf!" Eddie calls from the other side of the bathroom door.
You strip yourself of the coveralls Eddie dressed you in, but took a moment to smell the shirt he gave you back at the shop. Humming softly before bringing the material up and over your head, and reaching behind you to unclip your bra and slide the straps down your shoulders, pulling it from you and letting it fall onto the floor.
You showered quite quickly, washing your body with your peach scented body wash and maybe a little bit of Eddies just cause you could. With quick hands you reached down between your legs and rubbed softly at your clit. Eddie had gotten you so worked up, your poor clit had a heartbeat the entire drive back here, quite literally aching to be touched. It was hard to get farther than a few panting breaths, knowing Eddie was just on the other side of one of the two walls, waiting patiently for you to finish up. You didn't cum but it relieved a bit of the ache so it wasn't a complete loss.
Stepping out of the shower you dried yourself with one of the clean towels, dressing into a pair of comfy clothes that you had shoved in your bag. A simple pair of white undies with pink flowers all over them with, an old faded care bear shirt that was way too big for you but that only made it more comfy. A pair of pink shorts that felt like sweatpants and some mismatched socks.
When you got back to Eddies room, you crawled right back into his bed, pulling the thin sheet over you and bringing your stuffed dog back into his rightful place against your chest. Eddie knocked on the door frame of his room with one hand while covering his eyes with the other. "Are you decent?" he asked with a goofy smile plastered across his face.
"More than you'd like me to be" you teased. You felt a bit more in tune with yourself after showering, a little less brain fog.
He separated his fingers, peaking through them before entering his room. "I'm gunna shower now, super quick, and then we can figure out food, if that's cool?" he asked hesitantly.
You smiled. "I'm in no rush, take your time" snuggling deeper into his bed.
It made eddies heart skip and he coughed in an attempt to regain composure. "I put your clothes into the washing machine, I'll start it up when I'm out is that okay?"
"Course" again with your smile Eddies knees nearly buckled.
"Okay c-cool, I'll uh, be right back" he said turning on his heel, awkwardly too close to his door, bumping his shoulder on the way out with a small 'oof'
you giggled. "Oh! Um Eddie?" You called lightly, sitting up.
He rounded back to his room, eyebrow raised. "What's up?"
"You said I'd get a reward" Your voice was sweet, if not a little begging.
His whole demeanour changed when those words left your lips. He seemed to stand a little taller, a bit more stiff with his stance, like his movements were already planned before he made them. He made his way back over to you, pressing his palms flat onto his mattress, in front of you, making it dip from where he leaned into it.
"I did say that didn't I?" With his eyes somehow darker, they slowly roamed your body, focusing on your bare legs, exposed from where the blanket fell past your hips when you sat up. "What do you think it is?" he asked, voice low.
You giggled. "Something sexual probably" you said quietly.
"Do you want it to be something sexual?" his head tilted to the side, watching you.
You bit on your bottom lip. "Well see, I have this problem"
"Oh?" he questioningly.
"I'll um show you" you said shyly, crawling towards him until you were sat in front of him, legs hanging over the edge of his bed. He stood back up from his leaning position, staring down at you with those fucking eyes. "Okay but you have to close your eyes" your heart was beating heavily in your chest. You reached forward to grab one of his hands, playing with his rings shyly.
His left hand came up to brush hair away from your face, tucking some behind your ear before his thumb rubbed your cheek softly. "Why's that?"
"Cause it's embarrassing" you mumbled.
"Alright, I'll close em" he said while taking his hand back from your face, covering his eyes with it while you still held onto the other one.
With his eyes covered and his body turned from you slightly, you inhale, taking the hand you held in yours bringing it to the waistband of your shorts and slipping it down until his hand was met with your slick cunt.
His hand left his eyes quickly, looking down at you, holding his hand between your legs, exactly where you needed him.
"F-fuck" he stuttered. He began slowly sliding his fingers through your folds, gathering your wetness. Your body jerked when the pads of his fingers bumped your clit.
"How long have you been like this?" Eddie asked quietly, lowering himself until he was on his knees in front of you, only removing his hand from your shorts to tug at them. Pulling them down your hips which you lifted quickly to help get them off. He didn't let you have time to get shy, hands going straight to your knees, pushing your legs apart and bringing his thumb to your clit, rubbing light circles against it making you whimper.
"I asked you a question princess" he said looking up at you through thick lashes, thumb halting its movements while he waited for your response.
"Since-" you licked your lips. "Since I walked into your stupid shop" you let yourself fall back against his bed, covering your eyes with your hands as he continues his movements.
"Poor baby has been worked up all day hmm?" he says teasingly, kneeling onto his bed until he was laying on his side next to you. "Well this really is a problem isn't it?"
"Yeah" you breathed, a whine following quickly after when Eddies fingers pressed a little harder.
"How long has it been since someone else has touched you like this?" Eddie shifts closer to you, the rough fabric of his jeans on your thigh.
"Too long" You moan, head tipping back slightly.
"Well that's a damn shame" he removes his hand from between your legs, and doesn't miss the way you whine and look at him. "Patience is a virtue baby" Eddie teased.
You huffed, leaning up onto your elbows. "Patience might be a virtue, but I'm not religious, so please" You say reaching for his hand, pulling it right back to your cunt, sliding down until his fingers grazed your entrance, pushing his single digit inside of you slowly with the tips of your own "Please make me cum" you begged.
His finger slipped into you with little to no resistance, your body jerking on instinct, hips rolling on their own accord.
"Fucking hell sweetheart" Eddies eyes shot down, watching in awe as you fucked yourself on his finger. "Come here" he said in a rush, his free hand holding the back of your head to bring you closer to kiss. It was messy and wet, both fighting for something, teeth grazing lips with no intention until you couldn't focus on anything else but his hand.
"ohmygod ohmygod ohmygod" you moaned with each small bounce of your hips, with a squeak of a yelp tumbling from your lips when Eddies finger curled up into you.
"Yeah? That's the spot huh?" He was breathless, dick straining in his jeans, and he swore he could cum just from watching you alone, but he was far too greedy to let that happen. Kissing you harshly he removed his hand from you once more, frantically undoing his belt mumbling a "Fuck you're so sexy, fucking yourself on my fingers like that? Jesus Christ" he laughs.
"Eddie" you whined, tears rolling down your cheeks as you ran your hands up and over your own chest, tugging at the fabric of your shirt, looking for any sort of friction.
"I know baby I know, I just-" his hands are shaking when he finally gets his jeans down and off of his body, his boxers coming off directly after.
"I can't wait" he said coming back to you, hovering over you now with his dick in one head as he lined it up with your leaking entrance. "I need to be inside you, is that what you want? Want me to fill you up?" he slides his dip up and down, collecting your slick while he waits for you to answer. But all you can do is whimper and reach out for him, grabbing at any part of him you can when he leans over you more closely.
"You gotta tell me you want this" He asks again, seriousness in his voice, enough to peak through your foggy brain to tell you he needs your verbal consent before he continues.
"I do" you say holding onto his shoulders. "I- I need this, please Ed's I need you to fuck me"
TAG LIST: @hard-candy-writing @harrys-four-nipples @edsforehead @candyflossfairy @ceriseheaven @bowersbubbles @eddiesprincess86 @tlclick73 @choke-me-eddie @eddiessidegirl @edsforehead @cancankiki @bimbobaggins69 @bbyhargrove @babeyglo @ajkamins @canyonmooncreations @anaisweird @eddiesguitarskills @harringtonfan4 (If I forgot any let me know!)
#hellfiremunsonn#Eddie Munson#Perv!eddie#perv!Eddie Munson#Stranger Things#Stranger Things Eddie Munson#Eddie Munson Stranger Things#Eddie Munson fic#Stranger Things fic#Eddie Munson fluff#Eddie Munson smut#Stranger Things fluff#Stranger Things smut#hellfiremunsonn now you see me#Eddie Munson x you#Eddie Munson x reader
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Oh my god, finally! I've been wanting to post here for a few days.
I'm the author of that infamous fanfic. And I wanted to say, unrelated to Hazbin, that the documentary and Drake's story, coupled with his new music video "I Kinda Relate" is the most heartbreaking and empowering thing I've ever seen. I bawled my eyes out the entire day that I found it.
In the first 28 seconds, Drake heavily implies, but doesn't show, his abuse that he suffered at the hands of his rapist, Brian Peck (who also was penpals with none other than John Wayne Gacy.)
I wanted to do nothing but hug that poor little boy, and to hug the man he is now. I want to tell him that he's beautiful and strong and brave for coming out. Male CSA victims rarely ever do. Could you imagine telling Drake then or now, that he's a *loser*? Could you imagine going about his abuse the way Viv did with Husk and Angel? He literally made his own music video that was much more tactful and empowering than Loser Baby ever will be.
I also have dirt on Dan S and that whole fucking pedo ring (I know a LOT of people in this industry. I also helped take down an ACTUAL ZOO AND PEDOPHILE with a decent amount of power a few years back.) And for anyone still confused about Drake, the girl he messaged lied about her age and he never did anything physical with her. He still acknowledges he's fucked up (please watch his hour long interview and music video) but he's "bound to make it right".
I also just want to say, to a CERTAIN PERSON, that comparing the objectively fetishisized abuse (I'm a CSA victim and into noncon), to fucking SEX ED FOR CHILDREN, is the absolute most fucking garbage and vile take I've ever seen. Poison is NOT educational. It is fetish content for Viv and Raph and others like them. If survivors and fans can turn something objectively negative into something subjectively positive, all the power to them.
Again, into noncon and a CSA victim. I also don't want to see stans taking this and telling me I'm invalid for critiquing Viv and Raph (already dealt with that in my damn fic.) I have been raped/sexually assaulted/groomed/groped/strangled/pinned down/dragged around as a child and NO ONE is ever going to tell me I'm a hypocrite or that I'm wrong for my feelings on this issue. Especially when I also have friends and my own mother as SA and CSA victims as well.
Someone like myself, or like Drake Bell, do NOT need to see how explicitly horrid our abuse was/is to understand how bad it is. I personally had panic attacks watching the episode, and having the knowledge of Raph being an unapologetic rape fetishist, was all I needed to know that that entire episode was fetish content. It's basically an adaptation of Raph's Red Smoke comic. Nearly word for word too. I've written and consumed so many stories over the years to know exactly what's going in their heads.
You know how you actually help a victim? You have friends and family and a therapist help you get out of that situation. Husk "helping" Angel was not the way to go about it.
And I've seen fans argue whether or not Viv is a rape fetishist (she is), but if she wasn't, why is she so adamant on keeping an unapologetic rape fetishist on her staff? He's confirmed to be working on season 2 (God I'm gagging thinking about it) and why does she like so much art (no hate to the artists) of sexy, fetishisized, hot, and sad art of Valentino? If he's supposedly based off HER abusive experience, why does she coddle, woobify, and downplay and sexualize him so much??? I wouldn't base a rapist character or write a rapist character as a fucking "high school Mean girl".
I'm sorry this got so long, but fuck man... it's so fucking disgusting.
Anyways, please watch this. It's got more tact and heart than fucking Poison will ever have. Drake Bell, my heart goes out to you. CSA victim to CSA victim. I hope you get better and can heal. And that goes for all victims as well. 💜🫂 (You too, Chai.)
And Brian Peck, and any and all other rapists, can burn alive in a grease fire. Val included.
https://youtu.be/I5gh8rAVLkI?si=B2eny2U4GZRgDZ7t
https://youtu.be/nSzk-MsVKqA?si=6D4rEihu89Yom7YG
Well said as always, Anon, and thank you for this.
Also, definitely seconding Brian Peck burning up in a grease fire.
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still cant get over travailshipping. i remember when you first tested the waters with it (which i believe was some time before the tpiag chapters started coming out?) and at first i thought it was pretty funny. ark slowly but surely falling headfirst for twig, who if she had a tagline it would be "if i could turn my feelings into weapons, mine would be a goddamn nuclear bomb", and her at first just being oblivious to it and thinking that the letters that expressed love and care that were written in cursive in her mailbox were just funny and she wanted to show them to ark with the guy just looking at her with the most "well that backfired in the weirdest way possible". but when tpiag finally ended i finally connected the dots as to why these two are just. augh. i wont go into detail here in your askbox but i wanna know is: HOW DID YOU DO IT. HOW DO YOU KEEP MAKING SUCH GOOD IDEAS FOR THE FUNNY DIGITAL ANIMALS. TELL ME.
(thinking to myself) "Ugh I should stop posting so much travailshipping stuff... It's probably so annoying to everyone who sees it. I feel bad for my poor followers. I'll check my inbox real quick and then commit to shaking up my content by—" *gets obliterated by your niceness*
Oh man. I remember posting that poll where I hesitantly described a possible Darkrai/Twig pairing in the tags while proposing Twig/Kip as an alternative route, despite it not being the direction I wanted to take the characters, because I was so scared of what people’s reactions might be. If I remember right, I posted it a little bit before I had just barely reached 5k words in the first draft of TPiaG.
I've been trying to write up detailed responses to how I come up with good ideas for travailshipping in particular, but there's one rule I use that defines everything after it and speaks for all of them: I have fun with the characters.
That's it. That's the rule. If I don't want to write a subject, I don't. I stick with what I find enjoyable and resonant. Does a joke make me laugh? Does a scene make me cry? Does a villain make me punch a hole in my wall? Does a cute gesture make me squeal? If so, then into the project it goes. I think people can feel when someone is having fun with their work, and that fun radiates out into their own experience consuming that work. It's like laughter— joy is something we're sharing with others as long as we feel it. Fun is contagious.
Also: when you don't force yourself to make things you hate, you attract people who like the same things as you. These people will find your work even more fun— because not only did you have fun making it, they're having double fun consuming it.
An important tangent I'll go off on is that I think that every creative project idea is a good idea. There's so many beloved bizarro ideas in the world, even the ones who try to be cool about how weird their premises are. There's this weird show where the main character works as a service industry worker in an underwater setting that's ruled by a Roman deity— he lives in a piece of fruit, and his pet gastropod makes cat noises. This show sounds like word salad garbage on paper and could be tossed out for its nonsensical nature, and yet SpongeBob SquarePants has made Nickelodeon over $13 billion dollars and is a treasured part of many childhoods. There's also a character who spends his time locked in intellectual and physical combat with a wannabe clown and wears a costume with bat ears while doing it. Batman's been an icon for over 80 years.
All of this is to say:
Ideas are always good ideas by virtue of existing. They don't derive their goodness from external sources. Beauty is in the eye of the beholder.
Make more of what you love. Don't make things you hate making.
If you have fun while making the thing, people will have fun while they consume the thing's content.
I hope this makes sense. I didn't touch on idea generation as much as embracing existing ideas. Fingers crossed that was the right response. I'd just woken up from a nap as I was writing it, so hopefully it's not too meandering and managed to answer the question and—
— Oh shoot. Was that a hypothetical question??? Uh. Sorry if I went off on this rant when you were just trying to voice your niceness. Oops. 🫥
#also: feel free to go into detail in my inbox 👀#i am always happy to hear people's thoughts on my blorbos#creativity tip#creativity advice#writing tip#writing#creativity tips#swear warning#creativity tips with sofie#(kinda)#sofie answers asks
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I really should not let it get to me, but I am not joking when I say that seeing fanworks wherein Billy is a r*pist or domestic abuser is a major trigger for me. I don’t purposely consume those fanworks, but I do run into them from time to time and there’s no feasible way to block that content without also blocking content that explores Billy’s own experiences with surviving abuse and recovering from that abuse which is what’s actually important to me.
I understand that people will write whatever they want, and it’s easy to snap back with “don’t like, don’t read” to anything I have to say here. That being said, much of this positioning of Billy as a r*pist and/or abuser comes from a lack of empathy for Billy as a survivor and not just a desire to “explore dark themes.” When you dehumanize Billy as a survivor, it’s easy to twist him into the one-dimensional villain you need to be the catalyst for your favorite’s trauma and recovery journey with someone who will “treat them right.”
To me, though, turning a very obvious victim into a villain who acts outside of the canon norm (i.e. Billy was never sexually abusive, and he did not physically assault any of his partners) is so painfully reminiscent of the way an abuser will accuse you of doing very awful things you have never done or keeping score to make you always feel in the wrong or making you look and feel crazy and question everything you have ever said and done all the while they are abusing you.
Maybe that sounds silly to you, but I’ve had to deal with this personally. I’ve had to deal with my father literally manipulating therapists into sympathizing with him, stating my mother was crazy, unfit, neglectful, et cetera. This, while he continually abused her physically and emotionally. I’ve had to deal with him lying to friends and family members about our situation, and I’ve had to deal with him putting me in the wrong and even threatening to institutionalize me or call the cops on me anytime I fought back… which was often.
I am not comfortable with people feeding into the narrative that being abused and trying to survive your abuse, albeit with violence, will make you an abusive partner or a r*pist. I am not comfortable with people making Billy anyone’s “crazy” or “unstable” ex. I am really not comfortable with people failing to recognize that abusers can look like a friendly neighbor or upstanding citizen. It is so easy to invent that guy if you need that guy for your fanworks. You do not need to use a canon survivor of domestic violence to be that guy.
Surviving abuse is humiliating enough as it is. We are dehumanized enough as it is. We do not need reminders that we are crazy and unstable and undeserving of love and support. You do not need to use Billy who was canonically isolated and abused for years with no support system and then brutally killed as your little plot device to get your good survivor + heroic rescuer romantic trope fix. You don’t. We shouldn’t have to see that garbage every time we’re looking for content that doesn’t totally dehumanize Billy.
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Lmao thank you. Nothing kills the spirit as much as horrid Daniel takes in the veins of “he was a victim of ABUSE!!“ and “his love affair with Armand was only an illusion of love, not real love”. For all the reasons you listed but also because most often than not, those takes come from the same people who sanitize and woobify the fuck out of Armand/Marius and portray their relationship as the healthiest, most innocent and romantic in the vc (I enjoy Armand/Marius myself but bffr). Having headcanons is fine, we all have them, but to deliberately interpret the text in a way that doesn’t make any sense for their journeys or motivations is whack and to get angry when others point it out is whack. TO ME.
Well damn, anon lmao And to add to my previous post, yeah I get it, vampires are seductive beings regardless of whether they're trying to be, that the blood is addictive for mortals, that at times it could be argued that they were using their influence to get the response they want. I absolutely could and would find an argument that at times Daniel was spellbound by Armand's mere presence viable. But not 100% of the time, not to the extent that he never made any choices of his own or had desires of his own.
The point of the series is that they're all quite literally monsters, right? They're all capable of bad and good. So I guess I find it very boring to want to paint any single one of them as perfectly good or completely irredeemable.
And like it's fine if you only wanna consume loving and fluffy material!! I've explained to friends that I don't write much true angst because I have enough struggle in my life, I need escapism lmao But to insist that is the only way to portray any of these relationships, or the opposite- that any relationship is pure evil - is the issue. My main sticking point is always the behavior that comes with the takes, the insistence that this is the only reading that is correct and anyone who disagrees is garbage is really what upsets me. Just like 'your kink is not my kink and that is okay' it's important to be able to tell yourself 'your reading of a text is not my reading and that's okay' and move tf on.
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For the whole Derek Landy thing, I know it’s not uncommon in the fandom, but I find it strange to judge the quality of the books based on your personal feelings about the writer, because those are two very separate things, as shown by your liking the original books before encountering his online presence. Similarly, I think it’s strange to call Phase Two ‘Trash’ when you’ve only heard about it second hand. It has lots of issues, but I think it’s always worth reading things for yourself and coming to your own conclusions. If it’s still trash then fair enough, but it’s better than missing out on something you might enjoy, or going in with a pre-bias towards disliking it because of your feelings about the author and the words of your peers.
1) these two things are intertwined which I will demonstrate. It’s less about “author bad so book bad” and more about “author does not see good elements that existed and could be expanded upon” and “writing is inconsistent due to elements of author’s personal life”. An example of the first is Derek’s tendency to kill characters off and torture characters for what seems like shock value, judging by several tweets about doing those things specifically to hurt/shock readers. I think this harms the quality of the story because it leaves characters and arcs underdeveloped. Another example would be Derek’s failure to commit to a timeline and take notes (see Grimoire incident). An example of the second would be inconsistent character writing due to opinions of people in the author’s personal life. This is something I somewhat suspected for a while but was seemingly confirmed. Another example is his history of changing editors/publishers.
I actually do still love phase 1 for what it is. Derek would have to do a lot worse to take that enjoyment away.
If you like phase 2 that’s fine. Keep in mind that I’m an overly-analytical bitch who gets Way Too Into Media (I have read phase 1 at least 15 times) and likes writing/talking about it. Maybe if I wasn’t this way I’d be less critical, but I am.
2) i read the first two books of phase 2 and did not care for them. I also know much, much more though than whether people liked or disliked them to the point that admittedly at this point it might’ve been less time-consuming to read the books myself. At best, it seems underwhelming, which by comparison to phase 1, means phase 2 is hot garbage. Not the-worst-garbage-in-the-world garbage, but not great. Of course I will read phase 2, and the prequel, and phase 3 when it comes out. I’m not reading them just to trash them. To my knowledge, I will have some positive things to say. I’ll also be reading Demon Road again (kill me). That, I have nothing good to say about….
Edit: I want to be clear, if I did not care about this series, I wouldn’t be here writing this.
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🌻 sunflower sheets, sunshine boy - lee donghyuck🌻
requested? Y/N
genre: pre-established best friends to lovers, only one bed, fluff, mentioned mark lee being a lil shit, honestly very self indulgent lmao
content warnings: implied past abuse (it isn't discussed, also pre-established), reader has a lil nightmare
pairing: haechan x gn! reader
wc: 2.3k
a/n: i have SO many WIPs going atm and the motivation to actually write none of them, so i apparently wrote this instead. the only one bed scenario is something that actually happened to me (it did not go this way though i didn't really like the dude we were both just drunk so we shared a mattress lmao. he sucked.) and this all came to me after a nightmare of my own past abuser so this is just self indulgent garbage really lmaooo :') as always feedback is super appreciated even if this is just a lil vignette kinda oneshot! much love to you all mwah mwah 💞💞
You cursed whatever deities may exist for your current predicament as the warmth from Donghyuck's torso radiated over your back. Well, more specifically, you supposed you cursed Mark Lee and his horrendously obvious attempts at matchmaking; a lone double bed made fresh with sunflower patterned linens that emanated a faint lemony scent sat in the small attic of his family home and the other beds somehow already claimed before everyone had gone over to celebrate his birthday. For whatever reason, Donghyuck hadn't seemed to find it suspicious that you and he were the only ones who hadn't been asked where you'd prefer to sleep the week prior. Or if he had, he hadn't mentioned it, simply shooting you a lopsided smile and informing you with a smirk that he sleeps shirtless before accepting the arrangements without question.
And so here you were, rolling to lie on your back and stare at the ceiling, where in the dark your brain conjured warping patterns that didn't exist as if trying to distract you from your racing thoughts. A small square of moonlight bathed golden skin next to you, filtering through the window on the roof like a spotlight. Donghyuck let out a small snore and you wondered how on earth he was able to sleep so easily like this, his feet grazing yours under the sprawling duvet and his face smushed unceremoniously into the pillow he'd claimed for his own. The trees rustled outside in the audible breeze, a sound that would lull you into peaceful dreams any other time. Yet you'd never felt more awake in your life than you did at that moment.
You hadn't exactly protested yourself; in fact you knew Mark would be awaiting your exuberant thanks for giving you such an opportunity with a man only he knew you to have had a silent crush on for years by that point. But you were far too stubborn to actually admit that his plan was pretty decent. You knew if you'd dissented he would have found other sleeping arrangements for you without complaint, but his smugness had almost felt like a challenge, and you were adamant you’d never lose a challenge to Mark of all people.
You and Donghyuck had been best friends for longer than you could even remember—he'd seen so many of your triumphs and losses, your highs and lows, the big moments in your life and the little ones you didn't even know if he remembered and treasured the way you did—and far be it from you to threaten a connection you weren't sure you'd find again if you lost him. Your heart raced and you prayed it didn't cut through the silence in actuality the way it consumed your sense of hearing, pulse thrumming in your ears like a kick drum. After probably too many minutes of being definitely too aware of the process of breathing, Donghyuck stirred with a small groan and turned to face you.
"Can't sleep?" He asked groggily, rubbing at his sleep laden eyes with a clumsy fist before looking up at you through heavy eyelashes.
"No," you responded simply, voice coming out as more of a hoarse whisper than you'd intended. He nodded, and you heard it against the fabric of the pillowcase. A weighted silence followed briefly, the air weirdly stuffy, and you felt like you were fighting for breath. You eventually looked over to find him watching your face, contemplative, as if studying every detail for the first time.
"Do you wanna, like, cuddle or something?" You blinked at him, amazed as always at the way he was able to be so bold as if it were no big deal. He threw the suggestion out so casually that it threw you off. If it were any of your other friends you would have laughed, joked about it and probably accepted because of the comfort the contact provided, but in your lovesick state you found yourself entirely frozen where you laid.
"Um," you faltered, biting the inside of your cheek. He exhaled through his nose, a somewhat-laugh quiet enough to be appropriate for the time of night, and smiled up at you, though you didn't feel strong enough to look at said smile for more than a few seconds. Truly dazzling, you thought.
"It was a totally good-natured suggestion," he clarified, feet nudging yours again but more purposefully this time. He resisted the urge to intertwine his legs with yours fully and moved his hair from where it had fallen in front of his tired eyes, still looking at you with more focus than you felt you desired. "Since I know you like the touch and it might help you sleep. There's no pressure, you can say no." You smiled at him, grateful for the way he offered you an out so considerately, but you then realised this wasn't a situation you were in often. And, in your humble opinion, if there were any time to indulge in such timid desires, it totally would be at buttfuck o'clock in the morning with your entire friend group a floor below.
"Sure." His eyes widened slightly; he obviously didn't expect you to agree, but his expression quickly softened when he noticed you falter. Before you could change your mind or stutter out a nervous string of "but only if you wanna!" adjacent sentences, he wrapped an arm around your shoulders and pulled you into his chest. As if on instinct, your fingers tried to ball into his shirt; however in its absence it looked more like you were trying to pinch at his chest. It made him laugh heartily, your face heating up, though he appeared to think the teasing was best saved for later as he bit his tongue and adjusted his arm to lie under your neck.
"Comfy?" He asked gently, breath hot on your ear before he nuzzled his chin against your head. You nodded the best you could, nudging further into his neck as you let his warmth consume you. He let himself slip a little further, tangling his legs with yours just a bit to see if you’d back away and feeling his heart swell when you intertwined them further. His other arm rested loosely over your waist, steady breathing inspiring yours to mimic, and before you could even realise how tired you were the security his presence offered you finally lured you to sleep.
The peace apparently didn't want to linger, however, as only an hour later Donghyuck awoke again to you trembling in his hold. He looked down at you blearily as your hand clutched at his side and your breathing staggered. He took a moment to come to and realise what was happening before shaking you gently to wake you up.
It happened with a start, your breath catching dramatically in your throat as your eyes blew wide. He shushed you gently, one hand stroking through your hair, as you silently searched his face with frantic pupils. They weren't looking for anything in particular; just the familiarity your heart apparently craved, your brain fighting to come back to reality fully and shake the remnants of the nightmare that plagued you.
"Are you okay?" His voice was so quiet it was barely audible, hand ceaseless in its careful motions. "Seemed like you were having a bad dream."
"Yeah," you whispered unsteadily, suddenly aware of the hand with which you held onto his side like you were scared he'd vanish from under it. He hummed in understanding, tightening his hold a little.
"Was it about who I think it was?"
"Yeah," you repeated, still too internally distressed to show any real outward emotions the way you wanted to. "They're less frequent these days, but y'know." He hummed again, hand dropping to draw comforting circles into the skin of your hip and bring you back a little.
"Just try to focus on me," he murmured, still obviously sleepy. You nodded, doing your best to divert every conscious thought you had to his movements, his breathing, his very presence; and after a few moments you felt grounded enough to actually form sentences.
"You always know how to help," you laughed drily, voice low. You knew your friends couldn't hear you; even beyond the floor difference they were all insanely heavy sleepers, to the point you'd think they never slept a day in their life. Donghyuck giggled against your hair, more high pitched than he'd like, and manoeuvred you both so that he was lying on his back with your head resting on his chest. His heartbeat was steady against your cheek, and his hold remained tight. "What time is it?"
"I dunno, like, four in the morning?" He shrugged at his own estimate, phone too far on the nightstand for him to bother finding out. "Why?"
"Because." Your insecurity leaked through into your mumbles but you couldn't find it in you to care, knowing beyond your own mild discombobulation that Donghyuck was not all there himself. "I just think early morning hours are the time to be vulnerable."
"True." He stared at the ceiling, thumb massaging your shoulder absentmindedly. "Why, did you wanna talk about it?"
You took a deeper breath to try and steady yourself before snuggling into the crook of his neck. "I just think I had that nightmare because I'm sleeping with you."
"That sounds like something I should be offended by," he chuckled breathily. "Why me?"
"I mean. Being helplessly in love with you complicates a lot of things." You'd spoken before you could allow yourself to hesitate, though now that the words were out there and his body had stiffened beneath you regret started flooding your nerves, burning them like an electrical current under water.
"What?"
"You heard me," you pouted, growing more self-conscious by the second.
"Just wanted to make sure I heard you right." Another tense silence followed, one that made your ears ring and your chest flutter. "What does that have to do with the nightmare?"
"I dunno, just. The usual shit, allowing yourself to be vulnerable and all that stuff again. It's scary at the best of times, even without everything that happened with Hyunwoo." You hated the way your tongue felt jammed, unable to express the fear that festered like rot in the bottom of your heart. It was pervasive, parasitic almost, something you struggled to cast out even if you had reduced its impact greatly in the years since you'd escaped. You looked up to find him watching you yet again, expression fond and curious. "You can do a lot of work," you tried, brows furrowed as you searched for the words. "You help yourself as much as you can, you do the therapy, you get better at functioning, all that stuff." He nodded, entirely attentive and patient, giving you the odd encouraging squeeze around your shoulders. He could tell you'd been wanting to get this all off your chest for a while.
"You've come a really long way since then, we're all proud of you," he smiled when you hesitated, wary of interrupting but not wanting to lose the moment to tell you. While Donghyuck was one to poke fun a lot—one to be sarcastic, one to make constant jokes—he was also always the first to compliment you and encourage you, a balance you were always thankful to have in your life.
"Thank you," you grinned, continuing. "But it doesn't matter how much work you do when you meet someone you fall for because you kinda have to accept that there's a whole other kind of shit under the surface that you can't unpack on your own, and you have to hope the person you've found sees all that and tells you ‘it's okay’ while you figure your shit out together."
"Everyone has their own baggage." You sat up a little to look at his thoughtful expression, moonlight shimmering on his soft features. After a moment of intense eye contact, he broke the silence with a serene smile. "Hey Y/N?"
"Yeah?"
"It's okay." You stared at him for a moment, his words running laps around your own in your brain, the simplest kind of acceptance that seemed to short circuit you as your heart swelled. "And hey, I’m pretty in love with you too, so maybe you're not that hopeless."
"Is my want to kiss you right now equally as not hopeless?" You asked somewhat clumsily, grin mischievous. He took a moment to gawk at you being the bold one for a change before smirking, shaking his head.
"If you wanna kiss me so bad then do it."
You stared at him for a while longer, his gaze unwaveringly confident, and in sensing your slight hesitation he chuckled complacently before being the one to take the dive. You weren’t sure if it was the time of morning or the rawness in vulnerability that made you feel slightly delirious, head spinning as your mind took a second to catch up. The feeling of his lips on yours was unfamiliar but far from unwelcome, the warmth he radiated spreading like fire from the legs that twined together to the cheeks he cradled so tenderly. He smiled against your lips, breaking the kiss with a slightly bashful laugh, and you swear you saw galaxies in his eyes with the way he looked at you.
“What are you laughing at?” You watched him bewilderedly, the pull of his lips increasingly adoring as he pulled your head back to his neck and rocked you in his arms with another childish giggle.
“I’ve just wanted to do that for longer than you know.” His voice was angelic and light, like chimes in the wind, making you smirk against his collarbones. “It’s okay,” he repeated in a gaily hum, hold on you safe and reassuring. “We’ll get through anything, together.”
tell me what you thought? | masterlist
#ficscafe#kflixnet#nct#haechan#lee donghyuck#nct dream#nct 127#nct u#nct fluff#nct drabble#nct scenarios#nct imagines#haechan fluff#haechan drabble#haechan scenarios#haechan imagine
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#inevitable tag#guess who's obsessed and excited with her new fic and is gonna post some Playlist highlights#for the Vibes#i will write my own garbage and also consume it#inevitable playlist#larissa weems
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I wanna hear some thoughts on my pathetic baby loser failson (beloved) five pebbles
oh hell yeah i love hate love this guy and i have SO many thoughts
so, some fun hcs for starters (only one and a half of which pertain to him in canon, the others are just vague sketches of what his vibe is like):
he would like tame impala but only partially in a male manipulator way
if he were a smoker i think he'd vape and then switch to menthols (something tells me he'd be the kind of guy to start smoking because he thinks it looks cool)
hes transmasc coded. real he/they energy
his construction suffered pretty extreme budget cuts due to the political controversy surrounding his placement over the Anointed Citadel (there was a defund five pebbles campaign led by the spiritual leaders there lmao) and thus he is noticeably smaller than the other iterators
he'd be a pretty great poet, and would make a killing in clout off posting poetry to instagram if that existed in rain world lmao (if his iterator comrades appreciated it, he'd post poetry to one of their global message boards, but not many of them care for artistic pursuits. he'd get a temp ban for wasting space)
if you dug through enough pearls in garbage wastes you'd find the equivalent of amateur tumblr poetry from 2012, all written (and some partially scrambled) by pebs himself. before moon's collapse, NSH made it a project to get their hands on some of it so they could make fun of him by reading it aloud in vc. that never panned out
pebs and NSH would've collabed to produce shitty soundcloud rap, but they'd have a falling out over the duo's artistic direction and they'd split up. pebs would try to produce his own backing tracks, fail at it, and give up, and NSH would go on to make insane 120 bpm hyperpop you could mosh to and open for 100 gecs
and now for some sad character analysis:
i think pebs has like, very big feelings and not a great grip on how to handle them. he isn't maliciously selfish but he experiences his own pain as so all consuming that he forgets that his actions affect other people and simply follows his impulses without much thought. this obviously doesn't excuse his actions - he's harmed his friends in some very real, tangible and painful ways and they should hold him accountable for that (were i to write a 5p recovery arc he would definitely get taken to task by the others, who are also Messy. it would perhaps be a very dramatic fight, but i think if their heads were clear enough and moon had some means of communicating with them you could get a good approximation of what restorative justice might look like for a bunch of alien supercomputers).
it's also implied that he's like the baby of the group, or is at least younger, and therefore has had less time to get to know everyone else and establish himself as part of the local group's regular social dynamic, so i would imagine he has insecurities about that which might fuel his impulse to isolate when he feels Bad. which was, of course, disastrous on one particular occasion. i think he feels deep guilt over that and it's eating him (like the rot), but he has no idea how to express his remorse, or that the person he killed has been revived and can be talked to directly (if only via slugcat messenger). i've always read moon as someone who, in pursuit of being the group big sister/mom friend, learned to repress her feelings in order to preserve group cohesion at all costs. i think a conversation between the two of them would either be really explosively messy (timeline where moon learns to let herself feel things and be angry) or it would have the longest silences you've ever heard (timeline where moon does not learn to stop repressing her emotions). either way it would take a while for them to make peace with each other, but i think they could pull it off. neither of them want to spend the rest of eternity lonely and bitter.
#rain world#rainworld#rain world game#rw five pebbles#five pebbles#rw iterators#iterator#sorry that took me like 5000 years to answer i've been in trapped in a hole filled with various papers i have to write#and also im incredibly burnt out lmao#thanks for sending me an ask btw!! i've missed drafting silly hcs abt rain world :)#wisdom of the sage
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April 10th, 2024
Binged so hard this past week that I was too embarrassed to write on my own blog.
I've been eating the worst things imaginable lately. This isn't even my disordered brain bullying me I swear a single vegetable hasn't passed my lips once. As I type this, I'm eating a salad in hopes that my body will stop feeling like it's gonna drop dead from lack of nutrients. It's not that I even dislike eating healthier things! Once I get into a bad binge, I get so used to eating processed junk that proper food tastes "boring."
I'm obsessed with salt and carbs. My diet has been almost entirely chips, ramen, and frozen food. (All carb-based, duh.) Oh! Can't forget to wash it down with a diet cherry coke, right? (Because that totally cancels out the 45,000 calories I just consumed.) My appetite is so massive once I'm in these episodes the amount of food I can get down throughout the day is repulsively intriguing. (It also doesn't help that all processed garbage is already so high in calories.)
My only goal for this week is to eat more nutrient-based meals. Whenever I set a calorie-based goal I always fail. Stupid, stupid me! :-)
#buliimix#ed humor#ed dairy#ed vent#ed rant#ed bullshit#edmeme#lose weight#tw restrictive ed#tw eating issues#tw disordered eating#ed behaviour tw#tw purge#vent#cw#disordered eating cw#cw vent#tw ed but not sheeran#self h@rm#ed blogg#thinspø#thinspp#pro for me not for thee#thin$po#thindpo#cute thinspo#pastel thinspo
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hi! I remember seeing you talk about how you did your job search, but could I ask what resources you used for figuring out cover letters (if you did), resumes, and interviews? I've been unemployed the past five years due to illness and am about to start trying to apply for stuff again but the mere act of trying to recall how to do all this stuff has hit the panic button in my brain so I'm like, hm maybe it is time to ask people about their experiences and resources and such!
i am honestly the worst person to ask because i was actually pretty happy at my retail job (i was a night stocker so i just did repetitive tasks for seven hours while listening to audiobooks and not talking to anyone lmao) and i deliberately did not do more than the bare minimum when applying for my current job because i didn't want anything that required more than a bare minimum of effort
i have actually put forth effort for multiple other jobs since then and it. hasn't worked out. :/ although i guess i did make a resume/cover letter for my stepdad and they were super enthused about his excellent resume so what gives.
anyway. for my current job i just put my info on indeed and it popped a notification when an accounting job showed up nearby. then i hit the apply button and did basically nothing else. for my other jobs i just kept linkedin updated and people ended up hitting me up (for jobs i then DIDN'T GET *shakes fist* (i am telling myself it's because they couldn't afford me it's fine i'm fine))
anyway. leave out the part about being unemployed. you've been self-employed. they can't prove you weren't. did you write garbage articles for a content mill, or mturk? congrats, you were a freelance copywriter. took internet surveys? consumer research consultant. YOU WERE CONSULTED AS PART OF SOMEONE'S RESEARCH INTO CONSUMERS, IT'S NOT LYING. also you can just lie. anyway employers consider unemployment a red flag and as someone who was self-employed for a long time the only verification anyone does is checking your references. as long as you know some guys it's fine.
i had a shitton of resume templates from my years of downloading creativemarket freebies. that isn't really an option anymore but you could probably use a canva template. don't use one with your picture, that's weird actually. i don't know why so many templates include a headshot location. i usually make a personal logo to stick there instead because i think it looks cool. i also have a lot of free logo templates.
make sure to tailor your resume to the job you're applying to. if you're applying for a clerical position then you can probably leave out that you're good with SQL but mention experience with filing and if you know how to mail merge in word. that sort of thing. try to get your resume down to one page if you can. they don't need all the details, just a highlight reel. making it too long gives them more crap to have to sort through to figure out what they care about. job listings usually have certain keywords you can latch on to.
cover letters are generally just "here is how i heard about your position, here are the things about your listing and your company that interest me (this will probably include many lies), and here are the reasons i think i can help you". remember that they have a problem (needing someone to do the job) that you are offering to solve (because you can do the job).
i fucking suck at interviews. i think the only interview i did well at was one where i looked up common interview questions and practiced so i wouldn't totally blank out and forget my own name. i felt like a tool doing it but clearly i need it because otherwise. i will forget my own fucking name.
#original#someday i will work up the courage to apply for more jobs again#since i would. love to not work with bigots all day.#but maybe i'll wait until i get a verdict on whether my current job qualifies for public service loan forgiveness#in which case... only eight more years!! lmao
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I just saw the most vile TikTok about fanfiction that I’ve ever come across and felt the need to comment on it. Basically, the person in the video said they couldn’t stand when a fanfiction “seemed like it written by a 14 year old.” The comments were just a dumpster fire of assholes. I saw one comment say they sometimes want to plagiarize a story so that they can “write it correctly” or “do the idea justice.” I also saw a lot of “stay on Wattpad because you don’t belong on AO3.”
I’m sorry, this is the most garbage take I’ve ever seen. It’s so funny how people will consume free media and then bitch about how it isn’t up to their standards. But these same people would jump to stealing a person’s story instead of offering to Beta read for an author.
I generally just dislike people that discourage Fanfiction writers anyway. As someone that’s been writing fics for over a decade now, I can guarantee that I’ve written some awful shit. I posted my first fic to AO3 in April of 2012 and before that I used to post my stuff to fanfiction.net. There’s some stuff I’ve written that I’m scared to revisit, mostly because it’s for a fandom I’ve long departed from, but also because I know it’s not good. I’m terrible at writing prose, my main focus and strength has always been with dialogue, and I constantly have to work on it. But if I had seen shitty videos like that ten years ago, I probably would have fucking quit.
I just did revisions on a fic I wrote seven years ago, a fic that is my most celebrated piece of writing, a fic that people loved despite its imperfections. You don’t need to be perfect on your first go around. You don’t even need to be perfect on your 100th go around.
A person’s writing can only improve. When I write a sentence, I write it the way I would say it verbally. So no, I don’t always think about the grammar of the sentence, because it is 100% in my voice, I’m the one writing the story. I can’t write it as someone else and I also don’t see the point in trying to. If everyone followed the literary rules to a T then we would have uniformity instead of creativity.
People write fanfiction because they love the media they consume and want to put their own spin on it, to delve deeper into the characters, and appreciate it beyond the original text. What exactly do you get out of discouraging that? I’ll tell you what you get, you get less stories, less people willing to give it a shot, people who won’t even try.
To all my fellow fanfiction writers: Fuck up, forget a comma, let that sentence run on, discover who you are as an author and share what you’ve got. Improve, grow, change, and don’t let any asshole discourage you.
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